An explosion can change your life!

 

Pooja’s tearful parents and I watched helplessly through the glass pane separating us from the room where the doctors were desperately fighting to save little Pooja’s life. It was an accident…it is always an accident…

Pooja, our local grocer’s daughter, was trying to light a ‘fountain’ firecracker and in the dark, she had not noticed the number of other firecrackers including a string of live ‘atom-bomb’, wheel and other fountain firecrackers that some others had lit nearby. The little girl had been caught in the multiple explosions that had taken place around her. We had rushed her to a neighbouring hospital where a team of doctors had gravely told us that she had sustained severe burns on her body and face. Even if she managed to survive, she would be scarred for life…

I sighed and looked out of the hospital window. How many Poojas would have to suffer like this before the Government even considers passing a law, banning the manufacture and sale of firecrackers.

Forget the Government, how many Poojas would have to suffer before their parents realize that firecrackers are dangerous, life-threatening explosive devices that should be avoided at all costs, and least of all, handled by children!

It is a paradox that I find sometimes infuriating, often saddening, but always confounding.

On one hand parents do not even allow their children to touch a matchbox or a hot utensil, lest they burn themselves. And yet these same parents will sit back and watch adoringly as their young children, sometimes even toddlers, swirl around sparklers (fulzhadis) which reach temperatures of 1000 to 2000 degrees Centigrade! That is 10 to 20 times the temperature of boiling water!!

The same parents will also encouragingly clap their hands when their child lights a firecracker, (and often a string of them!) which explode causing sounds up to 125 db.

Incidentally, the WHO has recommended that children should not be exposed to sounds louder than 120 db for fear of deafness.

Everything about the issue of firecrackers is wrong.

Beginning with the actual manufacture of firecrackers, in India, everything about manufacturing firecrackers i.e. mixing chemicals to filling, binding to packaging, is done by hand.

Most fireworks factories employ uninsured, poor people who are paid a pittance compared the occupational hazards they face.

Sivakasi in Tamil Nadu, South India is the birthplace of firecrackers in India. It contributes to 90% of the Rs 2500 crore ($ 50,000,000) fireworks industry in India.

Sivakasi has about 700 ‘registered’ fireworks factories, many of which outsource their work to illegal smaller units. A large number of these factories/ units fragrantly flout all the prescribed norms and regulations for safety, with the Government turning a blind eye and deaf ear towards them.

Even now, many of these factories employ small children for actually making the firecrackers, on grounds that their small hands are better suited to making smaller firecrackers! Many of them suffer poisoning and injury from handling the dangerous chemicals involved therein.

All of the above creates the potential for devastating accidents, as evidenced by the terrible explosion and fire that took place in Om Sakthi Fireworks factory in September 2012, which claimed over 50 lives.

To make matters worse, the nearest specialized burns care unit is 60 km away in Madurai.

Then consider the vast amounts of money spent…wasted…burned in purchasing and using these firecrackers. Money which could have been utilized in so many other, better ways…

Our planet too suffers as a direct result of these firecrackers, through air and noise pollution. In Mumbai during Diwali, one finds a distinct sulphurous stink in the air pervading throughout the city, and more so, in the areas where firecrackers are ‘enjoyed’ the most.

The most tragic fallout of these firecrackers is upon the health of humans.

In India, the Explosives Rules (2008) states that firecrackers that emit only sound can emit sound only up to 125 db at 4 metres from point of bursting. Also, for individual fire-cracker constituting the series (joined fire-crackers), the above mentioned limit should be reduced by 5 log10(N) db, where N = number of crackers joined together. And for firecrackers emitting sound and light, the upper limit is 90 db.

These rules don’t take into account the simple fact that during the Diwali celebrations in a given area, multiple firecrackers are burst together at the same time, compounding the effect and the decibel levels.

The Explosive Rules (2008) also do not take into consideration, the effect of the amount of time of exposure at different decibel levels.

The human ears can tolerate sound levels without discomfort only up to 80 db, after which unpleasant things start to happen to them.

The National Institute for Occupational Safety and Health (NIOSH), an office of the world renowned CDC or Center of Diseases and Control, USA states that damage to our ears take place when exposed to,

90 db for 2 hours,

100 db for just 15 minutes,

112 db for only ONE minute,

Anything above 140 db causes immediate auditory nerve damage!

