When Life hands you lemons…….

short story

Sometimes life hands you lemons so that you can become really good at making lemonade. Of course, there are some who simply cry hoarse about the lemons that life keeps giving them.

Mrs. Karthik fell into the second category. Her misery knew no bound. The whole mohalla was aware of her misfortunes, her useless husband and her delinquent children – literally!

Every morning at the crack of dawn, Usha Karthik would make it a point to startle the Rooster awake with her lament, which inevitably started with the dramatic exclamations of “Hay hay hay…”

Umapathi, the useless husband, worked in the field and made a quick getaway early morning in the guise of work. His land lord appreciated the extra effort Umapathi put into coming so early to work.

Life was routine until Usha decided she needed some money and rented out a part of her Chawl. After much screening, she settled on Laxmi Bai, the wide-eyed, tongue tied and rather stupid looking maid who worked in a nearby apartment complex.

Next morning the unprecedented happened. Both Usha and the rooster were startled awake at the sound of crashing utensils. Soon, this was followed by the sounds of several other crashes and curses. Usha, forgetting her routine, went to investigate and found a bushy tailed butterfingered Laxmi with the house in array.

In the days that followed. Usha discovered Laxmi Bai was the most uncoordinated butterfingered maid she had ever come across. Between the dropped dishes and the litany of curses coming from her tenant, Usha soon lost her daily listeners. All she could do was wait for Umapathi to return and then start her complaints.

As the months progresses, even this became problematic as Laxmi bai was as good at dropping things after dusk as she was at dawn. Usha changed her strategy and started to meet Umapathi at the outskirts of the mohalla and complain on the walk back.

Of course, walking back and forth through the mohalla meant Usha had to put on her finery and dress up, which went against her lifestyle. But what is so small a sacrifice for being able to complaint to an avid listener again. So, the mohalla found itself shocked by the specter of a dressed up Usha Karthik walking by on a nice evening.

But Umapathi never came before dusk. That meant Usha had to put up with the noise through out the day. So she made a little more change in her lifestyle and started visiting the neighbours and actually talking to them instead of her usual complaints. That wouldn’t have done much good to her plans of getting invited in.

Six months to the date Lamxi Bai took over the rooster call, Usha found herself in a dhaba with her family having a decent meal, on the rent money of course. Life had changed. Suddenly, Usha could find no lemons in her life to cry about.

Then news came that Laxmi bai had finally broken the most coveted family heirloom in her employer’s house and had to be dismissed. Usha’s sigh of relief was well heard even a few blocks over and she tried hard not to smile at the prospect of silence.

However, she did wonder why Laxmi Bai was so happy to be fired. Laxmi, too preoccupied in her own thoughts, never noticed the contemplative expression on Usha’s face. She was already thinking about how she was going to start a tea-shop. After all Umapathi had been generous with his payments. It was indeed lucky for her that Umapathi’s employer liked stage shows.

Heart burn or destiny!

A Short Story

Life leads people to weird destinies. When I was ten I dreamt of becoming a driver. The white uniform, the cap and the ability to drive the four wheeled monster was in my eyes superhero stuff. When I was 30, I was already on my way up in life and had a driver who drove my luxury sedan. Driving in rush hour traffic, the news papers wrote, is the top cause for young men’s death.

Life had been good to me. I put in my hard work at school and college and found myself among the ever growing bunch of successful businessmen. I had champagne at night and wrote down numbers in my blackberry. Life was good.

But sometimes, right between the morning cup of coffee and closing the car door, there would be a few seconds when something like an ache will build in my chest. Some ones lost voice will whisper, wasn’t there something else you were suppose to do? My first suspicion was indigestion, followed by an EEG for the fear of heart trouble. And last but not the least a counselor to test my stress level.

Things were normal for months after my panicked rush. Being a bachelor, my panics was however not noticed by any and I felt safe to continue with my life. Looking back I think I would have been alright if I hadn’t fallen in love. In fact I fell in love twice within the space of seven days. First with Laura, the vivacious teacher from Goa. And then Kusum, the half blind rag picker and one of Laura’s students.

Let me tell the story properly. I was attending a seminar on social responsibilities of the young and rich. It’s among this mixed bunch of fresh young tycoons and tired social workers that I met Laura. She was not actually beautiful, come to think of it. She was however supremely confident of what she spoke. It wasn’t passion, it was conviction that set her apart. As I stood there talking to her and listening her plans for teaching rag pickers, I suddenly realized I had no clue what I want from my life.

Next Sunday, when I walked out onto my terrace and the ache in my heart returned, I didn’t call a doctor. I called Laura. Surprised and to some extent skeptical about my interest, Laura took me to her “school” nevertheless. The drive to the slum was uncomfortable, even though I was not able to slam the seal of “social worker types” on her.

It was dirty, smelly and chaotic. I hesitated at the door of the car. I don’t know what Laura saw in my face but I found myself facing the delicate outstretched hands of that woman. Swallowing my ego and long dead chivalrous thoughts, I actually took the hand and stepped into my destiny.

In the school, which was small ground in the middle of the small slum, there sat 12 odd girls and boys, faces dirty and dresses torn, laughing like mad. I think I must have stopped to stare at their face, because I felt a tug on my trouser legs and looked down to see Kusum. Small for her age, with a serene expression that looked years older, she led me to an upturned drum, cleaned it with her already dirty dupatta and set me down.

It was an experienced that made my skin crawl. I had no time to give to this people. They had always existed and always will. It was not for me to interfere. But Laura was doing it, happily. An architecture graduate, she was from my side of life. And somehow, I felt as if she had crossed over somewhere better. And I was stuck in limbo.

My return to professional life wasn’t smooth. The ache grew to the extent where I actually had to consult a doctor and was diagnosed as having mild ulcer. I was told to reduce stress in my life. I was lost. I had met Laura a couple of times after that visit and had found myself falling for her. And I shut up the little voice inside by arguing that it was love that clouded my perception.

But I kept thinking about Kusum and her serene face. The un-seeing eye seeing more then mine. The kind gesture, which I didn’t reciprocate. And then came the clincher. Laura informed me she was moving back to Goa, where she believed her work was needed. For a 30 year old in love, break ups are very confusing. I was very mature and told the love of my life I understood. I didn’t. I felt like smashing vases.

With Laura gone, my life was again thrown into chaos. The little voice was pestering me to see Kusum, now that I could not argue about love. I lost the debate and after years of making a professional life and career, I suddenly felt happy about handing in my resignation. There was twinge of pain in seeing the shocked look on my mothers face when I told her. But I was giddy with love. I was going to see Kusum.

In what has been the most dysfunctional relationship in my life, Kusum led me through hoops as I led her through childhood and puberty and then teenage. She was destined to be kind caregiver though and chose her path in following me as a teacher. I was, by then, an old teacher with a small school. Laura was by my side. Not as my wife though. Our mutual destinies never intertwined, though I always had her with me in every step of my life. And when I sit in my wicker chair with a glass of chai in the hand, I know the pain in my chest is definitely a heart problem.

A Home For Chutki

Chutki was one of the privileged lots. Having a mother for a stray and a well kept Labrador for a father gave Chutki a rather unusually sweet puppy face which seemed to floor all the kids in the gully. Of course, that also meant the other ordinary looking strays picked on Chutki. While Chutki’s mother defended him valiantly at the beginning, soon the puppy started getting stronger on a rich diet of leftovers secretly smuggled to him by the kids in the surrounding area, and started to fight back on his own.

But for all his fighting, Chutki remained an adorable puppy in his heart. He played with the kids and slept in the backyard of Keya’s house. Only 16, Keya was not as privileged as her loyal friend Chutki. Owing to an accident before birth, Keya lost the use of her legs from spine downwards. However, growing up in the confines of a wheel chair didn’t dampen her enthusiasm for life. And Chutki added to the fun.

Nilima, Keya’s mother found Chutki’s presence bothersome. She always thought of her daughter as vulnerable. May be seeing her fighting for her life in a incubator after birth and then being confined to that dreaded wheel chair made her think of Keya as a fragile thing. And Chutki was full of infections, bacteria and dirt. Mother and daughter often butted head over the stray mutt, but Keya always won. Nilima could never so say no to her daughter. But the issue remained and came up every time Chutki disgraced himself by doing something “bad” near her mother.

But Keya had a staunch supporter of Chutki in her much older sister Shreya. Wise and motherly even at the age of 27, she always looked after Keya with great patience. So when Shreya finally found her match in life, Keya was both happy and sad. But there was shopping to do, arrangements to be made, which kept Keya busy; too busy to even take care of Chutki. But Chutki took no offense and continued to sleep in the backyard.

The night before the wedding, the house was full of relatives and chats continued till midnight. There was laughter and happiness in the air and even Chutki dozed off with a warm fuzzy feeling that came off from the house. Soft, dry leaves gave the puppy a comfortable bed and soon he was snoring away like Keya’s aunt and uncles.

But sometime right before day break the whole household woke up to screams and squeals. A man’s voice shouting for help could be distinctly heard, along with the sharp barks of several strays from the street. Lights came on and the whole family rushed out to a very horrific scene. Chutki, looking much terrifying then his usual cute self, was hanging on to the leg of a masked man who was trying to use a knife to get the dog away. But Chutki, despite the few bleeding cuts on his body, showed no signs of relenting.

