Split, Spilled and Spoiled

Rahat ki Raat

2010-05-13T16:55:00.004+05:30

Miracles happen, even today. A few of the miracle-men are still around us. Just when you lament the absence of the past in the present, the miracle man carries its legacy and runs past you. Into the future. He is sent to help time keep its promise to the future. He is sent to ensure that the past, through the ages, remains glorious. I know of one - his faculties are unassuming yet legendary; his persona transparent yet unsolved. His trivialities are enigmatic, his lucidity inexplicable.

When he sings, you cannot but believe that it's humanly impossible to sing like that. And if you happen to see him right afterwards, you find him impossibly human. I was fortunate enough to have this second perspective of Ustad Rahat Fateh Ali Khan this weekend.

Having already performed in two sold-out concerts in the area at the beginning of his US-Canada tour, the organizers had to fit in another one on the eve of his departure to appease the unrelenting callers requesting for another show in New York. This was a sold out event as well, and had many repeat attendees. As he always does, the Ustad thrilled with his electrifying singing of traditional and popular fare. Starting with two magical kalaam of Hazrat Amir Khusroo - Mann Kunto Maula and Chhap Tilak Sab Chhini - he re-iterated the spirit of borderless spirituality sometime later when he said he feels happy whenever there is an Indo-Pak collaboration. 'This is how we should live, as brothers,' he said and waited for the audience to stop cheering before he could start on with his next song.

"Harmonium aur mera voice mein thoda aur volume dijiye," he said once. I had a feeling it was going to be Aaj Din Chadheya and indeed it was. If one didn't hear him sing that song the way he did that night, one would never get an idea as to what it really was. When he said, 'Jeeti rahe Sultanat teri, jeeti rahe aashiqui meri,' there was no doubt as to what love he was talking about. You could feel the same when he started off with O Re Piya. The context in the film, the words, the message - all of these get blurred when he sings live. You just realize the trance creep into you and feel thankful of the experience. He was unbelievably outstanding in Halka Halka Suroor, Chhap Tilak and Aankhiyan Udeek Diya - among the traditional songs.

I managed to somehow go backstage during the interval, about two hours into the show. He was talking to a friend and smiled and nodded towards me before I could say anything. It is eerie, as to how almost all his songs have at least a couple of lines in them that I identify with my own feelings and thoughts. It is uncanny how I feel he sings my mind at those places but in front of him, I could barely tell him a fraction of all I wanted to say. A few incoherent sentences later, I asked him if he could sign his photo for me and I didn't mean to disturb him. 'Haq hai aap ka,' he said, before noting that the photo was from 1998. He smiled when I told him he had performed with Eddie Vedder in the same year. I also told him I love going back to the video where he privately sings Gham Hai Ya Khushi Hai Tu - in 1994. He put an arm on my shoulder and said, 'Bahot shukriya aap ka, aap itna pyaar se sunte ho.' And this is how the conversation went for the next ten minutes, and then I got my coveted photo with him.

"It's that you for real in Facebook", I asked. "No," he said. I said I felt as much, because there was no updates or any replies to my messages. "Is he doing anything bogus,' he asked back. I said no. It was time to resume the show and I requested him to sing Mann Bawra Tujhe Dhoondta. 'Bahot achha gaana hai, zaroor sunayenge,' he smiled at me, and added - 'Aap thoda stage ke saamne aa jaana main bhool gaya to.'

I must confess here that, after the intermission I could not listen to him as attentively as I do. I was still trying to believe I really met him and talked to him. His genuine humility made it feel all the more serene, and I could not keep my mind off those ten minutes with him. I forgot to draw his attention and he forgot to sing my song. And when I met him again after the concert, he saw me and came rushing towards me. 'I am very sorry', he said, and kept repeating it. I told him I considered myself fortunate to have talked to him in person and hear him sing in front of me, but he said it one more time before getting into the car. It was great to see him talk contently to the organizers about the success of last 30 days, and laughing and joking with his childhood friend who he was meeting after 10 years.

I have to talk separately about the rendition of Ye Jo Halka Halka Suroor Hai that night. He surpassed himself in those thirty minutes of passionate singing, which was even more incredible because he had very little vocal support in his group. He just took the fabulous qawwali to an even higher plane. The intensity of the song was such that I thought, this is in no way Halka. The intoxication was undiluted and took you high instantaneously. Four days later, still feeling dazed and feeling blessed, I realize he was talking about this lasting, mild intoxication that's sure to last a lifetime.

Here's wishing the best of everything to the undoubted best of our times.

Refuge

2010-03-04T16:13:00.001+05:30

One by one along the descent of time
A past undone, for a present sublime
A trust won, then the evident crime -
The pain and then, to the next refuge.

They all speak the same words sweet
You get weak and the words repeat
Twist and tweak, inch towards deceit -
The pain and then, to the next refuge.

The best of races, the spotless breed
The sacred places of a useless need
Fake embraces and the endless greed -
The pain and then, to the next refuge.

Smiling coexistence of an assorted mix
The fabled tolerance, flouted ethics
Practiced pretense, and inherited tricks -
The pain and then, to the next refuge.

Inseparable ties that bind the unknown
Truth in lies, you find, you're shown
Suppressed sighs - the grind, all alone
The pain and then, to the next refuge.

Now I'm blind in your charm unseen
In you confined, on your arm, I'd lean
You're kind, I know, no harm you mean
But please don't be my next refuge.

Days of Dreams

2010-02-23T13:38:00.000+05:30

A horizon where it's ever-sunset
I love the hues of crimson-spill
Sprinkled stars, I'd not forget
Around the moon, atop the hill
Drawing us in silver clouds, I
Bring them close, and up we rise
No one stops, or asks me why
When I dream, with open eyes.

A field spread out, like your arms
A breeze, of your breath, is made
The cloudy eyes, all their charms -
In the sleepy cool of a maple-shade
A cradling branch, a redbird sings
It chirps for you, never again flies
I just see these same, few things
When I dream, with open eyes.

Hoga Masiha Saamne Tere

2010-01-29T17:34:00.010+05:30

"Every time I am about to sing, I feel these words are meant for me," he said. And the aalap that followed gave the song, and hence the words, away. You know he is just being modest - as true artists be. For, anyone with a working ear would have never agreed. Not when the words are 'Sur na saje, kya gaoon main?' And never when he is Manna De.

The singing icon was in Hyderabad this weekend as a part of the week-long celebration of Bimal Roy's cinema on the occasion of his centenary. Manna Da - a prominent voice in his films - was being felicitated on this occasion. "I'm not far behind, I am ninety," he said, looking dapper in a crisp suit and the trademark cap. The fortunate audience clapped. "I think I will sing in my own centenary as well." The audience roared this time, and the claps refused to stop. Meanwhile, he was still in that first song from Basant Bahar - at 'Sangeet mann ko pankh lagaye'. My mind was indeed flying, high on the wings of this unexpected encounter. I still could not believe I was standing in front of him as he walked out of the elevator - just a few minutes back. Not sure if I'd get another chance, I asked for an autograph. He looked at the sketch on the paper (the same one as above) and smiled. "Later", he said, and shook my hand. My evening was made - I have lived to shake hands with Manna De.

He sang 14 songs at a stretch - something I have not seen anyone else doing. They were -

Sur Na Saje from Basant Bahaar
Madhushala (it was great to hear him mention Jaidev as 'a genius')
Dharti Kahe Pukar Ke from Do Bigha Zameen
Zindagi, Kaisi Hai Paheli from Anand
Jhanak Jhanak Tori Baaje Paayalia from Mere Huzoor
Ay Meri Zohra-jabeen from Waqt
Ye Raat Bheegi Bheegi from Chori Chori
Sochke Ye Gagan Jhoome from Jyoti
Dil Ki Girah Khol Do from Raat Aur Din
Aaja Sanam from Chori Chori
Coffee House Er Sei Adda Ta (to placate the crowd that kept shouting 'Bangla, Bangla')
Laga Chunari Mein Daag from Dil Hi To Hai
Kasme Vaade Pyaar Wafaa from Upkaar
Ay Mere Pyaare Watan from Kabuliwala

"He was awarded the Padma Bhushan in the year…" the announcement paused and the announcer flipped through her script. "Does it matter?" came from the awardee, in that one second. "Aap log Madhushala sunna chahenge?" a few minutes later it was the time to test the audience. "Are you playing that dholak? I cannot hear it," the musicians were also kept on a tight leash. Throughout the evening, he came across more as the living patriarch of film music than another 90-year old man from the glory days. He did not, however, tell anything to his co-singer when she started her part in Ye Raat Bheegi Bheegi probably a full octave lower than the original song. It was as if he had Usha Uthup, instead of Lata Mangeshkar, for company. A few in the audience groaned - Manna Da just looked at her askance. And when the lady did the same in that magical aalap in Dil ki girah khol do, he did it himself for the remainder of the song. No nonagenarian, not even Manna De, can replicate Laga Chunri Mein Daag. But the grand old man gave it a try and tested his breath. He did not give up until he was satisfied - and the audience nodded in disbelief. I was waiting for the first Antara when he started Ay Mere Pyaare Watan. And when he sang that Aaye in Tere Daaman Se Jo Aaye Unn Hawaaon Ko Salaam, it had that same silken effect as the original.

"Are you really ninety?" I asked him after he signed on the portrait I had printed out. "How is it possible to sing like that?" He smiled.

I could not take a chance- and went up to him on the stage even while the vote of thanks was on. I am glad I did, for, I had a precious 5-minute conversation with the legend. "Keep this garland if you want to," he said, and I just managed to say thanks. From not knowing about the concert to kneeling by his side on the stage and getting his blessings in a few hours, I was indeed a bit too overwhelmed for a proper and more polite exchange of words. Whoever named him Manna was surely a clairvoyant punster - and I was over the moon to have my share of the blessing.

Duo, in Disguise

2009-10-14T14:52:00.005+05:30

OP Nayyar's music came stamped with his own, distinct class - the freshest brew of melody and rhythm, and probably the most innovative choice and use of instruments. Though the superficial listener might just associate him to the hoof-beats, the more ardent listener would smile contently whenever those Sarangi, Santoor, Sitar or even the Harmonium would cast a spell in those magical pre-ludes/interludes. And, discounting his occasional use of the other singers, there is no doubt about his choice of THE male voice for his songs. I guess Rafi Sahab not only sounded the freshest when singing for OPN, but also elicited an unmatched painful-romanticism (I do not know how else to describe the feeling in Aanchal mein sajaa lena kaliyan, Deewana Hua Baadal or Hai Duniya Usiki). In fact, one can go, and has gone, no ends to talk about these songs.

For this post, however, let us take one of those songs which do not carry that stamp. A song that - if you did not have prior knowledge of its details - would never make you think that Rafi Sahab is with OPN in the recording room. The duo in disguise, so to say.

Here goes this stunning disguised composition from the Balraj Sahni-Nutan starrer Sone Ki Chidiya.

Maut kabhi bhi mil sakti hai
Lekin jeevan kal na milega
Marnewale soch samajh le
Phir tujhko ye pal na milega

Raat bhar ka hai mehmaan andhera
Kiske roke ruka hai savera

Raat jitni hi sangiin hogi
Subah utni hi rangiin hogi
Gham na kar gar hai baadal ghanera
Kiske roke ruka hai savera

Lab pe shikwa na laa ashq pii le
Jis tarhe bhi ho kuchh der jee le
Ab ukhadne ko hai gham ka dera

Aa koi milke tadbeer soche
Sukh ke sapnon ki taabir soche
Jo tera hai wohi gham hai mera
Kiske roke ruka hai savera

The video of this song is available here, and it gets more pertinent if we have a look at the situation in the film.

A song of such profundity, had to be created and sung adequately as well. The moment Rafi Sahab's voice rings in the opening lines, the song attains a level that tells us that it can only become more thought-provoking from there. In the film, there is a duet version of this song with Asha Ji and a part of that song is added towards the end of this video.

It is worthwhile to notice the striking difference in Rafi Sahab's singing in the two versions, even if it is the same song. The duet version is sung during times of hope, while this solo version is at a time of abject despair. Even though it is the same philosophy, the duet version professes it while this version brings it to practice. This subtle difference is understood and executed (yes, one more time) by Rafi Sahab in his own inimitable way. The texture of the voice changes as the hope gets trapped in the quagmire of pathos. The prophecy, however, remains unchanged. For, giving up is - somehow - never an option. Words cannot completely express what the voice does. Hear it yourself, listen to the same line sung at 1:07 minutes and then again at 4:53 minutes. I call him the Sublime Sorcerer for countless tricks like this that only he could unleash, with that innocent smile undiminished.

Incorrigible

2009-08-29T04:33:00.006+05:30

Here is a list of seven quick things I wish I could change, in me -

Strike up a good conversation with someone I just met. (Also, spare the ones close to me of my incessant rants.)
Go to bed at an earthly hour - for the rest of my life.
Don't exactly wish to wake up early in the morning - alarms are there just for stopping. (Those who are learning, still snooze them.) At the minimum, I wish I could feel the need to answer the phone when the boss is on the line. (As an aside, the most authentic excuses come to mind in those few seconds of seeing the call, contemplation and silencing the call.)
Pre-determine the last spoon, and stick to the decision, when I am sitting with my ice cream tub.
Feel the need to put some people in their respective places, what if just mildly.
Complete the construction of that half-built bridge connecting my wishes and action. (Reminds me of what I said once - "If wishes were horses, mine would be the biggest stable in this world.") This is a lot to ask for, given the circumstances. At least, I wish I don't set off in those treks anymore :D
Spare some thoughts for things certified 'important' - for they are useful, no doubt.

Now that I have this list in writing, and have gone through it once as well, I do not think these are impossible to achieve. Nothing - they say - is impossible. I'm a seasoned planner and I have estimated that these seven things will definitely work out, maybe, in the seven forthcoming births.

