A bird in the house

Sunday mornings are for the sleepy Joes. Most people sleep in and maintain a blank mind until the effect of caffeine kicks in. Not us. Our internal clock system is so badly wired that we both are generally up before sunrise particularly on Sundays. My daughters are often surprised and ask us ‘why call so early?’ when we call them at 10 in the morning, so there is no genetic component to it for sure. May be their genes did an auto-correct.

It was close to 7 in the morning and Lakshmi was getting ready to go to work. She had opened the garage door in preparation and was generally milling about in the kitchen area attending to last minute details before she could declare the kitchen sterile and leave. She is unable to successfully transition from a messy kitchen to a sterile working place, I guess.  

I was checking the news on my iPad to find out if our supreme leader and North Korea’s supreme leader had settled on anything that we can remotely call a meaningful discussion. Good thing the nuclear devices need some special code and cannot be operated with an Alexa command.

Golfers were bellowing in the backyard shouting indecipherable words because they couldn’t make a four footer. They were also chest thumping each other when one sank a one footer.  From all indications, it looked as though a normal day was unfolding.

We both then heard a cacophony of bird chirping from outside the house and it also seemed to come from inside for some reason and I started wondering if the coffee I was drinking was spiked. We looked at each other and then walked around to see where the noise was coming from. The bird chirping began to crescendo and it was kind of unusual. Birds do come visit us but have strong reservations visiting us in numbers.

I opened the door leading to the garage to further investigate the noise source and saw a number of birds perched on the Douglas fir in our front yard vociferously demanding justice. I had no clue why it was my fault. I looked around and finally heard the cry of a baby bird from inside the garage. Must have come in when Lakshmi opened the garage door earlier. I moved around carefully checking things and opening cupboards to see if the bird was trapped. No success yet. I was standing at one end of the garage and pensively rocking my golf bag and suddenly saw a small bird jump out and fall flat on the ground. It lay there for a few seconds and then got up on its tiny feet and walked a foot before flying away. The bird had a colorful plumage and a conical beak so it was a Finch for sure. When I heard the baby bird cry the very first time I had a cinch it was a finch.

As if on cue, the entire bird community that came to visit us and was making noise like a bunch of teen agers, took wings and disappeared from the scene. It was all over in seconds. The birds were there to get our attention and would have even pressed our calling bell if we had slept in. 

A trip down the memory lane…

It was a dismal afternoon in the early summer of 1977 when my partner and I were sitting in Sridhar’s house wondering why Shanthi was moving like molasses in her kitchen and if and when the uppuma was ever going to show up. We remained nonchalant despite growling stomachs and violent protests from our gastro-intestinal tracks. We kept our composure and at the same time kept our grey matter quite busy, with assist from a shared cigarette, studiously mulling various life options. The signs were clear even in those earlier days that we two were incontestably cerebral and destined for a sure place in the annals of history. The neurons in our brains were firing at lightning speeds and many discerning observers reportedly saw sparks coming out of our ears. I am digressing though.

The sun had begun to set and the darkness was creeping in and the birds were chirping about retiring to their nest. There was no news from the kitchen yet. That is when we both heard a distant sound of an approaching motorbike. It was you. You slammed the brakes, parked the bike and dismounted in a hurry that made us wonder if your aging office receptionist was chasing you with a matrimonial offer. Your hair was disheveled and you wore the look of someone who was clearly distressed about something. Shrewd observers that we were, we took in the enormity of the situation and gave you the last two remaining puffs of the cigarette that we were sharing to put you at ease. There were tears of appreciation in your eyes but true to form you wanted to know if that was the cigarette you had left behind the previous day and how we found out as it was hidden under the mattress? You were so agitated that we could see the body tremors were sending off plumes of dust off your shirt your motorbike journey on Chennai roads had deposited on you.

We realized the time was precious as you closely resembled a ticking time bomb. We together blurted out “what is wrong with you? Spit it out”. A tactical blunder for not realizing you still had that cigarette butt we had so generously parted company with was still in your mouth. I am digressing again.

After giving the boot to the cigarette butt in your mouth in a single abrupt move, you told us that the matter was serious and you needed help. Shanthi who now appeared stood framed in the kitchen door and wanted to know if it was uppuma that we wanted. We both did not know what was more important at that stage but showed great dignity and persisted with our questioning of you.

We made some callous, insensitive remarks as is our wont for a minute but rallied quickly to our senses. We calmly assured you that you had reached your desired destination and the best minds in the business were going to give you the advice of your lifetime. We then broached the idea of us going to Darjeeling to carefully weigh the options as the oppressive heat and clammy weather were inimical to such an endeavor.   