Soon, the thief was surrounded by a bunch of strays and Keya’s family. The police came and took him away. Chutki was rushed to the nearest vet by Keya’s father. When the dog returned two days later, he was the hero of the apartment and the darling of keya’s family. Nilima cried as she held the dog that had saved them from a great catastrophe. Chutki finally found his family and home.

Falling flyovers and exploding bombs – Will we ever be safe?

Give Me Blood, and I Promise you Freedom! - Had shouted one of the greatest freedom fighters in earnest. We are still giving blood, 60 years later, but what have we gained in return? We live in fear and apathy; of falling flyovers and exploding bombs.

The Punjagutta Flyover that crashed yesterday, causing terror in the heart of Hyderabad, so soon after the twin blasts showed again just how unprepared and almost uncaring our administration is. Ironically we are the ones you give them the position and power that today they so happily use to their own gain.

Are we the victims of our own decisions? Doesn’t the people’s representative have any responsibility towards the people? Even movie stars are afraid to anger their supporters, but our politicians are not.

Faulty constructions, corruption, lack of infrastructure and security in a speedy emerging city- and what we get in return for the administrations shortcomings? A check of one lakh rupees and insincere condolences.

And let’s not only point the finger at the administrations. What are we as citizens doing? We don’t even vote for the deserving candidates. We are the ones that choose these irresponsible governments. Can’t we bring them down too? Can’t we hold them culpable and demand answers and solutions? Is it always for some political party to call and strike and protest for their own personal gain? Educated IT professionals were among the dead in both the blasts and yesterday’s flyover collapse. This is one of Indians growing vital section. If these people cannot bring the administration to bear then who can?

Even as accusations fly high, I can recall hearing that the flyover was unsafe one whole year ago. I have read letters to the editor in papers complaining about the chaos this so-called venture was creating in the traffic situation. But was anything done? May be we should wait for one of the chief ministers to be squished under the concrete to get an reaction? I highly doubt that. In India, a value of life is nothing.

The papers have reported that rescue efforts didn’t kick in until two hours after the collapse. Isn’t this time the administration woke up to the pathetic condition of its emergency response system? Can’t build a team of trained professionals and equip them with the hardware to be able to move and counter such situations in time? Is our hard earned money more useful to protecting one useless man’s life then protecting the many thousands who have given that man the position?

I know I have asked many questions in this blog. I hope our younger generation is ready to step up and answer these questions and start demanding our safety and security in return for the sweat and blood that they are giving to this country.

Veiled Dancer

This is actually a prop from the Ramoji Film City. The front of the statue is totally broken. But from behind its all grace.

Haflong Day’s: A bonfire night in the station

Haflong is a cold place, especially in winter. At an elevation of 513 m (1,683 ft) above sea level, this hill station pretty much never gets hotter then 25 Celsius and never cooler then 4-3 Celsius. But the wind chill can be a killer, especially if you are sitting in a Railway platform in the open at 10 in the night.

My memory is fuzzy but I think I was around 7 years old. Our family was on our way to vacationing in Goa. That meant we had to go from Haflong to Guwahati. From there another train to Kolkata; the Rajdhani to Mumbai and finally a short flight to Goa.

But it all had to start somewhere and that somewhere was Lower Haflong Station. A month long vacation for the whole family meant a whole lot of luggage at that time and we had come to the station with plenty of to spare. I don’t remember if the train was late, but I remember we waited quite a long time.

It was freezing cold. My hands, ear and nose were all red..I dare say I must have looking like Rudolf the reindeer at this point. My brother had gotten pally with a few local tribal boys and was having a good time. I was trying to keep myself warm by running on the platform with occasional screams from my mother to watch out.

Suddenly I heard this crackling sound, and could smell something burning. Turning around I saw a bonfire on the edge of the platform. I ran up and saw that most people had started gathering around a few burning fences topped off with dry kindling.

Soon someone found a kettle of tea to heat up over that fire, someone fished out some munchies and someone started humming a tune. We spent the rest of the time waiting for the train by plain an impromptu game of Antakshari around a bonfire sitting with strangers who became friends for that night.

Need Coffee To Live?

Don't we all. I mean need coffee to live? My mother will disagree. She swears by tea. But then she is old generation (she is so killing me for this). I my self didn't become a caffiene worshipper until I went to study in Chennai. Here I had two major compulsions which led me to convert to Caffeinism - One, we had 90 minutes long classes which could be survived only by drinking gallons of coffee and two, the smell of filter coffee was just too damn enticing. It also didn't help that my then room-mate and current best friend can't string a simple sentence together without having her cup of black coffee. So every morning after kicking me off the bed and sending me to finish a hurried bath she would present me with a cup of that poison and who could say no to such indulgence in hostel life.

Since then coffee and I have had a tumultuous relationship. There has been times when sloppy quality had driven us apart. Sometimes, stressful life has brought us too close together for comfort. There had been days when I could only tolerate coffee in my life, when I had confessed my deepest sins to a coffee mug. But at the end of the day, I confess I do need coffee to live. But I will take my tea on Sundays!

These are a few of my favorite….Movies

I am a movie buff. Blame it on my father who brought me up on a staple diet of “Guns of Navarone”, “Ben Hur” and “Casino Royale”. Ever since I could remember dad was always getting the classic movies at home to watch. When I was really small, viewing choice was curtailed of course, but with time I saw most of the best movies of all times before I passed out of college even. Here is a few best ones that have left a dent in my memory. These are not in any order by the way; each is special on its own.

1. Ben Hur- The grand scale of the movie itself was provocative and lets not forget the overwhelmingly good looking Charlton Heston. Set during the dawn of Christianity, the story of this Jewish Prince who fights hardships to win his life back was a total hit with me. If nothing, it’s worth watching for the famous Chariot Race scene… Formula 1 has nothing on it!

2. Guns of Navarone – Concocted by the master of thrillers Alistair MacLean, this war movie about a group of soldiers trying to take over the Guns of Navarone will always be one of my favorites. If nothing, just to see Gregory peck and Anthony Queen together would do. There is one scene where the group needs to climb a sheer rock face at night, which the rough ocean below them. This scenes still thrills me.

3. To Kill A Mocking Bird – Almost followed dialogue by dialogue from the original novel of the same name by Harper Lee, this movie tells the story of racism in pre-civil war America through the eyes of a child. The book remains my all time favorite, the movie close enough. Again Gregory Peck here, but in a very older and mature role.

4. 12 Angry Men – This movie tells the story of 12 Juror who are trying to decide the fate of a supposed murderer. All except one juror, played by Henry Fonda, believes the man to be guilty. As the 11 men try to convince the 12th and finish off the verdict so that they can go home, Fonda weaves a magic of logic and question and starts to convince the 11 jurors of the man’s innocence. An amazing drama worth watching.

5. Amistad – A movie that brings into light prejudices, racism, politics and ideals. Directed by the master storyteller Spielberg and having super cast including Hopkins, it’s a must watch.

6. Mad city – A trademark Dustin Hoffman movie that takes swing at TV media, as a reporter changes the equation in a hostage situation in this dark comedy.

7. Tootsie – Another Hoffman starrer. The inspiration behind Chachi 420, in this movie a struggling actor dresses up as a girl and gets a role of a female in successful sitcom. Problem starts when he falls in love with his female co star who keeps confiding in him or rather HER. An original cracker.

8. Good Night and Good Luck – If you missed this movie, then you must grab the movie and watch it right now. A beautifully relevant movie in today’s world, it explores the television’s role and responsibility in society. George Clooney based the movie on the journalist who had taken up a stand again a US Senator who had started a witch hunt against so-called communists during the cold war era. It is rumored his inspiration for the movie came from being called a traitor by Bush administration for opposing the Iraq War publicly.

9. Seven Samurai – This Akira Kurusawa classic is the story of seven samurai’s who are trying to regain their honor by fighting for a village under attack from plunderers. You have to watch it to enjoy it. No spoilers for you.

10. Life is Beautiful- I have never seen the Holocaust portrayed in a movie like this. I was laughing and crying at the same time. This foreign movie shows a father’s effort to protect his child from the horrors of holocaust by making it sound like a game. Its touching in its simple heart breaking humor. Another must watch.

Now that I started building this list I realize it is very hard to decide which ones to mention and which not. May be I will continue in the next blog. This is enough for a start.

My city bleeds.....

Two acts of terrorism tore through my city this weekend, ending lives and dreams and shaking people out of their safe cocoon. Places where people went to in this busy metro to chill, relax and make some good memories have turned into legacies of a tragedy that Hyderabad wont forget soon. Terrorism knows no religion, and whoever orchestrated this has sinned so much that no god will ever forgive them. And we share the loss with strangers and friends alike, and also with people who came to see our city's rich culture instead will go back with the memory of blood and death.

Sadly, it is just 48 hours past the incident, and we are already growing indifferent and it has become old news. The law still has no idea and no one probably be punished till 13 years have passed, like in the case of the Bombay blasts. And we will think before we go into a movie theatre or even a popular food joint anymore. Because it doesn't matter anymore what color, caste or creed you are, whether you have money or not. No place is safe anymore. More then lives was lost, we lost the feeling of being safe, of being protected.

