Fox shoots man

Fox shoots man : http://www.reuters.com/article/idUSTRE70C5Q620110113

I don’t remember the time the tide turned in my favour, but it was around the time I shot that man. I hadn’t been a particularly obedient cub, and my mother would always discipline me for being lax about security.
“It would never do to nap where people can see you Loxim. What if you are injured?”

I was one of those calm sorts, and ignored everything she said, unless she was particularly hysterical, in which case, I would make my ears droop and the shoulder hunch and sit down with a sorry looking expression on my face. She couldn’t stay angry at me for long, for I never once lost my temper or fought back. She told Papa proudly that I was one to be watched as all my pent-up anger is bound to come leaping out of me in one shot one day.

I would then go straight back to napping on the rocks by the ledge. One had to accept the beauty of my favorite spot – the best sunshine with bright, fat rabbits hopping up and offering themselves up to you. Then one day, this buffoon of a man came and tried to attack me. I wasn’t particularly pugnacious, but you can’t sock me on the skull with a long stick and expect me to keep quiet. He kept hitting me and when I couldn’t take it anymore, I just used up all my concentration, and Mama was right. All my pent up anger came out in one shot  – it was a loud ringing noise, and the man looked agonized.

I was so scared of what I’d done, that I ran away myself and watched from afar. One thing was certain, my pent-up anger had caused the man distress. Maybe I was one of those rare specimens meant to be watched. I was scared, but proud too. I limped to my mother and told her what had happened. If she felt awed then, she did not let on. She just cuddled me, but after that I was the indisputable king. Other foxes tucked their tails behind their legs and fled when they saw me, rabbits froze in my presence.

I have not displayed my super-natural powers ever since, but they all know it is lurking within me, and that is good enough for me!

Crocodile! Crocodile!

Crocodile! Crocodile! May we cross the Golden river?
Crocodile: Yes you may, if you have cyan on you.

I remember this being one of the hottest games of our youth. We roped off a portion of the street and positioned the crocodile in there, while the goal for the remaining was to cross the river. If you did have the colour the crocodile was looking for, you usually donned an unnecessarily supercilious expression and made a big scene about strolling across the river, while the poor crocodile looked more crocodile-like than crocodiles do – wanting to tear and rip you apart, but the rules of the game bound one. The ones who did not have the colour on them ran across while the croc lunged and grabbed. If caught, you were the next crocodile and so on.

When we first started playing this game, we were very much the rainbow kids – not very innovative in our colours. Then slowly, we expanded to yellowish purple and bluish orange. Anything to get all of them to run across. That was when, I quipped, “I have diglish danglie on my underwear” (Or whatever ridiculous colour it was), and stroll across. The modicums of decency allowed one to stroll across wearing a white panty without verification, but just a small pang of guilt. Best to leave the attitude behind on such occasions. But this method was soon vetoed, because one could not possibly have 255 colours, and all their permutations and combinations on a small panty, and some people claimed they did.

I loved playing this game because this is when I started taking an interest in vocabulary. I learnt about ‘Scarlet’ and ‘Turquoise’ and ‘Garnet’ and ‘Fushcia’ just so I could ask for these colours when it was my turn to be a crocodile. I am not even sure I knew the exact colour myself, but so didn’t the others, and I was finally queen of the river.

Imagine my chagrin then when years later, I said ‘Teal’ or ‘Mauve’ matter of factly only to have the husband stare at me like he was oggling through a glass barrier at a very mentally disturbed gorilla. “You mean purple?” he’d ask. I let it pass thinking the poor lad in his youth hadn’t played this enriching game of crocs and must not be penalised.

Then, I read this article about different kinds of color blindness. So, where some see palettes of colours, others don’t. It also gave me a tit-bit that I have suspected all along. Women are less prone to being color blind than men.

http://mikestake.wordpress.com/2011/01/11/im-blind-colorblind-that-is/
I quote:
“Color blindness is an inherited condition(usually anyway) most common in men ( 8-12 percent of Caucasian men, and less than one half of one percent in women).  ”

Not all forms of colour blindness is acute enough to not recognize primary colours – it is subtler than that. While we see the bottle greens and the olive greens, some of them just see green or possibly gray. I’d like to play Crocodile Crocodile with one of these people just to see how interesting it is.