Please note that these figures are ‘allowed’ for a span of 24 hours. That means that if you are exposed to 100 db for about 15 minutes, you should NOT get exposed to any sound above 80 db for ANOTHER 24 HOURS! This ‘rest period’ is important for your ears to recover from the insult of the exposure.

For more details refer to http://www.cdc.gov/niosh/docs/98-126/pdfs/98-126.pdf

NGOs have recorded decibel levels varying from 90 db to 130 db levels in different cities in India in the past.

So one wonders how our Indian Government came up with this magic ‘safe’ figure of 125 db for firecrackers.

Other than deafness, poisoning due to the chemicals used in firecrackers, burns, injuries from flying particles, increase in attacks of asthma, high blood pressure, nervous disorders…the list is endless!

And what’s worse is that most of the victims suffering the above are often not even directly involved in lighting the firecrackers, e.g elderly, babies, animals etc!

It is no wonder therefore, that some countries like Sweden and Malaysia have banned firecrackers altogether. And in many other countries, there are only state-sponsored firework shows with light (not sound) oriented firecrackers, held with regular precautions, conducted by trained personnel, with the crowds standing at a safe distance

When will our Indian Government wake up…?!

Finally, the most lamentable fact is that everybody conveniently forgets that Diwali is a festival of Lights, not sound! The original, Veda-recommended way to celebrate Diwali is to decorate one’s house with numerous ‘diyas’ (lamps) and colourful lights.

And yet so many people choose to ‘enjoy’ Diwali by playing around with dangerous, life-threatening firecrackers…

So this Diwali, instead of lighting crude, noisy and dangerous firecrackers, light the lamp of happiness and cheer in some poor, needy person’s life by using that same money to do that person some good.

A very happy…and more importantly, safe Diwali to all of you! 

Subterfuge

‘Have you spoken to her about it?’ Deepa asked me, sipping her coffee.
Deepa and I were sitting in the Barista Café, our usual haunt, situated on the ground floor of my office building. As a ritual, we would breakfast together at this place and discuss the goings-on in our lives.
Deepa was a high-ranking executive in the HSBC Bank situated in the building opposite. We went back a long way. After a brief affair during our college days, we had concluded that we were better off as best friends. And we had remained that way ever since.
‘Have I?!’ I ran my hand through my hair in frustration. ‘Deepa, on what basis can I talk to her? I’m not even sure she wants to have a relationship with me!’
Deepa raised her eyebrows and looked at me in surprise.
I nodded my head. ‘Yes, yes, I know that I am the only lucky guy in my entire office whom Archana herself asked out on a date…’
This event had come as a great surprise to me. And it had been darned flattering as well, because Archana was rated as the most beautiful employee in our company. And in the two months since she had joined the company, she had rejected the advances of every guy who had tried his luck, including those who were said to have it all; money, personality, looks etc. So I had every guy eating his heart out on hearing about it.
I continued, ‘In fact, Archana had even told me that she would have asked me out much earlier. But she had seen you and me hanging out everyday and she had thought we had something going on…’
‘And yet you feel there’s something lacking in your relationship. Hmmm…How is she…I mean, like when you go out?’ Deepa asked, munching on her sandwich.
‘Well, in the two weeks that we’ve been going around, there hasn’t actually been any serious problem…’ I replied. ‘In fact we have a great time together. She’s gorgeous, vivacious, fun-loving…but I don’t know, sometimes she acts so pre-occupied. And she is BIG on touch-me-not!’
Deepa smiled amusedly. ‘C’mon Raj, some girls like to take their time in these matters.
But is there something else?’ She had noticed the change in my expression.
I nodded sheepishly. ‘Well, I don’t know how to put it…in fact, it may not even be true. But sometimes I do get the feeling that there’s someone else in her life. Of course, I’ve asked her about it, but she always laughs it off. But somehow, I can’t shake off the feeling…’
‘Maybe you caught her on a rebound. And she’s still carrying around some emotional baggage from a previous affair,’ Deepa offered.
‘Then why can’t she confide in me?! Deepa, I’d like to think I’m sufficiently broadminded and supportive enough to manage issues like this…’ I grumbled.
Deepa nodded and rubbed my shoulder sympathetically.
I looked at Deepa intently and continued. ‘Anyways, and that is why I need your help.’
Deepa sat up in her chair and looked at me incredulously.
‘Me?!! I should be the last person you should be consulting on these matters!’
At 32, Deepa was beautiful but single. For she was the typical modern career-woman who had no time for such frivolities as nuptial relationships.
And she was proud of it.
‘Please Deepa,’ I urged. ‘You are a woman yourself…you can understand a woman’s mind better than I can. All you have to do is become her close buddy and find out what’s going on. After all, like They say…the way to a beautiful woman’s heart is through her best friend!’
‘Don’t go throwing your faltu fundas at me!’ Deepa laughed. “I don’t think I can manage all this subterfuge.’
But after some more coaxing and cajoling, she agreed to do it.