But as all cities in India, we will shake off the blast dust and wash away the blood and keep the show running. Life doesn't stop for terrorism after all. But shouldn't our bravery be awarded by some responsibility by our so -called leaders. Is it too much to ask our leaders to protect us or do we have to learn to live with death and fear?

Living on the swing

When was the last time you actually lived?

Sounds like an odd question? But mull over and honestly answer, when was the last time you actually enjoyed the act of living, was overjoyed that you are alive and felt alive? I have dared pop this question from time to time on unsuspecting strangers. Along with the customary eye roll and the “she is nuts” looks, I also received a few honest answers.

“I sat on a swing”, one person told me, a goofy smile on her place. “I took my nephews to the park and they left me alone to play. The grass was wet and I sat down on the swing. I don’t know what happened but sometime later I was flying through the air, shrieking, my hair flapping around blocking my view. When I finally stopped swinging I noticed a whole bunch of people staring at me and my nephews looking very mortified. They never went to the park with me again. I often go by myself nowadays. The people got used to the shrieking by the way”.

I can identify. I have been the shrieking loony in the park often. I see a swing and I loose all my sanity. Nothing beats flying on a swing, wind through the air, the world fleeting through the up and down motion of the swing. All I can think at times like this is "Maaaaaaaan, its good to be alive!!"

Where does Politics stop and news begins?

I have been following the news about China's claim on Tibet on TV and paper but had not read the article on Frontline until someone mailed me a letter to the editor (N Ram) from a Tibetan Film Maker, who makes many points about the facts on that article. Here is a few things that struck me. Please scroll down and read the original letter in Italics first -

Two things-

One, its just as hard to make an opinion based on Tenzing Sonam's letter as it is purely based on my own beliefs. However, he does raises very valid points against N Ram's article. Also for a publication of Frontline's stature to take up such major issues only to preach a blind pro-left line is really disappointing.

Two, most news articles in India give the impression Tibetans prefer being part of India. And its no surprise as given the choice between a democratic country which will allow freedom of religion and expression and an autocratic, aesthetic country which hides a very capitalistic mentally under the clock of an age old philosophy which dictates total domination over all - its not really a choice after all.

Its understandable that India will not relish taking on China on a touchy issue like this by confronting them directly, but then again we don't really have go running and offer up the people of Tibet along with their land to a veritable jail now do we?

Here I have offered my two bits. Please continue

Response to N Ram on Tibet (As publish on The Hoot)

Tenzing Sonam is a Tibetan filmmaker and writer based in New Delhi. His most recent film is the Tibetan feature film, Dreaming Lhasa. This is what he writes:-

Since the Hindu has not used my letters I summarize here points made in the hope that this discussion can reach a wider forum.

Dear Sir,

In recent weeks, Mr N Ram has written articles in The Hindu ("The Politics Of Tibet: A 2007 Reality Check", July 5, 2007) and Frontline ("Future Tibet", July 14-27, 2007), which present a remarkably rosy picture of the situation in Tibet and are uncritically supportive of Chinese policies in the region. I have written to him a number of times pointing out some of the inconsistencies in his reporting and the fact that such misrepresentations of fact could be seen as pure propaganda on behalf of the Chinese government. Unfortunately, Mr Ram has not deemed it necessary to extend even the courtesy of an acknowledgment letter, let alone to provide a platform for a fair debate on the issue of Tibet. I summarize here, some of the main points I made in my letters to Mr Ram in the hope that this discussion can reach a wider forum.

On more than one occasion, Mr Ram makes the crude comparison of the Dalai Lama's international popularity as a religious leader to Ayatollah Khomenei, thereby signalling his intentions to demonise him. He then rails against what he describes as the Dalai Lama's "alignment with colonial interests and western powers...". One could look at this criticism in the context of China's vast holding of US Treasury bonds, which literally keeps its economy afloat, and ask, who is more aligned with western powers - the Chinese government or the Dalai Lama? One could also easily point the finger of colonialism to China's forcible occupation of Tibet.

Mr Ram claims that, "while the Tibetan Buddhist doctrine of reincarnation belongs to the mystical-religious realm and asks a lot from 21st century believers, the Dalai Lama's approach even to rebirth is decidedly ideological- political. " However, he also says that the Chinese government continues to follow "centuries-old custom and tradition that empower it to recognise and appoint both the Dalai and the Panchen Lama." The historical accuracy of this statement is debatable but it begs the question, why does an avowedly atheistic Communist Party find it necessary to involve itself in the "mystical-religious realm" in the 21st century?

Mr Ram contends that China's constitution "guarantees religious freedom to all citizens and regional autonomy to ethnic minorities in extensive parts of a giant country." Is it really enough for a journalist to cite the existence of a law to prove that all is as it should be? Surely he is aware of the ongoing repression of religious freedom in Tibet? Today, it is a crime in Tibet to be found in possession of the Dalai Lama's picture. Amnesty International' s 2006 China report stated that in Tibet, "freedom of religion, expression and association continued to be severely restricted and arbitrary arrests and unfair trials continued." On the fate of groups such as Falun Gong, even the avowedly left-wing journal, CounterPunch, has made grave allegations against the Chinese government (see article in the October 1-15, 2006 issue).

Mr Ram mentions "China's unprecedented economic growth" and "inclusive and nuanced socio-political and cultural policies" as markers of its "exceptional patience" in dealing with the Tibet issue. This glowing picture is at odds with the reality of a country where the growing division between the rich and the poor saw no less than 23,000 incidents of rural and urban unrest in 2006, many of which were brutally quelled by force.

Even more beguiling is Mr Ram's continued faith in the Communist Party of China's Marxist credentials - "The law... defines national regional autonomy as the basic political system of the Communist Party of China to solve the country's ethnic issues using Marxism-Leninism" . That the CPC has now launched a form of 'Leninist capitalism' untrammeled by democratic freedoms or trade union rights is fairly well-known. The only ideology guiding China's present rulers is that of absolute power at any cost.

By consigning Tibet's fate so unambiguously to the implied benevolence of its Chinese overlords, Mr Ram seems to forget that India has a stake in this matter. He dismisses the Dalai Lama's claim that Tibet had "been a strategic 'buffer state' in the heart of Asia guaranteeing the region's stability" for centuries. Yet, the truth is that until the People's Liberation Army invaded Tibet in 1950, India and China had never shared a common border. What is Mr Ram's response to Chinese Ambassador to India, Mr Sun Yuxi's blithe assertion last November that "the whole of the state of Arunachal Pradesh is Chinese territory. And Tawang is only one of the places in it."? Surely, even he knows that had Tibet not been forcibly deprived of its sovereignty, such imperious statements from his Chinese friends would not be forthcoming? Would any Chinese newspaper publish a defence of India's sovereignty over Arunachal Pradesh in the manner in which The Hindu and Frontline see fit to blindly defend the Chinese line on Tibet? Or does Mr Ram have a different measure for basic democratic freedoms in different countries?

It is truly unfortunate that Mr Ram should choose to deprive his readership of a balanced perspective on the question of Tibet.

Yours sincerely,
Tenzing Sonam
28 July, 2007

CHAKE DE INDIA!!!!!!!

Yes yes I am talking about the movie. For those of you who watch English movies, this is “Coach Carter” meet “Remember the Titans”! Shakrukh Khan, the Goonda of the Indian Women’s Hockey Team shows the word and the Spartans what only 16, sports Jersey clad woman can do.

I felt this is the movie, which after a long time showcased Shahrukh the actor and not only Shahrukh the STAR. The movie touched me with its sincerity. There was no unnecessary dramatics, no song sequence, no off the side romance story. Every shot, every action was vital to the movie. The players, played by fresh faces who definitely look more like hockey players then stars gave the movie its realistic feel. And I repeat the lack of dramatics was a refreshing break.

And the dialogues were cracking. Sharp, witty very pro-Indian and delivered with style and panache by ----------- everyone! Yeah we are not quoting Shakrukh here only. Even the girl from Jharkhand who spits out HO! to every question does it in her own style.

But underneath it all, the movie dealt with a number of issues very subtly but smartly if I might add. The movie tore through all the stereotypical biases - Gender, Caste, and Status. Showed the murky side of selection boards, the hard work of un-sponsored talents, the see-swing media, which can make or break careers and last but not the least it showed that sheer determination and hard work is all you need to win.

As I walked out of the theatre, people were screaming Chak De India! Including me, but in my mind. Like Lage Raho Munnabhai last year, I feel this movie is going set off trends too.

Being a Miss or Mrs....

My fellow blogger Illusions recently wrote something on women's right, at http://illusions-illusions.blogspot.com/2007/08/sad-sunday.html. I am adding my two bits here. Read hers to follow my comments.

I think one way we can change the way things are run is if we stop treating the boy child differently at home. Stop coddling them and making them feel that they are entitled to everything. I see it so often that it sickens me. Kids pick up things very early in life and if this is what they see....do we really expect them to grow up and not be "Chauvinistic" in their outlook?

I remember fighting with my dad to get the money for studying journalism in Chennai. He was totally against and i was butting head against a wall. Until a relative told him he was right not to invest so much in girl, after all I will be married off. Next thing I know my father storms into the house muttering "bad investment!!!! my foot" and tells me to pack. I wish more people take offense to such comments.

