"Call me paddy", Padmanabhan said as he got into Jayanth's car.
"What?", Jayanth said, opening his door, stepping out and looking at 'Paddy' Padmanabhan.
"...", shrugged Paddy.
"What changed in just 6 months?", Jayanth couln't believe Padmanabhan had changed so in just six months in the USA.
"just call me Paddy, man", Paddy said, ignoring Jayanth's exasperated look.
'Paddy' Padmanabhan has just arrived in India.
X-------------X-------------X
The car made a screeching sound, as Jayanth braked in the middle of nowhere.
"what?", Paddy said looking around. He was holding his stomach.
"You wanted to pee...!"
"not here?!"
"of course here..."
"nah, nah, nah... naw here man... drive around to a restroom"
"WHAT?"
Jayanth finally found a restroom shack on the way home.
"Ow, that was dirty, and no water... hey, where can I get some water", Paddy came out of the 'Gents Toilet' waving his hands up in the air.
The rough looking boy there handed out a piece of old newspaper. The storage techniques weren't that good, which was obvious.
"hey , hey, hey, wait... why are you paying him money? you don't pay for the restrooms here, do you?", Paddy asked Jayanth."aw, forget it man", Jayanth said flipping over a two rupee coin to the boy pointing to the "Use and pay toilet" board with his left.
Paddy turned around. He had by now forgotten all about his need for water, and had his hands in his coat pocket by now.
"Well, it says 1 rupee, why are you paying two?"
"ah, you can't have forgotten everything, Padma... er Paddy", mocked Jayanth.
Paddy tried to snatch the two bucks lying on the table. The rough looking boy beat him to it.
"You haven't cleaned that place in a month...", Paddy confronted the boy.
The body stared back angrily. He looked a lot older and rougher by now.
"... and you charge double the money you should have charged if you had kept it in order...", Paddy wasn't buckling down.
"Do you know how much it costs to get this contract?", the boy was now snarling at Paddy, "And do you know that our MLA doe
sn't like being questioned?"
"Lets see that, who is your MLA?"
"... and I don't like being questioned either..", the boy slammed angrily on the desk.
"You contractors are answerable to us..."
"is it?", the boy now had his dirty cuffs rolled up and fists ready. One could see fear in Paddy's eyes. But he couldn't ba
ck off after all that had happened.
"Hey, hey", Jayanth intervened, pushing the boy who had gotten menacingly close to Paddy. He shoved Paddy a bit with his le
ft hand.
"SHUT UP!", Jayanth screamed to Paddy, as he tried to press forward.
"Hey, you boy, make sure it is cleaned the next time we are around", Jayanth said winking at the boy, flipping another buck
on the table.
"you bet, sir", the boy winked back, and snarled at Paddy.
Jayanth pulled Paddy away from the scene.
X-------------X-------------X
"Stop showing off your american mentality here man"
"Aw, you guys are so used to mediocrity... you dont even question all the injustice that doled out at you..."
"I can't believe you could have changed so much. Are you really this mess, or are you acting like one?", Jayanth had by now
lost his patience.
"look, look, that cop is talking on his mobile phone. He doesn't even care that guy jumped the amber light. Isn't he answer
able to anybody at all?"
Jayanth looked around, and before he could open his mouth, Paddy slammed on the brake stopping the car exactly at the 'STOP
' line.
"No", screamed Jayanth. But nobody could heard him.
A car and three bikes had stacked up, and an auto almost rolled over scratching his esteem - Esteem being Jayanth's car.
X-------------X-------------X
"Life is so much more predictable inside the office", smiled Paddy broadly, as he brought over his plate of lunch to the ta
ble.
"Am sooo glad..", winked Jayanth.
"No, seriously, you were right, I have learnt some things after coming back". Paddy now had a driver to drive him to work and back.
"good"
"And I don't take those mediocrities so seriously now...", Paddy rattled on. "Now whats life without a little laugh?"
Jayanth was really happy that Paddy had given up his illusionary ways.
"Hey, whats this...", Paddy said fishing out a longish hairy thread like object out of his plate.
"Thats spinach... the stem", Jayanth offered.
