Trader Comes to Town….

It is clear that upbringing, education and social surroundings shape a person’s belief system and influence greatly how he conducts himself and relates to others. This is a piece on the more questionably-held beliefs that people repose their faith in – that set of beliefs and practices which are explained by supernatural causality or just unexplained at all – that stuff commonly referred to as ‘superstition’.

I realised quite recently that the occupation of a person does contribute just as significantly to some of the most unexplainable beliefs. Traders both big and small, are some of the most superstitious people I have ever encountered; the term ‘trader’ used here being a broad term for the ‘mom-and-pop’ stores or the neighbourhood grocers. Your neighbourhood grocer is the trader with whom you are most likely to have the maximum transactions; the one who provides you with everything from soap to pulses to bulbs to tidbits about the goings-on in your locality. A big part of being a trader or a grocery store-owner (I feel) lies in adequately propitiating the pictures and miniature idols of gods and goddesses installed at the shop in the morning, and completing the intricate set of activities at lockup time in the late evening, and keeping an active eye out to ward off any possible incidents of covetous customers casting the ‘evil eye’ anytime in between opening to closure.

When I was a student of commerce, we learnt about the unpredictability of trade – the risks involved and the keen business awareness required to offset the losses possible from unforeseen causes. The tools you need to have are myriad; a competitive edge, the meticulous skills needed to plan and anticipate, a reasonable appetite for risk, an agreeable relationship with stakeholders, etc. No scholar or book ever advocated a keen sense of holding questionable, unexplained beliefs as one of the pre-requisite for doing business well. Apparently, our traders have acquired an entirely divergent skill-set of managing business which while appearing unconnected with any aspect of commerce, is being practised overwhelming by those in the profession.

Most traders simply avoid big transactions on Saturdays (which is a common belief among most Indians), which means that they will not make big purchases or plan any new launches on Saturdays. Some of the traders stagger their stock schedules so that they make most of the purchases on Tuesdays and Thursdays (considered auspicious for some reason, I guess). Invariably all traders have the ubiquitous lemon-chili-garlic totems dangling at their shop-front to keep off the ‘evil eye’. Knowing how many lemons there should be in a such string, the ability to identify when to change the old, discoloured totems are essential elements of the traders’ competencies, as is knowing which god’s picture/ idol is supposed to be installed on the right and who goes on the left side.

A recent conversation with my local grocer revealed that

rats gnawing away at flour or rice sacks in a grocery is actually considered auspicious for the business because it is supposed to drive up profits and unfathomably, make the flour tastier. I must explain here that the humble rat is revered in our society as the trusty consort of the much-loved god, Ganesha. I suppose that such a belief is very convenient for the grocer because it liberates him from the need to actually undertake the efforts (and the expense!!) to keep his stock safe from pests. Most of the beliefs we profess to hold are the ones which are expedient for us at that moment. Our beliefs originate, evolve and get discarded as per our situation because at the very basic, they are meant to serve our interests - their purpose in our existence.

Like a few weeks back when I undertook a new venture, my father consulted some astrological almanac to decide upon the date of launch, mother organised a small puja on that day and another member of the family took it upon himself to apply vermillion streaks for prosperity upon the attending people and on our business paraphernalia. I do not believe that there are specific days for starting something new, neither do I hold much store by random dots of red colour on people’s foreheads or on machinery, but I acquiesced. It is not my place to object to the good intentions of other people who are willing to invest their energies and time to secure my well-being. Their way to ensure this is different from mine, but their hearts I feel, are in the right place.

There is another trader I know who post shutting down his business for the day, always proceeds to burn scraps of paper before the storefront to ward off any bad karma accumulated during the day. Ultimately the beliefs we live by and the practices we train ourselves in, are merely meant to provide us some security and a certain peace of mind amidst so much incomprehensible stuff that life throws at us. 

