VACCINATED!

VACCINATED!

I got myself vaccinated on the last day of the last financial year.

As vaccinations go, there was nothing special or extraordinary about the event itself. It came and went. I am told that a good third of the nation is well on the way to getting vaccinated even as I write this..

A few days back, during a routine consultation, my doctor had mildly castigated me for not getting it done earlier. So, when a school classmate suggested that I enquire with the neighbourhood hospital as he had heard that the crowds were less there, I called immediately, only to be told that they had exhausted their stocks of the vaccine. The lady who spoke to me took my number and promised to call me as soon as they received fresh stocks.

I was surprised when she called me back within an hour to inform me that fresh stocks had arrived and she was adding my name to the hit list. Yay! I was allotted token numbers eleven, twelve and thirteen for self, wife and mother respectively, and told that we should reach the hospital by 10 sharp the next morning.

I spent some time reading up on the subject and meditating afterwards. I reminded myself that we must eat well before leaving, wear our masks, and keep ourselves well hydrated.

We reached there at 10 sharp, as sharp as the needles they were going to use on us, smiling behind our masks. An elderly guard directed me to a shamiana covered enclosure nearby. It was a largish space with plastic chairs placed in rows. About half of them were occupied and there was a subdued hum of excitement in the atmosphere.

The place seemed full of senior citizens, of course because vaccination was open only for that age group. There were several couples among them, some milling around a counter, some sitting, busily filling up some kind of form. I noticed one gent who sat, looking up and counting something on the fingers of his hand. When he caught me looking at him, he smiled sheepishly and said “year of birth”. I quickly made my own calculations and stored them in separate slots numbered 11,12 and 13, in a corner of my mind.

A few persons were sitting with the blank forms in their hands, looking hopefully at others just walking in. I could guess what was going to come and quickly hid my pen in my trouser pocket. I went off to find forms to fill.

I sat in one of the plastic chairs and filled in the forms with alacrity. I was then directed by the guard to stand in a line, forms in one hand, Aadhaar cards in the other while the lady at the desk attended to each person, checking and cross-checking details and feeding them into an app in her phone.

This done, I was made to stand in another line, this time for another lady to verify that we were indeed who we said we were on our forms. After unmasking and photographing us for the app, we were sent into a room with curtained enclosures. Ah! Finally. I went into one enclosure where a uniformed nurse with somewhat stern eyes and sleeves rolled up was waiting. She made me pull down my shirt and stabbed me in my biceps with a needle.

"There!" she pronounced and pointed to a common seating area. "You are done. Now go and sit there for half an hour." She reminded me of 'Pachamma Ayah', the formidable nanny who carried my bag and drove me and other kids to school with a stick in her hand, back when I was too small to retaliate.

I went and sat there quietly, in a perforated steel chair without cushions or headrest with about twenty three other blank looking citizens while a formidable looking officer of the guard stood to one side with his arms folded and "observed" us all for half an hour. A coated gent, who was obviously some kind of certifying authority, called out our names a little too loudly, handed us our certificates of vaccination and let us go with a magnanimous wave of his hand.

By half past twelve we were back and by three I was back at work!

Afterwards, I heard some people say that I would experience some pain at the vaccination spot. I think this is a baseless rumour. I pass that spot every day on my way to work and I don’t experience any pain or anything any time.

There might have been a little bit of tiredness, wiredness and all that, but I think that is allowed in a senior citizen who is running around and feels for his countrymen undergoing such hardship and all.

So go and get yours!

~ © Shivaccinated Kumar

 

A TESTING TIME

A Testing Time

As we break into the new year and a time of renewed hopes, there are lots of things to look forward to, not the least of them being the wish that our cricketers carry their winning form into the third test a few days away.

The humiliating loss in Adelaide generated a feeling of despondency. Fans started moving around bent low and with masks covering their entire faces. For many, the Test series was finished. Khel khatam. Discussions were taking place in hushed whispers about the timing of Kohli's return to India. A small bunch of Australians, here in Bengaluru probably on some software assignment, were spotted treading warily on soft-soled sneakers, not wanting to ruffle the feathers of their Indian colleagues who were sulking over the Adelaide loss and waiting for the slightest opportunity to give back. Their usual bellowed greetings of "Howdy, mite" were muted and some even changed it to "Namaste, yaar". 

Then the Boxing Day Test happened. The low despair resulting from that first Test was wiped out in four days of inspired cricket. The tables were turned. India had bounced back! The despondency of Adelaide was solidly countered in Melbourne, bringing in new confidence.