"No, No.. look at the color... its brown"
"It has been cooked well", Jayanth shrugged, rolling his eyes.
"No, No, am sure this is the leg of some bug... let me see.. cockroach? In the US, I can sue the caterer for this... make him pay for his mistakes...", Paddy turned around, to find Jayanth missing at the table.
Thursday, July 27, 2006
Thursday, July 13, 2006
If freedom is the cost of security
It was an unusually empty train car for a peak hour - even for a first class compartment. Iftikar made himself comfortable in a seat, and tried to relax, as the train pulled out of Churchgate. He tried to pull out the earphone for his mp3 player from his bag, and out came a jumbled mess of cables of all types, and other gadgets. Iftikar patiently untangled the wires, looking around him.
"Hey you, Whats your name?", he heard somebody close to him say, as a lathi loomed large between his face and the wires.
Iftikar looked up. It was a railway police constable, not so friendly. The scar on his face and the rough cuts made it obvious that he was a street cop.
"uh..um... Iftikar...Iftikar Ali, sir", mumbled Iftikar.
"What have you got in your bag?", the constable looked suspiciously at the bag, while keeping distance as much and possible and letting his long lathi do the gesturing.
"uh, mp3... walkman sir..."
"And whats that?"
Pulling his amateurish SLR from the tangled mess of wires, while attempting to stand up, Iftikar said, "pen-drive ..."
He did not finish his sentence, he was pulled down from the seat and his bag thrown roughly on the window - like the constable was trying to throw the bag out of the train.
Iftikar pulled himself up angrily, and was dealt another blow on his hands.
"Dont move", said the constable, now fishing for the bag with his left hand, and controlling the fallen Iftikar with his lathi on the right.
Cornered and alone, Iftikar watched the other passengers huddle towards the other end of the car.
In the meanwhile, the train was making its dutiful run down the tracks towards Marine Lines.
X-------------X------------X
The constable started pulling out the wired mess which was attached timers of all sorts carefully.
"Whats this?"
"My headphone cable sir", answered Iftikar weakly.
"This?"
"Charger for my mp3..."
"What about the yellow wire"
"Thats the handsfree for my mobile..."
"...and this bag..."
"batteries and a flash-card...sir"
The constable didn't fully understand the terms, but continued the questioning. He seemed to be looking for a flaw in the logic of Iftikar's sentences, rather than the answer itself.
"Why do you need batteries?"
"For the camera... sir"
"Why are you carrying a camera?"
"Am an amateur photographer sir..."
"Armchair what?..."
"photo..grapher"
By now, having dumped all the contents of Iftikar's bag and found nothing, the constable still looked at Iftikar with suspicion.
"Here, don't try to show off with all these gadgets... living off your dad's money, uh? Dont try be a smartass kid. I will keep watching you everyday you travel here.", constable said, as he flung the bag on Iftikar's face and moved on.
The passengers sighed with relief and were now discussing politics and terrorists, some vaguely still accusing Iftikar of wrong-doing and some praising the policeman for his 'alertness'.
Iftikar who was now bleeding from his elbow, picked up his stuff, checking the gadgets for damage while putting them back into the bag. The train was by now crawling slowly into the Charni Road station.
X-------------X------------X
A couple of people came by to Iftikar to enquire if he was okay. Iftikar responded with a smile.
"Am fine. Its just the shock...", he managed to say.
Once all of them had gone to their seats, Iftikar sat wondering about life during his times, and what the terrorists had made it. Being a software engineer of proficiency, there were no lack of demand for him abroad in companies in his home country. He had used it wisely and traveled widely.
"The world has changed a lot after 9/11", he told himself, "Life has become tougher for the common man. Half the trouble is because of the terrorists and half because of the governments fighting it".
"Anti-terrorists", he said to himself. The word sounded like the people fighting terrorism themselves caused a lot of fear and terror among the common people.
Freedom was a word that now sounded only vaguely familiar.
"The very reason to fight terrorism is to safeguard our freedom", he said to himself. Iftikar wondered if the anti-terrorists were fighting the terrorists by curbing the freedom of the common man. If so, the terrorists had actually succeeded in terrorizing his country.