We had known that idea killers and dream assassins were on the prowl but were little prepared for the person to appear in flesh in your persona that afternoon. You derided the idea with such vehemence that made Shanthi come out of the kitchen to ask us if we wanted anything to eat and what the din was all about. We pleaded our case to you and made a compelling presentation on the benefits of such a move. You stood your ground and this forever changed the course of your life by not listening to a pair of trained minds. We both know you regret this decision of yours till this day and spent many sleepless nights wondering how to apologize to us.  

Shanthi made her final appearance of the day and wanted to know if anyone was hungry. That is when passersby noticed two people who had just blown their gaskets rushing out in agony.

Inflexibility

I am aging and my body is losing its flexibility gradually. My mind is going the same way and I guess this is perhaps true in the case of many of you. Some of us do our best to keep ourselves in the best physical shape possible by living, exercising and eating sensibly. While body inflexibility leaps off the page and get our immediate attention, our mind rigidity creeps up on us. We are often completely oblivious to a distracted, biased mind till the very end. We stress about our values, goals, and version of reality and deal only with things that we are comfortable with. We refuse to flow with the universe and this leads to anger and frustration and we keep blowing gaskets like it is the only game in town.  

The signs of inflexibility are very obvious to others but most people choose to believe a kinder and gentler version of themselves regardless of the facts. Our minds are hopelessly colonized by calcified opinions and prejudices. Our anger, irritation, sadness are the products of our inflexible mind as we continue to cling to our own distorted reality.  

 I started practicing mindful living a while ago and have lately been using the ‘quite’ time to do some self-introspection. Someone very wisely said that meditation is just a practice. We must live ‘meditatively’ all the time and that is what keeps us grounded and not the 30 minute mediation sessions!

I am able to slowly recognize and accept weaknesses in me and areas where I need help. Initially, I did not know how to go about identifying the weaknesses in me but soon latched on to the idea of seeing the effects of the causes created by me. The fruits of my labor tell me a lot about how I tilled the land.   

I am now trying to intuit and learn more about what is going on when I see evidence of mild turbulence in my little world. People at times are looking at me with raised eyebrows and seem to be asking ‘are you serious? This intuiting business is not easy, believe me. Your mind is so biased and pre-conditioned and letting go of the idea that you are infallible, at least temporarily, is like spitting into a gale wind lashing at you.  I have kicked many a cans down the road in the past but am not turning my back on this one for sure. I don’t know if this exercise is a bridge too far for me but I must get this monkey off my back and sooner the better. When I know my weaknesses, I will be a stronger person. 

Magic in my backyard

I was sitting by the picture window and reading a book yesterday afternoon. This was the last book in the trilogy about the Mogul Empire in the 17^th century India. The book was quite a page turner. Once in a while, I looked up to see what was going in my backyard before getting back to serious reading. I do this habitually as I lack the ability to sustain attention on one activity. One of my many frailties, I concede.

As I looked up to take a break and reflect on the sudden turn of events in the story, I suddenly noticed a squirrel scurrying up to the flowerbed below the picture window. The squirrel was holding a nut in his mouth and seemed in a hurry. It appeared the squirrel was undecided about something as he kept running in circles. I have seen squirrels playing in my backyard but they rarely sported a beleaguered look as this one.  Intrigued, I decided to put the book down and watch the unfolding drama. I am glad I did that for what I saw took my breath away.

The squirrel efficiently dug a hole with his front legs and made sure the dirt was put away on both sides. He then stood on his hind legs with his front legs folded across his chest (human like) and looked around to see if he was noticed by anyone. If the squirrel community is seriously debating among themselves how to look adorable, I recommend this pose unhesitatingly. He then hurriedly moved to another location to dig a hole and kept repeating this routine. He was holding the nut in his mouth all the while and will not put it down. He was obviously exercising abundant caution in protecting his future meal.

He remained unsatisfied with the location until he had dug several holes in the flowerbed softened by the unusually frequent rains we have had in the last three months. He finally put the nut in a hole that met his uncompromising, exacting standards and used his front legs to cover it up with the dirt he had just removed. He also dragged some dry twigs and fallen leaves lying around and put them on the location as a camouflage. It made me wonder, what else does this little fellow have in his bag of tricks? He then scurried back to the big tree in our backyard and climbed all the way up.

This left me wondering if the squirrel will ever be able to zero in on the location when he needed the nut. I went back to my reading and forgot all about that. A few hours had passed, the sun was setting slowly with my east facing backyard growing darker by the minute. As I was standing up to go and get a glass of wine for myself, I suddenly noticed some activity below the picture window. The squirrel had come back and he was casting about in a furtive manner. He then dashed to the precise location, where he had hidden the nut,  dug up the hole, retrieved the nut and ran back to the tree with the nut firmly clenched between his teeth. There was never a doubt about the location. The whole thing happened in less than one minute.