And men could start acting like man and be less afraid of woman taking over the world from them. Sometimes I feel like telling them, "Its okay, I wont take your toy, can I come and play NOW!!..comments plz

Life has a humor

Life has a humor
I often think
Only we are the joke
Life is laughing

What we want
And what we get
It seldom seems
To have an object

For the want of a laugh
We make some cry
For the want of life
We let some die

Choices we make
Lines in the sand
Life comes in waves
All is wiped away

Laughter we say
Often takes the hurt away
Wonder if it so
Why life laughs too

Don't Care About Customer Care?

This is for all you poor souls who have developed spondylitis by walking around with your phone stuck under the crook of your neck, while you are kept on hold by the customer care service of some company or the other. I was introduced to the world of customer care when I started my professional life. There were suddenly cell phones, banks, credit cards - and their lovely customer care.

We all know, you have to go through tougher trials then Sita herself to reach one of these guys. All customer care numbers take you through hoops where you have keep pressing 1, 2 * and hence forth to keep in the right track. Until its finally revealed to you that if none of the already given choices are helping you, you can press so and so number to reach one of these elusive creatures called "Customer Care Representatives."

This is followed by a few moments of music therapy, where a jingle or inane soft music is played for your benefit, while you wait for an audience. Intermittently you are reminded that your call is important and don't hang up (never mind its been only half an hour since you called) or that you can get a free such and such stuff (for which you probably have contact these creatures in the future).

And finally you suddenly hear a human voice asking you how can he or she help you. Don't get fooled by that. 50% of the time they don't really mean it. Most of the time you know more then they do, sometimes they do know what you want but you have to resort to Chinese torture to drag information out and even at times you are put on further hold and either you pass out from exhaustion or the phone company decides enough is enough and cuts the call!

Here is interesting bit of information for you sufferers - the Deccan air number doesn't give you the option to talk to an Customer care rep, until you queue in a wrong flight number (Thank god I typed wrong). And I wish none of you have to contact that airline for anything like cancellation or refund, because then they are worst then politicians - they don't even make PROMISES to give you anything!

There are also the customer care services for some Government facilities like BSNL, MTNL, Cell One. In these cases, if you are lucky you get a happy person. Otherwise, the moment you have finished your first question, you are told "We can't do it, go to the nearest office" and then they hang up on you.

And folks, if any of you think that things are fine and dandy in abroad, like in the U.S., dream on! Customer cares the world over are the same- may be for the reason that most Customer Care services there are routed through India!! But even when I spoke to local CC reps there, I met with the usual cryptic, vague answers which showed either the person didn't know or couldn't be bothered to service me. If you want to read this piece again, press *..ha ha sorry couldn't resist.

Hey if this piece intrigues you, I suggest you find "The Callcenter Movie" on the net and watch it. Its hilarious.

One day your life will flash before your eyes......

.........Make sure it's worth watching!!

This is my mail signature and almost the credo by which I live. When I stumbled up on this line, it was like love at first sight. I always felt that there is more to life then mere existence. Whether there is a reason why men was supposedly given "intelligence" and put somewhat higher up in the "food" chain, I intend to make the best of it.

As those who read this blog will know, most of my stories are memories from my life. And this is just how I want it to be. Full of memorable memories, twists and turns, ups and downs, new experiences and challenges. While living safe is good, many of us I feel miss out on incredible experiences by NOT taking the chance.

I am not asking people to jump out of an aircraft. Sometimes taking chances are as simple as going to a wedding a little far away or say going for white water rafting, a chopper ride. While accidents can happen, it can happen as much as at home then on such an excursion. Fear should not be a reason to miss out on these.

Take for instance roller coasters. I hate them, my husband loves them. I allowed my self one and only one slip and rode a two minute terror called California Scream in Disney. I definitely did not enjoy it. I like speed, as in a speed boat, fast car. Roller coasters are simply too fast and too nauseating for me to enjoy. But that was an experience I do not regret.

I have also done stuff that would have made my parents scream with terror. Like running across the train tracks to catch a train just before starting and literally climbing on to it like monkey (The girl in front of me ended up using my nose as a step).

There was this one time when we went to see off a friend, whose train got late, ticket was not confirmed, and finally we three girls ended up walking down Majestic Bus Stop in Bangalore (for those who do not know, its a red light area and is notorious for criminal activity) at 1 in the night, looking for an auto. We got wolf whistled by three cops, did not see any criminals though!

As I was saying, all these were very very bad things to do I am sure, but boy they sure were some experience. I am sure I will have people shaking their head and "tsking" over this, and I am sure I will also throw a fit if my kids do any such thing, but I do not regret them. It’s all part of life, taking chances, doing new things, experiences that are strange and sometimes even scary. But you only live once. Make sure it's worth watching - on replay!

A Blue song

Dear me, its been such a long time since I wrote anything useful. Been a little lazy, if you know what I mean. Currently, I am feeling very very blue and adding to it by listening to Kenny Rogers croone about "Lucille". I am like that person who wrote the song that goes like "Hey won't you play, a somebody done somebody worng song, to make me feel at home cause I miss my baby (yes Rogers sang that too). I guess a better option would be to listen to peppy songs to pep-you-up. But the moody mood disagrees.

Songs have always been my soul food, good or bad times. Music soothes me, fires me up, makes me bawl (forget I said that!). I remeber my days in th hostel where i kept borrowing my roomamte and best friends walkman to listen to some music. I kept replacing her batteries as i kept using them up. Later on I even got my self a small radio that lasted about a few motnhs and konked. But the little bit did provide me with some good music. I remember working late nights with the radio on and music playing no-stop as RJ's go to sleep so late :-). Hmmmmm...any thoughts?

Swimming in a sea of Phlegm

If the title is offensive to some, I apologise. But it is the reality. You know we develop nuclear missiles every other day, but are yet to find a cure for common cold? For the past four days, my life has been an endless echo of sneezes, sniffles and caughs. I am driving myself crazy, not to mention the other privy to the sound effect. Hopefully I will distribute some of these germs to my well meaning colleagues. What are friends for if not that!

My well meaning blogger buddy Illusions has requested more blogs. But as she didn't specify where, I ended up scribbling long comments on her blog. So if you are missing my witty repertoire, please use the link to Whispering Windows and spare me the trouble. Illusions - lets come up with a pay per click arrangement here. For every visitor directed to your site you can be forever indebted to me or something like that. ........................On second thought you probably turn into an evil genie. Lets just be friends and call it my generosity. Oh well, the show must go on.......and I am becoming comfortably numb! Adios Amigos.

Bheja Fry – a crisp Comedy

A few weeks after I saw this movie and went completely gag a over it, one my friends spilled the secret that Bheja Fry was a remake of some French Movie called “Dinner with Friends (In French of course).

Well, if Departed can get an Oscar (Scene by scene remake of an Hongkong movie Infernal Affairs), I say why not. The bottom line it was made well. The movie never slacks. And the few dialogues totally convince you of its title – Bheja Fry…literally brain fry, slang for being driven nuts- which the protagonist does with no effort.

The movie has a theatre feel to it. Most of the story happens in a room, with two people. A few more cast come and go, each character used very sparingly and effectively. And the ending is like the punch line of a joke.

I started skeptically, became and believer and ended up howling. Any movie that can do that me is worth watching guys.

That reminds me, if you guys find this movie good, go ahead and see “Khosla ka Ghosla”. That’s another gem.

Cheeni Jyada (or too much sugar)

For all you Hindi movie buffs, I am sure the title is self-explanatory enough. If not, I am talking about “Cheeni Kum” the romantic comedy starring Amitabh Bachchan and Tabu. Although I was not enthused enough to see it in the theatre, when my hubby popped the CD on a Saturday evening, I thought lets check it out.

The movie started on a refreshingly mature tone, a sugar-free romance really. The story was new, the dialogues were witty and I soon found myself enjoying. Well, it lasted till the second half began. And it was quite horrifying I tell you, to see how the story was butchered in the second half.

There went the whole new tone. Total melodrama, unnecessary twist and long dialogues that was just too sugary. Reminded me of that fond line we often associate with our cricket team – snatching defeat from the jaws of victory.

If you are the kind of person who is happy to half the story then go see the first half. If you just want to see Amitabh, well hey see the whole movie. Its all him.

Back in the Saddle

Sorry folks for the loooooong gap in reading material (This is in hopes that I actually have readers J) Hopefully, my muse is back. Keep the comments coming……tinker bell needs believers guys!

Whatever whatever

True to the blog style, I am venting here people. I am having THE writers block and the bloody blinking eyes are not helping. Dry eyes my foot - which are fine by the way. At least one end is working.

Spent the last few days trying to write a blog. trying to pretend to work so that the boss doesn't suspect the lack of it. And trying not to sink in a funk. Atleast the weather has been good. 'Illusions' lament of warm fuzzy weather gave me a positive feeling here at least. When the rains hit last week, there was wild uproar in the office premises. I am sure people would have kissed the wet ground if it was cleaner. Hum hum.....anyways this is just to keep the blog alive. I will kill for some filter coffee right - the only reason I forgave Chennai for being Chennai, when i stayed there.

