SIMPLE PROBLEMS, SIMPLE SOLUTIONS

The human race has developed into an excellent species with immense mind power. It can unravel the secrets of nature and its complex riddles with different ways and methods that it has evolved. So much so, it can hardly recognize a small problem when it sees one. With so much of accomplishments behind it, the mind actually fails to see a simple solution to any problem – big or small. Everything has to be analyzed, everything has to be attacked from every little corner and everything has to be approached in a big way. There are no small solutions to big problems and no small solutions to small problems too.

How then can you explain away this situation? It was the height of anti apartheid risings in South Africa. John was in a hurry leaving the town and he was walking past a large bungalow, to board a bus. There he chanced to meet two small boys about seven years of age. Nothing strange in that, but one boy was fair of skin while the other was black. He stopped and took further notice of them. He was astonished when he saw the white boy order the black one around, to go fetch this and that. Mr. John, himself a dark skinned person felt very crestfallen and wondered at the state of affairs where even a small child practices apartheid. As he was in a hurry to catch his bus he left immediately. Once he left the town limits he forgot all about it promptly.

After about six months he had to return to the same town. As he happened to pass through that particular bungalow he immediately remembered the incident he saw during the previous occasion.  His curiosity aroused, he took extra efforts to go close to the house and there again he saw the same two boys playing around. To his utter surprise he saw the dark boy now ordering the white around. He stood confused and presumed that the anti apartheid violence had seeped so much that even kids were being aware of it. He felt sad. He was a man of moderate tempers and suppression of any one or any form was totally not to his taste.

He was wondering if he should intervene and teach the boys some humanity, when he saw a white man at the extreme end of the garden silently watching the boys in action. Now John did not want the white man to feel the pinch of apartheid so he hurried over to him and said “don’t worry these kids do not know what they are doing. The other day I saw the dark one being ordered around”. The other man startled out of his stupor on hearing John speak and said “Oh, no, I do not misunderstand, for both are my kids and they play the “FETCH” game. The winner is the one who fetches the fastest.”

Here is a situation where the simple children’s game had been interpreted as some racial apartheid practice. Most often quite a number of family feuds spark at the children’s games.  How we adults try to carry our views and differences to the children’s world too? It would be best on such occasions for the grown ups to merely ignore the juniors and allow them to sort their differences out in the best way known to them.

Well, if this be the case in the emotional front, we do not fare better in the industrial arena either. Take the case of a famous Japanese soap company which positioned itself in the market as the only firm that sold the soap packed in an attractive soap box. They were quite successful in carving a niche for themselves in the consumables market and in fact, they capitalized on this aspect by constantly advertising that they sold the soap with the box.

Trouble began when complaints began creeping in that some of the boxes sold in the shops were returned as being empty. It was not just a single complaint to be ignored. The management realized that something had to be done immediately to prevent the problem from avalanching into a major crisis.  The problem was analyzed from all angles and it was localized that the problem was only in the packing and distribution section. The R&D department was called in and they came out with a proto type of a huge x-ray machine that would scan each of the box in the production output line, then another machine will weed out the empty ones. The cost of these machines worked into several crores and even then the accuracy sigma hovered at an unpleasant high.  Meanwhile time was ticking on and holding the stock any further would mean heavy loss to the company both monetarily and name wise too. The whole company was at a high hot. Watching the burst of activity going in the factory, a humble worker enquired what was going on. Then he got the news about the empty box.  Muscling up enough courage, he walked up to one of the top brass officer and volunteered that he could solve the problem very easily. The entire middle level management tried to brush him off like a fly. But the top management by then was so desperate for a solution that they were willing enough to take the advice of anybody, as long as the problem was resolved.  The worker wanted just three or four huge pedestal fans which he positioned in the output line. And very easily the empty soap boxes fell off the line, into a carton placed beneath the conveyor belt. This way it was ensured that the empty boxes did not escape into the market. Simple indeed!!

