This amazing scene was photographed at Bangalore, by my brother.
Sunday, September 28, 2008
Saturday, September 20, 2008
A Black-Out and Other Short Stories
A few days ago, I had gone to New Delhi by local train. The train took about 45 minutes to reach the Shivaji Bridge (formerly known as Minto Bridge) station. From there, I walked to the middle circle of Connaught Place, where I had to deliver some papers at an office, on my father's behalf. After that, I walked on to Gurdwara Bangla Sahib, where I spent a few minutes, before walking back to the station. Usually, it takes me about 25 minutes, either way, to perambulate to Bangla Sahib and back and the Connaught Place errand was only a slight detour.
On the return journey, there were no vacant seats in sight, so I stood with my back against a wooden partition, surrounded by other travellers. Though the fans installed in the compartment were of little help against the heat and humidity, the wind coming through the wide open doors offered relief, at least when the train was in motion. At one of the many stops on the way, I began to feel somewhat dizzy and held on to an overhead rail to steady myself. Then, it happened. It was as if my brain had switched off for a few moments, almost like a computer that gets restarted on its own. When the lights came back on, my knees were bent forward slightly, because I had slid down a bit along the wooden partition. My turban was slightly disturbed, on account of having rubbed against the partition. I tried to stand up straight and to reach once again for the overhead rail, but could do neither. Some one suggested that I should squat on the floor, which I did. Some one else offered me a drink of water. By the time the train reached the station where I had to get off, I had regained my strength and walked back home from there.
Those who have seen me might imagine that I have a black-out every other day, if not every day, on account of my ultra-slim physique. However, it came as a huge surprise to me, since anything of the kind had never happened to me before. Intense physical exercise in the past had caused weight-loss, but not a black-out. For instance, when I covered more than 100 kilometres of hilly terrain on foot, during a trek organised by the Youth Hostels Association of India in the Melghat Tiger Reserve in the state of Maharashtra, over a period of 5 days, I lost a few kilograms and probably looked even more skeletal at the end of it, but never did my brain shut down even for a single second.
The family-doctor has attributed the episode to low blood-pressure and a consequent shut-down of oxygen supply to the brain for a few seconds. According to him, my liver and intestines are not functioning at full-capacity. So, all the nutrients from the food that I eat do not reach my blood-stream. He has prescribed iron and calcium supplements along with some tablets and capsules to help the malfunctioning organs regain a healthy state and has also told me to try and protect myself, as far as possible, against infections, since any anti-biotics prescribed to cure those could harm my liver even further.
If my body were an automobile, I could have just gone and got the carburettor and air-filter cleaned, I suppose, or perhaps even the engine flushed clean of any carbon deposits, in addition to a change of engine oil, so as to restore the fuel efficiency.
On the return journey, there were no vacant seats in sight, so I stood with my back against a wooden partition, surrounded by other travellers. Though the fans installed in the compartment were of little help against the heat and humidity, the wind coming through the wide open doors offered relief, at least when the train was in motion. At one of the many stops on the way, I began to feel somewhat dizzy and held on to an overhead rail to steady myself. Then, it happened. It was as if my brain had switched off for a few moments, almost like a computer that gets restarted on its own. When the lights came back on, my knees were bent forward slightly, because I had slid down a bit along the wooden partition. My turban was slightly disturbed, on account of having rubbed against the partition. I tried to stand up straight and to reach once again for the overhead rail, but could do neither. Some one suggested that I should squat on the floor, which I did. Some one else offered me a drink of water. By the time the train reached the station where I had to get off, I had regained my strength and walked back home from there.
Those who have seen me might imagine that I have a black-out every other day, if not every day, on account of my ultra-slim physique. However, it came as a huge surprise to me, since anything of the kind had never happened to me before. Intense physical exercise in the past had caused weight-loss, but not a black-out. For instance, when I covered more than 100 kilometres of hilly terrain on foot, during a trek organised by the Youth Hostels Association of India in the Melghat Tiger Reserve in the state of Maharashtra, over a period of 5 days, I lost a few kilograms and probably looked even more skeletal at the end of it, but never did my brain shut down even for a single second.
The family-doctor has attributed the episode to low blood-pressure and a consequent shut-down of oxygen supply to the brain for a few seconds. According to him, my liver and intestines are not functioning at full-capacity. So, all the nutrients from the food that I eat do not reach my blood-stream. He has prescribed iron and calcium supplements along with some tablets and capsules to help the malfunctioning organs regain a healthy state and has also told me to try and protect myself, as far as possible, against infections, since any anti-biotics prescribed to cure those could harm my liver even further.
If my body were an automobile, I could have just gone and got the carburettor and air-filter cleaned, I suppose, or perhaps even the engine flushed clean of any carbon deposits, in addition to a change of engine oil, so as to restore the fuel efficiency.
Monday, September 15, 2008
A Proud Punjabi
The following article appeared recently in The Tribune, Chandigarh, India.
He proudly wears Punjabi attire
Sarbjit Dhaliwal
Tribune News Service
Chandigarh, August 31
In every society, there are only a handful of people who dare to tread uncommon paths. Balkaur Singh, who retired today as excise and taxation officer of the Punjab government, after putting in 33 years of service, is one such person. Of the nearly 6 lakh employees of the Punjab government, he maintained a distinct identity.
He did not wear pants and shirt unlike most senior and junior babus in Punjab and many other parts of the country, even once during the entire tenure of service. And he did not even wear a kurta and pyjama while on duty. Without bothering about self-imposed protocol by babus, Balkaur Singh wore the traditional Punjabi dress, chadar, kurta and tilledar jutti during the period of his entire service. He was the only employee of the state government who attended top-level official meetings in the traditional attire.
Before joining service as an inspector in 1975, Balkaur did his post graduation in English and Punjabi as a regular student from Panjab University in the early 1970s. He sat in the class room in the traditional Punjabi dress without bothering about what other students and teachers felt about his dress. “My colleagues and other students in the university and during service in the excise department used to taunt me, but I did not bother as I always feel proud of my Punjabi identity,” said Balkaur Singh.
