Mr Donald Trump vs Joe Biden - The debate

Was not the Donald Trump vs Joe Biden debate delightfully entertaining? What fun indeed and so engrossing. I laughed like never before at the jibes, digs and facial expressions of both contenders and felt so relaxed. Here were two adults who hate each other, make no bones about it, and are letting everyone know it too . The argued, fought, insulted, ranted, raved, sniggered, lied, slandered, discredited, offended, disparaged, abused, belittled & affronted each other on the world stage. Totally expected of two contenders for the top job in the world. They called each other frauds, liars, manipulators, useless men, disasters, shams, double dealers, deceivers, money makers, tricksters, cowards and cheats. They also attempted to insult each other’s families and wash dirty linen in public but were reigned in discretely before that part of the debate went out of control. At least they never went to blows or threw stuff at each other and that was commendable! I did feel that one of them would walk off in a temper but fortunately that did not happen. The moderator, Chris Wallace from Fox News, stood up to both and certainly held his own – he did have to shout them down on a couple of occasions and he did so with dignity and authority, while refusing to be part and parcel of the mudslinging. He was certainly not intimidated in any way and that is commendable and one of the reasons as to why the debate was completed. He is, after all from Harvard, and is known as a fearless, aggressive reporter and an expert Presidential Debate moderator, who was once ranked as the most trusted TV news reporter in America Who won the debate is a debateable point. Vice President Joe Biden showed that he was quite a tough cookie and despite often being referred to as an “old man” in the past by Trump and others, he looked in fine fettle. No one doubted that he would be heckled by Mr Trump ever so often. However, he kept his cool and came across as a gentleman. He however did call Mr Trump a “clown” and asked him to “shut up”! I guess even a rat, when cornered, will come out fighting! The same cannot be said of the President who butted in with snide remarks every few minutes and kept going on and on, despite being told to give his opponent a chance to speak. As expected, and is common knowledge the world over, he was his bombastic self, accusing, casting aspersions, and insulting at will. Joe Biden on the other hand was more controlled but his contemptuous smile and shaking of the head every now and then sort of got to me and came across as weak so also his fumbling replies time and time again. Trump on the other hand was very confident and forceful in his submissions & assertions. I almost thought he would spit out those very famous words “ you’re fired” to Joe Biden. Am no expert political analyst or for that matter any sort of political interpreter in the first place, but from purely a layman’s perspective, for me, this debate was tied. Am already looking forward to the next one. In these days of stress and strain, this free entertainment is amusing.

Mr Donald Trump vs Joe Biden - The debate

Was not the Donald Trump vs Joe Biden debate delightfully entertaining? What fun indeed and so engrossing. I laughed like never before at the jibes, digs and facial expressions of both contenders and felt so relaxed. Here were two adults who hate each other, make no bones about it, and are letting everyone know it too . The argued, fought, insulted, ranted, raved, sniggered, lied, slandered, discredited, offended, disparaged, abused, belittled & affronted each other on the world stage. Totally expected of two contenders for the top job in the world. They called each other frauds, liars, manipulators, useless men, disasters, shams, double dealers, deceivers, money makers, tricksters, cowards and cheats. They also attempted to insult each other’s families and wash dirty linen in public but were reigned in discretely before that part of the debate went out of control. At least they never went to blows or threw stuff at each other and that was commendable! I did feel that one of them would walk off in a temper but fortunately that did not happen. The moderator, Chris Wallace from Fox News, stood up to both and certainly held his own – he did have to shout them down on a couple of occasions and he did so with dignity and authority, while refusing to be part and parcel of the mudslinging. He was certainly not intimidated in any way and that is commendable and one of the reasons as to why the debate was completed. He is, after all from Harvard, and is known as a fearless, aggressive reporter and an expert Presidential Debate moderator, who was once ranked as the most trusted TV news reporter in America Who won the debate is a debateable point. Vice President Joe Biden showed that he was quite a tough cookie and despite often being referred to as an “old man” in the past by Trump and others, he looked in fine fettle. No one doubted that he would be heckled by Mr Trump ever so often. However, he kept his cool and came across as a gentleman. He however did call Mr Trump a “clown” and asked him to “shut up”! I guess even a rat, when cornered, will come out fighting! The same cannot be said of the President who butted in with snide remarks every few minutes and kept going on and on, despite being told to give his opponent a chance to speak. As expected, and is common knowledge the world over, he was his bombastic self, accusing, casting aspersions, and insulting at will. Joe Biden on the other hand was more controlled but his contemptuous smile and shaking of the head every now and then sort of got to me and came across as weak so also his fumbling replies time and time again. Trump on the other hand was very confident and forceful in his submissions & assertions. I almost thought he would spit out those very famous words “ you’re fired” to Joe Biden. Am no expert political analyst or for that matter any sort of political interpreter in the first place, but from purely a layman’s perspective, for me, this debate was tied. Am already looking forward to the next one. In these days of stress and strain, this free entertainment is amusing.

