Auto drivers of Mumbai

Yesterday, I was stranded on the road. There was a row of six auto rickshaws parked in front of me and all refused to take me. It was raining heavily and I was very tired but I could not find one auto that was willing to go. They were all waiting for long distance passengers.

I lost my head, screamed at the driver, removed my note pad and pen and started to note down their auto rickshaw numbers.

Suddenly, they started to protest,(Surprise) one of them came forward and told me not to jot down his number and went to the other end and fetched me another passing auto and I smile victoriously as I settled comfortably to reach home.

Now I am wondering, what could I possibly have done with those auto numbers? Whom would I send? Would any action be taken against those drivers? And why were they afraid that I might report? I was only threatening them and I am unsure as to what I could possibly do?

The auto-guy, who ferried me to my destination was actually forced by these morons to take me and he was arguing with me throughout the journey. He challenged me that I could do nothing and he boasted about the tricks that he had used to confuse his other passengers: for example-

1. He would tell the cop that his meter was down and that he was waiting for somebody else, and he would accuse me of forcing him to abandon his previous passenger.

2. That it was time for him to give his auto back to the owner and he was getting late and couldn't take any more passengers.

3. He even boasted that if the traffic cop had forced him to allowa passenger into his auto then he would drive for few meters and then pretend that his auto is spoilt and will not drive and just present to look into the engine to see the problem with his vehicle. The passenger had a choice of waiting till he explores the problem (in that case the meter will still be running) or they, the passengers decided to change over to the another auto.

“Madam,” he said, “if you are smart, we are smarter. We live in a country where everybody is corrupted and you can do nothing about it.”

But yes you can do something. I discussed this with few of my friends and they told me that I could post my complaints at www.trafficpolicemumbai.org.
In general, locals and visitors can expect an unusual outlook on life, navigation and find out that what might seem like a simple process of getting from point A to B is, in fact, not.

Traveling back to his parents home in India after living abroad a young man hired an auto rickshaw to complete his journey. Giving the driver the address and attempting to settle on a price the journey began. Passing through a new district the auto stops to refuel. Soon they are off again but before the young man can determine where they are the driver has parked and joined some friends in a food stand. Infuriated the young man looks over to see another identical rickshaw pulled up along side his own with an older man waiting inside. "I have been sitting here waiting almost two hours and still have not arrived at my destination!" He declares in rage. "Two hours, is that all?" asks the older man in a relaxed voice. "I have been waiting here since they opened the food stand."

That's auto ride for you!!! Enjoy!!

Visiting Post office in Mumbai..Uff!

Few months ago, while I was in Bangkok, I wanted to make a food parcel from the post office. The post office was air-conditioned and very clean and an officer occupied one corner of the room and he helped me pack my food parcel in a box, write address for me and fix the stamps and voila. It was done in ten minutes!! But, I wonder, why it is so difficult to do such simple thing here, in Mumbai? I wanted to send a small packet overseas. I bought envelop for packing, placed the contents into it and went to the post office. The one, closer to my house is a smaller one and they refuse to help me, claiming that I need to wrap it with cloth and go to the other bigger post office. The bigger post office has bigger problems. It is not only dirty and unkempt, but also crowded. There is a separate line for sending parcel and a separate line for buying stamps. The packet had to be wrapped with the cloth, and that service was offered by a man, who is seated on the road, outside the post-office. All these services are exposed to you, one at a time. Tempers fly high, due to frustration of people standing in line and some of them cutting lines. I wait ten minutes for the parcel to be assessed, then take it to the man, outside the post office, and wait on the road. There are many people working on the road side outside the post office, some people are selling envelops, some scanning through mail and some just sitting idle watching the world pass by. I wait patiently on the road as he carefully stitches the packet for me. I come back and wait in line again, only to be told to come back with the stamps of said amount. Wait in another queue to buy stamps and wait again, back at the first window. There is no glue available to stick the stamps on the packets and the tempers fly again, demanding glue! Glue!Glue! People working behind the window are unperturbed by the noise and commotion and they continue to work at snail speed, weighing, chopping a rubber stamp, slowly looking up at aggressive customer, very cool, dilling, dallying..like in those 1955 movies. My parcel takes more than an hour to slip off from my patronage to the other side of the window. Phew!

