Big Fat Pile Of Urban Manure

Social Networking for social good?

2011-03-05T21:23:00.001+05:30

I was just watching a French popper-break dancer called Salah strut his stuff on stage. He is an amazing dancer and a performer and most of the time I was scraping my jaw off the floor at his talent. And while I was doing this it occurred to me that if not for face book and you tube, I would have never stumbled on to this guy or seen his talent. Its really amazing how the borders and limits on knowledge has changed.

Causes

Today we are literally in the drivers seat, accessing what we want, when we want. There was nothing, I mean absolutely nothing like that when I was born. Considering we were late in catching up with the first world countries, that is still barely three decades of progress to this height. Whether it is good or bad for us in the long run is an question that I don't want to debate here. But things have changed irrevocably for us all. Little known places and people are suddenly now reaching the far corners of the world through face book share and other social networking tools.

I am sharing this French guy's video with my friends on face book, who are scattered all over the world and may have never seen this type of dancing before. Some of them will like this video and share it further with their friends. Imagine the network made available to this guy's video because of my one little mouse click.

Jumo

It is true that we still have huge problems in the world, including poverty, war, hunger, natural disasters and so many things that need to be addressed and solved, despite our progress. But surely this connectivity is also touching and changing the way we solve these problems as well? Isn't it the prefect tool for fighting the evil, propagating a cause and letting the world know what lies beyond the glitz and glamor of the upper crust? If I can use this connectivity to share videos and stories of what is happening in our rural communities, spread the word of what needs done and how one can help, in think we can put this power to good use. To quote Spider-man, "with great power comes great responsibilities".

The flip side it are the socially helpful social networking sites that are also making quite a bit of money for themselves. Sites like Jumo, Causes, Crowdrise are social networking platforms built to help non-profit organizations raise fund or get support for their causes and projects. But these sites also charge a sweet little fee for all their services. Which may not be bad if the overall financial support received is good. But a large number of people from the non-profit organizations also feel that this may actually backfire on the cause of social responsibility in social networking.

The fear is that people may feel that by donating their obligation to the society is over. Many people compare it to Carbon Offsets, bought by corporates to weasel their way out of paying for the environmental damage caused by their business. As far as using social network for social good is concerned, it might be better if it used to bring people closer to the cause, informing people of the reality, for gathering support for petition, organizing a marathon etc. All these will help people come together for social good rather then simple offload their extra change for the feel good factor.

Back In Black

2011-02-16T02:00:00.002+05:30

I am back in black to test Blogger's new design templates and to re-awaken my blogging muse. So far it's not going too well. Muse has taken a strong sleeping potion and no amount of caffeine is able to wake it up. Can't really blame it since the cold and cloudy weather makes me want to crawl under the covers too. Let's see if I can drag something out of my semi-lucid muse.

Grey seems to be the theme this winter. It was suppose to be white, what with all the whiteout dooms day warnings. We didn't even get the white Christmas. Instead we had grey days, grey skies and even the weather man kept using the word grey. Made me want to quote O Henry's famous line " a grey cat walking a grey fence in a grey backyard" (Gift of the Magi).

This year the Magi bought us the gift of FLU. The mythical wise men also bought a few other related viral and bacterial attachments, but let's just skip over them quickly. Referring back to the quote, I can't even overlook a backyard. All the windows in my new apartment overlook a very busy dual carriageway. So my quote will be modified to "grey cars whizzing past on grey asphalt reflecting a grey over cast sky." Now you can see how that will never become a famous line. Muse promptly falls back to sleep at this point.

Dover Port

Fortunately, my blogging platform has introduced a few new features, so I decided to at least exercise my design muse. Hence I am Back in Black (hope AC/DC doesn't sue me for this) .

We also tried to liven up our grey winter by taking a trip to Dover. Unfortunately, it was grey AND cold there, adding to our misery. The famous white cliffs looked grey as well and to tell the truth, we have seen better white cliffs in Devon.

The highlight of the trip was probably Canterbury. Colored somewhat by my recollections of "Canterbury Tales", the quirky mix of old and new buildings in the town center was interesting. Compared to many so called old towns in UK, this felt less staged and more genuinely charming. We will probably go back in summer for a Venice style boat ride in the older parts of Canterbury.

Canterbury

Thankfully the days are getting longer and hopefully we will get clearer skies. Muse is now definitely snoring. I will pop back in with some past summer glory soon.

Boring scenery & good company = Easter Vacation

2010-04-11T00:17:00.002+05:30

Hello folks. Fresh back from our Easter break I am all fired up to blog my travel. Unfortunately, it wasn't that sensational. Snowdonia (I am sure I will offend someone here) didn't have much effect on my pulse rate in comparison to all the other "dramatic" places we have been to. However, the company was good and the weather was not half as bad as we had expected, so all is well that ends well.

I might add at this point that most of UK's scenic attractions reveal their prettiness to only the hikers. We Indian's on the other hand prefer only to hike up to our Temples. Otherwise, we simply pop off the bus and have our Aloo chat while looking at the scenery. Our scenic spots are also well populated with thousand other tourists and hawkers, and sometimes it takes a really tall man to view the scenery over their head.

So, I do enjoy the untouched quality of the scenic spots in UK. It reminds me of my Missouri trip years ago where I had gone to visit the Kempty falls that had more hawkers, tourist guides and dhobis washing clothes than water in it. There was a long flight of almost 500 stairs to climb down and back for this jolly madness as well. Even the monkeys were sniggering at us for taking the effort.

To remove that trauma, this time we hiked to the Aber falls in Snowdonia. Unfortunately, our planner had missed the hiking part in his description and we were not ready for it. However, it was a gentle slope of half an hour walk at a steady pace to the falls. So we weren't too deterred. There was plenty of barren trees (apparently they didn't get the memo that spring has arrived), hollowed out trees and mountain streams to keep us distracted on our way.

Aber Falls was predictably non-spectacular, but gave us enough space to click the dozen or so we-were-there photographs. We also realized that people who took that hike had brought their picnic lunch and we were very hungry. Additionally encouraged by an urge to visit the toilet, we started a rapid decent to civilization. As usual, the road seemed unending, legs started aching, hunger started gnawing and the clouds rolled in to put the icing on the cake. We made up for all the discomfort by tearing into some muffins.

We also conveniently forgot that everything closes early here even if the day is much longer. Consequently, we missed out some train rides and boat rides and had to drive around aimlessly. Compared to Scotland and even Lake District, the scenery was somewhat drab and the roads very nice and boring.

The other highlight of our trip was probably the Tram to Great Orme, which crawls up a semi-steep hill to give a nice view and an experience. It was a little too short for me though. But we have come to expect that in UK. The Great Orme Head over looked the sea and gave us some nice views and photo opportunities. I also got the chance to test my new zoom lens on some unsuspecting crows and gulls.

The final day of our trip was washed out by rain. It was actually remarkable that we were not rain-ed in before that. We made the best of it by taking a very very boring steam engine ride, which had great views of sheep, sheep and more sheep. We entertained ourselves by guessing which IPL league team they should belong to (the black sheep became Chennai Super Kings for some reason!).

We topped off that day by wondering inside a slate mine listening to the Welsh version of King Arthur's life and all the excitement finally made us so hungry that we had to invade a Indian restaurant on our way back to gobble some spicy food. Unfortunately, they also got on our nerve by serving the food really late. But we ended on a good note as the waiters popped up with a few roses before we could settle the bill and we had some good laughs over it. Now to start looking for the "budget" destination for the next long weekend.

In the summer time, when the weather is high…

2010-03-28T02:10:00.011+05:30

Summer doesn't mean beach and bikini's when you are India. When you are in India, especially Kolkata, you wait for winter and absolutely dread summer. It means scorching sun, sweaty armpits and stifling traffic jams. In summer, we Indian's take vacations in Hill Stations to get some cool relief. If only things were so rosy here in UK.

It’s almost April now, and BBC weather says "SNOW ON WEDNESDAY!!" Give me a break! Last summer had sunny spells, so we went to beaches. The water was too cold for us hot-blooded desi's. I dipped my toe a couple of times and came back with a dark enough tan to warrant a fair and lovely treatment.

Of course I didn't take that treatment. I just happen to go back to Kolkata for a couple of months, and the mosquitoes there detoxified my blood and the sweltering heat gave me natural steaming treatments. The result, apart from a few pollution induced rashes here and there on the face, a rosy-cheeked complexion in 180 days!

I really miss summer in India, but not necessarily in Kolkata. My summers in Kolkata were mostly spent commuting to and fro from office in chicken coops...ahem...I mean local buses. Work places were, of course pleasantly air-conditioned. But there was a time when I worked for a company that had recently moved and there was no air-conditioning installed in that building. The promise of a/c seemed far when April rolled in and all we got were huge stand fans to keep us cool.

Those hot and stuffy days were full of hilarious memories though, courtesy those fans. In the middle of the day, sudden frantic chorus of "move it, move it" meant someone had dared to stand right in front of one of those fans, thus blocking the life saving breeze. Ladies wearing dupatta found the fans hazardous as they often sucked in the long fabrics, yanking the person attached to it as well. After a few scares, the men folk took up the mantle of saving the damsel in distress and dutifully shouted "watch it!" from their seats whenever a dupatta wearing female got too close to any of those fans.

We were a close, jolly group. Breaks from the hectic schedule were always filled with raucous laughter. Sometimes those breaks came in the form of power cuts. Our office has huge French Windows, which actually let in some mild breeze if opened, even in summer. That was mainly because we had fisheries and marshland nearby. Albeit the breeze smelt like fish, but beggars can't be choosers. So, in the incident of a power cut, the windows were thrown open and a crowd would gather near every window. A passerby once even commented that it reminded him of crows sitting on electric wires. How mean!

There was the one memorable afternoon in June 2004, which still makes me laugh whenever I think of it. I think we had a thunderstorm the night before and lightening had fried a nearby transformer. The better part of the morning had gone by without any work or power and people were starting to go mad. A group of us, all senior people, decided it was time for a break.

We ended up in the almost vacant amusement park that straddled the marshland near our office. We had cool snacks to counter the mid-afternoon sun and then picked some juice packs and decided to enjoy the park's Shikara rides. For all of you non-Indian's, it’s kind of like punting. But since its India, we had chauffeurs.

There must have been eight or nine of us. Sid, who had reputedly swam in the Ganga, refused to hop into the Shikara since the water was only waist high (If you ever read this Sid, I swear I mean nothing by it!). We equally divided into two boats, which resulted in one almost sinking, courtesy one of my best friends who loved his chicken butter masala a little too much.

After adjusting a little bit, we managed to keep the boat floating with three people in it (Ok, so all three us liked our chicken butter masala a little too much as well). Then we set off to enjoy the murky, fish smelling waters of that bog, side by side. Soon our empty juice packs, now filled with that disgusting water, were flying like missiles from one boat to another. Any attempt to avoid those resulted in near capsizing and loud screams and curses.

