Timekillers

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They say that the invention of agriculture is the first Revolution in the history of mankind. Land was fertile then and all you had to do was just to throw some grains of rice, go home, write poetry, draw pictures, or gather wool at Harrys; and return after four months, harvest the bounteous yield and you are free for the next year or so to indulge in your hobbies.

Then on it was a problem how to spend so much time that you now have at your disposal.  And Galileo looked at the skies with his telescope and science was born. It is a different matter that they were all not Galileos and so some other equally absorbing activities had to be invented.


Nor was everyone a Valmiki or Shakespeare or da Vinci to spend their ample leisure in literature or arts.

In our childhood there was this foldable  wooden thing like a specs case. On opening it, the two identical halves reveal 7 holes each. You put four dried tamarind seeds in each hole and the two opponents face each other and start playing like chess or any other board game. Lots of rules are there in redistributing the seeds serially and 'killing' the opponent's seeds and pocketing them till all the seeds are taken away.

But this game is played by two.

When you are left like Sita imprisoned under a tree in  Sri Lanka for a whole year there is a variant of this box game which can be played like Solitaire...distribute the 28 seeds on each side in the pattern 7, 6. 5. ... and 'go' till you get back the original distribution. It takes a whole hour to achieve this...this game is indeed known in our households as: "Sita's Solitaire'.

For most retired folks, what to do with time that suddenly starts hanging heavily in their shoulder bags is a big problem.


There is a chap in Sydney by name Robert Evans. In his youth he was a Church Official. After retirement he found a strange hobby...he spends whole nights hunting for supernovae using a 'kitchen-sink' telescope fitted on his roof. And goes about hunting for his superfish one moonless night after the other.


Bill Bryson likens his feat this way: Imagine 1500 or more dining tables with black covers. Take a handful of salt and throw them at random on each table. The grains of salt represent the resident stars in 1500 galaxies. Now add one extra grain of salt on any one table. That represents a supernova. Evans has the gift of spotting that single salt grain as an intruder. He has spotted a whopping 36 supernovae till early 2003.


Says he:


"I just seem to have a knack for memorizing star fields...I'm not particularly good at other things...I don't remember names well..."


"Or where he's put things" says his wife from her kitchen.


A harmless absorbing hobby with no thought of minting money with it.


My Shakespeare Uncle had his own way of spending his retirement. He was a widower living alone in Nellore. He had mastered at least 4 languages: Telugu, Tamil, Sanskrit and English. He decided to translate the whole of Telugu Mahabharat into English blank verse. He would write with a pen on a sheaf of khata-sized white papers.


One day his eldest son who was an Officer in the GSI came down to KGP to look me up. And he was moaning that his dad would post him every Monday the week's output and asks him to get the material typed. He says:


"Father thinks that I have a pool of underemployed  typists who would do the job free for me...The one typist in our office bunks most of the time on the plea that she developed morning sickness every other month, followed by miscarriage. And I have to get my official jobs done by an unemployed typist from the pool."


I asked him what he did with his dad's terrific weekly output. He moaned:


"That is why I came down from Cal to KGP...lend me urgently Rs 200...the job typist wants his fees tomorrow...or else..."

My Father was proudly announcing to one and all that his eldest brother was translating Mahabharat into English in blank verse...till they came down on him for a donation of a whopping Rs 2000 towards the posthumous publication of the English Mahabharat.

This Shakespeare Uncles' nephew is less demanding..he keeps blogging by the night absolutely free; and it is only occasionally that he gets a few of his blogs printed...but what is Thomson-Reuters' Project Manager for if he grudges doling out peanuts to his retired dad as a sweetener for not bugging him, his mom, his wife and his kid 24/7?


**********************************************************************************************************

The Robert Evans' quote above is taken from Bill Bryson's whale of a book called: "A Short History of Nearly Everything", which has this dedication:

To Professor G. P. Sastry

For being an inspiring Teacher

And a wonderful mentor.

