I had one of ‘those’ arguments with a friend (let’s call him X) yesterday. The kind that I’ve had with myself an umpteen number of times, and in which somehow or another I am not able to defend my stand convincingly, not even with myself.
So here’s how it started. We are on our way back home and take the local train. We decide to stand near the door. The train starts, gives a jerk and starts again to pick up speed. The whole thing is over in a matter of seconds, but for us it is the beginning of a conversation that lasts for most of the 20minute journey.
The jerky start reminded me of a thought I had sometime ago on a similar journey, when I was forced to travel during rush hour. Rush hour traveling in local trains in Mumbai is a nightmare, especially for someone not used to it. Apart from the obvious discomfort of traveling in a train packed beyond capacity, there are the unwritten rules and etiquettes of train travel that separate you from the regular crowd, so that to the seasoned eye you stand out like a sore thumb. I have stopped trying to fight this, I no longer try to blend in. I am an outsider and refuse to be apologetic about it. But that’s a subject for another post.
So on this particular occasion, I was standing near the window, in the space between the seats. This is the best place to be if you are traveling a long distance, because you can stand in one place, and nobody asks you to move right or left or further, and you don’t get jostled around when people behind you try to make their way to the door. However the problem with standing here is that there are no overhead handles to hold on to. So you end up holding onto the grill in the window or maintain balance with a hand flat against the wall. But mostly, and especially if you have a reasonable sense of balance, you end up standing with your feet a little apart. This is what aggravated my problem that day.
What was my problem? My problem was the jerky start. Every time the train started from a station, it started with a jerk and then at least one more before it began a smooth pick up. I might have noticed this before but it stayed at the back of my mind. On that day however, I was forced to think about it at length, because of how I felt every one of those jerks in my knees. On that day, given that I was traveling from Borivali to Churchgate and there are 19 stations along the way, that’s a good 19 times in the space of about an hour. I’m not saying that I have bad knees, or that the jerks were so bad that my knees started hurting. I’m just wondering about the men and women who do this every single day.
Local train is the lifeline of the city of Mumbai, its chief and most convenient mode of transport. I am definitely a fan, and that has as much to do with the efficiency with which it is run, as it is to do with my leaning towards public transport in general. Every day millions of people travel by local trains, to work and back. And they do this for years on end, possibly all their lives. And given how crowded trains are at rush hour, there are about twice or more, people standing as there are sitting. Imagine the number of jerks, however small, an average pair of knees goes through in a day, and then a week, month, year and so on. I’m no expert, but I would imagine it would be doing some amount of damage, especially as one grows older.
How difficult can it be to start a train more smoothly, to be more careful, in the interest of all those passengers? I have a feeling it’s not impossible, it’s just that the drivers have not thought about the damage they might be doing. It’s a matter of expertise for sure, but it’s not an expertise that cannot be developed. It’s just that nobody has pointed out to them that they need to develop it.
And that brought me to my next observation, how is it that something like this has not been looked into? Or has it been, and I don’t know about it, in which case I stand corrected. But of all issues that I have read about concerning public transport in the city, and specifically local trains, while the quality of travel has been discussed, and new trains are being designed, this particular concern has never even been voiced, let alone addressed. Is it that nobody has noticed? Is it that nobody has noticed because we have got accustomed to accepting things as they are, grateful if they are going even half right, and attempting to improve only after something goes drastically wrong? Is it something to do with our very attitude as Indians? Is it related in however indirect a way, to our complacency about all the deaths in accidents related to local trains? If human life can be of such little consequence, surely human comfort has no place in our minds and our busy schedules.
This was pretty much the argument offered by X. He asked me to look around me, at the people traveling with us. Did they care about a measly little jerk? Unlikely, I admit. The average Indian, and certainly the average Mumbaikar, has a thousand other things to worry about. Not to mention the fact that he is perfectly aware of how much worse it can be. After all almost everyone has traveled by State transport buses, on rural roads at some point or another in their lives. Compared to that, the local trains in Mumbai are sheer luxury.
And herein lies my confusion. I know X is right, but I believe, so am I. Just because things could be worse, are indeed, much worse in most of the country, should not mean that it is improved where there is scope for improvement with minimal effort. Just because the common man has learnt to accept his plight with such resignation, and for so long, that something like this doesn’t even occur to him anymore, should the experts continue to ignore these apparently minor issues?
