A Seat In The Sky

I pressed the little button on the armrest and pushed back on the seat, but nothing happened. Something seemed to be wrong with the reclining mechanism. I checked to see if I was sitting in the exit row, but I was not. In fact, the person sitting next to me had the seat reclined. The lady sitting in the third seat, however could not lean back either. It appeared that this plane had some seats which did not recline for some reason. I wondered if there was an extra charge for the added comfort of being able to lean back.

Airline companies have been making money off little things for several years now. Since almost everyone travels with bags, they started to charge for bags first. No more free allowance for baggage. Then they decided that they did not have the obligation to feed the passengers without charging for it separately. Perhaps you are not hungry and just want to doze off. Good luck, because they no longer make blankets or pillows available. Of course you can bring your own pillow and blanket but they will use up space in your carry-on bag thus forcing you to check in a bag for which you will pay.

Charging for bags has actually been fine tuned. The cost goes up as you get closer to the date and time of departure. Here Spirit airlines appears to be a pioneer of sorts. Spirit is probably the only airline (so far) that charges for carry-on bags too. They tell us that you 'never pay for someone else’s “free” bags'. I guess that should make us feel good. But that only means you are going to pay for your bag. After all, who travels with no bags (if you do, you will probably be flagged as a potential security risk)? And, 'If you know you’re going to need a checked bag or carry-on, buy it early and online to save major moola. It costs time and resources to process at the airport, which means it costs you more money', says Spirit. But I don't understand why it costs more to 'buy checked bags' at the time of online check-in than when booking. Does the computer require an operator for online check-in? Or do bags check themselves in if paid for early?

The fundamental thing a ticket must provide is of course a seat. But all seats are not equal so airlines have become creative with add-on charges. If you want legroom or a wider seat, it will cost you more, sometimes an arm and a leg. If you want a reclining seat, that may be extra too, but beware, pads are not supplied to protect you if the person in front leans back and brings the back of the seat crashing down on your knees. You find the rows of seats too close to each other? Well, that's how you get those low fares. I must say that Spirit is quite upfront about this. Their web site informs us, "We’re a cozy airline. We add extra seats to our planes so we can fly with more people. This lowers ticket prices for everyone, just like a carpool".  You can get really close to your fellow passengers in this cozy cabin! It is all very noble since they just want to save you money. But you never knew saving money could be so painful, did you? 

The only thing expanding faster than the profits airlines make out of these extras is the waistlines of passengers patronizing them. It is only natural then that the airlines have started to make overweight travellers pay more. Even if they don't, if one is a bit too well-rounded, the seats with their reduced pitch and width may be punishment enough (although they punish those sitting next to them too). Additionally, while sitting on the seat that fits a little too snugly, one may also be motivated to lose weight. So the airline can claim that it is promoting good health too.

The worst seat and therefore the most uncomfortable flight that I have experienced was with Cathay Pacific when they introduced the so called 'clam shell seats'. It is not a coincidence that the phrase includes the word 'hell'. At least, you cannot accuse them of false advertising. The seat was actually in two parts. One that was fixed and one that slid forward when you tried to recline. It was bizarre and disorienting - the seat bottom slid forward pulling my body along, but my head remained resting on the top of the seat. This alone was enough to do a number on my back. To make things worse, the seat had no cushion and was hard as (s)hell. Half an hour on this seat and my bony backside started hurting. But that was not all. This moving seat necessitated the additional safety of an airbag. The genius who had come up with the new seat decided to attach  it to the seat belt which made it a thick cylinder weighing half a kilogram. Imagine carrying that in your lap for a 14-hour journey across the Pacific. After a few hours on this seat, I would have gladly exchanged it for the dentist's chair, drill and all!

Given how difficult it is to get comfortable on an airplane seat, I was surprised to find that there are some who actually would be happy if seats did not recline at all. I can understand and do sympathize with big or tall people wanting that, given the limited width and pitch. But there are others who would rather work on their laptops and a reclining seat in front interferes with that. They even complain that those who push back their seats are inconsiderate. I find this very unfair. Just because they have to keep working, apparently they would prevent others from having a relaxing journey. Not to mention that their typing and the light from the screens may be disturbing others around them and that it is really hard for others to get in and out of their seats.

