To continue from where I had left off…..
The sign-board near the wash-basin of my India office’s restroom, further states the following information about water:
1. If the entire water in this world is put in a gallon jug, freshwater available for use is just one tablespoon.
2. 10000 children under the age of 5 in Third World countries die due to illness contracted by impure water.
3. Most people in this world have to walk 3 hours to fetch water.
4. By 2025, 52 countries (making up 2/3 of the population) will suffer from water shortages.
5. About 6800 gallons of water is required to grow a food for family of four.
6. Freshwater animals are disappearing 5 times faster than land animals.
The world is imminently progressing towards devastation. An environmental banner put it succinctly: ‘Ice melting is now a hot topic!’ Its like the fizz building up within the soda bottle. The cap might burst open any time.
The Shiv-Ling natural ice-sculpture at Amarnath has completely melted. The Mount Everest height has decreased. The ice glaciers in South and North Pole are melting. Many river basins in India have dried out. Winters now no longer need sweaters. The Sea water is increasing. Rain has become erratic.
Birds have vanished. There was a time, when we used to enjoy the sparrows pecking at food in our porches but for the current generation, sparrows are as good as extinct.
A part of the Ozone layer over the Arctic has vanished. If the hole increases over civilization, it’s a dual disaster. Not only will the Sun’s rays penetrate directly (causing God-knows how many skin diseases) but also the richness of Oxygen which is usually found during early mornings generated by Ozone can no longer be used as a healing or refreshing agent by the morning walkers and joggers.
Many healing procedures are based out on simple breathing techniques like Yoga. The pure oxygen wafting through the blood veins can cure innumerous diseases if concentrated. But, the clean pure air is being polluted heavily making even breathing a laborious task.
Almost everything we use today generates heat. The electrical applicances like refrigerator, television, microwave, the automobiles like cars, trucks, trains, aeroplanes, the computers at offices and even the laptop which I am using currently!
Bangalore Corporation cut 68 trees on Sunday to widen the road. Trees which give us clean air replaced by vehicles which pollute the air. Chinese Government approves making an asphalted (imagine the heat!) road to Mount Everest’s Base Camp for the runner to carry the Olympic torch. Dubai, Singapore and many other countries create man-made islands to create more land space and attract tourists. If land is made out of water, water level will surely increase and coupled with ice glaciers melting, port cities will soon be submerged.
Rain water is not harvested. Solar energy usage is not mandated. Hundreds of advertisement hoardings have flashy lights all night when hardly anyone sees them. Man is carelessly wasting natural resources. The other day I saw a big corporate hunk running the tap on while he lathered his face with soap for full 5 minutes. I am sure, for people of his class, its tough to turn the tap off while brushing. A day will come when we wouldn’t even have water to brush our teeth or soap our faces, although we might haughtily state: ‘Tell me how much it costs. I will pay for it.’ Money is something invented by Man. But Water is not.
Just as I sign off, I can hear the water over-flowing from an overhead tank. I know water will keep over-flowing till tomorrow morning when the owner gets up and realize the folly. What he does not realize is that its almost equivalent to having killed a human being for depriving him of potable water. For me, it’s a criminal offence to have wasted pure water.
Focus now is just on money. A folly of not switching the pump off leading to over-flow in overhead tank is, for today, just a matter of couple of hundred rupees extra in the water bill. A grossly polluting emission-untested vehicle, upon being caught, has to cough up – a curious expression! – a few hundred rupees, which almost anyone can afford these days, caring none to the world. The point is its not about money. Its about Environment and natural resources. Its almost equivalent to committing murder, and upon being caught by the cops, pay off a couple of grand, and move on.
After all, if man disturbs ecosystem, a time will surely come when the ecosystem disturbs man. We are just converting Earth into a hellhole where soon we ourselves are bound to suffer.
Plazas are opening where Oxygen is provided for enhanced breathing as if its an innovation. Mineral water bottles are manufactured as if something great is being done to mankind. A decade or two ago, there was pure Oxygen everywhere and water was as pure as it gets. This is so true of what Masanobu Fukuoka said in his One-Straw Revolution:
Human beings with their tamperings do something wrong, leave the damage unrepaired and when the adverse results accumulate, work with all their might to correct them. When the corrective actions appear to be successful, they come to view these measures as splendid accomplishment.
Wednesday, July 04, 2007
Sunday, July 01, 2007
Water
A sign near the wash-basin of the rest room in the US office where I worked:
Many diseases can be prevented by washing hands thoroughly. Keep your hands under the water and sing yourself a ‘Happy Birthday’ song and do not withdraw your hands until the song is completed!
A sign near the wash-basin of the rest room in the India office where I am working:
Use natural resources sparingly. Conserve water.
Many diseases can be prevented by washing hands thoroughly. Keep your hands under the water and sing yourself a ‘Happy Birthday’ song and do not withdraw your hands until the song is completed!
A sign near the wash-basin of the rest room in the India office where I am working:
Use natural resources sparingly. Conserve water.
Friday, June 29, 2007
English
Since the climate in Bangalore is drastically changing to winter, I decided to buy myself a jacket. I generally do not shop for hours together nor do I like shopping. In most cases, I buy from the first shop that I enter. However, in this case, the shop owner seemed to be rude and, as if taking revenge, I left his shop and entered his neighbour’s store. As they say, all for good. I got a better deal with lots of courtesy!
Anyway, so I was waiting for my payment to be processed when a mother came in with her son aged about seven to buy a raincoat. She conversed with the salesman in Kannada and told her requirements. The salesman got some raincoats for the kid. And then the kid started complaining to the mother about the offered raincoats, saying the length was incorrect, the color was too dark, etc.
But it was not the grouse that made me surprised. It was the kid’s language. The kid was talking in flawless English with an accent! A kid aged about seven, to its mother, in pure English, as if he was taught not to talk in any other language! And the mother too, it seemed, talked with her son only in English!
While enabling the children to speak in flawless English at a very early age surely adds an edge to the child’s career growth, and even makes other kids with lack of English speaking abilities cringe, I somehow am strongly of the opinion that English, to people whose mother tongue is not English, is just a means of communication in a common language, and is to be used only when the person to whom you are talking to does not understand the language that you actually speak, or is not comfortable.
Of course, to learn talking in a particular language, it makes sense for the student to have some days of the week in School where no other language is permitted to be spoken (as is how it is usually done in Swiss Chalet schools to learn French and other foreign languages). But to not speak a single syllable in one’s own language to one’s own mother in a general outing is for me, a great loss in terms of handing over the tradition of a beautiful language. One does not have to be an expert but at least one should talk with family members in one’s own language!
I wonder if it’s the same case in, for example, a German or a Spanish family. I mean, do the mother-kid conversations happen in English? I confess I am no good in Kannada either, but at least I make it a point to talk in Kannada with those who know Kannada! There are times when many non-Kannadiga friends of mine have asked particular translation which I have shamefully admitted I do not know. If this situation worsens in the future generations, a century later, the whole language will become extinct and the beauty and purity of the language will be buried forever.
There was a time when the English ruled us Indians. And then Indians got independence from the English. And now to compete in the global arena, the future generation is being enabled to be adept in the common language which is English. But if this happens at the cost of losing touch with one’s own originality and India’s diverse culture and language, then, I fear, the English is starting to rule us Indians again…literally.
Anyway, so I was waiting for my payment to be processed when a mother came in with her son aged about seven to buy a raincoat. She conversed with the salesman in Kannada and told her requirements. The salesman got some raincoats for the kid. And then the kid started complaining to the mother about the offered raincoats, saying the length was incorrect, the color was too dark, etc.
But it was not the grouse that made me surprised. It was the kid’s language. The kid was talking in flawless English with an accent! A kid aged about seven, to its mother, in pure English, as if he was taught not to talk in any other language! And the mother too, it seemed, talked with her son only in English!
While enabling the children to speak in flawless English at a very early age surely adds an edge to the child’s career growth, and even makes other kids with lack of English speaking abilities cringe, I somehow am strongly of the opinion that English, to people whose mother tongue is not English, is just a means of communication in a common language, and is to be used only when the person to whom you are talking to does not understand the language that you actually speak, or is not comfortable.
Of course, to learn talking in a particular language, it makes sense for the student to have some days of the week in School where no other language is permitted to be spoken (as is how it is usually done in Swiss Chalet schools to learn French and other foreign languages). But to not speak a single syllable in one’s own language to one’s own mother in a general outing is for me, a great loss in terms of handing over the tradition of a beautiful language. One does not have to be an expert but at least one should talk with family members in one’s own language!
I wonder if it’s the same case in, for example, a German or a Spanish family. I mean, do the mother-kid conversations happen in English? I confess I am no good in Kannada either, but at least I make it a point to talk in Kannada with those who know Kannada! There are times when many non-Kannadiga friends of mine have asked particular translation which I have shamefully admitted I do not know. If this situation worsens in the future generations, a century later, the whole language will become extinct and the beauty and purity of the language will be buried forever.
There was a time when the English ruled us Indians. And then Indians got independence from the English. And now to compete in the global arena, the future generation is being enabled to be adept in the common language which is English. But if this happens at the cost of losing touch with one’s own originality and India’s diverse culture and language, then, I fear, the English is starting to rule us Indians again…literally.
Monday, June 25, 2007
If looks could kill…
I can only further acclaim to the fact that girls are indeed beautiful. Much has been said about the art encompassed in their bodily figure; much forwards have been received about how God first made Man as a draft and said ‘Oops’, and then improvised when he made Woman and said ‘Practice makes perfect’; much has been said in films, comparing the ‘fairer sex’ (as they are more prominently called) to the beautiful things in this world. I, for one, can just nod my approval.
Not to be interpreted that I am currently in need of a girl for marriage considering my age and marital status, but this article was due from me for a long time. Of course, as the wise man says, beautiful girls and marriage are two separate things altogether!
A guy friend of mine (Mithun) once told a gal friend of mine (Ashwini) what simple pleasures she is missing by being a gal. He was referring to appreciating the beauty of the other gender, of deriving bountiful pleasures by just looking at girls and admiring the colour they added to an otherwise dull landscape! And Ashwini replied, quite succinctly, and with a wink in her eyes, “I only have to look at myself in the mirror!” Somehow, I felt the whole conversation to be very profound. While what Mithun said was very true, it was also equally true what Ashwini had said. Girls just have to look in the mirror and pamper themselves to feel the beauty within.
When I was in High school, where one learns a lot about Life in general and the other gender in particular, the concept of ‘eve-teasing’ and ‘rape’ always amused me. Keeping aside the fact that, of course, I strictly abhorred the two, it still was amusing because, there were a lot of girls who used to flaunt their, hmm, shall we say, ‘assets’, almost inviting to be eve-teased, to be raped, (assuming of course that ‘revenge’ is outside the scope for this chronicle). Some men, as we all know, are still very much uncultivated, true animals, and the aspect of a lady in revealing attire is as equivalent as showing blood on the hand to a shark in an open sea.
So then the question arose as to why this ‘flaunting’? My high school brain tried to figure out some answers. I then realized that there were girls who were naturally beautiful and then there were girls who were less lucky. Now, forget the beauty pageants, forget any sort of artificial beauty-enhancements, if a member of both the lucky and unlucky species were to stand, for example, in a bus-stand, needless to say, the majority of ‘men-turning-heads’ would be to the luckier of the two.
‘Men-turning-heads’, I realized, is in effect, actually a big compliment. A thing that makes anyone happy. It was like an unsaid compliment. Just an acknowledgement of beauty. While, turned heads is fulfilling, anything else further will be construed as bordering offensive. Here is where the distinction between the cultivated man and the uncultivated man lies.
While a man of culture and proper upbringing sums up a girl in a second, acknowledges the beauty and the curves, and might even turn for an appreciative second look, the uncultivated few mentally undress the girls through their eyes and make them feel vulnerable and scared. They ogle at them as if they are a delicacy to be eaten. As a means of male dominancy, they look at them as if they were servants, existing only to serve man and his basic instincts. And, to be fair to the cultivated men, it is this minority of the uncultivated few, who involve themselves in demeaning acts such as eve-teasing and rape, unable to control their desires.
Of course, the plight of the unlucky gal at the bus-stand is easily understood. No ‘men-turning-heads’ for her is a sad thing. Most gals want to attract attention sufficient enough to be appreciated. So, then comes into picture the artificial beauty-enhancers such as revealing dresses, make-up, extensive hair-do, et cetera, et cetera. Faced with such a scenario where the gal is trying her best to attract attention, and coupled with the presence of a few unruly men, the plan might backfire & its almost like mixing two important chemicals of a bomb.
Attire is an important feature of beauty. Everyone wants to look beautiful. So it makes sense to wear the perfect and fitting attire. Being in US for almost 2 years, made me realize how perfectly attired almost everyone was, barring of course, the crazy college-goers. Whether it was to office on weekdays or to malls on weekends, almost everyone is perfectly dressed for the occasion.
I had heard a catch-line that a lady’s skirt should be short enough to arouse curiosity but long enough to cover the subject matter! While it is right to be inline with the current fashion statement, it does become gross and indecent to be extra-revealing.
To be fair to male species as well, I have met some of the most handsome and dignified gentlemen one could ever come across. There was one person called Chris in the US office where I worked who tops the list. Coupled with a deep yet soft voice, handsomely tall and extremely helpful, he was, to me, an epitome of admirable ‘Gentlemanliness.’ Very few whom I have met are like him. After all, it is rare to see gentlemen than beautiful ladies!
Well, we all enjoy in beauty, don’t we? Beauty is exhibited in many ways around this world. A person is beautiful for what he is, more than the ‘looks’ that he has. And of course, the oft-quoted ‘Beauty lies in the eyes of the beholder’ is very applicable.
Yet, there are some ‘simply-stunning’ girls. I remember my first year in office, when there was this extremely striking girl whom I was scared of looking, for I knew that if I looked, I would surely stare! In fact, if she was within eye-sight and walking in the direction towards me, I used to lower my eyes so that I wouldn’t have to look at her. For gals like her, a discreet look from a distance only was befitting!
Ravi Shastri, once, when commenting let out a ‘Oh! Lovely!!’ when the camera focused on a beautiful girl. After a pregnant pause, he admitted “I couldn’t help that!” Fair enough! P G Wodehouse, in many of his novels describes the beauty of the girls in his novels – and the effect it has on respective heroes – in his unique, humorous manner. One such description is thus: “Some girls seem to take the stuffing right out of you. I mean to say, there is something about their personality that paralyzes the vocal chords and reduces the contents of the brain to cauliflower.” How true!
Another thing that I often relate to whenever I see a stunning girl is the scene from the hilarious movie ‘Dumb and Dumber’ when Lauren Holly opens the door to Jim Carrey. As soon as she is out of sight, due to the sheer power of beauty, Jim clutches his heart and slumps down as if he had a massive heart attack! Now, for me, that’s a perfect picturisation of…
“If looks could kill…”!
Not to be interpreted that I am currently in need of a girl for marriage considering my age and marital status, but this article was due from me for a long time. Of course, as the wise man says, beautiful girls and marriage are two separate things altogether!
A guy friend of mine (Mithun) once told a gal friend of mine (Ashwini) what simple pleasures she is missing by being a gal. He was referring to appreciating the beauty of the other gender, of deriving bountiful pleasures by just looking at girls and admiring the colour they added to an otherwise dull landscape! And Ashwini replied, quite succinctly, and with a wink in her eyes, “I only have to look at myself in the mirror!” Somehow, I felt the whole conversation to be very profound. While what Mithun said was very true, it was also equally true what Ashwini had said. Girls just have to look in the mirror and pamper themselves to feel the beauty within.
When I was in High school, where one learns a lot about Life in general and the other gender in particular, the concept of ‘eve-teasing’ and ‘rape’ always amused me. Keeping aside the fact that, of course, I strictly abhorred the two, it still was amusing because, there were a lot of girls who used to flaunt their, hmm, shall we say, ‘assets’, almost inviting to be eve-teased, to be raped, (assuming of course that ‘revenge’ is outside the scope for this chronicle). Some men, as we all know, are still very much uncultivated, true animals, and the aspect of a lady in revealing attire is as equivalent as showing blood on the hand to a shark in an open sea.
So then the question arose as to why this ‘flaunting’? My high school brain tried to figure out some answers. I then realized that there were girls who were naturally beautiful and then there were girls who were less lucky. Now, forget the beauty pageants, forget any sort of artificial beauty-enhancements, if a member of both the lucky and unlucky species were to stand, for example, in a bus-stand, needless to say, the majority of ‘men-turning-heads’ would be to the luckier of the two.
‘Men-turning-heads’, I realized, is in effect, actually a big compliment. A thing that makes anyone happy. It was like an unsaid compliment. Just an acknowledgement of beauty. While, turned heads is fulfilling, anything else further will be construed as bordering offensive. Here is where the distinction between the cultivated man and the uncultivated man lies.
While a man of culture and proper upbringing sums up a girl in a second, acknowledges the beauty and the curves, and might even turn for an appreciative second look, the uncultivated few mentally undress the girls through their eyes and make them feel vulnerable and scared. They ogle at them as if they are a delicacy to be eaten. As a means of male dominancy, they look at them as if they were servants, existing only to serve man and his basic instincts. And, to be fair to the cultivated men, it is this minority of the uncultivated few, who involve themselves in demeaning acts such as eve-teasing and rape, unable to control their desires.
Of course, the plight of the unlucky gal at the bus-stand is easily understood. No ‘men-turning-heads’ for her is a sad thing. Most gals want to attract attention sufficient enough to be appreciated. So, then comes into picture the artificial beauty-enhancers such as revealing dresses, make-up, extensive hair-do, et cetera, et cetera. Faced with such a scenario where the gal is trying her best to attract attention, and coupled with the presence of a few unruly men, the plan might backfire & its almost like mixing two important chemicals of a bomb.
Attire is an important feature of beauty. Everyone wants to look beautiful. So it makes sense to wear the perfect and fitting attire. Being in US for almost 2 years, made me realize how perfectly attired almost everyone was, barring of course, the crazy college-goers. Whether it was to office on weekdays or to malls on weekends, almost everyone is perfectly dressed for the occasion.
