Cat on the prowl?

This will sound like a retelling an old tale, because you will have heard it already from the aayah, the milkman, the watchman, the news channel of the local cable network, and the three lines and a picture in thane plus. The incident has long since forgotten by the grapevine, but I'm bringing it up because I never had a chance to take part in the gossip, and frankly speaking, I just had to tell it to somebody, without anyone interrupting their interpretation of their neighbor's version of their son's restatement of his friend's father's eyewitness account. So now  here is my narration, and any teachings of hyperbole that I have paid attention to in class have no effect on me. Infact most of this is understatement. Atleast no one can state the excitement that ensued due to the whole thing in hyperbole…

Early on the morning of the fourth of march, an unwelcome visitor slipped stealthily into Vasant Vihar office building. A little later, a watchman went in to change his clothes and saw the creature. He shut the door immediately and raised the alarm.

It promised to be the most exciting day. By eight o clock a large crowd had gathered. A very large crowd had gathered. All of them dying with excitement to catch a glimpse of the creature. Many residents of Panchavati had gathered too, some with cameras, and I was no different. Amongst the excited gossip, the creature evolved from tiger to leopard to cheetah to lion to panther to a premature April fools gag. The crowd settled for the cheetah thanks to the cold drinks in the commercial breaks of the then ongoing cricket world cup. Children were screaming the punchline cheetah bhi peeta hai. Most of them got the day off school, because the excitement was too much to miss. Really. They didn't go. Infact, they joined the crowd.

And what a crowd it was. The cheetah (let's call it that now, for the time being) would have been pulp by now, had the crowd been allowed to go in and see it. All of them were waiting to have a glimpse of it, and were confident enough to face it. None were afraid. Everyone was charged with bravery and courage, in a situation where one would expect them to be frite-ing.   

The talk went on for an hour. Then the police came. (crowd bursting with excitement). Then the forest officials came. (crowd exploding with excitement). Then the reporters came. Words all inadequate to describe the state of the frenzy in the crowd. The officials got a large yellow net out and everyone cheered. They put it around the building. Their plan was to put a dart in the cheetah (at this stage, the cheetah idea had become very popular), and make it unconscious and put it in a cage. 

So they called the dart guy and waited. The crowd waited too. And they waited. And they waited. And they waited. And then they (naturally) got very tired. Many went home to get refreshments, have breakfast, recharge cameras. Then the dart team came back, and continued their long wait. One and a half hour later, they came.

Utter confusion ensued. I could make out neither head nor tail of the whole thing. I was caught in the middle of a large throng of people all shoving and jostling each other to get into a prime position to look at the cheetah (this being the last time I will bother you without telling what it really turned out to be). The officials (most probably to impress their superiors) shoved us back. The crowd pushed back in return.

The guy with the dart gun went in. Fifteen minutes later, they came back out. Cheers followed cheers as the crowd applauded the capture of the cheetah (one last time, sorry). The officials allowed a small group of people in the front to see it. I was amongst the lucky few.

But I was utterly disappointed. I expected a magnificent giant cat with bulging muscles and smooth skin. Instead, I saw a haggardly starved creature not much bigger than a street dog. I am not a trained person, but to me it really looked like a miniature version of the cheetah in the ad. "Ek baccha nay poora Vasant Vihar ko hila diya". Memorable sentiments of a car washer, and a person who saw the thing.

(The news reports on the local cable networks said it was a leopard. The officials claimed it to be a sher. Thane plus, which everyone will agree is the most credible source, said that it was a panther).

I saw the crowd disperse reluctantly, and the van carrying the panther going ... As soon as I returned home, I began studying for the board exams scheduled for the next day. With the excitement of a panther coming just outside your balcony, what can you dew about it?

 - Aditya M J

Panchavati

Mouse in the House

I lugged a five kg bag home from school. At least it was supposed to weigh that much according to the newspapers. But I think mine weighed a little more. When I put it down, my shoulders felt as if they were given a new life. You will most probably know what I mean. Not only did I greatly reduce the probability of misalignment of the spine (again, according to the 'health capsules' in the newspapers), but washed off the weariness of the school… to enter the usual dull boring afternoon of the period of the year, to which my geography text refers to as the 'transition period'. Don't mistake me, I am not well versed with my texts… I had to look this up.

Anyway, I geared myself for the sit - and  - be - bored routine. Programme for the day: have lunch, sleep, then lug two kg bag to classes. My father and I (don't you feel that 'my father and me' would have been better in place there?) were having lunch, watching TV, when a trailer of Stuart Little II came on… In the midst of it (the hawk part), my father casually told me that there was a mouse in the house.

