The cab was waiting at the traffic signal for the last turn to office. Just I was fishing for my purse in the backpack, I noticed a woman in dirty clothes perched precariously in the narrow space next to the signal. She looked haggard and tired. Needless to say, there was a baby in her arms. I kept telling myself not to look at her because that would start me up on the usual internal debate – whether to give her some money or not. Paying means encouraging beggars but does not paying mean that the baby will not get any food? Even if I pay who is to know that the person who has made the woman beg won’t take it all way and still leave the baby hungry? Was the baby really hers or was brought on rent? I have wondered for long if I should keep any dry biscuits or some small eatables with me so I can hand over the same to these people instead of money. But from past experience I know that I end up eating all that. So that’s of no use.

I was suffering like this when suddenly the woman noticed me staring at her. In a moment, she stood up and came up to the window. I was dumbfounded. For lack of a better word, I would call it professionalism. She noticed an opportunity and didn’t waste a minute grabbing it.

This time I didn’t hesitate. I guess pity went flying out the window when I shook my head firmly, refusing to pay her. She moved to nearby cars. But as my cab started to turn, I couldn’t erase from my mind the look of utter exhaustion that she had on her face when I saw her leaning against the signal. That had been genuine.

So was I wrong in not giving her some money? Can life, for once, have answers for some questions?

I was glad that the AC bus had turned up after a long wait at the bus-stop. After getting the ticket, I was about to sit back and relax with my favorite Golden Era songs when I heard someone arguing very loudly with the conductor. A passenger had fished out a 500 Rs note for fare and the conductor was refusing to accept it. His argument was that he didn’t have any facility to check if it was a fake one so if he handed it over at the depot and they find that it is a fake, he will have to reimburse it from his own pocket. The passenger was arguing that since the conductor had accepted a 500 Rs note in the morning, he should not have any objection to accepting it in the evening.

The passenger said that he will travel without ticket since the conductor was not accepting the note. The conductor asked him to get down at the next stop. After arguing back and forth, the passenger got down at the next stop muttering that he would have been better off going by a rickshaw.

Just when I thought everything was quite, other passengers started arguing with the conductor. One lady who was occupying a seat in front of me started shouting in a loud voice that we should complain at the depot.

Frankly, I think the conductor was right. If he is made to pay from his own pocket for a fake note, he has a right not to accept 500 Rs notes. Other passengers were suggesting that he take down the name and address of passengers who hand over 500 Rs note. But who can verify that the address is right? Won’t the conductor then have to note down the number on the currency as well? And who will chase the person after it is discovered at the depot that the note given by the person is indeed fake. We can’t blame the depots for their practice because if they don’t enforce such rules, unscrupulous people can use this route to circulate fake currency. I guess the onus is on the passengers. If you are traveling by a bus, you have to have at least a Rs 100 note. I always do.

If you are thinking that I should have voiced my opinion there, you are right. I should have but I was worn down by a hard day’s work and waiting at the bus stop. I didn’t want to get drawn into arguments and I knew that the people wouldn’t have been receptive to any reasoning.

So yes, it was wrong on my part to let the conductor fight it out on his own.

That said, I wonder whether in our zeal to expect better service we are forgetting to be reasonable?

 This one came in an SMS:

Always give 100% at work.

12% on Monday
23% on Tuesday
40% on Wednesday
20% on Thursday

And

5% on Friday

Joy of Giving week

Check Sonali Kulkarni's Column in Viva

Can someone please tell me how these guys at Copper Chimney make that heavenly Mint Chutney? You heard me right! I am talking about Mint Chutney. Oh, that's easy, you might say. It's just a mixture of mint, coriander sprigs, green chilli & salt. Perhaps a bit of curd. Sure, that's what the cookbooks say. But I suspect that the chefs at Copper Chimney have some secret ingredient up their sleeve. The chutney was so creamy, fresh and tasty that I couldn't stop myself from munching on the raw onions dipped in it. I was almost full by the time the main course arrived.

And though the murg makhani and malai kofta were delicious I haven't been able to stop raving about the Mint Chutney.

