Minister and the Jhelum Express

 

 

Minister And The Jhelum Express

 

 

Last week, a minister with time on his hands (as usual) and a burning desire to feel the pulse of the common men, decided to travel 2nd class from Pune to Delhi in India by the Jhelum Express. What better time to do this than the summer vacation when 75 percent of the Indian population is on the move – this was a swell idea indeed – a sweltering one to be precise!

 

 

Making a reservation wasn’t too bad. I took a little under two hours and what with the jostling crowd and the brusque lady at the reservation counter, things didn’t seem as bad as he’d heard. Little did he know that the fun was only just beginning.

 

 

A bombshell in the press a few days later roused the minister from his siesta. “Are you sure your railway reservation is genuine”? screamed the headlines. The article went on to give details about illegal reservations touts and black-marketing of tickets.  The minister was composure personified – his reservation was genuine and confirmed – or so he thought. D-day arrived and on making enquiries he was informed that the trained was ‘indefinitely late’ in railway parlance that could mean anything from 15 minutes to 15 hours

 

 

After what seemed like eternity in hell, the train finally arrived and in spite of being ‘free of all’ the Hon. Minister was shocked to see someone else occupying his berth. That’s not all, the other person’s reservation also showed him to be the rightful claimant to the berth! Accusations and abuses were freely traded with fellow passengers taking sides and giving suggestions, but before the acrimonious discussion could get worse, better sense prevailed. They both then decided to wait for the ticket collector to arrive and sort the matter out. This ‘God incarnate’ as usual arrived well after the official ‘lights out’ and make his presence felt with a lot of loud talk and boisterous laughter. Fellow passengers seemed to enjoy the banter and there was a general feeling of goodwill with a party atmosphere prevailing in the compartment well after 10:00pm.

 

 

Not recognizing the Hon. Minister, who was travelling incognito, the ticket collector glanced at his chart and ordered him to pick up his belongings and move elsewhere. Despite the fact that it was 10:30pm, who could dare argue, as two officious looking  Railway Policemen were accompanying the Ticket collector on his rounds and they sure made a fearsome trio.

 

 

At the new place, the window couldn’t be opened, the lights didn’t go off and the fan refused to work. Being the ingenious type, the  Hon. Minister took out his pocket comb and spun the fan into action. Then covering his face with a towel he tried to grab ‘forty winks’ amidst the hustle and bustle which continued unabated all night. Was this fun or what?

 

 

By 6’o’clock the next morning there was pandemonium let loose, with unauthorized travelers sprawled all over. Tradesmen plied their wares freely and the assortment of eatables and goodies available would have put a mini market to shame.

 

Our minister then completed an obstacle course and lined up near the toilet for his morning ablutions. The stench was unbearable and the water scarce. After struggling with jammed latches, broken taps and looking at his disheveled state in a cracked mirror, the minister was fuming. Things were really hotting up indeed!

 

 

At the next station he rushed out searching for the elusive tap and managed with difficulty to procure a mug full of ‘liquid gold’. Back inside and presto, his berth had been occupied by a lady with three children – all comfortable and smiling! Their luggage came in all shapes and sizes and among other things included a parrot in a cage, a sack full of wheat and a tricycle.

 

 

The happy family played ‘Arab and the Camel’ with the minister and soon occupied the full berth. The youngest knocked over the minister’s water and they all had a hearty laugh – the minister fumed once again and turned red under the collar. He was appalled at the chaos in a supposedly reserved compartment – the filth, the dust, the unauthorized passengers, the innumerable vendors – where was the ticket collector? The cleaner? The railway police? The water?

 

 

At the next stop the Hon. Minister could bear it no longer. He picked up his suitcase, got down and vanished – never to be seen again. Who can blame him? His disappearance remains a mystery forever.

Minister and the Jhelum Express

 

 

Minister And The Jhelum Express

 

 

Last week, a minister with time on his hands (as usual) and a burning desire to feel the pulse of the common men, decided to travel 2nd class from Pune to Delhi in India by the Jhelum Express. What better time to do this than the summer vacation when 75 percent of the Indian population is on the move – this was a swell idea indeed – a sweltering one to be precise!

 

 

Making a reservation wasn’t too bad. I took a little under two hours and what with the jostling crowd and the brusque lady at the reservation counter, things didn’t seem as bad as he’d heard. Little did he know that the fun was only just beginning.

