Mah jawbox ay dishes–rescuer — Big Bosch!!

I am hurt, angry and want to forget that I am 50+ and stamp my feet like the youngest inner child trapped in me,

BlogAdda you have hurt me so terrible, that I shall go and eat some worms, big ones small ones wriggly wiggly one.

Don’t stare at me, okay I get it you are clueless about what inspired my ranting okay.

Remember the time when you are young and you have the next 20yrs years to build your dream life, I was there once. And my dream house had a wonderful kitchen right out of inside outside magazine with a Nikki-Tasha cooking range and unnamed brand of dishwasher and unnamed brand of washing machine.

When I set up my own house, I realized that there few tasks that can be akinned   to the torture of Sisyphus and housework was one of them an never ending cycle of the clean becoming soiled, the soiled having to be cleaned over and over , day after day.  I hate it…

“I do the dishes in my house, because nobody does them the way I do it,” this is a quote from either Bill Clinton or Bill Gates I am not sure, but I hate it…

Standing with sleeves rolled up and arms in the sink, is not how I like to end my day. My thoughts go round and round and it occurs to me, if I ever wrote a book, which I attempt every November it would of the stream of consciousness type and deal with an hour in the life of a woman, at the sink. I feel resentful at Mr. Tee and Jay as they plonk right in front of the TV while I am cleaning up the mess, of course nobody compels me to do it, but a sunk sink at 4am is not a welcome sight. More importantly I would be sitting on nails with dishes not done, or laundry not aired.

You know one of the wisest advice I received about kitchen chores came from my mother, “Do the dishes when you’re cooking” I visualize myself stacking the dishwasher as I cook.

I dream of buying that dishwasher. I have walked up to the IFB kitchen got the pictures and quotes, the only thing I get to hear…

“Oh! It is fine for us in US, even in US we don’t use it for all our dishes” one bay area house wife advices.

“Oh! It cannot be used for Indian cooking, our cooking is greasy” next NRI gyan.

“It does not really reduce work, you have to rinse the stuff and put it in,”  — it cannot more frustrating than washing dishes already washed by the maid, because, “she travels by bus and you do not know if she who she was sitting next to”

If this Bosch demo was open to people outside Mumbai=Bangalore- or Delhi, believe me I would apply, if I know the dates at Mumbai/Bangalore I would still manage after all with my family being Bangalore based and my in-laws from Mumbai not a bad deal.

I visualize myself, recording the demo, and then asking those questions I have the check list

  • Can I wash the wok in it?
  • Can I wash the milk vessel in it?
  • Can delay the onset, — that really does not matter, for I can run the dishwasher and set the clothes washer to start when it is done.
  • What happens if the power goes off in between
  • How much of water will it consume – can have the used water collecting at a place to recycle it?
  • How much of power will it take?
  • How much of floor area will it consume?

But (my nostrils flared, fists clenched, rib tightened) BlogAdda, you deprive me of a chance to present my case to my family.dishwasher 2

Think about this, everyone, wants to save the earth, but nobody wants to help mom do the dishes, and no matter how much I hate it, most discussions of feminism refuse address the question who does the dishes, yet at the end of the day those damn dishes are there in the sink and they have to be done!!

The only redeeming factor of the lack of a dishwasher is you get the ideal time with appropriate emotional backing to plan the perfect murder mystery  … how else would explain the juicy murders penned by Agatha Christie?

 

 

The 11085 down.

 

double decker (1)
view of train

My first trip to Bombay was when I was all of eight years old. it was going to wonderland. Despite the stink which had not reached the current day pinnacle as yet.

The stories of Indo-Pak war, the siren ringing and taking shelters from a potential bomb was all romantically adventurous, but the most fascinating of it all was the double Decker buses.  Somehow getting on to the upper deck was thrill.

Bombay morphed to Mumbai, the hallmark of which became the ocean of human beings and stench, the Mumbai local trains somehow  relegated the buses to being a second class citizen, maybe once the existing buses are retired they will be seen only in a museum, or read in BusyBee’s banter.

Few months’ back we read that a double Decker train had been launched from Mumbai to Goa. I decided I am travelling on that train. Somehow Mumbai never happened.

double decker (2)
to the lower level

Finally over the week end when I had to travel guess what, my husband booked me on the train.

The train is a shatabdi. From LTT before you think Tamil Tigers, it is Lokamanya Tilak Terminus Kurla at 5.30 AM. The train 11085. As I arrived at the station with enough time on hands, I could peacefully look for C8U91 allotted to me, and guess what… the train had  seven coaches, that is no C8

I  ask the ticket checker, and he looks at me blank, and tells me the train is empty so occupy any slot in C4.  Of course I did occupy C4U91 the train was really empty.

the first twenty and last twenty of every coach are on standard levels, numbers in between are duplicated as CU—whatever number or CL whatever number which essentially means more passengers can be accommodated. The train is fully air-conditioned.double decker (3)

Bio-chemical toilets are provided.