I had heard a catch-line that a lady’s skirt should be short enough to arouse curiosity but long enough to cover the subject matter! While it is right to be inline with the current fashion statement, it does become gross and indecent to be extra-revealing.
To be fair to male species as well, I have met some of the most handsome and dignified gentlemen one could ever come across. There was one person called Chris in the US office where I worked who tops the list. Coupled with a deep yet soft voice, handsomely tall and extremely helpful, he was, to me, an epitome of admirable ‘Gentlemanliness.’ Very few whom I have met are like him. After all, it is rare to see gentlemen than beautiful ladies!
Well, we all enjoy in beauty, don’t we? Beauty is exhibited in many ways around this world. A person is beautiful for what he is, more than the ‘looks’ that he has. And of course, the oft-quoted ‘Beauty lies in the eyes of the beholder’ is very applicable.
Yet, there are some ‘simply-stunning’ girls. I remember my first year in office, when there was this extremely striking girl whom I was scared of looking, for I knew that if I looked, I would surely stare! In fact, if she was within eye-sight and walking in the direction towards me, I used to lower my eyes so that I wouldn’t have to look at her. For gals like her, a discreet look from a distance only was befitting!
Ravi Shastri, once, when commenting let out a ‘Oh! Lovely!!’ when the camera focused on a beautiful girl. After a pregnant pause, he admitted “I couldn’t help that!” Fair enough! P G Wodehouse, in many of his novels describes the beauty of the girls in his novels – and the effect it has on respective heroes – in his unique, humorous manner. One such description is thus: “Some girls seem to take the stuffing right out of you. I mean to say, there is something about their personality that paralyzes the vocal chords and reduces the contents of the brain to cauliflower.” How true!
Another thing that I often relate to whenever I see a stunning girl is the scene from the hilarious movie ‘Dumb and Dumber’ when Lauren Holly opens the door to Jim Carrey. As soon as she is out of sight, due to the sheer power of beauty, Jim clutches his heart and slumps down as if he had a massive heart attack! Now, for me, that’s a perfect picturisation of…
“If looks could kill…”!
Saturday, June 09, 2007
Me
Today, I came across a friend of mine who was my junior in engineering college. I was walking on the road, when he saw me from his car and pulled over. We had spent couple of good years in the college and it was nice to meet him after a gap of almost four years. We exchanged pleasantries, and discussed job, and whereabouts of old friends, and since I had to rush, bid adieu, emphasizing the footnote of ‘We shall meet again’, both the parties knowing only too well, that that ‘again’ wont be ever planned and if it had to happen, it would only be accidentally and perhaps after another long time, just like this encounter.
I continued my walk. It was a 2 km stretch. Such a long walk will inevitably be embellished by a myriad of thoughts. My friend, I had noticed (and complimented) was in his new Hyundai Santro, and while I was talking to him, he received a call on his cell-phone, a latest N-series Nokia mobile (which again I had complimented). Everything normal, it would seem, wouldn’t it, to excel from a nondescript mediocre college grad to a comfortable, well-built foothold professional, as is indeed the case with several other success stories of every individuals’ lives. To be fair, it was same with me too. I never expected a decade ago to be where I am currently. “Touchwood”, as they say.
However, the thing that kept bothering me at the back of my mind, as I walked on, was the luxury. While almost everyone craved for luxury, and tried to attain the higher echelons in all aspects, I was just content with what I had. Rather, more intriguingly, I felt at times, I needed less than what I currently possessed.
Take for instance the cell-phone. People of my age are competing in the rat-race to own the best-in-technology latest mobile phone, and some even going for Blackberries (and am sure will be the first ones to own the iPhone when it gets released), while I am content with my out-dated Nokia (whose model name I have forgotten) which is no longer available in the market. “I can make calls, I can receive calls and same with messages too” is my argument much to the chagrin of many who try to push me to buy a new cell.
Then, the vehicle. I can easily afford a posh 2007 Honda or a Toyota. Yet, I am content with the 1989 Maruthi 800. Again, “it takes me where I want to go” is my simple counterpoint to someone who tries to force me! In an era of jazzy motorbikes racing through the streets, I am happy with my 1996 Kinetic Honda (which needs more than a couple of kicks to start after an hour or two of idle time)! ‘Why are you like this?’ a friend of mine had asked. I truly don’t know! In fact, if I could have persisted with my parents, I could still have had my Hero bicycle! After all, nothing compares to the pure joy of cycling!
And then my watch. I am extremely happy with my 1992 Titan (even though the outer rim of the dial is just a wee bit faded). Its my favourite, and while most of them buy a watch on their first salary, I refuse to wear even the free Titan that my company gave for its billion-dollar-day celebrations, despite the watch having hundreds of functions such as global timing, multiple alarm options, timer, etc. Well, I don’t need all that. I just need to look at my watch and know instantly what the time is. I have grown so used to my old Titan that I can do just that even at the wee hours of the night despite there being no numerals on the dial.
And it doesn’t just stop there. I am not a stickler for branded apparel or shoes. If I need a shirt or a pair of trousers, I just go into the first shop that I see and buy what I like. But if I have, say, a shirt-piece, I would just go to any tailor shop and give the measurements. For me, things such as this hardly matters. An incident that is indelibly etched in my mind is when another friend of mine had told me thus, chancing once upon my wardrobe: “Harsha! I think I have to disown you as my friend!”
And when it comes to music, my only interest lies in Carnatic Classical. I am hopelessly knowledgeable on the current Western tracks or the Bollywood flicks. I cannot even make out the distinction between the different genres. Rock, metal, jazz, pop are all just words to me. Come to think of it, I am not even fully knowledgeable in Carnatic Classical!
And then, the professional life. While most of them ask me to settle down in US, change jobs for higher pay packets, all of which I could do easily enough if I try, yet, I am content with the way I am. Perhaps not satisfied with what I am doing, but no complaints whatsoever with the pay packet. Apart from a countable few, I haven’t heard anyone who doesn’t want more money, who doesn’t want to climb up the ladder of life! Perhaps I belong to the world’s smallest category of the population!
Why am I not like others? Why am I not normal? Why do I not have the same feelings and urge as the common man does? It has been often told to me by many, quite frankly, that no girl (be it arranged or love) would ever say ‘Yes’ to me. Not that I am complaining, but, hey, this is who I am, for what I am worth. Nondescript, unimportant and insignificant little man, further expounded in the ‘about me’ of my orkut profile in a simpler manner as: “I am just an ordinary guy.”
At an age when, for most, God is just a 5-minute prayer affair, I look forward to visiting religious places by the dozen. A weekly visit to the temple is a must for me. Quite understandably, I have been mocked by many for reading spiritual books. Just as I reached my house, a somewhat final parting thought came to my mind that perhaps I was a saint in my previous life. After all, only saints want less. ‘Principle of Renunciation’ (and all that).
But, it still was a puzzle. A saint has no rebirth if he has attained moksha. Then I smiled as an answering thought struck me.
Perhaps I sucked in that too!
I continued my walk. It was a 2 km stretch. Such a long walk will inevitably be embellished by a myriad of thoughts. My friend, I had noticed (and complimented) was in his new Hyundai Santro, and while I was talking to him, he received a call on his cell-phone, a latest N-series Nokia mobile (which again I had complimented). Everything normal, it would seem, wouldn’t it, to excel from a nondescript mediocre college grad to a comfortable, well-built foothold professional, as is indeed the case with several other success stories of every individuals’ lives. To be fair, it was same with me too. I never expected a decade ago to be where I am currently. “Touchwood”, as they say.
However, the thing that kept bothering me at the back of my mind, as I walked on, was the luxury. While almost everyone craved for luxury, and tried to attain the higher echelons in all aspects, I was just content with what I had. Rather, more intriguingly, I felt at times, I needed less than what I currently possessed.
Take for instance the cell-phone. People of my age are competing in the rat-race to own the best-in-technology latest mobile phone, and some even going for Blackberries (and am sure will be the first ones to own the iPhone when it gets released), while I am content with my out-dated Nokia (whose model name I have forgotten) which is no longer available in the market. “I can make calls, I can receive calls and same with messages too” is my argument much to the chagrin of many who try to push me to buy a new cell.
Then, the vehicle. I can easily afford a posh 2007 Honda or a Toyota. Yet, I am content with the 1989 Maruthi 800. Again, “it takes me where I want to go” is my simple counterpoint to someone who tries to force me! In an era of jazzy motorbikes racing through the streets, I am happy with my 1996 Kinetic Honda (which needs more than a couple of kicks to start after an hour or two of idle time)! ‘Why are you like this?’ a friend of mine had asked. I truly don’t know! In fact, if I could have persisted with my parents, I could still have had my Hero bicycle! After all, nothing compares to the pure joy of cycling!
And then my watch. I am extremely happy with my 1992 Titan (even though the outer rim of the dial is just a wee bit faded). Its my favourite, and while most of them buy a watch on their first salary, I refuse to wear even the free Titan that my company gave for its billion-dollar-day celebrations, despite the watch having hundreds of functions such as global timing, multiple alarm options, timer, etc. Well, I don’t need all that. I just need to look at my watch and know instantly what the time is. I have grown so used to my old Titan that I can do just that even at the wee hours of the night despite there being no numerals on the dial.
And it doesn’t just stop there. I am not a stickler for branded apparel or shoes. If I need a shirt or a pair of trousers, I just go into the first shop that I see and buy what I like. But if I have, say, a shirt-piece, I would just go to any tailor shop and give the measurements. For me, things such as this hardly matters. An incident that is indelibly etched in my mind is when another friend of mine had told me thus, chancing once upon my wardrobe: “Harsha! I think I have to disown you as my friend!”
And when it comes to music, my only interest lies in Carnatic Classical. I am hopelessly knowledgeable on the current Western tracks or the Bollywood flicks. I cannot even make out the distinction between the different genres. Rock, metal, jazz, pop are all just words to me. Come to think of it, I am not even fully knowledgeable in Carnatic Classical!
And then, the professional life. While most of them ask me to settle down in US, change jobs for higher pay packets, all of which I could do easily enough if I try, yet, I am content with the way I am. Perhaps not satisfied with what I am doing, but no complaints whatsoever with the pay packet. Apart from a countable few, I haven’t heard anyone who doesn’t want more money, who doesn’t want to climb up the ladder of life! Perhaps I belong to the world’s smallest category of the population!
Why am I not like others? Why am I not normal? Why do I not have the same feelings and urge as the common man does? It has been often told to me by many, quite frankly, that no girl (be it arranged or love) would ever say ‘Yes’ to me. Not that I am complaining, but, hey, this is who I am, for what I am worth. Nondescript, unimportant and insignificant little man, further expounded in the ‘about me’ of my orkut profile in a simpler manner as: “I am just an ordinary guy.”
At an age when, for most, God is just a 5-minute prayer affair, I look forward to visiting religious places by the dozen. A weekly visit to the temple is a must for me. Quite understandably, I have been mocked by many for reading spiritual books. Just as I reached my house, a somewhat final parting thought came to my mind that perhaps I was a saint in my previous life. After all, only saints want less. ‘Principle of Renunciation’ (and all that).
But, it still was a puzzle. A saint has no rebirth if he has attained moksha. Then I smiled as an answering thought struck me.
Perhaps I sucked in that too!
Saturday, June 02, 2007
Pinky!
Friendships have their own unique way of scripting a sinusoidal or tangential or sometimes even reverse exponential graph.
Divya and I met eight years ago (in 1999). She was my junior in the engineering college and we used to travel in the same college bus. She was of small stature, had a cute little face, boy-cut hair (which was somehow nice to play with!), a very unique, somewhat childish and unmatured voice but a huge amount of attitude and no-nonsense. She wasn’t one of those who would be ready to become friends instantly but instead take their own time.
Hence, in the first year of our acquaintanceship (I wouldn’t even prefer to refer it as friendship), there was a mutual respected distance between the two of us and the conversation remained within the realms of need-basis or the basic courtesies. We could be tagged as ‘Friends?’!
But Aries and Sagis have an inherent way of getting close and garnering a mutual respect some time or other. Somehow, without any particular incident causing the deflection, our acquaintanceship turned towards friendship from 2000 onwards.
And there, as ‘Just Friends’, we hovered for the next 2 years (till 2002), crossing the boundaries of just formal courtesies and pleasantries to more meaningful conversations, when finally it was time for me to graduate from college. Once out of college, at an era when email was still not so popular, we gradually lost touch of one another, and she joined the multitude which can be grouped under ‘Once Friends.’
My professional life soon led me to the States while in the meantime, she too graduated and joined a company in Mysore. A coincidental chat with a common friend in late 2005, just days before her birthday, almost three years since we lost touch, provided me her email ID.
With no hope of a positive response, I sent her a birthday wish via email. However, that single mail started off a new lease of friendship! We gained the lost ground quickly and mutually updated on happenings. Small stature she might yet have been, but she had become popular in her Mysore office. She wasn’t cute, boy-cut girl anymore but a strong contender in beauty pageants with full-flowing hair!
It soon came to be that she was to travel to West Coast of USA in the coming months. In those months, I gave her a dump of what to expect and what not to expect from the Great Land of Opportunities and mentally prepared her. It wasn’t long before she arrived and we started having long conversations over the phone about our respective days.
Now imagine that. From ‘Friends?’, to ‘Just Friends’ to ‘Once Friends’, we had reached a stage where we were calling each other daily to ask ‘How was your day?’ It sort of gave a nice feeling and we used to look forward to those conversations which led to a more intricate knowledge of each others’ personal lives and thoughts and wants, as well as the ups and downs that we both were currently facing. Crux of the topic, generally revolved around her relationship with her boyfriend which was being tested for marriage feasibilities by her family, and her own personal views about it.
The nearest we came to, geographically speaking, was in SFO when I went with my friends and she went with her cousins. But due to personal reasons, we could not meet up. Soon, however, somewhat abruptly, she had to travel back to India. I was due to go back too, in a couple of months’ time. While I went back to India, she got transferred from Mysore to Bangalore.
When you reach that stage in friendship where you have had long soulful talks for days together, you wont get into ‘Once Friends’ mode ever, in spite of not being in touch. You would have surpassed that stage wherein, even without talking to one another for years, you can meet up and start off where you had left behind. We were now in that ‘Friends Forever’ stage!
In the months that followed in India, we used to chat or talk on phone but due to personal constraints, it was limited. While it is a much desired activity in a foreign country and place, where one craves for nothing other than friends and more friends, it is not as much desired – although necessary - in one’s own home town and place, filled with family and more family!
But atlast, early this month, we met up, after almost five years. It was a pleasant feeling and we had our usual nice round of bonhomie talk! She invited me for her wedding with her boyfriend, which had finally succeeded the family battle, and I felt happy for her success. We even went for a nice short wedding shopping spree!
And today, as I stood there, near her, in the Kalyan Mantap, congratulating her marital status, she looked up at me and flashed a brilliant smile. The joy she had on seeing me and the joy I had in wishing her, was unparalleled. The blissful contentment and genuine happiness that sprouts up from within is something which even the face cannot stop from displaying as a beautiful smile. After all those days on phone, listening to her about her unsettling and undecided future, it was finally good to see her secured with the sacred wedding necklace (thaali) by the person of her choice!
Have a wonderful, fun-filled, happy married life, Pinky!
PS: This chronicle was written on May 27, 2007.
Divya and I met eight years ago (in 1999). She was my junior in the engineering college and we used to travel in the same college bus. She was of small stature, had a cute little face, boy-cut hair (which was somehow nice to play with!), a very unique, somewhat childish and unmatured voice but a huge amount of attitude and no-nonsense. She wasn’t one of those who would be ready to become friends instantly but instead take their own time.
Hence, in the first year of our acquaintanceship (I wouldn’t even prefer to refer it as friendship), there was a mutual respected distance between the two of us and the conversation remained within the realms of need-basis or the basic courtesies. We could be tagged as ‘Friends?’!
But Aries and Sagis have an inherent way of getting close and garnering a mutual respect some time or other. Somehow, without any particular incident causing the deflection, our acquaintanceship turned towards friendship from 2000 onwards.
And there, as ‘Just Friends’, we hovered for the next 2 years (till 2002), crossing the boundaries of just formal courtesies and pleasantries to more meaningful conversations, when finally it was time for me to graduate from college. Once out of college, at an era when email was still not so popular, we gradually lost touch of one another, and she joined the multitude which can be grouped under ‘Once Friends.’
My professional life soon led me to the States while in the meantime, she too graduated and joined a company in Mysore. A coincidental chat with a common friend in late 2005, just days before her birthday, almost three years since we lost touch, provided me her email ID.
With no hope of a positive response, I sent her a birthday wish via email. However, that single mail started off a new lease of friendship! We gained the lost ground quickly and mutually updated on happenings. Small stature she might yet have been, but she had become popular in her Mysore office. She wasn’t cute, boy-cut girl anymore but a strong contender in beauty pageants with full-flowing hair!
It soon came to be that she was to travel to West Coast of USA in the coming months. In those months, I gave her a dump of what to expect and what not to expect from the Great Land of Opportunities and mentally prepared her. It wasn’t long before she arrived and we started having long conversations over the phone about our respective days.
Now imagine that. From ‘Friends?’, to ‘Just Friends’ to ‘Once Friends’, we had reached a stage where we were calling each other daily to ask ‘How was your day?’ It sort of gave a nice feeling and we used to look forward to those conversations which led to a more intricate knowledge of each others’ personal lives and thoughts and wants, as well as the ups and downs that we both were currently facing. Crux of the topic, generally revolved around her relationship with her boyfriend which was being tested for marriage feasibilities by her family, and her own personal views about it.
The nearest we came to, geographically speaking, was in SFO when I went with my friends and she went with her cousins. But due to personal reasons, we could not meet up. Soon, however, somewhat abruptly, she had to travel back to India. I was due to go back too, in a couple of months’ time. While I went back to India, she got transferred from Mysore to Bangalore.
When you reach that stage in friendship where you have had long soulful talks for days together, you wont get into ‘Once Friends’ mode ever, in spite of not being in touch. You would have surpassed that stage wherein, even without talking to one another for years, you can meet up and start off where you had left behind. We were now in that ‘Friends Forever’ stage!