Unsolved Mysteries

2009-04-23T06:11:00.002+05:30

The mind of the poet is a minefield - of the creative kind. There are wannabe poets who want to write (if you browse through the archives of this blog, you would surely know one :D). And then, there are poets who came down straight from the endlessness of the sky, wrapped in gloss and tied with a red ribbon. I do not want to name any of them - the list will be unending even with my limited exposure. Each time I discover a new one in that class, I just feel too much contented and happy. For the fact that such people exist, whose minds sparkle with thoughts off the beaten track. We can never get into what goes on inside, but are still fortunate to marvel at what approximates on paper. You know such a person through simple lines put in such a way that eludes all sort of commonplace connections - for a poem is not just rhyming lines. Just imagining myself trying to write something depicting a similar emotion; and all I am left with is an amazement that has no answer, as to what can make a mind think like that.

A rambling post after a long hiatus - but I just had to write this short note after I heard Nusrat Fateh Ali Khan singing:

Teri ummeed tera intezar jab se hai
Na shab ko din se shikayat, na din ko shab se hai

Busy at work

2008-12-18T04:56:00.002+05:30

"You still have a cool image," the words came and hit like thunder. After sitting still for a few moments, I typed in the customary 'hahahahhahaa' but it did not do justice to the way I was laughing. It was just like another day, and this friend and I were discussing how we (he after trying and I after not trying) could not raise our 'levels' in all these years and have stayed at the same state of worthlessless. It's great fun, laughing about your incompetencies and celebrating the hopelessness. But he changed it all today, adding this highly undesired line at a time when we were so much in the groove, citing one example of callousness after another.

"No, I am serious, you have some coolness about you."

"I have a word for it - unsmart." I love the rolling-on-the-floor smileys and used them in abundance, to catch up with my laughter.

"No, really, you are calm, composed and confident."

"Too good, carry on. I am liking it." Knowing he was not going to stop, I thought of egging him on for more. After all, if I tried to forget his intentions, it made for some good reading.

"You have something intense about you as well."

"Don't stop, go on..." At this point, my colleague came and peeped in. She smiled her way to her seat in sometime.

"I am in the mood today, so keep listening. Tomorrow, I won't tell you all this."

"Sure, you go ahead. I will tell good things about you once you are done." Then I reminded him of someone who met me for the first time, and vented her frustration by telling another friend that it is impossible to talk to me.

"But that was just the first time, because you are usually quiet. But you have a 'totality' about you." We usually use the word 'total' to represent the biggest goof-ups. He had to use some other word to even think he could make me take him seriously.

"Hahhahaahhahaa.. Now enough. I cannot take it anymore."

"Am I joking here?"

"Who wants to know? It's making me laugh my heart out. Thanks."

"No good telling you anything."

"No no, it felt good. But you also should know, you are our hero."

I knew there would not be an answer. If I laughed like mad, I was smiling broad now, to give him back a bigger dose of his own bitter medicine. Not bothering about the lack of answer, I went on with "Something like a dynamic idol", "the level we can only aspire to reach some day, knowing we cannot get there". I knew this cannot go on one-sided for long. So had to buzz him for his non-response. "You there?"

"I was serious. Am not liking this today."

How could I make him believe that even I was as serious as he was. And the conversation wavered to the familiar courses of making fun of friends, acquaintances, unknowns and, most importantly, ourselves.

Having said all that, the chats that I have with him makes me feel light at work. Here is a snapshot of how it goes most of the times.

Of stirred souls and soothed minds

2008-12-02T09:56:00.004+05:30

It does not usually happen – consecutive posts on the same topic. But it’s been sometime and I did not write anything here. Then, this Saturday, I went for the Rahat Fateh Ali Khan concert in New York. Not writing about the experience would be like Neil Armstrong coming back to earth, shrugging at the people around him and getting back to work. Here is an approximate account of one of the most surreal musical experiences I have had.

If you have read the previous post, you know how much I love this singer – his voice, his absolute command over his skills, his humility and genuineness. I waited in anticipation till he smiled his way to his harmonium, acknowledging the rampant cheer in the auditorium. Not even a minute to settle down and announce that he would be starting off with a famous qawwali of his Ustad. He never, not even once during the three hours he was on the stage, mentioned of his Uncle, just Ustad-e-Mohtaram Khan Sahab. By the time he finished the heavenly rendition of Allah Hu, he left no doubt on what was to come. The time just passed in his impeccable singing, incredible voice, amazing coordination with his troupe and, of course, the divine intervention. It’s nothing but the divinity that separates singers like Rahat from others. What he sang for three hours over small sips of water and a five-minute break was something out of this world. It does not come with training alone.

He sang qawwalis, Punjabi geets and all his popular songs from Bollywood movies. The qawwalis included Allah Hu, Tumhein Dillagi Bhool Jaani Padegi, Maikhana, Halka Halka Suroor, Afreen, Mast Qalander, Tum Ek Gorakh-Dhanda Ho and Koi Jaane koi na jaane. The Punjabi geets included Mera Piya Ghar Aaya, Ni Main Jaana Jogi De Naal, Aankhiyan Udeek Diya, Kisay Da Yaar Na Vichde. He sang all his famous Bollywood numbers – wrapping them effortlessly with his style and presenting something new from what he hear in the records. I particularly liked Main Jahaan Rahoon (for the way he sings the first two lines and effect of the chorus for the Kehne ko sath apne part), Naina (what a song and what singing!) and Bolna Halke Halke (you have to be me to feel what I feel in this one). Ore Piya, Jag sunaa sunaa laage and Mann ki Lagan (just loved the way he ended the song in this live version) were superlative to say the least. He embellished the numbers with some incredible taans and aalaaps. His fingers glided over his harmonium with so much ease that the complex notes seemed to be coming from somewhere else. And each time he took his hands off the harmonium and set off on those sargams, a bigger treat was for the taking. The hands measuring out the notes, the head swaying sideways, the eyes closing as the scales went higher and the hint of a smile as if to acknowledge the perfection of the output – this is the picture of the concert that has stayed on. Another thing was when he missed the words for a brief moment, remembered it soon enough as to not lose the line and then went on to sing the next lines in the now deliberately off-beat manner that turned out to be more beautiful than what he intended to sing. Who thought this brilliant piece of improvisation stemmed out from a mistake?

He was happy with the crowd – that swayed and raved and appreciated the maestro in action. Request-chits came flowing in; people came to the dais to get a close up shot or record a clip or just to dance. All songs ended with a rapturous applause and he started off with the next one as people still clapped. The atmosphere was full of life and one could ignore the pretty lady in pink who came up and posed with her elbow on the stage as her partner clicked on, concentrating hard to get that perfect background. But can you possibly ignore the ingenuity of the person who thought of making I love you I love you I love you from Allah Hu Allah Hu Allah Hu.

I kept the title of my earlier post on Rahat as ‘Rising Sun’ – the successor to the institution called Nusrat Fateh Ali Khan who had just started making his mark. When I went for his concert, I had to tilt my head up much more I do to see a rising sun. The sun has already risen and is at its brightest best.

Rising Sun

2008-11-03T10:06:00.002+05:30

Music can be relieving. We all know this, but there are some times when we realise this and believe in this more than ever. There is one kind of music that soothes you as it plays. You relax, it relaxes. End of worries. There is this other kind. It does not play along. You are made to plunge in and swim. The tune, words and arrangement become the temperature, depth and current of the water. One way to add more to the experience is to consider the singing. Try listening to the effort put in by the singer, either directed or through improvisations, and the appreciation could increase considerably. This is true for music across all the ages. It is rarer, but definitely not absent, in modern music.

We started with relief. And there is relief indeed, literally, when you listen to the synonymous singer - Rahat Fateh Ali Khan. A present day heir to one of the richest musical families, he has not buckled under the pressure of responsibility. He has, in fact, added some more to it - seamlessly adding his flair to light singing in modern film songs. The compact training and base stands guard, the softness plays in front. You can just watch the duel in amazement. Putting his songs on play does a lot of good to me at times when things are not what I want them to be. It also proves to me that art and artists can never fade from this world, it is only the trends that decide what we get everywhere. Here's saluting a real treasure of our times with traits that I look for in my favourite artists - humility, softness, devotion. And they can sing live and create the same magic without the technology blanket of the recording studio. And my favourite artists smile as they sing.

Attaching two live snippets from two of my favourites from him. Sheer magic - takes time to believe someone can sing like this.

Mann ki lagan

Naina

Glorified Tears

2008-09-15T07:17:00.004+05:30

You need not be tearful when talking about tears. Poetry - the traditional and old-fashioned type is what I like - has this uncanny ability to turn the most depressing emotions sweet. This song from Naya Kanoon is one such example; it keeps talking about the tears without a mention of the crying. Hasrat Jaipuri shows us why lyricists of the golden era were poets as well. Madan Mohan keeps his musicians off this track to give the total attention to the lyrics. They had to resort to - no surprises here - Rafi Sahab to deliver the goods.

Here goes the words -

Unhe qissa-e-gham jo likhne ko baithe

To dekhe kalam ki rawaani mein aansoon

Ye anmol taare, ye ulfat ke moti

Unhe humne bheje nishaani mein aansoon...

Unhe hum kahaani sunane na paye

Unhe daag dil ke dikhane na paye

Ye aansoon hamare bade kaam aaye

Zubaan ban gaye be-zubaani mein aansoon...

Na samjho ke aansoon hai gham ki kahaani

Ye aansoon hai ulfat ki pehli nishaani

Muqaddar ke qaatib ka kitna karam hai

Ke likkhe hai meri kahaani mein aansoon...

Zamane mein taqdeer sab ki judaa hai

Tujhe kuchh mila hai, mujhe kuchh mila hai

Udhar hai teri zindagi mein khushiyan

Idhar hai meri zindagi mein aansoon...

Unhein qissa-e-gham jo likhne ko baithe

To dekhe kalam ki rawaani mein aansoon.

Still marvelling at - zubaan ban gaye be-zubaani mein aansoon!

West-side Story

2008-09-15T01:41:00.005+05:30

Completed seven days in San Jose today. Even though the work, workplace and colleagues are pretty cool here, there is something amiss that calls for this post. Here are seven reasons why I did not quite like it here till now -

Would you want to move out of a place where you have just had the best of times with the best of friends? Feel at home, loads of fun, weekend trips, dinners, movies - almost every day? I, for sure, won't. This could be reasons 1 through 7 - but let us have the other ones as well.
You check in to your hotel - a pretty neat one at that. And a notice waves at you - "This facility contains chemicals that are known to cause cancer and birth defects... " Not a nice thing.
People who do not talk much with everyone like to see others talk. What then, if there is hardly anyone around you?
Not the right place if you do not drive a car or plan to buy one. The public transit is not quite there. Reminds me of path trains, subways, trains, NYC Taxi, water taxi...
It takes a lot of time aligning yourself to spend time by yourself till late in the nights everyday. After getting there, you possibly do not want to do the same during the day as well.
Can you possibly reign in your system so as to feel hungry before 9:30 PM every day? More so if you are not cooking at home? You can possibly go out - but that would just be to take a walk.
When the total package is incomplete, you tend to quesiton your intentions. Makes you feel you are so away from home just for the money.

Signs

2008-08-30T12:43:00.006+05:30

"Do you believe in signs?" I was not prepared for this question from my friend. All of a sudden, when we were talking about something entirely different on chat. Still not sure what the question actually meant, I had to resort to a terse reply, "Not really." In a moment, she explained the relevance of the topic - she has been reading Paulo Coelho of late. A kind of rediscovery of the author of one of her, and mine as well, favourite books. The Alchemist is indeed the best example of how one can write sense in the simplest of ways. A novel-sized fable if you will. Anyways, without any more diversion, let me talk about the things she said next.

When life on this earth started, there were just a few souls, but as time moved on, the souls increased.. the explanation given in the book, is that when the soul moves on, it splits into two, a male and a female. And then they split into two, so on and so forth. The soul always splits into a male and a female. Have you ever thought about why we say soulmates? This is the reason. A soul always becomes one again, if people are able to find their soulmates.

Though I could not quite say that I believed in this theory, I had to admit that this explanation was indeed nice and simple. Pretty neat too. I found too many assumptions in this theory and did not quite get the concept of a male soul and a female soul. A soul, if there is one, cannot have a gender. It is just the essence of life in the body. A body without a soul is dead. A soul without a body is potential. A soul-mate, for me, is a super-set of all partners - whose compatibility transcends the limits of the body and the mind.

As I thought of all these things, it struck me that there is always many ways to look at the same thing. My thinking was based on the way I think, the things I have realized till now. Anyone else might have a different realization of the same thing. And when you start realizing things, truth and untruth no longer matter. To talk about a commonplace example (that is what you can expect from me), if you are not satisfied with work, whether the work actually offers possibilities or not does not matter. You stay stuck at your realization. Likewise. It is perfectly alright if someone relates to things that are not obvious. And when that happens, one can relate to signs, destiny or the supernatural.

I believe that even a thousand opinions can exist without interference. Without getting into the merits of each individual opinion, one can choose not to overlap with any of them while forming one's own. You possibly cannot ignore when Paulo C writes. But you are absolutely free to smile at the triviality of this post.

Ghulam Ali Can't Dance

2008-08-24T13:10:00.003+05:30

It was just yesterday that my mother told me that I am very fortunate to have friends like the ones I do. I had no reason to differ; she had none not to realize this. Not every mother can see her son off and - before she can even come to terms with the geography separating them - in no time hear him beaming on the phone, "I am perfectly fine. Staying with a friend, eating at another friend's place." The momentary pause at this point is just to gather the names of everything the friend cooked for dinner, the warmth shown by her and her husband and the good times with other very good friends. Now, when the night is contemplating handing over the keys to the sun, I look at the four people sleeping about in the house. It reminds me of similar settings in Hyderabad and Calcutta - and the times I have felt a happiness growing inside. I re-assert the observation that I started the post with.

All good things are actually better, but you have to look beyond the surface. Many people have friends and there are instances of friendship that has moved on to folklore. What makes my case even more curious is the fact that all this love and care is for someone who is just a little better than the furniture in the room as far as interactions are concerned. Put an occasional smile to the chair at the corner - that's me. This amount of cordiality for someone who is a permanent fixture in the Liabilities column of any journal is indeed rare.

Each time we are together, more so when everyone is having a great time, my friends realize the ineffectiveness of my participation. After all, what can you get from someone who listens to music that from the stone age, whose speech is as limited to that of the neolithic man as well? Someone who cannot sing a line or dance a step? And on each such time I, on my side, realize the futility of any suppressed wish that says - "When will this guy change?" If my incorrigibility was made of gold, it would have been 24 carats.