Occasionally, my best friend would lean this way or that way, to get a better aim or to get his lighter out his pocket. This made the boat tilt slowly, with us screaming "sit straight you fatso!” The people in the other boat would immediately take advantage at this distraction by hurling more water bombs.

In the middle of this hilarious ride, fishes suddenly started jumping from the water, flying past our noses and smacking our faces. Whatever was the reason behind that, the result was general pandemonium as people starting squirming to avoid the fishes and tilting the boats this way and that way. We screamed, squealed, and hung on to the sides of the boat to avoid capsizing into that disgustingly dirty water. Our chauffeurs rolled their eyes at our antics.

Alas, our sweet ride ended and we all stumbled back to office, sweaty and flushed with heat, but grinning like mad people. I cherish that memory still and the memory of a friend who was there that day but not with us anymore. I haven't had such a memorable summer since that one really. Hope this summer brings some more laughter again.

In the summertime

when the weather is high

You can stretch right up

and touch the sky....

-Shaggy

2010 Travel Guide: From Buck's Mill to Camelot!

2010-02-17T02:41:00.004+05:30

After being in england for a couple of years now, I totally fail to understand how English literature thrived under these weather conditions. How can anyone get inspired to pen the words of joy and glory when all you can see is clouds?And yes I am using them as an excuse for my long hiatus from the blogging world.

Also, I am actually working for a change and since as the rusted machinery in there has been kick started again, they are grinding out my creative thoughts. The peanut pay also doesn't motivate. Oh well, beggars can't be choosers.Even though I would love to see the temperature crawl above 7C for a change (thats that highest I have got so far).

It's been quite a start to 2010 though for a travel bug like me. I also got a zoom lens for my SLR as a gift and have been hogging it like a side pillow. Here are a few gems from this year so far.

During the January end break, while driving about we came across this village which looks frozen in time, Buck's Mill. It was windy, rocky and looked like a set for Wuthering Heights. Of course there was a old cabin that had a plaque on which said the authors so and so wrote poems while living in this cabin in the 1820s. Ooh...writers were really sturdy folks back then. I couldn't wait to rush back in the car and heat myself up. Yes yes, we deshi's are so sissy!

But there were flashes of sun and inspiration as well. While driving the coastal path in North Cornwall, we walked off to a cliff side and there was small wooden bench dedicated to someones memory, sitting there for those who want to savor the scenery.

We moved off from there to find King Arthur's castle or what's left of it. Instead we found Camelot, a hotel. Of course a few centuries old hotel, but not as old as King Aurthur. But then the staff sent us down the wrong trail and we ended up walking away from the castle ruins. A few sheep perched on the high cliffs gave us the "tourists..duh!" look.

English coasts are very rugged. May be a larger continent took a look at the weather and decided to shrug off the bad seed? Just look over to the French Coast...so pretty. Anyways, I am digressing here. Back to the travel epics. Got a nice shot of the castle at sun down, to the background of "whump whump" sound of the sea battering the caves and cliffs. Eerie, scenic and cold, but very memorable.

Then we are back again to the daily rigmarole of eat, sleep and work. Oh joy! Almost wish for the old England which inspired pieces like Beowulf!

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Welcome to the United States of "India"!?

2009-12-30T16:44:00.002+05:30

When I was a teenager trying to mug up Indian history in order to progress through the so-called schooling system, I had confided in my dad ( a history buff) that it looks like India will someday become the United States of India and we will need passports to go visit relatives. Of course the comment was a result of frustration borne out of reading a long and tedious history book, but looking at the number of new states and territories in demand today, I feel it may not have been as far fetched as I had thought.

As if Jharkhand and Uttarakhand were not bad examples to set, now we are heading towards a divided AP. And while not delving into the debate of that particular state, I would like to say that they have no idea what they have stirred up all over the country!

Declaration of statehood over a hunger strike?! It was somewhat like parents giving into a child throwing tantrums. And here we have head militant outfits killing people and blowing up trains for years demanding the same in other states. Of course, one will say its the more Gandhian approach. I shudder to think what the new generation will be learning from this. "Mummy either I get that Nintendo or I am going on hunger strike!!"

And once again it's suspect just how much thought actually went into the separation of these states besides political gain. We seems to be continuing the legacy of our colonizers in dividing what we cannot rule. They split us into India Pakistan and we are splitting the country into even smaller bits.

But then again, except for NRIs, no Indian really ever introduces themselves as Indians. However, they are quick to ravel in all national achievements like in cricket and sports. Ours is becoming a spoiled country, the rich and the political getting spoiled for their choice and spoiling the atmosphere of the country while the rest who continue to struggle to survive are left to bare the burnt of divisions. May be if we stop behaving like children we can get down to ruling the country like adults!

Fly Air India for an unforgettable experience!

2009-12-07T18:53:00.006+05:30

This should be the tag line for our dear airline, for every time I have flown it I have come come away with real gems of memories. Take for instance this last trip that I took to England. My experience started with an mix up about immigration even before flying. Despite several calls to make sure, we ended up thinking our immigration will be from Mumbai and not Hyderabad, from where we were starting our journey. But half way through the ticketing process I realized the man in the counter was handing me the immigration forms as well. Inquiries revealed a casually spoken "of course the immigration is here at Hyderabad". I looked at my watch. 8.40. Our flight is leaving at 9.20. OK, don't panic. I looked at the immigration counters. Six counters and not a single passenger. My blood pressure crawled back into control.

My hubby didn't have the same calming effect as the ticket-man kept asking him monosyllabic questions - "London?" (we interpreted it was an inquiry about our final destination) Mumbai? (umm....yeah i guess) "Aisle?" At this my husband kept repeating "adjoining seats, understand adjoining seats..we want to seat side by side"..blame in on an earlier Air India experience.Not to mention the our flight number showed New York and not Mumbai as destination.

Anyways, we managed to get our tickets, pass through immigration and board the plane, which turned out to a very old Airbus 320. I remember flying those when I was very young. The food trays were aptly scuffed and scarred and hanging loosely in some cases. The exit door had weird stains on it and the interior resembled a luxury bus plying the Hyderabad to Tirupati road.

But, thanks to the aviation god, whoever it is, we reached Mumbai in one piece. After much searching for a parking spot at the international airport (I cannot single out Air India for this though) out tiny craft was disdainfully shoved out of the way of the Lufthansa's and Pacific's and parked into a dark and dingy corner. We piled into a bus and were ferried to the terminal where we finally zigged and zagged our way into the security checking.

We had a long long wait in Mumbai so we hunkered down at gate number 6 with hot chocolates and samosas to spend the time. With about an hour to go, the speakers blared with an innocuous, mildly voiced "all people flying the air India flight AI*** please make way to gate number 3". The result was a not so innocuous stampede. My husband took off like a bat out of hell and when I finally caught up to him I realized the reason for it. He had found us the last two adjoining seats near the new gate.

Of the rest of the great Indian travelers queued up in front of the gate with more then an hour to go. With no one to clarify, every new comer joined the line. After a long long time, someone half-heartedly tried to explain that boarding would commence at usual time but by then all seats were filled so people continued to stand.

And then finally the boarding began with this announcement, "..ahem...passengers traveling in air india flight AI*** (pause)..we will now board the flight in the following order, seat 52-25 followed by 24-10-followed by......." Now without anyone clarifying how this "followed by" should be managed, everybody cued up and started shoving against each other. We gave the mob ample time to build up the chaos and then slipped through the mil-lee to board much before seat number 52 (if you can't beat them, join them)

On boarding, the first thing I noticed is the plane smelled pleasantly like a public toilet in India. After managing to hold my breath till being seated I ripped open the blanket and stuffed in right up my nose. Thankfully someone sprayed the air freshener and things became more bearable.

I switched on the in-flight entertainment to realize no one has updated it after 2002 and went gave up in favor of a snooze. But the remote, which was placed conveniently at the side of my elbow kept switching on the monitor every time I moved. And we will skip over all the other snippets of experience as that will make this blog too long.

Although I add to this my brother's experience, when he flew AI last week from US. In his own words, the seat moved back enough to cover the width of a slim phone, the pillow was about the size of a spectacle case and everyone elbowed their neighbor each time they took a bit of the food.

And we echo our thoughts "This is the last time I am flying Air India!" I really hate being glared at by matronly air hostesses for no fault of my own!

Respect you elders..in theory at least!

2009-10-23T17:09:00.003+05:30

Respect your elders is something Indian children hear all the time. Its an inherent part of our chain of wisdom, passed from generation to generation. But every generation feels that the next adheres to it just a little less. That the new generation leads their life by pushing the slower older generation out of their way, shooing them away when they ramble inarticulately and getting irritated when they cannot get something point. Since there is no indication that children are born with the "mis-treat the elders" gene, one had to consider the monkey see money do effect.

If we expect the next generation to pick up habits like opening doors for elders, giving up seats, helping them in the stairs or show their respect and concern in any other form, we need to show them how its done. But in our rush rush life, I have seen old people getting and shoved out of the way by harried mothers dragging their children to school. Observant kids will obviously notice that mommy doesn't practice what she preaches and consequently learn to ignore these teachings.

But its another story to see how the old are treated in the hallowed halls of the government offices like the municipality, registrars office or pension department. These places have old and retired people thronging them every day, trying to get small things done that end up taking all their life time and sometimes even longer. Try escorting an old person to any of these offices and you might understand how the public servant treats the elders of our country.

Bent with age, tired of struggling against the system, these people come again and again to these offices trying to get through red tapes. What they get is abject reactions, rough denials and sometime even unwarranted insults. I recently had to help one of my parents with pension papers as the other had passed away. Fortunately, we are well off enough to own a small car which makes the one hour travel easier on the body. It took us three trips, hundreds spent on petrol, hours wasted on sitting and being sent back to get something done. And most people who hear that story exclaim, "Three visits only! You guys are so lucky!"

It's very common to see a pensioner being shooed away with the words "Can't you see I am working?" Even if the said pensioner's eye sight is not 20-20, he or she can see that work constitutes of sipping tea discussing the local politics with a few other such "busy" people. Sometimes they will take pity and suggest that the pensioner go outside for a snack and tea and come back after one hour when the clerk will be relatively free.

"Don't you know you have to bring the Identity Card?" one clerk shouts at a demure little old woman who shakes with fatigue for having stood for a long time in the registrars office in Hyderabad. Well, if we did know all the procedures involved, we would be sitting in his chair now wouldn't we!

So by extension it is our government that treats our elders with the dignity reserved for an ant, speak to them as if they are ignorant children, treat them like nuisance and most often show them the door for failing to bring some obscure document. If the root is rotten, no point in blaming the new leafs now is there?

Kaminey: Original but definitely not sublime!