And there is much talk now about the leadership qualities of Ajinkya Rahane. The understanding and morale boosting fist bump he gave Jadeja after being run out by that worthy allrounder seemed to say "don't worry about getting me run out, bhai, who knows, if you hadn't done it I might have gone on and on till the end of the fifth day". The little chat with the newcomer Siraj before he brought him on to bowl appeared to convey some closely guarded secret, because the debutant tightened his shoelaces, got his chin up and went on to rattle the Aussie batsmen. There was a seasoned captain's confidence about him as he rang in intelligent bowling changes and field placements and his calm demeanour throughout conveyed to everyone watching that he knew a thing or two about knowing a thing or two. It was a welcome change from the rather energetic display of the captain on leave. But then, I don't know how many people care for calm and quiet leadership these days.

All said and done, as we all know and I guess he too has been told, he is only a "stand-in" captain. Not a "dupe" like the one that Kohli might use while shooting for one of his ad films, but a kind of a two-eye-see holding things in place and keeping the engine ticking over till the supremo returns. And this is just one Test. One swallow does not a gulp make or something like that. Let him settle down and operate as captain in the next two Tests before we start singing more of his praises. And we must sing softly. Or Virat may hear. 

Meanwhile, there are reports that the newly appointed vice-captain Rohit Sharma and teammates Rishabh Pant, Shubman Gill, Navdeep Saini and Prithvi Shaw have all been told to isolate themselves after they were filmed seated indoors at a Chinese restaurant in Melbourne, having their meal. I didn't know that Chinese food could do this. All kinds of rumours are floating around and a new storm seems to be brewing. Let's hope it is only a storm in a soup bowl and blows over quickly for the selectors to get into their own huddle and pick the eleven for the New Year's Test in Sydney.

Till then, it's back to the waiting room!

~ Shiva Kumar, 03 Jan 2021

BOXING DAY

 

Boxing Day

A hunting we will go

A hunting we will go

We’ll catch a fox

And putimina box

And never let him go!

 
Good morning to you, my friend. Do you know this song? Nursery rhyme. In my childhood we are learning this in my school and singing daily. I am remembering it now because to-day is called Boxing Day. I will tell you why. Just listen, okay?

See, in the olden days, golden days, really, olden was golden, that is why for each and evvery thing I am saying olden days olden days. What, what? What did you say? Come to the point-a? What point? And you don't talk when I am interrupting, I say. Spoiling the thought flow in my head. See, now I have to go back and remember from starting.

What you said I was saying, olden days-a? Yes, yes, correct, olden days. Now I remember. I was singing about fox and box, no? The day of Christmas was birthday of the Lord, correct? Even now it is. Joy and celebrations and all. After that, next day was the day when the rich landlord, owner of land, farm and all, he called all the labourers and workers and servants and poor people of entire village and gave them food and gift and all, each and evvery thing packed in box. Why because, it is tedious to give so many items one by one, so he put them in box and gave each one one each. Means in one box, all the items are there for one person or one family. Like our Deepavali pattasu cracker box which is coming for 200 rupees or 300 rupees or something. Of course, nowadays due to pollution control, that is also slowly stopping. What to do?

Anyway, back to track. So the landlord was giving box of presents of food and other gifts. No drinks. Okay, okay, maybe little bit of drinks also. Maybe grape wine or rice wine or something. You know, some people are making wine from rice? What? What you are asking? Whether they can cook the rice afterwards after taking out the wine? We don't know about that. Maybe they are having too much rice to make wine and all. But we don't know about that, see?

Doll? You are asking about doll? What about doll? What about it? Whether we can make wine from doll? I don't know about it because I didn't try, see? In my house we are making only sambar from doll, not wine, see?  No, no, I am not Italian. Why are you make funning of me? Because I am saying see, see? This is not Italian. It is English. I am saying to be clear, see? See. With eyes. What? Eyes, eyes, our seeing eyes. Kannu. Eyes. Not ice. You are hopeless fellow, having one track mind. When I say eyes you are thinking of some single malt double malt and all. Hopeless fellow! Better you think of ragi malt, it is good for health and tasty also. No ice required.

Okay, now back on track. What I was saying? Yes. The landlord gave them food and gifts and all packed in the box. So, after Christmas Day, next day was called Boxing Day.

