An Ideal Vehicle

Pune is second largest city after Mumbai in Maharashtra (big/strong state…if translated).

But moving around Pune, poses several challenges, some internal, while a few externally imposed.

It has several roads…….and innumerable potholes on them. It also has “speed breakers”, of unspecified heights. Some are barely noticeable, some burn a hole in your pocket if they rip apart undercarriage of your car. These potholes and speedbreakers can be classified as shallow, petty, deep, semi-lethal and fatal.

If this were not enough, environmentalists are complaining about pollution from cars, and want greener vehicles. So polluting vehicles are heavily taxed. As everywhere, the prices of fuel are skyrocketing (heard some murumur from Canada too). We do not have an option of electric cars here. Electricity is pretty scarce…we have regular powercuts on Thursdays. Quite a few villages on outskirts of Pune (and almost everywhere in Maharashtra) have to live with 12 hour powercuts everyday, sometimes more.

We do have expressways, which are smooth, but hills too…where roads are not so well (almost non existent…well they do exist on paper in government offices). When on camping trips, fuel stations have not reached nooks and corners of my countryside, in case one runs out of gas.

In cities too,
a) roads are overcrowded,
b) to manoeuvre vehicles around is a problem
c) traffic jams render us immobile.
d) a lot of time is spent in commuting (coz of jams)
e) we are stuck in cars,…lack of exercise is turning us obese.

I can go on cribbing. :( Oh…too many issues to recount.

“And how does one come out of it?” I was thinking. And some meditation, led me to a solution.

I needed a vehicle :

• that was all terrain
• consumed less, cheap fuel, preferably biofuel,
• whose emissions were environmentally friendly/ biodegradable,
• low on maintenance,
• i could hitch a trailer to, and
• one that would get me some exercise.

And….I have found a perfect solution.





Come to think of it….if I put on some shining armour….i could even be of help to some DID (damsel in distress) <<< damsel with a broken down car…or a pretty one stuck in a traffic jam :D


talldarkman

Dream Guy

Dream Girl 2

Iran

Contrary to popular belief, Iran, or..."Islamic" Republic of Iran, one amongst the "axis of evil" as defined by Bush does not seem so. If one checks the civility of the people, they are extremely courteous. They perhaps rival us Indians in hospitality (I can even claim that they excel). I have never seen such nice people.

Having been to the USA a few months back, I can realise the vast difference in attitude of people (read government officials, at the entry point in particular), Americans Vs Iranians.

Being materially rich, does not, I believe, make one "civilised", after all.

I was in Iran for the Iran Oil Show, and found almost every nationality doing business in Iran. The Germans, Austrians, Chinese, Japanese, Swedes, French....everyone is here, except Americans. Of course I did find Honeywell, perhaps they don't care about their government diktat (or fatwa, if i may :P ).

The Iranians do impose restrictions on girls, that they should wear head scarfs. But that must be because it's cold out here, and they don't want people, specially ladies, to fall ill. Well, there are still more restrictions, that they should cover their body fully with clothes, which i must say may not go down too well with the male species (and sometimes female too).

But on a serious note, girls are allowed higher education, they are allowed to drive. And I found them quite qualified. They confidently spoke about instrumentation and highly technical DCS (distributed control systems). They man (<--- check out the term, should i say woman) highly technical posts in the Oil and Gas industry. And, there are males working under them, and they (the guys) don't abhor it, or resent it. I must say that Iranian girls are beautiful (not that those of any other nationality are not ;) ).

The mountain Alborz, in Tehran is almost always covered with snow. It can be seen from Tehran. And yet, in summer I can coolly walk in just a shirt and trouser in Tehran.

Had a chance to eat raw pistas. Here they eat raw pistachchios just as we may eat "chanya manya" (local small Indian fruit which grows on wild shrubs) mixed with salt. Khajoor melts in the mouth. Dry fruits are....wow. Akrod, badam, piste...aplenty. But kajus are imported from India (called Indian badam here). And of course "keshar" , is lajawaab.

Our Parsis came from here. They have quite some respect for Indians. We used to share common borders not so long ago (about 400 years ago :P )

The currency will royally confuse you. Everyone here is a millionaire. 1 dollar = 10000 riyal. So if one wants to go around town, we have to pay the taxi fellow 70,000 rial, or more.

That's about as much time i had to write, had to leave for airport, the Imam Khomeini airport, after gulping down a quick omelette.

talldarkman

Rotterdam!

