OLYMPICS 2012

I was enjoying my coffee in the cosy living room of a good old friend of mine. Having just watched the closing ceremony of 2012 London Olympics, we marvelled at India’s best ever medal haul; half a dozen.

The country has indeed come a long way. There was a time decades ago, when the only medal we coveted was the hockey gold. The rest of the events were not even in our comprehension. What a shock it was when we lost the hockey gold in Rome in 1960! The skipper, Leslie Claudius, a national hero, never recovered from that mortification.  Neither did I … for a while! I, a teenager those days in my tenth standard, showed my frustration by refusing dinner. My father took me in his arms and consoled me. When I relented and we joined my mother and sister at the dinner table, I noticed that my father’s eyes were unusually moist. Probably, he was consoling himself as well.

Leslie Claudius

We regained the gold in 1964 in Tokyo. The news came in through All India Radio. There was no TV those days. I still remember the excited voice of Gurbux Singh on radio, - yeh khush khabari Hindustan pauchh gayi hogi - The good news must have reached India. It did indeed. The entire neighbourhood was out in the street, dancing till the wee hours of the morning.

Then the grand downslide started. India settled for bronze in 1968 and 1972 at Mexico and Munich. In 1976 Montreal, we drew a blank. A deceptive Gold came into the kitty in 1980 Moscow Games that was boycotted by half the world including Pakistan. We never reached the semi-finals since then. To add insult to injury, we did not even qualify for 2008 Beijing Olympics.

But there was a silver lining. Leander Paes, the never-say-die tennis hero brought home a bronze from Atlanta in 1996 to emulate his illustrious father Vece Paes, a member of the bronze winning hockey team in Munich (1972). Karnam Malleswari weight-lifted her way to a bronze in Sydney four years later in 2000. In 2004, when the Games went back to it cradle in Athens; Rajyavardan Rathore returned home with a silver in a shooting event, a first ever feat by an Indian in an individual event. Abhnav Bindra went a step further in Beijing 2008, when he captivated the nation by winning a gold in a rifle shooting event. He was not alone in the medal hunt. Vijendra Singh, the boxer and Sushil Kumar, the wrestler joined him with a bronze each.

India, divested of the traditional game of hockey, was discovering new skills.

It was in 2012 London, when our boys and girls came home with two silver and four bronze medals. The national anthem played six times, an unprecedented occurrence.  Sushil Kumar bettered his performance in Beijing and won a silver. His fellow-wrestler Yogeshwar Dutt grabbed a bronze. Saina Nehwal, the badminton queen brought home a bronze as well. Vinay Kumar rapid fired his pistol to get a silver. But the darling of the nation was Mary Kom, the modern Chitrangada from Manipur. A mother of twins and from an impoverished background, she stormed her way to the boxing semi-final. The nation watched with bated breath. She lost and broke down and apologised for letting the country down. The nation wept with her. She returned home like a victorious heroine. Mary Kom is now a part of India’s sports folklore.

As my friend and I gloated over this defining moment of India’s Olympic glory, his nephew walked in with a couple of friends. In their early twenties, they greeted us and smartly caught the thread of our conversation. Their response jolted us out of our blissful gratification,-

A nation of over a billion and only six? – questioned the nephew.

But this was the best ever  – I became defensive.

And no gold? – another young guy retorted.

Look, things are improving – it was my friend’s turn to explain.

Look at China, look at Korea, look at other countries; even the tiny island of Jamaica is better than us!

Well, they did have their figures right. These young ones had never experienced the humiliations of the past. They would not settle for mediocrity. They are the go-getter generation. We realized and quietly appreciated their zest.

This is Gen Next, in a hurry, to take the nation forward. Mary Kom and the lot belong to this generation.

 

12 September 2012

ECONOMIC REFORMS - INDIA 2013

The Prime Minister Manmohan Singh finally decided to break the shackles of coalition politics. Defying potential threats from junior partners, he took the first small step and raised the price of diesel. Before, the nation and the political parties of all hue could react; he went a few steps further and announced sweeping changes in economic policies. Hereinafter, FDI would be allowed in aviation and retail.