Hello - 9 inches to the left

2008-08-20T11:44:00.006+05:30

Mine has been an incessant attempt at keeping on writing whether anyone reads or not. It felt great, then, when someone chanced upon this blog yesterday and said it was nice. He had an immediate question - 'Why no post on A?" He was justified in saying that. After all, this person had sent too many chills down our spines at one time. And he has indeed left with us an unending treasure trove of laughter, to the extent where just the mention of his name brings to mind his myriad antics, and plunges us in waves of unadulterated laughter.

To get the context, we need to rewind to the early years of this century. Eight years ago, even I used to be enthusiastic - embroidering dreams on ambitions all day. It was in such a setting that my brother introduced me to the two people I mentioned in the last paragraph - the initiator and the protagonist of this post. In no time, a legal document pronounced us 'Partners' in a firm. 'A', he told, was a programming exponent with superb 'contacts' and an undying hunger for entrepreneurship. The other partner, let's call him 'B', was into graphic design which is so essential for what we were going to do. Fancy websites, to be precise. Being still in college, I came without any specialization. Three of us (3 is a number that both 'B' and I detest now), thus, started a journey on a not-so-auspicious day. The name of this association was also ironical. We called it Destination Future. 'A' was cool, he called it DF.

Anyways, in a couple of months, we could indeed complete a couple of nice websites solely on the basis of some neat user interface. Then we got some more. The clients were happy, some cash started flowing and I picked up some HTML and JavaScript. At the end of the first year, we ended with a positive in the balance sheet. After college and on weekends, we would assemble in the 'office' and 'B' and I would arrive at the correct design and alignment of the webpages after numerous iterations. Our man, however, did little in these things. He said he could hardly wait for the programming work to come, smiling to show his betel-stained teeth; with an eye on an equal share even on the refreshments that came.

Days passed and soon things fell into perspective. The attitude was, afterall, just a failed attempt to hide the ineptitude. Writing programmes was like asking for the Ganges in Rajasthan - he could not even write a few correct lines in an email. Upon close observation, we realised that the time he spent at the computer was on chats, games and emails to nondescript ladies in, as far as, Australia. Emails that lied through their teeth. 'Too hectic a schedule, am working 20 hours a day.' 'I lost my laptop since I did not lock my car. All my data is gone!' 'Microsoft, IBM - all are running on losses, we will also need some time to pick up.' One would have thought he already had his photo on the cover of The Times - they were waiting for him to date the issue.

It made us restive and angry. Each time he showed his teeth, we gritted ours. It was imperative that in such a setting, Destination Future had all but a future. Time passed watching him arrive late everyday, leave early offering the lamest of excuses, shoot arrows at balloons before they could rise up the length of the computer monitor, write 1000-line emails (sorry not progams) and take numerous phone calls. Talking of phone calls, I must tell you about his peculiar habit of saying many hello's whenever he got a call, bending 9 inches to his left for each greeting. Often, when the caller finally greeted him, his ear would almost touch his knee. He would keep talking in that position.

In some time, we canceled the agreement and decided to move on. Having gained tremendous confidence in his PR skills that now matches his design skills, B carries on with a setup of his own to this day. Having failed at a similar attempt with a few of my friends in college as well, I decided to take on the oft-treaded path of employment. Having done nothing, 'A' decided to continue doing nothing. It is impossible to write everything about him in this post. 'B' and I still have a great time bringing him up in our conversations and laughing out loud. We still start laughing everytime we are together or on chat - when anyone gets a phone call, someone says programming or some incident creeps out from the dungeons in the mind. I don't know of anyone else who makes us laugh more than him.

There he came and said he was a nerd
But little did we know
In our pastures we just let loose
A rampant cow from the herd.

New Work

2008-08-09T06:11:00.001+05:30

Getting up early, walks down the river side, sitting idle on a bench amidst an equally carefree (but not as lazy) wind, hurrying for trains that arrive to the minute of the schedule, 2 sides and 2 meats for 5.55... I am back to Newport. A setting sun still dazzling on the Manhattan skyscrappers reflect the good times I had before. The expansive serenity of the surroundings promise uneneding possibilities.

Brush With Greatness

2008-07-08T17:53:00.006+05:30

“Tell us about any incident that you would never forget, Mubarak Ji? Something that brings a smile to your face or brings tears to your eyes…”

“Andhere Chha Rahe Honge, Ke Bijli Kaundh Jayegi, I had just sung till this line from the song Kabhi Tanhaiyon Mein Yun from the film Hamari Yaad Aayegi when” - she paused for a moment to look at the anticipation in the faces in front of her – “the lights went off!” We laugh out loud; she smiles. “Gaane ka aisa asar kisine kabhi dekha nahi hoga,” she says with a twinkle in her eyes. Mubarak Begum chose something amusing over the myriad melancholic things that keep bothering her.

During the three days that I got to spend with her, there were talks about the difficult times and the uncertain future. But there was no resignation in those talks – only a glaring resolve. An acceptance of reality, an amnesia of an absolved past. She agreed for every interview I arranged, without even asking her. “No personal questions, no controversial questions.” She seemed not to be an interviewer’s delight. When asked about how her passion for singing evolved she says, “I never wanted to sing, I was forced to sing by my father.” She is not very happy either about the long walk at and even longer drive from the Shamshabad Airport. You ask her the questions, she gives you her answers. No frills.

But if you persist you are treated to chunks of delightful incidents. When asked about her reaction to getting things easily these days and the big money involved in even smaller shows, she does not tell you anything about it. Instead, she breaks off to a story. “There were times when I would sing and wait for the payment. Sometimes, it was never made. It used to be around 150 rupees per song that time. I remember once I was very upset at not being paid. And even when we came out and sat in the taxi, I was grumbling about it to my father. Hearing me, the driver turned and asked me how long I had been singing? ‘A few years,’ I said. ‘Even then you are thinking about money?’ he asked me over his shoulders.”

“Work started to cease for me after 1965,” she puts it matter-of-factly. Further questions are not answered. So are questions about her past. The stern façade quickly comes off in tears as you ask her about her parents. “However old I get, how can I accept that they are not there with me?”

“Take me to her now,” she demanded when told that Jamuna, the beautiful actress who lipped her most popular song from Humrahi, stayed in Hyderabad. And as the two ladies embraced sometime later and kept talking, one could not say for sure if it was really 46 years that had separated them. As I asked Jamuna Ji if she could come for the concert the same evening, she said, “Of course I will come.” And as she talked on the mike in the concert, she narrated how Mubarak Begum gave her the ‘shock of her life’ that morning. One could feel the genuineness of her feelings, the depth of the emotions rocking her. It was no wonder that Begum, on her part, declared that never before did she sing ‘Mujhko Apne Gale Laga Lo’ with the same emotions as this day. No surprises again, when she did an encore for her heroine, who hummed happily with moist eyes in the first row.

She was to sing about three songs that evening. Without even a proper rehearsal, she was cynical of the performance. But as everyone collectively broke out into a deafening applause as she entered, one could sense that this audience would not be satiated for less. She went on to sing 7 songs amidst undying applause. The audience was not particularly expecting her to sing ‘Devta Tum Ho Mera Sahara’ – a classic 1953 duet with Rafi Sahab by Jamal Sen from Daera. She sang the whole song from memory, even the lines by her revered co-singer. One yearned for the excellent use of the chorus in the song, but was nonetheless left in awe. Scores of people came with her to the waiting car. For the only time during her stay, I saw a glow of joy in her face. It did not matter that she did not leave the place with a heavy purse, the warm embrace of her loving ‘heroine’ and the resonant applause of her fans more than made up for it.

People took notice. “When is she coming back?” “Meet me sometime; we will plan something big next time together.” “Does she practice daily even now? How come her voice has not lost the kashish?” Smiling, I could just hope that this initiative augurs well for one of the most neglected singers. A singer whose fledgling career dipped to the ground in her youth, but still promises to attain newer heights to overhaul the mammoth obstacles that block her way.

And as I put on Kabhi Tanhaiyon Mein Yun Hamari Yaad Aayegi yet another time, I try, in vain, to recollect another song that is as haunting. When I finally give up, her jest rings in my mind again, albeit in a different context – “Gaane ka aisa asar kisine kabhi dekha nahi hoga.”

3 days at home

2008-07-02T10:18:00.003+05:30

Roti-Dimer Kosha, Baingan Bharta, Pulao, Machher Matha diye lau, Mochar Ghanto, Doi-Machh, Chicken Biryani, Paneer Butter Masala, Kosha Mangsho, Parota, Keema'r Ghugni, Musur Dal, Phulkopir Tarkari, Chicken Sandwich, Rajbhog, Rosogolla, Kalojam, Lyangcha, Chamcham, Shon-papri, Mishti Doi, Ice cream, Himsagar Aam, Lyangda Aam.

Not mentioning the quantities. :D

An Incurable Addiction

2008-06-11T01:27:00.005+05:30

It's strange how even the quintessential healer, time, cannot heal some 'ailments'. One positive example is the way you feel for someone or something that you genuinely love. Sports has been one such love for me. While in school, it was an integral part of my life. I remember playing daily, without exception - cricket, football, table tennis, carrom and a host of other not-so-famous games that we played during and after school. One such invention was what we called Terrace Tennis. A court was drawn out on our terrace and a string was tied at about 4 feet to serve as the net. A table tennis ball (the local, hard and heavy variety) was sent across it with hard-cover 6-inch copies following the same rules of lawn tennis but no shot, including serves, was allowed to be played overhead. This last stipulation put a check to the number of times we had to run downstairs to fetch a ball. Visitors, the elderly ones, used to get alarmed seeing us running on the terrace at such fervent pace. More because, half of the terrace did not have a boundary. We were allowed to choose our names and it is no surprise that I was the Agassi on that court. In fact I did a bit better than him, staying the number 1 player as long as the game was played. :)

Such an involvement was ably supplemented by an equally strong interest in the happenings in the global scene. There was not much on TV those days, but we would lap up the weekly sports roundup shows and the big events. And, even to this day, I start reading a newspaper from the last page. We would get The SportStar and I used to read every page - though the most interesting part was to collect the centre-spreads that came free. I still have them at home, more than 300 posters of myriad sportsmen and women. My joys would cross the line whenever there was a Viv Richards, Andre Agassi or Gabriela Sabatini for the taking. Sadly, somehow I missed out on all the Marco van Basten ones and do not have one of him. These four were, and still are, my sporting idols.

No wonder, then, that I do not have to look up for names like Nigel Mansell, Jan-Ove Waldner or Leroy Burrel to know what they did.

But things changed, for the worse, after school. I stopped playing any games and even the craze for the happenings in the world of sports slightly decreased. This was aided by the retirements of Viv, van Basten and Sabatini around the same time. Thankfully, Agassi stayed on to re-write an essay in agelessness. I developed special likings towards many new players, but the passion for these top-4 borders on devotion and is much greater than my liking for Brian Lara, Thierry Henry or Dennis Bergkamp.

It would be an unending saga, if I am to write extensively about my madness for sports. And though I have grown apart from it to a large extent, the thrill of watching a defining moment in any game is unrivaled. There was a time when I would know all names in the starting XI for each team in the Football World Cup or the European Cup. Now I have to look out for the few I know in each team. I did not watch a single football match in the last 2 years, since the 2006 World Cup. Yet, when the Germany-Poland match at Euro 2008 kicked off the day before yesterday, the rush of excitement was the same. A packed house of colourful fans singing for their teams, the players not able to, and not wanting to as well, rest for even a moment for a full 90 minutes, the passionate attraction towards the ball at any cost - what a sight!

So here I am - suffering from the fever called IPL till recently - back to my bigger love football the moment Michael Ballack and his men lined up for their national Anthem at the start of the match. And no prizes for guessing who I would be supporting. The unique distinction of winning the European Cup as a player and a coach awaits Marco van Basten if the Dutch invasion runs till the end under his coaching.

Go Orange, Go Marco!

Approved absence

2008-06-04T01:23:00.004+05:30

Today, one of my friends asked me about the lack of activity in this space for the last few weeks. 'Don't be so idle', I was told. I just said that I will write something soon. What I left unsaid was that there was an absolute absence of activities for such a long time overall that it was imperative that it would reflect here as well. So much so that I hate those learned men now - the ones that have left us with so many crafty adages. 'An idle mind is a devil's workshop,' one of them said. Not only did he cut deep with the word 'devil', he sliced it open by bringing that dreaded 'work' even in the bliss that we call idleness.

Idleness - we say - is just a way of life. You can view it the way you want to. And call you what you want. What you call Zero-Kelvin we love to call Absolute Zero. That's how we look at it. That's how we love it. You think it is doing nothing; we believe it is not doing anything. But it is the same thing. You take a break from work; we take a break and work.

Why ponder over a glass half-empty or half-full? Drink only if someone brings it to you.

P.S. - Ok, the use of 'We' all through this post was an unproved assumption that at least one person like me exists.

The Big Blog

2008-04-29T00:15:00.002+05:30

After Aamir Khan, it is none other than the grandest man of Indian Cinema, Amitabh Bachchan, who has set his blog rolling. I think it is great to have public figures taking to blogging as a means of direct interaction with the people. And going by his posts, it is clear that this is also a medium for him to make his stand clear on many issues that are inseparable from the life of a celebrity. If you take a glance in his blog, it will be clear how much time he has to think about allegations levelled at him for myriad issues. Despite a routine that hardly anyone of his age can maintain, to stand 'tall' amidst people ranging from politicians, media, intellectuals, artists, NGOs and so on, requires a determination, and patience, that very few can preserve.

In all probabilities, however much he tries to clarify through this blog, people with intentions would continue their tirade against him, even at a personal level. Like all detractors, they are not against him, they are just working towards their minutes of fame. Instead, genuine fans would be much better off to see him ignore these allegations around him. I would not say dignified silence, but a careless disdain is what is required when needed. There would be definitely a seemingly endless treasure of incidents in his remarkable run in the industry - scenes, shoots, songs, dialogues, people. Detractors would remain detractors, but this way his fans would surely be loving the enrichment as much as they have loved the entertainment.