Providing more room between seats for all is the solution, but obviously the airlines are not going to do that. Perhaps they will be willing to create a separate section of non-reclining seats with laptop trays. They can even charge extra for such seats. The workaholics can buy those and leave us ordinary folks to our journey in peaceful if not laid back fashion. Now, don't start complaining that I am giving the airlines ideas. I am sure that they have thought of every way to charge passengers more. They just have to figure out how to make it sound like a great deal first.

A Madras Morning

The birds were making a row. They were really loud and definitely not singing. Having been startled out of my sleep, I looked at the clock and saw that it was just 5:45. I hoped these early birds got their worms and tried to go back to sleep. But they continued to get louder as more of them were now joining the chorus. It was a raucous sort of symphony.  Maybe it was music to this particular species, but I am sure the cuckoo would have disagreed.

I continued to lie in bed and stared at the ceiling fan whose noise was being drowned out by the birds. But there was something soothing about the fan and I was just dozing off again when there was a new sound that startled me. This was from a woman who was selling greens of various types from a pushcart. She was rousing the residents of this block of flats to see if any of them were interested in purchasing the vegetables. It was just after 6 O’clock, but resistance was clearly pointless. So I got off the bed and walked into the bathroom.

Through the window in the bathroom, I could hear the water running in the bathrooms in the neighbouring apartments. The cacophonous symphony outside was being joined by an increasing number of performers – the water pump that filled the overhead tank, a tanker of water on the street, the traffic from the main street a block away punctuated by the honking of horns every few seconds and early morning television. When I came out of the bathroom and walked into the living room, someone on TV was lecturing on the importance of following dharma. I went out to the balcony where the cool early morning air was as refreshing as the hot coffee my wife had handed me. I sat down on a chair and surveyed the scene outside.

In a city that was plagued by water shortages, there was no dearth of greenery. In fact, no one would have guessed that this city was starved of water. Many thoroughfares were lined with large rain trees or other shade-giving trees. Coconut palms and mango trees could be found in every lot with a house or even a block of flats. The noisy birds that woke me up were no doubt perched somewhere on the mango tree in the corner of the compound.

The main street just a block away was no exception. There was an entire section of the street that got no sunlight as it was under the heavy canopy of the trees. I decided to take a walk down that road and so quickly got dressed and legged it there. Given the early hour, the traffic was light. The shops were yet to open and I was able to walk without bumping into the usual throngs. I could even step on to the road without fearing for my life and cross the road at the intersections. When it gets really busy, I sometimes think that the safest way to cross this road is to engage an auto rickshaw.

While walking down the street, the tops of buildings are blocked by the trees and you may well imagine that the years have done nothing to them. But change has actually been continuous over the years. Most of the buildings have been renovated, expanded and thoroughly modernized. The shops are glitzier with many international brands being sold, the buildings are taller and even the sidewalk shops have more upscale ware for sale now. There is a divider in the middle of the road ensuring more orderly (as much as possible!) traffic flow and preventing pedestrians from crossing the road.

It is impossible to describe the complete transformation that has taken place here. I wondered how it was that some shops had remained unchanged with all the building boom. The barber shop, the little pharmacy, the small shop that offered to frame your pictures, and the shop that sells coffee beans and powder – these had somehow escaped the trend. The flower shops with garlands of roses hanging are still around to provide a pleasantly cooling fragrance as you walk past them and the vegetable market and fruit shops are very much part of the scene as always. It is actually amazing that while so much on this road has changed over the years, the trees are still in place.

I could see that the activity was picking up now. Milk and newspaper delivery boys were returning from their rounds. The vegetable vendors, who would soon compete with one another in a shouting match to attract potential buyers, were busy arranging their produce. A few early morning customers had arrived for haircuts at the barber shop. Restaurants were open for business serving breakfast to their first customers. A small group of people had gathered in front of the temple in the corner for morning worship.