Waiting At The Railway Station

I was reading the blog “Maddy’s ramblings”, where there is a mention about Maniyachi ( Vanchinathan) station. While the author dwells in his blog, on the assassination of the Collector of Thirunelveli Mr. Ashe, I got more interested with the station which happens to be the Crime Scene (i.e. Maniyachi railway Station). This station is imprinted deep in my mind, for during school vacations, we had to cross this station while traveling to our grandparent’s house, at Chennai. No doubt, for a train traveling from Tuticorin to Chennai, there are about twenty stations at which it stops. But yet Maniyachi haunts my mind inerasably. Why? Probably because of its historical links or is it anything else?. Well I wanted to comment about this station in Maddy’s ramblings. But then, I would become a parasite isn’t it?. Putting my blog in his blog site. So here is “My version” on Maniyachi station.
My father was in the Textile Mill at Tuticorin. During school vacation we used to go to Chennai for spending our holidays at our grand parent’s house at Chennai. There was one train from Tuticorin, which left in the afternoon. It was a passenger train, pulled by the steam engine. The train used to make maximum noise but would cover very little distance. But being kids we never minded this travesty. We spent the time fighting for the window seat and kept running down the aisle.
After traveling for over an hour we reached the Maniyachi Junction. It was an island platform. The train stopped after huffing and puffing. My father asked us to climb down and explained that from this point on, our train will be linked to the Diesel train coming from Thirunelvelli. Of course, we would miss our good old steam engine but yet we had to complete the journey before the holidays were out. So assured of better speed we began to relax. We waited in the small station for well over an hour for the train to arrive from Thirunelveli. This gave us an opportunity to tour the station and take all the details of the location. There were huge mounds of sand dunes all around. The wind was howling and blowing with such velocity that, huge grains of sand beat our face. We stood there and watched, the steam loco being detached from our coupes and puff off to the shed with its mission accomplished. My father showed me the signal and how they changed. He pointed out the “points man” and we saw him use the lever to change the track for the train. He explained the difference between meter gauge and broad gauge. He added that the narrow gauge operated in hilly regions. We enjoyed all this bits of information. We saw the huge water tank at a little distance, which would fill the engine with water to generate the steam.
We waited and waited for the diesel engine to arrive. Finally it did on the adjacent platform. The diesel engine then was attached to our train first and then this entire group was linked to the train from Thirunelvelli. We saw the men working frantically and running around. Our compartments were shunted up and down and finally we were grouped alongwith the other train. As the electrification work was not completed or even begun at those places we had to go through all these exercises. Electrification was available only from Villupuram. There again the engine change procedures were carried out. But that was during the night so we were deep in sleep so we missed it. At last we were all set to go. By then the sun was setting, we could see the red ball of fire over the vast open space around the station. We got into the train and set off.
During the return journey the entire process was reversed. This time the wait seemed to be abominable. The coupes meant for Tuticorin were delinked and left like orphans at the station. The diesel engine, on the other hand, rolled off with its train to Trinelvelli . We were stranded at Maniyachi for well over an hour. This time our pop was already back at home and not traveling with us. The useful education and tips he was giving us during the onward journey was missing. To add to it, it was mid afternoon and the hot wind was scorching us. The train compartments were like hot ovens and we were scared we would be baked alive. There was literally nothing else at the station besides our train. We played all kinds of games and pestered our mother and irritated her. She shooed us off. We got down from the train and tried running on the platform, it was not very pleasant in the hot sun. My sister by then had studied Indian History so she was aware of the great Independence activist Vanchinathan, but she preferred to twist the tale a little, she said the train was waiting at the station for such a long time one day, that an irate Vanchinathan had shot Mr. Ashe mistaking him for the station master. That revealed her killing mood. I laughed at her joke . Then we began conjuring up some strange story or the other for the delay like ,to pass time. I said “Probably the loco driver has lost his way”. My sister suggested a more weird tale , “ no, the driver has taken a loan from the station master and is hesitant to return here.” As the time waned the stories became more Halloween , we even imagined that the station was haunted by Mr. Ashe and Mr. Vanchi.
It was sickening to note that the station had retained its rustiness since the days of Mr. Ashe. That was understandable for not many important stations were available beyond this junction. The traffic was meager in those days, so it was sufficient to use the steam engine for shorter distances. Trains coming from different directions such as Trinelvelli ,Sengottah , Tuticorin etc were clubbed together and hauled to larger destinations. This of course is the best method for management of resources, but at that tender age we could not comprehend or appreciate such “Drucker ian” theories.
Even today, with so much of advancement in technology, waiting at stations or at some remote locations for signal or some other reason is mandatory in train travel. I once read that while traveling in the Trans-Siberian Railway, one could witness the change of gauge while traveling from one country to another. While going into China the wheels under the train have to be changed, so one has to spent an hour or two in the train yard. When the Trans-Siberian Railway was built, the Russians were worried that an invading army could use the tracks against them, so they made the track gauges wider. Mongolia followed Russia on the question of track gauges (which meant that Russia could invade them quite easily, which it did). China uses standard track. So this change is inevitable. However, most sophisticated equipments are now available in the train yards, that the entire exercise is completed without much ado. Tongs are used to hoist the carriages up, while the set of wheels are changed underneath. I once saw a movie ( or documentary ?) where I saw that the carriages were lifted with cranes while the wheel sets were changed.
Well, getting back to our story, since the station master was the only visible personnel representing the great Railways there, he became our villain. Then we got the better of ourselves and walked up to the station master and said “ Maniachu”, meaning “it is already time”. The station master blinked once and then understanding the pun said “this is Mani Achi” ( Grand mother of Mani) so everything is slow here”. Well at last our steam engine came and we were hooked on to her and then we went on with our journey back home.
Recently, I happened to travel there and saw that there was some changes, the name board was changed, the station had more buildings around it, steam engines were gone, the linking and delinking were no longer required as a direct train with an electric engine was plying right from Chennai to Tuticorin. Further the trains had compartments fitted with air conditioners, so waiting in a hot compartment was ruled out. Above all, I have become older now that I would not grudge a few extra hours of time all to my self not doing anything at all. Well that ‘s not to be, for the train nowadays does not make such long stopovers at this station any more.