Is the collective damage to millions of pairs of knees every day a minor issue, and thinking about how things can be made more comfortable for them, such a waste of time for officials and experts designing and running our public transport now and in the future?
Was it a waste of time to even have written this post?
Sunday, April 27, 2008
Tuesday, April 1, 2008
Bhutan Diary 10: The Punakha Dzong
Our next stop was the Punakha dzong. Dzongs are forts that used to be political and administrative centres. Some dzongs still function as government offices, and almost all functional ones also have shrines and monks residing within the premises. The Punakha dzong is beautiful, and this being our first visit to one, we didn’t know what to expect. We were stunned and awed into silence.
Here I shall let the pictures speak. They were not shot for the purpose of this blog, so they’re far from adequate. But they still speak way more than any words of mine possibly can. Suffice to say that we spent way more time here than we intended to, and dropped the idea to travel to the Wangdue Phodrang dzong.
I could however mention one little thing here. In one of the rooms on the first floor, we found a shrine. This is different from the one in the picture. Those were huge idols in a big hall. This was a lot more modest, a room with a shrine, and a monk quietly at work. He was making one of those decorative pieces with multicoloured concentric circles that we had seen in every temple we visited. We were curious about it, but the monk did not seem to speak Hindi or English. In fact he didn’t seem interested in speaking at all. What was really interesting was the material he was using, it seemed like white butter. That’s what made it so soft and easy to mould. He mixed it with colours (don’t know what he used for colours, but I could see coloured sticks lying around) to get the pastel shades. He would squeeze out a small piece from the coloured balls he’d made, and work it into a circle with his fingers. He made several of these in different sizes and colours. And then he put them together one over another in decreasing size. They stuck easily. And then would attach it to the main sculpture he was designing with a toothpick.
I wanted to stay awhile longer, spend sometime by the clear green water, but it was getting late. As I mentioned earlier, drivers in Bhutan don’t like to travel after dark, and sure enough the traffic reduces considerably as the sun goes down. We went back to Punakha town to see if we could find some more passengers to Thimphu. While the driver scouted around, Ramya and I looked for something to eat. But it was too much to ask for a sleepy little town like Punakha. One small restaurant that we found had a fixed menu that they were serving at that hour, and it was non-vegetarian. Being vegetarian really can be a huge disadvantage in some regions.
The driver hadn’t found any passengers, so we left, an uneventful drive back to Thimphu. How I missed Toshi!
Here I shall let the pictures speak. They were not shot for the purpose of this blog, so they’re far from adequate. But they still speak way more than any words of mine possibly can. Suffice to say that we spent way more time here than we intended to, and dropped the idea to travel to the Wangdue Phodrang dzong.
I could however mention one little thing here. In one of the rooms on the first floor, we found a shrine. This is different from the one in the picture. Those were huge idols in a big hall. This was a lot more modest, a room with a shrine, and a monk quietly at work. He was making one of those decorative pieces with multicoloured concentric circles that we had seen in every temple we visited. We were curious about it, but the monk did not seem to speak Hindi or English. In fact he didn’t seem interested in speaking at all. What was really interesting was the material he was using, it seemed like white butter. That’s what made it so soft and easy to mould. He mixed it with colours (don’t know what he used for colours, but I could see coloured sticks lying around) to get the pastel shades. He would squeeze out a small piece from the coloured balls he’d made, and work it into a circle with his fingers. He made several of these in different sizes and colours. And then he put them together one over another in decreasing size. They stuck easily. And then would attach it to the main sculpture he was designing with a toothpick.
I wanted to stay awhile longer, spend sometime by the clear green water, but it was getting late. As I mentioned earlier, drivers in Bhutan don’t like to travel after dark, and sure enough the traffic reduces considerably as the sun goes down. We went back to Punakha town to see if we could find some more passengers to Thimphu. While the driver scouted around, Ramya and I looked for something to eat. But it was too much to ask for a sleepy little town like Punakha. One small restaurant that we found had a fixed menu that they were serving at that hour, and it was non-vegetarian. Being vegetarian really can be a huge disadvantage in some regions.
The driver hadn’t found any passengers, so we left, an uneventful drive back to Thimphu. How I missed Toshi!
Bhutan Diary 9: Punakha-a temple of 'fertility'
We woke up the next day to a beautiful morning view of Punakha. And no water!
(My lousy net connection no longer lets me upload pictures to blogger. However the pictures can be viewed here, uploaded through the Google uploader for Apple. Love Google. Love Apple. Love Canon (not relevant here, but what the hell!)