Believe me, to a schoolboy, a mouse in the house is about as exciting as anything can ever be (except perhaps an electric motor). A memory of havoc in IX C, of last year flashed in front of me… a mouse in the class and there was screaming and shouting, and any more mention of it will trouble, or put into trouble many people who were witness to it (including me). I finished the remaining food, with as much speed as I could muster, and then asked my Father where he had seen it. "Under the fridge". Under the fridge, when I looked, I saw nothing more than… well the remnants of what had been the meal of the mouse (I cannot make that any more civil). The mouse, however was not to be seen anywhere in the vicinity of the refrigerator… nor near the place where the gas cylinder was kept, nor anywhere in the kitchen. Mice turned out to be better masters of hiding than I had ever reckoned them to be. Realizing then, that I was late, I left for my classes. But by past experiences with mice (if mentioned here, will put me into trouble with a lot of people) have taught me one thing - they always come after food, and some jaggery in a plastic bag, is all that is needed to trap one. Without telling anyone, I put some out near the refrigerator before going to school the next day. When I came back, I threw the lump, red ants and all, into the dustbin. This mouse was not one to be taken so easily. This time, I waited for something to happen… and almost shrank back to the sit - and - be  - bored routine. Through the course of the day, My neighbor told my father that a mouse had got into their washing machine and had gnawed on the wires inside and spoilt the gasket… and basically ruined their device, totally unlike Stuart's cute antics with a washing machine…

My father got some rat poison from the market. It proved to be effective. Too effective. I was welcomed home from school, with the tell - tale stench of a dead mouse. It seemed to come from the bathroom… where the washing machine was kept. The words of the neighbor, is what probably spurred my father into believing that the mouse had gone into, and died in the washing machine. Other things occupied My father and nothing was done about the mouse for the day. Other things occupied me too, and it was only the next morning that I was actually turned my attention towards the mouse. The day being a Saturday, I was excused from all scholastic obligations, and I watched all that was going on. My father's plan: search the Machine inside out (with a screwdriver), and then remove the mouse. I had some misgivings about this plan, but kept it to myself. The washing machine was dismantled before my eyes, and a dull gray day was turned into an exciting dull gray day, because of the wondrous world of washing machine anatomy that was unfolding before my eyes. This feeling was perhaps hindered by the reek, which I will not try to relate here, as I know of no words that can do it justice. One has to suffer it to know it - and it is an experience that does not teach anything except perhaps the knowledge of which no words can express, and the longing for the loss of the sense of smell. Anyway, the Washing machine had its innards all over the bathroom, and still there was no sign of the mouse. Maybe it was in one of those complicated crevices of the device, which only professional tools could open. Moreover, no mortal man can bear the reek of a dead mouse in a hot environment for long… and my father called for help from someone who repairs washing machines, and most probably similar such things for a living. A question troubled me, but I did not ask it. Was whoever that was going to come to remove (or judging by the state of things, to put things back) also ready to stand the stench and remove the mouse? - apparently, he had agreed because my father announced that he was going out, and that should a man come, then he should be allowed to come in and repair the thing.

Many men, in tight black outfits, wearing gas marks, with torches and disinfectant spray were poking through mangled remains of the washing machine, peeking under cracks and lighting up dark crevices with their torches. And then came the screaming, the wailing, and the… phone?

Still drowsy in my afternoon nap, I picked up the phone. "Had you paged me?" said a strong voice. "No". "is it…" he read aloud my phone number. "Yes". I was still drowsy and confused. "what is our name". I told him. "No… no, your surname". "Oh!" I told him. And then I heard a click. Still, the memory of the dream seemed real. Stubbornly believing that what I had seen was real, I went out to the corridor. Saw no one… heard no one… smelt the reek. After many moments, and a freshening splash of water to my face, I finally realized that it was all untrue. Any remnants of the dream steadily vanished from my confused brain. The doorbell rang.

My father came home, and we watched the television for a while. Then My mother came home from work. She said the stench was unbearable. I felt that I would vomit any second. Father called up five more people… all of whom promised to help out with the mouse and the washing machine. Mother and Father (actually me too) were on the brink of freaking out over the reek, and the now (not even remotely exciting) shambles of the washing machine, and the unheeded promise of five people to help with the washing machine. At this point, I cannot say less about the turmoil all of us in the house were facing.

And then, in some sudden flash on enlightenment, the source of which I can never hope to seek, a shadow of doubt fell over me. In some corner of my mind, I knew that I was right, yet I clothed my nose with the collar of my shirt and went into the bathroom, to make sure of my guess. I turned out to be right; the mouse was behind the toilet seat.

