Saffron city

I like to plan my travel by booking one or two months in advance. But this week, I made an unscheduled trip to Jaipur to attend a relative's (brother's fil) funeral on 28th. I booked on Monday afternoon for travel the next afternoon. And three days later, I was back in Sharjah.

I witnessed a north Indian Hindu cremation for a retired defence officer with true military honours. The following day I went sightseeing to Jaigarh fort and City Palace. The next day I did a little shopping at Gulab Chand along with my brother. My aunt and cousin were also in the city for 3 days, and we met for lunch at LMB and a dinner at Hyatt before I stuffed everything into my suitcase and headed for the airport at 1.30 am. (There was some tension when I realised I had directed the hotel driver to drop me at the wrong terminal, and I ended up booking an Uber to the Intl terminal. I had originally decided against booking uber for a midnight ride in India but in the end in a desperate situation, an Uber driver ferried me safely to my destination.)

(Captions: the funeral at the Army grounds,  the palace-like Hyatt Regency, me in Jaigarh fort looking through a window soldiers used to fire their munitions from,  City Palace where the royal family still lives,  lunch at LMB)

What strikes me about the Pink city is how dirty it is save for the main vistas near the Assembly and airport. Garbage dumps everywhere including in the middle of the road - probably a way to drive out a certain community. The Hindutva project seems active in the naming of streets. In the Hanuman Nagar locality, each street is named after one Ramayana character or the other. The omnipresence of beggars and underage hawkers was another phenomenon that brought to the fore the poverty in the BIMARU state. 

The Hawa mahal and other buildings are no longer painted pink but a shade of mud or saffron. 

Crashlanding

Call it complacence or overconfidence, Ash had his first accident last week on his way to uni. I was hitching a ride to Dubai on the fateful evening. He was navigating a roundabout in our emirate, and was trying to move to the right lane after indicating, when he hit a taxi. For a minute, we froze and thought it might be the end but God forbid, there were no cars coming behind or they braked, and ours came to a halt after a jolt. Both of us were new to the formalities and got out to face the Pak taxi driver. After the initial back and forth, he told us we should park elsewhere and wait for a traffic policeman in the vicinity. 

The official was cordial and kind, and told Ash that even the most experienced drivers make mistakes and not to worry. He heard both parties out and decided Ash was at fault, so we paid the fine and collected the report crucial for insurance approval and repairs. I also paid a small amount to the driver who said he lost his savari/passenger (a lady who probably left without paying after the accident). 

Either he was joking or helping us to relax, the policeman told me he couldn't believe I was A's mother and thought I was his sister!

The steering however had a malfunction following the collision and we waited for V to go to a garage in Dubai. Ash will have a tough time travelling to uni by public transport -- takes about 3 hours changing 3 buses -- for a week until the car returns. To make matters worse, V has gone to India for a fortnight.

Traffic etiquette

Ash started driving to uni on September 28 when classes began. The first two days I was tensed and would say a silent prayer as he stepped out. He would send us a confirmation or call either of us when he reached uni by 7 pm. It is a 45-minute drive to Academic City where half the unis are located, and the licence has come in the nick of time; his undergrad years at another uni in the same area had been an ordeal as he had to depend on a classmate or public transport. He had got the d.l. in April during the first ceasefire of the regional war -- I pull his leg that the Arab examiner must have been relieved or ecstatic about the ceasefire that he had let him pass the road test on second attempt. 

Getting a licence here is a bit like passing the UPSC exam in India. It is exacting but instils the right driver behaviour and skills. Still, one has to be doubly careful on the roads owing to the proliferation of bikes and e-scooters that can appear from nowhere. If only India could emulate the Middle East traffic etiquette and discipline.

The fatal accident involving a Mini Cooper in Kochi has brought to light the need for stricter traffic rules and people's willingness to follow traffic etiquette. Though Kerala is probably better than some lawless Northern states going by the videos of some vloggers from those lands, it is sadly wanting.