There is magic happening around us every moment but we are not aware of it. When you are fully engaged in the present, life offers a bewildering variety of wonders to watch and enjoy. Stop saying ’He ain’t got the brains of a squirrel’ to insult your friend. These guys are smart. 

My cow died last night, so I don’t need your bull

I have come to loathe air travel intensely. The airline staff is rude, the food is dreadful, the lines are sinuously long at the airport, and the guy sitting next to you in the plane has a repulsive smell. If it is a woman, you are in imminent danger of getting poked in the eyes by her knitting accessories. Occasionally, it is a man knitting a sweater and lo and behold you have a double whammy. This led me sometimes mistakenly to go for the emergency exit. As you rightly guessed, I was restrained by the marshals on more than one occasion.

Airline staff is surprised when you show up at the airport with your bags. They ask you if you have anything to check in while eying the two large bags you are struggling to hold on to. This is a loaded question and if you played smarty pants by saying ‘what do you think?’ or something like that you have just successfully thrown a large log on the already burning fire. The counter staff is perpetually out on an emotional ledge. You are on thin ice if you made one wrong move or took a fateful step towards the weighing scale. The disdain they show is so palpable that only a teenager is capable of missing it. They rarely make eye contact with you unless you casually declare upon arrival your intention to keep the hand grenades in your hand bag.

The security check-in, I believe, is the birthplace of staring contest. The officer looks at your ID card, your face, and then the boarding pass. He repeats this process several times until something in him clicks and then he proceeds to stamp the boarding pass. Since you have nothing better to do and eager to be available when the officer is looking, you are also staring at him during the whole process. This contest ends peacefully and he then hands over the boarding pass and ID to you with a look that makes others nearby think that you were perhaps the one responsible for stealing his only child.  

The baggage screening area is another area where there is potential for your standing in your community to be diminished. If you have bulges, love handles and a few ugly curves, I suggest that you grow long hairs so you can pull them over your face and remain totally anonymous until the coast is clear. After you have stripped down to your bare minimum and are bare footed, you go inside a scanner and pose with your arms up and legs spread out as though you are about to deliver a newly invented karate chop. The lady monitoring the scanner knows you look silly because she has a face that cannot hide her smirk.

The boarding area is designed to mimic a fish market and it does. If my gate is not changed at least a couple of times, it is almost a given the airline is toying with the idea of cancelling my flight. So gate change is a crucial metric for frequent travelers and we all greet that with relief. Some of us even occasionally wager bets on gate changes to see if it will be in the same terminal or a different one. Predicting airline behavior is above our pay grade but we try. 

Once you board the flight and are settled in comfortably in your aisle seat, you start cat napping.  You are suddenly awakened by a gentle tap on your shoulder.  A big guy, who looks as sharp as mashed potatoes, standing next to you, tells you that you are occupying his seat and gives you the are-you-traveling-for-the-first-time look. A lesser mortal will be decimated by this experience but a seasoned traveler like you will fish out your boarding pass to see if you still have the winning combination. Not surprisingly, you both have the same seat assigned. The flight attendant after very carefully examining the situation for one long nano second, decides in her infinite wisdom that you will move to the middle seat in the last row between a guy who has an aversion to showering and a woman participating in a non-stop knitting competition. That is when you head for the emergency exit and the marshals decide to tangle with you. I am sure you get the drift now.

It will be unconscionable on my part if I do not mention the airline food.  Eating airline food has given me a whole new perspective on life and I have gained a great measure of respect for card boards and other inedible items. Once I happened to spill some coffee, while trying to dodge a sharp object advancing in my direction (yes, it is exactly what you think), and it did not even stain my pants. Airline food technology has certainly advanced! The saying goes ‘You can’t make chicken salad out of chicken feathers’. Are you kidding me? Ask the airlines, they figured it out all.

It is really a slap in your face that you have to pay thru your nose for all these shenanigans. Airlines are constantly wooing us with promotional emails promising us world-class service and competitive fares and to them I want to say ‘don’t pee down my leg and tell me it is raining’.

 

 

Just for Grins

Just for grins

Many think that Medulla Oblongata is the capital of Uganda. A few think it is the name of the second cousin of the deposed leader of Congo who was caught cheating on his wife while on a business trip overseas to lobby for investment in his country and is currently facing jail time. What a hoot! Even a second grader knows it is the name of one of the moons orbiting Jupiter. OK, I obviously made up the above story to illustrate the amount of ignorance that afflicts people in general.  I can handle ignorance but I have a hard time with dealing with stupidity.