The reaction was predictable. The indomitable chief minister of West Bengal served a 72-hours’ notice on the prime minister for a role back. She also demanded scraping of FDIs in the retail sector though the option of inviting FDI’s rested with the state administration and Mamata Banerji reserved the right to shut the door to foreign investors. Akhilesh Yadav of UP immediately endorsed the views of the WB chief minister, his new found ally. For a change, Mayawati aligned herself with Akhilesh, her bête noir.

BJP, the only other major national party in the country, saw an opportunity to oppose, as it is their sacred duty and immediately called for a bandh. It is a misfortune really that the political parties in the country prefer to hit the streets instead of debating the issue on the floors of the parliament. The parliament was of course not in session at the time of announcement but they could have demanded a special session.  There will be a total chaos in the country in the coming weeks and public life will be totally paralysed. But, who cares? The political leaders do not.

A section of the media has welcomed the proposed reforms. So did many of the leading economists. The country cannot survive for ever on subsidies. A gradual withdrawal of the subsidies has always been in the cards though the timing has been the bone of contention. As for the FDI, the economic growth, after an unprecedented upsurge, had slowed down significantly; hence a boost was badly needed. Unless, drastic steps are taken the growth might trickle down to less than five percent a nightmarish scenario for the prime minister.

The public has reason to be angry. Though the need for reforms is appreciated by a good section of the public, particularly the educated elite, there is a strong resentment due to a frustrating phenomenon, the government seems unable to control. Over the last few years, stories of one scam after another have been hitting the media, the enormity of which has stunned the nation to utter numbness.  The size of the wealth syphoned off by a few greedy elected representatives has been so massive that an ordinary person like me cannot even comprehend the damage it has inflicted. Additionally, there have been reports of unaccounted money from powerful Indian nationals stacked in Swiss banks.

People’s logic is very simple. Instead of removing subsidies and risking the survival of small traders, why can’t the government recover the wealth from the Swiss banks and individuals that have been looting the country?

Reforms will not work unless backed by honesty, integrity and transparency.

16 September 2012 

SPORTS IN INDIA

India can never boast of being a sports nation. The only sport, where India has excelled to some extent is cricket. However, only a handful of nations play this game at the highest level. The glory in cricket has been a recent phenomenon. The world cup victory on 1983 was an aberration rather than a global recognition of supremacy.  I have some nightmarish memory of cricket during my childhood when India was a habitual loser. A chance victory against Australia in 1959 at Green Park, Kanpur threw the country in a dizzy, triggering nation wise celebrations. Apart from this brief moment of glory it was a dismal record all throughout. West Indies came to India in 1958 and won a five test series 5-0. India was in England in 1959 and returned after suffering the same humiliation. In 1962, it was a tour to West Indies and the team returned with identical result with a badly battered captain whose skull was broken by a deadly delivery off Charlie Griffith. There were of course occasional flashes of excellence, however short-lived. In a 1961-62 home series, India registered a 2-0 victory against a depleted England team led by Ted Dexter.

 

Though the Charlie Griffith episode ended the career of Nari Contractor, the vice-captain, a young nawab barely 21, stepped in to lead the team. He managed to instill some confidence among the players and a hunger for victory. There was indeed some improvement but the team was far from being the world’s best. Then, at the beginning of the current millennium, a temperamental young man, famed as the “Prince of Calcutta”, came into the forefront. Within a decade, India was accepted globally as the world’s best in all forms of the game.

Hockey is another sport where India really excelled before the sixties. The downfall started in 1960, when India lost the Olympic gold for the first time at the Rome games. It was regained at 1964 in Tokyo. The once invincible team settled for bronze in 1968 and 1972 at Mexico and Munich. Four years later, India drew a blank in Montreal. Fortune smiled again at 1980 Moscow Olympics, when the games were boycotted by USA and other countries including Pakistan to protest against Soviet role in Afghanistan. Sans powerful competitors, India won the hockey gold. Since then, India never even reached the semi-finals of the games. The most humiliating experience was the failure to qualify at 2008 Beijing Olympics.