2009-08-17T15:14:00.005+05:30

It has to speak for the movie's reputation when people are willing to brave the night show after spending the whole day frolicking on the beach. It is also one of the reason I came out of the hall thinking "ok, this was good but whats the whole hallu ballu about?" I agree it was better then the usual crime movie fare stuffed down our throat by bollywood. It's also somewhat unique in its half-half combo of dirty gritty drama and funny sarcastic wit. But it is not a movie that I would want to watch again and again as most of the movie critics are dictating. Its good, but not thaaaaat great. However, it is worth watching once and I am sure many of the viewers will disagree with me. Its possible that I went with too high an expectation.

Coming to the movie its a new twist on a old theme. Basic premise, two brothers with characters as different as day and night which is funnily signified by their dreams - one wants to be a bookie and other one wants to finish his degree and get a job. And no they weren't separated at birth but rather drifted apart due to circumstances. Here I should give due credit to Shahid, he did well enough as the brother on the dark side. Guddu the good brother is more like the Shahid we see generally, so the contrasting portrayal of Charlie the race fixer was quite good. However, the effect was not as shocking as Saif's Langra Tyagi in Omkara.

The story, as it has been advertised, is of around 24 hours or a little more. Both brothers are drawn into one single incident owing to a complicated and incidental chain of events, which was expected. The movie runs at quite a good pace and doesn't bore you. But it definitely didn't keep me at the edge of my seat with anticipation.

One good thing I really appreciate is that there is no unnecessarily added comics bits. All the laugh is part of the sarcastic dialogue and settings and the basis of the story - life is full of Kaminey.

For me, the movie shines though through the superb acting of the various villains - Bhope who touts the same lines as Raj Thakery, the customary corrupt cop duo, Tashi - the cigar smoking foreign villain and last but not the last the Bengali bookie brothers who sum up the super villain cast. I specially loved the Bong crooks with their bong dialogues and crazy attitude, even though they must have had about 15 minutes of screen time in all.

Last but not the least, Priyanka is a hoot in her character as a fire brand marathi girl, who knows how to get what she wants and even protect it with equal gusto. Her dialogues are sharp and she did justice to her role, I felt. All in all the movie was going quite well, until the end when it seemed a little more then necessary "formula" was applied. I would have preferred a little more twist and punch at the end. Oh well, watch it once at least.

Summer 2009 UK: Pearls of Wisdom from the seasoned traveller

2009-07-31T19:50:00.007+05:30

"Whats the big blob in the sky?" - that was the running joke this summer in UK. A sight so rare to this rain soaked country, that you want to run back to the 45 degree C roasting cauldron you call home. However, owing to global warming, the big blob did give us a unique "summer" this time, which we capitalized by running around this island like headless chicken. At the end of this long journey (we chalked up quite a bit of mileage) I gathered a few pearls of wisdom that I would like to share with my unwilling readers-

A "beach" in UK does not necessarily conform to the Indian idea of it. Most often, it lacks sandy shores or warm waters.
Like the towels mentioned in the Hitchhikers guide to the galaxy, here you should never step out of the house without the latest AA Road Atlas. Or you will spend half of your life circling some blasted castle in the heart of the city, rather than getting into it.
It doesn't matter how sunny the weather forecast, it never hurts to carry a jacket. Don't bother with an umbrella, its more likely to snap like arthritic bones.
There are more sheep in England than people.
Safest food to order anywhere is the "English Breakfast". Everything else is at your risk.
The tallest peaks in England are tiny hillocks to us. If you expect more, go see the Himalaya's in your backyard!
Don't expect a lot when you visit a castle. Its more likely to resemble a "bhoot bangla (haunted mansion)" than anything like the palaces of Rajasthan. Interior or to that matter exterior decoration is not of much importance here. Its all about be-headings!
If you have doubts about what clothes to get here, anything in white, black or grey will be fine. You will blend right in.
Whether you are going uphill or downhill or getting on a single lane bridge, the sheep have the right of the way
In a place so small, even uneven nooks and cranny's are made out to be major tourist attractions. England's biggest gorge may not look more than that crack you crossed on the way to school (well, that may be a little too cruel!)
British people rarely smile, unless they are drunk. Scottish people often smile, even when they are not drunk. Haven't been to Ireland.
Round-Abouts is a secret weapon used by MI-6 to keep most citizens and aliens confused while in the country.
All houses look the same in any given county. If you are visiting anyone, please carry a Sat Nav and the post code.
Don't depend on Sat Nav's. Only time it works well is when you key in "Go Home". Otherwise, its as good as having your spouse (I mean me) do the navigation.
Car Rental companies are a necessary evil. We use them often, so we know how evil they are.
Wear sneakers. The ground is always muddy. Wonder why!??
Last but not the least, never comment on the weather early in the day and jinx yourself. If you went through the day without getting wet, you can worship the weather god at night.

I can go on and on and on. But I will keep that for a future blog. Sleep on this few bits, while I try to dig up the elusive wisdom tooth.

Vote For Your Tomorrow

2009-04-11T02:11:00.002+05:30

Indian Election 2009 seems to have hit a new high as far as the pre-election theatrics and dramatics are considered. It’s has become the mother of all reality shows. And it has done nothing to inspire the voters' confidence or motivation.

As a matter of fact, voters have just continued to get more and more disappointed with our politicians and their empty promises. The rural populace, who generally come out to vote in higher numbers, have suffered year after year as elected leaders never delivered on their promise of education, employment, health and other basic amenities. The urban voters on the other hand have not been active participants till late. But the recent escalation of terrorist activities in the Indian metros have brought the urban populace into the 2009 election.

However, as many of these first-time voters are not aware of the political history of the parties and candidates, they are confused. Even the few veteran voters are also confused, as none of the candidates and parties are inspiring total confidence. And let’s not forget the many alliances either. In reality, these ever changing alliances, with enemies becoming friends and friends becoming enemies overnight just for a chance at the seat of power only goes to show the voters what drives our politicians. Indian Voters have pretty much come to regard our politicians as power hungry, unethical people who abuse their position at every chance. And it will take nothing less then a miracle to sway that view anytime soon.

We voters are also at fault for our current situation. Specially the urban voters who have the education and the means to bring about changes should be definitely more aware of political issues and be more involved. We ELECT our politicians, no one is arm-twisting us into having this or that person as our leader. So we are responsible for our choices and we should demand more accountability and transparency in their dealing. Recently, this has meant that politicians are openly flaunting their crimes and then getting away from punishment, for people in power have been abusing Justice in our country as well. We need more awareness among youth about current issues and requirements, involvement in the process and follow up after voting.

What India needs now is fresh faces, not jaded with five decades of power-abuse, with progressive ideas and ethics. Voters need to see candidates who honestly care about the country and its people, are willing to sacrifice their comfort for delivering on their promise, to instill back the non-existent confidence in politics. Our future politician should go back to the basics and provide us our fundamental rights.

In the meantime, we are still left with the choice between the fire and frying pan in the upcoming election. One must take into consideration the bigger picture while voting because who we elect will now govern our country for the next six years, which is a long long time. A mistake in our part will not be corrected anytime soon. So, read the paper, watch the news, think hard about what our country needs and then vote for your tomorrow.

Lets Talk About The Weather

2009-04-06T17:30:00.007+05:30

At one time, discussing the weather meant either you are British or you have absolutely nothing else to talk about. But these days weather is the hottest topic around and the pun is intentional. You don't have to be a watcher of Discovery channel or other science programs to know what is happening to our climate - you can literally feel the oddity of every season shifting from the age old patterns that you were used to. Summer comes early, snows at the oddest times, not snowing when its supposed to, more rains and less rains...all erratic and out if its cycle.

So what is the causing this freaky weather? Its called global warming. In our solar system, Earth is the only planet that is currently livable because it has an atmosphere with enough oxygen, water, heat etc to make the surface suitable for us humans. Now this atmospherere consists of Green House gases, which filter the sun rays to reduce the radiation level that reaches the earth and lets the excess heat out of the atmosphere to keep the temperature stable. Now, due to the use of many new appliances and industries the percentages of green house gases in our atmosphere has increased dramatically, thereby throwing the filter off-course, and trapping more and more high radiation sun beams into our climate, increasing the level of CO2 etc. The result has been a gradual increase in our surface temperature. The effect- gradual meting of ice and increase of sea level, change in precipitation cycle that controls rain, - leading to increase in desert areas and decrease in forest area, extinction of many species in those regions and an allover imbalance in the ecological system - and if you are thinking Ice Age was a funny movie, you might want to read this.

I happen to watch a documentary this weekend -An Inconvenient Truth. Directed by Davis Guggenheim the documentary showcases the Climate change presentation that US Senator Al Gore has been making for quite sometime now. He has been campaigning quite long to get the US congress take initiative to take steps to stop the global warming phenomenon with little effect so far. Whatever be his political motives, the presentation IS quite an effective eye opener.

Except for the data on the actual rate of increase in CO2 emissions in our atmosphere and the resulting hike in temperatures, most of the results mentioned were familiar to me, as I am a rather avid watcher of Discovery and other such scientific programs etc. However, many facts seem to shock my fellow watchers, making me aware of how unaware most people are about the extent of the damage so far.

There was one animated segment in the documentary which shows how we react to situations. A frog is tossed into a beaker of hot water - it jumps right out with alacrity. The same frog is put into a beaker of cold water and heat is turned on. Now as the water gradually turns hot, the frog continues to sit there looking a little perplexed and confused but not reacting with the same alacrity as before because the effect is rather gradual. While the audience laughs, we are also hard pressed to admit how true the depiction is. We are apparently not moved by the melting and vanishing glaciers, the ever increasing storms and heat waves and droughts. After all unless climate change causes to set your seat on fire, its hardly any reason to react.

The sad truth that the program reflects is that we have already messed with the ecological balance quite too far to completely restore it back anytime soon. However, rather than despair, the documentary carries the message that - THIS IS THE LAST CHANCE, ITS NOW OR NEVER!

Now, most often people are asking what can we do about it? Isn't it the duty and responsibility of the Government and big organizations to cope with this? How did we contribute to this ourselves - its the effect of big industries! Here is a gem I picked from the net - Climate change has been happening since time began, we should not have to blame civilization now just because. Denial!

Well there are things you can do personally

Start with using less appliances like Refrigerator and Air- conditioning - when not needed switch it off.
Plant more leafy trees around - they absorb a lot of these gases thus reducing the level in the atmosphere.
Use energy efficient bulbs to reduce the pressure of the energy resource
Use less water, again to conserve the resource.
Keep your car emission low by taking it for periodic servicing etc
Carpool to reduce the overall use of fuel and emission into the system
If there is a municipal garbage recycle system, take time to throw the garbage in the bin rather in the nearest vacant plot.

On a more large scale, we as voters do have the right to push for laws that make emission check mandatory. We have the right and should take the time out to push against the destruction of forests and natural resources for Malls and Supermarkets - people in Goa stood up for their land, why can't the rest of us do the same. We can and should demand that our elected leaders put a better garbage disposal measure in place, introduce recycling etc. These are better reasons to call for a bandh or dharna anyday than the useless political ones that we come across always. Lets wake up and shake up people, or else will end up floating around in some space ship waiting for WALL-E to clear the mess.