A Business that Flies…

I recently made a couple of trips to a place called Sonapur in the outskirts of Guwahati; the town lies on the highway barely 30 kms away. Earlier Sonapur was famous for its scenic beauty, the quaint picnic spots it had to offer and its sweet, juicy oranges. Sonapur is now more known for the multitude of dhabas that have come up along the highway, some of whom have grandly advertised themselves as ‘resorts’. The town itself is bound on one side by the highway, on another side by a tea estate and ringed by agricultural land all around. Besides this, Sonapur is also home to a defence establishment (whether army or air force, I don’t know for certain). Beyond the mushrooming of the said dhabas along the fringes and the recent opening of 2 vehicle showrooms along the highway (a Mahindra one for commercial vehicles and another belonging to Maruti cars), there is little commercial and industrial activity to be seen in the place.

Anyway, when I went into the town I asked an old resident as to the predominant occupations of the local folk. He replied that most people were cultivators, some of them ran myriad trading businesses (grocery, convenience, clothes stores, etc). Besides the regular clientele of defence personnel and their families, there is a fair sprinkling of hill tribal communities who also came down to sell their produce in the town, forming another customer group for the town’s traders. When I further enquired about any other business besides the stores and the ubiquitous dhabas, the geriatric man replied, “Oh yes, a great many do engage in ‘flying business’.” Flying Business?! This was the second time in as many months that I had come across the term. The first was when an old acquaintance had claimed that flying business was in fact, one of his major sources of income. I asked him what he meant and he explained.

To the uninitiated, let me make it clear that the term has nothing to do with propellers, aeronautics, flight ticketing or any other paraphernalia that we normally associate with ‘flying’. It is in fact a business that possesses no concrete definition; it operates mostly on the twin bases of local know-how and sociability. For instance, when one party decides to sell off a plot of land and you get hold of an interested buyer and arrange for the deal to materialise, you charge a certain fee as the facilitator – this is one model of flying business. Oh, flying business has numerous models of operations – again for instance, if you are new to a place and someone comes along who manages the gas connection and the police verification for your new rented home, that becomes yet another illustration of how a flying business may be conducted. Chances are that the same guy will also come forward to get you the registration certificate for your newly-purchased car, finagle a trading licence from the oily local officials, get you a maid or even arrange for the neighbourhood electrician to install the fancy chandelier in your living room. I guess you may call this guy a broker or even a middleman. In its essence, a person who engages in flying business is a sort of all-rounder offering his services; he does ‘this’ and ‘that’ and 'everything else' – his only consideration being the fee. The flying businessman may therefore, be considered a necessary and very useful part of the local community, providing his services through the extensive native network that he has cultivated.

The downside is that flying businessmen are often less than sincere about the services that they supposedly offer. They might charge fees upfront for 'incidental expenses' for things which never materialise; frequently leave you hanging with vague statements of ‘you know how it is, these things take time’ after taking responsibility or even rip you off with legal documents or certificates of decidedly dodgy provenance. There is quite simply no accountability mechanism through which one can ensure that services are rendered on time, as promised and in the correct manner. These are all reasons why the term ‘flying business’ has acquired a certain shady connotation today. Perhaps when you are a flying businessman, it is a constant temptation to just take off…..with your client’s bucks!!

They call him ‘Tension’

He is a pooch; they call him ‘Tension’. Yup, that is his moniker! When someone asked why he has been named so, the mistress simply replied, “Cos that’s what his activities amount to.” Tension lives with a retired couple in an apartment and contrary to all the remonstrations and mock-irritations which his masters conjure up in front of friends and family, the truth is that Tension is actually a beloved member of the household. Tension is a milky-white coated male German Spitz who was introduced into the house as a companion to the couple after their only son went abroad for a job. Brought up with such love and indulgence, Tension has evolved his own personality which is almost akin to a coddled offspring.

 

Just sample this – Tension has to be (yes, absolutely has to be) taken out for a refreshing ride in the car around evening even if it is a short circuitous trip around the neighbourhood, if he is expected to eat a hassles-free dinner. If his masters are to be believed, Tension seems to be have the entire plethora of human tantrums under his canine command. Tension sulks, curls his lips up when he is displeased, and even turns his perfect muzzle up in an exaggerated gesture (it is alleged!!) of completely affronted dignity.

