Halloween Party

Re#81 by kidbeegorilla

[… talent to write..]

Thanks, Rajeshwari. I would like to return the compliment in double – your last piece was extremely good – the metaphors were exquisite – that frying pan really sizzled!

But even more than that, you have a NATURAL talent for humor – an extremely, extremely rare commodity, especially in these parts – where it is so sorely needed!

Can we look forward to a piece along those lines from you? I highly recommend it.

Re#82 by kidbeegorilla
[… talent to write..]

What’s the matter?! Can’t read the above!

Beej, you have the talent to write. That is rare.

Beej, you have the talent to write. That is rare.

Re#79 Nandan

Dear Nandan,

Thanks for liking this little story.

There were two reasons for appending that Hawthorne article to the interacts: (1) to counter some of our dear Delhi-ite’s sweeping statements regarding a particular region of the country by emphasizing that others have done similar things to his beloved Delhi, and (2) to emphasize that the beauty or even “beauty” of a person or place lies in the eyes of who sees it. We can see very different things even if the object is exactly the same.

[…But what is big idea quoting this American jerk Lou Hawthorne .. …who gives … the right to judge us.He comes across as a racist Gora with a scant regard for everything not american or white.]

I would not rush to judge that person based on what he writes in that one article. Human beings are a lot more complex. Please keep in mind that he came all the way to India and visited several parts – for a reason – he was seeking something which he thought could be satisfied in India and perhaps only in India. He got overwhelmed by the intensity of his experiences there – not everyone has the same ability to adapt – I have a feeling that perhaps unknown to him at the time, the experiences actually helped him grow as a person – I doubt that he retained those strong feelings over the long run – most of us constantly readjust our thinking – until we are dead – it is a virtual requirement for those who wish to stay alive – physically, emotionally, or otherwise. I agree he has a highly provocative style – like the reference to the size and build of Indians – but if those facts are statistically correct what’s the big deal? – and if incorrect, we can always counter those.

And then, don’t WE ourselves do things inside India which are similar to what this guy does here – all the time?

We make wholesale generalization based on region, religion, caste, creed, language, you name it… as always, the data points we base such sweeping conclusions on are either few or non-existent. (In a way, your reference to “Gora” is along the same lines – though mild.) Some of which were quite evident even on this board – but still perhaps in a less intense form than on several parallel boards even now. The individuality and uniqueness of each one of those fine specimens – that greatest creation of the greatest Creator – gets lost somewhere.

Sincerely,
Beej.

Dear beej,

it was a nice article, touching.....really.But what is big idea quoting this American jerk Lou Hawthorne .. who gives me the F... right to judge us .He comes across as a racist Gora with a scant regard for everything not american or white.

True there are many things about us which are disgusting....but there are a lot of things about America which disgust me even more.

Regards
Nandan

An excerpt from my i-log of today–

“....Those shades of gray and those many hues of beauty are not intrinsic to that dog-eared book that we hold in our hands – it is a part of us – yet at first we are only able to see it through the story as the medium. The story is that mirror – a magic mirror, for sure – but a mirror nevertheless! The story speaks to us – in a language that we feel we understand at some level – a language we sometimes did not know that we knew – a little like a piece of art, in prose.

Those characters in stories, their acts, and their little lives and their little events talk to us. They can talk to us even when they don’t attract us – like the times we don’t too much like what we see – after all we all have pre-conceived images of what we are like. Could that strange creature staring back from those pages have any resemblance to what we carry in our heads? The gut reaction is – no way! And those thoughts – and those deeds – could they ever have been ours – or could EVER be ours – or have been ours? Absolutely never – we tell ourselves emphatically!

Yet, the separation is not as wide as we would like to think. That image in there is a lot closer than we imagine – in fact, it’s absolutely too close for comfort for many!

Our lives never follow a smooth trajectory – or it would be an extremely boring life! Its zig-zag nature results from the series of choices that WE make at various points – some good, and some that we would rather forget – at a later time, of course.

The lucky ones get to make their own choices! Not every one has the same degree of luck. The ends would not be much different either. What stands the test of time is also what represents the best part of us individuals – and unlike time, it waits for us – every one of us, until there is nobody left to wait for, until only the husk remains!

Until it’s time to go!”

Government involvement, especially of the regulatory kind, does not necessarily benefit the situation!

An excerpt from the Introduction portion of the India edition of the report Economic Freedom of the World 2004, published by the Centre for Civil Society web-site.

Economic Freedom and Making a Living on the Street

Many assume that economic freedom matters only to the rich; the poor have hardly any economic means and therefore have little use for economic freedom. The reality is exactly the opposite. Consider cycle-rickshaw pullers and street vendors in the cities and towns of India.

Delhi has approximately 500,000 cycle-rickshaws providing an affordable and accessible transportation service to the poor. The Municipal Corporation of Delhi has mandated that rickshaws have to be licensed and only 90,000 licences shall be given out. More than 80% of the cyclerickshaws are illegal. This government created illegality exposes the pullers to constant harassment and extortion. One study suggests that on average a bribe of Rs. 200 per month per cycle rickshaw is paid. Even the licensed rickshaws have to pay up. The government functionaries extort Rs. 100,000,000 (Rs. 10 crores) a month from the cycle-rickshaw pullers! Delhi’s about 600,000 street vendors operate without the necessary license and pay up about Rs. 120,000,000 (Rs. 12 crore). This is the burden of the licensepermit raj—of economic unfreedom—on the poorest of the poor in Delhi.

During municipal raids, which occur regularly on a weekly or monthly basis, the goods, hand cart, weighing balance and other equipment, as well as rickshaws are impounded. Once the rickshaw is seized, it takes 5-15 days and more bribes to get it released. During these days, the puller loses his means of livelihood. Because of these problems and uncertainties created by the licensing system, the pullers prefer to rent than own the rickshaw. More than 90% of rickshaws in Delhi are rented and not owned. This is despite Delhi’s law that the owner and the driver of the rickshaw must be the same person. The law obviously intends to promote ownership and limit exploitation of rickshaw pullers by middlemen. But the licensing system has created a situation where hardly anyone desires to own his cycle-rickshaw. The law was supposed to outlaw the middleman, but only the middlemen own rickshaws.

The actual outcome is exactly opposite to what was intended by the law. This conflict between intentions and results is so common in the case of economic regulations and restrictions that it is enshrined into a law: The Law of Unintended Consequences.

Should we do away with the license raj for rickshaws, give them the freedom to earn an honest living without the fear of illegality? Despite the severe harm caused by the licensing system, many raise the spectre of rickshaws clogging the roads of the city if the system were abolished. They fear rampant growth in the number of rickshaws. Let us first ask why are there 5 lac rickshaws in Delhi? And not 4 lac or 6 lac? Because the market demand is for 5 lac rickshaws. It is simple supply and demand. The licensed capacity is 90,000, but what impact did it have on the actual number of rickshaws? If the capacity were 70,000 or 1.5 lac, how many rickshaws would actually be on the road? About 5 lac! Irrespective of whatever the government decides, the people get what they demand—5 lac rickshaws.

The license regime does not really control the number of rickshaws in the city; it does not serve any purpose in traffic or congestion management. It does however serve one purpose, probably the only purpose: it makes the rickshaw business illegal and therefore open to extortion and harassment. Shouldn’t we abolish this inhumane system? The government restrictions over legitimate economic activities and therefore the lack of economic freedom hurt the poor far more than the rich. The rich have the means to buy their freedom; the poor will always be at the mercy of the system. (The same logic applies to street vendors, small shopkeepers—all the entry-level professions where entry is restricted by government.)

Some trivia on rickshaws in the show-biz – how dull life would be without wikipedia!

The 1936 novel Luotuo Xiangzi by Lao She describes the life of a rickshaw runner in Beijing in the 1920s. The English version Rickshaw Boy became a U.S. bestseller in 1945; it was an unauthorized translation that added a happy ending to the story. In 1982, the original version was made into a film of the same title.

The 1953 Bollywood film Do Bigha Zameen, directed by Bimal Roy, describes the fate of an impoverished farmer who becomes a rickshaw puller in Kolkata.

The 1990s Telugu movie titled Orey Rickshaw (Orey literally means “Hey”, though in a derogatory tone) where the tone of the story sympathizes with the downtrodden.

In the 1992 film City of Joy (whose title refers to Kolkata), Om Puri plays a rickshaw puller, revealing the economic and emotional hardship that these underpaid workers face on a day-to-day basis.

The 1995 movie Cyclo, by Vietnamese director Tran Anh Hung, centers around a cycle rickshaw driver.

