Barq aayaa?

I was eyeing the clock intently, it was almost 10 pm. Two more minutes, and the power would be gone. I refreshed my yahoo mail one last time for the day, after 10 I will not have a choice but to hit the bed. It was Zulmai’s day off and I felt too lazy to go out in the cold to start the generator. 10:02…..10:04……10:06……the power stayed on and I thanked my lucky stars. I was sure now that it will be 11 before the power would go. If only all days were that predictable!

October began and the power situation started deteriorating in Kabul. I would count the number of hours we had city power, as opposed to how many hours we did not have. It was still manageable till we started feeling the cold. There was a predictable pattern initially – power from 6-10 pm – period. Then the supply became a little erratic. Power would come on late at 7, but would stay on until 11. Sometimes came at 3, still stayed on till 10. Even sometimes, stayed on through the entire night – that was a real luxury. But that meant we go without power the whole of next day. Despite the crazy schedules, I still thought I had a reasonable assessment of when we will have power. How little I knew!

It had become like a mini project with regular discussions about how to address this problem. All possible solutions under the sun were thrown on the table (rather carpet?), but we seemed to be heading nowhere. I missed most of the discussions – albeit unintentional – as I always came home late. Amidst so many projects, why the progress of the power project evinced much interest among office staff? Now it dawned on me.

I never imagined I would struggle for something that is taken for granted back home. It was so irritating to schedule all tasks around availability of power – from showering to dining to watching TV. There were days I would be so irritated, I would feel like banging my head on the wall. Why did I have to leave my cozy one room accommodation? But then I knew very well why. If there is anything that makes all this bearable, it's the housemates. We have our exciting days. One weekend we decided - to hell with the power - and ran the generator for 4 hours just to watch 2 movies. Many other weekends we sat around a hurricane lamp and chatted into the wee hours of the night. 

As I get ready to go on leave next week, the different options are still echoing around the house. Rent or buy a bigger gen? Stay or move? Whatever, I can put all this behind me for an other month, and come prepared to face it in January. Hopefully there will be a solution by then….Insha Allah!

Miss you grandpa...

It was little past 5 in the evening and Radio Ceylon was rolling out old Tamil melodies. My grandma was busy in the kitchen and there was my grandpa chic and ready – clad in a white dhoti and T-shirt, hair neatly combed on an almost bald head and carrying his usual manja pai (typical yellow cloth bag that was common in most Tambram homes in those days). He was ready long before 5 and I sensed his impatience. But soon I was ready too in a frill frock and curly hair plaited on two sides. Grandpa took my hand in his and we were out the door. This was 1984, soon after his retirement, and the routine pretty much remained unchanged till he left us for heavenly abode in 2004.

 I always spent a big part of my summer vacation at my grandpa’s in Bombay. This included daily evening outings for which there was a set pattern with just a slight variation in the routes. That particular evening in 1984 was no different. It began with a quick darshan at the mountain goddess temple opposite our apartment building. Then I tagged along while he shopped for vegetables at Koliwada. We also stopped by Mehta’s for medicines. Then softly he asked if it was time to pay a visit to our regular panipuriwala. The answer was always a yes. After all, that’s the reason I was out. A small crowd had already gathered, and we waited patiently for our turn. After stuffing myself with two platefuls, I smiled gleefully to indicate I was done. Next halt was at the sugarcane juice stall. The place was run by a Maharashtrian who owned vast sugarcane fields in his village. He served the best sugarcane juice in Sion, or so he claimed. After gulping down a glassful, which was no mean measure by any standard, we headed home. But not before a visit to the adjacent Vittal mandir. I was brought up a pious kid! We passed the bhelpuri wala on the way, but that will have to wait for another day. Talking of panipuri, I have to mention that my first visit to the stall was when I was perhaps seven and for many years since then, I never had panipuri at any other place in Bombay. Amazingly, the taste stayed the same.

On some days, we took a long walk from Sion to Matunga, making pit stops at the Matunga circle ice cream parlor and the secondhand bookstore for some Amar Chitra Katha titles. On our return, we would either take the bus or the train. If it was the train, we never missed relishing the famous vada pav outside Sion station. Okay, now that is a lot of snacking! At 60 plus, my grandpa did have a good appetite for roadside snacks although the excuse was always that he had to give me company. Many a times we bought platform tickets and sat at the station aimlessly watching trains pass by. Not to mention our weekend trips along the entire stretch of the Central, Western or Harbor line of the Bombay suburban. Such is my love for trains, and such was his affection for me. I just had to say it, and he would do it.

Turning the clock back a few more years to when I used to spend a good part of the year in Bombay, I looked forward to Fridays eagerly. Coming back from office, he would be loaded with jasmine flowers. It was the traditional Friday ritual. He made garlands and offered it to the Gods and got ready to chant the Vishnu Sahasranamam (a Sanskrit hymn). While he chanted the verses, I sat on his lap patiently. Having pleased the Gods, there was no escaping the chukku chakkarai (a medicinal concoction of jaggery and dry ginger). Come 1984, my sister had priority to his lap. The evening market routine remained the same as she grew up, except that we were two of us tagging along. He would show us off to his friends, there was no doubting the pride in his eyes.

