Tag Archives: india

SOMEBODY STOP ME !

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Inertia is a funny thing.

A body in motion will continue to remain in motion unless an external force is acted upon it to make it stop.

But that is physics.

We at Peedu’s People deal with humans.

Humans defined by habits; most of them bad.

Countrymen oblivious of any sense of civic duty.

Males drowned in their own sense of fake ‘dick totting’ machismo.

We at Peedu’s People started our ‘Keep it (yep- its a double entendre) In’ campaign almost a year ago. Here’s the progress report.

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We were just as shy as the next person who doesn’t stop a ‘piss’achar. We were afraid what they might say.

Worse, what they might do when we tap them on the shoulder midstream.

Would they actually turn around and spray us with urine? Would they argue?

They DON’T.

They mostly make excuses (lack of urinals/ everybody does it/ I am diabetic) but when reminded about the disease and filth their habit causes- they actually apologize.

So at Peedu’s People our theory is – They do this because NOBODY TOLD THEM NOT TO;

Not their mother’s who pulled off their elastic drawstring pants on the side of roads.

Not their fathers who stopped often on road-trips to lead by example.

Not their teachers who are just concerned with covering the syllabi.

Not their friends who held pissing matches after guzzling beer.

Not bollywood for sure who has ample heroes urinating on screen.

They’ve never been stopped.

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We as Vegans believe that all humans are basically good people- they just end up becoming habitual adults as a consequence of their circumstances.

Most people are just looking for us to stop them.

They want to be stopped. They might want to change a bad habit once it’s pointed out to them.

It’s unto us to point it out and say- Hey, Keep it in. Nobody want’s to see your junk or smell your pee.

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I Lost Myself to Find Love, in India.

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The amber readout of my Garmin watch flickers on my wrist. “Jeannie, don’t you stay out on the streets after dark in that country.” My husband’s words ring as clear in my mind as my doctors warnings, “Don’t you eat anything that the infamous street-vendors sell, Ms Baca.”

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I hold up the saffron coloured Jalebi against the setting Bangalore sun and bite into the crunchy goodness. A burst of sugary heaven spiced with saffron explodes in my mouth. My salivating tongue feels the gritty texture of fried dough dipped in syrup. Take that, Dr. Whatley.

The yellow and green Auto-rickshaw driver appears more nervous that I do of the fading sunlight. “Madam, let yus go to Yotel. It’s getting dark, No?”

“Relax, Anand.” I lick the syrup off my fingers.

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The soft January breeze teases my short hair. The gentle tuk-tuk of the scooter rickshaw lulls me into thoughts. I’ve always been a risk taker… When they offered me to do an assignment in India, I jumped at the opportunity. This mystical land; Nothing in India is kind to your senses- The colours are bright, the noise is crazy, reality is stark, people feel deeply- I mean anybody who has to ‘FIND THEMSELVES’ come to India- the land of–”

Screech…..

The rickshaw comes to a sudden halt. That’s when I first see Sita– “She’s dark brown and black. Nothing spectacular about her, but she’s run onto the road to come between the rickshaw and her three puppies.” She’s confident, fearless and not worried about herself-

She’s a mother.

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Her hip bones protrude from her severely emaciated body. Then she looks directly into my eyes.

No, Jeannie, don’t even think about it. DO NOT…this is not your country, there is NOTHING you can do, You have a conference call in 20 minutes, your flights leaves in less than 30 hours. Don’t even think about it, just ignore–

She nudges her face against my palm. This is probably the first kind touch she has received in her short painful life.

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Her pain is over- Mine has just begun.

She is now mine. Just like all the other animals in this world that have nobody, have me. She’s mine. I just have to find them a home and love—something all of us deserve.

As I sit back from the drab conference call, my mind races. What can I do? Who can I call for help? Who will help me in this foreign land? And Why?

My fatigued mind can’t think anymore so I put out a post on social media and close my fatigued eyes.

Ding Ding Ding

A series of messages jumping on my screen wakes me up. I rub my eyes in amazement as I read the screen. Facebook has been working while I slept.

Fate;

A man who is a friend of a friend of a friend is traveling to Bangalore from Chandigarh to day and is going to be in Bangalore for a few hours. He just happens to have a friend who has a rescue in Bangalore and can keep the dogs there safely while we figure a way for them to get to the USA.

“It all seems far too convenient,” says my best friend over the phone.

“My gut says, I can trust these people.” I tell her. “I just know I was meant to find Sita and her puppies. “Gosh, Sita even has a best friend called Nandi– wonder if they will agree to take her too?”

So I ask.

So they agree. It’s as simple as that.

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The rescue organization called Voice of the Stray Dogs (VOSD) picks up the stray dogs the very next day. Unfortunately one of the puppies has died. The person who came from Chandigarh works for an organization called Peedu’s People. They collaborate to save Nandi, Sita and her remaining two puppies.

*****

My risk taking ways paid off.

I lost myself in belief of humanity and found love in India. The love of Nandi and Sita and her two puppies.

Now we all need your help to get these puppies to the USA so where we have homes already for them.

These poor dogs who have never known love or kindness deserve the same love I found.

