Suhaana Safar

The students going to Wisconsin from Mumbai had a meet at Dadar, but more of that later (Probably never). But it was the return journey home that is worth mentioning here, mainly because it turned out to be a damp squib (To put it figuratively).
Here’s the journey in a nutshell (Basically because I’m not really in the mood to blog right now):
1. Left CCD (Café coffee day, for the uninitiated), and headed to the Dadar TT bus stop.
2. The road was unnaturally full of people.
3. A couple of buses went by, and were so jam packed that a sardine can would be like a penthouse.
4. Hence, we decided that a train would be a better option, and proceeded to Dadar station.
5. The FOB (Foot Over Bridge, for the even-more uninitiated) was so jam packed that the sardine can that seemed like a penthouse now seemed like Antilia. (Mukesh Ambani’s under-construction home, for the more uninitiated than the even-more uninitiated).
6. Hence, the travelling by bus idea didn’t seem so bad after all. Back to the bus stop then..
7. Still more people, more crowded buses, and goddammit, no taxis available either. This time, we decided we will go back to Dadar station and get a taxi to ghatkopar.
8. Dadar station. Bloody taxiwallahs refused to haul us. “Aage paani bhara hai”. Really? With the sort of rain that would put even the Atacama desert to shame? Really???
9. All hope lost, we decided to walk (yes, walk. Did I mention we were at Dadar?).
10. Walked till king’s circle. Didn’t see any sign whatsoever of the “Bhara hua paani”. Spotted 92 LTD. On the road. Now that goes nowhere near my house, but took it none the less.
11. Alighted at Chembur naka, cursing under our breath. “Paani bhara hai it seems… where??”.
12. Decided to take a rick home. But the day wouldn’t end on such a bright note. Even-more bloody autowallahs refused to haul us this time.
13. Walked till Chembur station. Suddenly spotted 382 LTD. “this one goes to Powai, Gandhinagar. Get on!” I said. My friend ran toward the bus. I resigned to the fact that I had to walk it up to my place. “Hang on.. this bus goes to my place too”, so I ran behind my friend who ran behind the bus.
14. Got in the bus, got down at Chedda Nagar, cursing under my breath. “Paani bhara hai it seems.. where??”
15. Got home.
16. Ate
17. Slept
18. Blogged this article

The Cross of Death (No, not really)

There is something about me that attracts injuries all the time. It’s like a magnetic force that draws them near me. Broken bones, muscle sprains, hairline fractures, ligament tears- you name it and I’ve got it. And most of them are like, really freak injuries. Like for instance, the time when I kicked a brick wall for missing out on a goal while playing football, and subsequently broke my foot. DUH!

Adding to the list, the “new release” pre se, is a badly bruised knee cap. I must say, I can’t remember having THIS one before, so yeah, it’s new all right. FLASHBACK: Wednesday,26th march…

I had this voucher see, Rs. 1000 off on a particular brand of wrist watch. Now, a grand is a fair sum, so I was keen to claim it. (Certain people HATE it when cribbed about vouchers, but there you go.) I had to make a trip to far away Andheri. Out of the house. Board a train. Alight. Board another train (fast). Alight. And there I was, at the suburb I mentioned.

Now as far as railway stations in Mumbai go, Andheri was no different. Ultra crowded, with more people per square meter than ants in the Amazon rainforest. I had to take a rickshaw to get to the store, and so I hailed one. This is where all went a tad pear shaped.

This guy, the autowallah, parked his vehicle on the wrong side of the road. So that meant I had to cross the street, a very busy street. “balls” I said to myself as I proceeded to undertake the arduous journey across a rush hour Mumbai road. My mind was not really on crossing the road, as I had done it loads of times (Amar Mahal is where I live, and things get pretty “messy” here too).

Now, things happened very quickly, and I really don’t know what happened, but this is what I can guess. There I was, happily crossing the street, humming “tu cheez badi hai mast mast”. Out of nowhere (my left, to be precise), this other autowallah comes and rams into me. OK I probably exaggerated a bit: not RAMMED as such, just hit me hard. I dunno what had gotten into him, he was most likely plain jealous of the other rick I had hailed. But if THAT was the case, why didn’t he hit the “lucky” autowallah?????

Anyway, the “hitter” calmly said “arre, dekh ke chalo bhaiyya”. I’m guessing he has done this before too, judging by his composure. But then, HE wasn’t the one struck. Anyway, I was now in no mood to say or do anything, nor was in the physical condition. My left knee was swollen, and I was pretty sure it was a fracture. I couldn’t bend my leg at all, and somehow crawled into the auto that was patiently witnessing this entire hullabaloo.

