CHINA – first impressions (this story is of 2010 vintage)

 A friend of mine just returned from a 10-day business visit to China. It is the height of winter in the northern latitudes and definitely not a very good time to go there, but business is business…. I list below his impressions just as he told me – which can serve as guidelines / warnings to all those who wish or plan to go there in future.

Beijing – Daytime temperatures were between -2 and -7 degrees Celsius, but there was bright sunshine and no snow… There is a tremendous pressure on the general populace to start speaking English, smile and bow, as soon as they meet foreigners, in preparation for the upcoming Olympics.

It was difficult to find money-changers – almost all signs are still in Mandarin… And then one policeman came out to help my friend…. He said, “You money ? Me money !!! Give 800 Dollar, I give 700 Dollar in Yuan !!” My friend, the poor visitor, had no choice – he handed over 800 US Dollars to the fellow and he vanished into the crowd.

A few minutes later a lady constable came up with a broad smile and said, “Sit, sit. No worry !!” Our friend, lighter by 800 dollars, had no intention of cooling his backside on a steel bench in sub-zero temperatures, and continued pacing up and down. After about 20 minutes the policeman returned with the widest grin possible and gave him 700 dollars worth of Yuan and the policewoman who had been watching him from a distance all this while, said, “See ? No think !!”…. That is money-changing in China for you.

 Xi’an (pronounced Zee-an) – He went to Xi’an the next day. This city, located in a province with the same name, is south-west of Beijing, but mountainous and extremely cold because of its proximity to Mongolia. It was grey and snowing the day he landed there, and he was unable to take any pictures at all…. The runway was being cleared of snow by a few men using brooms and shovels…. The plane skidded a couple of times on a layer of ice as it taxied to the tarmac. The plane stopped about five metres short of the aerobridge, and passengers were asked to come down the stairs, walk a few metres in the driving wind and snow and climb up into the aerobridge through the side entrance…..

Public toilets – The public toilets in China, apart from the ones in the largest of Beijing hotels, have one common feature – they do not have doors. Neither do you get any toilet paper. And all toilets are the “squat” type – or what we call “Indian Style” toilets in India.  My friend found out pretty soon why everyone goes around carrying an umbrella in the snowy winter. They use it when they have to use the toilets !!!! You go into a public toilet open your umbrella, and do your stuff….. This is true for both male and female toilets.

 In fact the average Chinese are apparently so used to this that when they do use a toilet with doors, they do not bother to close it…..

Outside the airport at Xi’an, men with shovels were employed to clear the snow from the roads…. And the leftover snow had become a hard, black, slippery, surface – one on which cars, two-wheelers, three-wheelers, cycles, rolled and slipped with gay abandon…..

To summarise, here are a couple of travel tips if and when you do want to visit China :

·         Carry an umbrella (by now you know why)

·         Stuff your coat pockets with toilet paper – as many ply’s thick as you can – again, for very obvious reasons.

More later, as and when I get to hear from him……

A Boss... And a friend

 I met him about two decades ago in Brunei and went on to work for him for well-nigh six years.

He was a Singaporean Chinese, who had set up a company in Brunei. He had a distinctive sense of humour – bordering on the racist – but then we never worry about those things in these parts.

 One incident, very early on, is etched in my memory, and has changed me forever. We were having a serious discussion on a project, evaluating pros and cons of different approaches and he asked, “Do you agree with me ?”

I, true to my Indian upbringing, answered, “No, I think so too !!”

He looked at me, repeated the question. I repeated my response.

For the third time, he asked, “Do you agree with me ?”

I said, “No, I agree with you.”

He said, “All Chinese living outside China are very confused, and you Indians make it harder !! Do you, or do you not agree ? Yes or no ?”

I said “Yes”. Then he said, “Stop beginning your sentences with a “no”. Problem with all Indians that I have met. And then some of you shake your head in a way that leaves the whole world wondering whether it was a “yes” or a “no” !”

Lesson learnt – I now use this incident to train people.

He was very fond of wines, beer and golf.  I had started attending the gym, when one day over lunch he said, “I too have six packs of beer gut covering the original set.” On another occasion, I said something about believing his words and he said, “You are a fool to believe a smiling Chinese businessman...”

And boy !! He could party !! A few months down the line, I asked him to celebrate the completion of our project. He asked me what kind of food I would like to have. I, like a fool, said, “Authentic Chinese food.” He smiled and then a few weeks later organised a dinner in Singapore.

