The Last Day

The day had come for the legendary Dr. George Matthew. At 66, he believed – rightfully so – that he was more energetic than most of the doctors a few decades younger than him working at the Kriplani Memorial Hospital (he didn’t even bother comparing himself with doctors above 50). But for the early signs of Parkinson’s that had started showing up a few months back and had begun to interfere with his ‘daily duties’, as he used to call them, there was nothing to stop him from continuing as the dean of KMH. The fact that no dean ever, in the history of KMH, had worked past the age of 63 was of course, beside the point. It was now decided by the management, in consultation with Dr. Matthew himself, that it was time for him to hang up his boots. Although he was hardly a person to either rest on his past laurels or to reminisce a bit too much about the past, Dr. Matthew found himself lost in a reverie that misty January morning…

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Some people believe that what they become has a lot to do with what they were born with. Mandeep Kaur belonged to the other lot – the people who believe in breaking free from their contextual inertia and pursuing their dreams. Growing up as an ambitious girl in semi-urban India had never been easy, even if liberalization was only a few years away. Mandeep was born to Gurbaksh Singh and his wife Renu in a village called Lalru, which is about thirty kilometers from the bustling city of Chandigarh. Ever since her birth, she had never been out of the state of Punjab (of which Chandigarh was the capital city) on more than two occasions – once to the grand old city of Delhi and once to Shimla, that quintessential holiday hangout for anyone living within 200 km to its south-west. Aged 14, and being right on top of her class in almost all the courses, she was gearing up for the ‘all-important’ matriculation exams that were a year and a half away. Her favorite subject, by far, was Science. She was fascinated by the curious coincidences that make life possible on earth, by the supremely efficient laboratory called the human body, the mathematically precise and graceful laws of physics, and to think that everything boiled down to those atoms and molecules that aren’t even visible to the naked eye…what a wonder!

However, being a bright student did not discharge her from her domestic obligations. Gurbaksh Singh had joined his father Inderpal at the tender age of 10 on the wheat farms on which he toiled day after day. Inderpal, when still wet behind the years, was already inducted into the practice of farming by his father Jatinder, and so it went all the way. For the Singhs, wheat farming was a way of life. Gurbaksh and his only brother Gurcharan had inherited a total of 80 hectares (about 200 acres) of farm-land from their father which they had split equally between them. Some of Gurbaksh’s relatives had not exactly been ecstatic when Gurbaksh’s first-born turned out to be a baby girl. Gurbaksh however, showed no such discrimination – he expected Mandeep to work just as hard on the farms as a boy of her age. To be fair, Gurbaksh and Renu had taken good care of Mandeep all these years. There were proud of her academic achievements, and felt truly blessed to have such a child. They didn’t even raise any objection when she had once announced that she intended to continue studying and join a college when the time came…

Punjab was among the states that benefitted greatly due to the advancements in technology related to agriculture. Located on the Indo-Gangetic plain, blessed with a naturally fertile soil and an invigorating climate, Punjab was among the leaders in the favorite Indian occupation of agriculture. However, for centuries, farmers were often at the mercy of Nature. Moreover, the farming practices were far from efficient – partly due to lack of awareness and partly due to unavailability of alternatives. Twentieth century science changed all that. From a point in time when drought was a serious national threat, India moved on to become one of the leading exporters of crops like wheat and rice. Mandeep had witnessed the changes brought about by advancements in Science literally in her own backyard. A task that would take hours to complete could now be done in a matter of a few tens of minutes. What used to be the output of a year would be less than the output of a couple of months now. The Singhs had now reached a point wherein they didn’t have to worry about their coffers being empty come a rainy day. Gurbaksh, despite not being ‘educated’ in the traditional sense, had a keen eye for innovative techniques related to farming and was always among the first to adopt the latest tools and equipment. The farm-size of the Singhs being fairly large, the use of machines was inevitable anyway.

One such machine was the thresher. A thresher does the job of separating grains from their husks. There was a time when this separation had to be done manually with flails, an exercise which was not only time consuming but also extremely laborious. The thresher, which ran on diesel or kerosene, does the job with remarkable speed and efficacy. Gurbaksh usually ran the thresher in the evenings before packing it in a jute bag to be taken to the Lalru grain market the next day for sale. However, one windy evening, Gurbaksh hadn’t returned even two hours later than his usual time. Seeing that it was getting dark, Renu asked Mandeep to do the threshing. Mandeep, only just returning from school, with a text book in one hand ran towards the thresher, with the winds blowing her long hair in all directions. After loading the thresher, she turned it on. The characteristic hum of the thresher was only too familiar to her, often symbolizing the continuum of their existence. She was about to turn away when the text book in her hand fell on the ground beside the thresher. As she bowed low to pick her book up, she found several of her hairs caught in the thresher and before even she could feel its pain, nearly a third of her facial skin and scalp were among the de-husked grains lying on the other side of the thresher, having been spat out of the machine that didn’t seem to particularly notice what had just happened. Gurbaksh had just arrived home when he and Renu heard the piercing shriek that came from the middle of field. The screaming did not stop even after Gurbaksh and Renu reached the thresher which was by now painted in the color of human blood. Their dear child Mandeep was lying next to the thresher with her face, or whatever was left of it, completely covered with blood.