 

 

A bombshell in the press a few days later roused the minister from his siesta. “Are you sure your railway reservation is genuine”? screamed the headlines. The article went on to give details about illegal reservations touts and black-marketing of tickets.  The minister was composure personified – his reservation was genuine and confirmed – or so he thought. D-day arrived and on making enquiries he was informed that the trained was ‘indefinitely late’ in railway parlance that could mean anything from 15 minutes to 15 hours

 

 

After what seemed like eternity in hell, the train finally arrived and in spite of being ‘free of all’ the Hon. Minister was shocked to see someone else occupying his berth. That’s not all, the other person’s reservation also showed him to be the rightful claimant to the berth! Accusations and abuses were freely traded with fellow passengers taking sides and giving suggestions, but before the acrimonious discussion could get worse, better sense prevailed. They both then decided to wait for the ticket collector to arrive and sort the matter out. This ‘God incarnate’ as usual arrived well after the official ‘lights out’ and make his presence felt with a lot of loud talk and boisterous laughter. Fellow passengers seemed to enjoy the banter and there was a general feeling of goodwill with a party atmosphere prevailing in the compartment well after 10:00pm.

 

 

Not recognizing the Hon. Minister, who was travelling incognito, the ticket collector glanced at his chart and ordered him to pick up his belongings and move elsewhere. Despite the fact that it was 10:30pm, who could dare argue, as two officious looking  Railway Policemen were accompanying the Ticket collector on his rounds and they sure made a fearsome trio.

 

 

At the new place, the window couldn’t be opened, the lights didn’t go off and the fan refused to work. Being the ingenious type, the  Hon. Minister took out his pocket comb and spun the fan into action. Then covering his face with a towel he tried to grab ‘forty winks’ amidst the hustle and bustle which continued unabated all night. Was this fun or what?

 

 

By 6’o’clock the next morning there was pandemonium let loose, with unauthorized travelers sprawled all over. Tradesmen plied their wares freely and the assortment of eatables and goodies available would have put a mini market to shame.

 

Our minister then completed an obstacle course and lined up near the toilet for his morning ablutions. The stench was unbearable and the water scarce. After struggling with jammed latches, broken taps and looking at his disheveled state in a cracked mirror, the minister was fuming. Things were really hotting up indeed!

 

 

At the next station he rushed out searching for the elusive tap and managed with difficulty to procure a mug full of ‘liquid gold’. Back inside and presto, his berth had been occupied by a lady with three children – all comfortable and smiling! Their luggage came in all shapes and sizes and among other things included a parrot in a cage, a sack full of wheat and a tricycle.

 

 

The happy family played ‘Arab and the Camel’ with the minister and soon occupied the full berth. The youngest knocked over the minister’s water and they all had a hearty laugh – the minister fumed once again and turned red under the collar. He was appalled at the chaos in a supposedly reserved compartment – the filth, the dust, the unauthorized passengers, the innumerable vendors – where was the ticket collector? The cleaner? The railway police? The water?

 

 

At the next stop the Hon. Minister could bear it no longer. He picked up his suitcase, got down and vanished – never to be seen again. Who can blame him? His disappearance remains a mystery forever.

Is writing vanishing ?