It gets worse when you strike a conversation with the rednecks whose numbers are on the increase. To the uninitiated, the ‘rednecks’ are the uneducated, white farmers aka hillbillies. If you saw a person compulsively picking his skin, stroking his young beard thoughtfully and burping at an alarming rate in public places, you just ran into one. A redneck typically likes unlimited beer, Jesus, pick-up trucks of ungodly size, and country music - not necessarily in that order though. Don’t let his thoughtful look deceive you because he is mostly stoned. He is the walking one page executive summary of the part of human race that badly needs some overhaul.

The other day I walked in to a local store to buy a few things and there was this redneck couple in front of me in the check-out line arguing heatedly whether they should pay for their purchase with a twenty dollar bill or two ten dollar bills. While the woman strongly advocated the two ten dollar bills strategy our man Bubba (If you threw a stone in a redneck congregation it is certain to hit a ‘Bubba’. If you knew ten rednecks you can bet your bottom dollar six of them will answer to the name ‘Bubba’) was more in favor of the twenty dollar bill approach.  Tension was building and the atmosphere was kind of charged with electricity of the worst kind.  While the belcher-in-chief stood his ground busy scratching, his girlfriend sported a deer-in-the-headlights look, anxiously waiting for the next shoe to drop.

Check-out lines are where the angel in me goes AWOL. I am a nice guy and but there are chinks in my armor. It is difficult to believe but true. People whip out their check books and IDs and start writing the check and balancing their accounts at the same time while maintaining an amiable social conversation with the sales clerk. They become completely oblivious to their surroundings and do not care much if you, just right behind them in the line, are having a cardiac arrest.  My patience was wearing thin for I had a bad round of golf in the morning and was not going to put up with any more shenanigans in life. So, I decided to make my move.

I tapped on the shoulder of Bubba and asked him with an engaging smile if there was anything I could do to alleviate the situation. Bubba explained to me what was going on between his burps.  I assured him that there was no need for him to further elaborate for I was closely following the on-going development.  I asked him to come clean and cut to the chase and disclose the purchase price. He proudly showed me his latest acquisition in the making –a beer cozy- with a price tag of $ 24.

The penny finally dropped and I realized that they were both beyond help. It was time to pull in the drawbridge and let the Bubbas fend for themselves.

Snakes or Snacks?

I was on a business trip to Amsterdam last week and a very funny thing happened.

It was a long working day and it was close to 9.30 pm when I returned to my hotel in Zevenbergen, a small town 90 km south of Amsterdam, totally exhausted. I was counting on stopping on the way for a nice supper on the water front but there was thunderstorm activity and the rain was falling hard, so I decided pedal to the metal was the best strategy.

As soon as I reached my hotel, I made a beeline for the pub and was promptly told that they were closing in fifteen minutes and I must hurry up with my order. I quickly scanned the menu to see if there was anything vegetarian. I then realized the menu was in Dutch and sought the help of the only waiter cleaning the tables nearby. I asked him if the restaurant had anything vegetarian to offer. He smiled and said ' Of course, do you eat chicken?" I plead guilty for not putting chicken in that category and urged him to try again. " How about shrimps?" he inquired. I said negative and launched in to a vegetarian 101 for him. He looked constipated for a moment then quickly recovered to ask me " can you eat 'snakes'?".

Ah, I forgot to mention that the gent in conversation with me was a man of Indian decent from Surinam. I have actually seen 'snake stalls' in Goa so it is nothing new to me. You know finger foods are affectionately called 'snakes' in northern India. I knew what he actually meant so I asked him what was available and he said he could make a plate of spring rolls. I joyfully agreed to the plan and proceeded to sip the divine wine he had just served. With the wine in hand, I was beginning to look like the cat that ate the canary. That is when things began to unravel a bit.

An elderly lady sitting close by was apparently watching the whole back and forth. The lady was probably in her eighties and had a gentle demeanor. She smiled at me and asked ' Do you mind if I asked you a question?".  Unable to contain my curiosity, I nodded my head affirmatively and urged her to go ahead.  Looking somewhat confused she said " You say you are a vegetarian. You do not eat chicken or shrimps but you can eat snakes?"

I had just taken a small sip of wine and was swirling it inside my mouth to get a good handle on the taste when I heard the lady pose that memorable question to me. I had to part with the wine in my mouth in a hurry for I guffawed so hard and ended up splattering the table that had just been cleaned.

A generous tip to the waiter became necessary.