It took them an hour to reach Kriplani Memorial Hospital, by which time Mandeep was unconscious with pain. The hospital staff was horrified to see this macabre sight of a hapless father carrying his daughter on his shoulder with a mass of flesh in place of her face and the visibly distraught mother who was carrying the scalp and a part of her face in a plastic bag…

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Microsurgery, as the name suggests, is a surgical procedure that requires the use of a microscope, for it mainly involves operating at the tissue level. The reasons it has gained special attention over the last two decades are its ability to cut across different disciplines in medical science, as well as its near-magical ability to mend parts of the body that are mutilated to the point of being almost unrecognizable. What were ‘hopeless cases’ earlier could now be run-of-the-mill. However, because it was a new field, there weren’t many practitioners baring a handful. One such doctor who was fast rising to prominence in the medical fraternity was 44-year old Dr. George Matthew. Already being touted as the next big guy in KMH, he was singlehandedly responsible to build the Microsurgery department at KMH, starting from scratch some 5 years back. Most cases revolved around mending a damaged organ. However, Mandeep’s case was vastly different. Dr. Matthew had to ‘replant’ (a terminology that became common much later) her face – he had to build back her face with whatever fragments were available. It was going to be a complicated experiment without much certainty about its result. The Singhs had an option of not going ahead with the operation, if they wished so. While the chances of success were minimal (simply because such a thing had never been done in the annals of Indian medical history), the Singhs decided that the best shot that they had was to ask Dr. Matthew to carry on with what was an experiment – albeit a very special one!

Inside the operation theatre, Dr. Matthew couldn’t help notice, amidst Mandeep’s mangled face, that she would’ve been a pretty girl – her two ‘beauty spots’(one on the center of her chin and one just below the corner of her lip on the right side) bearing testimony to her erstwhile good looks. He hoped, knowing full well that it was a daunting task, that he could restore her face back to its original form.

Drawing from his vast reserves of knowledge and experience, and unending help from his assistant doctors, Dr. Matthews finally ungloved himself a full seven hours after Mandeep had been admitted into the operation theatre. The operation involved the ‘summing up’ of whatever he had learnt about microsurgery through his career and implementing it practically (which had been the trickiest aspect of the operation – the army of cutting-edge equipments not withstanding). However, the job was only half done. The next step was to watch out if the suturing had indeed been successful. Dr. Matthew was fairly confident that the facial skin and scalp were well integrated with the muscles; however, Mandeep’s face had to be wrapped for a period of 3 full days, only after which some judgment could be made regarding the success of the surgery. Gurbaksh and Renu nearly didn’t sleep for those three days. Dr. Matthew too, was very anxious about the result – not because his reputation was at stake, but because the success of this operation could open new doors for microsurgical procedures in the future.

After the 3-day ordeal was over, Dr. Matthew set about the task of uncovering the result of his meticulous experiment. There was a palpable nervous tension in the hospital ward, contributed not to a little extent by Renu’s continuous chanting, invoking the august members of the Pantheon for blessings. On opening up of the plaster, Renu and Gurbaksh couldn’t believe their eyes. Admittedly, her face wasn’t like the original – there were clearly some traces of the surgery, particularly on the fringes of the face. But the unmistakable glint in her eye and the dimples on her cheeks when she smiled and said “Don’t worry Mom, I’m alright”, convinced the Singhs, beyond doubt, that Dr. Matthew had been victorious. Gurbaksh did not waste any time in hugging Dr. Matthew, who had been standing right next to Mandeep, and expressing his immense gratitude towards him. Dr. Matthew explained that except for the inch-long scar on her left temple, all other scars would be gone in a matter of a few weeks by applying the prescribed medications. While Dr. Matthew’s demeanor suggested that it had been just another surgery, the fact was that he had created history, soon to be written about extensively in newspapers and medical journals.

“Alas”, thought Dr. Matthew, twenty two years later, “If I have been able to see so far, it’s only because I have been standing on the shoulder of giants”, recounting Issac Newton’s wise words. At that instant, a gentle knock on the door broke his reverie. He was expecting the new Head of the Microsurgery Department, an illustrious import from the Government hospital, to come and meet him as he was the outgoing H.o.D., Microsurgery. It is difficult to say what Dr. Matthew noticed first – the two tiny moles on the doctor’s chin, the dimples accompanying the wide grin on her face or an inch-long scar on her left temple….