Iftikar felt a chill pass down his spine at the thought.
He felt enraged at the way he was just treated.
"Like a criminal", he told himself. Its sad how the law-enforcement had a unique way of 'enforcing' law in India. He wondered sadly at the kind of harassment a law-abiding citizen faced on the road in the hands of the traffic police everyday and of the kind he just faced today.
"Treat everybody like a criminal", he told himself, "must have been their training."
"But erring bollywood stats and gangsters and bomb-blasters slip though their 'enforcement' tactics", he thought. A frown cracked through his face.
"Iswar Allah rajaram", he called out with a sigh, reminicising Gandhi.
X-------------X------------X
The train pulled into Bandra.
The constable appeared in Iftikar's view again. Iftikar gave a disgusting look at him and turned to watch the passengers boarding the train.
A boy - Iftikar estimated would be in his late teens - was trying to lug his heavy steel suitcase and two bags into the train.
Our officer was standing in the way. Iftikar smelt trouble. As the boy pulled up his last piece of baggage, the train had started to move.
"Whats your name?"
"uh... um...", the boy was stammering.
The constable used his lathi to push the boy away from his luggage, and waved the lathi dangerously close to his face.
Iftikar could take it no more. He rushed to the boy's help.
"Look here, sir. This is too much of harassment.", he said moving towards the officer, looking around for support.
"You might be an officer, and we respect that. But you do not have the right to ill-treat everybody you feel like..."
"Yes, misusing your authority", came a voice from behind. Iftikar turned around to see that five to six people who had witnessed him being harassed were in a bad mood about the officer too.
"Who do you think you are? Give me your name and station name. My uncle is a DGP. Lets ask him who you are...", screamed a man from behind the constable.
"People like you should be thrown out of the running train", yelled a heavy built man, and came dangerously close to the constable.
The boy was watching everything, scared pale.
"But... but... its my duty... I was asked to search for....", stammered the officer, who was by now retaliating at the force of the mob building around.
"So, who gave you orders to hit this man here", somebody said, pointing to Iftikar.
"..er... I...", the constable tried to talk back.
"No, no, no talking. Give me your name and station. I have to talk to your higher-ups"
"You deserve to be mob-hit...."
"You can't nab Dawood, you come around harassing innocent people"
"Look at his tummy, its all filled with bribes..."
The mob seemed to get forceful by the minute, noticing that the officer was now surrounded and feeling weaker.
X-------------X------------X
As the train chugged into the Khar Road station, the officer was close to being man-handled by the crowd.
Iftikar and a few others tried to maintain calm, and hold the crowd under control.
"It is for your security, sir...", the constable was reasoning, his lathi now snagging earthwards.
"If freedom is the cost of our security...", Iftikar passionately started on his views on freedom and security.
Suddenly the boy pushed aside a couple of people standing near the door, jumped out of the slowing train onto the platform and took a run.
Everybody turned around wondering what just happened. The officer's face turned pale.
The train came to a stop a few seconds later. It was 6.24 PM.
X-------------X------------X
The arrival of this train at Khar Road Station on the the 12th of July 2006 will be written about eternally - in blood.
"Hey you, Whats your name?", he heard somebody close to him say, as a lathi loomed large between his face and the wires.
Iftikar looked up. It was a railway police constable, not so friendly. The scar on his face and the rough cuts made it obvious that he was a street cop.
"uh..um... Iftikar...Iftikar Ali, sir", mumbled Iftikar.
"What have you got in your bag?", the constable looked suspiciously at the bag, while keeping distance as much and possible and letting his long lathi do the gesturing.
"uh, mp3... walkman sir..."
"And whats that?"
Pulling his amateurish SLR from the tangled mess of wires, while attempting to stand up, Iftikar said, "pen-drive ..."
He did not finish his sentence, he was pulled down from the seat and his bag thrown roughly on the window - like the constable was trying to throw the bag out of the train.
Iftikar pulled himself up angrily, and was dealt another blow on his hands.
"Dont move", said the constable, now fishing for the bag with his left hand, and controlling the fallen Iftikar with his lathi on the right.
Cornered and alone, Iftikar watched the other passengers huddle towards the other end of the car.
