Give it Back

 
The province of Ontario runs a recycling program called the Ontario Deposit Return Program (ODRP) or simply, ‘Bag It Back’. Presently, it applies only to alcoholic beverage containers. The way it works is this – a mandatory deposit is collected at the point-of-purchase (10 cents for the smaller cans/ bottles and 20 cents for the bigger ones). Once the user returns the empty container to The Beer Store, which is the official collector, the deposit amount is returned. The results of this program are phenomenal – almost 80% of all empty alcoholic containers are being returned. Instead of being dumped into our landfills and potentially affecting our soil and water, this waste is getting recycled.

Which brings me to the story of my cousin brother and his early days in Toronto. My brother came to Canada in 2016, moved into an apartment block overlooking the lake, and spent the first few months as a jobless immigrant. It was then that he struck upon the idea of generating a small income from collecting the used cans and bottles he could see strewn all along the lake’s beaches. So, he would go comb the beaches every morning. On his salvaging spree, he was surprised to see other Torontonians (what a wacky moniker!) doing the same.

Young, old, hobos in their scruffy clothing, well-dressed people, immigrants like himself, homeowners whose backyards opened onto the lake – he would come across all sorts. Some of them, my brother guessed, were just like him – wanting to make an extra buck, but then he would also encounter many who just wanted to keep the place clean and safe. Many of the early morning walkers would thank him for doing his part as a conscientious resident. My brother did this for a week and earned almost $ 20 – 30 daily. He says he stopped when he could no longer overcome his discomfiture when he had to acknowledge those words of gratitude being uttered by total strangers.

Sometime later, he got his first job. Those first few days, my brother says, showed him the strong sense of duty of the people of this great city.

An Exercise in Gluttony

‘Mission Mandarin’ commenced on a bright afternoon on the 29^th

A typical buffet at Mandarin!!

of last month; triggered by the need to break out of my current spartan existence. Surfing the net, I came across the welcome news of restaurants and eateries of the province of Ontario now declared open to walk-in patrons after a long period of close to a year. My friend, Google, helpfully pointed out that ‘Mandarin’ – a Chinese-

Canadian cuisine chain – had only recently restarted their fabled buffet service and I jumped at the chance of sampling a spread comprising 150+ items at a (comparatively) low cost of $24.99. So, I called up the Mandarin outlet nearest to my home on 29^th only to be told that the reservations for the week had been exhausted already. Well, I must say that I wasn’t surprised by the evidence of how my fellow people are striving to normalize their lives, one plateful of food at a time! Undaunted, I made a reservation for the next week on 8^th of October and started my groundwork to make Operation ‘Conquer Mandarin’ a resounding success.

My friend, Google, came to my aid again, directing me to helpful content on how to prime my constitution for the mayhem to come. Again, I was not surprised by how many of my fellow people have fine-tuned gluttony to a fine art, perfected by painful attention to sleep, exercise, water and fiber intake for the days leading to the final battle. Experts of countless buffet battles have devised their own strategies to come out on tops at the battlefield, comprising diverse elements as to the choice of clothes on the D-day (loose-fitting, mind you, to accommodate your expanding girth), arriving early to the scene and doing a quick but perceptive recce of the spread, chalking out a pecking order(!) of the gluttony to follow, staying away from carbs, et al.

Armed with the information and having carried out some of the preparations, I couldn’t wait for 8^th October to dawn and dawn it did, with a muggy vengeance. The skies were overcast, there was a constant drizzle, and the winds made a late but telling entrance. The dedicated foot-soldier that I am, I ventured out into the drizzle and the wind nonetheless, with but one objective in mind – total annihilation!

Arriving at the comfortable environs of Mandarin and being welcomed by the ever-solicitous staff there considerably bolstered my confidence. I was first comfortably seated at my table and the rules of the new-age ‘socially distanced’ buffet dining experience having been explained, I placed a ‘spirited’ order for a glass of Bellini – a concoction of rum, schnapps, and peach puree – and then strode into the buffet hall with the air of a seasoned veteran. Looking at the vast expanse filled me with delight and no small sense of wonderment – there was a salad bar, a soup counter with breads, a live grill, a sushi bar, a wide selection of hot entrees, calories-laden desserts, ice cream, frozen yogurt bar..

