EVOLUTION OF THE PORTER

Ernakulam Railway station : The evolution ( taming ) of the porter

The redshirted porter of Ernakulam is a species apart from others of their race
They carried themselves loftily with a tinge of supercilious pomposity in their demeanor.
They were men of confidence who surveyed the world with disdain.
The passengers who frequented the station had a hard time to locate a red shirted wonder called the porter, and many a time had to drag their horrendously heavy bags by themselves, this was easier said than done taking into account the obstacle course the railway station was, the architect who planned it should surely have had a streak of sadism running in his blood for he had successfully devised all ways to put men and women with bags in trouble,
An over bridge that connected the distant platforms rose steeply like jacks beanstalk.
One needed a certain skill of the mountaineering kind to climb that monstrosity, and its steepness was legendary. Surely somebody who fantasized all Cochinites as Olympians designed this.
And thus for many years the poor passenger was at the mercy of the arrogant porter and the wonder architect. It was a common sight to see weary passengers carrying their bags in sweating silence while loitering porters eyed them with disinterest
The porters never required the passengers for their daily living and thought of them more as an intrusion to their selves. They had all the work they wanted in the parcel office and all they could earn came from the parcel owners. Their daily bread was more than assured .
And so time rolled by until
One fine day things changed, the good Lord opened his eyes in favor of the meek and the weak (passengers buddy).
Porters were all around lounging with a lost look in their eyes, they looked at passengers appealingly and at their bags hungrily their trolleys were oiled and ready and all one had to do was to whisper porter before a bevy of the red warriors appeared from nowhere.
The price was decided in silence, whatever the passenger quoted he got,
Was this a fairytale? Which wand had brushed the passenger that he got the luck of Cinderella ?Why was THE porter behaving like he was ?
How long would this last?
A mystery as great as say the loch ness monster or the Bermuda triangle ones .
Passengers never wasted their time to crack such secrets but continued to pile their luggage’s on the hapless porters, long distances were covered without a murmur, great heights were conquered with a winning smile, huge sacks and boxes were lugged effortlessly, no sound escaped the porter but his wheezy breathing due to his hardy ministrations
Why and how did such a thing happen was the question on every mans lips? time and again every passenger asked the same question to the porter once he had safely deposited their tons of belongings at their perch
The porter himself smiled sadly when asked that question and lifted his mournful face from the ground with vacant eyes slowly lifting his hands to point out at something in the distance, there far away in the first platform was intense activity, focusing on that crowd one could make out a lot of blue shirts lugging heavy parcels into trolleys and weighing machines like honey bees, what was that? Why blue instead of red now?
yas saar ,new appointments ,only for parcels, we back to passenger s and their luggage’s
sic .a silent tear almost rolled down the porters face while the delighted passenger gleamed with pleasure at this unexpected karmic reward
dear friends this is the saga of the taming of the porter as great an epic piece of history as Shakespeare’s celebrated one .

