Address stress
The Woman from Madras Musings had just put up her feet when the doorbell rang. It was the postman, an elderly gentleman with large whiskers who appeared rather reproachful as he held out a brown paper package. It transpired that the postman had a devil of a time identifying the building due to the lack of a nameboard. WMM apologised, admitting that the task was a long-pending one. The postman clucked disapprovingly and left, but not before dispensing an ominous warning – he would retire this week, he said, and the postman who would replace him is not known to be as gentle and understanding as self. WMM was left fairly rattled. Those are not words one wants to hear from a dauntingly moustached gentleman.
The mystery of the missing nameboard is a long-pending issue in WMM’s apartment. The building is a new one and somehow no one ever got around to the job. In place of a nameboard is a brightly coloured canvas with the building number hastily painted on it in large black letters; this terrible piece of art is draped across the entrance gate with an insouciant air and it flaps obscenely at passers-by when the breeze is strong. The building facade also lacks pumpkins and other artefacts that ward off the evil eye, so WMM suspects the canvas is meant to be a clever two-in-one-solution.
However, gentlemen like the postman above are regularly confounded by the state of affairs. Delivery personnel ride up and down the street in search of the apartment, and are always puzzled when asked to search for ‘a building with a bright canvas across the gate.’ When they do arrive, they come huffing and puffing up the stairs, resentful of the runaround they’ve been put through. Only a rare few find the whole experience novel and are left quite amused. However, some are unable to even spot the canvas. It doesn’t help that a flat down the street has large gargoyles decorating its facade – not even a depraved canvas can compete with that. So, Big Brother – a.k.a the watchman – is invariably asked to draw the attention of these hapless couriers while they’re wandering up and down the street. BB treats these instances with monstrous enthusiasm – he pops off with a glint in his eye, like a hunter on the loose; and then proceeds to linger proudly at the doorstep when presenting the lost (and deeply aggrieved) deliveryman. And so, there has never been a sense of urgency around putting up a nameboard – after all, matters have somehow managed to resolve themselves thus far.
However, the latest warning from the retiring postman has left WMM rather worried. It has been a week since she reached out to the association with a plea to affix a nameboard to the building. She is told that they’ve only just managed to come to a consensus about the name. Meanwhile, WMM is nervous about the post and not just at the thought of missing important letters, either – she doesn’t think she has it in her to face the stern new postman, especially if he proves to be magnificently whiskered like his predecessor.
Strange traffic
The Woman from Madras Musings was on her way back home with the Eternals after visiting a few friends. It was late evening and the Pater was looking forward to his favourite chair. So everyone was rather disappointed when the car ran into unusually dense traffic. Presently, an entourage of policemen appeared ahead, re-routing vehicles and two-wheelers. S the driver rolled down his window and asked what was going on. It transpired that a political gathering was underway in the environs, and would continue till late evening.
Deciding that the diversion would be just as packed, S turned the car towards another short-cut that would join the main road closer to home. For a while, it appeared to be a good decision – the traffic was perhaps a couple of vehicles denser than usual, not more; and it was moving along reasonably quickly. So imagine the surprise when the car turned into a street that was decked with lights and party flags! The political gathering that S had desperately tried to avoid was in progress at the far end of this very street, stage, mic, chairs and all. S was thunderstruck, but he really needn’t have worried so. It is said that the eye of the storm is calm, and it was much the same situation here, too – the traffic was hardly noticeable, and the car had a relatively easy path to navigate. Commuters, it seemed, had done so well in avoiding the gathering that they had left it quite free. It was only when S returned to the main road that the traffic grew slower and denser.
WMM wonders whether this story has lessons for the party or the traffic planners. It is likely both.
Que sera, sera
Like the rest of the world, The Woman from Madras Musings has been closely following the debate around the NEP’s three language policy. Frankly, WMM herself loves to learn new languages and is unconvinced by the politicisation of their study. But much has been said on the topic, and WMM will not venture into the dispute.
What caught her eye, however, are the demonstrations that have cropped up in the state against this perceived language imposition – specifically, the blackening of railway signboards. It is reported that one of these incidents saw a ruling party functionary painting over the English script instead of the language under protest. WMM doesn’t know whether to laugh or cry at the news. Que sera, sera, as they say.
– WMM