With respect, admiration 

and

Thanks

Supratim 

July, 2005

======================================================================

Foolproofs

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The proofs of the booklet have arrived; and it is a pain in the neck to see your carefully crafted prose garbled and mauled. Still, it is a thousand times better than what it was 50 years ago when there was no Word or its Processor.


The 'compositor' was a much-harassed chap. He had no clue of what the various words he was compositing meant...it was all Jabberwocky to him since he knew neither Physics nor Math nor Biology but has to do his job blind.


He was the epitome of what are now called: Technocrats...they are neither technos nor aristocrats...they were merely bureaucrats with a 'spin'. The fight between our IAS babus and them was hilarious. Like between cats and dogs.


It was Rajiv Gandhi who first brought in geeks like Sam Pitroda (Read 'Satyanarayan Gangaram Pitroda') and pitted them against our babus...


My IAS B-i-L did his MA (Economics) before joining the Services. His second posting was as the Director of Stationary & Printing of Tamil Nadu...he oversaw the Govt Press whose job was primarily to print Govt Gazettes and sundry forms like the Income Tax Form (it ran into 28 pages then). 


His next posting was as a District Magistrate & Collector of Dharmapuri. 


It was as if RKN was asked to take Drill Classes.

While he was at Dharmapuri I visited him for three days. One day he took me to Krishnagiri where his Sub-Collector (a Punjabi lad) was posted. After due introductions, I came to know that the young chap did his MA (Math) and got into IAS. He told me secretly that he was thinking of quitting IAS and going for his Ph D in Math.


Then a large number of Physics guys joined the IAS...they took to the Services as ducks take to ponds...and never resigned for the sake of Physics...that says much about their ability to survive...


Coming back to those good old days of manual composition, whenever we submitted our manuscripts to a foreign journal, especially European, we first used to get 'galley' proofs (running without pagination) and after corrections, 'page proofs' (looking just like they would appear in the journal); and finally 50 free reprints.

Then on, the galley proofs disappeared as too expensive..

And then the 'free' reprints...

And then came online submission...

And then the Blogspot...
 

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Etiquette

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 "As one delves deeper and deeper into Etiquette (by Emily Post), disquieting thoughts come. That old Is-It-Worth-It Blues starts up again, softly, perhaps, but plainly. Those who have mastered etiquette, who are entirely, impeccably right, would seem to arrive at a point of exquisite dullness."

...Dorothy Parker

*****************************************************************************************************

Dorothy Parker is the grannie of Shobha De...in matters of blasting icons.

The first time I met this queer-looking word was when I was in school library. I didn't know how to pronounce it nor its meaning. I had to ask my Father. 

And then there was this Uncle of mine (younger brother of my Literary Uncle). He was a genius; but Fate struck him a hard blow and he had a brain tumor that snatched him away at the tender age of 25. But he used to appear privately for his BA exams without any coaching but yet he used to be in the top 10.

One day when I was in their drawing room, alone, reading the latest issue of Chandamama, a rickshaw arrived and he got down from it with a lot of difficulty. And ambled in with the help of a walking stick.  There was a memorable twinkle in his eyes and when he saw me he said: "I got it at the last minute."   He was returning from his Eng Lit Paper II which had a passage in Old English to be translated into Modern English. (Old is from the 5th to 12th Century, Middle from 12th to 15th). He told me he got every word right but was stuck up unable to get one word in the passage however hard he tried. He was about to submit his answer script but at the last minute he got it. And the word was: "Etiquette"....that sort of explains the weird spellings of some English words.