"Hmm, amusing!”, said the Dutchman with a raised eyebrow, when I tried to strike a conversation with him in Rotterdam. And I knew he meant precisely what he said. Had I been on the other side of the sea, on the English Isle, it would have meant exactly the opposite. This perhaps, has kept the Dutch, from ruling the world, unlike their English neighbours (who say one thing and do/mean quite another). They (the Dutch, of course) speak straight to your face, whatever they think.

They have been, I learnt, traders for quite a few years. .They would sell a refrigerator to the Eskimo, if need be. Transporting a sack of potatoes to Japan, as also huge locomotives to Peru, Rotterdam, is the largest port in the world. The Germans tried to catch up, with Hamburg, but were not efficient on this count, it seems. Though, another port has now overtaken the Dutch. They have been charting the world routes since the 1500s. The manuscripts of the old cartographers can still be found, very well preserved, in the maritime museum in Rotterdam. And so can be the models of several ships, well documented


The Dutch are a very warm people, from what I could make out from the ten days I was in the country. Almost all people can speak English, unlike most of the other cities in Europe (barring England, but they too are slipping, and don’t speak English anymore. The Queen’s English, I say, what? )

This port was razed to the ground, in World War II. And the architects decided to build a city, as beautiful, or more so, than Amsterdam. (As I understand, there is another Amsterdam, AND a Rotterdam 20 minutes from it, in New York state in the US of A).


There are curious buildings, leaning, and supported by a pole.

We also have bridges, large ones.



A Euroscoop, a large tower, overseeing the whole city. And they raised the height, to snatch back the honour of being the highest tower, after some other city built a tower as high (or higher ) than Euroscoop.


Another trait is their penchant for cycling. This country is below sea level, and waterways, transportation keeps this country ticking. The famous windmills, which keep generating energy, at almost no cost, and being environmentally friendly at the same time, is another noticeable feature. They have been using wind power for quite some time now.

We ventured out on cycles, rented at Euro 6.5 a day, to explore the city. And what a convenient way, except the chilling winds (which took their toll, two days later, by way of a heavy cold and running nose).

The girls, hmmmm, they are quite pretty here ;) And they have an interesting way of greeting, three pecks on the cheek, one after the other. Now who would not want to greet gals that way…*lol*

Rotterdam, is indeed interesting, and I have not been able to see any other museums. I look forward to visit this city again.

talldarkman

Encounter 2!

‘Do you speak English?’. These words brought me to life, from the semidazed state I was in.

I had been using myself up rather too freely, of late. I was sitting in Barcelona Airport, exhausted, fatigued would be a better word, for I had been travelling in different timezones, waking up at the most odd hours, as early as 3 am, just to catch a flight which departs at 6.30 am, for the past three days. One day in London, the next in Brussels and now in Barcelona. How I wanted to remove my shoes and stretch off into a doze. But the circumstances did not let me sleep, as I waited for the British Airways flight to London that evening.

I looked at the dishevelled old gentleman who had uttered those words, and wondered why he had singled me out from the swathe of people around me waiting on their benches for their flights, which would scatter them over various destinations within the next few hours. He certainly was English, for I could make it out from his accent. I contemplated whether to admit my knowledge or not. Then I conceded, realising that no harm can come to me with such admittance?

‘Yes, I do.’, I said with a beaming smile on my face. ‘Thank God’, he said, heaving a sigh of relief. Taking a vacant seat next to me, he looked intently into my eyes. ‘I have been robbed’, he said. ‘I lost all my credit cards, all my luggage. I approached the police, but to no avail. They won’t let me even put in a call unless I produce the necessary Euros’. I got a drift of where the conversation was going to lead.

‘Well’, I said. Then in order to gain more of my sympathy, he pulled up the left sleeve of his trouser, and displayed the swollen knee he had from a fall he suffered while chasing the thieves. ‘Can you help me? I promise to return the money at whatever address you say within the next 24 hours.’, he implored. I kept an impassive face, for I was very much used to such pleas back in India.

‘I am sorry, I may not be of help you’, I said softly. He appeared not to hear me, and cocked an ear at me, trying to make me say it louder so the people around me could hear my denial as well. I promptly obliged, without the least of embarrassment, and he appeared shocked. ‘Any amount, 5 euros or 10 euros would do’, he said. I stood my ground, and he must have realised that these pleas are not going to cut ice with me.

He got up in exasperation, and drifted off to find a new bakra.

A few questions popped up in my mind after he had left :

Why did he approach me, when he could have spoken in English to any of the British Airways employees loitering near the counter?
Don’t the police at international airports understand English?
How did he land up in Spain at all, if he did not have money in the first place?

What is your opinion? Was he a genuine victim, or just another beggar?

talldarkman

Dreamgirl!