A Plunderer, A Marauder, An Unwanted, Intrusive Invader...

On the night of Wednesday, 25th September, 2019, I was on FaceBook for my customary ten minutes post dinner. I saw an update from a student saying that water levels were rising rapidly in her compound and she was desperately seeking help, as it looked like they would need to evacuate their houses...I immediately messaged a very dear friend who lives almost next door to this particular housing complex asking her about the flash flood situation and helpfully telling her to park both her cars in our bungalow compound, a five minute walk from her house and slightly further from the canal which was rapidly spewing out water after incessant rains and had transformed itself into a massive river. Little did I know what was in store for our housing society too. The time was 11:30 pm in India and all hell was to break loose shortly...
Our area was one of the many areas that were to be affected that night and by the time I woke up the next morning , I saw a message from our immediate neighbour asking me to call him when I woke up. I knew immediately that water must have entered our compound, but it was much worse...Water had flooded my parents' home, my car and my two wheeler had been completely submerged and thus began a frantic coordination operation to get a locked house clean again, from across the Arabian Sea...By the grace of God, my classroom which is even closer to the canal turned river, escaped by the skin of its teeth and water lapped at the top most step...Many lives were lost in Pune that fearsome night and tons of garbage adorned the streets, walls and gates, like wreaths left by the river to commiserate with a city in mourning...


 A Plunderer, A Marauder, An Unwanted, Intrusive Invader

A plunderer, a marauder, an unwanted, intrusive invader,
Almost unseen, almost unheard, the whys unknown,
Sneaked in while we were busy on the phone...

Furniture floated and then bloated,
Electronic goods sizzled and snarled,
Cars were by the waters hurled,
The river's fury completely unfurled.

And yet we dared to ask ourselves why,
WHY was the river making us cry?

"Seen the plastic, seen the filth?
Doesn't it make one flinch?
When your garbage chokes my throat,
I'm going to get your goat!"

In our cozy homes were we ensconced,
Expensive cars our parking adorned...
Our houses were always neat as a pin,
We never learnt polluting the river was a sin...

And then we realized how helpless we are,
No power, no water nor internet won't take us far...
And all the while the ceaseless, relentless rain beat down,
To the river's destruction, it added an additional crown...

Instead of roads we now have gaping holes,
Instead of power we have twisted poles...
Our cars are heaps of rusty junk,
The water even swept away Granny's old trunk...

Oh how badly we have are fingers burnt,
Have we then our lesson learnt?
Global warming is a reality,
First hand views are not pretty...

Let's reduce that carbon footprint,
In operation Clean Up let's do a stint...
And face harsh reality that in my city,
The damage hasn't been itty -bitty...

So let's recycle, reduce, reuse, refuse,
And let need, not want, let you choose...
Let's all come together and do our bit,
Already our dear planet has been deemed unfit...

A solution is needed quick and fast,
Let's find it before we breathe our last....

A plunderer, marauder, an unwanted , intrusive intruder,
Befits Man, not the poor, polluted river!


                                                Op Clean Up began in my parents' dining room

                                                                Into the kitchen too...

                                           The road to my classroom became a river that night...

                                           Garbage trapped at our bungalow's little gate

                                                 Five minutes walk from the house...

                                                                         Sad Sights....

When The Jacaranda Is In Bloom...

In times of extreme emotion, I have always found that it is easier to write poetry instead of prose. This week got off to a tough start, as we got the news that two men living in two different countries, both in the prime of life, passed away very suddenly and unexpectedly, both unmitigated tragedies, no matter which way you look at it. One died on Mount Everest, the other by the side of the Expressway that runs between my home town and Mumbai... Both friends of friends and relatives, both leaving behind young families, one does not have to know them personally to feel almost first hand how ruthless life can be...Also today it has been six years since Westgate Mall was attacked by terrorists leaving behind so many devastated families... Does one really ever recover from tragedy? And then yesterday we got the horrible news that our neighbour's gentle, sweet, kind old dog needs to be put to sleep. Since our bungalow shares a common compound, it feels like we are losing a family member yet again this year...


When The Jacaranda Is In Bloom...

When the jacaranda is in bloom,
At times, to me, it spells a lot of gloom.
Six years ago today when lavender blossoms adorned Nairobi like a bride,
Evil terrorists ensured scores of people at Westgate died.
Roads carpeted with Jacaranda blooms were awash with blood,
Of anger, fury, grief and tears there was a flood...