In the months that followed in India, we used to chat or talk on phone but due to personal constraints, it was limited. While it is a much desired activity in a foreign country and place, where one craves for nothing other than friends and more friends, it is not as much desired – although necessary - in one’s own home town and place, filled with family and more family!
But atlast, early this month, we met up, after almost five years. It was a pleasant feeling and we had our usual nice round of bonhomie talk! She invited me for her wedding with her boyfriend, which had finally succeeded the family battle, and I felt happy for her success. We even went for a nice short wedding shopping spree!
And today, as I stood there, near her, in the Kalyan Mantap, congratulating her marital status, she looked up at me and flashed a brilliant smile. The joy she had on seeing me and the joy I had in wishing her, was unparalleled. The blissful contentment and genuine happiness that sprouts up from within is something which even the face cannot stop from displaying as a beautiful smile. After all those days on phone, listening to her about her unsettling and undecided future, it was finally good to see her secured with the sacred wedding necklace (thaali) by the person of her choice!
Have a wonderful, fun-filled, happy married life, Pinky!
PS: This chronicle was written on May 27, 2007.
Sunday, May 20, 2007
Ten By Ten
It was one of those Sundays when, if you are at hometown in India, you are forced to attend a family function that is necessary yet tends to get boring. This time it was a Gruhapravesham in one of the remote areas of Bangalore that I had never before ventured till date. However, it was a nice area and a new apartment. The house itself was neat and clean.
When the rituals within the house became a trifle too monotonous, I couldn’t stand it any more. I went to the terrace. It was a big terrace, and since the apartment itself was at an elevated area, the view of the city of Bangalore was immense and, in a way, wonderful. I roamed around from one edge of the terrace to another. The zephyr was nice and refreshing. The air was clean and unpolluted.
I decided to stand on one edge of the periphery where the wind was most, and rested my arm on the parapet wall. It was to the west of the apartment, the side of the apartment where it neighboured a series of small houses, the apartment itself standing amidst them all like a colossal!
It is at times like this, when you stand doing nothing, and there is silence everywhere, and the view is breath-taking, and wind is lapping you up with the speed of the rotating and revolving Earth, that it feels like time is standing still, and somehow you feel one with the Universe, and admire humbly how small one actually is, in front of the whole world.
One tends to get contemplative at such moments. A kind of introspection starts, and questions tend to crop up about one’s employment, one’s ability, one’s actual goals and one’s wishes. There will be a bitter thought or two about the sad past, a nice warm thought about one special person, and the never-ending worries of the unknown future. It is, I guess, habitual.
So, there I was, thinking how good it would be to do what one wants to do in one’s own life, how immensely satisfying it is to carve out a life that one craves for, to break the barriers and shackles that a family tends to slowly but surely wove, to get away from the materialistic monotony, from the implicit responsibilities of a social life, when I heard a slow creaking sound below.
Its strange how a strong thought process can be broken by a soft creak! I peered down. Some two floors below, the neighbouring small house of thirty by forty had an even small enclosure of about ten by ten on its terrace. When I had first seen it, I had guessed it to be a bathroom or a common warehouse of some sort for dumping unwanted items. Now, its door was opening thereby causing the creak.
The door opened fully. A girl came out. She was dressed expensively. Sizing her up, I could make out that she was perhaps in her mid-twenties, akin to thousands of non-localites who were working in one of the innumerable call centers or software industries that had sprouted up in Bangalore over the last couple of years.
I realized, perhaps a shade late, with a shock that that ten foot by ten foot house was where she actually lived! That ramshackle, run-down, sheltered enclosure, roofed by a single sheet metal was infact a house, where apparently a human being lived and, I am sure, paid for it! Although not wholly unaware of the fact that many of my own colleagues lived in such a state, it still made my jaw drop to see it first-hand.
She seemed to be going out. She took a look inside to make sure all was in place. She might live in one of the biggest houses in some remote village, to which she might invite all her colleagues, but in Bangalore, with a hutment like that, and her apparel indicating her countenance, it is easy to surmise that she wouldn’t be so keen to have anyone seeing her rented house except her close few.
Although she would never know I was seeing her, somehow I felt guilty for taking stock of the situation. I felt like as if I was spying on her. A thought as if, if anyone gets to know where she lived, she might feel embarrassed and the last thing I wanted to do was to embarrass her.
But before I could move, she locked up her house, walked the length of the terrace, and down the steps, embarked upon her simple two-wheeler and rode away. Anyone seeing her, with her simple make-up, neat dress, trendy hair-do, and her two-wheeler, would never imagine that she lived in such a simple hutment.
Somehow, the whole thing made me go back to the rituals. I felt sorry. I felt pity. I felt sad for the innumerous many in this world who had to lead a life like this.
It dawned upon me later, that it was not just Bangalore. There were millions like this all over the world.
When the rituals within the house became a trifle too monotonous, I couldn’t stand it any more. I went to the terrace. It was a big terrace, and since the apartment itself was at an elevated area, the view of the city of Bangalore was immense and, in a way, wonderful. I roamed around from one edge of the terrace to another. The zephyr was nice and refreshing. The air was clean and unpolluted.
I decided to stand on one edge of the periphery where the wind was most, and rested my arm on the parapet wall. It was to the west of the apartment, the side of the apartment where it neighboured a series of small houses, the apartment itself standing amidst them all like a colossal!
It is at times like this, when you stand doing nothing, and there is silence everywhere, and the view is breath-taking, and wind is lapping you up with the speed of the rotating and revolving Earth, that it feels like time is standing still, and somehow you feel one with the Universe, and admire humbly how small one actually is, in front of the whole world.
One tends to get contemplative at such moments. A kind of introspection starts, and questions tend to crop up about one’s employment, one’s ability, one’s actual goals and one’s wishes. There will be a bitter thought or two about the sad past, a nice warm thought about one special person, and the never-ending worries of the unknown future. It is, I guess, habitual.
So, there I was, thinking how good it would be to do what one wants to do in one’s own life, how immensely satisfying it is to carve out a life that one craves for, to break the barriers and shackles that a family tends to slowly but surely wove, to get away from the materialistic monotony, from the implicit responsibilities of a social life, when I heard a slow creaking sound below.
Its strange how a strong thought process can be broken by a soft creak! I peered down. Some two floors below, the neighbouring small house of thirty by forty had an even small enclosure of about ten by ten on its terrace. When I had first seen it, I had guessed it to be a bathroom or a common warehouse of some sort for dumping unwanted items. Now, its door was opening thereby causing the creak.
The door opened fully. A girl came out. She was dressed expensively. Sizing her up, I could make out that she was perhaps in her mid-twenties, akin to thousands of non-localites who were working in one of the innumerable call centers or software industries that had sprouted up in Bangalore over the last couple of years.
I realized, perhaps a shade late, with a shock that that ten foot by ten foot house was where she actually lived! That ramshackle, run-down, sheltered enclosure, roofed by a single sheet metal was infact a house, where apparently a human being lived and, I am sure, paid for it! Although not wholly unaware of the fact that many of my own colleagues lived in such a state, it still made my jaw drop to see it first-hand.
She seemed to be going out. She took a look inside to make sure all was in place. She might live in one of the biggest houses in some remote village, to which she might invite all her colleagues, but in Bangalore, with a hutment like that, and her apparel indicating her countenance, it is easy to surmise that she wouldn’t be so keen to have anyone seeing her rented house except her close few.
Although she would never know I was seeing her, somehow I felt guilty for taking stock of the situation. I felt like as if I was spying on her. A thought as if, if anyone gets to know where she lived, she might feel embarrassed and the last thing I wanted to do was to embarrass her.
But before I could move, she locked up her house, walked the length of the terrace, and down the steps, embarked upon her simple two-wheeler and rode away. Anyone seeing her, with her simple make-up, neat dress, trendy hair-do, and her two-wheeler, would never imagine that she lived in such a simple hutment.
Somehow, the whole thing made me go back to the rituals. I felt sorry. I felt pity. I felt sad for the innumerous many in this world who had to lead a life like this.
It dawned upon me later, that it was not just Bangalore. There were millions like this all over the world.
The copper wire
I don’t smoke
I don’t booze
I don’t do drugs
I am a theist
I have clean habits
I am “A Beautiful Person”
And yet…
…is the copper wire rusted by the cosmic karma?!
I don’t booze
I don’t do drugs
I am a theist
I have clean habits
I am “A Beautiful Person”
And yet…
…is the copper wire rusted by the cosmic karma?!
Sunday, May 13, 2007
Illusions
There are times in life when we go about with a bunch of nagging questions for which we just cannot find answers. And then, from apparently nowhere comes this Richard Bach novel “Illusions: The adventures of a reluctant messiah” which attempts to answer those nagging questions! It is a simple yet powerful book which makes you think twice. Apart from the slow-moving fiction, there are a bunch of thought-provoking sentences provided here and there from the “Messiah’s Manual” which is somewhat amusing and curious.
Somewhere in the book, the messiah says: “Hold some problem in your mind, then open any book handy and see what it tells you. Whatever you need most is there.” This is so true. I have experienced it time and again when some thought is bothering me and I am seeking its answer, out from somewhere comes a solution that suggests a plausible explanation which somehow rests the mind!
The solution pops out from a television serial, or from someone’s action, or from a newspaper, from a source you least expect. Its like a divine intervention! And at times, its so gratifying.
Let me quote an instance. I used to see one particular devotee in a temple I visit every Thursday. Almost every Thursday I used to see the same person at the same time. And then, for about next few Thursdays, I could not see the person. And on one such Thursday, just when I was leaving the temple, I thought at the back of my mind as to why the person hadn’t come, and sure enough, even as I thought, that person materialized beside me! I was shocked beyond words! Some say its coincidence, but when situations like this occur more than once, for me, it’s a divine way of answer!
I shall reproduce here two sentences which I felt most profound from the “Messiah’s Manual”:
There is no such thing as a problem without a gift for you in its hands. You seek problems because you need their gifts.
You are never given a wish without also being given the power to make it true. You may have to work for it, however.
Somewhere in the book, the messiah says: “Hold some problem in your mind, then open any book handy and see what it tells you. Whatever you need most is there.” This is so true. I have experienced it time and again when some thought is bothering me and I am seeking its answer, out from somewhere comes a solution that suggests a plausible explanation which somehow rests the mind!
The solution pops out from a television serial, or from someone’s action, or from a newspaper, from a source you least expect. Its like a divine intervention! And at times, its so gratifying.
Let me quote an instance. I used to see one particular devotee in a temple I visit every Thursday. Almost every Thursday I used to see the same person at the same time. And then, for about next few Thursdays, I could not see the person. And on one such Thursday, just when I was leaving the temple, I thought at the back of my mind as to why the person hadn’t come, and sure enough, even as I thought, that person materialized beside me! I was shocked beyond words! Some say its coincidence, but when situations like this occur more than once, for me, it’s a divine way of answer!
I shall reproduce here two sentences which I felt most profound from the “Messiah’s Manual”:
There is no such thing as a problem without a gift for you in its hands. You seek problems because you need their gifts.
You are never given a wish without also being given the power to make it true. You may have to work for it, however.
The Good....and The Better
There was this guy in college who was a topper all through…
And then there was this other guy in college who actually learnt…
There was this guy who went to the hill-top in a cable-car…
And then there was this other guy who actually climbed…
There was this guy who was rich…
And then there was this other guy who actually was happy…
There was this guy who was on bench but was paid handsomely…
And then there was this other guy who earned meagerly but actually worked…
There was this guy who just got the accolades…
And then there was this other guy who actually deserved…
And then there was this other guy in college who actually learnt…
There was this guy who went to the hill-top in a cable-car…
And then there was this other guy who actually climbed…
There was this guy who was rich…
And then there was this other guy who actually was happy…
There was this guy who was on bench but was paid handsomely…
And then there was this other guy who earned meagerly but actually worked…
There was this guy who just got the accolades…
And then there was this other guy who actually deserved…
“Everybody is becoming rich...."
India in general and Bangalore in particular is undergoing a huge metamorphosis. It is a time when almost everybody is getting paid handsomely. The poor are moving to the category of “Middle class”. The lower middle class is moving to upper middle class. The upper middle class is moving to the category of “Rich.”
It is no wonder that there has been an enormous increase in luxurious vehicles on the road because the common man now can afford it. The jazzy bikes, the expensive cars, the latest mobile phones, ipods and other gizmos are all on the rise.
A couple of years ago, my north Indian friends working in Bangalore used to book train tickets 60 days in advance. And used to complain when they couldn’t get tickets if they didn’t book exactly 60 days in advance. Now none of my north Indian friends ever go in train. Thanks to Jet, Kingfisher and Air Deccan.
Come to think of it, very few of them ever travel in BMTC local buses. Autorickshaws or taxis are standard mode of transportation if there are no private vehicles.
Not that BMTC local buses are any cheaper. The BMTC Volvo buses, I am sure will soon ply only with Rs 50 denominations. Autorickshaws too have started charging exorbitantly, at almost about Rs 7 per kilometer, the highest in any mode of transportation. And on top of this, its double the rate, if the time is over 9:30 pm. Or if its raining.
The fast food industry has doubled its rates in a very short span of time. The land rates have tripled. In terms of properties, there doesn’t seem to be any value to anything less than 40 lakhs.
The currency is now only in denominations of Rs 10. So much so that beggars return back any coins given to them as offerings. The dakshina given to temple priests too are in huge currencies.
A decade ago when the Oberoi came to Bangalore, a coffee costed Rs 100. It was big news everywhere. Now, it’s a common thing to have a 100-buck coffee in Barista. Or something similar in Café Coffee Day.
Why not? When the upper middle class moves higher up, the lower middle class would want to move up too. Everyone wants more pay. The employee wants more pay from employer and the employer wants more pay from its clients. When there are people willing to pay more, why prefer those who cannot afford.
In the midst of all this, there are old-timers who still get the same pension in a now-practically-unlivable Bangalore who cannot even afford the maid servants. And old-timers cannot live without maid servants considering all the house-cleaning, dish-washing and clothes-washing that needs to be done in the same traditional manner. And it is then that it all made sense to me when my grandma said….
“Everybody is becoming rich....except us!”
It is no wonder that there has been an enormous increase in luxurious vehicles on the road because the common man now can afford it. The jazzy bikes, the expensive cars, the latest mobile phones, ipods and other gizmos are all on the rise.
A couple of years ago, my north Indian friends working in Bangalore used to book train tickets 60 days in advance. And used to complain when they couldn’t get tickets if they didn’t book exactly 60 days in advance. Now none of my north Indian friends ever go in train. Thanks to Jet, Kingfisher and Air Deccan.
Come to think of it, very few of them ever travel in BMTC local buses. Autorickshaws or taxis are standard mode of transportation if there are no private vehicles.
Not that BMTC local buses are any cheaper. The BMTC Volvo buses, I am sure will soon ply only with Rs 50 denominations. Autorickshaws too have started charging exorbitantly, at almost about Rs 7 per kilometer, the highest in any mode of transportation. And on top of this, its double the rate, if the time is over 9:30 pm. Or if its raining.
The fast food industry has doubled its rates in a very short span of time. The land rates have tripled. In terms of properties, there doesn’t seem to be any value to anything less than 40 lakhs.
The currency is now only in denominations of Rs 10. So much so that beggars return back any coins given to them as offerings. The dakshina given to temple priests too are in huge currencies.
A decade ago when the Oberoi came to Bangalore, a coffee costed Rs 100. It was big news everywhere. Now, it’s a common thing to have a 100-buck coffee in Barista. Or something similar in Café Coffee Day.
Why not? When the upper middle class moves higher up, the lower middle class would want to move up too. Everyone wants more pay. The employee wants more pay from employer and the employer wants more pay from its clients. When there are people willing to pay more, why prefer those who cannot afford.
In the midst of all this, there are old-timers who still get the same pension in a now-practically-unlivable Bangalore who cannot even afford the maid servants. And old-timers cannot live without maid servants considering all the house-cleaning, dish-washing and clothes-washing that needs to be done in the same traditional manner. And it is then that it all made sense to me when my grandma said….
“Everybody is becoming rich....except us!”
Monday, May 07, 2007
Exchange of eyes
It was almost 6 pm. I entered the bus-stand where a number of company buses were parked, waiting for the whistle. I was late for the bus and was walking briskly towards my bus, parked at the other end.
I had just sent out an indignant yet powerful mail to the Higher-ups. My face was set straight with masculine no-nonsense. I was still in the strong-mail-composing frame of mind. As if blaming the Higher-ups for making me miss the 5 pm bus.
My stride was purposeful and quick. Completely poised and totally in control. A small drop of perspiration appeared from nowhere on my forehead. With a brush of the thumb, I wiped it away.
At a slight angle, not directly head-on, and about twenty feet away, she was coming towards me, heading for another bus parked behind me, in the very same pace. I looked at her. She looked at me. Something happened in that look. That exchange of eyes.
I didn’t mean to stare. So I tried to look away. But it somehow took a great effort. A number of things went on in my mind. Did I know her? Did she resemble somebody I knew? An expression of amused puzzlement came over me and my stride lost its briskness. I just could not help looking back at her face. She, on the contrary, had not taken her eyes off me! She was still looking at me, directly at my eyes!
She was now about just ten feet from me. There was this sudden urge that I had to talk to her somehow, something. My stride lessened even more. Perhaps buying time for the mind to process my database and come up with some sort of a match. Perhaps buying time for her mind to process her database and come up with some sort of a match. Was she undergoing a similar conflict of emotions as me?
We passed each other. The moment passed. I did not speak to her. I mentally banged my head. I could have said anything but I said nothing. Yet, why did I want to say something to her? Especially to her alone? Why did that exchange of eyes seem so significant? Perhaps saying something would have given a clue as to who she was.
I reached my bus slowly. I sat down in the first available seat. I somehow couldn’t let go of that feeling of ‘I know her’ and ‘I know I know her!’ Perhaps I will never see her again. I tried vainly searching the bus-stand again but had no idea which bus she went into. There was this sudden void feeling. It was inexplicable.
Was she feeling the same too?