At home when I was in school we never followed any etiquette. It was all a very friendly affair. But as soon as I was admitted to College living in my Shakespeare Uncle's home, all sorts of new rules that I wasn't aware of came up. For instance, if a Teacher happens to be walking and a student is coming on his push bike facing his Teacher on the road, it is expected that the student gets down, walks silently till they cross and resumes his ride. That much is ok. But there was this truculent Math Teacher who expected that any student biking past him from behind should also get down and walk, overtake and then get up on his bike. Any student who omitted this etiquette by chance will be hauled up in the class and reprimanded. I didn't have a bike, but someone or the other of my friends used to give me a lift (sitting precariously on the front rod...we never had a carrier at the back); and both of us had to get down and get up at least half a dozen times on our way to College and back. Queer!

And when I joined the University, things appeared very informal but that is only appearance. Any student coming late to the lecture class was expected to stand at the threshold till the teacher's eye catches him and he orders: "Come in". And those who are already in have to get up till the teacher settles down in his chair and barks: "Sit down". One of our classmates, a rich and handsome chap used to be invariably late to all the lecture classes. I asked him why. And he said that that half a minute at the threshold was the only way to show off his new dress and make up to the girls in the front row. Teachers never caught on.

Surprisingly, I found this disgusting etiquette followed scrupulously by IIT students in the 1960s.  I banished this practice...it is so distracting...and I used to announce that latecomers should quietly sneak in without disturbing the class. And no one need stand up when I take the roll call or ask a question. That was a relief for all concerned. I guess by and by this etiquette was dumped in the dustbin...I don't know.

And then there was this quandary...suppose you have a lecture class at 10 AM. And you find that the door is closed with no noise from within. I have seen people bend down and peep through the keyhole to find who is the teacher delaying them. It was an ugly scene I thought...a Senior Professor acting like a peeping-tom. There was never any standard etiquette as to what the teacher stranded outside ought to do. Some used to knock vigorously on the closed door, like the passengers in a hurry to enter the Railway Common Loo used to do when they find the other passenger inside was blocking their bowels. I never did that too...it looked so odd.

My practice was to stand outside, leaning on the window sill or balcony arm-rest and wait till the one inside had his (or her) say to their hearts' content. And when they emerge and say, "Sorry", I would smile and thank them for reducing my load by ten minutes or twenty as the case maybe.

I had a curious encounter with Prof Sayan Kar within a few months of his joining the Department. He was taking a lecture in the Hall opposite the Phy Office and I was waiting in the balcony for him to finish since I had the next period to teach. Suddenly, Prof N emerged out of the Office, walked towards the Lecture Hall whose door was shut and knocked briskly on it four or five times and walked away to his room upstairs as if he was sleep-walking.

And then I knew I was in trouble but was curious to see what happens. In a few minutes, SK emerged, his face red with rage, came down to me and asked: "Was it you who knocked on the door repeatedly?"

I said, "No", but he was clearly not convinced...that is what is called "circumstantial evidence" in legal parlance. I could have added that it was N who knocked and ran away...but that would hardly have convinced SK...unless he went up and cross-examined N, who would surely have shouted: "What door and which lecture hall and why?"

So I left it at that.

What would YOU have done in my place?

====================================================================

Attitude

======================================================================

'And before I go, gentlemen,' said the excited Mr. Pickwick, turning
round on the landing, 'permit me to say, that of all the disgraceful and
rascally proceedings--'

'Stay, sir, stay,' interposed Dodson, with great politeness. 'Mr.
Jackson! Mr. Wicks!'

'Sir,' said the two clerks, appearing at the bottom of the stairs.

'I merely want you to hear what this gentleman says,' replied Dodson.
'Pray, go on, sir--disgraceful and rascally proceedings, I think you
said?'

'I did,' said Mr. Pickwick, thoroughly roused. 'I said, Sir, that of all
the disgraceful and rascally proceedings that ever were attempted, this
is the most so. I repeat it, sir.'

'You hear that, Mr. Wicks,' said Dodson.

'You won't forget these expressions, Mr. Jackson?' said Fogg.

'Perhaps you would like to call us swindlers, sir,' said Dodson. 'Pray
do, Sir, if you feel disposed; now pray do, Sir.'