Last Sunday when Jacaranda blossoms were just peeking from behind the leaves,
And there was a hint of mauve on all the trees,
A dear friend's fellow mountaineer met his end on Everest,
Today he comes home to be laid to eternal rest.
He leaves behind a little daughter and a pregnant wife,
Between Man and Mountain, man lost the strife...

That same Sunday night when Jacaranda blooms had gone to bed,
In my hometown, a brilliant spine surgeon, after a freak accident, was declared dead.
Gone are those dextrous fingers, gone is that skilled hand,
That once a scalpel so deftly and adroitly manned.
Never again home to his wife and daughters will he rush,
All because of a horribly driven private bus.

In my own back yard from where the Jacaranda is seen in a purple haze,
My neighbour's gentle old dog lies in a cancerous daze.
In a handful of hours she will be put to eternal sleep,
Is there any wonder then that the Jacaranda makes me weep?

But then, every morning, down my lane, what do I see?
It is, as if, the Jacaranda has laid down a lavender carpet just for me.
I square my shoulders and lift my chin,
Just being around to see Jacaranda blooms feels like a win.

No matter what has happened in the years that have passed,
Every September, the Jacaranda gives our eyes a fabulous repast.
And it's up to us to drink in Nature's wonderful sight,
For, who knows, against Man, when these trees will lose their fight...

Lessons Death Taught Me

Today it's been four whole months since my Dad passed away and much water has flowed under the bridges spanning the Mula-Mutha rivers in my hometown Pune, the Athi river here in Kenya and the Thames too...We have taken many flights back and forth in the past few months, all of which would have left my Dad with his heart in his mouth, even as he would have assiduously tracked the flights on his phone Flight Aap, from take off to landing... Those who knew him, know well his absolute terror of flying, fueled by a couple of Air Force crashes he had witnessed and some near escapes he had had, during his tenure in Leh Ladakh, in Jammu and Kashmir, in his early army days.
Hard and hectic as these last few months have been (it is not easy to wind up your parents' whole house almost single handedly, lock up your own house, teach students who are ALWAYS appearing for exams, shop for a wedding it was imperative to attend, and finish a hundred and one legal and other formalities death invariably brings in its wake, pun unintended), they have taught me a lot about what those living need to do to make life slightly easier for those left behind. Trust me, no banks or municipal corporation offices in India make anything smooth for you, so 'Be Prepared' has to be the motto.

Health : This is the number one piece of advice I have for ageing parents. Parents need to take great care of themselves, exercise as per your doctor's advice, keep a strict check on your diet and GO for regular checks ups and other tests as advised by your doctor... This is one area where my Dad and I invariably clashed, with me pushing him for annual tests and him backing away from them like those needles were plague infected...Since he had been on blood thinners for more than a decade due to Deep Vein Thrombosis (DVT), it was even more imperative for him to get tested regularly. I ended up in Pune in January 2018, (not a time for my regular annual visit) on my way back from a wedding in Assam, took one look at his condition, screamed blue murder (backed by a dear cousin of his who had come to see me), with the result that he finally had the grace to call his technician home for tests. Shortly after the results were out, he was admitted to hospital for more than two weeks, to take care of multiple issues that showed up...but he made it home and that visit of mine bought him the extra year and a half, until May 2019.
So if you have a parent who fears hospitals and tests (and many folks shared this with me later, saying it is usually the Dads who refuse to go anywhere near a doctor), do not be an ostrich and bury your head in the sand but be eagle eyed where your parents are concerned. I'm currently engaged in pushing my Mom to walk regularly and have already succeeded in improving her sleep wake pattern..

Nominations: If both your parents are living, remind them to check that every bank account, every fixed deposit and every insurance policy has the partner's nomination. Our bank in India messed up the nomination for my Dad's Indian Army pension account , probably failing to carry it forward when banking software systems changed, as that account was twenty two years old... This meant that my Mom could not access the money until my sister and I had made a legal affidavit, stating we had no objection to her getting the money and she having to declare that she was his legal heir...Imagine how hard it would be for those who did not have any money, besides the amount in the pension or other affected accounts or even worse had children who refused to sign off what legally belonged to the surviving parent....So, everyone, check all nominations NOW, do not assume that the bank or insurance company has followed through...