A brief comment made by an English couple in 1966 changed his life forever. He was so hurt by the comment that he decided not to wear “pants and shirt” ever again. “The British couple was sitting in front of our college at Sirsa. Out of curiosity, I along with other students went to see them as we had never seen such people,” said Balkaur Singh. “As far as language and dress is concerned we are still ruling India,” said the Englishman. “Listening to that remark I felt so humiliated that I decided not to wear the attire given to us by Englishmen,” said Balkaur, who also holds post graduation degrees in philosophy, sociology and psychology.
He says public life is dominated by thugs, corrupt and dishonest people. Bureaucrats and other government officials take pleasure in harassing common people. Hypocrisy has become way of life. Ruling classes of all hues are dishonest to people to whom they pretend to serve, he says. “As I had the guts to confront dishonest people, no one asked me to do anything illegal. I tried my best to serve small traders and businessmen honestly and never harassed them. In fact, I tried to help them. I spared those who committed mistakes inadvertently, but never spared those who have been dodging the government by using influence and their status”, he adds.
Balkaur says, “I will now promote Punjabi culture and expose hypocrites, who in the name of serving and promoting Punjabi culture are playing their own politics”.
He proudly wears Punjabi attire
Sarbjit Dhaliwal
Tribune News Service
Chandigarh, August 31
In every society, there are only a handful of people who dare to tread uncommon paths. Balkaur Singh, who retired today as excise and taxation officer of the Punjab government, after putting in 33 years of service, is one such person. Of the nearly 6 lakh employees of the Punjab government, he maintained a distinct identity.
He did not wear pants and shirt unlike most senior and junior babus in Punjab and many other parts of the country, even once during the entire tenure of service. And he did not even wear a kurta and pyjama while on duty. Without bothering about self-imposed protocol by babus, Balkaur Singh wore the traditional Punjabi dress, chadar, kurta and tilledar jutti during the period of his entire service. He was the only employee of the state government who attended top-level official meetings in the traditional attire.
Before joining service as an inspector in 1975, Balkaur did his post graduation in English and Punjabi as a regular student from Panjab University in the early 1970s. He sat in the class room in the traditional Punjabi dress without bothering about what other students and teachers felt about his dress. “My colleagues and other students in the university and during service in the excise department used to taunt me, but I did not bother as I always feel proud of my Punjabi identity,” said Balkaur Singh.
A brief comment made by an English couple in 1966 changed his life forever. He was so hurt by the comment that he decided not to wear “pants and shirt” ever again. “The British couple was sitting in front of our college at Sirsa. Out of curiosity, I along with other students went to see them as we had never seen such people,” said Balkaur Singh. “As far as language and dress is concerned we are still ruling India,” said the Englishman. “Listening to that remark I felt so humiliated that I decided not to wear the attire given to us by Englishmen,” said Balkaur, who also holds post graduation degrees in philosophy, sociology and psychology.
He says public life is dominated by thugs, corrupt and dishonest people. Bureaucrats and other government officials take pleasure in harassing common people. Hypocrisy has become way of life. Ruling classes of all hues are dishonest to people to whom they pretend to serve, he says. “As I had the guts to confront dishonest people, no one asked me to do anything illegal. I tried my best to serve small traders and businessmen honestly and never harassed them. In fact, I tried to help them. I spared those who committed mistakes inadvertently, but never spared those who have been dodging the government by using influence and their status”, he adds.
Balkaur says, “I will now promote Punjabi culture and expose hypocrites, who in the name of serving and promoting Punjabi culture are playing their own politics”.
Sunday, September 07, 2008
Recognition from Fellow Bloggers
It feels good when the blog picks up an award or two or three.
It is time to recycle an old acceptance speech, I suppose.
Update: It feels especially good when the major inspiration for me to have started blogging is recognised.
It is time to recycle an old acceptance speech, I suppose.
Update: It feels especially good when the major inspiration for me to have started blogging is recognised.
Monday, September 01, 2008
Non-Verbal Communication
The sound of my mother's voice woke me from a rather extended afternoon nap.
"TuuN B***y (my nick-name) nu milan aaya aiN, ke dudh peen?"
(Have you come to see Sidhusaaheb or have you come to drink milk?)
Shortly, my friend Zakhmi appeared at the door of my room. I beckoned him over and he sauntered up to where I sat. After getting his ears scratched and his head patted for a while, he turned around and trotted away.
A few seconds later, he stood in the dining room, facing the kitchen, where my mother was, watching her with rapt attention. (He never enters the kitchen, because the old lady has told him not to.) Off and on, he would wag his tail a bit and then lick his lips as well, very expectantly. He appeared downcast, though, when my mother declared, "Hun tainu kujh nahi milna khaan-peen nu!" (You are not going to get anything to eat or drink now!)
He went off and parked himself on the the living-room floor, from where he had a clear view of the refridgerator. When I walked up to him, he turned himself upside down and offered me one of his fore-paws, which I shook vigorously. He seemed happy and even more so when I scratched his stomach. Although he was quite engrossed in playing with me, he stopped to watch carefully and to lick his lips, whenever my mother opened the refridgerator.
After a while, my mother changed her mind and offered him a slice of bread. He sniffed at it briefly and then settled down even more comfortably. A biscuit was met with a similar response, but as soon as she cut open a poly-pack of milk with a pair of scissors, he jumped up and then followed her outside, where his feeding bowl was.
"TuuN B***y (my nick-name) nu milan aaya aiN, ke dudh peen?"
(Have you come to see Sidhusaaheb or have you come to drink milk?)
Shortly, my friend Zakhmi appeared at the door of my room. I beckoned him over and he sauntered up to where I sat. After getting his ears scratched and his head patted for a while, he turned around and trotted away.
A few seconds later, he stood in the dining room, facing the kitchen, where my mother was, watching her with rapt attention. (He never enters the kitchen, because the old lady has told him not to.) Off and on, he would wag his tail a bit and then lick his lips as well, very expectantly. He appeared downcast, though, when my mother declared, "Hun tainu kujh nahi milna khaan-peen nu!" (You are not going to get anything to eat or drink now!)
He went off and parked himself on the the living-room floor, from where he had a clear view of the refridgerator. When I walked up to him, he turned himself upside down and offered me one of his fore-paws, which I shook vigorously. He seemed happy and even more so when I scratched his stomach. Although he was quite engrossed in playing with me, he stopped to watch carefully and to lick his lips, whenever my mother opened the refridgerator.
