Public Utility, But Without Fire Safety

For years, Bangalore's Public Utility Building wore that majestic stamp of the city's tallest skyscraper. It would be a dwarf in Manhattan, but the PUB stood hovering above the modest city structures. And then came the construction boom. Monstrosities in steel and glass rocketed skyward, giving stiff competition to the PUB. In that glitter and glitz, PUB lost its place. Yet, the new structures had a lesson or two to learn from PUB. A recent fire exposed the PUB's underbelly. It was a masterstroke by the firegods, to remind every wannabe vertical building to take care of fire safety. Years before, the chief of a single-man anti-terrorist cell, perched on the 14th floor of PUB had issued an ultimatum to the rest of his building mates. He asked them to equip themselves with a long nylon rope and a hammer. In case of fire, they just had to break open the glass window with the hammer, tie the nylon rope onto its grills and jump out.

That fantastic idea, unfortunately for the very eminent chief, had no takers. As a Loka Sabha member now, this man has more such ideas in mind. For the record, he had launched a concept called cycle track in Bangalore. Sadly for him, the cyclists had been wiped out long ago !

RJs Love Traffic Jams

I guess Bangalore's rocketonged radio jockeys love to get all the city's streets jammed. Oh God, they just love those traffic jams. Jamming your car or mobike brakes, you spend your precious time in your cars or within those shields called helmets. And then, you begin to listen to radio. You get to SMS a radio station here or another RJ there, and still end up listening to all that they call music. You need to bear those non stop nonsense they so euphemistically call interactive fun. All that gibberish, and they get paid a bomb for it. What cheek, you say, cursing the traffic, the chaos, and of course the jarring radio songs. Who said the customer is king.

Now, A Gallery For Cartoons !

Bangalore now has a gallery for cartoons. Now, that forgotten tribe of cartoonists should feel mighty impressed by the NICE man Kheny. After all, the highway man came a long way to draw some lines on his own. Not on the Bangalore Mysore Corridor but for the cartoonists. Like some way put it the other day, cartoonists never get angry. Coz, they always know where to draw the line. Pooh, that is some Laxman Rekha, no pun intended. Even if intended, bear it for humour sake.

From Bhubaneshwar to Puri, Puri to Konark

From Bhubaneswar to Puri, it was a long picturesque journey. But touching down at the holy site, the three discarded chariots dominated the scene. Crowded, bustling, the place appeared loud. In the background, the Jagannath temple rose majestically. The heat was killing. Slipper-less, the feet burned. The ground beneath the feet felt like an oven.

Developing cold feet seemed much desirable. Yet, there was not one shady place. Life was one killing, burning field. Spiritual, the temple was definitely at a higher plane. A riot of colours was all that the eye could see. The man behind the colours was apparently impervious to the heat. He just shoed a few flies away, and fanned himself with the same cloth.

The cycle rickshaws rested idly in the off-season sun. Without customers, rickshaws wondered why they were there. But their pullers had no such thoughts. They simply downed shutters and shoulders, and dozed off to a different level of consciousness. Life stood still. Only the sun hovered above, hot, imposing and unbearably scorching.

Konark !

  Konark had this numbing effect, perhaps inspired by the presence of its imposing architecture. The carvings were rich, the renderings richer. A guide, who strayed dangerously onto his graphic description of the eros, caught tourists in subdued peels. Yet, the temple endured, its magnificent ambience stood above one and all. From a distance, the majestic charm of this architectural wonder held the visitor's attention, rapt and steady. Diving into a past long gone, the avid fan of yore recollected royalty in scholastic calm.

Bhubaneswar

Imagine your fate, when you're late. Now, I am talking, yeah, about my studious foray into HAL airport, still hanging in there before BIAL Devanahalli yanks its life out next year. Friends, ready to take off to Bhubaneswar, await your grand entry almost like a VIP. You look around, throw a smile here, a ticket there, and walk straight in with bag, baggage and a sheepish grin. They try not to hug you. Given half a chance, they might just mug you. So, you join the waiting gang. Or gang up to wait the Big Indian. Oh Boy, we were going to go in a boeing. Bhubaneswar beckoned big time. But for nob, it baas beri beri faar abay!! Our very Indian flights are notorious for their punctual touchdowns. Butter flies out of the passengers' collective stomachs,when our Indian flight touches its underbelly on our bheri smooth runbays. When it finally did, it was time to get going. But when the baiting bernacular and english men and bimen looked at the aircraft, they were shocked to see not a BOEING, but an AIRBUS !!! Oh boy!, Too much AIR for today, BUSSSSS !