Old Vehicles: This one is a request to all senior parents. If you have really ancient vehicles, please make arrangements to dispose them of NOW. Your heirs cannot even scrap a vehicle unless all documents are in order and with so many of us living outside the country, it becomes doubly hard. My Dad had stopped driving his fifteen year old car a few years ago, due to his DVT issues, but refused to sell it off and switch over to an automatic car. The only good thing was that he had got all the checks done and it had been cleared for the next five years, as per India's environmental law and the insurance was up to date. But we had to transfer it to my Mom's name first, for which an affidavit had to be made by her from a government  E Service Centre (my husband went with her for this one and it took nearly all day!) and we, as the heirs had to make another affidavit, declaring we had no objection to the car being put on her name....And then the entire formality of actually selling it but here dear friends came to our aid, and made sure it was handed over to the new owner only after all legalities were completed,  as we were in the country for a very limited amount of time....So my advice? If your heirs don't want the vehicles or do not need them and you are not driving anymore, SELL them and down load the Uber app...

After Death Rites: Put this down on paper. What do you want done after your death? While my sister and I were completely in agreement with whatever our mother wanted to do, objection came from unexpected quarters...I took the decision to donate my Dad's eyes as he had always helped my mother and me in our endeavours to record text books for blind students, ( nearly two decades ago, long before the currently read aloud software was introduced) and everyone was happy that two people would get to see the world... My Mother decided to donate his body to the Armed Forces Medical College to help medical college students. My parents had decided to attend my daughter's graduation from medical college a few years from now, notwithstanding my Dad's fear of flying... Now this would remain only a dream...While my daughter was thrilled with the decision to donate his body, my fifteen year old son wanted to go the more traditional cremation route...Then my mother wanted some religious ceremonies and after death rituals, as these do help to attain closure and give everyone a chance to pray for salvation of the departed soul. Both my children objected vehemently, my daughter because she felt my Dad was not a big believer in traditional rites and rituals and my son because he felt if she had not gone the traditional way after his death, why now?
Finally I had to intervene and say that since we had already signed a hundred affidavits about who his next of kin and legal heir was, it was that person's prerogative to decide what to do after her husband's death...So, I suggest put it down in black and white, grandchildren are very opinionated these days!

Death Comes As The End...BUT Does NOT Exempt You From Income Tax: The government must and does take away its pound of flesh even after you are gone...So for honest, income tax paying entities like us, it is imperative to leave enough money in your account, (which your Next Of Kin have access to), for the tax for the previous financial year...In our case, the money was not an issue but yet ANOTHER affidavit was required to be notarized and submitted to the Income Tax Department by my mother, seeking permission to file returns and pay tax on my Dad's behalf...A good Chartered Accountant is essential here, as he was the one who prepared this particular piece of document and my friendly neighbourhood notary, whom I have done business with for the last fifteen years, quickly notarized it...Only then could my Mom go ahead and pay the tax and file returns. This was pending, as my Dad had got hospitalized on the first day of the new financial year in India and so obviously had been in  no condition to pay his tax, like every year...

Declutter: I had written a blog post about this very topic after we had moved into our current house in Nairobi titled Knick Knack Paddy Whack, Who Gives A Bone? I spent a lot of time simply decluttering my parents' house...It is very hard to get rid of stuff in India as the Garbage collection ladies only take limited amounts of garbage out each day...I had to pay a lot of extra money to persuade them that this was a one off and they should cart away whatever we were throwing out, so that it could go for recycling. DO NOT trash your own house in order to save the environment, instead use cloth bags and sign up for soft copies of bills and other monthly documents and donate or sell things you do not need. It seems once your kids leave home, things just have a habit of piling up, regardless of whether you need them or not... Do not let this happen to you, I started my own declutter process more than a decade ago and it is never too early to start. Also do label all important documents and files clearly and boldly. Though my sister and I eventually found everything we needed, it took really long to go through ancient, dusty files. The next generation will be even more short of time than we are and honestly probably short of the patience too, which is truly required to do all this. It is not easy to make ten trips to the concerned office to accomplish one task...

A dear friend's daughter (and a student of mine) pointed out to her mother that in managing all this and wrapping up things before leaving for Nairobi, where was the time to grieve? That is so true...Death ensures one goes on auto pilot until everything that needs to be done has been done...my Dad was a fellow Capricorn, he would have understood...and would have been the first to share this post on FaceBook for his fellow ex army officers and other friends to learn from!