'I do,' said Mr. Pickwick. 'You ARE swindlers.'

'Very good,' said Dodson. 'You can hear down there, I hope, Mr. Wicks?'

'Oh, yes, Sir,' said Wicks.

'You had better come up a step or two higher, if you can't,' added Mr.
Fogg. 'Go on, Sir; do go on. You had better call us thieves, Sir; or
perhaps You would like to assault one Of US. Pray do it, Sir, if you
would; we will not make the smallest resistance. Pray do it, Sir.'

As Fogg put himself very temptingly within the reach of Mr. Pickwick's
clenched fist, there is little doubt that that gentleman would have
complied with his earnest entreaty, but for the interposition of Sam,
who, hearing the dispute, emerged from the office, mounted the stairs,
and seized his master by the arm.

'You just come away,' said Mr. Weller. 'Battledore and shuttlecock's
a wery good game, vhen you ain't the shuttlecock and two lawyers the
battledores, in which case it gets too excitin' to be pleasant. Come
avay, Sir. If you want to ease your mind by blowing up somebody, come
out into the court and blow up me; but it's rayther too expensive work
to be carried on here.'

And without the slightest ceremony, Mr. Weller hauled his master down
the stairs, and down the court, and having safely deposited him in
Cornhill, fell behind, prepared to follow whithersoever he should lead. 

http://www.gutenberg.org/cache/epub/580/pg580.txt    

****************************************************************************************************

That was a classic case of trapping an irascible person into losing his temper and making him blow off his steam; and also losing his cool and trying to invite him to hit, in the presence of impeccable witnesses.

For, it is well established that in a civilized debate, the one who loses his temper first loses the argument; and the one who hits first is the aggressor whatever the provocation.

I recall how our Chanakya (GSS, ex-Diro, IIT KGP) used this strategy so effectively that what was turning out to be a crisis of first waters got blown off in a second and the two impulsive union leaders lost their jobs overnight and their sure victory turned into an ignominious defeat and at one stroke (literally) academic peace reigned in the campus till I retired.

That was one reason why I kept my cool almost always (see yesterday's post) while in service at IIT KGP. It became my second nature not to enter into any argument at all. On any academic issue I used to state my position at a most appropriate moment and fall silent.

After retirement too I stuck to this policy except once when I really blew my top in public. 

It was like this:

The apartment complex near Banjara Hills where we lived for three years was constructed 22 years ago when Hyderabad was not yet a hi-tech city and most of its populace were too poor to own a car. So, the builders never bothered to provide a pukka car-park. There were just four built-in garages that could accommodate four cars. But by and by Hyderabadis became affluent and the number of cars increased to six, then eight, and by the time we rented there, the number was ten. Since there was no car-park allotment, folks used to park their cars hither and thither on a first come first served basis. There was just enough open space within the complex. Of course, there was a scramble to get into the covered garages, but I never fell for it and used to park my ancient Maruti peacefully in the open...

One afternoon, I had to drop my son at the Secunderbad Railway Station on his way to Chennai to attend a Business-Visa-Interview at the US Consulate there. Pretty important, for, if he misses his date, the next one would be a couple of months later...closing the stable door after the horses have bolted, as the saying goes.

My son is a KGPian and imbibed all its chalega attitude and so took his sweet time getting ready and emerged just in time for our trip to Secunderabad. By then I was already in a 'state' with butterflies in my good old stomach. And as we came out of our door we found a visitor's car parked plumb in front of our matchbox Maruti in such a way there was no way it could be steered out of its cubby-hole. And the watchman was missing...it happened to be his 'happy hour'. And for once I was enraged, because there was no sign or trace of where the driver of the offending car went. Obviously he must be visiting one of the 24 apartments, but there was no time going about knocking one door after the other.