In the meanwhile, the train was making its dutiful run down the tracks towards Marine Lines.
X-------------X------------X
The constable started pulling out the wired mess which was attached timers of all sorts carefully.
"Whats this?"
"My headphone cable sir", answered Iftikar weakly.
"This?"
"Charger for my mp3..."
"What about the yellow wire"
"Thats the handsfree for my mobile..."
"...and this bag..."
"batteries and a flash-card...sir"
The constable didn't fully understand the terms, but continued the questioning. He seemed to be looking for a flaw in the logic of Iftikar's sentences, rather than the answer itself.
"Why do you need batteries?"
"For the camera... sir"
"Why are you carrying a camera?"
"Am an amateur photographer sir..."
"Armchair what?..."
"photo..grapher"
By now, having dumped all the contents of Iftikar's bag and found nothing, the constable still looked at Iftikar with suspicion.
"Here, don't try to show off with all these gadgets... living off your dad's money, uh? Dont try be a smartass kid. I will keep watching you everyday you travel here.", constable said, as he flung the bag on Iftikar's face and moved on.
The passengers sighed with relief and were now discussing politics and terrorists, some vaguely still accusing Iftikar of wrong-doing and some praising the policeman for his 'alertness'.
Iftikar who was now bleeding from his elbow, picked up his stuff, checking the gadgets for damage while putting them back into the bag. The train was by now crawling slowly into the Charni Road station.
X-------------X------------X
A couple of people came by to Iftikar to enquire if he was okay. Iftikar responded with a smile.
"Am fine. Its just the shock...", he managed to say.
Once all of them had gone to their seats, Iftikar sat wondering about life during his times, and what the terrorists had made it. Being a software engineer of proficiency, there were no lack of demand for him abroad in companies in his home country. He had used it wisely and traveled widely.
"The world has changed a lot after 9/11", he told himself, "Life has become tougher for the common man. Half the trouble is because of the terrorists and half because of the governments fighting it".
"Anti-terrorists", he said to himself. The word sounded like the people fighting terrorism themselves caused a lot of fear and terror among the common people.
Freedom was a word that now sounded only vaguely familiar.
"The very reason to fight terrorism is to safeguard our freedom", he said to himself. Iftikar wondered if the anti-terrorists were fighting the terrorists by curbing the freedom of the common man. If so, the terrorists had actually succeeded in terrorizing his country.
Iftikar felt a chill pass down his spine at the thought.
He felt enraged at the way he was just treated.
"Like a criminal", he told himself. Its sad how the law-enforcement had a unique way of 'enforcing' law in India. He wondered sadly at the kind of harassment a law-abiding citizen faced on the road in the hands of the traffic police everyday and of the kind he just faced today.
"Treat everybody like a criminal", he told himself, "must have been their training."
"But erring bollywood stats and gangsters and bomb-blasters slip though their 'enforcement' tactics", he thought. A frown cracked through his face.
"Iswar Allah rajaram", he called out with a sigh, reminicising Gandhi.
X-------------X------------X
The train pulled into Bandra.
The constable appeared in Iftikar's view again. Iftikar gave a disgusting look at him and turned to watch the passengers boarding the train.
A boy - Iftikar estimated would be in his late teens - was trying to lug his heavy steel suitcase and two bags into the train.
Our officer was standing in the way. Iftikar smelt trouble. As the boy pulled up his last piece of baggage, the train had started to move.
"Whats your name?"
"uh... um...", the boy was stammering.
The constable used his lathi to push the boy away from his luggage, and waved the lathi dangerously close to his face.
Iftikar could take it no more. He rushed to the boy's help.
"Look here, sir. This is too much of harassment.", he said moving towards the officer, looking around for support.
"You might be an officer, and we respect that. But you do not have the right to ill-treat everybody you feel like..."
"Yes, misusing your authority", came a voice from behind. Iftikar turned around to see that five to six people who had witnessed him being harassed were in a bad mood about the officer too.
"Who do you think you are? Give me your name and station name. My uncle is a DGP. Lets ask him who you are...", screamed a man from behind the constable.
"People like you should be thrown out of the running train", yelled a heavy built man, and came dangerously close to the constable.