The next day, I took Deepa and Archana out for dinner. The two had met very briefly before, but they knew a lot about each other through me. I was happy to see that they hit off pretty well.
I was to leave for Delhi the next morning on a three week work assignment. I was sure that Deepa would have accomplished the job by the time I got back.
But disappointment awaited me. ‘We’re pretty close now and she is beginning to open up a bit, but I haven’t been able to find out anything as yet,’ my ally reported.

Two days later, Archana and I were out on a movie date. After dropping her home after the movie, I saw a folded piece of paper on the car seat that had apparently fallen out of Archana’s purse, unnoticed by her. I picked it up and took it home.
I could not sleep that night.
I had read erotic poetry before, but rarely had I read one evoked in myself, both admiration and distress.
Admiration, because as a poem, it was simply beautiful…the language, the expression and the feelings of the poet.
And distress because it described in vivid detail, various aspects of Archana’s anatomy from a highly personal and romantic angle.
The next morning, I forgot all about the report that I had to submit to the boss. Instead, I rushed across to the HSBC building. I burst into Deepa’s cabin and sank into an armchair in front of her. I threw the poem on her desk.
‘Read this! It fell out of her purse!’ I panted.
Deepa read it with growing concern.
‘Have you asked her about it?’ She looked worried now.
‘I dunno. Should I?’ My mind was reeling. I suddenly felt unsure about everything in my life.
Without any further comment, I snatched the poem from Deepa’s hand and ran out of her office.
‘So that’s where it went. I was looking for it everywhere…Isn’t it beautiful?’ Archana calmly took the poem from my hand and put it back in her purse.
‘What…?’ She said noticing my horrified expression. ‘Raj, don’t tell me you think someone has written this poem to me?!’
She sighed and continued in the tone of a parent trying to reason with a stubborn child, ‘Raj…do you see this poem addressed to me, or my name mentioned anywhere in the poem? I found it in a book I was reading in the library the other day and I typed out a copy for myself.’
I then remembered that Archana had in fact mentioned a couple of days earlier that she had paid a visit to the British Council Library. I fidgeted with my fingers nervously and stared at a non-existent object on her desk. I was at a loss what to do next. I mumbled something and left the room.
Her explanation was perfectly plausible…and yet…