The first to be taken prisoner was a steaming hot bowl of soup with chicken wontons, accompanied by crackers and breadsticks. It was delicious and immediately filled me with a warming premonition of how glorious the day would turn out to be. I turned my attention next to the occupants of the salad bar who were colorfully turned out amidst bunches of merry periwinkles - a few button mushrooms, a sweet and tangy Thai chicken salad with thin mango strips, a chickpea salad, a wonderfully fresh shrimp salad, a creamy surimi salad, a basil-sprinkled mussel rounded up as my targets from that section.

My further conquests included golden fried wings, Kung Pao chicken, salt and pepper shrimp, lemon chicken, honey-garlic spare ribs, General Tao chicken, baked salmon, stir-fried vegetables, grilled chicken, torpedo shrimps, barbequed pork ribs….well, suffice it is to say that I tried to overpower as many of the opposition as I could. I partook of the sushi bar as well (only the second time in my life that I have had sushi!), the smoked salmon and cream cheese sushi just impressing me with its melt-in-the-mouth quality. Throughout it all, I had the able assistance of Vinh, my host for the day with his charming and helpful manner. Vinh is a Vietnamese student who is currently doing an internship with a company and working as a server at Mandarin during the weekends.

I hope it is not haughty on my part to admit that though I made short work of all that I chose to come to arms with till then, I was secretly conserving a significant part of my armory for the most delectable of all food – the desserts! And the desserts bar at Mandarin’s made for a very worthy adversary, with its varied arsenal of cakes, cookies, flaky parties, puddings, sinful cheesecakes, ice creams, yogurts, and what-have-you. I was pleased to try out the usual suspects – macaroons, crème brulee, butter tarts, etc. but I was exhilarated to encounter certain confections like pecan pie and lemon meringue pie, of which I have heard lots but never come to face with. The child in me couldn’t resist finishing up the day’s conquest with a small helping of that ubiquitous white and pink ice cream (called ‘two-in-one’ in India), the vanilla and strawberry combination ice cream.

Well, there’s nothing left to do now but tell the powers-that-be, “Coming in for ‘Mission Mandarin’. My work here is done. Over and out!’

GO?! A no-go for me!

 

Go Transit runs commuter trains and buses and is Canada’s first regional transit system, operating in the Greater Toronto Area (GTA) and adjacent suburban cities. So, if you are staying in the GTA region and not presently owning a car, chances are, that like me, you are used to straining your neck on the bus stop or the train station to spot the next approaching trademark green and white bus or train which Go transit operates.  

This is a post about the rail services of Go Transit and writing this takes me back by a decade when I was in the city of Mumbai and regularly commuting by the suburban train service there, colloquially known as ‘local trains’ or ‘locals’. Travelling by locals was hair-raising both literally and metaphorically, as any seasoned local commuter would tell you. The coaches had open doors and windows to allow for air ventilation and standing by the foot board was both an exhilarating and a terrifying experience. You see, standing by the foot board during rush hour office timings was more of a compulsion than a choice due to the unprecedented commuter rush; added to this, I have travelled umpteen times barely clinging on to the door ledges with just one foot on the foot board – a perilous feat which shudders me even now when I reflect on it but something I was compelled to doing almost every day on my way to work then.

So, you can imagine my delight now when I stand on of the train platforms here and observe the unhurried approach of the double-decker, elongated-octagonal shaped coaches pulling in. Inside, the coaches are space-y and air-conditioned, with plush seats, working Wi-fi and clean toilets even for so short a journey. If I am giving you an impression of nonchalance as I stand by the platform here waiting for the next train, it is hardly the complete picture. As my station is situated at one end of a long line (or corridor) marked by hourly service and around 2 kms away from my house, I am often harried as I cycle or run to the station to be on time. I often under-estimate the time it will take to reach the station and coupled by my propensity to take in the sights as I amble along means that many a time, I have executed a last-minute dash to the platform only to see the bright green and white coaches pull away by the slightest of margins. I remember the one time when I dashed to the station and reached it in the nick of time only to find myself on the wrong platform and then scrambling to the correct one, only to find the coach doors literally closing on my face. A classic case of ‘so near, yet so far’!  Yes, if I look back at these ‘close finishes’, I find that I have helplessly observed the train pull away from all vantage points – from the station’s entrance, from the platforms of course, and once from the cycle parking lot. Standing forlorn at the deserted station once the train chugs away, I must contemplate choosing between staring blankly at the next hour before the next one pulls in or taking a costly cab to reach the nearest transport hub.