The 2004 Bollywood movie Main Hoon Na, starring Shahrukh Khan, has a climactic ending with the hero on a cycle rickshaw racing an SUV full of terrorists downhill.

In the episode The Bookstore of the American sitcom Seinfeld, Kramer and Newman import rickshaws to New York City, for the purpose of running a business. They intend to employ members of the city’s homeless population; however, one steals their rickshaw. The two recover the rickshaw, and Newman forces Kramer to transport him uphill, a voyage Kramer is unable to make.

Rickshavodu (Rickshaw Guy) is another Telugu movie starring Chiranjeevi in the lead roles.

This is an excerpt from the “expert advice” provided by technewsworld on travel tips to India and Pakistan.

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…..
How To Take a Rickshaw

Both India and Pakistan have three-wheeled contraptions called auto rickshaws that are cheaper than regular taxis. Auto rickshaws can be bumpy, noisy and more exposed to the weather than cabs. They can also be more fun.

Auto rickshaws do not have meters in Pakistan. In some parts of India, the auto rickshaws have meters, with fares determined as multiples of what the meter might indicate.

There are still huge Chinese-style hand drawn rickshaws in Kolkata, most of whose drivers are reportedly consumptive, or like my siblings, have had TB in the past. Traditional rickshaws are often the best way to travel around during floods. The rickshaw drivers know where the open manholes are and can avoid them.

Rickshaws are restricted to certain zones in Kolkata, requiring a negotiated transfer to another rickshaw when crossing into another zone. Outside of the downtown area, bicycle rickshaws supplant the hand pulled ones. Hand drawn rickshaws are usually more expensive than bicycle rickshaws, but worth it.

Pay attention to the local geography. Several times in New Delhi, I’ve had auto rickshaw drivers purposely go off in the wrong direction on the ring roads at night, in order to boost their fares.

Auto rickshaw drivers are less likely than cab drivers to speak English. Learn the words for yes, no, left, right, forward, and stop in the local language where you are traveling. Write the words down and keep them with you. Using Hindi or Urdu in South India is not always appreciated.

In Pakistan, I used to say: “If you don’t know how to say something in Urdu, say it in Arabic.” However, some Egyptian engineers who I was traveling with last month were having so much trouble communicating in Arabic and Urdu that they finally just stuck to English, since English is widely known in urban areas in Pakistan.

The auto rickshaw design is over 45 years old. There is a newer type of three-wheeled vehicle in Pakistan that is pronounced ching-gee and sometimes spelled qingqi. They have two rows of narrow seats and are more exposed than an auto rickshaw.

Qingqis have more capacity than auto rickshaws and sometimes follow routes where they collect fares from multiple passengers. For one or two travelers, auto rickshaws might be more suitable than qingqis.

Very nice story Beej, while i must admit, i found the reading the interacts much more enjoyable.
prostitutes, beggers, top-notch-scotch OHH MY!

keep it cynical.

grift

Some interesting historical information….

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History of the Pedicab
(Courtesy: Pop’s Pedicab web site)

Beginnings

The modern day pedicab evolved from the Jinrikisha (literally: “man powered car”) introduced in Yokohama Japan by Baptist Missionary Johnathan Goble in 1871 (1) . The explosion of the Jinrikisha or “rickshaw”, as a means of economical transportation is credited to Akiha Daisuke who made several improvements upon the original model. While there are vague references (illustrations and art) to a similar human drawn vehicle operating in France in the mid-seventeenth century, the concept never really took hold in Europe. It is thought that a combination of poor timing and a lack of technology were principal reasons for it’s absence. (2)

The Jinrikisha replaced the Kago, a litter carried on poles on the shoulders of two men, as a more efficient and convienent form of transportation. By 1874 the human pulled rickshaw was exported throughout Asia and their numbers were growing every year. At the height of their popularity near the end of the nineteenth century, there were close to 200,000 rickshaws in Japan. (3) The first cycle rickshaws began to appear in Singapore in the late 1920’s (4) and Thailand in the early 1930’s (5) , these were called “Trishaws” based on their tricycle design. The trishaws became most popular during WW II as a means of providing efficient transportation while dealing with fuel shortages during the war.

Just as the Jinrikisha replaced the Kago, the cycle-rickshaw began to replace it’s human-pulled counterpart. By the mid-twentieth century, most of the traditional Jinriksha had been forced out of business either by government bans, competition from the cycle-rickshaws or other more modern forms of rapid transportation.

A Rose is a Rose...

The cycle-rickshaw can be found in many countries with some basic consistency of design features. Known by many different names, they are all variations of the modern day Pedicab. Tony Wheeler and Richard l’Anson provide an excellent history of the rickshaw in text and pictures in their book “Chasing Rickshaws”. From the jacket notes: “Whether it’s called a trishaw, sidecar, pedicab, cyclo or becak, it’s the true Asian taxicab”

Arrested Development

Little has changed in the design and construction of the cycle-rickshaw over the last 50 years, Wheeler addresses this in his text and points to the following factors: (6)

Colonialism. Little pre-WW ll trade between locales where cycle-rickshaws were popular and the isolation of individual countries that occurred during the war forced each country to rely upon their own design interpretations.

No large scale production. Production was very localized and generally consisted of assembling an array of available parts. No one manufacturer ever made enough to really push for improved design features.

Design Compromise. In many instances, cycle-rickshaws were built using standard bicycle parts that were ill suited for the rigors of the cycle-rickshaw.

In recent years, design issues have been addressed as we have seen the introduction of ridgid one-piece frames, rear differentials, front and rear brakes, the use of hydraulic disk brakes and electronic assist. But these advances come at a cost and the modern day pedicab manufactured in the West complete with all these features can cost 10 times that of a new traditional cycle-rickshaw made in the East.

Perhaps the high cost of these newer pedicabs is a driving force in the alternative designs that are available and in use by modern day cabbies, too, it may be a primary reason the industry is structured the way it is. The similarities between the current pedicab industry and that of the Jinrikisha, are remarkable. Many drivers lease or rent their cabs from a fleet owner, paying a flat fee or a percentage of daily profits (or both) because they cannot afford to own their own cab outright, a structure common among Jinrikisha pullers of old. Likewise, many of the current issues surrounding pedicab regulation, licensing, creating traffic congestion and overall driver behavior are no different than the essential complaints local administrations had with Jinrikishas and their pullers at the turn of the century.

References Cited

1. “The Jinrikisha Story: Harnessing Man in an Age of Enlightenment”,The East, November-December 1996, page 6. http://www.mmjp.or.jp/the-east/jinrikisha1-e.html, (22 January 2005)

2. Tony Wheeler & Richard l’Anson, Chasing Rickshaws, (Victoria, Australia: Lonely Planet Pulbications , Pty Ltd.) 1998, page 180

3. Wheeler, Rickshaws, page 180.

4. Wheeler, Rickshaws, page 183.

5. Lao Long, “Culture: Rickshaw”, 02 June 2003, , (23 January 2005)

6. Wheeler, Rickshaws, pages 184-185.

Re#69 by srao

[WHY DID YOU WRITE THIS ARTICLE ABOUT RICKSHAWALE? WHY NOT PROSTITUTES OR BEGGARS THAT NEED MORE HELP THAN THESE PEOPLE.]

(further thoughts)

We are all a bunch of sales people in one way or other. Most people sell some skill or talent – whether developed through training or God-given – and which is available to us only for a limited time. Those who run out of wares end up having a problem.

The uneducated rickshaw puller is just one example – but chances are that education is just ONE of the empowerment devices – not every one who is uneducated will end up pedaling those vehicles – some will figure other ways to survive – some will mooch off better-to-do relatives – some will take up other manual work – some will join a gang of criminals – some petty criminals only – all different ways to sell what they still have available – a functional physical body!

Then there could be women (and perhaps some men) in similar situations who would have little available to sell except their bodies to predators who specialize in that act!

When even that option is not available – some would simply beg!

And it is not just based on whether people come from a “rich” country or a “poor” country. Beggars and prostitutes can be present anywhere.

I don’t think it makes sense to rank these groups in terms of their needs and pick and choose on the basis of categorization. There may be individual cases where the needs may be more desperate than those of others.

Re#69 by srao

[WHY DID YOU WRITE THIS ARTICLE ABOUT RICKSHAWALE? WHY NOT PROSTITUTES OR BEGGARS THAT NEED MORE HELP THAN THESE PEOPLE.]

A rickshaw-wala (not to be confused with Delhiwala (photographic evidence notwithstanding)) is just one type of person that some people (you, for example) may think needs “help”! I suppose many would agree with you – because there is perhaps little doubt that they present a classic case of “underdogs” – who by definition would be considered deserving.