The train has an obscene running time like 12hrs to Madgaon. The train is scheduled to arrive at Ratnagiri at 11.45 but ambles in 12.15, after which, the coach C4 turned into the locker room for the catering staff, they were sleeping on the seats, eating, and having loud conversations. The train arrives at Karmali at 15.30 but takes another two hours to reach Margao!! And the train staff tell me that it usually takes more than that.

The Pantry car is terrible and nothing is available after Ratnagiri. It is a lovely train to travel by, but please carry your food along since it is a day journey. Every set of seat is provided with plug points for the Laptop/mobile.

Somewhere I could see lot of resources going waste, or maybe because I was travelling mid-week but this is a bi-weekly train.

It is definitely worth taking it as a way to chill.

Traversing…

 In the Hyderabad local
In the Hyderabad local

“Toofan Mail, Ek Duniya hai Toofan Mail”

Is an earworm that resides in me since I can remember, and it conjures an image of a train huffing and puffing into a station.  People waving people off and people hugging them who get off.

view from the train
view from the train

Then is the local train, like it is the rhythm of the city and gives the freedom of being suspended between two places, all anxieties of purpose taken care of: for this moment everyone knows where they are going.

Though the bustling jostling Mumbai locals are bit scary with the sheer volume of human energy that it hosts. What thrills me about the trains is not their size or equipment but the fact that they are moving and they embody a connection between unseen places.

 

view from the train
view from the train

So travelling from Khachiguda to Linganapalli, was a great experience in itself.

On the railway platform is a restlessness and longing, like the longing that is in the whistle of that faraway train that I am awaiting, but the longing is not really in the whistle but in me.“

It began with wonderfully clean station. And people did NOT spit!! Amazing right?  A broad, working escalator, the exotic city of Hyderabad-Secunderabad, and landscape foyers of the railway station. The Andhra railway has really maintained it. It is called MMT I am ashamed to say I have not found what MMT is an abbreviation for.

view from the train
view from the train

In the train, people quite so considerate. Like this elderly lady next to me had blocked a seat for son, who did not turn up till two stations went by but other passengers indulged her. Then came a young woman with child and someone actually got up to give her a seat.

As clicked pictures, the lady next to me, the elderly Muslim lady asked me why I was clicking the pictures when I told her, she pointed some interesting points and then told me, “this time you note the things so on your way back you click the pictures.”

To be frank I could care less where I went, it was the journey in itself that was inspiring, meeting people, sharing a bit of their lives, like peeking into another world, another life. At every station a bit Hyderabad got in and said hello.

I think next time round I shall just take this train journey with a camera in tow.

A city moans

ImageJust back from Mumbai, I left for Mumbai the day BalaSaheb passed away, being aware of the fact.  My daughters were a bit worried. My coach Gopal was very confident that people respected Balasaheb too much to misbehave and the town would be peaceful.

The bus driver refused to enter the city Mumbai, I mean our bus driver for all who log in and book their tickets on redbus this was a Kailabhairav transport, at 5.30 he drops us on the outskirts of Mumbai, none of the other passengers,even stand by us. we were six of us.

Anyway the next outstation bus that came in took pity on me, since I bothered to ask for help and  he dropped me at the Sion bus depot. It was 6-ish by then, I was asking the cabbie if he would drop me, a Shivsena worker asked me where did I want to be dropped, I mentioned the locality, he told me “vaini, that area is blocked for taxi’s take bus 56 and he will drop you at this place from where your destination is walkable.” fair enough

Buses were plying, there were extra buses certain routes, I reached my scheduled stop with a suitcase a backpack and bedraggled form the night’s journey I started walking towards my sisters place,.

A cop was standing by his bike.

I asked him is there anyway I could get transport to my destination, “vaini, me soodale naa tumhala,” He actually dropped me to my sister’s doorstep. at 10 am I was back at Dadar for my session this time round I took the train, of course wisps of conversations drifted by discussing the man, his mission, the myth, the persona.

Believe me, the town was subdued, but after my experience with MGR’s death hysteria, I was amazed by the decorum the Marati Maanos carried themselves.

My sister’s maid of course was very upset, “atta amala koun bhagnaar taayi?” — I presume that means who will take care of us now,

The day of the funeral I would have returned if the central railway was not overloaded, but next day I was back with no untoward experience except great respect for a man who command so much of love and respect without drama and hysteria, it was as if the average Mumbai Maharashtrian had lost someone from him immediate family.

Monday the city was back to its normal action,

I learnt all through the conversations at the Busstop, in the bus and through Bhoiwada was people were on their way to pay respects to the departed soul. Many had stories of how the man and his actions had effected them.

Some felt the loss of a powerful icon and leader who they looked up to who gave them a sense of dignity.

May his soul rest in peace.