prabāt

One year. The search continues.

2006-02-22T10:30:00.000-08:00

This blog completes one year today.

One year in the reckoning. A passionate quasi-emotional journey, still seeking an insight into the essential wholeness, completeness and the perfection of reality. A journey still searching to fulfill. Vacuums filled. But new ones searching to be filled. Longing wishes and craving emotions hoping and searching for that elusive hug of life. Dreams and their feelings searching for a wake-up kiss.

Lessons learnt to love and to know that love comes with pain, and to continue to love. And to keep loving. Different thoughts playing musical chairs trying to gain a hold on the heart, teaching the hard way to sit back and wait if you don’t get what you want, because better things are waiting and the best things take time. The ease with which simple inadequacies of our living inundate us, only to realize to do things we would otherwise not have done, simply because they have to be eventually done anyway.

We complain about complexity, about shades of gray but we often take refuge in these things. Complexity offers refuge from choice and thus action. In many situations, most of us would prefer to do nothing. Sometimes doing nothing is the best thing to do. How often we keep searching for that Perfect Life we always dream about. Perfect – with a Capital P. Sometimes in life, superlatives don’t matter. Just good is good enough. A no frills, no fancies, plain and simple – good. Good is beautiful! Good is great! Good is perfect!

The mind continues to wander. Memories act as intermittent oasis in its long walk through the desert of life searching for its own identity. The ‘I am’ is certain. The ‘I am this’ is not. Guided by the pleasant stopovers of nostalgic memories, the mind wanders, searching through the dry stretches of the present, in a quiet joyous expectation of good.

Prabat! The Dawn, is not far. But there is distance to be traveled. There is work to be done. There is sweat to be lost. There will be a stumble here and there. But it stumbles only because its on the move. The mind continues to wander. Still in search of… Shubh Prabaatam!

And that accounts for one year. Now, I just have the rest of my life to go.

Lean on Love

2006-02-13T21:54:00.000-08:00

Remember the first time your eyes fell upon that person, with a tiny tingle in your nerves and that smile which never shows up on your face even though you are all smiles and giggles inside. Or that little bit of animated talking to yourself, trying to visualize that person with naughty bits of assumptions and sneaky ideas to stamp your impressions. Welcome to the first prick of Love!

Thoughts are often deceptive. Trying to decipher our own thinking becomes an experiment in itself. But there are certain thoughts and feelings that stem from a deeply rooted emotion. Something beyond the comprehension of a human vocabulary. Something that is subjective and strange, but lucid and serene. Something not visible to eyes, but is there all over you. Something which suddenly adds a new meaning to the whiff of wind blowing over your face. Something which made you today, what you were not yesterday. Something which you knew never existed, until you came face-to-face with it.

And with some new feels, you begin to have some new needs. A need to lie helplessly in someone’s arms, a need to relish the grace glowing out of someone’s face, a need to smile and a need to see a smile on someone’s face, a need to shed a tear of affection, a need for reinstatement of an ever-present someone near you, and a bittersweet need to hear someone say “I miss you”, a need to keep speaking those words which would never be actually spoken.

Well, it’s an elementary truth, that our life and our happiness and that of those connected with us, do depend on our understanding the rules of a game infinitely more difficult and complicated than a game of cricket. The world is a complex spaghetti of invisible connections. Certain feelings do not lend themselves to conversational descriptions. Amorphous and inexplicable in their own subtle ways and rooted so deeply that they remain as recurrent oases all through the trails of your voyage through life. They are not a periodic feel that engulfs you in a certain age and fades away with the grinding routines of life, but they become one of those feels that you carry through all of your life. A self-preserved emotional shelter that offers you refuge in your future times of need.

A day for this emotion. A day to celebrate those feelings that lie beyond reasoning. A day to enjoy an excitement. A day to bow to a heavenly bliss. A day to introspect what those invisible connections lead us to. A day to redefine what we are. A day to define what we would be. Happy Valentine’s day!

And as they say, Love takes you by the tip of your hair and shakes the hell out of you. And eventually, makes you a new person altogether.

Naanaati badhuku naatakamu

2006-01-30T02:06:00.000-08:00

It was a good two minutes after the delicate strains of the thambura faded into my ears. Vocal chords still unable to wake from the waves of Revathi raagam and the mesmerizing voice of MS Subbulakshmi. Eyes closed in a deep trance staring into the invisible horizon. A physique frozen as though through eternity, conscious of every elongated breath being pulled in a synchrony, harmonious with the slithering tears streaming its way out of the overwhelming eyes.

A sub-conscious self, ever-wandering in search of that gift lying somewhere around the corner, but still invisible to its innocent intellect. kaanaka kaanadhi kaivalyamu… The search continues. And the conscious self spirals itself up, into an altogether different world.

A new world. A world, where the threads of emotions are twined together and dreams are woven. yetta nedutagaladi prapanchamu… A dream where emotions gather an instant fervor and hop actively inside an already brimming heart. A heart that longs to be embraced and pumps itself feverishly fuelling the search for the hitherto invisible gift. kattagatapatiti kaivalyamu…

A world, where, oscillating between the vacant realities of a daily routine and cheery visions of filling the growing vacuum, is a dream. kuticedannamu shoka cuttedidi… natu mantrapu pani natakamu… A dream twined by threads of hope. A hope born to the painful learnings of battered emotions. Emotions battered by the vigor of time. tekadu papamu tiradu punyamu…naki naki kalamu natakamu…

A world, where emotions are battered and slender, but still cling with an indomitable might to the sole panacea leading its way to the gift – Hope. They continue to hold on. Come a gust of heavy wind or a treacherous flood. Come a seething pain or a drowning pang. They continue doing their little bits. They continue to hold on. They continue. vodigattu konina vubhayakarmulu…atidatinapude kaivalyamu…

A world, where a heavy pounding hardly impacts the strength of those emotions, well and truly on their way to the nostalgia of rediscovering their own self. Sailing themselves away from the world of the ordinary, finding ways to cure themselves. yevakune shri vengkateshvaru telika…gakhanamu mititi kaivalyamu… Overbearing the pangs of the world, curing themselves, by the strength of their own self. The strength to reach that ultimate gift.

The gift. Still invisible. Still elusive. But ultimately bowing to the unbelievable strength of a longing emotion. The emotion that wove the dream. The dream that finally awakes. Awakes into a heaven of bliss.

Ladies Coupé - understanding the emotional intelligence called woman

2006-01-12T22:24:00.000-08:00

“Hello. This is Akhila. Akhilandeshwari.” The last line of the story. A culmination of an emotional journey where each of those words radiates a vibrancy of confidence, of a woman who realizes the need for a life of her own. A man of her own. She may be 45. But she’s still a woman. A woman who is still in search of an unknown emotion. A woman that is a fascinating creation of God. A bag of biological and emotional complexities bundled meticulously into a startling weave of life. The very fascination that often results in a point of contention.

Anita Nair’s Ladies Coupé, is not just the story of a 45 year old single woman going through an avalanche of emotions through the span of her life, but a reflection on the subtle and intricate but powerful emotions that women undergo as they play a multitude of roles starting from being a kid, to a wife, to a mother. A telling narrative of the thought process of a woman when she is a kid, the puzzling emotions of puberty, the first yearning for a man’s presence, the intricate mix of love, lust and fear when she lets her man beyond intimacy levels, the bipolar role of a wife pleasing her husband and a mother responsible to her child, and the factor called family to go with all of this.

The story revolves around five persons with varied life and backgrounds, but bound by the common thread of being a woman. And their stories, sends Akhila ruminating about her own life, the decisions she made and would be making. Janaki, an elderly lady, the typical Indian wife, whose man was decided by her parents, who is confused to understand that though she hasn’t even spoken to the man until their first night, it’s suddenly ok even if he undresses her and that as her aunties said, it was the solemn duty of every woman to please their husband and keep shut to whatever he does. From a wife to a mother to a grandmother, Janaki’s life and actions revolves around the necessitated care of her husband.

Margaret Shanti, who pendulums between a blinded love for her man despite his self-gratified outlook on her, be it her cooking food for him or ordering to abort their offspring, to being the woman who tames him to her whims. Margaret may not be an example of a typical woman in an Indian household, but she does depict an image of those women with emotions and desires concealed for gratifying a dictating husband.

Prabha Devi, a bit in the mould of Lakshmi (played by Shobana) in Mitr-My friend. A rich family, understanding husband and life could never be better. But as things move into its weary routines it becomes hard for her to accept that life is just moving past her with her husband controlling its direction whether she liked the turn or not. This is my mother-in-law…this is the woman whose son now rules my destiny and dreams. My thoughts have been reduced to whether I should cook rice or chappathis for lunch, fry okras or aubergine; load the washing machine with cotton whites or cotton colored. And so much as Lakshmi does, she manages to bring out the energy within her.

With Sheela and Marikolanthu, there seemed to be a touch of disconnection with the closed quarters of family-oriented emotions digressing between a kid’s mind to a molestation to lesbianism. But, even if it means one may not be able to identify themselves much, its womanish emotions all along.

All the while, Akhila listens to them and contemplates on her own life. A girl loaded with the responsibility of being the man of her house after she loses her dad. A family that assumes her to think and act and be just as responsible for everything as a man. Only that, she’s still young and she’s a woman. A woman who could only wonder all her life if her family ever worried of her need for having a life of her own. The eventual transformation that Akhila, now 45, undergoes ultimately making herself up to spend the rest of her life living for her own sake with a man of her own, forms the crux of this emotional roller-coaster.

Any woman would identify herself with the exposition of emotions that Anita Nair has portrayed, and as for men, a lesson or two on how to understand and behave with your woman. Ladies Coupé, is a meal sans appetizers and desserts and garnishing, but does more than enough to satiate a hunger.

Happy Birthday 2006

2005-12-31T10:30:00.000-08:00

It seemed like just yesterday. A new baby was born. Cuddling itself under the wraps of her mother. Leaving behind the miseries of another woeful stretch and taking forward all the gains of goodness, she was born. Born with a lot of promises, a lot of unfulfilled desires, to seek the sought after, to give the ungiven, to share the unshared, to hope the unhoped, to make herself better with a hope of joy, to unleash an infectious aura of laughter.

As providence would have it, her path became not all that breezy. She trampled over every hurdle, bruised and battered in the sea of changes, her eyes bloated and dried, her heart beaten and sunken, mercilessly pulled either ways by the vagaries of the world, death and destruction being her daily cuppa. Short specks of brightness and smile amid all the miseries were but an interim relief. The goodness of the smiles is etched in her, but the sadness of miseries is what soaks her. She has lived through the trauma and died through her life, carrying the little smiles between her lips that nourish her heart.

Today, she gets a reincarnation. A new baby is born again. And as she peeps her head out of her mother's womb, her benevolent eyes sees in the distant horizon the solitary panacea to all her past miseries. Hope. And she prays the hope endures with her all through her new life, as she gears herself to jump into the new ordeal.

May the Lord, carry her through her challenges and guard her through all the treacherous paths she would traverse. May the world loft her to cheer. May her company solace the languishing tears. May the goodness bestow her with an indomitable grit. May she come out with a fulfilling smile.

Bless you my dear!

Tête-à-tête with Bill Gates

2005-12-09T21:52:00.000-08:00

I was having breakfast and they gave me something called oopuma. Whatever it was, I liked it… I accidentally put my hand in that and I heard its actually ok to use your hand in some parts of the country.
- Bill Gates on South Indian food, in conversation with Shiela Gulati
No bags. No food items. No cameras. No mobile phones. All in the name of the “for security reasons. Your cooperation is highly appreciated” thingy. Well, thanks for your appreciation!

Walking past 6 stages of verifying the bar-coded identification, 4 stages of photo identity verification, 4 stages of frisking, two of those with metal-detectors and with a half-human feel in the absence of my mobile phone, I was helped to the delegate luncheon and finally found myself seated as far as the 10th row from the dais and beginning to play the waiting game, waiting for the VIP of the day who has spent over 30 billion dollars in aid of the poor worldwide, who runs a foundation managed mostly by his wife, who frequents the lesser privileged nations of the world doing his bit to its people, who is better known as the chairman of Microsoft and even better known as the richest person in the world. William H. Gates aka Bill Gates.

The hall darkened, lit dimly only on the stage, and accompanied by a heavy music blaring the ears an all-smiling Bill walked in, even as the 4000+ electrifying audience rose to its feet thundering a harmonized applause audibly merging with the heavy music in the background. “This is the liveliest developer audience I’ve ever seen”, and so saying the chairman-of-Microsoft personality in him came to fore. He would spend the next 40 minutes talking the strides technology has made personally for him and for Microsoft per se, unveiling bits of his vision of what technology roadmaps would read in the near future. There were mentions, among others, of research initiatives of my-company, including the one I belong to – a moment for a goose bump!

That was followed by a demonstration of the technologies that were launched during the event. And Bill was soon back again on stage, this time flanked by the glamorous Shiela Gulati, Director of Microsoft India. The next half hour would be a tête-à-tête between the two, staying quite apparently away from technology and business. “I would have been inventing medicines if, for some reason, I was not allowed to code”, and on a question about cricket, Bill said “I was glad to know the Indian cricket team uses Microsoft Media PC to train their players” and a deafening round of applause acknowledged him.

As he waved his hands to the applauding audience, the rock band Parikrama began playing some heavy metal ear wringing stuff to the gaping audience and their evening snacks, both of which were disappearing fast. Well then, Bill would be on his flight back home at this time. Thanks for being here, Bill. Hope to see you soon again!

As for me, after receiving the delegate collateral inclusive of software and a hip-pouch (call it job perks) I swiftly returned back home until I found a safe haven holding my mobile phone in my hand for the first time in 8 hours.

Shalimar the clown - an absorbing trinity

2005-12-05T22:10:00.000-08:00

Some stories are appreciated for their suspense and thrill. Some for their surprising climaxes. And some for their emotional feel. Shalimar the clown doesn’t fall into any of these. The distinctness about Salman Rushdie’s latest novel is that, it’s a story narrated by the intricate tussles between the emotions carried in the heart and the hallucinating thoughts in the minds of its characters, set in the backdrop of a torn paradise called Kashmir.

Max Ophuls. A war ravaged hero, the American ambassador to the country, who looks to the outside to satisfy his sexual appetite being rather indifferent to his wife’s inability to do so, and the father of his daughter with Boonyi. Boonyi. A teenage dancer who loves and marries Shalimar the clown, only to be clutched between the pincers of infatuation and juvenile dreams of glorious futures. Shalimar the clown. Possessed by his demonic love for Boonyi, betrayed by her and driven to extremist limits of terror with the sole agenda of exorcising the demon.

What is most opulent, is Rushdie’s expressions of thoughts and his descriptions of the path those thoughts tread on their way to making life’s choices. What had to happen should be allowed to happen or it could never be overcome. And thus Boonyi makes her choice to make love to Shalimar. She was recklessly pouring out Pachigam’s supply of good luck while bad luck accumulated like water behind a dam and one day the floodgates would open…and everyone would drown. And thus appear the first strands of terror in the hitherto tolerant Kashmir.

However Rushdie’s narrative of the terrorism part has a few disconnected links. The abrupt appearance of the fanatical mystic Bulbul Shah leading to the slow incubation of terrorism in the land, Shalimar donning the hat of a terrorist ultimately to keep the promise he made to his father and father-in-law that he would not take his revenge on Boonyi until the fathers have died, the extra-long narration of the holocaust times to bring the context of Max’s marriage with his wife, the military General Kachhwaha making frequent insignificant appearances. Perhaps Rushdie aims to draw us into the typical emotions of an unmarried military man caught between his need for a woman in his life and his escapades of war and hence realize the terrors of war, but they all fall short of doing just that.

But what Rushdie does manage to do, is take us deep into the roller-coaster travails of pain beneath a betrayed heart of Shalimar and a love despite betrayal of Boonyi. When death beckoned Boonyi, in her husband’s form, Rushdie paints the picture of a woman who prepares herself for the ultimate honor of being rendered dead by the person she still loves, and has always loved. She knew he was coming, could feel his proximity. She wanted him to know she loved him. He came on foot, holding a knife… Now, she commanded him. Now.