The Godfather Trail

Firstly, i offer my most sincere apologies for going to a place like Sicily with a weak camera battery...the place really deserves a few gigabytes. Now i get straight to the subject which i'm a big fan of -- The Godfather: the book, the film, the actors, the director...hell, even the location!!!

I had specifically kept aside some time for Sicily during my Italy trip. Being an island (the largest
one in Mediterranean) off mainland Italy, not many folks make it a point to go to Sicily. After all, "can it match the magic of Rome or the seductive beauty of Venice?" is the general argument that people tend to offer. Big mistake. Sicily is definitely something that should be on the serious traveler's itinerary and it has a lot to offer-- be it the historically drenched Syracuse or the chaotic but ultimately lovable Palermo.

When i left Rome at about 8 in the evening, Palermo-bound, the idea of 'the trail' suddenly hit me. When i crossed the strait of Messina (in the wee hours of the next morning) to arrive in Sicily, i finally made up my mind to take an excursion to the (very) lesser-explored, totally untouristy locales where Coppola chose to shoot some parts of the Godfather parts 1 ans 2 (parts of part 3 was shot in Palermo, the capital city of Sicily -- more on that later).

So instead of going straight to Palermo (as i had decided earlier), i abruptly got down at Messina Centrale station (Messina, by the way, was the place where i had the cheapest Pizza during my entire European sojourn -- EUR 1.20 for quite a mouthful), and took a train to Taormina, the place that is most often quoted as the location for shooting the 'Sicilian part' for the Godfather 1 (yep, Corleone was not the place where the actual shooting happened. Coppola probably thought Corleone was a busier place than the movie required). The reason why i said 'most quoted' is because after Taormina, one must resign oneself to Fate's good humor to reach Savoca (pronounced Savoga...long 'a', short 'o' and the curious 'g' as in 'gate'). So if you were to tell an enthusiast about how to go to Godfather-land, then you'd rather tell her/him to go to Taormina and ask her/him to find her/his way after that ;)
Anyway, when i reached Taormina, here's what awaited me (apart from a highly animated conversation with a non English speaking -- like almost everyone else in Italy --Railway policewoman)

The sea was so close that it almost felt as if the train was parked right on the beach. By the way this is another great thing about the train journey from Messina to Palermo -- vast, unending sea on one side and steep mountains on the other, with the train running in-between them.

So i thought 'wow' and decided to go to (what was going to prove elusive) Savoca. It was 07:30 and when i went outside the train station, i realized that the bus that would take me to somewhere near Savoca had left five minutes back, and the bus before that had left at 07:20. So i thought 'fine...so the next bus should be around the corner' before realizing a hard fact -- the next bus was at 10:30 (welcome to Sicily!). While spending 3 hours at this beautiful beach shouldn't have been a problem in the presence of a company (strictly a member of the gentler sex), spending those 180 minutes all alone wasn't exactly the best thing to do when on a vacation.

After having eaten a hastily-made but tasty cream roll, i took the train (not without waiting for an hour) to Santa Teresa, inching closer to Savoca. In Santa Teresa:









From Santa Teresa, theoretically there are buses at 09:30 and 10:30 to go to Savoca. A note on Savoca first. Savoca is the place where Michael Corleone (Al Pacino) spends his time in exile...in other words, this is the place where he gets 'hit by a thunderbolt' ;)
All Godfather fans might remember the scene where Michael asks for Appolonia's hand to her father after a rather embarrassing faux pas. The scene was shot in Bar Vitelli (in Savoca). Interestingly, Bar Vitelli (along with the chair where Pacino sat, or so they claim!) exists even today. With all these thoughts in mind, i waited and waited. And waited. Then waited some more. But what about the bus timings that i saw on the bus stop? -- who says buses have to arrive as per the time table, huh? :)
There was a friendly butcher there who assured me, holding my arm (which, i feared would smell of the stuff that he deals with; quite rudely, i sniffed my sweater in front of him to check for 'traces'...fortunately, there were none, and thankfully the guy didn't seem offended) in a big-brotherly way, that the bus WILL come. I waited some more, this time with some Sicilian hopefulness. No luck. Finally, just to kill time, i asked an old man (defintely older than 70) whether any buses really do go in Savoca's direction. The man must've surely been a dynamite in his hey day -- boldly he walked past the street (with cars on them!) and started running behind a bus that was just starting to go in the opposite direction. While i feared for his life (given the way he was running), this dude simply ran past the bus, and stood straight in front of it,asking the driver to halt (i swear this is true), with the confidence that might make a Mafia don proud of him. He asked the driver about the bus timings for buses that go towards Savoca. The driver mumbled something in Italian, and our dude told me that one cannot be sure whether the bus would come or not!!!!