Deciding on the extent and the exact form of such help is where the problem comes in.

How much help? Does everybody need the same amount of help? Does everyone develop the same extent of dependency when “help” is being provided. Does the help really get to where it is needed or does it instead mostly get expended in sustaining a vast bureaucracy? Some of these are in reality rhetorical question because we all know the answer already – not all fingers were created with the same capability and resourcefulness. Also, is government the best agent for such change – my instincts do not trust the government – I would like the government to meddle as little in our lives as possible!

Therefore, what the exact detailed solutions are, I don’t know! I’m just a janitor. There are plenty of folks here who seem to specialize in such matters!

But I DO know this – when one sees a problem, one doesn’t close one’s eyes to it. And no matter what one were taught and no matter in what way one were brought up – one must never avert one’s eyes from obvious injustices – one does not need to wear an ideological label – and one does not need to fit ANY particular ideological profile.

I know that’s a prerequisite for ANY solution.

Re#70 Kiddo
[…are you a socialist?....]

Please see the response above.

#66, you are right about the wholesale stereotyping. That is sad as well.

cycle rickshaws though seem to be getting rare. I wouldn`t say beggars or prostitutes need more or less help, it`s not fair to equate things. Besides, people don`t really need help, they need resources. Once you make something available to a person, they generally know what to do with it, and it won`t take them long to figure out how to benefit themselves with it. I know it sounds simplistic, but its true. If Raju had an education, he may not have found a job and maybe would still end up peddling a rickshaw, but he would know better than to buy a clay piggy bank that had breakage potential. He might have been able to sign a chit at a local Grameen Bank with the words ``Savings Account`` on it.

Beej, are you a socialist? I know I`m not.

Re: # 68
You have divulged and not answered my Question.

let me try again.

WHY DID YOU WRITE THIS ARTICLE ABOUT RICKSHAWALE? WHY NOT PROSTITUTES OR BEGGARS THAT NEED MORE HELP THAN THESE PEOPLE.

Re#67 by delhiwala

[What is your obsession with Rickshaw Wale?
Did someone dump you in the slums of Monghyr?]

Dear Delhiwala,

Unfortunately, I have not been to that Bihar city – I am thrilled to learn of your familiarity with it – it’s my understanding that the residents of that city have distinguished themselves through their strength – they are known to “boldly go where no men have gone before” – to faraway places (but mostly to other cities within Bihar) – and established themselves in no uncertain terms through the sheer strength of their strength! It’s incorrect to call that city a slum – any more than to call MANY other parts of the subcontinent slums!

There is no “obsession” on my part with the rickshaw pullers – have you ever seen me talk of them before? However, the board you are on currently – and the story that appears above – make the life of a rickshaw puller the appropriate and legitimate topic for discussion – and that’s what I am trying to do – to take even inane and ignoramus interacts (yours, for example) and somehow forcibly turn them into something meaningful which is relevant to this topic.

That brings me to my question – from you!

What is it about the life of a poor rickshaw puller that arouses such a high level of hostility in you – a level of hostility that causes you to make repeated visits here – in multiple forms, if one is to guess – and repeatedly try to denounce the messenger!!

Is it a childhood experience of some kind, Delhiwala?

Or (more likely) a sense of guilt at not doing ANYTHING – which enrages you – enrages you at this trivial chronicler – since you have no desire to be reminded of the plight of those individuals. (Don’t try to hide it – the outrage that you expressed in your first interact was not directed at me – and has not been unnoticed. It’s too late to cover it up now!)

Relax, Delhiwala dear – nobody is blaming YOU for the problem.

This write-up is NOT about you, after all!

Sincerely,
Beej.

Re: # 63
Mr Beej,
What is your obcession with Rickshaw Wale?

Did someone dump you in the slums of Mungeyr?

Re#65 Kiddo

It is easy enough to wonder – why the heck go to a country then come back and take it apart?

But what about the other side of the story – our ancient sub continental desire to take advantage of foreign “guests” faster than it takes to blink the eye – and in the process, also conducting a wholesale stereotyping of out-of-towners. Assuming that (1) they are all rich, (2) they are all unable to speak the local language, and (3) they are all fair game! As long as the person who wrote that article is accurate with his description, that’s where we need to focus. Granted his style is a little too self-sure and he may have a chip on the shoulder (who would not – after all he was probably spiritually inclined and went to India for satiating some “deeper” desires – only to crash into these shady individuals), are we not a little – in fact a LOT more than a little – crooked?

Even when domestic travelers land in town – usually at a train station or bus stand – the first sight for them is the local rickshaw puller offering them service. It not uncommon to find the two sides engaged in a long discussion regarding what would be an appropriate fare to get to a certain destination.

Arriving at the correct fare is strictly an art! The experienced rickshaw puller appraises his fare carefully. Such factors as the level of the local knowledge of the visitor (whether he speaks the local dialect, has knowledge of the neighborhood), his state of need (whether he is aged, has children, or is carrying luggage), availability of alternatives, the time of the day and the state of the weather, all get included.

There is also the alternative of NOT agreeing to a fare up front – and then haggling over it after the destination gets reached – this approach is usually preferred by the party which is physically stronger and has a better chance of winning an argument – it is entirely possible for a verbal argument to turn very physical and the home turf (whether it is the rickshaw puller’s or the rider’s) offers distinct advantages.

#63 that was a sad article. why do such people go to ``tour`` asian countries if they want to come home and bit*h about it?

An interesting article on rickshaw pullers of Calcutta from BBC

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Calcutta’s rickshaw pullers fear future
By Rifat Jawaid
BBC Urdu Service

Hand-pulled rickshaws have been a feature of Calcutta’s streets for more than a century, but they could soon be a thing of the past.

Rickshaw pulling: Back-breaking work
In a city which loves its traditions the authorities and human rights groups want the rickshaws phased out.

They say having people, rather than petrol or pedals, power this form of transport is inhumane.

But the rickshaw pullers disagree - many have been doing their job for years and face an uncertain future if their work is stopped.

Hand-pulled rickshaws are known locally in West Bengal as tana rickshaws - or if you’re a non-Bengali, haath rickshaws.

Until a few years ago, there were about 6,000 licensed owners of tana rickshaws in Calcutta.

This number has now shrunk to 1,800 after the local administration stopped issuing new licences.

The rickshaws were first introduced in Calcutta in the late 19th century by Chinese traders, primarily to carry goods.

But India’s British rulers made them the cheap mode of transport in 1919.

Health toll
Most of the rickshaw pullers today are daily-wage labourers from the neighbouring states of Bihar, Jharkhand and Uttar Pradesh, who make ends meet by pulling their masters’ rickshaws.

Zafirul is a 40-year-old father of four from Bihar.

Emaciated and frail, he’s been pulling rickshaws for nearly 15 years.

He says his job has had drastic consequences for his health.

“I was recently diagnosed with tuberculosis and have been in bed for six months,” Zafirul told the BBC.

“I will pull rickshaws for a few months before returning to my native land in winter. We work in the farms during winter and store crops for the rest of the season.”

Another rickshaw puller, Narain Rai, says hauling a load sometimes four times his weight has taken its toll.

“During summer the mercury goes past 45C. You hate being anywhere near the sun. But despite the sweltering heat, we carry out our duties, providing comfort to fellow human beings,” he says.

Police ‘harassment’
And human indignity is not all these rickshaw pullers apparently have to contend with.

Many accuse the local police of harassment.

Abdul Sattar, another veteran rickshaw puller, says: “Come Friday and local police begin to raid the areas where we pull our rickshaws. Often we are locked inside the police stations and fined.

The rickshaw pullers don’t want to stop working.

“If you don’t pay the fine, you end up staying longer in the police station. We consider ourselves extremely lucky if we avoid a beating.”

The police deny the allegations.

Sandhi Mukherjee, assistant commissioner of Calcutta’s traffic police, says the raids target only those rickshaw pullers “whose licenses have either expired or who never got legitimate permission to ply Calcutta streets”.

Many residents of Calcutta prefer the hand-pulled rickshaws to other forms of transport, saying they’re particularly good for short journeys.

Rana Akram often uses hand-pulled rickshaws to go to the local market or to drop her daughter at school.

“It’s relatively cheap and very handy for short-distance travel, where neither auto-rickshaw or taxi drivers would agree to drop you.”

But she agrees that enjoying the luxury of a rickshaw ride at the expense of another human being’s health is something “we should stop doing”.