In Shalimar the clown, the story moves not with the conversations between the characters, but with their contemplations of emotions and relationships. It’s more of monologues and retrospections that hold the roost in binding the branches of the story together. The novel is not flawless, but nevertheless, a compelling trinity of love, betrayal and revenge.

of mind, matter and obscurity

2005-12-01T00:26:00.000-08:00

“Comprehension is not a requisite for cooperation, and hence for action.” But I couldn’t stop wondering how the mind manages to form exquisite references to what it needs to absorb even amidst rumbles of obscure images zigzagging within themselves.

I started the picture on the right as a couple of tiny circles drawn to make a technical point, and ended up to what it is now. Though minutes after the discussion I was all lost about what the figure meant, we actually were perceiving it with complete sense until then.

Quite often I attribute the cause for any resultant attitudes to perceptions. The mind as involuntary as it gets reads what it wants to read. How often have you skipped noticing two successive ‘and’s appearing in a line or safely overlooked a wrong spelling while reading through a book. Our thoughts are ruled more by these unconscious perceptions than that of its poor cousin – the conscious mind.

But the mind when in its fluent flow is one fantasizing instrument. I wonder how fast and energetic I could think at certain times, that at certain other times the same mind goes so muggy and rusty that I go out for a cuppa coffee to figure out what url I was about to type when I opened the IE window. In the best of times, the minds seems to discover a meaning in obscurity, adventure in complexity, lesson in ordeal, purpose in pressure, but at other times its just another painfully sluggish passing of another extra-habitual act in yet another day of the calendar.

Well, as they say, its all in the mind. Whatever you hold swaying in your mind, knowingly or otherwise, will tend to roar up right in front of your eyes at some point in time. When you continue to believe what you have always believed, you will continue to act as you have always acted. But more often than not, changing the belief system and hence the mind is just as easy as scaling atop the Alps in the middle of a snowstorm with a sealed backpack of heavy snow-clearing equipments.

And if you don’t mind, it doesn’t matter!

The mind is its own place, and in itself
Can make a heaven of hell, a hell of heaven.
- Paradise Lost, John Milton

Nature's tryst with science

2005-11-24T19:06:00.000-08:00

I think that it just might be possible that some of God’s secrets, Binyamin, some of them are supposed to remain secret.

- Rabbi Aharon Handalman to his disciple Binyamin
(Dante’s Equation by Jane Jensen)

How do you feel when the love of your life smiles straight into your eyes? Walk into a meditation hall, have you felt your energy dissipate and merge into the serenity of its silence? Now, try walking into a controversial political gathering! Every matter on earth, be it tangible or not radiates an energy – positive or negative. And just as the pebbles thrown on a pond, this energy ripples across merging into the waves of other energies forming a pattern of happiness or distress, calm or clash. And this wave pattern in turn ripples further again.

Jane Jensen picturizes the flights of possibility and the eventualities of this wave with a disillusioned amalgamation of science, philosophy and religion. A scientist, a rabbi and an intelligence operative live and re-live to recount the point of inflection where the limits of science rendezvous the extents of nature.

When the characters in the story get transported into different universes, with each of those universes reflecting the thought-wave patterns of their own “self”, Jane embraces upon the Law of Karma where the universe as we perceive is said to be an effect of ripples instigated by previous thoughts and actions of the individual and of all living beings. Man is ruled by his thought patterns and what he becomes is a result of this ensuing pattern.

The limits of science can be defined and re-defined only by science itself. Today we understand the building blocks of creation, but do things like cloning surpass the limits of science? Are we really trying to play God? Didn’t we, after all, learn the ferocity of the atomic bombs only after wiping out two cities? For once, Jill Talcott, the scientist in the story, steps down from her sorority acknowledging to un-discover her phenomenal discovery.

A few things are the way they are, because they are meant to be that way. But what happens when the course of nature gets altered? As pointed in the story, its hard to point at definitive answers unless we could travel 100 years ahead and find what our present day predilections has lead us to! Some riddles cannot be solved. And well, some better remain unsolved. But where do we draw the line?

Nevertheless, it’s always been a perplexing affair dealing with the idiosyncrasies of consummating the marriage between science and nature.

a visible oblivion

2005-11-14T06:17:00.000-08:00

I walked into the cafeteria, into perceptible mood swings of a typical weekend eve, noisy rattling of plates and spoons, people seated in groups with animated discussions and naive gossips doing rounds. A plate of Bhel puri in hand and I walked across to the other end of the cafeteria to join my little group of snackers. As I walked, I went past a coca cola machine, a middle-aged vending lady sitting next to it.

She was wearily traversing her dim eyes across various corners of the cafeteria, expressionless at the busy sight all around. People engrossed in talks, why did ‘Swades’ miss out on its oscar chance, the Government always dozes, will Ganguly be back for India’s next series, what plans for the weekend, and some inexplicable gossips extrapolating into an incoherently audible din.

The lady was not busy. She was waiting for someone to come over for a cup of coke and she gets busy only for the moment she pulls the flap to pour out the drink and give back the change. And she rests again, rather painfully, waiting for her next customer, her eyes traversing with bemused interest across the array of faces in the cafeteria.

What is she actually looking for? A person who might show the slightest indication of his interest in drinking a cup of coke? A distant hope that the next step of the guy who just rose from his chair would be towards her vending machine? A wild thought if some isolated group is talking about the coke from her machine? A chance to momentarily exercise her vocal chords by talking with someone even if it’s the routine few words of selling a cup of drink?

She sat there all alone, all day, every day amid the increasingly familiar yet glaringly alien crowd, swamped in a private zone of her own oblivious to the shared world. A coke was not in my snack menu that evening, but I found myself walking up to the vending machine.

I got a cup and the change from her and let out a thin smile, ‘Thank you’. She smiled back.

Tag time...

2005-11-11T06:14:00.000-08:00

I'm tagged by San.

Seven things that I plan to do

1. Be a good boy
2. Wake up before noon on a weekend
3. Overoad my blog with a lot of posts
4. Drink one more round of cappuccino everyday
5. Find out why this world got created
6. Stop planning!!
7. Be a good boy

Seven things that I can do

1. Sleep all day long
2. Reply to every mail in my inbox
3. Sit and stare at the monitor
4. Appear extremely attentive in official meetings
5. Blah blah blah about anything
6. Wonder why I’m doing it, and still do it
7. Wonder why I’m doing it, and still do it, and wonder why I wondered

Seven things I can’t

1. Sneeze keeping my eyes open
2. Skip coffee in the morning
3. Stop blogging at work
4. Stop Yahoo-ing at work
5. Close Outlook and gmail at work
6. Keep my mouth shut
7. Wait until eating-time for gobbling something

Seven things I say most often

1. Hmm
2. O.h... M.y... G.o.d... (as in f.r.i.e.n.d.s)
3. Scooby doo where are you
4. What the heck
5. Oh! Boy!
6. You know what
7. Done

Seven people I want to tag

Everyone in My neighborhood.

i'm on print!!

2005-11-08T06:07:00.000-08:00

And this is what yours truly feels about blogging!!
Check out the article online here.

Times of india (Bangalore times) - Saturday, November 05, 2005

and then it poured

2005-10-19T22:24:00.000-07:00

3PM. A long way to go before the day’s work gets over. But that’s not what it looked like. The sun nowhere in sight. Dark skies looming large. There is usually a calm even amid the hustles of rampant everyday routines. But the calm seems to have vanished. Hustles were just that – a hustle. The legs walking faster than they usually did. Eyes rolling around the surroundings looking for likely sprinkles with an occasional raise of the neck to check the gloom in the skies. Gloom was only getting gloomier.

There were a few calmer ones. Wrapping themselves under thick jackets, or carrying a sheltering folded umbrella in their hands. They were hustling too. And those faces that couldn’t help but only stay and wonder on those fortunate counterparts who managed to carry their shelters. They were hustling too. And those faces that bore an incessant smile watching and waiting for all the fun to unfold. They were hustling too.

A chill wind cut across the faces. There was the smile for want of freshness, but also the speculation of eventualities. Of canceling appointments, missing dinner outing with the loved one, driving on sloppy roads, traffic jams and late reaching buses, getting a strip of crocin and vicks on the way, washing mud sling clothes the next day. As thoughts raced, the legs hustled. And hustled fast.

And then it poured. Pandemonium broke amid a mix of laughter and curses. Helpless faces waited for the downpour to subside, while a few who could shelter themselves walked their way, and a few watched as the path they are waiting to walk was getting sloppier by the second. And it continued pouring as though there would never be a stop.

Patient faces and persevering legs finally had the break, as the downpour seemed to subside into drizzles and a gradual momentum seemed to resume. Drenched clothes, muddy slippers, wiping faces, cautious steps on the walk, a stare at the sky to ensure it didn’t start all over again, repents of the missed meeting, cancelled shopping, ensuing traffic jams. A couple of hours of downpour, and the moods and outlooks had already changed with the changing atmosphere.

I’m back at work. There is work to be done. And work doesn’t know I’m drenched.

Story Tagged

2005-09-28T07:04:00.000-07:00

San has tagged me to write a story in 55 words or less.

Here goes..

He gave her everything. A colossal hilltop villa with a swanky porch and Picasso / Da Vinci / Ravi Verma adorned walls, platinum pendants, the finest mink coat, the classiest breed of a pom as pet, and life term membership to the posh beauty salon, when all she needed was his shoulder.

I'm tagging everyone in My neighborhood.

What is it... that you really believe in?

2005-09-26T07:11:00.000-07:00

An explanation to Reshma's What is it...

Call it déjà vu or coincidences. There are those unseen cosmic ropes that tie you into an aura of sensitive bonds. Our life is controlled more by these invisible forces than the visible tangible ones.

Or rather, it is the invisible ones that create the tangible ones. You are able to write because you think. You chase your thoughts and that pours out as words. But have you tried to "see" your thoughts. It's the result of thought – the words – that is tangible. Have you cried because you were sad? So, what made you sad? Did you "see" your sadness? But what you did see is the morose kinesics of becoming sad – the tangible result of an unseen force!!

It's a simple theory of cause and effect. You always chase the unseen ones and the visible ones just happen as a result. Well, you don't even need to chase them. They'll be with you until you are alive, irrespective of whether you chase it or shun it.

These unseen drivers are right here around us in the most trivial of things. Every word you speak is a result of such a drive. You say something because you believe in it. We see something and believe it be that thing. Belief. We hear a voice and identify it to be someone's. Belief. We smell and think it smells good. Smell. Belief. You decide to have Gobi manchurian on your next meal. You like it. Like. The overwhelming sense of emotions that engulfs you when you see your newborn baby. Love. The very fact that you are living. Life. We know we are living because we move, we breathe, we talk, we eat. But have you actually "seen" Life?

That which dominates our imaginations and our thoughts will determine our lives and our future. Imagination is composed of visions and inferences from our perceptions about love, truth, justice or any emotion you encounter. They form discrete invisible connections in our subconscious that give rise to our belief-system. These invisible connections form a wholesome figure that rules over us as our ego and attitudes. And all of this in turn shape our living.

Its not in believing what is visible and defined but belief in these unseen connections that gives you a direction to move. The unseen connections are nothing but a superimposition of your perceptions from tangibility. They are you!

They discipline your thinking, moderate your actions, an element of fear, an element of anxiety, an element of hope, an element of joy, an element of purpose, a reason to take the next step, a reason to talk the next word, a reason to pull the next breath, a reason to feel belonged, a reason to smile, a reason to cry, a reason to hug, a reason to greet, a reason to realize what you are, a reason to understand who you are, a reason to live.

Its not in the choice of choosing to go the way of believing these invisible connections or not, but life thrives on invisible connections.

The most obvious is the most oblivious. That is the beauty of life.

i still feel like a newborn

2005-09-19T20:27:00.000-07:00

Soft, sticky, warm, calm. Alone but loneliness unknown. Active yet unseen. An identity descended as relationships started brewing.

A first pang of pain, wet with what I would later learn as a tear, a blinding brightness, a shaken repose as I dragged out of my perpetual comfort into an expanse hitherto unimagined – my first ever transition from a comfort to distress. A bout of tears and soon they had ceased, and with eyes closed to the newfound brightness, I was encased into a safe cuddle with a coo and a smile – from distress back to comfort. Life had announced its presence.

And time moved relentlessly like only she could, unfazed to any joy, unsympathetic to any sorrow, never slowing nor speeding.

From the days everyone called me cute, to first kisses to my cheeks, first spank for spilling my milk, admirations to the first word uttered, the first step on foot, first shift from nappies to shorts, first bout of fever, first visit to the doctor, first tear for wanting something, first tear for losing something, first tears on my first day at school…

The unnoticed joys of the first word I wrote, first page I turned, first lesson I learnt, first exam I wrote, first anxious wait for result, first hit on my knuckles, first promotion to the next class, first shift to a different city, first emotion of having a friend, first emotion of being a friend, first injury, first sight of a birth and death, first signs of growing up, first shopping for razor blades, first loss of my loved one, first feel of being lost, first feel of loneliness, first sleepless night, first promises of future, first travel alone, first possession of a gadget, first day into a college, first degree next to my name, first interview for work, first day at work, first earning, first trip abroad…

Some firsts never got off, others became weary, but none would stop newer ones from coming. With every fading first entered a new one. And every first brought with it an air of new freshness – the extraordinary feel of another ‘first-time ever’. A new learning. An entry into a new unknown. A new passage to explore the mysterious. New joys. New sorrows. New fears. New outlooks. New beliefs.

At times, it tends to feel I’ve seen it all. But I laugh at my ignorance as fast as I felt that. It’s the same life that started at birth. But seems a new one with every passing year. The more I expect the newness to diminish, the faster I confront more of them, and perhaps that’s how fast I grow.

Life is still new. Still a new born. Waiting for new firsts to happen. Waiting to see the unseen. to seek the sought after, to hope the unhoped, to search the newness of new joys, and new sorrows.

Life is still new. And it would probably always be.

home sweet home sweet home sweet...

2005-09-16T03:41:00.000-07:00

It was a long longing wait. A wait, for reasons more than many.

When every morning meant a wait for the evening and every evening meant a promise – a promise to be, and with the fading twilight, began the wait for another morning.

As minutes ticked past giving way to the hours, the brightness of the sun only reflected the warmth of a moon glowing on the other side of earth.

The start of the day’s work, painted the drowsy tiredness of a late evening return from work.

The afternoon breeze warmed by the blazing sun, felt the chill of a midnight breeze cooled by the gloss of moon.

The vociferous luncheon audience, echoed the stillness of a sleepy silence of a wee hour morning.

The evening fatigue, radiated the weariness of a half-waken morning sleep.

The passive dinner and the half-remnant hunger, felt the satiation of a warm breakfast.

The night sleep, menacingly digested the complicated day.

After some toil, the losing glow of a valuable splendor has found its way back. When mornings became mornings again, and evenings became evenings.

Mohan Bhargava is back to where he belongs.

Yeh jo des hai mera, swades hai mera,
mujhe yeh pukara...
yeh woh bandhan hai jo kabhi toot nahin saktha...

goodness of the not good

2005-08-20T18:10:00.000-07:00

How do you know you are having a headache?

Because you are holding your head? Because you just shouted at your spouse for no reason? Or is it simply because you are not feeling good? Well, then how do you know you are not feeling good?

Imagine how the world would look like, if one fine morning everyone were to turn good. People are contented with what they have, all people have enough for themselves, no prejudices, no greed, no lust, no one wants to be dishonest, no one pokes nose into others affairs, every one respects the other, everyone works hard to earn, everyone is tolerant to others, women are understood.

Wouldn’t that be a perfect world! The ideal place for mankind! Well, think again.

No one needed to regulate others, no desire for more and hence no competition, no motivation to become better, no boost to personal growth, no intellectual growth, stunted thinking, simplistic attitudes, convoluted behavior and the predictable eventuality – struggle for survival! And we are back to square one! And mankind begins to degenerate until it comes to a rusty screeching halt.

More often than not, the essence of goodness is realized only by realizing its opposite. It needs a sadness to teach the lessons of being happy. Life thrives on scaffolds of the oxymoronic twins of the being and the not being. What is, is understood by what is not.

