NOEL ELLIS' GOOGLE BLOG

    For decades, India has been fighting an enemy far more elusive than cross-border infiltrators and terrorists. This particular adversary doesn’t assault with tanks or launch missiles. Instead, its weapons are WhatsApp groups, telegram, shady coaching centres, and sealed envelopes exchanged in dark alleys simply known as the "Paper Leak Syndicate."   After one scandal too many pushed the public to its breaking point, New Delhi finally made a radical call: Hand the examinations over to the Armed Forces. The entire country gasped. The coaching industry fainted. As for the students? They knew that their future was in safe hands now.   Phase 1: Designing the Blueprint   The toughest task of drafting exam papers fell to a top-secret committee comprising of the Vice Chiefs and training heads of the Army, Navy, and the Air Force. To guarantee absolute secrecy, the questions were formulated inside an underground bunker so classified that even the Prim...

  In school we had a “wet canteen”. As a kindergarten kid, we were forbidden to eat any eatables from there as items were impure and adulterated, that’s what the parents told us. Why? I still do not know, when the whole school with about 750 hostelers used to eat anything and everything sold there. I was not allowed to visit that tuck shop.   We would pass by the shop and workers would sit outside making the tastiest ‘besan di barfi’. We could spend hours watching the process. The ‘bhunoing of besan’, adding ghee, laying it in trays, slicing them and displaying them. Let me confess, we didn’t know the difference between desi ghee and dalda. The smell of the mixture used to enchant me. But alas, if someone reported to Dad or Mom that their son was seen there, it would invite a thrashing.   The child within me never could resist. Hostlers had pocket money to flaunt with, your's truly never got any. Plus, those guys could take items on credit. I dare not open an ac...

  If you folks recall your childhood days, we used to love to collect all kinds of feathers. If one could get hold of a peacock feather, it was ultimate. By the way, that colourful “eye-like” part at the tip of a peacock’s tail feather is called the “ ocellus”.   I had one and placed it in my math’s textbook. They said ‘vidiya aati’ hai. (It means you gain knowledge and wisdom). Feathers gave you some ‘supernatural powers’ to learn was a belief. Math was my weakest subject. Psychologically, keeping that peacock feather helped.   My Granddad was a great ‘shikari’ and always used to have a “Black Francolin’s” (Kala Teetar) feather in his hat. We used to long to touch it and have a closer look. But it was taboo. He used to have various ‘trout spinners’ hooked to his hat too; dare we touch them.   Having stayed in a huge campus of the HH Maharaja of Kapurthala, collecting feathers of birds was not a big shake. Over the years, while accompanying dad on his ...

 New Adenium Colours in our garden  🧡 Dil Khush ❤

    I had gone to pick up something from the market, when I overheard a conversation between two people as I was opening the door of my car. That place is a busy intersection and serves as a pick-up point for labourers. I could make out that they had come to that shop to buy their daily quota of Kheni, Gutka and Chuna, before someone hired them for the day.   Both had touch screen mobile phones. I could not make out what brand the phones were but rest assured these guys were not only connected with the world through the internet but were very well aware of what was happening around.   What caught my attention was their discussion on the increase in ‘tobacco prices’ which the panwala charged them due to the effect of the war in the gulf. The way they “bakoed” Doland Bhai Tump with explicit terminology which only a Marwari can coin, was music to the ears. Their awareness to global problems and assessment was much better, rustic, straight from the heart, abs...

 

  It was Mother’s Day yesterday. A belated “Happy Mother’s Day” to all mothers, grand and great grandmothers, would be mothers, unwed mothers, and even mothers-in-law. A big salute to mothers of martyrs who laid their lives for Mother India. Also, to all the wives, who are looking after “kids” who now are veterans and behave like toddlers.   Having said that, today, I want to bring to the fore certain mothers who cannot speak but can sing. Who instead of walking, fly and hop. Their home is not built by bricks and mortar but by twigs and grass.   Mothers who get up well before dawn and sleep only after dusk, working tirelessly to feed their babies. Their clothes are their feathers and they don’t need a closet full of clothes. They don’t throw a tantrum for food but eat what they get, with no greed. They wear no makeup but look so beautiful.   They do not crave for chocolates or pizzas. They drink from ponds and puddles. Their babies do not need straws, t...

While I was working with a steel plant, we had to report “near misses” every day. In the morning, all HODs would go over the events of the previous day and we had to submit our near miss observations. It would initiate a process to avoid such accidents.   Let us come to the Indian roads for discussion’s sake, where every road is dug up with no markings.   Traffic is terrible. Road sense is totally missing. Road rage is at its extremes. Driving on the wrong side is a birthright. Blaring horns and flashing lights are there to flaunt. Meandering is routine. Helmet gives a headache. Traffic lights are for show. Pe destrian   crossings! What pedestrian crossing? The list is endless. Yet the traffic moves.   Traffic police are seen occasionally checking vehicles which have other state numbers. “Ek Chalan to banta hai, because you padharoed mhare desh”. They sit and watch traffic snarls all day but do not move their butt an inch. The sabzi wala/fruit wala ha...