The boy was watching everything, scared pale.
"But... but... its my duty... I was asked to search for....", stammered the officer, who was by now retaliating at the force of the mob building around.
"So, who gave you orders to hit this man here", somebody said, pointing to Iftikar.
"..er... I...", the constable tried to talk back.
"No, no, no talking. Give me your name and station. I have to talk to your higher-ups"
"You deserve to be mob-hit...."
"You can't nab Dawood, you come around harassing innocent people"
"Look at his tummy, its all filled with bribes..."
The mob seemed to get forceful by the minute, noticing that the officer was now surrounded and feeling weaker.
X-------------X------------X
As the train chugged into the Khar Road station, the officer was close to being man-handled by the crowd.
Iftikar and a few others tried to maintain calm, and hold the crowd under control.
"It is for your security, sir...", the constable was reasoning, his lathi now snagging earthwards.
"If freedom is the cost of our security...", Iftikar passionately started on his views on freedom and security.
Suddenly the boy pushed aside a couple of people standing near the door, jumped out of the slowing train onto the platform and took a run.
Everybody turned around wondering what just happened. The officer's face turned pale.
The train came to a stop a few seconds later. It was 6.24 PM.
X-------------X------------X
The arrival of this train at Khar Road Station on the the 12th of July 2006 will be written about eternally - in blood.
Thursday, July 06, 2006
Minor Problem
"We are service providers, Raghu. We are not a charity organization. We are a business...", Hari shouted over the phone.
"Yeah, but I just had to fix a loose-connection of the power-chord, plus Mr. Ravi is also requesting for a waiver of the bill this time..."
"Raghu, "Helping Hands" is a support Not-for-profit organization. I also admire Mr. Ravi's principles and his cause. We could support them in other ways. But not this. This is our business, and we can't be lenient with collections..."
"er, Mr. Ravi is here, why don't you talk to him directly", Raghu said, and handed over the phone to Ravi, without waiting for Hari to respond.
"Darn", Hari said to himself.
"Hello, Mr. Hari, how are you doing?", It was Ravi on the other end. His pace was slow and even. A sign of the matured man that he was.
"Well, good, Mr. Ravi. Thank you. How are you? and how are the children?", Hari tried to be polite.
"By God's grace, everybody is fine. The children are real studious. You should visit them once and tell them about your business story, you could inspire them..."
"Will try to do that, Mr. Ravi, but what about this problem you wanted to discuss about?", Hari said, cutting the charity part out, curtly.
"Ah, Well, Mr. Raghu is here and solved our computer problem. As per our contract you should bill us Rs. 100 for the service. I'm wondering, since this turned out to be a minor problem, and since we have been doing business for a long time, if you could waive off the bill as a good-will gesture towards our organization. You know, being a non-profit organization, and being short of funds, every penny that you could save us would be of immense help..."
"Mr. Ravi, our organization could help you by other means, but you know, this is our main business, and am sorry that I won't be able to waive this off for you."
"oh, I see. Its okay, Mr.Hari. I understand your situation. Never mind. Anyways, thank you for listening patiently. But please do drop by sometime to talk to the kids."
"Lets see, Mr. Ravi. Thanks anyways. Talk to you later", Hari was curt and ended the call.
In the same hurried pace, he let the phone slip off his hands. His back sent out a pricking pain, as he bent down to retrieve it.
"Darn", he squealed, sliding down on the sofa.
"What happened?", his mom came running into the room, hearing the squealish scream.
"Its the back pain again", he said. "Its all the long hours in front of the computer", he reasoned.
"People in our age never used to work this hard and long. It used to be eight hours at office and back, and that was it. I wonder why you young guys sacrifice your health and personal life for work!", his mom was being philosophical.
Hari rolled his eyes over, indicating that he was not interested in the topic that his mom had brought up.
"Anyways, go meet Dr. Elango. He specializes in physiotherapy. He must be able to suggest a few exercises", his mom said, as she stood up and left the room, leaving Hari massaging his back.
X----------------X-----------------X
"Hi Dr. Elango, am Hari", he said introducing himself.