Or was I just over-reacting?
Were we related in our past lives?
Or am I reading too many spiritual novels?
I guess I will never know…
I had just sent out an indignant yet powerful mail to the Higher-ups. My face was set straight with masculine no-nonsense. I was still in the strong-mail-composing frame of mind. As if blaming the Higher-ups for making me miss the 5 pm bus.
My stride was purposeful and quick. Completely poised and totally in control. A small drop of perspiration appeared from nowhere on my forehead. With a brush of the thumb, I wiped it away.
At a slight angle, not directly head-on, and about twenty feet away, she was coming towards me, heading for another bus parked behind me, in the very same pace. I looked at her. She looked at me. Something happened in that look. That exchange of eyes.
I didn’t mean to stare. So I tried to look away. But it somehow took a great effort. A number of things went on in my mind. Did I know her? Did she resemble somebody I knew? An expression of amused puzzlement came over me and my stride lost its briskness. I just could not help looking back at her face. She, on the contrary, had not taken her eyes off me! She was still looking at me, directly at my eyes!
She was now about just ten feet from me. There was this sudden urge that I had to talk to her somehow, something. My stride lessened even more. Perhaps buying time for the mind to process my database and come up with some sort of a match. Perhaps buying time for her mind to process her database and come up with some sort of a match. Was she undergoing a similar conflict of emotions as me?
We passed each other. The moment passed. I did not speak to her. I mentally banged my head. I could have said anything but I said nothing. Yet, why did I want to say something to her? Especially to her alone? Why did that exchange of eyes seem so significant? Perhaps saying something would have given a clue as to who she was.
I reached my bus slowly. I sat down in the first available seat. I somehow couldn’t let go of that feeling of ‘I know her’ and ‘I know I know her!’ Perhaps I will never see her again. I tried vainly searching the bus-stand again but had no idea which bus she went into. There was this sudden void feeling. It was inexplicable.
Was she feeling the same too?
Or was I just over-reacting?
Were we related in our past lives?
Or am I reading too many spiritual novels?
I guess I will never know…
Rain
It had been a long time wish for me to just sit in the balcony and enjoy a beautiful rain. The wish got fulfilled today.
It never looked in the morning as if its gonna rain. With the Sun scorching since 8, it looked like we were headed for one long hot Sunday, just like any other summer day. But the clouds positioned themselves at about 4 and the soft pitter-patter of rain began.
There is always something special about rain. I mean, its all yuck when you are out there, away from home, getting drenched and splashed all over with muddy water, but when you are at home, time is 4 pm, the day is a leisurely Sunday, there is surely something nice and good about it. I guess, its like getting fresh. I mean who wouldn’t want to take bath and get clean. Its tidy and the feeling of freshness is what one craves for! Its refreshing even to see the ‘Abhisheka’ being done on the idols! Rain is like Earth taking bath, removing the sweat, dust, heat away.
The rain started lightly enough, and I was not the one who was saying ‘Rain, Rain, come again, some other day!’ I wanted it to come to its heart’s content today! I had all the time in the world! It was pure bliss to see the sheets of water coming steadily down in a straight line. A couple of times, it slanted to indicate the wind coming on, and the trees swayed dangerously too. Its fine for rain to come in all its ferocity but there is no sense in losing the meager trees we have! But thankfully, the wind wound up (!) and the rain continued its straight-line-ruler pattern!
As I sat there on the balcony, at 5 in the evening, with the rain coming on, many memories got stirred. Especially the golden era of High School during June when I used to come home at 4.30, sit in the balcony and read Hardy Boys for 2 hours straight! It used to rain in the background and I used to enjoy the adventures of Frank and Joe Hardy. There were times when I used to go to the library in the windy rain, with raincoat and umbrella just to get novels. It was a time for me when day without novel was like life without air!
There were other small things too. Like the water droplets streaming down the electric wires like current itself and finally falling down. One after the other. Continuously. Like different small streams of water rushing down the steps with great vigour, as if competing with one another. It was an absorbing scene to see a natural race. Small things in life are generally very pleasurable!
The rain meanwhile came on and on. In great measures. It had been a tough summer, with soaring temperatures and everyone blaming lack of rain, global warming, lack of water, etc. Somehow it was like Nature’s way of replying ‘You want rain? You got rain!”
The crescendo increased. Vehicles on road who were plying heretofore caring none for the rain suddenly had to stop and take shelter amidst shops. Thunder and lightning struck then, as if they had a role to play too. The rain came on even more! It was like a symphony, an orchestra, a Nature’s own theatrical play, for free and for all!
It continued for an hour or two with varying frequency. A beautiful zephyr, a blissful rain, a lazy evening – put all together, and one needs pakodas to fill the missing jigsaw of that wonderful phrase: Ethereal realm!!
And then, gradually, it calmed down. Back to its pitter-patter. But this time, it sounded like an applause. An applause for its own performance! The clouds had cleared. The Sun came out, and out came the beautiful rainbow. The magnificent kaleidoscope! Like a huge umbrella, from one end to another, as if encompassing and protecting one and all. Finally the rain came to a halt, putting end to an enthralling performance!
For a chronicler like myself, I could see words making itself visible in rain! It was blog time!
It never looked in the morning as if its gonna rain. With the Sun scorching since 8, it looked like we were headed for one long hot Sunday, just like any other summer day. But the clouds positioned themselves at about 4 and the soft pitter-patter of rain began.
There is always something special about rain. I mean, its all yuck when you are out there, away from home, getting drenched and splashed all over with muddy water, but when you are at home, time is 4 pm, the day is a leisurely Sunday, there is surely something nice and good about it. I guess, its like getting fresh. I mean who wouldn’t want to take bath and get clean. Its tidy and the feeling of freshness is what one craves for! Its refreshing even to see the ‘Abhisheka’ being done on the idols! Rain is like Earth taking bath, removing the sweat, dust, heat away.
The rain started lightly enough, and I was not the one who was saying ‘Rain, Rain, come again, some other day!’ I wanted it to come to its heart’s content today! I had all the time in the world! It was pure bliss to see the sheets of water coming steadily down in a straight line. A couple of times, it slanted to indicate the wind coming on, and the trees swayed dangerously too. Its fine for rain to come in all its ferocity but there is no sense in losing the meager trees we have! But thankfully, the wind wound up (!) and the rain continued its straight-line-ruler pattern!
As I sat there on the balcony, at 5 in the evening, with the rain coming on, many memories got stirred. Especially the golden era of High School during June when I used to come home at 4.30, sit in the balcony and read Hardy Boys for 2 hours straight! It used to rain in the background and I used to enjoy the adventures of Frank and Joe Hardy. There were times when I used to go to the library in the windy rain, with raincoat and umbrella just to get novels. It was a time for me when day without novel was like life without air!
There were other small things too. Like the water droplets streaming down the electric wires like current itself and finally falling down. One after the other. Continuously. Like different small streams of water rushing down the steps with great vigour, as if competing with one another. It was an absorbing scene to see a natural race. Small things in life are generally very pleasurable!
The rain meanwhile came on and on. In great measures. It had been a tough summer, with soaring temperatures and everyone blaming lack of rain, global warming, lack of water, etc. Somehow it was like Nature’s way of replying ‘You want rain? You got rain!”
The crescendo increased. Vehicles on road who were plying heretofore caring none for the rain suddenly had to stop and take shelter amidst shops. Thunder and lightning struck then, as if they had a role to play too. The rain came on even more! It was like a symphony, an orchestra, a Nature’s own theatrical play, for free and for all!
It continued for an hour or two with varying frequency. A beautiful zephyr, a blissful rain, a lazy evening – put all together, and one needs pakodas to fill the missing jigsaw of that wonderful phrase: Ethereal realm!!
And then, gradually, it calmed down. Back to its pitter-patter. But this time, it sounded like an applause. An applause for its own performance! The clouds had cleared. The Sun came out, and out came the beautiful rainbow. The magnificent kaleidoscope! Like a huge umbrella, from one end to another, as if encompassing and protecting one and all. Finally the rain came to a halt, putting end to an enthralling performance!
For a chronicler like myself, I could see words making itself visible in rain! It was blog time!
Wednesday, May 02, 2007
One man : One woman ?
The dusk was embracing the evening sky like a monster devouring the Sun. The coward Sun seemed to be running away, knowing its time had come for the day. Although there was an undercurrent of the impending darkness, the battlefield was devoid of bloodshed. Rather, it was an easel of the artist’s wand. The sky was filled with untitled colours bringing joy to the Lucky Un-blinds. A splish of the dark amoebic clouds. A splash of the bright teddy bears. A splosh of the grayish streak. The chirping, symmetrical birds. The dazzling silver lining. The lost grounds of the dark East and the still-fighting Orange-ish West. A serene picture of Nature leading its own unnoticed life. Unnoticed except of course by me. From the terrace.
The terrace is one of my favourite spots. It’s the only place where I can relate to the expansive Nature and Universe. It shuts out the materialistic belongings and the family strings. It is like being with the Divine. I talk and no one talks back! The silence all around transcends the atmosphere into one that of an ethereal realm.
Ethereal realm. Now that’s a good phrase. First four letters of the succeeding word are the last four letters of the preceding word. Describing a catchy phrase itself often becomes a catchy rhyme. Catchy rhymes reminds me of the Calvin & Hobbes jokes I heard today. Calvin: “What if somebody calls us ‘A pair of pathetic peripatetics’?!” Hobbes is stupefied for a moment and then replies: “I have never heard of anyone taking the trouble to rhyme weird insults!!” Damn funny!
I placed myself on a stone block and locked my knees together and continued to gaze at the sky. The weather was getting perplexed with the departure of the Sun. It knows neither to torch the sunny heat nor to spread the fingers of the chilly night. The slight zephyr comes to its rescue. For a moment, there is nothing going on in my mind. It is just blank. A mattress of nothingness.
Suddenly, out of nowhere, comes the thought of a conversation I had with a friend recently. We were discussing Mr and Mrs Iyer. Invariably, whenever one discusses this movie, the topic always goes to ‘That scene in the train.’ It is without doubt one of the moving scenes a film patron can ever see on the tinsel screen. They HAVE TO kiss. How can they not kiss? It seems so so right for them to kiss. It is inappropriate and incomplete and incorrect for them not to kiss!! And yet they do not.
Why is it inappropriate for anyone to like more than one person at a given point of time? And even if it is not inappropriate, why is it inappropriate to display affection? Is it a rule to love just one person? What is love? Why would there be a feeling of jealousy? Possessiveness? To love someone else also is to be betrayed? Betrayed of what? Trust? But the only reason the affair with the third person was kept in wraps is to stop the feeling of jealousy. Surely not to betray trust. It all gets complicated.
Perhaps its just a matter of ethics. Yet one cannot help what one feels. Many of my friends had affairs other than those with just their boyfriends. They are truly perplexed why they liked two people at the same time. And yet, they really did like. Each was special in his own way. Legally incorrect? Ethically wrong? Medically dangerous? Some things of the heart just cannot be explained. Ultimately they were forced to choose one. However difficult it was.
Perhaps this train of thought led to the invention of polygamy and polyandry policies. Words of ridicule in school but actually heavy. Not that I am talking about relationships of the West where the flesh matters more than the heart.
One man : one woman. That remains the legal, happy and easy policy but yet there are cases all around where the quirk of the heart beats all unemotional policies. Policies which state that liking someone else in heart other than your husband is a crime. Looks good on paper. But that’s all.
Lord Rama suspected Sita during her stay in Lanka. Or did he just want to prove to people that his wife was purity personified? Either way, I always have it against him that he shouldn’t have asked Sita to enter the pyre. Asking wife to sit on fire just to prove her chastity is ungodliness. It’s a character that I somehow cannot bring myself to respect. Somewhat akin to Lord Krishna convincing Arjuna to kill his own Master. Now what kind of a Godly character is that! To encourage killing one's own guru! My mind boggles!!
But, reining the mind back, the world gender ratio is hardly at one man : one woman. The males are more than females. Whats the upshot? Some men are finding it harder and harder to find girls. Especially sons of farmers in the villages, continuing the tradition of farming, and not lured by the fortunes of the big cities. Girls in villages do not want village guys when there are eligible village guys who have gone abroad and earning heavily. After all, who does not want riches? Who wants to be the wife of a farmer when one can roam around in posh cars across the continent with a dab of the best perfume?
At the same time, if all the sons of farmers immigrate to the big cities, be it for riches or for, subsequently, girls, then what happens to farming? Agriculture? Now that’s a global issue! A time has come when the sons of farmers are desperately giving money to get girls as daughters-in-law. There has been a complete reversal of roles. Vadhu-dakshina is more prominent now than Vara-dakshina. The dowry given by the groom.
A mosquito bite brings me back from my thoughts. So small a fly yet so powerful. And so annoying. A small lump comes on my skin and I try to run it off unnecessarily. A futile attempt. Yet, it is somehow needed. Very much needed. There are things in this world which we do and keep doing, although we know it is futile. Just to be satisfied.
The darkness now had enveloped completely. The stars were trying to peep through the bright streetlights. ‘Constellation’ becomes a mere word in cities. Like ‘siblings’, if people adopt the new trend of ‘just one kid.’ Blame it on ‘cost of living.’
And so, my thoughts go on and on, carving its own solitudinal soliloquy when suddenly from out of nowhere, my mom calls “Harsha!” That one word, with its associated frequency and volume implies that dinner is ready and that I have been dreaming for a long time and that I need to go down.
And so I will. Tata.
The terrace is one of my favourite spots. It’s the only place where I can relate to the expansive Nature and Universe. It shuts out the materialistic belongings and the family strings. It is like being with the Divine. I talk and no one talks back! The silence all around transcends the atmosphere into one that of an ethereal realm.
Ethereal realm. Now that’s a good phrase. First four letters of the succeeding word are the last four letters of the preceding word. Describing a catchy phrase itself often becomes a catchy rhyme. Catchy rhymes reminds me of the Calvin & Hobbes jokes I heard today. Calvin: “What if somebody calls us ‘A pair of pathetic peripatetics’?!” Hobbes is stupefied for a moment and then replies: “I have never heard of anyone taking the trouble to rhyme weird insults!!” Damn funny!
I placed myself on a stone block and locked my knees together and continued to gaze at the sky. The weather was getting perplexed with the departure of the Sun. It knows neither to torch the sunny heat nor to spread the fingers of the chilly night. The slight zephyr comes to its rescue. For a moment, there is nothing going on in my mind. It is just blank. A mattress of nothingness.
Suddenly, out of nowhere, comes the thought of a conversation I had with a friend recently. We were discussing Mr and Mrs Iyer. Invariably, whenever one discusses this movie, the topic always goes to ‘That scene in the train.’ It is without doubt one of the moving scenes a film patron can ever see on the tinsel screen. They HAVE TO kiss. How can they not kiss? It seems so so right for them to kiss. It is inappropriate and incomplete and incorrect for them not to kiss!! And yet they do not.
Why is it inappropriate for anyone to like more than one person at a given point of time? And even if it is not inappropriate, why is it inappropriate to display affection? Is it a rule to love just one person? What is love? Why would there be a feeling of jealousy? Possessiveness? To love someone else also is to be betrayed? Betrayed of what? Trust? But the only reason the affair with the third person was kept in wraps is to stop the feeling of jealousy. Surely not to betray trust. It all gets complicated.
Perhaps its just a matter of ethics. Yet one cannot help what one feels. Many of my friends had affairs other than those with just their boyfriends. They are truly perplexed why they liked two people at the same time. And yet, they really did like. Each was special in his own way. Legally incorrect? Ethically wrong? Medically dangerous? Some things of the heart just cannot be explained. Ultimately they were forced to choose one. However difficult it was.
Perhaps this train of thought led to the invention of polygamy and polyandry policies. Words of ridicule in school but actually heavy. Not that I am talking about relationships of the West where the flesh matters more than the heart.
One man : one woman. That remains the legal, happy and easy policy but yet there are cases all around where the quirk of the heart beats all unemotional policies. Policies which state that liking someone else in heart other than your husband is a crime. Looks good on paper. But that’s all.
Lord Rama suspected Sita during her stay in Lanka. Or did he just want to prove to people that his wife was purity personified? Either way, I always have it against him that he shouldn’t have asked Sita to enter the pyre. Asking wife to sit on fire just to prove her chastity is ungodliness. It’s a character that I somehow cannot bring myself to respect. Somewhat akin to Lord Krishna convincing Arjuna to kill his own Master. Now what kind of a Godly character is that! To encourage killing one's own guru! My mind boggles!!
But, reining the mind back, the world gender ratio is hardly at one man : one woman. The males are more than females. Whats the upshot? Some men are finding it harder and harder to find girls. Especially sons of farmers in the villages, continuing the tradition of farming, and not lured by the fortunes of the big cities. Girls in villages do not want village guys when there are eligible village guys who have gone abroad and earning heavily. After all, who does not want riches? Who wants to be the wife of a farmer when one can roam around in posh cars across the continent with a dab of the best perfume?
At the same time, if all the sons of farmers immigrate to the big cities, be it for riches or for, subsequently, girls, then what happens to farming? Agriculture? Now that’s a global issue! A time has come when the sons of farmers are desperately giving money to get girls as daughters-in-law. There has been a complete reversal of roles. Vadhu-dakshina is more prominent now than Vara-dakshina. The dowry given by the groom.
A mosquito bite brings me back from my thoughts. So small a fly yet so powerful. And so annoying. A small lump comes on my skin and I try to run it off unnecessarily. A futile attempt. Yet, it is somehow needed. Very much needed. There are things in this world which we do and keep doing, although we know it is futile. Just to be satisfied.
The darkness now had enveloped completely. The stars were trying to peep through the bright streetlights. ‘Constellation’ becomes a mere word in cities. Like ‘siblings’, if people adopt the new trend of ‘just one kid.’ Blame it on ‘cost of living.’
And so, my thoughts go on and on, carving its own solitudinal soliloquy when suddenly from out of nowhere, my mom calls “Harsha!” That one word, with its associated frequency and volume implies that dinner is ready and that I have been dreaming for a long time and that I need to go down.
And so I will. Tata.