The only way was to get into my car and toot the horn. First two civilized attempts brought no response. Then I had to resort to wild life-threatening honking. Doors of every balcony opened and folks came out to watch what was happening. My son was getting jittery because he never saw me in such a rage. Finally, after a good 3 minutes (a very long time), one young chap in shabby attire emerged and walked down towards the offending car so coolly as if nothing happened.

I then stopped him and said angrily: 

"Don't you know the simple etiquette of parking? You ought to be ashamed of yourself"

The chap looked up and down and saw a dozen tenants watching the show and kept quiet.

I then asked him: "Are you the driver of this car?"

He stiffened and said:

"No, I am the OWNER"

And I said: "That makes it worse.."

And he slowly removed his car outside the complex.

I asked my son to get in and drove away like I never did earlier.

And my son said: "Dad, cool, cool, you will hit that chap's car!"

After two good minutes and into the fourth gear, my son asked:

"Have you noticed what car that was?"

"Yes, a brand new BMW M5"

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Professor Uncool

=====================================================================

When my Chetak broke into two pieces breaking my heart, I renounced riding it to the Department and started walking down, and enjoying it...the only fly in this ointment was that several well-meaning friends and acquaintances passing by in their cars, scooters, and even push bikes would stop and ask me to get in (or up). And I was too reluctant to accept such offers because I got to love that short walk. So, I was declining politely and they were insisting and it became such an embarrassing public spectacle that I bought a push bike and started walking lugging it along.  And everyone thought it was a case of punctured tire and left it at that...except Amalendu on his scooter...he used to get down from his Chetak and lug that along by my side...but that was rare since his timings and mine didn't match.


During one of those crazy days Prof TKD of Cryogenics with whom I had a nodding acquaintance got down from his push bike, walked a few steps alongside me and said: 

"Do you know Professor...you are known as Professor Cool in our circles"

...and got up and rode away.

That was news to me. Because I never thought I would be an object of talk since I rarely mixed with anyone except my students (in the class room) and a few colleagues on way to canteen. Anyway that set me thinking why and I ruminated and discovered that I rarely lost my cool with anyone in the campus...certainly not with students nor with colleagues. 


Except in one incident for which there was no publicity because only a handful watched it.


Soon after SDM left for Calcutta after his retirement, Prof GXM became the HoD and wanted to guide me in his research work, as if I were his post-doc. And after a few sanguine attempts came to know that I was in no mood to work with anyone after working with SDM...it is like being asked to ride a pony after riding a tiger...mind you, I am NOT saying GXM is a pony...it is only a simile and no offense is intended...as a matter of fact, ponies serve humanity million times more than tigers do...live tigers are expensive and their market value is nil till they are poached and killed for their skin which is supposed to be an instrument of 'power meditation', and for their claws which are supposed to drive fear away from anyone who wears them in their amulets, and perhaps their marbles which Chinese say are viagra-substitues.


Then on GXM bore a grudge against me (and DB on a smaller scale). First he forced me to become Second-Year Lab-in-charge thinking that I will be a disaster. And after six months he removed me for reasons known only to him. Then he threatened to institute what he called were 'police cases' on two occasions in his unwisdom and had to eat crow.

Finally he made me Seminar-in-Charge.

I never said no to any valid responsibility he dumped on me...except that Post-Doc Business. 


During those days no one was willing to give seminars nor eager to listen. That was because IIT KGP came up with a notorious rule: Everyone who gets to travel outside IIT for giving lectures, seminars, symposiums, workshops and the like should give a seminar after their return. Failing which their TA claims will not be processed. And they have to sign a form declaring that they did give a seminar and get it counter-signed by their HoD. 

Recall Feynman and his tiff with bureaucracy...and his insistence that he will affix his signature not more than thirteen times.


In every other Dept, it became a joke...this manifest distrust by the authorities of the honesty of their employees. The HoDs decided to never insist on this 'forced' seminar business but just signed the 'certificate' in good faith.