They should bring out some vaccine for people like me who are getting addicted to Fox Crime :-) At first it was Criminal Minds. Now it is Las Vegas. Though I cannot catch any episodes during weekdays, last Saturday I managed to watch 3 of the 5 episodes that were shown back-to-back. Though I have been to the Sin City twice during my stay in the US, I never really took a liking to it. I must confess that the sheer cultural shock of watching rows and rows of old women playing the slot machines with drinks in their hands was partly responsible for it, it is equally true that I don't, as a rule, try my hand at anything that remotely involves Luck.

The show, however, opens your eyes to a whole new world that's hidden behind the glitz and glamor of the casinos. The dialogues are crisp and the characters are finely defined. I don't have any favorites as of now but Samantha could potentially turn out to be one. She is shrewd, fast and oh-so-practical. Delinda and Mary pale in comparison. As for the males, I am not partial to anyone - as of now. Nor do I see any possibility of favorites in near future.

So about that vaccine.....anyone? :-)

Komala's Thali

I am always game for Komala's Thali. Sambar, Avial, Rasam, 2 sabjis, chapatis, rice, raita, papad, pickle, buttermilk and a sweet dish - it's a veritable treat for anyone who is looking for a simple home-cooked meal. It's easy on the stomach, tasty and yet, very healthy (if you leave out the fried papad, mountain of rice and ghee-soaked chapatis!).

The last time I ate there, the thali came with a desert that I hadn't yet tasted - a kheer made of Chana Dal (Bengal Gram) and Sabudana (Sago), which, if the net is to be believed, is called SenegaPappu Saggubiyyam Payasam (I rather doubt it if I ever will be able to remember that!). I liked the dish so much that I Googled for it after coming home. I found a recipe at Sailu's Food.

I followed it faithfully except for the low fat milk. Since I don't believe in anything low fat, I substituted it with regular full fat milk. :-) The result was a tasty sweet concoction that's going to be my favorite for the lifetime!

I wasn't brought up in exactly Prince Sidhhartha style. But during my formative years my griefs and miseries were more or less similar to that of any upper middle class child of that time - pressure to perform well in academics, restrictions on what you can and cannot do, having to eat brinjals or cabbage for lunch/dinner etc. There was no concept of weekend trips to malls as there were no malls. A long trip was possible only during summer holidays and would be confined to maternal grandparents' place in Belgaum.All this meant that though I was aware of poverty I wasn't exposed to the stark realities of it.

Even when I started working, I don't remember paying much attention to the slums that occassionally came into view during daily travel. And you rarely think about something that you don't notice.

But these days, the story is different. During my daily travel by train or cab I seem to notice only the hardships and grind of human life. As the cab rattles along the many potholes that pass for city's roads, I cannot help but notice the shacks that are constructed haphazardly alongside, people lying on makeshift beds late in the morning, unattended children playing in dangerous proximity to a busy road and women taking care of daily chores in unimaginably tiny areas. Sometimes when I am coming home by train, I see some lady in her late 50s selling snacks in women's compartment. I wonder how she manages to get off one train and into another when all I can think of is going home as soon as possible and relaxing a bit. When I am done reading the newspaper I sit there watching my co-passengers and see women catching up on some missed sleep, some staring into space - their faces lined with tension and worry. Some are pouring their heart out to a friend - in person or on phone, usually it's about a husband or mother-in-law.

Is this all that is left in our lives, I wonder. And then I hear someone laugh. Maybe it's the same lady who was complaining about her in-laws a couple of minutes back. Now she is laughing as if there is no worry in the world.

As I look at her, I remember something and I fish out my cellphone. I once again read an SMS that a friend had sent a few days back:

If one day, we all are allowed to put our troubles on a table & exchange.....

For sure, after a few moments.....

Everyone would silently take his own & leave.......

अर्ज किया है......

करीब इतना रहो की रिश्तोमे प्यार रहे
दूरभी इतना रहो कें आनेका इंतजार रहे
रखो उम्मीद रिश्तोंकें दरमिया इतनी
कें तुटे उम्मीद मगर रिश्ता बर्करार रहे

तेरी महिमाकी छाया तले कालके रथका पहिया चले..........

गणपतीबाप्पा मोरया पुढल्या वर्षी लवकर या