The city was waking up. Soon, the road would be a chaotic blur of noisy action. Up in the canopy, the birds continued their raucous song, unmindful of the drama unfolding below. They were not going anywhere as long as the trees remained intact. I was now thankful for their presence.

***

'The old order changeth, yielding place to new'. The Sidewak Shops have been relocated to a new building and Pondy Bazaar is set to get a face lift. The Pedestrian Plaza planned there certainly looks promising, but these shops were a unique feature and many will miss them. I only hope that the majestic trees will be spared and the birds will get to keep their home. 

Earth Day Musings

"But it is illusion to think that there is anything fragile about the life of the earth; surely this is the toughest membrane imaginable in the universe, opaque to probability, impermeable to death. We are the delicate part, transient and vulnerable as cilia." (From: The Lives of A Cell, by Lewis Thomas)

The observance of Earth Day seems to be a feeble attempt to draw attention to the deleterious effect that we, human beings have had (and continue to have) on the environment. Like the fool sitting at the end of a branch and cutting it off the tree at the same time, we have been exploiting the earth's resources at enormous cost to our own long term survival . But now, we seem to be scurrying to find ways to save ourselves. As in many of our endeavours, we need a larger than life symbol to rouse us from complacency. Mother Earth fits the bill and Earth Day certainly sounds nobler than Human Day.

The idea of earth day brings a slight chuckle to me. I mean, here we are, very recent arrivals on the face of this earth, trying to mount an effort to save the earth. Obviously, the only reason for our concern is our own survival. I do not think it matters to nature whether human beings make it as a species or not. In the incredibly long cosmic calendar, we may be but a momentary flash. Nature will no doubt shrug us off and carry on. Another species capable of surviving the harsher environment may appear some day. It is unlikely that the rest of the universe will mourn the passing of homo sapiens.

We like to set ourselves apart from nature though we know that we are part and parcel of it. We are just a little cog in the macro-organism called Earth, like the flora and fauna that inhabit the human body. I wonder if the billions of teeming bacteria in my body will ever decide to observe a day in my honour. I mean, I have been faithfully feeding them all my life. I would hope that they reciprocate in kind by keeping me in good health. Does Mother Earth not deserve similar consideration from us? So it is fitting that we observe Earth Day.

We are perhaps the only species with the awareness to realize our precarious situation even if it is of our own making. It may sound ridiculous, but I cannot help considering myself (and humanity) to be the centre of the universe. I think we are programmed to think that. Throughout our short history on the planet, we have assumed that we have the power to shape our destiny. This has helped us achieve incredible things and it may also be what will save us or doom us now.

Worrying, it seems, is another unique trait found only in our species. Normally, I am mostly concerned about me and my family. Occasionally, however, I worry about big things like the future of humanity. What will we do when the liquid gold we keep mining out of the earth runs out? Will we have developed alternate fuels to the necessary extent? Will we have found a substitute for plastic? And so on. At some level, I feel certain that the genius of the human mind will come up with the innovations required. It is likely that the way out will involve the rich countries scaling back on their consumption. At the same time the newly developing populations feel that this is their time to acquire the trappings of wealth. How will we balance their aspirations against the rising tide of global warming?  Such thoughts fill my mind on this Earth Day.

I guess the critical question is whether humanity will muster up the collective will to act in time. I am optimistic that we will rise to the challenge. We have only been here for a moment of geological time and surely still adjusting to our new life. We may not quite know how and there may be some pain along the way, but nature will show us the way, if only we would listen. Like the bacteria in our bodies, I am sure that we do perform some useful function for Mother Earth. We just need to be willing to accept her embrace.

About the Image: First ever image of Earth Taken by Mars Color Camera aboard India’s Mars Orbiter Mission (MOM) spacecraft currently orbiting Earth prior to upcoming Trans Mars Insertion engine firing. Image is focused on the Indian subcontinent and captured from an altitude of 70,000 kilometers. Credit: ISRO (More at: http://www.universetoday.com/106761/indias-mom-mars-probe-images-earths-children-prior-to-nail-biting-red-planet-insertion/

Kasi Chombu

We had a little bit of rain today. It was not the kind of rain that I described in Summer Tempest. No, this was a silent rain, the kind that creeps in quietly, descending as a very fine mist, recognized only by the wet ground later. Living in San Diego, I have become accustomed to long dry spells, but this year has been particularly dry. I remember the first rain during the year we moved to San Diego. I was at the grocery store when all of a sudden people were rushing to the front. I was surprised to learn that the commotion was caused by the fact that it had started to rain and quite sharply. Apparently, it was a novelty for water to come out of the sky here. 

