Posts (page 2)

Today I encountered a relic of India's stereotypes.

Sapera 1

Sapera 2

I only got two pics, 'cause when he noticed I was taking them, he packed up and ran away.

He had a baby monkey who had to handle the snake as well. Wasn't able to get the monkey in the shot.

He's called a sapera, also the name of his caste. For centuries his ancestors would have entertained people in market squares and at fairs. Or they would have been called to extricate snakes from people's houses. They were revered as the men who had power over the serpent.

Not so much now. Snake charming and charmers are illegal in India. This guy is probably the last in his family to take up this profession.

There are many problems with this picture. For one, the element of animal cruelty that caused the act to be outlawed in the first place. The snakes barely last two weeks.They're defanged and denied food to keep them in a state akin to a drunken stupor. Which is why the monkey could play with it so easily. Then there's the monkey...

Two, when the law came in, the sapera community didn't really have other options of employment.This was all they knew. And while some managed to find alternatives and others were lucky enough to be recruited by snake protection and rehabilitation programmes, some like this old man still cling to an unsustainable way of life.

Three, people see his dilapidated state, feel the normal human feeling of pity and offer him money. And the problem continues. He always lives from meal to meal.

Circle of life and all that. Cruel, but perpetuated by pity. But is it really pity if he continues to live like this?

Most of my wardrobe is black. I'm not morbid or morose or anything like that. I just like black. And it makes things easy in the morning 'cause I know everything will coordinate with everything.

Today I thought, "Why not shake things up a bit?" So I went with khaki. Khaki brown pants, beige top, khaki green jacket and olive sneakers.

It looked really coordinated to me.

Then I found myself crossing the road behind a group of army guys in camouflage fatigues.

They giggled.

I see a lot more black in my future.

The Ugly
-Having to delegate work to people I cannot pick. (I don't believe in policing, and I trust you as an adult to have something ready for me on the day it's due. How can you tell me you haven't even started?)

The Annoying
--My friends are trying (note emphasis on "trying") to play matchmaker with me as guinea pig 'cause they haven't been to a wedding for some time (yeah, brilliant reason, innit?). Today they narrowed (yes, narrowed) down their search to guys with glasses. I got no problem with that. BUT WHY IS THAT THE ONLY CRITERION?

The Good
---Fresh, ripe, juicy mangoes. Soft, pliable flesh. Juice trickling down your chin when you bite into it...Aamasutra, indeed. (Aam is mango in Hindi).

I figured I don't write enough about this "ooru" I call home. So this is the first of what is hopefully a long series of entries on my amazingly contradictory and chaotic city.

Why "Boiled Beans"? Because local legend has it that a famous king once got lost in a forest. He found an old woman in this forest who invited him to eat with her, and she served him boiled beans [benda] for lunch. He was so grateful that he then founded a settlement at that spot, which he called Benda Kalooru [the town of boiled beans], now appropriated as Bengalooru.

On the way home from work today, I hitched a ride in a private bus. These private buses carry a complete cross section of society--IT folk with their techie paraphernalia, blue collar workers, construction workers, students, market vendors and extremely gorgeous women such as myself [yes, sic]. The buses here can get really crowded (one day I'll write about my bus workouts), so you really cherish the days you get a seat and there are no sweaty people dripping on you. Today was a comfortable day.

Then a girl a few seats away from me started having an epileptic seizure. For a moment there was stunned silence. For another moment there was chaos with people getting up and jumping over seats. In the third moment, clinical precision set in. A construction worker put a huge set of iron keys in her hand.* Two IT guys held her up so she didn't choke when she brought up. One middle-aged lady grabbed the girl's bag and looked for ID. Another one ran through the numbers on her phone and called her parents (who were in freakin' Delhi!).

She was okay in five minutes, and brave ol' chicken me offered to clean her up and re-prettify her (it was all I could do). When I was done, three people escorted her home.

It's so heartening to know that, when this sort of incident occurs, we all have some sort of idea of how to deal with it.

It's not so heartening to know that it happens so often we all have to have an idea of how to deal with it.
    

*(This is a very common practice in India. No one knows where it originated, but we know it works in keeping the severity of the seizure in check. How do we know this? Duh. We're Indian. Always in the hand, though.)

.

There will be no gloat fest.

I concede defeat.

Spain deserved to win.

But so did Ballack. He tried so hard. He did.

The nearly man

But there'll always be 2010. I hope.

Until then, if you'll want your money, you'll have to catch me first.

What have you been putting off all weekend?

Talking to the nice mutual fund lady. Ballacks! She's texting me...

Could someone please tell me why this creature is the best-selling international artist in India? Why do we pay to keep him in business? Do you know (the Ping Pong Song)? Seriously. You've heard it and liked it?

And now he's going to sing at the Euro final. Ok, that's not our fault. Apparently other countries have auditory problems too.

Before I begin I would like to apologise to Leonard and his ilk, the genuine football fans. I'll just say that you vatch ze futballs for your reasons und I vatch ze futballs for mein reasons.

Zis here be mein main reason: Captain of ze German team, Michael Ballack.

Ach, mein liebling, vot a picture of die Männlichkeit you are. Not like zhose metrosexual gerly manboys *cough*Christiano*cough* Bah! Who needs zem ven vee can have you, liebchen?

Come to me, liebchen, und vee vill mach ze beautiful kinders togezher. (Ok, vee vill not mach the kinders. But vee can do all ze ozher wunderbar stuff) Zat face, zat face, zat wunderbar face. Zem legs, zem arms, zat torso. Ach! I just vont to take ze tip of my tongue und... But nein, nein, nein! Zis is not zat kind of blog.

Maybe some of you vill vunder if I am zhinking of ze futball double entendres or ze appropriate alliteration of Ballack... und ze answer is Ja. But vy vud you vunder zat, eh?

Ach, Michael.

[Yeah, I don't know what accent that is either]

Susan made me do it :)

Blech!

• Sugar-coated strawberry cornflakes. I've been hyper all day. And not good hyper.
• House hunting.
  
• Greasy agents. I had no idea they'd come for their due even if you didn't contract a house through them.
  

• House hunting. It'll be the bestest house ever I tell ya. [yes, sic]
• Laughing till my stomach and face hurt. They still hurt. Thanks, An.
• Inane conversations and money-making rackets with co-workers. E.g. What do vegetarian vampires suck on? How long will it be before Serena drops the cheeslings all over the floor again?