Met Life wants to offer me ‘a strategy for managing my life’ (I’ll do the strategizing dude, why don’t you try out the implementation for a change?)
Airtel wants to call me at least thrice a day when I am on roaming, precisely when I’m taking a well deserved siesta, watching a movie or listening to my favorite song, 'to take feedback on their services'……@@####, Need I say more? Now if you’ll pay for my roaming charges please?
My banks want to appoint an investment advisor to help me manage my money:
We believe the stock markets will still rise Ma’am
Sure, I’m sure Harshad Mehta believed that too
Hehe, You are funny Ma’am. We are not Harshad Mehta – we have done analysis and have experience in this field
Err, what’s your background? Are you a Certified Financial Planner?
No Ma’am, (chest heaving out, evident pride) I am an MBA from Mahabharata Institute of Management, and I have been in this role for the past 6 months …I will send you literature too Ma’am…now if you look at Downthedrain Mutual Fund…what phenomenal returns Ma’am..Shall I send my junior to meet you Ma’am…he will bring all the papers
The receptionist at my beauty parlor (he’s male btw – what do you call a male receptionist ?) wants me to undergo ‘spa treatment for my damaged hair’ when I ask him for a shampoo. Or else, at least buy the most expensive shampoo he has (One of the numerous L’Oreal varieties, all exorbitantly expensive!). As I leave without making a purchase, he volleys that they have a discount on the combo pack for ‘problem skin and hair’. Touche’
Every bank in the country wants me to take a personal loan – very cheap, miss, interest rates will rise in a month miss….
My mom’s LIC agent calls me early morning each day (9 AM – I just begin dreaming then) to tell me about the latest ‘best scheme’, when the only scheme my mind is willing to acknowledge is sleep, sleep, sleep.
My neighbourhood kirana shop helpfully volunteers with the latest ‘blemish reducing cream – top class, just like Shehnaz’, when I ask him for toothpaste.
Salma, my maid in Bangalore, wants to teach me how to make pasta (the one with kadi-patta in it…straight from Mysore), how to assert myself with my sweet landlady, how to keep my room clean, how to rear the fledging sapling my flatmate picked up on an impulse….
My Mom wants me to get married, buy a house, wash my face every night, learn how to cook, read less, not bite my nails while I read, drink less coffee, lose some weight, eat some more of the gajar-ka-halwa she made only for me, be less stubborn, curb my short temper, be less trusting, …..take charge of my life…wait a moment, I SHOULD TAKE CHARGE OF MY LIFE WHEN EVERYONE WANTS TO TELL ME HOW TO RUN IT?
Wednesday, December 27, 2006
Thursday, December 07, 2006
Millenia's Angry Young Men
The Angry Young Man is dead. Long live The Angry Young Man.
Amitabh Bachchan got a second life, and possible cinematic immortality, by playing reel and real life Godfather (the latter by seeding working class crorepati’s). Meanwhile, his Angry Young Man – the role that created a superstar of a tall, gauche and deep throated youth three decades ago, a role that could be played to perfection only by him – has been resurrected, albeit in a new avatar.
Take a look at three of the recent hits in Bollywood – Rang De Basanti, Lage Raho Munnabhai and Khosla ka Ghosla – and you know what I mean. While Amitabh’s angry young man gave form to a middle class that was just beginning to find its identity and voice, these movies depict the new middle class –one that is comfortable with its new found stature, yet recognizes its limited control over major events. And the best part is that the new Indian middle class no longer relies on the emergence of the lone rebel who becomes a part of the very system that he seeks revenge on – our new pilots, engineers and local dadas can take on the role just fine, thank you. And they will do it more smartly too – drawing upon not just the brawn carefully cultivated in the local gym, but also all other resources at their disposable (brains, family, and most importantly, society).
Take the directionless youths in RDB, out to have a good time with no care in the world, till they lose a close friend to corrupt politics. What do these guys do? Unlike our old angry young man, they don’t just surrender themselves to Big Brother after they’ve killed the joker-politician. No, they first take over a radio station and create awareness of what they have done, and why they did what they did. The rich son doesn’t just leave Dear Corrupt Father to be given his dues by ‘kanoon’ or the local deity – he finishes him off. True, a lot of people found the solution extreme, but then, desperate situations sometimes call for desperate measures.
Or the nerdy engineer in Khosla Ka Ghosla - bent on escaping his embarrassing middle class family and creating his dream life in the US. But when his father is fleeced of his lifetime’s savings and his dream house, he doesn’t flex his Mister India muscles and go out and challenge the goons of the corrupt land grabber. Instead, he enlists the support of a renegade thief and his girlfriend’s drama troupe to fool our smart developer and get back the house, with interest!.
And lastly, good old Munnabhai and Circuit, who effect a change of heart in hardened Lucky Singh by deploying the Gandhian principles of non violence and compassion. A contemporary revisiting of ahimsa.
Why do we like these guys so much? Coz like Amitabh Bachchan was to the 70’s generation, these people are just like you and me. We can relate with their dreams, and empathize with their sometimes vacuous lifestyles. And what happens to them could have happened to any of us. No one knows whether their solutions would work in real life, but then, how many people could have realistically gone and physically fought the bad guys too? What is important is that they are bothered enough by the injustice to do something about it. Madhavan’s friends could have buried him and got on with their foreign dreams. Nerdy engineer could have told his father to write off the house – he would make enough money in a year to buy him two such houses. And Munna-Circuit could have forcibly evicted Lucky Singh and grown their stature in BhaiLand. That they don’t take the easy way out is what earns them our admiration and accolades.
And the trend is not just limited to reel life. In real life too, Delhi, struggling with continued rapes and road rage deaths, is celebrating the conviction of Satish Sharma for the tandoor murder case, even as it waits for justice to be handed out to Manu Sharma and the Yadav clan. As I write this, Shibu Soren has been handed life sentence for conspiring to kill his secretary, and Navjot Singh Sidhu has been sentenced three years imprisonment for a road rage death.
True, most of these judgments have taken over a decade to arrive, leaving the accused free in this period – in an ironic twist, Manu Sharma, accused of killing Jessica Lal in a pub upon being refused a drink by her, has gone ahead and set up his own pub, which is doing quite well. These cases may also be a drop in the ocean (who knows how many cases go un-convicted, un-reported or buried), and have created concerns of ‘who will judge the judges’ (as Barkha Dutt pertinently pointed out).
But then, ridding India of corruption is like cleaning the mythical Augean stables. Granted, what we have now is probably just a wayward, spluttering stream. But let us not downplay the importance of these small victories either – for they open the frontiers of possibility, and give us hope. And it is up to us now to not just applaud, but seize the momentum. Long live the Angry Young Man.
Amitabh Bachchan got a second life, and possible cinematic immortality, by playing reel and real life Godfather (the latter by seeding working class crorepati’s). Meanwhile, his Angry Young Man – the role that created a superstar of a tall, gauche and deep throated youth three decades ago, a role that could be played to perfection only by him – has been resurrected, albeit in a new avatar.
Take a look at three of the recent hits in Bollywood – Rang De Basanti, Lage Raho Munnabhai and Khosla ka Ghosla – and you know what I mean. While Amitabh’s angry young man gave form to a middle class that was just beginning to find its identity and voice, these movies depict the new middle class –one that is comfortable with its new found stature, yet recognizes its limited control over major events. And the best part is that the new Indian middle class no longer relies on the emergence of the lone rebel who becomes a part of the very system that he seeks revenge on – our new pilots, engineers and local dadas can take on the role just fine, thank you. And they will do it more smartly too – drawing upon not just the brawn carefully cultivated in the local gym, but also all other resources at their disposable (brains, family, and most importantly, society).
Take the directionless youths in RDB, out to have a good time with no care in the world, till they lose a close friend to corrupt politics. What do these guys do? Unlike our old angry young man, they don’t just surrender themselves to Big Brother after they’ve killed the joker-politician. No, they first take over a radio station and create awareness of what they have done, and why they did what they did. The rich son doesn’t just leave Dear Corrupt Father to be given his dues by ‘kanoon’ or the local deity – he finishes him off. True, a lot of people found the solution extreme, but then, desperate situations sometimes call for desperate measures.
Or the nerdy engineer in Khosla Ka Ghosla - bent on escaping his embarrassing middle class family and creating his dream life in the US. But when his father is fleeced of his lifetime’s savings and his dream house, he doesn’t flex his Mister India muscles and go out and challenge the goons of the corrupt land grabber. Instead, he enlists the support of a renegade thief and his girlfriend’s drama troupe to fool our smart developer and get back the house, with interest!.
And lastly, good old Munnabhai and Circuit, who effect a change of heart in hardened Lucky Singh by deploying the Gandhian principles of non violence and compassion. A contemporary revisiting of ahimsa.
Why do we like these guys so much? Coz like Amitabh Bachchan was to the 70’s generation, these people are just like you and me. We can relate with their dreams, and empathize with their sometimes vacuous lifestyles. And what happens to them could have happened to any of us. No one knows whether their solutions would work in real life, but then, how many people could have realistically gone and physically fought the bad guys too? What is important is that they are bothered enough by the injustice to do something about it. Madhavan’s friends could have buried him and got on with their foreign dreams. Nerdy engineer could have told his father to write off the house – he would make enough money in a year to buy him two such houses. And Munna-Circuit could have forcibly evicted Lucky Singh and grown their stature in BhaiLand. That they don’t take the easy way out is what earns them our admiration and accolades.
And the trend is not just limited to reel life. In real life too, Delhi, struggling with continued rapes and road rage deaths, is celebrating the conviction of Satish Sharma for the tandoor murder case, even as it waits for justice to be handed out to Manu Sharma and the Yadav clan. As I write this, Shibu Soren has been handed life sentence for conspiring to kill his secretary, and Navjot Singh Sidhu has been sentenced three years imprisonment for a road rage death.
True, most of these judgments have taken over a decade to arrive, leaving the accused free in this period – in an ironic twist, Manu Sharma, accused of killing Jessica Lal in a pub upon being refused a drink by her, has gone ahead and set up his own pub, which is doing quite well. These cases may also be a drop in the ocean (who knows how many cases go un-convicted, un-reported or buried), and have created concerns of ‘who will judge the judges’ (as Barkha Dutt pertinently pointed out).
But then, ridding India of corruption is like cleaning the mythical Augean stables. Granted, what we have now is probably just a wayward, spluttering stream. But let us not downplay the importance of these small victories either – for they open the frontiers of possibility, and give us hope. And it is up to us now to not just applaud, but seize the momentum. Long live the Angry Young Man.
Monday, October 02, 2006
The Road
Vajpayee’s Golden Quadrilateral appears poised to change all of that. Call it one man’s vision, but you have to also give credit that, in a country notorious for inaction, for once a grand idea was translated into concrete. I have driven with pleasure down the Bangalore-Mysore Expressway (gateway to Srirangapatna, Mysore & Coorg, amongst others) and the Bangalore-Pune highway (Mangalore, Pune, Goa,..). Two weeks ago, we decided to test out the National Highway from Bangalore to Chennai.
The drive, of course, is breathtaking. You’d think it’s just a road, but each road has a different tale to tell. The gentle cruising at 100 kmph, racing with an infinite expanse of white and blue, the many-hued flowers mushrooming in the middle of the road, the numerous shades of green, the exclamations of joy as the road plays hide and seek with you, now swerving to the left to reveal huge rock formations benevolently gazing upon you, now curving up to reveal an expanse of silken paddy fields. It is a feeling that can best be described as coming back home – joyous and unencumbered – after a long and arduous journey.
But what lends character and distinction to driving in India is the numerous sights and sounds that you encounter on the way. When you drive in other parts of the world – US, Europe, others – you are at best an observer of beauty. The landscape is like a beautiful ice maiden that holds you at arm’s length – to be admired from afar. In India, you are the actor and the spectator. You wave at the numerous children and adults cramped into a three-wheeled vehicle, and they respond with joy. You curse at the bike driving on the wrong side of the highway, but you make way for him. You recognize the right of way of the bullock cart and the odd cow. You stop for tea at Reddy’s Punjabi Dhaba, smiling at the attempt at all-inclusion. You laugh at restaurants that go by the names of Cup and Up and Roots and Shoots, and try to stomach Drive and Digest with unending glasses of fresh nimbu-paani. You smile when the chai-wala calls you back to return the 50 paisa left over from your bill of 4 rupees 50 paisa for four, steaming hot cups of delicious tea. You make a stop to take in a breathtaking sunset, and are amused to see Fair and Lovely amongst other emergency items in a small tea stall. You run around with the kids (and the goat and the dog), even as you show them ‘magic’ by opening and closing your car door from 50 meters afar.
Driving in India is not just about getting from place A to B. It is getting to know all that lies in between – the people, the places, the sounds - the good and sometimes the ugly. In a way, it is descriptive of Hindu philosophy – the journey is much more fulfilling than the destination.
May God Be With You
I’m a Hindu by birth – a has-been believer in God who does not believe in religion and its associated symbols (such as temples). Over the past year, I have started questioning the existence of God, but I still feel irresistibly drawn to a Church.
As I sat quietly in the last row of an ancient Church in downtown Costa Rica, I wondered what it is that makes so many people – young and old, rich and poor, men and women – come to a Church. There they are, surrounded by images of Jesus, Joseph and Mary immortalized in glass and color, sitting quietly with themselves. Maybe the martyred Jesus gazing benevolently upon them, the wooden benches and the warm yellow light, and the quiet all around, gives them a sense of warmth and isolation – of being with yourself, finding yourself. You can shut out the world out here, I thought…till the loud screeching of car brakes from outside reminded me that the world is all around you…
As I sat quietly in the last row of an ancient Church in downtown Costa Rica, I wondered what it is that makes so many people – young and old, rich and poor, men and women – come to a Church. There they are, surrounded by images of Jesus, Joseph and Mary immortalized in glass and color, sitting quietly with themselves. Maybe the martyred Jesus gazing benevolently upon them, the wooden benches and the warm yellow light, and the quiet all around, gives them a sense of warmth and isolation – of being with yourself, finding yourself. You can shut out the world out here, I thought…till the loud screeching of car brakes from outside reminded me that the world is all around you…
Monday, September 04, 2006
Two can Win
Numbers can be misleading. They tell you the facts, but not the stories that weave those facts. A bit like ends without the means.
Take a tennis match. The score-line tells you who won the match, but pretty much nothing else. It does not tell you how close the match can sometimes be, and how the guy who wins may not always be the one who played better. It does not tell you how long, and how intensely, a rally was fought, nor does it tell you the role played by that fickle lady called luck. It does not tell you about the exhilaration of an exquisite drop shot that caught your opponent unawares, or the agony when your perfect backhand lands just beyond the line. It does not tell you about the mental strength that makes you climb an insurmountable Everest even when you keep on slipping down, and the disappointment when your body gives in just when you have the summit in sight.
Numbers tell you that that a legend made it to the second round of his last professional Grand Slam, beating a 21young upstart 6-4, 6-4, 3-6, 5-7,7-5. They do not tell you how close the winner came to losing, and how valiantly he fought to win.
They do not tell you that a 21 year old Cyprian clawed back from two sets down and 0-4 in what appeared to be the penultimate set of the match to stage an Agassi-like comeback – against Andre Agassi. Had he succeeded, which he nearly did, he would have been the first man in six years to snatch away a 2-0 set lead from Agassi. And the last man to beat him in a Slam match.
Numbers do not tell you that this young man would have put a 36-year old legend out of his last professional match on his home ground, had he not suffered sever cramps - and how he still hung on, forcing several dueces and then holding on to his serve, despite being barely able to move.
They do not tell you how valiantly this young man fought back every time defeat appeared to be a certainty for him, and how he never lost his wide grin despite a partisan and hostile crowd. How he fought for every point as if his life depended upon it, even when playing seemed like a physical impossibility. Nor do they tell you about his magnanimity and graciousness towards a lucky victor.