As I grew older, I helped him with some errands. It was with great excitement that I traveled alone for the first time to Kurla to book train tickets, which by the way is only two train stops away from Sion. I would call from a public call office once I reached and would call again before leaving – he was paranoid letting me go anywhere alone. I wrote out forms for him, there was a lot of form-filling to be done at the bank, post office, railway station, etc. those days. There was no online business.

Grandpa & grandma in 1948

Talking of grandpa, it is an insult if I do not recount our post dinner story sessions. The story sessions would drag on for more than an hour, and he would tell me every single story he knew, but I never seemed to say enough. Most were cock and bull stories, literally. I would lie by his side, with my head placed on his round belly, while he simultaneously patted me to sleep. He would often entertain everyone in the house with hilarious stories of mischief and fantasy growing up in his hometown Naranammalpuram. His most favorite was about how Mohini pisasu followed him in the dark because she liked handsome boys (my grandpa was apparently named Sundara Krishnan for a reason)! His friend Sesha was a key character in all his personal stories. I still don’t know if Sesha really existed, or if he was just an imaginary character. We would be rolling in laughter unable to control our tears hearing the stories. My grandpa was a master storyteller! To this day, I am glad that my dad once recorded the entire session on to an audio cassette which remains one of my treasured possessions. He is the only one in my life to whom I have written a letter every month, because he did the same. On the dot every month, a letter would arrive in his neat handwriting. I even have 1-2 letters saved.

He was a really social person; he would stop and greet everyone from the gurkha to the ghaiwali to the society president. He was the kindest soul, incapable of uttering an unkind word. My mom was the apple of his eye, but the only time I ever remember he lost his cool with her was when she scolded me! He was great help to my grandma around the house and was a wonderful cook. During the traditional festivals, the special sweets and savories (halwa, mysurpa, murukku, cheedai and the like) were always made by him. He took care of himself well getting his daily dose of long walks, and never skipped the weekly oil bath. To me, he was perfection personified. To him, I always remained a kid. During walks, he insisted on holding my hand even after I was well past my teens, and I would indulge him. I will not forget how excited he was to be the pillion rider while I drove him around in my scooter in Madras. He enjoyed life, and it was such a delight being around him.

Post his retirement, he yearned to settle in Madras. Unfortunately, that never happened. He had always enjoyed good health and never once visited a doctor except for his cataract operation. It was all too sudden that he got sick and everything was over in a matter of days. For weeks and months after, I was angry and could not digest it. I kept wondering if only I had visited him when he turned 80, if only he had held on for a day more so I could have brought him to Madras, if only he had recovered. So many ifs and buts. When I visited him in the hospital, he never as much opened his eyes to acknowledge my presence, which pained me a great deal. But as I held his hands, I was sure he knew I was there. There was a spiritual connection. He was in a coma but appeared to be blissfully asleep. Praise is to God he did not suffer.

I still make trips to Bombay and frequent all my favorite spots. But there is an emptiness and it is not the same without him. I miss you greatly grandpa….

Bravo Base Bravo Base

It took time for it to sink in that this was a call sign I had to respond to during my time in Kabul. There were times when I felt weird carrying the heavy walkie talkie around. Using it in public places undoubtedly attracted unabashed stares from people that made me feel as if I were giving instructions to blow off a bomb!

This was part of the ‘settling in’ process, which was sooner that expected, thanks to my colleagues in Kabul who were more than helpful. The excitement of working in Afghanistan, having to adjust to many things new, the opportunity to travel, the average Afghan’s love for everything Indian (including the dubbed version of ‘Saas bhi…’ and other Ekta Kapoor TV soaps!) definitely helped. The security issue that was a major decision factor eventually had to become part of life. Remembering the days when security advisories and news of bomb blasts circulated over email, I feel quite amused by my reaction “I can’t be bothered about that, got to do my grocery shopping!” – not quite literally though. All along when I was frequenting my favorite Kabul restaurant on TTK Road, I never imagined that I will live in the ‘real’ Kabul one day!

As time passed, the urge to gatecrash every party in town slowly faded away. I found myself spending more time pursuing my hobbies of pottery painting, reading and blogging, catching up with friends, and of course preparing for the next holiday! A chance to visit the provinces is something I always look forward to for the sheer beauty of the landscape.

There are things I still miss about Chennai – the nightly chat and giggle sessions with my sister, a movie at Sathyams, shopping at Spencers, Globus, or even on the pavements, relishing chaat at Gangotree’s and lot more. But Kabul does have nice restaurants of varied fare, which is a blessing. And I do manage to shop occasionally at Chikan Street for gifts.

The toughest thing for me to handle is the homesickness and here I must sincerely thank my many friends in the Chennai office for providing ‘logistics’ support and acting as a link between my home and me. The last year in Kabul has been very fruitful with a holistic learning experience. As I continue my stint here, I pray His grace remains.