After the mouse was safe, rotting in a dustbin far away, where even the faintest vapors couldn't reach our house, and the burning of incense diffused what remained of the stench, I had plenty of time in my hands with little to do. These words you read are the results of my efforts in that time…

P.S. Does anyone know a qualified person who can fix (or rather build) a top loading washing machine (from an assortment of wires, plastic panels and screws)? 

-Aditya MJ

Panchavati

Jamsound

 After reading Harish Venugopal’s article (JAM, Oct 30-Nov 14) on saving your old audio cassettes, I did a bit of experimenting with my PC and my sound system, and managed to do everything from recording the music in games like Q3Arena and saving songs from live radio to my PC. In essence, you can save and mix songs in and from both your sound system and your PC. Here’s how:

1) Basic Hardware: You’ll need an auxiliary wire (that is what you should ask for at the hardware store). It should cost around fifteen to twenty bucks. One end will have the walkman-earphone plug type pin, and the other end should be split into two pins with flower-petals like thingies, and a protruding central plug. You’ll recognize it when you see it. If the guy at the store seems confused ask for the wire used to connect the TV to a sound system. You’ll also need a wire with the earphone-pins at BOTH ends. This is a difficult one to find. Try Manish Market near CST, or make your own using those earphone-pins (3 bucks each) and about one meter of wire (2 bucks). Solder one pin at one end, and the other at the other, and you are ready. 

Your deck or sound system should ideally have an auxiliary input at the back, an earphone output in the front, and a karaoke input (if you don’t know, this is where your mic plugs in), also in the front. The PC has a mic input, and a sound output at the back of your CPU. They will have icons to help you out. 

2) Getting stuff done: 

I. To record sound from your PC in your sound system: Use the Auxiliary wire, plug one end to the aux input at the back of the sound system, and the other in the output of the CPU. Now press the AUX button on your sound system. Don’t worry, it’s sure to be there, check in the manual if you don’t find it. Now, any sound that will pass through your comp’s sound, will come out through the sound system’s speakers. Put in a blank cassette, punch the rec key, and you got your mp3’s, cool game music, songs you downloaded from the net et cetera on your audiocassette. 

II. To record sound from the sound system in your PC: OK, take the wire with the earphone-pins at both ends and plug in one end to the earphone output of the sound system, and the other to the mic input of your CPU. Start a recording software (more about this discussed later), and you are ready to go. Anything that you play on your sound system can be recorded on the comp. CDs, tapes, radio included. Record whatever you want, and save it. 

III. More fun things to do: Plug in the comp’s output to the sound system’s karaoke input (or mic input) and, at the same time play any song on the tape or CD player. Start playing a game. Viola! You have the game music mixed in live with the music from your sound system! FPS and racing games work great. The shooting sounds, and the car’s engine give great SFX. Shove in a cassette in the sound system, and you can record all the sound! Want to see how you are as a radio jockey? Plug in a mike at any input, and jockey away. Again, you can record whatever you do. 

3) Software: Searched the web like hell and still couldn’t find goldwave 4.25, as suggested by Harish Venugopal.  All I ended up was with a demo version of goldwave 5, which is good, but a bit complicated for me.  It suddenly expired, doesn’t save a thing, and kept reminding me to purchase it every five minutes.  So sound recorder, already sitting in windows (start>programs>accessories>entertainment>sound recorder) is the best for basic recording, although you have to be very alert and keep pressing the rec button every sixty seconds, but it gives you good quality. Try the DivX software from www.divx.com, if you are not satisfied with sound recorder. For conversions from any format to any format, I recommend Bink and Smacker’s Rad video tools from www.radgametools.com/bnkmain.htm. If you don’t like it, look around for wav to mp3 and vice-versa software in www.mp3-to-wav.net, mp3sofwares.com or micosoft.com For making your own remixes (exciting na?) trust me, you won’t find anything better than MixVibes Free from www.mixvibes.com. For more resources, try download.cnet.com’s sound/audio section or www.sonicspot.com. 

A neat way to save all your sound files is to burn it using something like the Nero software. If you don’t have a CD writer, say goodbye to all that free hardrive space on your system, sounds take a LOT of space. Unless.. you record all your audio back onto the good old cassettes. The funny thing is, we’re back at where we started.  

When fortune did NOT favor the brave.

About four years go, an organisation called the 'purple orchid' had organised a trip to Aurangabad through Vasant Vihar High School. My mother said that I was big enough to go, and that I could, if I promised to behave. She did say that I could go. but that's just because another boy, a then best friend, Tuhin Patel was also going. I am not going to tell you much about the trip. Agreed that there was the five star hotel called 'Ajanta ambassador', and the total of six movies we saw while travelling by an air-conditioned tour bus, and ofcourse, the caves, minarets, temples and other things were really wonderful, yet the night walk is the only thing worth talking about.