Photo essay on Jallianwala Bagh

The Jallianwala Bagh massacre turned millions of moderate Indians from patient and loyal supporters of the British raj into nationalists who would never again place trust in British “fair play.” On April 13,1919, thousands of people gathered in the Jallianwala Bagh near Amritsar. The occasion was Baisakhi, a Sikh religious festival. It was traditional for Hindus and Sikhs to gather in Amritsar to participate in the Baisakhi celebrations. Dyer positioned his men at the sole, narrow passageway of the Bagh, which was otherwise entirely enclosed by the backs of abutted brick buildings. Giving no word of warning, he ordered 50 soldiers to fire into the gathering, and for 10 to 15 minutes 1,650 rounds of ammunition were unloaded into the screaming, terrified crowd, some of whom were trampled by those desperately trying to escape. According to official estimates, nearly 400 civilians were killed, and another 1,200 were left wounded with no medical attention. Dyer, who argued his action was necessary to produce a “moral and widespread effect,” admitted that the firing would have continued had more ammunition been available. It thus marks the turning point for a majority of the Congress' supporters from moderate cooperation with the raj and its promised reforms to revolutionary noncooperation.

Visit to Wagah, India-Pakistan border

We had actually planned to visit only 'Golden temple', when we had planned a trip to Amritsar. But our driver informed us to visit India-Pakistan border and watch the closing ceremony, 'a must-see event', he said. We reached 5:30 in the evening at Wagah border after a nine-hour ride from Delhi. The car was not allowed to drive through a certain point and we had to walk towards the border. This was the well developed tourist area which had a stadium built for the spectacular closing border ceremony. The patriotic songs of Bollywood film (songs like 'Jahan daal daal pe sone ki chidhiya karti....and 'mere desh ki dharti......)blared through the loud speakers as we found our way to the VIP stands. We secured a front seat for a better view and waited for the show to begin. A big iron gate separated the India-Pakistan border. And I could see the stadium on the Pakistani side too, that had huge Pakistani audience on the other side of the gate. At 6:30, the ceremony started with the man shouting into the loud speaker 'Hindusthan’ and the crowd cheered ‘Zindabad!' Similar sounds applauding ‘Pakistan Zindabad!’ could be heard from the other side too. Two people held the Indian flag and ran towards the gate and back again. This was repeated by different pairs of women, men and children.(One woman lost her balance and fell down with her flag still up in the air) Next, five Indian solders came marching and stood in a neat row in the centre of the path leading towards the gate. One soldier turned, as he shouted loudly, picking his leg, heavily, his knee, almost touching his head, as he turned swiftly, ninety degrees and walked towards the gate. The gate opened slowly as the soldiers marched, one by one, towards the gate, to face a Pakistani soldier. Then, the two guard units attempted to outdo each other in martial displays: shouting, and stomping around the border in mock military maneuvers. All while the crowds were shouting patriotic slogans In a carefully choreographed ceremony, the men met at the border, salute each other, stared at each other and then untied the flags and finally lowered them and folded them. They then salute and marched smartly back to the barracks. Everyone was cheering wildly in a great patriotic display. The crowd dispersed from all directions and we had to stand guarded to avoid being pushed around. Some of them rushed towards the soldier for a photgraph. My family and friends wanted to photograph with the smartly dressed soldier too. I wondered as to when they made this daily ritual of closing cermony of India-Pakistan border into a spectacle with such a huge, expressive crowd.

My Visit to Taj Mahal

Last week, while people in India were still voting for Taj Mahal as ‘Seven wonders of the world’ and people around the world focused their attention towards Lisbon for its place of honor, me and my cousin Gitu, her daughter Neha and her friends Nadar and Saif, were making our own estimation of the monument. We set for Agra from Delhi, during the early hours in the morning in a private, comfortable vehicle (Inova) to admire the monument that Emperor Shah Jahan had so lovingly built for his third wife Mumtaz. Arjumand Bano (later named Mumtaz Mahal by her devoted husband) was a legendry beauty and many a poet has celebrated her charm and delicate beauty. Although Shah Jahan had three wives, Mumtaz Mahal became his favorite and the only wife to bear his children (14 children). The Prince would not part with her even on his numerous military campaigns. In his suffering, she sustained him; in his glory, she inspired him to acts of charity and benevolence. Both comrade and counselor, she was beloved by him for her unswerving loyalty and by his people for her wise and compassionate guidance. When Mumtaz Mahal was still alive, she extracted a promise from the emperor that he build the Taj in her memory and that he visit the tomb on her death anniversary. Construction of the Tajmahal began in 1631 and was completed in 22 years. Twenty two thousand people were deployed to work on it. Mumtaz Mahal died in 1629 during child birth while accompanying her husband in Behrampur in a campaign to crush a rebellion. The monument deserves its place in ‘Seven wonders of the world’ for its splendor and fine architecture. It is not merely a piece of architecture, as other buildings are, but the pride, loyalty and passion of an emperor’s love wrought in living stones. It is a celebration of eternal love, exquisitely portrayed in marble.