You appreciate rainbow because you know grayscale. You know you are happy, because you know sadness. You know you are full, because you know hunger. You know joy, because you have felt pain. You perceive the presence because you have felt an absence. You understand yourself by understanding what you are not. You know you are having a headache because, you know how it feels not to have a headache.

The world is balanced by a receptively intricate tight-rope clutched between the perpetual pillars of the good and the not good, and a mismatch at either side, rattles the fragile poise of nature. It is the parallel co-existence of the good and the not good that maintains this balance.

So, the next time you are having a not so good time, remember to be thankful. For, you are learning some hard lessons the easier way.

Movie Review: Mangal Pandey

2005-08-14T16:26:00.000-07:00

1857. Barrackpore. Four messengers on an elephant back beside the banks of a bright sunlit river singing praises of the land, inspiring people to rise from their slumber, to admire the scrambled beauty that the medieval age was all about. Well, atleast that was the idea.

In historical epics like Mangal Pandey, where one is already aware of the story, the history behind it, the expected climax and the obvious conclusion, the least one would expect from the movie is to carry oneself into that day, retelling and reliving the emotions of the past as if it were happening in front of his eyes, rather than an amalgamated narration of the incidents with intermittent bouts of fiction and masala. The fervor appears lost even as the movie begins with the Mangala mangala song and the four men on the elephant back theme.

The movie was Ketan Mehta’s 17 year old dream and had considered Amitabh Bachchan and Sanjay Dutt to play the lead role during the days of his initial contemplation. But eventually, 17 years hence, when the project did manage to take off with Aamir Khan, Ketan Mehta seems still hooked on to his erstwhile visions of the movie.

The movie moves more like the Discovery of India (Bharath ek khoj) series telecast in Doordarshan 20 years back, with Om Puri’s voice (it was Om Puri in that series as well) narrating the events as they unfold, at times making one wonder if someone is reading out lines from a completely illustrated story book. Historical texts seem to talk of a British general, William Gordon, who fought with the Indian sepoys against the British forces. The movie goes a step further fictionalizing an intense friendship between Mangal Pandey and William Gordon, and the betrayal of his friendship eventually forcing Mangal Pandey to turn in the rebellion.

A friendship ensuing between an Indian sepoy and a British general is understandable, but some parts are hard to comprehend. A case being the wife of a sepoy who breast-feeds a British lady’s baby at the cost of ignoring her own baby whom she opium-izes and at a point when she warns her of the rebellions resorts to deeming the lady’s baby as her own. There could be a better way of showing a mother’s feelings. Wonder if any mother in this day or that, would resort to this.

The costumes are a let down. For a period placed in the mid 19th century, the costumes and settings seemed much contemporary. But for the uniform of the sepoys, there wasn’t much by way of costumes to carry the viewer into the medieval age. Compare the scenics of the villages in the movie with a present day village, and you wouldn’t really tell them apart. Camera angles and choreography fail to instill a sense of thrill or emotion. AR Rahman’s tranquilizing numbers appear lost in simplistic choreography with conversations taking over half the songs half-way through.

Rani Mukherjee does not have enough of a part to talk of her performance, while Amisha Patel does her insignificant role fairly well. Toby Stephens (William Gordon) performs the most vital role of the movie (next only to Mangal Pandey) with neat precision. Aamir Khan is probably the best thing that could have happened to the movie. His 2 year long grown moustache and hair and his uncanny knack of living the role he performs deserves due credits.

Mangal Pandey is a good break from the laborious stereotypes of typical bollywood masala, but far from living up to its hype.

mogha mull

2005-08-05T21:34:00.000-07:00

Just finished reading Sujatha’s essay velinaattu mogham konda ilaignargalukku... Thanks to Lazy Geek for sharing it with me.

One of my distant relatives once asked me where I work. When I told him, he asked ‘And how are your chances of going abroad?’. Give me a break!

The irresistible craving for sophistication and man’s eternal tryst with his ego to which he ends up meekly succumbing more often than not, is the root of all velinaattu mogham. Relationships and the sensitive emotions that relationships render upon us is not just ‘an’ aspect of life, but ‘the’ pathway that provides a direction for our living. The sense of belonging and the sense of security that emanate from these sensitive bonds is something hard to notice in velinaadu.

As the writer candidly notes, higher education for the guy (oh! my son is studying in US) and getting married to an NRI for the girl (oh! my daughter is married and settled in US) is where the major chunk of this mogham lies. At times, the neighborhood gossip of their ‘brainy’ son studying abroad or their daughter settled in foreign married to a wealthy intelligent (‘foreign’ automatically translates to ‘intelligence’ for some strange reason) boy is more important than the boy being ‘her’ choice of a guy. And if you don’t go abroad, you are just another ol’ swine spending his life marching between the delirious streets of a dusty South Indian suburb, who goes to the Kodaikkanal hills for his honeymoon and wonders how beautiful God’s creation is.

The beauty of togetherness, the tranquility of an emotional bond goes begging caught in the audaciously luxurious lifestyles of velinaadu. I stand by the writer when he says ‘I don’t prevent anyone from going, but just want them to understand the cost they pay’. I would say a part of this responsibility for making one understand lies with the parents, in channeling their children with a balanced state of mind – modern thinking but traditional values! The former is prevalent, but the latter is running out fast in perilous attempts at emulating the velinaattu values.

Talking of velinaattu values, here’s a glimpse. Over a casual lunch, an American colleague of mine was talking to me about someone we had seen and we were trying to guess his age and experience. I said, ‘He might be in his mid-30s, so probably even married’. And my colleague spontaneously pipped in, ‘Yeah, at least once.’

I would rather drive a second hand car in the Saturday evening traffic in MG Road laughing my heart out with my wife and kids seated beside me, than earning big bucks in a far off land with each of us going different directions for work and juvenile merriment each in our own state-of-the-art cars.

the price of triviality

2005-07-29T20:11:00.000-07:00

There are times when our seemingly trivial weary routines amid the grinding of everyday life suddenly begin to appear incredibly priceless.

After an extremely tiring and stress filled week-long night-out at work, go home early, have a good dinner, and in the warm silence of home, stand next to your bed. Pause, and gaze at your pillow. And you’ll know the bliss of sleep.

You are seated in a second class coach of a train traveling in the heart of North India in the middle of April, and your train halts for a whole day at a sticky hot remote village due to some snag. After a day’s wait when you finally get home, step into your bathroom. Pause, and look at the bathtub full of water. And you’ll know the rejuvenation of bath.

You are new to a place and staying at a lodging. Next morning you learn it’s a bandh and all hotels and shops are closed. After languishing in hunger for all day, that evening, a lone hotel nearby opens. Walk in, order an idli. Pause, and look at the idli. And you’ll know the value of food.

You crib every morning to your spouse on how he/she doesn’t keep anything where they are meant to be kept and how things go missing because of such carelessness. Let your spouse go on a trip to a far off place for a month. Everything seems to be in its place now. But there’s still a lot of something missing. And you’ll know the sweetness of those mornings.

You eat a 25 rupee South Indian meal every afternoon in your office canteen, and keep ranting on the need for a change of food. And then you happen to go to another country with no sight of rice. After a month of eating sundry foods you finally get to a hotel that serves rice. Order it. Pause, and look at the plate full of rice. And you’ll know the value of those 25 rupee South Indian meals.

How often we take presence for granted and wait for a loss to appreciate the presence! Home wasn’t built in a day!!

waiting...

2005-07-26T19:51:00.000-07:00

I look around
and I pause to see
a tear escape
beneath my bloated eye

My heart skips a beat
as thoughts flutter past
Squeaking stories
of days together
of days bathing in sun
and wiping its sweetened smear
of whispered words
and the smiles they evoked
of sensuous strokes
and their pleasant viles
of serene silence
and its inexplicable harmony
of eternal dreams
and its sleepless bliss
of tender tears
and the soothing hug
of melancholic voices
and its divine warmth
of adoring stares
and its timeless peace
My heart skips another beat
as a speck of hope flutters past
promising a new fable
of together and forever...

I look around
wiping tears of denial
Praying for the promise
and waiting for your arrival...

Anbe aaruyire...

2005-07-24T21:15:00.000-07:00

Naam iruvarum serum samayam
nam kaigalile varum imayam
Naam thottadhu edhuvum amaiyum
idhu anbaal inaindha idhayam
idhu anbaal inaindha idhayam

En anbe.. aaruyire...
en anbe aaruyir neeye
En anbe.. aaruyire...
en anbe aaruyir neeye

[The mighty Himalayas shall be in our hands
the moment we unite
Every fortune shall be with us
For, this is our bond united by love

Oh my dear, my love
Oh my dear, you are my love]

AR Rahman drops a tranquilizer! I’ve been listening to this song from the movie Ah Aah around 50 times already since yesterday. And still counting.

The song begins with a mild melancholic hum Ah Aah... and a low rhythmic beat begins to accompany the hum, slowly giving way to another mild jazz-like metrical blend and the maestro’s heavenly voice carries you to a different world altogether.

The second part of the pallavi, Naam iruvarum... begins with a slightly higher intonation and gradually degenerates into a low tone mixing with the one-man chorus 'En anbe.. aaruyire...' all the while accompanied by the subtle low-grunting rhythm that persists throughout the song.

Rahman’s rendering of the chorus 'En anbe.. aaruyire...' is absolutely astounding! Spellbinding emotions radiate from his mesmerizing voice while he sings out these lines making one feel like going down on his knees, stretching out his arms wide and crying out the lines to his dear with overwhelming tears of ecstasy. And that’s precisely how I’m feeling now!

The bliss of solitude!!

queue and ‘queue’

2005-07-21T20:33:00.000-07:00

9.30AM. Monday. I step into a rather small carper-stretch room. A long queue. I am given a token and asked to wait. Number 168. And I patiently wait for the red display screen on top of the hall showing the counter number to show up my number. No respite. The display is dangling on 154. I take a safe seat in a chair right in the middle of the room and minutes after I did, I see atleast 10 more people walking around searching for a place to sit. Not finding one, they make themselves comfortable sitting on the floor.

A spike-haired guy in an oversize brown cargo stretching himself out with a wild yawn, an old gentleman squatting his legs unable to sit straight in one pose for more than a minute, a middle aged extra-obese lady taking a corner of the hall flanked by her 2 kids on either side of her.

The display turns. I slightly turn my eyes hoping to see my number. Still far away. The official at the counter is laughing out loud, probably at some joke that his colleague next counter had told him. And I feel like cursing him left and right for making me wait on an otherwise pleasant monday morning and laughing at jokes from behind the coziness of his counter. And with that helpless feeling, I retreat back to staring my surroundings.

An hour later, I read 168 on the counter display. Prayers do get answered! And I manage to reach office before lunch.

That was the scene at the Social Security office when I went there to apply for my Social Security Number. As I stepped into the carpet stretched floor I couldn’t help but give out a wide grin. Government offices seem the same everywhere, irrespective of which country you are in! Queues. And long waits. May be, the only difference is, if it’s a queue at home, it’s a queue enclosed in quotes here.

The Snowqualmine falls

2005-07-18T20:38:00.000-07:00

That’s the Snowqualmine falls at the outskirts of the city. I had been there with my roomies this past Sunday. Another wonderful sight of nature. Flanked by a large number of rocks, the tumbling water splashing on them. The droplets channeled by a pleasant whizzing breeze carriying themselves onto our faces rendering a much needed relief from the scorching sun. Yes, the sun scorches in this country too.

It was a cute sight watching a lot of kids play around in the gushing stream of water, drenching themselves all over and their parents shouting them to stay clear of the water or not to go far deep. Parents are the same anywhere in the world, aren’t they! Just beside me a chuweet little boy said to his sister ‘Hey just step on that stone, and then on this, and here, and then jump right here’. For a second I wondered ‘wow, this kid speaks good English’, and in the next fraction I realized that’s his mother tongue. Hmm.. I must remind myself where I am.

Joyous faces all around. A few Indian too. I could see some young Indian couples easing themselves on the rocks. And at a far end of the jumble of rocks and water, far from the tumbling falls and the gushing water, where a few rocks seemed to make what looked like a tiny cave, sat an African-American. He was not admiring the beauty of the falls, neither was he looking at the water gushing past the rocks. Lost in a world of himself.

He was the only black in that place.

why are they like this?

2005-07-15T18:04:00.000-07:00

Some things I have been noticing since the moment I reached this country.

Invariably, all shopkeepers are always smiling and talking very enthusiastically.
If you are crossing a road and a car is just on your way, the car stops and the driver smiles and nods you to proceed crossing and resumes patiently after you have crossed.
The apartment janitor walks around wishing ‘good morning’ to every stranger who walks by.
When my office shuttle takes me around, the driver always ends with a vociferous, ‘have a good day’ and a large smile.
There is always an air of enthusiasm on most people.

I was wondering why does every person, irrespective of his role or work always looks enthusiastic. Don’t they have any worries? Don’t they ever get sad or moody about something? Don’t they worry about their sick spouse or kid? Don’t they ever miss their dear ones? Are they so professional that they forget the home, family, worries the moment they step into their work? Don't they look forward to a friend or a dear one to comfort them in times of need?

Are they much less emotional than us about things they do? Are they so much self-sufficient irrespective of their work that there are not many things that worry them? Are they not so much fond of family values as us? Are they just filthy rich that they don’t care the heck about anything? Is their higher and sophisticated standards of living anything to do with it?

Another point, a lot of men, seem to have a coarse voice with sounds seeming to emanate from the bottom of their throats. Have noticed this with people from other countries (other than Asia) too. Is it because of the relatively colder weather conditions that the voice chords get manipulated to be coarse?

Any answers?

when emotions play

2005-07-14T22:51:00.000-07:00

Expectation. Promise. Longing. Optimism.
Anticipation. Fear. Despair. Hope.

A tiny time-bomb of emotions ticking past every second. Thoughts ripping between extremes of glee and panic. Feelings dangling down on a loose rope, held only by a perpetual knot of hope.

Rationality too seems to be having its limits. Strength of a rational intellect can only go so far, and at some point emotional encumbrance takes its toll.

Days when you begin to crave for the feel of that affectionate stroke on your forehead
When you begin to feel the absence of that heavenly warmth embracing you
When your heart becomes the epicenter of your trembling body
Shuddering thoughts and shivering reactions
When the bliss of a recent past and its harder eventuality deviously encircling your head
When it seems like nine planets playing musical chairs trying to gain a hold on your thinking
When there is a vibrant crowd around you, and you badly need some solitude
Solitude might seem your only friend, but that is the last thing you need now.

At times, face and kinesics are hardly an index of internal turmoil.

Some emotions can’t just be expressed.

first sights and sounds

2005-07-11T19:31:00.000-07:00

The flight
That was the first of my life. The ascent of the flight made me feel like ascending in a lift. Well, that’s what you call the typical Indian-middle-class mind set. Take him in a Boeing 747 and he would still compare with the lift that takes him to the second floor of the 3-storey building next to his home. Give him a crore rupees, he would still bargain to buy a kilogram of potato.

The country
Haven't seen anything away from the city I'm put up right now. So, no comments.

The city
Clean roads. There are not even people on the road. Ok, I’m exaggerating. So, here goes, there is one human on road for every 100 cars.
Big malls. They have everything you need. And they have so much that there is really no need for smaller shops down the road. And if you know Bangalore, its like going from Shivaji Nagar to Indira Nagar for a cup of coffee.

The people
Hard to find many outside the malls and office. But as such, they have a deep sense of respect for foreigners (that’s me, I’m a foreigner!) especially Indians. And a lot of patience to cope with the different accents.

The food
There is life for vegetarians after all! I tried the only veggie item in the pizza menu and tried eating with a plastic fork and knife like the three American colleagues sitting around me. After a few minutes of acting funny, fooling around with the knife stuck in the pizza slice and trying desperately to hide my histrionics, I gave it up and started using my palm to hold the pizza slice in the most artistic of fashions and took a delicate bite off the thick upper crust with a stance of an amazingly precise handiwork. That felt more like eating!