Was clearing out some old papers the other day and came across a bunch of cards- birthdays , Anniversary, Christmas, Easter , Get well Soon , Congratulations …….
They were from my mother who passed on 3 years ago . I went through the cards and began reminiscing – sure brought a tear to my eye and set me thinking . She loved sending cards and she made sure to write a few lines as well with news about herself and questions about us . Reading through those cards brought back wonderful memories . They gave me a warm fuzzy feeling – yes I felt good .
In this fast paced world that we live in today , life is always in “Fast Forward” and we have no time nor inclination to stand and stare .
It’s a waste of time to stop to smell the roses , to try the road not taken , to lie in bed and relax .
I remember as a young boy using post cards , inlands, aerograms & stamped envelopes to write to relatives and friends . The joys of putting pen to paper is a long lost art and something that the present and future generation will consider a waste of time .
Very few people including me , send card by the mail any more – not sure when was the last time I licked a stamp and stuck it on an envelope . Yes we licked the stamps ! Maybe yukky but it was done by almost everyone !.
The whole process of writing with your hands, folding, inserting, addressing the envelope, sticking postage stamps and finally posting the letter in a post office is very time consuming for the present generation and people are running out of time or so they feel.
However, with each day serving as a linguistic frenzy and a meaningless race against time , we find that words and sentences often aren’t used in the way we so desire.
Small talk with awkward coworkers, someone bragging about their cute , new born , 7 pound baby on Facebook or telling the world where they went for dinner and what they ate , group projects with dead weight members – it is all very transient and often, discouraging and totally uninspiring .
I, for one, have started to wonder when communication became so cold meaningless. When did conversation with another human being lose its entire sentiment? When did we start speaking in 140 characters or less?
You can’t possibly get to know the depths of another human like this, nor can you adequately express your feelings toward them. It’s often rude the way we try and abbreviate anything and everything
So there were job applications , greeting cards on occasions , friendly letters to family , letters to pen pals and love letters .
I have known of friends who wrote and received a letter every day for over a three year span to and from a to be spouse and they have been married for over 30 years !
Today a letter isn’t a fast enough way to communicate the changes in people lives. I guess that accounts for Instant nodles as well .
In this age of the internet and social media everything is instant – even things like Yahoo, Hotmail and Gmail are ancient now . It’s the age of WhatsApp & Messenger .
So you have to suffice with OMG, ROTFL, SCNR- and a hundred more . Some of these are so confusing that at my age I have to google to see what is being meant !
Just yesterday I was chatting with an old pupil of mine who is settled in Canada .
By the time he had finished I had learnt a thing or two – YMMD ( You made my day ) , FACK ( Fully acknowledge ) , IMHO ( In my humble opinion) , & TIA ( Thanks in advance ) . He sure was polite but definitely short of time !
Old fashioned letters and cards are irreplaceable – they act as a reminder to the recipient – a reminder that they are truly loved; that they are valued; that their relationship with you is still very much alive. You simply can’t put a price on that.

Is writing vanishing ?

Was clearing out some old papers the other day and came across a bunch of cards- birthdays , Anniversary, Christmas, Easter , Get well Soon , Congratulations …….
They were from my mother who passed on 3 years ago . I went through the cards and began reminiscing – sure brought a tear to my eye and set me thinking . She loved sending cards and she made sure to write a few lines as well with news about herself and questions about us . Reading through those cards brought back wonderful memories . They gave me a warm fuzzy feeling – yes I felt good .
In this fast paced world that we live in today , life is always in “Fast Forward” and we have no time nor inclination to stand and stare .
It’s a waste of time to stop to smell the roses , to try the road not taken , to lie in bed and relax .
I remember as a young boy using post cards , inlands, aerograms & stamped envelopes to write to relatives and friends . The joys of putting pen to paper is a long lost art and something that the present and future generation will consider a waste of time .
Very few people including me , send card by the mail any more – not sure when was the last time I licked a stamp and stuck it on an envelope . Yes we licked the stamps ! Maybe yukky but it was done by almost everyone !.
The whole process of writing with your hands, folding, inserting, addressing the envelope, sticking postage stamps and finally posting the letter in a post office is very time consuming for the present generation and people are running out of time or so they feel.
However, with each day serving as a linguistic frenzy and a meaningless race against time , we find that words and sentences often aren’t used in the way we so desire.
Small talk with awkward coworkers, someone bragging about their cute , new born , 7 pound baby on Facebook or telling the world where they went for dinner and what they ate , group projects with dead weight members – it is all very transient and often, discouraging and totally uninspiring .
I, for one, have started to wonder when communication became so cold meaningless. When did conversation with another human being lose its entire sentiment? When did we start speaking in 140 characters or less?
You can’t possibly get to know the depths of another human like this, nor can you adequately express your feelings toward them. It’s often rude the way we try and abbreviate anything and everything
So there were job applications , greeting cards on occasions , friendly letters to family , letters to pen pals and love letters .
I have known of friends who wrote and received a letter every day for over a three year span to and from a to be spouse and they have been married for over 30 years !
Today a letter isn’t a fast enough way to communicate the changes in people lives. I guess that accounts for Instant nodles as well .
In this age of the internet and social media everything is instant – even things like Yahoo, Hotmail and Gmail are ancient now . It’s the age of WhatsApp & Messenger .
So you have to suffice with OMG, ROTFL, SCNR- and a hundred more . Some of these are so confusing that at my age I have to google to see what is being meant !
Just yesterday I was chatting with an old pupil of mine who is settled in Canada .
By the time he had finished I had learnt a thing or two – YMMD ( You made my day ) , FACK ( Fully acknowledge ) , IMHO ( In my humble opinion) , & TIA ( Thanks in advance ) . He sure was polite but definitely short of time !
Old fashioned letters and cards are irreplaceable – they act as a reminder to the recipient – a reminder that they are truly loved; that they are valued; that their relationship with you is still very much alive. You simply can’t put a price on that.