           Armed Forces Medical College Anatomy Dept, where we said our final goodbye...

The Vigil

The wait, the long wait for the unknown.
Time passes slowly.
As slowly as thickened molasses
Meanders down a channel,
In a sugar processing factory.

Time passes slowly.
As slowly as the rich, red life giving blood,
Passes so quietly,
Through transparent tubes.

A hot summer's day.
All is still except time,
But that too passes slowly,
Oh so slowly,
As life ebbs away...

The antiseptic smell of the hospital room,
Seems to suck up the very air,
The very hope that remains
Alive in our hearts.
For, we had been taught,
"Where there is life, there is hope..."

Heavy eyelids flutter once,
Bringing a small smile to many a face around,
As grey- green eyes half open,
But then the shutter falls again.

And time passes slowly.
As slowly as the river,
At the delta,
Winds its way to the sea.
Uniting with that vast sparkling body.

And so Time draws one,
Towards one's Maker.
Until the soul blends into infinity....

To The Woman Who Lost

The last few weeks and especially the last few days have been harrowing for India as a country. From being practically on the brink of war with our neighbour to one of our Air Force pilots landing into their territory, after shooting down their aircraft and being shot down in turn, only to eject and fall on the wrong side of the border...Mercifully the Geneva Convention was by and large adhered to and our pilot smartly marched home across the border last night, even as a country waited with bated breath and many a prayer, for his safe return. But every evening for more than a month now, news channels have been dominated by stories of brave wives who have lost their husbands to terrorism, to gunfire and, just two days ago, to a helicopter crash in the border area. Visuals of these young ladies saying their last good byes to husbands, many carrying young children in their arms are continuously flashing across our television screens...This has also turned the spotlight on the wives of soldiers whose husbands were martyred in years past and many a 'candid' discussion has taken place on Prime Time television. I listened to many strong women, (I refuse to call them widows), outlining the issues and the multiple delays they have faced in getting their dues and in facing the myriad challenges that arise when death occurs suddenly and so tragically, with government officials promising to make things happen soon... The definition of soon is anybody's guess...


To The Woman Who Lost

To the woman who lost a husband to vile terrorism or an act of war,
There is no magic balm for a heart so sore.
Never again will that deep voice emanate,
Asking for a last chappati, straight from your griddle to his plate.
The house that sometimes seemed a trifle small,
Suddenly seems larger than the nearest mall.
No surgeon, no matter how smart,
Can mend that gaping hole in your heart.
Precious memories spread themselves in corners four,
Who knew it was the last time he walked out of your door?

The throat is tight, the grief is red and raw,
Why does it feel like the camel's last straw?
The eyes are gritty with tears yet unshed,
Why were you chosen to be down this particular path led?

Government officials, news reporters, neighbours bombard you with questions galore,
While you wish, you could, like Sita, be swallowed up by the floor.
But life is always harder for those left behind,
To live for your children, yourself, your parents, in laws, you must put your mind.

You have to stand up and claim his posthumous Gallantry Award,
Which, for serving the Nation, is his tangible reward.
At times, the cold, hard metal will offer comfort scant,
At other times you will want to rave and rant.
But remember for the Nation he had pledged his life,
And you, you had signed up to be a Forces Wife.
The grit he showed in death, you will need in life,
One cannot pretend it's not going to be a strife.

For the long struggle to get your due,
You will find yourself a part of a never ending queue,
One would have thought the machinery is better oiled for a soldier's kin,
And making a devastated lady run around would be a sin.
But for the government 'servant' in his cool cabin and the clerk in the plush chair,
By making you visit 'just' ten times, he is being very fair.
"Rest assured, Madam, your work is almost done,"
While the reality is, he's not even begun...
And then, you realize, that the courage you showed when he died,
Needs now a thousand times to be magnified...

As winter turns to summer and summer to rain,
You ask yourself, "Was his sacrifice in vain?"
"Have my countrymen never learned,
That it's not just about the pension he had rightfully earned?"
"This is someone who died for our country,
At least do your job to honour his memory...."

Nearly a billion mouths should apologize and hang their heads in shame,
It's thanks to her husband that it's not you looking down from a dusty frame...

