Home  >> Stories  >> The Tale Spinner #2012-27

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IN THIS ISSUE

• Kate Brookfield writes about the assassination of Indira Gandhi
• Pat Moore forwards a story from a bush pilot
• Charles King extolls the beauty of Ottawa
• Pat and Shirley Conlon send a lament about mature women´s swim suits
• Burke Dykes forwards some exchanges between customers and tech support
• Sites are suggested by Carol Hansen, Catherine Green, Don Henderson, Gerrit deLeeuw, Pat Moore, and Tony Lewis

Kate Brookfield describes the most horrifying event of their year in India:

THE ASSASSINATION OF INDIRA GANDHI

On the last day of October, 1984, India and the world were thrown into a state of shock when the Prime Minister of India, Mrs. Indira Gandhi, was assassinated by her own guards. It happened at 9:20 in the morning as she was walking from the gardens of her residence to her office gardens. When she approached the gate connecting the two gardens, the guards on duty at the gate fired on her at point-blank range. She was going to meet with Peter Ustinov, who was making a documentary on India.

I heard the news of the assassination first from our neighbours. Although the announcement of the attack was reported almost immediately, we had to wait for many hours before her death was finally confirmed. Saruj came home from the Womens College and we all waited for a formal government announcement, but there were no bulletins.

The country had been told that she had been shot with 24 bullets at close range, so we did not think she could have survived. (There were more than 30 bullets in her body.) It was assumed that her son, Rajiv, would take over as her successor, but there was speculation that he would not want the job. The children came home from school early and Robert told us with amazement that some Sikh mothers came to the school and handed out sweets to the kids.

Unknown to us, the news caused retaliation by Hindus on Sikhs. When the news started to come through, we heard of the terrible riots in Delhi. Sikhs were killed by throwing them from trains, and by the time Mrs Gandhis death was confirmed, the country was in a state of emergency. Military vehicles with armed soldiers toured the area, announcing through loudspeakers that Rule 144 was enforced. This rule carried many prohibitions, including no more than three people in a group on the streets, a curfew at sunset when nobody was to be outdoors, and a complete ban on all newspapers and magazines.

We watched the television coverage at our neighbours home showing the scenes of grieving people crying, as well as the mob riots in the cities around India. The BBC Overseas Service was our best source of news in English. They told of the riots in Delhi and the grief of the people in general, but stated that there was a complete blackout in the Punjab, with no news coming out. After a few days, Michael got a telegram from his university in Canada, concerned about our safety.

In this emergency, by coincidence, our home became a refuge for foreigners. The day before, Lily, the friend we made in Kashmir, arrived in Chandigarh. Then at about 4:00 p.m., Michaels graduate student arrived on the doorstep. He was not expected as Mike had told him not to come to India until the political situation stabilized. But he came anyway. He was really very lucky, as his train pulled out of Delhi just minutes before the assassination. If he had been in Delhi just 10 minutes longer, he would have been in the middle of the riots.

Indira Gandhi´s Memorial in Chandigarh (click to enlarge)

Rajiv Gandhi did accept the position as Prime Minister and he spoke to the people, asking for calm and a return to "normalcy." We saw on the television the cremation and distribution of Mrs. Gandhis ashes to all major cities in India. We went to the funeral site in Chandigarh, a large platform covered with flowers holding the ashes where people could go to pay respect. I had my photo taken for the local paper and was asked to write something in a book. I wrote something about women respecting Mrs. Gandhi as a great leader of one of the largest democracies, but felt a bit hypocritical, as I do not think she did much for the women of India. She was a leader simply because she was the daughter of Nehru, and her son following her proved that India was still too much caught up in dynastic rule.

During the time of national mourning, the University was closed, and as mentioned in a previous story, we decided to go to Simla to get away from the doom and gloom. Also, as we were in the Punjab, news was censored as there was a fear of more trouble between the Sikhs and the Hindus. The assassination was a direct result of Mrs. Gandhis invasion of the Golden Temple earlier in the year.

Lily planned to go to a camel festival in Rajistan and Craig came with us to Simla. During the days following the assassination, Lily was very nervous and anxious and this was when she told me about the trauma from her National Service in Israel.

I was thankful for the Times of India newspaper that was all in English. One editorial quoted Keats´ idea of sounds beyond the human ear affecting the soul. The quote was used to condemn the censorship that had whitewashed the true extent of the carnage that followed news of the assassination. The repression of truth creates rumours, which can be more ugly than the actual facts. All international publications were banned in the Punjab, so it was not until months later when we were travelling that we saw the issue of "Time" covering the attack on Mrs. Gandhi.