Numbers do not tell you about the tenacity and hunger of a 36-year old man playing his last professional tournament, who fights for each point as if he is a youngster in his debut season, much less a man preparing for a comfortable retirement. A man who continues to push the boundaries of physical and mental endurance, constantly challenging himself, and in the process, some unlucky opponents.
They do not tell you that if this man uses all and sundry means at his disposal to secure victory – some fair, like his talent, hunger and perseverance – and some not so fair, likely an unruly and partisan crowd and his opponent’s physical weakness – you forgive him. For the world loves fighters, especially those who win.
Numbers do not tell you that like it or not, patriotism and sentimentality will count more than respect for talent, and money will continue tightening its vice over sports. Why else would an educated crowd loudly cheer a double fault by a gutsy player who was badly cramping, only because he was playing against their aging countryman? Or why the patronizing and idiotic commentator would make a statement like – ‘If Agassi loses today, the game of tennis would lose, the US Open would lose’. I couldn’t understand how the game of tennis could lose from the victory of a worthier man in one of the best matches in recent times, till I realized that an aging 36 year old American was the reason for packed Center Court attendance and record breaking TV viewership. Jimmy forgot to add that the game and the tournament would lose money.
Numbers also do not tell you if Andre Agassi is the ‘nice person’ that he nobly exhorted his colleagues to be at the start of this tournament, or merely a devious person hungry for victory. Was it Agassi’s conscience that made him nervous and repeatedly drop serve and net shots even when Baghdatis could barely move, or was he selfishly trying to prolong his opponent’s agony to force him off the court, thus denying him the possibility of a win. One would like to believe the former.
It is debatable whether Andre Agassi deserves to be in the third round of his last professional tournament. Or whether 21 year old Marcus Baghdatis deserves to return home after an awe inspiring comeback. ‘Deserve’ is always a matter of perspective.
What is beyond doubt is that I saw one of the best games of tennis I’ve seen in a while between two great players. And realized that sometimes there are no limits to human courage and endurance. And when you have crossed that line, there are no losers.
Take a tennis match. The score-line tells you who won the match, but pretty much nothing else. It does not tell you how close the match can sometimes be, and how the guy who wins may not always be the one who played better. It does not tell you how long, and how intensely, a rally was fought, nor does it tell you the role played by that fickle lady called luck. It does not tell you about the exhilaration of an exquisite drop shot that caught your opponent unawares, or the agony when your perfect backhand lands just beyond the line. It does not tell you about the mental strength that makes you climb an insurmountable Everest even when you keep on slipping down, and the disappointment when your body gives in just when you have the summit in sight.
Numbers tell you that that a legend made it to the second round of his last professional Grand Slam, beating a 21young upstart 6-4, 6-4, 3-6, 5-7,7-5. They do not tell you how close the winner came to losing, and how valiantly he fought to win.
They do not tell you that a 21 year old Cyprian clawed back from two sets down and 0-4 in what appeared to be the penultimate set of the match to stage an Agassi-like comeback – against Andre Agassi. Had he succeeded, which he nearly did, he would have been the first man in six years to snatch away a 2-0 set lead from Agassi. And the last man to beat him in a Slam match.
Numbers do not tell you that this young man would have put a 36-year old legend out of his last professional match on his home ground, had he not suffered sever cramps - and how he still hung on, forcing several dueces and then holding on to his serve, despite being barely able to move.
They do not tell you how valiantly this young man fought back every time defeat appeared to be a certainty for him, and how he never lost his wide grin despite a partisan and hostile crowd. How he fought for every point as if his life depended upon it, even when playing seemed like a physical impossibility. Nor do they tell you about his magnanimity and graciousness towards a lucky victor.
Numbers do not tell you about the tenacity and hunger of a 36-year old man playing his last professional tournament, who fights for each point as if he is a youngster in his debut season, much less a man preparing for a comfortable retirement. A man who continues to push the boundaries of physical and mental endurance, constantly challenging himself, and in the process, some unlucky opponents.
They do not tell you that if this man uses all and sundry means at his disposal to secure victory – some fair, like his talent, hunger and perseverance – and some not so fair, likely an unruly and partisan crowd and his opponent’s physical weakness – you forgive him. For the world loves fighters, especially those who win.
Numbers do not tell you that like it or not, patriotism and sentimentality will count more than respect for talent, and money will continue tightening its vice over sports. Why else would an educated crowd loudly cheer a double fault by a gutsy player who was badly cramping, only because he was playing against their aging countryman? Or why the patronizing and idiotic commentator would make a statement like – ‘If Agassi loses today, the game of tennis would lose, the US Open would lose’. I couldn’t understand how the game of tennis could lose from the victory of a worthier man in one of the best matches in recent times, till I realized that an aging 36 year old American was the reason for packed Center Court attendance and record breaking TV viewership. Jimmy forgot to add that the game and the tournament would lose money.
Numbers also do not tell you if Andre Agassi is the ‘nice person’ that he nobly exhorted his colleagues to be at the start of this tournament, or merely a devious person hungry for victory. Was it Agassi’s conscience that made him nervous and repeatedly drop serve and net shots even when Baghdatis could barely move, or was he selfishly trying to prolong his opponent’s agony to force him off the court, thus denying him the possibility of a win. One would like to believe the former.
It is debatable whether Andre Agassi deserves to be in the third round of his last professional tournament. Or whether 21 year old Marcus Baghdatis deserves to return home after an awe inspiring comeback. ‘Deserve’ is always a matter of perspective.
What is beyond doubt is that I saw one of the best games of tennis I’ve seen in a while between two great players. And realized that sometimes there are no limits to human courage and endurance. And when you have crossed that line, there are no losers.
Tuesday, August 29, 2006
Fear of Flying
I don’t know how or from where I got it, but I’ve had this mad desire to go bungee jumping for the past week. There is a spot close to San Jose – on a bridge 265 feet over a river – that is a world famous spot for bungee jumping. I made up my mind to go there this weekend and try my luck.
We reached the spot around 11 am, just in time to see a guy get strapped and stand on the narrow platform. He turned back and gave me a nervous smile, and I smiled back encouragingly. He stood for two minutes at the edge, shook his head, came back and sat down. All the while, his two friends (who were gonna jump next) were encouraging him in Spanish. I wandered around and took in the breathtaking view – lush green foliage all around, plunging into a narrow river strewn with huge boulders. Suddenly, I heard a shriek – the guy had jumped. We watched in amazement as he almost touched the river, shouting like mad all the while, and gently swayed below the bridge….there he’d be on one side, and then I’d run over to the other side of the bridge to catch a sight of him. When he came back, he was grinning like a Cheshire cat, all pumped up.
I was excited. What did that guy think as he stood on the platform, and how did he make the leap? I wanted to do this, I was gonna do this!
The second guy was cucumber kool. He’s gonna go down in a flash, without a sound – I thought. I was wrong. The moment he stood up, he started shaking his head, and after a few minutes of to-and-fro, he was back on the bridge, unstrapping his gear.
If you think too long, you’ll never jump – I told my companion knowledgeably, as if I’d done this all my life. I’d been chatting with the third guy, and he told me they were from Portugal. You jump? – he asked. I think so, though I’ll be shit scared – I answered. Im very scared too…the toughest part is getting yourself to make the jump. I’ve jumped from a parachute, but there was someone else who made the actual jump – I just followed him. Getting myself to jump will be tough. I nodded, mentally mapping out how I’d make the leap.
In the end, the third guy, the one who’d jumped from a parachute and who’d dragged his friends to do the bungee, couldn’t jump either.
I was next. I was cool, calm and confident, as I asked Charlie the instructor to repeat the instructions and tested out the clasp for the rope that I’d have to grasp for the return to the platform. I’d pumped myself up, and my strategy was clear – I wouldn’t look down. I’d look into the trees, stretch out my arms, and imagine that I was Jonathan Livingstone Seagull. Charlie says the women are better at this, remarked my Portuguese friend. I smiled back confidently – I wasn’t gonna prove Charlie wrong.
The moment I stood up on the platform, more than 250 feet above the river, I started blabbering, just as I’d seen the other guys do. I have to be crazy to be doing this, why am I doing this, etc. Initially, my knees were shaking, but after a few moments, I was steady. Move forward, your toes should be slightly outside the platform, commanded Charlie. Gingerly, holding the support to my left, I made my way forward. To gain confidence, I let go of the support and stretched out my arms horizontally. After a couple of minutes of nervousness, I managed to let go of the support, with my toes slightly outside the platform, and my arms stretched out. I was in position for the jump.
You’re good, now jump, said Charlie. I tried….but I just couldn’t. I closed my eyes, I thought all kinds of things to myself, I imagined myself dancing to music, but I just could not jump. I just couldn’t understand it. I was prepared for this, I had wanted to do it, I had thought about how I would do it, I wasn’t scared of death (the worst possible outcome) But the left side of my brain had sensed danger and completely taken over, and my feet appeared to be locked and glued to the spot. All the advice I had doled out to my predecessors was forgotten in a trice. I can’t do this, but I soo badly want to do this, can you push me Charlie? I asked in desperation. He wasn’t allowed to push me, but he stood behind me and gave me a countdown. Jump at zero, and he began, but the moment he’d reach two I’d ask him to start all over again.
I still believed I was gonna do it, but I think the Portuguese guys sensed otherwise. Adios, one of them called out to me, if you stand there too long you don’t make it, shouted another, echoing my thoughts of ten minutes ago.
In the end, I did not jump. As I stood there, my brain convinced me that it was not worth doing, that it was beautiful just standing on the platform with my arms stretched out (it was), what more joy could I get from jumping…the works. I still can’t believe it, for I had looked with a bit of contempt at the last two guys who did not jump. I will do it, I had told myself – I want to do it and I can do it.
But when you stand on the platform, you undergo a transformation. What I felt then can best be described as preparing to commit suicide – for that is what the 265-feet jump appears to be as you stand on the 18 inch strip of metal, the protective ropes notwithstanding. Had I been blindfolded, not known what I was going in for, I think I would have done it. Or if someone had pushed me, or if it was a situation of desperation, a last resort. But having had enough time to see what I was in for, my brain just did not let me release my defenses.
I had looked forward to the jump as a symbolic way of letting go of my fears and defenses. I tried ... but in the end, I didn’t have enough guts to leap out of my secure armor.
I still haven't given up though.
We reached the spot around 11 am, just in time to see a guy get strapped and stand on the narrow platform. He turned back and gave me a nervous smile, and I smiled back encouragingly. He stood for two minutes at the edge, shook his head, came back and sat down. All the while, his two friends (who were gonna jump next) were encouraging him in Spanish. I wandered around and took in the breathtaking view – lush green foliage all around, plunging into a narrow river strewn with huge boulders. Suddenly, I heard a shriek – the guy had jumped. We watched in amazement as he almost touched the river, shouting like mad all the while, and gently swayed below the bridge….there he’d be on one side, and then I’d run over to the other side of the bridge to catch a sight of him. When he came back, he was grinning like a Cheshire cat, all pumped up.
I was excited. What did that guy think as he stood on the platform, and how did he make the leap? I wanted to do this, I was gonna do this!
The second guy was cucumber kool. He’s gonna go down in a flash, without a sound – I thought. I was wrong. The moment he stood up, he started shaking his head, and after a few minutes of to-and-fro, he was back on the bridge, unstrapping his gear.
If you think too long, you’ll never jump – I told my companion knowledgeably, as if I’d done this all my life. I’d been chatting with the third guy, and he told me they were from Portugal. You jump? – he asked. I think so, though I’ll be shit scared – I answered. Im very scared too…the toughest part is getting yourself to make the jump. I’ve jumped from a parachute, but there was someone else who made the actual jump – I just followed him. Getting myself to jump will be tough. I nodded, mentally mapping out how I’d make the leap.
In the end, the third guy, the one who’d jumped from a parachute and who’d dragged his friends to do the bungee, couldn’t jump either.
I was next. I was cool, calm and confident, as I asked Charlie the instructor to repeat the instructions and tested out the clasp for the rope that I’d have to grasp for the return to the platform. I’d pumped myself up, and my strategy was clear – I wouldn’t look down. I’d look into the trees, stretch out my arms, and imagine that I was Jonathan Livingstone Seagull. Charlie says the women are better at this, remarked my Portuguese friend. I smiled back confidently – I wasn’t gonna prove Charlie wrong.
The moment I stood up on the platform, more than 250 feet above the river, I started blabbering, just as I’d seen the other guys do. I have to be crazy to be doing this, why am I doing this, etc. Initially, my knees were shaking, but after a few moments, I was steady. Move forward, your toes should be slightly outside the platform, commanded Charlie. Gingerly, holding the support to my left, I made my way forward. To gain confidence, I let go of the support and stretched out my arms horizontally. After a couple of minutes of nervousness, I managed to let go of the support, with my toes slightly outside the platform, and my arms stretched out. I was in position for the jump.
You’re good, now jump, said Charlie. I tried….but I just couldn’t. I closed my eyes, I thought all kinds of things to myself, I imagined myself dancing to music, but I just could not jump. I just couldn’t understand it. I was prepared for this, I had wanted to do it, I had thought about how I would do it, I wasn’t scared of death (the worst possible outcome) But the left side of my brain had sensed danger and completely taken over, and my feet appeared to be locked and glued to the spot. All the advice I had doled out to my predecessors was forgotten in a trice. I can’t do this, but I soo badly want to do this, can you push me Charlie? I asked in desperation. He wasn’t allowed to push me, but he stood behind me and gave me a countdown. Jump at zero, and he began, but the moment he’d reach two I’d ask him to start all over again.
I still believed I was gonna do it, but I think the Portuguese guys sensed otherwise. Adios, one of them called out to me, if you stand there too long you don’t make it, shouted another, echoing my thoughts of ten minutes ago.
In the end, I did not jump. As I stood there, my brain convinced me that it was not worth doing, that it was beautiful just standing on the platform with my arms stretched out (it was), what more joy could I get from jumping…the works. I still can’t believe it, for I had looked with a bit of contempt at the last two guys who did not jump. I will do it, I had told myself – I want to do it and I can do it.
But when you stand on the platform, you undergo a transformation. What I felt then can best be described as preparing to commit suicide – for that is what the 265-feet jump appears to be as you stand on the 18 inch strip of metal, the protective ropes notwithstanding. Had I been blindfolded, not known what I was going in for, I think I would have done it. Or if someone had pushed me, or if it was a situation of desperation, a last resort. But having had enough time to see what I was in for, my brain just did not let me release my defenses.
I had looked forward to the jump as a symbolic way of letting go of my fears and defenses. I tried ... but in the end, I didn’t have enough guts to leap out of my secure armor.
I still haven't given up though.
All that Jazz
My Saturday evening didn’t turn out as planned. I wanted to attend the Camerata Klaipeda by the Lithuanian group at the National Theatre, but by the time I managed to locate an ATM and then beat the pouring rains, all the tickets were sold out. Only uno – I pleaded with the lady in a mix of English and Spanish– but she shook her head sympathetically.
Disappointed, I made my way back to the Multiplaza for a late lunch. Upon entering the hotel, I bumped into my favorite Jazz band – a Cuban (saxophone), a Tico (guitar) and an American (piano). You never returned last Tuesday – exclaimed the Cuban & the Tico. I smiled apologetically – remembering my un-kept promise of returning after dinner for their music. I’ll compensate today, I promised as I settled down on a sofa close to the piano.
Surprisingly, I was the sole audience (the small area is usually packed), so I was asked for requests. Umm, play some Louis Armstrong, I said, trying hard to recall names of some famous jazz players (blush). An excellent rendering of What a Wonderful World was delivered, followed by My Funny Valentine. Inspired, I asked for Something Stupid –they didn’t have the sheet music, but the Tico knew a bit of the tune, and they made a valiant, albeit a slightly inaccurate, attempt to play it for me. Very sweet.