One Good Teacher Is Worth A Thousand Priests!

I had two. Both my parents were in the teaching field, but I assure you I really didn’t see the silver lining in that until much later. To me the reality was my mom taught in the school where I studied and my Dad was the principal of the college where I studied. Which meant, nothing I did ever eluded their notice. And the consequences were manifold. In addition to getting reamed in school, I would get the inevitable - “What will people say…….a teacher’s kid behaving like that…disgrace….blah blah blah” - lecture at home afterwards.

So you can understand why I cared very less for that. But looking back I see the many advantages that I got from that particular arrangement. I had two well read guardians who were familiar with school syllabus and the art of teaching. So, despite the generation gap, they understood many facets of my life. Study-wise, it was easy for me to just ask a question when I was in doubt. I was also encouraged to find my own answer by going through the books available at home or at the college library.

My teachers also encouraged me to question, to think out of the box- but ruled with an iron clad discipline. We, siblings, rarely dared question or disobey their dictates. In return, we were allowed our wild play times, our odd hobbies and interests. My mom, the sweetest woman I know, was scary when she was in her teacher persona. She was passionate about teaching and would tolerate no nonsense among her students. But she would take time out to nourish the weaker students, push the better ones and put the egoistical ones in place.

For me, having had the opportunity to study under her was a blessing. It allowed me to see a side of her that we never saw at home. The mild mannered and rather quiet women came alive on the dais in front of the black board. There she was in her element.

The other teacher was a much feared one, my dad. Dad taught sometimes by examples, sometimes by being critical of what we did. Of course the method did not sit well with me either as a small brat or as a teenager. However, I was too well trained to talk back to my father – credit goes to mother here.

As such, looking at the current generation who makes a lifestyle out of being rude to your face and thinks nothing about throwing tantrums, I am incredibly thankful to my strict parents. They never indulged us. We were not encouraged to demand, rather work towards earning whatever toy or favor we wanted. That also was subject to cost, and what my parents thought was within a reasonable cost.

As a result, I find my self today setting my own limits in expenditure and needs, which makes it easier to manage the finances. The strict rules on when to speak and to whom has today translated into a good skill in handling seniors in office. Also, we were taught to be gracious hosts, with “guests to be comfortable at any cost” being drilled into our head since the wee years. Today, I find myself being complemented as being a very good host and again this has helped in my professional life so much.

Not all of these teachings were a conscious effort on my parent’s parts, I found out later. Most of what we learnt was by simply following the standards my two teachers set for themselves and us. They both have very high regards for this profession, as one would say, did not tolerate anything below par from us. Where as I am not sure if we met their standards always, but I find myself a better person for having two teachers for parents – better then two thousand priests aye?

A Portrait of Death

I have a friend who likes to photograph cemeteries. An odd interest that once made me ask him why? His answer was there was something about the calm of death. I had no clue what he meant. I have never walked inside a cemetery or even showed any interest. Somehow I have always been leery of being anywhere near the dead. But I followed him one day on one of his shoots.

We drove on his bike into the heart of the city, where among the snarling traffic stood a Christian burial ground, flanked by busy roads on all three sides. It was not in use any more he informed me, as the grounds were full. I got off the bike and stepped on to the pavement. My friend found us the small Iron Gate that served as the entrance. The ground was covered by dry golden leaves and looked desolate.

But the moment I stepped in through the gates, something shifted. The sound of the traffic suddenly muted. The grounds were cool and shaded by the ample canopy an old banyan tree. There was calm, a library-like stillness, as if everyone –dead and living – obeyed the rule of silence, but not in any sinister sense.

It was an old grave yard, as the dates on the elaborately carved headstones indicated. Some had four or five generations of family buried side by side - the De’ Silva’s and Gonzales’ enjoyed the quiet repose. My friend took black and white photos with his Nikon SLR. As he started snapping, I found myself walking between the graves, a little leery at the thought of dead bodies. I alternated between quiet calm and sudden spells of heightened awareness when the hairs on my neck prickled for no reason.

Slowly, as the hour progressed, I started to see pictures instead of just headstones. Sometimes it was the angle of the stones, sometime the writing on them, but they were telling a story. I called my friend over and borrowed his camera for a few shots, which he was happy to oblige. Couple of shots later, it was time to leave.

I never got the chance to look at those pictures I took. My friend and I had chosen different career paths and shifted to different cities, with no contact at all. But that day spent on the cemetery made me a little less leery about death had given me a strange sense of peace towards the finality of it.

If you are interested check out this link to some cemetery phototographs on the net http://www.pbase.com/marchael/cemetery

Having A Bad day

Today was one of those days when nothing goes right. The glass has to fall, the milk has to spill and the traffic has to come to a standstill! Well that’s not exactly what happened but you get my drift.

The problem started when I was making my lunch this morning. I forgot to throw in the chili, which my hubby loves, as I was in a hurry (my maid is absconding and the morning is a rush job). So I decided to substitute it with chili powder. Of course, the container had to go flying out of my hand and all that red chili power to spill all over my recently mopped kitchen floor.

And this happened with only 20 minutes to go before we get really late to office. So I dashed for the broom and tried to sweep it off without getting any powder in my eyes or fingers. Even though the floor got cleaned my mood was already feeling the burnt of the chili.

But I didn’t have the time to brood. So I dashed off to get ready. Of course then I had to drop my earrings under my bed and then crawl on all four, while wearing that well-ironed formal dress looking for that earring. Got into an even crappier mood by then.

Thank god though the traffic was merciful and reached the office without hassle. Now, owing to the fact that my husband had an early morning meeting, I reached office half an hour before time. But I wasn’t worried as I planned on having my breakfast in the canteen, by which time my one of the guys would have turned up with the office key.

I work in small law firm with a handful of people. So we most of have a keys. But as luck goes I had given mine to another colleague the night before as he was staying late. So imagine my irritation and surprise, when no one turned up by office time. I called my lucky colleague and he shamelessly informed me that he woke up late and was still at home. Well same story was repeated with others until one guy turned up half an hour later.

Now, I am a true believer of every bad thing comes in threes. That was three things, so hoping I don’t have any more nasty surprises today. Oh god, don’t you just hate this kind of days?

Duniya ke Kone Kone Me Roaming!

Translated it means “Roaming in corners of the world”. My fellow country men who have joined the mobile generation, I am sure you have had amazing experiences with the mobility of mobiles yourselves by now. See, here is thing called roaming. Essentially this allows you to take you cell phone with you as you travel, so that the annoying credit card sellers can call you when your incoming costs around 3 bucks per minute!

But, as it happens, you will be lucky if those credit card sellers can actually call you. Because most of the time the network refuses to roam along with your phone. Recently my cousin came to visit me and I was parked outside the airport (parking fee in airports are sky high) waiting for him to call and let us know he has landed. When it was well past the arrival time, we called and were told by a sugary sweet sing song voice that that “the subscriber is out of network reach”.

Once we collected this hapless soul, after much waiting and coordinating, my cousin used my phone to call the customer care. In followed the instruction –switch the phone on and off, remove the SIM card, try manually selecting the network. Then it degenerated into “are you sure activated your roaming, did you have enough balance” and finally “It’s a technical error we cannot help you”.

Well, that helped a lot. Of course the fact that my cousin is a lawyer means they are going to get skinned when he gets back to his city (he refused to sue long distance). Anyhow, this happens so often then most people know what the Technical support is going to say beforehand and only calls them if the usual techniques don’t work. Yes, shaking the phone is also a technique.

This reminded me of an episode in a comedy show where this guy couldn’t get a reception and was finally asked to stand in a kona (corner) cause as the advertisement says Duniya ke kone kone (corners) mein roaming!

The Song of Life and Chains..

An Old poem, to those who know me.

Everyday of giving way
Feeling the air being cut away
The circle closes in,
While your heart still beats, and mind still leaps
Only the line keeps you at bay.

They buried you alive!
That's how you feel
Only that the they have no faces
Not afraid of the darkness
Only the pain of being...chained
Alone

Always Alone,
Even when love surrounds you
The mind still wonders
"Tomorrow, I will again be alone"

Looking back over the shoulder
It's not a habit, just a way of living
There is too much pain in the past to bury it,
leave it behind alone...like yourself.
Carry it with you,
in hopes you can look to the past in hopes of future

The fire still burns
The passion still flows
But you know better than Icarus did
So, the circle still closes
Mummified in your own desires
Preferring to live alone
Knowing with certainity
You will always be alone.

There are mornings
when you look out of the window at the green grass
And hear the call of your heart, the call to run
to hope, to live, to follow your hearts desire
And then the rest of the world comes into view
And the dream disappears in the veil of morning coffee

Life goes on
The circle closes in
Leaving just the hope
In death, you will answer the call
Of that beautifull morning dawn.

Haflong Days: How I Met Super Cat!

Over the growing years I have had a number of cats. It wasn’t that my parents were cat lovers; rather they didn’t like the added responsibilities that these pets brought. But we had rat-problem. Imagine rats the size of kittens, moving from house to house by using the networked ropeway (read cable TV wires). I swear they looked like commandos, hanging upside down, scurrying on the wires using their paws.

