The No-How of Pune

Once or twice a month, I travel down to Pune to my parents', who stay in a rather sprawling government bungalow in the hilly outskirts of Pune. For government largess, the bungalow is rather lavish, set in green surroundings with a private garden. The government does take good care of its employees (if you are in the right department and posting) and I enjoy my mostly peaceful stay there, if you don't count the errands my Mom takes pleasure in delegating to me ('say Apurv, why don't you get some potatoes, onions, cabbage,coriander, 10 kg atta and 8-9 other items at noon tomorrow?' Of course, the wake up calls for errands scheduled for noon begin at 8 am).

For a city perceived as young and modern, Pune is amusingly stiff and and quirky. 'Don't take off you slippers here', 'no services available between 1 pm and 4.30 pm', 'milk not available here', 'no discount on non refrigerated cold drinks', 'coughing not allowed at wash basin' are common signboard sightings in Pune. I don't think any city in the world collectively enjoys saying 'no' as much as Pune does. Shopkeepers get visibly irritated if you ask for an item they don't stock (though they clearly should by the particular nature of the shop). Consider this signboard outside a grocery store in Khadakwasla: 'Only Coca Cola available. Please don't waste our time by asking for Pepsi.' Even the Pope wouldn't be as dedicated to Christianity as Pune businessmen are to the cause of disabling their own profit. Their pet peeve is : 'I try hard to run this shop but the bloody customers keep disturbing me.'

Most auto rickshaw wallahs will refuse going to any of the destinations you ask of them. If you investigate further, it surfaces that they don't want to go to any destination, even if you offered double the fare. They want to sit there and stare at the stray dogs perhaps, or mine snot from their noses maybe, who knows. After all, what better place to enjoy a day long siesta than in the back seat of a rickshaw in a noisy auto stand, intermittently disabling commuting ambitions of people like you and me. I can visualize the chief of the Pune auto rickshaw union sitting in his dingy office and laughing out loudly to himself saying, 'Serves you right you imbeciles, always trying to go from here to there. Now please fuck off and go sleep the day off like us staring at stray dogs and mining snot. Ha ha ha'.

Punekars have successfully taken unhelpfulness to the levels of a performing art. Consider this signboard outside a paan-shop near the Pune railway station. 'Charges for asking directions: Rs 1 for distances upto 1 km, Rs 2 for 5 kms and Rs 5 for more than 5 kms.' A clear and effective deterrent. Those who do attempt being helpful are monumentally miserable at it. 'Reach Fergusson Road at the T junction and go up it and then go down the Bhandarkar Road'. Since none of these roads have a slope, the instructions must clearly mean that I should reach Fergusson Road and levitate above it and then drill myself into the ground at Bhandarkar Road.

The municipality is an active participant in this festival of disabling and saying 'no', something they do by not building any infrastructure for a fast growing and Infosys-ized city. If you were to walk into the offices of the Pune Municipal Corporation, I am sure that you will find signboards in cubicles such as 'building new flyovers not allowed', 'please do not widen any roads' or 'do not complete any project before 5 years.'

Despite all such quirks, Pune must be one of the most picturesque cities in India. I know of few large cities where you have a burger at Burger King one minute and be out driving into the misty hills with their beautiful lakes in the next hour. For the ample surroundings and scenic hills of the Western Ghats that lie right outside Pune, I love being in that town.

Traveling between Mumbai and Pune can be immensely pleasing if you take the train route. And within the various available trains, nothing beats the Deccan Queen.

The train is perfectly timed in morning and evenings to suit business and regular travelers alike. More than anything else, I just love the Pantry Car - where Fish and Chips or Baked Beans on Toast occupy the breakfast menu along with the legendary Chicken Cutlet and Veg Sandwich of the Indian Railways at affordable prices.

The waiters are extremely friendly and resourceful and will readily serve you custom demands ('Can you instead get Fried Fish with Bakes Beans and some warm milk?'), for which they are handsomely tipped by the older commuters, often by cheques.

So while you enjoy your breakfast, the train wades its way through the scenic hills of Lonavla and Khandala, poetically green and beautiful during the rains.

The train would however do good by providing electrical sockets at each seat for those with weak mobile batteries and laptops. I can't understand for the life of me why a nondescript passenger train from Kalyan to Kolhapur (that takes 18 hours for a 6 hour journey) can have this facility while the Deccan Queen cannot. Maybe the officer at the Railway HQ responsible for allotment of electrical socket-enabled bogies to trains (Shukla jee with hair in his ears and red tape in his heart) performs the allotment randomly through a lucky draw of chits. Maybe there is a whole gambling ring of bookies built around predicting which trains will get electrical sockets in Shukla jee's next lucky draw. Who knows.