Nowadays, some countries like England and Australia celebrate Boxing Day by having cricket Test Match against each other or against other countries.

See? Now you have learnt something new from me, no? What? You already know about it? As if you are knowing each and evvery thing. Like some Sakalakalavallavan or Ellamtherindavan or something!

 

Simply go now. Test Match is coming on TV. Go and watch.

 

 - © Shiva Kumar, Boxing Day, 2020

 

TALKING FROM HOME

TALKING FROM HOME

Telephone conversation between two friends. Let's call them A-ma and B-ma. Both their telephones are "landlines" and both friends are "talking from home".

Friend A-ma: "Good morning, ma! How are you, ma? Staying at home, eh?"

Friend B-ma: "Good morning, good morning, ma! Yes, ma. Staying at home only. Because of this lockdown vockdown. What to do? What about you, ma?"

A-ma: "I am also same same, ma! Sitting at home only. Ayyo, what to say, ma?"

B-ma: "One Ayyo only? I feel like putting two Ayyos."

A-ma: "Ayyo Ayyo. Okay, ma?"

B-ma: "Hahaha, okay okay. Coffee tiffin overaa? What did you make for tiffin in your house, ma?"

A-ma: "I made uppitt today ma, with little bit onion. No variation only, ma. For me variation means more salt or less salt, hahaha, that’s all. What about in your house, ma?"

B-ma: "Ayyo, don't ask, ma."

A-ma: "Okay, I won't ask."

B-ma: "No, no, no, it's okay. Today I made adai with avial. First I thought I will simply make off aulakki with onion and potato. But I know big galatta will happen if I make aulakki because yesterday only I made uppittu. Then I saw in the fridge, little bit white pumpkin was remaining, along with few beansu, pattani, one carrot and all. So, I thought best idea was avial. Something different we have to do every day, no, ma? Then only we can avoid galatta, no?"

A-ma: "Yes, I know. For tomorrow thindi I have to start planning today only. Nowadays I became like planning commission, hahaha, daily sitting and breaking my head and thinking what to make, what to make."

B-ma: "Ayyo, when you said breaking my head, suddenly I remembered! Vegetables are half cut and I am sitting here talking to you. See, how I forgot? This lockdown is making me go mad. Let me go, ma, I have to make lunch. We will talk afterwards. Okay, ma?"

A-ma: "Okay, ma. You go, ma. I also will go and start lunch preparation thinking, hahaha! Happy lockdown, ma!"

B-ma: "Happy lockdown, ma!"

The conversation ends on a cheerful note.

---

Glossary

Vockdown : a word that has no meaning but plenty of usefulness as it rhymes with lockdown. Used as a kind of a follow through word, to give company to lockdown without breaking social distancing protocol.

Tiffin : a term generally used, especially in South India, for a light meal or snack, in this case, breakfast.

Uppitt : Uppittu in Kannada (name believed to have been derived from a combination of “uppu” or salt and “hittu” or flour), Upma in Tamil (combo of “uppu” or salt and “maavu” or flour) a light meal made by cooking roasted rava, aka sooji aaka semolina, in water, mildly spiced with fresh green or dry red chillies and tempered with mustard, curry leaves and lentils sputtered in oil. Chopped onions may be added, as an option. Vegetables like potatoes, carrots and green peas may also be added, to make it a wholesomer meal.

Adai : a thick, heavy, spicy pancake made like dosai but from a coarse batter, fresh and unfermented, of lentils, rice and spices, it is a favourite “tiffin” item in South India.

Avial : a dish that is said to have originated in Kerala but is equally popular in Tamil Nadu too, with minor variations in the recipe. Avial is a vegetable dish made using several vegetables, in a base of curds, cooked typically using coconut oil (though any oil can be used because coconut oil has a strong and distinct aroma and can be off-putting for some), spiced with green chillies and jeera and garnished with grated coconut. It is served as an accompaniment to sambar-rice or rasam-rice, though adai and avial, as “tiffin”, is a special combination!

Aulakki : Avalakki or beaten rice, soaked in water for a short while and prepared in similar way to upma. Simple and filling.

Galatta : Ruckus, trouble.

White Pumpkin : a clever, innovative, informal name for Ash Gourd (Poosanikkai in Tamil, Boodi Kumblekayi in Kannada).

Pattani : Tamil for Green Peas (Battani in Kannada).

Thindi : Kannada for breakfast, tea time snack or any kind of light meal.