After the usual round of introductions, Hari stretched on his back on a cot close-by, as the doctor lifted his legs in various directions to determine the cause of the pain.
"Are you in a hurry?", Dr. Elango asked, noticing his terse muscles.
"Well, actually, yes, I have to be in office by now...", ranted Hari.
"Can you spare half an hour?", the doctor asked as if he wanted to talk to Hari about donations for a temple in his home-town.
"uh, well, of course, Doctor", Hari said, taken aback by the politeness of the doctor. To him, only doctors and scientists were more intelligent that computer engineers. And he knew Dr. Elango was a doctor of proficiency. The crowd outside was proof enough.
Sitting close-by, Dr. Elango, asked Hari to breathe in and out deeply for a few minutes, at a slow pace, meanwhile dictating some therapies for other patients to his assistants.
Soon, after Dr. Elango began his therapy and was done in twenty minutes. It was followed by a session of exercises.
"Do these exercises everyday, and you should be fit in 10 days. Its just a matter of posture. Sit straight...", Dr. Elango went into a series of suggestions to sitting right.
Getting down from the cot, Hari felt better as his spasms seemed to have vanished magically.
Hari relaxed for a couple of more minutes, in which time Dr. Elango vanished too, to meet his other patients.
Hari found the doctor, performing some kind of heat therapy for an aged woman down the hall.
"Doctor, how much should I pay...", Hari said, pulling out his purse.
"oh, nothing. its okay, it was just a muscle spasm, a minor problem. ", said the doctor, continuing to focus on his old patient.
Hari couldn't believe his ears.
"oh, it maybe because he didn't have to use any tools on me", Hari reasoned to himself, "I would have charged a bomb for spending half-an-hour with my clients, tools or no tools.". What was a minor problem to doctor was a major pain for him, and what difference the doctor could make. Thats the power of service-providers, he said to himself.
"...but doctor, your time really mattered to me...", dragged Hari.
"...Thats okay. No problem... call me if you have any persisting pain. I hope you do not have to come back to me", smiled the doctor, firmly refusing payment for half-an-hour of his services. He motioned to his assistant who brought him the doctor's card.
"uh... I'm a computer engineer... if you have , er, any computer needs, please do let me know... I could help you out...", Hari offered his card awkwardly.
"Ha, ha, ha...", laughed the doctor loudly, startling his patient, and turned to face Hari.
"You are here because you are a computer engineer in the first place, aren't you?", he laughed aloud again. There seemed something mystical about the doctors words, like the doctor was pointing out the intangible relationships their professions.
Hari stood there looking at the Doctor awkwardly.
"Thank you for the offer, Mr. Hari. But I sure know somebody you could help, if you really want to repay my services...", he said pulling another card from his pocket and handing it over to Hari.
Hari stood there, frozen in time, reading the card.
"Helping Hands", it said, giving an address that Ravi already knew.
"Yeah, but I just had to fix a loose-connection of the power-chord, plus Mr. Ravi is also requesting for a waiver of the bill this time..."
"Raghu, "Helping Hands" is a support Not-for-profit organization. I also admire Mr. Ravi's principles and his cause. We could support them in other ways. But not this. This is our business, and we can't be lenient with collections..."
"er, Mr. Ravi is here, why don't you talk to him directly", Raghu said, and handed over the phone to Ravi, without waiting for Hari to respond.
"Darn", Hari said to himself.
"Hello, Mr. Hari, how are you doing?", It was Ravi on the other end. His pace was slow and even. A sign of the matured man that he was.
"Well, good, Mr. Ravi. Thank you. How are you? and how are the children?", Hari tried to be polite.
"By God's grace, everybody is fine. The children are real studious. You should visit them once and tell them about your business story, you could inspire them..."
"Will try to do that, Mr. Ravi, but what about this problem you wanted to discuss about?", Hari said, cutting the charity part out, curtly.
"Ah, Well, Mr. Raghu is here and solved our computer problem. As per our contract you should bill us Rs. 100 for the service. I'm wondering, since this turned out to be a minor problem, and since we have been doing business for a long time, if you could waive off the bill as a good-will gesture towards our organization. You know, being a non-profit organization, and being short of funds, every penny that you could save us would be of immense help..."