Dr.Harimohan

nirvana in babudom

NIRVANA IN BABUDOM

The Government office is an odd place to attain peace ,salvation and eternal contentment but I experienced this one afternoon ,this was how it happened
The clank of the rusted fan welcomed me as I pushed the half door open into the joint Directors room, my eyes adapted to the darkness when I searched for the occupant, who was to be found nowhere, the dank smell of old files filled the air and the room had an antique feel to it
A long neck with an angry face popped up from among the files like an ostrich disturbed from its pecking, glared at me, and gesturing me to sit and promptly sunk to its place among the files ,a good quarter of an hour later the head resurfaced from its subterranean depths .
I gathered my communication skills to explain my presence in the hallowed precincts of his office, I, had come for a certificate of recognition which the law of the land determined I had to produce, he gazed at the sheaf of papers I carried and gestured me to deposit it among the file hill in front of him, and asked me to come a week or better a month later for the needed document !
I gasped ,gulped, and grimaced and pleaded that I needed it immediately , so that I could depart with it in the evening train ,as all was at stake ,he permitted himself to guffaw at my silly request and told me that that kind of thing never happened in these kind of places I agreed with him but like Alfred the great or was it his spider persisted in my efforts to achieve my ends by all means
Using flattery as a guise I suggested that if something like this could be done by anybody it could be only him and this did the trick, he couldn’t but fall for this and he did grunting that he would make a try but wouldn’t promise anything, maybe I could take a walk and come back when the sun sets!!
Thiruvananthapuram is a city of the Government ,its presence was unavoidable ,it was palpable ,babus milled around in abundance like ants scurrying on mounds ,everyone was busy carrying files,small crowds stood in corners huddling together in conspiracy, the road in front of the secretariat was a veritable crowd of activists ,small thatched shelters protected their demonstrating heads from the fierce sun,while they howled and hooted their rising passions fuelled by their voluble leaders who barked into their microphones a continuous litany of cacophony.
Commerce continued in this confusion as groundnuts were sold in tons and tea in gallons, many were fasting in true Gandhian spirit to express their annoyance at government decisions ,but a sleight of hand hooded the onlookers from the gluttony of the fasting .
Everyone was in some way related to the sarcar, either demonstrating for their rights or working for the government ,or men like me who have come to the presence of power to get things done ,I had time to savor the city now till evening and there was a lot to choose from indeed, for an observer of the human species this was paradise
I loitered into a small tea shop under a shady tree,it was cool and nice and the hot tea was boiling in the kettle ,so was a dhoti clad red shirt who was delivering a sermon to his mesmerized audience,
“Strike we shall “ he boomed “till time stops ,nothing shall move or breathe or sway till we command ,the united power of the people will crush the imperialists and their attitude and squelch their capitalist life out of them”he then gulped his kattan chayya and lit his bidi puffing it with venom, “comrade when would this be ?” questioned one meekly “ today ,from this minute, this land will stop working ,even hearts will stop beating !the word of a comrade cannot be dismissed lightly,” and so saying he grandly declared the strike open to the applause of his audience ,the crowd quickly melted away realizing that the drama was finished ,the comrade grinned at the tea shop owner and bit into a vada grabbing another cuppa tea and walked away with a flourish ,after all comrades too required their nourishments for their exertions for the great revolutionary cause .Does he ask you to close shop I asked the owner who shook his head vigorously and said never
I walked in to British Council planning to browse through encyclopedias in air-conditioned comfort and if conditions favour get a quick nap but my plans were doomed from the start by the new rule of allowing only members inside and not timekillers like me ,a movie could be the answer but the huge crowds in front of the theatre exhibiting a plump mohanlal gyrating with his heroine spoiled my strategy.
I had nowhere to go ,so I rang up a distant cousin who had insisted that I should never go anywhere near Trivandrum without visitng him and savoring his hospitality, this was said after a sumptuous meal he had in my house at Cochin ,the cousin answered in monotones that he was a bit busy and held up and why not some other time ,he was an excellent communicator indeed
I plodded in the blazing sun and reached the secretariat, feigning an air of belonging to the if I knew the place all my life and was bored with everything ,this probably made me appear like any other employee because none of the uniformed policemen asking for entry passes or bothered to stop me ,either I looked important or I was too innocuous to be noticed like an invisible man ,whatever be the reason it helped me move without entry passes .
I got lost in the maze of corridors and even reached the coir laden verandah of the chief minister and his entourage, the place was a blur of white khadi as pompous politicians lined up to get things done for their followers ,there was a lot of backpatting and guffawing and I felt like a lost soul in the crowd so I quickly retraced my steps and managed to find a way to my mentor babu
He was more harried now wearing a perpetual scowl like an uniform ,he gave me a sad look and informed me I could sit in a chair and wait for some more time .
This was the mother of all understatements ,the sun set itself into the blue Arabian sea and I read the government gazette No 33 from front to back approximately eight times as there was no other reading material in front of me, I was hypnotized by the files and their tags ,the world was melting away and I was lost in a twilight of sleep and wakefulness ,peace and quietness descended on me as I relaxed in a cocoon of nothingness, all worries disappeared and I felt light and airy I literally flew out of the windows and I could see myself sitting in the chair ,was this place my Bothi tree what an unimaginative place to attain nirvana ,
I was jolted awake from my slumber by the raucous cackle of a crow in the window near me ,I again looked around but the only view available other than the files was the babu officer and his compatriots ,this included a matron ,his superior who had all the time in the world with nothing to do but cracking jokes ,I understood that she was about to retire and that evening s there was a send off party planned for her in a nearby hotel and our lady was totally exited about it, no other earthshaking news could nudge her ,
she prodded my babu to leave his things and come to the party as the car was waiting and he would miss it, but my man was a man who stood by his promises ,he sent her off with the others telling her he would join them later and finally got into the act of writing the vital certificate referring to different files ,he then rushed into the officers cabin and got his signature from a departing boss hurrying to the party ,all that needed now was the all important seal and he had it with him ,but it was dry like a bone and there was no stamp pad to be found ,
A mere stamp pad could become my Achilles heel ,after all this waiting it could be the obstacle for my success ,sad ,so I made an offer that I would rush out and buy one in a jiffy ,
He shook his head and ingeniously poured some ink on to the seal and stamped my papers ,he handed it to me with a flourish and almost a bow Never have I been so grateful to a babu and a clever one at that and to babudom where I almost attained nirvana !!OM SHANTHI

