NOEL ELLIS' GOOGLE BLOG

AUSPICIOUS COCONUT We have a very tall coconut tree in our house and to pluck them is a big issue. You have to get an ‘adivasi’ who has his own ‘nakhras’. Many of them are now dry and fall off once in a while when winds pick up. The other day I found two of my pots under the tree shattered due to the impact. I looked up to see and visualise what would have happened to my nut had one fallen on mine. I picked up two which had rolled far from the tree to the other end of the lawn. This reminded me of my ‘Baraat’, which had gone all the way from Kapurthala to Jodhpur consisting of six people. Being the ‘Jamai-sa’ of that princely state is a privilege and a pain. Privileges I won’t talk about as all sons in laws of Jodhpur get a bad stomach due to over feeding of love and affection besides the ‘Bajre ki Roti’ and ‘Dal ka Seera’ floating in desi ghee but of a pain of a different kind which I would like to share with you. The wedding got over with grandeur & we reached

THE INCURABLES A new season of “Big Boss” has started & Sallu is at the helm of affairs, I reckon. God alone knows how many people he will admonish this time for their rude, uncouth, unbecoming and uncivilized behaviour. I somehow can’t stand such atrocious conduct of people. To add to the flavour and fervour, they keep adding and subtracting people. This time a famous gazal and bhajan singer of yore is on the cross wire. How long he and his date are going to last or made to last, time would tell? I lost interest in this show many moons back. Basically it was personal behaviour patterns which got me off the hook. I am certain there will be nothing new this time. The padded make up, artificiality, the makes and breaks, flings and romance, torturing and tormenting they do to each other makes it difficult to understand the actual character of a person. Participants keep hiding behind veils of some kind. I have nothing against the show but I find no take away, with human

SEASONAL WHISPERS Many of you may have heard the famous lines from a poem by Shelley which says “If winter comes can spring be far behind” from the “Ode to the West Wind”. Then there is also an old adage which goes “This too shall pass”. I am waiting for both the spring to come and for “This” to pass but it is not happening. Petrol is touching a century, diesel is not far behind. Race is on as to who will cross the finish line first. If “Achhe Din” is “spring” and the state of the country as it is today is equivalent to “this” then it makes sense. Are we still in the winter eagerly waiting for spring? Or is it that period when we are between winter and spring, when the ice has just started to melt. Animals are out from hibernation, grass has started to sprout and frozen rivulets have started to expand. New life is about to take birth. Forest trails are now kind of visible. Still, we are short of the actual spring, when flowers will be in full bloom and there will be happ

PRINCESS AND HER SLIPPERS Last evening, we had just finished tea and were waiting for a stray puppy who has now become our friend to come and play with us when a young colleague of mine came along with his little daughter about two years old riding past on his bike. Some instinct within me wanted to pick her up & hug her. So I called them over. It did not take much time to make friends with her. One toffee and a chocolate did the trick. She only spoke pure Marathi and me in Hindi but we started conversing and got engaged in an intense conversation ranging from colours, likes, favourites, dresses, shoes et al. I touched her papa’s bike and she admonished me “majhi aahe”, I begged her pardon and took a few steps back. My car was standing by so I told her majhi car; she quickly replied majhi pan ghar aahe. I was impressed with this bundle of energy. I saw this darling wearing Kohlapuri chappals and told her Changli aahe and she told me she has three of them joining her

CHILDHOOD GAMES LT COL NOEL ELLIS (RETD) 03/IX/2018 In kindergarten we used to play a game in which all of us used to sit in a circle on our haunches. There used to be one “denner” and with a kerchief. This child used to run outside the circle while we sang a rhyme which went like this, “I sent a letter to my father and on my way I dropped it, someone came and picked it up and put it in his pocket”. This child with a hanky had to on the quiet drop it behind someone who had to be alert, pick it up and run to catch the denner. The political scenario in the country presently is like this only, dropping the kerchief of blame behind someone and run. One used to pick up weaklings of the class and drop the hanky precisely. Slowly, as you got to know the class, you knew who will sleep off, who will dope it out, who is a good runner etc so you manipulated your game accordingly. One took calculated risks and played on. Finally, one used to wait for the period to get over so th