Like Rana Akram, many of Calcutta’s residents and human rights groups believe hand-pulled rickshaws should be withdrawn as soon as possible.

But the question is: where will these needy members of society go once they have been deprived of something they have been doing so efficiently for years?

Re#62 Delhiwala

Dear Delhiwala,

Your continuous bantering regarding rickshaws, along with your name, reminded me of this article on Delhi – the fun an American had visiting the city and encountering those creatures called “rickshaw drivers”.

Clearly, they represent a VERY different breed of individuals than those from the eastern part of the country!

Have fun reading! You may become homesick (or at least sick)! (By the way, the “nice man” mentioned in here was not you by any chance, was he?)

Sincerely,
Beej.

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From the web-site of Lou Hawthorne.

Delhi After Dark
by Lou Hawthorne
3/08/96

Last night we pulled into the Delhi train station at about 11:00 PM, without hotel reservations. Walking down the platform in search of a phone, we rounded a corner and were spotted simultaneously by a dozen rickshaw drivers just standing around. They all scrambled towards us at once shouting “Rickshaw! Rickshaw! Where you wanna go?” I felt like a baby seal who accidentally swims into a pod of orcas. I surprised myself -- and the orcas -- by shouting “NO!” quite loudly as I walked towards them. Several of them stood directly in my path -- a common tactic -- but stepped aside at the last moment when it became obvious that my pack and I were not decelerating.

We found a phone that took rupee coins, but it seemed out-of-order. Then a nice, clean-cut young man explained to me that you put the rupee in after the person answers, or it doesn’t work. The Nice Man then held my guide book open while I dialed one hotel after another -- all of them completely full. The Nice Man then expressed concern about all the rupees I was wasting, and informed me that there was a government-run tourist office not far away with a free phone. “Free” didn’t sound right for Delhi, but we were out of coins and Delhi Station is no place to loiter. “Just two minutes walk!” said the Nice Man. As we crawled under our piles of stuff and began the schlep, Anne whispered, “He stinks of booze.”

On the way out of the station, a typical Indian dog came over to sniff us warily. “You like dogs?” asked the Nice Man. “Sure, I like dogs,” I replied. It’s mangy, wild curs I’m not crazy about. “This my dog,” said the Nice Man. What do you say to a blatant lie from a drunken stranger you’re following into the darkness of Delhi? “You dog has a skin problem,” was all I could come up with.

After walking in the dark for several minutes, occasionally dodging auto-rickshaws -- which sometimes travel without lights, for some rupee-pinching reason -- I asked the Nice Man his profession, though I sensed that leading naive foreigners into the darkness was somehow his profession.

“I am student. Majoring in psychology and... engineering.” Now there’s an interesting combo. With that degree, he could encourage cantilevers and trusses to discuss the stress they’re under. Speaking of stress, about then I noticed a shadowy figure walking a few yards behind me, then circling around to my right -- which meant we were flanked. We walked that way for a minute or so, then the Nice Man pointed to his shadow and asked softly, almost timidly, “Could you beat him in a fight?” My stress level hit Defcon-2 at that moment -- bombers in the air, awaiting the final order for nuclear assault. Why would he ask something like that, in this situation, if not to psyche me out before... I quickly review my martial arts training, which consists of four years of karate as a teenager, and ten years of tai chi after that. Yes, tai chi is a martial art, despite the joke that it’s only effective if you’re attacked by an NFL replay film. I’m still nervous, because I haven’t been in a real fight since third grade -- and how real was that? -- so I move on to reviewing the Bruce Lee films I’ve seen.

I remember that a question is pending. “Probably,” I reply, “but I’d really rather not.” The one factor in my favor was that Indian men -- including both the Nice Man and his shadow, now wandering off the road -- tend to be about eight inches shorter and 30 pounds lighter than I am. I wish Zack were here. Zack is an online video editor I like to work with in San Francisco, who defies the stereotype of editors as scrawny, dweeby, geeks. Zack was both a boxing and a wrestling champion before becoming an editor. He now spends long hours staring at monitors in darkened rooms, his enormous back, chest, and arms barely moving as he twiddles tiny knobs.

We arrive at a dingy, florescently-lit office -- apparently government issue, and my stress eases a bit. Inside are six or seven dour-looking young Indian men, mostly slouching in plastic chairs and smoking. A dour-looking Indian man wearing a tie is slouching behind a desk, smoking. I explain to the tie-man that we need to use the phone. He says, “You need hotel? No problem -- I get you hotel. Which country you from?” Before I can check myself, I blurt out “USA” -- then remember that they only ask this question to know by how much to overcharge -- the most dramatic rip-offs reserved for Americans, Germans, and Japanese, who have the most money.

“No problem. I can get you hotel for...” -- he scribbles on a pad and rotates it for me to see -- “this price...” 3000 rupees, a truly preposterous, deluxe 5-star price. Worse even. A Western price. In Rishikesh, Anne and I both stayed for three days in a clean, quiet room on the banks of the Ganges, for a total of 250 rupees -- about a dollar each per day. Extraordinary bargains are one of the prime compensatory advantages of traveling in India, an otherwise extremely challenging country for Westerners, what with rampant dysentery, constant crowds, horrific pollution, strange and spicy food, and a hole where the toilet belongs. I remind myself that even if we paid 3000 rupees every night, being here would still be cheaper than traveling in France, a country whose expense I accept without complaint -- well maybe with a few complaints but not with such indignation.

Anne sits in one of the empty plastic chairs, both our packs at her feet, and pulls out her Lonely Planet. I say to the man with the tie, “We were told we could make phone calls here -- that’s why we came.” The Nice Man and Mr. Tie hurriedly discuss the matter in Hindi. Mr. Tie says, “No problem. What number you want to call?” This could have been another scam or simply the Indian tendency to treat telephones and elevators as complex machinery requiring trained professionals to operate. We give him a couple numbers of different hotels, which also turn up full.

Mr. Tie says, “I can get you hotel for this price...” More scribbling. It occurs to me that Mr. Tie might not trust the other men to refrain from laughing, should they overhear the proposed prices -- the new one being 1500 rupees. I glance at Anne. Her look says, “We’re not going to do any better in this situation.” I tell Mr. Tie we’ll look at the room. A minute later we’re jammed into a rickshaw with all our stuff, careening down the dark, filthy streets of an especially seedy section of Delhi. Sitting next to the driver is...the Nice Man of course, going way out of his way once again to see to our welfare.

We pull up to the Hotel Lal’s Havelli -- pronounced like you’re hocking up a phlegm ball -- and immediately the Nice Man and the rickshaw driver begin grabbing at our bags, and end up in a tug-of-war with Anne inside the rickshaw, who keeps saying “No thank you... No thank you...” After regaining control of our stuff, we schlep through the hotel doorway, and out of the corner of my eye I catch a glimpse of a relatively large, dirty, disheveled, wild-haired, possible hippie maniac to my right. I immediately pivot, prepared to kick him if the nuts if necessary -- only to be confronted by my own reflection in the mirrored walls of the hotel foyer. After my pulse settles, I am reassured by how scary I look.

“Welcome to the Hotel (hock phlegm ball)!” says the gap-toothed, oily-haired, smudgy black-tattooed charmer behind the counter, smelling of sandalwood and cigarettes. Six or seven of the requisite pouty young men are scattered around the lobby, smoking, perhaps awaiting their cut for prior misdeeds. Perhaps I’m being unfair. They might have been awaiting assignment of misdeeds.

“I’ll watch the stuff,” says Anne, as I drop the bags and move in to negotiate. Gap Tooth shows me a tiny, dilapidated room worth maybe a third the asking price, though of course it’s worth what we’ll pay, and after consulting with Anne and considering the time (after midnight) we decide to take it. After we fill out the paperwork, Gap Tooth says, “Now you pay me 3000 rupees.” Big smile.

“Excuse me?” I ask.

“Two-night minimum,” he replies. I look over at Anne, her limbs draped over our bags, exhausted. I notice my own exhaustion, beneath which lies a swirling reservoir of anger and fear, and when I peek underneath that, I’m surprised to discover I’m actually impressed with the relentlessness and creativity of the scams in Delhi, after dark.

“One night or we leave right now,” I say quietly. His smile fades. The phone rings. Gap Tooth picks it up and immediately begins yelling in Hindi. Then he hands me the phone.

“Tourism office. For you.”

“Hello?” I say. The man on the phone begins an officious-sounding rant in Hindi-glish, something about a special regulation, a certain time of year or night, then mentions the police, or perhaps he says “please”. I’m not really listening. After a minute or so, without taking my eyes off Gap Tooth, I hang up the phone. “One night,” I repeat. Gap Tooth stares at me for several seconds, before smiling broadly.