After a while, my mother changed her mind and offered him a slice of bread. He sniffed at it briefly and then settled down even more comfortably. A biscuit was met with a similar response, but as soon as she cut open a poly-pack of milk with a pair of scissors, he jumped up and then followed her outside, where his feeding bowl was.
Monday, August 25, 2008
An Indo-Pak Joint Venture
This pair of sandals was purchased from Hasan Abdal, Punjab, Pakistan, in April 2006.
Recently, when the inner soles required replacement, I sought help from the friendly-neighbourhood cobbler. So, at present, this is the handiwork of Indian as well as Pakistani craftsmen.
Recently, when the inner soles required replacement, I sought help from the friendly-neighbourhood cobbler. So, at present, this is the handiwork of Indian as well as Pakistani craftsmen.
Thursday, August 21, 2008
Friday, August 15, 2008
A Secular Ruler and a Statesman
A book that has been released recently seeks to highlight the secular and meritocratic principles on which Maharaja Ranjit Singh's administration was based, besides his qualities of statesmanship that enabled him to stave off British attempts to usurp his empire, for as long as he was alive.
Thursday, August 07, 2008
Connecting personally with the Tenth Master
I suppose I must have heard of him for the first time from my parents or grand-parents, while I was very young. Later on, a few years after I had started going to school, I read about his life and times in an illustrated comic book.
I do not recall how much information my text-books at school provided me about him, if at all. However, I do remember that a considerable amount of information was available in the books for the History and Culture of Punjab course that I had to take up as one of the two compulsory subjects at college, in accordance with the syllabus prescribed by the Panjab University, Chandigarh.
Although I had a fair idea of the main precepts of my faith i.e. Sikhism and the Khalsa panthh (the foundation of which marked a quantum leap in the evolution of Sikhism, in my opinion) initiated by the tenth Guru (teacher) of the Sikhs, Guru Gobind Singh, since my early days, like belief in a single, formless, indestructible, eternal Supreme Being i.e. WaheGuru, who is never born and never dies and is omnipotent and omnipresent and whom people that practise different religions address by different names, it was much later, when I actually started reading the scriptures that I realised that Sikhism is more of a way of life than a religious faith.
The Guru Granthh Saahib, I found, after I read certain portions of it, lays down a complete code of conduct that one can follow from birth to death. It will certainly not lead to the fulfilment of every wish, but can let one have something over and above that, which is peace of mind. Not every one who claims to be a Sikh these days, mostly on account of having forefathers who had, at some point of time, developed faith in the teachings of the Sikh Gurus, seems to understand that, though, and some seek alternative means for the fulfilment of their material desires. The truth is that even I did not comprehend that, until very recently, when I started reading Gurbaani on my own. At various points of time in my life, I have, in fact, been silly enough to pray for a certain score in my school or college examinations or even to request the Almighty to let some girl or the other to pay more attention to me, if not marry me! Little did I realise then that as a Sikh, when I pray for sarbat da bhalaa (the welfare of all), as a part of my daily prayers, I liberate myself from the need to ask for anything specific for my own self.
I suppose that if the entire body of knowledge included in the holy book is taken as being analogous to that acquired by some one with a bachelor's degree, then I am still in kindergarten. With the average level of intellect that I possess, I may never actually be able to assimilate all of it in my lifetime, it appears to me, let alone practise it. That realisation has brought home another more profound one, related to the wisdom of the ten Gurus of Sikhism. I have always thought of them as incredibly wise men, but this has added an entirely new dimension to that.
That the Gurus were all well-versed in music is quite obvious, since not only did they employ musical compositions to spread their message far and wide, but the contents of the Guru Granthh Saahib have also been set to music, with an appropriate raaga prescribed for each of the verses, to be made use of when these are to be recited with musical accompaniment.
Beyond that, when one tries to recall those amongst them who learnt and practised the art of war, the two names that come to mind are those of the sixth master, Guru Hargobind, who sought to combine miri and piri (the temporal and the spiritual) and raised an army of the Sikhs for the first time and the tenth master, Guru Gobind Singh, who, as mentioned before, founded the Khalsa.
Although both have been my boyhood heroes, I tend to connect more personally with Guru Gobind Singh, firstly, because I revere him for having made the supreme sacrifice (like the fifth master, Guru Arjan Dev, and the ninth master, Guru Tegh Bahadur) for the cause of righteousness and having inspired thousands of others, including all four of his own sons, to do the same. He infused a sense of immense self-belief among his followers and was able to remove fear of every kind from their hearts, including that of death, which is a source of great inspiration for me. He declared:
"Sawaa laakh se ek laRaauN
MeiN chiRiyaan toN baaz banaauN
Tabhai Gobind Singh naam kahaauN..."
(This can be roughly translated as:
"I instill the confidence in each of my soldiers to be able to fight alone against even a hundred and twenty five thousand enemy combatants;
I make hawks out of sparrows;
Only then do I get to be called Gobind Singh...")
Secondly, I have had the good fortune, like many others, of course, of being afforded a good look at some of the articles of his personal use. These have included weapons of various kinds like swords, spears, guns and arrows (Tales of his skill with the bow and arrow abound, to this day.), besides clothes and other personal effects, displayed at numerous Gurdwaras in different parts of India, in addition to some exhibitions held on special occasions.
On a recent visit to the town of Mandi, in the state of Himachal Pradesh, when I visited a local Gurdwara along with my parents, I learnt that it had originally been built by a local ruler, at the invitation of one of whose ancestors the tenth master had spent six months as a guest of the royal family. Among the articles on display there, was a rebab that the Guru is said to have played himself, every evening, while reciting verses from Gurbaani. Besides that, there was a musket that Guru Saaheb used for target practice and, most interestingly, a charpoy and a mattress that were made especially for the tenth master's use, during his stay there. Most intrestingly, because it became clear after taking one look at it that the man who slept on it could not have been more than five and a half feet tall or perhaps even less than that.
At that moment, the admiration and respect that I have for the Guru increased manifold. The man with that medium-sized frame, who has been and always will be a spiritual guide to millions, was, evidently, an accomplished poet, author, linguist, musician and philosopher, as well as being a skilled horseman, swordsman, archer, marksman and military strategist.