For photos of the funeral site in Chandigarh, see

To be continued.

Pat Moore forwards this story from a friend in B.C. who was a Canadian bush pilot for many years:

MEN OF FIRE AND LIGHTNING

The night was serene above the clouds, and I marvelled at the sensation of flying. Just like angels, I thought, imagining them all around us. I was with my friend David, who was piloting a Beechcraft Bonanza back to a local airport in Fort Worth from Oklahoma, where we´d taken our pastor and his wife.

We´d had a prayer service before we left Texas, and people told us they´d linger at the church for a while to pray some more. "Bad weather reports," they´d said. Although I was grateful for their prayers, there seemed no cause for alarm. Our flight was less than an hour, and I saw only calm on the horizon.

The lights of Dallas were bright as we landed at Love Field to refuel. "Any news about the weather?" David asked the tower. The answer came back, "A-OK," but we were airborne only 10 minutes when thunder rumbled and lightning pierced the sky. "Hold tight," David said. "Just 25 miles and we´re home." We bounced around like a leaf in the buffeting wind. Our heads were thrown against the canopy of the plane.

The view cleared. "I see the airport ahead!" David shouted. "There´s more storm coming, but with any luck I´ll make it in before it hits." I jerked back in my seat as he increased the speed. The plane lurched forward.

We zoomed between two giant electrical towers, skimming above the transmission lines. The plane dipped to the left. Wham! It felt as if the bottom dropped out. I gripped the arms of my seat. Wham! We were slammed, almost stopped in midair by something with enormous power.

"What was that?" I cried. All at once, we were flung backward. David pulled on the stick. We were falling! Wow - I prayed again. This is it. When would the blackout come? I wondered.

But it didn´t. I was wide-eyed awake as the plane crashed into the ground, twisting, turning, its wheels digging into the dirt. David and I didn´t move. Could we? The engine burst into flames. Lightning flashed all around us. I grabbed the door at my side. I couldn´t open it.

Frantic, I tugged at the handle. I pushed and shoved, but it wouldn´t budge. "I can´t open the door!" I shouted. Then I felt a hand near mine. David! The door swept open. "Run!" he shouted.

We leapt from the plane. The constant flashes of lightning were almost as bright as day, and we quickly looked around. Our feet were deep in muddy grass. We´d crashed into a farm pasture, with no roads or houses nearby. Then I spotted a hangar in the distance. "There´s the airport!" I shouted. We´d missed it by maybe half a mile.

We ran, afraid of an explosion. The plane engine burned, and the lightning threatened with fierce, jagged force. David and I reached a fence a few yards away. "You okay?" David said. "I´m exhausted, but yeah," I said. We scrambled over the fence, and then turned to look back, just thankful to be alive.

"It is said that any landing you walk away from is a good one." I agree.

Charles King wrote this tribute to our capital city years ago, and while he is no longer so rhapsodic about Ottawa, these sentiments remain valid:

OTTAWA - A CITY WHOSE TIME HAS COME

The summertime absence of the politicians gives us the opportunity to look anew at Ottawa as a people place rather than a national capital. The perspective may be every bit as appealing as the symbols of statehood that surround us at other times.

For the balance of the summer, blessed silence has fallen on Parliament Hill. Only the tourists, in their swarming hordes, serve to remind us that this city is a place to visit for other reasons than its natural beauty.

Instead of riveting our gaze on the endless wrangling of the political gladiators, we can concentrate on watching balloons drifting overhead, sailboats wheeling in the breeze on Dow´s Lake, and the jugglers and musicians performing for spare change on the Sparks Street Mall.

It´s a useful reminder that the city is a community first, a seat of government second. The federal presence may be what makes it tick. But people, and its inspiring natural setting, give it reason to exist.

If there were reason to doubt Ottawa´s attraction as a place to dwell - and lord knows there are moments toward the end of winter when our loyalty is tested - then the coming of summer is a sufficient antidote.

From its bountiful public gardens to the ceaseless activity of the By Ward market area and the serenity of the nearby Gatineau hills, this town offers a visual feast that can´t be matched in many areas of the world.

Oddly, it often takes a trip to distant places to remind us of the advantages we have on our doorstep.

The city that once had a reputation as Canada´s ugly duckling has grown up to be a beautiful swan.

Thanks in part to the gentle ministrations of the National Capital Commission, Ottawa has been worthy of the trust that Queen Victoria placed in it as the nation´s headquarters.