It is not all despondent though, because once you make it in the train it’s a nice, pleasant journey. The coaches are mostly empty and since I always take a seat on the upper deck, I have a nice view of the surroundings as the train cheerfully moves onward. As it draws closer to Union station which is the hub, the train characteristically loses speed, and you can take in leisurely views of the downtown Toronto skyline. You can observe too, the CN Tower as it slowly rises within your field of vision like a monolith – it almost seems other-worldly in a sense, with its smooth walls and lack of any detailing on the lower level where it just looks like an immense concrete monster.

Nowadays, I leave well in time if I am taking the Go train – it saves money and a lot of last-minute running!

Keep Running

Stories and novellas by writers such as Enid Blyton, Ruskin Bond and Rumer Godden fascinated me immensely in my childhood. The magical tales set in India and far-away lands among children, animals and nature effortlessly transported me away to realms totally disparate from my own. These writers used a great deal of imagination to infuse their stories with characters, societies, philosophies, et al so much so that sometimes they succeeded in creating a whole new universe.
I remember Blyton’s ‘Shadow, the Sheepdog’ from my childhood - a riveting tale of a boy and his dog set in a farm in England, a universe where animals could talk, form alliances, unite against a common foe, act out the moral codes of duty, love, friendship – a heady premise for so young a mind as mine.

All those feelings of wonderment, thrill and awe came rushing back as I watched the mini-series ‘Watership Down’ on Netflix. I discovered ‘Watership Down’ quite by accident, never having heard of the novel or its creator, Richard Adams. Anyway, once I started the series, I could not stop, and I finished all 4 episodes at one go, so engrossed I was in the world of
rabbits and their warrens. It is obvious that Adams sought to explore the ‘human condition’ by transposing it to the universe of rabbits; he comes up with an interesting story of the origin of rabbits, the emergence of antagonistic elements, the hierarchies in the rabbit society, the all-too-common pitfalls of organized structures, motifs of human qualities like struggle, self-determination, the metastasizing of tyranny, etc.

It is interesting that the novel actually sprang out of tales that the author used to regale his 2 young daughters – tales that Richard actually confessed to improvising as they story moved along. The story is essentially about a motley band of rabbits who flee from their warren fearing imminent destruction, their travails when they hop out into the unknown world meeting strange characters, mortal enemies in their search for a new home, making unlikely friends and their final success in surmounting numerous odds to secure a happy, peaceful warren.

First published in 1972, the epic motifs in the book still ring true, tethered as they are, to the enduring realities of human existence. I guess I got attracted to the characters and the story because they are so allegorical and therefore, easy to identify with. Take for instance, the main protagonist, Hazel, who struggles through self-doubt, the barbs of his fellow-rabbits, his own physical limitations and lack of fighting abilities, instead choosing to trust his own instincts and the sage advice of his younger brother, Fiver.

Richard used great imagination to imbue his rabbit world with compelling mythology, its own language, ‘lapine’, sweeping adventures and a hierarchical structure built on gender, individual physical attributes, skills. I have not read the book but the mini-series makes for very enjoyable viewing and a ready interest into the goings-on of the rabbit world – does look after the kits and maintain the warren, bucks guard the perimeter and sound warnings, rabbit councils decide on important matters, the military rabbits act as enforcers and above all, the rabbits run. Mythology reveals that their fleet-footedness is their prime defense against most dangers – they run, hop, and skip away to safety.

Hares are quite common here and there is a particularly intrepid brown one who ventures into my backyard most mornings, nibbling on the succulent greens. Whenever he senses my presence however, he dashes off in a blur of brown….

The Trends I see in Social Media

My current job requires me to sift through tons of user-generated content in social media and very often, it offers a voyeuristic peek into the minds of the users and society. Crunch through enough social media posts, videos, captions, and what-have-you, and you start to develop a sense of what concerns users currently, the contemporary issues which they like to post on, how they seek to build relationships and even, the preferred filter they use on their pictures. This gives me the opportunity to expound on what I see as current trends among social media users. 

 1. Growth of User communities. Doing what they do on the social apps – sharing, creating, commenting – increases affinity among users to form communities or groups based on common connectors. These may be the games they are currently playing, the city they are presently staying in, the brands that attract them the most, lifestyle goals like food, travel, photography, the local events whether they be politics, economic, leisure, their country of origin, religious and spiritual values, etc. Once formed, these communities largely function as a touchstone of shared beliefs and ideas the members identify with, fiercely protect, and oftentimes seek to propagate among others too. 