What do you ask, actually turns Tension blue? Any one among a complex myriad of quirky, lovable idiosyncrasies. For instance, evening time is reserved telly time for Tension. His master commented with perfect seriousness, “Our Tension only likes to watch ‘Colours’ channel. When someone switches to another channel, he gets incensed.” The joke I am sure, must be on his hapless human masters cos dogs are as I know, hopelessly colour-blind and here, we have a pooch dedicating his profound intellect to a channel called ‘Colours’!

Another peculiarity involves dressing up when Tension is taken out for walk; evidently the pooch wants his human entourage turned out in prim and proper fashion and that means ‘NO SHORTS, NO PJs’. Additionally, the poor master who is saddled with taking Tension out for these daily ceremonial excursions into the outside world has to step out in style - in running shoes - if he is to escort the royal train. Anything frivolous (that means light sandals/ baggy pants/ track pants/ etc etc) and Tension refuses to go out.

The list of Tension’s idiosyncrasies runs on – he likes his bed fluffy and room cooled prior to turning in, he partakes daily of a single rasgolla (East Indian sweetmeat of dough, milk, sugar syrup) for digestive purposes, rides in the elevator up or down alone with his master and no one else is admitted inside. He likes adults but detests kids (I suspect that he doesn’t like the prospect of the spotlight turning away from him to some cute, drooly babe). Any time someone commits a transgression of Tension’s inviolable laws of life, he becomes a royal pain in the you-know-where – howling away, refusing to be stroked or approached in any way, ultimately subjecting himself to the sweet luxury of being mollified only when an appropriate length of time as determined by him, has elapsed.

Tension has it good. I wouldn’t mind trading places with him sometimes. What do you think?

The Mushroom as an Essential Ingredient of Magic!

It has been raining here quite a bit now and the ground has been sprouting all sorts of greens. Yesterday I saw a mushroom – entirely white in colour and as cute as a button. I plucked it to show my mother. When she saw it, she exclaimed, ’Bang-shaati’. I must explain here that in Assamese, the mushroom is called ‘bang-shaati’ or ‘bang- shota’, the word itself being a conjoint of ‘bang’ meaning ‘frog/toad’ and ‘shaati/shota’ meaning an ‘umbrella’. Therefore, the Assamese word for mushroom - ‘bang-shaati’ – literally means the umbrella of a frog. I tried to imagine a frog sheltering from the rain under the classic umbrella-like top of a mushroom, and surprisingly, that image came to my mind quite easily. As a kid, I remember how I used to collect mushrooms and play with them.

It is fun when you can recall buried-down remembrances from back when one is a kid; somehow the discovery of the tiny, delightful thoughts of a child who was you once, appeal instantly to the adult you are now. I discovered upon subsequent research that I was certainly not the only one who had fantasies about that cap-and-stem form. Tales involving the mushroom are rooted in myriad cultures and folktales.

The mushroom is sometimes called the toadstool – another reference to how the merry frog and the staid mushroom form an instant alliance, atleast in the mind. In German folklore and old fairy tales, toads are often depicted sitting on mushrooms and catching, with their tongues, the flies that are said to be drawn to that fleshy fungi. And surprisingly, it was just as easy for me to imagine a solemn frog planting its small behind on a mushroom to catch a breather, and catch some flies as well!

As I was searching for more tales, a long-forgotten wisp of an idea from childhood materialized suddenly. When I was a kid, I used to think that the mushroom was some kind of a house; of course, being small, it made logical sense to my kiddie mind that the people living in them must be tiny too!  And to my secret delight, I discovered that again I was not the only one who had the ‘mushroom-house’ idea. The mushroom has been frequently depicted in fairy tales as being an essential part of the gnomes’ identity. Gnomes wheel them around (I don’t know why!), live in them, use them as convenient props and otherwise, make a great fuss about this wonder of the fungi world. In the film ‘The Smurfs’ (2011), the legendary elf-like smurfs are shown living in their own wonder village with a clear, flowing stream and a charming wooden bridge over it, wild lavender blooming all around… and of course, houses made out of mushrooms with colourful yellow, red, orange tops! Other mythical creatures like fairies also conveniently rest under and perch upon wild mushrooms, when they are I guess, tired from all the fluttering around.