Sunday, April 29, 2007
Calvin on Cheating
Found this piece of comic-dialogue extremely amusing! Reproducing from Calvin & Hobbes:
Calvin: "Today at school, I tried to decide whether to cheat on my test or not.
"I wondered, is it better to do the right thing and fail...or is it better to do the wrong thing and succeed?
"On the one hand, undeserved success gives no satisfaction...but on the other hand, well-deserved failure gives no satisfaction either.
"Of course, most everybody cheats some time or the other. People always bend the rules if they think they can get away with it...Then again, that doesnt justify my cheating.
"Then I thought, look, cheating on one little test isn't such a big deal. It doesnt hurt anyone....but then I wondered if I was just rationalizing my unwillingness to accept the consequence of not studying.
"Still, in the real world, people care about success. Not principles....Then again, maybe thats why the world is in such a mess. What a dilemma!"
Hobbes: "So what did you decide?"
Calvin: "Nothing. I ran out of time and I had to turn in a blank paper."
Hobbes: "Anymore, simply acknowledging the issue is a moral victory."
Calvin: "Well, it just seemed wrong to cheat on an ethics test."
Calvin: "Today at school, I tried to decide whether to cheat on my test or not.
"I wondered, is it better to do the right thing and fail...or is it better to do the wrong thing and succeed?
"On the one hand, undeserved success gives no satisfaction...but on the other hand, well-deserved failure gives no satisfaction either.
"Of course, most everybody cheats some time or the other. People always bend the rules if they think they can get away with it...Then again, that doesnt justify my cheating.
"Then I thought, look, cheating on one little test isn't such a big deal. It doesnt hurt anyone....but then I wondered if I was just rationalizing my unwillingness to accept the consequence of not studying.
"Still, in the real world, people care about success. Not principles....Then again, maybe thats why the world is in such a mess. What a dilemma!"
Hobbes: "So what did you decide?"
Calvin: "Nothing. I ran out of time and I had to turn in a blank paper."
Hobbes: "Anymore, simply acknowledging the issue is a moral victory."
Calvin: "Well, it just seemed wrong to cheat on an ethics test."
April 2007
April of 2007 for me has been one of the most eventful months in recent times. There were lots of weddings but alas! lots of sad news too.
The very first day of April, while I was enjoying a nice bath in Iruppu falls near Nagarhole after a small trek amidst the Brahmagiri Mountain Range near Wayanad, Kerala, my grandparents met with an accident and passed away. The next few weeks involved active participation in the sad performance of the religious rites. This entailed my absence to my good friends Abhishek and Archana’s wedding on April 5th.
However, I was able to attend the weddings of my other good friends Ceby on April 12th and Mani on 25th. But April 26th being a very auspicious day (5 weddings on that day including Mani’s!), I managed to spend more time only at my cousin Jyotsna’s wedding and just flashed a smile at the grooms in two (Manjunathan & Jayant) other weddings. Thankfully the last one was away from Bangalore, although the telepathic wishes remain all the same!
On April 21st-22nd weekend, enjoyed a great deal with office colleagues in the small quaint little village of Kullanjawadi (perhaps misspelt) near Cuddalore and Pondicherry. A memorable trip which mainly involved multiple baths at farm pump set! The beach at Mahabalipuram and the Pondicherry Ashram also were "sites of nice time"!
But apart from all the joy in April, there were lot of deaths that touched the soul. And sad part being most were by way of accidents. Apart from my grands, nine people died on Bangalore-Mysore road when the vehicle tried to avoid a dog and went over the median. 3 professors waiting in a bus-stop died when a vehicle jumped the signal, lost control and rammed into them. A kid fell down an unused well and was found dead when it was pulled out after 56 hours. A massive shoot-out at Virginia Tech University killed 32 people including a celebrated professor who had carved out a success story, coming from a remote village in India, and 26-year old Mumbai girl.
Apart from the few days of celebration of the union of the blessed couples and the two trips, April of 2007 has been a sad, sad month.
I sincerely hope that the days to come embrace peace and tranquility, and makes the World a happy and joyful place to live…
The very first day of April, while I was enjoying a nice bath in Iruppu falls near Nagarhole after a small trek amidst the Brahmagiri Mountain Range near Wayanad, Kerala, my grandparents met with an accident and passed away. The next few weeks involved active participation in the sad performance of the religious rites. This entailed my absence to my good friends Abhishek and Archana’s wedding on April 5th.
However, I was able to attend the weddings of my other good friends Ceby on April 12th and Mani on 25th. But April 26th being a very auspicious day (5 weddings on that day including Mani’s!), I managed to spend more time only at my cousin Jyotsna’s wedding and just flashed a smile at the grooms in two (Manjunathan & Jayant) other weddings. Thankfully the last one was away from Bangalore, although the telepathic wishes remain all the same!
On April 21st-22nd weekend, enjoyed a great deal with office colleagues in the small quaint little village of Kullanjawadi (perhaps misspelt) near Cuddalore and Pondicherry. A memorable trip which mainly involved multiple baths at farm pump set! The beach at Mahabalipuram and the Pondicherry Ashram also were "sites of nice time"!
But apart from all the joy in April, there were lot of deaths that touched the soul. And sad part being most were by way of accidents. Apart from my grands, nine people died on Bangalore-Mysore road when the vehicle tried to avoid a dog and went over the median. 3 professors waiting in a bus-stop died when a vehicle jumped the signal, lost control and rammed into them. A kid fell down an unused well and was found dead when it was pulled out after 56 hours. A massive shoot-out at Virginia Tech University killed 32 people including a celebrated professor who had carved out a success story, coming from a remote village in India, and 26-year old Mumbai girl.
Apart from the few days of celebration of the union of the blessed couples and the two trips, April of 2007 has been a sad, sad month.
I sincerely hope that the days to come embrace peace and tranquility, and makes the World a happy and joyful place to live…
Silence
The silence of the night sky
The silence of the dawn
The silence of the Ocean
The silence of the Universe
The silence at the Lotus Temple
The silence at the Aurobindo Ashram
The silence at the Grand Canyon
The purity of silence
The innocence of silence
The sweetness of silence
The silence of the Idols
The silence of the dead
Silence speaks more than words
Silence is more divine
At the end of it all…
…we all become one with silence.
The silence of the dawn
The silence of the Ocean
The silence of the Universe
The silence at the Lotus Temple
The silence at the Aurobindo Ashram
The silence at the Grand Canyon
The purity of silence
The innocence of silence
The sweetness of silence
The silence of the Idols
The silence of the dead
Silence speaks more than words
Silence is more divine
At the end of it all…
…we all become one with silence.
Monday, April 16, 2007
27
Turned 27 today.
Matter of fact, its just another day.
Yet, its somehow special.
Everyone giving attention.
Feeling somehow important.
New hopes; new aspirations; new year.
As one of my good friends reminded:
“We turn not older with years but newer every day”
Matter of fact, its just another day.
Yet, its somehow special.
Everyone giving attention.
Feeling somehow important.
New hopes; new aspirations; new year.
As one of my good friends reminded:
“We turn not older with years but newer every day”
Monday, April 09, 2007
A tribute to Ajji & Thatha
On April 1st 2007, both my mother’s parents passed away in a car accident. After the darshan at Tirumala, the car was on its way from Tirupati to Srikalahasthi when it hit a stationary truck on the side, toppled due to the quick swerve and the impact threw my grandmother out of the car. She died on the spot. My grandfather passed away a few moments later due to shock. It is the first time I am seeing Death in such close quarters. I guess as we all grow older, we get used to it.
Ajji had a high impact on me since my birth. Strictly religious and utterly devoted to God, she has visited many famous shrines throughout India, and many a time, me being a kid, tagging me along with her. I have lost count how many times I have gone to Tirumala with her, equipped with rave-unde and kodbale and mixture being main source of food! I owe to her for having taken me to Brahmotsava. I owe to her for having taken me to Srisaila, where she gave me a green-hued glass Shiva linga, which I still pray to daily. I owe to her for having taken me to Udupi where she gifted me a cute little idol of Lord Krishna with flute, which I still pray to daily. And of course, each trip also resulted in either a plastic-strap watch or a finger-ring or a plastic motor car!
She introduced me to the concept of banking. Whatever money I got as a kid (be it pocket money or Re 1 coins in Thambolas), I used to give it to ajji. Plainly because she was my bank. She gave a tremendous amount of interest, and although it didn’t make much sense to me then, I knew enough that I would get more money than what I had given her! She finally rounded it up to ten grand and gave it to me when I finished my Tenth!
But I must admit, I used to dread every summer holidays. For my mom used to send me packing to ajji mane at Yeshwantpur! I didn’t want to spend weeks altogether there although a day or two of visit was welcome! Ajji was also too much into relatives. However far they might be related and geographically located, she used to visit them without fail on a regular basis. Each visit involved a tight grip on my wrist and a strenuous bus journey accompanied by hours of chat whence I used to get bored to death.
But thatha was refreshing in his own way and made an impact on me too. He always spoke on a ‘Need-to-know’ basis and was to the point. He didn’t involve himself in idle chatter. His journey in life is remarkable in itself. A full biography can be written which can emphasise the complete life that he has led. Coming from below poverty family, having numerous siblings, some of them even cunning enough to deceive him, he almost single-handedly came up in life, often working round-the-clock in multiple jobs.
He was in film industry, red label tea, auto business, taxi business, life insurance and off late renting houses. This is what I knew but he was much much more than all this. Highly respected, for he had come up in life the hard way, he was also most sought after. Constantly there were visitors at the Yeshwantpur house.
Fiercely independent, he never left the small Yeshwantpur house even till the end although he could have afforded a bungalow, or even stayed at any of his three son’s houses. While he could have roamed about with a chauffeur-driven limousine, he preferred a battered, old Fiat for a long, long time, after which he chose auto as a better transport.
He also appreciated quality life. He made time to attend Carnatic music whenever and wherever it occurred. He had an avid knowledge of slokas and mythological stories. He taught me to chant some slokas too, which I do daily. He liked watching sports and visiting places. He was a connoisseur of movies, be it any language, and liked dance sequences very much! He enjoyed his food. Potato chips should always accompany lunch or dinner! If we complain that too much oil is bad for health, he used to justify with a smiling grin: “Body needs lubrication!”
His typical retired day started off with a long morning walk, rigorous (rather funny!) exercise with body oil, multiple morning activities including meeting customers, banking, etc. followed by a sumptuous food. And then there was always a 3-hour sleeping session after which came the movie session on any of the TV channels which replaced the very-used VCR! And then the after-dinner walk, a tradition which he passed onto me.
While ajji introduced me banking concepts with my own money, thatha took me to real banks with him and showed me to how to deposit cheque, how to withdraw cash, etc. And then he used to send me to bank all by myself, giving me an all-important status.
He treated all his children with the same respect. My mom recalls that he never once scolded her. Being the only daughter, he encouraged her to learn classical music, dancing and even to have a job of her own, much to the chagrin of ajji! [A girl being independent on her own in 1970s was unheard of and was considered bordering rude!] Countless tales can be recounted with respect to his benevolence towards his children and grandchildren, whom he used to fondle with his prickly beard!
He never really stopped working. He never really retired. Infact, he started earning more after he retired. He had to his credit about 8 houses. Apart from this, many modes of business (including pawning) which the general public never came to know about. He always used to keep himself busy. He was one of the most industrious men I have ever met.
But he was prone to a lot of vehicular accidents and diseases! He has had about 3-4 minor accidents in his scooter! He had arthritis which nearly crippled him, and Chicken guinea recently when he became bed-ridden. But yet, he stood up each time, as if defying age. Such was his strength; such was his will power. “Nothing could come in his way” was the general feeling.
Same can be said about ajji. She had a near-fatal blow to her head in 1994 when she fell down the slippery stone stairs in Sonda. Even after being almost crippled with immobility, she maintained the robustness of life and ensured to attend all important family functions. In her own pace, she never stopped climbing stairs when needed. In her own pace, she kept visiting Tirumala in spite of the crowd.
Ajji had a high impact on me since my birth. Strictly religious and utterly devoted to God, she has visited many famous shrines throughout India, and many a time, me being a kid, tagging me along with her. I have lost count how many times I have gone to Tirumala with her, equipped with rave-unde and kodbale and mixture being main source of food! I owe to her for having taken me to Brahmotsava. I owe to her for having taken me to Srisaila, where she gave me a green-hued glass Shiva linga, which I still pray to daily. I owe to her for having taken me to Udupi where she gifted me a cute little idol of Lord Krishna with flute, which I still pray to daily. And of course, each trip also resulted in either a plastic-strap watch or a finger-ring or a plastic motor car!
She introduced me to the concept of banking. Whatever money I got as a kid (be it pocket money or Re 1 coins in Thambolas), I used to give it to ajji. Plainly because she was my bank. She gave a tremendous amount of interest, and although it didn’t make much sense to me then, I knew enough that I would get more money than what I had given her! She finally rounded it up to ten grand and gave it to me when I finished my Tenth!
But I must admit, I used to dread every summer holidays. For my mom used to send me packing to ajji mane at Yeshwantpur! I didn’t want to spend weeks altogether there although a day or two of visit was welcome! Ajji was also too much into relatives. However far they might be related and geographically located, she used to visit them without fail on a regular basis. Each visit involved a tight grip on my wrist and a strenuous bus journey accompanied by hours of chat whence I used to get bored to death.
But thatha was refreshing in his own way and made an impact on me too. He always spoke on a ‘Need-to-know’ basis and was to the point. He didn’t involve himself in idle chatter. His journey in life is remarkable in itself. A full biography can be written which can emphasise the complete life that he has led. Coming from below poverty family, having numerous siblings, some of them even cunning enough to deceive him, he almost single-handedly came up in life, often working round-the-clock in multiple jobs.
He was in film industry, red label tea, auto business, taxi business, life insurance and off late renting houses. This is what I knew but he was much much more than all this. Highly respected, for he had come up in life the hard way, he was also most sought after. Constantly there were visitors at the Yeshwantpur house.
Fiercely independent, he never left the small Yeshwantpur house even till the end although he could have afforded a bungalow, or even stayed at any of his three son’s houses. While he could have roamed about with a chauffeur-driven limousine, he preferred a battered, old Fiat for a long, long time, after which he chose auto as a better transport.
He also appreciated quality life. He made time to attend Carnatic music whenever and wherever it occurred. He had an avid knowledge of slokas and mythological stories. He taught me to chant some slokas too, which I do daily. He liked watching sports and visiting places. He was a connoisseur of movies, be it any language, and liked dance sequences very much! He enjoyed his food. Potato chips should always accompany lunch or dinner! If we complain that too much oil is bad for health, he used to justify with a smiling grin: “Body needs lubrication!”
His typical retired day started off with a long morning walk, rigorous (rather funny!) exercise with body oil, multiple morning activities including meeting customers, banking, etc. followed by a sumptuous food. And then there was always a 3-hour sleeping session after which came the movie session on any of the TV channels which replaced the very-used VCR! And then the after-dinner walk, a tradition which he passed onto me.
While ajji introduced me banking concepts with my own money, thatha took me to real banks with him and showed me to how to deposit cheque, how to withdraw cash, etc. And then he used to send me to bank all by myself, giving me an all-important status.
He treated all his children with the same respect. My mom recalls that he never once scolded her. Being the only daughter, he encouraged her to learn classical music, dancing and even to have a job of her own, much to the chagrin of ajji! [A girl being independent on her own in 1970s was unheard of and was considered bordering rude!] Countless tales can be recounted with respect to his benevolence towards his children and grandchildren, whom he used to fondle with his prickly beard!
He never really stopped working. He never really retired. Infact, he started earning more after he retired. He had to his credit about 8 houses. Apart from this, many modes of business (including pawning) which the general public never came to know about. He always used to keep himself busy. He was one of the most industrious men I have ever met.
But he was prone to a lot of vehicular accidents and diseases! He has had about 3-4 minor accidents in his scooter! He had arthritis which nearly crippled him, and Chicken guinea recently when he became bed-ridden. But yet, he stood up each time, as if defying age. Such was his strength; such was his will power. “Nothing could come in his way” was the general feeling.
Same can be said about ajji. She had a near-fatal blow to her head in 1994 when she fell down the slippery stone stairs in Sonda. Even after being almost crippled with immobility, she maintained the robustness of life and ensured to attend all important family functions. In her own pace, she never stopped climbing stairs when needed. In her own pace, she kept visiting Tirumala in spite of the crowd.
I was supposed to go in that trip but I backed out as I had been to Tirumala recently. Two small cousins of mine in the same car (one aged ten and another aged one) escaped with minimal injuries. One gets the feeling that they gave their lives away for the young ones.
It is a pity she never saw any of her grandchild’s wedding, which was her main topic off-late. She fell short by about 6 months when the eldest grandchild is due to be married. Much loved by all, much teased by all, she shall henceforth remain in our memories. Their absence is palpable in every occasion. So much so that when their final rites were happening, and the whole family is there, I was looking around to see where Ajji Thatha were…Its only later I realized that it was their own final rites that was being performed.
It is only the blessed few couples who live hand-in-hand and who die hand-in-hand. It is even fewer who die in the premises of Lord Venkateshwara. It is only befitting that Ajji-Thatha happened to be this blessed couple.
As one of the admirers mentioned in the funeral, just like how a good batsman can get out only by run-out, the only way Raghavendra Rao and Ramabai could die was through unnatural death. For them, no natural death could be scripted. They would have just lived on and on and on. Hale and Healthy.
Dear Ajji & Thatha…
Rest In Peace…
It is a pity she never saw any of her grandchild’s wedding, which was her main topic off-late. She fell short by about 6 months when the eldest grandchild is due to be married. Much loved by all, much teased by all, she shall henceforth remain in our memories. Their absence is palpable in every occasion. So much so that when their final rites were happening, and the whole family is there, I was looking around to see where Ajji Thatha were…Its only later I realized that it was their own final rites that was being performed.
It is only the blessed few couples who live hand-in-hand and who die hand-in-hand. It is even fewer who die in the premises of Lord Venkateshwara. It is only befitting that Ajji-Thatha happened to be this blessed couple.