Of conductors and drivers

It is after a very long time that I have started traveling by the city bus. As many years had passed, I felt quite inexperienced when I got into the bus. I realized that I had lost my grit and agility over the years. Previously I used to stand even while the bus was plying and without holding on to anything I could rummage in my bag and take out the fare for the ticket, fetch the ticket and not sway an inch. In fact, I used to act as a courier and most earnestly pass the ticket amount from the passengers who had boarded the bus in the front, to the conductor stationed at the rear of the bus. I would then pass the tickets along with the change in the reverse direction. That steady I was then! But now, as soon as I got into the bus I realized that such gymnastics was not for me. I had to hold on to the bars provided on the top and wait patiently for somebody to vacate the seat so I could sit down. Once I got my seat, I noticed that the buses had become more deluxe and some of them had Air condition units fitted. Depending upon the level of luxury allowed the ticket rates varied. Notwithstanding these changes, the crew was the same old “Conductors & Drivers”.  Looking at them I started musing about the lot of these transport workers.

          In the yester years, the government-run transport buses used to monopolize the city roads. They were overcrowded and cumbersome. Sometimes you could see a fleet of buses in the same route go by, one after the other like a convoy. Then there would be a long lull without any bus at all. One would have to stand in the bus stand with aching legs for the bus to come by. The crowd in the stand will keep on swelling and spill over, right into the road.  On such occasions it is best to wait your turn and not rush to catch the first bus that comes into your view; obviously it will be over crowded and quite a number of the adventurous guys would be even hanging out of the doorway and the windows adjoining the doors.