Brokenhearted, i took pictures of the hill behind which Savoca is located.

The red circle marks Savoca. The yellow circle marks Forza D' Agro. This is the place where parts of The Godfather II was shot -- those parts dealing with Vito Corleone's childhood. Forza D' Agro is an extremely beautiful place -- i saw pictures of it on the premises of something like a Municipality office near the bus stop where this picture was taken. I so much wanted to tell those town authorities to think about how they want tourists to visit these picturesque, but virtually inaccessible (unless you have a car or are prepared to do the long-winding hike on foot -- i had to go to Palermo at least till noon, and hence i decided to chuck the idea of an 'on foot' journey) locales.

Finally, i took a train from Santa Teresa and went to (via Messina) Palermo. Palermo is to be seen to be believed. It offers some interesting observations that you'd rarely find in Western Europe. The road-traffic situation is utterly chaotic and if you're planning to drive on the badly-maintained roads, you'd want to give some 'goodbye' messages to your loved ones. I also suggest remember the great and happy moments in your life, so that you have a pleasant 'departure' ;)

Some of the buildings are so dilapidated, that you might feel afraid to breathe in their vicinity, for the fear of them collapsing. Of course, you won't find such buildings near the main roads or the railway station or other popular areas. To find these 'ruins' (which interestingly, are still inhabited by people -- i verified it), you really have to go into the gullies of Palermo, well beyond the famous fruit market place. This fruit market place gives an impression of being straight out of Arabian Nights. Indeed, Palermo has traces of Roman, Normanic, Byzantine and Arab architecture all rolled into one, owing to its extremely interesting history. Some of the buildings in Palermo are truly dazzling and the city is definitely worth a visit. In the evening, i visited the famous opera house called Teatro Messimo, where the famous scene of Michael Corleone breaking down because of his daughter being shot, in the Godfather III was shot.

I had to catch a train back to Rome at 18:30 from Palermo railway station and I decided to take a bus to reach the train station. Like i always do, i had noted the relevant bus numbers from the tourist info. I approached a nearby bus stop and saw the relevant bus number on the board, and i just stood there. Just to be doubly sure, i asked a guy whether that bus would indeed come there (i was still reeling under the Savoca-effect you see). The guy coolly replied "it doesn't have any meaning". I thought he was saying this because he might be frustrated with something that would have happened to him that day. So i repeated "I want to go to the railway station. I know bus number 1 goes there. It is written here that bus 1 stops here." (Don't ask me why did i ask him about it if i thought it was that clear -- i told you, i was low on confidence) He replied back "I'm telling you, it has no meaning. I suggest you go and stand there", pointing to a crowded area. I simply obeyed him, and voila! In comes a bus in less than a minute of me standing in the 'crowded area'....with a smile on my lips, and a ticket in my hand, i boarded the bus and left for Palermo railway station....

Deutsche Drama

What stops me (and the other guys from K) from going to Germany for our student exchange stint as planned?

• We gave the Visa interview on the 16th of July, 2009 at the Chennai consulate, after which our applications were forwarded to Germany
• As per the German immigration authorities, if the folks at Chennai don't receive any intimation from them within 3 weeks, then it is as good as a green signal
• Replace that '3 weeks' with '8 weeks' and you have with you the Chennai consulate's version! Meaning, we won't get our Visas before September 16th (which is just too late....remember, we were supposed to get moving by the 29th of August?) 
• If we are to get a Visa before those '8 weeks', then a 'special permission' is required from the German immigartion authorities, say the chaps (i so much wanted to use a Hindi expletive here for alliteration!) in Chennai
• Bull****, say the Germans. 'This is not a part of the protocol', say those algorithm-loving folks.

So there you are......as time progresses, we're getting bigger and bigger people involved in this to thrash out a 'quick-fix' solution...so what'll happen at the end? Only time will tell....