“One night, no problem! We want you feel at home!” Good luck buddy. The only thing I’m farther from right now than my home is the feeling of being at home.

The last hurdle between me and my bed at this point is the rickshaw driver, waiting to be paid. It’s less than a kilometer to the train station so the fare should be about five rupees. “100 rupees” says the driver, without meeting my eyes, when I ask how much.

“You know,” I say wearily, “I’ve been here a month already. I know how much a rickshaw is supposed to cost.”

“Tonight special night...” begins the Nice Man, but I cut him off.

“You shut the f*ck up,” I say, and couldn’t be more surprised at myself. Is this me talking -- peace-loving, sensitive, spiritual guy? Who -- what -- am I becoming? “The fare should be five rupees but I’ll pay you ten because tonight is so special,” I say to the driver.

“50 rupees,” replies the driver, still without looking at me. My fear and anger are joined by an overwhelming boredom, mixed with disgust -- for them, for myself, for India, for America. I could just pay him the money, and it would be over. Or...or...

“Ten rupees,” I say softly, “Not one f*cking rupee more.” Then I lean into the driver’s personal space -- which takes special effort, given that most Indians barely have the concept of personal space. I know he can feel my breath on his cheek, but he keeps his eyes averted. “Problem?” I ask, sweetly. The driver silently accepts the ten-rupee note and slips from the room, as does the Nice Man.

“No problem...” says Gap Tooth wanly, but his face is troubled.

© Lou Hawthorne, 1996 , All Rights Reserved

Re: # 61
SRAO,
Please stay away from Mr BeejWa, a rich Landlord from Bihar, who exploits poor Biharis then use his wealth to come to USA to study in some third rated college, and now decides to become a COMMIE.

SRAO, thoree Desh Bhagtee ki Bhavna ki Jawala Mai Agnee Daliya.

Re#60 by srao

Dear SRao,

Thanks for visiting my board. It would have even more fun if you had some comments on my write-up too!

And I have always admired your choice of food – a little bit fattening perhaps – but nothing like what we meat-eaters (and meat-eateresses) so greedily dig into!

Pay no attention to this Delhiwala guy! If he had any sense don’t you think he would have come up with a more imaginative name – like your name – instead of that old fashioned crappy one after such a defunct city?!!

And what a city that is! Can ANYONE even imagine singing –

“Aye dil hai mushkil jeena yahan
Zara hat ke zara bach ke, yeh hai New Delhi meri jaan”

It just does not do it for me!!

Sincerely,
Beej.

Re: # 55
Mr Delhiwala,
Please stop annoying Mr Beej. He lives in Amreeka now and he has become a Brown Sahib.

#49 kbg
Wow! Was that a stream of consciousness outpouring? Double wow! You paint nice word pictures. I am gearing up to read your story..

Beej, I did not say you treat people badly, and when it makes you happy, why feel guilty? Brain smashing isn`t a bad pastime as long as you don`t cause hemorrhage. cheers!

Re#52 by mirmir

[Where did I claim this??? You write very good fiction, Beej. You can`t read particularly well. ]

You are right, of course MirMir – I must have imagined all of that!

And since I notice that NOBODY bothered to translate that old Hindi song your name reminded me of – let me take a crack as follows – first the song, then the translation:

“Mur-mur ke na dekh – mur-mur ke
Mur-mur ke na dekh – mur-mur ke
Jindganee ke safar mein
Tu akela hi nahin hai
Hum bhi tere sung mein hain….”

Don’t turn
And look back
In the journey of life
You are not alone
We travel with you, too…

Sincerely,
Beej.

Re#51 by kidbeegorilla

[I just read the brain smashing you gave the rest of the interactors. maybe I shouldn`t have posted.]

Dear kidbeegorilla – what would life be like without a little bit of this (brain) and a little bit of that (smashing)!

I’ll try to be nicer and softer and gentler – until the next time that I am not!

Seriously, writing is sacred – but interacts are just a way to express myself – although where the dividing line is only the Good Lord knows!

Am I that bad in treating people? – now I am feeling guilty all over!

What’s that old saying – hang around with the turkeys long enough and soon you will be soaring just like them – at the same altitude and with the same speed!

The reality is the janitor tries to call it like the janitor sees it – at a given moment – in a given piece of write-up or interact – and the janitor tries to keep re-adjusting his view of the interactors based on every new bit of information that keeps coming along – however, it is perhaps already jelled up for a few (based on observations over a year) because I keep getting the same numbers no matter how many measurements I keep making!

I ask those individuals – I challenge them – surprise me!!

[…you know though, reading the story, I didn`t at all feel it was a poverty thing with some hidden agenda to it. I sincerely felt like it was just a well laid out story.]
You KNOW there was no agenda – there never is one with this individual – but let’s be serious – does one really NEED an agenda to have compassion for those who invariably get the short end of the stick? Of course not!

[… The title didn`t really jell with it, (the ``party`` bit),]
I know. There is a little bit of tenuous aspect to that connection – however, in awareness of the approaching Halloween, the “ghost-like” appearance in dim light, the grotesqueness and all that … indicated a Halloween party-like title!

But a tenuous connection is better than no connection!

Also, those who have been reading my i-logs over the past few months or so can identify the “other” underlying thread running through all the titles!

[…but I didn`t think it had THAT much emotion to it, as opposed to what I see in all your comment posts. Plenty of jumping up and down emotion there. Whereas the story itself was pretty moderate paced, matter-of-fact, told as it is, and yes, believable, c`est la vie.]

I think you have hit that nail right on the head – you are NO kid – you have hit it with the force of a gorilla!

Re#50 by delhiwala

[Since when Anandmargi admirer is not a COMMIE?]

Like I said elsewhere – the Marg was just an entity I picked to use for the story. If I had picked Hare Krishna or something along the lines, would you still be making the same accusation?

By the way, my guess would be that those who would affiliate themselves with the CPI, CPM, or one of those political entities you designate as “commie” would be more likely to empathize with that worker – the rickshaw puller – and less likely to beat one up.

But what do I know – I have not really DRIVEN a rickshaw myself – like SOME people around here!

Re: # 53

``Some of the rickshaw drivers – especially the young ones new to the trade – really put the force of “pawan doot Hanumana” into those pedals and the riders better watch out – especially as the vehicle negotiates those sharp turns and jumps over ditches and obstructions! It is quite easy to find oneself landing on the ground a little ahead of plans and on the wrong part of one’s anatomy! ``

LOL ....

Re#48, #49 kidbeegorilla

Thanks for liking the story. I made up the five rupee number – I have no clue how much a bike lock really costs – it is a sad fact of life that prices in India have gone through the roof – and few things seem to have kept pace (with the possible exception of politician` wages of sin) – or for that matter how much a sari costs and how many five-rupee coins would be needed to save for one! Details. All a necessary part of life, unfortunately. (Confession: I wrote the piece in two hours only – and had originally thought of putting it in as an i-log!)

[Ah! the cycle rickshaw, as opposed to the ``auto rikshah``.. the picture was a nice reminder of a few childhood summer holidays. I always wondered how the boy on the seat used to be so carefree, waving to people of his trade when they passed by, while using his thumb to ring the bell on the handle bar, and his other hand to steer. And all the time his left buttock would go up and the right one down, right one up left one down, thighs pressing the sides of the bike together, his bum not even touching the seat, you could feel the muscles working inside his backside to push those enormous pedals, and him so small yet he would be flying in the air and you could make out the threads sticking out of his back pocket with the missing button, and the cuffs of his navy blue trousers rolled so tight with more navy blue threads sticking out and you`d wonder what would happen if a thread got caught in the wheel spoke or the pedal, and you squatting there on the ground next to your aunt`s white Bata chappals with the blue toe bands which are right up against another aunt`s dark brown kolapuris the ones she uses for visiting people on special occasions, and you dangling on the ground with your frock flying in the air like the rickshawala and then you tuck the dress under you as best you can without falling off the side and feel like a balloon coz the air is still getting in, and all the time the rickshawala is chirping like a cricket bibiji this and bibiji that and you just want to smack him for flying so fast and not having any thing to hold on to in this rickety transport mechanism of his with the red vinyl hood and the window cutout at the back where you can see the zigzag lines of the sewing machine and the cheap aluminium frame that he probably sits up all night to polish it glistens so! whew... memories...]

I reproduced the whole paragraph above because it deserves another reading because it is so excellent, so picturesque! There is nothing wrong with the sharpness of your memories! Hang on to those babies – with all your might – they are precious things!