But GXM was different...he wanted to use this figment of power in his hands...a cute case of Bernard Levin's Theorem:


http://gpsastry.blogspot.in/2010/07/bernard-levins-theorem.html


He insisted that everyone from Research Scholars to Senior Professors give a seminar in which he would be present and ask questions and satisfy himself that no skullduggery had been there and then only sign the form. And as Seminar-in-Charge I had to advertise and collect a mob to watch his performance. But who wants to attend a 'TA Seminar'? Everyone knew it was a despicable formality...they went home. 


So, there was this Friday evening when I arranged Prof CLR's TA seminar. And apart from me and him and the speaker there were two more...RSS and AD. And CLR went to the board and gave his talk to the august audience.


It so happened that for the past ten days there was no communication to me from my wife whom I had left at Jalgaon for her delivery. And I was going to rack and ruin fearing the worst. And was not quite myself...tensed up and jittery and morose.


After the ten-minute talk, CLR threw himself over for questions from the audience. And there were none. GXM wanted to ask one but was rubbished by CLR that the esteemed HoD was talking through his proverbial hat, as usual.


Then GXM turned back and said that GPS is not doing his job well since there were only four members in the audience.

That got my goat.

I let it go at that, but after we all came out on to the corridor, GXM went on and on because I was not reacting...I had a rule that I would remain silent when I am deeply wounded. This egged him on and it reached my 'Yield Point'.

Then I don't know what happened. I broke into a barrage of parliamentary abuses and I gave him such a dose of verbal assaults that he was spellbound and was trying to babble unsuccessfully. CLR was enjoying the scene. GXM meanwhile wanted to go back to his Office mumbling one or two words...but I CHASED him till the end of the long corridor giving him no respite.

When the storm was over and I was looking for RSS and AD, I found they had vanished. And after a few seconds they peeped out of the common bathroom and came out only when they were sure that GXM went down to his room.

AD asked me: "Ki hoyecche sir, apney eto rege galein? Kono din dekhey ni"

And RSS joined me silently in my walk to the Post Office. And lo and behold there was this telegram announcing the arrival of my son and the well-being of the mother and child.

RSS then asked for a Party and we went to Harrys and relaxed.

Next morning everyone was smiling at me. And I found later on that RSS had proposed a lemma and circulated it:

"Whoever wants a son should go and abuse the current HoD"

Proof was in the pudding...  


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Cannibalization

======================================================================

To continue yesterday's story...


Raghu managed to somehow drag my broken Chetak to his Prem Bazar workshop.


Seeing her go in that piteous condition, I was heart-broken. I never imagined that my Chetak, on whom I bestowed such love and affection weekend after weekend, could ditch me and leave me so suddenly. She could have given me a warning, notice, or slap in good time. 

It was not as if I 'beat a Bajaj'.

That last sentence has to do with the popular Chetak slogan: "You can't beat a Bajaj". It became a Party Joke later on when a super-cop took undue  liberties with a lady-super-Babu and administered her ample butt a loving pat and went to jail...almost. The wiki-entry has this titillating clause:

 "...he had molested her modesty by "patting" her "posterior" in an intoxicated state..."

It is a valid query if it was 'he' who was in an intoxicated state or 'her posterior'...I guess both.

Raghu took his own sweet time and returned my Chetak replacing the torn foot-board with a duplicate one. Then I knew why Raghu's workshop always had a couple or more of Chetaks in an abandoned condition as grim showpieces...they also come in handy in cadaver organ transplant surgeries...in the Physics Department at IIT KGP, such surgeries were then rampant...they were classified  under 'cannibalization'.

During the years between 1965 and 1968 I had built with my own hands four working NQR Spectrometers at different frequency ranges. I was then sitting in the present Seminar Room and was ringed by these electronic gadgets having power supplies, super-regenerative oscillators, a double beam oscilloscope, a frequency meter and stuff. They used to call it my 'cockpit'.