I do not recall how much information my text-books at school provided me about him, if at all. However, I do remember that a considerable amount of information was available in the books for the History and Culture of Punjab course that I had to take up as one of the two compulsory subjects at college, in accordance with the syllabus prescribed by the Panjab University, Chandigarh.
Although I had a fair idea of the main precepts of my faith i.e. Sikhism and the Khalsa panthh (the foundation of which marked a quantum leap in the evolution of Sikhism, in my opinion) initiated by the tenth Guru (teacher) of the Sikhs, Guru Gobind Singh, since my early days, like belief in a single, formless, indestructible, eternal Supreme Being i.e. WaheGuru, who is never born and never dies and is omnipotent and omnipresent and whom people that practise different religions address by different names, it was much later, when I actually started reading the scriptures that I realised that Sikhism is more of a way of life than a religious faith.
The Guru Granthh Saahib, I found, after I read certain portions of it, lays down a complete code of conduct that one can follow from birth to death. It will certainly not lead to the fulfilment of every wish, but can let one have something over and above that, which is peace of mind. Not every one who claims to be a Sikh these days, mostly on account of having forefathers who had, at some point of time, developed faith in the teachings of the Sikh Gurus, seems to understand that, though, and some seek alternative means for the fulfilment of their material desires. The truth is that even I did not comprehend that, until very recently, when I started reading Gurbaani on my own. At various points of time in my life, I have, in fact, been silly enough to pray for a certain score in my school or college examinations or even to request the Almighty to let some girl or the other to pay more attention to me, if not marry me! Little did I realise then that as a Sikh, when I pray for sarbat da bhalaa (the welfare of all), as a part of my daily prayers, I liberate myself from the need to ask for anything specific for my own self.
I suppose that if the entire body of knowledge included in the holy book is taken as being analogous to that acquired by some one with a bachelor's degree, then I am still in kindergarten. With the average level of intellect that I possess, I may never actually be able to assimilate all of it in my lifetime, it appears to me, let alone practise it. That realisation has brought home another more profound one, related to the wisdom of the ten Gurus of Sikhism. I have always thought of them as incredibly wise men, but this has added an entirely new dimension to that.
That the Gurus were all well-versed in music is quite obvious, since not only did they employ musical compositions to spread their message far and wide, but the contents of the Guru Granthh Saahib have also been set to music, with an appropriate raaga prescribed for each of the verses, to be made use of when these are to be recited with musical accompaniment.
Beyond that, when one tries to recall those amongst them who learnt and practised the art of war, the two names that come to mind are those of the sixth master, Guru Hargobind, who sought to combine miri and piri (the temporal and the spiritual) and raised an army of the Sikhs for the first time and the tenth master, Guru Gobind Singh, who, as mentioned before, founded the Khalsa.
Although both have been my boyhood heroes, I tend to connect more personally with Guru Gobind Singh, firstly, because I revere him for having made the supreme sacrifice (like the fifth master, Guru Arjan Dev, and the ninth master, Guru Tegh Bahadur) for the cause of righteousness and having inspired thousands of others, including all four of his own sons, to do the same. He infused a sense of immense self-belief among his followers and was able to remove fear of every kind from their hearts, including that of death, which is a source of great inspiration for me. He declared:
"Sawaa laakh se ek laRaauN
MeiN chiRiyaan toN baaz banaauN
Tabhai Gobind Singh naam kahaauN..."
(This can be roughly translated as:
"I instill the confidence in each of my soldiers to be able to fight alone against even a hundred and twenty five thousand enemy combatants;
I make hawks out of sparrows;
Only then do I get to be called Gobind Singh...")
Secondly, I have had the good fortune, like many others, of course, of being afforded a good look at some of the articles of his personal use. These have included weapons of various kinds like swords, spears, guns and arrows (Tales of his skill with the bow and arrow abound, to this day.), besides clothes and other personal effects, displayed at numerous Gurdwaras in different parts of India, in addition to some exhibitions held on special occasions.
On a recent visit to the town of Mandi, in the state of Himachal Pradesh, when I visited a local Gurdwara along with my parents, I learnt that it had originally been built by a local ruler, at the invitation of one of whose ancestors the tenth master had spent six months as a guest of the royal family. Among the articles on display there, was a rebab that the Guru is said to have played himself, every evening, while reciting verses from Gurbaani. Besides that, there was a musket that Guru Saaheb used for target practice and, most interestingly, a charpoy and a mattress that were made especially for the tenth master's use, during his stay there. Most intrestingly, because it became clear after taking one look at it that the man who slept on it could not have been more than five and a half feet tall or perhaps even less than that.
At that moment, the admiration and respect that I have for the Guru increased manifold. The man with that medium-sized frame, who has been and always will be a spiritual guide to millions, was, evidently, an accomplished poet, author, linguist, musician and philosopher, as well as being a skilled horseman, swordsman, archer, marksman and military strategist.
Monday, July 28, 2008
Tuesday, July 22, 2008
A Thought for Today
'Power will go to the hands of rascals, rogues and freebooters. All Indian leaders will be of low calibre and men of straw. They will have sweet tongues and silly hearts. They will fight among themselves for power and India will be lost in political squabbles.'- Sir Winston Churchill (1874 - 1965). He was the prime minister of the United Kingdom from 1940 to 1945, and again from 1951 to 1955.
Wednesday, July 16, 2008
Save the Hummer!
The General Motors Corporation is considering the sale of its Hummer brand or shut down of production.
As I had written in a blog-post, earlier, the Hummer is, arguably, the best small general-purpose vehicle available to the civilian population of the world, in terms of off-road driving capabilities (even if it does not look quite as good as, say, the Jeep Wrangler). I am sure that there are many others like me, around the world, who would be saddened immensely, if the Hummer's production were to be shut down. The brand being sold off might offer some hope yet, but it is difficult to anticipate the kind of changes that a purchaser might want to bring about in the vehicle.
One can blame it all on the ever-increasing oil prices, I suppose. However, the prices of oil are expected to stabilise in the long-term and in the short- to the medium-terms, the attempts being made towards increasing fuel-efficiency of the Hummers as well as to run these on alternate fuels should have a positive impact on sales.