He sings really well – said the Tico of Mark, the pianist, as I went over to chat with them. Requests for songs followed, and Mark sang Cry me a River, Sorry seems to be the Hardest Word and a pretty song called Moon and Sand that I hadn’t heard before, to the accompaniment of the piano.
And oh yes, there was a 15 year old kid who wandered over from a party in the vicinity and stood watching Mark play for some time. You play well - she told him. He smiled with evident pride. Do you play – he asked conversationally. A bit – I learnt the piano when I was 8. And then, she sat down and belted out some awesome Chopin – mindblowing. I could see Mark was humbled.
Not a bad evening at all…so what if I didn’t hear the Lithuanian band, I had a trio of artistes perform just for me. Not to mention the Chopin maestro.
And I think to myself…It’s a wonderful world.
Disappointed, I made my way back to the Multiplaza for a late lunch. Upon entering the hotel, I bumped into my favorite Jazz band – a Cuban (saxophone), a Tico (guitar) and an American (piano). You never returned last Tuesday – exclaimed the Cuban & the Tico. I smiled apologetically – remembering my un-kept promise of returning after dinner for their music. I’ll compensate today, I promised as I settled down on a sofa close to the piano.
Surprisingly, I was the sole audience (the small area is usually packed), so I was asked for requests. Umm, play some Louis Armstrong, I said, trying hard to recall names of some famous jazz players (blush). An excellent rendering of What a Wonderful World was delivered, followed by My Funny Valentine. Inspired, I asked for Something Stupid –they didn’t have the sheet music, but the Tico knew a bit of the tune, and they made a valiant, albeit a slightly inaccurate, attempt to play it for me. Very sweet.
He sings really well – said the Tico of Mark, the pianist, as I went over to chat with them. Requests for songs followed, and Mark sang Cry me a River, Sorry seems to be the Hardest Word and a pretty song called Moon and Sand that I hadn’t heard before, to the accompaniment of the piano.
And oh yes, there was a 15 year old kid who wandered over from a party in the vicinity and stood watching Mark play for some time. You play well - she told him. He smiled with evident pride. Do you play – he asked conversationally. A bit – I learnt the piano when I was 8. And then, she sat down and belted out some awesome Chopin – mindblowing. I could see Mark was humbled.
Not a bad evening at all…so what if I didn’t hear the Lithuanian band, I had a trio of artistes perform just for me. Not to mention the Chopin maestro.
And I think to myself…It’s a wonderful world.
Monday, August 28, 2006
Lessons in Language
On my flight into Costa Rica, my companion asked me – Do you speak Spanish? No, I replied. Oh well, just remember to say ‘No avayol Espanol’ – it means ‘I do not understand Spanish’.
Sage advice, as these turned out to be words I have most often used in Costa Rica in the last six weeks (apart from buenas and gracias). In a country where most people do not understand or speak English, communication is a challenge – and since no (wo)man is an island, this leads to encounters that are sometimes exasperating, sometimes touching, and always interesting!
There are tons of exhilarating moments…like the cheery ‘Comos Estas, Ina’ of the guards in office each morning and evening, and the answering smile when I manage to murmur a ‘Muy bien’ back to them. I make it a point to greet the guards every morning and evening – they are friendly, cheerful and give me the best lessons in Spanish!
Then there are the appreciations of my accent by my colleagues (hear, hear), and the gentle corrections – like with poqueeto, which I am told I still don’t enunciate correctly. This usually results in friendly banter in which I make them parrot some Hindi words (the most fun is when I ask them to say dhanyawaad)
I will also treasure the shopkeeper in Grecia who could not understand a word of English, but came running out into the middle of the street to help me when I repeatedly lost my way and drove around in circles (he finally asked for a paper and drew the map on it…..God bless him!),
Many strangers have helped me order my lunch or dinner, or make a simple grocery purchase. But my moment of pride came when I managed to get a customized meal from my favorite Mexican haunt. I wanted chicken fajitas from a combo-meal, but without the combo of French fries and Coke, and with no cheese. I also wanted to take the meal home. I managed to use broken Spanish and sign language to communicate how I wanted my food, and succeeded.
To-Go, I told the lady. Si?, she questioned. Parajevar, I said, groping for the word and hoping I got it right, but inwardly preparing myself for a series of useless gesticulations. Si, Si, To Go, Si? She smiled back, as she packed the food. Si, Si, I replied in happy exultation - I’d managed to make her speak Engles!
Some of my most frustrating experiences have been communicating with the so-called bilingual staff at the hotel. Like when I wanted to contact the seamstress, and they couldn’t understand …I used all kinds of words like tailor, repair, mend etc., till I figured out the Spanish translation (costurera). Or when I called to enquire about making a call to a local mobile phone, and they connected me to the beauty parlor instead! The morning wake-up calls are quite funny….my dreams are interrupted by a spattering of Spanish till I groggily reply ‘No avayol Espanol’ - it sure wakes me up!
Then there are times when you call up a tour operator, and in response to your hesitant ‘Engles?, no avayaol Espanol’, you hear a smattering of Spanish, followed by the phone slamming down. Or when people keep on talking to you in Spanish even after they have heard and acknowledged that you do not understand it. Sigh. Or when that guy at Subway smirked at me when I was trying to explain what I wanted in my sandwich – I could have strangulated him!
Language - communication of meaning in any way; medium that is expressive, significant, etc. No wonder the joy of getting through far outweighs the despair of incomprehension.
Sage advice, as these turned out to be words I have most often used in Costa Rica in the last six weeks (apart from buenas and gracias). In a country where most people do not understand or speak English, communication is a challenge – and since no (wo)man is an island, this leads to encounters that are sometimes exasperating, sometimes touching, and always interesting!
There are tons of exhilarating moments…like the cheery ‘Comos Estas, Ina’ of the guards in office each morning and evening, and the answering smile when I manage to murmur a ‘Muy bien’ back to them. I make it a point to greet the guards every morning and evening – they are friendly, cheerful and give me the best lessons in Spanish!
Then there are the appreciations of my accent by my colleagues (hear, hear), and the gentle corrections – like with poqueeto, which I am told I still don’t enunciate correctly. This usually results in friendly banter in which I make them parrot some Hindi words (the most fun is when I ask them to say dhanyawaad)
I will also treasure the shopkeeper in Grecia who could not understand a word of English, but came running out into the middle of the street to help me when I repeatedly lost my way and drove around in circles (he finally asked for a paper and drew the map on it…..God bless him!),
Many strangers have helped me order my lunch or dinner, or make a simple grocery purchase. But my moment of pride came when I managed to get a customized meal from my favorite Mexican haunt. I wanted chicken fajitas from a combo-meal, but without the combo of French fries and Coke, and with no cheese. I also wanted to take the meal home. I managed to use broken Spanish and sign language to communicate how I wanted my food, and succeeded.
To-Go, I told the lady. Si?, she questioned. Parajevar, I said, groping for the word and hoping I got it right, but inwardly preparing myself for a series of useless gesticulations. Si, Si, To Go, Si? She smiled back, as she packed the food. Si, Si, I replied in happy exultation - I’d managed to make her speak Engles!
Some of my most frustrating experiences have been communicating with the so-called bilingual staff at the hotel. Like when I wanted to contact the seamstress, and they couldn’t understand …I used all kinds of words like tailor, repair, mend etc., till I figured out the Spanish translation (costurera). Or when I called to enquire about making a call to a local mobile phone, and they connected me to the beauty parlor instead! The morning wake-up calls are quite funny….my dreams are interrupted by a spattering of Spanish till I groggily reply ‘No avayol Espanol’ - it sure wakes me up!
Then there are times when you call up a tour operator, and in response to your hesitant ‘Engles?, no avayaol Espanol’, you hear a smattering of Spanish, followed by the phone slamming down. Or when people keep on talking to you in Spanish even after they have heard and acknowledged that you do not understand it. Sigh. Or when that guy at Subway smirked at me when I was trying to explain what I wanted in my sandwich – I could have strangulated him!
Language - communication of meaning in any way; medium that is expressive, significant, etc. No wonder the joy of getting through far outweighs the despair of incomprehension.
Tuesday, August 15, 2006
Perhaps this could have stayed unstated...
I mentioned An Equal Music in my previous post. Given my current state of musical exaltation :-), I can't resist the temptation to quote this epigraph to the book, dedicated by Seth to his partner Philippe Honore':
Perhaps this could have stayed unstated.
Had our words turned to other things
In the grey park, the rain abated,
Life would have quickened other strings.
I list your gifts in this creation:
Pen, paper, ink and inspiration,
Peace to the heart with touch or word,
Ease to the soul with note and chord.
How did that walk, those winter hours,
Occasion this? No lightning came;
Nor did I sense, when touched by flame,
Our story lit with borrowed powers -
Rather, by what our spirits burned,
Embered in words, to us returned.
To me, these words, like any beautiful composition, have a timeless beauty to them - lyrical, magical and eternal.
Perhaps this could have stayed unstated.
Had our words turned to other things
In the grey park, the rain abated,
Life would have quickened other strings.
I list your gifts in this creation:
Pen, paper, ink and inspiration,
Peace to the heart with touch or word,
Ease to the soul with note and chord.
How did that walk, those winter hours,
Occasion this? No lightning came;
Nor did I sense, when touched by flame,
Our story lit with borrowed powers -
Rather, by what our spirits burned,
Embered in words, to us returned.
To me, these words, like any beautiful composition, have a timeless beauty to them - lyrical, magical and eternal.
Food, Music and Shopping
This weekend I decided to take it easy. I mean, getting a bit tired of the 'what-I-am-doing-this weekend' planning....I just wanted to have no To-Do's for a change.
So dragged along two Ticos and a Philipino-American for some yummilicous Indian food. I was going to have Indian food after 6 weeks - so I was obviously quite excited. Went to this place called Taj Mahal which is really pretty - it's actually a beautiful house converted into a restaurant. The weather was awesome, so we decided to eat in the courtyard, dust and bugs notwithstanding. Got really excited when I saw a tandoor, and even more when the cook turned out to be from Punjab - felt so good to finally talk to someone in Hindi!
We had a complete orgy - lassi, seekh kabab, lamb biryani, garlic naan, yellow dal, mughlai chicken - all under the pretext of 'introducing' Indian food to my companions. sigh. Travelling around the world has made me appreciate better the variety and richness (literally too!) of Indian food ... I mean this place served only North Indian food and had at least 50 items on its menu! Now if you were to just add South Indian (not just idli-dosa-sambar but more eclectic stuff), Konkani and Bengali cuisine to this, can you imagine how long the list would be !! Incomparable.
Did quite a bit of shopping too - sigh. I'm a compulsive shopaholic - one of those strange creatures for whom blowing up money is a sure-shot boost of adrenalin. Aargh.
The highlight of the weekend was Sunday evening, when I headed to the opulent Nacional Teatro for a performance by eight young cellists from Berlin. What a fantastic performance - I am amazed that a single instrument can create so much beauty !! I particularly enjoyed the performances by a trio (two men and a woman), and also some of the pieces where all eight performers played together - mindblowing! Can you imagine what coordination of individual brilliance it takes to get eight different composers to create melody and harmony with one instrument? And these weren't original compositions mind you - playing anyone else's music is always moe difficult, but when it's the likes of Bach and Mozart - you get the picture.
I loved the way one of the cellists would start off in the lead, then the second would take over and the first would fade away and complement the new lead, then the third, and so on. It's magic, pure magic....a social fusion of individual expression. As I closed my eyes to soak in the performance, I realized how meaningless words are for music of this nature. A thought that seemed to be reflected in the frequent exchange of glances and smiles between the cutest couple of the group.
"Music, such music, is a sufficient gift. Why ask for happiness; why hope to grieve? It is enough, it is to be blessed enough, to live from day to day and to hear such music – not too much, or the soul could not sustain it – from time to time."
Vikram' Seth's last lines in An Equal Music could not have said it better.
So dragged along two Ticos and a Philipino-American for some yummilicous Indian food. I was going to have Indian food after 6 weeks - so I was obviously quite excited. Went to this place called Taj Mahal which is really pretty - it's actually a beautiful house converted into a restaurant. The weather was awesome, so we decided to eat in the courtyard, dust and bugs notwithstanding. Got really excited when I saw a tandoor, and even more when the cook turned out to be from Punjab - felt so good to finally talk to someone in Hindi!
We had a complete orgy - lassi, seekh kabab, lamb biryani, garlic naan, yellow dal, mughlai chicken - all under the pretext of 'introducing' Indian food to my companions. sigh. Travelling around the world has made me appreciate better the variety and richness (literally too!) of Indian food ... I mean this place served only North Indian food and had at least 50 items on its menu! Now if you were to just add South Indian (not just idli-dosa-sambar but more eclectic stuff), Konkani and Bengali cuisine to this, can you imagine how long the list would be !! Incomparable.
Did quite a bit of shopping too - sigh. I'm a compulsive shopaholic - one of those strange creatures for whom blowing up money is a sure-shot boost of adrenalin. Aargh.
The highlight of the weekend was Sunday evening, when I headed to the opulent Nacional Teatro for a performance by eight young cellists from Berlin. What a fantastic performance - I am amazed that a single instrument can create so much beauty !! I particularly enjoyed the performances by a trio (two men and a woman), and also some of the pieces where all eight performers played together - mindblowing! Can you imagine what coordination of individual brilliance it takes to get eight different composers to create melody and harmony with one instrument? And these weren't original compositions mind you - playing anyone else's music is always moe difficult, but when it's the likes of Bach and Mozart - you get the picture.
I loved the way one of the cellists would start off in the lead, then the second would take over and the first would fade away and complement the new lead, then the third, and so on. It's magic, pure magic....a social fusion of individual expression. As I closed my eyes to soak in the performance, I realized how meaningless words are for music of this nature. A thought that seemed to be reflected in the frequent exchange of glances and smiles between the cutest couple of the group.
"Music, such music, is a sufficient gift. Why ask for happiness; why hope to grieve? It is enough, it is to be blessed enough, to live from day to day and to hear such music – not too much, or the soul could not sustain it – from time to time."
Vikram' Seth's last lines in An Equal Music could not have said it better.
Mindless Monday
Horrible day.
Spent hours filing my expense claims - my company has attained the pinacle of complexity in this goddamn activity. Felt soo irritated...all non value-add. Did a couple of administrative stuff - email followups, same-time clarifications, all that jazz.
Feel so useless...didnt do one 'meaningful' thing today (does not need to be necessarily in work)...terrible way to begin the week!
Hopefully it can only get better from here. Tomorrow is another day!
Spent hours filing my expense claims - my company has attained the pinacle of complexity in this goddamn activity. Felt soo irritated...all non value-add. Did a couple of administrative stuff - email followups, same-time clarifications, all that jazz.
Feel so useless...didnt do one 'meaningful' thing today (does not need to be necessarily in work)...terrible way to begin the week!
Hopefully it can only get better from here. Tomorrow is another day!
Friday, August 11, 2006
Othello and a Pirate
I finally managed to see Pirates Part 2. Frankly I was quite disappointed. I am a big Pirates and Johnny Depp fan, so maybe I was expecting too much. But I thought the first half-hour was a complete waste. All that tribal stuff was complete mambo jambo and entirely expendable. And just when the movie picked up pace and got us interested with the possibility of a romance between Depp and the fair maiden, it ended! Bah. So evidently intended for a sequel. And Davy Jones is slimy (literally!), but not half as wicked as Captain Barbossa - thank God Geoffrey Rush is returning in the sequel to the sequel.
My biggest grouse with the movie is that it had too little of Johnny Depp - he was the star of the first movie! And since he (alongwith Barbossa) had all the witty dialogues, the movie was like a 500-page P Smith novel with P Smith getting only 10 lines. Not enough, not enough.
Saw Omkara at a small Indian theatre in Atlanta...most of the women were wearing pretty embroidered stoles so it was like being back in Delhi in autumn :-) The language is gross, but I liked the movie. I especially liked the fact that he used a very relevant political backdrop, yet stuck to the story without getting mired in the politics. And the music is mind blowing.
