Shubh Aarambh

Have you watched the latest series of Cadbury ads titled ‘Shubh Aarambh’? Each episode is a masterpiece. The content, the central idea, the message, the simplicity of its execution – kudos! I would have loved to write a piece on each of those individual ads. But today, this post is in response to the episode where the ‘cool’ guy goes back to pick up the empty packet he had just thrown on the road.

I remember I once went through this phase of “cleanliness is next to Godliness”. It was my response to the governments’ war-cry to maintain a clean city. I would never throw any empty cans, bottles, wrappers, used papers, packets, sachets etc on the street. I used to take it home or the nearest dustbin & dispose it there. And I would also lecture others about it (costs nothing to lecture others you see!). I had read somewhere that in some countries (particularly Singapore) littering and spitting in public places is a punishable offence. That had got me thinking. Fined for littering? Hmm. The agenda was to not dirty the streets anymore than it already was.

That was also the time when I had the highest concentration of Desh Prem (no … not the Manoj Kumar variety; just a lot more simpler & basic type) in my blood & wanted to do my bit towards a cleaner India. This is the least I could do for my city, state & thereof my country. After all, I know I am no Bhagat Singh.

Years passed. And with it, my “safaai” phase passed off too. The desh prem weaned. The lectures were happily forgotten. I was back to my lazy self.

Last week, when I ate the cut slices of papaya from a piece of paper offered by a roadside vendor & threw the paper into the moving traffic as our car sped along, I immediately felt a tinge of guilt. I thought for a second of another ad where this lady on a bike chases a car & thrusts the empty bottle back at the person who had thrown it out on the road. What if someone does that to my face? Oh my God!

It’s true that Indians clean their houses but dirty their neighborhood. It kills me to say this but I must admit I am guilty too. Plastic covers, packets of chips, chocolate wrappers, empty beer bottles rolled down the sides of deserted roads (the last one – courtesy – Sathya) I am guilty. Now, every time I see the Cadbury ad, it makes me want to revive my personal campaign of the earlier days.

So here I am. This 2011 I will do my bit. I will not litter. It is a promise. I will not give in to the attitude, “I can get away with this”, chaltha hai yaar. Maybe this time it will outlast my temporary craze & actually become a habit. Hope this habit dies hard. I will remind myself that I may be fined. Come to think of it, maybe THAT’S what we need – imposition of a hefty fine for littering. The way the helmet rule is grudgingly but diligently adhered to now in Bangalore, maybe a fine in this case would awaken the collective consciousness of people. Hope Tan & her generation grow up to break this ‘typically Indian’ habit of littering around just like the guy in the Cadbury ad. All it takes is a resolve. I resolve not to litter.

The Romance of a Village

Romance, by definition (& personal experience) is short-lived, fleeting; hence so enticing. The same holds true for my fascination with the rural life. Life in a village is so peaceful, so quiet, so romantic. Yes I know, have heard that a lot. But hey…I don’t want no peace. I would be miserable in a village.

I know many people whose ultimate dream in life is to make loads of moolah in the city & then go back & settle down in a village. I can never ‘settle down’ in a village. It would be my slow poison. Being confined. Not being able to go up & about town. That is my idea of a perfectly sad life. The eerie silence, the peacefulness, the quietness, the solitude, the absence of a hurried existence, the lack of activity, the ‘no hurry- no worry’ life would suffocate me.

The hustle & bustle of a city, its crowds, its movement, the uncertainty, the striving, the struggles – that’s my oxygen. I was born & grew up in Bombay for the first 10 ten years of my life. Bangalore has become my home since the last 10 years. My middle 10 years were spent in a village in Udupi. Today, sometimes, I am hit by sudden bouts of nostalgia. I miss Udupi. Sometimes! But my longing for the place is never for the place per se. What I miss is …

I miss the koli’s (cock) wake-up call in the mornings.

I miss the cow’s ‘ambeyy” reverberating throughout the village.

I miss the ‘halasina seydu” (a quarter of a slice of jackfruit). In Bangalore, you pay Rs 2 for a single seeded piece while back in Udupi I used to devour an entire “seyd” of the juicy giant fruit.

I miss the texture of our courtyard. We used to mix cow dung & water & spread that special mixture all over the front yard to keep it clean & nice.

I miss bangday (mackerel) saaru cooked in an earthen pot & eaten the next day. Aaah! Umm! Ssss!

I miss washing my head with ‘chik’ shampoo. Yup, that was a ‘famous’ brand back then. Modern day competition has wiped the poor thing out. We used to have these big pipes to irrigate the coconut trees. And at the main junctions, the water was let loose into a canal that was then directed into the individual trees using a shovel. We had to move the mud to either stop or let go the water. It was here, at the main junction, that on Sundays, we used to press our head against the gushing water & have a big splash.

I miss the piping hot ‘ganji’. Yeah. Really. A lot. The brown rice, the steaming ganji with kharada hapla (papad) or mango pickle or a nicely fried fish or a bowl of spicy chicken. Aaah! Umm! Ssss!

I miss collecting cashew nuts and earning our summer pocket money from that. One kg of the nuts used to fetch Rs 30. We used to compete with each other to collect the maximum nuts.

I miss the postman’s ghanti (bell). It was the most awaited sound; a close second came the sound of the fish hawker who sold fish on a cycle.

I miss the combo of halasina (jackfruit) kadubu wrapped in banana leaf & steamed & served with chicken gravy. Aaah! Umm! Sss!

I miss pathrade.