Thank God for mushrooms, frogs, gnomes, fairies and ....for imagination!

About Love: Wille zum Leben or as Schopenhauer may say, “It’s 100% Natural!”

The next time you see Handsome Bob and Plain Jane holding hands and evidently in love, slowly recall the name of Arthur Schopenhauer before you inevitably silently mutter in surprise, “Why her?”. The logical next question is, ‘Who is Arthur Schopenhauer?’ He was one brainy dude, a philosopher actually, and rather a crusty one as history announces, but a thinker known for a perceptual clarity which has attracted and influenced many other thinkers.Now Schopenhauer or let’s call him Mr. S, says that when two people fall in love, the real purpose is…um, procreation and furtherance of the species.

Mr. S' work in ‘The World as Will and Representation’ proclaims that all human effort is designed towards furthering a will (or desires in common parlance), which tragically is destined to be unsatisfied. This discontentment later leads to pain and suffering. Here’s what Mr.S says about love.

• Mr. S calls love ‘wille zum leben’ or ‘will to live’. The romantic condition is by extension of this ‘will’, just as inevitable as feeling hungry or thirsty.
• Nature succeeds in pulling wool over lovers’ eyes by deceiving them into thinking that the love and companionship of their mates are essential for their lives’ happiness. When in fact as Mr. S says, it is not so…you’ll be unhappy with or without your loved one. Yes, love as Mr. S puts it, is nothing but Nature’s deception.
• Guys look for complementary physical features (mainly) like a sharp nose, nice eyebrows while girls typically look for ruggedness, strength and security. In other words, we search for the most ideal mate so that the offspring from such a union leads to a perfect specimen (imperfect love with perfect result, result here is a baby).
• Mr. S also has a comforting word for people who get dumped – your partner’s rejection is not necessarily a condemnation of you personally; it is just that he/ she has found a better mate who can produce a more perfect specimen. Gee, I don’t how rejected lovers are meant to construe this as comforting.
• Once the baby comes in, Nature’s agenda is fulfilled. The physical attraction now being thoroughly worn down, the two people formerly in love, are destined to spend an unhappy existence together or, just part ways.
• Since we look for complementary mates, short girls will fall in love with tall guys and yada-yada. Hence, the first question in this piece, ‘Why her?’

I feel a natural (that word again!) tendency to dismiss these basifications as hokum but I will not. Empirical evidence is just too strong for casually tossing out whatever Mr. S has to say. Further the interpretation of desires as the root of all disenchantment is a philosophy which has been expounded by far too many sources for it all to be just a single man’s ravings. There is a remarkable congruence between Mr. S’s words and the ascetic teachings of Hinduism and the core beliefs of Buddhism.

The remarkable thing about stuff in life is this – if you think long and deep enough, everything can be reduced to insipid, dull details. There is this wonderful moment in the film Local Hero (1983), when a knowledgeable scientific sort explains the phenomenon of the Aurora Borealis to a layman as ‘high energy protons spilling into the earth’s atmosphere..’ and the wonderstruck guy is just too amazed at the colourful display overheard. It is not important to the guy how the Aurora has been formed, perhaps what is important for him and for us too I guess, is just to be present there in that silvery moonlight when that display occurs. I feel the same way about love.