Live like 4 year olds

I’d taken the brother’s family and daughter on that beautiful day to San Diego’s Sea World. I love watching the dolphins and the killer whales frolicking in the waters, and goofing around with their trainers.
On a side note, there is one thing that has always stood out for me at these outdoor parks, be it Disneyland or Sea World. I am never clothed right. Either I’ve seen the forecast, analyzed it from every angle and then come in looking thoroughly unprepared. Dressed like a polar bear, only to find the sun’s rays laughing harder and harder at me, pointing fingers as I struggle through; or I am dressed like  heroines in old Indian movies dancing in the snow with a flimsy saree – under dressed for the occasion I meant – Shivering and refusing to buy a  jacket at the local park stores.(I can be wool headed when I want to, I am afraid).

San Diego saw us prepared this time. We got up in the morning to rain and thunder. The kind of rain that urges you to stay indoors and gulp tea and have pakoras. But, we did none of that, we braved the elements and went looking for adventure. The look of glee that was on my daughter’s face knowing she could splosh around in the rain was infectious. Soon, we washed our faces with the gleeful rays emanating from her and danced and sploshed in the rain too.

I glanced at the killer whales as I entered the show stadium and winked at them. Dared them to soak me this time. You see we’d carefully concealed our beautiful clothes with unwieldy jackets and further added a pillow case like rain hood on top of that. I bravely sat in the soak zone and simply balked at them.

“See? Huh? 4 layers – the only thing you can really get wet is my face. Want to try?”

I should have known by the lazy flick of their fins. I sat there simply imploring them to come and splash on our side, but they refused. It is like they read my thoughts and said, “Think you are smart, do ya? Well…we only soak you when you are warm and dry. Not when you come looking like tarpaulin tents” and ignored our spot of the stadium the whole while.

Nevertheless, sploshing around in the rain was fun. It brought back memories of our childhood and watching a young one prance in the rain made us behave like 4 year olds who have had too much chocolate.

The way this news article asks us to behave, in other words.

http://shine.yahoo.com/event/momentsofmotherhood/want-to-get-healthy-act-like-a-4-year-old-2435873/;_ylt=Ajc0ZFeKu1VENwtlVAgFmyuZb6U5

All for one and one for all

My previous post told us about the sort of cloth headed things one needs to do when the partner is standing in the queue for food. The partner, in the meanwhile, was bored stiff. He took to observing those fellow sufferers in queue with him.

It turns out the family right in front of him had adopted a fundamentally different approach from the one we had adopted. We had decided to go for the divide and rule policy – queues vs scourging for seats. The family in front of us seemed to be staunch believers that everything was an experience to be shared by all. Every time, I circled back to see how the queue inhabitants were doing, I had the All-for-one-and-one-for-all song ringing in my head. Not that there was anything wrong with this approach, but it did seem like the children could have done with some time to sit quietly while the food was ordered. There were two children, and two adults. They did not seem to be complaining to us, but, I couldn’t help noticing the children spilling all over them and crying (1 infant plus one girl). At one point, the infant in their arms attempted a parabolic dive into a location known to her alone from her father’s arms. The older one had a most unpleasant expression on her face. Like Disneyland wasn’t at all the magical place she’d expected. The poor child probably thought that if somebody waved their wands, the food would find their way to them.

Ever the resilient birds, they waited. Nature had taught them that patience is rewarded with a plate of whatever was up there on the menu charts. The line snaked slowly, dully, their aching legs causing them to squat even. Eventually, they reached the counter.

The whole time, we’d been there, the menu was written in large signboards and were flashing in front of us. The husband and brother, who were the queue heroes for the day, had prepared  a magnificent list to recite at the counter, replete with dessert. According to them, if you were standing for this long, it might as well be a grand lunch. Admirable sentiments, if not wholly agreeable to the belly.

Imagine our chagrin therefore, that the all-for-one-family spent a full 10 minutes deciding what it was they planned to eat at the counter. I mean – the dishes were right there! Could they have missed the boards? Not possible, it was the only thing to look at, with hunger gnawing at your insides.

After getting the food, they would have to find seats and then eat. I wonder what they managed to see at the Park that day. We managed a decent list because the husband’s fine-tuned fast pass algorithm saw him rushing from one end to the other and picking up fast passes, so we could get the rides lined up. For the remaining part, we went for the less popular rides and had fun all the same.

Sometimes, divide and rule works.

7 seats

I witnessed something for the first time during our trip to Disneyland this time – the parks were filled to capacity and people were being turned away at the park entrance. It was a revelation of sorts to me because I didn’t know the park had a capacity to begin with. It was always such a sea of folks that I imagined those at the gates just stood there and sighed people through thinking of flood gates and drops in an ocean or whatever it is folks at park entrances think about. This historic day meant that the usually long lines were enough to sink the heart of the most optimistic soul.