The rest of the day went pretty much without incident, not that I wanted any more. I returned home, lighter by Rs. 800 (got a watch costing 1800 :P) and limping badly. The QUACK doctor I go to all the time had pearls of wisdom to offer: “look at it for 2 days, if it doesn’t heal, it’s a fracture.” DERP!

Anyway, I decided to get an X ray done, and thankfully, it was NOT a fracture. “Bruised knee cap”. Yeah whatever. So I was at home, cursing my luck, and thinking about the friend I mentioned. Perhaps now I kow why he hates people who are in a mad rush to claim vouchers :-P. Yeah, I’ll hop into the bandwagon too then.. or should I say, half limp, half crawl into it.

My Happy Ending

I had a dream yesterday. There was this man on a bed. I had never seen him before, nor did I know his name. But, I knew exactly who he was. He was ailing. He wanted something badly. And I had provided him that: blood.

I remember that fateful day 8 months ago. I was at my friend’s place, preparing for the TOEFL that was imminent. We were mocking the American accent when suddenly I got a call. It was a close friend, and he didn’t sound himself. His uncle (I think) was suffering from some rare disorder. He was at the hospital (Lilavati), and in dire need of blood. “Platelets”, I was told, and they were not available in stored blood. The blood had to be fresh, and healthy. I knew precisely where the conversation was heading, but I waited none the less, just to make sure. And then, the expected happened. “Dude, we need blood. Could you..?”. I couldn’t refuse even if I wanted to. I dashed from the house.

I met the distressed friend at the railway station. He directed me to his car, and I got in. “Hi Nikhil”, I heard a voice from the back. I wheeled round, still in a daze, and saw his sister. She looked not all that well, and that’s an understatement. “Hi”, my voice was barely a whisper. The journey to the hospital was spent in total silence. I still wonder what was going through their minds…

We reached the hospital, and wasted no time in getting to the donation centre. I was introduced to the patient’s son, who was pacing up and down the corridor. I could hear the sounds of a woman crying behind a curtain. I had this morbid feeling that she was whisked there when I was seen coming. I gulped. Who was I to interfere in a family’s moment of sadness? I felt like a rank outsider. I wished this would get over soon.

All the preliminary tests began, and I was finally deemed “healthy” to donate blood. As the fluid was siphoned out of me, I wondered if my blood would really save that man. And what if it didn’t, would all this be worth it? I mean, here I was, giving my blood; to a man I didn’t know, let alone having seen. Occasionally I would glance at my friend, his cousin and his sister. “Don’t look there; all you need to do is give the blood and go. It’s none of your business to bother with anything else” I kept telling myself.

Finally it was over. I was free to leave. I could see the plastic vials where my blood had gone, and prayed that it would come in handy. I went out into the corridor, and my friend greeted me again. “Let me introduce you to my aunt”, he said. I was led to a woman who looked as if she had put all her efforts into not crying. She looked at me, and smiled. She almost ran to me and held my hands. I could sense she wanted to say a lot more than just the “thank you” she said. I had to summon all my will to stare at her eyes; I felt they would burst in tears any second. I couldn’t determine whose hands were trembling more: mine or hers. In no time, I was surrounded. My friend, his sister, his cousin and his aunt (still holding my hands), they were treating me like a God! I wanted to run away, but I wasn’t allowed to. The lady said how much the blood meant to her and her family. That was when it hit me like a bolt. The lady’s voice: SHE was the one crying behind the curtains!! I froze; I didn’t know what to do. All I could hear was “thank you”, from everyone. And I knew no one might have ever meant those two words more that they did.

I was dropped back to my TOEFL friend’s place. But I was in no mood for TOEFL. I just took my stuff, and left, in a daze. I wanted to go home and cry. Why, I do not know, but I wanted to. My brain had been warped. I silently prayed that night for the health of the ailing man.

To this day I don’t know what became of that man. Is he dead, is he alive? I decide to ask my friend again and again, but refrain. What if he didn’t make it? That would only make my friend uncomfortable. So, I decide to forget the incident, all in vain. One day, I hope my friend himself introduces me to a man and says, “This is my uncle. Remember? You donated blood to him”.

Of Projects and Presentations

The final year of engineering. For most laypersons, it would mean endless hours of fun, frolic and the works. For LAYPERSONS, that is. Well, actually it would mean all the funning and frolicking in the world had it not been for the blasted project. For a year now we have been working on it, and for some reason, Providence has decided to let light shine on people who shell 3000 bucks to get theirs completed.