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Horton Smells a Poo

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“Inder, your grandfather has gone mad. You’ve got to talk to him.” My grandma opened the door.
“Stop being so dramatic, Biji. What happened?” I stepped out of the blistering heat into conditioned air.
“Dramatic? Can’t you smell this horrible stench?” She held her the soft chunni to her nose. “All the women in the neigbourhood are calling me the Cow-dung Mafia.”
I polished my white-leather platform shoes with the calves of my bright red bell-bottom pants and put down my own Pan-American airlines bag. “I just flew twelve hours under-care of air-hostesses, Biji. I can’t deal with your squabble with Bauji. I’ve got to get started on my fifth grade project.”
“Why don’t you ask the master project undertaker for help?” She spat out. “He has some crazy ideas in his head.”
“What did he do now?” I put down my new Mattel electronic racing game.
“He says he will make cooking gas from cow-dung. He’s installed the gobar-gas (biogas) plant right in our court-yard.” She slapped her forehead. “The villagers laughed at him so he has promised everyone free cooking gas if they give them cow-dung from all their animals.” She sighed. “I should’ve listened to my mother when she said he was crazy.”
“Biji, whatever he does has a reason–”
“–Reason? He’s a lunatic. That’s the reason. The entire neighbourhood has been dropping off cow-dung in bucket loads all week. Haay haay, you have to stop him.”

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Bauji’s pored over some blueprints on his drafting table in his office. His glasses rested at the tip of his nose.
I touched his feet; he put his hand over my head in blessing, never breaking his gaze. “When did you come, Inder? How’s school?”
“Hmm mm” I barely cleared his drafting table. “Biji wants me to talk to you about this cow-dung stench–”
He straightened his 6’4” frame and sucked in deep lungful of air. “This is the sweet smell of progress, Inder.”
“Eeeeew,” I pinched my nose.
“Do you know how much energy is renewable in this world?” He tugged my earlobe.
“Renewable?”
“Yes, Inder. We have power cuts in India. We have an energy crisis. We pollute our environment when we can re-use the energy available in nature.” He lifted me by my arms and rested me on his hip clasping his muscular arm around my waist. “Look this is how it’s done…” His pencil traced a big drum and pipelines running to and from it on the blue coloured paper for several minutes.

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“Bauji, You make is sound very easy Are you sure it will work?”
“Will you believe me if you and me build a miniature prototype, first he playfully tapped my head with his engineers ruler.
I ran back out to the living room. “Yay, I got it. I got it.”
My grandma blocked my path, “Did he agree to give up his hair-brained idea, Inder.”
I flung my arms around her thickening waist. “I’ve got my project idea, Biji. I’ll need your help though. When its show-and-tell day for my project at school, can you ship some fresh cow-dung to my school. Please overnight it, it will have to be fresh.” I smiled.
Grandma repeatedly slapped her fore-head. “One day you’ll grow up to be just as crazy as him.”

 

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THE VALENTINE’S DAY CONUNDRUM- BOLLYWOOD STYLE

THE VALENTINE’S DAY CONUNDRUM– BOLLYWOOD STYLE

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           I learnt all my romantic moves or lack of them from Bollywood movies. Because the pudding defines the proof; my being single is proof that the Bollywood romance formulas are foul pudding.

          I’m an engineer. To my logical brain, If A=B and B=C then A should equal C- always.

           So Bollywood taught me there seven ways to woo a woman.

1)      If you love here follow her to the ends of the earth;

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The hero chases the heroine from London to Punjab, from Gujarat to Italy.  So I showed up to my girlfriends door in Switzerland and for the second time I got the response- What on earth are you doing here?

2)      Save her from a bunch of thugs;

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This has to work right? The brawny hero bangs up an un-imaginable number of goons. I saved my prospective girlfriend from an eve-teaser in a bus once. Well, I got arrested, refused to pay a bribe- went to court. Offered three months pocket money to a grossly incompetent and comical lawyer- and never saw the girl again.

3)      Use a furry friend;

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A cute dog (for some reason a Pomeranian) carrying a rose between its teeth and wearing a bow around its neck. The heroine carries the dog and sings a song, twirling amongst flying ribbons and balloons. My Doberman scared the crap out of every girl he approached. He was the gentlest dog but all he could carry was his reputation. Not only did he not find me a girlfriend, he never found one for himself. He was feared amongst all the strays and neighborhood dogs.

4)      Let her go;

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Sacrifice. That one must work. The hero reunites the heroine with a previous lover. Just in time the heroine realizes how important sacrifice is in the grand scheme of things and returns to the hero. I let my girlfriend go. And she left- darnit Bollywood. Then I followed her to the end of the earth and we know how that story turned out in point number 1 above.

5)      Have your mom be you wingman;

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The hero’s mom has the ability to explain away her son’s worse characteristics to the heroine. “Yes he is a serial killer, but he can touch his nose with his tongue.” Lo and behold the heroine melts. My mom was an expert in scaring away women I was almost engaged to. “Are you sure you want to marry Inder? His last girlfriend was…”

6)      Ignore her completely;

Now go figure this one. The hero completely ignores the heroine- and she still falls for him. In the harsh reality of things- every hot chick has fifteen guys wooing her. Here is a ratio to explain my point. If you turn over any rock lying on the ground there are 3 men found under it and one guy will be sitting on that rock. My last hope was the questionably attractive girl that was ignoring all these guys- seemed like a slam dunk. Five dates and five hundred Rupees later I found out that she was gay.

7)       Get her wet (noooooo literally- in the rain);

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Well if it starts raining in Indian movies the hero and heroine’s fate is sealed. Song first, wet clothes next…  Dry them by a fireplace… Kiss coming… Birds will fly out of the trees; they must… no sexual act can happen without birds flying out of trees. Some sobs and “I gave you my virginity’’ dialogues later- marriage happens. I got one woman wet once.  A hospital visit and a fight with bone-chilling fever later- I was still single.

 

                I am an engineer but if All of A is B it doesn’t mean all of B is A. Hence proven- Q.E.D

 

© Inderpal Sandhu and inderpalsandhu.wordpress.com, 2014. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to Inderpal Sandhu and inderpalsandhu.wordpress.com with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.