 2. Games, games, more games. Beside the stratospheric numbers of the online games industry, it has also spawned its own platforms like Twitch, B Site, etc. Emergence of Augmented Reality (AR) & Virtual Reality (VR) games, popularity of gaming platforms like Roblox, etc. where developers and gamers can co-create, the ever-expanding scope of what gamers can do within the games, etc. all mean that the gaming community has a lot to share and talk about. And guess where the gamers like to come? Oh yes, the social media apps where users share posts on their latest avatars, gaming achievements, and flaunt their in-game collections. Chew on this – Twitter calculated that its users sent 1 billion tweets about gaming in the first half of 2020 alone! 

 3. Live streaming is In. Content creators such as indie game developers, artists, lifestyle teachers are using live streaming services on social media like never before. Being constrained by the pandemic, users have adapted to connecting with their audiences, co-users by creating live chats, competitions, and tutorials to grab more eyeballs and make important announcements. Recent studies have thrown up the conclusion that the popularity of live videos is dominating the demand for video content. 

 4. We all like stories. Storytelling finds a new significance on social media where users seek to create content by taking a more organized approach, layering content through pre-launch banter, quizzes, ‘behind-the-scenes’ moments, tours, etc. This all creates the impression of a definite thematic journey in the minds of the audience and the short-lived nature of the content keeps users engaged, excited and on their toes. 

 All these evolutions make social media exciting and better understand the impact it has on the users and the world around us. So, strap in for the ride!

CineM Review: Diecisiete (Seventeen) 2019

 As the number of characters go, the film ‘Diecisiete’ or ‘Seventeen’ in English is sparsely populated but it manages to showcase an amazing depth of the human condition through the lean cast. What the film seems to depict lies so apparently on the surface but once you invest time in the tale, you get to see innumerable little twerks in the details. The ‘road trip’ genre of films is characterized by the fact that it brings together a disparate set of characters who while seemingly tugged by different motivations, are nevertheless welded together by some common element. Another feature of this genre is that somewhere along the way, the story transcends into something more elevated than the destination – it becomes a parable about the journey itself. In all these, this small Spanish gem, Diecisiete, stays true to the beaten path but where it diverges, and diverges so eloquently, is the sincere way in which the characters are etched out and the honesty which lies behind their actions.

There is not much of a back story; we are presented with the basic details. There are 2 brothers - the younger Hector, is smart, focused and given to petty delinquencies; the construct of his mind is portrayed as controlled yet fragile and his single-mindedness but utter guilelessness, seems to hint at autism but is never made explicit. The older brother, Esma, is nervous and acts in measured tones which suggest at a weariness and a resignation towards readily accepting the hand dealt out. They are attached to their grandmother who is now old and is housed in a care home.

As the film opens, Hector is up to another petty crime but he is caught and interred in a juvenile home where his peculiarities are in stark contrast with the other inmates. A paperback of the country’s penal codes as a constant companion and his introverted demeanor does not win him many friends there, and his multiple unsuccessful attempts at breakouts are something of an establishment joke. Yet, when he is introduced to a rescued dog as part of his rehabilitation program, Hector undergoes a change. He readily accepts and quickly relishes the job of training the mutt whom he plainly names ‘Oveja’ (or ‘sheep’ in English) on account of his raggedy, wool-like coat. Hector who has trouble relating to people nevertheless finds it quite easy to communicate with and assume charge of Oveja and the dog too, reciprocates the affection. His fragile world shatters when he is informed that his efforts in training and socializing with Oveja have yielded fruit in securing him a forever home. Unable to reconcile himself to this forced separation, Hector makes yet another and now successful, breakout and the real story unfolds from this point.

The tale finds the 2 principal characters together by their grandmother’s bedside where the brothers clash over going back to the juvenile home; Hector proclaiming that he will initiate search for his beloved Oveja while Esma argues about returning in time by Hector’s 18^th birthday which is just 2 days away (once he turns an adult, any crimes committed subsequently would be judged in a far harsher light). Grudgingly, Esma agrees to Hector’s idea if it results in him getting back Oveja and returning to the home to serve the rest of his sentence which is only a couple of months from being over. With their grandmother in tow and in Esma’s RV, the brothers embark on their journey to retrieve Oveja from his new owner and restore their lives to the earlier equilibrium, or so they think.

Their search leads them through the canine rescue shelter where Hector ‘adopts’ a 3-legged dog, bucolic villages, long-lost relatives, an ancestral cemetery, et al. where the director and co-writer Daniel Sanchez Arevalo slowly explores the myriad nuances in the brothers’ characters. There is quiet, unobtrusive humor which emerges out of the milieu of hidden intentions and thoughts of the brothers. The grandmother perpetually attached to her life-support paraphernalia acts as a silent foil to the brothers’ shenanigans and despite her character’s senility and approaching death restricting her dialogues to the Spanish phrase ‘tarapara’ or ‘we will see’ in English, provides one of the true motivations of what lies at the heart of the brothers’ actions.