Are we crawling out of the gutter? Or going deeper in? Are we losing our sense of direction? Is it all because we sinned? Turmoil, chaos, and unrest Are becoming the order of the day This uncertain world is spinning too fast It’s seemingly bedlam all the way Panic grips at our very soul And threatens to destroy all peaceful beings Surely this stupefaction cannot continue And better sense will prevail We have sunk to the depths of deprivation We have plundered raped and killed We have massacred the innocent And set the guilty free All this we call “being human” All this we celebrate So, what’s in store in future How do we contemplate our fate? These questions burn our innards These thoughts we can’t negate I read a verse this morning And to paper I put pen To note it for posterity And end with an “Amen” It goes like this – it is a song So, read it and contemplate ….. “Immovable our hope remains Though shifting sands before us lie….. The floods may rise, the winds may beat Torrential rains descend Yet God His own will not forget He'll love and keep us till the end”

Are we crawling out of the gutter? Or going deeper in? Are we losing our sense of direction? Is it all because we sinned? Turmoil, chaos, and unrest Are becoming the order of the day This uncertain world is spinning too fast It’s seemingly bedlam all the way Panic grips at our very soul And threatens to destroy all peaceful beings Surely this stupefaction cannot continue And better sense will prevail We have sunk to the depths of deprivation We have plundered raped and killed We have massacred the innocent And set the guilty free All this we call “being human” All this we celebrate So, what’s in store in future How do we contemplate our fate? These questions burn our innards These thoughts we can’t negate I read a verse this morning And to paper I put pen To note it for posterity And end with an “Amen” It goes like this – it is a song So, read it and contemplate ….. “Immovable our hope remains Though shifting sands before us lie….. The floods may rise, the winds may beat Torrential rains descend Yet God His own will not forget He'll love and keep us till the end”