The next hour and a half was spent waiting for water, over cups of tea and coffee (I had to switch to coffee, which I felt was a safer choice, after a disastrous cup of tea), and a couple of trips to the kitchen, but mostly hanging around in the pigeon-shit infested balcony. It was a beautiful, peaceful morning, as I suspect most mornings in Punakha are. The air was clear and crisp, and in the distance, in the compound of the local temple, we could see a couple of monk boys fooling around with a hosepipe. They were probably supposed to be watering the plants, but were busy chasing each other. I was a little upset about the water situation, or atleast I wanted to be, but with each passing day I was realizing how difficult it was to be angry in that country, and indeed with its people.
Rather delayed, but well fed with a breakfast of scrambled eggs and toast, we set out to explore Punakha. Our first stop was Chimi Lhakhang, a small 15th century temple, sitting on a hillock shaped ‘like a woman’s breast’! On the way we crossed this board with posters of election candidates. Bhutan, as you might know, recently became a democracy having held their first ever election last week. This change was ushered in by none other than the King himself, another indication of the sensible, far sighted man he appeared to be. No wonder the Bhutanese dote on their King.
Our driver, this time a Nepali fellow, dropped us at the foot of the hillock at the entrance of a narrow, kachcha path. We walked through a small village and then some fields and soon enough had lost our way, which was strange because we could see the temple and so knew the general direction we were supposed to head in, but it was such a narrow path, that it was easy to get misled. There was nothing to distinguish the paths made by the villagers who worked in the fields, from the one that would have led up to the temple. Ramya realized we were off course, and we retraced our steps until we reached what we thought was the correct way. The walk up could not have taken us more than 35-40 minutes, but city bred, or should I say city spoilt as we are, breathing polluted air, and doing little by way of exercise, we were a little breathless on our way up. But the beauty of the surrounding landscape more than compensated. As we climbed up the small hillock, we realized it was surrounded by hills on all sides, and far in the distance we could see a river, on its leisurely, meandering course, while closer home in another direction was the picturesque little village we had crossed. Between the village and the hillock were stepped fields. And of course the hillsides were dotted with small white houses.
Chimi Lhakhang is a temple dedicated to fertility. It is frequented by childless couples or those who have suffered miscarriages or early deaths of their children. It is believed that the blessings received help in conception and in keeping children safe. A wooden effigy of a Drukpa Kuenley’s male organ is used to bless pilgrims. (This part I read on my way back from the temple, otherwise I would have asked to see it for sure. We weren’t ‘blessed’ with any such thing of course.)
As is usually the case, the most beautiful part of the trip was the journey, in this case, the climb up and down. We spent some time inside the shrine, but were mostly outside, walking all around the temple. While we were there, several other people came visiting, including an Indian couple that looked distinctly Bengali. We had no intention of making any polite conversations, so we steered clear of them. What fascinated me were the Bhutanese women who were walking around with complete ease in their high heels and half kiras. They weren’t exactly walking on paved roads or flat land!
Soon enough we were on our way back. This time we didn’t lose our way. We reached a little early though, our driver who had taken other passengers in order to make a little extra money while we were at Chimi Lhakhang, hadn’t yet returned. So we looked around for tea at the few small shops at the beginning of the path. Strangely enough they didn’t have tea, but a giggly young girl at the first shop offered to make some black tea. ‘No milk,’ she apologized. Ramya was happy with this too.
Then came a memorable experience for me. I wanted to pee. I asked her if I could find a toilet. She giggled some more, and told me I could use theirs. Their ‘toilet’ was a small shack at the side of the house, made with wooden planks, with gaps between the planks, and a couple of positively gaping holes. It stood on top of a pit some six feet deep, with some more planks thrown across. Below I could see the muck, though incredibly it didn’t smell much. What was a bigger source of consternation for me was a boy in the distance who had seen me enter and was looking at the shack for sure. I could see him through the damn gap, could he see me? I wont ever know of course. I took a leak as quickly as I could, and ran.
While Ramya had his tea, I took out my camera, for a beautiful shot that I didn’t get. An old man had come and parked himself on a bench right next to the window of the store, and was playing with a child, while the woman looked on from the window. But as soon as she saw the camera she backed off. No amount of persuasion worked, ‘Not interested,’ she told me emphatically.