I thought Saif's acting was awesome - he's growing into a very versatile actor! He looked more evil than Ajay Devgan, who I suspect has a canned shot of himself with eyes narrowed and perputual scowl and sells it to all his directors. Cheaper by the dozen...standardization at its best. Kareena was very ordinary, reducing a meaty role full of possibilities to pathetic wimpiness. Wonder how a Rani would have up scorched up a character like that.
My biggest grouse with the movie is that it had too little of Johnny Depp - he was the star of the first movie! And since he (alongwith Barbossa) had all the witty dialogues, the movie was like a 500-page P Smith novel with P Smith getting only 10 lines. Not enough, not enough.
Saw Omkara at a small Indian theatre in Atlanta...most of the women were wearing pretty embroidered stoles so it was like being back in Delhi in autumn :-) The language is gross, but I liked the movie. I especially liked the fact that he used a very relevant political backdrop, yet stuck to the story without getting mired in the politics. And the music is mind blowing.
I thought Saif's acting was awesome - he's growing into a very versatile actor! He looked more evil than Ajay Devgan, who I suspect has a canned shot of himself with eyes narrowed and perputual scowl and sells it to all his directors. Cheaper by the dozen...standardization at its best. Kareena was very ordinary, reducing a meaty role full of possibilities to pathetic wimpiness. Wonder how a Rani would have up scorched up a character like that.
What are you reading today?
I had some time to my flight while leaving the US, so I obviously ended up at a bookstore. I havent bought a book for a month now, so I was getting the itch to spend some money :-) Something well paced, engrossing and witty is just what I need to get over my blues, eh? Si.
The first section had the 'How-To' books - The Eight Habbit, Nice Girls Dont get the Corner Office/Man of Dreams, Why Men Fall Asleep After Sex ...all that kind of crap. I hate self-help books - I think they are an oxymoron anyway coz self-help means YOU help yourself. The gyan these books contain sounds very good but I would either not want to or be unable to implement most of it.
The next was the post Bridget Jones chick flicks - The Shopaholics series and other such stories about wacky-poor-girl who is out-of-job and/or out-of-money but gets handsome-rich-charming-man-of-dreams at end of novel after crazy/silly/sometimes-funny,always-unreal encounters. I call these the modern MB's. You enjoy reading them sometimes, hell, you want to read them sometimes when you want complete mindlessness, but after you have read a few they get tiresome. The problem is not that they are unreal and have no story (you don't read such stuff if you want a story), the problem is with the writing - there is no humor or wit at all. It's like someone has run a random program over a million words and generated these books. Gimme a Georgette Heyer or a Dorothy Sayers or even Precious Ramotswe for a chick flick!
The next was the 'popular authors' category - Dan Brown, Mario Puzo, Crickton, Archer, King - the lot. All wearisomely-very-similar. Aargh.
Then there was the 'poignant story' category - The Nicholas Sparks kinda sob-stuff. Any author who wants to be taken seriously today will write a poignant and moving tale about love or life and its purpose/meaning - preferably both together. Which is fine with me - some of them are quite nice to read. The problem is when these books become succesful, so the Sparks and Morrisons and Smiths of the world think that they can go on writing poignant stories for ever. A random program again, but on a different set of words. Sigh. Im giving up hope by now.
Is this what the world is reading today? Where are the good books that make you laugh, that make you cry, that make you think, that sometimes make you take a leap of faith? And each different from the other....whatever happened to variety in writing? When I think of some of my favorite writers - Maugham, Steinbeck, Russell, or even Seth and Rushdie - they always had a new tale to tell. Vikram Seth even has new ways of telling his tales - that's what makes him so interesting. Or if they had the same theme - like Stevenson (adventure) or Wodehouse (BritButler humor - right ho Jeeves!) or even Asimov, Bradbury or Adams - they made each work so thrilling and absorbing that you are left gasping for more. And the subtle humor that would light up even the most sordid tales - that's what makes a good book to my mind.
A great book is one that tells you different things each time you read it. You understand it bit by bit, and it never ceases to wonder or amaze you. It's like love, or old wine - it gets better with time. Most of the stuff that I saw at the bookstore was like a one-night stand - read it, shut it, forget it.
The first section had the 'How-To' books - The Eight Habbit, Nice Girls Dont get the Corner Office/Man of Dreams, Why Men Fall Asleep After Sex ...all that kind of crap. I hate self-help books - I think they are an oxymoron anyway coz self-help means YOU help yourself. The gyan these books contain sounds very good but I would either not want to or be unable to implement most of it.
The next was the post Bridget Jones chick flicks - The Shopaholics series and other such stories about wacky-poor-girl who is out-of-job and/or out-of-money but gets handsome-rich-charming-man-of-dreams at end of novel after crazy/silly/sometimes-funny,always-unreal encounters. I call these the modern MB's. You enjoy reading them sometimes, hell, you want to read them sometimes when you want complete mindlessness, but after you have read a few they get tiresome. The problem is not that they are unreal and have no story (you don't read such stuff if you want a story), the problem is with the writing - there is no humor or wit at all. It's like someone has run a random program over a million words and generated these books. Gimme a Georgette Heyer or a Dorothy Sayers or even Precious Ramotswe for a chick flick!
The next was the 'popular authors' category - Dan Brown, Mario Puzo, Crickton, Archer, King - the lot. All wearisomely-very-similar. Aargh.
Then there was the 'poignant story' category - The Nicholas Sparks kinda sob-stuff. Any author who wants to be taken seriously today will write a poignant and moving tale about love or life and its purpose/meaning - preferably both together. Which is fine with me - some of them are quite nice to read. The problem is when these books become succesful, so the Sparks and Morrisons and Smiths of the world think that they can go on writing poignant stories for ever. A random program again, but on a different set of words. Sigh. Im giving up hope by now.
Is this what the world is reading today? Where are the good books that make you laugh, that make you cry, that make you think, that sometimes make you take a leap of faith? And each different from the other....whatever happened to variety in writing? When I think of some of my favorite writers - Maugham, Steinbeck, Russell, or even Seth and Rushdie - they always had a new tale to tell. Vikram Seth even has new ways of telling his tales - that's what makes him so interesting. Or if they had the same theme - like Stevenson (adventure) or Wodehouse (BritButler humor - right ho Jeeves!) or even Asimov, Bradbury or Adams - they made each work so thrilling and absorbing that you are left gasping for more. And the subtle humor that would light up even the most sordid tales - that's what makes a good book to my mind.
A great book is one that tells you different things each time you read it. You understand it bit by bit, and it never ceases to wonder or amaze you. It's like love, or old wine - it gets better with time. Most of the stuff that I saw at the bookstore was like a one-night stand - read it, shut it, forget it.
Thursday, August 10, 2006
Indian Salsa
Browsing through the music collection at a gift shop at the Costa Rica-Nicaragua border, I stumbled upon an album titled World Salsa Beats. Salsa music from Mexico, Brazil, Zambiar, India, Timbuctoo and Latvia (no those weren’t the exact places, but a good imagination largely compensates for a bad memory), it ran.
Indian Salsa?? I turned the CD in happy anticipation, only to be left dazed and perplexed. A Shaan remix of a forgettable Hindi oldie (I cant even recall the song now..and I have grown up listening to 60’s and 70’s music thanks to my Dad) was India’s proud representation for world Salsa. Eh??
Indian Salsa?? I turned the CD in happy anticipation, only to be left dazed and perplexed. A Shaan remix of a forgettable Hindi oldie (I cant even recall the song now..and I have grown up listening to 60’s and 70’s music thanks to my Dad) was India’s proud representation for world Salsa. Eh??
Wednesday, August 02, 2006
City of Blinding Lights
So here I am...finally reached the USA !!!
Couldnt contain my excitement as the plane was landing...I was literally jumping in my seat like a little kid. The sun was just about to depart - at 7.30 in the evening! Wow looks like Im gonna have long days here.
Getting out of the Atlanta airport is a complete nightmare - in font 40, bold. You go thru the Customs check (answering inane questions, giving fingers and eye prints), wait for ure luggage to arrive, collect it, then re-deposit it (!!!), go thru ure security scan (take off shoes, laptop, blah-blah), take an airport train to reach the last stop, find ure way thru several levels to finally reach the last and the messiest stop - baggage re-claim - where you hunt for your poor lil bag amongst luggage from at least ten other flites on the same belt. Phew. They say if you can drive in India, you can drive anywhere in the world. I say if you can get outta a US airport unscathed, you can pretty much travel anywwhere in the world.
Of course the worst security check I had was at Charles de Gaulle, where the poker-faced lady asked me questions like 'Are you carrying weapons that can be used for attacking co-passengers' and 'Has your bag been used to carry forbidden substances' etc....I mean, does she really expect someone who is doing anything of that to declare aye aye !! And the building is soo ugly.. not what you'd expect from the gateway to the most romantic city in the world !
I'd asked the hotel to arrange for a pickup, and my worst fears came true when I couldnt locate him. I needed quarters to make a phone call, but no one seemed to have them! One lady helpfully loaned me two, which got quicly exhausted in a call that ended up in the answering machine. whew. finally found a cute lil kid who had tons if quarters but insisted - I can't spend my money. Finally convinced her that she wasnt spending it - she was just exchanging it for a nice, big note (my sales pitch for the crumpled dollar bill in my hand)...she finally consented after confirming with her Dad, God bless her, and keep her smiling!
As the cab drove across concrete, metal and glass buildings, I felt comfortable - as if I had come home. And I thought to myself - this is my world. This world of cars and street lights and signs in english and people and buildings all along - this is where I belong to. The mountains and the valleys and the blue skies and Spanish chivalry is good for a vacation, but I'm really an outsider out there.
Neon heart, day-glow eyes, The city lit by fireflies...And I miss you when you're not around
(Sorry U2!)
Couldnt contain my excitement as the plane was landing...I was literally jumping in my seat like a little kid. The sun was just about to depart - at 7.30 in the evening! Wow looks like Im gonna have long days here.
Getting out of the Atlanta airport is a complete nightmare - in font 40, bold. You go thru the Customs check (answering inane questions, giving fingers and eye prints), wait for ure luggage to arrive, collect it, then re-deposit it (!!!), go thru ure security scan (take off shoes, laptop, blah-blah), take an airport train to reach the last stop, find ure way thru several levels to finally reach the last and the messiest stop - baggage re-claim - where you hunt for your poor lil bag amongst luggage from at least ten other flites on the same belt. Phew. They say if you can drive in India, you can drive anywhere in the world. I say if you can get outta a US airport unscathed, you can pretty much travel anywwhere in the world.
Of course the worst security check I had was at Charles de Gaulle, where the poker-faced lady asked me questions like 'Are you carrying weapons that can be used for attacking co-passengers' and 'Has your bag been used to carry forbidden substances' etc....I mean, does she really expect someone who is doing anything of that to declare aye aye !! And the building is soo ugly.. not what you'd expect from the gateway to the most romantic city in the world !
I'd asked the hotel to arrange for a pickup, and my worst fears came true when I couldnt locate him. I needed quarters to make a phone call, but no one seemed to have them! One lady helpfully loaned me two, which got quicly exhausted in a call that ended up in the answering machine. whew. finally found a cute lil kid who had tons if quarters but insisted - I can't spend my money. Finally convinced her that she wasnt spending it - she was just exchanging it for a nice, big note (my sales pitch for the crumpled dollar bill in my hand)...she finally consented after confirming with her Dad, God bless her, and keep her smiling!
As the cab drove across concrete, metal and glass buildings, I felt comfortable - as if I had come home. And I thought to myself - this is my world. This world of cars and street lights and signs in english and people and buildings all along - this is where I belong to. The mountains and the valleys and the blue skies and Spanish chivalry is good for a vacation, but I'm really an outsider out there.
Neon heart, day-glow eyes, The city lit by fireflies...And I miss you when you're not around
(Sorry U2!)
Thursday, July 27, 2006
Sunset
As we waited for the elevator last evening, we saw a perfect globe of glowing amber poised over the horizon, standing out against a background of white, blue and grey. Reminded me of an ace swimmer poised to dive into the unknown deep. And just like the swimmer, the amber globe began its rapid descent, so that by the time we reached the ground floor, the sun had disappeared into the vast white-blue ocean, leaving behind only traces of golden light to remind us of its beauty, and hope in our hearts that it would be back in its kingdom tomorrow.
There is something magical about watching a sunset.
As I gazed at the white mist settling over the mountains that frame the central valley, I couldn’t help thinking that it’s like nature is retiring for the day too, settling into a comfortable white blanket to rest and recover … to leave behind all thoughts of joy and sorrow, for there is work to do on the morrow.
Tomorrow is another day...but for now it’s time to go home.
There is something magical about watching a sunset.
As I gazed at the white mist settling over the mountains that frame the central valley, I couldn’t help thinking that it’s like nature is retiring for the day too, settling into a comfortable white blanket to rest and recover … to leave behind all thoughts of joy and sorrow, for there is work to do on the morrow.
Tomorrow is another day...but for now it’s time to go home.
Habit
Costa Rica has managed another first – managed to bring consistency into the life of someone who hates habit and routine.
After about ten days of experimentation with restaurants and food, I have (subconsciously!) settled into a dinner routine that has very low variation. For my last meal of the day, I alternate between Matsuri and Rosti Pollos. From Matsuri, I order a Matsuri salad and Shake (Salmon) Maki or Salmon Skin Roll. From Rosti Pollos, I alternate between Chicken Fajitas and Quesadillas, both with 'maas papa fritos' (extra nachos – sigh!). Usually I brew a cup of tea in the room to go with dinner.
Aarrrgh. I cant believe it. I love variety, hate standardization (except while preaching it at work : -)), certainly hate routines. But I suspect I am beginning to enjoy my new found dinner schedule. Sheesh, I need to escape from here before it’s too late – my mom will actually believe there is hope for me if she hears of this.
Today is the Matsuri day.
After about ten days of experimentation with restaurants and food, I have (subconsciously!) settled into a dinner routine that has very low variation. For my last meal of the day, I alternate between Matsuri and Rosti Pollos. From Matsuri, I order a Matsuri salad and Shake (Salmon) Maki or Salmon Skin Roll. From Rosti Pollos, I alternate between Chicken Fajitas and Quesadillas, both with 'maas papa fritos' (extra nachos – sigh!). Usually I brew a cup of tea in the room to go with dinner.
Aarrrgh. I cant believe it. I love variety, hate standardization (except while preaching it at work : -)), certainly hate routines. But I suspect I am beginning to enjoy my new found dinner schedule. Sheesh, I need to escape from here before it’s too late – my mom will actually believe there is hope for me if she hears of this.
Today is the Matsuri day.
Where are the dogs?
While hunting for a Sushi place close to my hotel, I passed a huge mansion where I could hear some dogs barking. Somehow it sounded out of place, till I realized why – I hadn’t seen any dog in Costa Rica till now. And then it struck me – I haven’t heard/seen any street dogs in any of the countries I have visited (excluding Pakistan)! Let me say that again - across nine countries in five continents, I have never, ever seen a stray dog. Lots of pampered and well pruned pet dogs (though not necessarily well mannered), especially in US & Europe, but not a single stray dog.
Weird, given that you practically live with street dogs back home. I am usually greeted with at least five street dogs in my house lane, and the number multiplies after 11 pm. Several of my friends have repeatedly petitioned the government about the menace of these night creatures close to their homes – one of them carries a stick with him if he is returning home after 10. As a kid, I remember the sense of adventure in visiting my aunt’s house, because it was haunted by a street dog that would bite any non-family member who visited the house. Oh, the fun in sneaking through the back door, always on the look out for a sudden appearance of the deadly animal, and the thrill of horror when my favorite uncle had to take 16 stitches when he dared to enter the house in the dog’s presence.
Whoever said it’s a dog’s world was probably born in the sub-continent.