As one of the admirers mentioned in the funeral, just like how a good batsman can get out only by run-out, the only way Raghavendra Rao and Ramabai could die was through unnatural death. For them, no natural death could be scripted. They would have just lived on and on and on. Hale and Healthy.
Dear Ajji & Thatha…
Rest In Peace…
Wednesday, March 21, 2007
Hundred and One
Its been exactly a year since I started blogging and this is my 100th post!
Although I write more for myself than for others, as I have stated in one of my previous posts, I also am a big fan of statistics. Hence I incorporated Sitemeter into my blog. Apart from keeping track of the overall count of visitors, it provides weekly stats of number of people who visited my blog in that particular week. And not just that, it even tells the actual location of the visitor!
And with regards to that, I must admit, I am flattered to have visitors from many parts of the world. While it is common to have visitors from US, it is still surprising to see visitors from states like Missouri, Arizona, North Carolina, Minnesota, Iowa, Texas, Nebraska, California, etc where I do not have much pals. But the killer astonishment arises to see visitors from places like Iceland (Reykjavk, Gullbringusysla), Cote D'Ivoire (Abidjan), Australia (Dandenong, Victoria), Africa and even some countries that are labeled as ‘Unknown’!!
Be that as it may. This post is just to celebrate the anniversary as well as for reaching the three figure mark! And no, I shall not stop blogging…not just yet!!
Although I write more for myself than for others, as I have stated in one of my previous posts, I also am a big fan of statistics. Hence I incorporated Sitemeter into my blog. Apart from keeping track of the overall count of visitors, it provides weekly stats of number of people who visited my blog in that particular week. And not just that, it even tells the actual location of the visitor!
And with regards to that, I must admit, I am flattered to have visitors from many parts of the world. While it is common to have visitors from US, it is still surprising to see visitors from states like Missouri, Arizona, North Carolina, Minnesota, Iowa, Texas, Nebraska, California, etc where I do not have much pals. But the killer astonishment arises to see visitors from places like Iceland (Reykjavk, Gullbringusysla), Cote D'Ivoire (Abidjan), Australia (Dandenong, Victoria), Africa and even some countries that are labeled as ‘Unknown’!!
Be that as it may. This post is just to celebrate the anniversary as well as for reaching the three figure mark! And no, I shall not stop blogging…not just yet!!
Sunday, March 18, 2007
The Unspoken Language
I rode along on my bike in the heavily congested road. ‘Congested’ is the right word. Not only does it state the population but also has a tilting connotation to pollution. I weaved through the chaos with utmost concentration and the summer heat topped by the mandatory headgear added to the frustration and perspiration.
I neared a junction and the red traffic light commanded the overflowing traffic to an abrupt halt. We all at the forefront of the road knew it was going to be a long wait and shut the engines. The traffic light number began at 120 and slowly started trickling down to 0. Funny I said ‘slowly’. A ‘second’ is in fact SI unit of time. There is nothing slow or fast about it. Yet, the relativity of the movement of traffic on road, the urgency in everyone, the need-for-speed attitude makes one feel even the standard ‘second’ slower than the pace of life.
My gaze turned to the right and I found myself very close to a yellow mini-van. The window closest to me was completely open. I could not help looking inside the window and from the angle at which I stood, I had a clear vision of the inhabitant beside the window. She looked up and my heart did a quick somersault when I saw her face. To put in a few short words, she was just ‘simply’ beautiful. There was nothing too gaudy or made-up about her. It seemed like a simple but wonderful artwork of Mother Nature.
A nice soothing face, perfect features and neat, obedient hair tied behind her back. But the thing about her that won hands down was her eyes. She had one of the most pleasant eyes I had ever seen. It was perfectly curved and deep set which seemed to look at everyone in a calm, peaceful manner. It was a pair of eyes which seemed to melt all the violence in the world into a sea full of everlasting tranquility.
She felt my eyes on her and looked up at me. She looked at the girl beside her and they both giggled, furtively looking at me. She became shy and embarrassed at my innocent stare. She looked down at her hands and fiddled with it. Then she saw me again and I smiled. She smiled, and looked at her friend and giggled again and turned her head down once more. The same pattern continued a couple more times. I couldn’t help smiling at her childish awkwardness.
I turned towards the traffic light. The number had come down to 10. I looked back at her one last time, flashed a nice smile and waved my hands, signaling that it was time to move on. She understood, returned my gesture by flashing an enthusiastic smile and waved back at me.
It occurred to me as I moved away from the kindergarten yellow mini-van how the unspoken language of a simple smile can bridge souls.
I neared a junction and the red traffic light commanded the overflowing traffic to an abrupt halt. We all at the forefront of the road knew it was going to be a long wait and shut the engines. The traffic light number began at 120 and slowly started trickling down to 0. Funny I said ‘slowly’. A ‘second’ is in fact SI unit of time. There is nothing slow or fast about it. Yet, the relativity of the movement of traffic on road, the urgency in everyone, the need-for-speed attitude makes one feel even the standard ‘second’ slower than the pace of life.
My gaze turned to the right and I found myself very close to a yellow mini-van. The window closest to me was completely open. I could not help looking inside the window and from the angle at which I stood, I had a clear vision of the inhabitant beside the window. She looked up and my heart did a quick somersault when I saw her face. To put in a few short words, she was just ‘simply’ beautiful. There was nothing too gaudy or made-up about her. It seemed like a simple but wonderful artwork of Mother Nature.
A nice soothing face, perfect features and neat, obedient hair tied behind her back. But the thing about her that won hands down was her eyes. She had one of the most pleasant eyes I had ever seen. It was perfectly curved and deep set which seemed to look at everyone in a calm, peaceful manner. It was a pair of eyes which seemed to melt all the violence in the world into a sea full of everlasting tranquility.
She felt my eyes on her and looked up at me. She looked at the girl beside her and they both giggled, furtively looking at me. She became shy and embarrassed at my innocent stare. She looked down at her hands and fiddled with it. Then she saw me again and I smiled. She smiled, and looked at her friend and giggled again and turned her head down once more. The same pattern continued a couple more times. I couldn’t help smiling at her childish awkwardness.
I turned towards the traffic light. The number had come down to 10. I looked back at her one last time, flashed a nice smile and waved my hands, signaling that it was time to move on. She understood, returned my gesture by flashing an enthusiastic smile and waved back at me.
It occurred to me as I moved away from the kindergarten yellow mini-van how the unspoken language of a simple smile can bridge souls.
Sunday, March 11, 2007
Wheels
One of the truest joys I experience is when I am in an automotive and the automotive moves by itself! The onset of such an experience is during the era of me driving bicycles. I used to carefully select routes which involved maximum number of decent descents such that I did not have to pedal and the cycle used to move by itself, and I always felt wheels is such a wonderful invention. I mean the very thought of moving from point A to point B without doing anything, and at the cost of nothing is - for me - simply magnificent!
I experience similar joyousness even in train journeys for I always feel the movement of the bogeys is all by itself although it is in fact pulled by the engine! Come to think of it, even in a train, after the initial pull, and when one can hear the ceasing of the acceleration, the train moves by itself in momentum and it is this automatic momentum that sort of gives me a unique joy!
People akin to my driving would have noticed how haltingly I accelerate and thereby enjoy the consequent automated momentum of the vehicle moving by itself! There is a stretch in Banashankari which we encounter en route to Padmanabhanagar from Jayanagar which I used to ride in my Kinetic with the ignition off for almost a mile! And every time I do that, I am in awe of this simple beauty!
The US car that I had was of automatic transmission. Such cars have built-in acceleration and left to itself will move at about 10 mph. If the road is empty and there are no cars behind me, and in places like the parking lot, I never used to accelerate and would allow the car to go on its own accord! I remember the time in office parking lot (which was sloped) where I used to wait to pick up people. Due to the upward slope, the built in acceleration was sufficient for the car to move constantly at about 1-2 mph till it reached the top of the slope which was the door to the office! Since I was in effect waiting, it was a nice pastime to see the car move by itself by no manual force!
But going back to the roots, so many other inventions followed the invention of wheels like bicycles, engines, motorbikes, cars, trucks, railways, aero planes, etc. It has generated so much of employment in areas like creating asphalt roads for hundreds of thousands of miles, shops at bus terminals and Road-side plazas and Railway stations and Airports. In aviation alone, it has bred pilots, Air Force personnel, Air Traffic Controllers, flight engineers, Air hostesses, etc. It has eased life in so many ways such as ease of commute, moving of parcels and packages, making travel easier and bringing remote areas of the beautiful world to man’s easy grasp. It has created enjoyment and encouraged competition in terms of Grand Prix Formula One racing events, and not to mention the layman’s version of go-karting and dashing-cars which is a popular sport in amusement parks. The list is endless.
Just felt like giving three cheers to man’s one of the most wonderful inventions: Wheels!
I experience similar joyousness even in train journeys for I always feel the movement of the bogeys is all by itself although it is in fact pulled by the engine! Come to think of it, even in a train, after the initial pull, and when one can hear the ceasing of the acceleration, the train moves by itself in momentum and it is this automatic momentum that sort of gives me a unique joy!
People akin to my driving would have noticed how haltingly I accelerate and thereby enjoy the consequent automated momentum of the vehicle moving by itself! There is a stretch in Banashankari which we encounter en route to Padmanabhanagar from Jayanagar which I used to ride in my Kinetic with the ignition off for almost a mile! And every time I do that, I am in awe of this simple beauty!
The US car that I had was of automatic transmission. Such cars have built-in acceleration and left to itself will move at about 10 mph. If the road is empty and there are no cars behind me, and in places like the parking lot, I never used to accelerate and would allow the car to go on its own accord! I remember the time in office parking lot (which was sloped) where I used to wait to pick up people. Due to the upward slope, the built in acceleration was sufficient for the car to move constantly at about 1-2 mph till it reached the top of the slope which was the door to the office! Since I was in effect waiting, it was a nice pastime to see the car move by itself by no manual force!
But going back to the roots, so many other inventions followed the invention of wheels like bicycles, engines, motorbikes, cars, trucks, railways, aero planes, etc. It has generated so much of employment in areas like creating asphalt roads for hundreds of thousands of miles, shops at bus terminals and Road-side plazas and Railway stations and Airports. In aviation alone, it has bred pilots, Air Force personnel, Air Traffic Controllers, flight engineers, Air hostesses, etc. It has eased life in so many ways such as ease of commute, moving of parcels and packages, making travel easier and bringing remote areas of the beautiful world to man’s easy grasp. It has created enjoyment and encouraged competition in terms of Grand Prix Formula One racing events, and not to mention the layman’s version of go-karting and dashing-cars which is a popular sport in amusement parks. The list is endless.
Just felt like giving three cheers to man’s one of the most wonderful inventions: Wheels!
Monday, February 26, 2007
Checkmated
It began there.
It ended there.
The Up and the Down; a full circle.
I saw the complete cycle.
A perfectly staged show; like a beautiful animation.
The perfect retribution.
Him the audience; we the puppet.
Me the goat.
The gentle touch with full of hope.
Helps thee prosper and successfully cope.
But high and dehydrated.
Is how I lay withered.
It is all false.
Medals nary say the truth.
Been a hypocrite for long enough.
Who am I kidding?
Neither here nor there.
Neither good nor bad.
Neither rich nor poor.
I am neither for the rich nor for the poor.
Strip me naked.
Scorch me with blazing Sun.
Take me unto you.
I lay checkmated.
It ended there.
The Up and the Down; a full circle.
I saw the complete cycle.
A perfectly staged show; like a beautiful animation.
The perfect retribution.
Him the audience; we the puppet.
Me the goat.
The gentle touch with full of hope.
Helps thee prosper and successfully cope.
But high and dehydrated.
Is how I lay withered.
It is all false.
Medals nary say the truth.
Been a hypocrite for long enough.
Who am I kidding?
Neither here nor there.
Neither good nor bad.
Neither rich nor poor.
I am neither for the rich nor for the poor.
Strip me naked.
Scorch me with blazing Sun.
Take me unto you.
I lay checkmated.
Monday, February 19, 2007
Man and Woman...
There are some things which you read and it keeps haunting you for a long time. Truth is bitter. This is something which I read a long long time ago and yet I could never forget the words used. I agree with every word of what my good friend Mani has written.
Man and Woman are equal. Period.
Man and Woman are equal. Period.
Saturday, February 17, 2007
The Elements of Universe
The Sun is just rising to a cloudless azure sky.
The climate is just about perfect.
The birds chirp happily.
The river flows steadily.
A few steps ventured into the river and the small pail is filled with water.
In one quick heave, the pail is above the head and the body is completely splashed.
Successively, the pail is filled and splashed from head downwards.
The repetitiveness is so spontaneous that there is no time to inhale.
Gasping for breath and splashed with water, over and over and over.
Like a vehicle being washed, thoroughly getting rid of dirt.
The cleansing feeling of sins of the body and mind and soul getting washed away.
The sense of Ultimate Purification.
Dried and fresh, a few soulful minutes in front of the morning Sun.
The quick walk to the nearby shrine.
Gratitude in eyes, knees genuflected and palms for alms.
The Healing Touch.
At the end of the day;
There are no parents, no siblings, no spouse;
No cousins, no relatives, no friends, no colleagues;
It is just the Elements of Universe.
The climate is just about perfect.
The birds chirp happily.
The river flows steadily.
A few steps ventured into the river and the small pail is filled with water.
In one quick heave, the pail is above the head and the body is completely splashed.
Successively, the pail is filled and splashed from head downwards.
The repetitiveness is so spontaneous that there is no time to inhale.
Gasping for breath and splashed with water, over and over and over.
Like a vehicle being washed, thoroughly getting rid of dirt.
The cleansing feeling of sins of the body and mind and soul getting washed away.
The sense of Ultimate Purification.
Dried and fresh, a few soulful minutes in front of the morning Sun.
The quick walk to the nearby shrine.
Gratitude in eyes, knees genuflected and palms for alms.
The Healing Touch.
At the end of the day;
There are no parents, no siblings, no spouse;
No cousins, no relatives, no friends, no colleagues;
It is just the Elements of Universe.
Cell Phones
I reached the theatre well before the planned rendezvous time. I parked the vehicle and positioned myself under the shade of a tree and gazed at fellow “wait”-ers. There was the usual hustle bustle of the crowd with an excited air that is always present in any Indian theatre prior to the show start of a comparatively good movie. The ticket collector at the door was waiting for the right moment to let the crowd in.
Call it curiosity or call it impatience, for I knew he would be here any minute, I picked up my cell and called my friend to know the ETA. 5 minutes he told. The call was just an assurance, a sedative to the impatient mind. Like Crocin for Fever.
I continued my gaze of the crowd. It occurred to me that everyone I saw had a cell in their hands. I recalled that about 10 years ago, I was in the same theatre in pretty much the same scenario: waiting for friends. And in that era, cell phones were either non existent, or if it were, were pretty much unknown to me. And hither or thither, there was a lone telephone booth. And yet, while we used to just wait, life went on in its own normal pace.
But life now without a cell phone is unthinkable. After coming back from US, I delayed getting a cell by a fortnight and people who asked me my cell number gaped open-mouthed when I used to reply I didn’t have one. Cell phones have become such a part and parcel of life that it is almost akin to having an SSN in US. Imagine that! Moment a baby is born, a cell phone number is assigned to it!!
However, it is due to the remarkable advancement in technology that the comfort of calling whomsoever at whatsoever occasion whenever possible has been achieved. The telephone booths being queued up with hundreds of people is an unfathomable thought. One needs the comfort of ‘Simply talk maadi’! Who knows, ten years later I might blog about the then latest technology and ‘how once upon a time we lived in the era of good-for-nothing cell phones and blackberries!’
There does seem, though, another tricky point of consideration. The other day I was waiting for the company bus when I saw two girls, apparently friends of one another, walk by. From the place where I stood, I could see them walk almost a full 10 minutes from one end of the road to the other. The thing that caught my attention was that both were chatting on their cell phones all through the walk. Now how ironic is that! Since when has the cell phones invaded the pure joy of “walking the walk and talking the talk” with a friend?
Are we ruling the cell phone or is the cell phone ruling us?
Monday, February 05, 2007
A month in India…
Its been a month since I came to India. Time to jot down the things which I hadn’t done for a long long time…!
Attended a traditional South Indian wedding along with its customary feast.
Achieved the life-long ambition of attending at least once the Tyagaraja Aradhana festival.
Finished one round of sore throat, cold, fever and cough – necessarily in the same order!
New activities in Office!
Gradually learnt to drive…..again!
Nostalgic, cleaned out the shelves from the Class X and PU books.
Blood donation count reached double-digits.
Went to a refreshing classical music concert in city.
Saw the movie Guru with capacity-crowd at Urvashi Theatre.
Went biking as a pillion-rider at over 100 kmph without a helmet with oncoming traffic on the same road!
Smelt the nice country air and felt the joy of freedom from the weather!
Visited the Divine at Udupi, Sringeri and Horanadu after over 3 years. As before, was once again stunned at the Annadhaana Scheme [Free Food] prevalent in such places. Felt what one of my friend had said so true : “Jeevanadalli Artha Kalpiskobeku.” [Add meaning to Life] Furthered my resolution.
Was stupefied at seeing the institute at Manipal with its Café Coffee Days and fountains and jazzy buildings, and its Anglicized hep-crowd.
And then I saw Basrikatte. A small poor village, on the way from Sringeri to Horanadu, placed on top of a mountain, with a back drop of another towering mountain gave the whole setting a resemblance akin to the Swiss Alps minus the snow. Lush greenery all around. Felt the richness! Added to this was the genial attitude of people all around. Everyone most helpful in their native way with open, fresh and welcoming smile!
The distinction of the “High Society” and the “Low Society” and being rightly told to which society I belonged!
Somehow felt Basrikatte could not have been better if a chain of MacDonalds, Burger Kings, Subways had positioned themselves at this quaint little country village which truly resembles India in its purest and soulful form.
That’s the verdict on India after a month : Soulful.
Attended a traditional South Indian wedding along with its customary feast.
Achieved the life-long ambition of attending at least once the Tyagaraja Aradhana festival.