During the late 80’s, my two children, in their pre-teens, developed a keen interest in tennis. With two tennis fans on my side, I gained control of the coveted TV remote during the grand slam tournaments. My kids eulogised Boris Becker. I was past the age of hero worship after the Bjorn Borg era but decided to side with the younger generation. I miss those days of excitement and fun. After one of the many victories of Boris, my kids asked me at the dinner table who the best was during my time. Well it was Rod laver, I responded without hesitation, as this legend was considered the all-time best till then. The next question was obviously whether I was his ardent supporter. The answer was no; we the entire populace of India supported the home-grown hero, our very own Ramanathan Krishnan. It was a revelation to the younger lot that there was once an Indian who was No. 4 seed, a semi-finalist at Wimbledon and one of the topmost tennis stars of those days. Vijay Amritraj also created waves at one stage having reached the quarterfinals of the same tournament. India’s performance at present is restricted to doubles matches with Leader Paes, Mahesh Bhupati and Rohan Bopanna having established themselves among the top twenty. Sania Mirza, the golden girl, the darling of the nation, showed a lot of potential when she was No. 27 in WTP single ranking in 2007; the highest ever by any Indian woman. She has since been excelling in doubles only like her male colleagues. Leander, Mahesh and Sania won the grand slam double trophies on more than one occasions. Sondev Devvarman is another young tennis talent the fans have been watching eagerly.

After the euphoria around Sania subsided a bit, another Hyderabadi girl with a similar sounding name entered the fray with a lighter racket. Saina Nehwal soon became the youth icon having established herself as one of the top badminton stars of the world. India’s performance in this game has been patchy but Prakash Padukone and Gopichand had reached the peak with victories at various international tournaments.

Soccer (or football) is undoubtedly the most popular game in the world. The last soccer world cup final had over 700 million TV viewers. The game is extremely popular in India as well despite the national team’s dismal record. Indian soccer team’s finest moment came in 1962 when the team became the Asian Games champion at Jakarta. Currently, India’s FIFA ranking is 168 (Sept 12).

One of the major achievements recently was a tally of six medals at London Olympics 2012. Indian sportsmen appear to have discovered new skills in uncharted areas. Suddenly, our medal haul is enhanced with excellence in shooting, archery and boxing. Wrestlers and Weightlifters are also rediscovering themselves. However, these sports are not very popular with the masses and finding financiers to sponsor these games is bit difficult.

It is normally believed that economic prosperity help masses to focus on sports and other recreational activities. As India’s economy is growing, it is expected its sports excellence will also reach new heights.

6 August 2012

KOLKATA - BODY & SOUL

In general perception, Kolkata is a chaotic city. Traffic jams, load shedding, public demonstrations, political rallies and bundhs are features of the city’s daily life. India’s first prime minister called Kolkata (then Calcutta) a city of processions. His grandson went a step further and called it a ‘dying city’, a statement which proved a big hindrance against all his sincere attempts to establish his party at the helm of the state’s affairs.

Our close affinity with city notwithstanding, we cannot really blame these national leaders for their negative and judgmental views. The moment you land or enter the city either by air or by train, you rub shoulders with a jostling crowd, breathe pollution and experience a cacophony of the highest decibels. Getting to your destination in the city is another challenge you have to endure. Unless, you have a chauffeur driven car waiting for you at the chock a block parking lot, your travails have just begun.  Kolkata cab drivers do not suffer from any inhibition like politeness or soft speech. If their mean demeanor upsets you, wait until you meet an auto-rickshaw driver.  His diatribes will elevate the cab driver to an exalted angelic stature.

The cab and auto drivers set their own terms following the dictates of the basic economic theory; supply and demand. If you land at the unfortunate moment when these vehicles are in short supply, you would be haggling for a seat rather than the fare. The fare is not negotiable.