The story takes them through the mountainous and coastal region of Cantabria and the beautiful photography seems to elevate the geography into a side character almost. I feel the film is replete with images as metaphors – the juvenile home which abounds in bullies, Esma’s RV which is his flimsy excuse of a home, grandmother’s burial plot which is both lost and within grasp at the same time – and the wonderfully rugged and at times, peaceful Cantabria countryside serve to propel this unlikely tale forward. The RV passes along road bordering deep ravines which seemingly evoke the yawning differences in the brothers’ personalities and later, the pristine coast fringed by cliffs symbolize the emerging calmness in their loves. In a way, the towering cliffs are emblematic of the leap of faith which both characters are required to take in order to embrace their true destinies.

This is a wonderfully evocative film which ultimately surmounts the limitations of what we see as characters to portray a thoroughly enjoyable tale of human nature, change and ultimately, hope.

I like to think of the three-legged dog who becomes an unlikely companion on the road trip as you and I. Tired and beleaguered, we all think we have lost an important appendage of ourselves on the journey of life and are happy to clutch at any chance at a ‘safe’ existence only to discover that there is apparently, a whole world of possibilities that we can strive for and accomplish. And that thought urges me forward.

Cycling Away

 

When I was in school, I pestered my father to get me a cycle, but I could not close the argument with him. Beyond the plain metal frame and two wheels, my vision of a cycle was unshakably tied to the notion of ‘freedom’, a devil-may-care attitude and the capability to simply pedal away from life’s problems. Unfortunately for me, my father too must have arrived at the same calculations as I and forcefully shot down this puerile and feeble attempt at a rebellion. Added to my father’s reluctance, was the very real problem of terrible traffic and road conditions with so many vehicles jostling for space, absence of cyclist lanes, and a general insensitivity towards cyclists on the road. So ended my initial attempt at cycling.

Now, two decades later and with the wind ruffling through my hair, the sunlight on my face, the steady roll of the twin wheels under me accompanied by the satisfied sound of rubber on asphalt and gravel, I am living out my cycling fascinations of yore.

Working from home for the past many months, stuck to a seat and rivetted on the computer screen for hours at end with only a small window to look out of, I was starving for any real interaction with the outside world. Being in a new country was becoming a strange, exciting but ultimately, unfulfilling experience with the global pandemic raging outside and multiple lockdowns coming into effect. As winter descended into spring, I could start seeing the natural beauty of my newly adopted town but could not touch and feel it. I could not walk over the great distances in this vast, open landscape; neither could I drive anywhere since I have no car presently. It seemed I was consigned to the prospect of looking at the blossoming spring beauty through a window.

Then, I got me a cycle – a used one – with a crude silver paint job, iffy brakes, a hard-as-stone (it seems!) seat, a paralyzed side-stand and non-functioning shock absorbers which deliver a truly tactile experience.

So, after my daily shift ends, I cycle out into the unknown streets and lanes of my town, sometimes using my phone navigation but mostly, just venturing out with no destination in mind. In this way, I have acquainted myself with some pretty parks and trails nearby which offer the joy of being under great trees, passing over bubbling brooks or sitting on the newly-sprout green grass. Dandelions with their bright yellow faces are growing all over like weeds, birds noisily chirp from their nests among dense shrubs and thickets, squirrels and hares happily trot everywhere. It is like a symphony of nature and my cycle affords me a ringside view like nothing else. I stop wherever I feel like for however long I feel like; I rest my cycle alongside a tree or just lay it over the grass while I contemplate my place in these surroundings. I have started to take out my cycle for grocery trips too, though there is the constraint of riding back fully weighed down by my purchases which does not make for very smooth or enjoyable riding. Sometimes I also ride through quiet neighborhoods with kids playing or cycling outside while their parents engage in more mundane tasks of mowing the lawn, clearing out deadfall or planting new bulbs out in the garden. My cycle is helping me in slowly exploring the place I call home now.

My experience is also aided immensely by the conscientious and generous attitude of people here on the road. Pedestrians and cyclist have right of way on most crossings, there are designated cycle lanes, sidewalks and pavements are well-maintained – all these go a long way in making my ride easy and pleasurable. I can imagine how if I were growing up in this country and my younger self would have asked my father for a cycle, I hear my father happily saying ‘yes’.