Naturally, today's bit of rain made news. But it was certainly not significant. It did not cause water to run in streams or collect in puddles. And so I was surprised to find water running down the street when I walked out after the rain. It turned out that it was actually the runoff from someone's lawn where the sprinklers had come on! I thought it looked like a miniature river as it flowed down the side of the street. I walked alongside for some time as the water meandered down toward the storm drain that would eventually take it to the Pacific ocean. I felt a childish pleasure watching that  little stream of water on the street, remembering the days when we used to sail paper boats down such streams.

I wondered if rivers actually began their journey in this humble manner. Or did they dash down madly all at once? How magical it would be to witness the birth of a river! King Bhagiratha did just that (as related in the Ramayana) when he got the celestial river Ganga to come down to the earth. Of course, it was no easy task getting Ganga to descend from heaven. It took many years of hard penance. Finally, when she came down, she was swallowed up by Shiva's matted locks and was released in seven gentle streams so that the world would be spared her destructive force. Of these, one followed Bhagiratha's chariot.

Descent of Ganga (Mahabalipuram Sculpture)

"The effulgent royal sage Bhagiratha, sitting in a divine chariot, moved ahead and Ganga followed him."(Valmiki Ramayana 1-43-30/31)
"In whichever direction Bhagiratha went, Ganga followed"
(Valmiki Ramayana 1-43-33)

This is the part that really thrills me even today. Ganga followed Bhagiratha faithfully, full of vigour, dancing to his tune, overflowing the banks here and there as he made his way to the ocean.  Imagine being present to watch the first drop of water emerge from the river's source. Imagine guiding the river down the hills, along the plains and into the ocean. I wonder if Bhagiratha said, "Alright, let's take a left here around these villages here and there, hang a right by the woods", and so on. Were there natural channels for the river to flow into or did she carve out the banks instantaneously? Did Bhagiratha really lead her or just ride along as she made her way? Either way, it was a sight like none other. It is said that there was a veritable stampede in the sky as celestial beings jockeyed for the best viewing positions.

Born in heaven and sanctified further by her contact with Lord Shiva, the Ganga is held sacred by Hindus and a pilgrimage to Kasi and other holy places on her banks is a must for devout Hindus. While Bhagirtha might have brought the river from heaven to earth through extraordinary effort, ordinary people take her water to their homes in far flung parts of the country with much greater ease. Those who go on the pilgrimage to Kasi carry back some Ganga water in sealed copper pots or 'Kasi Chombus' (chombu - pot or vessel) as they are known when they return. They would also bring lengths of black threads called 'Kasi kayaru' (Kayaru - rope/string) which were given to kith and kin to wear as bracelets around the wrist, symbolizing a pledge to make the pilgrimage one day.

It is common to see the little sealed pots alongside idols and pictures of God and Goddesses in the pooja room in traditional homes. When I was young, I used to be intrigued by these little 'Kasi Chombus' . They were part of the retinue in the altar and obviously held an important place. You could shake them and hear the liquid sloshing inside. The pots were never unsealed or at least it seemed that way. I did not understand their purpose until the day my grandmother passed away. On that day, one of the pots was opened so that she could be given a little Ganga water which is believed to purify one of all sins. When I heard the story of Bhagiratha, I learned that he too had brought the Ganga down to earth so that her waters could wash over the ashes of his dead ancestors and enable their souls to go to heaven.

Some have suggested that the Ganga that had been locked up frozen in the folds of the mountain during the ice age, had started flowing again with the warming of the earth and this might have been immortalized in the story of Bhagritha and Ganga. Stories apart, the importance of the Ganga, a lifeline to hundreds of millions, is very real and tangible. Like the rain, the Ganga too has her origin in the heavens. Like the rain, she too sustains life on this earth. But unlike the rain, it is said that she takes care of our lives in the next world too. She provides both external and internal purification. She is Mother Ganga. May we respect her and keep her waters pure.