The feeling
Yeh jo des hai tera, swades hai tera, tujhe hai pukaara…
Yeh woh bandhan hai joh kabhi toot nahin sakta

Mitti ki jho khushboo, thu kaise bhulayega
Thu chaahe kahin jaaye, thu laut ke aayega
Nayi nayi raahon mein, dabi dabi aahon mein
Khoye khoye dilse tere, koyi ye kahega
Yeh jo des hai tera, swades hai tera, tujhe hai pukaara…
Yeh woh bandhan hai joh kabhi toot nahin sakta

And now I understand why Mohan Bhargava missed Gita!

the US of A

2005-06-30T20:10:00.000-07:00

So there’s a twist in the story.

I’ll be traveling to the US of A over the weekend on an official 4-month assignment on what would be my first ever overseas trip. And that will be to Seattle. Ring any bells? Well, I hope to catch up with Lazy Geek who also stays at the same place. And probably we would have a US Indian-Bloggers meet sometime soon, and that would make it ‘truly’ international!!

And as I go running all over the place with my travel formalities, I’ll catch up with all you people from US.

See ya!

the contrast of life

2005-06-27T19:51:00.000-07:00

A few days back I was in Coimbatore for a friend’s marriage. We had to pick another friend of ours from the airport and get to the marriage hall in a cab. Once he arrived, we got into the cab and minutes later were speeding across the heart of the city on what would be a 60 minute journey.

The audio system in the car was blazing like anything you could imagine. It was playing yakkai thiri (the Tamil version of Fanah). The adrenaline was rushing, pumping to the rhythmic beats emanating from the speakers. The volume was close to maximum. The windows were up. I could feel my hands clapping and my physique leaping to the heavy beats that the song is famous for.

Yakkai thiri was beating heavy at the back of my head. Adrenaline was rushing. Friends around you, an amazing song beating down on your head, and traveling to a friend’s marriage in a car. That was joy to core. That moment would easily picture in my ‘top 10 moments with friends’ list should I choose to write one a few years later.

Yakkai thiri was still beating heavy at the back of my head. Adrenaline was still rushing. The car stopped at a traffic signal. My head slightly turned to the right, as it does whenever the car stops at a signal, for a view through the pulled up grayish window into the adjacent vehicle, standing in the long traffic at the signal. Almost instinctively, I half pulled down the window to get a better peep. And I saw..

Someone lying on what looked like a movable stretcher, the head raised slightly. A bottle was hanging to the person’s right and blood was being trickled in through his arm. A seemingly old lady was sitting next to him. Her eyes were fixed on the person lying on the stretcher, and never moved away an inch for all the minute or so that the ambulance stood at the signal. Her face showed no anguish or fear, no anger or sadness. It was just blank. An uncomplicated emotion – a look of helplessness. The lights on the head of the ambulance were rotating, but the traffic was too heavy to move any faster.

The traffic moved and I meekly pulled up the window.

Yakkai thiri was still beating heavy at the back of my head. But there was no more adrenaline left to rush.

Movie Review: Anniyan

2005-06-19T20:41:00.002-07:00

sarva dharman parityajya mam ekam saranam vrajah
aham tvah sarva papebhyo mokshayisyami ma suchah

[Abandon all your dharma and surrender unto Me.
I shall deliver you from all sinful deeds. Do not fear.]
If you have missed, that is what the Anniyan says everytime he goes about doing his stuff. The verses are from The Bhagavad Gita (Chapter 18, Text 66).

Ambi – an innocent youngster from an orthodox Iyengar family who goes strictly by the book on everything, right from not crossing the Stop line in a traffic signal to reciting the abhivadanam while prostrating before elders to lending a helping hand to someone hit on the road. Remo – A flashy modern day youth who falls in love with an orthodox Iyengar girl. Anniyan – The man! Goes about punishing anyone who acts against law and follows the ancient script of Karuda Puranam to choose the mode of punishment. And then the grand finale! Anniyan!!

I was not talking about three different persons here. Neither was I talking about the same person.

Despite parallels to a few other movies, Anniyan scores in its own distinct ways. The movie opens with a typical agraharam style locality where the innocent Ambi (Vikram) laments everyday about all the little to big law breaking fallouts happening around him. Vikram also plays the part of Remo and Anniyan and deserves complete credit for handling the three characters with startling distinctness.

Though the core theme of the movie resembles Shankar’s earlier work Indian, Anniyan has more than a social theme to it. Drawing from the psychology of a kid who gets perturbed after losing his little sister, to a youth who has been waiting 7 years (and still counting) to reveal his love, Shankar’s screenplay has weaved an exquisite balance in handling the sticking-together of seemingly independent pieces of story mingled with a few doses of religious hints.

A virtually unknown Peter Hayen makes his presence felt, with his stunt settings that has been based in the movie at a martial arts school. But the 360 degree revolving of the camera with the fighters frozen in mid air a la The Matrix occurs just a little too frequent in the almost 15 minute sequence.

Sujatha shows his class again with his dialogues that mixes comedy (anchored by Vivek) right into the crux of the story and does not deviate a bit from the mainstream at any point.

Harris Jeyraj has not done much to quell the Rahman'ised view of a Shankar movie. I would still feel AR Rahman would have done a better music. The background score whenever anniyan rises does not really provoke any sense of thrill. However Harris deserves credit for altleast a couple of numbers. Iyengar veettu azhage being my personal favorite (in fact, that could rather have read Iyengar aathu azhage). If you feel there is more reason to my liking than just the song being good, then you are not mistaken.

Considering a few distant parallels with Chandramuki, Shankar certainly knew better when he decided to hold the release of Anniyan not to get blown by the Chandramuki wave. However, if there were a tie for an award between Vikram and Jyothika, I would still vote for Jyothika.

the waiting game

2005-06-13T05:44:00.000-07:00

I wake into the emptiness of thoughts
into a vacuum longing to be filled.

Winter falls into the blossom field
an eerie stillness hums
dew frozen on snow clad leaves
a chill wind whistles
as I lay cuddling
looking up to the barren sky
pondering on the sunny days
echoing the summer’s peace.

The sublime warmth of drizzling rays
raining over my dry skin
the joy in the tingle
as the sun warmed my heart –
They all seem a distant past
ruminating in the wild of the present
craving the eternal peace
for that unruffled thaw.

The clear sky, the clean cloud
sparkling ounces of sunlight
dreams greeted by the genial rays
smiles hailed by morning dews –
They all seem a distant past
rendered numb by the coldness of present
crying out for the warmth
for the bliss of that heartening beam.

Summer is still away.
And my eyes already search the horizon
as my heart waits.

Tagged!!

2005-05-26T12:55:00.000-07:00

That 23 year old FEMALE (notice the upper case) software engineer in Bangalore, who's idea of a fabulous saturday night is curling up with a good book to read, also known as Shub, is making me pay. You still haven't forgotten the masala tea, eh Shub? Here goes...

THREE NAMES YOU GO BY:
Kishore – parents call me that
Kicha – friends call me that
JFK – er.. no comments (guess if you can)

THREE SCREEN NAMES YOU HAVE HAD:
kichili in yahoo
gkicha in some emails and MSN
(don't use MSN now though, oh ya I can see that disappointment is some of your faces. But I'm cho chorry..)

THREE PHYSICAL THINGS YOU LIKE ABOUT YOURSELF:
My powerful eyes (if you know what I mean)
I could tell the other two too, but I'm already blushing...

THREE PHYSICAL THINGS YOU DON'T LIKE ABOUT YOURSELF:
My tongue (lets me down when I least expect)
My eyes (observes too much of the surroundings)
My mind (thinks too much too soon)

THREE PARTS OF YOUR HERITAGE:
My pillow cover
My pen cap
Me (?)

THREE THINGS THAT SCARE YOU:
My tongue
Maami gossips during marriages (sometimes very rarely, its funny though)
My mobile showing a call from the office number on a sunday morning

THREE OF YOUR EVERYDAY ESSENTIALS:
Chocolates and chips at my desk
Yahoo messenger
My mobile

THREE THINGS YOU ARE WEARING RIGHT NOW:
A mexican hat wth a diameter of 1 meter
Big round sun goggles
Micky mouse strapped watch

THREE THINGS YOU WANT IN A RELATIONSHIP:
Love
'Letting go' attitude
Empathy
(Too much ask, eh?)

TWO TRUTHS AND A LIE (in no particular order):
I'm working in a Research oriented job (shub, you wanna join in?)
I'm getting married to my girl friend in 6 months
I don't know to shift gears while riding a bike

THREE PHYSICAL THINGS ABOUT THE OPPOSITE SEX THAT APPEAL TO YOU:
Smile
Smile
Smile

THREE THINGS YOU WANT TO DO REALLY BADLY RIGHT NOW:
Sleep on my desk and dream
Bunk office and run away
Put up this post

THREE CAREERS YOU'RE CONSIDERING:
Become a scientist at CERN
Become a tutor for Tim-Bernes Lee
Become the chief intelligence advisor for George Bush (he badly needs one)

THREE PLACES YOU WANT TO GO ON VACATION:
Zurich!!
Australia
And.. Usilampatti

THREE KIDS NAMES YOU LIKE:
Well er.. I'll leave it to my wife

THREE THINGS YOU WANT TO DO BEFORE YOU DIE:
Learn cooking and cook for my wife when she gets home from office
Invent an invention that invents inventions
Third one's a secret..

THREE(make that more!!) PEOPLE WHO HAVE TO TAKE THIS QUIZ NOW:
Everyone in My neighborhood (of course, if you have already not done)

gifts of fortitude

2005-05-24T20:23:00.000-07:00

I swept myself adrift, wearily enjoying the gifts of providence.

The flow of stream was smooth as ever. A minor jerk here and there, but the flow never curtailed. My energies, bolstered by the ever-prolonging freshness of the brook of life never ceased to swell. Pleasure remained my middle name.

I swept myself adrift, wearily enjoying the gifts of providence. That’s when I met you.

The anguish in my innocent psyche was unimaginable. All that I would have dismissed as a height of juvenile ridicule came roaring up to engulf me. Caught amid whirlpools of tears, reasoning became inert. The composed momentum was a piece of wreck tangled between obvious delusions and obscure certainty. Desolate, ravaged and despondent, I downcast myself into a subdued dame. Distress became my middle name.

I swept myself adrift, lamenting over my lost gifts. That’s when you came back to me.

I began to see light. Perceive the meaning.
Life means to expose myself to the pain of being hurt by someone you trust.
Life means to make my mind up to leap when sleep challenges.
Life means to play tic-tac-toe with my child at one moment and nurse my wife’s wound at the next.
Life means to choose to stay when the world calls.
Life means to stand tall amid ruins.
Life means to confront my son’s birth and dad’s death on the same day.
Life means to say goodbye at your best moment together.
Life means to sit back and wait if you don’t get what you want, because better things are waiting.
Life means to love and to realize that love comes with pain and to still love.
Life means to understand all of this. And more.

I swept myself adrift, distributing my new gifts. Thank you for giving me pain.

...and the oxymoron

2005-05-22T20:36:00.000-07:00

...continued from previous post

The morning breeze
flew into the window
and sang a melancholy
to the drowsy ears

She walked ahead
through spotless sunlight
searching the park
for her lost pieces.
Filtering her mind
from the pains of prudence
Clearing her paths
weeding out her agony
Cleansing herself
with episodes from past
Furnishing her steps
with the newness of future
She picks her broken pieces
to weave her new thread
her own new thread.

Wake my child
you have a new meaning
Wake my child
you have united yourself
Wake my child
you have gained your self
Wake my child
you have reasons to joy
Wake my child
the world is at your call

The moon rose
as the first chapter
of her serene solitude
played to its promising start.

The beginning.

the moron...

2005-05-19T20:10:00.000-07:00

The clogging ventricles
pant for something fresh
A gasping choke
searching for a breath

Fatigue and immobile
a heart heavy
and gaining weight.
As the past narrates itself
hasty and harsh
in a drowsy sermon.
Perplexed thoughts
perplexingly simple
and profoundly unkind.
Spilt words
forgotten for long
dance in the dim eye.
Flawed deeds
reflecting over
and relentlessly niggling.

Sleep my child
your meaning is stolen
Sleep my child
your self is broken
Sleep my child
your gains are lost
Sleep my child
your joy is buried
Sleep my child
sleep is all you have

The moon sank
as the long drama
of their interwoven lives
played to its inevitable conclusion.

To be continued...

We came. We saw. We had a bash!

2005-05-17T05:09:00.000-07:00

For a who's who, check out prabhu's post.

All we fellas

The four musketeers

The blog godmother with a section of her disciples

The Marathon man (my future coach)

And this is where it all happened

The Bangalore Bloggers meet

2005-05-15T20:04:00.000-07:00

The Sunday evening was more beautiful than ever. The Bangalore Bloggers meet saw 19 interesting people make out for a thoroughly enjoyable evening. I am loving it. Each one interesting in their own distinct ways. Here’s a few things about some of them.

Anitha. Surprise! The godmother of Bangalore bloggers works in the same company as me. Surprise two! She’s in HR. Hmm.. now I know whom to catch for my next salary hike. ::wink::

Kirubs. The marathon man! Came all the way from Chennai for the run and the meet. A guy with a lot of energy (just like his blogs), despite the fact that he’s married. When I get married, I’ll appoint him as my coach.

I particularly had a memorable time with Prabu, Shub, Muthu and Krishna.

Prabu. He fiddles around with excel, word and outlook and gets paid for that. Guess his designation! ::grin:: A chirpy guy who gave me enough company nagging and making fun of people around us. More like the my-kinda-guy kind of guy.

Shub. Just like her blog! Ate as many rounds as the number of times the word 'eating' appears in the bottom of her blog. We nicknamed her Thillalangadi. Thillalangadi Shub. ha..ha.. Ask her why! And she says I look like a Bengali!! Shooob beti, apne fellow Tam-Brahm ke saath aise nahin karte. And a chamathu payyan at that. ::wink:: She lost one-fourth of her masala tea. Thanks to me.

Krishna. Has a nerdish look. Not all that nerd though, but for 5 years of blogging and a lot of techie blogs to go with that. Despite this, has a lot of fun within him. He too joined Shub's party in telling I look like a Bengali. But what I don't get is, why 'Bengali' in particular. Is there a special identity to it? A special mole or something? But I don't have any special moles.

Muthu. The poor guy! He lost most of his orange juice. Thanks to me. Gave me a good company nagging people with some typically typical slangs. And in the end, he was so happy that he plans to take us all on an all-expenses-paid trekking trip for our next blog meet. Eh, Muthu? So nice of you!! ::grin::

Sigh! And then we all left home. Guess it doesn’t require another blogger’s meet to meet all you people. Hope to catch you all sometime soon. Keep in touch folks!

Here’s to all the bloggers and their blogs.. ::clink::

what do you say

2005-05-12T19:53:00.000-07:00

Some people save 10k while they are earning 20k.
And when they get to earn 30k, they still save 10k!!

So, do we say - consistent saving or consistent spending?

Have a nice weekend..!!

that's supposed to be funny

2005-05-10T20:00:00.000-07:00

Being in R&D is interesting. And fun too. But at times fun is not all that funny. At least, not at certain moments. Though I couldn’t resist laughing at it later (and I’m laughing even now thinking of it), I was literally hanging myself at that nick of the moment.

We are starting a new task. And we are quite enthused with it. We got all the needed approvals for our idea and broken successfully through the red tape of getting everything going. We let out a final sigh of exhausted relief and get down to business. A wide smile lingering in all our faces. It’s tough trying to convince the senior folks with our ‘innovative’ idea. That’s what we always call them. Everything we come up with is always termed ‘innovative’ by us. Whether it is actually innovative or not, is another matter altogether though. But atleast this thing, was pretty good. Honest!

The week-long laborious efforts paid off when the people who mattered finally began to feel we are after all not talking all nonsense. A little nod and we got the necessary affirmations to get going, along with the usual paraphernalia of best-wishes and stuff.

Now, we are a small team of 4 people including me. We started working on the initial designs and an approximate plan of how we would go about it. The next step is to get enough people so that we could come up with something substantial within the time frame we have promised. And a pretty ambitious promise at that!