It was organised at the very time that scary things incline to happen. Midnight. It was a ten minute walk. You may feel that that’s not a very long time. Start walking. Stop after ten minutes. You will be surprised at where you will land up. Imagine such a long walk, through the jungle, alone! Yes, we were to do it alone. Three sirs went ahead first. They were to receive the boys at the other end. The boys would be sent one at a time, to walk alone. After ten minutes, another was sent behind him. And thus, eight boys went before me, and if anyone who reads this knows rudimentary maths, it was around 1:20 now. (Ten minutes per boy, remember?). It was my turn next. I sidestepped, and pushed Tuhin in front… you know, to make him go ahead, and buy me some time to collect my guts. 1:30 came before that time (before I could collect my guts). Yet, I ventured bravely into the dark, slimy and (I admit) scary forest, alone, without any illumination. Well, okay, I had the 'indiglo' on my watch, but that didn't exactly serve the purpose. After about a minute, a branch started shaking. No matter how much one resolves that there are no ghosts, no monsters, and nothing as such that can jump out of the darkness and swallow you whole, one always starts being afraid at the reality of the situation. I swear by god it was shaking. I was afraid. I was very afraid. 

But steeling my resolve, I went ahead. Big mistake. I heard a wildboar… atleast thought I did. Whatever it was, it sounded inhuman and went snort… snort… snort… I ran back the way I had come as fast as I could, and admitted to the teacher that I couldn't go further. The teacher started laughing, and told me to go ahead, and that nothing was there, and that I was acting like a child. The remaining boys started laughing. I almost started crying. Hats off to this thing they call self - esteem. It stopped me from breaking down and howling.

Then, it struck. Tuhin Patel  had gone before me. I wouldn't put it out of his reach, to scare me like that. How foolish I had been! I went ahead. I waited for the branch to shake. It didn't. Till now, I do not know why… so I continued forward, thinking that Tuhin had given up the game. But sure as anything, the wildboar started snorting. I squared my shoulders, looked into the bush from where it was coming, and said something that is not fit for publishing here, or indeed anywhere that a civilized eye sets its sight upon. Doing that was a big mistake…

There wasn't a wildboar behind that bush.

Neither was Tuhin. 

The whole scaring students routine was part of the walk;

It was one of the Sirs.

Bing

 

(Note, for the purpose of this narration, A, B, C, and D are four friends, whose identities are kept secret in order to 'protect their privacy' (read self-respect).

 

Sometimes in life, people have this thing in the body triggered, and all vigilance of dignity are forgotten and they reduce to laughter, insane, uncontrollable laughter. Not a mere sudden flicker of smile, a fifteen on the equivalent of the Richter scale for laughter. Guts feel as if they are being wrenched inside out and one really wonders why the lungs are not exploding…

They say laughter is the best medicine. Maybe people are getting an overdose. Every day, when I head over to school, early morning. While I am worrying about half - finished geography homework, there is the laughter club howling in the middle of the park. Once upon a time, there used to be hordes of people gathered there, now the people have dwindled to about fifteen. I cannot control the chortle that escapes me as I go past them (I do not even try to). Not because of the dwindled numbers, but because the people there are howling, cackling, tittering and giggling as loudly as their bodies can permit. And they are also flailing their arms all the time. THAT is good for the health.

Atleast some scientific studies says so. Studies that do not take into account extremely perverted people that laugh when they see someone slipping. Or someone gets his Parker filched. Or someone gets bowled out when aiming for a six in cricket (No, D, that is not from personal experience). Or a dog howls at a car that came too close for comfort. And these same people simply refuse to understand the simplest of jokes, and invariably ask 'what happens next' after the climax of every (meant to be funny) narration. But they bend over laughing if you say 'bing'. And they laugh at you again if you ask what it means. A and B used to drag themselves early morning to the laughter club, and stopped after ten days. Maybe they had too much to laugh (I used to play cricket then). Maybe they found the early mornings disheartening. Whatever the reason, they quit. C and D laughed at them for quitting…

A and B get the joke… sometimes. C and D do not, no matter how many times it is explained to them. The annoying 'what happens next' question was asked after I told them all about a person who sees two headlights of a lorry and drives his motorbike between the two thinking they are two scooters going side by side… And this behavior of C and D makes A and B (and me) laugh. After this happened a couple of times, C and D understood when a joke was in the air by the inflection in the speaker's tongue, and they laughed, even though they didn't quite get the joke. This they do either from courtesy or to prevent themselves being looked upon as idiots. And then they laugh again in the (very rare) eventuality of understanding the joke. This culture seems to be spreading everywhere and making a huge mockery of the talent they call 'sense of humour'…

Bing.