On Cerelac(R)(TM)

I feel a slight tinge of embarassment as I write this.
The whole of last week I was plagued with an intestinal infection that kept me away from work and made life in general miserable for me. My diet was restricted to bland food; any experiments with the more spicy foods resulted in a bad case of diarrhoea.
I thought I had managed well when all of a sudden a state wide hartal(non-Keralites: this is general term for a full fledged strike when every damned business puts down shutters and life comes to a total standstill).
Normally I would have been at my company office on such a day and it would have been business as usual. The office environs allow for meals, morning, night or day, hartal or no hartal.
Unfortunately I was holed up in my bachelors quarters far away from office when this particular hartal played out.
I had arranged for cigarettes the previous night, betting that the good old Anand Hotel would be open next day even if there was a bandh as they normally do(under police protection of course).
But my luck ran out. The hartal had been called by the party in power in the state, and that meant it was severe than usual.
I got up morning to find that even Hotel Anand had not dared to open up.
Now, I had these courses of strong antibotics to take, three times a day for my stomach agonies. Normally I can go without food for an entire day without getting any more tired or fatigued.
But that day before I took those damned antibiotics I had to get something into my stomach: I knew that, otherwise there would be serious trouble.
I went out, did some investigating and found that not even a tea shop had opened. The only shops that were open were medical shops. It seems the strike organizers at least had some pity for the sick.
I browsed through the contents of one such medical shop searching for something edible. They had cornflakes. I thought I could give that a shot. But when I asked for condensed milk to go with it, they said they didn't have any in stock.
That was when I noticed Cerelac (R) (TM) for infants 12 to 24 months. The blurb said this was stage 3 baby food and included vegetable extracts- "to encourage the child to chew". I decided to go for it, especially when the label read that it already contained powdered milk.
So anyways, I was passing a lot of baby like poo for the past few days, so I thought some more of it would do no harm.
I bought one for a hefty price, wondering how could neo mothers spend so much on baby food. :-)
Took it to my room, mixed it with sterilized water till it was thick and gooey(no, I could not arrange for any lukewarm water as the instructions demanded).
And the only thing that came to my mind as I consumed it was whether any of those doting mothers who so dutifully fed this stuff to their kids had ever tried tasting it!
Jeez, what things life makes you go through!

A tribute to the funny Malayalee

Malayalees are a funny lot. I would say they are the Indian counterparts of the Irish in the UK.
They see something funny in almost anything, sometimes at serious issues too.
I recollect some stories my father used to tell us when we were kids.
One of them is still fresh in my mind.
Private buses operate in most of Kerala. So the owner of a bus fleet was interviewing potential conductors for a job. There was a huge rush of candidates thanks to the unemployment problem in Kerala.
The bus owner asked each candidate to perform a single task. The task was to stuff a brand new matchbox with matchsticks from another new matchbox. In other words two matchboxes in one.
The enlightened gentlemen who were asked to do this refused to do so, considering it simply illogical, saying that it just could not be done.
Finally a smart young man took the two matchboxes as the others watched in disbelief. He removed a few sticks and placed them into the other. Then again a few sticks were transferred. This went on till the matchbox he was filling started bursting at the seams. Still he went on. Then finally he was putting each match, stick by stick into the overfilled box.
He was about to continue unmindful of the other people who were watching dumbstruck, when the bus owner motioned him to stop.
"I very well know that the task is impossible. But I wanted one of you to try it. The idea is, you need to try to cram more and more people in my buses even when they are jam packed full!", he said with glee.
The young gentleman got the job.

Another instance goes to a time when the British were still ruling India. The English brought a lot of changes to India, their biggest gifts being the railways, the other being the English language.
When the Englishmen started raising poles to lay the electric and telephone lines, the locals were suspicious and dismayed.
"They are putting poles into the ground, tying them up with electric ropes to pull India towards England!", was one wise goon's opinion.

Another story I have to relate might irk feminists, so my apologies to them. Everyone has heard of the obese uncle who seemed pregnant. Well this one has a similar twist.
The lady teacher was giving a Biology class to a class of toddlers. Thumping her chest the saree clad lady said emphatically, "This is where the lungs are".
Next day the lady came to the same class wearing a salwar - kameez. I can see your lungs, now, madam!" one of the toddlers exclaimed pointing at her breasts!
Just to prove my point here is a funny take on the IT recession by the Funny Malayalee :-D
http://www.technoparktoday.com/2009/02/technopark-ottanthullal-video/
And another one:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FpQkc7CMqLc