Getting people into the team is another headache. But after a little sweating we got a guy to work with us. I took him to a conference room to give him an overview of the concept and our plans on going about it. Starting that minute, I was glued to the white-board. My hand drawing waves of circles and boxes and sketching alphabets trying to diagrammatize everything I was trying to visualize. Once in a while I turn back to him and ask him if I’m clear with my points. He doesn’t nod. But neither does he look as though not listening. That looks good enough and I continue my talking.

After some 30 minutes, apart from the pauses to ask him if he has any questions (he didn’t seem to have any), I let out a heaving sigh. Like Shankar Mahadevan sighs in the last frame of that video after singing the song Breathless. And then, with a mixed bag of emotions with the pressure of promises and expectations to keeping them up and the 30 minute talking, I let a tired smile and ask him 'So.. did you get the big picture?'

With the same nonchalant grim face that he maintained all through the time I was explaining the points, he instantaneously says 'Whose picture?'.

it

2005-05-08T19:50:00.000-07:00

I needed it. Badly.

I looked up to sky. It was flying. I pulled my back pack, stiffened my socks and ran like the hungry beast pursuing his prey. At the far distance, down where the sky met the earth, I could see it floating gently, hopping over the fragrance of soft flowers wetting its feet on the dancing dew. I took to my heels, for the beast that I was, I had sighted my prey. Time moved fast. I got to a hand-stretch from it and drew all my ravaging strength aiming a mighty blow to render it hapless. Meanwhile, it continued to float gently oblivious of my presence. Just when I thought it was all mine, like the feather in a gust it flew out of sight. I rendered my blow, but all I hit was the trail of fresh scented air that it had left behind.

I continued to run in its direction. This was not the day I would falter. Not again. Not this time. Never again. I ran until my foot were worn out. My eyes bulging with the enormous fatigue. My breath becoming perilously uneasy. My tongue drought of any liquid. Then, I saw it. I smiled. This time, just at a finger-stretch. My zapped energy level wouldn’t let me aim any more blows. I sought the easier way. I gently caressed my finger through the scented air and even more gently laid my hand on it. It would be mine at last. I had barely breathed another whiff of air and it flew. Far away. Eluding my gentle reach.

I continued to run in its direction. Again. Puffing and panting with every breath I took. My trembling legs and palpitating heart seemed no friends of mine. I ran braving myself. Against myself. Until, I fell down. Immobile. I felt a thousand hammers pounding my head. My heart was bleeding out blood. I saw planets revolving around my eyes. The nerves felt soldered to my bones. The cry of agony was deafening. I looked up to God and shouted ‘Why would you not let me get it?’. I couldn’t hear my own voice. God did not answer. I lay drenched in my tears. Tired. Barely making a move. Barely breathing.

And suddenly!! It stopped. The tears. The revolving earth. The pounding hammers. The cry of agony. They all stopped!! My heart was pumping fresh blood. There was a resolute silence. The silence at the moment was deafening. It was the moment of truth!! And in that moment of truth, the truth about it finally dawned on me.

It was here with me all along.

Zikr

2005-05-05T20:06:00.000-07:00

Ahale kalam aajao fithur mein thumko bulayey ahalullah
Zikr se badke nahin amal koi hai farma yey rasul allah
. . . . . . . . . . . . . .
Har gul mein har bu mein
Har shay mein noor ullah
Har dhil mein har pal mein
Rahe zikrein illallah
. . . . . . . . . . . . . .
Zikr hai behther nafrath se
Zikr hai behther gaflath se
Zikr hai behther hujjath se
Zikr hai behther gaevath se

Where words fail, music speaks.

I’ve listened to the song atleast 20 times since yesterday. And still counting.

AR Rahman’s voice is heavenly. With mild strings playing in the background, the stunning blend of Rahman’s voice with the melancholic waves of every decibel nudging rhythmically to an astounding frequency of Sufi orchestra is dancing on my nerves like nothing before.

The slow melody transforms into a percussion filled chanting of Allah’s name asking for forgiveness and peace. Closing my eyes and listening to the composition only sends me into an ecstatic trance. The culmination of a euphoric harmony!

Yeh jo des hai tera from Swades and Zikr from Bose – momentarily immortalizing the mortal spirits!

It is said, most of us go to our grave with our music still inside of us. Let such heavenly music stir the pent up music within us.

Have a nice weekend..!!

the name is bond

2005-05-03T19:51:00.000-07:00

We never know where relationships could begin. It’s a pleasant Sunday morning when she walks down the road to a petty shop. Someone standing next to her is talking in his mobile and quite audible enough for her to understand the words. She hears some words that send a familiar tinge ringing through her ears. She strikes a short conversation only to realize he is her best friend’s cousin. Three years later, she is married to him.

Sometimes we never get to know a person even after watching him for months or sometimes years. The real ‘him’ is hidden deep within the realms of a clandestine heart, hardly raising its head at any eventuality whatsoever. Outside, he’s the most talkative glib tongue, so vibrant and dynamic that he opens up as casually to his seniors as much as he does to his peers and as much to a kid with a persuasively congenial bond. Even in the most frustrating or lackluster of moments he finds some scope for displacing his energy. But talk to him deeply some day and behind all the vibrancy and dynamism is hidden the awkward tragedy that life could never manage to cure. ‘Ok..(sigh) Forget it’ he quips and smiles. The smile is worth a thousand drops of tears transformed for the sake of continuum of the future.

There are times when a common tragedy binds two unknown persons. But tragedies need not even be so large as life can make it. Take some people, strangers to each other, standing in a bus-stop waiting for bus. Each one traveling in their own train of thoughts and an eye on the far end of the road looking for what appears to be the bus they were waiting for. All of them lost within themselves.

Now, let the bus be late for more than an hour or let a gush of heavy rain lash through the place. And suddenly we see more movement. There is more talking. The chains are pulled on the personal train of thoughts and they convert into a collective curse of the late-coming bus.. and how this is happening often these days.. and that man’s similar experience in the same place a week back.. or how the lashing rain affects the city roads and that old lady who has left the clothes hanging on her terrace and that man with the largest umbrella sheltering hitherto strangers and laughing his way to keep them away from the droplets sprinkling its way into the umbrella. They are no strangers anymore.

Strange are bonds. Stranger are how people bond. I told my psychiatrist that everyone hates me. He said I was being ridiculous – everyone hasn't met me yet.

Perception

2005-05-01T20:05:00.000-07:00

Perception! That seems to be the topic of the town. I’m reading a book Black Cross by Greg Iles. A story set in the period of World War II. Stern is a Jewish terrorist, whose help is sought by the Allied forces to break into a Nazi concentration camp at Totenhausen, Germany. Smith is a Brigadier with the Allied forces. And this conversion ensues at one point.

Stern: What’s the inmate population at Totenhausen?
Smith: Very low. Fluctuates between two and three hundred depending on the pace of the gas tests.
Stern: So we’re going to sacrifice three hundred innocent people to kill half as many SS men?
Smith: No, we’re going to sacrifice three hundred doomed prisoners to save tens of thousands of Allied invasion troops.
Stern: A matter of perspective?
Smith: Everything is in war, Stern. To Major Dickson you’re a bloodthirsty terrorist. To your own people you’re a hero.
Stern: And what am I to you, Brigadier?
Smile: (smiles thinly) Useful.

Black Cross is an incredible story of emotions and survival amid savage brutality. A reiteration of the cruel past to reinforce the value of humanity.

I’ve read only 2 books by Iles. This one and The footprints of God. And if this is any indication, he’s already among my favorite writers.

friday afternoon

2005-04-29T01:41:00.000-07:00

Whats up... The Paper!!
Whats on my ears... kaahe ujadi mori neend
Whats on my mind... Agent, Pollination, hidden-markov, ant colony optimization (no, not biology)
Whats on my computer... word, winamp, IE (9 of them!)
Whats on my IE... IEEE, Agents, blogs
Whats on my desk... a cuppa Nestle
Whats bugging me... coming to work this weekend (anybody else coming?)

Whats my philosophy... when at work, the number of IEs open at any point in time is directly proportional to the amount of work being done.

spirituality and religiousness

2005-04-28T04:12:00.000-07:00

Are they same? There certainly is a vast difference. And this is the way I understand it.

Religiousness will be used to mean adherence to the beliefs and practices of an organized society or a religious institution. Hinduism, Christianity et.al. are such institutions. And a strong following of the philosophy and practices as laid down in the respective scriptures would constitute religiousness. On the other hand, spirituality refers to a distinct, personally meaningful experience letting a person work towards a purpose that renders more meaning to his living. Although spirituality may include certain forms of religiousness, it does not necessarily involve religiousness.

Religiousness is about a stress on sticking to religious scripts and ancestral beliefs that run high to this day. The elders among various religious circles are generally too particular in keeping up all those rituals that have been flowing through the traditions. The theory of religiousness believes in the scripts being the compass showing the direction to happiness and laying down the norms of living.

Spirituality is about adopting some of such norms but extrapolating them based on personal experiences and rational notions and eventually forming a new set of principles that form the norms and directions to better living for that individual. That’s why we find those comments in the previous post about spirituality being a relative term and subject to different interpretations based on individual perceptions. Spirituality is more subjective, while religiousness is more objective in nature.

I feel, at times religiousness tends to make some people have a blind faith that makes them go far overboard in their attempts to hold on to their scripts. There is a saying ‘The fear of Lord is the beginning of wisdom’. This is classic religion. And I totally disagree with this. There is no reason why I should be ‘afraid’ of Lord. Purity of thought and deed must arise not out of fear but out of a genuine understanding of the facets. To me, spirituality seems to bring an outlook of increased tolerance and impartial compassion – two of the vital qualities of living.

To hammer the nail, I would say,

Religiousness: God, help me get through this thing successfully, I’ll come to your temple on foot and break 108 coconuts.
Spirituality: God, help me remember that nothing is going to happen to me today that You and I together can’t handle.

Any other interpretations?

spirituality and the youngsters

2005-04-26T19:53:00.000-07:00

What did you think of that title? Did you give out a sarcastic chuckle? Or you felt it too relevant?

During an evening of the past weekend I accompanied my mom to a Bhagavad Gita discourse. It was very good. Liked it. But there was something more than the talk that I particularly liked. The audience!

I had been to quite a few such talks with my mom and dad during the days we were residing in Chennai (good old days, Sigh!). They did attract large audiences, but on whatever I could remember from those days, this audience was unique. There were so many youngsters attending it! Add to that, a lot of young couples!! I’m sure they had many more exciting ways to spend the weekend evening rather than soak themselves with philosophical deliberations. But this also seemed as exciting a proposition!!

Nothing as much is lost with youngsters as some people may say. Rather I would say the present generation is only growing more tolerant and more knowledgeable. A real understanding towards appreciating conflicting ideas has risen. There are exceptions as there are everywhere, but the general line of trend in such aspects of the youth is only moving one direction – up!

They are not fashion engines who do not understand the value of money. They understand the need for spirituality as much as they understand the need for money. Spiritual workshops like ‘Art of living’ and the likes are brimming with youngsters. The discourse I attended was another standing example.

So, the next time your grandpa tells you ‘Gone are those days when we were such disciplined youngsters’ as though we have landed on this earth each taking a horse from the four men of the apocalypse, then do remember to chuckle ‘That’s what you think dear grandpa’.

Take rest! The world is certainly in safe hands!

There is some African saying – ‘No matter how long the log remains in the river, it doesn’t become a crocodile’.

for my dad

2005-04-24T19:58:00.000-07:00

A gentle wind sweeps past me
and sings into my ears
tales of the kind time
of those joyful years
of you and me.

of tender strokes to my cheek
waking me every morning

of your breath over my wound
healing me for the moment
of the tight hugs
bringing sleep to my sullen eyes

of kisses to my forehead
blessing me away to school
of the tata through the window pane
rendering my eyes moist
unable to let go of your warmth

of your grasping my tiny hand
walking down the lanes with you
of your bent knees
that I slept over
my head resting safe over

of my innocent smile
every time I called u appa
of the day I thought
I would once be your height
to talk all that you talk
to do all that you do
to be the man that you are
just as you are.
And little did I think
that day was never meant to be

My eyes have bloated
with dried out tears
of unposken words
still speaking aloud
Buried memories
still alive, and still guiding.
Miss you dad.

A gentle wind sweeps past me
and sings into my ears
tales of the kind time
of those joyful years
of you and me.

My dad would have turned 55 today.

Long weekend

2005-04-21T03:51:00.000-07:00

Tomorrow is a holiday. A long weekend in the offing. My health is improving, but the incessant cough is puncturing my lungs. Hope to get back to my usual energy levels by Monday. Need some good sound sleep. And I plan to do it all through the weekend. May be a bit of watching TV and reading some book. All my chums are going to their native for the weekend. Greg Illes’ The Footprints of God was good. So, will be eyeing for some Illes’ book to give me company. That would mean, dragging my lazy bones all the way to Koramangala, that’s where the library is.

And I hereby retreat into my shell for the weekend. See ya..

Have a nice weekend!!

understanding the science called woman

2005-04-20T19:56:00.000-07:00

AP told me once, “It started off like just another calm good day. And suddenly I flare up at him for no reason!”

If you are a woman and if you are married, then you already might have guessed what AP was telling me about. If you are a man and if you are married, you are probably wondering why all women are like that. But what is this single young gentleman trying to do, attempting to write something he is unlikely to know much about. Well, it doesn’t require you to jump from atop the light-house to know you would break your limbs.

AP went on to say how her husband remains so cool despite all the rubbish she poured over him. Courtesy PMS. And I’ve seen myself how my mom struggled to cope with her menopausal distresses.

Now, am I a bad boy if I talk all this? Am I? Living is not just about understanding the likes and dislikes of your woman. But in understanding certain more intricate things, that directly impact our lives. Woman is a fascinating creation of God. Not just another living creature, but a bag of emotional and biological complexities, bundled meticulously into a startling weave of life. But, it is this very fascination that often results in a point of contention.

Think of the guys, who begin to wonder what happened to the kind cute girl of theirs that suddenly, one fine morning, makes her behave in ways she never was. And as suddenly as she did that, next morning, she begins to become her usual self again. Oh! These fickle women! They are always like this! A good alibi to hide your ignorance is to blame the victim.

It should be in the man to understand certain intricate things that a woman undergoes and give her side in times of need rather than beginning all the trash talking of ‘women’ being that way. And it certainly is not dirty to talk this! If you think, its not in the noble ancient Indian culture to talk out such things, then cut the crap! Indian culture is probably the most misunderstood term in the world. Often crucifying ourselves with a dire lack of proper understanding about our own culture.

Frankness and openness in such things only improves the understanding between men and women. What else do you hope for in a relationship? There is nothing to feel shy about it. These days, AP tells me, she marks the days in red in her calendar. And then, gears herself up to face the adventure. As for her husband, he knows what all the red markings in the calendar are all about! And he too gears up to face the adventure!!

And they lived happily ever after!

Life's like that

2005-04-19T20:03:00.000-07:00

A conversation from Million Dollar Baby.

Frankie: Stop that!
Maggie: Why? What did I do wrong?
Frankie: You did two things wrong. One, you asked a question. Two, you asked another question.

Million Dollar Baby was beautiful. Somehow, I didn’t want Maggie to die. But then, if she had lived, the movie wouldn’t have got the Oscar. What do you feel?

The weekend and the going back

2005-04-18T02:57:00.000-07:00

I had been to Hyderabad before. In 1991. As a 11 year old kiddie on his summer vacation. But the Charminar I saw on Saturday was nothing like I could recollect!

Saturday 9.30am. I walked out of the hotel and took an auto to IMax. 20 minutes later I was looking at the scrolling movie names and my choice was instant. Million Dollar Baby. Show time 1.45pm. Still long time to go. Came out, took an auto and made my way to Charminar, all the while peeping through either side of the auto not to miss any piece of monument that could attract a nomadic tourist that I was at the moment. As though searching for my lost girl friend in an unknown city. 40 minutes later I was having Veg Biryani in a hotel adjacent to Charminar and as my hand and mouth went busy, so did my eyes admiring the scrambled beauty of the medieval culture. I didn’t know what actually I was admiring, nevertheless I kept admiring something.