I have a phobia-

I am claustrophobic and horribly so .  

It all started about 15 years ago when I stayed with relatives in India and woke in the middle of the night . The room was in the center of the house – Black floor – red walls and no windows .

I panicked and felt out of breath – rushed to find another room – the house was pitch black . Finally forced a window open . It was a still summer night in northern India and there was not a breath of air outside  .

I woke everyone in the house fearing I was having a heart attack – I had palpitations and cold sweats – we all sat around  till it was day break and then I  visited  to a doctor . He gave me a few pills to calm me down and I was thrilled I was not dying -  but that’s a different story .

Thereafter I have often woken , even at home, with similar feelings . Hotel stays are okay as long as it’s a big airy room . I did stay in a hotel in Prague last year and had to go down and sit in the foyer till the management were able to find a key for the window in the room and give it to me .

 Once I knew that I had the key I felt better . I know this sounds strange but it’s the truth . As long as I know that I can open a window or door and breathe I feel confident .

When I travel alone and suddenly wake feeling breathless , I switch on the lights , make myself a cup of tea , put on the TV and then calm down . You may be smiling and commenting on how silly this is but when you have a phobia – it’s something only you can comprehend

I was once asleep in the A 380  - comfortable and cool . I then woke with the same suffocating feeling . Feeling rather silly I walked to the Bar in the sky at 3 am – it is an open space compared to where I was sitting . I then felt better .

Meetings in a closed room see me sit as close to the door as possible . Movies and the opera are a big no and pubs and restaurants which have basement seating are avoided like the plague .

I have been advised to see a hypnotist , have acupuncture and what not . I guess it’s all in the mind .

To get over it I must . Any suggestions anyone ?

I have a phobia-

I am claustrophobic and horribly so .  

It all started about 15 years ago when I stayed with relatives in India and woke in the middle of the night . The room was in the center of the house – Black floor – red walls and no windows .

I panicked and felt out of breath – rushed to find another room – the house was pitch black . Finally forced a window open . It was a still summer night in northern India and there was not a breath of air outside  .

I woke everyone in the house fearing I was having a heart attack – I had palpitations and cold sweats – we all sat around  till it was day break and then I  visited  to a doctor . He gave me a few pills to calm me down and I was thrilled I was not dying -  but that’s a different story .

Thereafter I have often woken , even at home, with similar feelings . Hotel stays are okay as long as it’s a big airy room . I did stay in a hotel in Prague last year and had to go down and sit in the foyer till the management were able to find a key for the window in the room and give it to me .

 Once I knew that I had the key I felt better . I know this sounds strange but it’s the truth . As long as I know that I can open a window or door and breathe I feel confident .

When I travel alone and suddenly wake feeling breathless , I switch on the lights , make myself a cup of tea , put on the TV and then calm down . You may be smiling and commenting on how silly this is but when you have a phobia – it’s something only you can comprehend

I was once asleep in the A 380  - comfortable and cool . I then woke with the same suffocating feeling . Feeling rather silly I walked to the Bar in the sky at 3 am – it is an open space compared to where I was sitting . I then felt better .

Meetings in a closed room see me sit as close to the door as possible . Movies and the opera are a big no and pubs and restaurants which have basement seating are avoided like the plague .

I have been advised to see a hypnotist , have acupuncture and what not . I guess it’s all in the mind .

To get over it I must . Any suggestions anyone ?

On most evenings I walk to Zabeel park in Karama in an attempt to lose weight . Not there yet but well on the way . If you have visited this park you would  have  noticed that there are plenty of cats all around . Thin ones, fat ones , black ones , white ones , striped ones – have never seen a spotted one though . Now that would be something to write home about .