Buyers, especially in North America, have been known, in the past, to revert to purchasing Sport Utility/Four-Wheel Drive (4x4) vehicles, as soon as prices of fossil fuels start falling. Besides, not only has a new, all-aluminium engine (which is, obviously, much lighter and, therefore, a vehicle powered by it is likely to be more fuel-efficient than one powered by an engine made of cast-iron) been built for the Hummer H3, but I have also heard that a hybrid version of the Hummer i.e. one powered by a combination of an internal combustion engine and an electric motor that runs on batteries, is already on the drawing board.
Hummers that run on 'greener' fuels like Hydrogen and Bio-Diesel have already been widely reported about, especially because of some famous owners, like body building champion-turned-actor-turned-politician Arnold Schwarznegger, of such vehicles.
I sincerely hope that all these factors will help tilt the scales in the Hummer's favour and that production will not be shut down.
As I had written in a blog-post, earlier, the Hummer is, arguably, the best small general-purpose vehicle available to the civilian population of the world, in terms of off-road driving capabilities (even if it does not look quite as good as, say, the Jeep Wrangler). I am sure that there are many others like me, around the world, who would be saddened immensely, if the Hummer's production were to be shut down. The brand being sold off might offer some hope yet, but it is difficult to anticipate the kind of changes that a purchaser might want to bring about in the vehicle.
One can blame it all on the ever-increasing oil prices, I suppose. However, the prices of oil are expected to stabilise in the long-term and in the short- to the medium-terms, the attempts being made towards increasing fuel-efficiency of the Hummers as well as to run these on alternate fuels should have a positive impact on sales.
Buyers, especially in North America, have been known, in the past, to revert to purchasing Sport Utility/Four-Wheel Drive (4x4) vehicles, as soon as prices of fossil fuels start falling. Besides, not only has a new, all-aluminium engine (which is, obviously, much lighter and, therefore, a vehicle powered by it is likely to be more fuel-efficient than one powered by an engine made of cast-iron) been built for the Hummer H3, but I have also heard that a hybrid version of the Hummer i.e. one powered by a combination of an internal combustion engine and an electric motor that runs on batteries, is already on the drawing board.
Hummers that run on 'greener' fuels like Hydrogen and Bio-Diesel have already been widely reported about, especially because of some famous owners, like body building champion-turned-actor-turned-politician Arnold Schwarznegger, of such vehicles.
I sincerely hope that all these factors will help tilt the scales in the Hummer's favour and that production will not be shut down.
Friday, July 11, 2008
Of sleepers and coaches...
These two appeared intent upon demonstrating that one does not require a 'coach', in order to be a 'sleeper'. The location was a travel agent's office at Goa.
Sunday, July 06, 2008
Trip to Manikaran
A few moons ago, my mother and I received an invitation from my father, to accompany him on one of his business tours, to the location of an upcoming hydro-electric power project in the state of Himachal Pradesh. The site lay somewhere between the towns of Mandi and Kullu and that was the chief reason for our acceptance. We hoped to go on to Kullu and then to the 'hill-station' town of Manali, where we could do a bit of sight-seeing, while my father finished his work.
So, a taxi was hired and we were off, by road, early one morning. We expected to reach Kullu by late evening. Little did we know, however, that a change of plan was in the offing. Some time after we started, I could sense a bout of gastroenteritis coming on and soon had to get the car stopped every few minutes in order to throw up some of the contents of my stomach. I suppose I vomitted, in several instalments, not only the contents of the previous evening's dinner, but also the previous day's lunch.
The disease being one that I have been highly prone to since my early days, I had the sense to keep up the liquid intake in order to prevent dehydration, which is among the leading causes of fatalities caused by it. That, though, also led the doctor, whom we consulted when we reached Mandi (where we had decided to stay for the night, instead of Kullu, because of my illness, and where my father expected that the chances of availability of suitable medical treatment were quite good), to believe that I was in better shape than I actually was. He sent me away after prescribing a few tablets that he told me to swallow at regular intervals. Later on, as the night progressed, I continued to feel worse and, ultimately, had to go to a nursing home, where I was administered an intra-venous injection that helped stabilise my condition.
The next day, I spent the morning and early afternoon lounging about in bed and watching television, in the hotel room, while my father went off to work and my mother browsed through the shops in the local market. After lunch, by when both my parents had returned, my mother proposed that we should at least visit the Gurdwara at Manikaran, even as a visit to Kullu or Manali was out of the question.
We set off at about 4:30 p.m. and I was not absolutely sure whether it was such a great idea, starting off so late. The sky was cloudy and we encountered intermittent spells of rain and shine en route. A little past half-way, the road narrowed down to such an extent that a vehicle coming from the opposite direction could hardly be passed without slowing down to a crawl. The car had to be driven very carefully also on account of the fact that on one side of the road was a sheer drop of several hundred feet, at times to a river flowing at the bottom of the valley, with the hill-side on the other. Almost all the other vehicles on the road appeared to be going downhill, as we drove uphill. We had to have all windows closed and the air-conditioner turned on, as the exhaust-fumes from buses and trucks (that often included unburnt diesel) caused me to feel nauseous otherwise, even though I continued to sip from a bottle of soft-drink to prevent the contents of my stomach, literally, from boiling over. The scenery all around was picturesque, however, and, despite everything, I managed to enjoy the view immensely, until darkness descended all around.
On the way, we passed the little township of Kasol, which appeared to be some sort of a base for trekking expeditions. I remember that I saw a banner that proclaimed the start of such an expedition organised by the Youth Hostels Association of India, which was to originate from there. I could also see that a number of the local shops stocked the kind of equipment and rations that trekkers might require. There were a lot of foreign tourists, as well, carrying ruck-sacks and the place was dotted with restaurants serving not only continental cuisine, besides Indian, but (and it came as quite a surprise to me) Israeli as well! Since there were a few mechanics running shop there, who claimed to specialise in the repair of motorcycles, I presume that Kasol might even be on a route frequented by motorcycle expeditions, though I am not sure if these are comprised mainly of pilgrims going on to Manikaran or those headed towards other destinations as well.