It was on the following Saturday evening when it happened.
Archana had told me that she would be visiting some distant relatives in Ahmedabad on that weekend. She was to leave by the evening train, so I decided to catch her for a quick coffee before she left. I called her over the intercom phone and to my surprise, her secretary answered it.
She told me that Archana had come in for just a couple of hours in the morning and then hurriedly left the office. She had told her secretary that she was leaving early on some important work.
That was strange. Archana had not mentioned anything to me. I asked her secretary if she had any idea about where she’d gone. She said that she didn’t know any details, but that morning, she had overheard Archana confirming the booking of a suite room at the Marriott Hotel, in her own name for the weekend.
I felt a knot tighten in my stomach.
Why would Archana book a room at the Marriott Hotel in Mumbai in her own name, when she would be away in Ahmedabad visiting relatives!
Shit!!! I slammed down the phone, my mind racing. I sprang out of my chair and grabbed my bag. I gave my secretary some nonsense about an emergency and ran to the elevator, almost knocking down a couple of my colleagues on the way. On arriving at the ground floor, I remembered that my car was at the garage for repairs. Dashing out onto the street, I caught the first cab I could find. En route, I figured that I would need Deepa’s help in this situation. I pulled out my mobile.
‘Hello…Deepa! My worst fears are confirmed! Archana has booked a suite at the Marriott Hotel to spend the weekend with her lover. I’m headed there right now; I want to catch her red-handed. Be there are fast as you can!’
The cab pulled up in front of the hotel and I jumped out even before it had completely come to a halt. Ignoring the exclamation from the shocked taxi-driver, I threw a number of hundred Rupee notes at him and ran into the hotel lobby.
Deepa was already waiting for me at the reception desk. She walked quickly towards me. She looked tense.
‘Raj, she’s here. I asked for her at the Reception Desk. It seems she’s in the restaurant. But she seems to be alone.’
We went over to the glass door of the restaurant and peered inside. Archana was sitting at a table some distance away, looking stunningly beautiful in a silver-blue gown. But I also noticed that she was alone.
Was she waiting for someone?
As we continued to observe her, Archana lifted her head and looked around the restaurant as if she was expecting someone. Her gaze suddenly shifted towards the door and Deepa and I managed to duck away before she could see us.
Deepa looked at me nervously. ‘I think we should get away from this place. If Archana sees us here, she’ll know that we’re spying on her, which will destroy whatever chances I have of finding out the truth.’
We walked away quickly in case Archana decided to come out of the restaurant for any reason. We passed through a door that led to the garden outside. Both of us were racking our brains for our next plan of action.
Suddenly Deepa’s eyes brightened. “I have an idea. I have a friend who is a manager in this hotel. I’ll get him to accompany me to the restaurant. I’ll feign surprise at seeing Archana there and chat with her for a while. That way, I’ll be able to find out what she’s doing here. But you must leave from here. Seeing both you and me here will be too much of a coincidence for her. And don’t call either Archana or me until I get back to you. If Archana gets suspicious, we’re done for!’
I nodded. That made sense. It was all up to Deepa now.
As I turned to leave, Deepa suddenly grabbed my sleeve. Holding both my hands in hers, she looked into my eyes and said,
‘Raj, it might just turn out that Archana might be really involved with someone else. In that case, do you think you can handle it?’
I thought about it for a while. Sure, I was fond of Archana, in fact, extremely fond of her. But if she was in love with someone else, I could not expect her to remain happy with me. Nor would that make me happy as well.
Besides, I was not that kind of guy who’d keep moping around all his life over a girl. There were after all, other fish in the sea.
I smiled and replied, ‘Yes, I think I’d be cool with that, Deepa. Whatever makes her happy. But at least I should know the truth. I think she owes me that much. And I’m hoping that we remain good friends after that. After all, she is a wonderful girl…’
Deepa leaned forward and gave me tight hug. She looked at me and said, ‘Whew, I am relieved to hear that. For a moment, I had thought that you would take it really hard. But you’re the perfect gentleman, Raj. And do remember, if you need me, I’ll always be there for you.’
I told her, ‘Thanks Deepa. I can’t tell you how much I appreciate you helping me out with all this. You’re the best. And like I said, don’t worry about me, whatever the case, I can handle it. Also, you’re right, in the worst case scenario, I can always fall back on you,’ I joked.
This earned me a punch and another hug from Deepa before she turned and disappeared through the door into the building.