Weird, given that you practically live with street dogs back home. I am usually greeted with at least five street dogs in my house lane, and the number multiplies after 11 pm. Several of my friends have repeatedly petitioned the government about the menace of these night creatures close to their homes – one of them carries a stick with him if he is returning home after 10. As a kid, I remember the sense of adventure in visiting my aunt’s house, because it was haunted by a street dog that would bite any non-family member who visited the house. Oh, the fun in sneaking through the back door, always on the look out for a sudden appearance of the deadly animal, and the thrill of horror when my favorite uncle had to take 16 stitches when he dared to enter the house in the dog’s presence.
Whoever said it’s a dog’s world was probably born in the sub-continent.
Wednesday, July 19, 2006
Stupid Innovations
The conference room I sit in has an auto power saver thing...which means that if the sensor does not perceive any movement for about ten minutes, the lights go off automatically.
Since I sit here alone, there isn't any movement of the kind that the sensor expects. So every ten minutes the lights go off, and I have to stand up and do a little jig or wave my hands vigorously at the sensor. Duh.
Since I sit here alone, there isn't any movement of the kind that the sensor expects. So every ten minutes the lights go off, and I have to stand up and do a little jig or wave my hands vigorously at the sensor. Duh.
Friday, July 14, 2006
Costa Rica Fast Facts
Info gleaned through my conversations with locals....
The name Costa Rica means Rich Coast – supposedly christened so by Christopher Columbus when he passed by the coast and saw people wearing jade necklaces.
Tempted by the promise of riches, the Spanish invaded the region, only to discover that the name was a mirage. Costa Rica did not turn out to be a storehouse of gold or other precious metals, and the Spanish used this as a destination for outcasts and exiles…much like Andaman islands was for India during British rule.
Costa Rica is the first country in the world to officially abolish the Army. We are a peace loving country, say the people, and it shows.
Coffee, banana and sugarcane grow aplenty here. However, in recent times numerous coffee plantations have been sold off, to be converted into shopping malls, luxurious condominiums and villas. Pity.
A majority of the population is Christian Catholic. However, the country is secular to other religions. The government is democratically elected.
Cars are imported into the country from the US, and carry an excise duty of 58%! Nonetheless, one sees various luxurious brands on the road. Apparently, there was a time when Costa Rica had the highest number of BMW’s per number of inhabitants anywhere in the world! SUV’s are very popular, possible partly on account of the largely mountainous terrain and the poor state of the roads. Nissan and Toyota appear to be the favorite car brands – Hyundai is perceived as definitely down market. I still love my Santro though J
Most of my colleagues in office are Industrial Engineers – looks like that was the hot career option here!
Since the area is prone to earthquakes, the government has mandated that no building can be taller than 4 floors. So the office buildings and malls are prettily landscaped villas spread over acres of land…quite scenic.
The phrases that I use most often are Buenas (Good), Gracias (Thanks) and No avayol Espanol (I don’t know Spanish!).
Some of the problems faced by the country are similar to ours. Bad roads, for instance (though I personally feel their roads are far better than ours…sigh). I had an interesting conversation with a colleague where he said Costa Rica’s two major problems are lack of planning and absence of a common identity. Again, problems faced by India too.
Mountain biking is very popular in the country. Most of my colleagues belong to a group that goes mountain biking at least once a fortnight. In fact, my 50 year co-passenger on the flight was also an avid biker. No wonder most people look so fit and athletic!
The locals appear to be fairly conscious about their appearance. Most women wear light make up and matching jewellery, and the men gel-style their hair. Almost everyone has fab bods, thanks to a love for physical activity and gym workouts. I notice that many people brush their teeth after lunchtime - something I saw in Thailand too, another country that is very appearance-conscious. Must say though that people carry their age well...most of my 29-30 year old colleagues don't look a day over 25!
Recently, the country has witnessed a lot of migration from neighboring Nicaragua, something the locals obviously don’t like. When I was telling a colleague that I didn’t like downtown Costa Rica, he explained it was because it is full of Nicaraguans!
Tourism is a mainstay of the economy. Not surprising, given the proximity to the US, the fantastic beaches, rainforests and volcanoes, and the relative inexpensiveness of the place for American tourists (The local currency is a Colon, and 1 USD equals 500 Colons…most people convert their money into dollars since they think its safer). Surprisingly, however, all road signs are in Spanish, most people do not understand English….even my hotel voice mail is in Spanish!
The country witnesses only two seasons – dry and rainy. During the rainy season, it is usually sunny during the morning, and it begins to rain heavily during the afternoon. However, most days have been cloudy, with a minor sprinking of rain sometimes. The only day during my trip that the weather stuck to its schedule was the Sunday I decided to drive out into the mountains. Arrrgh. More on that later.
The name Costa Rica means Rich Coast – supposedly christened so by Christopher Columbus when he passed by the coast and saw people wearing jade necklaces.
Tempted by the promise of riches, the Spanish invaded the region, only to discover that the name was a mirage. Costa Rica did not turn out to be a storehouse of gold or other precious metals, and the Spanish used this as a destination for outcasts and exiles…much like Andaman islands was for India during British rule.
Costa Rica is the first country in the world to officially abolish the Army. We are a peace loving country, say the people, and it shows.
Coffee, banana and sugarcane grow aplenty here. However, in recent times numerous coffee plantations have been sold off, to be converted into shopping malls, luxurious condominiums and villas. Pity.
A majority of the population is Christian Catholic. However, the country is secular to other religions. The government is democratically elected.
Cars are imported into the country from the US, and carry an excise duty of 58%! Nonetheless, one sees various luxurious brands on the road. Apparently, there was a time when Costa Rica had the highest number of BMW’s per number of inhabitants anywhere in the world! SUV’s are very popular, possible partly on account of the largely mountainous terrain and the poor state of the roads. Nissan and Toyota appear to be the favorite car brands – Hyundai is perceived as definitely down market. I still love my Santro though J
Most of my colleagues in office are Industrial Engineers – looks like that was the hot career option here!
Since the area is prone to earthquakes, the government has mandated that no building can be taller than 4 floors. So the office buildings and malls are prettily landscaped villas spread over acres of land…quite scenic.
The phrases that I use most often are Buenas (Good), Gracias (Thanks) and No avayol Espanol (I don’t know Spanish!).
Some of the problems faced by the country are similar to ours. Bad roads, for instance (though I personally feel their roads are far better than ours…sigh). I had an interesting conversation with a colleague where he said Costa Rica’s two major problems are lack of planning and absence of a common identity. Again, problems faced by India too.
Mountain biking is very popular in the country. Most of my colleagues belong to a group that goes mountain biking at least once a fortnight. In fact, my 50 year co-passenger on the flight was also an avid biker. No wonder most people look so fit and athletic!
The locals appear to be fairly conscious about their appearance. Most women wear light make up and matching jewellery, and the men gel-style their hair. Almost everyone has fab bods, thanks to a love for physical activity and gym workouts. I notice that many people brush their teeth after lunchtime - something I saw in Thailand too, another country that is very appearance-conscious. Must say though that people carry their age well...most of my 29-30 year old colleagues don't look a day over 25!
Recently, the country has witnessed a lot of migration from neighboring Nicaragua, something the locals obviously don’t like. When I was telling a colleague that I didn’t like downtown Costa Rica, he explained it was because it is full of Nicaraguans!
Tourism is a mainstay of the economy. Not surprising, given the proximity to the US, the fantastic beaches, rainforests and volcanoes, and the relative inexpensiveness of the place for American tourists (The local currency is a Colon, and 1 USD equals 500 Colons…most people convert their money into dollars since they think its safer). Surprisingly, however, all road signs are in Spanish, most people do not understand English….even my hotel voice mail is in Spanish!
The country witnesses only two seasons – dry and rainy. During the rainy season, it is usually sunny during the morning, and it begins to rain heavily during the afternoon. However, most days have been cloudy, with a minor sprinking of rain sometimes. The only day during my trip that the weather stuck to its schedule was the Sunday I decided to drive out into the mountains. Arrrgh. More on that later.
Here comes the sun again
I just can’t understand it…a week into into Costa Rica, and I still feel strangely depressed. This couldn’t be happening to me, an avid traveler, a professed lover of all things new and beautiful…I stuck out for 1.5 years in one of my jobs simply coz whenever I’d plan to leave they’d send to me some exotic country!
I hate to admit it, but part of it is home sickness…yes, looks like I am finally beginning to get attached to a place…and Bangalore of all places! I guess I miss my fully reclined routine there…late mornings, weekend drives, long walks in fantastic weather, and tons of freedom to try out arbit things. Don’t like the thought though…comfort zones make me uncomfortable.
Another reason is language. Everything, including the road signs are in Spanish, everyone around me speaks in Spanish….my colleagues revert to Spanish over lunch, everyone in the hotel greets me in Spanish. After the initial novelty of a new language wears off and you have mastered the few cute phrases, you long to hear something familiar. So I have been playing English/Hindi songs in the background at work. Comfort zone again? This gets worser and worser.
I also realize that, being used to over populated India, I miss seeing people around me. Here a neighbour’s house will be at least a mile away from yours…I was completely taken aback to see a crowded mall over the weekend, coz I barely see two people on the highway. Looks like the Pied Piper of capitalist dreams has his lure here too...malls are as popular here as back home.
But probably the biggest reason is the long leave of absence of the sun. I have arrived at the beginning of the rainy season in Costa Rica…which means that when it isn’t raining, it is cloudy. I have barely seen the sun come out since I arrived here…coupled with the mountainous landscape and the scare population, it is a depressing sight...somehow it appears that the clouds have coated everything in a dreary soot of grey.
Two days ago when I was going to return my car, Senor Sun was out for a brief stroll, and the countryside appeared completely transformed to my light-starved eyes. Now I understand why the Brits make such a big deal about sunshine.
I hate to admit it, but part of it is home sickness…yes, looks like I am finally beginning to get attached to a place…and Bangalore of all places! I guess I miss my fully reclined routine there…late mornings, weekend drives, long walks in fantastic weather, and tons of freedom to try out arbit things. Don’t like the thought though…comfort zones make me uncomfortable.
Another reason is language. Everything, including the road signs are in Spanish, everyone around me speaks in Spanish….my colleagues revert to Spanish over lunch, everyone in the hotel greets me in Spanish. After the initial novelty of a new language wears off and you have mastered the few cute phrases, you long to hear something familiar. So I have been playing English/Hindi songs in the background at work. Comfort zone again? This gets worser and worser.
I also realize that, being used to over populated India, I miss seeing people around me. Here a neighbour’s house will be at least a mile away from yours…I was completely taken aback to see a crowded mall over the weekend, coz I barely see two people on the highway. Looks like the Pied Piper of capitalist dreams has his lure here too...malls are as popular here as back home.
But probably the biggest reason is the long leave of absence of the sun. I have arrived at the beginning of the rainy season in Costa Rica…which means that when it isn’t raining, it is cloudy. I have barely seen the sun come out since I arrived here…coupled with the mountainous landscape and the scare population, it is a depressing sight...somehow it appears that the clouds have coated everything in a dreary soot of grey.
Two days ago when I was going to return my car, Senor Sun was out for a brief stroll, and the countryside appeared completely transformed to my light-starved eyes. Now I understand why the Brits make such a big deal about sunshine.
Wednesday, July 12, 2006
How much is life worth
Remember 21 grams? Yes the Sean Penn movie with the tagline - how much does life weigh? And then it claimed that 'we all lose 21 grams at the exact moment of our death... everyone. The weight of a stack of nickels. The weight of a chocolate bar. The weight of a hummingbird...'
After yet another series of blasts in Bombay, I cant help wondering - how much is life worth in our country? It appears that the authorities had prior info on the blasts, but were not sure where they would occur and hence took no action. In a country of a billion, life is cheap. But how cheap?
In the west, they would condemn this as an act of terrorism and immediately go and bomb some country. That is one extreme. In India, we forget about it in 10 minutes, because death is an integral part of our lives. That's another extreme.
After yet another series of blasts in Bombay, I cant help wondering - how much is life worth in our country? It appears that the authorities had prior info on the blasts, but were not sure where they would occur and hence took no action. In a country of a billion, life is cheap. But how cheap?
In the west, they would condemn this as an act of terrorism and immediately go and bomb some country. That is one extreme. In India, we forget about it in 10 minutes, because death is an integral part of our lives. That's another extreme.
Saturday, July 08, 2006
State of my Mind?
I haven't really ever found a place that I call home
I never stick around quite long enough to make it
I apologize that once again I'm not in love
But it's not as if I mind that your heart ain't exactly breaking
It's just a thought, only a thought
But if my life is for rent and I don't learn to buy
Well I deserve nothing more than I get
'cause nothing I have is truly mine
I've always thought
that I would love to live by the sea
To travel the world alone
and live my life more simply
I have no idea what's happened to that dream
'cause there's really nothing left here to stop me
It's just a thought, only a thought
But if my life is for rent and I don't learn to buy
Well I deserve nothing more than I get
'cause nothing I have is truly mine
If my life is for rent
And I don't learn to buy
Well I deserve nothing more than I get
'cause nothing I have is truly mine
Ohh.. my heart is a shield and I won't let it down
While I am so afraid to fail so I won't even try
Well how can I say I'm alive
If my life is for rent
And I don't learn to buy
Well I deserve nothing more than I get '
cause nothing I have is truly mine
If my life is for rent
and I don't learn to buy
Well I deserve nothing more than I get
'cause nothing I have is truly mine
'cause nothing I have is truly mine
'cause nothing I have is truly mine
'cause nothing I have is truly mine
Life for Rent
Dido
I never stick around quite long enough to make it
I apologize that once again I'm not in love
But it's not as if I mind that your heart ain't exactly breaking
It's just a thought, only a thought
But if my life is for rent and I don't learn to buy
Well I deserve nothing more than I get
'cause nothing I have is truly mine
I've always thought
that I would love to live by the sea
To travel the world alone
and live my life more simply
I have no idea what's happened to that dream
'cause there's really nothing left here to stop me
It's just a thought, only a thought
But if my life is for rent and I don't learn to buy
Well I deserve nothing more than I get
'cause nothing I have is truly mine
If my life is for rent
And I don't learn to buy
Well I deserve nothing more than I get
'cause nothing I have is truly mine
Ohh.. my heart is a shield and I won't let it down
While I am so afraid to fail so I won't even try
Well how can I say I'm alive
If my life is for rent
And I don't learn to buy
Well I deserve nothing more than I get '
cause nothing I have is truly mine
If my life is for rent
and I don't learn to buy
Well I deserve nothing more than I get
'cause nothing I have is truly mine
'cause nothing I have is truly mine
'cause nothing I have is truly mine
'cause nothing I have is truly mine
Life for Rent
Dido
Friday, July 07, 2006
Will you erase me?
Blessed are the forgetful, for they get the better even of their blunders.
How happy is the blameless Vestal's lot!
The world forgetting, by the world forgot
Eternal sunshine of the spotless mind!
Each pray'r accepted, and each wish resign'd
Look at it out here, it's all falling apart. I'm erasing you and I'm happy!
How happy is the blameless Vestal's lot!
The world forgetting, by the world forgot
Eternal sunshine of the spotless mind!
Each pray'r accepted, and each wish resign'd
Look at it out here, it's all falling apart. I'm erasing you and I'm happy!
Match Point
I finally managed to see Match Point - on a long trans-Atlantic flight. I had wanted to watch it since someone forwarded me this quote (which is narrated at the beginning of the movie):
The man who said "I'd rather be lucky than good" saw deeply into life. People are often afraid to realize how much of an impact luck plays. There are moments in a tennis match where the ball hits the top of the net, and for a split second, remains in mid-air. With a litte luck, the ball goes over, and you win. Or maybe it doesn't, and you lose.
Quite an awesome concept - it completely ridicules the idea of 'moral justice', claiming everything in life is pure chance. Some people get lucky, others just get by (to quote Notting Hill). As the main protagonist himself says towards the end - It would be fitting if I were apprehended... and punished. At least there would be some small sign of justice - some small measure of hope for the possibility of meaning.