Finished one round of sore throat, cold, fever and cough – necessarily in the same order!
New activities in Office!
Gradually learnt to drive…..again!
Nostalgic, cleaned out the shelves from the Class X and PU books.
Blood donation count reached double-digits.
Went to a refreshing classical music concert in city.
Saw the movie Guru with capacity-crowd at Urvashi Theatre.
Went biking as a pillion-rider at over 100 kmph without a helmet with oncoming traffic on the same road!
Smelt the nice country air and felt the joy of freedom from the weather!
Visited the Divine at Udupi, Sringeri and Horanadu after over 3 years. As before, was once again stunned at the Annadhaana Scheme [Free Food] prevalent in such places. Felt what one of my friend had said so true : “Jeevanadalli Artha Kalpiskobeku.” [Add meaning to Life] Furthered my resolution.
Was stupefied at seeing the institute at Manipal with its Café Coffee Days and fountains and jazzy buildings, and its Anglicized hep-crowd.
And then I saw Basrikatte. A small poor village, on the way from Sringeri to Horanadu, placed on top of a mountain, with a back drop of another towering mountain gave the whole setting a resemblance akin to the Swiss Alps minus the snow. Lush greenery all around. Felt the richness! Added to this was the genial attitude of people all around. Everyone most helpful in their native way with open, fresh and welcoming smile!
The distinction of the “High Society” and the “Low Society” and being rightly told to which society I belonged!
Somehow felt Basrikatte could not have been better if a chain of MacDonalds, Burger Kings, Subways had positioned themselves at this quaint little country village which truly resembles India in its purest and soulful form.
That’s the verdict on India after a month : Soulful.
Friday, January 26, 2007
One day at the Detroit Airport…
There are always some incidents in our life which remain etched in our memory. For me, a collection of such interesting incidents occurred in Detroit Airport on October 8th 2006. I just kept postponing writing about it till now.
To start with, I was slightly concerned as my itinerary involved a transit in Baltimore on my way back from Detroit to Boston with the transit time being less than an hour plus a different airline, which meant, I thought, me having to check in again at Baltimore. With butterflies afloat in the stomach, we (My family) left my brother’s house at 3.45 pm for the 5.25 pm departure.
En route, there was a deviation of almost 15-20 miles to airport, and it caused a slight delay in arrival at the airport. Quickly bidding adieu to the family, I went to one of those machines which provides the boarding passes if the e-ticket number is punched in. It displayed an error message, saying flight already departed.
Nonplussed, I went to the counter and gave her the printout of my e-ticket. She apparently was new to her job and had no idea what was going on. With less than 20 minutes for my flight departure, I was getting freaked out. She mumbled something about me being booked at a 12.30 pm flight and that she can give me a direct flight to Boston at 7 pm. I thought she just didn’t know what she was doing because there was no way I could have been booked at 12.30 pm flight (when my e-ticket clearly said 5.25 pm) and also there was no way the airline could give me the 7 pm direct flight at the same cost if indeed I had missed my flight. If I couldn’t afford a direct flight in the first place when I was booking the tickets in Orbitz, why would the airlines provide me the same just because I missed my flight? Not that I would mind, because, I did need a direct flight compared to all the circus I had to go in Baltimore!
The attendant called another senior attendant and both of them quickly punched in something in the monitor and gave me my boarding pass without any further talk. I assumed everything was resolved and I could still make the 5.25 pm flight. I rushed to the security counter. The security officer scrutinized my T-shirt (which had the caption This is the worst day of my life) and gave a smirk: “I can make it bad for you, if you want.” I just managed a mirthless laugh.
With the security check completed, I analyzed where I was and where I had to go. Detroit airport is like an H-shaped airport with the 2 layers in the first vertical of ‘H’. I was at the centre of the second vertical of ‘H’ and my gate was at the top of the second vertical. The best way was to take the inter-terminal train. I got onto the train and thought “Only a few minutes from now I would be on board.” It was then that I saw my boarding pass.
It was a boarding pass to Boston direct in the 7 pm flight and not the 5.25 pm flight! A surge of relief went through me. The flight attendant had been actually able to give me the direct flight without any extra cost! It even spared me the trouble of changing airlines at Baltimore amidst the rush of time! This was the best thing that could happen. [It was only later that I came to know that there was a disclaimer in the e-ticket which said ‘Itinerary is subject to change. Please check mail 24 hrs before the actual departure.’ The itinerary had indeed changed and I had been booked for the 12.30 pm flight instead of the 5.25 pm flight!]
But just to confirm, I went to the gate corresponding to Baltimore flight and confirmed that indeed I was booked onto the Boston flight direct at 7 pm. The gate to Boston flight was at the lower end of second vertical of ‘H’. I went all the way walking to the other end just to pass time and window-shopped. I still had about an hour and half to kill. So I thought I might as well see the airport in its entirety. All terminals and all gates. Plus I had to have dinner as it would be pretty late by the time I would reach home. With these tasks in mind, I set forth with my camera to walk around the terminals and click away at glory.
My pace was slow and measured. Like I had all the time in the world. I looked at everything and anything, appreciating beauty in all its hidden camouflage. Like watching two small kids play with the walking conveyor. A beautiful fountain which switched on and off at different places to create a steady and rhythmic albeit unpredictable swoosh of water keeping anyone walking by it in rapturous attention. A pure pleasure just to watch it. Its amazing how beautiful a simple stream of water can be. Its such a boon to have eyes to appreciate it.
Having walked hither and thither all through the airport and exhausting myself I placed myself comfortably in a posh leather cushion couch and relaxed. There was still almost an hour to go before my flight departure. I have been in such situations in my life many times. Waiting for a transportation in a busy industrious area, and more often than not, I derive enjoyment just by looking here and there, and watching different people, the young and the old, the rich and the not-so, the husbands and wives, the children and their siblings, the busy ones and the ones sleeping away to glory, the young love birds and the teenaged youthfulness. It is much more engrossing and so much filled with life and activity than hearing an iPod or even reading a novel. It resembles so many of those cinematic scenes in which the actor just stays put and everyone and anyone moves about him in a fast forward sequence. You are just a mere lifeless pawn in the whole gamut of life and its activities. Like a standing by-passer watching everything around with great interest and yet emotionally involved with nothing. It was a moment of simple yet inexplicable glory.
The couch happened to be near a big glass window, as most couches are in US airports, overlooking the tarmac where airplanes waited for mounting or dismounting passengers at the numerous gates. The plane nearest to the window where I was placed, had just arrived and there were lot of activity going on like removal of baggage, of cargo, of food, of human wastage, etc. One small group of people that caught my attention was the team that was unloading the cargo.
If you have noticed this activity, you will be able to relate that there are 2 main things involved in removal of cargo from airplanes. One is the wide, flat machine which elevates itself to the level of the cargo door in the airplane so that cargo can be easily shifted from the airplane to the flat machine which then goes back to ground level to be transported to a waiting cargo vehicle. The cargo vehicle, again, if you have noticed, is like a small 1-bogeyed train with the bogey being small cargo-carrying flat, open, wide area and it being connected to the driver by links. The storage area in both the machine and the vehicle will have directional rolling rods controlled in its movement by a panel to place the cargo in the right position.
Now, the operator operating the first machine (the wide, flat machine which acts as the intermediary transport agent from airplane to the cargo vehicle) had his act done in a couple of minutes. He had the controls like an expert and got the machine elevated, the cargo onto the machine and the machine depressed back to ground level. Creativity spewing in him, he was even making the cargo dance at his fingers, although I am sure it was weighing tons. What a fascination it is to make tons of load dance by a simple set of levers and rotating floor-balls!
He was ready to offload it to the vehicle but the driver of the cargo vehicle apparently had tremendous difficulty in reversing the vehicle such that the bogey was perfectly aligned with the cargo bearing machine. Since the bogey is connected by links, even a slight change in the maneuver of wheels, puts the train-like vehicle in an awkward position and the cargo cannot be transported to the vehicle.
He spent almost twenty minutes in reversing the vehicle, this way and that, almost tried every possible option and tried to his level best but just could not get his act right. It seemed such a simple task to reverse the vehicle and position it properly but he just couldn’t do it however hard he could try. The machine operator, waiting to offload was getting frustrated. The next set of two cargo-vehicles was already waiting for the driver to get the cargo moving. But the driver was just unable to reverse appropriately. The other set of drivers came to offer him help but he waved them away. His prestige, apparently, was at stake. Finally, he gave up and one of the other drivers reversed expertly into the right slot within a minute. That set me thinking.
In any profession, there will always be non-performers. Or rather, putting it more diplomatically, in any profession, there are always experts and then there are those who need to put in just that little bit of extra effort by investing more time. Be it in analytical reasoning or be it manual labour.
I was so enraptured by the activity on the tarmac – and its telescopic significance in life – and was wondering how would it indeed be to lead a life in an airport (like how it is portrayed in the movie Terminal), that I suddenly realized it was almost 6.30 pm. In my planning what-to-do, I had missed the fact that boarding starts 30 minutes before the flight departure. And I was yet to have my dinner. I quickly went to a café nearest to my gate, again in the inter-terminal train (en route being appreciated by a bunch of young teenagers for my T-shirt “I like that caption!” and within a minutes rebuffed by an old lady “Surely its not your worst day!”) and found to my dismay that there was a big queue to place the order.
Just when I placed my order (token number being 135), I heard over the PA that first class passengers for the flight to Boston can start boarding. And I was hoping that I can quickly have a bunch to bite when my token number was called at the counter. Just as I approached to take my order, a young lady gave her receipt and took the food.
Did I hear the number correctly? Or did she make a mistake? Or did the person giving the token numbers make a mistake? Or did the person providing food shouted the wrong token number? Just as I was contemplating which one of the above happened, I thought the best bet would be to approach the young lady to confirm if she got what she ordered. And as I scanned the crowd, I saw her on a table, talking on the mobile while at the same time biting into the burger. In all probability, she did get what she ordered. Or she just didn’t care. And I couldn’t care any more as the call for all passengers to board came on the PA.
Sighing, and hungry, I boarded the plane. Thankfully, the flight to Boston was sleepily uneventful and upon reaching the airport at 9 pm, all I wanted to do was to get home, which was another two hours away. With my hunger temporarily forgotten, I headed home and then again, upon reaching at 11 pm, with no mood to cook, nor to eat frozen food, went to bed directly. What an irony it was that I, who had all the time in the airport to roam around and laze on a leather couch, had to go to bed empty-stomach!
Overall, it was an interesting, blog-worthy evening!!
To start with, I was slightly concerned as my itinerary involved a transit in Baltimore on my way back from Detroit to Boston with the transit time being less than an hour plus a different airline, which meant, I thought, me having to check in again at Baltimore. With butterflies afloat in the stomach, we (My family) left my brother’s house at 3.45 pm for the 5.25 pm departure.
En route, there was a deviation of almost 15-20 miles to airport, and it caused a slight delay in arrival at the airport. Quickly bidding adieu to the family, I went to one of those machines which provides the boarding passes if the e-ticket number is punched in. It displayed an error message, saying flight already departed.
Nonplussed, I went to the counter and gave her the printout of my e-ticket. She apparently was new to her job and had no idea what was going on. With less than 20 minutes for my flight departure, I was getting freaked out. She mumbled something about me being booked at a 12.30 pm flight and that she can give me a direct flight to Boston at 7 pm. I thought she just didn’t know what she was doing because there was no way I could have been booked at 12.30 pm flight (when my e-ticket clearly said 5.25 pm) and also there was no way the airline could give me the 7 pm direct flight at the same cost if indeed I had missed my flight. If I couldn’t afford a direct flight in the first place when I was booking the tickets in Orbitz, why would the airlines provide me the same just because I missed my flight? Not that I would mind, because, I did need a direct flight compared to all the circus I had to go in Baltimore!
The attendant called another senior attendant and both of them quickly punched in something in the monitor and gave me my boarding pass without any further talk. I assumed everything was resolved and I could still make the 5.25 pm flight. I rushed to the security counter. The security officer scrutinized my T-shirt (which had the caption This is the worst day of my life) and gave a smirk: “I can make it bad for you, if you want.” I just managed a mirthless laugh.
With the security check completed, I analyzed where I was and where I had to go. Detroit airport is like an H-shaped airport with the 2 layers in the first vertical of ‘H’. I was at the centre of the second vertical of ‘H’ and my gate was at the top of the second vertical. The best way was to take the inter-terminal train. I got onto the train and thought “Only a few minutes from now I would be on board.” It was then that I saw my boarding pass.
It was a boarding pass to Boston direct in the 7 pm flight and not the 5.25 pm flight! A surge of relief went through me. The flight attendant had been actually able to give me the direct flight without any extra cost! It even spared me the trouble of changing airlines at Baltimore amidst the rush of time! This was the best thing that could happen. [It was only later that I came to know that there was a disclaimer in the e-ticket which said ‘Itinerary is subject to change. Please check mail 24 hrs before the actual departure.’ The itinerary had indeed changed and I had been booked for the 12.30 pm flight instead of the 5.25 pm flight!]
But just to confirm, I went to the gate corresponding to Baltimore flight and confirmed that indeed I was booked onto the Boston flight direct at 7 pm. The gate to Boston flight was at the lower end of second vertical of ‘H’. I went all the way walking to the other end just to pass time and window-shopped. I still had about an hour and half to kill. So I thought I might as well see the airport in its entirety. All terminals and all gates. Plus I had to have dinner as it would be pretty late by the time I would reach home. With these tasks in mind, I set forth with my camera to walk around the terminals and click away at glory.
My pace was slow and measured. Like I had all the time in the world. I looked at everything and anything, appreciating beauty in all its hidden camouflage. Like watching two small kids play with the walking conveyor. A beautiful fountain which switched on and off at different places to create a steady and rhythmic albeit unpredictable swoosh of water keeping anyone walking by it in rapturous attention. A pure pleasure just to watch it. Its amazing how beautiful a simple stream of water can be. Its such a boon to have eyes to appreciate it.
Having walked hither and thither all through the airport and exhausting myself I placed myself comfortably in a posh leather cushion couch and relaxed. There was still almost an hour to go before my flight departure. I have been in such situations in my life many times. Waiting for a transportation in a busy industrious area, and more often than not, I derive enjoyment just by looking here and there, and watching different people, the young and the old, the rich and the not-so, the husbands and wives, the children and their siblings, the busy ones and the ones sleeping away to glory, the young love birds and the teenaged youthfulness. It is much more engrossing and so much filled with life and activity than hearing an iPod or even reading a novel. It resembles so many of those cinematic scenes in which the actor just stays put and everyone and anyone moves about him in a fast forward sequence. You are just a mere lifeless pawn in the whole gamut of life and its activities. Like a standing by-passer watching everything around with great interest and yet emotionally involved with nothing. It was a moment of simple yet inexplicable glory.
The couch happened to be near a big glass window, as most couches are in US airports, overlooking the tarmac where airplanes waited for mounting or dismounting passengers at the numerous gates. The plane nearest to the window where I was placed, had just arrived and there were lot of activity going on like removal of baggage, of cargo, of food, of human wastage, etc. One small group of people that caught my attention was the team that was unloading the cargo.
If you have noticed this activity, you will be able to relate that there are 2 main things involved in removal of cargo from airplanes. One is the wide, flat machine which elevates itself to the level of the cargo door in the airplane so that cargo can be easily shifted from the airplane to the flat machine which then goes back to ground level to be transported to a waiting cargo vehicle. The cargo vehicle, again, if you have noticed, is like a small 1-bogeyed train with the bogey being small cargo-carrying flat, open, wide area and it being connected to the driver by links. The storage area in both the machine and the vehicle will have directional rolling rods controlled in its movement by a panel to place the cargo in the right position.
Now, the operator operating the first machine (the wide, flat machine which acts as the intermediary transport agent from airplane to the cargo vehicle) had his act done in a couple of minutes. He had the controls like an expert and got the machine elevated, the cargo onto the machine and the machine depressed back to ground level. Creativity spewing in him, he was even making the cargo dance at his fingers, although I am sure it was weighing tons. What a fascination it is to make tons of load dance by a simple set of levers and rotating floor-balls!
He was ready to offload it to the vehicle but the driver of the cargo vehicle apparently had tremendous difficulty in reversing the vehicle such that the bogey was perfectly aligned with the cargo bearing machine. Since the bogey is connected by links, even a slight change in the maneuver of wheels, puts the train-like vehicle in an awkward position and the cargo cannot be transported to the vehicle.
He spent almost twenty minutes in reversing the vehicle, this way and that, almost tried every possible option and tried to his level best but just could not get his act right. It seemed such a simple task to reverse the vehicle and position it properly but he just couldn’t do it however hard he could try. The machine operator, waiting to offload was getting frustrated. The next set of two cargo-vehicles was already waiting for the driver to get the cargo moving. But the driver was just unable to reverse appropriately. The other set of drivers came to offer him help but he waved them away. His prestige, apparently, was at stake. Finally, he gave up and one of the other drivers reversed expertly into the right slot within a minute. That set me thinking.
In any profession, there will always be non-performers. Or rather, putting it more diplomatically, in any profession, there are always experts and then there are those who need to put in just that little bit of extra effort by investing more time. Be it in analytical reasoning or be it manual labour.
I was so enraptured by the activity on the tarmac – and its telescopic significance in life – and was wondering how would it indeed be to lead a life in an airport (like how it is portrayed in the movie Terminal), that I suddenly realized it was almost 6.30 pm. In my planning what-to-do, I had missed the fact that boarding starts 30 minutes before the flight departure. And I was yet to have my dinner. I quickly went to a café nearest to my gate, again in the inter-terminal train (en route being appreciated by a bunch of young teenagers for my T-shirt “I like that caption!” and within a minutes rebuffed by an old lady “Surely its not your worst day!”) and found to my dismay that there was a big queue to place the order.
Just when I placed my order (token number being 135), I heard over the PA that first class passengers for the flight to Boston can start boarding. And I was hoping that I can quickly have a bunch to bite when my token number was called at the counter. Just as I approached to take my order, a young lady gave her receipt and took the food.
