Bandicoot stuck inside hosepipe of dining-car delays Kalka Mail for three hours

Inflated BillsSomething shocking happened to a restaurant owner in Calcutta recently. Harbans Singh Arora runs an eating house on Acharya Prafulla Chandra Road, and, besides dishing out tasty snacks, has for the last year been engaged in a running battle with the Calcutta Electric Supply Corporation (CESC).The restaurant cannot be called an electricity guzzler: there are 12 lights, three fans, and a coffee machine. Sometimes Arora operates a quarter horsepower water pump. Of course, all these gadgets glow and hum only when CESC decides not to go in for load-shedding. The bill usually came to about Rs 200 a month - until two years ago.Then, the billing department set out to liven things up a bit. The bills, like Topsy, "jus' growed" until they were over Rs 1,000 a month. Arora, who had been paying under protest for quite some time, rolled up his sleeves, and went to war. Predictably all he got from CESC was a promise to "look into the matter".This promise, as it turned out later, was a clever feint. The knock-out punch came in the form of a demand for the in credible amount of Rs 6 lakh - and just a little more for January 1981. Arora, who is probably still seeing stars, says mournfully that if such was the result of CESC's "looking into it", he wished they'd kept their magnifying glass in storage.Sand CastlesWhat are houses made of? Judicious amounts of bricks, cement, sand, money, and human sweat. But conclusive evidence suggests that the dwellings built by the Uttar Pradesh Housing Board have something special about them: they appear to have more than their fair share of sand. Last fortnight, Shrikrishna Goyal, the state's minister for local self-government and housing, made a startling revelation during an informal chat with journalists. He said that a scientific analysis had conclusively proved that the ratio of cement to sand in the Housing Board's residential colonies was 1:12. The correct ratio for building construction should be 1:3.Reacting to the incredulous expressions on the faces of the newsmen, Goyal admitted that at first he himself had not believed the analysis. But then he ran his eye over the report and a great light broke upon his mind. The sudden emotion was too much for the minister, who promptly sank back into his official chair, a wiser man.When the initial impact of the news had worn off somewhat, Goyal averred that if this sort of thing went on, the credibility of the Housing Board, and perhaps also the abodes they had built, would soon touch rock-bottom. Of course, the houses could not be built all over again, but Goyal asserted his intention to weed out the culprits with a high-level enquiry. One interested listener at the little conclave was the housing commissioner, sitting quietly by himself. He must have been affected by powerful emotions as well, for he maintained a discreet silence throughout.Smelling A RatLast fortnight, one platform at Moghalsarai railway station was humming with questions. The Kalka Mail was to have left for Delhi, but, inexplicably, remained glued to the tracks. Passengers brimmed over with impatience and sipped innumerable cups of tea, as they pestered the railway staff with queries. For their part, the railway staff were bustling importantly up and down the platform, but, unfortunately, had no clue to the stoppage.After a long two hours, the truth was out. Mechanics, who had been poking frenziedly into the innards of the train, apologetically explained that "something" had got stuck in the hosepipes and was knocking the hydraulic system for a six. Further investigations revealed that a fat bandicoot, while foraging for food, had somehow found its way into the hosepipe of the dining-car.For quite some time, mechanics scrabbled about beneath the wagon, wielding all kinds of greasy tools, in efforts to dislodge the exasperating animal. But the bandicoot refused to budge and so did the Kalka Mail. Finally, in a gesture of surrender, the dining-car was detached from the train. This done, the passengers, some grumbling, some laughing, piled into the coaches, which clattered away to Delhi three hours late.The Bride HuntSurprising as it may seem, one group of human beings is on the verge of extinction. In the far-off Andaman islands, frantic attempts are being made to prevent two tribal communities from vanishing into the blue forever. The Onge and the Andamanese tribes are fast running out of members, and the problem has been aggravated by the paucity of marriageable girls. The Andamanese now number a fragile 25 and the Onges less than a hundred.With no young brides available for the altar, nine Onge youths have been forced to marry old women. This desperate measure is not going to boost the population any, as the old maids are, ahem, nonproductive. But even this meagre solace, is denied another five youths of the same tribe, forced to remain bachelors because of the dearth of nubile females.One way out of the dark tunnel could be intercommunity marriages, but earlier efforts by the islands' authorities to convince the youths of this have failed. Apparently, there was some question of the stock becoming impure. But now, with extinction staring them in the face, the Onge and the Andamanese are on the prowl for brides: and family planning be damned.Published By: AtMigration Published On: Nov 25, 2013 09:27 IST--- ENDS ---

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Bandicoot stuck inside hosepipe of dining-car delays Kalka Mail for three hours

When the initial impact of the news had worn off somewhat, Goyal averred that if this sort of thing went on, the credibility of the Housing Board, and perhaps also the abodes they had built, would soon touch rock-bottom.

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