Infinite Mischief

Bhumon (meaning ‘beautiful mind’) is my youngest cousin brother, all of 3 years. I call him ‘Bhoo’ while my younger brother Sunny calls him ‘Baby Bhoo’. How equipped really, is a 3-yr old with social, directional, conversational and selling skills? Can he charm people and win them over to his POV? ‘Oh yes’ I hear you say, if by ‘charm’, one is alluding to how kids howl, slather stuff copiously with drool and otherwise, coax out thingies from tuckered-out parents and nannies. But what if I were talking about a 3-yr old being a smooth operator? ‘No!’ But wait a minute, he’s so intelligent…. ‘Nyet, nada…whoever heard of conversational skills in a kid as small as that.’ So to win over all skeptics I present before you, 2 of the latest exploits of Bhumon, the charm-kid.

His parents go visiting a colleague of the dad’s with Bhumon in tow. With the adults talking in the living room, Bhumon rolls around taking inventory of the house’s provisions. Food being the reason d’être of most 3-yr olds, our charm-kid soon ends up in the kitchen where he sees a maid. Bhumon strikes up a conversation with the maid all by himself, talking about this and that, until he gets around to the topic of whats available in the way of instant consumption. Our charm-kid enquires, “Have you got Maggi (a brand of instant noodles)?”

“Yes.”

“Oh, I love Maggi. How much time does it take to make Maggi?”

“No time at all.”

“Then maybe you can make me some. I’m so hungry.” The charm-kid usually embellishes such requests with a slow smile and big, twinkling eyes (from my own experiences).

It was a short visit which gets prolonged cos the maid’s preparing Maggi for Bhumon who spends a slurpy time eating the noodles which he had got prepared by someone he’d met for the first time in a house he'd been visiting for the first time.

Another time, Sunny goes visiting Bhumon. Both of them are watching TV and Sunny is slowly getting irritated cos Bhumon’s been watching cartoons for the last half-hour and he’s got the remote nestled safely within his small palm. So Sunny says, “Hey baby Bhoo, you’re so big and still watching cartoons. Gimme the remote.” Our charm-kid slowly turns his head away from the TV, looks at Sunny full in the eye and explains, “Sunny da, I’m just 3-yrs old. All I can understand is cartoons.” And just as slowly turns his head back towards whatever colourful adventure was exploding on the screen. A very sheepish Sunny spends the rest of the evening following the trail of a pink teddy as it gallivants around a sleepy, Japanese town.

Whoever says that a 3-yr old is shy around people, unable to express himself thru language, is naturally hesitant & has no working knowledge of Carnegie’s ‘How to Win Friends & Influence People’, has to interact with Bhumon, the charm-kid.

Where is the grass??!

Some time back I went to a party where they had impressive floral decorations. The halls were decked with bouquets of what looked like carnations and chrysanthemums, and other flowers I could not identify. On closer look, the flowers turned out to be perfectly formed… and fake. As I was squinted at one particularly gorgeous bunch, I saw a bee buzzing busily (see what I did here??!) around the flowers. Fake blossoms and a very real (and I suspect, really let down) bee. Well, that bee was not the only one who got fooled by perfect imitations of natural stuff. Take a look below!

A Newton Moment

We all know the story of Sir Isaac Newton resting under an apple tree when a merry fruit goes boink and lands on his head; a happy incident culminating in what is now known as Newton’s Laws of Gravity. I can appreciate now basis my own experience a couple of evenings ago, about how falling fruits tend to get people’s minds working on overdrive, leading to observations galore.

It was the evening of Maha Shivratri (literally meaning ‘the great night of Shiva’) – a Hindu festival celebrated annually in reverence of Lord Shiva, the Hindu God of Transformation or Destruction. This year Shivratri was celebrated on 20th Feb.  I was out strolling that particular evening with a friend through one of the leafier avenues of the city when we hear a loud thunk and see what appears to be a robust, round-shaped thingy lying on the ground. I pick it up, my friend remarks that it is a bael fruit (or wood apple, a type of marmelos). The skin of this fruit is green and speckled with yellow marks and a few indentations from the fall. I keep the fruit cos it gives off a nice rosy, citrusy aroma and bring it back from our walk, not ascribing any other thought to it other than perhaps, keeping it in my room for its rich aroma. I had never eaten the fruit raw though I had tasted its drink a few times.