That was one dinner I will never forget – I got to have seven new animals – cooked in northern and southern Chinese styles... The list included sea anemones, sea cucumber and geoduck, among others. Pretty tasty and all that, but then, at his request the Chef brought an uncooked geoduck to show me. Holy smoke !! I could or would never have eaten that thing, but then I already had !!  You readers can look up the “geoduck” on the net.

 He was a person fairly steeped in Chinese traditions. A few years later, someone asked him over lunch where I was present, what made him hire me. He said, “Look at his forehead. That is the forehead of a hard worker and an honest man.” Oh ! My God ! And I thought my certificates were responsible.

 He was Roy Tan – my boss and friend. Roy passed away on 30/Sep/2021 – another COVID statistic.

In his own peculiar way he touched many lives while working the restricted market of Brunei. He touched my life in more ways than one.

 Rest in peace, Roy – your time came a bit too soon. And I will remember you till my time comes.

Silent, silent night

 

Silent moonrise o’er a silent world

Silent trees with their leaves unfurl’d,

No breeze at all,

No birds do call -

Thoughts run amok in a silent world !!

 

I have lived with silence for many a year,

Far from everyone near and dear,

Earning my bread

So they could be fed,

But this is silence laced with fear !!

Waning moon

 

 Silent silhouettes of trees so high

And a waning moon in a starless sky

Frogs and crickets completing the milieu,

‘Cause the locked down streets are silent too !!

MY FIRST MANAGEMENT LESSON

 Those were the early days of a Hydel project deep in the jungles of Koraput, high up on the Eastern Ghats, somewhere close to the Andhra-Orissa border. The last outpost of civilisation was Vizianagram, about 170 Kms away. There were innumerable machines and just as many people gathered at the site. The excavations for the dam were on – the fist bucket of concrete was yet to be poured. Equipment was arriving by the tons and being moved around and put in place in preparation for the dam building. Most of the manual labour for handling heavy machinery was provided by gangs of tall, burly Sardarjis called “khalasis”.

I was barely twenty-two then, and in charge of setting up sub-stations and drawing power lines all over the countryside (I think jungle-side would be more appropriate).

One day, we had to get this 1000 KVA transformer hauled up from the store yard at base of a hill and installed at a sub-station at the top of the hill overlooking the actual dam site. A few days earlier, we had received a circular (this was the early 80’s – no email) from the Project Manager, asking – or should I say ordering – us to put a check on overtime claimed by the general populace.

The overtime rates were double the normal hourly rates – with one half being paid as salary and the other half being accumulated as paid leave. This was a very convenient arrangement for both the company and the workers because the latter could enjoy long leave periods during the monsoon months when no construction work was possible, and for the former, the actual pay-out in terms of hard cash, was considerably lower.  And yet this circular came.

It was 10 in the morning. I called a Khalasi Sardar to my site-office on the hill. This particular individual was in his late thirties, about six feet three or four, maybe taller, quite dark for a Sardarji, with a small hole where his left ear should have been, a deep, very deep, gash on his left cheek, probably caused by a large knife or a sword, and a very dour countenance. He quietly listened to what was required of him and then said, “Thik hai Saabji – dus aadmi lekar kar doonga – teen ghanta de dijiyega.”

I was aghast. “Kya? Abhi to sirf subah ka dus baje hain. Teen ghanta kis baat ki ?”

He did not answer, but stared at me very hard and for a very long time.

Standing at five-feet-something in my shoes after drawing up my full breath, nature never intended me to deal with men like him. I could not stare back. The sun got into my eyes. I kind-of murmured, “Kam to shuru kijiye !!”

He went off quietly.

The truck arrived with the 1000 KVA thingy. They set up a 3-pole arrangement and a system of pulleys with a very heavy rope running around – “gargatta”, they called it. They put a “chhiling” (sling, technically) made from steel ropes around the transformer and attached it to the hook of the gargatta…

They had to winch the transformer up from a truck, bring it down on the ground, roll it over wooden rollers for about ten feet to the designated spot, and winch it up over a ramp again, to a pedestal built for the purpose.

This Sardar tied the loose end of the heavy rope to his body and was the last man in line. The other khalasis lined up, gripping the rope.

“B-o-l-e S-o-o-o-o Ni-h-a-a-a-a-l !!!!”, shouted the Sardar.

Sat Sri Aka-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-l !!!!”, replied the gang, tugging at the rope in unison.

(I never really figured out if this was a prayer or a war cry, but that is how they always began their work…) The rope and the steel “chhiling” became taut.

“Ey-y-y-y-y-y-y-y bole ha !

H-a-a-a-a-i-i-i-i-i-i-i-i-i-i-i-i-s-s-a !!!!!”