Something I tend to agree with - I think human beings take themselves, and their goodness, too seriously. And end up getting caught in a mirage of conscious, morality and justice.
There is an interesting statement somewhere in the middle, when the characters are debating 'easy way outs' - Faith is the path of least resistance, claims Jonathan Rhys Myers. Amen.
The man who said "I'd rather be lucky than good" saw deeply into life. People are often afraid to realize how much of an impact luck plays. There are moments in a tennis match where the ball hits the top of the net, and for a split second, remains in mid-air. With a litte luck, the ball goes over, and you win. Or maybe it doesn't, and you lose.
Quite an awesome concept - it completely ridicules the idea of 'moral justice', claiming everything in life is pure chance. Some people get lucky, others just get by (to quote Notting Hill). As the main protagonist himself says towards the end - It would be fitting if I were apprehended... and punished. At least there would be some small sign of justice - some small measure of hope for the possibility of meaning.
Something I tend to agree with - I think human beings take themselves, and their goodness, too seriously. And end up getting caught in a mirage of conscious, morality and justice.
There is an interesting statement somewhere in the middle, when the characters are debating 'easy way outs' - Faith is the path of least resistance, claims Jonathan Rhys Myers. Amen.
Wednesday, June 28, 2006
Headlines
The Page 3 of a decent newspaper (the regular paper, not the City Page 3) is a fair indication of the issues that the city is grappling in.
In Bangalore, the papers talk about the crumbling infrastructure and the ineffective goverance, as the city sit precariously on the edge of an abyss, very similar to the deep holes that dominate the city's non-existent roads. It is sad to see such a beautiful city run to seed on account of no governance and high corruption. No wonder wikipedia has this to say on the city - However, as a large and growing metropolis in the developing world, Bangalore continues to struggle with problems such as air pollution, traffic congestion, and crime.
In Delhi, blessed with sufficient funds and undoubtedly the best roads in the country, the papers continue to report the latest rape and suicide cases, day on day.....in a strange twist of justice, no woman - rich or poor, child or old - feels safe in a city where rapes occur, repeatedly, in broad daylight in some of the most crowded areas of town. Even as young kids getting 86% in their Boards commit suicide coz the cut-offs for a decent course in a respectable college are at least 90%.
In Bangalore, the papers talk about the crumbling infrastructure and the ineffective goverance, as the city sit precariously on the edge of an abyss, very similar to the deep holes that dominate the city's non-existent roads. It is sad to see such a beautiful city run to seed on account of no governance and high corruption. No wonder wikipedia has this to say on the city - However, as a large and growing metropolis in the developing world, Bangalore continues to struggle with problems such as air pollution, traffic congestion, and crime.
In Delhi, blessed with sufficient funds and undoubtedly the best roads in the country, the papers continue to report the latest rape and suicide cases, day on day.....in a strange twist of justice, no woman - rich or poor, child or old - feels safe in a city where rapes occur, repeatedly, in broad daylight in some of the most crowded areas of town. Even as young kids getting 86% in their Boards commit suicide coz the cut-offs for a decent course in a respectable college are at least 90%.
As Time Goes By
Distance– both in terms of time and space – sometimes gives you a perspective that is otherwise missing. I realized this when I headed back home after nearly 7 months
Waiting for my luggage at the Domestic Airport, I see guys with military and punk cuts dressed in bright clothes and thick gold chains, yapping away loudly on the cell phones while furtively looking around to check out the babes (and see who was checking them out). Welcome to Delhi. As I looked roof-wards in amusement, I noticed for the first time that the high windows above the conveyor belt were set in stained glass – a cheap variety, but stained glass nonetheless. Surprise, surprise – and this is just the beginning.
I got my first shock as I happily trooped towards the familiar spot where my family usually waits for me at the airport. My parents, both of them, looked completely shriveled up! While Mom has been unwell for some time and has been telling me that she has shed mass, I was completely taken aback to see my always-ruddy-and-healthy dad looking decidedly weak. With a tinge of sadness, I realized that whoever remarked that people shrink as they grow old was possibly right – my parents were growing old. A fact that my father laughingly admitted to in the car when I pointed out that he seemed to have grown weak.
Surprisingly, my Mom did not comment this time on how I’d grown fat – in fact she even conceded that I seemed to have lost a few pounds! Amen.
Two days later, when I went to my mom’s school to accompany her for a shopping trip, I got my second shock. I bumped into the guy who had taken me through the paces when I first began driving. A tall, handsome man bubbling with youthful exuberance, he had just the right dash of brashness that is so exciting to someone who has just gotten behind the steering wheel. No wonder I took to heart his exhortations of driving without fear, much to my Dad’s chagrin (it was his car at the receiving end) - 'kya hoga, gaadi thook hi jayegi na..gadi chaloge to thooke gee hi. Par Daro mat'
But now, I gazed upon a man whose hair had more silver than black, the once proud shoulders had a slight stoop and there was a definite corpulence around the waist. As I looked in incredulity at him – it’s been only a few years since I learnt how to drive – I suddenly realized that just as people around me were aging, so was I.
Sometimes you realize you are growing old only when you perceive the ‘oldness’ in other people, especially those associated with your youth.
Waiting for my luggage at the Domestic Airport, I see guys with military and punk cuts dressed in bright clothes and thick gold chains, yapping away loudly on the cell phones while furtively looking around to check out the babes (and see who was checking them out). Welcome to Delhi. As I looked roof-wards in amusement, I noticed for the first time that the high windows above the conveyor belt were set in stained glass – a cheap variety, but stained glass nonetheless. Surprise, surprise – and this is just the beginning.
I got my first shock as I happily trooped towards the familiar spot where my family usually waits for me at the airport. My parents, both of them, looked completely shriveled up! While Mom has been unwell for some time and has been telling me that she has shed mass, I was completely taken aback to see my always-ruddy-and-healthy dad looking decidedly weak. With a tinge of sadness, I realized that whoever remarked that people shrink as they grow old was possibly right – my parents were growing old. A fact that my father laughingly admitted to in the car when I pointed out that he seemed to have grown weak.
Surprisingly, my Mom did not comment this time on how I’d grown fat – in fact she even conceded that I seemed to have lost a few pounds! Amen.
Two days later, when I went to my mom’s school to accompany her for a shopping trip, I got my second shock. I bumped into the guy who had taken me through the paces when I first began driving. A tall, handsome man bubbling with youthful exuberance, he had just the right dash of brashness that is so exciting to someone who has just gotten behind the steering wheel. No wonder I took to heart his exhortations of driving without fear, much to my Dad’s chagrin (it was his car at the receiving end) - 'kya hoga, gaadi thook hi jayegi na..gadi chaloge to thooke gee hi. Par Daro mat'
But now, I gazed upon a man whose hair had more silver than black, the once proud shoulders had a slight stoop and there was a definite corpulence around the waist. As I looked in incredulity at him – it’s been only a few years since I learnt how to drive – I suddenly realized that just as people around me were aging, so was I.
Sometimes you realize you are growing old only when you perceive the ‘oldness’ in other people, especially those associated with your youth.
Monday, May 22, 2006
Rain
FINALLY, the skies opened up in Bangalore. After months of sweltering and exclaiming Gosh-wotz-wrong-with-Blore's-weather, the Gods finally smiled down. And boy - did it pour! I could hear the war cries of the clouds and smell the wet earth inside my sound-proof glass encased office....thankful that some things don't work, sometimes.
We went out to get a bit of the action. There is something about the skies opening up that makes you want to forget everything and just go out there and get drenched - maybe its a sort of a cleansing of the mind's cobwebs,or simply a desire to go back to the mad spontaneity of childhood. All around me I could see happy faces - people like me who'd come out to catch the first showers. Funny how weather can make such a difference to how you feel.
Feeling happy and uplifted, I was humming a cute Hindi oldie (Choti si kahani mein, baarishon ki paani mein, saari vaadi beh gayi). Someone close by was humming Raindrops keep falling on my head....yikes, what a bummer ! Who wants dejection when I was dreaming of getting soaked in the rain and then heading home to a steaming cup of masala chai and yummy pakodas.
And then it struck me - most of the English songs based on rain that I could recall had an undercurrent of melancholy/sadness -be it Raindrops Keep Falling on my Head or November Rain or All I Needed was the Rain - all are about rain bringing back memories of a loss or washing away a loss (mostly love, no surprises on that). Au contraire, a lot of romance and naughtiness in Hindi songs surfaces in the rain - be it the beautiful Rim Jhim Rim Jhim from 1942 a love story, the full-of-hope Ghanan Ghanan from Lagaan or the soft Saawan Barse Tarse Dil, not to mention the numerous songs where love/passion blossoms with a wet jig ...from Raj Kapoor-Nargis to the SRK-Kajol.
Well. Some people feel the rain, others just get wet.
*created 9 May
We went out to get a bit of the action. There is something about the skies opening up that makes you want to forget everything and just go out there and get drenched - maybe its a sort of a cleansing of the mind's cobwebs,or simply a desire to go back to the mad spontaneity of childhood. All around me I could see happy faces - people like me who'd come out to catch the first showers. Funny how weather can make such a difference to how you feel.
Feeling happy and uplifted, I was humming a cute Hindi oldie (Choti si kahani mein, baarishon ki paani mein, saari vaadi beh gayi). Someone close by was humming Raindrops keep falling on my head....yikes, what a bummer ! Who wants dejection when I was dreaming of getting soaked in the rain and then heading home to a steaming cup of masala chai and yummy pakodas.
And then it struck me - most of the English songs based on rain that I could recall had an undercurrent of melancholy/sadness -be it Raindrops Keep Falling on my Head or November Rain or All I Needed was the Rain - all are about rain bringing back memories of a loss or washing away a loss (mostly love, no surprises on that). Au contraire, a lot of romance and naughtiness in Hindi songs surfaces in the rain - be it the beautiful Rim Jhim Rim Jhim from 1942 a love story, the full-of-hope Ghanan Ghanan from Lagaan or the soft Saawan Barse Tarse Dil, not to mention the numerous songs where love/passion blossoms with a wet jig ...from Raj Kapoor-Nargis to the SRK-Kajol.
Well. Some people feel the rain, others just get wet.
*created 9 May
Jungle Retreat, Masinagudi
The Jungle Retreat at Masinagudi (www.jungleretreat.com) is a great weekend getaway for those living in and around Bangalore.
The location, at the foot of the Nilgiris, is breathtaking - you can see the grand hills looming in front of you as you lounge about during the day, and a carpet of stars at night - the perfect ground to test your knowledge of constellations. The cottages are warm and comfortable, and are spaced sufficiently apart from each other to provide privacy. Dont be surprised to find a deer sharing your balcony when you come out to breathe the fresh morning air.
There are activities for both the adventurous and the lazy - trekking, safari and a variety of indoor games. The guided trek through the Niligiris is fairly challenging, but there are ample opportunities for photographers, even though we didnt come across any animals (except a few frightened goats!). The jungle safari will have more than its share of elephants - we were lucky enough to sight a small panther, apart from the deers and the bisons. There are also wonderful photography opportunities during the safari - lovely flowers of all hues, cacti, and butterflies.
The food is delicious, the music great and the bar well stocked. Snooker, chess, fuzeball, carrom and a variety of other indoor games means you have enough to do.
I had a fairly hectic trip, but I did manage to snatch a blissful hour on a hammock. Amidst the gentle chirping of the birds and the awe inspiring Nilgiris, you feel a serenity that is difficult to describe. The staff is courteous, and I thoroughly enjoyed my amateur sparring at snooker. The bar is willing to invent a drink for you if you sketch our your preferences - the Cosmo is quite nice.
The tree house is breathtaking and oh-so-royal, and the view from the top made us forget our initial doubts about whether it'd hold our combined weight! And I loved the variety of music that they had.
Rohan, the owner, an enthusiastic wildlife photographer, has some amazing pics put up - do check out the python swallowing the deer. And check out his photo album - it shows the place while it was getting constructed, and also some famous visitors, including the Little Master - yeah none other than Sachin.
Caution: cell phones do not work here. I personally love the feeling of being un-connected and un-reachable, but for workaholics who cannot live without checking their mails or barking orders on the cell phone, this is going to be a true break from working!
Tuesday, May 09, 2006
On Beauty
So finally decided to test D's ravings about the salon at the Leela. I have a nagging doubt that it wont be as 'inexpensive' as she claims it to be, but wot the hell. Think I can try it once. And I need some pampering.
Some highights from the visit:
I was greeted at the entrace with blood red curtains - ohmigawd ! But otherwise the place was quite nice - pleasant lavender smell, the soft murmurings of the numerous staff (they outnumbered the customers), the creamy leather chairs and old-wood furniture and panelling - this is clearly a place for luxury!
As I looked around, I realized that the customer profile here was different from most other parlors - no college girls/ young women, but mostly middle aged women with lotttts of money and time to spare. All elegantly dressed, but what I noticed most were the sandals. Carrie Bradshaw would have cried at the awesome display of footwear in that square foot of land. All beauties - strappy, elegant, glimmering with the color of money...it seemed that Gucci or Versace had randomly selected those women to model their finest creations.
Sigh. Well at least Im not wearing my 3 year old platforms.
As I was getting my head oil massage, I saw the most shocking sight of them all - a kid, not older than 8 years, was getting her hair colored AND highlighted. Ohmigawd. To think that the first time I colored my hair was when I was 25, and even then I was so scared I was convinced my hair would drop off as punishment or something.. Granted I was a bit late in the coming, but isnt 8 years old a bit too young?
Damn, they should have an age restriction on this stuff, else I'll lose the few things where I can claim to be 'mast' in my teenage sis's eyes!
Some highights from the visit:
I was greeted at the entrace with blood red curtains - ohmigawd ! But otherwise the place was quite nice - pleasant lavender smell, the soft murmurings of the numerous staff (they outnumbered the customers), the creamy leather chairs and old-wood furniture and panelling - this is clearly a place for luxury!
As I looked around, I realized that the customer profile here was different from most other parlors - no college girls/ young women, but mostly middle aged women with lotttts of money and time to spare. All elegantly dressed, but what I noticed most were the sandals. Carrie Bradshaw would have cried at the awesome display of footwear in that square foot of land. All beauties - strappy, elegant, glimmering with the color of money...it seemed that Gucci or Versace had randomly selected those women to model their finest creations.
Sigh. Well at least Im not wearing my 3 year old platforms.
As I was getting my head oil massage, I saw the most shocking sight of them all - a kid, not older than 8 years, was getting her hair colored AND highlighted. Ohmigawd. To think that the first time I colored my hair was when I was 25, and even then I was so scared I was convinced my hair would drop off as punishment or something.. Granted I was a bit late in the coming, but isnt 8 years old a bit too young?
Damn, they should have an age restriction on this stuff, else I'll lose the few things where I can claim to be 'mast' in my teenage sis's eyes!
Bookseller of Kabul
Back at home. The Bookseller of Kabul had seemed interesting. At least the page I had opened it on - which prompted me to buy the book. So I settled down to read it. Boy, what a depressing book. Its not that she has written the book in a depressing manner - there is no over dramatizing, no attempt to make things appear morbid than they are, no searching for cynical hidden meanings and connections (ala Milan Kundera). In fact, the book is fairly journalistic - no nonsense and (hopefully) factual. But the facts themselves leave you with the feeling that there is no hope at all for the people of Afghanistan. And especially the women. It is quite evident that the writer herself was moved by the hopeless fate of the women born into that society, for quite sub consciously, her stories bring out the dismal situation that all the women protagonists - young and old, ugly and beautiful - are stuck in.
In a world which focuses largely on the joys of positive thinking and holistic healing and discovering your inner joy, the story of the Bookseller of Kabul comes as a rude demonstration of the helpness that a man's place of birth can put him into. I know that a lot of our postive thinkers would exhort me to look at this as an example of the resilience of the human spirit, and give me examples of the potter's wheel and coffee beans and what not to show how fate tests the strongest (so what if they have never gone through this so-called suffering). But I would rather face reality for it is - stark, naked, and for the women in Afghanistan - brutal and worse-than-death.