Some of the rickshaw drivers – especially the young ones new to the trade – really put the force of “pawan doot Hanumana” into those pedals and the riders better watch out – especially as the vehicle negotiates those sharp turns and jumps over ditches and obstructions! It is quite easy to find oneself landing on the ground a little ahead of plans and on the wrong part of one’s anatomy!

Re: #44 by Beej

``Okay, now that that is out of the way – let me address this issue of you putting me on your “ignore” list – that you claim to have done on that other board of yours!``

Where did I claim this??? You write very good fiction, Beej. You can`t read particularly well.

I just read the brain smashing you gave the rest of the interactors. maybe I shouldn`t have posted.

you know though, reading the story, I didn`t at all feel it was a poverty thing with some hidden agenda to it. I sincerely felt like it was just a well laid out story. The title didn`t really jell with it, (the ``party`` bit), but I didn`t think it had THAT much emotion to it, as opposed to what I see in all your comment posts. Plenty of jumping up and down emotion there. Whereas the story itself was pretty moderate paced, matter-of-fact, told as it is, and yes, believable, c`est la vie.

BeejWa,
Since when Anandmargi admirer is not a COMMIE?

Tumhar Logan ka susra prablym Ye Hai Ke Sussra Commie hai tau Kono Baat nahee
Lekin Sare-aam Istakbal tau karo. LENINWa ka Keera Katat Hai, lekin Khujlee Nahee Karegey.

Ah! the cycle rickshaw, as opposed to the ``auto rikshah``.. the picture was a nice reminder of a few childhood summer holidays. I always wondered how the boy on the seat used to be so carefree, waving to people of his trade when they passed by, while using his thumb to ring the bell on the handle bar, and his other hand to steer. And all the time his left buttock would go up and the right one down, right one up left one down, thighs pressing the sides of the bike together, his bum not even touching the seat, you could feel the muscles working inside his backside to push those enormous pedals, and him so small yet he would be flying in the air and you could make out the threads sticking out of his back pocket with the missing button, and the cuffs of his navy blue trousers rolled so tight with more navy blue threads sticking out and you`d wonder what would happen if a thread got caught in the wheel spoke or the pedal, and you squatting there on the ground next to your aunt`s white Bata chappals with the blue toe bands which are right up against another aunt`s dark brown kolapuris the ones she uses for visiting people on special occasions, and you dangling on the ground with your frock flying in the air like the rickshawala and then you tuck the dress under you as best you can without falling off the side and feel like a balloon coz the air is still getting in, and all the time the rickshawala is chirping like a cricket bibiji this and bibiji that and you just want to smack him for flying so fast and not having any thing to hold on to in this rickety transport mechanism of his with the red vinyl hood and the window cutout at the back where you can see the zigzag lines of the sewing machine and the cheap aluminium frame that he probably sits up all night to polish it glistens so! whew... memories...

Aww. Nice story Beej, well written, good tempo. Poor Raju. But I think a bike lock costs a little more than five rupees nowadays.

Re#39, #40 by Netizen

Zen muni, thanks for your support.


Re#41 Dost-Mittar

Thanks. I’m glad you liked the story. Perhaps such stories never complete – they just repeat themselves!

I put my two cents on the Marg in #43.

Re#38 Delhiwala

Who was the camera man and who is that dunce with those beautiful ladies?

Re#37 Delhiwala

I am VERY pleased with this interact – and its content has nothing to do with that fact.

Dear Delhiwala – as you probably know I have extremely high regards for Sirdarjees! What happened in 1984 was and remains a blot on the face of the nation – in my view, it is an unresolved issue and someday the country WILL have to face up to it – I hope that day comes soon – and those who have been wronged must keep focus on it – using the right means though, not the wrong ones!

At the same time, one must not oneself become hostage to the past – I’m glad that you have not done so.

And please be assured, I will NEVER insult you by treating you with kid gloves! You are a Sirdarjee!

You can count on that fact!

Sincerely,
Beej.

Re#36 by mirmir

Dear MirMir,

Thanks for showing up here – and for your positive feedback. I’ll ask Raju to keep working at it – but you realize it’s difficult to come up with two or three hundred pages – especially for somebody who has NOT been to school!

Okay, now that that is out of the way – let me address this issue of you putting me on your “ignore” list – that you claim to have done on that other board of yours!

You realize what that means!

It means that you are NOT reading these words that I am typing right now. THESE words!

Praise the Lord!

Praise the Lord!

I could write absolutely anything here – absolutely ANYTHING – and it will still fly because – because you WON’T be reading it! You won’t even know what you were hit with!

I could ridicule you – and ridicule you – and ridicule you till the cows come home!

I could laugh into your face! Make faces at you!

I could curse you – using colorful language and choice words that would make even our hardened Delhiwala red with shame – so red, so red that he would hide under his bed – shaking with dread!

I could tear you apart – into shreds – like a rudimentary rag doll! I could make you run – make you run as if you were on nature’s call!

And hey, I could even inflict that ultimate of insults on you – I could talk to you in Spanish here – as if you are a callow newcomer for whom English is a handicap and who must be spoken into his native tongue – and who must be patronized by being warned against this bunch of big, bad, bullies of the chowk bazaar from whom you must be protected – as if you can not hold your own here and as if you will get ravaged in no time (Ah, innocent you!) by this band of rowdy elements (not to mention nutty elements (come to think of it what brings you to this asylum unless (Oh my God!) you feel you belong here!))– All those enfant terrible, with one solitary exception – that ONLY candid person in this whole vast crowd (in addition to T-bhai, of course) – who SHALL remain nameless – because of modesty, of course!

I could do ALL of those bad things to you – but I won’t!

At least today I won’t!

Then again, there is always tomorrow!

Take it from me MirMir – there is ALWAYS tomorrow! So make sure you keep me on that list!

Sincerely,
Beej.

Re#35 by rahulmal

Thanks Rahul, for your comments of considerable depth.

I have always LOVED Premchand – always did, always shall! And I have a feeling that if one were to take a walk through some of those remote villages in India – one would find that most of his stories – it’s difficult to believe that some of these stories are more than eighty years old – are still being played out – day in and day out! The reasons are simple – does the nature of man really change that much?

Indeed, what you write in #35 makes a lot of sense – the three problems of the lack of education, the contempt for authority, and the phenomenon of having to move to an unfamiliar location where one has no ties and is extremely vulnerable to exploitation – they all gang up together and grind many an underdog to smithereens in no time! I would also add to that some of the “bad habits” (ganja for example) which a lonely person can get tempted to indulge into in a strange land – where there are no watchful eyes of close relatives or neighbors or others to dissuade! (This is one area where I feel it is a good thing that village people are generally nosier than the city folks!)

I will never forget the experience of visiting my old high school a few years ago – and being taken aback by the change in the landscape. The change did not result from construction. However, the area between an open sewer stream that runs next to the school periphery and the paved road that runs parallel to the open sewer – a sidewalk about four feet wide but about as long as the boundary wall (about four hundred feet) was open space no more but occupied by jhuggies – about 2-3 feet high jhuggies constructed of a whole bunch of makeshift supplies – primarily cardboard boxes – dozens of the families had moved there – all from villages. The sewer stream provided easy bathroom facilities and the solitary municipal water tap outside the school gate was the source of water for every need for all those people.

When times are tough – people learn to survive and manage with very little – maybe that’s why our subcontinental civilization has been able to have such a marathon run – and continues to go strong – nukes may come and go!

And now for something completely different!

Rahul, congratulations on being among the FEW interactors who have displayed a certain amount of diversity of interests by showing up on BOTH my boards!

As distinct from the chest-thumpers who are too timid to deal with the emotions that a story of this kind would definitely invoke, even provoke – by design!

As distinct from the softies who sneak in on this one – but were too biased by their latent religious prejudices to open their traps on the last board! Yeah, YOU (but not you, Rahul) heard it right – I said religious prejudices!

As distinct from the timid peekers who looked in on both the boards – but were lacking in words – for they were afraid of the writer – perhaps they even relieved themselves involuntarily – and to think that ANYONE could be afraid of a furry little gentle pussycat of a person!!

Oh, the thought of it!

PS:

The Anand Marg sect is meant to be for illustration purposes only – it could have been something different – but in my view, real names help – and I had trouble thinking another name. As you are probably aware, at one time this sect had a certain reputation for being secretive, which would require the type of comradeship and the excessive zeal of new members which is indicated in this story. To me, fictitious names just don’t carry the same impact – they lack credibility. I was not trying to malign the sect in any way – I don’t know too much about it and I hope I have not offended any Margis – it IS my understanding that it used to be secretive but currently its members pretty much concern themselves with meditation and the like.