I shall outline for you the process of buying some food on days such as this:
1) Position 1 member with a cell phone in hand at the back of a line that is nowhere near a food court. It is preferable if this person is a stamina gun and one who posesses a certain capacity to entertain and amuse the mind while standing in the queue. Reading the park map only gets you through 10 minutes (even if you memorize the names of all rides and restaurants – I checked), and the lines to get food snaked much longer that.
2) The other member with a cell phone must be one skilled enough to spot movement from a mile away and swoop down like a hawk. Hawks, if you study them, don’t swoop on whims. They observe, detect and decide on when to swoop on their prey. Looking around, reading subtle body language signals from other members already seated and eating. Constrained in every way by the burden of being a human being means no wings, no huge wing spans from which to soar and spy, bad eye-sight and not to mention the fact that we actually have bladders with needs while hawks probably don’t.

I functioned as the latter in our team of food gatherers. I had going for me what hawks probably didn’t. Optimism. I walked around aimlessly, smiling at people who made the mistake of making eye contact at me. Finding seating for a party of two on a day like this is a challenge, try doing it for seven and then one sees why the stomach is such an irascible thing to live with. I mean, cannot it eat for the day in the morning at the free breakfast buffet? It certainly behaved like it was. Ate like it was preparing for a spell of 24 hours in famine country and yet 5 hours later, the glutton was asking for more. Tut!

After what seemed like hours, I found 2 folks shifting their left buttock. I swooped – I’d gotten 2 seats. This is where Genghis Khan can take his lessons from me. Having acquired this piece of real estate, I looked around once again and found a couple chatting with fervour. People were leaving them alone since their plates seemed full. But I saw their plates were full enough, but not full enough to last till team member (1) got to the head of the line. I sat there looking bored and played with their little one amusing himself by throwing things on the floor from the table. I peek-a-boo-ed and gurgled. I don’t know whether Genghis Khan actually enjoyed conquering more lands, I enjoyed the process of playing with this child leaving the harried ones to eat in peace. They were so grateful that they actually got another chair for me and joined the tables together before leaving.

And that is how one gets seven seats together on a day that Walt Disney’s spectre gets turned away from the park.

That is also the story of us becoming Dislineophobes (yes, creativity takes a hit when attention is diverted to survival, and I couldn’t find the word for fear of queues)

Happy New Year Folks!

Are you a Terrorist?

I read an illuminating article about how to spot a terrorist. The article told me that if I saw somebody buying hydrogen peroxide at Home Depot, I must follow him and make sure he buys gas or garbage butoxide that are all elements in making explosive. If I am certain, then I must inform the police. This left me wondering on so many levels as to what these informative articles are supposed to achieve.

Aa far as the terrorist is concerned, he is given a checklist to steer clear of. This reminds  me of the time, one Senior Assistant commissioner of our town gave a talk that was designed to instruct and aid.

There was an increase in the number of robberies about town and the Assistant Commissioner’s sense of duty beckoned him till he could ignore it no more. He came on television. What we really expect  a man with a large moustache and formidable stomach wearing a police uniform to do is of course, just twirl it (the moustache I mean, not the tummy) impressively and hearten our souls by saying the whole police force is stumped by the problem and are working round the clock in solving it. Why? Even yesterday, three of his constables had tea at 3 a.m. in the neighborhood that the most recent robberies took place in, along with some men of questionable intentions. More tea stalls are being constructed in the vicinity to aid the robberies. That was all he needed to do.

Instead what did the gallant man do? He came on television and said, “I am going to give you some tips on how not to get robbed.” He started light – “Lock your door”, “Close your windows” kind of instructions and swiftly moved onto juicier topics. “Do not leave your valuables in steel cupboards under lock and key. That is where robbers look first. Take them and hide them in the kitchen. That is the place they will not think of checking.” he said and beamed rather freely at the audience. I don’t whether the man was expecting all television viewers to stand up in honour or what, but he beamed for a full minute after this gem.

This man, because of the graciousness of his position, was allowed to come and make a statement like that instead of being muted out of office. There was an uproar, because of course folks were hiding their valuables in the kitchen or elsewhere before this man came and told the robbers where to start. Even the extra tea stalls were quite unnecessary since the robbers just made themselves comfortable in the kitchen during the quest.

The intention as always is good. If only his force had asked the men at the tea stall whether they were robbers, he could have come on television a victorious man, a man who knew what he was facing. Please head on over to this link to see what I mean.

http://www.dailymail.co.uk/home/moslive/article-1336571/Terrorism-Can-really-stop-bomber-asking-Are-terrorist.html

This article about security checks in Israel interested me. Reminds me that we often forget the direct and obvious. Very few people can lie convincingly when posed the question, “Are you a terrorist?” Turns out that Israel has been using this simple method to weed out potential terrorists with remarkable results. Full body scans can reveal articles of questionable intent, but not the intent. People to people questioning can expose intent.