It was on Sunday evening, when the call came through. I was on tenterhooks the whole day. I had not dared to call up either Archana or Deepa.
I looked at my cell-phone display in surprise. It was Archana. I answered it immediately.
‘Yes, Archana?’
Her voice came through after a pause. ‘Raj, Deepa and I had a long talk…I have a confession to make. You were right. I have lied to you all along. I am involved with someone else. I know I should have told you this much earlier. It’s just that I didn’t have the guts to do so. Will you ever forgive me?’
I sighed and took a moment. Then cheering up, I smiled and said, ‘Hey Archana, there is nothing to apologize about. It’s just that I needed to know the truth. I am happy for you. Seriously. And don’t worry about me, Archana. After all, I was sort of expecting it. I’m totally cool with it…’
‘Are you absolutely sure, Raj?’ Archana’s voice sounded genuinely concerned.
‘Absolutely, Archana. No hard feelings on my side.’ I assured her. I heard a deep sigh of relief.
‘Raj, I’ve always considered you a very close friend. Can we remain that way for always?’
‘Of course, Archana!’ I said. ‘I had told Deepa to tell you as much’
There was another deep sigh at the other end.
‘Yes, Raj, she told me so. Thank you so much. You have taken a big load off my mind.’
Now that the air between us had cleared up, we felt at ease and started chatting away like old buddies.
I teased her, ‘And when do I get to meet this lucky person who has stolen your heart before I could?’
Archana replied immediately, ‘Tonight, Raj! We’re taking you out for dinner at the Taj. After all the trouble we both have caused you, I think we at least owe you that much. Although…’ Archana laughed mischievously and continued, ‘If your memory serves you correctly, you both have already met before…’
‘Whazzat? Who? When?’ I was puzzled!
Archana continued, ‘I am told that you believe that the way to a beautiful woman’s heart is through her best friend…Perhaps you should know, that I too believe in that strategy. See you tonight sweetheart!’
Before the call got disconnected, I could hear Deepa giggling in the background…

An Evening with the Shiv-Shahir

The time was 4.00 PM. We had just been led to our seats after being welcomed at the gate with a ‘Shiv-shahit tumche swagat aahe’ (we welcome you to the Kingdom of Shivaji). The two typically Maharashtrian ladies at the entrance looked lovely in their brightly coloured ‘nav-vari saris’, their bejewelled ‘naths’ shining on their noses.

I looked at my watch. We had landed up one hour in advance to occupy our seats as expressly advised by the lady who had sold us the tickets. And fortunately so. Within minutes, the entire ground had filled up.

There were all kinds of people. From the genuinely interested/ inquisitive ones like us to the frankly bored variety who were there purely on a social/ political obligation. And then there were the ‘pseudo’ type for whom attending such a function was more of a status symbol-affair, something to brag about at parties, over cocktails and canapés.

At 5.15 PM the excited chatter of the audience was overshadowed by the tumultuous sound of the ‘Tutari’ (trumpet), drums and the loud shouts of ‘Chhatrapati Shivaji Raje che Jai ho’. We all stood and turned to look. Evidently our guest speaker had arrived.

Shiv-Shahir Babasaheb Purandare, the world’s foremost living authority on Chhatrapati Shivaji Maharaj, stepped out of the Scorpio Jeep. He was assisted by two boys dressed up like ‘Mavlas’ (Shivaji Maharaj’s soldiers).

I began to evaluate the man as he walked slowly towards the stage, smiling at the young children who were showering him with flowers.

I am generally sceptical of famous people, wary even. Most famous people today in my view are pretentious, over-rated and generally not worth their salt. For the simple reason that most famous people that we hear about in today’s world really fit that description. I wondered, could this man be another example of the same breed?

As I watched this man, especially his eyes (for he was not too far from where I stood), I came to the grave conclusion that nothing could be farther from the truth. For one, his eyes lacked the smug ‘I’m famous and I’m meant to be worshipped’ look that most celebrities have when they walk into the crowd. His eyes conveyed confidence, a quiet confidence that bespoke of his vast knowledge. And more importantly, those eyes conveyed a humility that said, ‘I know a great deal, but that knowledge is greater than me, and not the other way around’.

The audience waited in hushed anticipation. Everyone wondered what he was going to say or do. The first thing he did was to offer obeisance at the statue of Shivaji on the stage. Then he faced the audience and greeted everyone with a namaskar. The next thing he did was to dispense with the ‘Wedding Reception’ issue gaudy, red-and-gold armchair that was set up for him, and settle into a simple ‘Neelkamal’ type plastic chair. Then the ‘Master of Ceremonies’ began the introduction of the Guest Speaker.

Being the Marathi-illiterate person that I am, I had just vaguely heard of Babasaheb Purandare as a historian, his field of interest being the great Maratha King Shivaji Bhosale and the writer of the most authentic biography on the same. I also knew him to be the author of the revolutionary 300-cast, drama ‘Jaanata Raja’.

What I did not know is that this man had given over 14,000 lectures till date and had re-traced ON FOOT, the actual routes taken by Shivaji during his life, amounting to about 200,000 km! Including one from Agra to Pune!