I had just reached the lane in front of our house when I see my brother Sunny outside and give the bael to him, when things start happening quickly. You see, the bael is considered the favourite fruit of Lord Shiva, and its leaves are an integral part of Shivratri rituals, as per The Holy Book of Shiva, the Shiv Purana. Devotees offer the fruit to the Lord that day, partaking of a bit of the offering as a Divinely-invested gift (prasad) of Shiva. On any other day, the bael falling onto my path would have been a simple good fortune to taste free fruit, but on that day which was ‘the great night of Shiva’, it was positively receiving Divine Benediction – a feat for which the Lord himself intervened. 

A few neighbours gathered around Sunny, all agog with the now-famous story of how the Bael transported itself by some Divine will, down for its devotees. The bael was smashed on the ground just like a coconut, and its aromatic, pulpy fruit bits instantly consumed as prasad by the eager throng. I too tasted the raw fruit for the first time. The bael never even reached the house; so much for my plans of using it as a room freshener!

This story is a typical tale of how we seek and receive assurances (purely symbolic, I mean) from the external environment. A fruit, an animal, a happy coincidence – everything is grist to our assurance-seeking nature. I have earlier explored this theme in one of my previous posts When Keys get Stuck. That evening though, I was just basking in the glow of being “one of God’s favoured”, the "deliverer of Divine Prasad". You understand I am sure, that I was just living up my own Newton Moment.

About the Common House Lizard & how it brings out the worst in little boys

The house lizard in my younger days was a ready source of amusement and convenient prop for naughty tricks. Lizards were always to be found in plenty in all the houses we have lived in till now. The earliest instance of a predator stalking its prey that I have seen must have been the lizard sneaking up on its prey (bugs, flies, moths, etc.) with all the finesse and stealth of a natural little hunter. As I remember though, the lizard was seen as something of a pest in our society. This must have something to do with its ‘detachable’ tail falling down upon unsuspecting people and people’s food, and sometimes even the whole lizard spiraling down onto least-prepared human presence. To top it, the lizard was also viewed with suspicion – it was rumoured that killing a lizard would bring bad luck, and of course, we all shared in the uneasy though misplaced idea that a lizard coming into contact with your food would poison it.

So all in all, the lizard was fair game for me and my friends when we were little. To be sure we could not kill it but we could conjure up all sorts of devilish mischief designed to leave it half, but not fully dead. The simplest trick was this.

Step 1: Get hold of a broom with a long handle, and search out the house walls for prime lizzy specimens. Note: Lizards are found in plenty under tube lights and bulb holders where they wait patiently for the moths to show up for the ‘grand illumination’.

Step 2: After target acquisition, creep up on the lizzies with your broom and give that section of the wall a god ol’ sweep.

Step 3: “All fall down” and now the lizzies are at your mercy. Take hold of a tong (I used my mother’s old forceps) to pin down the lizard’s tail. Watch the lizard squirm and struggle, until it sheds its tail to flee.

Step 4: Long after the lizard’s gone, watch the still-squirming tail with fascination as it writhes in its own dance of detachment. (Taking the tail to show to your mother at this point, may not be the best way of attracting parental approval, as I found out painfully on one occasion).

An older cousin brother had his own novel idea for tormenting the lizard. He used a long stick, applied the top end with some lime (calcium hydroxide which is a white chemical used in preparing 'paan'), and raise it up to the wall where lizards would be seen. He did not have to wait long before an unsuspecting lizard crept close to the white end and thinking it to be a moth/ bug, tried to bite it. Lime can cause skin irritation and skin burning and the poor lizard after his attempt, would writhe in agony from the burn, fall down on the ground or just plain disappear from the scene as fast as it could run. We never did find out if the lizard would die from such a nasty trick.

Another fav trick was collecting lizard’s eggs (tiny white round replicas). Lizard laid eggs in plenty, and we would gather up the pretty, fragile-looking things with their soft shells and hide them away. Again after placing them in a hidden spot only to forget about them in the burst of other childish activities, we never did find out if the eggs ever hatched.