Once settled or unsettled in the vehicle of your choice or fate, the ordeal of city travel begins.  To put it simply, you might feel that the city has no traffic rules. But, you would be wrong, the police had, many years ago, set stringent rules to be enforced on all vehicles and pedestrians. However, the book of rules is probably lost or stolen from the highly secured police head quarter at Lal Bazar. This has imparted upon the police force and the public the highest level of personal freedom to set their own traffic rules. The police on occasions do step in as the final arbitrator imposing stiff fines on the guilty. The fines usually do not reach the state coffers.

Once rested in your destination, you would most probably take a stroll in the streets to have a feel of the city’s soul.  The streets are chaotic with noisy and snarling traffic.  Pedestrians are left to mend for themselves by sharing the road space with fuming buses, taxis, autos, cars and thelas (push carts). Kolkata pavements were built to encourage small time entrepreneurs to run their enterprises.   You will find small tea and snack shops, small eateries, book stores, storage spaces along with a group of hawkers jostling with each other trying to sell their merchandise. These small time traders usually pay a hefty rent to shady characters suspected to be agents of local politicians or police.

An attempt is being made these days to beautify the city by painting the road dividers blue and white and installing fancy three-armed lamp posts know as Trident Lights. They look good. However, cynics have never been in short supply in the city of joy. There have been caustic comments made in the media of concentrating on window dressing rather than going for real development. Hours of debate on TV channels show city’s intellectuals sharing their wisdom during prime time.  Personally, I think a bit of window dressing is justified to project a positive image of your city.

In spite of all mess, chaos, rallies and dirt, there is a delicate side of Kolkata’s soul that one has to probe deep to discover. The epithet of the Cultural Capital of India was actually earned by the city it was not just thrust upon it. A leading music maestro of international repute once introduced his sons to Kolkata audience saying that his boys will get their final recognition only after they are blessed by the Kolkata crowd. Music is just one aspect of Kolkata’s cultural identity. When the art of theatre is fast vanishing in several cities or getting to be highly expensive ventures like in London or Broadway, Kolkata’s group theatre culture still thrives with a meager budget and unprecedented dedication bordering on fanaticism.

Kolkata’s Annual Book Fair or Boi Mela is a unique event open to the general public only. No large scale book trading is conducted here. It is supposedly the world’s largest non-trade book fair. It is also the largest in the world in terms of attendance.

Though Bollywood movies dominate the entire world by its sheer volume, Kolkata movie industry created a special niche for itself for artistic movies on contemporary themes made with a much lower budget. Frequent awards and recognitions at national and international forums are testimony to the quality of production.

Though it is the capital of West Bengal, traditionally Kolkata has always been very cosmopolitan. People from all over the country and beyond come here and thrive and there has not been a single event of parochialism. Hindi, Urdu and even English cultures co-exist with the culture of Bengal. Instead of clashing these diverse cultures tend to enrich each other. Someone once described Kolkata as the largest Marwari city in the world. No animosity followed the comment; instead there was pride and jubilation at this special honour.

When you come to Kolkata, please do not feel abhorred by its noise, dirt and chaos. Try to find its soul. If you do, you will return an enriched person.

15 October 2012

NORTHEASTERN EXPRESSWAY

Many years ago, I conceived a dream.

I was a young professional working for Oil India Limited, based at the company’s headquarters in Duliajan. Oil well drilling was my profession. My job entailed deployment in remote areas, far removed from human habitats, and often in the midst of dense forests. Our company tried to make our lives as comfortable as technologically possible. Portable generators, improvised water heaters, gas-fed kitchens etc made our life pretty easy. Moreover, company of likeminded friends made our days rather stimulating and at times, quite rewarding.