Thanks,

Dinesh

Cogito ergo sum

I woke up early on Christmas morning and couldn’t believe my eyes. I didn’t see any soldiers on the roads; no tanks and guns, no sound of bombings. After 5 long years would I have a real Christmas. I wondered. Yes it was 5 years ago that it all started, when my world came crumbling around me…….
Historically speaking, Kashmir has never been peaceful since independence. Over the years it has gained a reputation of being a terrorist-infested region where people from other parts of my motherland would think twice before venturing into. And yet we never felt threatened or frustrated about our lives. That’s the beauty of us, Kashmiris. We live in such complete harmony that the outside world won’t believe if I said that the place where I lived was, in my eyes, was one of the most peaceful places to live in!
Ours was one of the very few Christian families living in the tiny town of Drass, which is a part of Kargil district. Kargil was one of the districts of Ladakh Wazarat Province before the Partition of Ladakh in 1947. The other two districts of Ladakh Wazarat were Skardo Baltistan and Leh Central Ladakh. Today, Kargil is one of the districts of Ladakh region in the Indian state of Jammu and Kashmir. Kargil lies on the line of control facing Pakistan Controlled Kashmir's region of Baltistan. Zanskar is part of Kargil district along with Suru, Wakha and Drass valleys. Despite our drastic minority (in terms of religion), we never once felt out of place.
My father, Jebez Fernandez, used to travel daily up to the Zojila pass (which falls on the national highway connecting Leh and Srinagar) to sell dry-fruits and home-made wines. My mother, Sheila was a teacher at the local girls’ school, in which I had completed my schooling—a rather proud feat at that time, considering the dismal literacy rate among Kashmiri girls. Dad used to tell me that I inherited my self-respect and sense of independence from my mom. I had always wanted to become a writer—I’ve always felt that Kashmir (or the whole of India, for that matter) is a hotbed for so many stories untold….
But at that point in time, I was less interested in my prospects as a writer and more interested in expressing my feeling to Pervez, for I was sure of one thing—he was too shy to admit his feelings; so if one of us had to take the initiative, I had to be the one. As a result, I did not find it amoral to take a swig of wine from the innumerable vats that were stored in the attic. I don’t remember how much I had drunk. I was tasting it for the first time, and honestly, I hated it. But I thought (rather hoped) that it would give me enough courage coupled with some innocent shamelessness with which I was planning to surprise Pervez.
One of the main reasons why Kargil was specifically targeted for incursions was its terrain lent itself to a pre-emptive seizure. With tactically vital features and well-prepared defensive posts atop the peaks, it provided an ideal high ground for a defender akin to a fortress. Any attack to dislodge the enemy and reclaim high ground in a mountain warfare would require a far higher ratio of attackers to defenders, which is further exacerbated by the high altitude and freezing temperatures. All these worldly affairs didn’t seem to me as I was determined to meet Pervez at our regular place and was walking at a brisk pace (despite my rather inebriated state).
And then it happened. The first and last thing that registered in my mind was a heavy object hitting the back of my head, known as the medulla oblongata-I had learnt in a science class. It was all over in a flash.

I was not sure how long I slept (they say I was in coma for a period of 5 years). I also know now, that I was hit by the bomb hurled by cross-border militants and that it was the beginning of what we now know as the Kargil war.
When I opened my eyes at the hospital bed, there was darkness everywhere-hence I couldn’t see any soldiers outside. I couldn’t hear bombings because I cannot hear anything now. They say my sensory organs got irreversibly damaged in the blast and that I can never see or hear again. But I have reason to celebrate—I have become conscious again for the first time in more than 5 years. Isn’t it wonderful?