Chicken poop for the soul

Not long ago the city of Bank-lure which was the capital of the ancient land of Canara-arctic was known as the Garden City. It was a clean and green city with wide boulevards and lush greenery on either sides and neat gardens with trimmed grass lawns dotting the city. The weather was akin to that of European lands with mild winters and warm summers and people came from far away lands just to sit in the gardens and enjoy a quiet picnic.
Bank-lure was the chosen destination for people to retire. People retiring all kinds of jobs from government services to the military liked its quiet ambience and idyllic lifestyle.
Soon all that was too change.
Multi-nationals from the West and home-bred multinationals saw in Bank-lure their chosen destination for setting up offshore software development centres. The weather was a plus point and its proximity to nearby lands which had a huge resource pool of well educated professionals was an added bonus.
The government of Canara-arctic welcomed these huge corporations as they saw in these industries, a milking cow for cash and also a potential employment provider for locals and the fact the huge salaries paid to the highly skilled professionals these companies attracted, would ultimately trickle down to the locals. In addition to the fact these were non-polluting industries unlike those in the neighbouring bigger cities.
In short it was a win-win situation for all those involved.
Soon software development hubs sprung up everywhere and yuppies from nearby lands thronged the city. Bank-lure became their land of opporunity.
These yuppies did not mind paying some extra money for whatever they required, be it food, clothing, shelter or trips in an autorickshaw, as they believed they had to maintain a lifestyle akin to their status in society.
Then things turned real ugly.
The poor auto drivers who once were very careful to charge passengers by the automated fare meter, found life getting difficult for them. They had to pay higher prices for basic food items, as the yuppies were ready to pay more for the same stuff causing the shopkeepers to start selling cut-rate items at cut-throat prices. The auto guys had to struggle with their housing because all of a sudden every cent of land became a goldmine for real estate developers. The auto drivers could not send their children to good schools as all the seats were already filled up by children of yuppy families. With no other option left, the auto drivers too hiked their fares. They started billing ordinary people for just waiting in the mad rush hour traffic jams for hours, caused basically by people moving from point A to point B and another set of people moving from B to A. The roads choked with traffic exhausts.
With the higher auto fares, the auto drivers found that they could send their children to better schools, buy prime land to stay and eat nutritious food. For this they charged the poor yuppies sky-high fares. Being inherently thrifty, they thrived.
The yuppies liked to work hard and party hard and they were paid well, so they thought. They didn't mind paying a bit of extra money for buying some goods or paying the auto drivers higher fares. They didn't mind going to hotels and bars with their colleagues just to half-eat a special food dish and leave.
The real estates developers, the shopkeepers, the hotel owners all joined the rat race.
Prices went sky high until the yuppies could take it no more. But they had a lifestyle to keep. The salary received at the beginning of the month vanished by the end of the month. If a month's salary was missed due to illness, they had to borrow from friends to cope with the rest of the month's expenditures.
Land prices shot sky- high, the gardens disappeared and huge high rises came up to cater to the software industry and residences for software employees.
The banks and the financial institutions did not like to be left out. The yuppies no longer to be able to pay in cash now bought desirable objects on credit, courtesy the banks with just a payslip as a promise that the money would be repaid.
Newly married yuppies bargained with shopkeepers for each and every thing they bought, be it a new TV for their home or a dish washer or a apartment in a high-rise.
The city was dying, literally, throttled by software yuppies and the culture they bought with them.

The Acid Bomb!

I have had my share of cranky teachers as I am sure all of you might have had at some time or the other.
My Chemistry teacher in my tenth grade was an eccentric gentleman named Joseph K. He was particularly notorious for his habit of bringing just one match in a matchbox to light the bunsen burner for his chemistry experiments and when that one fizzled out as it inexplicably did, there was the usual frantic search for a matchbox, much to our amusement and his annoyance.
There was one memorable incident that lies etched in my memory.
The event was the annual school science exhibition when each of us students tried to outdo each other to win the coveted first prize for clever tricks that could captivate the audience of the learned gentlemen who would turn out on the great day.
Mr. Joseph, MSc ,BEd was as usual in the lead with his bag of tricks which he delegated to us students. There was a mini oxygen plant, a chlorine plant and even a miniature soap factory. The sky was the limit to the imagination of our dear Mr.Joseph, post graduate gold medallist.
I was delegated with our teacher's pet project as I was known to have a keen interest in Chemistry which the other students found drab and usually boring.
The exhibit was a crude fire extinguisher contraption that consisted of simply a test tube of hydrochloric acid floating on a dilute solution of washing soda enclosed in a plastic container. I was aware of the technological working of the contraption but did not pay much heed to the practical implications of this seemingly harmless device.
For all I knew when I was asked to turn the enclosing plastic container that held the compartmentalized acid and bicarbonate of soda combination the acid would come in contact with the soda solution causing a lot of carbon dioxide gas to be produced which would vent out through a hole punched on the top of the container onto the source of a small fire, extinguishing it in the process. That was the basic idea of the fire extinguisher and how it was supposed to work.
On the great day we were all excited and in a mild tizzy. The chief guest was a high ranking official from the collector's office.
It was decided that the demonstration of my exhibit would be a one time affair and only to be performed in the presence of the chief guest. I waited anxiously as the chief guest escorted by the school principal, who happened to be my father, wound their way through the various exhibits on the way to mine.
At last the defining moment arrived. In the presence of the honored quests I briefly described the mechanism of the fire extinguisher and proceeded to turn it upside down trying at the same time to point the vent towards a small paper fire kindled explicitly for the purpose.
What happened next dumbfounded everyone including me. The reaction that occurred took place so rapidly and vigorously that the gas produced caused a mild explosion shattering the container that held it, spraying the guests and me with corrosive acid. I looked down to see my clothes drenched with acid, the cotton of my terry cot uniform having dissolved leaving threadbare terry line. There was a minor commotion as everybody checked to see whether anyone was hurt in this scientific experiment gone terribly wrong. Fortunately nobody was.
The chief guest had the grace to ask me if I was all right, ignoring the acid stains on his shirt and coat. Once the initial uproar subsided I slinked off unnoticed to change into a pair of new uniform.
When I returned Joseph sir had the brashness to offer me the opportunity to host his soap producing exhibit. I flatly refused, realizing the lesson I had so unfortunately learnt that day, on the danger of untested theory and practical use.
Later that night during supper at home, we all had a good laugh at the follies of our dear Joseph sir.