Ever wonder why so many locals set up Chinese Carts and serve Yumrican Chap Sewey.
Ever question why so many Hyderabadis think that Smi Ling is a Chinese word for laughter.
What do you think of the globalisation of Biryani and how do you respond when it is now often served with a sprinkling of raisins and passed off sacrilegiously as Dubai Biryani or Saudi Pulao.
Thoughts like this trouble me.
Am I going mad? Or am I just bored?
Wednesday, October 31, 2007
Saturday, October 20, 2007
After years of running behind sheep, goats and cows, buffaloes etc., and mimicking their locomotion habits which meant never walking in a straight line, never looking left or right before crossing a stream or a path, never thinking about whether stopping suddenly would create a traffic jam and so on, many people from the rural parts of Andhra Pradesh migrated to and settled down in Hyderabad.
Here too they continued in the same fashion. Genetically of course, the next generations of these early settlers were blessed with the same characteristic. Over the decades it is they who formed the chaotic core of the typical Hyderabadi pedestrian.
When some of these people graduated to bicycles the congenital defects in their basic metabolism continued to drive them in circles. Circles that began but never ended. Circles that sliced arcs of disaster. The city soon became famous for several inanimate objects ...people who had stopped cycling, either too tired to pedal up one of the city’s many slopes or too lazy to do so while freewheeling down the other side.
In search of livelihood, some of them even started to pull rickshaws for a living. Called cycle rickshaws, these means of transportation soon garnered a reputation for being some of the most erratic users of public domain roads, streets and lanes. Unpredictability became their epitaph.
As the city progressed and evolved into a metropolis, more mechanised forms of transportation drove into our lives. The three wheeler cycle rickshaw was soon outnumbered by the three wheeled auto rickshaw. Powered by a pepped up scooter engine and blessed with an advantageous roof, the auto as it was called, became the basic means of commuting in the twin cities.
But since the men who drove these autos traced their ancestry back to the cycle rickshaw and also to the goat herds, their driving habits remained as erroneous. Turning left while signalling right. Stopping when it was actually time to go. Slowing down when in the fast lane. Following line of sight instead of lane of discipline. All these were endemic to the cause. And a common curse in Hyderabad lamented the fact that the uncouth cycle rickshaw wallas had unfortunately been powered into the new menace.
However, faced with the option of relying on buses that never stopped at their stops. Buses which offered hanging room only. Buses which served harassment and molestation long before things came to a squeeze or to a pinch. The people of Hyderabad adopted the auto rickshaw as their favoured means of going from point A to point B. And many even compromised on their children’s lives and sardine packed them off to school.
It is these auto rickshaws that the Government now proposes to replace with taxis. It is these maniacs that the Government wants to empower.
Can you imagine the chaos? When suddenly over 100, 000 men whose only qualification to be on the road is their innate similarity to goats and sheep, are given the four wheeled treatment. Far from alleviating the traffic problem, these taxis are sure to add to the mess. Whatever hopes we have of ever enforcing the basics of traffic rules, will be dashed to smithereens.
Because they will be joining their Sumo, Indica, Qualis and Innova brothers who serve the needs of the IT & ITES industries. The midnight maniacs as they are called, these white coloured criminals are a disgrace to road safety living as they do by their own clock and driving as they do to their own discipline.
Because they will be joining their cousins who have left the bullock carts back home and promoted themselves into becoming RTC Murderers, Setwin Assassins and Private Bus Executioners. A whole breed of professionals who sit back in their drivers’ seat only to enjoy the direction their beast pulls them in.
Between taxis driven by shepherds, taxis chauffeured by the genetically handicapped and buses driven by agents of Yama and representatives of several Road Rage monsters, the self driven automobile will soon die a cruel death. By cold blooded murder. And unavoidable extinction. And the only people who will enjoy the newly improved roads of Hyderabad, the elaborate flyovers and intricate clover leaf intersections will be the squad attached to the Chief Minister who will rev their black Scorpios down empty roads with all the adrenalin that blazing sirens can pump into their bloodstream. And the handful of drivers who are blessed with being in the employ of fat cats who are stupid enough to let their chauffeurs drive them around when they are rich enough to buy the latest Mercs, Bentleys, Audis and BMWs.
Here too they continued in the same fashion. Genetically of course, the next generations of these early settlers were blessed with the same characteristic. Over the decades it is they who formed the chaotic core of the typical Hyderabadi pedestrian.
When some of these people graduated to bicycles the congenital defects in their basic metabolism continued to drive them in circles. Circles that began but never ended. Circles that sliced arcs of disaster. The city soon became famous for several inanimate objects ...people who had stopped cycling, either too tired to pedal up one of the city’s many slopes or too lazy to do so while freewheeling down the other side.
In search of livelihood, some of them even started to pull rickshaws for a living. Called cycle rickshaws, these means of transportation soon garnered a reputation for being some of the most erratic users of public domain roads, streets and lanes. Unpredictability became their epitaph.