It has taken a century and a half to build it, but today it can be said that we live in a city whose time has come. As beneficiaries of all that has gone into ensuring that result, we have reason to be thankful.

Of course it is a corollary of being a national centre that we will draw the envy and criticism of other parts of the country, as well as the bitterness of some who feel deprived.

The best cure for those feelings is to bring those other Canadians here to share in the pleasure and pride we feel in our community. And summertime, when the politicians are elsewhere, is the best time for them to visit.

If our national transportation companies, led by Air Canada and Via Rail, were truly enterprising, they would be selling low-price package tours to Ottawa as a place to rekindle the feeling of patriotism and pride that we so sorely need.

There are few enough subjects on which to find agreement in this divided land. To share the distinctive attractions of this capital city with all Canadians would be a giant step toward the reconciliation of our differences and the creation of a truly national spirit.

Pat and Shirley Conlon both forward this timely story of

BUYING THE RIGHT BATHING SUIT

When I was a child in the 1960s, the bathing suit for the mature figure was boned, trussed, and reinforced - not so much sewn as engineered. They were built to hold back and uplift, and they did a good job. Today´s stretch fabrics are designed for the prepubescent girl with a figure carved from a potato chip.

The mature woman has a choice: she can either go up front to the maternity department and try on a floral suit with a skirt, coming away looking like a hippopotamus that escaped from Disney´s Fantasia, or she can wander around every run-of-the-mill department store trying to make a sensible choice from what amounts to a designer range of fluorescent rubber bands.

What choice did I have? I wandered around, made my sensible choice, and entered the chamber of horrors known as the fitting room. The first thing I noticed was the extraordinary tensile strength of the stretch material. The Lycra used in bathing costumes was developed, I believe, by NASA to launch small rockets from a slingshot, which gives the added bonus that if you manage to actually lever yourself into one, you would be protected from shark attacks. Any shark taking a swipe at your passing midriff would immediately suffer whiplash.

I fought my way into the bathing suit, but as I twanged the shoulder strap in place I gasped in horror: my boobs had disappeared!

Eventually, I found one boob cowering under my left armpit. It took a while to find the other. At last I located it flattened beside my seventh rib.

The problem is that modern bathing suits have no bra cups. The mature woman is now meant to wear her boobs spread across her chest like a speed bump. I realigned my speed bump and lurched toward the mirror to take a full view assessment.

The bathing suit fit all right, but unfortunately it only fitted those bits of me willing to stay inside it. The rest of me oozed out rebelliously from top, bottom, and sides. I looked like a lump of Playdoh wearing undersized cling wrap.

As I tried to work out where all those extra bits had come from, the prepubescent salesgirl popped her head through the curtain, "Oh, there you are," she said, admiring the bathing suit.

I replied that I wasn´t so sure and asked what else she had to show me. I tried on a cream crinkled one that made me look like a lump of masking tape, and a floral two-piece that gave the appearance of an oversized napkin in a serving ring.

I struggled into a pair of leopard-skin bathers with ragged frills and came out looking like Tarzan´s Jane, pregnant with triplets and having a rough day.

I tried on a black number with a midriff fringe and looked like a jellyfish in mourning.

I tried on a bright pink pair with such a high cut leg I thought I would have to wax my eyebrows to wear them.

Finally, I found a suit that fit. It was a two-piece affair with a shorts-style bottom and a loose blouse-type top. It was cheap, comfortable, and bulge-friendly, so I bought it. My ridiculous search had a successful outcome, I figured.

When I got it home, I found a label that read, "Material might become transparent in water."

So if you happen to be on the beach or near any other body of water this year and I´m there too, I´ll be the one in cut-off jeans and a T-shirt!

Pat adds this PS about her personal experience with buying a bathing suit:

I remember the first time I went looking for a bathing suit after moving to Alberta.

It was January, and we were planning to get away from the cold Alberta winter for a winter "down south," and I decided to treat myself to a new bathing suit, so I started out with great expectations.

It was -33 below, and after getting the car started and letting it heat up for a while, I started out on my search. There were quite a number of colourful bathing suits to chose from in the store and off I trotted to the fitting rooms.

One look in the fitting room mirror sent me into gales of laughter - last summer´s tan was long gone and there I stood with a pale winter complexion complemented by the black sox I had worn with my black winter snow boots.

I decided I was not in the mood and this was not the day to buy a new bathing suit.

Burke Dykes, editor of Northwest Seniors Online, which also carries the Tale Spinner, has his share of dumb questions from computer users. He sends these examples of exchanges between customers and

TECH SUPPORT

Tech support: What kind of computer do you have?
Female customer: A white one....