Of Martyrs And Torrential Tears

Thursday, 14th February 2019, for us, here in Kenya was a day almost like any other. Though it was Valentine's Day, the fact that it came almost in the middle of the week, did not leave much scope for catching a quick lunch with my husband (like the impromptu one last year!) or ordering in dinner. Plus there was the fact that my neighbour and I spent a lot of time supervising the guys we had called in to clean the water tanks on our compound and the only time I went through the headlines on my on line newspaper from India, was when I had my cup of Kericho Gold tea that morning. Post tank cleaning supervision and lunch, it was time for my classes to begin on Skype and with the Board Exam set to start in India next week, I am taking additional classes for my 10th grade students almost every day, with the result that I was now in class right until dinner time here.
So with eyes burning from staring at the screen, back stiff with sitting for a few hours at a stretch, the brain in a sozzled mess from fielding oh so many last minute doubts from students, I first barely registered what my son was saying, even as I rapidly rolled out chappatis for dinner. "Mom, he repeated, didn't you read the news? A convoy of Indian soldiers was attacked today, when a vehicle laden with explosives rammed into their bus, at a place called Pulwama in India's northern most state, forty men died, Mom, at 3:15 pm India time." I asked him if he was sure he was giving me the latest news and how he knew about it. He patiently repeated it like one talking to a small child, "Mom, people came up to me in school, (we are two and a half hours behind India), to say how sorry they were to hear about the attack, the WhatsApp group that I am in with the boys from our housing society in Pune have been discussing nothing else all evening...." And it was then that I realized that what he was saying had to be true.. members of our armed forces had been treacherously attacked, yet again.
Late on Friday evening, I asked my husband to switch channels to the news from India so I could see what they were all saying on the second day after the attack and to also watch respects being paid to the forty CRPF men whose Tricolour wrapped coffins had been by then, brought to our capital, New Delhi, before being taken to their respective villages, scattered throughout the length and breadth of India, for their last rites. Images of raw, unfettered grief greeted me, mothers and other women wailing, wives on the verge of collapse, (honestly there should be a law against cameras recording these very private moments and against news reporters thrusting mikes into the faces of all and sundry from each devastated family...) children crying, some too young to even comprehend that Daddy was never coming back  and men swearing revenge on the country that was deemed to be responsible for this attack.
The news channels were, as usual, debating the matter to its last fragments, with all kinds of subject experts (some self proclaimed and others genuine) and smarmy politicians who obviously wanted to use the opportunity to squeeze in sympathy votes, (India goes to the polls later this year), dominating the panels. But one lady in particular caught my eye and stood out among the rest. Every other panelist addressed her first, actually listened whenever she said anything and they all expressed condolences on the death of her brave son, who had been martyred in Kashmir just over two years ago. Her name was Mrs. Meghna Girish and she is the wife of a retired Air Force officer and the mother of  Major. Akshay Girish, who had given up his life, while defending the Nagrota camp from heavily armed terrorists, disguised in police uniform, near Jammu, as part of a Quick Response Team. He left behind a very young wife, a then three year old daughter, a twin sister and aging parents and grand parents.
A quick Google search, even as I was watching the news debate, revealed everything I had forgotten about the attack in Nagrota. At that time, when it had happened on 29th November 2016, we had been deeply affected, not only because of precious lives lost at the hands of terrorists but also because my Dad had been posted to Nagrota more than twenty five years ago. And then, on one of the search links, I came across Mrs. Girish's blog. I had already listened to the lady speak with quiet dignity and a face full of genuine sympathy for all the forty families so deeply affected by the latest dastardly attack. I knew I had to read it. And so at 11:00 pm last night, I started reading it, right from her very first entry, made mere days after her son had been killed, while defending a building which had families of fellow soldiers residing in them.
