aditya kumar's weblog

I have just arrived home after visiting Bombay. Again. For no particular reason.

I do not know, but I am attracted to Bombay. I am not aware of the source of this attraction- is it Bombay- the religion, Bombay- the attitude, Bombay- the spirit, or just the green sea water and the smell that comes with it which so often sweeps Bombay- more so in the rains. Maybe it is a bit of everything and we get to hear similar emotions when authors Rohinton Mistry and Salman Rushdie talk about Bombay. Have you noticed? ‘Bombay’? and not ‘Mumbai’. And why not? I think “Mumbai” is more political. It does not reflect the metropolitan character that Bombay- the city has. I do not recollect people calling Chennai as Madras.

Amidst the local trains which pass through limitless tracks submerged in smells of uncountable variety, near the Gateway of India that stands tall facing the Green Arabian Sea and in the vicinity of Haaji Alli, is a culture to experience, a city unfolding its metropolitan attitude.

And do not try and speak Marathi here, in downtown Bombay for you are most likely to get blank stares in return. The city caters to a never ending stream of visitors, many of them prospective permanent residents who come from different lands of the country. Downtown Bombay is a brew of various cultures. Probably this is a fact that has annoyed the Shiv Sena here- Not being able to speak Marathi and often outnumbered by people from other states has Sena crying in agony. But I believe this is a small price to pay for being the most “metropolitan” of the four metros in India. If not a common language and a flux of different people from all over the country, how else would you define being a “metro”?

My visit was centered around my hot spots of yesteryear’s. The Victoria Terminus, Flora Fountain, Lion Gate (a visit inside that, to have a look at some new ships), The Gateway of India, Marine lines before going back to Dadar via Thane where I had to go to meet a friend. Deprived of Vada Pau’s in Bangalore, we ate countless number of Vada Pau’s, Pav Bhaji and what not. The street vendors along the Fountain area never fail to catch my attention.

The people everywhere here never fail to catch my attention. Bombay never fails to catch my attention…

As I stepped out of office for having my breakfast, albeit a late one, the sky was filled with a roar which had an immediate deafening effect. I understood the fighters were flying low. To my pleasant surprise, an airforce aircraft passed by my eyes at a speed which makes these machines usually difficult to spot when they fly at a higher altitude. The sound had already given me a high but this was a rare visual treat. One glance and I recognised the bird: the Jaguar.

I have always recognised a Jag because of it’s rectangular tubed vents that lend the air to it’s powerful Rolls Royce engines. The one which dares to go low, the Jaguar has the capability to be maneuvered to unimaginable limits in order to prove its taste for offensiveness. These are not the shields that protect our skies- these are the fists that overturn foes, these are the machines that have one weapon which is unmatched in combat. This superiority is called “Surprise”. This fleet is not called the “Deep penetration attack” for nothing. And often, to the dismay of the enemy, they show their outrage in style.

But the treat was not to stop there. One by one, three more Jags went over my head and later the four of them in a formation. There was nothing else that could be heard, these big birds were making their presence felt and how. As I witnessed the airborne spectacle and cherished the treat I was offered, they went by, their seemingly thick grey-metallic skin shining under the cool, breezy downtown-Bangalore morning sky’s July Sun. My heart skipped a beat, probably more and I was overwhelmed first by the sheer sound of these machines and then by imagination. I stood there, forgetting just about everything else in the world while these birds of prey went by their business and leaving behind a trail of burnt fuel that reminded me of unrealized dreams.

Below: The 4 Jaguars I have mentioned about- this was published today in Deccan Herald.

For the past month and a half (almost) I had been preparing for the SCJA (Sun Certified Java Associate) exam. This is a free BETA exam which Sun probably intends to make a standard in the distant future for entry level Java Programmers.

Such overwhelming was the response to the free Certification exam that many ‘last-day’ registeration requests were cancelled. And mine was one of them. So a couple of days before my exam I have just come to know that the exam for which I had been studying for the past 40 days is not going to happen. Now, however, since the much needed momentum has been gained, I intend to do the SCJP (Sun Certified Java Programmer) which, by all technical standards, is not only better than SCJA but also costs a cool Rs 7000.

Meanwhile, I intend to post some of my Java Notes that I have scribbled during the course of my preparation, here on my site on a different page. Now that I will be appearing for the SCJP, the date of which has not been decided yet, I have some more time and I ought to be better prepared.

This is what is written on a makeshift banner which is stuck on a railing near Churchgate Railway Station:

“What did the books do to you?”

So the “Shanghaisation” of Bombay, or what we call Mumbai, is underway. Suddenly, after decades, the state government has finally woken up to the fact that having the worlds biggest slum colony in a city is not a matter of pride but a dubious distinction. The reactions that follow, the steps taken just after hitting the panic button are predictable and chaotic as well. First it was the bulldozing of slums and now it is the clearing of the booksellers pavement from Fountain to Churchgate.