(My lousy net connection no longer lets me upload pictures to blogger. However the pictures can be viewed here, uploaded through the Google uploader for Apple. Love Google. Love Apple. Love Canon (not relevant here, but what the hell!)
The next hour and a half was spent waiting for water, over cups of tea and coffee (I had to switch to coffee, which I felt was a safer choice, after a disastrous cup of tea), and a couple of trips to the kitchen, but mostly hanging around in the pigeon-shit infested balcony. It was a beautiful, peaceful morning, as I suspect most mornings in Punakha are. The air was clear and crisp, and in the distance, in the compound of the local temple, we could see a couple of monk boys fooling around with a hosepipe. They were probably supposed to be watering the plants, but were busy chasing each other. I was a little upset about the water situation, or atleast I wanted to be, but with each passing day I was realizing how difficult it was to be angry in that country, and indeed with its people.
Rather delayed, but well fed with a breakfast of scrambled eggs and toast, we set out to explore Punakha. Our first stop was Chimi Lhakhang, a small 15th century temple, sitting on a hillock shaped ‘like a woman’s breast’! On the way we crossed this board with posters of election candidates. Bhutan, as you might know, recently became a democracy having held their first ever election last week. This change was ushered in by none other than the King himself, another indication of the sensible, far sighted man he appeared to be. No wonder the Bhutanese dote on their King.
Our driver, this time a Nepali fellow, dropped us at the foot of the hillock at the entrance of a narrow, kachcha path. We walked through a small village and then some fields and soon enough had lost our way, which was strange because we could see the temple and so knew the general direction we were supposed to head in, but it was such a narrow path, that it was easy to get misled. There was nothing to distinguish the paths made by the villagers who worked in the fields, from the one that would have led up to the temple. Ramya realized we were off course, and we retraced our steps until we reached what we thought was the correct way. The walk up could not have taken us more than 35-40 minutes, but city bred, or should I say city spoilt as we are, breathing polluted air, and doing little by way of exercise, we were a little breathless on our way up. But the beauty of the surrounding landscape more than compensated. As we climbed up the small hillock, we realized it was surrounded by hills on all sides, and far in the distance we could see a river, on its leisurely, meandering course, while closer home in another direction was the picturesque little village we had crossed. Between the village and the hillock were stepped fields. And of course the hillsides were dotted with small white houses.
Chimi Lhakhang is a temple dedicated to fertility. It is frequented by childless couples or those who have suffered miscarriages or early deaths of their children. It is believed that the blessings received help in conception and in keeping children safe. A wooden effigy of a Drukpa Kuenley’s male organ is used to bless pilgrims. (This part I read on my way back from the temple, otherwise I would have asked to see it for sure. We weren’t ‘blessed’ with any such thing of course.)
As is usually the case, the most beautiful part of the trip was the journey, in this case, the climb up and down. We spent some time inside the shrine, but were mostly outside, walking all around the temple. While we were there, several other people came visiting, including an Indian couple that looked distinctly Bengali. We had no intention of making any polite conversations, so we steered clear of them. What fascinated me were the Bhutanese women who were walking around with complete ease in their high heels and half kiras. They weren’t exactly walking on paved roads or flat land!
Soon enough we were on our way back. This time we didn’t lose our way. We reached a little early though, our driver who had taken other passengers in order to make a little extra money while we were at Chimi Lhakhang, hadn’t yet returned. So we looked around for tea at the few small shops at the beginning of the path. Strangely enough they didn’t have tea, but a giggly young girl at the first shop offered to make some black tea. ‘No milk,’ she apologized. Ramya was happy with this too.
Then came a memorable experience for me. I wanted to pee. I asked her if I could find a toilet. She giggled some more, and told me I could use theirs. Their ‘toilet’ was a small shack at the side of the house, made with wooden planks, with gaps between the planks, and a couple of positively gaping holes. It stood on top of a pit some six feet deep, with some more planks thrown across. Below I could see the muck, though incredibly it didn’t smell much. What was a bigger source of consternation for me was a boy in the distance who had seen me enter and was looking at the shack for sure. I could see him through the damn gap, could he see me? I wont ever know of course. I took a leak as quickly as I could, and ran.
While Ramya had his tea, I took out my camera, for a beautiful shot that I didn’t get. An old man had come and parked himself on a bench right next to the window of the store, and was playing with a child, while the woman looked on from the window. But as soon as she saw the camera she backed off. No amount of persuasion worked, ‘Not interested,’ she told me emphatically.
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