In our present house, lizards are rare and we hardly hear the loud ‘tik-tik’ as the lizards call out to each other in the night. Perhaps too many lizards have already provided game for mischievous, unmindful boys like my younger self. As I recollect my own pranks I feel sad somehow that I could not or did not care about nor understand how I was hurting a small creature. 

When keys don’t work

It is peculiar when your work’s output is tied down to seemingly unrelated and self-indulgent idiosyncrasies. Sportsmen, artists, students, everyone – me definitely included – seek the comfort of little serendipitous joys when we set out to do something. To the young Indian hunter of the Old West setting out to track bison, an eagle in the sky would have probably meant good fortune; two eagles and it would have just as well meant something bad. The basic theme underlying this and all other ‘omens’ is one of the human mind seeking and deriving assurance and reinforcement from the external environment, whether it be a bird, a broken egg, or anything else, when it is on the threshold of embarking on action.

The reverse is also true – I forget how many times I have let random, unconnected happenings lure me away from my chosen path, with hidden, subtle messages of futility and incipient bad fortune. Human nature is also ironical in that, while it seeks assurance from a thousand and one things when it is beginning a course of action, a solitary, stray incident containing within it obscure but seemingly portent cues of “all-your-efforts-will-come-to-naught” is sufficient to dissuade one from breaking away from such a course.

So, it is with me and my blog. ‘Compulsive Pursuits into Quaintness’ ran into an unexpected blockade when my keyboard conked out on me. To be fair, my laptop keyboard had been giving me quiet hints for some time now when one-by-one, its keys stopped working. First, it was ‘O’ that simply stopped responding to the pressure of my right middle finger, then it was ‘N’ followed by ‘B’ and ‘C’ in quick succession. So, you must surely understand my consternation if I ever had to type in ‘Bacon’ – still I struggled on, using the on-screen keyboard until. Until that is, till almost all the keys gave up the ghost, leaving me stranded. I was somehow relieved at this ‘divine signal’, happy to let my blogging days take a break (fulfilling but completely unearned, I must confess).

Getting a keyboard replacement started its own saga of dismay and frustration, involving in its wake, a kindly friend in Delhi, one less-than-knowledgeable computer parts dealer in Nehru Place, eBay India, a careless laptop accessories seller from Ahmedabad. Finally, I got my new keyboard and have now got it installed.

Equilibrium has now been restored and I feel, compulsive pursuits may now resume. So, tag along!

MAd aβ¤uŦ MaR©h

March is here and it comes accompanies by the familiar hoopla. When I was younger, March was the month before Bihu (spring festival of Assam) and I used to look forward to the Bihu holidays. Now March has become the financial year-end, heralding the time for individuals setting investments in order, filing I-T returns, organisations compiling their statements and planning for the year ahead. So chances are that whether you are a part of a family or a salaried employee in some organisation or self-employed, you are feeling the March blues cos this month necessities you taking decisions with far-reaching consequences, planning ahead and getting your life in order.

All in all, depressing stuff for most – avoided till the last minute.

The breathless insurance companies beseeching you to ‘secure’ your life and the FMCG and auto companies conspiring to offload their excess inventory and project an inflated profit by extending ‘discounts’. Repeated calls to your banker and accountant who resort to incomprehensible jargon. Yes, March is upon us.

Spare a thought for Niaz da who has a PCO-cum-photostat-cum medical shop near us. I enquired after his business and he cursed March saying that his trade always comes down in this month. The reason he came up for such slow trade is that people tend to hold onto their money and spend less - a theory entirely at cross-purposes with all these companies promoting their products/ services with limited period only offers. Niaz da is pissed too that he has only till the end of this month to return the expired drugs in his stock to the pharma companies.

An auto-wallah told me that his business suffers in March everytime cos people do not want to travel too much in this month. Huh?! I presumed that with all those people buying ‘discounted’ stuff, ‘securing’ their life, filing returns and everything else, a lot of rubber must be getting burned.

We have let the calendar take control of our life, March madness being just one symptom.