The Ranting Jahaji

Your quintessential middle-class working mom. Who else?!  Let me tell you about mine. Not going to be easy, considering this woman has multiple personalities. I would have been under the impression that there are at least four identical women who take turns lovingly feeding me, ordering me around, giving me a scolding and taking me on a guilt trip. I have, however, seen this singular person change personalities in front of my eyes, so rest assured there is just this one woman who changes personalities as effortlessly as she changes pillow covers. My mother may have many personalities, but there is one thing common to all mothers. They do not have time, nor patience. You want patience? Well, that is what dads are for. When the Creator made the universe, they looked at every problem, big and small, and decided to give us a mother to solve them all. Maybe they did not have the time to devise a solution for every problem. Maybe they did not have the patience to bother. Or maybe, she ...

Ah, my favorite punching bag! Nothing in the whole wide world annoys me more than an unrepentant rickshaw driver. Most men in the profession are adept at effortlessly irritating the crap out of someone, but nothing beats that entitled rickshaw driver who genuinely believes that the world revolves around him and his mousey three-wheeled pile of junk. Water, water everywhere but not a drop to drink. If you need to get someplace quick and you have strong guts, a two-wheeler is the best option. But if you want to get there quick as well as intact, an auto rickshaw would be ideal. There is no arguing the practicality of the solution. An auto rickshaw does not take much space. It can turn on a dime. It can accommodate two people comfortably. Three, if you know how to stagger six thunder-thighs on a cushioned meter-and-a-half long plank, but it helps if at least two of them do not have testicles squeezed between their legs. You can park the vehicle in the narrowest of spaces. You can do s...

Teen Saab.  I always liked the rank; until, of course, I got bored of it and wanted a promotion. And then I missed being third engineer again. See why we need to talk about this? Right from the good old days when I was a cadet, I have thought that the third engineer is the coolest guy on a merchant ship. Everyone who has ever sailed will agree - those guys with the two purple-lined stripes on their shoulders have it all figured out and going for them. Those who have not had the good fortune to be at sea, well, too bad for you; go get a life, landlubber! Let's remind ourselves of the Chief Engineer first. In the good old days, he was a legend. Imagine a burly, hairy man with forearms the size of tree trunks. Let's give him a generous beard as well, and a strong voice - think Amrish Puri. While we are at it, let's think Amrish Puri casually tossing bird seed around, saying   "Aao" with a whole lot of conviction . Get the idea? If I were a bird, I would have g...

Paanchu!  No, it is not a cuss word. It is short for Paanch Saab - our very own 5th Engineer on ships. Usually fresh out of college, this guy is one of my favorite people in the Engine Room, and definitely deserves whatever limited publicity I can muster for him with this page. Apart from Paanchu and Paanch Saab, he also answers to Junior, Cadet, Cadetsky, Fifth, Chote, Munna, etc. It's a long list, really. I even remember one of my seniors calling me using a sound instead of an actual word. Chicheeech!! What do paanchus really do on a ship? Short answer is that they do every job that the other engineers hate doing themselves. Long answer? Change the date on the notice board. Get the tools. Fill up the log book. Get the right tools. Check tank soundings. Get the "jugaad"   tools. Transfer bilges. Get some more tools. Transfer sludge. Get every available tool. Fire up the incinerator. Get everything that remotely looks like a tool. Clean filters. Put the tools back.  U...

A big percentage of my audience asked me to write a piece about facing rough weather at sea. This one is for you guys - hope all three of you enjoy it! Coming Soon: Rain  The Bay of Biscay - the playground where our boys Varun, Poseidon, Neptune and Njord meet to play splash.  Every jahaji worth his salt (so not the NCV guys, obviously 😜) dreads a passage through the Bay, and for good reason. Of course, given my beautiful run with lady luck, I was destined to cross it on my very first voyage. All I knew then is that yes, ships roll and pitch a little, but tough sailors do not let it affect them.  Rolling? Pitching? If you aren't familiar with the terms, let me put it very simply. Rolling is when a ship threatens to swing on its side and turn turtle. Except that a microsecond before you think you are about to taste salt water, the ship decides not yet, and reverses back upright. But ek baar jo commitment kar di... So she doesn't stop at upright, and thre...

Remember when a pair of  Ray-Bans was the epitome of "cool"? Back in the early 90s, when I was an 8 year old kid, my family had moved to a new place. New home, new school, new friends, the works. Very first week of third grade, I saw a man wearing those green aviators that are still trendy, but were the in thing back then. It was a few years after Tom Cruise gave us flying lessons in  Top Gun, but who could forget those trendy sun glasses! First impressions always last, and my first impression of the man was that he was nothing short of a celebrity. I saw him get off a scooter (a red Kinetic Honda, also very trendy back then), grab his bag and make his way to the school building. No sooner had he taken a few steps, he was surrounded by kids. Funny kids, really - they were all greeting him with folded hands, one leg in front of the other, in a kind of a bow. I remember wondering who the man was, and why he had a fan following among the kids. Turns out, he was the...

This one is about telephones on ships, and why I hate them. Hate them with all my heart. Not just hate - detest them, more like. I wanted to curse and use foul language, but my editor made me watch my language, so let's just say I have a strong dislike for telephones. Don't get me wrong, I am not anti-social. I just hate telephones when I am at sea. Not my beautiful little darling smartphone, of course - that one is my companion, my partner - maybe a little bit closer to my heart than my editor even! My feelings are restricted to the work phones. And there are so many of them on a ship, it feels like you are being stalked. They are like those cute little pugs in the Vodafone commercials, just not as cute. Not cute at all. Ugly monstrosities, in fact. Why do I hate them, you ask? Fair warning - I am going to rant. Still interested? Hmm..read on then! 1. The volume. On a ship, you can't hide from a ringing telephone. Sitting on the shit pot, focused on the job at han...

So let's set the scene... Typical Mumbai summer morning. Not comfortable. Far from it, in fact. Humid enough to make you crave a thanda bisleri with every pore of your sweat-soaked skin. A little past rush hour, so you are actually looking forward to getting in a local train just so you can stand at the door and feel air move, even if it is not exactly a cool breeze. Like countless (quite literally) other Mumbaikars, I take the local train to get where I want - which today is a god-foresaken maritime training institute, at god-foresaken Reay Road. It always makes sense to spend 25 minutes in close contact with sweaty, smelly, mostly ugly strangers than be comfortable in a taxi but end up sitting in it for an hour plus 25 minutes. Yes, thanda bisleri instead of simply a water bottle from home; entitled enough to claim Reay Road as god-foresaken; shamelessly brands people in local trains as "mostly ugly"; but will always prefer the C.S.T. Slow local from the ha...

“Don’t walk! You have not come here to walk!” she said.  Simple words, really. It is a wonder how words out of the mouth of a juvenile in a school pinafore with slick, twin plaits tied with red ribbons can stick with you even a year after you hear it shouted out over a cacophony of music, screams, yells and cheers. Over the sound of your own labored breathing. Over the sound of your heart thumping louder than the dhols , struggling to pump hot blood to your throbbing veins.  That one sentence is what defines my first half-marathon experience for me. Although an avid runner for many years, the Satara Hill Half Marathon was my first half marathon, and as they say, you never forget your first. The sheer energy and positivity that SHHM brings to the table is unparalleled. Never before, and not ever since, have I been surrounded by a vibe so pure, so exhilarating!  I always knew it would be a challenge to run the distance, but I had grossly underestimated the powe...