Suddenly one day I lost all interest in them...like Gautama the Buddha lost all interest in family life...and shifted to Theory under SDM...a veritable tapas (austerity).  

And by and by all my NQR spectrometers were riddled with cobwebs, covered by dust and looked forlorn. And a day came when Dr XXX (an Aspiring Professor then) came to me with a couple of his Research Scholars and asked me if I could let them have all those sickly gadgets. I took a wee umbrage and within half an hour showed them the whopping  35.5 MHz signal from the single crystal of para-dichloro-benzene. XXX was duly apologetic but insisted if I was going to work on them in the near future. Since I feel small to tell a white lie, I had to say: "No". He then asked one of his scholars if he was interested in pursuing work in NQR. And got a prompt: "Yes, sir!"

I then told XXX that he could take away everything built by my hands but not the Oscilloscope and Frequency Meter which I borrowed under my signature from the Electronics Workshop. And the solution was ready-made: 

"Don't worry...I will get them transferred under my name"

That is how my love-kids acquired foster parents...or so I thought.

A decade and half later when I was sitting in the Fourth Year Lab, a sudden (false) inspiration dawned on me, saying: "Those NQR spectrometers will be ideal for the 4th year student Lab"

And I ran to XXX (now a senior Professor) and asked him if I could please have my NQR things back; and I got the chilling reply:

"What NQR things are you talking about?"

I let it go at that but caught one of his new Scholars and asked him to show me XXX's Lab on a moonless midnight. And he was nice enough. And lo and behold...everything except the Oscilloscope and Frequency Meter were "hollow"...their innards like pots, resistors, capacitors, coils, tubes, lug strips and every good thing except the soldering lead were missing...apparently soldering lead can't be recycled easily.

To change the metaphor, they reminded me of the sumptuous cadavers we used to see strewn in the Railway Maidan on our way to Gole Bazar ringed by the vulture family for which Railway Maidan was then famous; which cadavers on our return trip a couple of hours later were cleaned bone-dry...

I consoled myself that much good (and many Ph Ds) must have come from those organ transplants...I didn't know nor care...

=======================================================================

Aping Experts

====================================================================

Those were my Chetak Scooter years. I was so much in love with my scooter that every Saturday morning I would lug it onto my verandah, remove the engine side cover, sit down on a stool, clean the spark plug with petrol, tune the carburetor, wipe the engine with a wet cloth, close the cover, and, and, and...pour a couple of buckets of water on the scooter giving it a thorough body wash. 

Every Saturday without fail.

After a decade of this love-affair, one day I brought the scooter out of our gate, asked my wife to sit on the pillion seat, started the engine, engaged the first gear and turned the throttle.

To my utter astonishment and my wife's panic, the scooter practically split itself into two, the front-end with me and the back end with my wife, lurched and stalled.


My wife and I got down and discovered that below the mat there was a huge crack, revealing a rusted foot board.


I brought Raghu and asked him to do the needful. He inspected the foot board and was amazed how I managed to break a Chetak into two clean  halves (front tire and back tire severed apart...like cutting a log into two halves). The sight was apparently too painful for him to watch. 


I told him about my weekend 'clean-up' of the scooter over a decade and more with a body-wash with a couple of buckets of tap water. And then he said it figures and explains the rusting. It would have been a wonderful objective lesson for a student of chemistry...what rust can do.

I asked him: "But you too have a pump and a nozzle and give our scooters a thorough wash with water (dirty)".

He then said:

"Sir, you might have noticed that before we wash the scooter, we rinse the body with a mixture of petrol and oil. That spreads a thin film of oil on the body and the water which we pump up on it subsequently doesn't 'stick' to the body but rolls down in droplets"

Moral: Don't ape an expert in a subject in which you are not trained.

See what an ass I made of myself with Jaan Saheb's Sewing Machine when I was just a kid of 12:



http://gpsastry.blogspot.in/2009/10/teacher-is-born-with-lesson.html






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