However, commuting was a huge problem. The roads leading to the work and camp sites were not paved and rains often made them slushy and slippery. One of our projects was located in Arunachal Pradesh. The state was at a very early stage of development those days i.e. in the 70’s and the 80’s. This strategically vital state literally had no road network. We drove our Ambassador cars through freshly bulldozed jungle tracks keeping a close watch on vehicle speeding from the other side. There were number of streams and rivers which were piled with big boulders across their widths for the vehicles to wobble through.

A few stretches of roads maintained by PWD were in a deplorable shape. After a strong monsoon, heavy rains washed away the patchy repair jobs exposing innumerable potholes. During a meeting between our company and government officials, one of our representatives quipped, “There is actually just one large pot hole with patches of roads everywhere”.

Another weird phenomenon within Arunachal Pradesh was a total lack of connectivity even between two contiguous districts. Vehicles of all sorts had to shuttle through the state of Assam.

One tiring evening, while driving to Duliajan from Arunachal Pradesh, in my much abused Ambassador car, I conceived my dream.

This region, known nationwide as the seven sister states, was really rich in natural resources. It had a gigantic economic potential with industries based on oil, tea, agriculture, silk and hydro-electric power. The region can also be a touristic paradise with its rich flora and fauna in abundance. The seven sisters, I thought, deserved a well-developed road network.

I dreamt of a wide highway along the region’s life line, the mighty Brahmaputra, running through the state of Assam from west to east with branches leading to other states and districts that were still not easily accessible. I was naïve and had no idea how much a project of that magnitude would cost.

However, many years later, when I saw the “Golden Quadrilateral” connecting the four major cities, emerging into a reality in spite of the initial scepticism, my dream was rekindled. Funding a project of any magnitude would not be a big deal if the economic and social potential of the investment was appreciated. A map (Map A) illustrating the highway master plan shows a North-South and an East-West corridor in addition to the Golden Quadrilateral. My dream project could start from the eastern edge of the East-West corridor where it takes a sharp turn toward the southern part of Assam.

 

Map A

Phase I of our project should be at least be a six-lane expressway, starting from the eastern edge of the East-West Corridor, stretching through the valley to the interior of Arunachal Pradesh at the China-Myanmar end. We would call it “North-Eastern Expressway”. National Highway Authority of India has a plan to widen the two-lane 178 km Numaligarh-Dibrugarh stretch of NH-37 to a four-lane highway. On a long term basis, a four-lane highway would be inadequate.

 

Phase II of the project would be a Ring Network branching out of the NE Expressway encircling the valley, going through the other states. This could be a four-lane highway with a provision of converting it to a six-lane in the future. We could probably name it as “North-Easter Linkway”. Phase II would be more challenging due to the difficult terrains, countless rivers and tributaries. A number of bridges and flyovers would be needed along its stretch. Connecting the state of Sikkim would be easier. All we would need is a stretch branching out of the East-West corridor.

A rough illustration of the concept has been attempted in Map B.

Map B

Needless to say that both the stretches would be dotted with Rest Areas, Fuel Stations, Holiday Resorts and Trekking Camps, wherever feasible. Such an enormous and high cost road network cannot be accessed free of cost.  Toll gates will be installed at major Entry and Exit points. 

 

Will any private entrepreneur be interested to execute the project on a BOT (Build-Operate & Transfer) concept? This is not unprecedented. Yamuna Expressway in Uttar Pradesh was developed by a private company. The cost of this six-lane 160 KM expressway was Rs 13000 crores. Of course, that would be peanuts compared to the expected cost of the North Eastern project.

Yamuna Expressway

Yamuna Expressway – Another View

Sounds like a pipe dream? Many absurd dreams of the past are reality today. And, there is no harm in dreaming.

 

I just wanted to share my dream with members of this forum.

I am ready for any ridicule.