          But today, a number of share autos ply in all directions and this provides a convenient alternative to the weary travelers.  No doubt they would be more expensive then the bus fare but several times cheaper to engaging an auto all to your self.

          In some countries a single person doubles up for the driver and the conductor. In some cases the role of the conductor is totally dispensed with as the buses have automatic ticket vending machines. But in India, the Conductor-Driver duo work as a team. For a common passenger the driver is almost faceless personnel who sit right up at the front with his face away from you and given the heavy crowd blocking all view, one hardly gets to see him at all. The conductor on the other hand is the executive of the bus and the visible identity of the bus.

          Bus conductors have a range of responsibilities, which include collecting fares, issuing tickets, helping passengers with baggage, advising on destinations and ensuring the safety of passengers. He also has to complete the paper work of closing stage and tallying the collection etc. The lot of the conductors and drivers is not a very attractive one as the hours are irregular and may involve some weekends and shift work.

          Although a small seat is provided for the conductor, his job demands him to stand for prolonged periods. He blows the whistle once to stop the vehicle, so passengers could get in and out, he blows twice (“double whistle”) to signal to the driver to start off.  The relationship between these two transport workers is quite interesting for they have to work as a team to run the required number of trips per shift and keep to the time schedule.  On reaching the terminus, one can see them walk away as buddies to the nearest tea stall. There, over a cup of tea and with the newspaper in their hand they will discuss the road conditions, the current politics and what not. In side the bus, they communicate with the whistle and the lights inside the bus.

          Not much career progression for these guys I guess. Probably they might earn some lateral pay scale enhancements which pushes up their salary without any change in their job content. Of course, I have seen them wear different colored uniforms which might distinguish each personnel by their length of service. Now however, with the AC buses and deluxe buses on the road only senior staff is posted to these hi tech buses.

          The work of the conductor is quite unending for most of the passengers only say their destinations; the conductor will have to know what ticket to be issued. He tears the ticket and makes a notch at the side to indicate the stage and then hands it over to the passenger, collect the fare and return the change. He has to do all this within the minimum time. The knack with which he holds the entire ticket bunch in his hand without dropping it down, hangs a whistle from one of the fingers and tucks the Rupee notes between the fingers is a site to watch. The conductor besides the ticket bunch also has a small metal pad and a tabulated sheet where he jots down the ticket serial number for “closing stage”. This check matrix will enable him to tally the collection at the end of the day. 

He has to be fast in mental sums for if a passenger asks for a number of tickets; he should quickly calculate the sum and collect the right amount. All this he has to complete before the predetermined stage. For there will often be ticket checkers at various stops who check to see if all the customers have taken the right ticket. In case a passenger does not have a ticket, the passenger is penalized. The conductor is also liable for some demerit in his career.

          Thanks to technology, the conductors now carry a miniature ticket dispenser. They punch the destination and the number of fares, the ticket prints out. This makes the job of the conductor far easy.

          A.G.Gardiner has immortalized the role of a conductor in his “On saying please”, where everybody waits for the helpful and cheerful conductor who used to spread his cheer to all the passengers with his cherubic nature. More recently the Knight bus conductor in “Harry Potter and the prisoner of Azkaban” brought the conductor back into the main stream.

Let me finish this blog with a story about a conductor who did not stop the bus and on two such occasion a passenger died. He was convicted and on each occasion as luck would have it he survived the electric chair.

A reformed man he returned to his job and on the third occasion, he did dutifully stop the bus for a passenger who accidentally slipped on a banana peel and died. This time he was awarded capital punishment for a crime he did not commit. And sure enough this time he died on the electric chair.

 

The question is why didn't he die on the first two occasions, but died instantly the third time??  Any clues?????

Well, it is because a  BAD CONDUCTOR never allow electricity to pass whereas GOOD CONDUCTER allows electricity to pass through it .

Right, right !!!