"Mr. Ravi, our organization could help you by other means, but you know, this is our main business, and am sorry that I won't be able to waive this off for you."
"oh, I see. Its okay, Mr.Hari. I understand your situation. Never mind. Anyways, thank you for listening patiently. But please do drop by sometime to talk to the kids."
"Lets see, Mr. Ravi. Thanks anyways. Talk to you later", Hari was curt and ended the call.
In the same hurried pace, he let the phone slip off his hands. His back sent out a pricking pain, as he bent down to retrieve it.
"Darn", he squealed, sliding down on the sofa.
"What happened?", his mom came running into the room, hearing the squealish scream.
"Its the back pain again", he said. "Its all the long hours in front of the computer", he reasoned.
"People in our age never used to work this hard and long. It used to be eight hours at office and back, and that was it. I wonder why you young guys sacrifice your health and personal life for work!", his mom was being philosophical.
Hari rolled his eyes over, indicating that he was not interested in the topic that his mom had brought up.
"Anyways, go meet Dr. Elango. He specializes in physiotherapy. He must be able to suggest a few exercises", his mom said, as she stood up and left the room, leaving Hari massaging his back.
X----------------X-----------------X
"Hi Dr. Elango, am Hari", he said introducing himself.
After the usual round of introductions, Hari stretched on his back on a cot close-by, as the doctor lifted his legs in various directions to determine the cause of the pain.
"Are you in a hurry?", Dr. Elango asked, noticing his terse muscles.
"Well, actually, yes, I have to be in office by now...", ranted Hari.
"Can you spare half an hour?", the doctor asked as if he wanted to talk to Hari about donations for a temple in his home-town.
"uh, well, of course, Doctor", Hari said, taken aback by the politeness of the doctor. To him, only doctors and scientists were more intelligent that computer engineers. And he knew Dr. Elango was a doctor of proficiency. The crowd outside was proof enough.
Sitting close-by, Dr. Elango, asked Hari to breathe in and out deeply for a few minutes, at a slow pace, meanwhile dictating some therapies for other patients to his assistants.
Soon, after Dr. Elango began his therapy and was done in twenty minutes. It was followed by a session of exercises.
"Do these exercises everyday, and you should be fit in 10 days. Its just a matter of posture. Sit straight...", Dr. Elango went into a series of suggestions to sitting right.
Getting down from the cot, Hari felt better as his spasms seemed to have vanished magically.
Hari relaxed for a couple of more minutes, in which time Dr. Elango vanished too, to meet his other patients.
Hari found the doctor, performing some kind of heat therapy for an aged woman down the hall.
"Doctor, how much should I pay...", Hari said, pulling out his purse.
"oh, nothing. its okay, it was just a muscle spasm, a minor problem. ", said the doctor, continuing to focus on his old patient.
Hari couldn't believe his ears.
"oh, it maybe because he didn't have to use any tools on me", Hari reasoned to himself, "I would have charged a bomb for spending half-an-hour with my clients, tools or no tools.". What was a minor problem to doctor was a major pain for him, and what difference the doctor could make. Thats the power of service-providers, he said to himself.
"...but doctor, your time really mattered to me...", dragged Hari.
"...Thats okay. No problem... call me if you have any persisting pain. I hope you do not have to come back to me", smiled the doctor, firmly refusing payment for half-an-hour of his services. He motioned to his assistant who brought him the doctor's card.
"uh... I'm a computer engineer... if you have , er, any computer needs, please do let me know... I could help you out...", Hari offered his card awkwardly.
"Ha, ha, ha...", laughed the doctor loudly, startling his patient, and turned to face Hari.
"You are here because you are a computer engineer in the first place, aren't you?", he laughed aloud again. There seemed something mystical about the doctors words, like the doctor was pointing out the intangible relationships their professions.
Hari stood there looking at the Doctor awkwardly.
"Thank you for the offer, Mr. Hari. But I sure know somebody you could help, if you really want to repay my services...", he said pulling another card from his pocket and handing it over to Hari.
Hari stood there, frozen in time, reading the card.
"Helping Hands", it said, giving an address that Ravi already knew.
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