The Genesis of Terror

Three busloads of anxious scientists were supposed to leave at 5 p.m. and travel south, about 100 miles south of Albuquerque (the largest town in New Mexico). Everything was going as per schedule and Richard (one of the anxious scientists) was really excited about the whole affair. In fact, who wasn’t?
They eventually reached their vantage point-a ridge overlooking a great bowl of desert, in the middle of which was installed the gadget that was supposed to be tested for the first time in the history of humankind. They were stationed about 20 miles from the gadget and were waiting for the clock to strike 4 next morning, for 4 a.m. was the time when the gadget was supposed to be unleashed. Meanwhile, Richard was feasting on roast chicken, lemonade and chocolate, which were arranged by his boss’s wife.
They had two radios-one like a police radio to listen to and talk into a ground station and one was to listen to reports from a plane that was hovering above the entire area, which gave detailed reports about the various measurements, how the terrain looked from top, etc. Richard’s radio (the airplane one) wasn’t working and he tried all possible things with the radio, but it just wouldn’t work. He rechecked the transmitting frequency of the plane with some fellow scientists but he just couldn’t hear anything. All he could hear was a San Francisco station playing some music near the frequency band of the plane. He guessed that probably it was an image frequency problem, but he didn’t know what to do about it. There were a few electronic engineers in their entourage as well and he thought the best thing to do would be to ask for some help from those guys. An electronics whiz readily agreed to this proposal and came to Richard’s rescue, anticipating an interesting, if not difficult problem. He was however, disappointed to find out the cause of the ‘problem’. Richard was not able to hear anything from the radio simply because the guys in the plane weren’t transmitting any messages! As soon as the electronics chap walked by, they got a message “Due to interference by the weather, the experiment has been delayed. The shot will be at 5.30, it is now minus thirty minutes”.
Everyone set their watches and crowded around the radio. “Minus 10 minutes”. “Minus 3 minutes”. The scientists began to scatter across the hill so that they wouldn’t be in anyone’s way. They took their dark glasses out and were getting ready for ‘the’ moment. Some even put on sun tan oil. Such a crazy bunch of optimists, thought Richard. Richard himself did not wear any glasses, for he wanted a ‘full-on, solid experience’. “Would everything go right?” Richard asked himself. And then it happened.
Richard was blinded by a terrific silver white flash-he just had to look away. Wherever he looked, an enormous purple splotch appeared-it was as bright when he closed his eyes. “That”, said his scientific brain to his befuddled one, “is an after-image caused by looking at a bright light-it is not the bomb you are looking at.” So he looked back at the bomb again. The sky looked like a vast yellow umbrella-the earth appeared white. The sky was gradually turning a sinister orange. In the sky, Richard saw white clouds formed just above the gadget caused by the sudden expansion due to the blast. The expansion cools the air and fog-clouds form- Richard had anticipated this. This cloud started to rise, leaving a trail of smoke below. The whole picture resembled a giant mushroom. The great ball of smoke and fire formed extended for more than three miles across.
Soon the orange started to die down and was now replaced by a deep purple, massive envelope. Richard had never witnessed such a grand jamboree of colors before.
The purple envelope was formed due to the ionized air caused by the extreme heat-this was Richard’s educated guess.
Then suddenly there was a sharp, loud clap followed by a resounding thunder which shook the insides of the scientists. “What was that?” cried an obviously nervous scientist. “That is the thing” yelled Richard. How could they forget that sound travels much slower than light, thought Richard. What they had seen so far was just a silent picture- the soundtrack for which was one minute and forty seconds late! At that moment, Richard knew that their experiment was a success. The generally phlegmatic scientists were jumping with joy, for they knew that they were a part of history now.
Later pictures and observations showed that an area almost one mile in diameter was covered by a green glasslike glaze formed by the melting sand at the surface. It was a visual spectacle-large, bright green elliptic mass surrounded by the vast, brown desert around. The whole affair was witnessed by three states- over two hundred miles in all directions.
However, this was not the only time that the ‘gadget’ was used. About twenty days after the incident, the ‘gadget’ was used for the actual purpose that it had been built -the annihilation of Hiroshima and Nagasaki….



Writer’s note: The above article describes the first ever atomic bomb that was detonated in the New Mexico desert on July 16, 1945. The scientist ‘Richard’ was none other than the great physicist Richard Feynman, one of the key persons involved in the development of the atomic bomb. This article owes itself to a letter written by Richard Feynman to Lucille Feynman (his mother) dated August 9, 1945 wherein he describes his experience while witnessing the first atomic explosion to his mom. It is a pity and a matter of great shame that such dangerous weapon was employed against the Japanese. The people in Japan are still facing the repercussions of such an evil act. The dropping of atom bombs on Japan probably stands out in history as one of the most despicable mass-murders ever committed (the genocide of Jews by Hitler, the Kurds’ massacre by Saddam Hussein , our own Jallianwala baug episode being some of the other such unpardonable acts).

Gold Rush

Anuj was more than excited about the weekend that lay ahead. It had been quite a while since he and his good ol’ buddies had had such a get-together. He just couldn’t stop thinking about it. Hours and hours of yapping…discussing private lives, sob stories, triumphs, electronic gadgets, automobiles(which are way beyond their reach), films, sports, politics, celebrity scandals and of course, women….And finally all those stories getting dissolved in barrels of booze….and with Pink Floyd to top it up, who needs LSD?

These were the thoughts that prevented Anuj from concentrating on his work that Friday afternoon. But because of the Friday bonhomie (which is so very common in workplaces that remain non functional on Saturdays and Sundays), his boss didn’t pay any particular attention to his demeanor.

Finally the day was coming to an end and the smile on Anuj’s lips was only growing wider. For any such party, one had to make arrangements for the single most important input: Money, the Universal God. Money, according to Anuj, was of prime importance in this world. With these thoughts, he headed for the nearest ATM to get some fast-cash for the weekend.

‘About nine hundred bucks should be enough…..no, no, that’s too much…seven hundred is more like it’, contemplated Anuj. He swiped in his card and punched in the four-digit PIN mechanically. ‘Enter the amount you want to withdraw’, flashed the machine, after validating his card and ascertaining his account type. ‘700.00’, typed Anuj. ‘Do you want a printed record of the transaction?’.’ No’ (what the hell am I going to do with it..). ‘Don’t forget to collect your cash’. (Yeah rite…I was planning to leave those seven hundred for the poor chap who’ll come in next…….)

At first, Anuj couldn’t believe his eyes. He had a hard, long look at the stack that was rite in front of him. A cool One Thousand One Hundred Indian Rupees! He felt confident that he had typed in the right amount. He immediately regretted that he hadn’t chosen the option of the ‘printed record of transaction’. He decided to try it out one more time. This time he punched in the amount as Rs. 100/- and also selected the option for the ‘printed record of transaction’ as an assertive ‘Yes’.