12 October 2013

DIGBOI - MY EARLY DAYS

I had a wonderful childhood in Digboi, a small picturesque industrial town in Asaam. I am talking about a time in the fifties. In early sixties, I left for college. My memory is of a carefree time, sans worry, daily needs taken care of, a bit of studies and plenty of fun; some mischiefs too. There were no fancy schools those days; no DPS or Carmel. We went to the schools run by the company. There were several; of two categories mainly. The primary schools catered to class III and IV; the high schools to class X. The final school exam was matriculation. Funny, the word “matriculation” sounds so ancient these days.  There were three high schools. Hindi High School, as the name implies, was Hindi medium. It was co-ed. Boys High and Girls High Schools were Assamese and Bengali medium and were strictly gender centric. There were other schools also like Vivekananda Vidyalay, Balika Bidya Mandir and Soumar Bidya Peeth but these were not run by the company.

There were no school buses. We walked about a mile to reach school. Due to a strange unwritten law, the girls used to walk on one side of the road and the boys on the other. The girls walked silently and had their eyes fixed on the ground in front of them. They would not even look at the boys. The boys were noisy but would not normally talk to a girl. Talking to girls was not considered “cool” those days. Sounds odd, right?

On reaching the 9^th standard, I was gifted a bike in recognition of my exalted status of being in a “higher class”. But the so called status associated with being in the higher class did not permit being seen in trousers. Khaki shorts and white shirts were the only attire allowed in school. Trousers were allowed only while playing cricket. Worse, the girls were forced into white saris or mekhla chadors, the moment they reached class VII. Imagine they were just about 11 or 12 years old! And, they were not allowed to ride bikes; it was a boys’ privilege. Grossly unfair but those were the norms of the day. Later in my life, I saw many of these girls in elegant attires, driving cars in several cities in India and abroad with their husbands seated beside them beaming with pride. Digboil girls could adjust themselves to any society, any situation. Any man who has a Digboi girl as his wife should consider himself very lucky.

Being a very modest person, I shall refrain from commenting about the boys.

Our teachers were strict but affectionate. Boys High School had a sprawling playground. We played cricket, football and volleyball. Annual debate was a lively affair. So was the annual prize distribution. Traditionally, the general manager of the company and his wife were the chief guests in the annual prize distribution ceremony. Top students had the additional honour of being photographed with the first lady of the town. It was really exciting to see the picture printed in the forthcoming issue of “Batori”, an elegantly designed house journal of the company.

Security was not an issue. We walked and biked into the oil field area at will. The gate would remain open throughout the day. Trekking on the hills inside the field was an adventure we often indulged in. On several occasions, I stepped on snakes and survived. The highest point in the hilly terrain of the oilfield had a huge water reservoir, probably feeding the entire town. For some reason, it was known as No. 1 tank. Riding the bike all the way down the slope from No, 1 tank without the brakes was a thrilling fun. I also remember there was an air raid shelter just at a level below the peak, which was said to have been built during the Second World War. I had an eerie feeling every time I entered the manmade cave. I wonder if it still exists.

A few of my friends were daring enough to scale the production derricks on narrow steel ladders. I was too scared to try and was often ridiculed as a weakling. A humiliation I had no choice but to stomach. It was an irony of sort that a few years later, destiny guided me to a profession where I had to climb those structures in the course of my duty. I was still scared but managed to hide my panic.

Inside the fenced market, Digboi Stores and Osmans ran the finest bakeries in eastern India. They had a friendly rivalry and some of their products were just exotic. My father bought me my first (fountain) pen from Rakshits. It was a Pilot pen. I kept it under my pillow for a few days lest it gets misplaced. I believe Rakshits have since been split. That’s a pity! Ruksons sold fashionable attire for men. It was known to be expensive. After receiving my first pay cheque from Oil India Limted in 1968, I rushed from Duliajan to Digboi at the first opportunity to shop at Ruksons. I bought a fancy shirt spending a princely sum of Rs 40. Panditji sold grocery. The old man gifted a chocolate to my kid sister whenever my parents picked up their grocery. One day, the old man was away and his son was managing the shop. Being unaware of the privilege my sister was entitled to, he did not offer any chocolate. My kid sister picked up a thick ruler and gave him a deadly nudge. The mistake was rectified instantly.

