Managerie

About Rajiv. 

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Simon smiles and bididiré

A Mangalorean ran the canteen at the IPHB ( Institute of Psychiatry and Human Behavior) or simply, the mental hospital. He was a puny little man with a broad smile. The sides of his eyes had crinkled skin owing to his habit of compulsive smiling. He was also particulary generous to us, friends from the college of Art. Probably we arties were slightly more relatable, there was less formality to tackle,  behavior became easier. Simon was his name and I liked the tea he made. It was very consistent and it smelled of Jasmine. He got tea from SLanka.  He would serve lunches there also. Although not regular we ate there sometimes. We paid Simon as and when we could. He  did not ask or not let us drink tea and snacks. I guess we were more reliable among the younger folk.  But it is not Simon or the Jasmine tea this one is about. This is about an intern, a young woman in her early thirties, an inmate in the mental hospital.  In Simon's canteen the windows opened directl...
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Panjim crematorium

 The crematorium of the Hindus and the graveyard for Mohammedans were within four walls in Panjim. Dead bodies of men and women who believed themselves to be either Hindus or Muslimeen while they were alive were carried through the same grilled gate which led to either/or Hindu/Muslim side. A low wall about five feet high separated the world's two tall faiths — smashan to the right hand and the qabristan to the left. The right wing was larger in area. There was an open courtyard with a high canopied pavilion under which were two raised platforms. There the bodies were cremated. The Muslims buried their dead. The space for the Hindu was more and the Muslim, less. The logic behind this arrangement was difficult to understand. Hindus cremated one body at a time, and after it turned to ashes, the ashes were collected and taken away, making the space available for the next dead person.  The Muslims however, buried their dead and kept them there to decompose in the grave. Therefor...
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Christening

  It is normal everywhere to 'name' people, monicker them ( monicature?), either to annoy them or just for the heck of it. For instance, at the handloom unit of our cottage industry where I worked briefly, a person with a particularly dark complexion was addressed by all and sundry as Ujala . Ujala was the name of a detergent powder or a fabric whitener. The man, instead of reacting to being called ujala, would respond in a matter of fact manner. He had grown so used to being called Ujala that perhaps he believed it!  I myself got called by various names at various stages of my growing years. My pet name apart, my mother called me by countless names, depending on her moods. My siblings and class fellows had names for me and even my school principal had given me a name—Maruti, the monkey God of the Hindu pantheon.  My neighbors, Sanjay and Mahesh, cousins both, would name any and every approaching bloke. Women weren't spared. The names they fashioned were apt somehow. I b...
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