Did I hear the number correctly? Or did she make a mistake? Or did the person giving the token numbers make a mistake? Or did the person providing food shouted the wrong token number? Just as I was contemplating which one of the above happened, I thought the best bet would be to approach the young lady to confirm if she got what she ordered. And as I scanned the crowd, I saw her on a table, talking on the mobile while at the same time biting into the burger. In all probability, she did get what she ordered. Or she just didn’t care. And I couldn’t care any more as the call for all passengers to board came on the PA.
Sighing, and hungry, I boarded the plane. Thankfully, the flight to Boston was sleepily uneventful and upon reaching the airport at 9 pm, all I wanted to do was to get home, which was another two hours away. With my hunger temporarily forgotten, I headed home and then again, upon reaching at 11 pm, with no mood to cook, nor to eat frozen food, went to bed directly. What an irony it was that I, who had all the time in the airport to roam around and laze on a leather couch, had to go to bed empty-stomach!
Overall, it was an interesting, blog-worthy evening!!
Friday, January 19, 2007
Saint Thyagaraja's Aradhana
Being at Thiruvayar for Thyagaraja’s Aradhana when Pancharatna songs are sung was one of my biggest dreams. This dream was fulfilled this year when I planned a month in advance, and positioned myself at the place of ceremony 30 minutes prior to the commencement to the program.
Thousands of people had gathered to celebrate the 160th Aradhana and it was great to see that international press had a section blocked off for themselves. Considering the police staff and their infrastructure, it was a pretty well organized setting.
The program began sharply at 9 and it was beautiful music for the next full hour. Many in the audience had lyrics in their hand (yours truly included) and tried mumbling as best as one could along with the professional artists.
Although Jagadanandagaraka, Dudukugala, Sadhinchane and Kanakanaruchira are equally nice, there is always a change in the atmosphere, at least for me, when Endaro Mahanubhavulu is sung. There is this strange feeling of greatness that comes about whenever this song commences. Like, world coming to a stop for a second.
But, alas, everything good comes to an end. Much too soon, the program got done. This was followed by a quick visit to Thyagaraja’s samadhi amidst the rushing crowd as well as a short trip to the house where Thyagaraja used to stay. And then it was time to visit Thanjavur and see the World Famous Brihadeshwar temple.
Parting thought – it was worth it all!
Reference link.
Thousands of people had gathered to celebrate the 160th Aradhana and it was great to see that international press had a section blocked off for themselves. Considering the police staff and their infrastructure, it was a pretty well organized setting.
The program began sharply at 9 and it was beautiful music for the next full hour. Many in the audience had lyrics in their hand (yours truly included) and tried mumbling as best as one could along with the professional artists.
Although Jagadanandagaraka, Dudukugala, Sadhinchane and Kanakanaruchira are equally nice, there is always a change in the atmosphere, at least for me, when Endaro Mahanubhavulu is sung. There is this strange feeling of greatness that comes about whenever this song commences. Like, world coming to a stop for a second.
But, alas, everything good comes to an end. Much too soon, the program got done. This was followed by a quick visit to Thyagaraja’s samadhi amidst the rushing crowd as well as a short trip to the house where Thyagaraja used to stay. And then it was time to visit Thanjavur and see the World Famous Brihadeshwar temple.
Parting thought – it was worth it all!
Reference link.
Monday, January 15, 2007
Soap Opera
A family friend visited our house a couple of days back. She was known to be a sucker for the multitude of the soap opera on the idiot box. So when we teased her about some of her favourite serials, we were surprised to hear that she had stopped seeing them all. Thus she spoke, “The portrayal of the depths to which a human being can go to find happiness in others’ faults and making others fall for one’s own upliftment was too much for me.”
The statement had so much truth in it. We have to just stop and think about it for a second. Why is it that most family serials, irrespective of the language, tend towards the blackness and villainous aspects of the human society? All one has to do is just see a few scenes in any serial, and one can feel the negative vibes coming out of it. What kind of happiness can be derived by being a sadist or by showing sadistic actions amongst one’s own relatives?
A kid, oblivious yet to the good and bad in this world, watching such an episode can learn so many negative actions and behavior, and on top of it, shall also consider it to be the norms within a family. Shouldn’t we be highlighting the positive energy, celebrating happiness, portraying the goodness of family bonding and strive to popularize the making of better citizenry all around us?
I am reminded of wonderful serials like Small Wonder, The Full House, Darpan, Malgudi Days which invariably brings a smile to the lips at the end of each episode. Those serials, to me, were of great moral value, and each episode was like a gem of knowledge and understanding. Shouldn’t that be the goal of the serial-maker?
Instead the serial-makers create a plot that absorbs the middle-aged populace with such a grip that they cannot let go of the serials in the middle – somewhat akin to a smoking addiction – and at the same time, create this disharmonious ambience in which even the viewers themselves keep shouting at the actor, director and the whole crew of the serial, by way of trying to add some sense in a scene completely devoid of it, and even go to the extent of cursing the same episode which they are seeing, but are just unable to stop seeing it altogether…
The statement had so much truth in it. We have to just stop and think about it for a second. Why is it that most family serials, irrespective of the language, tend towards the blackness and villainous aspects of the human society? All one has to do is just see a few scenes in any serial, and one can feel the negative vibes coming out of it. What kind of happiness can be derived by being a sadist or by showing sadistic actions amongst one’s own relatives?
A kid, oblivious yet to the good and bad in this world, watching such an episode can learn so many negative actions and behavior, and on top of it, shall also consider it to be the norms within a family. Shouldn’t we be highlighting the positive energy, celebrating happiness, portraying the goodness of family bonding and strive to popularize the making of better citizenry all around us?
I am reminded of wonderful serials like Small Wonder, The Full House, Darpan, Malgudi Days which invariably brings a smile to the lips at the end of each episode. Those serials, to me, were of great moral value, and each episode was like a gem of knowledge and understanding. Shouldn’t that be the goal of the serial-maker?
Instead the serial-makers create a plot that absorbs the middle-aged populace with such a grip that they cannot let go of the serials in the middle – somewhat akin to a smoking addiction – and at the same time, create this disharmonious ambience in which even the viewers themselves keep shouting at the actor, director and the whole crew of the serial, by way of trying to add some sense in a scene completely devoid of it, and even go to the extent of cursing the same episode which they are seeing, but are just unable to stop seeing it altogether…
Sunday, January 14, 2007
A child's play
The kid in front of our house is very cute. It has nice chubby cheeks and a rotund robustness! It mouths words of only two syllables; sometimes mumbling to itself and sometimes to elders, as if with great importance!
The moment it sees me in my balcony, an unhindered, spasmodic joy overcomes its body, and its face churns out a huge smile, the hands and legs suddenly starts bouncing about and if her mother is nearby, the kid runs out to her mother and buries her face deep inside the saree acting shy but inwardly being tremendously happy! And slowly, the face comes out again with that same smile.
Sometime then, the face comes out in the wrong angle, the sweep of the eyes suddenly sees a vegetable vendor on the road, and momentarily I am completely forgotten! The vegetable vendor notices the kid’s eyes on her and gives the kid a small carrot. The kid happily takes the carrot and starts munching.
During this munching, the face starts moving hither and thither, and suddenly I am in its radar again! Once more, as if it’s the first time she has seen me that day, an uncontrollable and unparalleled joy comes over her in a fit and she starts running and jumping again. It is all smiles, and hand-waves, and its as if she is at the pinnacle of all happiness! Looking at me is like turning a switch of abundant joy to her!
Such innocence, such joy, such forgetfulness, such happiness…
Why is it that we lose it all? Is losing it all a part of “growing-up philosophy”?
We stop laughing and playing because we became old. But…
We become old because we stop laughing and playing…
Reference link.
The moment it sees me in my balcony, an unhindered, spasmodic joy overcomes its body, and its face churns out a huge smile, the hands and legs suddenly starts bouncing about and if her mother is nearby, the kid runs out to her mother and buries her face deep inside the saree acting shy but inwardly being tremendously happy! And slowly, the face comes out again with that same smile.
Sometime then, the face comes out in the wrong angle, the sweep of the eyes suddenly sees a vegetable vendor on the road, and momentarily I am completely forgotten! The vegetable vendor notices the kid’s eyes on her and gives the kid a small carrot. The kid happily takes the carrot and starts munching.
During this munching, the face starts moving hither and thither, and suddenly I am in its radar again! Once more, as if it’s the first time she has seen me that day, an uncontrollable and unparalleled joy comes over her in a fit and she starts running and jumping again. It is all smiles, and hand-waves, and its as if she is at the pinnacle of all happiness! Looking at me is like turning a switch of abundant joy to her!
Such innocence, such joy, such forgetfulness, such happiness…
Why is it that we lose it all? Is losing it all a part of “growing-up philosophy”?
We stop laughing and playing because we became old. But…
We become old because we stop laughing and playing…
Reference link.
Music
There is something magical about music.
It affects each one of us in some way or the other.
The tune or the lyrics or the rhythm or the frequency.
Classical or Hindustani or Hip-Hop or Instrumental.
Hearing to music suddenly makes the world look bright and happy!
People seem to be laughing and jovial everywhere.
One feels like dancing and jumping around.
Brings about a sprightly spring to the feet.
Soothes the mind and soul.
There is calm, smoothening effect.
Has the power to bring tears.
Speaks the language of Divine.
Well, what can I say, other than just -
"Thanks for the iPod!"
It affects each one of us in some way or the other.
The tune or the lyrics or the rhythm or the frequency.
Classical or Hindustani or Hip-Hop or Instrumental.
Hearing to music suddenly makes the world look bright and happy!
People seem to be laughing and jovial everywhere.
One feels like dancing and jumping around.
Brings about a sprightly spring to the feet.
Soothes the mind and soul.
There is calm, smoothening effect.
Has the power to bring tears.
Speaks the language of Divine.
Well, what can I say, other than just -
"Thanks for the iPod!"
Wednesday, January 10, 2007
InfoSys
Eight years ago, when I joined Engineering, I used to leave home early in the morning to catch the college bus. On my way to the bus-stop, I used to see with pride and respect, a blue bus bearing the name InfoSys going by. I always used to consider people sitting inside the bus to be highly intelligent and most respected. They belonged to the cream of the society. They were the ones who uplifted the nation, the economy and brought forth world-wide recognition.
Four years later, I least expected myself to be leaving home early in the morning, with tie and formal shoes, to catch that same blue bus. It was (and still is) the period when InfoSys was on a hiring spree, as was most IT companies, and hence, it rubbed off some of the prestige that I once held about InfoSys and its employees, but yet, it was a great honour. Just as how any cricketer treasures wearing the Indian cap when he is out on the field, so was the InfoSys badge to me.
People looked up at me. They recognized the brand name. Even without the connotation to the pay packet, InfoSys was a world famous company, known even in remote villages thanks to the company’s IT-training projects in rural areas. Layman started looking at me in awe, as if I had climbed the Mount Everest!
Two years later, came the period when anyone I meet was bound to say, after exchanging the customary greetings, ‘My nephew also is in InfoSys. His name is xxx. Do you know him?’ Every family had at least one person within InfoSys. In fact, I know a family, where all brothers and even one of the brother’s wife – all are in InfoSys. True, InfoSys considers all its employees as one big family. But, we now have ‘actual-blood-related’ families within the ‘Big Family’!
Then came the time when I started getting forwards degrading companies like InfoSys and its likes. People then started blaming InfoSys for giving lack of respect to Kannadigas, and exploiting Bangalore. Sometime then, ‘awe’ got replaced by ‘disdain’. Articles started coming in the newspapers about how IT professionals were being murdered just for the mobile phone, laptop, credit card and the iPod that they are carrying. Terrorists with AK-47s started coming from across the border and from small villages to gun down InfoSys employees, amongst others!
And today, due to work, I came back from office late in the last bus and reached my stop at 10 pm. It’s a 5 minute walk from the bus-stop to my home, and the thought never leaves me that there might be someone there lurking who can kill me for the worldly items that I possess. So, I removed my InfoSys badge, hid it in my pockets, and stealthily walked, looking carefully hither and thither and safely reached home.
Technically, there was not much difference between me and an Al-Qaida terrorist.
Four years later, I least expected myself to be leaving home early in the morning, with tie and formal shoes, to catch that same blue bus. It was (and still is) the period when InfoSys was on a hiring spree, as was most IT companies, and hence, it rubbed off some of the prestige that I once held about InfoSys and its employees, but yet, it was a great honour. Just as how any cricketer treasures wearing the Indian cap when he is out on the field, so was the InfoSys badge to me.
People looked up at me. They recognized the brand name. Even without the connotation to the pay packet, InfoSys was a world famous company, known even in remote villages thanks to the company’s IT-training projects in rural areas. Layman started looking at me in awe, as if I had climbed the Mount Everest!
Two years later, came the period when anyone I meet was bound to say, after exchanging the customary greetings, ‘My nephew also is in InfoSys. His name is xxx. Do you know him?’ Every family had at least one person within InfoSys. In fact, I know a family, where all brothers and even one of the brother’s wife – all are in InfoSys. True, InfoSys considers all its employees as one big family. But, we now have ‘actual-blood-related’ families within the ‘Big Family’!
Then came the time when I started getting forwards degrading companies like InfoSys and its likes. People then started blaming InfoSys for giving lack of respect to Kannadigas, and exploiting Bangalore. Sometime then, ‘awe’ got replaced by ‘disdain’. Articles started coming in the newspapers about how IT professionals were being murdered just for the mobile phone, laptop, credit card and the iPod that they are carrying. Terrorists with AK-47s started coming from across the border and from small villages to gun down InfoSys employees, amongst others!
And today, due to work, I came back from office late in the last bus and reached my stop at 10 pm. It’s a 5 minute walk from the bus-stop to my home, and the thought never leaves me that there might be someone there lurking who can kill me for the worldly items that I possess. So, I removed my InfoSys badge, hid it in my pockets, and stealthily walked, looking carefully hither and thither and safely reached home.
Technically, there was not much difference between me and an Al-Qaida terrorist.
Sunday, January 07, 2007
Dear Enginjo...
Enginjo. That’s how she used to call herself. Engineering Jyothi, it stood for. She has always been a dear friend of mine. The respect for each other has been mutual. Whenever we spoke of each other, it was always in the order of highest esteem.
We were classmates in engineering and over the period of four years, we came to know more about one another. We used to compete over one another for our literary excellence. And although she used to make me equal to her, personally, I always felt she was way way above me. Her command over English was awesome. She had a clear-cut thought process which enabled her with a fluent dialect. Needless to say, she belonged to the cream of the class.
I got to know more of her in our college trip in the final year. We grew fond of one another, and found that we shared a lot of mutual interests and desires. We had lengthy and intellectual conversations, accompanied by even lengthier and magnificent emails, studded with high-end Anglicism!
We joined InfoSys on the same day and belonged to the same batch in Mysore. Upon completion of training, we went our ways and got geographically separated. Over the period of next four years, we had our share of fights, laughs, ups, downs, and suddenly somehow, got totally isolated. All forms of communication stopped. My only last remembrance of her was our long rendezvous in Mangalore when I chanced to visit her.
And then I got her wedding invite! Marriage was with the same person about whom she used to talk for hours together. There was only one issue. He was of a different religion. And I was most glad when I came to know about her wedding: she had overcome everything, inclusive of her most orthodox family. She had convinced one and all about what is good for her. The wedding in itself was most memorable. Happy faces all around!
And there I was in the wedding hall, just like others, looking at her, feeling insignificant, when she suddenly saw me. And recognition led to smile. And the smile covered up all the years of isolations. It was as if there was no isolation in the first place. It was a smile of relief, of success, of happiness. And it was a smile which said “Thanks for making it to the wedding!” And that made me extremely happy…
Here’s wishing Enginjo a happy married life and very best wishes…
We were classmates in engineering and over the period of four years, we came to know more about one another. We used to compete over one another for our literary excellence. And although she used to make me equal to her, personally, I always felt she was way way above me. Her command over English was awesome. She had a clear-cut thought process which enabled her with a fluent dialect. Needless to say, she belonged to the cream of the class.
I got to know more of her in our college trip in the final year. We grew fond of one another, and found that we shared a lot of mutual interests and desires. We had lengthy and intellectual conversations, accompanied by even lengthier and magnificent emails, studded with high-end Anglicism!
We joined InfoSys on the same day and belonged to the same batch in Mysore. Upon completion of training, we went our ways and got geographically separated. Over the period of next four years, we had our share of fights, laughs, ups, downs, and suddenly somehow, got totally isolated. All forms of communication stopped. My only last remembrance of her was our long rendezvous in Mangalore when I chanced to visit her.
And then I got her wedding invite! Marriage was with the same person about whom she used to talk for hours together. There was only one issue. He was of a different religion. And I was most glad when I came to know about her wedding: she had overcome everything, inclusive of her most orthodox family. She had convinced one and all about what is good for her. The wedding in itself was most memorable. Happy faces all around!
And there I was in the wedding hall, just like others, looking at her, feeling insignificant, when she suddenly saw me. And recognition led to smile. And the smile covered up all the years of isolations. It was as if there was no isolation in the first place. It was a smile of relief, of success, of happiness. And it was a smile which said “Thanks for making it to the wedding!” And that made me extremely happy…
Here’s wishing Enginjo a happy married life and very best wishes…
Saturday, January 06, 2007
India
The salesman at the counter in a shopping complex bends his head down, blows his nose, the snot hangs till he removes it by hand and brushes it off.
There is a constant buzz in the background – of vehicles moving, honking, of kids shouting, of neighbours talking, of everyone’s mobile phones ringing.
There is this cramped up feeling in the city, and everyone is trying to grab some space.
Felt damn funny to see a board ‘Do not drink and drive’. Its tough to drive even in sobriety. ‘Do not drive’ would have been much better!
And then, there is ‘Mom du mommom’!
There is a constant buzz in the background – of vehicles moving, honking, of kids shouting, of neighbours talking, of everyone’s mobile phones ringing.
There is this cramped up feeling in the city, and everyone is trying to grab some space.
Felt damn funny to see a board ‘Do not drink and drive’. Its tough to drive even in sobriety. ‘Do not drive’ would have been much better!
And then, there is ‘Mom du mommom’!
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