Have you made your bucket list yet?

2009-03-09T15:14:00.004+05:30

In case you are wondering, 'what on earth is a bucket list?', let me explain- A Bucket list is a list of things to do before you kick the bucket i.e. say bye bye to your mortal life (extended explanation for the phrase-ologically challenged people!)

What bought about this comment is the weekend movie "Bucket List", with the unbeatable cast of Morgan Freeman and Jack Nicholson playing two terminally ill patients who find themselves room-mates in the chemo-ward. Diametrically opposite in temperament and lifestyle, the two bond over the mutual sarcasm of the dying and throwing up sessions post chemo.

And from there blossoms the idea of the bucket list. (Dasvidania popped into my mind here automatically since I saw it recently) While the one writing it merely meant it as a solace, the other one pushes it to the next level and we have two persons, supposed to be dying, actually living it out more then most of us. But the movie is not your regular cheesy feel good flick, saved by the witty dialogue and the two actors delivering them.

The movie isn't about death but life, and living. Reminds me of the song "live like you are dying". An engaging, well made movie that is NOT a tear-jerker. So watch it if you can.

Genghis Khan - The Mongol

2009-03-02T22:57:00.009+05:30

I was watching The Mongol last night and remembered seeing the interviews about the movie about an year back. The thing that had struck me most is that most people pronounced Genghis Khan as Gang-is-khan whereas I think the name is pronounced more like Chenggis Khan. Well anyways, my enjoyment of the movie was slightly ruined by my memory of a family friend who used to call her reed-thin Nepali chauffeur "Genghis Khan', or rather use to scream the name at the top of her voice from her window. And looking at the meek little guy always use to make us crack up at the absurdity of the name.

Another thing I noticed was the music. It's quite similar to the tribal music of the tribe called Dimasa back in North East India. Their music is totally instrumental, using the drum (Khrum I think) and a wind instrument they call Muri. See a pic here.

The sound can be very monotonous, but I can't find sample for it anywhere. Nearest I can get is this guy playing the wind instrument played by Australian Aborigines called DIDGERIDOO (something new I learned today)..but the these guys more tone variation then the Dimasa's.

There, I started about the movie and totally went side ways. Anyways, the movie was interesting. If it is historically correct then it is a interesting look into the Mongolian tribe and its history. Of course, its not a movie for the feint hearted or for people with less patience. Because the movie is both bloody as well as slow moving sometimes. If you are interested, can watch it. Not bad, not too great. The surprise I guess is the romance...curious now?

You know you are getting old...

2009-01-20T15:37:00.003+05:30

when all you can talk about in a get-together is the "good old days". And those little kids that you lorded over and bullied send you their wedding cards! There was a time when people measured the coming of old age by the advent of gray hairs. But not anymore because, well, it's kind of become fashion and who knows if the gray is real or dyed!! Just kidding. Don't think anyone other then actors actually dye their hair gray. After all we all dream of being Dorian Grey and let our portraits grow old instead of us.

But what does it mean for us? Does this mean we should ring the funeral bell, order our caskets or put in the order for scented sandal wood for funeral pyre? One of my friends, who actually brought up this topic, mentioned she finally used a neighbouring kids wedding to try and convince her parents that at 30+ she was old enough to come home after curfew without earth shattering consequences. Her parents simply rolled their eyes and told her to make it home before 11. Can't win with them veterans!

Me, I glibly side step questions about my age and spout lines like "18 till I die" and promptly call up a friend to discuss those golden years of college days- heh heh. The hairs are still black, thank heavens!

How many of our cities should burn before...

2008-11-28T01:21:00.008+05:30

...someone actually does something about it? The November 26, 2008 attacks in Mumbai have made the world sit up and take notice because for the first time foreign nationals were targeted in India. But let us not forget that in the last two years, we have been switching on the television to a scene of carnage at some part of the country almost every other month . Bomb blasts across the Indian Metros have chalked up enough bodies to put any war-torn country to shame. So, what has been the response by our security agencies so far ?

Blasts in Delhi led to several arrests and Delhi police boasted that they had broken the ring of terrorism. The Anti-Terrorist Squad was in the news till yesterday owing to the arrests of army personnel involved in the Malegaon Blast Case. Today the ATS is in news because of their Chief Hemant Karkare's death in last night's attack.

So, we come back to the question, what has our police and intelligence sources accomplished so far? Going by the 27 hour-and-still-going-siege on our financial capital- a big zero!

Since our beloved Prime Minister's stoic speech did nothing to convince anybody of our proactive retaliation, the only bright spot in the day so far has been the decisive action taken by the Army and commandos in killing the terrorists and freeing the hostages. They have done their job. Now only if our police investigators can make some progress based on the bodies recovered.

Of course, this attack will probably force our authorities to be more pro-active as it involved foreign nationals and the "moneyed-folk" as they say. Gives one a bad taste in their mouth to acknowledge that without the "international" angle, this story probably wouldn't have garnered as much attention and action.

At this point, I just hope this at least forces our security forces to take action.

Meanwhile, this incident again raises the question of the state of our national security. Maybe at this point, our policy makers should re-evaluate our border security and invest in building a stronger system involving ID cards and biometric data for people traveling in and out of the country. I am sure this statement will raise many eyebrows because being majorly landlocked, our borders are considered almost un-securable at this point. But as we are already realising, India has grown to be noticed as a major player by international governments as well as terrorists. The new India also needs new security. Before another city pays the price and burns in the flames of terrorism.

Showbiz

2008-11-02T22:01:00.008+05:30

Short Story

It might have been years, but Miss Monica still turned heads. Regal in her posture and dressed in an elegant kurta, she seem to float in to the dressing room. The hustle bustle of the backrooms were familiar and nostalgic to her. Even though she was much older than many of the nubile young things running around her, she knew time had been kind to her. Men still had the admiring look in their eyes when they saw her. She made sure of that every morning, standing in front of the mirror for hours.

After a final look at her make up, Miss Monica stood up as elegantly as possible (just to give the young 'ones' a taste of real grace!) and glided out in to the garden where today's scene was being shot. Finding a shaded spot to stand, she surveyed the scene. Camera's were being set up, shouted commands and exaggerated hand movements indicating the directors and producers who were used to being noticed. Running around were also a whole band of sweating men, workers behind the scene who made the movies possible.

Meaningless to many, this scene was very dear to Monica. It excited her to think she was part of this scene, this movie, this great work of art. She felt like she was 17 again, when she first came into this business. The lights and money had dazzled her then. Now, she just smiled a knowing smile at the new girls who were coming into the business today. Their flushed and nervous face easily set them apart.

The commotion was slowly calming down. Everything was almost in place. Chairs were being brought in and chilled cokes being readies on trays to be served to the director. Beach umbrellas have been already set up to shade the delicate skins of the actors and actresses.

It was almost time. Monica went through her lines again in her mind. A perfectionist, she knew she had to deliver the correct line with the right emotion. She had practiced for hours for the past three weeks for this scene. She was startled out of her reverie by a voice behind her , "Okay every one; Get ready!"

Putting on her acting face, Miss Monica gracefully swayed into the market scene. With the shout of "Action", the stationary people sprang into action, turning the area into a busy market place. Monica started walking hurriedly, a woman hurrying home, and ran into the handsome hero. She faltered so genuinely that even a few people around her almost reached out to save her. Righting herself on cue, she turned around and shouted "battameez, dekhai nahin deta! (Shameless, can't you see?)". And turned around in a perfect huff and stomped off. At the shout of "cut", she relaxed and let her face relax into a natural expression.

The day was over. It was no use hanging around for her. She headed for the dressing room to take her make up off and then head home. Though 300 Rupees was not much, but these days anyone hardly paid so much for a few minutes work. After all, opportunities for 50 year old extras were not easy to come by anymore.

Rain

2008-09-26T23:22:00.004+05:30

Short Story

The downpour was so unexpected that she was caught unprepared. The sun had been merciless in the past few weeks and the skies clear. 'No reason to carry an umbrella now ; was there?' she grumbled to herself. To make things worse, she had been caught between her school and home, on a straight desolate piece of road that had only one bus stop and nothing else. Her track and field skills came handy in the dash to a relative shelter. "I am already wet!" she thought disgustedly and was about to wring her skirt when she noticed she wasn't alone. Standing at the corner was a man..no a boy a little older than her, holding an umbrella open. "Why does he need an umbrella...the bus stand has a shade?" she thought to herself. Then she realised the rain water was leaking from the tin roof at that corner. But still she found it strange that the boy hadn't moved to a drier area.

The sudden rain seems to go on endlessly. It was getting dark. She fidgeted. No one else had come into the bus stop. It was a strange and awkward silence that hung between and her solitary company who didn't turn to face her even once. The silence pressed down until she could almost feel it pressing down on her back, and she was about to blurt something out when the rain suddenly stopped. The boy suddenly turned towards her, nodded and left. And it was as if someone had switched off the mute button, she could hear beyond the silence. But it was time to go home and her bus was there.

She hated rain. It made the world look grey, made her socks wet before she reached school and she would end up feeling the soggy things throughout the day. It had been raining since Monday now. Not even three days and things were looking even worse as her friend has managed to sit on her umbrella accidentally and break it. She would have to run for the bus stop again in the rain today.

But today she noticed the boy before she managed to hop the puddle before the bus stop. He turned to look at her and the acknowledgement somehow flattered her. She smiled hesitantly and asked "Which school do you go to?" He mumbled the name of her own school. Strange she doesn't remember seeing this boy before. But then she hardly looks at every boy in the school and he looked like a senior student. Her thought was interrupted as suddenly the rain took a break. She was disappointed. She had to wait for the bus and the boy will leave like the other day. But the boy simply shut his umbrella and waited. She must have looked enquiringly at him for he answered "I am waiting". "Waiting? for what or who?" she thought but then her bus was there and she had to make her way through jostling, wet people. She managed to peek through the bus window. The shelter was empty, the boy had left. It was impossible to see if he had boarded the bus. She sighed and her thought switched back to her history test.

"I am Tanima," she introduced herself on their fifth date. "Date?...ha ha, I am going mad," she thought. She seemed to keep meeting this strange boy at this bus stop just by herself. "Gaurav" he said without turning and then suddenly stepped off into the rain and left. She was startled and a little hurt at such a curt response. Like she cared!

But she did. It gnawed and gnawed at her for the next four days. The rain took a break for some days also. The sunny weather cheered her up and she almost forgot about her mysterious man . Then on Thursday she almost collided with him in her dash to avoid the rain. "Do you take the bus everyday?" the boy asked. She was startled and simply nodded. "Will you come tomorrow?" the boy again asked. "Yes, probably." "Will you wait for me then," he asked. She was too confused to do anything but nod in agreement. He smiled a dazzling happy smile, and then took off in a run through the rain. She was flustered and her cheeks were hot. Did the boy like her?