AN ART GALLERY AT YOUR DOORSTEP

”

      The art of drawing beautiful designs in front of the house is a famous concept prevalent in India particularly in South India. This is called “ Kolam” in Tamil. In the bygone days when cementing the floor was not common, folks mixed cow dung in water and splashed it on the front porch. This served two purposes. First, it helped to settle the dust and give a neat appearance to the entrance of the house and second, cow dung is purported to have the inherent capacity to kill germs, spraying this disinfectant helped a long way in maintaining hygiene and keeping off contagious diseases.  Having cleaned and mopped the porch, it was only natural that one decorates it with some designs and that folks, is the genesis of kolam!  Further, on auspicious days it was mandatory to draw these kolam as it is a Hindu belief that the geometrical patterns & designs applied with rice flour at the entrance of a home, invites Goddess Lakshmi into the household, and drives away the evil spirits.

      Originally, in the golden years of plenty, rice powder was used to draw the patterns. Against the greenish brown background of the soil, the kolam drawn with coarsely ground white rice powder set off a beautiful sparkle in front of the house.  For drawing outdoors, rice powder was used and for decorating inside the house, rice flour was mixed with water and made into a wet paste. This glue like liquid was used for drawing. When dry the white colour sparkles brilliantly and it also stays on for a few days. Above all, keeping in line with the Hindu principle of Karma and Dharma these kolam with rice powder went a long way in bringing the daily bread on the ant’s table!

      Somewhere down the line, the practice of replacing the rice powder with soft white stone powder (mogu mavu) became prevalent probably due to the recession. The designs look just as vibrant and lovely with the stone powder; however the ants will have to now work harder for their daily bread.

      For ordinary days a small pattern will do and for a festival day the same pattern may with iteration be blown up into a mammoth design.

      The basic step involved in a kolam is first to keep small dots equidistantly. These dots will form the basic guide on which the kolam will be drawn. You start off with a row of dots which will form the main frame of the design. Above and below this main row, further dots are kept either one below the other or between two dots.   Sometimes equal number of dots is kept to form a square-ish box or the number of dots is reduced systematically to give a tapered look. The number of dots and their placement method will largely depend on the ultimate design that one has in mind.

      Having placed the dots, one can draw different types of kolams –

      One has to draw lines, either straight or curves, right over these dots (connecting these dots), to define various objects or motifs. The most common objects are flowers such as rose, lotus, lily etc; birds such as parrots; butterflies and some enthusiastic spirit may even venture to draw elephants and human forms. These types of kolams are normally decorated with colored powders and then it is termed as “ Rangoli”.

Sometimes, straight lines connecting the dots are drawn to form beautiful and complex geometric designs which are called “thaduku kolam” or mat designs – carpet designs.

      The next option is to draw curves around the dots. The most amazing and mind boggling maze like designs evolve out of such patterns. Most of these patterns start at one point, tour around the entire kolam and end at the same point leaving an intricate design behind which blows one’s mind off. I am most fascinated by these kolams which go well beyond the fathomable limits of a human imagination. These are called “Suzhi kolam”. One can draw small ones starting with a three by three matrix to big ones which resemble a chariot. This is called “ther kolam”.

      There is an entirely different genre of kolams where the dots are dispensed with. Batches of straight lines , normally two or in odd numbers such as three, five etc. are drawn free hand to form rectangles or squares. These are then polished off with lotus or other cute tendrils. To enhance the beauty, red clay is made into a thin paste and this is painted as a border or in the centre to set off the design and accentuate its beauty.

      When families were living in close groups there used to be such a competition in drawing these kolam in front of the house. The girls took great pride in being the first to finish the biggest design. During the Tamil month of Marghazy, which comes during the winter month of December, the competition becomes intense. Each day, before sunrise, the ladies of the house begin their artwork at the doorstep. Bigger the kolam, greater the pride. Finally, a pumpkin flower is propped on a cowdung ball and kept in the centre of the kolam for effect. Talking of flowers on a kolam, Kerala specializes in “Poo Kolam” where flowers of different hue are used for making the kolam.