***

© Shiva Kumar

Apo's Trophy Protection

Apo's Trophy Protection

Its very sad to see that the Apo's Trophy Protection Society is shutting it's door's after along run of eighteen year's. Two less than a score, thats the actual score.

The man who started the society, John Richard's, was apparently some kind of rioter, rioting for newspaper's and stuff before he retired unhurt and started a society to take on the responsibility of tracking the misuse and missed use of the Apo's trophy and castigating the offender's. After eighteen year's of meritorious service, he was forced to shut it down because, for one thing, he himself was slowing down and, for another thing, no one seemed to care. He attribute's the "victory" of the closing down to two other person's, Ig Norance and Lazy Ness. It is not known whether these person's were his fellow rioter's.

But I fail to understand what a venerable old chap within hand shaking distance of eighty was doing starting society's to track overhead comma's, when he should have been sitting under tree's and reading book's or writing poem’s and listening to bird's twittering or whatever. Misused apo's trophy's or lack of them should hardly matter to retired rioter's, or, for that matter, to anyone else. Personally speaking, when I retire, I would like sit under tree’s, one tree at a time, of course, and gaze at blank space’s in front of me. But thats neither here nor there.

Still, its somewhat dis-appointing to read.

The Apo's trophy is probably the most abused punctuation mock used in the English language. Many other language’s must have known this would happen and so they decided not to have it as part of their own gramma.

But, coming back to English, I feel its up to us to fight to protect it’s use, misuse and non-use. I shall look for and, in my own small way's, continue to hunt down serial offender's. Maybe I shall form another society myself. I invite suggestion's for a suitable name and style.

-       © Shiva Kumar

SANTRA

SANTRA

Santra is famous fruit of orange family. Citrus parivaar. In the beninging it is little bit raw and also khatta, means sore test. After words, it becomes ripe and meetha, means sweet test and gets orange colour. We don’t know if fruit name came first or colour name came first. But santra is orange and orange is santra. It is sweetish but little bit khattaness is there, but no any parwa. It is very testy and healthfull. And regarding its health, there is one Greek saying: “Citrus, Altius, Fortius”, means if you eat santra, you will become taller and stronger.

In santra there is Vitamin C. Other alphabets of Vitamins may be also there but C is guarantee. But C is not separate, it is ghulled in the inside of orange. C Ghull. Like Jonathan Living Stone.

If Santra was having twin brother, he would be called Bantra and both of them would have been Seattle to Canada by now. Alas! A loss! Anyway. No any tock.

Santra is available in everywhere of Bharat. Nagpur is its centre of availability. Means centre of gravity of santra is Nagpur. But it is available in every state. And also in solid state and even liquid state.

Santra should be made national fruit of our nation. Not banana. Banana is close but it is by itself. Akela. But banana can be runner-up. Then who will be second runner-up? May be Aam, means Mango? No, no, Sirjee, Mango is Kingo of Fruito. Phal ka raja. Like phulka taaja. Anyways. All this we sall shee after words. This is not common or mango topic. Now we are not having waqt for fizool tocks. We are masroof. Busy, too much going through roof.

Through hearsay, santra is available in Bhutan and Sikkim also. Here it is converted into various forms of eatability and drinkability through clever process of druk. Druk no nonsense. Druk good process. Here I am remembering one song “Druk Druk Druk, Hari Baba Druk”. This song is drag on and on.
In Spain, santra, santra only is there everywhere. Country is full of santra. It is having different name of Naranja but same colour and same taste.

And Holland by himself is santra country. Orange country. I am remembering that tourism song promoted by Holland, which the lady is singing to the tonga boy in the tonga going tick tock, leaving his home behind: “Zarra Holland Holland chalo morey saajana, home bhi peeche hai tumhare”.
In Holland there is one House of Orange. And its king is Willem van Oranje. Some unstudied people think that Willem is selling orange through van but this is unright. ‘Willem van Oranje’ means “Willem of Orange”. On the another hand, the Indian man who is selling oranges in mobile van is called Maruti. He is having orange colour Maruti van. This Maruti is selling orange in orange Maruti van. So between two names of orange king and orange salesman there is utter confusion. Don’t utter them.

What not can be made from santra! Joose is. Jam is, which is called Maar-maal-aide. It is like jam, not traffic jam but eating jam, but containing chilka like skin. Orange is having chilka outside it and same chilka is put inside it and that jam is called Maar-maal-aide. Terribly testy and what not.