She had felt this great anticipation the whole day next day and could wait till the bell rang and she ran to the bus stop. It was empty. But he did ask her to wait, didn't he? So she waited. And waited. The rain was cold. It started to grow darker and darker. Still she waited. Finally, she left. Feeling bitter and embarrassed for having fallen for something so ridiculous.

"Will you wait for me?" she woke up with a start with that voice in her head. And sneezed. She had managed to catch a cold thanks to her fruitless waiting. As she dozed off after having medicine, she whispered in her mind "But I waited and you never came!"

The boy held his handout and asked "I was waiting for you, shall we go?" Tanima felt happy and walked out with him.

Tanima's death shook everyone because no one had thought her cold was that bad. Her fever had climbed dangerously and she simply never woke up.

........

Rajiv wished he had never transferred to a new school mid season, specially during monsoon. He hates rain. He was getting drenched to the bone as he dashed to the only bus stop in the vicinity. He was about to repeat a few choicest curses he had picked up recently when he noticed the girl in the corner. Always sure of his good looks, he turned and said "Hi, I am Rajiv".

"I am Tanima."

Swiss Cows and Jingling Bells!

2008-09-10T23:51:00.007+05:30

First of all let me apologize for the long hiatus (under the assumption that someone gives a damn!...oh well self- delusion can do wonders for your ego). It was partly due to a spur of the moment trip to the Swiss Mountains where I met the incredible Swiss cows that are said to give 20 liters of milk a day (India is never going to make a dent in the chocolate market for sure). Even though I am not into travelogues like my fellow blogger Illusions, I think I need to share a few bits of this trip with you all.

Traveling in and out of UK is very very expensive. I swear if they could charge you for breathing the British air, they would. Anyway, we paid a sweet sum for our three day guided tour, which incidentally started from Heathrow Airport and ended there, leaving us the task to arrange for transport to and from the airport itself. Now for all those who are familiar with my location, I live around 70 miles to the south of London and it takes about 2 hours or more to get to the airport, whatever travel mode you adopt. But the sweetest thing was the flight time - 8.50 am, which meant we had to report at 6.50 am, since it was a international flight. This meant we had to leave Ipswich by 4.30am at least. And nothing runs that early in the morning except Taxis, which of course would have cost us half the amount of the while tour package itself. Add to the the return flight at 9.15pm put us in the same situation again.

So, brilliant as I am, I found the perfect solution. Hire a car, drive to a paid parking lot near Heathrow and let it rot there for three days! That was the cheapest and most flexible arrangement that I could find. And it was such a waste of the car hire that it literally hurt for me to agree to my own idea! But agree I did. And that worked out pretty well at the end.

Now the other interesting bit would be our tour itself. Right after we landed in Zurich and boarded the coach that would take us everywhere during the tour, our guide took charge, who I will call the EnergyBunny (as in Duracell) for the sake of anonymity. He told us that while on the tour he is the boss, and when he whistles (which no other European evidently does) we are all to come to heel. And for the next three days, his ear splitting whistle had us all running. As one of us commented, we felt like it was a school trip.

To maintain our strict and hectic schedule, we also had to go on command. Yes, all those of you who are snickering, we were always shown the toilets and told to do our thing in the given time. Talk about potty training! And in the end, as one fellow sufferer pointed out, we all saw more Swiss toilets then landmarks in these three days. But I was personally very happy to have my own sat nav to toilets!

And then there was the whole charm of travelling in the group - the parents who could never get their kids ready and set on time, the ladies who were always late because they kept freshening up their make up and the occasional lovey dovey couples who just had to take the perfect shot. And the sound of the sharp whistle followed by our guide's bellow bringing us all running to the coach. In between, he also kept us entertained with jokes, song, games.....and a constant stream of information - like why do Swiss cows wear bells of different size? Anyone interested? Well it seems, bells of different size creates a sort of melody when the cows move, instead of a cacophony that would result if all the bells sounded the same. And this melody, reportedly, causes the cows to give more milk! ( Is the milk industry walah in India reading this?)

All in all, it was a unique and memorable and hopefully the only guided trip I will ever take. Now if you all would excuse me, I need to go unwrap that Swiss Dark Chocolate that is waiting for me....ciao!

Here is a Swiss sunset to wrap it up

Its a bronze, its a bronze....

2008-08-20T19:17:00.004+05:30

Mere Desh ki dharti sona ugle...ahem I mean bronze ugle. Never mind Abhinav's Gold...we now have a bronze as well! Each metal counts yaar. Specially this representative of a emaciated, and malnutritioned country has gone on to flip Americans and Belorussian, who we all know are definitely stronger, heftier, taller....able to kill you by simple sitting on you types! Just goes you to show desi ghee mein kitna dam hain. Sorry folks got carried away by the vernacular idioms. Well, anyways I am glad we got at least one more medal. Better then none.

Desires

2008-08-01T15:50:00.001+05:30

Lost I feel
In my own desires
A need to move on
Unable to run

Wrapped I am
In Chains of my own
When one breaks
Another one grows

Like Slip Knots
Are these desires
I dare not unravel
For they hold me together

I drown on dry land
A quagmire of my own
Gravity pulls down
while dreams fly off

The ticking of the clock
Fuels my impatience
I need to move
But I have strong roots

More time, more time
I howl to the moon
The orb stays silent
And desolation abounds

The landscape of my heart
Empty yet full
Too much to sort through
No space to place anew

But time still flows
Thicker everyday
Washing away
The remains of the day

And I brood over a pile
Of uncensored thoughts
Sorting through my desires
Discarding them all

WALL-EEEEEEEEEE!

2008-07-20T23:49:00.004+05:30

As the title would indicate, I just came from watching this very beautiful animated story. Not only does it meet the standard of Nemo and The Incredibles, you even come away with some very strong modern day messages.

Wall-E ( I am not telling you what it stands for and spoil your fun) is a wide eyed, rust buckety and curious robot. The eyes kept reminding me of the famous E.T. Anyways, he here is in a desolate wasteland, chugging away at a designated task that holds no meaning and beginning to develop a quirky personality and utter loneliness, with only a insect for company.

Enter the love interest - beautiful, streamlined, advanced - EVA. And Wall-E falls for her with all his bolts and nuts! But its not that simple. In EVA's mission lies the history of Wall-E's existence and the future of mankind. A little sapling of life then takes these two in an incredible journey, where they fall in love and save the earth!

Sounds like a simple Hollywood flick? NO Sir! Running in the backdrop of this sweet and mostly funny story is the theme of modern day consumerism, carbon foot prints, depleting resources, and all other environmental issues that concern us today.

So do go and see this story. If you are a kid at heart, you will enjoy the well made animation. If you are the environmentally conscious kind, you will come away marveling at how the messages have been delivered couched in a simple children's animation. As everybody ends up saying in the movie, "WAAAAALLLLL-EEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!"

I need my scratch post

2008-07-15T17:17:00.002+05:30

Almost a month of being cooped up in this little town is driving me out of my mind! I am craving like a junkie for a break (no actual experience of that though), or a scratch post! If any of you wondered the significance of my alias, where here it is - I am a definitely a feline creature, literally. The thought of getting my claws into a nice wood bean is right now very appealing. Its either that or a human substitute. But I think that may border on homicide. These are the days I wish I was cat, to be able to actually scratch some unsuspecting tree to ribbons, or curl up on afternoon sun and laze.

I am not very good at being cooped up - both figuratively and literally. The moment I feel some stagnancy creeping into my life, the whole need for scratch post materializes. I feel the urge to do something, push forward, change something....just do something. The feeling is so strong that the more saner urge to temper it only results in restless energy by the oodles. Like they say, something gotta give soon. Oh dear me, my claws are itching (snick! snick!)

....pppuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuurrrrrrrrrrrrfeeeeeeeeeeccccct!!!!!!!!!!

For the love of the written word..

2008-07-09T20:29:00.003+05:30

I was having a discussion recently about whether book readers are dwindling in number. Without any proper statistics to back any argument, all I could put forward was the almost all of my friends are voracious readers. Of course, that earned me the "your friends are as freaky as you" look.

Nevertheless it got me thinking. I was a book worm since I could read. And most of my friends also started early. Now though, I rarely come across any youngster interested in a book. Does that mean the the next generation will not be readers? Or can people pick up the love of reading at any age?

Being a reader has done me lot of good in life. Not so much to do with enlightening me but to give me a better alternative to perhaps television or video games? Oh wait, we didn't have cable television when I was growing up! Coming back to topic, books can often take your mind of the stressful life and for a few hours take you through an entirely different world. I think books stay with you more then movies. I can be biased though.

I wonder if it will do good if we start shoving a comics in a kids hand rather the TV remote? I rather see someone buried nose deep in paper then the idiot box or Nintendo. But the it's just me. In the meantime, I hope books continue to exist and be written until I cease to exist. That way I can read till I die!

Birds I View!

2008-07-01T13:27:00.004+05:30

While sorting through my huge collection of photographs this weekend I realized I have been a little partial to my feathered friends and have a sizeable collection of pictures that can be titled BIRDS! Well, being the generous soul that I am, I thought I share. Also, as my muse seems to be vacationing somewhere warm, this is a space filler for you all readers!

She could take it back

2008-06-18T14:35:00.006+05:30

She will take it back someday........

For all the Pink Floyd fan's, these lines will probably jar the memory as being the refrain for their song "Take it Back' from Division Bell. For all those who are not familiar, the video of the song shows Nature striking back for all that we are put her through.

While this theme isn't new, it had never seem so realistic before. With rising concern over global warming, changing weather patterns, alarmingly receding glaciers and an increase in devastating natural disasters - the threat of Nature taking it all back seems to be more a reality then the theme of a song.

We used to read in the school about the possible results of ice caps melting. Today I wonder of there will much of the ice cap left to read about in the text books in future. Here is some before and after looks at the known glaciers. Well, I am off to build the Ark folks!

With some luck..

2008-05-22T16:00:00.002+05:30

In a recent conversation with my intellectually inclined father, he suddenly told me - no one can achieve any remarkable success without some luck! My knee jerk reaction was to deny it. But then I mulled over it a bit and realized it was partially true. And then I mulled over it a little longer and realized 'By god, it is true!"

Of course this so-called second hand epiphany did nothing for my sour mood. Because my subsequent thoughts were - so we can never achieve anything in life even if we are extremely talented, unless we are also lucky. Because we can have talent and bad luck and never go anywhere with that talent. Depressing thought there. And where does it out the other contradictory epiphany of "where there is a will there is a way!"'.

Can some one succeed on just sheer talent and will, even if luck never favors them? Of course, we have seen semi-talented people make it big in this world because they had the lucky break. More personally speaking, does that mean I can write deliciously and come up with zilch if lady luck turns away. Bad bad epiphany. I liked my naivety before where I believed it was all destiny, which sounded so much better and solid than luck. Luck always follows in my brain with the word fickle. Can't I just pair luck with lottery and greatness with destiny? It sounds a little less scary.