At Manikaran, we found the Gurdwara to be situated down in the valley, on a river-bank, and we had to leave the main road and drive along a short one that was a lot more winding and a lot narrower than the one we had been driving on thus far. We stayed there only for a rather short period of time. After a brief prayer, we went to have a look at the hot-spring within the premises, where the visitors often have a bath and vessels are lowered into the hot water to cook rice or to make tea or daal (lentil-soup). I found it quite amazing that even as a broad stream of cold water flowed just outside the premises, a bridge over which one had to cross to get to the Gurdwara, a spring of hot water was to be found inside. A Hindu temple dedicated to Lord Shiva was constructed near the spring a few years ago, we discovered, within the boundaries.
Unfortunately, the management of the Gurdwara was not up to the standards that one is used to in Gurdwaras in other parts of North India, which are managed by the SGPC. This one, I learnt, is still operated by a clique of mahants. We could not even get parshaad, as the mahants distribute it only for a few hours every day and the joRhaa-ghar, where one might deposit one's shoes, before washing one's hands and feet and entering the sanctum sanctorum, was also closed. The facilities for washing one's hands and feet were also not available right outside the sanctum sanctorum, as these should be.
The drive on our way back was largely eventless and it was close to midnight, when we returned to the hotel. The next morning, we drove back home.
Later on, I could not help thinking that had the state of Punjab not been trifurcated in 1966, every single place that we drove through or stopped by at, throughout the trip, would still have been a part of Punjab, except for the areas that lay within Delhi.
So, a taxi was hired and we were off, by road, early one morning. We expected to reach Kullu by late evening. Little did we know, however, that a change of plan was in the offing. Some time after we started, I could sense a bout of gastroenteritis coming on and soon had to get the car stopped every few minutes in order to throw up some of the contents of my stomach. I suppose I vomitted, in several instalments, not only the contents of the previous evening's dinner, but also the previous day's lunch.
The disease being one that I have been highly prone to since my early days, I had the sense to keep up the liquid intake in order to prevent dehydration, which is among the leading causes of fatalities caused by it. That, though, also led the doctor, whom we consulted when we reached Mandi (where we had decided to stay for the night, instead of Kullu, because of my illness, and where my father expected that the chances of availability of suitable medical treatment were quite good), to believe that I was in better shape than I actually was. He sent me away after prescribing a few tablets that he told me to swallow at regular intervals. Later on, as the night progressed, I continued to feel worse and, ultimately, had to go to a nursing home, where I was administered an intra-venous injection that helped stabilise my condition.
The next day, I spent the morning and early afternoon lounging about in bed and watching television, in the hotel room, while my father went off to work and my mother browsed through the shops in the local market. After lunch, by when both my parents had returned, my mother proposed that we should at least visit the Gurdwara at Manikaran, even as a visit to Kullu or Manali was out of the question.
We set off at about 4:30 p.m. and I was not absolutely sure whether it was such a great idea, starting off so late. The sky was cloudy and we encountered intermittent spells of rain and shine en route. A little past half-way, the road narrowed down to such an extent that a vehicle coming from the opposite direction could hardly be passed without slowing down to a crawl. The car had to be driven very carefully also on account of the fact that on one side of the road was a sheer drop of several hundred feet, at times to a river flowing at the bottom of the valley, with the hill-side on the other. Almost all the other vehicles on the road appeared to be going downhill, as we drove uphill. We had to have all windows closed and the air-conditioner turned on, as the exhaust-fumes from buses and trucks (that often included unburnt diesel) caused me to feel nauseous otherwise, even though I continued to sip from a bottle of soft-drink to prevent the contents of my stomach, literally, from boiling over. The scenery all around was picturesque, however, and, despite everything, I managed to enjoy the view immensely, until darkness descended all around.
On the way, we passed the little township of Kasol, which appeared to be some sort of a base for trekking expeditions. I remember that I saw a banner that proclaimed the start of such an expedition organised by the Youth Hostels Association of India, which was to originate from there. I could also see that a number of the local shops stocked the kind of equipment and rations that trekkers might require. There were a lot of foreign tourists, as well, carrying ruck-sacks and the place was dotted with restaurants serving not only continental cuisine, besides Indian, but (and it came as quite a surprise to me) Israeli as well! Since there were a few mechanics running shop there, who claimed to specialise in the repair of motorcycles, I presume that Kasol might even be on a route frequented by motorcycle expeditions, though I am not sure if these are comprised mainly of pilgrims going on to Manikaran or those headed towards other destinations as well.
At Manikaran, we found the Gurdwara to be situated down in the valley, on a river-bank, and we had to leave the main road and drive along a short one that was a lot more winding and a lot narrower than the one we had been driving on thus far. We stayed there only for a rather short period of time. After a brief prayer, we went to have a look at the hot-spring within the premises, where the visitors often have a bath and vessels are lowered into the hot water to cook rice or to make tea or daal (lentil-soup). I found it quite amazing that even as a broad stream of cold water flowed just outside the premises, a bridge over which one had to cross to get to the Gurdwara, a spring of hot water was to be found inside. A Hindu temple dedicated to Lord Shiva was constructed near the spring a few years ago, we discovered, within the boundaries.
Unfortunately, the management of the Gurdwara was not up to the standards that one is used to in Gurdwaras in other parts of North India, which are managed by the SGPC. This one, I learnt, is still operated by a clique of mahants. We could not even get parshaad, as the mahants distribute it only for a few hours every day and the joRhaa-ghar, where one might deposit one's shoes, before washing one's hands and feet and entering the sanctum sanctorum, was also closed. The facilities for washing one's hands and feet were also not available right outside the sanctum sanctorum, as these should be.
The drive on our way back was largely eventless and it was close to midnight, when we returned to the hotel. The next morning, we drove back home.
Later on, I could not help thinking that had the state of Punjab not been trifurcated in 1966, every single place that we drove through or stopped by at, throughout the trip, would still have been a part of Punjab, except for the areas that lay within Delhi.
Tuesday, July 01, 2008
An 'I' for an eye
The tag, this time, is about completing a series of statements about oneself. So, without much ado, as always, let us get down to business.
I am: a human being.
I think: , therefore, I am (though I do not own the copyright to that statement!).
I know: far less than I think I do, I am sure.
I want: just about enough to fulfil my basic needs as well as those of my motorcycle.
I have: a lot to thank the Almighty for!
I wish: for a lot of things, not all of which I can attain.
I hate: lies, deceit, manipulation, dishonesty, hypocrisy, corruption and nepotism.