Cybernoon.com quotes a stall owner who wished anonymity, “We have been told to pull up the awnings because they say it makes the surroundings look ugly”. These bookstalls have been in place for 25 years now, in fact some of them for over 50 years. Are you telling me it took more than 2 decades for the BMC to realize that the bookstalls could be causing difficulties while walking, to the pedestrians? And this clearing of bookstalls is because they want the pedestrians to have a “better” walking experience? Sorry, but I am not buying that.

Are there only inhuman ways of dealing with situations like these? Did the police have to walk on these books? Tear them? I guess Bombay police can be expected to do things like these, after all, it was hardly a month back when one of their own raped a girl inside Marine Drive’s police station. On the pavements were, after all, books.

But why books? Even Fashion street is on a pavement, why not that? Or why not the uncountable pirated CD shops? Selling of books does not hurt the economics in any way. In fact, books play a part in maturing the society. They carry words that can change opinions, change people. And they removed 9000 kg of book for a better, less-congested pavement to walk on? Heck, the politicians could not even come up with a proper excuse, because it’s almost ridiculous and rubbish to be told that this is for a better walking experience. It makes me want to hate the civic authorities. I despise this fact that people who take decisions like these do not even have something known as basic rational thinking on these issues. I do not blame the policemen for being violent and abusive, old habits die hard. But come to think of it, is this a way to deal with a problem which has its nucleus in something as simple as book selling?

This is a city where, in the words of Lindsay Pereira, dance bars were okay till two months back, but people selling books on the pavement are not accepted anymore. I have spent a good amount of time in Bombay walking on this road, from Fountain to Churchgate, browsing books for hours. Sadly now, one big reason to visit Bombay has gone missing.

The coffee house, as I expected was half full. With old furniture, its wooden benches and tabletops which had developed cracks of all lengths and depths, just like the wrinkles which were as common in almost every attendant, spelled the longevity of time this coffee house had witnessed.

As I said, the coffee house was half full, but no where was a complete empty table in sight. Next to its glass window, I chose to sit, on a table whose lone occupant was an elderly gentleman completely immersed in his reading. By the time I satisfied my hunger I thought of striking a conversation with the gentleman, who at that time, could be my only company.

As it was revealed, Mr Vasudevan, was a retired Aviation Quality Inspector. I knew his white hair suggested wisdom, but possession of wisdom of the aviation kind was not only a surprise but a pleasing one too. I could smell the prospects of an exciting conversation right there.

The mention of India’s latest indigenous combat aircraft, LCA (Light Combat Aircraft) struck the right chord. Excitement is inevitable, once LCA is mentioned to any Indian Aviation Enthusiast.

“I retired in 1992. When the LCA entered advanced stage of development in 1995, they needed people with experience. As it so happened, I was re-called and was a part of the LCA team. I was one of the four quality Inspectors. I was a part of the team when LCA took its first flight in 2001. I worked till 2003. Eight more years”, he said with a hint of excitement in his voice.

And what did he have to say about the first flight?

“Everyone was nervous. Our creation was touching the sky for the first time. During those moments, I went to a corner of viewing area, alone. I was too nervous. There are so many things that can go wrong in the first flight. My responsibility was to ensure the safety of the pilot. I was the quality inspector for Seat Safety/Ejection. But the take off went fine and people rejoiced. Obviously, I could not afford that joy.”

And why so? If the take-off was fine, why was he more nervous when the bird was in the air? I knew what he was coming to but I wanted him to say it himself. And so he did.

“Landing!!” he exclaimed with a new burst of excitement. “How can you miss that my friend! Touchdown is the most important aspect of the whole flight! That is when most things can mess up. Things can go haywire.”

“I remember”, he continued, “It was an 18 minute flight. The longest 18 minutes of my life. The machine we built was up there, and so was my heart.”

And how was touchdown?

“I cried. People came and shook hands and I had to hide my emotions. There were sweets distributed, accolades given. And after that, I tested 137 flights of LCA. In my career, I gave the quality thumbs-up for 138 of LCA flights. Nothing can match that.”

On the current trends of aviation which are embedded in the LCA?

“1.6 Mach, I think should be the top speed of LCA. You have to understand, in our Air-Force, LCA has to play the role of a major force in Air-to-Air combat. Air-to-Air combat doesn’t go beyond 1.6 Mach. We have to suite those requirements. Plus the microprocessor handling of LCA is such that it lets the pilot concentrate on what he should- Combat”.

And on the wing-design? I remarked, that I had noticed LCA’s wings are the Delta-designed ones, similar to Mirage-2000.

“Ah, yes. They are critical to achieve a high lift for supersonic flights. Talking about wings, do you know how many flaps per second does a housefly make? 200. Imagine. And a dragon-fly? 600. These are god created miracles that most of us oversee in everyday life. The cobra manoeuvre that we talk so highly about in Sukhoi aircrafts, is performed by the housefly all the time. These facts inspire me.”

Here was someone, in his late 60’s or early seventies, who had dedicated his life to Aviation. And where did his inspiration came from? Houseflies and mosquitoes.