Coming back home...

2008-05-21T16:19:00.003+05:30

For everyone of us who have left home to go far away, whether it was another state or another country, coming back home is always a bittersweet experience. Some only see the dust and dirt and some can smell the sweet air of home.

I remember the winter breaks when I was in school. We used to travel to Kolkata where the majority of the relatives stayed. Even though we enjoyed the warmer weather and meeting friends, as the vacation drew to its end, my feet will get restless and my heart will start fussing. It was time to go home.

We use to fly to either Silchar or Guwahati in Assam and then drive our little town of Haflong. It wasn't until we reached half way to Harangazao that the whole "I am almost home" feeling would hit.

We used to stop in Harangazao in the little tea shops for a break and as we stretched and took in the fresh and cold mountain air, it will smell like home. Some thing will flutter in my heart and it will not stop until I was back well inside my house.

Now that I am globe trotting, the feeling hits me the moment I step outside the airport. You can hear the buses, cars, honks and occasional crows crowing and all you can think is "Damn, it feels good to be home!" And if you don't feel it that's fine.

But there is that one little ingredient necessary to make any place feel like home. Good memories and friends. As they say, home is where the heart is. If you don't have either about a place, there is little there to make it a home. So whatever is home to you, whether its a place or even just a house - you should have someplace to come home to.

We the outsiders!

2008-05-20T18:36:00.012+05:30

What happens when you fear being an outsider in your own country? I am referring to the ever growing trend of regionalism and separatism that seem to have caught on globally. And for a country like India, which is a kaleidoscope of cultures and ethnic origins, the possibilities are rather terrifying.

Take for instance the Jaipur bombing. Two days after the bombing, when news trickled out that a Bangladesh based terrorist organization was allegedly involved, the reaction over the table was very disturbing. All Bangladeshis will be rounded up and interrogated, I was told by one person. Which than translated to anyone speaking Bengali will be rounded up. Since the instances of mob justice have grown in the past few months in India, can anyone be blamed for fearing such a situation? Will a mob know the difference between a Indian Bengali and a Bangladeshi? To that matter, what will be the fate of those legal migrants from Bangladesh who probably have been in India since Independence. Will the angry, scared mob think twice?

The answer I am tempted to say is no. But since it has not happened yet, I will reserve my judgment and keep my fingers crossed in hope. But, aren't we, collectively the mob, being encouraged to pick on the outsider in the name of regional pride these days? Mumbai and Thackeray comes to mind, Assam and ULFA comes to mind, and numerous other outsiders will soon be feeling the brunt of being not in their own backyard very soon if the trend continues.

So what is the alternate? Last time I looked I was an Indian and India was my country. But should I now stay where I was born or where my mother tongue is spoken. Will I be an outsider in my own country, if I am in the wrong city or province. Are all our labor over writing those 'Unity in Diversity" essays in school going to waste? For a country which stood united and fought for its freedom barely half a century ago, isn't it deplorable that we took no time to fall apart and tear at each other at the name of regionalism?

MS Paint on a leisure time

2008-05-16T15:16:00.005+05:30

The art of communication is not lost....

2008-05-16T14:31:00.004+05:30

..its just hiding behind the television set. I read this phrase long back in Reader's Digest I think. Then television was the baddest influence on our culture and people still met over coffee, not orkut. Not that I have anything against that medium. But a recent blog by a fellow scribbler brought the whole new age communication thing into my mind and I set down to blog it.

Since my work is all about communication, I have found myself unconsciously eaves dropping on other peoples communication style - picking up the good bits and trying to avoid what doesn't work. This has also led me to realise there is a huge difference between the good communicators and the bad communicators, and it has nothing to do with their intelligence or other skills.

A lot of very intelligent and smart people fail to make the right impression or get their point across because they either cannot communicate properly or do not care to communicate properly. And I have also met many excellent communicators who can sell you the Moon. And somewhere in the middle are the truly exceptional jewels who measure their words, edit their sentences while speaking, pause at the right time, emphasize the right words....to create a crisp, clear communique that leave a great impression.

I remember back in my journalism class, we had a lecture by P. Sainath, the Magsaysay award winner journalist. He was slated to speak on Ethics in Journalism. In he walks into a class of 65 odd brats who have nothing better to do then tear the speaker apart at the first chance. And he starts by asking what we know of the Hiroshima Bombing. Did we know about the Australian reporter who was in Japan at that time and was the first to reach Hiroshima and report? No?

And then he told the story of this reporter who knew nothing about what had happened, and continued to report of the horrors until the Australian media was forced to block his report due to international pressure. He spun the ethics angle on it by and by and we were hooked. The story was told with such finesse that you could have heard a pin drop in that lecture hall. And I will always remember having met such a brilliant communicator in my life.

Of course, I have aslo come across Actors, celebrities, politicians, authors - who are able to deliver their sentiments in words or writing, precisely and concisely. And somehow I have always wished I can reach that level of communication in whatever media I choose to communicate in.

Getting back to the original argument, I feel in today's world of media exposure and trial by television, communication is not hiding behind the television set anymore, it is being flaunted in front of the camera and put up in Youtube. And we should take note and start dotting our i's and crossing our t's and try our darnest best to get our point across - or be lost somewhere in the editor's table.

El Laberinto del fauno

2008-05-05T17:08:00.005+05:30

Or The Pan's Labyrinth is a movie that reminds me of the many intricately woven shawl I have seen in the north eastern India. The story weaves the threads of a Grimm's like fairy tale on to the cruel and dark story of the real world. Its Visually astonishing and heart rending in its story telling. A feast in any sense.

The story is told often in the lilting Spanish which itself lends a unique cadence to the story's own mythical quality. A long long time ago lived a Princess, the Daughter of the king of the woods...............who had dared to come into the world and had been lost in all humanity. But the story goes that the father always waited for his daughters soul to come back into the underworld kingdom.

Flash forward to 1944, Spain. Fascist troupes are crushing the rebels hiding in the mountains. In this scene enters the Fascist Captains heavily pregnant wife and her older daughter from a previous marriage Ofelia. Not yet a teenager, Ofelia still believes in fairies and soon finds her way into the old Labyrinth in the forest where she meets a faun or pan, a pagan god of the woods.

And she is drawn into the story of the young princess and escapes into the forest to the perform tasks given to her by the mysterious faun to prove her worthiness as the princess, as she also escapes the fascist captains dark realm where cruelty and fear abounds.

But both the world come crashing down on her when fantasy becomes terrible as well. Ofelia is left on her own to face both worlds, and both her and the rebels take a last stand against the Captain...to a stunning end. A must watch!

2008-04-21T15:39:00.003+05:30

Rest in Peace - Still Life/Ipswich, UK

Record players and golden afternoons....

2008-04-18T19:38:00.006+05:30

As I listen to the bassy voices of Debabrata Biswas and Sagar Sen sing out of my tinny laptop speakers and eyes stray to the park across the road, it takes me back to when I was in school. we had a HMV record player and two wooden speakers and a whole bunch of records.

And on sunny afternoons, Dad would put on any of the Bengali old greats on that record player and as the rich sound floated along from room to room and in and around the hills, it will weave a magic of sound. It didn't matter what we were doing, the music will reach us. Some one would be curled up with a book, my brother will likely be doing crosswords or trying to catch an siesta, mom must have been trying to catch up on her school papers while sipping on some tea...and the music will simply invade the atmosphere and settle around us.

And then there were moonlit nights on clear nights, which will soon lead to every one dragging a cane chair into the front lawn and getting comfortable in their colorful shawl, while some one popped in another record into the trusty record player.

There will be scratches and hisses at the beginning and then suddenly sound used to pour out the wooden boxes, soft and soothing. Many people find Rabindra sangeet tedious because of its repetitive slow melody. But in those afternoon's and nights, they just fit the moods and the songs stayed in the memory along with the moments.

Mind you though, we did have modern music systems later on, but the tradition didn't stop, it just changed the medium. We would pop in a CD instead of a cassette, but there would still be those moments in like framed by that music.

And it spilled out of bengali into Hindi and western. Afterall the north east india resonates with music anytime. I am spoiled, I confess. Still now, i can't resist humming a good song when I see a golden afternoon or a moonlit night. It is kind of gloomy out side today, but in my mind its a golden summer afternoon.

I am sharing one of the old Bengali modern songs that used to play a lot in the record player. Click to listen

Sweet memories of Poila Boishakh!

2008-04-14T14:54:00.002+05:30

Poila Boishakh means first day of Boishakh month, which is the first month is the Bengali new year. In a nutshell, it means Bengali New year. I will take this opportunity to wish everyone a happy new year.

Moving on, this day always brings back memories of me and my mom making sweets back in my childhood home- The sweet smell of frying peetha's and coconut, the delicious aroma of thickening milk and sticky fingers from eating all the those goodies coated in sugar syrup.

Over the years, I have really lost my sweet tooth and hardly fancy much sweets. But every new year I feel compelled to prepare something, may be in honor of those memories or just sticking to tradition.

Whatever be the reason, the act of making these sweets always brings back those afternoons spent in my mom's kitchen, squatting on a wooden pidi (low seat) and trying to make coconut laddu's and yelping as the heat stings my palm. My mom was always encouraging, even when my laddu's looked suspiciously like bullets, and held all the five finger impressions. Even today as I make the sweets, I can remember the instructions. I think tradition is as much about making good memories and passing then off to the next generation as much as it is about maintaining age old customs.

Round the Bend

2008-04-10T20:17:00.004+05:30

For someone who loves books, I have grossly wronged my lovelies by not blogging on them yet. Well, better late then never. Well I just finished having a long conversation with my brother who lives across the ocean and as usual we started discussing books and movies and Nevil Shute.

There are a few books that leave an impression in your mind that fade but not go away. Round the Bend by Shute is one such book to me. On the surface, book tells the story of two people - Thomas Cutter, an ex-world war II pilot trying to make money by running cargo planes in the gulf and Connie Shaklin, his half-Chinese half-Russian engineer with a strange spiritual belief - that doing honest and good work is the best way to worship.

As the story progresses, Shaklin weaves his concepts of Buddhism and good work with the motions of aircraft maintenance and becomes a spiritual leader of sorts to the other mechanics. I can compare the energy of this story to another good book- "Jonathan Livingston Seagull" by Richard Bach.

He(Shaklin)has been saying that in studying the stresses and the forces in the structure of an aircraft, the thermodynamics of an engine or the flow of current in the oscillating circuits of a radio transmitter, we are but following the injunctions of Guatama (Buddha)...the world is full of suffering and pain caused by our wrong desires and hatreds and illusions, and only knowledge can remove these causes of our suffering ..."