      To stress the importance of Kolam, it can be said with assurance that,if one took the time and effort to look into the loft there will most certainly be a  well thumbed and soiled kolam book where probably our granny would most probably have copied some designs that took her fancy. This is handed down as an heirloom with each generation augmenting the design gallery. Some of the pages will be torn in half due to constant references, while some will be just as new. 
Over and above this linkage to one's past, drawing the kolam on the floor by bending over was the best possible "Tummy Trimmer" technique.    

  Living in apartments with hardly any space for showing one’s kolam power, a few lines is all that one can afford. In fact, stickers with beautiful kolam designs printed on them are stuck on the floor tile and voila there is your permanent kolam at your door step. They say that if god closes one door, he always opens another, that’s true for kolam too. Maybe, kolams are not popular anymore on doorsteps, but the number of websites dedicated entirely to kolam is quite encouraging. In fact, various organizations are conducting competitions and give away prestigious prizes and thereby they have ensured that this beautiful culture exclusive to our nation is not all lost.


HERE ARE A FEW OF MY FAVOURITE ONES.  I am a not-so-bad Kolam exerciser myself. here some I like most

THE PUNCHES WE THROW

The word “Punch Dialogue” is a terminology that is coined and commonly used only in the Tamil movie parlance. You will find no reference to this phrase in any other context other than in Tamil Movies. This got me musing. What exactly does it mean?. Where does it get its origin? How far has it spread?

These punch dialogues are hot one liners uttered by the hero or the heroine of a movie, to exhibit the macho and power of the character. These are commonly accompanied with stylish gestures such as snapping of fingers, crossing and re-crossing your legs while seated and so on. These gestures are further enhanced with loud and trendy background scores. The advertisement for the film is focused on these one-liners. These punch dialogues are mostly bravado words bragging one’s abilities like “when I say something once, it’s almost like it’s said a hundred times”, “when I decide on something I will not go back, even on my own advice” and so on. They are widely, hollow words and do not convey any significance and are meant solely for the front benchers and the nostalgic  NRI intellects. It is quite possible to deduce  that this phrase has its genesis from the idiom “pack a punch” which means “to have a powerful effect or influence”.  

In truth the Hollywood movies are not completely bereft of these punch lines. Take for instance the western movies where John Wayne shooting from his hip, killing the wicked villain will utter great quotes such as “Life is hard; it’s harder if you’re stupid” , or “Courage is being scared to death , but saddling up anyway”  or even “A man ought to do what he thinks is right”. These are etched in the minds of every movie lover of ester years.

It must be recorded here that the Tamil language is famous for its short and sometimes brusque phrases, poems which carry tonnes of useful messages. Take for instance the “Thirukurral” which is essentially a collection of couplets or aphorism which touches upon almost all aspects of life as varied as from ploughing the field to ruling a country. Or listen to the laconic blessings of the Tamil savant Avaiyar,  to a  king on his birthday as just “Varappuyara”. This is the title of a poem which translates as “ Varappu Uyara” meaning let the dams and bunds be raised. The area is a predominantly agricultural area with rice being the main produce. Paddy fields require stocking of plenty of water and more the water more the yield.  As the paddy crops require abundant standing water for their proper cultivation, the farmer builds high and strong bunds around his field to grow the crop. Only if there are good rains will the farmer take the effort to build the bunds higher to prevent the rainwater from running off. This water storing will go a long way in replenishing the ground water level. Your modern day “rain-water harvesting”,  indeed.  Well the poem goes like this

varappu uyara neer uyarum;
neer uyara nel uyarum;
nel uyara kudi uyarum;
kudi uyara kol  uyarvan

When translated means if the bunds are raised, more water can be held to yield more paddy which will lead to the prosperity of the general public and thereby the well being of the monarch himself is ensured. What a good advice on Irrigation system and proper governance.  