CHILDHOOD GAMES LT COL NOEL ELLIS (RETD) 03/IX/2018 In kindergarten we used to play a game in which all of us used to sit in a circle on our haunches. There used to be one “denner” and with a kerchief. This child used to run outside the circle while we sang a rhyme which went like this, “I sent a letter to my father and on my way I dropped it, someone came and picked it up and put it in his pocket”. This child with a hanky had to on the quiet drop it behind someone who had to be alert, pick it up and run to catch the denner. The political scenario in the country presently is like this only, dropping the kerchief of blame behind someone and run. One used to pick up weaklings of the class and drop the hanky precisely. Slowly, as you got to know the class, you knew who will sleep off, who will dope it out, who is a good runner etc so you manipulated your game accordingly. One took calculated risks and played on. Finally, one used to wait for the period to get over so th

LIFE AS IT GOES How does this man on the street come to terms with life in our country is my basic doubt? The fortunate ones and the reserved ones may have access to a few things which government doles out as schemes. There may be some with some source of income. Some may have a job. Not everyone is so privileged. How do we understand the underprivileged is the question? How it all starts and what happens is what I am going to conjecture? My perception may be grossly wrong though. A typical ministry functions on a fixed format. Neta (representative of janta) feel the need not the other way around. He gets it approved & gets budget allocated. He already has planned how to spend it. He has his bureaucrats to monitor it. The tendering process is initiated. Now it is the look out of that contractor with the lowest bid to get things moving. Contractor hires labour to do the job. It is the labourer on the ground that is making India. It is this man with a tool, with sw

RAKHI FOR THE NATION I was just thinking that when it comes to “Raksha Bandhan” every one sends Rakhis to the Defence Forces. Where do all these smart girls and lovely ladies evaporate on Valentine’s Day, rose day, propose day, kiss day, hug day etc. I swear, you can be rest assured that there are lots of eligible bachelors and handsome young men and women in the forces. Be that as it may. This country can be rest assured that forces are determined to keep the real enemy at bay and they also have sworn to keep you guys and gals safe during internal disorders. During natural calamities, they work day and night, risking their lives disregarding their personal safety and comforts. The dichotomy comes in when your “Rakshaks” during disasters continue to save people but cannot keep you safe from “Bhakshaks” who lurk in every gully/mohalla & cities where you live. His own real sister and mother are not safe. Actually, the soldier expects that when he has gone to the

THERE IS A HOLE IN MY POTHOLE There is a hole in my bucket, dear Liza, dear Liza....., is an old English song. Liza keeps giving Henry solutions to mend his bucket so that he can fetch water. In the end the hole still remains and water is never fetched. With this song as the background, here goes my piece. A month into monsoon, condition of roads is pathetic. If you take a picture by a drone you may find earthlings walking on moon avoiding craters. The other day we saw a dumper with its driver’s cabin facing the sky, sunk in a road, as if India has found a new PDLV (Polar Dumper Launch Vehicle). Reality is that now there is a hole in every pot hole. This hole widens and deepens with every drop of rain. People are losing lives unfortunately. Politician is absconding, MC has washed its hands off & contractors are in hibernation. Sufferer is the common man. Trains wading through water, buses plying like hovercrafts, two wheelers like water scooters, cars like speed bo

BLACK IS BEAUTIFUL People tell me that I was born very fair. I don’t know what happened in between. My “ twacha ” got tanned too much while I played cricket all day and went on many fishing trips with Dad. We didn’t have anti-tan lotions or UV blocks with SPF varying with glare of the sun. We had pure “ Sarson ka tel”. In winters our skin used to go white, I would rather say flaky in some ways. The only way to cover it was to have well oiled legs. To save time, distance from the end of the shorts and start of the socks used to be oiled. The elbows and knees always remained problematic. No one bothered in the playfield as there was no one watching your legs. During our School Annual day celebrations we used to have this sound and light show. Boys used to line up in our house for makeup. Mom used to give them a lotion called Lacto Calamine which students used to rub on their faces for fairness followed by foundation. Then she used to dab them with face powder. All “Ka