She starts with the birth of her twins in the mid eighties, her son's struggles with his health in the early years, his determination to join the Air force, like his father, and the eye problems which eventually led him to joining the Indian Army instead, where fate had the ultimate sacrifice in store for him. The story is so beautifully chronicled that within a few minutes into the blog, my tears were flowing freely, as she describes their close knit family, the school years, her son's wedding, the birth of a grand daughter and then her daughter's wedding. All the very simple joys of life that all of us take for granted, day in and day out. The final day of her son's life and the way they get the news, after being on tenterhooks all day, is absolutely heart wrenching...Each post ended with her thanking people for the support given to the family and her gratitude to all the strangers who came to show solidarity with the family and she always asks God to bless everyone. Her faith, despite what life dealt out to her, remains tangible, unshakable, unbreakable.....By 2:00 am this morning I had not finished nearly two years worth of posts and my eyes were swollen, my nose was red and running and I knew I had to stop reading and finish it the following morning... If I was so affected just by reading about what a family goes through while facing the death of a martyr and its aftermath, of a three year old daughter crying out loud that she wanted to see her father, of a young wife left to pick up the remains of her life, what about those many, many Forces families that go through this year on year, even as our country tries to continue waging a war on terror?
The Girish family now belongs to an organization that connects all the families whose family member made the supreme sacrifice and as she writes about the Kargil martyrs of 1999, she mentions meeting the family of late Major Padmapani Acharya, who was awarded the Maha Vir Chakra posthumously, ( India's second highest military honour), sending me whizzing down my own memory lane....
The year was 1986. My Dad had just got posted to Gauhati, Assam, and we had all moved from Pune. I was cycling around in our Army - Air Force Housing Area, when a fancy name plate on the terrace parapet wall of a first floor house caught my eye. 'Acharyas', it said in bold brass letters and I could see a plethora of plants around the entire terrace area. I was impressed, as my Dad had an ordinary wooden name plate and we were yet to buy a single plant, having very reluctantly parted from the beautiful garden of our colonial style army bungalow in Pune. Gradually we got to know Acharya Aunty, as we called her and found her to be a lovely, genuine lady who was the Principal of the little Air Force Primary school. Her then eighteen year old son, Padmapani or Babloo 'Bhaiya' (older brother) as we called him, was away at college and came home only for vacations. He was great friends with the daughters of our immediate neighbours who were in college themselves (I was in middle school then!) and that was how we used to often see him in our block....By late 1987, the Acharyas had got posted out and as luck would have it, we were allotted their house! Gone were those lush green plants, gone was that eye catching name plate, we had well and truly moved in...The Armed Forces are perpetually short of housing,so an officer doesn't usually get a house accorded to his rank until it is almost time to move out of that particular city...
Twelve years sped by, we all grew up and then the Kargil war started. Captain Vikram Batra, (he has a twin too), Captain.Saurabh Kalia and many others, both officers and soldiers, gave up their all to defend our nation and became house hold names. And then, I read in the newspaper, early one morning, that Major Padmapani Acharya, son of Wing Commander J Acharya, had been martyred too at Kargil, leaving behind a pregnant wife...This, I told my husband, HAS to be the tall, lanky, Babloo Bhaiya we knew. I was awed that I actually knew a Kargil martyr and that my sister and I had moved into the bedroom that had once been his, all those years ago... As the mother of a then one year old daughter, my heart went out to Babloo's wife, Charulata, who I had read then, delivered a baby girl, Aparajita, (the undefeated one) three months after her husband had breathed his last. Internet searches in later years revealed a family pitching in to bring up the little girl, just as her father had instructed in his last letter home...
Thanks to Mrs. Meghna Girish, I got to know that Aparajita Acharya is today in her second year of law college, plans to follow her late father's and grand father's footsteps in the Armed Forces  and has just penned a coffee table book about the father she never knew, titled, 'Our Babloo, The Hero Of Drass.' It was released on what would have been his 50th birthday, had he but lived...
And so, more than seventy years after independence, India keeps losing her men in uniform. To many of us, it is a face on television, it might bring a quick tear to the eye and then, as we get on with our lives, all is forgotten...What about the shattered families and dreams they leave behind? Many organizations are working to help the families and educate the children, just as their fathers would have wished.. It's not always about money but about showing you care, in your own small way. Reach out if you can, the internet will show you the way, and do read Mrs. Girish's words to feel just a fraction of their pain...We salute our martyrs, they who died, saluting our flag and kept it flying...