As the city progressed and evolved into a metropolis, more mechanised forms of transportation drove into our lives. The three wheeler cycle rickshaw was soon outnumbered by the three wheeled auto rickshaw. Powered by a pepped up scooter engine and blessed with an advantageous roof, the auto as it was called, became the basic means of commuting in the twin cities.
But since the men who drove these autos traced their ancestry back to the cycle rickshaw and also to the goat herds, their driving habits remained as erroneous. Turning left while signalling right. Stopping when it was actually time to go. Slowing down when in the fast lane. Following line of sight instead of lane of discipline. All these were endemic to the cause. And a common curse in Hyderabad lamented the fact that the uncouth cycle rickshaw wallas had unfortunately been powered into the new menace.
However, faced with the option of relying on buses that never stopped at their stops. Buses which offered hanging room only. Buses which served harassment and molestation long before things came to a squeeze or to a pinch. The people of Hyderabad adopted the auto rickshaw as their favoured means of going from point A to point B. And many even compromised on their children’s lives and sardine packed them off to school.
It is these auto rickshaws that the Government now proposes to replace with taxis. It is these maniacs that the Government wants to empower.
Can you imagine the chaos? When suddenly over 100, 000 men whose only qualification to be on the road is their innate similarity to goats and sheep, are given the four wheeled treatment. Far from alleviating the traffic problem, these taxis are sure to add to the mess. Whatever hopes we have of ever enforcing the basics of traffic rules, will be dashed to smithereens.
Because they will be joining their Sumo, Indica, Qualis and Innova brothers who serve the needs of the IT & ITES industries. The midnight maniacs as they are called, these white coloured criminals are a disgrace to road safety living as they do by their own clock and driving as they do to their own discipline.
Because they will be joining their cousins who have left the bullock carts back home and promoted themselves into becoming RTC Murderers, Setwin Assassins and Private Bus Executioners. A whole breed of professionals who sit back in their drivers’ seat only to enjoy the direction their beast pulls them in.
Between taxis driven by shepherds, taxis chauffeured by the genetically handicapped and buses driven by agents of Yama and representatives of several Road Rage monsters, the self driven automobile will soon die a cruel death. By cold blooded murder. And unavoidable extinction. And the only people who will enjoy the newly improved roads of Hyderabad, the elaborate flyovers and intricate clover leaf intersections will be the squad attached to the Chief Minister who will rev their black Scorpios down empty roads with all the adrenalin that blazing sirens can pump into their bloodstream. And the handful of drivers who are blessed with being in the employ of fat cats who are stupid enough to let their chauffeurs drive them around when they are rich enough to buy the latest Mercs, Bentleys, Audis and BMWs.
Monday, October 01, 2007
Thousands, did you say?
Millions would be closer to the truth.
Millions of silk worms, cocooned
into a self deceptive shell of security.
Rudely awakened by the boil. Stripped
of dignity, of shelter, of life.
And all the world’s Ms. Jones, Ms. Smiths,
Ms. Wangs, Ms. Reddys, Ms. Raos, Ms. Khans.
And who have you.
And the men too, those fashionable sorts.
Those wrapped in silken desire. Those shrouded
in deadly accoutrements. Those pouting
vacuous lips in vapid protest against cruelty.
They killed them. After over feeding them crunchy
green mulberry leaves. After pampering them
with neat layouts of efficiency.
Cold blooded the murders were.
The motive was but a fabric of celebration.
And they got away scot free. Not even the whisper of
remorse tinged their conversations. As they swished
their silks, as they showcased their spoils.
We are not cruel to animals, they said.
We just kill them a little before they die.
And instead of slipping into oblivion, we allow them
the privilege of living on as the ultimate symbolof luxury.
Murder. The crime.
Guilty. As sin.
Proven. Beyond contempt.
The sentence, if they haven’t cottoned on yet,
is silk by non-violence.
Ahimsa. The silk of human kindness.
Millions would be closer to the truth.
Millions of silk worms, cocooned
into a self deceptive shell of security.
Rudely awakened by the boil. Stripped
of dignity, of shelter, of life.
And all the world’s Ms. Jones, Ms. Smiths,
Ms. Wangs, Ms. Reddys, Ms. Raos, Ms. Khans.
And who have you.
And the men too, those fashionable sorts.
Those wrapped in silken desire. Those shrouded
in deadly accoutrements. Those pouting
vacuous lips in vapid protest against cruelty.
They killed them. After over feeding them crunchy
green mulberry leaves. After pampering them
with neat layouts of efficiency.
Cold blooded the murders were.
The motive was but a fabric of celebration.
And they got away scot free. Not even the whisper of
remorse tinged their conversations. As they swished
their silks, as they showcased their spoils.
We are not cruel to animals, they said.
We just kill them a little before they die.
And instead of slipping into oblivion, we allow them
the privilege of living on as the ultimate symbolof luxury.
Murder. The crime.
Guilty. As sin.
Proven. Beyond contempt.
The sentence, if they haven’t cottoned on yet,
is silk by non-violence.
Ahimsa. The silk of human kindness.
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