Strange, yet compelling the story is not for everybody. Its also a very different book from Shute's other books. If one wants to start with Shute though I will suggest reading A Town Called Alice- a classic that will last a long long time

Mystery gifts in the soya bean box!

2008-04-02T15:15:00.005+05:30

Does anyone remember the mystery gifts that came with Nutrela soya chunks and Maltova drinks? It was a big thing with us when we were kids. I remember the anticipation and excitement whenever mom bought a new packet which had the magic words in the box "gift inside"!

Unlike today where these gifts are mainly action figures or tattoos etc, in those days, the gifts were not targeted towards children. So they were often glass bowls and steel spoons which were of no interest to us. But sometimes, we got cool gifts like small mirrors or combs or something equally unique that was not useful to the adults but caught our imagination.

I still carry one of these gifts with me. I got it when I was in class seven or eight. It was small pocket mirror inside a plastic casing shaped like a red heart with an arrow through it. Inside the mirror was round. One used the end of the arrow shaft to pry the lid open. I still have it with me somewhere - not cracks or scratches...just like new!

Ratatouille - A must watch!

2008-03-31T04:54:00.003+05:30

Remy the rat was fascinated by a french chef who inspire him to cook! So what does he do? He tried roasting a mushroom by pegging it into a roof top antenna over the chimney. How did it taste? "Lighteningy"!! Oh did i forget to mention there was a thunderstorm?

My weekend movie pick Ratatouille was a total entertainer, I was left howling and rolling on the floor for most of the movie and the rest of the time I was in total awe of the totally realistic impression of the busy kitchen.

The moral of the story? - Anyone can cook! (I wish it was that easy...wait I wish I was Remy the rat!) Remy's totally unrodently talent takes in a gastronomical journey to Paris and a yester-years great restaurant. The movie than goes on to tell the story of the unlikely friendship between an young men and the furry creature, and the journey of a life time to great food and deep realisation. Sounds very serious? Not at all...you just have to see it to experience it.

A Love Song

2008-03-17T17:47:00.003+05:30

I miss you love
Even when you are here
Sitting beside the fire
Playing your favorite tune

You and your guitar
A sweet love affair
I see from afar
Sitting in the dark

It's suppose to be me
In your arms there
Singing along with you
As you strum your guitar

But it has been years
Since our love affair
Now its just a memory
Snapshots tucked in a diary

The fire burns low
Your face is in the shadow
Your eyes look through me
To another face in time

See me love, see me
I am still here
Siting by the fire
Waiting for our love song!

A gray cat walking a gray fence in a gray backyard

2008-03-17T15:35:00.006+05:30

For all those bookworms, I am sure this line will be familiar. While I loved the Gift of the Magi when I read it, I somehow didn't grasp the true extent of these few lines until I came to UK. The weather here gives a new meaning to the word gray.

I dread the gray skies. I live in a beautiful town and now that winter is packing up, the English tulips and daffodils are making riots of color. I would love to take a picture but the gray skies don't afford enough light to capture the bright colors. Want to explore the beautiful countryside? Gray skies mean it might rain.

I am yet to see London in a sunny disposition. About a week ago I was passing through London and was persuaded to experience London eye - which is basically a giant Ferris Wheel which gives you a nice bird eye view of the London.

Since we were passing through on Saturday, we stopped in to see the sights and found it to be very very gloomy. We decided we try the Eye on our way back on Sunday. The long queue for tickets was also daunting and we enterprisingly booked online for the Sunday trip.

Sunday started sunny and remained sunny till we stepped out of the Westminster tube station- IT WAS RAINING! Imagine our dismay - all the planning, all the money - right down the drain. We only got hazy, blurry shots of Big Ben (Its the only thing big enough to be recognized in the hazy photos!) I have come to dread the BBC weather reports more then the current stock market news!

I hope I will get to see and a bright orange tabby walking on a white picket fence on a sunny afternoon. People, wish me luck!

Look- Sheep!!

2008-03-11T02:59:00.004+05:30

That's what my husband kept repeating throughout our trip to Scotland. It went to the point where the rest of us pretended not to know him. It didn't help that Scotland had more sheep then people - there were sheep on the hill side, by the river, by the loch, in the farm, on the road......You get the picture I hope. Of course, my Hubby's attempt at taking pictures of sheep in far away hills from a moving car got him only fuzzy results. It seemed that our Scotland trip will get over without affording him the luxury of immortalizing sheep's at a close quarter. And then it happened - we had to stop to let a bunch of sheep cross the road (remind me of the buffaloes on the road to Hi-tech city in Hyderabad).
Enlarge picture to see the fabled sheeps.

My husband was out of the car with his handy cam - with the professionalism shown by journalist in war zones - proceeded to video record the behinds of at least 20-odd sheep. Needless to say he was very proud of his accomplishment and we breathed a sign of relief knowing we need not screech to a halt every time he spotted a sheep anymore.

Disclaimer:- No Scottish sheep was harmed in the writing of this blog!

Video killed the radio star....

2008-03-11T02:23:00.003+05:30

Remember that retro song!! Well a recent blog by a friend made me realise Notepad has killed my muse! Confused? Well notepad is the computer program i use to doodle. I switched to notepad recently as in the past I always preferred good old fashioned pen and paper. Now, somehow I find that I have more ideas to jot down when I have a piece of paper in front me than a open notepad page on my laptop.

On that note, I remember one train journey from Kolkata to Chennai during my student days. I was nearing Chennai, as the steadily increasing heat in the sleeper compartment indicated. It was almost dust and the view from the window was a water body in the distance that ran along the track and merged with the skyline - which was curious mix of grey and brilliant orange. And all I wanted to do was write down this words that seem to run around bouncing inside my cranium. Of course, even if i had dug up my trusty diary, i seriously doubt I could have written anything with the trains swaying motion. But the scene will always stay in mind -like a mental snap shot!

The Little town by the sea

2008-01-14T17:21:00.000+05:30

This will probably describe a countless number of small towns in England. Rows of red brick houses with slanted roofs and flower pots on the window sill, lining small streets that never go straight for too long. Walking is a charm in England, I have discovered. May be the similarity in the tree lines walks with my hometown gives a feeling of kinship with the place. Beauty not-with-standing, life in this little towns is slow and sleepy.

So to break the monotony during the weekend, me and my better half has taken to exploring the country side around us. Last weekend our travels took us to Felixtowe. With still a limited amount of daylight available to us, we decided to hop onto a bus and see a little bit of countryside on the way. After a scenic tour of about half an hour we were let off in the Felixtowe town centre. As all town centers go, this one too has cobblestone walkway lined with shops with small park areas with wooden benches.

After a little exploration around the town centre, we headed off towards the sea. If you have been Pondicherry you will know how Felixtowe opens up to the sea - suddenly. You take a turn and suddenly see the sea over the house tops. Then we are walking down a steep road that suddenly stops smack on the side of the wharf, where the sea is busy smacking the pebbles.

There is something about the sound of waves that soothes me, i can't explain. But the constant swishing of the water breaking and receding and breaking again has an amazing attraction for me. Felixtowe doesn't really have a beach as one would think of it- its more like a wharf with a gradual incline, with a walkway running along the water for miles and miles.

We walked along this with a bunch of other people who were taking advantage of this slightly warmer and sunny winter day. As the sun started to go down and the wind got cooler, we decided to cut short our walk and return home. All in a all a beautiful day in a small town by the sea.

A little bit of Silhet in Bilet.....

2008-01-11T15:19:00.000+05:30

From the few short visits I paid to London, it makes me believe Silheti (A dialect spoken in the province of Silhet in Bangladesh) is the second most spoken language in that city. My first contact was in Heathrow Airport where I landed the first day. As my husband was keeping true to his reputation for arriving late, I was treated to what I believe they call cultural dichotomy.

Here was this spit-polish pink-white British guy talking on his phone -proper British accent. He hangs up and shocker! He immediately starts talking in raw Silheti to his family who were more traditionally dressed.

And I hadn't even stopped eye-balling him when the man sitting beside me - dressed in the traditional Muslim garb, complete with long beard and a Burkha clad wife - switched from speaking in Silheti to English (complete with the British accent).

I immediately realised while in UK, it would be prudent not to let slip any compromising comment about anyone in either language. God knows who understood which one. Though knowing Silheti does come in handy when you are buying fish from a Bangladeshi vendor....in UK.

Of travels and new places..

2008-01-08T22:13:00.000+05:30

Hi there everybody. It has been a long time since I set down to jot anything. The truth is I have been lazy and busy. With the recent shift to UK, it meant a whole new routine of life. And we even managed to squeeze a short trip to Scotland in that time.
For all you folks who feel curious about visiting Scotland, please please do. Its a beautiful place, quite untouched by the hustle bustle of tourist (at least it wasn't when we went in the dead of winter) and the natural beauty the place has to offer is amazingly refreshing. I would be waxing poetic eloquence if I wasn't so lazy. I promise to give the details of my travel soon. In the meantime, for all those who care to peek in from time to time - I am back!

When Life hands you lemons…….

2007-10-09T22:11:00.000+05:30

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!

2007-10-02T18:43:00.000+05:30

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

2007-09-28T16:39:00.000+05:30

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?

2007-09-10T10:17:00.000+05:30

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.

2007-09-07T18:05:00.000+05:30

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

2007-09-05T15:53:00.000+05:30

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?

2007-09-03T15:37:00.000+05:30

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

2007-08-30T16:22:00.000+05:30

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.....

2007-08-27T15:17:00.000+05:30

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

2007-08-25T12:10:00.000+05:30

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?

2007-08-21T11:46:00.000+05:30

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!!!!!!!

2007-08-16T17:30:00.000+05:30

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....

2007-08-13T17:23:00.000+05:30

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

2007-08-10T16:34:00.001+05:30

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?

2007-08-03T14:30:00.000+05:30

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......

2007-08-01T10:11:00.000+05:30

.........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

2007-07-31T10:27:00.000+05:30

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

2007-07-19T16:51:00.000+05:30

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

2007-07-13T17:03:00.001+05:30

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)

2007-07-13T17:02:00.001+05:30

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

2007-07-13T17:01:00.000+05:30

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

2007-06-09T10:10:00.000+05:30

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!

2007-06-04T16:29:00.000+05:30

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

2007-05-22T14:44:00.000+05:30

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

2007-05-17T11:04:00.000+05:30

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!

2007-05-14T14:53:00.000+05:30

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..

2007-05-09T11:33:00.000+05:30

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!

2007-05-07T16:43:00.000+05:30

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

2007-04-27T16:26:00.000+05:30

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!

2007-04-27T10:58:00.000+05:30

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!

2007-04-24T10:36:00.001+05:30

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!!

2007-04-18T11:18:00.000+05:30

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!!!

2007-04-17T09:39:00.000+05:30

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

2007-04-16T17:10:00.000+05:30

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

2007-04-13T18:30:00.000+05:30

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

2007-04-12T13:52:00.000+05:30

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

2007-04-12T13:51:00.000+05:30

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

2007-04-11T15:03:00.000+05:30

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!