The few places where he has mentioned about his father (the late Dr. Harivansh Rai Bachchan), his poetry and his philosophy, have definitely embellished his accounts more than anything else. Quoting and explaining from the timeless Madhushala, he says how he believes in choosing a (the) path and sticking to it. I shall quote verbatim -

"Madiralay jaane ko ghar se, chalta hai peenay wala,
Kis path se jaaon asmanjas may hai woh bhola bhala.

Alag alag path batlate sab,
Par main yeh batlata hoon,

Raah pakad tu ek chala chal, pa jaaega Madhushala.

(The wanderer, the traveller sets out from his home to go to the Madhushala. Which path to take he is at a loss. Every one gives him different directions and different routes to take. But, the poet says, i tell him this - just catch one path and keep walking - you will find your Madhushala.)

The Madhushala is symbolic here of a destination a desire a goal, anything. The world will always suggest different ways to get there to achieve it, all very confusing at times. But the poet says, just get on to one path and keep walking, keep persevering - you will find your destination."

I am sure the fans would love to read this than to read him explain that his daughter-in-law was never married to a tree. In the coming days, I hope, we will get a larger share of the priceless chest of experiences he has inherited and earned in his blockbuster life.

N.B. At one place, he quotes his father saying - "After the sun has risen and before it sets, the one that sleeps, shall loose all his wealth even if he is a wealthy and devout Raja or King." I am no King, but a quick look at my bank balance gave me nothing to contradict the great poet.

Of Steps and Notes

2008-04-19T00:20:00.007+05:30

The Taramati Baradari is a historical monument in Hyderabad that was built by the seventh Sultan of Golconda, Abdullah Qutb Shah in remembrance of his favourite courtesan Taramati. It is basically an elevated platform with 12 arches and an acoustic technology way ahead of its time, evident from the fact that the Sultan would keep an ear to the strains of music from the Golconda fort, a few miles away. This has been refurbished by the state's Tourism Development Corporation and now houses a hotel with banquets and a 1600-seater cultural complex. Given the nostalgia associated with the place, it can be safely said that there could have been hardly a better place to house the Golconda Cultural Festival that started today.

To make things better, the evening had a Kathak performance by V Anuradha Singh. She was followed by Rahul Sharma on the Santoor.

I had never been to a Kathak performance before and all that I had seen of it was from a classmate way back when I was in school. Twice every year, on the day of the Individual Performance exam, she would come up and do the exact same steps for about a minute, falter at a particular step each time, giggle and run back to her seat. To see a masterful act after this was a hallowing experience. She came on to the stage and started off with a Shiva-Vandana before speaking to the audience. First on was a Chalan, which focusses solely on footwork, and the audience got an indication as to what was in store. Ably assisted by a harmonium, two tablas, a violin (playing like a Sarangi, which I sorely missed) and an almost redundant keyboard, she doled out small but highly effective doses from her repertoire to the audience. The person in the harmonium doubled up as the vocalist for some of the performances.

She presented short steps on tabla bols, then upped the momentum to depict some improvised sequences like a fish swimming in the river being picked up by a bird, the dance of a bee around a blooming lotus, a group of ducks moving about in a lake, deer-hunting, Lord Krishna playing with a ball, and so on. She explained that she developed these sequences as a layer over the traditional steps of Kathak, before moving on to some more traditional jugalbandi with the tabla, vocals, violin and then a few Chaturanga sequences on Raagas like Hamsadhwani, Shivranjini and Malkauns with all of these together. Overall, hers was a wonderful amalgamation of tradition and contemporary. While the tradition was epitomised by a breathtaking series of 42 back to back spins faster than the count from one to forty-two by the vocalist, the contemporary was best depicted by an item on what she called an Arabian Sufi Kathak, for which four dancers from her troupe added colours to the show. Coupled with a very able sangat by her musicians, her feet rained on the stage like wild rain and her ghungroo would make you believe it was raining on a tin roof. It was indeed a great performance by the artist in that it did not allow the mind of even a first-timer like me to waver.

Rahul Sharma built his performance on three pieces - one what he called as an impromptu nameless piece, a Jazz item and finally what he called the Music of the Himalayas. He was accompanied by a tabla, drums, keyboard and a jazz guitar - the first two instruments being the dominant supporting cast. As evident from the instruments, it was fusion that he served to the audience, probably aware of its composition. I wish there was a complete performance on a Raaga with just the tabla and maybe, a sitar/sarangi/violin. But he had clearly decided on keeping a fast tempo throughout keeping the audience in mind. All in all, it was an enchanting performance by the prodigious talent. His performance was laden with improvisations as well - once he was using only one striker and plucking the strings with fingers of the other hand to create a fresh set of notes, as if coming simultaneously from a santoor and a sitar. There was another prolonged period of time when he kept on playing a stock tune while allowing the tabla and the drums to take the initiative, which both the players did with finesse. Moreover, he was very patient with the glitches, when the power went off twice and the microphones were suddenly not catching some of the instruments.

All in all, this was a great start to this weekend.

Nirvana

2008-04-11T14:09:00.004+05:30

There is one point when man stops craving about the material comforts in life and looks beyond. For me, they are the same thing - a craving for something you do not have.

Look at any one of us. Money, investments, career, security - something or the other keeps us tethered to the post of ambitions. And after some years when we actually reach there, we realize there is a higher target to achieve in the same parameters. This is probably because we do not quantify our targets, all we always want is 'more'. Hence however much we achieve, there is more ahead. Today, even as we have left behind the goals of the past by far, we are well into a few rounds of this vicious circle.

However, at one point in life, the futility of all this running around dawns on us. As I said, there is again a craving for something we do not have. So we shift our focus to peace of mind - realizing little that peace was all we had when it all started. And without our knowledge, we also no longer talk about going to the gym or for a jog. We have yoga and praanayam to go with our new wants. I do not understand why one cannot dissociate Yoga and the, often needless, spirituality.

But the fact is we cannot. And there opens the door for the spiritual leader, ever-eager to step into our lives. Supposedly, for our betterment. While the Deepak Chopras await the elite class, the common man in us can always resort to Baba Ramdev, Amma Amritanandamayi and so on. Without realizing, again, we attach ourselves to the lessons of, quite ironically, detachment.

I am not averse to spirituality or religiousness. But we need to realize that we do not need anyone to lead us there. When we think we have had enough of money and fame and want Shanti, the person supposedly guiding us there is in his own pursuit of money and fame. One life is quite simple to manage and no one, not even God himself, can make it easier. And for me, we have God and extra-ordinary Men but sadly, no God-men.

I am not preaching without practising here. If you are into a lot of trouble, you just need to do two things to feel at peace -
A) get used to more troubles, and then,
B) break free.

I can pursue, arrest and experience peace at will. Just yesterday night, I was feeling a bit restive and wanted to come out of it. So I browsed and settled for an album titled Best of Baba Sehgal and put all the songs to play. The repulsion notwithstanding, I intently listened to Manjula Manjula, Baba Deewana, Thanda Thanda Paani, Dr. Dhingra, Memsaab, Miss Loomba Loomba, Kitty Kitty and Dil Dhadke. (Step A)
Then I closed the browser window. (Step B)

At that precise moment, there was more Shanti in my life than what all the holy men have gathered in theirs. When you are in need, you achieve Nirvaana by doing the same by clicking here.

And I can assure you, Baba Sehgal works much faster than Baba Ramdev.

Silent night

2008-03-08T16:07:00.004+05:30

As I sat down, tired
Of the meaningless walk
Alone, lost - the other night,
The darkness was visible, but
Not enough to find my way back.

I made a bed
Of the thick, moist grass
And rolled and rolled, as much -
No edge to fall, no air to lose
Walls and ceiling, made of glass.

The zephyr on the sweat
The coolness of defeat,
Ample support around me -
Sedentary stars standing above
The trampled grass at my feet.

Soon my eyes got wet in sleep
Dreams, even, were taking form
Then, day broke to break it all
I opened my eyes to the jeering crowd -
The early birds had got their worm.

March's Merriment Marred

2008-03-08T15:22:00.004+05:30

The first few days of evoke mixed feelings -

1) My brother's wedding anniversary -
Read last year's post here.

2) Viv Richards' birthday
Read last year's post here.

3) This is where the happy mood turns sour - with that conceited and hyped thing called International Women's Day!
(Sorry, no blog post on this one. I don't expect I'd write one too.)

A tale of 9 ears.

2008-02-16T03:11:00.004+05:30

Let me keep this short. It's a classic that would be enjoyed most by people who were at the scene. I am lucky that I was among the four of us in the auto this evening. Ok, so I will come straight to the point.

Three of us were in the auto, on our way to a friend's marriage. Unknown to the driver, so that he does not charge up his already exorbitant price for the 14 km journey for the additional passenger, another friend was to join us on the way. When he told him, of course after the deal was made and we had travelled some distance, his expressions changed and surfaced through his wry sense of humour. "Where do I drop one of you?" he asked. And when we insisted it's rather a 'pick' it was obvious that wasn't picked up well by his highness. Nonetheless, we stopped him at the mentioned place. His pride was further bruised when we did not pile up in the rear seat and the friend instead opted to sit beside him. And he kept slicing his being with looks of contempt each time we, as usual, burst out laughing. He even cleared his ears a couple of times.

Then as we were in the middle of a busy road, he did something that had us guessing initially. He screeched to a halt and told the friend to get down. He himself got down as well - and removed the seat cushion and brought out a packet from its intestines. Having done that, he motioned him to sit and drove on. Moments later, he was holding a small piece of paper and rolling and folding it. When the size was just right, he put it in his left ear and smiled at the friend - "Talk as much as you want now."

"I use it to wipe the mirrors, but sometimes it comes good in emergencies," he smiled even as he turned a literally deaf ear to the thunderous laughter inside the auto.

Hot News!

2008-02-10T02:56:00.000+05:30

I have made clear my dislike for the standard of newspapers in an earlier entry. You may ask why, then, I still shell out the hundred rupees at the end of the month for the Times of India? The simple reason is - I do not have a dining table at home. And so, at the time of each meal, the Times of India is summoned to save the floor as the food starts its journey from the vessel to the mouth, via the plate.

Today, however, it was a grave insult to the newspaper as unknowingly, today's edition itself was spread during lunch. It was too late by the time I realized and so we proceeded with deliberate nonchalance. However, the metro supplement was lucky and after lunch, I decided to skim through it. The first article that I chanced upon was about modern-day parenting and started with a query that was something like this -

Hello, I am a parent of a 9 year-old and I realize the role of a parent has changed. I know I cannot be like my parents and have to adapt myself to the changing times. Please advise on how to be a parent and when do I stop being a parent?

I threw it aside after this. And, also made sure it lies crumpled beside its discarded sibling after dinner tonight.

One Course Less

2008-02-04T02:06:00.000+05:30

The symptoms were visible for quite sometime now. But there are times when your pride stops you from standing up to the truth. I have also kept it under wraps for some months now. Today, with emotions akin to losing a closed one, I declare my 'legendary appetite' dead. Put to test to a sumptuous buffet dinner this evening, it performed in its usual inhuman proportions, but failed short of its own high standards. After a seemingly unending sequence of barbecued starters, I directly went for some really large helpings of the desserts - leaving the main course weeping by this rare display of discrimination.

Memories from the glorious era - the last 13 years - flash in the mind, glowing tributes from young and old alike reverberate still. For the uninitiated, I will still be respected as one of the rare tribes. I would surely finish off what would remain during group-dinners. But deep inside, the scene of today's cremation would burn in fiery flames.

Imagine being a Viv Richards and coming back as an Afridi.

Imagine

2008-02-02T04:10:00.000+05:30

It was the after-dinner chat - and, as uaual, only words were walking miles. There were four other friends with me and we ended up talking about a lecturer friend who has just got a new job. After some talks, one of my friends, pointing at me, suddenly said - "What will happen if he becomes a lecturer?" The laughter that this imaginative sentence elicited would have surely put Rowan Atkinson to self-pity. Somehow containing his laughter, he repeated his question one more time. Here is the reaction -

Friend 1 - Hahahahahahahahahahahha (Vigourous swaying of the body - rocking back and forth.)

Friend 2 - I cannot imagine, man. (She is of a very soft nature and hence this soft expression.)

Friend 3 - College will be closed by the time he reaches. (Hit the nail on the head, I say.)

The pleasant picture of a packed class in rapt attention was suddenly torn apart. I could not tell them how it would be after the last comment.

Two dreams

2008-02-01T02:04:00.000+05:30

They say dreams reflect your thoughts - what if they breed in your subconscious existence? I am thankful to the Creator, who did not allot dreams for my sleep. It has been more than made up for by what he allotted me for my waking time, where I choose and shape what I wish to see in my oneirisms. Coming back to the topic of our thoughts getting an outlet in our dreams, I just hope this is not true. Or, at least, it allows for a few exceptions, like most other rules.

As I woke up yesterday, still trying to stop the playback in my eyes, the sinking feeling just refused to go. I looked at my watch - 11:30. Diversion being shortest path to forgetting, I came online, to primarily check my office email. But almost as soon as I logged on to chat, I come to know that one of my friends had a dream as well. Talk about a dream when I was trying to forget mine. Anyways, what I heard was straight out of HG Wells' pen. Her dream had started with an argument with her sisters over whether to stay one day or two days in Los Angeles before going to New York. These were the last two places in their 3-stop trip. They had no contestation on their first destination though. Probably because, it was a place which few people will miss a chance to visit. It was the moon.

And so, I was told about life forms in the moon and how they cover only a small portion of the land. The major portion of the moon, quite 'dream'atically was covered with snow.

The disturbing thoughts of dreams reflecting our thoughts came back to me. She was indeed talking to people from USA some days back and she has been thinking of going to New York since sometime now. Why! Just some days back she even watched Khoya Khoya Chand. In a moment, I was sucked back in the gloom that I had just left behind.

I am in no mood to try and gather my thoughts that engulf me to this moment. Once again I am made to realise, words are just for moderate emotions. Extreme sorrow or happiness leaves you without words, even though vibrant thoughts jostle inside. I guess I would leave it to you this time - to try and feel why I am feeling like this thinking about that silly dream-thought equation.

Yesterday, I dreamt of a goon who was beating up my friend. Moments later, I killed him by smashing a brick on his head.