You would have also noticed that there are many good Samaritans  who go around the park feeding them . Not sure if this is against some rules or not  but the cats are happy . They seem to recognize the “regular feeders” and charge towards them as soon as they spot them . They are quite friendly and wait patiently till the food is put out – then they devour it and quickly look up for more morsels if any .

As a young lad I always had a dog and cats were anathema to me . However  all that changed one fine day after I came to Dubai.

 

" Can you hear someone in the hall room? " says the wife

 

" No I can't " , I replied - pulling the cover over my head and turning over . -

 

Wife " Sounds like there is a cat in the house - go and check "

 

Me'' Go check and  chase it out yourself - your fault for leaving the window open "

 

And then the fight almost started - but then I am the peaceful sort of guy .......!!

 

For goodness sake it was 11 pm and I had work the next day. However I got up - the "HE MAN" - ready to kill the cat - or to put it in the correct perspective- chase it out and get back to bed !

 

I walk towards the hall, conjuring up images of a large fierce cat with large glowing eyes - tail waving in anger- ready to pounce on me   .

 

" Be careful you don’t get scratched " says the voice from inside .

 

" Uff - let it be", I reply – half in fear and half in disgust .

 

I look around ........

 

There- beaming- stands my daughter , pointing to the sofa .

 

I rub my eyes- I can't see a thing amongst  the cream cushions and I had not put on my spectacles either  . There was  a pregnant silence .

 

Then I see it - a little ball of cream fluff - a kitten- it was snuggled up and staring at me - almost defiantly with its  little beady green eyes

 

Do I chase it out , do I scream , do I kill it ?. I had promised to do all this and more every time the topic had been broached in the past .

 

Now here I was and it was the  time of reckoning - We stared at each other ( the kitten and me )

 

Then I made a move - I went forward , picked it up and kissed it .

 

"Her name is Chanel  " Says my daughter

 

" What ?? " say I .

 

" No it's not - its Kitty - maybe let’s call it baby or munchkins, or Little one " Say I

 

Why was I even discussing a name when we were not keeping it in the first place? Silly me .

 

" There is the litter box- This is the  box  in which she will sleep - this is her food - her plate - her covering - she will sleep here " says my daughter .

“Who asked you to get a cat in the first place “ say I  

 

The wife enters the room . She smiles at the kitten and looks at me . “So” she says .  Obviously she had known about this and hidden it from me .

 

" Did I just see the kitten smile back at her  ?"

 

All three exchange knowing glances and I am the odd one out . My elder daughter had now joined in – “ so cute and cuddly “ says she .

 

" Don’t make any plans " I try and sound as aggressive as possible . “ I will get rid of her in the morning “ I left the room and went to bed .

 

There is a little whining ( from the cat ) . The wife and daughters whisper – there is laughter - then silence . All three were obviously happy I had left the scene

 

I wake early and go in search of the kitten .

 

She is awake and she looks imploringly at me, almost willing me to pick her up and hug her .

 

My heart melts . I do the unthinkable – I tickle her and pick her up . She seems to enjoy it .

I hurriedly put her down and plan my next move

 

She comes running to me - mewing .

 

" Come to dada " , I say and pick her up .

 

"Dada" ?? What the hell is wrong with me . I am supposed to be getting rid of this little creature . That was the plan . I am a no nonsense sort of guy. No cats in this house I say to myself

I put her down and give her some food and sit there while she first sniffs at it for a few moments and then begins eating . I will get her out of the house before the others wake – that’s final

 

More than a year has  gone by and she is  still with us – very much part of the family . With 2 daughters and a wife I now have three females to contend with.

 

I play with her daily- many times a day . She  likes me and crouches every time I look and try and scare her  . She enjoys rough play - nibbles on my fingers and toes and comes running to greet me  as I enter the door .

 

I say bye when leaving for work and she is the first thing I look for when I return .

 

Today I lay on the carpet and she  was all over me and we played and we had fun. I certainly did .

 

I feel relaxed and very amused .

 

While I key in these memories she is on my lap- cuddled up and fast asleep.

 

I guess we have a pet and YES we are going to keep her for as long as we can .