Doss Book Agency and Haque Stores were located at Charali. They sold books. We picked up our text books from either of these shops. They also sold children’s books and magazine. Gobinda Mistanna Bhandar was also located in the area. Club Store, located behind Digboi Club stocked fancy bakery, meat and milk products.

A couple of years ago, I met a young engineer from IOC, who was based in Digboi for a few weeks. Being oblivious of my background, he gave a stunning description of the picturesque town and its exquisitely charming bungalows with exclusive driveways. I listened carefully controlling my emotions from exploding. He finally concluded by suggesting that I must go there physically to appreciate what a beautiful town it was. I looked at him in the eyes and said, “I already did; I grew up there”. Before he could grasp for breath as his widening moth suggested, I excused myself and walked away.

I feel so nostalgic reminiscing about these places. Wish I had wings and could fly over the best habitat on the face of this planet to relive my childhood.  It is a pity, today I would be a total stranger in the town I have always considered my home.

2 August 2008

BABY ANYA ARRIVES - 18 MAY 2013

Anya Basu

It was a very long wait at the hospital; over sixteen hours. The waiting room was reasonably comfortable. There was a TV tuned to Fox News. A news anchor was spitting venom against President Obama. The restroom or toilet was just next door. The cafeteria was just a floor above. There were about twenty seats and during most of the day, apart from Sumita, Sattam and me, there were at the most one or two small families waiting with us. However, their wait was short. After two to three hours, an excited member of the family would enter the room, announce the arrival of a new born and the family would leave jubilant and excited. Around lunch time, an elderly Indian couple arrived. They had one look at us and decided to avoid any sort of eye contact. At one point, Sumita caught the attention of the lady and flashed a friendly smile. The lady turned her face away. Sumita was very annoyed. Some idle conversation with the family would have helped us get over the anxious moments. I tried to humour  Sumita by suggesting that probably this couple was a fugitive with billions stacked away at a Swiss bank and did not want to be identified. Or, probably the guy was an IPL fixer, who just escaped from the clutches of the sleuths in India.  In short, both of us concluded that they were not good people. After a while, a young man came in and addressed the couple as papaji and mummyji and whispered something.  They left, happy and excited.

Shamik was in the labour room sending occasional SMS updating us of the situation.

The scenario changed completely at around 8 PM. A Mexican family of six walked in talking boisterously breaking the tranquility of the place. Soon, a few others joined them… then and a few more … and a few more. In less than half an hour, the place was full of Mexicans. There was no seat left and a few were actually standing. They were absolutely oblivious of our presence and went on talking loudly, joking and backslapping each other.  They all spoke Spanish except four teenagers, three girls and a boy. The younger lot spoke fluent American English. There was an elderly matriarch seated at the middle who talked the least. She looked like a “Biji” of Hindi soap operas. She was busy weaving a woolen stole presumably for the soon-to-be-born. But whenever she frowned, the room went quiet. Her smiles were greeted with loud cheers.  At one point, we were scared to go to the toilet lest our seats were taken away. The fear was uncalled for.  Nobody made an attempt to occupy Sattam’s chair, when he went out for a walk to get over his anxiety.

Their noisy conversation was getting on our strained nerves. Somehow, we controlled our emotions. Strangely, they did not show any signs of concern though they were also awaiting the arrival of a new member of the family. Half an hour past midnight, when our endurance reached its limit, there was a MMS from Shamik announcing the arrival of Anya. Now, it was our turn to celebrate. Three of us hugged each other. Suddenly, the noisy room went silent and we realized that the crowd was watching us eagerly. One of the guys asked me in broken English, “Good noose?” I threw my arms in the air and said, “Yesss, we are grandparents and this young man here is an uncle”. The entire room stood up and cheered.  The Biji gave us a broad smile and said something that sounded like “Felicitano”. She whispered something to one of the teenagers. The young girl rushed out and brought three cookies for us. Suddenly, we were an extended family and the crowd looked so nice and friendly.

I love these Mexicans. Viva la Mexico ....

19 May 2013