One synchronised pull, and the transformer rose three inches in the air. The truck trundled out. Then they gently lowered the monster on to the rollers, dismantled the 3-pole arrangement and set it up again around the concrete pedestal – the final destination. The chhiling – gargatta arrangement was adjusted to make horizontal movement possible, and they lined up with the rope once again.

“Bol re bol !”

“H-a-a-a-a-i-i-i-i-i-s-s-a !!!!!”

“J-o-o-o-o-r se bol !”

“H-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-i-i-i-i-i-i-i-i-i-i-s-s-a !!!!!”

“Pyar se bol !”

“H-a-i-i-i-s-s-a !!!!!”

“Dekh re dekh !”

“H-a-a-a-a-i-i-i-i-i-s-s-a !!!!!”

The transformer started lurching gently along. My foreman said, “Saab, chaliye, inko kam karne dijiye.”

I was the effervescent manager – “Nahi, dekhte hain pura kam teen ghanta lagta hai ki nahi !”

“Chhoriye na – chaliye,” said he. But I was adamant.

“Chhokri dekh !” continued the Sardar.

“H-a-a-a-a-i-i-i-i-i-s-s-a !!!!!”, replied the gang.

“Chhokri aaeeee !”

“H-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-i-i-i-i-i-i-i-i-i-i-s-s-a !!!!!”

Their faces were as expressive as the transformer they were hauling.

“Pehni choli !”

“H-a-a-a-a-i-i-i-i-i-s-s-a !!!!!”

“Choli ke bhitar !”

“H-a-a-a-a-i-i-i-i-i-s-s-a !!!!!”

“Lal kabutar !”

“H-a-a-a-a-i-i-i-i-i-s-s-a !!!!!”

“Dekhne wala !”

“H-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-i-i-i-i-i-i-i-i-i-i-s-s-a !!!!!”

“Gandu sala !”

“H-a-a-a-a-i-i-i-i-i-s-s-a !!!!!”

Ten zombies tugging at a rope. My foreman literally tried to drag me away. “Saab chaliye, abhi”, he whispered….

“Dekh be dekh !”

“H-a-a-a-a-i-i-i-i-i-s-s-a !!!!!”

“Khada hai sala !”

“H-a-a-a-a-i-i-i-i-i-s-s-a !!!!!”

My intelligence, which for no apparent reason, had gone for a walk, finally returned. I turned around and walked off to my office, with my foreman in tow.

“J-o-o-o-o-r se bol !”

“H-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-i-i-i-i-i-i-i-i-i-i-s-s-a !!!!!”……………. the chorus continued.

Within minutes, there was a dull thud. We rushed back out. The transformer was tottering on the edge of the ramp and a portion of the concrete pedestal had been chipped off…..

“Kya hua?“ I asked.

“Saabji !! Enu katni thi, enu kat gayeee !!!!”, replied the one-eared Sardar in apparent wonderment, gesturing at the transformer. As if that huge contraption had ideas of its own about climbing the ramp.

A few moments of pregnant silence ensued.

My foreman, now with a visibly creased brow, called the Sardar aside, and had a long, animated discussion. The transformer teetered on the edge while the younger gang members quietly held on to the rope with insouciance calculated to unnerve the most dispassionate observer.

If there was a potted palm at that spot, it was me.

Then the foreman moved away and gestured me to follow him. I obeyed like a lamb. “Hum do ghanta par settle kar liye hain”, he announced as soon as we were out of earshot. “Dus aadmi ka bees ghanta hota hai – kuchh bhi nahi – woh transformer gira dega to satyanash ho jayega.”

“Lekin…” I protested. “Chaliye – chai peete hain”, he cut in. It was about 10:40 in the morning.

Legend has it that many workers at that site actually cried when I quit the job three years later. I had, by then, become the Chairman of the OVC – “Overtime Vardaan Committee.”

 

Coloured sands of Kanyakumari

 I made the last trip to Kanyakumari about five years ago - the beach area was full of buildings of different shapes and sizes. There were jetties for launches to take tourists to the Vivekananda Rock, there were churches, hotels residential buildings, shops selling everything from trinkets to items of daily use - the skyline was an eyesore, to say the least.

The beach practically does not exist anymore. Yet, it is the southern most tip of India and the  point where the Bay of Bengal, the Indian Ocean and the Arabian Sea meet.

Memories of my first visit to the place came flooding back... I had gone there with my parents and sister when I was this high. The last building on the mainland was the Gandhi Memorial, with the beach at a significant distance. The Vivekananda Memorial on the Vivekananda Rock was being built, and still in the early stages of construction.