I miss: my grandparents, all four of whom are no more, besides other family members and friends (of both the two-legged and four-legged varieties) who have gone on to the happy hunting grounds.
I fear: being forced by circumstances, more often than not created by manipulative people, to say or do something that I would not otherwise have said or done, being the fiercely independent person that I am or, at least, like to think that I am.
I feel: heat, cold, softness, hardness, sharpness, bluntness, etc., like any other person with a normal sense of touch.
I hear: all kinds of sounds that any one with a normal sense of hearing might hear.
I smell: all kinds of smells that any one with a normal sense of smell might recognise, besides a 'rat' or 'something fishy', at times.
I crave: not much for any thing or any one, any more!
I search: through Google, even as I know that I can not find all that I search for through it.
I wonder: whether the egg came before the chicken or vice versa.
I regret: not having been born in a royal family in a country with a constitutional monarchy (since it is difficult to locate one with an absolute monarchy these days!).
I love: leisure!
I ache: when I walk more than I usually do.
I care: a little more than I should, at times, perhaps.
I am not: a super-hero.
I believe: in a single, formless, indestructible, eternal Supreme Being i.e. WaheGuru, who is never born and never dies and is omnipotent and omnipresent and whom people that practise different religions address by different names.
I dance: only when dragged to the dance floor and make my escape as soon as I can.
I sing: only when there is no one within ear shot, although a lot of people have had to suffer my singing in the past, especially my mates at the hostel, while I was pursuing my post-graduate degree.
I cry: to wash away negative emotion from within myself, but only when no one is watching me, usually, except when it becomes impossible to hold back, like at my paternal grandfather's cremation (He was the only one among my grandparents at whose cremation I was present).
I do not always: do all that others expect of me.
I fight: when I have to.
"Jab aao ki aaodh nidhaan banay, att hi rann maiN tab joojh maroN"
(This can be roughly translated as, "When the limits of tolerance are crossed, I shall engage in battle and fight till the end.").
- Guru Gobind Singh
I write: using a computer's keyboard, mostly, nowadays.
I win: when I least expect to.
I lose: when I really want to win.
I never: garnish chocolate ice-cream with powdered chillies. Coming to think of it, I never do that with any other ice-cream flavour either.
I always: try to be as honest as I can, even at the cost of hitting others where it hurts.
I confuse: people's names sometimes. For instance, I have a hard time remembering whether a particular ghazal singer is named Peenaz Masani or Meenaz Pasani. I do remember, however, that she has an unruly shock of hair and that I do not appreciate her singing at all.
I listen: to music.
I can usually be found: on planet Earth.
I am scared: of doing anything that might trouble my conscience later.
I need: food, water, clothing, shelter and petrol (for my motorcycle, obviously!).
I am happy about: having all that the Almighty has blessed me with!
I am: a human being.
I think: , therefore, I am (though I do not own the copyright to that statement!).
I know: far less than I think I do, I am sure.
I want: just about enough to fulfil my basic needs as well as those of my motorcycle.
I have: a lot to thank the Almighty for!
I wish: for a lot of things, not all of which I can attain.
I hate: lies, deceit, manipulation, dishonesty, hypocrisy, corruption and nepotism.
I miss: my grandparents, all four of whom are no more, besides other family members and friends (of both the two-legged and four-legged varieties) who have gone on to the happy hunting grounds.
I fear: being forced by circumstances, more often than not created by manipulative people, to say or do something that I would not otherwise have said or done, being the fiercely independent person that I am or, at least, like to think that I am.
I feel: heat, cold, softness, hardness, sharpness, bluntness, etc., like any other person with a normal sense of touch.
I hear: all kinds of sounds that any one with a normal sense of hearing might hear.
I smell: all kinds of smells that any one with a normal sense of smell might recognise, besides a 'rat' or 'something fishy', at times.
I crave: not much for any thing or any one, any more!
I search: through Google, even as I know that I can not find all that I search for through it.
I wonder: whether the egg came before the chicken or vice versa.
I regret: not having been born in a royal family in a country with a constitutional monarchy (since it is difficult to locate one with an absolute monarchy these days!).
I love: leisure!
I ache: when I walk more than I usually do.
I care: a little more than I should, at times, perhaps.
I am not: a super-hero.
I believe: in a single, formless, indestructible, eternal Supreme Being i.e. WaheGuru, who is never born and never dies and is omnipotent and omnipresent and whom people that practise different religions address by different names.
I dance: only when dragged to the dance floor and make my escape as soon as I can.
I sing: only when there is no one within ear shot, although a lot of people have had to suffer my singing in the past, especially my mates at the hostel, while I was pursuing my post-graduate degree.
I cry: to wash away negative emotion from within myself, but only when no one is watching me, usually, except when it becomes impossible to hold back, like at my paternal grandfather's cremation (He was the only one among my grandparents at whose cremation I was present).
I do not always: do all that others expect of me.
I fight: when I have to.
"Jab aao ki aaodh nidhaan banay, att hi rann maiN tab joojh maroN"
(This can be roughly translated as, "When the limits of tolerance are crossed, I shall engage in battle and fight till the end.").
- Guru Gobind Singh
I write: using a computer's keyboard, mostly, nowadays.
I win: when I least expect to.
I lose: when I really want to win.
I never: garnish chocolate ice-cream with powdered chillies. Coming to think of it, I never do that with any other ice-cream flavour either.
I always: try to be as honest as I can, even at the cost of hitting others where it hurts.
I confuse: people's names sometimes. For instance, I have a hard time remembering whether a particular ghazal singer is named Peenaz Masani or Meenaz Pasani. I do remember, however, that she has an unruly shock of hair and that I do not appreciate her singing at all.
I listen: to music.
I can usually be found: on planet Earth.
I am scared: of doing anything that might trouble my conscience later.
I need: food, water, clothing, shelter and petrol (for my motorcycle, obviously!).
I am happy about: having all that the Almighty has blessed me with!
Thursday, June 26, 2008
Thursday, June 19, 2008
Riders On The Storm
A chameleon appears all set to operate the accelerator, while another looks ahead, as they ride my mother's rusty, old moped that lies disused in a corner of our backyard.