Mr Purandare had dedicated the better part of the 86 years of his life absorbing every single fragment of information about Chhatrapati Shivaji Maharaj and knew him intimately as he knew himself.

The said gentleman waited patiently for the rhetoric to end. He had either heard it all many times before, or he did not genuinely seem to care. Or both.

The introduction ended and a couple of people appeared on stage, paid their respects to Mr Purandare and tried to impress the audience how well they knew Mr Purandare.

They withdrew and Guest Speaker was left alone on the stage. Something that the Guest Speaker appeared to be looking forward to.

There were a few moment of silence.

Then he cleared his throat once, and began to speak.

It was not only the tales of Shivaji that he narrated; it was the way and the intensity with which he did it. He began with a voice that had an astounding thunderous quality for his age, one that would put a youngster to shame. It would rise in a crescendo, and then fall, only to rise again. His age, his infirmity was long forgotten as he launched with a passionate fervour into his tale. His eyes would look searchingly into the distance and find a particular event, and then he would re-create it for us. He spoke of people of yore, Sardars, Kings, Noblemen, their women and their children… Like he knew them personally, almost as if he met them everyday.

And he took us back with him, back into that era…We could hear the clash of swords, the screams of the Mughal soldiers as the Maratha soldiers bore down upon them, the triumphant notes of the bugles and loud cries of ‘Har Har Mahadev!’ We could even see the saffron flags fluttering atop the mighty forts!

And sometimes, he would return to the present. With deep sadness in his voice, he would point out, how times have changed. How everyone today is merely using the name of that great Maratha King to serve their ends, while ignoring the values that Shivaji actually stood for. He mentioned how it would really serve our society to read, assimilate and imbibe the messages in Shiva-charitra (biography of Shivaji). By doing so, he opined that while every family may not bring forth a Shivaji, at least it would bring forth a good citizen!

In the context of naming everything after Shivaji and building statues of Shivaji in every nook and cranny, he narrated an amazing experience of his own in England, way back in the 1960s. He had befriended an Englishman who used to study Maratha history alongside him in a Library in London. Mr Purandare had expressed his surprise to the Englishman about how he was not able to find a single statue of Winston Churchill in the entire city of London. While one could not walk a couple of hundred yards in Mumbai without coming across the name ‘Shivaji’ somewhere or the other. How could they do this to a magnificent, brave and noble personality like Churchill? Did their countrymen not want to remember him? Whereupon the Englishman first laughed, and then gravely told him, “We don’t need statues of Winston Churchill……Because Winston Churchill lives in our blood!”

Mr Purandare was left shocked and ashen with regret at the implication, that Shivaji did not, in ours. And it was true, as it is true today. Most of us wouldn’t care a dime about who this Shivaji was, or what he meant to India.

Mr Purandare mentioned how the first work on Shivaji was formally written by an Indian, Mr Vishnupant Aundhkar, in 1905, almost 300 years after Shivaji fought and successfully defended this land against the invading Moghuls. He mentioned the Englishman Mr James Douglas, who in his books written in the late 1800s, cried out to Indians in horror, “Where are your writers, your novelists and your historians. Where are your Walter Scotts and your Shakespeares?! Is there no one who has written about this Great Man (Shivaji)?!!”

I was impressed by another facet of Mr Purandare. There was not a single ill-reference to other communities; something that today’s followers of Shivaji feel obliged to do. Nor was there any hint of English language-bashing in his speech. Indeed, he quoted from books written by English authors with equal aplomb, and with excellent diction. This Man was a true scholar and patriot.

Mr Purandare regretted, very deeply, that there are no men like Shivaji living today. Like all stalwarts of his class, he lamented that such great men who created history just simply did that. They created and remained a part of history. There is no one in today’s world who has the mettle to create history and be remembered in that way.

The lecture ended. The noise of the warriors, their galloping horses and their bugles faded away. The pomp and splendour of a bygone era melted into the darkness and we soon became aware for the first time, that the evening had become night, that we were hungry, or feeling cold, or had to go to the loo, or that the mosquitoes were biting…

And other such trivial events that make up our trivial lives.

As I walked home, I wondered for the nth time, how many personalities like Mr Babasaheb Purandare and Chhatrapati Shivaji has our country produced.

And indeed, how little we care….