I remember running around the beach with my sister, playing with sea-shells, and pebbles. I also remember collecting sands of different colours. That memory stayed with me as I completed this trip and told my family about the sands of Kanyakumari.

The other day, while cleaning out a cupboard, a flat, white plastic box popped out. I opened it - and there it was !!! The coloured sands of Kanyakumari in three little glass bottles staring back at me from the trip I made more than fifty years ago... 

The red sand was from the Bay of Bengal side, the white, from Indian Ocean, and the black sand from the beach of the Arabian Sea. Sharing the picture for you all :

It is a pity that today's travellers to the place will never get to see this.

The new pandemic

Went swimming at my old haunt after nineteen months !! The pool, the changing room, the shower stalls, were all empty. Felt wonderful to swim all by myself. By and by I was joined by a little six year old boy, then his young Dad, and after a while two other ladies. That was it – five of us in the pool.

 

Back in the old days before the pandemic hit us, it was difficult to swim the full length at this hour without having to stop at least a couple of times for people flailing their arms about, or kids having fun splashing about in the pool.

 

Started off by taking a bath, then as I headed out to the pool, an attendant was standing with a spray can at the steps – I was supposed to sanitize my hands before entering the pool, even after taking a bath. Then, when I got out, I had to sanitise my hands again before taking the shower !!

 

“Orders”, said the fellow, “Sir, I am following orders.”

 

The new pandemic is already upon us – paranoia, sprinkled with a liberal dose of lunacy – like a pepperoni pizza with extra pepperoni. 

 

ORIGAMI – the lost art ?

 Remember making paper boats and letting them float down drains in the rain ? Or watching in dismay as the boat got wet, the folds came apart till it was a sheet of paper once more ?

 

The word “origami” literally means “folding paper” in Japanese. I am sure we all remember the school days when we made paper boats to play with in puddles on rainy days and paper rockets to throw around in class in mock “aerial fights”, the moment the teacher left the room.

 

It seems that with the advent of electronic gadgets kids have moved on from these basic skills and simple interests. Why blame the kids – their parents too, perhaps never bothered about origami after the television invaded our living rooms.

 

I still remember some bits and pieces of the art from my school days and try to show it off to little kids when I get the chance. The best opportunities can be had during flights – and I always hope I get a 4 to 7 year old as a co-passenger on these flights. They are the most entertaining of people almost always, and, because they are not mine...

 

Incident 1 : One evening, while on a two-hour flight, I had a six year old girl on the seat next to me. I greeted her with a “Hello Princess” – as we took our seats, and she was so elated she became “my friend for life” !!

 

Over the course of the next two hours she told me about what she watched on TV every day and I told her some stories from my childhood days, which her Mom sitting next to her was listening with more rapt attention than her, then the conversation drifted to making paper boats. She said she could make them – her Mom promptly pulled out an old exercise book that she currently uses for making things out of paper. She made the boat and I made her a bird, a fan, a rocket, a basket and some other stuff. She was mesmerised by the basket – she opened her tiny “vanity bag” and pulled out a bunch of toffee wrappers. She wound them into little balls and put into the basket, saying they were flowers !!

 

I used a couple of those toffee wrappers to make dancing dolls for her – and her Mom said that from now on she would make them – she seemed more amazed than the kid. As we were alighting, she said she loved watching TV more than anything else.

 

Incident 2 : On another occasion, I had a bespectacled, five year old boy sitting next to me. He had a little electronic device in his hands on which he was playing Pac-Man type of games. It took me a while to get him out of that device and engage in a conversation. He talked about football and how he hated maths... I tried to get him interested in origami as is my wont. Asked the air hostess for a few napkins – and they are a poor choice for origami – to start with. Made him a pom-pom and he was not interested. Made a rocket. He took it, stood up and let go !! It landed on someone a few seats ahead. He demanded I make him quite a few – I told him make it himself while I guided him. He lost interest.

 

I then made him a basket. He took one look at it, then walked up to his Mom sitting on the other side of the aisle, and said – “this is for you, that uncle made it.” Gosh !! If only I had known... And then he went back to his little electronic games.

 

I feel we were extremely lucky not to have TV, Internet, electronic games as kids – we spent our time outside the house, climbed trees, chased butterflies and dragonflies, followed lines of ants as they went about their business, stole fruits and flowers from neighbours’ gardens, built paper boats, flew paper rockets in class, got punished for that, played in puddles in the rain and got sick, and learnt quite a few skills in the process – origami being one of them.

 

Today’s kids have lost out on the joy of creating new things and feeling wondrous at the world around them – a big loss, I must say.