Wednesday, June 11, 2008
Surface Transport
I was reminded of this on account of the recent increases in the prices of fossil fuels, to exorbitant levels. I had borrowed my brother's camera to shoot this, at Ooty, since mine does not have optical zoom.
Friday, June 06, 2008
Covert
Over the past few days, I have been reading through the first issue of the news-magazine Covert, after I received a three-year subscription from my friend Siraj Wahab, as a gift. Siraj bhai, himself, has contributed a couple of pieces, which appear on page 51 of the maiden issue. One of these, as a matter of fact, has been published on his blog as well, in the form of the blog-post dated May 19, 2008.
The magazine, apparently, has been started by veteran journalist M. J. Akbar, who is listed as the Chairman and Director of Publications. The first thing that struck my mind, when I looked at it, was that it is a fortnightly, unlike most of its major competitors, which are weeklies. I wonder if that is likely to change at any point of time in the future, especially when advertising revenues increase. The advertisements in the first issue are limited to the inside of the front cover and on both sides of the back cover.
The USP or unique selling proposition of the magazine seems to be that it not only contains rather interesting columns written by veteran journalists and writers, but those by prominent persons from other walks of life as well. The columnists include M. J. Akbar, Kuldip Nayar, Yashwant Sinha, Seema Mustafa, Akhilesh Mithal, Saeed Naqvi, Teesta Setalvad, Brahma Chellaney, Suhel Seth, Arif Mohammed Khan, Pawan Khera, Farzana Versey, Khushwant Singh, Joginder Singh, Jaswant Singh and Prakash Karat. The magazine could very well have been named as The Columnist's Fortnightly, perhaps. It remains to be seen, however, whether all such columns are going to be a regular feature or that many are meant to be a part of the first few issues only. I, for one, would certainly hope for the former to be the case.
Apart from the columns, I found the contents to be rather lack-lustre. The cover story, which is about the illegally-acquired wealth of a politician, for instance, seems to have been based entirely on hear-say or interviews with opposing politicians, besides circumstantial evidence. The magazine appears to have no documentary evidence to back its claims, other than a copy of a public interest litigation that has been filed against the man, which can hardly be considered as such, since the matter is sub-judice. The allegations that have been made are probably genuine, as the public generally knows more about the ill-gotten wealth of politicians and bureaucrats than those who have the power to prosecute them for such misdemeanours, but are unlikely to stand in a court of law, unless some material evidence is available.
The rest of the contents are based largely on politics and on sports, to a lesser degree, in addition to entertainment, lifestyles and astrology. The politics-based content, though, is mainly in the form of commentary or a compilation of gossip, rather than objective reporting.
Above all else, I am not sure whether making the contents of all columns available for free on the magazine's website is a good idea, if the magazine is meant to remain in circulation over an extended period of time, unless, of course, the website is to have a revenue model of its own. If one can read all one's favourite columns online, there hardly remains any reason to subscribe to the magazine or to purchase a copy from the news-stand. I believe that some of the competing magazines allow access to online content only to those who have a valid subscription number.
The magazine, apparently, has been started by veteran journalist M. J. Akbar, who is listed as the Chairman and Director of Publications. The first thing that struck my mind, when I looked at it, was that it is a fortnightly, unlike most of its major competitors, which are weeklies. I wonder if that is likely to change at any point of time in the future, especially when advertising revenues increase. The advertisements in the first issue are limited to the inside of the front cover and on both sides of the back cover.
The USP or unique selling proposition of the magazine seems to be that it not only contains rather interesting columns written by veteran journalists and writers, but those by prominent persons from other walks of life as well. The columnists include M. J. Akbar, Kuldip Nayar, Yashwant Sinha, Seema Mustafa, Akhilesh Mithal, Saeed Naqvi, Teesta Setalvad, Brahma Chellaney, Suhel Seth, Arif Mohammed Khan, Pawan Khera, Farzana Versey, Khushwant Singh, Joginder Singh, Jaswant Singh and Prakash Karat. The magazine could very well have been named as The Columnist's Fortnightly, perhaps. It remains to be seen, however, whether all such columns are going to be a regular feature or that many are meant to be a part of the first few issues only. I, for one, would certainly hope for the former to be the case.
Apart from the columns, I found the contents to be rather lack-lustre. The cover story, which is about the illegally-acquired wealth of a politician, for instance, seems to have been based entirely on hear-say or interviews with opposing politicians, besides circumstantial evidence. The magazine appears to have no documentary evidence to back its claims, other than a copy of a public interest litigation that has been filed against the man, which can hardly be considered as such, since the matter is sub-judice. The allegations that have been made are probably genuine, as the public generally knows more about the ill-gotten wealth of politicians and bureaucrats than those who have the power to prosecute them for such misdemeanours, but are unlikely to stand in a court of law, unless some material evidence is available.
The rest of the contents are based largely on politics and on sports, to a lesser degree, in addition to entertainment, lifestyles and astrology. The politics-based content, though, is mainly in the form of commentary or a compilation of gossip, rather than objective reporting.
Above all else, I am not sure whether making the contents of all columns available for free on the magazine's website is a good idea, if the magazine is meant to remain in circulation over an extended period of time, unless, of course, the website is to have a revenue model of its own. If one can read all one's favourite columns online, there hardly remains any reason to subscribe to the magazine or to purchase a copy from the news-stand. I believe that some of the competing magazines allow access to online content only to those who have a valid subscription number.
Sunday, June 01, 2008
Indiscipline amongst Sikh Sangat
The Sikhs have fought and won numerous battles in past, often against heavy odds. This has been possible, I believe, not only on account of immense courage, but also a strong sense of self-discipline. Sadly, many of those who call themselves Sikhs, nowadays, seem to have given up the latter, along with their Kesh (unshorn hair and, in the case of men, beard as well).
The following photgraphs were taken at Keshgarh Sahib, a few days ago. The painted signs are meant to request members of the Sangat (congregation) to deposit their shoes at the designated place, from where they could collect these before leaving the premises, simply by returning a token issued against the shoes. The service is provided free of charge.
The following photgraphs were taken at Keshgarh Sahib, a few days ago. The painted signs are meant to request members of the Sangat (congregation) to deposit their shoes at the designated place, from where they could collect these before leaving the premises, simply by returning a token issued against the shoes. The service is provided free of charge.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
Posts
www.HyperSmash.com