Ganga's Descent Image Courtesy: http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/thumb/6/69/Descent_of_the_Ganges_01.jpg/320px-Descent_of_the_Ganges_01.jpg

A Ramble On Walking

I like to walk. To be accurate, I should probably say, I like to go for walks, because walking is now a deliberate activity. I hardly ever walk to go any place. Everyone is so used to the car that we now have web sites (like this one) to teach us how to walk. But luckily, I have not forgotten this apparently fast disappearing skill and more importantly, I thoroughly enjoy it.

Walking provides more than physical exercise. If my mind is agitated, walking tends to have a calming effect. If I am relatively calm, then it puts me in a contemplative mood often adding a spiritual dimension. A quick stretching of legs outdoors can serve as a refreshing tonic in the middle of a tedious work day. Just going about myself, on the neighbourhood streets, in the park, by the beach, or in the woods, accompanied only by my thoughts, I am quite content. Having a companion to walk along with you is certainly a bonus. However, I find a bigger group distracting. Three is definitely a crowd in this case.

Even on cloudy days, when it is kind of depressing to stay in, walking can lift our moods. With a stiff wind rushing past my ears, and a faint hint of rain (and only a hint - walking in actual rain is not my cup of tea), I find a brisk walk positively bracing. The faster you go, the louder the roar of the wind gets and soon you are enveloped in it and forget the ambient noises, and with it, any negative feelings.

Occasionally, I would go to the beach for my walk. On the beach, where you have the water on one side and the road on the other, the sound of the waves provides a soothing contrast to the noise of the traffic. There is always a lot of people on the sidewalk, some jogging, some on bicycles, and others walking their dogs. Then there are the surfers getting into their wet suits. It is fascinating to watch them ride the waves. The one drawback for me with walking by the beach is that I have to actually drive to get there in the first place.

One of my favourite places to walk is the nearby canyon preserve. Just minutes into the preserve, you are transported to a different world. The sound of traffic can be heard no more. Instead, there is the pleasant babble of a small stream and of course the sounds of birds. I am grateful to be living in close proximity to these peaceful woods. Even though it is in the middle of a large metro with a population of almost two million, the preserve is never crowded. It is even possible to encounter the odd coyote there.

On this crisp February morning, I chose to walk in my own neighbourhood. The air was thick with the giddying scent of pink jasmine blossoms, occasionally broken by the pungent smell of alliums. As I walked past the houses with manicured lawns and bougainvillea bushes with flame-coloured blooms, the birds were out in full strength and seemed to be gathering for their morning conference. The air was cool but the bright sun muted its sting. A light breeze made the walk very enjoyable. Every now and then, a car rolled by. I walked at a brisk pace and up the climbing road. By the time I reached the bridge over the freeway, I was feeling quite exhilarated.

As always, I paused at the bridge to look at  the freeway traffic. Cars and trucks were rushing down the freeway in both directions in a deafening roar. I lifted my gaze to the western horizon, where, when it is absolutely clear, I can catch a glimpse of the distant ocean. Some evenings, you got to see a gorgeous sunset or hot air balloons making their way across the sky. On cloudy days, however, it is impossible to make out the horizon in the enveloping grey. Today, there were some low clouds covering the sky to the west, even though the sky was otherwise clear. To borrow a phrase from Forrest Gump, "I couldn't tell where heaven stopped and earth began".

I turned my eyes to the east and was greeted with the morning sun bathing the hills near and far and rooftops on the street below. It was curious to see the houses from the higher point. The steep gradient and the twists and turns of the street, made them appear randomly placed. While you would see a neat row of houses when you are walking on the street, the view from above resembled a jumbled heap.

I decided to take one of the lower streets today. Although the street was in the shadow, some of the houses were catching the light reflected from somewhere. The thing with sunlight, is that it bounces off various surfaces and somehow makes its way into the house quite unexpectedly. All we have to do is keep the blinds open and light will surely find its way in just as knowledge finds its way into an open mind. It reminded me of the Gayatri mantra: "We meditate upon His (the Sun's) most effulgent light. May He stimulate our intellects".