GO MAN GO The mango season is in full swing at our place. Road sides are lined up with countless baskets of the local variety of Haphooz aka Alphonso. This year has been a bumper crop and the rates are falling fast. The variety which was 1800 a dozen has come down to 200. State of affairs is that people have stopped plucking them and are letting them fall off on their own. I have two mango trees behind my house and none of them are Haphooz. It is a local variety called “pairi”. I haven’t tasted a tastier mango all my life. If you want to fall in love with mango then you have to taste this. I get into my Bermuda and sandow baniyan, chill the mangoes, “ghulao” them nicely, squeeze those two drops of white liquid out, close my eyes and suck the pulp out, then pop out the gootli, slurp it till its white. Then catch the rest of the skin between the teeth and pull till every drop has been squeezed out, finally bite the rear end and repeat. My desi way of mango eating. I ju

FISHING TRIPS TO KANJALI River fish was my staple diet as a kid. That too caught fresh from Kanjali by none other than my Dad. My favourite was fried fish and sweet milk for dinner. All the aunties and uncles used to do hawww! They believed that my skin would turn white at places. It was considered to be more of a curse I suppose. In Punjabi they used to say that I would turn into “ Dab-Kharabba ” (spotted or patched in black and white). Well, I am still short, dark and handsome for some. If Dad was in a happy mood, meant he is going fishing. On happy days he could pardon you for murder “ Sare khoon maaf ”. His fishermen’s circle used to range from professional anglers, desi fishermen, village folk, kabari’s (ragpickers) etc. Depending on the inputs from these people, he used to prepare his bait for the catch. “ Gandoya ” (earthworms) & Atta (flour) were the two commonest baits. Special ones used to be Jhinga (prawns), live fish, guts of table birds, frogs etc. He

OUR DEER PINKY It was a cold wintry evening when two people clad in white dhoti, kurta & Loi’s (shawls) came to our house in Sainik School, Kapurthala. On enquiring they said they were parents of Bishnoi of Sarojini House of which Dad was the house master. They were carrying something in their lap which was very fidgety. They requested for old news papers. A very unusual request it was. As they stood up to greet dad, this twitchy bundle jumped out of their lap. It was a small, dainty, wet nosed brown baby deer (Chinkara). We all were startled for a moment. They said that having heard of your love for animals Ellis Saab, we present to you “PINKY” as a token of love and respect for teaching our children. I saw my Dads eyes getting moist for the first time. In those days it was not banned. On asking what you feed it, they gave the details of how to feed it with a bottle and otherwise it would graze the lawn grass. In case some wheat can be made available it could be pal

POTS & PETS The response I get on photos of my garden is tremendous. In the bargain I get to hear a lot of stories of my Dad who was a diehard gardening enthusiast. If I talk about chrysanthemums’, he had every variety, colour and variant of the flower.   The assortment of crotons and the array of fruits in our house was mind blowing.   Rajnigandha (tuberose) and Narcissus (Nargis) were his favourite. That sweet scent still lingers in my memory. Geranium was another of his darlings. He only could manage his three hundred pots and numerous flower beds. I rekindled this hobby after ages and it gives me so much of solace. Hibiscus (Gudhal) is my weakness. We were born and brought up in a house surrounded with fruit trees. Cheeku, Malta, Guava, Custard Apple, Kagzi Nimbu, Grapes, Gal-Gal, Dhurunj (a huge citrus fruit akin to Chakotra), Peach, Papaya, Louqaat, Banana, Mango, Faalsa, Ber besides the wide variety of vegetables which were organically grown in our kitchen gar