I went into a Darga next to it which seemd to be host to tombs of the Nizam family. I took a step in, only to realize I had to remove my shoes off. It was sticky hot outside, but the floor felt chill. It was no AC. It didn’t need one. And I was greeted by some 200 pigeons flocking all around. What a sight!

I went into Charminar and up the spiral staircases for an aerial view of the city. Felt the need of a digicam (I still don’t own one). It was h-o-t. When I came down I had a gulp of sugarcane juice and started to IMax for Million Dollar Baby. But not before I helped myself to a Veg grilled sandwich and a coke. And a mango slush and corn. And popcorn and coffee during the interval. The movie was good. Liked it. Reached my room late in the evening. It was raining!! Much to my relief!!

Come Sunday. The match was reason enough not to move out. The result was a disaster though.

The sessions at office went on well both on Friday and today. Hope I didn't put my audience to sleep. I’m 4 hours from starting my return journey. And thanks to the evening rains, it was a good weekend and a pleasant stay in Hyderabad. (Happy Neels? ::wide smile::)

And ya, my sore throat is fine now. But I’ve got fever.

The day in Hyd and some contemplation

2005-04-15T05:16:00.000-07:00

Reached Hyderabad this morning and managed to find the hotel without trouble. I commented in J’s blog in the afternoon that Hyd is very hot, but right now (its around 5.50pm IST) its overcast!

Things were quite set while I reached office to begin my session this morning. But all seemed spoilt. I've got a badly sore throat. And every line I speak seems to be ripping my trachea apart. The sad part is, I spoke for all day until a few minutes ago and need to do that all over on Monday too! I’m sounding worse than George Bush talking through his microphone from Air Force One caught in a tornado.

But not everything was spoilt. The morning coffee break saw me smile introspectively for a few pleasant moments. I was walking to the pantry and waited for my turn to get a cuppa coffee, and here was a person attending my session, S, who had just got hers. As she turned and saw me standing, she gave her cuppa to me 'take this Kishore, I'll get another' and a smile. The smile was so genuine! The gesture was far more soothing for my sore throat than the coffee I drank!

Just wondering how big a difference such teeny-weeny things make to someone. Here’s a guy who is struggling to keep up his voice with a pathetic throat and here’s someone you have hardly known for a few hours whose little gesture of care goes a long way to raise your spirits. We walked, with the coffee in my hand, back into the hall having a little chat about a technical point I had made earlier. But my mind was still at the pantry, introspecting my moment of truth.

Have I ever shown such a gesture to anyone? Have I ever made someone I hardly know feel good about himself when something wasn’t going good for him? Has some stranger who would never ever meet me again ever felt a sense of gratitude for something I did?

But if I had been telling myself I’m doing a favor to someone while I am doing it, then would that be a genuine favor at all? May be, a genuine gesture is all about an act of care rendered oblivious of the person realizing that you are doing a favor to him or returning the gratitude.. Or, is it something different?

Traveling to Hyderabad

2005-04-13T19:59:00.000-07:00

I’m traveling to Hyderabad this evening on a short official trip. My 2-day session is scheduled rather awkwardly, falling on Friday and Monday. And then, I would start back and reach here Tuesday morning. Thanks to this schedule I’ll have to get through an awkward weekend in Hyderabad!

Traveling across and spending the weekend alone in a city you don’t know anyone. There must be a better way to spend the weekend.

This is what I got

2005-04-12T22:37:00.000-07:00

I took the What book are you quiz at Blue Pyramid. And this is what I got.
And I wonder what actually its trying to tell about me..

You're Jurassic Park!
by Michael Crichton

You combine all the elements of a mad scientist, a brash philosopher,
a humble researcher, and a money-hungry attracter of tourists. With all these features, you could build something monumental or get chased around by your own demons. Probably both, in fact. A movie based on your life would make millions, and spawn at least two sequels that wouldn't be very good. Be very careful around islands.

Nostalgia and some realism

2005-04-11T20:26:00.000-07:00

The past weekend was pretty damn amazing! Memorable to the core! Guys traveled across from Chennai, Bangalore and from other cities. We converged at Coimbatore and what followed was the time of my life. And yeah, the weather in Ooty was at its sexiest best!

It’s been 3 years since we completed college. And no one, I repeat, no one has changed even one bit. The same elements of wit, thoughts, feelings, passions, emotions, attitude, aspirations – nothing had changed. We had limitless fun and spent all of Saturday night talking about our college life, past, where life had been taking us, our hardships to get the stretch we have got and plans for the near and long future.

Post-college, each one had treaded their different paths. But no one had ever been out of touch with the other. Just goes on to reinforce that there is someone I could always count on. Keeping company between us in itself seemed to be helping us win half our battles in life. They are the primary source of my strength. And a lot of what I am today. The perpetual vent to let out my primitive passions and complicated emotions that huddle together in my mind like terrified wild beasts in the night.

I bathed myself in the rain of friendship. I want to be eternally soaked in its rampant stream. I need them to be around me. This inexhaustible source of my energy. This energy cannot be destroyed and neither can this source.

But, life has to move ahead for every one of us. Each one has his own responsibilities to be fulfilled, aspirations to be achieved. There would be times when one is not able to give enough time for his friends. Priorities begin taking roots. The late night bashes would be a thing of the past. At times, he can only watch helplessly as the vagaries of his life flush out all the wonderful time he spent with his friends. A rare meet, an occasional call and an eternal thought becomes his new way of partying with friends.

Today we have it all in us. Years later, we’ll continue to evolve, continue to go our own ways. All of us would be married. Have our families to look after. Responsibilities galore. We would no more be the free flowing, care free, laidback, all-this-world-is-ours kind of juvenile that we are today. But all the while, every beat deep down in our hearts, would continue to beat an equivocal percussion tuning the names of each of us. And that shall never cease. Atleast not until the heart stops its beats. We may not be together, but still remain together. Always.

Woods are lovely dark and deep
But I have promises to keep
And miles to go before I sleep
And miles to go before I sleep.

the rain dance

2005-04-07T07:04:00.000-07:00

Prologue
The winds wave an aura of artistic fragrance
The clouds clasp the hush of a serene sky
The dusts settle in the slickness of sand
The beauty of blue is no more
What is, is the glamour of gray.

A thumping splash
its my heart
already pumping to rhythmic tunes
Her speck of kiss dripping down my cheek
Oh me! And my heart sinks!
One would not do.
My eyes tilt up
barely open
hardly seeing
Her smear on my cheek lit the eyes
Oh me! And my eyes sink!
Two eyes would not do.
The fragrance tickle my nostril
longing for a whiff of new air
breathless I am
Her scent sedating my mind
Oh me! And my breath sinks!
A perfume would not do.
The new air sings into my ears
playing drums to metrical tunes
music unheard of
Her hum is buoyant enough
Oh me! And I hear none other!
A buzz would not do.
And then
There is more scent livening my heart
There is more air cleansing my lung
There is more song rhyming my ears
There is more smear soaking my face.

My adulthood melts
the baby in me rises
I smile to her viles
her smear all over me
I feel like God.

Epilogue
The heavens have opened up
and she falls all over me as she never did
drenching me with her tender arrows
I lay, my eyes closed
dissolving myself
This is heaven on earth.

of men and matters

2005-04-07T01:22:00.000-07:00

Over the past weekend I was reading Why men don’t listen and women can’t read maps. That was a revelation of sorts. It did teach me a thing or two on the biggest mistake every man (oh yeah, me too) does – trying to offer solutions every time a woman tries to talk the hell out of her self to him.

I felt parents generally discourage daughters to involve with work predominantly considered male domain. When was the last time your bike was serviced by a female mechanic? But it all seems to be in the genes, according to the book.

Another interesting thing the book claims is, the male stimuli responds to objects, while the female to humans and that’s why male orientation is more towards status and power, while female orientation is more towards love and relationships. Women certainly seem more committed than men in a marital relation (or any relation). It’s easy to lose count of wives who endure an insensitive husband, but how many men really ever required to handle an inconsiderate wife. But yeah, she might be inconsiderate because “he” thinks so!

This happened some weeks back. I was at Innovative with R to watch Page 3. R happened to meet her colleague and his wife while we were waiting for the show. R asked the wife ‘which movie?’. The wife says ‘I don’t know, he brought me that’s it’. The guy was parking his bike and joined in and said he was there to watch Thirupachi. I told them it was not showing there, but at PVR. ‘So, switching to some other movie?’ asked R. The guy says ‘No.. we are going back.. bye’ and walks back to his bike closely pursued by his wife, who just had enough time to tell her bit of ‘bye’ to the husband’s colleague . The wife doesn’t even know what movie they came to see, but just sticks to the whims and fancies of her dear husband. And as for the guy, wonder if he was thinking his wife his personal robot!

It’s all in the gene alright! But don’t tell me you forced your wife into quitting job to sit at home cooking because she is not genetically tuned to work and because you are genetically tuned only to order her. Or you assume it’s the wife’s job to bother about your children because your genes says so. Or you least heed your wife’s interests and aspirations because you are genetically more tuned to think logically, and so it’s only you – the husband – who knows what is right!

It’s all in the gene alright! The man’s inherent need for status and power (read ‘ego’) and his biologically superior muscular prowess often tends to get him overboard with the so-called lowly creatures called women.

It’s all in the gene alright! But it’s all in the minds of men and women whether they choose to be adaptable to each other. The gene is only a blue print. A willingness to understand and a willingness to let go is what moulds the real image.

To looks or not to looks

2005-04-06T06:50:00.000-07:00

No!! Your eyes are not deceiving you. The looks have really changed!

I’ve been wanting to do this for long. And today I finally got into the groove. I skipped gym this evening and sat with this template, started playing around with its code and ended up with this. I moved the comments to haloscan and ended up losing all of my existing comments. Poor me!!

Does anyone know a way to hack something and retain my earlier comments also? Nevertheless the transition to haloscan was always on the cards for me. So need to live with all these stuff.

With the customer - Day 2

2005-04-05T08:24:00.000-07:00

9.30AM. T1, T2 and B had assembled. Surprisingly punctual, despite the overnight rains affecting the traffic in Hosur road. Some guys from each team had a separate discussion with B to finalize on some stuff. While the rest of us started where we left. I took care of the techie stuff, while the analysts bought in their business minds.

10.15. The guys had come back with the finalized stuff. Thankfully not much of our already done work was wasted. Because we had not done anything, having got stuck between business needs and technical feasibility. The search for this holy grail will eternally be futile. And then the usual confusions, discussions, brainstorming, eyestorming, handstroming, wordstorming, heartstorming – all of this stuff went in top gear.

12.45. I was feeling hungry. I looked at my watch. I knew why. It was lunch time. And I announced thinking people had forgotten all about that (they all looked that way). And somebody told India made 356 and Dhoni scored a big hundred. WOW!! My mind already got transferred itself to Vizag. Wish I could see the match live.. wish atleast I could sit at my desk and read the live commentary in cricinfo.

1.30. No one bothered how the Pakistan openers were fairing. I was expecting Afridi to dash. No one bothered. The talk was to close everything by 4.30 as the guys from B had their flight at 8. So, we drilled down the scope and tried to show only those things we were confident would work.

4.30. People had started flocking in. T2 and B and few other people. I had to show the Demo and handle the technical stuff. The presentation and Demo was mediocre. T2 didn’t fare any better. So we felt happy, we were not the only ones struggling after all. B gave good points to both presentations. We scored a bit high on the technical side and T2 scored on better UI. B were smart enough and took both the packages in their laptops. No result. No prizes.

The two days were spent in intense dissemination of ideas and was too much challenging. But it remains as one of most unforgettable interlude working with experts from other big companies and the customer face-to-face!

The tempest came. And the tempest went.
God is in the heaven and all is well with this little one’s world.
From tomorrow, I’m back to my usual work.

With the customer - Day 1

2005-04-04T07:16:00.000-07:00

9AM. I was seated in a conference room surrounded by delegates from T and M (two really biggie Indian companies) and our company guys, with a number of Miranda, Coke, Pepsi, their dieted versions, water bottles very aesthetically arranged across the oval table. Not to mention the projector and a big screen for the presentations. The delegates were fiddling with their laptops trying to find enough ports to connect their machines.

9.15AM. The delegates from B (the customer, a European biggie) were about to come in. The ice seemed too thick to be broken. The faces looked like they just got up after a fall into the coovam river. The silence was killing me. I finally opened to a guy “Hi, I’m Kishore, and you are from..” Surprisingly the ice broke in a jiffy. Each one started enquiring the other and soon all of us had spoken. Though I still don’t remember most of their names though.

9.40AM. The guys from B entered, with blazing blazers and their typical accents. There were 6 of them. I was particularly impressed with a plumpy guy who walked in with a nonchalant “Hey guys!” and gave out wide grin. I raised my hand to return his gesture. Heck, nobody saw me! And then no more time was to be wasted. We were into business.

10AM. We had to team up with the T and M guys. We split into 2 teams (T1, T2. I was in T1) each containing delegates from all the three companies.

It was actually a new generation IT methodology in action (and I can’t say more about that for IP reasons!!). The two teams had a mix of Business Analysts, architects and developers from both T, M and my company. We had to develop an understanding of B’s business need, analyse the requirements, prepare the data model, visualize the UI and come up with a prototype – all in a span of 2 days. 1.5 to be more precise! The 2 teams must work independent of each other. B would finally choose the better prototype as the base to proceed with their work.

10.30AM. And so, it began. Many rounds of brainstorming among us and with the guys from B. I sat down in translating the business into technical terms, while a guy already started with UI. I added some code, but left them at a template level. Operational work was left for tomorrow.

1.15PM. It was a wonderful lunch. Some very biggie guys had joined us. It was a privilege having an informal chat over lunch with people of such industrial caliber.

1.30PM. Back to business.

5.30PM. At the end of the day T1 and T2 presented our progress to B. T2 are a bit ahead of us.

Tomorrow morning, we have to finalize certain stuff with Team 2 and B. And then proceed independently with an operational prototype by evening. As I write this line, I'm feeling totally exhausted. But it was an amazing day today, filled with an unparalleled exchange of ideas.

May the best Team’s prototype be chosen! (And may that be my team!).

in and out

2005-04-03T19:58:00.000-07:00

There is a customer visit today. And they needed a technical expert (read 'scapegoat') to be with them for their planned 2-day session. Guess who? And so, in the name of the lord and the holy see, I shall make it my solemn duty to give them company for today and tomorrow trying to figure who ends up a bigger joker.

I’ll let all you people know on Wednesday.

this is what i'm doing in office right now

2005-04-01T00:04:00.000-08:00

C forwards to AM, AN and Me: You can fool some people all the time, you can fool all people sometimes ; but you cannot fool all people all the time.
-Abraham Lincoln

Me (to all): But C alone can be fooled any time..

C: Wait till I fool u Sometime.. Eg: Kishore that girl asked for your Phone Number

AN: Give her my number too….

C: So u are admitting that 'I Fooled U'

Me: I’ll admit I’m a fool if u’ll give me treat in Leela palace…
Anything for a treat.. If u don’t give me treat then it means that I’m not a fool which implies u r a fool… If u give me treat in Leela palace then its obvious u r a great fool to spend so much on me… So either ways.. u r a fool..!!

C: Wrong logic… I am not a fool..So I won’t treat u…. U are a fool..So u treat me… (Concession for u…Even a treat at amul will do)

AM (finally opens up): please invite a sane person (read me) when u 2 fools figure out who is a fool..... I shall arbitrate in exchange of a treat

AN: please invite two sane persons (read me and AM) when u 2 fools figure out who is a fool..... I shall arbitrate in exchange of a treat

C: Only 2 fools can be under the impression that they are sane enough to judge people

Me: Fools are so foolish that they think they r sane.. Sane people are so sane that they know they are foolish..

God! Just remembered.. I got work to do! See all ya..

is pain better than death

2005-03-31T23:34:00.000-08:00

Terri Schiavo has finally breathed her last. May she rest in peace. At least now!