Customer: Hi, this is Celine. I can´t get my diskette out.
Tech support: Have you tried pushing the button?
Customer: Yes, sure, it´s really stuck.
Tech support: That doesn´t sound good; I´ll make a note.
Customer: No, wait a minute.... I hadn´t inserted it yet - it´s still on my desk. Sorry!

Tech support: Click on the "my computer" icon on to the left of the screen.
Customer: Your left or my left?

Tech support: Good day. How may I help you?
Male customer: Hello. I can´t print.
Tech support: Would you click on "start" for me and....
Customer: Listen pal; don´t start getting technical on me! I´m not Bill Gates.

Customer: Hi, good afternoon. This is Martha, I can´t print. Every time I try, it says, "Can´t find printer." I´ve even lifted the printer and placed it in front of the monitor, but the computer still says he can´t find it.

Customer: I have problems printing in red.
Tech support: Do you have a color printer?
Customer: Aaaah ... thank you.

Tech support: What´s on your monitor now, ma´am?
Customer: A teddy bear my boyfriend bought for me at the 7-11.

Customer: My keyboard is not working anymore.
Tech support: Are you sure it´s plugged into the computer?
Customer: No. I can´t get behind the computer.
Tech support: Pick up your keyboard and walk 10 paces back.
Customer: OK.
Tech support: Did the keyboard come with you?
Customer: Yes.
Tech support: That means the keyboard is not plugged in. Is there another keyboard?
Customer: Yes, there´s another one here. Ah ... that one does work.

Tech support: Your password is the small letter "a" as in apple, a capital letter "V" as in Victor, and the number 7.
Customer: Is that 7 in capital letters?

Customer: I can´t get on the Internet.
Tech support: Are you sure you used the right password?
Customer: Yes, I´m sure. I saw my colleague do it.
Tech support: Can you tell me what the password was?
Customer: Five stars.

Tech support: What anti-virus program do you use?
Customer: Netscape.
Tech support: That´s not an anti-virus program.
Customer: Oh, sorry. Internet Explorer.

Customer: I have a huge problem. A friend has placed a screen saver on my computer, but every time I move the mouse, it disappears.

Tech support: How may I help you?
Customer: I´m writing my first e-mail.
Tech support: OK, and what seems to be the problem?
Customer: Well, I have the letter "a" in the address, but how do I get the circle around it?

A woman customer called the Canon help desk with a problem with her printer.
Tech support: Are you running it under windows?
Customer: "No, my desk is next to the door, but that is a good point. The man sitting in the cubicle next to me is under a window, and his printer is working fine."

And last but not least...

Tech support: "Okay Bob, let´s press the control and escape keys at the same time. That brings up a task list in the middle of the screen. Now type the letter "P" to bring up the Program Manager."
Customer: I don´t have a P.
Tech support: On your keyboard, Bob.
Customer: What do you mean?
Tech support: "P"... on your keyboard, Bob.
Customer: I´M NOT GOING TO DO THAT!

SUGGESTED SITES

Carol Hansen suggests this site for a remarkable video of babies on roller skates. There is some very clever manipulation done on this video:

Catherine Green forwards this link to a spirited if irreverent rendition of "O Canada":

Don Henderson forwards a link to a quiz which tests your knowledge of Canada, some of it very obscure:

Gerrit deLeeuw sends the URL for a site with pictures of spectacular crashes from the golden age of motoring:

For Canadians who know little about Nunavut, Pat forwards this link to a site that serves that vast territory:

Tony Lewis forwards this link to an amateur video of the rescue of a humpback whale, which had become hopelessly entangled in a fishing net:

This short documentary spotlights the First Nations Organic Farming and Food Co-op in Saskatchewan. The people working with with the co-op believe that these projects have the potential to create full employment for First Nations, and by growing food, they can get off welfare - and even feed the rest of Canada:

Kim MacGregor organized this flash mob of 200 dancers to launch the "feel good" movement, "I Believe She´s Amazing" in honor of her friend Erika Heller, who passed away May 28th, 2009, at the age of 31. This is her living legacy in Toronto Eaton Centre:

High electricity bills prompted engineer and inventor, Milenko Milenkovic, to build his first eco-friendly house in the Serbian town of Boljevci. For a tour of this innovative project, click on

Green walls are taking off, some in the most unexpected places. I wish I had one in my apartment:

To check out the features of the "freedictionary", which changes daily, go to