I just got back, so here goes.

Re#34 by HP

Dear HP,

Let me put it as simply as I can. I like your sense of humor and I am quite sure you are a smart person in your line of work. I assume you are a professor type, by reading your stuff, but I might be wrong. The problem that I find is that like many other professor-types, you become captive to whatever conclusions you made upon a certain time – and you have lost that sense of openness of mind and the inquisitiveness which is the primary agent that tends to make us grow! As a result, when I read you I have trouble believing you – your desire to make a point and sway your audience with that home run of a point gets the better of any sense of fairness that you may have had once upon a time.

Having said all that, it’s merely a janitor’s opinion – therefore no need to rush toward the bar and hit that bottle again!

First, thanks for reading my stuff. To me it appears that you are trying to come up very hard to find something negative about this write-up – again because of your pre-conceived notions – and having found zilch, are trying to grab at imaginary straws.

Most themes in life are simple – because life is basically simple – unless the professor-types TRY to distort into something it is not. THEY are the ones who need fixing – not those most things in life!

They make “baal kee khaal”!

They interpret and reinterpret simple word to forcibly see meanings which a simple soul would never do!

They ascribe motives where there may not be any!

And worst of all, they assume that the rest of the world is JUST LIKE THEM!

Goodness gracious!

And then they wonder why that drink tastes so good and looks so interesting – unlike people!

Well, I got good news for you! Keep reading my stuff – as long as you keep doing that, there is still hope for you!

Sincerely,
Beej.

Beej:

Nice story. The description of the life of the Bihari riksha puller is quite realistic. But the story felt a bit unfinished. I have read about Anand Marg after a long time. Is it still alive in India?

Re: # 38


jaspal bhattis photo along with his wife, sarita (?).

reminded me of flop show.

Re: # 37

hamara beejwa ki borayi hamaka buri lagge, ram....:)

Re: # 37

BeejWa,
Lagta Hai tumka Diwali Ki Raat Mai JUA BAHUT ZYDA KHELAT HO.
Hamar Bhabhee Jee ko Haar Gya KIYA?

Khair Koi Baat nahee, DharamRaj Yudishter Drapuadi ka Cheer Haran ke pashchat bhee DharamRay hi Rahe the. Tum tau ek chota mota se Tattay ho.

A perfect little gem of a story. But, Raju, now that I know you so well I can`t help being concerned about your future. Please let us know how you`re getting on - maybe two or three hundred pages? I`ll be looking for news of you. mirmir

Nice! Good to read something about ricksaw-pullers and sons of ASIs beating the crap out of them for refusing to ride after midnight. I thought the genre had died with Premchand. Glad to know there are some who see the suffering and exploitation in what is mostly dismissed as `fate` by most of us.

There are many themes intertwined in your story and I want to share my thoughts on them. Aplogies for digressing!

Education: There is no way these chattels can become proud, contributing members of the society, till they are `qualified for little else`. This is a vicious circle - slaves brought up with little skills except driving ricksaws, toiling all their life only to have their piggybank broken by ASI`s son, wife forever waiting for husband to bring back that saree and ultimately blinded by cataract and interminable wait. In a generation, the stage is set for another crop of Raju`s to do their bidding in the society, pulling ricksaws, manning brick kilns and sweeping floors.

Urban Ho India lives in its villages. This may not be true in a couple of decades. The imbalance in development patterns and skewed priorities of the powers-that-be have triggered a great migration to cities. The Rajus are moving out of their ancestral villages in droves, eager to get a share of the expanding pie in the cities. Unfortunately, they have little to offer except their servility and docility. However, what they earn in cities is often better than malnourishment and exploitation in villages. Few months back, I read a report in TOI which claimed that 75% of the white-collar jobs created in `04 Fiscal were in the three major urbacn centres of Mumbai, NCR and Bangalore. THis is a surefire recips for disaster. The only way to stop Raju`s from sleeping Sethji`s verandah is by giving them opportunities in their backyard. ITC has started a program called e-Choupal to help the villagers. They buy the farmer`s crop and also advice them on fertilizers, seeds, pesticides etc. i believe, Bharti is also planning to get in agriculture in a big way. Tiny drops in the unforgiving sands of indifference, but a start nevertheless.

Contempt for rules The cockiness and arrogance ingrained in our psyche is furstrating. Not a day goes by without witnessing a stuffed shirt barking on someone supposed to be lower than him in the hierarchy. In the boondocks of UP and Bihar, you can find lathi-wielding sipahis regularly humiliated or even slapped for trying to stop people from doing unlawful things. People stare at security people who insist on seeing their badges before allowing them in the office premises. There is a cultural pattern which feeds on exploitation, mindless class-consciousness and disregard for rules of the scoiety and country. These attitudes naturally cuminate in the beating of poor Raju, parading of women naked in the streets and mob lynchings. The funny part is that people lament the injustice being perpetrated on them while torching those, whom they can afford to exploit.

Regarding your story: I think you could have done without the Anand Margi part. It adds nothing to the story. Besides, the differnece of status between the ASI`s son and Raju is enough to justify what he did, he doesn`t have to be drunk (on alcohol or religion) to do that, being himself is enough :-)

10 pages by Beej,

“And just by chance – by the faintest of chance – did it at all occur to you that maybe the story was NOT written with you in mind?!”

Beej,
I tried to read all your posts to me but I know by now you know that it is my little top notch time and can’t dedicate too much effort into reading your posts. I am also a man of a few words. Mostly, I pick up concepts quickly and don’t indulge in reading the whole effort. I mean, people are so transparent that I don’t need an extra effort to read what`s in their minds.

I tried to convey a special message to you because I saw that you are making an effort to improve the quality of your work as IIRC, I could not finish your last article on this site, and I did not write any comment on that. But this one, I read it completely and then I regretted that. Why did I do that? Reading this article forced me to comment on the article. I commented honestly. You could not be dishonest after a good time and some good scotch shots. That is the beauty of scotch; it makes you talk and talk with honesty and gusto.

It is very important to have ideas. These rickshaw walas and topi walas are no ideas. I mean they are dime a dozen, what is unique about them to turn them into an idea? I think you are getting into a rut and I pointed that out to you. There are no ideas in a poor man’s life. There is nothing unique in there; there is nothing substantial in there and there is nothing important in there to keep a reader glued to the story.

So when you say the story was probably not for me then you are absolutely wrong. How do you write a story with a specific audience in mind? You are not writing philosophy, you are not writing on economy, you are not writing on ideology and you are not writing on religiosity, you are writing about people and I am your audience, an informed and knowledgeable audience too. That’s what you don’t like. You did not appreciate my telling you that you lack ideas and you turn around and tell me that this story was not for me. That is your ego talking, that is your hurt ego talking. You did not like what I wrote and you tried to pooh-pooh-ed me. You tried to submerge me into long posts but I will not be cowered nor will I refrain from saying that you need to develop ideas. An idea forms the backbone of a good story, it distinguishes a good writer from an also ran.
It is up to you. Think about what I am saying…it is the idea not the BS around some bogus well beaten rickshaw wala that will make you a good writer or perhaps someday an excellent writer. I know you are not a big-ot in trendy, intellectual trappings. So, get on with it. Think and think long and hard before you write.
Thanks for Balraj Sahani`s pix.

Suborot, Whatever that was, was good!

Re#32 Subroto

Subroto,

That was hilarious!

Now why didn’t EYE think of that!

I think I’m loosing my touch
There never was much
As such!

Sincerely,
Beej.

#27 Dr Beejuess ``ALL those pages – you so callously make them mush, HP, you make them mush!
You heartlessly crush with that silly-old brush and (don’t you DARE blush) you then gulp that pulp!``

Was this an extract from the poem by Dr Beejuess?

Oh the plup that he pulped that he pulped into mush
With a silly old brush he turned the pulp into mush
Then with a great big gulp he gulped all the mush
HP gulped the mushed pulp with nary a blush

And as you so gobble that gobbley-gook – scarier than any haunting Halloween goblin could ever hope to accomplish – did you EVER pause to think?
It was a gook that gobbled
What a gobbledy-gook
That scared the Halloween goblin
Who was dressed in fine poplin
The gobbling gook made him such a sook

Not to read, but to reflect!
The light with his head
To face that reality with guts,
Not to deflect with his butt!

=== Interact Filtered ===
view this users filtered interacts

And just to make sure our dear old HP gets a chance to drown another bottle of top-notch scotch, here is another picture!

