By chhotebhai.
In war, and even out of it, those who resort to aerial bombardment use the term “collateral damage” to explain away the loss of innocent lives, or destruction of non-military targets; as is now happening in Gaza. It is a convenient justification, or escape route, for what should be classified as war crimes.
Also read: Faith, Family & Synodality: A Roller-Coaster Ride
I am not at war with anyone. Hence I am using the word “collateral” in its original sense; something incidental or parallel to the mainline. In this sequel, I am sharing relatively light-hearted observations from my recent 15-day sojourn deep south.
My previous piece began with the age of my granddaughter, just six. I now go to the other end of the spectrum. In cricketing parlance, I have faced the equivalent of 12 overs and life isn’t over yet. It was therefore natural that I would be catching up with several senior citizens like me.
Just before this journey, I had stumbled across an expensive tube of toothpaste that had 2014 as its expiry date. I decided to use it, come what may. It was perfect. Was it a harbinger of this trip where I would be meeting many, who today’s generation could term as being past their “best before” date? Pope Francis has often spoken out against the “use and throw” or “disposable” modern culture.
This trip proved the contrary, how valuable and inspiring our senior citizens are. In Goa I met my sister-in-law who was touching 90. She was confined to bed, but mentally all there and enjoyed playing cards every evening.
In Mysore, I met the 82-year-old Major General Sudhir Vombatkere VSM (Retd). He proudly showed me the cycle that he was still using. I first met him over 20 years ago when he accompanied Medha Patkar on an extensive tour that included my hometown Kanpur. Over the years. I had lost touch with him until I read that he had filed a petition in the Supreme Court against the anti-people, colonial era, sedition law. Fortunately, I was able to re-establish contact.
I took the opportunity for an impromptu interview that I uploaded on my YouTube channel @chhotebhaikanpur6759. He spoke freely on what prompted him to become a “soldier who thinks of people” – his own definition. He shared about the dangers of the agniveer scheme and the Government’s directive to soldiers on leave to propagate the government’s social welfare schemes, make videos of the same and submit them to their commanding officers.
When I first met Vombatkere I also met the wife of Admiral Ramdas, former Chief of Naval Staff. The only other faujis that I knew of, who were outspoken on people’s issues or critical of the Government were Lt Gen H.S. Panag and defence analyst Col Ajay Shukla. Most serving and retired faujis tend to be right wing and blindly support the present Government’s extremist policies. They pretend not to know what happened in Pulwama or Galwan!
At Bangalore, I was honoured to meet another 80+ civil rights activist, M.G. Devasahayam, a former army man and IAS officer. In 1975, as the District Magistrate of Chandigarh, he had shielded Jay Prakash Narayan from the wrath of Indira Gandhi; during the Emergency, when even Supreme Court judges became spineless. Devashayam has been at the forefront of the battle against Electronic Voting Machines. He believes that digital/ electronic devices are susceptible to manipulation. If Chinese hackers can access Pentagon files, or Pegasus spyware can be planted on any electronic device, then what is safe?
In contrast, I also met some 80+ friends who were living retired lives, with no social interaction or commitment. They had entered Shakespeare’s seventh stage of life, a second childhood. Their only “activity” seemed to be at the WhatsApp University.
I now turn to food. Having been born and brought up in the north, I have my proclivities. In Goa, I enjoyed the poyee bread. My hosts in Kerala conjured up a variety of lip-smacking dishes – fried fish, prawns, beef fry, parothas etc. I should have been younger to do justice to all that. In Palai, Anand made the traditional putt. In Ernakulam Tara made scrumptious appam and in Mysore I got my favourite iddiappam. I also got my favourite sweets – Goan Bebinca, Calicut Halwa and Mysorepak.
Being a creature of habit, I must have an egg for breakfast. In Kerala, I got everything but eggs! I was getting desperate. On the last leg of my train journey I lunged at the vendor for “bred-aamlate”! While passing through the Coorg region I picked up some pure Arabica-Robusta blend coffee powder and its famed pork masala.
A small digression. In Bangalore I met a young Brazilian lady of Italian descent. She had been living in India for some years and had just returned from a short holiday in Italy. She told me that she was craving to return to tasty Indian food. I agreed. I had a similar experience when I visited Italy in 2017. Halfway through, we went to a Bangladeshi restaurant for biryani.
Shashi Tharoor believes that the Brits took more than the Kohinoor from India. Perhaps the Jewel in the Crown for them was our rich and varied cuisine. All hail to our biryanis, dosas and chutneys.
The trains I traveled on were clean except for the occasional cockroach and one leaking roof. The TTEs were exceedingly polite. None of them asked for my identity proof. Perhaps they didn’t want to mess around with a bearded kurta pyjama-wearing goonda from the north.
I had two interesting interactions on the trains. Striking up a conversation I discovered that my co-passengers belonged to the Mar Thoma Church. I told them that I wrote for one of their publications. Lo and behold, we discovered a common acquaintance in Dallas, Texas. Small world. On the train from Ernakulam to Payyanur, a gentleman told me that he was travelling for just two stations. I asked him how that was allowed on a long-distance train. He gave me the all-knowing smile of one who knows how to buck the system.
When the TTE came around he showed him his ticket together with a hundred rupee note. Sensing that I was watching him, the TTE spurned the offer (at least in front of me). This is because he had earlier been counting and reconciling his cash collection. I pointed out that a Rs 20 note was lying on the seat. He quickly added it to another bundle of notes in another pocket. Draw your own conclusions.
What really bugged me was the taxis. It was fine wherever my wife used the Uber app. I had forgotten how to use my Ola one. Unmetered taxis were a rip-off. In Goa the taxi mafia has stalled the entry of Uber and Ola, hence charging the sun for going to the moon. Devoid of any other alternative I had to take a cab from Payyanur to Mysore. I paid a “concessional” rate of Rs 5500/- for a 99.5 km trip to Coorg Gate, more expensive than a flight. When we got back, at Kanpur airport the pre-paid taxi service charged me Rs 400 for 7 kms.
When my cab crossed from Kerala into Karnataka we were greeted with lunar craters. The consolation was driving through the verdant virgin forests of the Coorg region. If Trivandrum was pot-holed, Bangalore had speed breakers everywhere, perhaps because of its chaotic traffic. It has an endemic problem. There are Main and Cross Roads at every 50 metres in congested residential areas. Pathetic urban planning, or the lack of it.
Because there are no direct flights from Kanpur to Goa or Bangalore on the return journey, we had to change at Delhi and Mumbai respectively. All Indigo flights. Bangalore airport was the most congested and least user-friendly. My wife opted for a wheelchair every time, so the air hostesses were really courteous. The jury is still out if this was because of the wife in the wheelchair, or her debonair husband.
On the last leg to Kanpur, I got a rude shock. It was the first time in two weeks that I heard somebody aggressively raising his voice. I also picked up a sense of aggression on the countenances of some of the passengers. It is only when we are away for some time that we notice things that we would otherwise have considered par for the course. Welcome back to Yogiland.
Continue your journey through life without looking at the expiry date and enjoy the food and company on the way. Bon Appetit, Bon Voyage!
This travelogue is written in lighter vein. No collateral damage is intended. The writer may be forgiven if he has offended anybody’s sensitivities. He may be contacted at [email protected]