If Tamil literature has its fair share of punch lines, will Greek and Rome be far behind? Hippocrates, the Greek physician in his “Aphorism” has introduced the famous thought of “life is short…” which is greatly used in maxims of physical science.  Rome has made its punch mark with the famous “You too, Brutus?” (“Et tu, Brute?”- Latin)   to convey surprise at betrayal and any form of back stabbing.

When Armstrong stepped off the Eagle's footpad he etched his name in history as the first human to set foot on another astronomical body. The words  he uttered then  "That's one small step for [a] man, one giant leap for mankind"  has further immortalized his name and added his to the long list of “World Punch liners”.

Back home we use the punch line “ closing the back door ” to indicate a situation where you set out to do a job which however leads  into an array of activity prolonging the completion of the  original job that you set out to do. I think we read it in the Reader’s digest, where the man of the family sets out to have a peaceful siesta on a Saturday. Just as he walks to his room he notices that the back door is open. He goes to close it and sees that the light in the basement is glowing.  He climbs down to switch it off only to find that the switch is loose. He searches out his screw driver and fixes the switch. In the process he niches his finger. He goes to fetch some toilet paper to wipe the blood and ends up refilling the tissue papers in the toilet. While washing his blood stained hand he sees the dripping tap and has to change the washer and ultimately he closes the back door and comes to the hall. His wife asks him “where were you this whole afternoon?”. Our man replies “will you believe me, I was closing the back door”.

So let’s conclude, if huge information could be packed in a short sentence it becomes a punch line. While our lines don’t come with back ground sounds and stylish looks, we do pepper our conversations with them for better impact.

THE TELL TALE CLOCK

“You can take the horse to the water but you can’t make it drink”. How very true!  Since I am no “equidae”   expert I can’t give any first hand information on that, but I am clearer about its applicability on human beings.

Listen to this story that my father used to say quite often. A plantation overseer tired of the hot sun wanted to break for his siesta. He was sure however that the moment he turned his eye away his slaves would also fall prey to the designs of Morpheus. So he took a big baseball, drew huge eyes on it with some charcoal, hoisted the ball on a stick in the middle of the field and warned “These are my eyes, I might not be physically here but my eyes are watching you and any person not working will be flogged”. So saying he left peacefully to his cabin. The field hand dutifully worked for some time then one of the smart guy noticed that the eyes on the base ball were fixed in one direction and not rolling. So he secretly crept up from behind and threw his hat on the ball covering the eyes completely. He cried “the master’s eyes are closed. Come now let take turns to nap”.

My own experience is a story of sorts. I was then in-charge of a huge store yard which was in a particularly nefarious location. The yard which was of several acres was stocked with rows and rows of valuable copper cable drums. High walls with barbed wire fencing formed the first level of security. Hotlines to fire department and the nearest police station were the second level, and round the clock patrols with security guards were the third level.  It was all very nice to mark three guards for duty during the night with instructions to safe guard the items and an entirely different story in making them effective at it.  On an average the night shifts were a comparatively easy one’s, for one could sleep  after completing certain log enters and some such mandatory things, without the watchful eyes of a supervisor. It is only when the robbers decide to break in that all hell breaks loose.

The schedule is like this, one guard is to man the front gate, one is posted on top of the watch tower provided at the extreme end of the premises and the third to beat the patrol rounds in the complex. They were provided with lathi, a powerful torch light, each a pair gumboots and a whistle. Powerful sodium vapor lamps installed at strategic locations, provided enough illumination. As the yard was once a marsh there was no dearth of dangerous snakes and other creepers, add to this the dangerous burglars armed with axes, crow bars and equally menacing weapons.  The guards, naturally, were more prone to skip the beats and save themselves from all the impending dangers. It is here that the tell tale clocks come in.

These clocks were the manual winding clocks types with pendulum. Near the pendulum was a drum which spins in unison with the clock hands. On this drum one could load a paper disc. A long pointed needle protrudes out of the clock face. The person on patrol will have to press this lever and this will punch a hole in the paper disc.  This way one could monitor the beat cycles of the patrolling guards.  