Update after 2 days:
Within 48 hours of this murderous dream, I was at it again. This time, I was keeping a band of brigands at bay while protecting people in the train I was travelling (a la Sholay) - gunning them down with abandon.

More Before than After?

2008-01-21T03:10:00.000+05:30

I was talking to a fellow nightbird - like any other night. I like talking to him because of the interests we share. What I do not like is that he is doing his MBA and that reminds me of a few things I want to erase from my mind. Now do not ask me what - I already said I want to forget them. But today's post is about MBA nonetheless.

Well, undo the picture of an ambitious professional contemplating the higher steps in the hierarchical ladder. Even that of an astute entrepreneur giving 2 years of his God-gifted life to 'school' to ascertain which of his 23 business ideas would yield maxmum success. And, I am definitely not someone who would treasure the black-clad hat-throwing photo well into retirement. But if you consider the fact that I am allergic to peanuts and as technically adept as dumbest caller to the helpdesk, you might think that MBA could have been a neat and short way out of my crisis.

So, why am I thinking about all this when I should by now decide the sourness of the grapes? I have seen quite a few MBAs - both impressive and unimpressive. The only point I am trying to make is, I have not seen someone yet who said, or I felt, that his MBA course changed him for the better or made him a great manager. The benefits are always on your work profile or your paycheck. This makes me belief an MBA course is more of a launchpad than a breeding ground of genii.

There is one thing common - though. An MBA - or nowadays even a decent professional services company - does teach you listless jargons. For example, we no longer have meetings to discuss plans. We always go for some brainstorming to strategise the roadmap and take it forward. And so my friend, who is being taught the nuances of effective documentation, has to do a SWOT analysis of the client's existing (you should call it as-is) infrastucture and processes.

"I hate SWOT", he said, "it makes no sense." It makes some sense no doubt - I thought. Your strengths and weaknesses help you evaluate yourself, and then outlines what opportunties/threats they provide/pose, respectively. Someone tells you all this along the four coordinates drawn on the whiteboard and you nod your appreciative head, at the same time trying to hide your inferiority complex.

At this precise point, just sit back and relax. What value does this piece of analysis help you in your real life. If someone instead asked to overcome our weaknesses and improve further on our strengths, what difference would it have made? You would lose your air of an MBA for sure, the air that propels you above plebeian existence.

7 tolerable ones

2008-01-12T23:40:00.000+05:30

Tenacity is one word that I sincerely do not associate with myself. More often than not I would leave things, that start going wrong, midway and forget about them. You might be tempted to think that blogging is an exception to what I said now. After all, writing a blog that maybe, exactly 12 people read is indeed something that comes from a resilient writer. There's more, he has also completed a year today.

But no, I have not given up yet because I never believed I would have a hundred regular readers for this blog - where 80% of the posts are labelled 'rambling'. I am on with it because I like writing here. The apparent disappointment would surely make way for joy and contentment when I read these years later.

Going to the numbers, the count of 60 odd entries in a year looks decent to me. So, keeping with the trend, here is a list of my seven favourite posts from the past year -

I like the sandwiches and salads at Subway now. It was not always like that. (Read)
It's here that the trend of the 7-item lists started.
Sometimes you get attached to something that is pretty mediocre. This post is one. Perceptions?
Can I sustain myself without the magic of Ghulam Ali? No.
Someone told me to be more expressive and speak out my mind. Have a sneak peek here.
Can I sustain myself without the magic of Rafi Sahab? No.
Are you tired of seeing Gemma Atkinson in the sports page of Times of India? I am.

I hope to reduce the percentage of 'Rambling' in my labels in the next year. On that note...

21st Century

2008-01-12T04:48:00.000+05:30

When I was introduced to some of my colleagues in the USA, and they heard I was from India, many of them asked me if I am from North India or South India. First on, it came as a surprise and I was even happy that they were aware of the Indian geography - though not to the extent some of us know. I know people who, without ever going there, can tell the names of all the 50 states and their capitals by heart. Anyways, after this happened a couple of times, the surprise made way for curiosity. After all, after this question, most of them came back to the usual questions about elephants and Indian weddings. And then I thought - this North Indian and South Indian thing - was it something they know? Or was it something they observed in us? Then I thought some more.

When I was leaving home for my first job in Bangalore, one question everyone invariably asked was how was I going to manage with the South Indian food? Everything is sour there - said someone from experience. (He had stayed in Chennai for 2 days en route to Port Blair some 30 years ago.) I did not like these questions at all - because I normally like to take things with an open mind. Anyways, when I landed in Bangalore, in my new group in office, I was instantly called a North Indian. "East," I said repeatedly. But, was anyone listening?

There is this view/counter-view for every situation. At least in this respect, the grass is not greener on the other side.

In Bengal, whichever house you go to, there is a 100% chance that on the first day itself you would be asked - "Ghoti na Bangal?" Meaning, originally from West Bengal or East Bengal? For someone from West Bengal, the other group will always be considered as refugees, even if they had migrated 50 years before the partition. And likewise, someone from West Bengal is always branded as unenterprising.

Then, there is this eternal fight between Bengalis in Calcutta and the Districts. Calcutta view - 'O, you live in a village.' District view - 'Spoiled, useless lot.'

If you think you'd be at peace if we just talk of Calcutta, you need to be more clear. North or South. South view - the North is old and we are the elite. North view - we uphold the tradition of Calcutta, who are they?

Then there are talks about how the Marwaadis constitute 30% of Calcutta's population and hold 70% of the money. "All they know is money with no value for education." Now hold on and hear the other party. "We, industrialists, make the destiny of the city. Bengalis are just a bunch of unambitious people who just know how to eat fish."

Now if this has your head reeling, I can just empathize with you. In the last four years, all I have been hearing are things like - 'Malayalis are spoiling Bangalore, but I don't care; I'm from Mysore', 'Telugus are ruining our Tamil culture and tradition; but when have Chennaites cared for it' and 'Everyone comes to Hyderabad to earn their living but we do not care, we have the highest immigration numbers for the US; the Telengana imbroglio would only get worse'. I am leaving out - just to name a few - the Tulu, Cauvery, Brahmin, caste, non-vegetarian, Sivakasi, Kadapah, Old Hyderabad, Guntur, Reddy, Naidu, Nair and similar angles out of this discussion.

In essence, no matter where you go, no one sees who you are. You invariably become what the other person thinks you are. I get to hear things like 'how can you be a Bengali if you don't smoke?' and 'yes I know, in Bengal fish is considered vegetarian' so frequently that I do not have to struggle anymore to keep a smiling face. I just take care that the smirk does not show up.

I remember filling up five pages in the History paper of my tenth Board exams explaining why India exemplifies Unity in Diversity. I doubt if I could write what I did if I had these experiences then. Hats off to this diversity, but just where is the Unity?

Choices

2008-01-09T07:17:00.005+05:30

Browsing on, then talking trite
Over tasteless teas and coffees
An extra week off, without pay?
There's more to life than office.

Popcorn and coke; weekends
With have-been's and to-be's
A good book that you read - can you say?
There's more to life than movies.

Move your body and spill your drink
So much white in your cigarette stub
Ever stopped by, as children play?
There's more to life than the club.

The years pass by, and wink at Time
You still feel it can't get better
Then, the end comes blocking your way
There's no more life - to live later.

Friends indeed?

2008-01-07T01:47:00.000+05:30

Pranks make for some serious business. Someone, sometime must have been really good at it and made it look very simple - and we still have to 'play' a prank. But I can assure you it is no easy task. It is not at all easy to rise up the ranks in pranks. I can easily write something like 'The best hundred' - courtesy the company I keep. But I'd rather just write on why I said it's a serious business and requires real hard work.

I am having a bad headache today. And when five of us went out for dinner today, two of my friends had a stint at the bar earlier in the evening. Being a bit tipsy from their drinks, it was only natural for one of them to leave his bike keys on his side-plate. The three sober pair of eyes glowed at such an opportunity and the bunch was flicked in a flash. We were happier because this was going to be a lengthy affair - all five of us were spending the night together as well.

He realised it on the way back home. "Did I leave my keys on the table?"

"No." Three sober voices spoke at once. And, kept on convincing him that he must have left it at home. The prospect got more interesting when he said that the bunch had his house-keys as well. The intoxication was done for already - we, the good friends that we are, ensured he does not get up with a hangover on a Monday morning.

The house was ransacked and speculations were rife. But no sign of the keys. And so, the natural course of action was decided upon - he would go to all places (the bar, a paan shop and the restaurant) he visited since the evening and enquire. Someone even suggested to keep tracing the same path with an alert look on the roads as well. And, to make it really look real - I accompanied him on this trail despite the headache. Three no's and half an hour later, we were back home. I was trying hard to keep my lips straight while he did the same with his brows.

"I thought of going to the temple today, but I did not and instead went for a drink. That's why this happened to me." This was his last take on karma before he slept off.

A very satisfying night to say the least. But before you think we are rather mean, let me tell you that all these are done only in a very close group of friends. He is going to find the keys under his pillow when he wakes up in the morning. Maybe, he'd start the day cursing Santa for coming thirteen days late.

Shine Time

2008-01-05T05:46:00.000+05:30

There is something about polishing shoes. I had mentioned earlier about how I, in my absent-mindedness, had stroked my cellphone on my shoes keeping the brush aside. I did something today in office that reminded me of this incident. And then, I remembered a few more.

First, what I did today. There is this automated machine for shoe polishing in office (the manufacturer has very aptly named it 'Handsoff'). Most of you must have seen them somewhere. In case you have not, the machine runs on electricity and has three sections - a cream polish dispenser, a brush for black shoes and one for brown. In Hyderabad, moving feet gather a lot of dust and so, I use the brush once I am in office. Lost in my own world, probably thinking about the lack of work in office, I went for it today as well - completely forgetting it was Friday and I was wearing my sports shoes. I realised what I was doing once I looked down to check the shine. I did the first thing I do in such a situation - looked around. I guess my luck was also closing down like the week. Here he was, someone from the floor who would have probably died if he did not come for a shine at that precise time of the day, dying to control his laughter but unable to stop the grin. I did my best to hide my face - I did not want him to remember me as the 'shoe-polish guy'.

Circa 2004. My office in Chennai had this machine as well. One day, with a luck like today, I went ahead and, still unaware of what was lying ahead, collected the cream on my left shoe - only to realise that Mr. Handsoff was having an off day and refused to work. All that the rubbing against the static brush did was to smudge the white of the cream onto the black leather. After a few, futile minutes, I gave up. The public embarrassment could not be avoided that day either as a 'friend' in the restroom made public the news of me rubbing my shoe with hand-tissues. Now you know why, after that day, I always follow the sequence of brush (read check usability), cream and brush-again.

It's not that I have always had this rotten luck when it came to polishing shoes. I decided to save the one satisfying experience (surely qualifies as one of the most fulfilling days of my life) for the last. Once when in college, three of us were staying at a friend's place which was our usual den for enjoyment in the name of studies. The next morning, we were to go to a friend's place for her birthday. And as I got up, late as usual, little did I realise it was to one of my best mornings. So eager was my friend to put his best foot forward, that he actually polished his shoes for a full 30 minutes. Only, we had bought identical shoes which just differed in size. And he, with all his energy, mistakenly went on buffing my pair. The joy welling up, the laughter gaining uncontrollable force, the superhuman efforts to stay nonchalant at such a moment of glory; remembering these feelings that can sustain me in the most difficult of times. If I could click the the look on his face when the truth dawned on him, I would be more than happy to carry that photo and smile the way to my grave.

2008

2008-01-01T16:17:00.000+05:30

I just realised that ringing in the New Year can hardly get better than being with an old friend after a long time. I had decided not to go for any 'New Year Party' this time around - a decision that I think I will stick to for some years on. I do like being in our group where some people make me admire their dancing skills while I give them something to laugh about with my vigourous, uneasy movements. But the biggest deterrant in such a setting has always been the crowd that one cannot possibly ignore. While "party animals groove and jam to the tunes (sic) of the DJ," it gets really difficult to look the other way. The floor is thronged with similar animals showing off their stuff under the multi-coloured lights. And, with clubs charging abysmally high cover charges on New Year's Eve, this decision went easy on both my mind and wallet.

One of my closest friends from college was visiting with some of his friends and we spent the last 3 days of 2007 amidst a lot of fun, feasting and jokes. (On this, must admit that the Chowmahalla Palace at night and the Biryani at Shadab are two things no one in Hyderabad should give a miss.) I got to learn a few card games and did horribly bad at them. After we called off the night, my friend and I would start afresh till the early hours of the morning - revisiting the past and planning for the future. Those quieter hours were definitely the best time for me - where the happiness is more felt than expressed.

So the new year dawned in a quiet manner this year - a year when I want to quietly tick a few items hanging in my checklist for a long time now.

P.S. I could not give the boisterous revelry a miss altogether, however much I tried by staying indoors at a common friend's place. When returning home late at night, it was the return of the same dreaded animals that made the roads an eyesore. Just as I was telling the friend whose bike I was on that this New Year's eve was one that really went well, bikes were all around us with people shouting 'Happy New Year' at the top of their voices - screeching down the speed, changing lanes and zipping ahead. Perhaps, making way for the next set to perform.

The Paper Estate Boom

2007-12-29T04:42:00.000+05:30

There was a time when newspapers not only broke news; they even linked people and freed nations. For example, Sri Aurobindo Ghose, one of India's greatest sons, channelised his nationalist sentiments towards the greater cause of Indian Independence through the daily and weeklies he edited. What he wrote was of so much concern to the British that, even when he was long out of the extremism he had embraced earlier, Lord Minto went on record saying - "I can only repeat that he is the most dangerous man we have to reckon with."

It is said that editors and columnists were responsible for their positions and newspapers led the societal evolution. I am not sure whether it is after the permeation of the television and the internet with, so to say, the human bloodstream, or this being the time where only sensationalism sells - but newspapers today are defnitely not even the shadow of what they used to be in their responsibilities.

Each morning (well, you know it's almost afternoon when I get up, but I have a look at it the first thing each day) when I have a cursory glance through the pages of the Times of India, I know I am not missing much. More often than not, just browsing through the front page, the sports pages, the international page and the comic strips are what I do with the TOI. I hardly recall a really thought-provoking article or series being printed there. Even their seemingly patriotic 'Lead India' campaign is basically a means to fill the coffers through strategic marketing and publicity. Their sports page has also lost valuable space to what the wives and girlfriends (they actually use the word 'WAGs' for this!) of our sporting heroes are upto. I remember around fifteen years ago, when The Asian Age was launched - MJ Akbar resorted to bringing a tabloid in the size of a newspaper daily at your doorstep.