A different type of teacher

Even in your wildest imagination you are never going to be able to guess who my strictest teacher was! But let me tell you about a few others before I come to him . When I was in school, I had several strict teachers. I do not remember all of them, but a few do come to mind. There was Mrs P- a tall, stout lady with large, bulging blue eyes and a mop of grey hair, who taught me Math in Grade three. Three things to note here. Firstly, I hated math and was quite weak in the subject. Secondly I was mortally scared of Mrs P and that would be putting it mildly – she terrified the daylights out of me in class, and last but not least , of all the people in the school, my mother decided that I would go to her for private tuition . I think that decision was made as Mrs P did not charge any fee, as my mother worked in the same school, and we could not afford it in the first place. That sealed the deal. Every math period was like going to purgatory and back. Okay, not so bad but I guess you understand. For some unfathomable reason, I would either forget my text or exercise book at home, not complete the math homework or mix up the answers to the ‘’Tables’’ which she made us practice every morning. Strangely , each boy had to answer once and by the time it was my turn , I was asked to give the answer to eighteen times nine or sixteen times twelve so some such difficult numbers – remember this was in grade three. Needless to add, I failed to answer correctly and was then called up to the blackboard to work out the sum. With fifty pairs of normal and one pair of bulging eyes staring into the back of my head, the correct answer always eluded me . The rest as they say is History. I often got the ruler and was made to stand in the corner till the period was over. The tuition period was a trifle better, as I was the only one there, but mistakes and using the eraser till there was a hole in the page, often ended with me getting a whack with the thick Math book. On a few occasions when it rained, and she had the umbrella at her disposal, she used it on me to good advantage. But she was a good teacher . Then there was a Hindi teacher. I do not remember his name, but he seemed to love hearing me read and mispronounce words. He would barely walk into the class when it was a know fact that he would look in my direction and nod. That was the signal to start reading. I could be sitting in front, in the middle, in the corner or at the back – it mattered little - he would ferret me out. Seeing him chuckle when I mispronounced words made me cringe. I vividly remember another Math teacher – Mr D. He taught me Math in Grade eight If I am not mistaken. Straight back, no smile and no nonsense were words I would use to describe him. He was very good at his subject and one, whose methods I followed. However, after setting a sum he would walk up and down the line checking on what we were doing and, on the progress, we were making. Now you would know this fact – If you are not excellent at the subject and the master comes and stands beside you, you freeze. That has happened quite a few times with me. In order to overcome the pickle I would sometimes find myself in , I made it a habit to drink water , fill ink in the pen or start doing some hurried calculations on a rough sheet of paper away from his prying eyes. I am sure he knew why I did that but it mattered little to him and he continued ! There were these and a few more. However, the guy who had me on pins and needles was the instructor at the driving institute. Whether you know how to drive or not, mandatory lessons and a test are compulsory in the UAE. From the very first lesson, I knew instinctively that this was going to be one tough cookie and that put me off. His whole persona was of a cold mean man. He wore the company uniform along with a cap and very dark glasses and throughout the forty lessons, I saw his eyes and his teeth just once , as he never removed the glasses and he never smiled. Before the first lesson we introduced ourselves to each other, and I gave him my visiting card,hoping to impress him. He looked at it half-heartedly and threw it into the compartment between us. There were about fifty cards in there and I immediately knew that he had won round one. All attempts at softening him up by telling him where I worked, that I was the Principal of a large prestigious school etc seemed to fall on deaf ears. I then tried the personal touch by informing him that I was married and had two daughters . I felt he was deaf as he did not react at all. Then the ordeal began in right earnest. Whether I turned left or right, used the indicator or the break, started, stopped or parked – he was never pleased. Almost daily, he commented on the fact that I was either driving too slow, too fast, was extremely careless, casual or day dreaming. He called me sleepy, bad driver, distracted and very foolish. Things became so bad that I would pray that the forty-five-minute lesson got over. On the days I had driving, my work suffered and as the time approached, I was sure I had palpitations. Often when I returned from a lesson, teachers would ask me if all was well and as to why I looked pale and drawn. After about twenty lessons he brought me a supposedly confidential feed- back form to fill in about his teaching – part of quality assurance he mentioned nonchalantly. However, he lent me his pen and a book to rest on and peered over my shoulder when I was ticking the boxes. So much for the confidentiality! I was left with no alternative to give him a ten on ten and so the ordeal continued. Then things seemed to deteriorate, and he was even more strict. I asked friends if I should complain and ask for a change, but he seemed to have a sixth sense. That day he was “normal and a trifle kind” and so I changed my mind. The next afternoon he told me that I was a Principal in my school but a pupil in his car and I better shape up or I would fail. That frightened me even more as the classes were costly. However, the more I tried, the worse I seemed to drive. Then came the parking test and it was a miracle I passed in the first attempt as he was standing out of the car and glaring at me. I missed the parking line by inches, and I guess he was left with no other alternative but to pass me grudgingly. I felt that I had won this round. That hurdle being crossed I was more confident, and my driving improved by leaps and bounds. That week he seemed to sleep while I drove around and I was not sure whether he was sick, fed up of me, depressed or purposely not commenting and just waiting for me to have an accident. Vague thoughts continuously crossed my mind. I often peered at him through the corner of my eye, but he was the master of deception and I could not fathom out what he was up to. On a few occasions I tried to engage him in small talk, but he just grunted in reply as if in a dream. And then it was the big day when I was to be tested by a police inspector. There was just one last practice round with my instructor and I breathed a sigh of relief. As we cruised down a lonely stretch with me driving at ninety kmph, he asked me to pull over. I did so with trepidation and a certain amount of apprehension coupled with plenty of anxiety For the first time he took off his dark glasses, put his cap on his lap, wiped his brow and looked me in the eye. My heart was beating fast as I was sure he was going to give me hell for something or the other. He smiled, patted me on the shoulder and said “well done Sir” He told me that he had been strict as in the initial days I often behaved like a Principal in the car and if he had let that continue , I would never have been a good driver. He then gave me just one piece of advice which I will put down here in Roman Hindi. He said when you drive, remember just two words “ Bacho – Bachao” which roughly translated means- Save yourself and save others when you drive . I remember those words till today. He was such a strict teacher and I feared him – but he was a master of his trade. I once thought of going and meeting him after all these years but sadly I don’t even remember his name – Seriously, I would love to . Nevertheless – wherever you are – “Thank you, Sir”