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The Hoo-Ha Over Helmets In My Hard Headed Home Town!

From the 1st of January 2019, believe it or not, one of the most parochial towns in India, Pune, was forced to accept a major change in the lives of her two wheeler riding citizens, which basically means anyone and everyone above the age of sixteen....You won't be called a legitimate Puneite if you don't own at least one two wheeler! The citizens were finally told that, after many a court battle and many a long struggle to resist the head gear, (the length and ferocity of which would actually put India's freedom struggle to shame), helmets would become mandatory for all and sundry, no exceptions!
People reading this from other parts of my beloved country and even other countries of the world, are probably blinking at this and shaking their usually helmet protected heads in disbelief...What, a mini metro, a smart city at that, took SO long to implement this very basic self preservation rule? What is wrong with this city? A lot it turns out..but hey, we are trying to modernize as fast as we can....which is a bit tough, given our ultra conservative, 'I know better than you', Brahmanical origins...
In my own case, I began using a 50cc two wheeler at the age of sixteen, a moped, which was just one up on the bicycle, to drive the seven odd kilo meters from home to college. But the first thing my mother did was to take me to the Army canteen, so we could buy a good quality helmet for me, at a reasonable price. This was way back in 1992, twenty seven years before my city FINALLY implemented the helmet rule. And I found nothing odd or unique in this as my mother had always used a helmet and my Dad, being in the Indian Army had no choice but to use one, for the Army made the helmet mandatory for its personnel long before I was even born...
In fact, one of my Mother's favourite stories, to drill the importance of using a helmet into our heads, was this one: It so happened that at one of the places that my Dad was posted to, an officer went out on his motor bike without a helmet. And as bad luck would have it, met with an accident and died on the spot. Army rules, at least in those days, (I do not know about today, since I am referring to an incident that occurred close to forty years ago), made it clear that the proceeds from one of the very few government insurance policies would not be given, in the unfortunate event of the death of a helmet less rider, whether officer or soldier. My Mom used to often relate how a helmet was bought, smashed with a stone, and laid down near the officer's lifeless head, just so the widow and children would get a few lakh rupees more in hand, at a time when faithful and honest officers of the Indian Army were perpetually strapped for cash...Everyone in authority turned a sympathetic blind eye to this farce but to us, as little, impressionable children, it drove home the point that a head, without a helmet, was of no use to anyone...
One of the major rules in my own children's lives is that neither my husband nor I ever took them out on a two wheeler and do not do so, to this day. Before my daughter was old enough to start school, I learnt how to drive a car just to ferry her around and the matter ended there, because India, unfortunately did not even manufacture good quality kids' helmets more than eighteen years ago, let alone pass laws against toddlers dangerously hanging on to two wheelers...I wonder what the scenario in Pune is like today, with the new law in place...I'm quite sure the toddler riding pillion on Mom's lap or strapped to her back, papoose style, in case the modern, liberated woman is driving the vehicle herself, remains without a helmet, but I shall know for sure the next time I go home.
But not allowing my children to sit astride a two wheeler did not prevent me from emphasizing the importance of using helmets to both of them, right since the time they started becoming aware of their surroundings. I discovered just how well I had driven home the point, when during one of our sojourns home, this is what I witnessed my son doing. Since I continue to drive in India, every chance I get, my son and I often end up stuck in heavy traffic. He must have been  nine or ten years old, (he just turned fifteen), when he suddenly lowered the window and yelled at the person on the two wheeler next to us, to start using a helmet immediately, before rolling up the window! I do not know who was more shocked, me or the person whom my usually very polite and impeccably mannered child had just ticked off in public! But when it happened again and again, I had to tell him to stop doing this, because, I explained, he might shock someone so much that he or she would probably fall off the bike, right on to our car, and their helmet free heads would get a really hard knock! While that would probably drum some sense into their heads about using helmets, we couldn't risk getting into trouble...But to this day, when we are back home every June, he feels very tempted to roll down his window and belt out some road safety rules to strangers...I am hoping that next time around, we will see a sea of helmets in our dear but obstinate Pune.
To all those, who for many years, stubbornly refused to use helmets on the grounds that 'we always drive very carefully and slowly', I would just like to say, read up on some Physics laws. Even if you are travelling at ten kilo meters an hour and a car hits your vehicle at fifty kilo meters an hour, guess at what speed you will go flying off your bike?
Despite the law, I read every week without fail, in the on line version of my city's paper, about students dying in road accidents because they thought that since they were travelling at night, no policemen or women would be around to catch them and fine them for lack of a helmet...I can only imagine how much their parents must be wishing today that they had drilled some sense of obedience into those young, hirsute heads, which refused to put on helmets...Sometimes fatal accidents happen even with a helmet on, but at least those you leave behind know you tried your very best to protect yourself, because you cared about them and about yourself too....