Well, as you can guess, we needed cats. So we had a running supply of - feisty cats, wild cats, cowardly cats who got scared by rats, dumb cats who chewed on socks, circus cats who hung from curtains, cats who like to co-exists with rats (I used to like tom and jerry before that) and many more such specimens.

Some died, some were sent back to their breeders. And one ran away. I took the presence of cats quite pragmatically until that cat. Then came my one and only dog Leo, who traitoriously passed away after one year due to some disease, leaving me broken hearted. I swore never to keep to another pet. And I stuck to my guns until super cat arrived.

On a nice sunny afternoon, which was incidentally my birthday, I came home to discover an energetic kitty on our verandah. Now, I was realistic enough to know that this couldn’t be a birthday present, not even if hell froze over. So this led to me to ask my brother who shrugged nonchalantly and replied that he had tossed the cat out a number of time but it has come back stubbornly. Weirdly enough no one seemed to mind his presence.

The next day though came the shocker. The tom cat’s mama turned up. Now, she was a bona fide wild cat. Hissing and spitting at any movement, its eyes furtive and muscles quivering with alertness. It was evident that the she-cat was very uneasy in its present environment.

My first reaction was there goes another one. But to all our surprise, she merely played with the kitty for an hour or two on our big lawn and then left. This was repeated everyday, the games getting to look more like training as days went by. There was running, climbing, hunting, ducking all rolled into that play time. And, boy was the mother a task master. She would have made an awesome drill sergeant. She pushed and swatted at the small kitty whenever something went wrong. Within a few weeks we could spot the signs of the skillful predator that the little cat would turn out to be.

Suddenly just as this weird training had started, it stopped. The female cat stopped coming. We surmised, she appointed us foster parents because she couldn’t do it and left once she was sure the cat could handle life. Strangely human.

Of course by now the whole household watched all this like a soap opera and heaved a sigh of relief once it became clear the cat would stay. And it did stay with us for six years until we left Haflong. I will confess I had considered bringing the cat with me to the city. But, apart from the cost and hassle involved, I thought it would like to stay in that beautiful place rather then a city. I kept getting updates on the cat for the next few years from my neighbors who had grown to love that odd-ball cat of ours. And then the news stopped coming, I hope he forgave me, but guess like many parents I too thought leaving him behind was best for him.

If you want more on the Super cat adventures, let me know. I am known to ramble on about him and I know for sure that now everybody wants to know all about my cat. So requests please!

Haflong Days: The Leech Chronicle

I think I have over done the essay writing bit. People are actually reading my stories in installments. But hey they are reading. That’s all I ask. Now to make a long story short (pun intended) my neighbor blogger “illusion’s” leech story (read her comments on my previous post) triggered a flashback.

Once fine monsoon day, frustrated with the rainy season that had us stuck indoor, my sister insisted we go for a picnic. Now most of us balked at this idea as the grounds were wet and the rain unpredictable this time of the year. But my sis wouldn’t listen and cribbed and cribbed until we gave up.

We were an avid outdoors family back then and we generally found picnic spots by nosing through bushes and jungles. But this time the process landed us in a whole soup of trouble. While in the morning, walking through a grassy field to reach the spot had seemed nice. But when that very unpredictable rain came pouring in the afternoon, we were caught in a bizarre situation.

The field was turning into a semi-bog with incredible speed and by the time we finished our 500 meter dash to the parked cars, we had picked up a bunch of bloodsucking hitch hikers. Now folks comes the most embarrassing part and I am sure my family will be cursing me for this indiscretion. We had to strip off half our clothes and bathe in whatever table salt we had with us to get these fat ugly leeches off.

It seems funny now, but it was pandemonium then. And we spent the whole way back ragging my sister, who kept protesting that she enjoyed the experience. Of course, the fact that most of us were dancing around scantily clothed screaming “take it off, take it off “ in the middle of the highway while the rest kept a look out for passing cars didn’t seem to daunt her. Oh well, the only good thing that came out of this is my sis never ever asked to go picnicking in the rainy season ever. And I really really hate leeches!

Haflong Days: Oops we did it again!

I have this great urge to write “Khaise Abar Aise”, but I am afraid only a select few will get the joke. The year after we had the infamous trek through the muddy jungle (read previous post), and swore not to repeat such a performance, we went and did exactly that –had another unforgettable adventure.

This was BA final year and many of my last year’s buddies had dropped out of class or honors subjects. This meant I was left with another bunch of friends, who too wanted to have that one last blast before leaving the student life behind.

However, in the past one year, some significant changes had happened. The problem of terrorism, which we were no stranger to, had reached another level of nuisance. The town was full of military personnel and severe checks and restrictions were put in place, which meant many of the usual picnic spots were out of bounds.

Eventually, we decided to picnic in the backyard of a friend who lived in the outskirts. Around nine of us met up at her place and started towards the so-called picnic spot which was a few kilometers (backyard can mean the whole village mind you) from her place and had a small waterfall. However, being the smart college students we were, while asking for direction from the natives we said “river” not “falls”. Not surprisingly, we found ourselves walking on a narrow ledge of a mountain, with the trail going neither down nor up!

Now, most trails lead either down towards the rivers or up and away from them towards the villages. We realized very soon that since this was going neither way, it was actually a path that is possibly used to cut across the mountain to the bordering states of either Manipur or Mizoram. And here we were expressly trying to avoid extremists.

But, being young and gung ho, we down played the seriousness of the situation and boldly decided to push forward. This attitude though faded after walking almost two hours along that ledge, which showed no signs of reaching any destination. By then we were cranky, thirsty and well cranky. Moreover, we couldn’t hear the river at any point and had no idea which way we were walking. The dominating sound was that of the bamboo plants rubbing against each other as the wind swayed them. It sounds like a constant loud whispering and can drown out many other sounds of the forest.

Then we started coming across a few mountain streams with the native version of bridges – two bamboo poles tied together with ropes- just wide and strong enough for one person to cross at a time. The head-cracking view is also very nice. But we were happy with these signs as it meant we could at least picnic somewhere near a water source. And then it happened.

The two girls who were leading the group took a turn and came to a stand still with identical, wide-eyed slack-jaw expressions! Surprised, the rest of us took off running to see what they had seen. And believe it or not, there was the god forsaken river Diyung (the very same one we had been to before, but it was on the other side of the town this time) which looks like a tiny stream from my friend’s house. It is then that we realized that we had actually traveled a good 40 kms downwards from the chosen picnic spot.

With no options open, we decided to make the best of the situation and picnic on the river bank and then think of a way to tackle the problem of climbing 40 kilometers after lunch, while racing a setting sun. And we had come across many forks in the way down and had no confidence that we would be able to follow the right ones back.

But before that, we first had to reach the river which was still further away. Seeing no trails that led towards it, we decided to make our own. The land that separated us from the water was half jungle and half paddy field with dried up golden paddies. The land nearest to us turned out trickier to navigate, with burnt and hacked bamboo shoots sticking out of the ground here and there. This has once been a full bamboo grove and had been burnt down for Joom kheti (a traditional practice in the NE, which involved burning the forest to clear the land and then planting on it. It reality, it makes the ground infertile in the long run and is regarded as a major cause for the dwindling forest lands).

We picked up a few sturdy branches and started to hack away at the small shrubs to make our trail. Occasionally we came across shrubs in the ground, which were merely covering nice big man sized holes. The idea was to go around and not step on them. The going was slow, but we finally made it to the paddy fields and here again started the whole savage dance routine, but this time consisted more of whooping and yelling while running towards the water.

This time we had to stay away from most water sports as the river in this point had no stones and was snarling and foaming its way to somewhere. There was a bare train bridge over the river and we got to wave at delighted passengers whenever any of the steaming behemoths rolled by.

We spent the evening skipping stones in the water and trying to play baseball with tree brunches and a nice round stone. The sandwiches and junk foods we had packed vanished like turkey dinners in Somalia. Then we settle down in the after noon sun to have a small siesta. It’s an amazing way to laze, with only the sound of water, wind and birds to give you company. This was also a time to actually sit and talk about our future plans, who was going where and laugh at the old times.

But as all days, this one was coming to an end too. Around 2.30 in the afternoon, we spotted a group of traditionally clad women carrying tinder from the forest. We caught up to them and asked if they were going to town, to which they answer yes. We decided to tag along with them, as they knew the way back.

Now their shortcut back first consisted of climbing this vertical wall of rock, while carrying their load, where looking down meant seeing this very still, dark pool of water which looked pretty deep and scary. We managed to scrabble up this wall with only damage to our egos, as the tribal women kept laughing at our efforts. Mind you though, we were pretty good climbing hills at that point, with most of us used to such terrain from birth. But we didn’t have the agility or strength of these women who did this daily.

Once we had reached the train tracks, the group came to a stop and no one made to enter the tunnel that was in front of us. In a few minutes the reason became clear as the ground shook and the howl of a train horn could be heard echoing on the hills. Once it passed right in front of our noses, we started walking into the tunnel. About half way through, it turned pitch dark and I tell you, train tracks are not the best terrain for steady trekking, There was muttering of curses, scuffling noises and occasional yells when some one decided to take advantage of the dark to play pranks. But in a few minutes we were across and into the light.