It was only yesterday - I fetched the TOI to read about Benazir Bhutto's assassination, her life and her times. The coverage was decent but on a day when Dhirubhai Ambani was born 'to change the face of India', she had to be pushed to start from Page 3. The first two pages were bought out well ahead - and we had to see a full-blown, smiling Dhirubhai on the cover. Again, in an attempt to showcase him as the messiah of the masses when honestly I feel whatever he had done was only to build a business empire with an acumen that was so much ahead of his times - his lifetime was written, ludicrously, as 28.12.1932 - Eternity. I don't think someone wrote like that even for Jesus Christ.

"Add the colours and spice it up
Sure, then, it is to sell."
"What about the reader, Mr. Editor?"
"Just ask him to go to hell!"

A near-fatal tread

2007-12-27T02:03:00.000+05:30

"Hello, so you are back again?" I neglected the sarcasm in its voice and the sneer in its face, pressed the 'Quick Start' button and looked up. I was determined today - and decided not to fall prey to these rather caustic remarks the treadmill was making. It was perhaps speaking out for about a dozen of its brothers in Hyderabad, Chennai, New Jersey and New York - who had to uneasily bear my weight (pun intended) over the last 3 years. But never for more than 6 weeks at a stretch - and once, even for just a single day.

If you plot my appetite versus my exercise routine on a graph, you would surely come up with the solution for my staggering weight increase. Just today, someone - though a bit more on zeal than reason - called me a "200 pound godown of flesh". I need to get back to this person sooner than later. Hence, there was more reason for me to ignore the treadmill.

Anyways, the last time I went to a gym was in May and I tried to repeat something close to what I used to do then, in my first day today. So, there I was, panting my heart out after running for 10 minutes continuously at 10 kmph. I could not - despite taking 5-minute breaks in between exercises - complete either the cycle or the cross-trainer. One minute into them, my heart was fighting for space with my tonsils and I had to give up. It was not before a full ten minutes of sitting flat on the floor that I could regain my composure.

I was in luck. In this gym, the cardio and weight sections are in different rooms altogether and the trainer stays in the latter room. So when I, still breathing heavily, entered the room and he asked me if I was done, I could conveniently nod a yes before saying I had a call in 10 minutes and, unfortunately, had to leave. "See you tomorrow," I told him.

While coming out of the gym, I closed my ears tight and ran across the length of the cardio room. I did not want to hear the treadmill speak again. Knowing it and its like, I was sure it was bidding me farewell already.

Itni Haseen, Itni Jawan Raat Kya Kare?

2007-12-24T01:36:00.000+05:30

I was tempted to post the photographs of a host of actors who came, or lingered longer, in the limelight largely due to a voice that they merrily lip-synced to. As I now browse through my collection and play from it randomly, the voice adapts and modulates effortlessly - bringing these faces up in memory. I shake my head, once more, in desbelief and look at the photo I posted instead. He smiles at me, as if knowingly.

I prefer not to write about his achievements in this post, least so assert why he was the best. If he were present he would have definitely not liked any of it. It was this love I, and countless other people in this world, have for him that he aspired for. Maybe it's just a coincidence that at this precise moment, he whispers - 'Saanson mein ghul rahi hai, kisi saans ki mahek'. The mind wanders, but he puts it in its place as he tells me its just a song - 'Daaman ko chhuu raha hai, koi hath kya kare?' He reads my mind, wraps the unexplained feelings in the most melodious way - "Jaage hai kuchh ajeeb se jasbaat kya kare?" Indeed, the emotions running inside spoil all efforts I make to write something coherent. I smile, pause the song and complete it myself - "Shayad tumhare aane se, ye bhed khul sake - hairaan hain, ki aaj nayi baat kya kare?"

If God was not so selfish, Mohammad Rafi would have celebrated his birthday with us today. He would have known that superlatives used for him in his lifetime were not mere words to extol his virtues. His voice, indeed, pervades time like time itself.

Mesmerising voice, a divine soul -
One who left, but never could go
How could we? When what you gave
Draws us close, closer than you know.

Remain you will, like this forever
All you've done will get back to you
For, each life you sustained, enriched
Is adding its years to yours, anew.

Taare Zameen Par

2007-12-22T01:29:00.000+05:30

This is the second movie that I watched on the day of release. The only other one I remember watching - that is, when I managed to stay awake - on the first day was Koyla, way back in 1997. While that day burns in memory like smouldering ember even after a decade, this day is sure to shine in starry luminance in the future. Taare Zameen Par is, in one word, superb. But this is one movie that deserves more than this single-word encomium.

I am no expert in film-making and its technical details. So, I cannot even try to write a review on it. I'd rather try to present a 'view' of this film from an absolutely uninitiated, end-user perspective. From the first scene till the last - through a series of gripping, yet simple, trails - the movie keeps you captivated. Pause on this for a moment, and you would probably agree that a film that is not complete in all aspects - story, acting, screenplay, direction, dialogue, lyrics, music, cinematography and so on - would not extract complete attention from its audience.

Talking of the audience, it was pathetic to hear many people burst into laughter at completely poignant scenes. This is making me think as much as the message left by the film.

Powerful is the word that comes to the mind for the acting; lucid for the direction. Segments, like the aimless promenade of a boy who takes a day off to absorb all he can see in the streets of the city, while his classmates are made to extract definitive knowledge from their chapters - leave just about enough space that can accommodate exact, no-frills performances. How often would we want to let go of all the restraints that come packaged with our 'normal' minds and give vent to our feelings like the uncontrolled, animalistic laps around the basketball court? How often are we made to feel belittled and retract in a shell? I am sure once we can bring out the cause out of the context, the film would leave us with challenges that we all can identify with. Challenges which could be overwhelmed when confidence combines with character. Taare Zameen Par wraps these simple pieces in highly attractive performances and ties it with a taut direction.

You might resort to the scientific studies to show the actual ordeals one has to go through to overpower the grip of something like Dyslexia and say that film offered an easy way out for Ishaan. Do so at your own risk - and prove that you are still too bookish to accept the creative output of our capabilities. This is a film where the filmmaker presents us a story to assimilate, not a case study to showcase our analytical prowess. Hence the outcome of the painting competition where the pupil pips the teacher is more symbolic of his moving out of the latter's shadow than being the playground of logic and practicality. There was, perhaps, just one part - where Aamir Khan confesses to the boy that he had also suffered from the same problem - that could have been done away with. This would have given us more reason to think that an absolutely perfect person could be compassionate and make a difference as well.

Each person involved in the movie deserves a loud round of applause. In my opinion, the protagonist and his mother gave two of the best performances in the movie. I mean, let us not talk about Aamir Khan here. His performance, for the first time that behind the camera as well, conclusively proves the existence of the unbridled passion and undiluted commitment that characterizes both the professional and person in him. I strongly believe that he is the only one to have his feet placed firmly - among all other stars - on the ground.

Smilestone

2007-12-21T00:51:00.000+05:30

Stumped! That's exactly what I felt today. There are times when you think you are doing a great job of something when you are brought down with a thud. Here I was, telling a friend how different a person I am for the world. 'I am another person altogether you see. People think I am extremely reserved and talk only when required,' I said. This notion is actually wrong - if I talked only when required, then I would not have blabbered these to her in the first place.

Anyways, I completed many sentences on these lines and waited for her reply - as if she would feel privileged to know that she exists in that select group of people and thank me profusely for that. Well, she did none of it. She did what a good friend would have done - put me to my place. So, as I was waiting to hear some neat words, she replied - "Yeah yeah.. i know that side of you! for me it was the first 3 months of knowing you."

Stumped off a wide ball, you can say.

Needless to say, she's a great friend and a perfect case-study for 'time is not an indicator of friendship'. She might not know what exactly I work on and I definitely don't know her sister's name. But we are definitely at ease when we talk and that is what matters. I would assume she is among the more patient people I know. She bears me - and an equally irritating friend she came to know through me - with a smiling face and a uncreased heart. She was very excited to tell me that she is preparing rotis at home these days. "My new roommate has got one," she said. Obviously I knew that by 'one' she meant the ubiquitous thing in the Indian kitchen - the chakla-belan. But I, feigning ignorance that was never there, asked - "Got one what? Roti-maker?" :D

No matter what she might have thought about me in the first three months, I am sure now she knows that there can hardly be a more pestering person she's going to meet in her lifetime. But I have not faced any such change of mind with her. She smiled when I knew her first, she smiles when I trouble her now. And this, among other things, has always bowled me over each time I think about it.

What else?

2007-12-20T01:09:00.000+05:30

I call it the WES - 'What Else Syndrome'. (Ok, honestly I don't call it that - just felt that this might be a good opening sentence for this piece.)

Surely not something that has been discussed much, but this has been keeping me on thoughts for quite sometime now. I remember, when in school or college, I used to have a lot of friends. 'Friends' has been used in the loose sense of the term, because I am in touch with or think about barely a few of them now. And, as we know, real friends are for life. Anyways, with these friends would pass almost each day during and after classes. I remember our house was the hub of meetings during weekends and vacations - even in evenings. The point I am trying to make is whenever we met, in groups of anything from 2 to 12, we would always make a boisterous group - and the portion of discussions on serious topics started cropping up with age. But never, and I mean without exception, did it happen that we would sit idle or think about what to talk about.

Years on, now it's a different story altogether. I get to spend time with people who I am sure are very good friends. Its still fun of the highest degree when we are together - still in groups of anything from 2 to 12. But keeping the jokes, banter and laughter aside - there is very little that we talk. I mean, no discussions - only incidents. I was there, he did that, you know what happened, etc. But once these dry out - there is not much else. (This is not always apparent because we are more than capable of going on with the frivolousness for days on end. I talk to one of my friends over chat almost everyday - and we just keep laughing recycling around 50-odd funny incidents in our stock.)

This is more evident when there is a one-on-one meeting with my friends, either in person, over phone or on chat. No one has anything to discuss other than updates on the happenings. No music, sports or other interests discussed at all. A typical chat even with one of my closest friends would go like this -

I: Hi
He: Hello, what's up?
I: Not much, you say.
He: Going on..
I: Ok...
He: What else?
I: Nothing much, just the usual.
He: O, ok.
I: So, what else?
...

There is something seriously wrong. Is it with growing up? Is it with the so-called maturity or responsibilities? Is it something with our profession? Or is it something with me - do you find my feeling like this just an isolated observation? Let me know.

Simple Questions, But What Answers!

2007-12-14T00:25:00.000+05:30

Whether it is an urge to talk more, or to show that we are witty, even to unwantedly display our knowledge - sometimes we really talk more than what is needed. Believe me, there are people who - if you ask them about what they are wearing - might end up telling you why Lalu Prasad is the best manager in the world. Time and again it is proved that there is a hidden Basanti in most of us.

There was this boy in my class, back in the school days. The instructions would clearly say - State whether the following statements are TRUE or FALSE. And he would go on to explain why a given statement was false. Worse, he would substantiate what was true and also mention what could have made it a false statement. So, for a question, asking whether rice would get cooked faster in a pressure cooker, there would also be an assertion that it would take more time in Darjeeling.

I keep hearing about this person in a friend's office - who is dreaded by the whole lot in the floor for his verbal assault. It is just a coincidence that his initials are AK and the postfix 47 was but a natural inclusion. Someone asked him the directions from point A to point B. And when that same friend came to my place after office that day, it took me some time to grasp why he was telling me the route to point B from at least twenty places in Hyderabad.

As always, there is a reason why I am writing this now. Of late I have heard a couple of weird answers to a very common question asked in any restaurant. Here is how two cool souls fared in bringing out their best in a seemingly commonplace situation -

Act 1

Waiter: Regular or bottled water for you Madam?

Madam (surprisingly, too cool for her 40+ years): Aquaguard water would do for me.

Act 2
Waiter: Regular or bottled water Sir?

Sir (cool, and cooler in the company of his female companions): What water do you use for cooking stuff here?

Waiter: smiles, looking confused.

Sir: I said, what water do you use for cooking?

Waiter: Regular water, sir.

Sir: So, get us that! (Turns towards his giggling companions and shrugs)

What can you tell in a situation like this? Laugh? Get angry? Or smile away? For me, on each of these occasions, the broth was not the only thing boiling in the restaurant after that. But let's not end on this vitriolic note. I just remembered something amusing in the same context which would be a fitting end to this tale. We had just settled down to eat that day. One of my very good friends thought he was going to be asked to place the order when the waiter came over and asked the same question about our preference for the water. It was too late to change the pre-meditated answer he had framed in his mind. And so, he replied - "Please give us some time, we will discuss and let you know."

I just asked her where she got her dress
Now Britannica will sell one copy less.

Brutal - Merciless Viv

2007-12-09T04:54:00.001+05:30

Adding three short videos for quick viewing. How many batsmen can say they have scored 16 runs like these in their careers?

Incredible six off Imran.

A six and a four. If you were the bowler, you would have ducked as well.

This is what Richie Benaud says about the 'most quelling sight for any bowler'

The best in the business.

What was it?

2007-11-19T16:04:00.000+05:30

One of the poorest jokes that somehow manages to bring out some laugh runs like this - "There was this really absent-minded person who suddenly dies. After some investigation, it was found that he forgot to inhale after exhaling." Though this might be the unattainable height of forgetfulness, what we still manage to do is also no easy task.

Imagine this - I called a friend who was about to leave for the airport and was in a hurry. After talking for sometime, she started sounding very tense and restless. It went on increasing when I was forced to ask if something was wrong. Her reply had me - and when she understood, her as well - in splits. What she had told me was, "I am not getting my mobile phone. Where did I keep it?" No wonder that whoever is out with her keeps gathering her mobile, wallet and other things from a gamut of unimaginable places. (Ever imagined that the door-key had to retrieved - just because she came home carrying some eggs - from the refrigerator?)

I also remember my father looking for his glasses - it's in him not to tell what he is not getting unless asked repeatedly - all around the house in vain. We could not fault him much - how could he find them if he was looking through them?