2007-04-09T17:17:00.000+05:30

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..

2007-02-20T16:32:00.000+05:30

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.

FLy on the windshield

2007-02-16T09:47:00.000+05:30

Ok this is for all the pushy people out there who keep bugging me with "why don't you post?". Now if you are thinking this is going to be an abstract piece about some unfortunate afore mentioned insect.. well you got it right!

This thought occured to me on the passing.. quite accidentally you know - that to cross the roads in India you need to have eyes like the fly. You know.. lots of eyes.. in a convex shaped head.. oh c'mon guys go see "The Fly" if you don't know what I am talking about.

So, imagine having a bunch of eyes.. that give you a 360 degree view of life. "Zen at 12 o'clock.. ooh big truck bearing down at 3 o'clock.. gah stupid bike behind me...."

Anyhow, so there I was dreaming of the possibilities the multiple eyes could give me.. in crossing the road.. watching more then one TV etc... and then it hit me.. ONE WRONG MOVE and I am a fly on the windshield. SPALT!! SQUELCH! You get my drift. Life would be so short. And no funeral. Hm... well I guess gotta live this life as a human and cross the roads the normal way.. suicidally. But hey a girl can dream! Cheerio boys and girls.

The name is Bond…

2006-12-18T12:58:00.000+05:30

James Bond… Well not really. I just came from watching the latest Bond flick, Casino Royal and this is what I am thinking- Daniel Craig looks too much like the action-hero to be Bond, but the movie was a breath of fresh air. It was hard gritty fast, compared to the old blinking-switches and outrageous gizmos.

It was also more Real. More true too the book. I think Fleming’s Bond is finally here. Thought it would have been better if Daniel Craig didn’t look like he just took a couple of Botox injections. At least Sly Stallone has an excuse. On a more positive tone, though, I think the story almost made me feel for the Bond, wooden-face nonetheless. My conclusion? Watch it. Why? Because it’s a Bond movie for Chrissake. And the Girl is actually there for a reason other then looking good.

The action is, however, the high point of any James Bond movie. And this one doesn’t disappoint. It’s fabulous, just incredible enough to be Bond but looks real enough to make the audience ooh and aah with delight.

As my brother said, from having the love interest named “Pussy Gallore” and looking like rich French Barons who have seen more manicurists then terrorist, Bond has come a long way with a Female M to boot. I can’t wait to see the next Bond movie.

Monday morning blues

2006-12-04T09:48:00.000+05:30

Hear hear! I mean Monday morning is here. I guess the overwhelming urge to curl into the blanket and hope that the world forgets you are there for a few more minutes is entirely phycholigical. Pity, half a worlds population seem to share my view. Winter, my dear readers, is meant to be spent under the confortable warm blanket, sipping hot chocolate and reading action thrillers - not skiing the sheer cliffs of Aspen- and definitely not working in an Air Conditioned office. I do declare- I am lazy. I realised this astonishing fact early in life and have even accepted the reality of it. You will too.

Where was I? Oh yes, Monday morning blues. Here is a tip to avoid it - don't work on Saturdays. See if you do- then Sunday comes and goes very fast, since it has only 24 hours and we sleep foe about 7 to 8 hours and there is eating, drinking,........... you get the picture. and then when you wake up on Monday morning to the trilling sound of your expensive cell phone.........lets just say your entire life flashes before your eyes. Specially all the times you had to wake up on a moday morning. And my boos is here, waving a think wad of paper under my nose, which means is time to wrap up the rant. ciao people. Please contribute.

Suicide is painless!!

2006-11-17T11:27:00.000+05:30

The theme of the popular 70’s show M.A.S.H was named with a black humor, just like the show itself. In reality suicide is anything but painless. But in the spate of a few days, one attempted suicide and the newspaper account of many, compels me to think whether we all look at life with black humor.

Has it become so easy to take life, even if it is yours? Do the dearly departed care about the dearly left-behinds, the fall outs of their action. Does depression kill more then cancer?

Coming back to my original point, I feel that in the whole rigmarole of career, future and other planning, we have stopped living and thus stopped loving the thought of living. Because once you have really tasted the joy of simply “living”, I cannot imagine giving that up. Take the time to learn or teach that, and I think we can teach a whole generation the “Art of Living” literally. Here is to a world where people chose to live, not die.

2006-11-03T15:31:00.000+05:30

Civilization perhaps.......... in the middle of desolation
A birds eye view...but I am still grounded!
A sight for parched eyes!
Moist pines in their white ground...peppermint breath.
Far away from civilization....in quiet repose

2006-11-03T15:23:00.000+05:30

Icy, slippery....leads to a great view. Somewhat like life.

Driving Democracy?

2006-09-21T19:43:00.000+05:30

If you want to see true democracy, simply stand in any cross road in India. Even better, stand in a cross road in Hyderabad. Vehicles move democratically divergent directions, un-incumbered by traffic rules. And the traffic polices' are the true upholders of democracy, following the credo of by the people, for the poeple, of the people. Never mind the honking, snarling, homicidal traffic.

Even the drivers are very democratic. There is no discrimination, whether you drive a mercedes or a maruti 800- you will get bumped either way. As a rule you drive as you like, its entirely upto the other person to avoid collision. The only teeny problem? The other guy is thinking the same. With interesting results.

There is of course the small power struggles. Two wheelers crib about the obvious muscle power of the cars. Cars feel they get side swiped (literally) by the sneaky two wheelers. From a bird eye view, it looks like a well-knit shawl....no holes or gaps :)

As a matter of fact, the traffic cops are better then most politician. They are absolutely clueless about their job...but they don't shout and try and look threatening either. Apart from the fact that Hyderabadis are absolutely fearless when it comes to traffic cops, no one would probably hear them over the honking anyway.

Having stayed away from the driving seat for a decade, I am entertaining the thought of going back in the saddle or the seat so to say. If only people are so kind enough not to hit me or mind if I hit them, I will get on with my driving. Touchwood?

2006-09-21T19:37:00.000+05:30

Sugar kissed tree...thats what came to my mind. At 17,000 ft on the Colorado rockies, this baby tree stands tall..bring, straight...among the oldest, tallest evergreens.

Cherish

2006-07-12T20:10:00.000+05:30

Sometimes in the business of living life, we forget to cherish it. Nothing reminds you more of it than seeing someone lose it. Yesterday while riding with my hubby on his bike I saw an accident. A common news that we read about all the time.....but rarely see it happen.

While the brutality of it was shocking, what rang in my ears is the cry that came out of the heart of the young man who survived the crash. The woman riding pillion, whether she was his wife, sister or a friend...was gone. In one instance someones life was over and another's shattered.

And no one could do anything about it. I turned my head away as we rode away but that cry kept echoing in my ears, the sound of anguish reverbating in my head. And as I held on to my life, it occured to me that it had never felt this precious to me before. In that instance, I was ready to forgive and forget all.

Of course I also realised it was the heat of the moment talking, that the next day everything would be somewhat back to normal. But I also realised that while we fear our death, I now fear for my death..seeing what it could do to those that will be left behind. Truely, I never understood what it meant to live for anothers sake till today.

I spent the night mourning the death of a stranger and even more the grief of another stranger. And promised myself to live a little more carefully and cherish my life more. Because at the end, a cherished life leaves better memories when I am gone.

Mad

2006-04-15T06:54:00.000+05:30

Are You mad?
Mad enough to dream far beyond
Beyond what you have and need
To reach for the unreachable day

Do you dream in your safe cocoon
The "closet dreamer" in the unmoving world
Dream of sins, and pains and gains
To wake up in a sane world

Oh I wish for madness
For dreams insane
Of flying without wings
And singing in the rain

But I am so sane , so maddeningly sane
I dream of tulips, blue skies and gains
In my little closet the madness stays
My personal madness, my little gains

I even think of giving them away
My little closet full of dreams
But they are my sins, pains and full of gain
Mine mine, all mine and so maddeningly sane.

The Road

2006-03-15T05:08:00.000+05:30

Here I stand on a strange shore
Looking at the unknown beyond
Afraid to reach out
Too proud to turn back to the familar grounds

How, how do you know where to go,
When no one's holding a light for you
Groping in the dark, hoping you're on the right path
No one to point the way

The choices I made, the roads I walked
Are the only witness to my troubled past
They saw my tears, my fears, my joy
Keeping me company in my solitary quest

And now again, it's another shore
Another choice, another road.
But time has passed, and I am bold
Not afraid to reach out to the strange beyond

Now come what may, I know today
It was not "where" that mattered
It was the roads that were there
My guides, my friends, my companions in the dark

Life of a Reporter-A very short story

2006-02-18T06:05:00.000+05:30

RCK, reporter sat on his chair morosely looking at the press notes in front of him..."This is my life" he thought. A life time of serving a very self-contained unprofessional organisation had left him no illusions of glory. "Twenty years....twenty years I have spent here...and what have a gained...a head full of grey hair?" He mused again.This has become a routine with him. Looking back, mulling over the "road not taken". He should have left when he had the urge to and not looked back.

But life had its own agenda...marriage...children...RESPONSIBILITY...That seem to explain the grey hairs. So what now? SO WHAT NOW????? His mind seem to be screaming at him. He looked out of the window...it was late night ..weekend was coming up. "It’s a lovely night" he thought and suddenly everything was clear...like a flash of lightening. He was whistling when he left the office that night, the security guard remembered. That was last any body heard of RCK, Reporter.

A little bit of Introspection?

2006-02-18T06:01:00.000+05:30

I wonder why I am doing it? I mean writing this nonsense. Must be a character flaw. Or perhaps signs on senility. Who knows what motivates a person to a certain action. Why do I do what I do?

Not even the usual chores are so usual. We are not born with the knowledge of brushing our teeth, combing our hair and going to corporate offices and drawing salary. Then what are we born with?..a fresh outlook? There is a theory that from birth onwards, before the worldly activities cloud the young mind, a child retains glimpses of the mystery that is life and death. It is almost a heart breaking irony that we spend lifetimes trying to find the knowledge that perhaps we were born with. And lost in the search for it.

But why? why the search?A need to justify our existence?A vogue?........"let's find nirvana man!!"A need to feel superior, achieve the unachievable? Or perhaps some of us feel, there is more to life then just breathing. But then again breathing is not a simple task anymore either. "Draw in the air around you know is polluted from the emission of the million ill-kept vehicles and let out an equally polluted whiff of carbon dioxide into the world". Amazing what an single action can construe.

Okay let’s get back to the initial agenda....why am I writing this.
Because I have nothing else to do. Well not true. More like I have nothing else that I think is worth doing at this time. Conceited thought? Well of course. What else can be expected from a self-professed writer?Recently a friend brought the world of "blog" into my periphery. Which followed a few hours of joyful research on the net on my part. And the end result is THIS!!!