Reading Rekindled

When it comes to gadgets, I am no early adopter. I wait for the new technology to shake off the initial problems and get stabilized first. Even then, I may decide to hold out - case in point, I still use a flip phone. Naturally, when eReaders first came out, I was in no rush to get one. This was not some newer, better way, but a fundamentally different way of reading books. Surfing the internet and reading articles is one thing, but the idea of reading an entire book on a screen takes some getting used to. And there is much more to books than just reading.

When you buy a book, it is primarily for reading, but like with many things we enjoy, the other senses too play a part. The feel of the book, the  rustle of the pages when you turn them, the glossy cover and the new book smell - all these add to the whole reading experience. You can also discretely broadcast to others what you are reading, in the process, perhaps impressing them, without having to say a word. Your collection of books can be displayed neatly on shelves with pride of ownership. A wall of books is so inviting, is it not?

My father had a fairly large library housed in several shelves. This collection was quite impressive with books in English, Sanskrit and Tamil on many different subjects from Silappathikaram to Shakespeare. You would find literary classics as well as some contemporary authors. Those books are an important memory from my boyhood. When I picked up one of them and opened it, I would see my father's name, sometimes along with the date when it was purchased. Many of them had been published and purchased well before I was born. Every time we moved, which was once every three years or so, the books would be packed carefully in wooden crates. The shelves themselves were disassembled and packed for the move as well.

When you look through an old book, you get a sense of shared history. Many hands must have browsed the same pages. There may be some notes in the margin by readers past. There may be an old photograph or letter tucked between the pages. You may also find a feather, a leaf, or a bookmark there. The book may have passed from one generation to another. Some may be collector's items, being the first edition of the book or bearing the author's signature; some with old dust jackets intact, others with a calico or leather binding, and so on. Each book seems unique in some way.

Higginbothams, Chennai

I used to acquire books pretty regularly at one time. Every time I went on a business trip, I would buy a book from the little bookshop at the old Bangalore airport just before boarding the plane. It was a little hole in the wall, but the collection in that shop was considerable and amazingly varied. Almost all the PG Wodehouse novels I have, were acquired there as also a few Edward de Bono's and such. Even when travelling by trains, we had the old Higginbothams (the oldest booksellers in India) stalls at many stations ready to provide reading material for the journey. The Higginbothams building in Chennai, which is a historical landmark, was a favourite haunt of mine.

Over the years, I seem to have lost the reading habit. Instead, television and the internet have taken over my spare time. Keen to revive my reading, I recently decided to give eReaders a try with the idea that the novelty would act as a catalyst. I knew that I had to forego the whole gamut of experience that I have had with printed books. Plus, the eReader has come with its own idiosyncrasies. For instance, when I pick it up to read a book, I cannot tell you how many pages the book has. But I can see that I have completed 23% and the estimated time to finish is 7 hours and 34 minutes. If I wish to thumb back to a page I have already read, it is a complex task involving several buttons and a search engine. Reading a book from cover to cover has become more of a figurative thing. While I have several books stored in the Kindle, only one person can read at a time. It is ridiculously simple to purchase an eBook (spending money is always easy), but if you want it signed by the author, tough luck. You are limited in the choice of languages. And so on.

I have managed to read a few books in the last three months and seem to have sort of got used to the device and its quirks. The ability to carry a large collection of books in my hands is certainly an advantage as I am able to switch among several books that I am reading now. I am also able to download free of charge many old classics (including some newer ones that are more than 70 years old) for which copyright has run out. Most importantly, I am once again reading books. I think that is a good thing, whether I read them the old fashioned way, or under a nook using my Kindle. And if I really like a book, perhaps I will go out and buy a hard copy for my collection!