Although I was initially shocked and outraged by the death of three two-wheeler riders at the hands of the drunken teenage driver, the incessant social media vitriol and virtual lynching of the accused - who happens to be the younger son of a boutique owner - has changed my perspective on the said incident. The victims were young too and had dreams about their future lives and careers. They were students who worked part-time and were out to 'chill' past midnight, riding threesome without helmets on a scooter after having tea. The parents as well as some on social media are trying to portray it as deliberate killing; however, I assume the car passengers were under the influence and couldn't register anything in their path while riding past the speed limit.

I feel sorry for the young boys who will probably lose vital years as they are incarcerated in a correctional home. Let us not bay for their blood. The dead are gone, so let us give the living a chance -- help them in their rehabilitation if they feel remorse which I am sure they will soon do. Like Sonia Gandhi who forgave her husband's killers/facilitators, the parents of the dead could shed hatred and instead give love a chance.

Hoping against hope

This picture I saved from Facebook made my day and gives me hope. The resilience and joy in the faces of the children as their father cycles them to school amidst death and destruction _ maybe not in my times but hopefully Palestinians will regain their lost land and the settler colonialists will return to wherever they came from or learn to live in peace with their neighbors.

Breaking the silence

I have been meaning to write and I get a blog idea as I cook in the mornings. But by the time I am done with the chores, blogging is the last thing on my mind and I settle down with my phone to look at insta reels -- not facebook because it is on the old phone. I migrated from my Samsung to an Apple -- a gift from the hubby -- early this year, so I juggle between both for essential services. 

The heat has diminished a bit but not the fire and fury in our minds and in the seas and air here.  I have resumed my night walks now. 

Ash enrolled for MSc Psychology at Manipal Dxb end of September and he has started driving to uni. The classes are from 7_10 pm, so it gives him time to pursue an internship.

More later. 

The YWCAs of Bangalore city

In mid July, me and Mira embarked on an Emirates flight to Bangalore to help her settle into a hostel in the city during her internship at an online magazine/platform. After scanning google search results and reviews, we chose the YWCA in Koramangla which according to its warden had double and triple sharing rooms for working women. The other YWCA on Infantry Road was nearer her workplace but looked pretty old and the rooms more crowded. Mira said she couldnt live with more than one person which was what her uni hostel rooms had prepared her.

We took an Uber to the place on a day the taxis went on a lightning strike at the airport. The warden was waiting for us, and we filled the formalities. She told us that the minimum stay was for six months and Mira would forfeit her deposit of 10k if she left before that. She could instead furnish a letter from her uni to prove that her internship didnt last that long. There was no lift, and we were offered a double sharing guest room on the second floor. The cleaning ladies lugged our heavy suitcases up the stairs  but I was told not to tip any one person in particular. The warden showed prospective rooms Mira could occupy. It was neat yet it gave us both a sick feeling. I guess it was a long time since I had lived in such places. The hostel only provided dinner but the other meals could be arranged through a lady caterer. There was no washing machine and the girls could wash their clothes on a stone on the terrace.

We decided we would check out the other YWCA before deciding where she would live. It was on old colonial building which had a school in its premises. The staff were very courteous and we were offered tea before they showed us a room for four - effectively three as one lady in the room came only once a week from Chennai. I decided the place was more suitable although the bathroom in the room had a long window that couldnt be fully closed. The food and kitchen seemed homely. 

However, after we had paid the fees - for my guest room and Mira's regular room - the warden told us that we shouldnt mind the cats as they helped to catch the rats in the building. That gave us a scare - residents were strictly asked to eat on the dining table and not in their rooms; keeping snacks in the room was also kinda forbidden.

I liked the food - soft idlis, tasty pulav and rotis with curry - that they served during the one week I was there. An old Tamil speaking lady guarded the hall and the girls in the night along with her cats (during the day she worked in the bungalow of the YWCA's Anglo Indian convenor). The mornings were made lively by the schoolchildren who sang hymns and the national anthem at the school assembly and piled their bags under the huge banyan tree in the compound. 

Mira left after 15 days as she didnt like the internship. She however made friends at the YWCA and enjoyed the company of her roommates and vouched that having more than one roomie wasnt a bad idea after all.

Father's Day

Celebrating our rock, rockstar and breadwinner !