We followed the tracks for a few kilometers more and came across a staircase that spiraled upwards reminding me of the Jack and the Bean Stalk legend. Here the tribal women pointed us up and continued on their way.

So we started the long winded climb, spirited at first, panting like dogs by the end. I counted till 500 steps and then decided to give up. But finally, we found ourselves right where we had started - at my friends house. Her mother was ready with a few snacks and cups of tea and then we were on our way home in autos. So no truck rides this time, thank god. But it was another of those treks, which gave us these stories to tell years afterwards. Now what good is an adventure if it is forgettable?

Haflong Days: A Trek to Remember!

During my second year of bachelor’s degree, I and my band of merry class friends decided we should have a picnic. Since most of us were going to split and go our way after college, the idea was to have some shared fun before that.

Well, we had planned for everything but the weather. And if you guys have any idea of the weather in this hill stations, you will sympathize. The first two weeks of November, when the temperature is already at a decent 15 degrees C, it drizzled non-stop. Our moods turned as gloomy as the sky as we saw the opportunity of having a picnic before the worst of the winter hit slipping by.

But at the end of the second week, it suddenly stopped drizzling and a fairly decent sized hole appeared in the clouds. Taking this as a divine sign, I went and dragged the rest of my posse kicking and screaming from their cozy bed and told them we were going hiking.

Now, since this break in the rain was unscheduled, so were our picnic plans. We improvised and took a local bus to the railway station, which was about 20 kms from town. On reaching there though we were stumped. We were kilometers away from any decent picnic spot and the ground was wet and muddy from the weeks of rain. Soon we were walking along the road singing atrociously and coming up with ridiculous plans on how to reach a picnic spot. And the day was beginning to look dull again.

Suddenly, Larry (whose full name is hardly pronounceable) declared he knew a short cut. And even after two years of knowing about Larry’s infamous shortcuts, we jumped at the offer.

Lo and behold, he found us a small trail that local villagers often take to avoid the main roads. On a nice clear day, these short cuts make for challenging hiking trails. On a muddy morning it was a like a death trap. Angling downwards at a steady 45 degree angle and an equally tilted gradient, the muddy trail had us slipping headlong and sidewise at the same time. It was like mud skating. I simply stood still and let gravity pull me down and tried not to topple. If anyone did topple, it would have meant rolling down at least 500 meters before being stopped by a few nice and sturdy bamboo stalks.

But we didn’t realize all these until we were well into the path. Now it was just as much nuisance to turn and climb the muddy trail back to the high ground. Down was easier and down we went – for a good one hour. Countless shrieks and near accidents later, we came out of the bamboo forest to find ourselves smack in front of our very own Deyung river.

Forgetting our trials in an instant, we ran screaming to the river and did what most city dwellers will call the savage dance. It consists of chanting “ooga chooga” while dancing around a fire (on which we had perched the tea kettle) until the tea was ready. And then switching to our British colonial legacy, we settled down and had tea and biscuit.

Well, the day progressed as usual with us cavorting in the water, which was bloody cold and made our feet hurt (the only appendage we dare dip into that sacred river). Now, winter in Haflong meant the sunset was as early as 4.30 pm. So around 2.30 pm, after we had demolished our food, we suddenly realized we had no idea how to get back home before sun set. And we were definitely NOT going to hike back in the dark on that treacherous short cut.

Our problem was again solved by Larry who had struck up a conversation with the drivers of a truck, which had come carrying cement and other materials used for repairing the bridge there. Now empty, the truck was on the way back and the drunk drivers were very happy to give ride to our group, which consisted of seven girls and one guy (namely Larry!) We politely declined the offer to share the truck cabin and climbed on the back of the truck (for a visual on Indian trucks please follow the link http://hikethewhites.com/nepal/truck.jpg).

Our memorable hike ended with us jumping off the truck on the outskirts of the town and then walking home like nothing much had happened that day. It is only the next day, when our muscles went stiff and ached from all the running, falling and water sport, did we confess to our adventure. My parents of course did not bat an eyelid and nodded sagely and laughed as soon as I left the room. But what a day it was and I still look back and think “we were nuts but boy did we enjoy or what!”

I think I lost my Temper Today!!

Ever heard anyone say that? I have, including myself. I think most of the time I am very disappointed when I say that because I was trying so hard not to lose my temper. And I have heard my husband once say that in surprise. He later explained that he never realized when he lost his cool.

We all have our boiling point. And I do not think its possible for us to be calm always. And prevention is better then cure does not work always. As Kenny Rogers sang “Sometimes you have to fight to be a man”. But that doesn’t mean I condone jumping at each others throat!

The fact is most often, right after we lose our temper, we realize what a mistake we made, that the situation was not that bad to start with and we have probably made it worse with the words spoken in anger. Because anger is rarely rational and an irrational mind cannot diffuse an argument.

I guess that best way to deal with it, as I have found is to first consciously breathe and chant “calm down calm down” in your mind. And next, either try to reason it out or flee! You may not agree to these solutions but in many situations they have saved my neck and sometimes the other jackasses neck too!

Oh, and just like alchoholism, denial is the worst enemy of anger too. “I don’t lose temper” only means you do not consider your outbursts a problem. Au contraire sir, the others might not agree. Sometimes, it pays to listen to your colleagues and friends; if they say you have a short temper- you probably do.

One thing, though, I am not very sure about. Does suppressing your temper actually solve the problem? Many times I have been left with this simmering anger for hours because I did not vent it on something. And I hear they can give you ulcer for heavens sake! My mom has this unique solution –she vents it on a piece of paper and then shreds it. Me I talk. I howl, I yowl and screech…..to someone who has the patience. And when I have calm down, I thank them for their patience and let them get ready for my next rant.

So my advice to all of you who keep loosing your temper here and there, “Do Pranayam and watch the movie Anger Management”. If the problem persists consult a professional (refer to the movie for clues).

Brother Bites Back!!!

Well, I have been egging my brother to comment on my blog and since he had major difficulty trying to post his comments on the blog itself, he mailed it to me. Now I found his reply too good not to pass it onto my readers. This is what he wrote:

Below would be my comments on your zen post. Btw, you never did mention my most important advise - don't get run over by a cow!!

The "reed", also called a "float" was usually made of the spine of a bird feather. The other option that was often resorted too was to cut the stem off of a "phul jharu", which is basically a form of grass, and stick it on the tree. A google search of "Satchari National Park nature trails" will show a picture (bottom right, first page) of "phul jharu" growing in the wild.

The stem of the phul-jharu was also effectively used as the shaft of an arrow. An arrow head on one end, a feather on the other, and a bamboo bow and one was good to go for a day of adventure.

Not naming names, I distinctly remember someone being banned from using a bow and arrow for an "accident". This "accident" involved successfully hitting a building contractor right in the middle of the forehead from considerable distance. (Pssst: He asked fot it!))

Speaking of archery, for that matter anything that takes you out to the woods for extended periods, is very soothing. The outcome of the hunt rarely matters, but sitting 30 feet above the ground on a tree with your bow and arrow, for extended periods, clears my mind and relaxes me. One experiences the same feeling of clarity as one gets from angling. The senses improve to the point that you can smell deer, as long as the wind is right, and so you are acutely aware of the wind directions. You can pick out the sound of squirrels running around a hundred yards away, or the truck gearing down to take a turn 5 miles away. The last thing on your mind is the delivery date of that important project.

Did i get anyone interested in picking up that now again? Am sure Dad would be a little concerned, but he would not mind. Trust me, I asked.

"Life 101" - Big Brother Style

The advantages of being a pesky little brat with a big brother is that anything goes – advices on how to tie your shoelaces to how to incapacitate the school bully! Actually, I don’t remember who taught me to tie shoelaces and I learnt to beat up the school bully by practicing on my neighborhood kids.

But there were still plenty of tips laid out my bro that I still swear by. Only a brother motivated by strong love will teach his kid sister the most vulnerable points in a human body and how to take advantage of them. “Go for the eyes- poke your fingers into them…and keep your fingers stiff man!” Well, I never tried that move, but I am sure it works.

Of course, some of the so-called Judo moves came in really handy while rough housing with the neighborhood kids (Did I mention all of them were boys?) I swear I know at least five ways to trip a man bigger then me my using his weight against him. So sue me! It was also fun to see my lankier and taller friends back away from fighting me. While they held back some tricks due to the gender issue, I felt no such compulsion and fought as dirty as possible.

Now, my brother never told me he would beat up anybody who messed with me. I think he had too much confidence in me. But I kind of understood that if things got out of hand, he definitely will do that. But I also learned some nasty psychological warfare tips from him. Like staring guys down, the sudden turn and whirl on your prey move, and the last but not the least, making really convincing threats. Try “I am going to break your fingers one by one slowly” accompanied by a really self satisfied smirk. Guaranteed, most bullies will think you a nut case and back off!

And if nothing works- kick them in the nut and run home screaming. Big brother will take care of the big bad bully!

Apart from the violent bits, my brother also rattled off a number of “wisdoms” all throughout my life- like look both ways while crossing the road; don’t run, just walk, don’t smoke or your lips will turn blue etc. etc.