A different type of teacher

Even in your wildest imagination you are never going to be able to guess who my strictest teacher was! But let me tell you about a few others before I come to him . When I was in school, I had several strict teachers. I do not remember all of them, but a few do come to mind. There was Mrs P- a tall, stout lady with large, bulging blue eyes and a mop of grey hair, who taught me Math in Grade three. Three things to note here. Firstly, I hated math and was quite weak in the subject. Secondly I was mortally scared of Mrs P and that would be putting it mildly – she terrified the daylights out of me in class, and last but not least , of all the people in the school, my mother decided that I would go to her for private tuition . I think that decision was made as Mrs P did not charge any fee, as my mother worked in the same school, and we could not afford it in the first place. That sealed the deal. Every math period was like going to purgatory and back. Okay, not so bad but I guess you understand. For some unfathomable reason, I would either forget my text or exercise book at home, not complete the math homework or mix up the answers to the ‘’Tables’’ which she made us practice every morning. Strangely , each boy had to answer once and by the time it was my turn , I was asked to give the answer to eighteen times nine or sixteen times twelve so some such difficult numbers – remember this was in grade three. Needless to add, I failed to answer correctly and was then called up to the blackboard to work out the sum. With fifty pairs of normal and one pair of bulging eyes staring into the back of my head, the correct answer always eluded me . The rest as they say is History. I often got the ruler and was made to stand in the corner till the period was over. The tuition period was a trifle better, as I was the only one there, but mistakes and using the eraser till there was a hole in the page, often ended with me getting a whack with the thick Math book. On a few occasions when it rained, and she had the umbrella at her disposal, she used it on me to good advantage. But she was a good teacher . Then there was a Hindi teacher. I do not remember his name, but he seemed to love hearing me read and mispronounce words. He would barely walk into the class when it was a know fact that he would look in my direction and nod. That was the signal to start reading. I could be sitting in front, in the middle, in the corner or at the back – it mattered little - he would ferret me out. Seeing him chuckle when I mispronounced words made me cringe. I vividly remember another Math teacher – Mr D. He taught me Math in Grade eight If I am not mistaken. Straight back, no smile and no nonsense were words I would use to describe him. He was very good at his subject and one, whose methods I followed. However, after setting a sum he would walk up and down the line checking on what we were doing and, on the progress, we were making. Now you would know this fact – If you are not excellent at the subject and the master comes and stands beside you, you freeze. That has happened quite a few times with me. In order to overcome the pickle I would sometimes find myself in , I made it a habit to drink water , fill ink in the pen or start doing some hurried calculations on a rough sheet of paper away from his prying eyes. I am sure he knew why I did that but it mattered little to him and he continued ! There were these and a few more. However, the guy who had me on pins and needles was the instructor at the driving institute. Whether you know how to drive or not, mandatory lessons and a test are compulsory in the UAE. From the very first lesson, I knew instinctively that this was going to be one tough cookie and that put me off. His whole persona was of a cold mean man. He wore the company uniform along with a cap and very dark glasses and throughout the forty lessons, I saw his eyes and his teeth just once , as he never removed the glasses and he never smiled. Before the first lesson we introduced ourselves to each other, and I gave him my visiting card,hoping to impress him. He looked at it half-heartedly and threw it into the compartment between us. There were about fifty cards in there and I immediately knew that he had won round one. All attempts at softening him up by telling him where I worked, that I was the Principal of a large prestigious school etc seemed to fall on deaf ears. I then tried the personal touch by informing him that I was married and had two daughters . I felt he was deaf as he did not react at all. Then the ordeal began in right earnest. Whether I turned left or right, used the indicator or the break, started, stopped or parked – he was never pleased. Almost daily, he commented on the fact that I was either driving too slow, too fast, was extremely careless, casual or day dreaming. He called me sleepy, bad driver, distracted and very foolish. Things became so bad that I would pray that the forty-five-minute lesson got over. On the days I had driving, my work suffered and as the time approached, I was sure I had palpitations. Often when I returned from a lesson, teachers would ask me if all was well and as to why I looked pale and drawn. After about twenty lessons he brought me a supposedly confidential feed- back form to fill in about his teaching – part of quality assurance he mentioned nonchalantly. However, he lent me his pen and a book to rest on and peered over my shoulder when I was ticking the boxes. So much for the confidentiality! I was left with no alternative to give him a ten on ten and so the ordeal continued. Then things seemed to deteriorate, and he was even more strict. I asked friends if I should complain and ask for a change, but he seemed to have a sixth sense. That day he was “normal and a trifle kind” and so I changed my mind. The next afternoon he told me that I was a Principal in my school but a pupil in his car and I better shape up or I would fail. That frightened me even more as the classes were costly. However, the more I tried, the worse I seemed to drive. Then came the parking test and it was a miracle I passed in the first attempt as he was standing out of the car and glaring at me. I missed the parking line by inches, and I guess he was left with no other alternative but to pass me grudgingly. I felt that I had won this round. That hurdle being crossed I was more confident, and my driving improved by leaps and bounds. That week he seemed to sleep while I drove around and I was not sure whether he was sick, fed up of me, depressed or purposely not commenting and just waiting for me to have an accident. Vague thoughts continuously crossed my mind. I often peered at him through the corner of my eye, but he was the master of deception and I could not fathom out what he was up to. On a few occasions I tried to engage him in small talk, but he just grunted in reply as if in a dream. And then it was the big day when I was to be tested by a police inspector. There was just one last practice round with my instructor and I breathed a sigh of relief. As we cruised down a lonely stretch with me driving at ninety kmph, he asked me to pull over. I did so with trepidation and a certain amount of apprehension coupled with plenty of anxiety For the first time he took off his dark glasses, put his cap on his lap, wiped his brow and looked me in the eye. My heart was beating fast as I was sure he was going to give me hell for something or the other. He smiled, patted me on the shoulder and said “well done Sir” He told me that he had been strict as in the initial days I often behaved like a Principal in the car and if he had let that continue , I would never have been a good driver. He then gave me just one piece of advice which I will put down here in Roman Hindi. He said when you drive, remember just two words “ Bacho – Bachao” which roughly translated means- Save yourself and save others when you drive . I remember those words till today. He was such a strict teacher and I feared him – but he was a master of his trade. I once thought of going and meeting him after all these years but sadly I don’t even remember his name – Seriously, I would love to . Nevertheless – wherever you are – “Thank you, Sir”