Santa’s Lap for Leopards

When you visualize somebody sitting on Santa’s lap, who do you visualize? I imagine tiny tots, the wonder of seeing a surreal grandfather doling out laughs and asking what they’d like for Christmas. Most Santas I’ve seen ask loudly what they would like for Christmas, then liberally spot the answer with “Ho Ho Ho”s so the parents wouldn’t miss the crux, and repeat the child’s wish. That’s just what this veteran Santa was doing for twenty years every Christmas outside Macy’s in San Francisco’s Union Square.


What must happen, but this year, the fates deigned otherwise and he was fired because he cracked a joke to a couple who took offense when they sat on his lap. Now reading parts of this story had me wondering – why do adults want to sit on Santa’s lap?

I looked it up and it turns out the average weight of a adult man equals that of a leopard that has spent more time eating than exercising his muscles – the higher end of the scale in other words. The obese leopard. The one huffing and puffing after a bison in the forests, while looking wistfully at the deer and the zebras. Would this man who plonked his weight on Santa be willing to carry an obese-leopard everyday as part of his job and not even joke about it? Come to think of it, Santa might have been better off having obese l’s on his lap, as they would not have take offense to this joke:

When the couple asked why Santa’s jolly, he reportedly responded by telling them he knows where all the naughty boys and girls live.

http://www.sfgate.com/cgi-bin/article.cgi?f=/c/a/2010/12/06/MNC91GML7O.DTL

Why people with no sense of humour would want to sit on Santa’s lap beats me.

Santa Sharpens Memory

The past week has been a busy one for Santa. He was supposed to fly to India to meet the President from Finland. On the way, he decided to see all the good children of this school in Dubai where the niece and nephew study, because they have been so good and reward them. There has been much excitement and chatter. The maps have been consulted multiple times by even those allergic to  Geography teachers to route the map from Finland to India via Dubai.


Seeing Santa in the corridors of your own school must be exciting. I can still remember being about a knee high with no front teeth sitting in a hall waiting for Santa to come. What? After he visits the President of India, he takes a detour down to the South and graces the Lena School corridors for those children have been good too. Duh. I remember sitting around waiting eagerly for Santa to arrive – I was seated along the corner, and this particular Santa, came strewing chocolates and sweets all around to general mayhem. Thinking back, I think he bore a remarkable resemblance to the woodcutter of the school. Anyway, the point is: while he was creating joy all around and throwing sweets, he also poked my eye, which had my eye watering, and my little mind up in moral chaos.

You see, all my life up until then, I’d been told that if you lied, or did not eat, or did something that was to discredit the name of the honorable clan from whence you sprout, God will poke your eyes. It was true, I had borrowed a sharpener from a boy in my class, and promptly lost it. I was in the process of honing several lies to tell him, one of the options being stout denial, another feigning surprise at the existence of sharpeners and the like. Still wondering how to break the news in short, for this boy was known to have attained fame by eating a worm. What if, his revenge was shoving one down my throat?  I hate worms not considering that they aren’t particularly esculent. Technically, I hadn’t lied yet, but maybe God knew that I was thinking of lying and sent Santa as a precaution.

I don’t know how the world rates North Korea allegedly having an arsenal of nuclear weapons and attacking South Korea and the world waiting to see how US would react, but it was definitely not as serious as the problem I faced. Soon after Santa left, a hurried meeting was called for. My best friends rose to the occasion as usual, and we all agreed that it had been a sign. The best thing to do was tell him the truth, and if he runs after me with a worm, one friend said she would take on the task of bringing a teacher on the premises by any means known to her.

I don’t exactly remember the end to this story – I just remember it being a huge anti-climax. It was all quite simple really. I was not chased down corridors with a worm in his hand, I know that for sure. So, it may be that Santa gave him a new sharpener as a gift and he forgot about the one I lost for all I care. But I do remember asking my father if I could have a sharpener for my very own in the sweetest tone I could don, simply fluttered with ‘pleases’ and ‘thank yous’.

I am sure it tickled the parent to have such a polite request for a sharpener, but these moral epilogues drained one.

And that….

Thanksgiving time is wonderful. The cold and bitter winds bring with them the holiday spirit, the twinkling lights and wondrous Christmas Trees.  Overnight, the bleak dreary streets turn magical and one hears of the avid shopper waiting for deals.