I was talking of Science and Religion some days back. And the whole story about euthanasia opens the cork on a similar debate, all along mercilessly suppressing the arduous pain that a mid-aged woman has been undergoing for years. Terri collapsed in 1990. What followed since was excruciating physical and mental torture, having been reduced to being no more than a vegetable.

Medicine and science have their limits. It speaks of wonderful philosophy to say 'life is precious' and 'humankind is all about protecting life'. But with the extent of pain and suffering that Terri underwent for over a decade (and seven of them in legal battles!), she better had found peace in death long back.

I wonder from where do all these religious ascetics creep up with their own philosophical rantings on life and living and protecting living. Her parents felt she would improve with 'better' treatment. But there is only so much medicine can do. And given that the medical chances of her sitting back in normal life was utterly remote as told by most of her physicians over the years, letting her to suffer all the while with a godly hope of a miracle is the height of religious dogmatism prevailing over earthly pragmatism.

Death has its sensations. Perhaps evolution has sensitized the human olfactory system to the scent of approaching death. It's a tussle between conscience and the dogmatic primitive religious instincts that has crippled man trying to come to terms with the inevitable mortality. The case of Terri is more of a conscience issue rather than religious. If this means killing and against what the humans must preach, then ask a soldier to show consideration and think and pray and meditate and praise god before he decides to shoot down his enemy.

Religion and law literally toyed around the inexplicable pain that a body had been enduring. All the trash talk was on who decides – her parents or husband – and what was forgotten was a pathetic soul undergoing what might have been least meant for her. If what was eventually committed was a sin, the greater sin was forcing a human unto undue pain.

There needs to be a line where conscience rules over narrow minded assertiveness. A medically incurable unbearable pain for years at length in the hope of a miracle is no religious salvation. God is not a magician. But that's what religions seem to be wanting people to believe!

epistemologically speaking

2005-03-29T21:55:00.000-08:00

Success is getting what you want. Happiness is wanting what you get.

Conventional thinking is all about being contented with what I have. If you don’t get what you like, like what you get. Why the heck?

I don’t want to be contented. I want to do big things. I want to squeeze toothpaste back into the tube. I want to fly at Mach-100. I want to jump from the top of Alps crying out at the top of my voice and record the echo and send it to CERN for acoustic research. Crazy thoughts alright. Trying to do far too much. But as long as I stay within the warps of moral, legal and ethical boundaries, what’s the big deal!

Learning to love whatever you get, is an old fashioned simplistic thinking. The real driver for success is that ever-present vacuum at some corner of the heart constantly impelling the intellect to flood with new postures of cognitive astuteness. It is this vacuum that scales new heights. What do I gain by being contented? It stifles my thought. It makes me lazy. It rusts my mind. It makes me feel sick. It handicaps me. It sucks!

I need that vacuum. Every time I fill it up, I create a new one. I need this coercion to move ahead. I need the drive to think, to pierce through whatever I feel like piercing. And not sit and stare up the seven heavens in a philosophical retrospection displaying a juvenile smile trying to feel good about everything that is already there and making the often abusively misused word ‘contentment’ sound even more philosophical.

Not that I’m unhappy about whatever I’ve got (Oh, I’m happy alright!), but every inch I take thrusts me that much more to take up the next inch. Why would I ever want to stop moving? What’s wrong in baiting for the next inch? If nobody’s hurt, if I’m within the law, if I’m within the casing of morality, if I’m ethical, why should I feel bad about desiring for more? Does desire tantamount to sin? Who says so? Religion? Ascetic? God?

It needs courage. It needs courage to dare. It needs courage to dare to question. It is the present day original sins – Fear, Pride, Lazy – that stand up to the philosophical nonsense of misplaced contentment.

How do you know that you know what you know? Discover the art of questioning. Discover the art of reasoning. Discover the world. Discover yourself. Learning never ends. Don’t bring it to a screeching halt! Let philosophy be a guide, not a surrogate stand-in for common-sense and rationality.

Life's like that - 5

2005-03-29T02:55:00.000-08:00

He and Me over the office IM.
He is listening to Pink Floyd.

He: when I was a child, I had fever
He: now I have that feeling once again
Me: when I was a child, the cute girl next door loved me
Me: now I want her to love me once again

Meet the Fockers

2005-03-28T21:28:00.000-08:00

Had been to this movie past Saturday evening with my cousin. There were two very good things about this movie. One, PVR. Two, a regular-size cup masala corn and Pepsi during the interval.

Meet the Fockers. The movie could rather have been named Meet the Fuckers. Believe me, it would still have made perfect sense! Greg Focker (Ben Stiller) is engaged to his girlfriend, Pam Byrnes (Teri Polo). Before they could plan anything about wedding Pam’s father, Jack (Robert De Niro) would meet Greg’s parents (Dustin Hoffman and Barbara Streisand) who lead a laid back Florida Keys lifestyle.

The movie opens with a characteristic mocking of Greg, delivering a baby for a woman. Greg is a registered nurse. The Fockers isle is more of an island off the coast of Pluto rather than something on the earth for Jack, a retired CIA Officer and a tech-savvy, modernized technocratic grandpa. Jack and his wife (Blythe Danner) move in their caravan along with Greg and Pam to spend a weekend with the Fockers, an amateur martial arts expert father and a sex therapist mother who helps old people rediscover their charm of sex life. And all hell breaks lose!

But original humor is what makes for good comedy, not the secondhand gags that this movie pulls. A lot of stuff is borrowed from the prequel Parents. Amid all the confusion that ensues Pam says she’s pregnant but would not reveal it to her obsessive father until after their marriage. The movie proceeds with a painful streak of forced comedy with the Fockers showing off their stuff, kissing and cuddling their 34 year old son as though he were just born and seem like having an orgasm every moment they touch each other. Much to the irritation of Jack, who is hell-bent in knocking the stuff out of this rubbish. The eccentric mannerisms and the dire lack of etiquette of the Fockers makes him turn against the marriage of his daughter. Then, Greg reveals Pam is pregnant.

The movie ends with an inevitable happy ending, with Jack giving in to the marriage and also ending up to the lures of the sex therapist, rediscovering his own lost passions with his wife.

Not the kind of comedy that will remain in memory for longer than the duration of the movie, but nevertheless a reasonable object to kill time in the weekend.

i'm already playing..

2005-03-27T20:11:00.000-08:00

I came to office in a pretty cheerful mood, after a good weekend. And as I flipped through the pages of the blogs I regularly read, I just had to pull back a bit on my cheer.

There is only one thing that really affects the laid-back take-it-all-as-it-comes person in me. The loss of a dear one! Be it by death or otherwise! Having experienced both I could feel the pain that Arunima was expressing in her blog. That sent me tumbling down my memory lane to those episodes of my past that drew parallel to what she had written. Life is a complex maze of happiness and distress. No one, I bet no one, can help it! And words may not always soothe. It’s all a question of time before the best of today might become a liability tomorrow or the nastiest of today becomes an asset tomorrow.
It’s all part of this game.

Life is a playground.
We play different games at different times
Some days we win, some days we lose
Some days we lose pathetically
Some days we are hurt
Some days we hurt
But that stops us not from playing
neither from getting hurt
neither hurting
Its always a noble game in the playground.
Every loss teaching a lesson in winning
Every win anointing our injuries
Promising a better game tomorrow
And so we come back again.
Despite the many wounds
Despite the many losses..
Looking forward to a better game
Looking forward to win.. to help win
To team-up.. to share.. to cry.. to laugh..
To hug.. to love.. to pat.. to caress..
And then go back..
To sleep with the smile of a bliss!

a tale of a day

2005-03-23T21:11:00.000-08:00

My hands lift up from its stiffened angle in a move to relax flow of blood through my nerves and ends up wiping the little moisture stuck to the periphery of that sensitive connection between the shoulder and my head, called the neck. A sense of lack of air cuts across my senses and this sensation is game enough to half-heartedly open my hitherto closed eyes.

I feel a swelling over my eye, but that’s just a feeling - a feeling of excuse fooling myself into continuing to keep my eyes closed. But it’s not meant to be that way. With the weariness of the solemn soldier resting after a lifelong battlefield crusade, I finally send tingles through my sensory nerves with orders to keep my eyelids floating above its surface level.

My eyeballs begin to show some movement, as just in a flash of a fraction second I wonder if E=MC² applies to the velocity of my moving eyeballs as well. I get a pitch dark silence as an answer to my question. With a constant velocity much lesser than the value of C, I turn my eyeballs to its right-most possible corner to look out of that rectangular opening on the wall opening me to the expanse of a vast outside world.

I see an infinite grayscale being transformed into a tinge of color assorted with orange streaks between blocks of blue. My eyeballs become stationary for once and gaze at this unfolding cosmic beauty. I don’t smile, but feel the same hormonal upshots of a wide smile. The fragrance of a sweetened air flows in to sever the choking down my gut.

The grayscale continues to give way to the assorted colors, setting off a mystifying beauty harmonizing the work of a divine intervention. As the sky begins to cleanse itself, an aura of persistently serene momentary solitude comes upon my lethargic physique. The enlightenment reminds me of the subject I am composed of and turns pages to disclose my next chapter. As I lay my sights to read the revealed first lines of that chapter, there’s a jostle of docile vigor. And I push aside the blanket over me.

Its morning. I need to wake up now.

Marketing manholes

2005-03-22T19:01:00.000-08:00

“Good morning, sir. We are calling from name-censored bank and we have a special free offer on credit cards just for all-my-company-guys”.
God Save me! The day begins and moves this way for most people around me. Telemarketing as an advent of technology is all wonderful to see, but most banks seem to be over-enthusiastic to get on top of the technology, going overboard in their effort to stay ahead of competition. Much to the nuisance of the people, there are calls to the personal extensions and many times even to their mobile phones.

Wonder if such banks are maintaining a large database of prospective nincompoops, who can be lured with promises of life long free credit cards, a night stay at the costliest hotel in the country with the spouse and a trip to the edge of the Alps for his next 4 generations provided he returns back alive the first time. It’s a highly despisable act of foolhardy strategies that many banks follow to earn new customers.

This is a difficult age in marketing and customer is the king. All right. All right. But that doesn’t mean earning 1 new customer irritating 100 on the way, on the commercial justification of roping in more revenue with that 1 customer than what was spent on suffocating 100 more with hapless calls to their office desks throughout working hours.

It’s the strangest mystery of the century to unmystify if such banks actually have all the numbers (which means there is something terribly wrong with the privacy thing) or they just dial some company’s number and any 4 or 5 digit number they like, reaching some extension and wait and watch the fun of baiting an unsuspecting scapegoat.

These days I (and people in other companies too!) continue to get these calls from many major banks, retorted with the patient response “Thank you, not interested”, and down goes the receiver. May be, defense is the only possible form of offence in this case, unless some kind hearted nobleman decides to imbibe some common-sense into this goddamn marketing strategy.

i am intellectually challenged

2005-03-20T20:53:00.000-08:00

I don't admire nature, but admire those who admire nature.
I never experienced sibling love, but I love my friends as much.
I'm not self-motivated, but I motivate whoever needs.
I've never gone abroad, but enjoy seeing friends' snaps from abroad.
I never shone in any sport, but cheer those who shine.
I never get birthday gifts, but have given so many gifts.
I never learnt music, but learnt to love music.
I never learnt any instrument, but learnt to leap to its rhythm.
I never learnt to dance, but learnt to tap to the steps.
I never stood 1st in class, but was the 1st to shake hands with the topper.
I never won any medals, but clap when someone wins.
I never was the best, but always somewhere behind it.
I never won, but never lost.

God created me acutely talentless
But for the talent to make others happy.. and feel happy! Always!!

A well deserved slap

2005-03-20T20:09:00.000-08:00

It’s not a news anymore. The Gujarat Chief Minister has been denied entry into US. And it wasn’t all that surprising to watch the political histrionics unfolding across the country in retaliation to the “shame” that seem to have befallen the nation. I would have been mighty pleased if, even half these political stunts were in display when the country was in a literal shame during the Godhra and aftermath.

One could read the press reporting the wily diplomat saying “…[the US action] has put the Indian Constitution to shame” and “lack of courtesy and sensitivity”. This is coming from the very mouth of a person who has taken every possible effort to put the Indian constitution to shame and lacked every possible bit of sensitivity to the victimized masses in the name of religious prepositor and fanning religious fanatism.

Though the predominantly less-educated voting mass of India may continue to elect him at the helm of affairs, it is no denying the fact that his composedly outrageous behavior does not deserve any page of glory in the history books. Blame the masses, for he gets away every time unhurled.

But at least this action from the US Embassy (which is based on factual notes from the NHRC), would have opened an eyelid or two to the atrocious pugnacity of the diplomat hidden all the while behind the veils of religious fervor. The Chief Minister may still continue to hold his office and might continue his heavenly stature in front of the masses, but this slap in his face by the internationalizing of his delinquent office, would remain in history as five fingers scarred deeply through his wearing beard.

What if the Embassy gives in to the pressure from the Indian Govt and revokes the denial of entry? Well, that would be insanity at its hilarious best!

Life's like that - 4

2005-03-17T05:19:00.000-08:00

Him: Look, I know you are afraid, and I’m afraid too. But…
Her: I’m not afraid.
Him: Me neither!

The modern Sphynx riddle?

2005-03-16T02:23:00.000-08:00

Angels and Demons is still reverberating. My mind is pacing Mach-15. Too many thoughts hanging deliriously, plucking neurons out of my only brain.

Science and Religion. Are they two sides of the same coin? Or, a classic Oxymoron? Cynicism and demand for proof has become enlightened thought. Is a demand for proof and reasoning unjustified? Where is the line of demarcation between reasoning and faith? What do I live by? Reasoning? Or, Faith handed over to me by my generation?

There could be many a proverbial reasoning, for reasoning is but a line of thought. Thought is only a reflection of one's experience. Experience stems from facts observed as it is, in conjugation with our myths and beliefs (and beliefs in myths). Beliefs, hacked and moldered through generations, are as distinct as the persons possessing them. The siblings of the same family are distinct from their parents and between them too. Truth of one is not verity of the other.
The human psyche is incomprehensibly divergent. We do need to consider every reason, for every reason is as respectable as its host, but there is a sea of difference between considering and convincing. If I convince myself of his reasoning without due consideration, let me at my own peril. If I consider his reasoning and extrapolate my own experience and observe the facts in the lights of my experience, that’s when I could do justice to my existence.

Proof of Reason? If God has to prove Himself, what could He ever do? If He revealed Himself as God Almighty, King of Heaven and Earth, and moved mountains to prove it, there are those who would reason out to say, “It must have been Satan”. Nobody believes the official spokesman, but everybody trusts an unidentified source.

Science may never get to prove the presence or the absence of God. God is just in the minds. The belief that lights up a direction – lends purpose to the living... a trust in some supreme power, that guides the masses through the treacheries of living. Call this power God or Science.. that’s just a human discretion!!

Some riddles cannot be solved. But riddles need not be solved to be enjoyed.

my mind is a bit hyperactive today

2005-03-14T04:34:00.000-08:00

Angels and Demons with its Antimatter theme has made an enormous vent in me. I belong to an R&D team in my company, but never has anyone spoken in such proportions. So here I am...

Imagine a program that can learn from itself getting hacked - the more attempts to hack the more secure it becomes. What point does computer science come fact-to-face with the other sciences, particularly physics?
Can antimatter power the new generation of supercomputers?
Can bits and bytes be replaced by antielectrons (positron) and antiprotons?
If software can sit in chips, can it sit in a molecule. Molecular computing would say a big Yes.
If it can sit in a molecule, then can it sit in an atom. If it can, then it could sit on ether!
Software becomes just another particle, an intelligent particle – another matter – an intelligent matter. Imagine, every particle around you is actually an atom of software (I call them Softons, as in protons), intelligent in its own ways. Softons, for example, could be programmed to detect microbes in the air.. a new avenue opens in medical research. Internet will be breathed in.

Softon becomes a piece of intelligent matter. Just like any other matter, an antimatter can be formed, by accelerating the particles using the LHC (Large Hadron Collider) and all major applications of antimatter begin to ensue - but this time, in an intelligent way. All laws of physics become applicable to softons as well. Including E=mc². And that opens a new field of Physics that deals with matter that knows how it is supposed to behave and adapt to environment. Softons.