On the outside, the name is one of the most eye-catching: Content Based Image Retrieval. “CBIR” we tell people who ask, knowing full well that they either don’t understand, or don’t care. For those who dare to ask further, a simple “arre, it’s about Image Processing” suffices. At this point they either don’t understand, or don’t care, again. All said and done though, things are not as smooth as they should be. The “code” that we so proudly claim to be ours (original) is full of snags. So full in fact, that we might as well rechristen our project “Snag Creation and Detection”. More importantly, the scheduled dates of completion is nigh, and we need to complete the project by hook or by crook. At the rate at which it is progressing (Oops! Did I say PROGRESSING?), “crook” seems to be the more probable solution.

…which brings me to paper presentations. National Conferences have become the in-thing it seems, and students are flocking left right and center to present their findings. Some people present other’s findings too, but who am I to get all judgmental? Anyway, now it appears as if half the college is about to present technical papers. The other half either don’t understand, or don’t care. So now, there’s this mad rush to get the respective papers completed, checked, and sent. Soon, the college will be abound with proceedings (those little book things you get when your paper is published), and the owners will be beaming as if they have the World Cup. So then, what’s the point in it all? Who is responsible for this mad rush for conferences? The answer: a certain professor. Apart from “professing”, the major aim is to get papers “authored”. The person has it easy: just inform students that there is a conference, and get yourself to be an author. Nice little “gurudakshina”, isn’t it?

So there we are. The year seems to be drawing to a close faster and faster, and my project seems to be headed in no particular direction. Conference papers are being made out of what little we have managed to achieve, and there are issues about presenting it as well. Things seem to be bleak , but then, when have they ever been rosy with me? And as always, things will work out. All it takes is a little “engineering manipulation” !! :P

The Omnipresent

Driving on an empty stretch of road, with the cool breeze ruffling your hair, and some fine music playing in the CD player: all the regular car drivers will know that this is ultimate bliss. So that’s how it all seemed to be panning out one fine afternoon, when I took my car out for a spin. But, as they say, great dreams are short lived; and to jolt me awake from my stupor, out comes this man from nowhere, right in the middle of the road! I have to summon all my reflexes to slam the brakes, simultaneously honking at the guy who decided that walking in the middle of the road was something in vogue. “Chacha” turns back, quizzically, as if to wonder what a TATA Indica was doing on “his” road, bang in the middle of the afternoon. Finally, after ensuring that he has made it clear that under no circumstances will he tolerate any more vehicles on the road, and that it is meant solely for enjoying a leisurely stroll, he gives way.

This is the usual scene on Indian roads. Everywhere you go, you have to spend most of your energy and concentration in trying to remove pedestrians from the street. And it’s no mean feat, mind you. These so called “owners of the road” seem to materialize out of thin air. You are driving peacefully, and POOF! There they are. You are left wondering where they came from: the road seemed empty just a moment ago.

Of course, the travails of the hapless driver don’t end there. Not only do these “fine victories of evolution” make random appearances, but some of them make it a point not to move out of the way despite repeated honking. How upper middle aged females can walk in the centre of the road, listen to a horn pleading them to move, turn around, see a ten wheeler arriving towards them, and still continue with their “this is my property” walk is amazing. I wish I were so brave. But then again, I’m thankful I wasn’t born with the IQ of a napkin.

Another class of this malice is the children. Now, I can accept the fact that little kids cannot be held responsible for venturing out on the street. Believe me, the last thing someone wants is to see a toddler run across the road, eyes transfixed on the puppy or the ball just in front of him. And even more frightening is when there is more than just the one.

Its not just the pedestrian that walks in the middle of the street that is the problem. Even good law abiding (common sense?) people who use the footpath present a danger. How? Just accidently run into a “road walker” and you’ll see what I mean. For some inexplicable reason, you will be held responsible for the collision, and the first to come to the aid of the hit will be the people on the footpath. “Cant you see where you are going?” they ask. “I could, but this smart Alec here didn’t find it the least bit strange to decide that he will use the road” you argue, but to no avail.

So, that’s the scene here. Wherever you go for a drive, you are bound to bump into (pun intended) one or more of the fine class of persons called the all knowing (ignorant probably? You decide) pedestrian. They will appear out of thin air, will try and outrun your vehicle, will not budge at all if you dare to sound the horn , or sometimes, just harmlessly sleeping on the road (yes, this happens too). It may yet turn out to be an advantage though: it will ensure that the driver has his eyes firmly on the road at all times, with peak levels of concentration. No wonder us Indians seem to produce geniuses by the million!!