Like any other human behaviour, I am sure much research and studies have gone into tracing absent-mindedness to its roots. But what is the point? We will still keep forgetting. For example, when I started this post I had something interesting in my mind which is totally out of mind at present. I do not want to keep this draft for later since I am sure I am not going to recall what I was thinking. So pasting this anyways, however incomplete and incoherent it might read.

P.S. - I tried recollecting what I had actually intended to write for 10 minutes before publishing this post. But the only thing that I vaguely remember is that I thought of writing this post this morning as soon as I put the brush on the side-table and started stroking my shoe with my mobile phone.

The Tangent off the Spiral

2007-11-16T14:51:00.000+05:30

It's that time again - and I have never spared much of a thought when it came to changing jobs. Not this time though.

One of the reasons for this can be that I have spent most of my career at this job (2.5 out of 4 years) and it has grown on me. Another reason could be that there is nothing really new or exciting in my next profile (which was not the case in each of my earlier shifts) that would keep me hooked on to the prospects ahead. And so, when now I know that the days are among the last few here, I am back doing something I love to hate - looking back.

When I came to Hyderabad in May 2005, it was as much of a change of place as it was a change of profile. All my colleagues in Chennai, where I was before this, who were from this city concurred that Hyderabad is the most happening place in India. And they brought out before me the experiences of their lifetimes in the city (which ranged from 'the roads are fully covered with pamphlets in Ameerpet' to 'the biggest Cafe Coffee Day outlet is out there'). "Not quite" - I thought, as I walked in a feverish daze (105 degrees) under a blazing sun (45 degrees) the next weekend looking for an accommodation.

"Quite alright" - I say now after knowing the city well enough to help settle any newcomer. And why not? I have made friends here who are as good as the ones I made anywhere else. When you have friends (and not colleagues and acquaintances) in and outside office, it does not really matter whether you are working in Manhattan or Mangalore. If I were to give an account of our escapades here, it would surely need a series of posts. I am not even trying to summarise them here - let it be for some other time.

At the end of it all, the reason why it evokes the mixed feelings is the fact that the association has imitated life to a great extent. It could well have been the story of someone in a rich and famous family - living with your siblings and cousins and reared by loving parents and scheming relatives. There is love as much as there is hatred, but then no one owes anything to anyone. And the feelings are always mutual. No big news when a gamut of emotions silently co-exist. No big news when someone walks out of the house one day. The attention gets more than divided among the new members of the ever-expanding family. And for the one who is making the new beginning, adjustment is just another extra life-process like breathing.

Nothing changes and nothing clutters your mind. Unless you sit down to think.

"I opened my eyes to glamour and sheen
Then closed; and wiped them clean."

View of Kolkata from the Landing Plane on Durga Astami Night

2007-11-02T16:16:00.000+05:30

Heavenly!

I Think, Therefore I Don't Say

2007-09-06T00:41:00.000+05:30

Someone told me the other day - "You are incredible. Do you ever have a problem with anything?" This rather curious observation actually stemmed from the fact that I do not voice or show my dislike towards things that I do not like. Whenever someone makes any plan and asks me for option, the only answer I give is 'anything is fine'. When people go berserk with the bad food served at the cafeteria, I am busy relishing my meal. Even when I am utterly put off by thoroughly irritating behaviour, I do not find it necessary to say anything - I just switch off from the situation to think something good or intense. Sometimes people mistake this detachment to be indifference. But for me, never ever responding to anything you do not like is same as shouting your heart out each time. People would anyways understand, and those who would not, would not in either case.

So for the reference of all who have not yet heard what I do not like, I thought of putting seven of my random hates here - listed on a first-thought-first-written basis. There are many, but am just keeping in sync with my earlier lists with seven entries.

I do not like people fussing too much about anything. I mean statements starting with something like 'I do not like...' (The first sentences in the most of the points in this list also start with the same words, but these are out of scope :D )
I do not like people who have no control on the language they speak. It is in no way cool to talk vile.
You need not give respect, just remember everyone already has it. I hate it when someone violates that. So next time you call that waiter and talk rude when I am with you, expect some silence.
Silly it sounds, but I do not like people opening glass doors pushing anywhere but the handle. You may not be a criminal, but that does not mean you can leave your handprints everywhere. Some person - who works ten times more and earns lesser than tenth of what you do - would have it a bit easy if you use the handles from now on.
I do not like it when people try hard to show that they are smart, superior or knowledgable. If you have it, it shows - so why bother? And if you take it easy, it makes life easy for you, you do not have to act like your own media manager.
I do not like remixed songs and videos. Hope there is no need to expand on this point. (In a similar vein, I do not like any artist with an ego. Humility and submission to the art makes you an artist, else how is art different from say, mechanics?)
I do not like when people try to take undue advantage of their age or experience. After all, age is something that you could not defeat, and your experience is as proportional to your defeats as it is to your successes.

BRB

2007-07-27T20:09:00.001+05:30

Taking a break from this for sometime...

Automagic!

2007-07-21T16:28:00.000+05:30

Inspirations can come from all corners - so be at your absorbent best.

No one said the line above. I realised over a period of time that you can be inspired from the obvious highest peaks of success and the unsuspected lowest strata of struggle. I take an auto to office daily, and have been often amazed with the occasional conversations. I was going to office yesterday when a brand new Nissan Teana (see a review here) passed by. The young man in front was spellbound to see the car, and tried his best to keep speed with it till he could. He asked me what car it was and then said - "Where do people get so much money?" Very difficult question to answer - so I kept quiet and smiled at his reflection in the mirror.

"How much does it cost?" - he asked. I said I was not aware but it looked about 15-20 lakhs to me (it is indeed 20, I checked later). His smile became broader as he said - "If I had 1 lakh, I could have changed my life. I know I will save and I will change my life." I smiled again as he manoeuvured through the traffic in one of the whackiest signals in Hyderabad.

Nineteen Seven

2007-07-19T02:41:00.000+05:30

Two years ago, someone told me - "Mate, I tell you - you are 25 today, and life from now is all downhill." (25 seemed too less for such a statement to me, but he got the concession since he was an American, and did not have a cocooned upbringing like us.) And like all descents down the hill, I am indeed coming down faster than the trudge upwards - the last 2 years, indeed, went quicker than any other. And with at least one tangle in every possible corner in life, these words kept coming back with each stroke of the knife through the second cake I cut at the stroke of midnight. I was back after a foot-deep dinner with my friends, to be treated to this visual delight at home. (See picture below) The yummy chocolate cake against the backdrop of the candles was too good to resist.

Even 1 year back, the cake would have surely been over in minutes. But this year, it is lying almost unaltered in the fridge. Sure sign of age. And even when the snaps were taken, half of the mind was busy coordinating the alternate actions of breathing and holding the tummy inside lest the bulge showed up in the snaps. These two indications, surely justify the two steps downhill I have taken since that holy man decided to share his realisation and discoveries in life with me on a day he should have cheered me up. Whatever happened to people wishing 'Tu jeeye hazaron saal...'

Here's wishing for all the good things that I have been wishing for since so long! May today's feeling of senility and the words of Mr. Jim be buried under the bundles of joy and the brightness of smiles all through the year.

When Bad is Good...

2007-07-06T01:07:00.000+05:30

Scene 1 - Normal Shift (2 - 11 pm):

Meals: Lunch, snacks, dinner.

Reach office at 3 pm, reach home between 10-11:30 pm

Desk hunt - meaning go from one desk to another in sequence and chat/irritate your heart out until none is left. Then start all over again.

Gym? - Yes.

Scene 2 - Night Shift (6 pm - 4 am):

Meals: Snacks, dinner. (Very rarely a don't-know-the-name-of-the-meal at 2:30 am)
Reach office at 3 pm, reach home between 4-6 am
Desk hunt - ever seen a roaring, hungry lion in the Sahara. Actually, there is a chance you see at least a mirage in Sahara :D
Gym? - NO!

I am playing my part in Scene 2 for quite sometime now. Made the above list just to give an idea of the state of mind I was in all this while. It's a weird feeling - staying up alone in the floor till the wee hours of the morning. In such a setting, the general mood is one dotted with anger, frustration, restlessness and irritation. So much so, that even the best selection from my music collection - maybe for the first time - was failing to lift my mood. And all of a sudden I had an idea - when your top order fails, push someone up to slog. And moving aside my usual trusted team, I called on the top performers of the 80's and 90's musical scene. Songs like 'Mai se meena se na saaqi se', 'First time dekha tujhe dil kho gaya', 'Aashiqui mein har aashiq, ho jaata hai majboor', 'Tujhe na dekhun to chain mujhe aata nahi hai', 'Dil mera churaya kyun jab ye dil todna hi tha' (can anyone beat this one - Sanu and Anu together, a deadly nasal and banal combo!) and so on...

In a matter of minutes, I was smiling.

When in Rome, be a Roman
And when in Hell, dance with the Devil.

A sense of guilt

2007-06-24T03:36:00.000+05:30

A short note after a long break - thought of writing this down as some sort of a confession. There have been numerous instances where friends and other people I know have asked me for an opinion. Though highly varied in their content, the one common thing in all of them was that I have always given a true and honest suggestion. It makes me happy when someone remembers something I said/did that was of help to him/her. I hope I manage to be like this and make whatever little difference I can. The confession part comes now - it feels really awful when certain situations dawn on me and I do something that I would have never advised anyone else. I feel a sense of guilt thinking I do things which are not right, and do that in my senses - deliberately blurring the line that differentiates. But things really go a bit out of control at times, where one is left to choose from various evils or lose everything in choosing the solitary right. And not everyone can set an example by choosing the latter.

A Unique Dozen

2007-06-10T01:45:00.000+05:30

'You are not experienced enough in life, you have not seen the world.'

Someone had told me these words sometime back. Though on that day I just smiled for an answer, I thought of breaking the silence today with a few laughs. I mean, without getting into the gory details of the crimes life has committed on me, let us focus on the scenes that bring comic relief. So as to not getting into writing an epic of my experiences, I would rather introduce 12 people and their rather weird habits.

I actually know a person who has never used shampoo in his life. It's not that he does not clean his hair - and he knows fully well that you should not use the body bar for the purpose. The secret to his healthy crop - detergent!
One is a firm believer that brandy and beer taste best when had with, err, bread-butter-jam.
A relative calls up for directions each time he visits our house because he actually does not remember where to look to his right in the straight road to see our house. The only place he does not ask for directions is while travelling between his home and office.
An untimely and unannounced visitor - after tasting the flawless chicken curry that my mother prepared in jet-speed - showed about 1/16 of an inch on his finger before saying, "The ginger is a l-i-t-t-l-e more than what was required."
The earlier mention of chicken reminds me that there is a person who actually relishes his chicken curry with milk and rice. Well, that's too much to digest!
My grandfather would argue with the salesman in the sweets shop over the better bargain in taking jalebis by the count or by weight. If he was told weight, he would say count - and when the person would proceed, he would go back for weight and so on... Finally he would go for taking them by the count, and putting them on the scale just before paying for it. You had to be there to fathom the hilarity of the this act.
I have a friend who is so finicky that he would not have a roti without removing every black burn from it and not have anything sweet to avoid throat pain! (He happened to be my roommate for about 2 years and I can write a book on his antics.)
One of the best persons I know, this friend joined his tenth job within his 2 years of working experience. His has been a very motivating example for me, but I have not been able to emulate even 1% of what he has done.
I have heard about this person who would not have her afternoon nap without smelling on to a few napthalene balls tied at the end of her saree. If some of her hosts could not provide her with them, she used to manage that day with a tin of shoe-polish.
One is a kleptomaniac who would latch on to each chance of stealing/cheating. He used to remove hard drives and memory cards from the computer labs, come out of the trial room wearing a trouser under his loose cargoes, sneak out of restaurants after a hearty meal and so on. And he claims that the world has made him like that. The best artifact I saw was the pair of shoes that a groom was wearing in a wedding. Sure to be married in the Bengali way, there was no chance that he could even wear them to his own wedding :)
Before buying her lenses, a friend would go idol-watching during Durga Pujas with her glasses tucked in her handbag. She would wear them only for the 30 odd seconds she actually stood in front of the idol.
One friend is so aghast by the cleanliness in the USA that he has taken it on himself to hang the carrybags of his takeaway meal leftovers on the branches of the roadside trees.

Impact Day!

2007-06-10T00:51:00.000+05:30

My office has one day reserved for community service. We call it Impact Day and it was yesterday. It's a daunting task for the organisers and volunteers. Imagine, close to 4000 people going for 24 different threads, each in multiple locations - the planning and execution required. It's a matter of pride as well that this puts us in the Limca Book of Records for organising an event of such proportions. It also calls for working together for a day with many colleagues whom you do not otherwise meet in office. We had to assemble in office by 8:30. There were 24 threads ranging from Road Safety, to hospital/school/old-age home/prison visits, to Aids Awareness campaigns, and so on. I had registered for 'Street to Smart' - which aims to brighten up one day in the lives of street children. My destination was Divya Disha - a home for such children in the outskirts of the city.

It was a hot day and to make it worse, the traffic in the morning was bad. But the almost 2 hours for the journey had one good side-effect: it helped us break the ice with the other members in the bus. Luckily I had two of my most energetic teammates with me, who - with their songs, drama and comments - ensured that there was never a dull moment and everyone was beaming all through.

As we reached the school, there were around 200 children seated in a neat formation. Each moment was spent in amazement, happiness and reflection as they sang, recited, danced and played. On our part we had got them slippers, bags, books, games and chocolates. There were games and prizes to be won. It was for this day that I got the chance to play football after ages. Brought back memories, when it was a regular affair to play effortlessly in the sun. 30 minutes in the field almost took my breath away. And there was one more thing that I never thought I would be doing in this life. I got to actually judge the entries in the drawing competition. (Those who know my prowess in this art, are surely on the floor by now.)

After a long time, I felt good spending the day at work - far from the air-conditioned office floor where I spend my day doing things that do not catch my fancy. Something that I am stuck with because I have never known things that I'd love doing and have always flown with the tide. Overall, it was a great day to spend.

One such day in a year is definitely nothing to really make an impact on our society, but it surely makes an impact on you that is powerful enough if you decide to take it forward on your own.