Anuj was beginning to get really worked up. The record showed a withdrawal of Rs. 100/- but he saw Gandhi smiling back at him through the Five Hundred note, reassuring him that indeed he had hit the jackpot. Being naturally inquisitive, he decided to give it a shot again. This time decided to go for Rs. 500/-. What he got back was a paltry sum of hundred rupees! The record, however, showed Rs. 500/- as the transaction amount! He thought for a while, and then it struck him. The machine was interchanging five-hundred rupee notes with hundred-rupee ones!

He thought about the situation for a good two minutes. Then, fearing that the guard might get suspicious, Anuj briskly walked out of the ATM kiosk. When he was clearly out of the guard’s vision, he analyzed the whole situation calmly. Finally he made up his mind and arrived at a conclusion (which, according to him, was the best course of action).
He took out his cellular phone from his pocket and dialed his best friend (or so he claimed) Karan’s number. After explaining the whole scene and his future course of action, he waited for Karan’s response.
Karan, equally excited by now, asked “Are you sure we should do it? I mean …”
“Yes I’m sure. There’s no looking back”, interrupted Anuj. “ Don’t forget to get your ATM card with you Anuj. How much do you have in your account?”
“Hmm…”
“Oh come on Karan, this is not the time to maintain secrecy”
“Twenty Nine Thousand Four Hundred Something”
“Ohh….see, I always used to emphasize the importance of saving. How good would it have been if you could have saved more! Anyways, I’m in no mood for sermons. Please come as soon as you can. If we use our brains, we can extract maximum out of that goddamn machine. This is the time to act, Karan‼”
“Yes, I understand. I’ll be there in no time.”
“And please don’t forget to get a couple of big bags”
“Alright. Buh-bye and all the best”

Once they began their 'task' under the speculative eye of the guard, the whole thing got over in a matter of nine minutes--both of them beaming with pride of the mathematical finesse they had displayed. They'd cleaned up a sum of One Lakh Eighty Four Thousand before the machine said "No more cash available." With three bags full of cash, Anuj sped away in his car, managing to convince Karan that it was best for him to 'hang around' in his house!




Within ten minutes, Anuj had reached their destination. The sleepy eyed policeman just couldn’t believe the story. Anuj had to repeat it a couple of times to get the whole episode across. “Yes sir, it’s true. That’s why we withdrew as much money as we could so that we could avoid misuse of the machine.”
The cop was delighted. “Oh great! Thanks for the prompt action, lad. We need guys like you! Prabhakar, call those folks from the bank and tell them abou........"

The Last Resort

“I love you”, shouted a woman.
“Kill her”, said another voice.
“Bravo”, exclaimed another lady in the crowd.
“Long live the law” and many other such slogans boomed through the hot May air in Mumbai (then Bombay)….

As Shyam was making his way through the over-indulgent crowd, his mind was flooded with a torrent of emotions, both positive and negative. He couldn’t make sense of most of what was happening around him. He wasn’t aware of what people were thinking of him at that point of time (in fact, people’s opinion about him was the last thing on his mind ). But he vividly remembered each of the incidents, some five months back, which led to this very occasion ….

It was a cold December night. December evenings in Mumbai are great; the cool air soothes the day’s stress after all the hard work. The feeling of returning to your family on a Friday evening after work is rather difficult to articulate in words. Shyam Karnik was an accountant in an auditing firm in Nariman Point, and was very happy with his work. He was one of those people who might not have very big ambitions or plans in life, but go about doing their duty or 'karma' in everyday life and are more than satisfied. With the salary that he drew, he was sure of keeping his family well-fed and happy. Shyam had been married for about a year then; his family consisted of himself and his wife Preeti, who had seemed to prove ‘lucky’ for Shyam, as he loved to claim; he used to brag about her to his friends , ”My life turned 360 degrees after I married Preeti; I’ve never been so happy”. He was returning from work a couple of hours earlier than usual, thanks to a sudden rush of kindness from his boss. With a happy song on his lips, Shyam made his way back to his home as fast he could, thinking about the potentially wonderful weekend that lay ahead…

It seemed a bit unusual to Shyam that Preeti opened the door almost instantly after Shyam rang the bell (he was accustomed to Preeti taking a good minute or two before opening the door). What seemed more unusual was that Preeti’s smile appeared and disappeared before even he could say “Love you, honey”. When he explained the reason for him coming so early, she did not seem particularly pleased. Shyam could see that something was troubling her. When he asked her if he could do anything, all that she replied was “I’ve to go to the market and get some vegetables” and she was gone.
When she came back, after about half an hour, Shyam realized that the vegetables that Preeti had bought had a peculiar property: they were invisible!! But Mohammad Rafi’s ultra-smooth voice over the radio kept him from worrying about trivialities like his wife’s whereabouts. Unsuspecting by nature, he did not ask his wife questions that would have made her uncomfortable. However, he did keep this incident filed away in his mind….