In a world which focuses largely on the joys of positive thinking and holistic healing and discovering your inner joy, the story of the Bookseller of Kabul comes as a rude demonstration of the helpness that a man's place of birth can put him into. I know that a lot of our postive thinkers would exhort me to look at this as an example of the resilience of the human spirit, and give me examples of the potter's wheel and coffee beans and what not to show how fate tests the strongest (so what if they have never gone through this so-called suffering). But I would rather face reality for it is - stark, naked, and for the women in Afghanistan - brutal and worse-than-death.
Hair and Now
So Khursheed refused to give me a hair cut. Some gyan about can-only-be-trimmed-right-now. Damn. And i went up about trilling to everyone to watch out for my new look, woke up early on aSaturday morning AND took a shower. Need to drown my gum.
So headed to Blossom. I can look for some second hand Somerset Maugham's and Russells. And I'll need some Georgette Heyers and Dorothy Sayers for the plane, rite? Right.
Mmmm the smells of a book shop...not the plastic and vinyl smell of the modern stores where you have the books neadtly categorized and labeled....but a nice old shop where you can inhale the musty smell that comes from pages that have been turned and marked and treasured, over and over again. And the joy of hunting for a book, and stumbling upon a beauty that you didnt even know existed, the thrill of finding several orginal editions of your favorite book, and trying to choose between them ...
So I finally ended up buying eleven books. AND came back to Blossoms (supposedly to buy a pen), and bought two more. Ohmigawd. I gotta, gotta make an inventory of my un-read books. And Ive already 'started' at least 6 books...sheesh. Okie I promise I wont read any of these till I finish the back log.
And didn't I want enough money as a kid to buy all the books that I wanted to? And now that I have that money, I still feel guilty about buying them. Why? Coz now I dont have enough time to read those books. Damn. Life always slips in an invisible caveat which you notice only when it's too late.
So headed to Blossom. I can look for some second hand Somerset Maugham's and Russells. And I'll need some Georgette Heyers and Dorothy Sayers for the plane, rite? Right.
Mmmm the smells of a book shop...not the plastic and vinyl smell of the modern stores where you have the books neadtly categorized and labeled....but a nice old shop where you can inhale the musty smell that comes from pages that have been turned and marked and treasured, over and over again. And the joy of hunting for a book, and stumbling upon a beauty that you didnt even know existed, the thrill of finding several orginal editions of your favorite book, and trying to choose between them ...
So I finally ended up buying eleven books. AND came back to Blossoms (supposedly to buy a pen), and bought two more. Ohmigawd. I gotta, gotta make an inventory of my un-read books. And Ive already 'started' at least 6 books...sheesh. Okie I promise I wont read any of these till I finish the back log.
And didn't I want enough money as a kid to buy all the books that I wanted to? And now that I have that money, I still feel guilty about buying them. Why? Coz now I dont have enough time to read those books. Damn. Life always slips in an invisible caveat which you notice only when it's too late.
Thursday, May 04, 2006
Thank you for the music
Watching Big play his parents' favorite song on a gramophone in Sex & The City today brought back some cherished memories from my childhood.
I know this may sound arrogant, but let me say it anyway : For those who have never heard music played on a gramophone - my condolences.
My first introduction to music was listening to Jagjit & Chitra Singh weaving their magic on a round black plastic disc....There is something about listening to a song on a gramophone - there is a richness to the timbre that I think is hard to find in even the fanciest surround sound/home theatre systems. It seems as if the singer is sitting in front of you, singing for you, only you. The feeling gets reinforced as the little needle takes your hand and gently leads you on a journey of love, hope, despair and beauty. Its the perfect make believe world, with the singer moving the potter's wheel, giving shape to your dreams...and your life. Fiction becomes fact till nothing else matters....just how music should be.
When I was about 12, we shifted into a new house. While packing (there were no Movers & Packers then), my mom threw away all my Dad's records - a priceless collection of at least 100, if not more - as junk. Even the kabadi would not have them. The beautiful gramophone - with its solid wooden casing, the smooth red velvet casing inside and the i-belong-to-a-different-era smell- was also given away, probably to the maid or the dhobi. So much for Rafi, Kishore, Manna De, Hemant Da, Geeta Di and the Mangeshkars.
I would give anything to have some of those records back. I still harbour hopes of buying a gramophone someday - supposedly for my Dad, but I suspect its more for myself.
Don't it always seems to go, that you dont know what you have till its gone ... They paved paradise, and put up a parking lot.
Yesterday's junk is today's loss.... and tomorrow's fortune.
I know this may sound arrogant, but let me say it anyway : For those who have never heard music played on a gramophone - my condolences.
My first introduction to music was listening to Jagjit & Chitra Singh weaving their magic on a round black plastic disc....There is something about listening to a song on a gramophone - there is a richness to the timbre that I think is hard to find in even the fanciest surround sound/home theatre systems. It seems as if the singer is sitting in front of you, singing for you, only you. The feeling gets reinforced as the little needle takes your hand and gently leads you on a journey of love, hope, despair and beauty. Its the perfect make believe world, with the singer moving the potter's wheel, giving shape to your dreams...and your life. Fiction becomes fact till nothing else matters....just how music should be.
When I was about 12, we shifted into a new house. While packing (there were no Movers & Packers then), my mom threw away all my Dad's records - a priceless collection of at least 100, if not more - as junk. Even the kabadi would not have them. The beautiful gramophone - with its solid wooden casing, the smooth red velvet casing inside and the i-belong-to-a-different-era smell- was also given away, probably to the maid or the dhobi. So much for Rafi, Kishore, Manna De, Hemant Da, Geeta Di and the Mangeshkars.
I would give anything to have some of those records back. I still harbour hopes of buying a gramophone someday - supposedly for my Dad, but I suspect its more for myself.
Don't it always seems to go, that you dont know what you have till its gone ... They paved paradise, and put up a parking lot.
Yesterday's junk is today's loss.... and tomorrow's fortune.
Thursday, April 20, 2006
Future Backward
Someone sent me a corny forward which said - live everyday as if its ure last day.
I find it much more convenient to assume my last day is really far off, and hence continue my lazy state of existence :-) But it got me thinking - if i knew i had very few days left in the world, wot are the things I'd really want to do, that I'd feel sorry thatI hadn't done.
The most important is travel - go to all those places that I want to see in the world, do a bharat darshan on train - i really wanna go to the unexplored nooks and corners of the country. especially do Leh & Ladakh. Therez soooo very much to see - i wonder whether I'll ever be able to do even half of it.
Next is a lotta other stuff ...read all the books that i want to - backlog from my existing collection plus all those books i really wanna read but stop myself from buying; something related to music; go bungee jumping. etc-etc.
But travel is the most important. If I really knew that I had just a year to live, I would immediately quit my job and gallavant all over the world. And I would probably end up covering a large majority of the places I really wanna go to. coz I'd have no 'future' to think or worry about.
But the fact that I assume that I will live longer, and hence can/will do it later, stops me from doing it right now. I.e., the possibility of the future limits the reality of my present. For better or for worse - only time shall tell.
Arrrrgh.
I find it much more convenient to assume my last day is really far off, and hence continue my lazy state of existence :-) But it got me thinking - if i knew i had very few days left in the world, wot are the things I'd really want to do, that I'd feel sorry thatI hadn't done.
The most important is travel - go to all those places that I want to see in the world, do a bharat darshan on train - i really wanna go to the unexplored nooks and corners of the country. especially do Leh & Ladakh. Therez soooo very much to see - i wonder whether I'll ever be able to do even half of it.
Next is a lotta other stuff ...read all the books that i want to - backlog from my existing collection plus all those books i really wanna read but stop myself from buying; something related to music; go bungee jumping. etc-etc.
But travel is the most important. If I really knew that I had just a year to live, I would immediately quit my job and gallavant all over the world. And I would probably end up covering a large majority of the places I really wanna go to. coz I'd have no 'future' to think or worry about.
But the fact that I assume that I will live longer, and hence can/will do it later, stops me from doing it right now. I.e., the possibility of the future limits the reality of my present. For better or for worse - only time shall tell.
Arrrrgh.
Tuesday, April 18, 2006
April Sunday
Sunday....one of the best days that I have seen in Blore for a long time. Such awesome, awesome weather - the kind that makes you see beauty in everything and everyone around you, the kind that makes you want to just stay still and soak in the moment, without brooding over the past or worrying about the future. Its almost like the first few days of being in love - nothing can wipe out the smile on your face, for God's in Heaven, all's right with the world.
So we pulled out our bean bags and floor cushions and plonked ourselves on the balcony. From the second floor that I stay on, the nearby houses are barely visible...all you can see are the tops of the trees gently pirouetting with the wind and the clouds battling away in the sky. Also there are no street noises, so it almost feels like you are away from the town. I had a book with me, but I was barely reading - it was much nicer trying to catch an occasional sweet melody amongst the chirping of the birds (the wild cackles of the crows mostly), the secret whisperings amongst the trees, and the faintly delicious smell of pakodas cooking somewhere close by, playing hide and seek with us.
And there was Deeksha - watching DCH on the comp and giggling loudly to herself. Each time we'd hear her cackles, we'd laugh out loud ourselves. No reason really - we were just happy.
No one spoke, but we each had a faint smile on our faces...for in the mad confusions of our lives, we had suddenly, and briefly, stumbled upon a haven of bliss.
So we pulled out our bean bags and floor cushions and plonked ourselves on the balcony. From the second floor that I stay on, the nearby houses are barely visible...all you can see are the tops of the trees gently pirouetting with the wind and the clouds battling away in the sky. Also there are no street noises, so it almost feels like you are away from the town. I had a book with me, but I was barely reading - it was much nicer trying to catch an occasional sweet melody amongst the chirping of the birds (the wild cackles of the crows mostly), the secret whisperings amongst the trees, and the faintly delicious smell of pakodas cooking somewhere close by, playing hide and seek with us.
And there was Deeksha - watching DCH on the comp and giggling loudly to herself. Each time we'd hear her cackles, we'd laugh out loud ourselves. No reason really - we were just happy.
No one spoke, but we each had a faint smile on our faces...for in the mad confusions of our lives, we had suddenly, and briefly, stumbled upon a haven of bliss.
Tuesday, April 11, 2006
Of God, and Living
" If I were not an atheist, I would believe in a God who would choose to save people on the basis of the totality of their lives and not the pattern of their words. I think he would prefer an honest and righteus atheist to a TV preacher whose every word is God, God, God and whose every deed is foul, foul, foul. "
Isaac Asimov
"Razors pain you, Rivers are damp,
Acids stain you, And drugs cause cramp.
Guns aren't lawful, Nooses give,
Gas smells awful. You might as well live."
Dorothy Parker
"Yield not thy neck to fortune's yoke, but let the dauntless mind still ride in triumph over all mischance."
William Shakespeare, King Henry VI
Footnote: The clubbing together of God and Living is purely coincincidental, and should not be perceived to indicate any connection between the two, stated or otherwise :-)
Isaac Asimov
"Razors pain you, Rivers are damp,
Acids stain you, And drugs cause cramp.
Guns aren't lawful, Nooses give,
Gas smells awful. You might as well live."
Dorothy Parker
"Yield not thy neck to fortune's yoke, but let the dauntless mind still ride in triumph over all mischance."
William Shakespeare, King Henry VI
Footnote: The clubbing together of God and Living is purely coincincidental, and should not be perceived to indicate any connection between the two, stated or otherwise :-)
Goa Diaries - Jan 2006
Reached Panaji Friday morning. Nice shower, breakfast at Mongini's. Then we headed to Donna Paula - had a big debate on who's the guy and whos' the girl amongst them :-)
Lunch at Mum's Kitchen, then headed to Miramar beach. quiet place. we wanted more excitement, so headed to Calangute. drove a water scootie, the waves hitting u on the face are soo awesome ! then Bret taught me to 'ride' the big waves, so splashed about in the water for some time. headed back to the hotel, dressed up and went to this hep place called Club Cabana. we were certainly over dressed for that place !!! tried dancing to some trance music, but finally gave up. there was some arbit swim suit show going on - there were even men dressed in bikinis !! the rest of the gang got busy watching that...i went to a corner and dropped off to sleep : -)
Saturday was wedding day. went for a quick splash to Bagha beach. came back around lunch time, drove about an hour to the wedding village, got caught in a traffic jam (in Goa !!!) on the way so missed the first half of the service : -( the church looked really old and was beautiful (i saw a pic of it in a Jetwings later!).
then headed for the reception - loved the way they celebrate their weddings - the welcome circle, the wedding tip tap dance, the jiving....a friend of mine taught me to jive, so danced and danced. Kept on putting my arm around his waist instead of his shoulder though (blush). When they called us to dance inside the circle, he kept on telling me - put your hand on my shoulder. Hehe.
came back to the hotel around midnight, changed and four of us headed to Tito's on 2 bikes. the drive was awesome, and then we found this shack by the beach that was playing good school time music...just sat & watched the waves wash up and the full moon and the stars - i simply loved it. headed back around 5 in the morning - i crashed, while two enthu guys actually stayed awake throughout and went back to Bagha at 7 !
Wot i loved:
the beaches, the water
the roads !!! they r soo drivable. wanna ride a scootie there next time.
the pretty cottages and houses by the side of the roads
the people - everyone kinda lets u be - u really dont feel you are in india
Lunch at Mum's Kitchen, then headed to Miramar beach. quiet place. we wanted more excitement, so headed to Calangute. drove a water scootie, the waves hitting u on the face are soo awesome ! then Bret taught me to 'ride' the big waves, so splashed about in the water for some time. headed back to the hotel, dressed up and went to this hep place called Club Cabana. we were certainly over dressed for that place !!! tried dancing to some trance music, but finally gave up. there was some arbit swim suit show going on - there were even men dressed in bikinis !! the rest of the gang got busy watching that...i went to a corner and dropped off to sleep : -)
Saturday was wedding day. went for a quick splash to Bagha beach. came back around lunch time, drove about an hour to the wedding village, got caught in a traffic jam (in Goa !!!) on the way so missed the first half of the service : -( the church looked really old and was beautiful (i saw a pic of it in a Jetwings later!).
then headed for the reception - loved the way they celebrate their weddings - the welcome circle, the wedding tip tap dance, the jiving....a friend of mine taught me to jive, so danced and danced. Kept on putting my arm around his waist instead of his shoulder though (blush). When they called us to dance inside the circle, he kept on telling me - put your hand on my shoulder. Hehe.
came back to the hotel around midnight, changed and four of us headed to Tito's on 2 bikes. the drive was awesome, and then we found this shack by the beach that was playing good school time music...just sat & watched the waves wash up and the full moon and the stars - i simply loved it. headed back around 5 in the morning - i crashed, while two enthu guys actually stayed awake throughout and went back to Bagha at 7 !
Wot i loved:
the beaches, the water
the roads !!! they r soo drivable. wanna ride a scootie there next time.
the pretty cottages and houses by the side of the roads
the people - everyone kinda lets u be - u really dont feel you are in india
Let bygones be...
Salma, my cook, pounces on the opportunity to talk whenever you enter the kitchen. So no wonder she started again when I came in this morning for my breakfast.
There I was, pouring my cereal, making the right sounds but barely listening to her tale of relatives caught in an accident, till she said – jaane waala to aata nahin hai na didi. I stopped in the middle of heaping Waheeda Rahman’s muesli into the bowl. So true.
And it ain’t just true for the dead.
There I was, pouring my cereal, making the right sounds but barely listening to her tale of relatives caught in an accident, till she said – jaane waala to aata nahin hai na didi. I stopped in the middle of heaping Waheeda Rahman’s muesli into the bowl. So true.
And it ain’t just true for the dead.