(Image Courtesy: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/File:Higginbothams.jpg)

Stubble Trouble

As I moved the shaver across my cheek, the humming noise filled my ear and tended to block out the rest of the world. It has been almost two years since I switched to the electric shaver. I paused to reflect on my decision to abandon the traditional razor. While I find the electric variety quite satisfactory, I kind of miss the whole warm water and lather experience. My electric razor can be used with water and soap, but it is not quite the same. It is also bulky and noisy.

Shaving is a chore that I can do without, but paradoxically, I generally enjoy shaving. There is something about the warm water, the lather, the sound of the razor against the stubble, the sting of the after-shave splash and so on that is purely masculine. Shaving also holds a unique place in a man's life. It is one of the markers of passage into manhood. Young boys watch their fathers shave and cannot wait for the day when they too will join the privileged club.

Like most in my generation, I first started shaving with a safety razor which remains the most important milestone in the world of men's shaving. Before its invention, shaving oneself with a straight razor was a dangerous affair with some serious risk of slicing one's neck and hence, a task best left to professionals. I think that beards were popular then more out of compulsion than choice. By the way, barbers who were experts at wielding the scalpel, or the razor, also doubled as surgeons in the not too distant past. Barber surgeons used to perform minor surgery apart from cutting hair and shaving.

When the safety razor made it possible for all men to shave on their own without risk of decapitation, shaving became a daily routine for many - assembling the razor, dipping the brush in warm water, swiping it on the soap and then applying the soap on the face to work up a lather, etc. But this tends to take some time, time that is usually in short supply in the morning when you are scrambling to get ready for class or work.

Enter the instant lathering cream/gel and the need for a brush was eliminated, thus saving time. This was followed soon by shavers that came with cartridge blades which did away with the assembling and dismantling of the razor and saved even more time. The most important innovation to me was the twin-blade cartridge. This really improved the quality of the shave over a single-blade cartridge razor. Two edges worked better than one. No surprise there, I suppose.

Then, the floodgates apparently opened. We started getting cartridges with more and more cutting edges added. I thought six blades (or is it five?) is about as far as you can go. Well, apparently not, if this is real (yes, that's a twelve blade cartridge). I get the impression that I can keep opening the thing like a bellows to reveal more and more blades. You can watch this MadTV video for a hilarious take on the proliferation of cutting edges.

But exactly what are we getting with these razors? Just the thought of six blades shearing my face one after the other makes my skin crawl. I wonder if you can even ensure that all the cutting edges actually make contact with the skin. I mean, look at the geometry of the thing, the angle of the blades, the gap between them and the terrain they have to cover. The thing defies science. More than likely, the space between blades will get clogged with stubble or worse, bits of skin. If a proper analysis is carried out, I am sure it will be very revealing. But assuming you did make the necessary contact, what value could more blades bring other than leaving your skin raw and smarting with razor burns?

Advertisements used to say that the second blade cuts the hair missed by the first one. What about the third and subsequent blades? How much do the first two miss and leave for them? Do they have any stubble left to shave or do they start scraping the skin? Some aficionados like to point out that shaving with a three-blade cartridge is equivalent of shaving thrice with a single blade, but in a third of the time taken. I don't know why anyone would shave thrice in a row let alone doing it six times at a go. I don't even bother shaving six times in a week.

With the old models of blade cartridges becoming scarce, one is forced to buy the newer ones at ever increasing prices. This, I am sure, is real the motivation behind all those fancy newer cartridges. Some even 'tell' you when to change cartridges (that is, when you need to do your share to replenish the manufacturer's profit, I suppose). I finally got frustrated enough to put aside my razor and purchase an electric shaver.

You may wonder why I cannot give up shaving altogether and grow a beard, putting an end to all this. Ogden Nash once said, 'God in his wisdom made the fly, And then forgot to tell us why'. I feel the same way about facial hair. There is a basic question that nags me. Why do we have facial hair? I mean, what purpose is served by it? I cannot really see the reason for it. No offence to those sporting a beard, but a beard is mostly a nuisance and rarely looks good. Besides, it still needs grooming. I have reached the conclusion that it exists only to be shaved. But still, I tried growing a beard once in a weak moment. The resulting look got mixed feedback. By mixed, I mean that it was divided evenly between 'hideous' and 'revolting' and I decided that I would not grow a beard again.