This ‘unusual’ incident was then followed by a series of incidents where Preeti seemed strangely anxious and nervous. But the one thing that struck Shyam as genuinely alarming was the wrist-watch episode. One fine day when Shyam came home and was met by the cursory ‘good evening’ from his wife , he couldn’t help notice a Rolex watch lying beside his bed, on the floor. When he asked Preeti about it, all that she could come up with was “I found it on our stairway; it looked so beautiful that I decided to bring it home and give it to you”. What Shyam could not understand was that if she really wanted to give it to him, why would she place it on the floor of their bedroom. He had already given up the illusion that Preeti loved him as much as he loved her; her behaviour over the last few weeks had made it clear. He now started doubting the worst: that Preeti was having an affair with someone else. Due to fear of ridicule, he decided to keep tabs on his wife himself, rather than hiring private detectives. After applying for a ‘sick’ leave (without informing his wife, of course) he decided to watch all his wife’s actions. While Preeti was under the impression that Shyam had left for office, Shyam was hiding in the neighborhood, looking for that clinching evidence…..

It was 3 o clock in the noon and Shyam had almost absolved her of all his doubts when a man, who looked to be in his early forties, well-dressed and smart entered their house. Shyam could not believe his eyes; but he decided to play it cool and tackle the problem, step-by-step. What followed was the most brain-shattering, restless ninety minutes of Shyam’s life. As soon as the man left their house, Shyam immediately ran back to his house and rang the doorbell. Once again, Preeti opened the door with an expression filled with illicit mischief and exclaimed “I knew you w…” and stopped in her tracks….her physical condition left Shyam in no doubt as to what would have happened in their house during the last ninety minutes.

Shyam then explained, that he was waiting in the neighborhood and that he knew everything. He asked her to come clean with her confession, as there was no point lying to him now. Preeti then went on to narrate how she had met Vivek Bansal at a supermarket one evening and how he had impressed her with not only his personality, but also his speech. He was a successful businessman in the upper echelons of Bombay and was a man who knew the ways of the world. Then she said something that no self respecting husband would like to hear. She told Shyam that despite being a good husband, she did not love him and that she had found that love which she was looking for in Vivek.

Shyam, the good Samaritan that he was, decided, on hearing all this, to talk directly to Vivek Bansal and settle the matter. He approached Vivek one fine morning in Vivek’s plush, South Bombay office. Shyam identified himself as Preeti’s unfortunate husband and made Vivek an offer: if Vivek would marry Preeti and redeem her ‘honour’, he would forget all bitterness and recede away from their life, after divorcing Preeti. On hearing this, Vivek coolly replied, “If I have to marry Preeti just because I slept with her, I would have to marry a hundred other women!!! Get lost and don’t disturb me again” This set off a wave of rage in Shyam; a kind of rage that Shyam didn’t know he was capable of. He thought to himself, “Tonight I’m going to set things right”

The same night, he went up to Vivek’s apartment, with all his thoughts clear and concise. As soon as Vivek’s servant opened the door, without warning, Shyam pumped 6 rounds of bullets from the .38 caliber Colt that he had procured from a local goon, straight into Vivek’s body. Vivek was declared dead by the doctors even before he was admitted to the hospital. Vivek’s relatives summoned one of the best lawyers in town. To the lawyers, it was an open and shut case. Highly incriminating evidence, over half a dozen witnesses and plus the cold-blooded nature of the murder would have been enough to keep Shyam in the dungeons for a decade, at least.

However, the case took a topsy-turvy turn when it reached the courts. When Preeti testified, in front of the jury, it became clear to everyone that Shyam had murdered Vivek only after Vivek refused to marry her; there were at least three witnesses to the conversation that had taken place between Vivek and Shyam. There were also testimonies from other people who gave Shyam a ‘good character’ certificate. He was established, beyond reasonable doubt, as a man of principles. The courtroom was packed and people were anxious to hear the verdict of the jury…..

The jury delivered a stunning verdict, which made front-page news the next day. They had acquitted Shyam of the crime in a whopping 11:1 majority!! As he was being taken out of the court, the situation outside was chaotic. There were people cheering him on and shouting praises. But deep down, Shyam was scarred for life…….





Writer’s note : This was an incident which occurred in the late fifties and this case was one more reason why the jury system was abolished in India. The jury system had already began to draw a lot of flak and criticism for various technical reasons. Finally, the Government of India decided to do away with it and installed the Judge system. Whether it was for the better or for the worse is something which people are discussing even today.