Thursday, April 06, 2006
Adventures of a globe trotter : Beirut, Dec 2002
Next to Heidelberg, one of the most enchanting places on earth, at least amongst the places that I have visited : -) I was in Beirut for just about 4 days on work - at that time, I could not afford extending these official trips into personal ones : -(
But the memory remains....a letter that I wrote to my friends, and some pics. Visit www.downtownbeirut.com for a visual treat of the city.
Hello people !!! Am back from Beirut - had a smashing, rocking time - I wish I cud've stayed there for ever !! The city is beautiful - it turned out to be totally different from wot I'd thought it would be. The Mediterrean Sea was a stone's throw from my hotel - & with itz waters so blue, it was absolutely stunning. If you thought Marine Drive is happening, you've gotta walk by the coast to see how happening it is - my first day I had lunch at a place rite across the Sea - amazzzing experince.
The most happening place in Beirut is Downtown - the center of the city which also has some of the best buildings (architecturally) in town. All the buildings had been destroyed during the Civil War, & they have actually resurrected all of them by re-doing the exteriors while maintaining the original architecture .
My favorite spot was the Roman Bath Gardens - an area that has a small stream running by the side of some ancient Roman remains (which have been preserved till now),with an ancient Church on one side & an equally old Mosque on the other - itz one of the most breathtaking & serene sites I've ever seen - u feel like uve been transported to a different time altogether - Koks u wud've just freaked out on the architecture & the layout ! T
The lay-out of Downtown is like our own Connaught Place - on a smaller & much prettier scale. The entire area is done up in cobbled stone - has a very European feel to it ..there are shops & Cafes & eateries all around, all of which have outdoor seating. Sitting there, you get a stunning view of the mountains - pity I coudn't go skiing there !
About half of the population in the city is French - & I spent my time there saying 'Bon jour' & 'Merci' & of course, 'Bon apetit'. As usual, my most interesting encounters were with the taxi-drivers - it was fun chatting with them while they took me all over the place coz of the language problem. & oh yes, the day ends at 3 in the afternoon & I had Internet access in my room, apart from MTV & movies of course!!
OK..I can just go on and on...but the gist (!!) of it is that it was welcome break - somehow the city is verry bright & happy,and with Christmas round the corner, it was even more festive - all the trees on the roads had been strung with lights so the view was even more breathtaking at night ..& when ure company pays for you to stay at a posh hotel & gorge on all the food tht you want to (I actually tried controlling my food intake for the first 2 days, but after that, I just gave up!) - well, Paradise's not far.
Itz back to the real world now - but I'm sure gonna put fite to tag along next time something cums up in Beirut - I'd definitely recommend it as a fantastic vacation-spot to anyone interested.
PS: To be honest, the title of this mail is a bit of an exaggeration -I'm neither a globe-trotter, nor did I have any earth-shattering experiences that could classify as adventures, but wot the !!);
But the memory remains....a letter that I wrote to my friends, and some pics. Visit www.downtownbeirut.com for a visual treat of the city.
Hello people !!! Am back from Beirut - had a smashing, rocking time - I wish I cud've stayed there for ever !! The city is beautiful - it turned out to be totally different from wot I'd thought it would be. The Mediterrean Sea was a stone's throw from my hotel - & with itz waters so blue, it was absolutely stunning. If you thought Marine Drive is happening, you've gotta walk by the coast to see how happening it is - my first day I had lunch at a place rite across the Sea - amazzzing experince.
The most happening place in Beirut is Downtown - the center of the city which also has some of the best buildings (architecturally) in town. All the buildings had been destroyed during the Civil War, & they have actually resurrected all of them by re-doing the exteriors while maintaining the original architecture .
My favorite spot was the Roman Bath Gardens - an area that has a small stream running by the side of some ancient Roman remains (which have been preserved till now),with an ancient Church on one side & an equally old Mosque on the other - itz one of the most breathtaking & serene sites I've ever seen - u feel like uve been transported to a different time altogether - Koks u wud've just freaked out on the architecture & the layout ! T
The lay-out of Downtown is like our own Connaught Place - on a smaller & much prettier scale. The entire area is done up in cobbled stone - has a very European feel to it ..there are shops & Cafes & eateries all around, all of which have outdoor seating. Sitting there, you get a stunning view of the mountains - pity I coudn't go skiing there !
About half of the population in the city is French - & I spent my time there saying 'Bon jour' & 'Merci' & of course, 'Bon apetit'. As usual, my most interesting encounters were with the taxi-drivers - it was fun chatting with them while they took me all over the place coz of the language problem. & oh yes, the day ends at 3 in the afternoon & I had Internet access in my room, apart from MTV & movies of course!!
OK..I can just go on and on...but the gist (!!) of it is that it was welcome break - somehow the city is verry bright & happy,and with Christmas round the corner, it was even more festive - all the trees on the roads had been strung with lights so the view was even more breathtaking at night ..& when ure company pays for you to stay at a posh hotel & gorge on all the food tht you want to (I actually tried controlling my food intake for the first 2 days, but after that, I just gave up!) - well, Paradise's not far.
Itz back to the real world now - but I'm sure gonna put fite to tag along next time something cums up in Beirut - I'd definitely recommend it as a fantastic vacation-spot to anyone interested.
PS: To be honest, the title of this mail is a bit of an exaggeration -I'm neither a globe-trotter, nor did I have any earth-shattering experiences that could classify as adventures, but wot the !!);
San Francisco Chronicle - Weekends 2 & 3
04 October, 2005
Went over to Kokil's at Portland - what a crazy, last minute trip!! There we were, talking on the phone Sat morning, and we are both like, we are soo close (just about a 3 hour train journey), we have to, have to meet !! So Diwakar goes scouting on the net, quickly books tickets for the evening, and there I am - headed for Kokil's house in Portland! Yeah its just a day trip, but wot the hell - dunno when I will get to meet my oldest friend again : -)
Kokil's house is so charming and serene ! It was also good to get to know Diwakar - I'd only just met him at the wedding. Watching Kokil and him plan out each and every detail of our shopping expedition, weighing each pro and con, I cudnt help thinking - these guyz are just made for each other : -) The shopping was awesome fun - picked up my comp, discman for Deeksha, shoes, clothes, and of course, the last 2 hours when we were selecting the umm-special-stuff was such awesome, awesome fun !! How we preened and giggled : -)
October 8, 2005
My last weekend in SF. Sigh. Saturday was spent in office, finalizing the presentation. But I was determined to keep Sunday for myself. Trudged off to the Exploratorium .... caught off at the wrong spot, and while I was waiting for the bus, this Chineses guy started chatting with me. He was a prof - single and in his mid-30's - on his way to the Golden Gate bridge. Asked me if I wanted to join him (ouch!) - but I'd told I'd rather do the Exploratorium first. He offered to join in, but baulked when I told him the entr is 20 odd dollars. hehe. Poor thing. I almost felt sorry for him. It's terrible being alone in a strange land, but its worse being lonely. And I could sense the loneliness in him. I know how terrible that feels.
So the Exploratorium (http://www.exploratorium.edu/) is a complete wonderland ! Such awesome, awesome wonders of science - the musical instruments, the sand dunes and the water effects, the optical illusions, and Little Red Riding Hood : -) The crowning glory was the Tactile Dome - its a maze which you explore in pitch darkness - you walk, climb, slide, jump...all using your sense of touch. The concept is to demonstrate how we underuse our sense of touch. Most people go in groups, but well I was alone.I took a deep breath, and walked in....to complete, pitch darkness. Gawd it was scary! I came out and asked the shy Brit guy who was waiting with me if he'd mind acompanying me - poor guy had no choice. Somehow, having someone with you, anyone - even a stranger, is reassuring. Basic human nature maybe? I felt so much braver, and there we were, tumbling away, trying to find our way using our hands, and boy, was it fun ! A must-do experience.
Trudged across the road to get a sighting of the Golden Gate bridge. I personally find the Bay bridge more impressive, but Im sure this wuda been a wonder when it was built decades ago. We still dont have a bridge that comes close to it in India :-(
Hung around the beach to watch the air show of the Angels - the beach was lined with people. Then trudgd along to find Ghiradelli Square. Walked almost 2 miles before I found a bus stop - I have to, have to have shed a few pounds with all my walking ! There was a band playing some music in the middle of the square - and pretty good music it was too! bought some chocolates, and then headed to the highly recommended Pizza Chicago - the best pizzas in town according to Kokil. Imagine my surprise when I discovered it was run by an Indian! A popular Italian joint run by Indians - well ons econd thoughts, why I am surprised. Uncle-ji chatted with me in Hindi, while Aunty-ji and beta-ji were running around taking orders and clearing tables. The pizza was yummilicous. The Great Indian Story goes on. Amen.
They say good things come to an end quickly, and here I am, locking my last suitcase in La Quinta Inns & Suites. I will miss you SF.... Till we meet again!
San Francisco Chronicle - Weekend 1
Letters I wrote to friends when I was in SF in Sep05....a chronicle for my old age :)
27 September 2005
Saturday: Woke up JIT for breakfast, headed for town (SF). Walked across all the piers (43 of them I think– at least a 2-3 mile walk)…awesome view. Walked around pier 39 , had crepes for lunch, gazed at the antics of sea-lions (got a pic of 2 of them smooching). At the last pier, there is a WW-2 submarine and a war ship. Took the inside tour of the submarine – very neat (awesome audio commentary and well, ive never seen the insides of a sub, that too a war one).
Then walked into a museum where they had some really antique manually operated musical instruments which you could 'play' for 50 cents – great fun again.
Walked to fisherman's warf – got my name painted Chinese style (flowers and all – does ne of u want it?), walked over to the park that has an awesome view of the bay, was enquiring abt some trips to canary row and napa valley when the agent offered me both the trips free – the only catch, I need to be a US citizen: -( So now I'm looking for single US citizens who can get me 2 trips worth 150 dollars free. Sigh. Wish me luck,
Sunday – just lazed around. Was too tired : -)
Back to hectivity now.
San Francisco Chronicle - Arrival
Letters I wrote to friends while I was in SF in Sep'05.... a chronicle for my old age : -)
22 September 2005
Okie so here I am…had a pretty hectic first 2 days to be honest!
Almost lost my spectacles again at the HK airport :- ) got a tour of the entire airport (and its massive, believe me) including the ferry train in my efforts to retrieve them. Air journey fm HK to SFO was a killer – there was a time when I thought I would never be able to walk again coz of the cramps! But no major cribs there.
Am currently staying in a suburb called Castro Valley which is about 45 mins fm the main city (where my office is). Its’ a small, quaint little place with a very good looking front desk attendant! Alas, he was only there the first day, and no Bret, I haven’t implemented any of your suggestions – yet. Castro Valley is a small town with a single main road (called Castro Boulevard) and beautiful surroundings – ideal for just walking, which I did yesterday on my way back from the station.. The weather’s a lil chilly in the mornings & evenings, but day time warm and sunny – hope it stays this way over the weekends too!
The other guy on my project arrived ystrdy nite – he’s a Blorean whoz been with Mphasis for 5 yrs (!!!) and is abt to get married. He has a cousin who stays 15 min away from our hotel, and has graciously offered that I tag along with them over the weekend – which I don’t mind at all since the cuzzin has a car! Apparently there r quite a lotta other Mphasis folks in town too – shud meet them once we move here over de weekend.
People here have been nice & helpful till now – esp when compared with my Frankfurt experience! Esp in Castro valley – everyone smiles and chats with everyone in the bfast room, and there was this really nice woman who gave >me directions to my hotel at the station and chatted for some time – we parted with a warm shaking of hands (no Bret she wasn’t hitting on me, or me on her!).
I notice a huge population of Chinks here (to include Chinese + SE Asians) – no wonder the flite fm HK was full. Also a fair population of Indians who r obviously here for IT work – there was this couple in the train yesterday, with the guy talking abt how he needs to go home to choose a girl (in deference to his mom’s wishes), and the girl talking loudly in Hindi giving him gyan on priorities and marriage – quite interesting : -)
The project’s also q interesting – organizational structure and interpersonal conflicts related to a platform which was adopted 2 years ago and is gonna get phased out in another 2 yrs. Have had various meetings, and the problems and the apparent solutions are quite obvious, but there are soo many softer issues involved that its gonna be a challenge making the recommendations and more importantly, bringing a structure to the approach and solutions. And technology is quite interesting – dude the industry is so much evolved than the BPO space, and there appears to be so much to do, I am very tempted to say no to IBM and join Solutions.
To be very honest, am still not sure about IBM – cant say why. The CRM’s here are also quite a bunch– Abhijit is very professional and consult-ish, Rakshit is a typical Punju (married thank God!) – loud and aggressive, and he’s an IIM-A to boot : -) Georg looks and talks like a professor (he wears those Harry Potter-ish glasses) and has bugs bunny teeth.
U know wot...as I write this mail, I can look upon the valley from my window - curving roads lined with trees and picturesque houses, with the cars winding up, and the sun setting in the background - its beautiful!
and oh yes - today i went to the exercise room. 130 cals - not bad no : -)
So thatz quite a bit! Please keep writing in with ure updates..so long and have fun!!!
Tuesday, April 04, 2006
That's All
I wanna take 6 months off..... ...Travel India by train. Get down to reading my ever increasing backlog of books.... Drive around...destination anywhere. Watch the sunrise as i sip on my kapi.
Welcome to wherever you are.
Welcome to wherever you are.
Friday, March 31, 2006
Where the streets have no name
I have often thought that the essence of a city is captured by walking on its roads. Or for that, even a country. Even a Martian walking on an Indian road, any Indian road, will easily guess that he is walking in the most populous part of the planet. There are people everywhere, and no place to walk on! I'm sure the oxygen levels of Indians show a marked rise when traveling in the first world.
Contrast this with Europe, which boasts of wide pavements and vast green stretches, but hardly any people! As you walk down the roads of Luxembourg, you often come across happy couples sharing a long kiss on the road – thankfully neighbor Germany hasn't doused the French passion. German roads will boast the stoic German who refuses to make eye contact, the enthusiastic cyclists and the oh-so-awesome cars zipping away at over 50 mph! In San Francisco, you see people from all nationalities – Indians, Paki's, SE Asians, Blacks, Scandinavians – everyone, so you know that this is truly a melting pot. I am sure the same would hold for New York, or Singapore.
I was in Chennai for a week, and my strongest memory of Tamland is the overpowering stench that hits you as you walk down the streets. And this wasn't any street mind you, but arguably the posh-est road of the city, which houses The Park and The Taj and numerous other upscale shops, restaurants and hotels. In fact, I was quite impressed with the great roads and the fancy neon hoardings as I was driven from the airport to my hotel. But when you walk down the wide roads, you see open drains, uncollected refuse and of course, the stink – everywhere.
Now take Bombay – probably the filthiest amongst the Indian metros (I haven't really stayed in Calcutta which I've heard is equally bad). But I remember walking down Churchgate station as a kid, and I was completely taken in by the focused Bombay wallah – everyone seemed to have a mission, a goal…perhaps he wasn't going to reach his destination just yet, but he was definitely going to make sure that he got there someday. That memory pretty much defines the image that I have carried of Bombay – the only go-getter city in India, with a true middle class which believes in working hard and partying equally hard (Where else would you find large lower middle class families out to enjoy a day at Esselworld for 10 dollars apiece, more than 15 years ago!). And over my several visits to Maximum City over the past two decades, this image has only got strengthened..
And finally, Delhi, my city of birth and youth. They say that a woman should walk on the pavement there with her arms folded in front of her chest and her elbows sticking out – so that she can elbow away the men trying to grab her boobs. Of course the problem with that is that the men will go for your bum instead – but well, it's a matter of optimization. And when you hear the lewd comments, you mostly pretend you don't understand Hindi and walk on, till you reach tipping point and muster up enough courage to turn around and slap the guy. Pity, given that Delhi probably boasts of the best roads in the country, and most roads actually have a pavement - even though the pedestrians still insist on walking in the middle of the road. Its all a matter of training, as Mark Twain would say.
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