“I have the knowledge to tell you the most technical aspects of flight without quoting scientific principles. I was only a quality inspector, but I played a part in this achievement.”

“I like cricket, I like car-racing and I like books. But at my time I could not afford it simply because I did not have the time. Sometimes I regret this fact. But soon I am overwhelmed to realise that I have been one of the privileged few who have been able to realise the kind of dreams like I had.”

So true, Mr. Vasudevan. Ask those who couldn’t.

On Monday, the 18th of April 2005, Indian Actor Om Puri was honoured an OBE(Order of the British Empire). He is the first Indian actor to have been honoured with such a distinction.

Coming from the British, it’s a rare tribute to this so fine Indian actor, and the Indian Cinema as a whole. I talk of it highly because after Independence the Britishers have found it hard to bestow any official acknowledgements to Indians (read Asians) who have made a mark on the world map, one way or the other. Reflections are in the words of Amitabh Bachchan, who thinks Indians (again, read Asians), for the west, are merely worthy of taxi drivers and shop attendants in their films. Or at the best, Doctors. And to the fact when mentioned to him that a star of his stature is virtually unknown in the US Mainstream Cinema market, “Thats true for any Hollywood actor in India as well”, he hits back.

Dig a little deeper I decided, and I came across to an incident involving one of my favorite Authors, Amitav Ghosh, who calmly yet aggressively withdrew his Prize winning Book, The Glass Palace and declined to accept the Commonwealth Writers Prize because he did not want to “betray the spirit by allowing it to be incorporated within that particular memorialization of Empire that passes under the rubric of the Commonwealth”. This sent shocks in the literature world. It is hard to find people who stand by what they “write” for. In this case, I must mention, Mr Ghosh’s book (The Glass Palace), which went to the final round, has traced the impact of the British empire’s rule in South Asia.

But the biggest example of this rare form of rebellion comes with The Great Rabindranath Tagore, who gave away his Knighthood, 4 years after he had received it, protesting against the Jalianwala Bagh massacre in the holy city of Amritsar. It was probably, the best and the most telling gesture one could signify protest, after having a “Sir” preceding the name.

I have mentioned almost nothing of the great Mr Puri who made up for most of the inspiration for this post. Like his english movies, to a lot of extent, Om Puri, the real actor has been unknown to the audience in his own country. I have seen many of his movies, but glimpses of the brilliance of this actor who I thought, could go on to deserve something of the stature as the OBE, flashed in “Jaane bhi do yaaron” when he played the role of the always high on alcohol contractor, Ahuja. Pankaj Kapoor and Nasseruddin Shah, are the only actors in this guild, who I believe can come close to the class of Puri.

Of course, Om Puri has made us proud. And I am sure he can keep the OBE with him for a long time since the Britishers are a changed lot now. And so it should please the Indian Cinema lovers, and the likes of Mr Bachchan should have a sigh of relief that at least one actor from Indian Cinema wont have to play the taxi driver, shop attendant or a doctor in the west movies.

The sound of my Nokia pierces conveniently through the silence that envelopes my room at 7 AM. The only sound besides the noise this Nokia makes is the distant humming of my computer. But as the cell phone hums “Streetwise”, one of its long 4KB polyphonic ring tones, the sound is making inroads into my little world of sleep. A world built so slowly, in the course of the night. One by one the walls that protect the fortress of this world of mine come crashing down. The siren grows shriller every passing second. A hero in this world of mine, now I am scared. There is always a sense of urgency in this world, but I manage to pull off my feats before the inevitable happens. Sometimes I save a dogs life, sometimes, one more time my heart breaks as I go back in the past, sometimes I just about manage to withdraw the much needed cash from the ATM. And as I end up with one of these visual experiences, the inevitable happens.

“Streetwise” sings.

The meracious sound of this damn gadget, so much without guilt, facing almost no resistance, and with the added element (read punch) of surprise, manages successfully, yet another time, the job of bringing me to the reality of this world, in its own harsh way. As I open my eyes, with little success, I see the dim chrome-yellow LED of my monitor. The blinking red infra of the mouse. The three yellow circles on the keyboard. And some more light from, I do not know, where. On my left is a white glow. focussing on its source, the screen of my Nokia, I see some characters which, after passing through a state of temporary bewilderment, my mind deciphers and one by one joins them to the word “Alarm!” and these characters, ask the question “Stop” or “Snooze”. I am obliged to answer, for if I dont, the siren threatens to go on. I hit something at random hoping that should be the end of it but the ordeal continues. More answers are needed. “Switch the phone on? Yes or No”. Another question requiring my attention. This time the sound is no more. But the blinding light persists. Oh stop it, I say. I hit another button. I hope the gadget’s questions, all of them, are convincingly answered. A few seconds pass. Right. No more lights. no more alerts. But the damage has been done. No more feats. My fortress is no more. The world I owned gone, into thin air. Just like that.

Come to think of it, I had set this plot myself. Before going to sleep, the night before. Myself?.

It’s 7 AM. Bingo.