Dr N.Harimohan

stepping stone

with the laying of the foundation stone in the newly aqquired 63 cent land the shlpa society has climbed its first step in its vison for the future .
it marches with committment in its mission "the welfare of the mentally handicapped."
Nine years since it began with 5 students and one teacher it has now 140 students and 30 staff with its own disabled friendly building .
with many new tasks ahead it opens its vista looking ahead !!

manali pictures 

artic explorers 

rohtang pass

ROHTANG PASS We stepped into a furnace at midnight and the heat hit us like a bulldozer Delhi Airport was just that in mid May ,when we planned our journey to the hills of Himachal Pradesh and to the Rohtang pass . 

When we told our friends we wanted to see “the pile of corpses “ up in the mountains this summer they grimaced at our sense of a holiday ,but then they wouldn’t have known that “Rohtang “ in Tibetian language meant a pile of corpses would they ? 

It got this macabre term because climbing the pass in those days resulted in many deaths .

 Opened only for two months in the summer , this 13500 feet pass and gateway to Ladakh was reached after 59 km of winding narrow dizzy roads from Manali with icy borders and threatening boulders . 

The Border Road organization maintains the road with their usual efficiency. But that comes later .

As we sped in our cool Tavera trying to overtake the lumbering trucks the Delhi night was slowly giving way to dawn . 

Sleep and exhaustion overcame us as the highway rolled towards Ambala .

 It was early morning when we woke up in the Haveli a wonderful Punjabi style dhaba with an Ac toilet and a look alike Punjabi village with even a well for drawing water .. 

At those early hours we sipped our morning cuppa to bhangra tunes in the restaurant which was decorated with the front of a lorry with all fittings including a burly sardar driver . 

Our own driver was a robust Punjabi Sardar whom we started calling endearingly as Darjee

. He was at home at haveli We then sped past Panipat where we could almost hear the din of the battle ,clank of the swords and cries of pain , the barren plains in our drowsy state .

The battles of panipat crowded into our minds from long forgotten history books . 

Chandigarh was a pleasure with its planned roads and prosperous malls .

 The morning crowds milled around with Schoolchildren smart in their uniforms ,huge matrons in churidars scurrying to the market ,robust sardars and comely lasses all of them looking like part of an ant colony moving with gusto. 

We left them in peace and scampered along .

 Soon we approached the hilly areas of Himachal pradesh .

It was still hot when our Darjee switched off the music and Ac at the same time , “ No AC or music in hill road ,police catch “he declared without any emotion and .all my arguments was wasted on him ,I had to sit all boiled up glaring at him stupidly .

Lunch at a way side dhabba and nothing much to write about , but Punjabi fare was at least edible , unlike the others we had encountered. in our earlier travels in the north Roopnagar ,Bilaspur and Mandi came and went and so did so many other similarly sounding places 

The topography and the people changed . 

The houses were built of wood and stones most of them standing on stilt like supports with wooden beams ,though painted gaily they had seen better days as many of them were periliously close to collapse ,it was a wonder that people still lived in them . 

Men had their himachal caps jauntingly tilted at an angle , women were pretty and perky in their churidars . 

Apple trees were in plenty but alas only budding as it was summer . We even passed a couple of marriage processions with the bedecked couple wreathed in smiles marching to the tune of curving pipes and cymbals looking delighted . 

By evening Kullu valley spread its feast to our eyes ,it was nature preening at its best ,the fertile valley was rich in nature and culture ,more than 300 temples are located here and its people have a literacy rate of more than 70 % the river Beas flows through the valley bubbly in its enthusiasm ,its path strewn with rocks and boulders dancing flirtingly and foaming in its turbulence . 

The valley is the place for trekking river rafting ,skeing ,helirafting ,mountain climbing and gliding and many such adventure sports .

 The undulating hill roads gave glorious views of snowcapped mountains pristine in their elegance . 

 10 km from Kullu was the Bijli mahadev temple with its towering shaft which is said to attract lightening and electrify the shivling inside . 

We reached Naggar the ertstwhile capital of Kullu with its wooden castle Built during Raja sidha singh’s reign 500 years back part of it now is a deluxe hotel .