Who needs a yatch when you got one of these beauties!

A Kolkata cycle rickshaw driver pulls passengers through a flooded road in Egra, some 190 km (120 miles), October 22, 2005.



(Photo courtesy of www.alertnet.org)

Re#21 Hamidm2

Thanks, hamidm2, I value your encouragement!
(Is there an echo in here?)

Re#23 Soysauce

Thanks, soysauce!

I’m sure you are aware that the realities of life include too many variations on one old theme after another! Take this one (immortalized by Lata) as an example –

Tanhaai milti hai – mahfil nahin milti
Raahe muhabbat mein – kabhi manzil nahin milti
Dil toot jaataa hai – naakaam hotaa hai
Ulfat mein logon kaa – yahi anjaam hotaa hai
Koi kya jaane – kyoon ye parvaane
Kyoon machalte hain – gam mein jalte hain…

This oft-repeated theme is old as daylight – and yet goes on – day and night, here and there, all over the place!

Sincerely,
Beej.

Re #20 by HP
(Part three of three)

[90% of talent in writing is in ideas. Ten percent is in presentation. You can present but your idea sucks big time. Lots of people can write very well but their upper chamber is devoid of any ideas. Do you wanna follow them?]

Dear HP – it’s extremely insightful of you – no doubt a product of that ``upper chamber`` – though many others may disagree – to be able to quantify that elusive creature – and put down a percentage value on what makes a piece of work click.

Alas, if only that horde of writers and poets and artists and that whole bang-bang gang would only have known – they could have saved themselves such a helluva trouble – and gotten all that glory and all that fame – on the double!

[What interest I have in reading about a poor rickshaw wala? Here I am drinking a top notch scotch and you are talking about some godforsaken rickshaw wala. Think about it, poor people in India and Pakistan don’t read stories partly because they can’t read and mostly because they know the story is about them. What interest they have in their own life? Like Raju, they would rather be dead instead of busting their balls and getting kicked around permanently.]

How little you know my dear – what the poor rickshaw wala or the poor anything wala really reads? The problem is not a desire not to read – but the opportunity to do so. And the reason they don’t get the opportunity is they are just too busy dealing with the daily drudgery that they nust deal with – whose harmful effects are not by choice – like your “top notch” scotch whose merits I already dwelt on a bit earlier!

And just by chance – by the faintest of chance – did it at all occur to you that maybe the story was NOT written with you in mind?!

And so, my dear HP, why generalize regarding the likes and dislikes of the rest of the world based on your own personal feelings and lacks thereof? After all, why ever would ANYBODY confuse you – that guzzler of top-notch scotch – with simple folks in the rest of the world – after all, YOU have it made – (I assume so – I hope I’m right – and I don’t mean professionally only – I mean all around – YOU know what I mean – and if you don’t, hey just ask and I’ll be happy to elaborate more!) – so THEY must have made it, too!

Right? Right – so let them go eat cake!

[You wanna cash their dastardly life and you start writing stories about them to impress bleeding heart liberals that you care about poor. Actually you don’t. You just wanna use them to showcase your still undiscovered talent.]

This interactor is no writer and has no talent – when did he claim otherwise? – he does not even write from the heart and makes no pretenses along those lines – he simply WRITES what comes to his heart!

I fully understand how difficult that concept would be to grasp for an individual like you – and your many, oh so many ideological clones on this site. But that’s okay! I fully understand – I understand just too well!

But I have fun – writing what I write – anyway! And I believe the intensity is a lot stronger than anything your top notch scotch could bring – and it does not fade away – and leaves no hangover.

[This world is full of ideas. Poverty is just one idea and it is not a vast canvas but a wasted area. Get off it and think of something better.]

You must have read the other little piece I did last month and the smart professor that you are – immediately recognized the similarity of the themes and the exactly identical underlying “idea”, therefore you must be commended for your sharp acumen and penetrating powers of analysis.

I know my dear, the world is full of ideas – and we are the least of it – most of those ideas are bigger than our pathetic existence, our cocksure pride in our paper trails, and our day-to-day run-ins with our employers, our clients, our spouses (if any), and our children.

Ah, those children! I could elaborate more – a LOT more – but I am running overtime as it is.

Let me quote from what I stated on another board recently.

In reality, we are insignificant dots on the nature’s canvas – most of the beauty is elsewhere – and it does not fade.

Do I even need to elaborate to you at all what YOU are so full of!

[One last advice to you since I have cast a spell on you now. You could have done without the last para and the line before that and some more lines before that but I am not going to be specific here as I wanna encourage you too. The trick is that you leave the readers when they begun to think. If you start thinking for the readers, they will lose interest in the story.]

You have not cast a spell my dear – not even a shadow!

It is interesting what you say about the last para, and how that contrasts with for example what was said in #2 by another interactor. I suppose the bottom line is – different strokes for different folks.

[PS. Now the line about you animated writing style above…that was just to get your attention…don’t fall for it….]

Alas, it’s futile to try to raise those who have already fallen – mostly by the wayside!

Cheers, and thanks for your input! Feel free to add more at any time – tipsy or otherwise!

Sincerely,
Beej.

Re #20 by HP
(Part two of three)

[I call this Balraj Sahani trap. Btw, I have never seen a Balraj Sahani movie, can’t even recognize him if I see his mug shot. He was before my time.]

Although Mr. Sahni was before my time too, I believe I understand what you are conveying here. And how typical for so many of us it is – to judge someone we never bothered to sit down and take a good look at by ourselves – but to go by the preconceived notions of others – go through the motions then hang on to those vicarious notions for dear life – lest we be proven wrong!

It’s the same old same-old, HP, the same old song!

Yet how little you realize – dear HP the “wise” – there is a Balraj Sahni lurking inside each of us – yes, even YOU, HP – just feel him and he will come out in no time – come out and take over – and make you forget – and perhaps make you feel that that facial smirk was just a mere quirk!

And I believe it is more appropriate to say that he ACTED in movies – did not really direct them. Therefore, he did not MAKE movies in the sense of that word. Naturally, as a talented actor, he did everything possible to get the feel for what the character was thinking inside. The following quote from a rediff.com web site is instructive:

While Hum Log gave him the patina of an actor, Sahni got the star-actor sheen with Bimal Roy`s ground-breaking epic, Do Bigha Zameen (1953). To get into the skin of his character of a farmer-turned-rickshaw driver, Sahni bought a gamcha to wrap around his head and plied a rickshaw on the streets of Kolkata for two weeks with his son Parikshit and daughter Shabnam sitting on it. This willingness to immerse himself into the role stayed with him even in latter years: he lived with the Kabuliwalas to prepare for the title role of Kabuliwala (1961). …

And to address your lament regarding having missed an opportunity to see the persona – let me provide a picture of him – right here!


(Photo: Courtesy of Rediff.com web-site)

Take a look at that face HP – take a good long look – inside that crusty exterior there lies a softy soul – less like a Halloween ghoul – that ghoul that you seem to cherish so – but more like a somber, thoughtful, caring whole – of an individual!

[But what I heard of him makes me feel that he probably had the monopoly on making movies about poor and their lives.]

How quickly you rush to judge – and then how little you budge! Do you REALLY think that the poor are the monopoly of the Indian subcontinent and that people from outside the subcontinent don’t make movies – and that others inside the subcontinent –of yore and of the present – have not done the same?

Think sane, HP, think sane!

Alas, HP how little you realize – they DO make movies outside – not just movies whose images flicker and move – they can make us all move – move inside – yes, even YOU!

Yes, even YOU – HP, the “wise”!

[Indo-Pak writers just love to write about poor. It somehow makes them feel like they are doing a favor to poor because they know poor. The problem is nobody in the world has become a big writer by just writing about poor.]

And how broad that brush you paint this whole mythical brand of “Indo-Pak” writers with!

And what a special “gift” the good Lord provided you with – that so far unheard of ability to get inside each of those minds of this animal – this, this “Indo-Pak” writer of an animal – and be able to divine exactly what’s going on! Highly impressive, of course – now if only those creatures themselves would have a clue!

And what KIND of animal does that make YOU, dear HP!

Now don’t you blush or hide, dear HP, I saw your name on the list of writers – or were you there just for the fun – that loose canon or gun – not to write but just having a ride – the ride of the hick just getting his kick – or perhaps was it that gal, my pal – that intoxicating liquor, that angoor kee beti again – were YOU the one getting a ride or did the gal take you on her very own slide – just to lick a side-kick?

[Poor just have one story and i.e. a poor guy saving money in a piggy bank to