And lastly but not leastly, Santra Bantra joke is also became! So many. Good laugh and what not.

Santra is having one male sibling and one female sibling, means own brother and own sister. Brother name Nimbu. Some peoples are calling Limbu or Lemon also and he is actually smallish and shortish and not so sweetish. Santra is fun-loving fruit. But Nimbu is half-way fruit. Not sweet dish. Santra is mast. Mast Kalandar. Nimbu is half-mast. Nowadays he is settle in Swedish country in the business of online lemon consolidation called E-Khatta. Sister name is Musambi, she is married in Dispur to famous Ananas trader by name Partho Chattopadhyay aka Chatterjea. Both are leaving happily ever after.

This is short story of santra.

Now, give me santra, I mean, permission. Namaskar.

- Shiv Shivrajpuri

© Shiva Kumar

IPL COMMENTARY WOES

IPL COMMENTARY WOES

In February itself I decided that I will not watch any IPL match. First of all, I became totally confused. The batsman for whom I was putting my whistle went to some other team. Sold like a vegetable. Worse, auctioned like an object in a bazaar. One of those purchasing fellows pinched him to see if he is fresh before handing over his cheque. But when my friend told me how much he (‘he’ means the batsman, not my friend) was sold for, I had to whistle. If they are paying hefty salary like that, little bit of pinching is no problem. Let them pinch little bit more also, I don’t mind.

The other terrible fellow who outed my favourite batsman three times has come to my home team now. How to accept this? My loyalties are hopelessly mixed up. Pointless to watch. Okay, maybe I am making some small allowance for my home team on home ground when I watch on home TV, depending upon winning position. That’s all.

So that day I watched little bit of our fellows batting when they won the match by hook and by crook. Quite interesting, it was.

Even the new commentary set up is interesting but laughable. First thing is that these commentary fellows are sitting in some new kind of structure which they are calling The Dugout. What dugout, I am asking? Is it dug out of any ground or anything? Is it scooped out from tree trunk like dugout canoe? It is looking like BMTC bus shelter with a long bench and a long desk. These talkative fellows are sitting on the bench. Behind their back there is a curvature for protecting them from sunlight or something but actually some advertisements are displayed, making more money for the IPL. Already they have so much money, why they have to make more money behind the commentators’ backs, I don’t know. They must share it with spectators. Dugout! From where they dug it out, I am thinking. And these fellows are looking so uncomfortable with headphones around their ears making calculations on scribbling pads like in a written test and doing field demonstrations that I began to feel sorry for them, but my friend told me that they get handsome amount as talking fees even better than lottery, so no need to feel sorry.

At any given time there are three chaps sitting and chattering away between themselves like a brood of chickens of different nationalities. One fellow is having so much accent that he may be thinking he is Hyundai or something. Is he asking question or giving answer or simply yawning loudly? I cannot make out, sorry. Whenever he speaks his long sentences, afterwards my lower jaw pains. Another fellow is sitting there who is not commentating but cackling away, seemingly in a foreign language. Everything sounds funny to him and he also sounds funny. The third fellow is allowed to speak once in a while. He carries a clipboard in his hand and makes some calculations on it. After lifting his head and shaking it three times, he notes down something. What it is nobody knows. It may even be order for dinner items.

But this commentary business is becoming popular like talk show or stand-up comedy. I am suspecting that they will soon have Indian Commentary League. I think if I practise hard, I may also get in.

I am thinking why there are so many foreigners in our commentary box or Dugout? Are they not getting any commentary work in their own countries, so they are coming here in droves? They are visible everywhere. When there is no match, they are out sampling the city’s wares. That day I was walking in Commercial Street and entered a shop selling air pillow. I bumped into one of them. I recognised him from the TV images. Immediately he drew a rectangle in the air with both hands and referred the bump to the shopkeeper for final decision. The shopkeeper declared me out. Pah! I showed a ‘T’ in appeal, but he overruled me. I turned around and walked out without air pillow.

This is nothing but over-supply of foreign commentators. They are catering to our country or what? Whenever there is any Indian commentator, poor fellow is like cucumber in sandwich. Simply sitting in the middle and not uttering anything. Utter waste, I feel. The other two fellows talk and allow him to mutter three and a half words now and then, apart from ordering dinner for all of them. Unpalatable.

There must be a new rule to restrict foreign commentators to only during bowling power play or strategic time out or something. Don’t you agree?

-          © Shiva Kumar