The crowds milling around in malls are a welcome boost to any economy. Some stores go for the cheap tactic of artificially boosting queues and lines just to get the public curious. Sauntering along in the mall, I couldn’t help noticing that the Coach store had a line snaking outside. I owned a coach bag once a long time ago when I was a proud bargain shopper on the platform shops lining any proud Indian city, and I must confess I did not understand the significance of the ‘Coach’ brand name then. You see, I picked out a bag, and the tenth grade drop out who worked at the store (well pavement really) asked me what label I would like on the bag – Coach or Prada.  I went with Coach, and he just stuck it on and gave it to me. I had no idea folks had to work this hard for the label – life, I tell you. I peered into the store and saw there was a sum total of 3 people in the store not counting the three sales personnnel and two cashiers. While, those poor blighters stood outside in a snaking queue thinking the store was bursting to capacity. Just waiting to get themselves a bag that cost anywhere between $400 and $5000. My heart went out to them when I thought of the idli sambar that might spill inside the pristine depths of the expensive bags. One of them was actually pure white. The husband caught my imagination before I ran away with it and reminded me that folks buying themselves a Coach bag weren’t likely to be taking idli sambar in their tiffin boxes to work.

Shoppers of all flavors spot the world. While there were the patient bunch standing in line outside the Coach store, these two shoppers shocked me by deciding to camp out for 9 nights outside Best Buy to see what the Electronics Giant had in store for Thanksgiving. I can’t think of any word other than over-zealous to describe this behaviour. According to the pair of shoppers, they did not know what the deals were going to be, but trusted their guardian angel to perform double duty not only by guarding them at night, but also whispering favorable deals to those who decide at Best Buy. A lot left to chance one would think. Of course, the strange is rewarded in unexpected ways, and they were gifted an iPad each for their trouble and the positive publicity they brought in for the store.

http://shine.yahoo.com/channel/life/family-camps-out-for-black-friday-sale-nine-days-early-2412259

But of course, this news items beats it all – at least the coachers and the random-best-buy-deal shoppers were trying to get themselves something they can use. Not exactly what can be said about these folks who were checking out Bernie Madoff’s checked boxers.

http://www.time.com/time/picturesoftheweek/0,29409,2030929_2209853,00.html

Whatever makes life interesting, so be it.

TSA Pat downs

I am trying. I really am. But these new TSA pat down guidelines are taunting me. Old time readers will remember the possibilities we explored when an assassin planted something up his …er.. ass to blow up the Deputy something Minister of Saudi Arabia, but his plans blew up on his own face/ass. Here’s the link for those who wish to refresh themselves.

https://nourishncherish.wordpress.com/2009/10/07/what-next/

I remember feeling biffed at the time because I had recently lost a carefully nurtured bindi collection that had gems from when I was a teenager to airport security all for having a small bottle of Milk of Magnesia with me in the same bag. I remember thinking that Milk of Magnesia is the thing to give the troops and travellers alike to avoid these conflicts of security. I mean what better check than clearing the contents of the bowels before take-off?

The new airport guidelines, I hear, announce clearly and loudly that a passenger is being taken for a pat down. Let’s move the scene to a Doctor’s office now for your convenience: Lots of people go to Doctors offices. When you notice folks sitting in the lobbies of these offices, you’ll notice a certain decorum they like to maintain. Rarely have I seen folks hitting it off and sounding positive seeing one another there. Most look resolutely into the magazines they are holding, or check sometimes non-existent messages on their phone. And there is a good reason for all that. They maybe there for anything and the last thing you want is for some prying Peter to ask, “So, will you be undressing in there today?” or “I hear you are being given a touchdown.”  or “Top down or bottoms up?”

But at airports, it is different. Man becomes quite the social animal there. He hollers at long lost friends and vague acquaintances – anything to pass time on or before the flight. Will the new guidelines dampen that? I am afraid so. I mean, there you are with Cheeky Chelsea and she taunts, “So, what’s up today?” Suddenly, the innocuous questions takes on sinister connotations. Did she know that the agent concentrated on the top part of your body during the full body scan?

Or Droopy Delphi who is mopping around as usual and you ask, “You look down. Are you coming down with something?” only to find Delphi is now teary eyed and calling you mean. Poor Droopy Delphi was given the bottoms-up version and is still moping about it. But you don’t know that. You just ask a civil question.

Yet, this basic thing seems to be lacking in the new announce-and-jingle-bells before carting your passenger off. Pat if you must. I mean if it makes you feel safer by just touching folks, go for it, but do it discreetly. Say, “Please step into this line.” and go about your patting. Why embarrass the blighters thus? The alternative is to go through a full body x-ray machine. A tough choice for travellers.

The problem with all of this is humans are not infallible. There is the scope for the tired authority figure missing something during the pat down or the x-ray scan. Then what would the aftermath be?