 Three of these clocks I had put up at extremely difficult nooks of the building and I made sure that the clocks were wound daily and the paper disc changed without fail. The instructions to the guard were they should punch these discs on the hour every hour. If the boys missed punching they knew for sure I would almost punch them with my caustic words. Now they were in a dilemma, they either braved the elements and completed the rounds or face my wrath. The former seemed better so for some months I found that they carried out the routine patrols and by blowing the whistle they were putting off the burglars to some extent.

The human spirit is an indomitable one, so someone found out that if the clock was meddled it would stop ticking and so would the disc too. The tell tale clock was so quelled for sometime. Then I constructed a firm box like structure all around the clock with only the lever for punching visible. Now that was check mate. So the ticking of the tell tale clock continued much to the boys chagrin and to my smug pleasure.

TELL TALE CLOCK

The picture I have given below is almost similar to the one’s I used to handle.

INVINCIBLE GANGAMMA

This March 8^th, our friends teamed up and invited each other to name “the woman I admire most”.  Sure enough a majority ended up naming Mother Theresa or their own mom, some one named her daughter and one even her daughter in law (wise indeed!).  I sat rummaging to announce a really outrageous name such as Madonna, Naomi Campbell or Silk Smitha. Actually I really admire their beauty and their boldness at flaunting it.  I didn’t want to startle the ladies away, so I began thinking of some other name. Perhaps, my name?  But that would make me look like a Narcissus. So while scanning my memory for a more sedate name, in a moment of serious thought, the face of “Gangamma ” flashed through my mind. So I decided to talk about this Gangamma as the woman I admired most. Who is this Gangamma?  To explain that I need to take you some thirty years back.

            I was then beginning my college studies in a small town where we lived. My house was in the suburbs of the town and I had to travel by bus to reach my college which was in the other extreme end of the town. The suburbs could have their individual septic tank for waste disposal. But within the town area as the infrastructural facilities such was sewerage treatment plants were yet to be developed, the practice of collecting night soil was prevalent in the town area.  A group of sanitary workers will visit the privy of each house and collect the night soil and cart it off into a bullock cart. While this activity was going on the whole street will stink to heaven and hell. In fact we used to avoid using the street when we spotted the cart at the street end.

            The sanitary workers will chatter among themselves, fight and argue a lot loudly and spew the betel nut juice all over the street. But one lady stood out in this crowd. She was always neatly dressed in plain blue sari with a white blouse. Her hair was well oiled, neatly combed and collected in a bun at the back of her neck. I have never seen her chew betel nut or argue with the others. She would silently do her job with a blank face. She fascinated   me a lot.

As I have pointed out in my earlier blog, we used to visit a slum to do social service. Among the row of house wallowing in filth and dirt, one hut stood out. It was a small mud hut with a thatched roof. The wall was well white washed and sparkling in the sun. In front of the house, button roses planted in old buckets and battery containers were in full bloom adding beauty to the place. There was a small wooden plank doubling up for a door, but the doorway was well swept and cleaned with cow dung. The white kolam neatly drawn gave an almost holy appearance. Interested at this neatness amidst such poverty, I made my way to the house and looked inside. It was quite dark . I entered and found it cool. After some time my eyes got acclimatized to the darkness and I noticed that the house was clean, the floor was mopped with cow dung. There was a small shelf  and  the few copper vessels were so well washed they almost looked new. I peered with interest and there stood Gangamma smiling and inviting us to sit down. She was the sanitary worker I had noticed earlier. It was only during this meeting she gave me  her name. when I remarked about her neatness she thought over for some time and with a tinge of regret in her voice said “ My job is afterall to clean things, Right?”. Well she had a point there. It is not known if Gangaamma liked her job or not but it was evident that  fate had dealt her such a hard blow and created her as a sanitary worker, but she won over fate with her invincible spirit by keeping  herself and her home so impeccably clean.