If you could convert all of the energy contained in 1 kg of sugar you could drive a car for about 100,000 years without stopping because, E=mc². Imagine something similar happening with the intelligent matter – softons.
Future is astounding... Future is amazing... Future is staggering...

I want to talk with someone at CERN...!!!!

Helllllloooo..... Anybody listening....???????

Monday morning...

2005-03-13T21:14:00.000-08:00

Whats up... my presentations at the thursday/friday sessions
Whats on my ears... I want to spend my lifetime loving you (Mask of Zorro)
Whats on my mind... antimatter, CERN, Vittoria Vetra, Angels and Demons, Dan Brown
Whats on my computer... powerpoint, word, winamp, IE
Whats on my IE... CERN, history of antimatter, blog
Whats on my desk... a cuppa Nestle
Whats bugging me... cache loaders, identifiers, expirators, fragment caching
Whats pleasing me... good 3 days still to go for my session
Whats eating me... only 3 days to go

Me and my cerebrum

2005-03-13T19:19:00.000-08:00

7AM. A fresh morning. The fragrance in the air was elating. I stepped into my office bus and took my usual 3rd left-side seat. I closed my eyes to let the little rubbles of sleep tingling on the sides of my eyes engulf my yet-to-wake-up-completely body. A few moments of singing silent undertones and I was awaken by the jerk of the bus moving. I opened my eyes to realize I was still within planet earth. And with that exhilarating revelation retreated back to my posture.

“Hey Hi”. It seemed like a loud thud very adjacent to my eyes. I startled up from my sleep to shoot that alien flying machine down. It was my long last batchmate (from my training days in Mangalore – 2.5 years ago). “Still sleeping eh?” she pipped taking her seat next to me and I gave out a huge sigh of surprise meeting her after so long. “Yeeeaahhh, long time.. no see...”.

As the bus moved trampling upon the uncared streets puffing every second minute past numerous traffic signals, braving its way through the eternally hazardous Hosur Road on way to my daily abode, we spoke of equally interesting things. The days at Mangalore, her adventures with her project team, how she escaped that rain last summer, that tussle with her boy friend and how she won. And yeah, a wee-bit about me too.

After a stretching bit of chat, delight writ large on our faces and both of us yet to recover from that smile we opened after her “Hey Hi” 40 mins ago, we finally stood up to make our turns out of the bus which was now within the prudent auspices of our office campus. She turned to me and grinned wide, enough for me to count all her teeth at one go and said “Bye Kishore”. I was no less in my energy “Bye mmph..er..brrr..uff..mmpphhh..errr…ehh…mmm”.

I’d forgotten her name! 2.5 years!

Life's like that - 3

2005-03-11T04:17:00.000-08:00

The world is changing...
People must always be on their toes...
But then, people fall down when they stand on their toes...
(Try it and see for yourself!)

Aaah... Ouch...

2005-03-09T07:00:00.000-08:00

Ohh… Ouch… Aaaahh… Phmm… Am still searching for words to describe my pain. Somebody get me some…

Whenever I used to see those binge brawns undertake a solid toning at the mecca of muscles (popularly known as the Gym) in my office campus, little did I ever think I would finally give in to the temptation of working myself out. And finally it happened. The day was today. For the first ever time in all my guess-my-age years, I dragged myself into the hitherto unseen unknown unexplored unexperienced arena called Working-out-in-a-Gym!

I had CB with me for a moral and physical (just in case) support as I walked into the amphitheatre. I could see those huge dinosaur like tread mills waiting to get a tasty (yuck!) bite. I finally chose one “All right chum, this is your lucky day, you’re gonna be all mine”. CB handed me a dumbbell to keep myself sweating until I could climb the dinosaur. 1-2-3-...-10 and that was that. My biceps got the better of me. My hands were already floating aloof beside my body. An outstanding scene for a 3-D movie.

Finally the dinosaur was there. All mine. I climbed up and felt like a 6 month old child trying to compete with Maurice Greene for the 100mts at the Sydney Olympics. The Gym instructor, a Chinese looking little lady with a French accent saved the blues as she slowed the pace down suitable enough for the 6 month old kiddie. Ga..ga..goo..goo… But the child grew up fast and was atleast able to complete the race, even if not compete!

Then there was the Tyrannosaurus-Rex (whatever it is actually called). Pulling the string forward and backward in ununiform irregegular motion, trying to keep up to my increasing palpitation and the almost breathless breathing. When I did decide to spare the T-Rex, I was feeling worse than a worn out rag. I could realize that my body is composed of some cranky stuff called muscles. One more round, and I could actually have counted them.

A gush of lukewarm bath was the most peaceful relaxation for all the David and Goliath games of the previous hour. Right now, I’m feeling like a new species of homo sapien that rediscovered its way back to the earth, escaping the clutches of the all-brawn-no-brain martians.

May David triumph!

A question of time

2005-03-08T23:29:00.000-08:00

Its only a question of time. Everything around me is just passing. Another extrapolated illusion!
Its only a question of time. World’s just a little stage. I share my part with him and her.
Its only a question of time. This scene soon gives way to the next and I already look to my next player.
Its only a question of time. Companion today is stranger tomorrow and stranger today is companion tomorrow.
Its only a question of time. Passion today is indifference tomorrow, weakness today is strength tomorrow.
Its only a question of time. Love today is angst tomorrow, worry today is glee tomorrow.
Its only a question of time. Leisure today is duty tomorrow, endeavor today is reminiscence tomorrow.
Its only a question of time. Pleasures today is pain tomorrow, tears today is smile tomorrow.
Its only a question of time. Chatters today is reflection tomorrow, exploits today is retrospection tomorrow.
Its only a question of time. Life would keep moving, memories lingering.
Its only a question of time. A hurdle or two, a stutter or two, a stumble or two.. the race would go on.

Its only a question of time. Time is the healer.
Wait! And let Her heal!
I’m waiting…

Happy Women’s day

2005-03-07T19:05:00.000-08:00

Its women’s day! A day in honor of those noble species that gives meaning to the living. A tribute to the tenacity of the so-called weaker sex.

A gentle sight
that cleansed my eyes
A gracious word
that freshened my lips
A humble thought
that enriched my intellect
A noble deed
that healed my actions

May mother earth be blessed
With more such of your kind!

Happy Women’s day…!!

As I write these lines, I'm listening to the theme from Chariots of fire, probably the noblest piece of music I've ever heard! And I dedicate this to the entire womanhood!

The Man.. The Machine...

2005-03-07T06:19:00.000-08:00

My computer blew! Well, not literally, but it's as good as blown away. That exquisite piece of technology that runs on my machine fiddling with which makes me earn my livelihood no more works on my machine. I broke into every folder and ran every bit of component I could lay my hands on, but it took late afternoon to realize it was all over. May its soul rest in piece er.. peace.

It’s been such a loyal servant to me all these days and parting it is painful. But, I have to move forward. Technically that translates to formatting my machine and zapping all the stuff. My Winamp, Yahoo, internal IM, RSS Reader, Qucktime. And this also means cloning all the loads of stuff that I have got, including my colossal collection of music. Now, I only hope there is enough space in our server to hold everyone. I couldn’t after all render my children homeless. I took a note of all the RSS feeds, so that I can make a quick work of it tomorrow, when my formatted machine finally gets going.

It’s a stinky redundant work to do all the stuff over again. But it also means, this is all going to result in something new. It means my machine will run faster, better. It means I can manage my junk better. It means having a new picture on my desktop. It means a new screen saver. It means a new customization to my IE may be a google toolbar (but for some reason, I don’t like that thing hanging out of the top of my IE, it looks like a running nose).

A change for the good of it. A new wine in old bottle. And tomorrow will be the d-day!

(and tomorrow, be sure to catch up with the India v Pak cricket test too.)

Sunday evening...

2005-03-06T19:22:00.000-08:00

A brutal massacre! Merciless to the core! I was walking down MG Road yesterday evening and that's how I killed time. It was an inevitable bit of shopping I had to do and my chums had gone to native. So that left me alone in the lurch.

I boarded the bus and thoughts began to cramp my brain. I want to talk. I tried calling LS, but her line kept me in waiting. I SMS'ed AV. No reply. Man!! This is Sunday evening and I seriously want to do some talking or I am going mad! With the ill-fated braincramp I reached MG Road. And there I was.. walking all alone amid a crowded road which looked deserted to my cramped eyes and got to do my bit of the shopping thing.

Roaming around haplessly for a while (which was worth a bhel puri and a softee ice cream) I then settled for killing time at Higginbothams and then listening to some strange remix at Planet M. LS called me and that gave a momentary relief to my braincramp. But a couple of minutes of call is no match for all my Sunday evening jabber.

Sunday evening, I could have done nothing better.. but shopping all alone sucks! And killing time is an art!

Life's like that - 2

2005-03-03T19:18:00.000-08:00

He and Me over the office IM...

He: As an outsider, what do you think of the human race?
Me: It looks just like me..!!
He: Are you always so stupid or is today a special occasion?
Me: Today is the "make others stupid" day..
He: Don't think, it may sprain your brain!
Me: I'll moov it..
He: I like you. People say I've no taste, but I like you.
Me: Did u lick me?
He: A fool with a tool is still a fool
Me: A genius without tool, is still an infertile.
He: Don't get insulted, but is your job devoted to spreading
ignorance?
Me: Pardon my ignorance, but what is ignorance?

My Wish Comes True

2005-03-02T19:17:00.000-08:00

A beaut of a lyric from Kisna...

I am looking for a reason
To smile once again
Through every changing season
The pain I can't explain
I see the magic all around
Shining down on me
With you my life would be so right
If only it could be

May be this world is a mystery to me
But if you could be here for eternity

A moment is all I am searching for
Just a moment in love with you
A moment so special so beautiful
In a moment my wish comes true

Music: AR Rahman
Sung by: Sunitha Sarathy

The world loves me

2005-03-02T04:47:00.000-08:00

Want to know if the world cares for you? Want to know how many remembered to remember you? Want peace? Want quiet? Want bliss?

Walk into your office early morning before the rest of the mass hurls in, bring in a hot cuppa from the vending machine, sit at your terminal and… check your mails!

Its probably the noblest of all the daily morning rituals. There is nothing in this world more peaceful than a silent early morning office with just a footstep or two tapping beside my ears every now and then, and laying back on my stylish push-back seat with a hot cup of Nescafe from the vending machine spreading out an amazing vapor tickling my smell buds and my fingers double-clicking the ‘Microsoft Outlook’ icon. “Updating inbox…” says the status bar of my Outlook as I open it and gape with my wide open eyes and start watching all my overnight mails pumping in at an extravagant pace, all this accompanied by the blissful exercise of sipping the upper crust off the delicate fluid in my hand.

Look what do I see.. I sure seem to have a lot of admirers all around the world, whom I know nothing about. There are those people with domains that sound like a mix of greekish latin english and love me so much that they provide me ways to enlarge parts of my body to make me look better and offer me unbelievable mortgage and medical discounts, give away the costliest software for nothing and even help me find girls to date. And there are some who just want to let me know they still care even though they have nothing to say, by sending a contentless, subjectless, meaningless mail. And there are also a few mails from those I know.

Meanwhile, my cubicle-mate has just taken his place enacting a morning ritual only slightly different to mine (he sips tea!), and I just walk over to his desk not wanting to miss the “Updating inbox…” phenomenon. Look what do I see.. An almost ditto of my inbox, but for the mails from those known few.

An overwhelming happiness beams upon me as I give out a broad grin. After all, I am not the only privileged victim of Spam!

This post is dedicated to my teammate Chaitanya - the most spammed member of our team!!

Abroad or perish

2005-03-01T03:32:00.000-08:00

Alfred Tennyson once wrote “More things are wrought by prayer…”. With due respects to him, I give a new definition “More things are wrought by lies…”. And its more true, if you are a parent of a guy looking out for a girl for the supposedly holy ritual. More so, if you belonged to a typical South Indian community that I belong.

If I write a book on the kinds of lies that the guy’s house give to impress the prospective girl’s house, the top of my list would be “He’s going abroad soon.” You should be one of those blessed cosmic creatures to actually see how this sparks off a string of light bulbs on the forehead of the prospective girl’s parents. “Oh! Did u hear that! This guy is going abroad. Imagine telling our neighbors and that slimy uncle of yours, that my daughter is settled in the States! Hey make it a 1-up for this boy!”

And if you don’t go abroad, you are just another ol’ swine spending his life marching between the delirious streets of a dusty South Indian suburb, who goes to the Kodaikkanal hills for his honeymoon and wonders how beautiful God’s creation is…

In that far-reaching world, Foreign translates to intelligence. Intelligence in foreign translates to wealth. A wealthy intelligent boy settled in foreign. Who could ever have second thoughts on such a match for their daughter. After all, the neighborhood gossip of their daughter settled in foreign married to a wealthy intelligent boy is more important than the boy being ‘her’ choice of a guy.

As for the boy’s parents, over all the couple of years they were looking for a girl, their son has always been going abroad in a couple of months. When things get to materialize and as they get closer to marriage they pip in, "He is not going because of this marriage stuff coming up". What an unquestionable justification! What a responsible boy! Sacrifices his going abroad for the sake of his would-be wife, though he might always still get to go anytime soon, mind you.

Lies! When would the boy’s parents choose to keep facts straight and simple? And when would the girl’s parents choose to put the daughter’s future ahead of neighborhood gossip?

Having asked that, just as the oracle in The Matrix and the history as we know it would say, not making a choice is also a choice.

Life's like that - 1

2005-02-28T07:08:00.000-08:00

A sparkling bit of convo between me and my team mate...

She: So, when was the last time you came here?
Me: First time, since my last visit.
She: And when was your last visit?
Me: Yesterday!

Beneath the veils

2005-02-28T02:58:00.000-08:00

“I wouldn’t pose in biknis for that matter” quipped in the gregarious Sania Mirza when Shekhar Gupta asked her “How did your family accept your dressing?”

I was watching Walk the Talk in NDTV past saturday night when this little conversation flapped the prejudice factor. Whatever prompted the question, I wonder why does a person belonging to a conservative background always gets to answer about their backgrounds. It’s more sensible to see a sportsperson in the light of the achievements she has made, rather than embarrass her on what her conservative family thinks of her ‘fooling’ around. And Sania Mirza is just that. A Sportswoman! Nothing more!

Sania shot up to fame because of her tennis. And it must be the tennis that gets the blow-up poster on the center-spread and not the moon in the mosque her dad prays at. Her tennis, not her religion, should make the headlines. It’s not vital how her community views her limelight, but what she, an individual, has gained as an exceptional corsage of talent. What is vital, is how the country lofts this proud young achiever and not what a somber preacher down the gully bemoans her exposing thighs on the tennis court. When do we learn to see things as they are, rather than veiling the fog of a filthy prejudice.

I remember the day I was watching a press conference, when Irfan Pathan was questioned what he thinks of the Gujarat riots. “It’s a sad thing”. Irfan sure has learned to keep it short with the press. And another enthusiastic journalist asking him if he ever has any time for his daily rituals.

Just wonder when was the last time Virender Sehwag was asked if he ever went to a Temple, or Harbhajan Singh going to Gurudwara, or Leander Paes going to the Church for that matter.

Why mortify sport with religion?

The Dawn

2005-02-23T05:54:00.000-08:00

Not wanting to blabber the inadequacies of the mortal solitude, here's a little gem that I read this morning. Welcome to my blog warming ceremony.

You are the person that has to decide; Whether you'll do it or toss it aside.
You are the one who makes up your mind; Whether you’ll lead or linger behind.

Whether you’ll try for the goal that’s far; Or be contented to stay where you are.
Take it, or leave it. Here’s something to do; Just think it over. Its all up to you!

What do you wish? To be known as a shirk, known as a good person who’s willing to work, Scorned for a loafer or praised by your boss, rich or poor, beggar or thief?

Eager or earnest or dull through the day, honest or crooked?
Its you who must say!

You must decide in the face of the test
Whether you will shirk it or give it your best.