 There is a small wooden temple in the premises called Jagatpati temple . 

 Another sight to be seen in Naggar was the Roerich art gallery . This is the house of Nicholas Roerich the famous Russian artist, lawyer, humanist ,spiritualist, philosopher, poet, theosophist, archeologist , scholar ,writer , and explorer , who after a full life all around the world took solace in 1928 with his illustrious wife Helena in this cosy wooden cottage . It had a stunning view of the snowy peaks . The museum opens a page into this great soul and his passions .his living conditions are dutifully preserved and one could get a glimpse of his antique car in its shed . Svetoslav Roerich his equally talented son had stayed here with his celebrity wife Devika rani . 

The museum was meant for lingering without the constraints of time for one could drift back into the past . The gallery presented many of the artists paintings on the Himalayas .sculpture pieces and even traditional kullu dresses 

As dusk closed in on us and cold creeped in we wound our way into Manali and the sterling resorts . Slipping under the blankets in our cosy room we fell into a much needed slumber .

 Morning woke us with the sun streaming its welcome through the patio windows and the rolling hills with its white caps lost in the cotton wool clouds was a sight to gaze for eternity . 

A hearty buffet breakfast where we tucked in the best of south ,north Indian and continental delights to the satisfaction of the observant chef 

we had to fortify ourselves for the exertions the day promised . in sterling lobby Our Sardar was all ready brimming with energy which probably his morning lassi had filled him with and raring to get behind those wheels . 

we clambered to Hadimba temple through steep roads and culverts .The Godess of Kullu rests in a four storey wooden temple built in the fifteenth century , located in the midst of a forest called Dhungiri van vihar It is said that the pandavas in Mahabarath after escaping from the wax palace came to this place which was ruled by a Rakshak called Hadimbh after killing him Bhima the strong man among the pandavas promptly fell in love and married his sister Hadimba and they had a child ,later when the son grew big and started ruling the fiefdom , Hadimba retired to the forest for penance and became Hadimba devi 

The temple is of the pagoda style and is set in a serene wooded area ,tourism had brought vendors and yak rides in its wake . 

 We descended down into Manali town . Legend says that Manu + Ali from which manali came into being was the place where India’s own Noah , “ Manu “ drove his ark or boat during The great deluge and took refuge The colourful Tibetian market around the serene monastery sold knickknacks by the dozen. 

We strayed into the Himachal Pradesh Tourism Department and strangely for a Government office was met by a courteous and helpful officer who piled us with brochures and information . 

After a sweet and hot cuppa tea we were back in Sterling in time for the campfire . 

We left it and the roaring crowd to walk down the road to a Tibetian dhaba and its mommos served lovingly by Auntyjee a comely plump matron who took delight in feeding gluttons like us who descend in hordes every summer . 

Early to bed we went as the next day would be a strenuous one as we planned to leave for Rohtang pass 59 km high above manali and 13500 feet into the air . The gateway to leh and ladakh this pass opens only two months in a year . The road wound up giddyingly with yawning crevasses for borders ,icy rocks threatened catostrophy but our able sardar maneouvored his way up with ease . 

All along the road were woolen rentals with numbers painted gaily ,the owners calling out to us to stop , Darjee had other ideas as he knew shop no 104 and glided into its precints .a sweet smiling lady welcomed us with an assortment of coats ,boots ,gloves and caps and in a short time we metamorphosed into Artic explorers .

 Suitably suited and booted we climbed up clumsily with other grinning hooded characters gazing at the spectacle from their vehicles .suddenly every tourist looked exotic in his costume and all around were salman and sharukh khans We climbed up .

 Slowly and steadily the thin air got to me and a splitting headache with nausea made me lose all interest in the pass which was another 8 km ahead . By then the feared traffic block had happened and fuming vehicles were clogging the narrow road .We climbed down into the slippery ice and snow and climbed up a small hillock to do some sking and skating in sledges throwing the mandatory snowballs at each other . The fine snow flew into our faces and a slow and steady snowfall blew wispy secrets .

 Climbing down to our vehicle proved a daunting task and getting into it in the bone chilling cold gave no respite till the heater stated warming us .huddled inside for more than three hours we waited for the traffic to clear as an army officer bulldozed with all sirens into the confusion creating cacophony .

 All I remember on the pass this time is the headache which is unfair because everybody else seemed to have had a whale of a time taking their snaps sitting in ice hovels conveniently dug for them with shovels and love messages as dressings all for a fee of course . 