I love my 'cuppa'

I love my morning tea and when brewing it a short while ago, it just brought back vivid memories of childhood and of growing up in Allahabad. I make a great cup of tea – I think so, and many have corroborated the fact. That probably is because, as a young boy of around nine, I was taught to do so by my mother and by my aunt – who both loved a ‘good cup of tea’ very early in the morning . I was the official tea maker and I enjoyed it ! Back then, tea was brewed quite differently than how it’s done now- at least by me. To start with, there were tea leaves and not tea bags. We used Brook Bond Red label. In fact, tea bags were not heard of, at least not in Allahabad. I remember the large white porcelain tea pot with small blue flowers painted on it. Water was boiled on the “coal stove’’ or “chulah” which had been lit by the cook at around five am. (If you are not a Millennial you will know what that means and would have probably seen one in old family photographs. I would then carefully wait for the water to boil in the old kettle, and keep opening the lid to check when exactly that happened – let me tell you there is nothing worse than under or over boiled water ! It is believed that boiling tea water correctly is half the battle and an art. It was then that I probably learnt the phrase, “a watched pot never boils” The moment the water boiled, I would pour the same into the tea pot, add in three ‘level’ teaspoons of tea leaves, give it a stir or two and put the lid back on. A Tea cosy (tea pot warmer) was then put over the pot and the tea was left to brew for three minutes (I looked at the clock). There again, if you do not know what a Tea cosy is, and I don’t blame you - Google it! Meanwhile the cups and saucers were laid out. The tea strainer was then placed on each cup as the tea was poured in, thus straining out the tea leaves. Believe you me, the smell of the fresh, steaming, golden coloured brew was amazing. Milk and sugar to taste then followed and presto, the tea was served. There was one clear instruction as well – no slurping. I will admit though, that I enjoyed drinking tea from the saucer at times and would often slink off and do that - I wonder if any of you readers have ever done that too? The pot of tea, covered with the tea cosy, remained hot for about half an hour and that was so convenient as most adults had another cup around that time. Today I make my tea very differently and it is a much quicker and easier process. I boil water in a small saucepan, use a tea bag which negates the use of a tea strainer, and drink my tea in a mug – I do have my favourite mug as well. Whenever I travel, on work or on holiday, I make sure I carry my Lipton tea bags along. I am also not too crazy about milk, so just a wee drop is what I use in a mug of tea. When on official trips I always take some extra tea bags along as I have colleagues who like the way I make tea and I guess, my company as well, so they ring my bell at six am and we have a “cuppa’’ together while discussing the plans for the day . Indians have bonded over steaming cups of tea for centuries- I guess they always will.