He taught me how to cross the street, in the mean streets of Delhi. Let me drive the car on the mountain roads, never yelling when I over-corrected. Taught me how to tackle the local buses in Kolkata, with advices like “Don’t wear heels; you might trip on the tram tracks”. Oh lets not forget the advice on how to tackle with those groping hands in the bus –“step on their toes and elbow them” (his version of SING I guess). And it works like a miracle, I swear.

I guess I can keep listing the incredible number of do’s and don’ts that I still swear by just because he told them. And if he is reading this, he would probably think this is major chick-flick stuff, but I swear by Life 101, as my brother taught me. And hey I am very much alive and kicking here, so I guess they work just fine. And if you are reading this bro – “You have created a MONSTER!!!”

The Luck Of Friendship

For all that is sacred in the world, friendship often comes in shapes and sizes that don’t fit your vision, but stay on to endure. In plain English, friends are often the most unlikely person you have met and somehow managed to stay friends with for eternity. Its luck, I say or destiny if you prefer. Because while you can choose the person to befriend, best friends are made in heaven.

I have a few. I can count them on my little finger. But I will give my finger for any of them (Will get back to you on other body parts!). At a glance you will probably wonder how on earth such mismatched people can be friends. Well I guess one thing all my friends share is brutal honesty and strong principles. While this might make most of them unpopular in general gatherings; for me it has been the cause to trust and believe. And then of course most of my friends actually UNDERSTAND each other!

We don’t always agree. But, we rarely argue about our convictions. It seems, between us friends we have come to respect each others opinions without actually sacrificing our own. Sounds serious? Well, actually it saves time from having pointless arguments with each other (brutally honest remember?)

I blame luck for my friendships because I don’t think I would have met these people by choice. A change in tuition group, a sudden inspiration to take up a course, resigning myself to work for a small company – each of these decisions have earned me a good solid friendship, if nothing else. And my best friend? Well I was forced to live with her for a year and came away liking her even better. So we stuck.

While many of you out there have the same story, I reaffirm that we are the lucky lot. Because even though we can choose friends, we can’t always find those best ones without a little luck!

Haflong Days: The Art of Zen Fishing

Zen is a school of Mahayana Buddhism which emphasizes the idea that ultimate truth must be experienced firsthand rather than pursued through study. (Wikipedia)

Have you ever been fishing? If not you will probably miss half the fun of this piece, but go ahead anyway. The fact is, I have gone fishing lots of time with my dad when I was a kid. With him it was a hobby and a passion. For me, at the beginning at least, it was a chance to run along the grassy meadows on the bank of the lake, basking in the afternoon sun and no interruptions from adults. It wasn’t until I was nine that I actually held a fishing rod and was allowed to fish for the tiny fishes we fondly call putimach.

Now, before I write this, I would like you to give you a visual of it. Haflong, where I grew up was a hill station in N.E. India. And as hill stations go, it had winding roads with old British Bungalows, with colorful Dandelions and Chrysanthemum bushes – very storybook pretty. The life there was also slow, paced out, people seemed to be in a content daze- not in any hurry to achieve or prove anything.

For me, it meant growing up without the peer pressure and rat race of city life. It was basically eat, sleep, climb trees, smash the neighbor’s window pane with cricket ball; and go fishing with dad. It was also a somewhat about trying to get dad’s attention, I guess.

So most days we would set out around 3.30 p.m. in the afternoon when the Sun had lost its “burning” intensity. We will get a fishing pack ready, with the tackles, wires, hooks and bait - mashed bread and honey mostly, and sometimes worms (do I hear eeewwwss??). It was a pleasant 4 to 5 km walk to the Lake and then dad would cast the wire, set up his fishing rod and settle down to wait for a bite. And I would ferret around for pine cones and other knick knacks. Those were the most relaxed times I ever spent in my life.

Then, when I was around nine I shot up in height and dad presumed I was big enough to handle the responsibility of fishing. So I got a rod – a straight smooth piece of bamboo cut from the tip the bamboo tree making it very thin. To it was tied a thick string, the ones they use for stitching umbrellas. Unlike big fish, a puti barely weighs 50 gms and hardly required the Nylon fishing wire used by the adults.

Oh and we needed an indicator. See when you fish in still water you loop a piece of reed to the wire, around 3 inches long, which has a spongy filling inside making it float. It's weighed down with a small piece of lead which keeps the reed floating perpendicularly, with half of it under water. So when the fish bites, the tug on the line will make the reed bob down underwater.

Now that I have bored you with the details (having a Frederick Forsyth moment here), let me get back on the art part. Fishing, as my dad explained, was not about how many fish you catch. It’s about outsmarting that one sly fish that wouldn’t get caught. It’s all about the hunt, you could say. This of course meant sitting on the water's edge (not looming over it though as reflection scares away fishes) and watching the reed or fatna as we call it gently float on the surface.

With your concentration solely on that reed, the world almost slows down. You are so focused that you forget about the mundane problems of your life, almost like meditation. Your senses get sharper and sharper until you can hear odd bird calls here and there, fishes making small ripples on the water, the sun falling through the trees making bizarre patters on the ground. And then suddenly, it seems that it’s you who is moving and the water is actually still. It’s an optical illusion, but most people don’t sit around long enough to get that feeling.

Whether I got a fish at the end of the day or not, I rarely came away feeling angry or frustrated from these fishing trips. They taught me patience and peace at a time when the words held no meaning for me. And most of all, fishing left me with memories that still make me feel happy. Now if that isn’t Zen, you tell me.

Haflong Days: The series

Hi all, I am just starting a new series called Haflong Days (I ripped it off the Malgudi Days), cause people keep telling me I should write down the stories of my childhood in the absolutely heavenly place. So, time to time I will pop in with one of those, hope you enjoy!

Art of living- The Feline Way

After spending a better part of the evening staring at an industrious cat lazing away on the neighbors roof I have come to the realization that –God is not only divine but feline too. And there is no better life then a cat’s. Wait! Before you go all “skeptic” on me- I have had plenty of cats as pets and not-so pets while growing up to base this little piece of introspection on.

Now, a cat’s life consists of sleeping, eating, hunting and sleeping again- with procreational activities thrown in between. It’s a fairly simple existence, unlike our headache inducing stressful one.

They can curl up and get comfy in any surface – they can lay on a rock and make it seem like better then your Curl-on mattress. Oh and the snoring/purring. At least I could hear my cat from a foot afar. Not to mention the occasional muscle creaking joint popping stretches that seem to make you nauseous with envy. Well at least it does to me.

But the most important point is that a Cat lives its life on its own time, for its own pleasure and your (human) thoughts about it can go to hell! Who is whose pet! A cat won’t give you the time of its day unless it needs anything, namely food. And it’s definitely not going to wag its tail when you come home. And if it does, be careful – it’s angry and might scratch you!

So in conclusion, I would like to officially state my intentions of being born as a tom cat in my next life. People (Cat) up there, please consider!

300 - The VIP vs PJ Epic!

Putting aside the incredible cinematography and camera work, 300 is, at its core, an epic battle between VIP clad men and PJ clad men.... and VIP wins (well..duh..I am an Indian). In a nutshell... Persians, wearing PJs come to Spartans wearing VIPs and ask them to surrender. VIP refuses and 300 men wearing black VIP briefs meet countless PJ clad Persians. Realistically, the 300 are wasted. BUT....the 300 VIps clad men then inspire 10,000 VIP clad men to take on the obviously lame PJ wearing villains and the rest is history.

And if you are keen on it, watch on the big screen. A small screen will be a major disappointment. Somehow, heads flying with full screen view of the innards loses its effect on the 21" screen. For all you fainthearted.. the wiers color scheme takes away the goriness of the scenes that could give steven king a run for his money. Its like a hybrid of Gladiator (with its dialogue and camera work) and Lord of the Rings (Battle scenes and hopeless odds).
My take on it.... if you missed it, don't sweat! There are better movies in the screen.

Hobbies make good company..

In case you are wondering ."What the heck...?"..Here is the clue - when you are bored out of your mind turn to your hobby. Or hobbies.

When I was in school and things will start to 'hit the fan', I would reach for my diary and start writing. I wrote whatever came to my mind.. Limericks, poems, about the day, about the neighbors dog, muse about how the shit hit the fan..Anything. It was peaceful and calming. Move over yoga!

No serious, it was the best company I could ask for.....Well except for the feral eyed Tomcat who used to cosy up to me now and then.

Well then we moved and mister feral kitty was left behind. And it was me and my diary again. But the city was too noisy and I could come up with nothing to write. And just like that I discovered something else. Doodling. Oh well two things actually. The second was my guitar.

I guess my perceptive big brother may have figured that "my old guitar" will make a good cuddle bunny one day. Oh sorry man if you are reading..no offense! Well so here I was doodling on paper drawing faces, designs, cars.... even if they didn't look like what they were supposed to be. And there were the strings.

I fumbled with the instrument.. and the squawks and twangs never sounded better. I have fond memories of evening spent, eyes scrunched up, lips pressed together -trying to master the first few lines of "A 100 miles away from home".

Now, am at another place another home. I still write. And I paint. Sceneries mostly..with my old brush and water paints. But they still have the same effect -peace and comfort. Guess I really couldn't ask for better company. And they aren't even high maintenance.