I was a bad sport and remained grumpy as we shed our coats in the shop and then sped down to the warm springs of Vasisth . I coiled up in the backseat of our tavera as the others left for the springs ,after a restful slumber I doused the embers of my headache with a pure grape juice Rohtang the pile of corpses made me feel like one . 

 Exhausted we slept like children back in Sterling . 

Morning saw us leaving Manali to Simla . 

We went for river rafting in the Beas .

 I was apprehensive remembering my Rohtang day but it turned out to be the best part of the holiday . Wearing life jackets and helmets we hung for dear life to the rubber dinghy as we careened down the swiftly flowing Beas . Our pilot a grinning Bruce lee look alike took pleasure in driving us almost into huge boulders and made us as wet as“umbrellas in kerala monsoon The rapids were of grade four he told us during one of those peaceful lucid intervals when the dinghy sailed placatingly along only to suddenly crash into those boiling rapids . 

At one moment we were wet and the other we were dried by the bright sun and felt cool and collected ,darjee who had droven along the parallel road stopped at vantage points to become a gymnast occupying dangerous perches to photgraph us for posterity . 

The photos when they were developed were nice but all that could be seen was a choppy boat and some wet heads so much for his skill in photography . 14 km of exhilaration and we landed in dry land and toweled ourselves . 

The boat was loaded on a Maruti van and Bruce lee left for a repeat perfomance ,.all in a days work for him. Ravenously hungry after the aquatic antics we chose a quite dhaba and found a not very enthusiastic cook asking us for the menu , it was late in the day for lunch and the man was probably bugged seeing us invading his fiefdom . A nearby shop had a sleeping owner whom we woke up for some toffees,this proved to be our lucky day for this was the real chef and the moment he woke up things started happening .he invigorated a battery of helpers who went into a frenzy of chopping vegetables and boiling water The great man himself took charge of the frying pan and with great finesse added the ingredients with panache ,he sautered garnished roasted and fried for us like a mother would , this man loved his job and had taken an oath to feed us in style . As the ambrosia of his creations tickled our palates we sat down in a table facing a mountain stream . Chappatis rolled on to our table from the fire hot and puffy with pride, we dipped them into the red tomato filled paneer masala and crunched and crackled our fried cauliflowers looking at him with endearing eyes like grateful dogs .this was food for the Gods indeed and we praised him volubly The silent cook watched us eating with gusto ,pride and happiness. 

An artist enjoying his creativity , profusely thanking him we left with a volley of belches as our parting gift A wayside kulfi treat was a fitting finale to this exotica . 

We sped towards Simla, it was warm and the roads were dusty Simla proved a concrete monstrosity with preying brokers who like a pack of monkeys strung on our van for their commission . we landed in a hotel late at night and in a small room made big with mirrors everywhere ,seeing many images of ourselves wasn’t very attractive and so we left the place in the morning to a nearby homestay managed by two women a mother and daughter .The Fontainebleu .

 The mother told us that fontainbleu became their house when they migrated from Lahore during partition ,as their own house back in Lahore would have been usurped by someone else . we were also informed that the present Afghan president kharzai had stayed in the very room we occupied during his young days . 

Great people same places . The best part of the house was it was close to the historic Mall and had a homely feel . We even had a friendly kashmiri vendor who good naturedly impressed us to buy his wares .

  The mall in Simla is its best kept secret . Desmond morris would have been delighted at this place as it is ideal for people watching Evening brought men and women in hordes not only tourists but also the locals who gracefully went around wishing their friends with traditional namastes and elders by touching their feet even though many of them were dressed in designer outfits .I sat admiringly at this habit . Four to five kilometers of unhindered walkways as no vehicles are allowed in the mall and with shops by the dozen selling everything from pizzas to pins the place was ideal if one had nothing to do and a lot of time . 

Wicker iron benches facing scenic mountains could make one sit for hours with the cool air nipping serenely . Globs of icecrams came handy for the occasion . I silently blew a thanks to the British for making the mall ‘ A far away hoot from Simla railway station and a glimpse of a mist covered engine huffing down the mountain broke us from our reverie and made us realizethat it was night and time to leave And thus ended another great holiday in the hills . Dr .Harimohan MBBS DMRT KOCHI haripremi@gmail.com

budda beti

My dear daughter sruthi
intelligent ,introspective ,intutive ,creative ,cheerful,coy,a bit slow and lazy sruthi and children like her are the most affected by the whims of characters like arjun singh and vp singh as merit is murdered with rservations
read below for my view on it hari
budda beti