Ocean's 15

2007-06-07T03:22:00.000+05:30

If I were to single out one reason that I am logged into Orkut all day, it would be the music communities I am either a member of, or follow. There is so much to learn from really knowledgeable and passionate music lovers - what if the ratio of rants to good posts is very high? Passionate listeners, technical analysers, idol-worshippers, peace-breakers, peace-makers, fans, fanatics and fanatics dressed as critics - you find them all here. Anyways, that aside, let me come to the real reason I started writing today.

There was this thread of discussion asking for the 15 film tracks you would carry if you were to go to a desert island. (Assumptions play a major part in these discussions, else who will plan a trip to a desert island and pack!) I was thinking what would it be like if I were to actually face such a predicament. At once, I put my mind in its place by stopping it from cooking up a castaway sailor story. My practical simulation of a desert island is something where I am alone with no way to communicate to the outside world. (But where provisions and other necessities shop themselves to my home.) I would also steer clear of the Veer-Zaara angle and have a big house and natural surroundings to give me company. Something like a small cottage by the sea-shore (required to give the effect of an island).

So how would a day be like? Sleep when you are sleepy, get up when you are hungry. And since I am allowed to carry my music, I would be quite satisfied with this basic necessity as well. To round up the deal, how about a cellphone? Not bad. But still I don't think I will be able to sustain in such a setting. Afterall, even a recluse needs a society to disregard. I had once stayed for 6 straight days in a similar setting - within the confines of my one-room apartment in NY, without opening the main door even once - and the effect was quite unsettling.

And then, I think more. What is it that I am doing now? My daily routine is not much better off than that in this fictitious island. As I write this while listening to my favourite music, the world around is sleeping. And, when it bustles with activity, I am blissfully lost in my carefree slumber. I really get to talk to a lot of people all day long but what sense can be made out of all that? Most of the conversations are about the other person with a 'nothing much' when asked about my updates. What I talk all day is best described by the word 'blabbering'. And whatever is meaningful I don't speak aloud. What's the point? Where am I leading too? For the umpteenth time, I am taken over by questions that have no answer. I guess this is the ideal setting to turn a poet or writer :D

Anyways, for those who are interested and those who are not, this is the list of film tracks I would be carrying to the godforsaken island -

01. Pyaasa
02. Guide
03. Dosti
04. Ek Musafir Ek Hasina
05. Kashmir ki Kali
06. Do Badan
07. Half Ticket
08. Tere Ghar Ke Saamne
09. Baiju Bawra
10. Mere Mehboob
11. Mere Huzoor
12. Arzoo
13. Mere Humdum Mere Dost
14. Hum Dono
15. Dil Diya Dard Liya

Disclaimer: My collection of Ghulam Ali ghazals should be allowed separately.

Signs of a Degenerating Mind

2007-06-04T01:50:00.000+05:30

Will vary from person to person. This is a first hand account.

Whatever you think, your mind automatically puts a question mark after that.
Even before you plan something, you think of alternative courses of action.
You keep pondering, and then don't have an answer if someone asks what you are thinking.
You are doing some work while talking on the phone, pressing it between your shoulder and ear - and a straining neck makes you realise that the conversation had ended long back.
You know you need change, but don't know what.
You falter in your conversation because you cannot recall words like 'sincere', 'appropriate' or 'revert'.
You need a reminder for daily chores, and one more to set the reminder.
Sometimes 5 days in the week pass faster than the weekend.
Your chat conversations with even old friends have a 'What else?' within the first 10 lines.
Your blog updates are rare, and the occasional ones all have the same label - 'Rambling'.

Fresh Start

2007-05-23T17:01:00.000+05:30

This was an unusual day by my standards. First, I got up at 6 am in the morning, got ready early on, had a filling breakfast and reached office at 10. Then I went to the gym in the evening - after more than 7 months. One hour of cardio and free hands to start off was quite good. Dinner on time, work some more while listening to Rafi Sahab. Nothing much here, just a long day that was not tiring.

Web of Conflicts

2007-05-20T06:38:00.000+05:30

Watched Spiderman 3 tonight - 3 of us, after a 3-course dinner. (I could have watched Namesake as well, since another Samarjit was there, too.) Just for the records, this was my first among the movies that come as a series these days and everyone seem to have seen them. Hence, there was no Spidey, Happy Rotter (thought of not changing the spoonerism after I wrote Happy for Harry, since somehow I am not very attracted to his antics), LOTR, Shrek prior to this one.

Coming to the point, I was not very keen on going for this movie since somehow, English movies are not something that I usually watch. But I am glad that we went. Watching one of my favourite childhood cartoon heroes in action (the other ones were The Phantom and Lothar) was indeed satisfying. The stand-out feature of the film was, undoubtedly, the visuals. It's unbelievable how real the scenes looked - as Spiderman and gang went along with their business in NY. That the story and acts were also put together very well made the film much more likeable. If someone with a penchant for techno-graphics went to watch the movie, and I guess this is what these films sell on, they would be thrilled. And if you remove the super-heroism from the proceedings and replaced them with normal human behaviour, you have a good thing on your plate as well. The way every major character has been shown in contrasting shades at some point or the other, it surely deserves credit. The ladies did not resort to conflicting personas - perhaps as a symbolic exception to the grey existence of most humans. There was no villain in the movie, which I felt was quite unique in a movie of this genre. We saw someone turning bad out of compulsion, one out of humiliation, one out of blind obedience and one (our very own Peter Parker) out of heartbreak. Finally, it was again the victory of the grey as the white (of the selfless friend) and the black (of the selfish adversery) had to meet untimely deaths.

And at the end, we are told - 'We always have a choice to do the right thing.'

Miles you go ... while I sleep

2007-05-13T02:03:00.000+05:30

I just had a late-night conversation with one of my very close friends. We were in college together after tenth and - even though we started talking on a winter morning under queer circumstances - have been great friends since then, for ever. I remember during the final board examinations, I would struggle with Calculus and Organic Chemistry all night and before going to bed - puzzled, flummoxed and vain - I would wake him up so that he could start his studies. And then there was this similarity in our unwavering adherence to Rafi and good food!

So when he went to pursue medicine with a brilliant performance in the entrance (and I - looking here and there and not being able to see much beyond the newly constructed, incomplete structure near my house that I have to call my college for the rest of my life - went for engineering), our interactions became less regular. Now, if you picture two boys focussing on the next few, most crucial, years that would decide the course of their lives, then read on. The fact is - you have only got half the picture. Because, one of them would go on whiling away time like no one did in a while. (Not that he repents, but that is more to prove that some people never learn.)

Talking to him, at a time when I am at my reflective best, really brought back some very fond memories. He has always been there, even at times when - after a of belt-loosening eating frenzy in our favourite roadside restaurant - I would pause by the nearest sweet-shop on the way to the bus stand.

I remember when I was very young, one winter morning my mother dragged me by my hand out of the bed and straight to the bathroom. She had but an option to do that, it was 8:45 and school started at 9:30. And when she happened to pass by after sometime, she found me lying there, curled up on the doormat. :D

This was not to digress from the what I was talking about in this post. I just mentioned it in passing - as a sample of what I am capable of when I am asleep. And, my best achievement was at this friend's home. This was about 2 years back. Three of us spent the day at his place - where he stays alone. In the evening, when the other friend was gone, my friend had to go out for some work and I stayed back. With nothing much to do, I took to the pages of a book on medicine and in no time knew of its sedative properties. So, within 5 minutes of his leaving, there was a breathing log on his bed. I woke up to his vigourous shaking, and opened my eyes to a very worried person. His face had anxiety, relief and anger written all at once.

As I came into the situation, I understood what made him the way he looked. When he returned after half an hour and got no answer to the bells, he called me on my mobile (which was lying by the pillow I clung to like a drowning man with a buoy). When that did not work, he started calling my name at the top of his voice. He was really worried when this went on for about 15 minutes and there was no answer from inside his own house. After having no other go, he - with the help of the watchman - broke the lock at the grills and came in; pretty sure I was murdered. Only when he saw me did he realise that this death was rather temporary.

These memories make me feel great and forces me to believe that there is nothing that I cannot do. If I could spend all these years being the way I am, I can surely carry on till the day I bid these memories goodbye.

30/1 (No, it's not the score)

2007-05-01T16:06:00.000+05:30

Take two snooker balls and make a bigger one out of them. Now that you have got the size in your mind, that was the size of the cauliflower I bought yesterday. But I could not believe it when I was told that it cost 30 rupees. What is the country coming to? Despite the off-season, I could not believe it could have been more than 10. Or is it the city, because not very long back, I used to hear cries saying we can have two of them for 5 rupees in peak season, and they used to be double the size of what I had in my hand yesterday.

Living in the southern cities - Bangalore, Chennai and now Hyderabad - I realised that the cost of fruits in this part of the country was abysmally bad. And now, I would say the same for vegetables as well. I remember, during the peak mango season last year, someone commanded Rs. 35 for a single piece! I had a strange feeling on hearing this audacious announcement, a feeling that could potentially lead me to touching his feet or smashing his head. In a spectacular display of patience and calm, I smiled at him and returned. I did not go near a mango that year. Time, as usual, has been a great healer and now - even though I do not usually buy them - an apple at Rs. 25 or an orange at 15 does not shake my heart to convulsions. Images of my dad bringing home baskets of the most delicious Himsagar mangoes flash back in my mind, and the miles to Calcutta multiply manifold.

I am feeling a bit dehydrated since yesterday. And whenever I am telling people why I did not go to office, I am feeling more sick. Because the unanimous verdict is - 'Have lots of fruits and juices!'

Words' worth!

2007-04-28T01:34:00.000+05:30

I know I will not be able to express what I am trying to write in this post, but I will give it a try nonetheless.

I feel, we can categorise great poetry into two classes. One - pure good poetry, a good flow and rhythm, amazing choice of words that tells a tale within the confines of the meter. When you read them, you realise penning them down requires God-gifted talent. Someone like Rabindranath Thakur. He could create the same magic on the most complex and most trivial of topics. I believe, he could write a masterpiece - if he felt like - even on seeing the straining of tea at the roadside stall.

The other class is difficult to explain. These just leave you zapped. And it is impossible to imagine what thoughts, feelings and experiences lie buried in the foundation, upon which the words are erected. Written by geniuses no doubt, but it seems these breed of poets were taught by none other than Life himself. It is very easy to appreciate once you read them - but once you try to think what could have possibly brought such perspectives in their minds, you are bound to lose your way.

The essence of good writing lies in bridging the gap between feeling and expression - and one of the widest lies in me. And, if I am thinking a million, I can put only a hundred to paper and speak out just, maybe, ten. This remains the biggest reason that I have not decided to take up writing seriously.

Coming back to what I was saying, I thought of writing this after I was hearing one of my favourite ghazals sometime back. Though all the couplets are amazing, the one that made me write this was -

Iss shaher-e-be-charagh mein jayegi tu kahan?
Aa, ay shab-e-firaaq tujhe ghar hi le chale.

Each time I try to fathom what went through Nasir Kazmi's mind when he wrote these lines, I get baffled beyond recovery. It's something like this if I dare translate -

Where would you wander in this lightless night?
Come, o night of separation, I will take you to my home.

:)

Did I entertain you?

2007-04-24T01:32:00.000+05:30

That is what Brian Charles Lara asked the packed crowd at the Kensington Oval last Saturday. A redundant question - that was replied with an even more redundant deafening applause in the affirmative from the crowd. Farther away, every true cricket fan (not bigoted fanatics) would have at least nodded a silent yes. For, that was what the man did - entertain. He is the last of the lot of cricketers who played their game for the love of it - and gave you joy in the process. You do not feel awe despite his thunderous presence, it always made you happy from within, a feeling one might get if one was to watch, and not read, poetry.

I am not going to the everlasting debate of whether he was the best player of his time. In my book, he was - he was simply above the rest in that his were genius acts, not rehearsed performances. Thus, he was highly unpredictable, susceptible to a luscious delivery and commanding impossible ones across or over the rope. Statistics do not count for players like him - despite the fact that he is right up there on that front as well - the fact that stands out is that he was best by miles on his day. Can you imagine any player to have scored 1276 runs in just 3 innings - and not out in 2 of them as well? I remember staying up till 3 am - despite my XIIth board chemistry exam the next morning - when he scored 153* in the fourth innings against McGrath, Gillespie, Warne and McGill, adding 70 odd runs with Ambrose (12) and Walsh (0*) for company. That was cricket - you had to see it to believe it.

I sincerely believed he had another 2 years of top class cricket left in him for sure. At least, he could have continued in the Tests. I am sure, he did want the same - since he had hinted about it so many times. But then he felt the undercurrents that ran in West Indian cricket and stepped out before it sucked him in. He had always spoken out against the powers that be for a range of issues - but decided to remain silent in his last act. He was surely not lacking in fitness or form, maybe his autobiography would talk about the decision when the dust settles.

It's a known fact that West Indian cricket is in the doldrums since around the mid 90s. But to make, break and rebuild records and be the best in the business amongst such ruins really shows the character and passion he had for the game.

With due respect to all the great players around, I have to admit that cricket has no charm left for me anymore. And - maybe leaving aside some decisive matches - I would not be watching cricket anymore. "Did I entertain you?" he asked. And as the resounding applause died down, he added, "If I entertained you I am really happy..." You bet you did Brian. And even though you managed to walk off one last time wiping just a single drop of tear, your bereaved team and countless followers would find it difficult to contain theirs everytime cricket is played without you.

God bless!

Revamped

2007-04-20T06:37:00.000+05:30

Bored with the tiresome trudging of time through the sticky tar of the night, I thought of playing with the features offered in this blog. A quick quality check revealed a good structure and classification of the features on offer. So now I have a new font, a photo, link to pages I visit often, and other post options. Did not want to clutter the page with many features, nor do technical niceties attract me that much. I would rather go for an appearance that would look good on the page of a book, than at the Times Square.

What's more, my blog is now capable of posting in near-perfect Hindi as well. So let's not waste the chance of having a few (easier) lines here. This is from the immortal Mehdi Hassan gem Ranjish Hi Sahi, where he set the captivating lyrics by Ahmed Faraaz this haunting Yaman-Kalyan tune. One gem you should not miss -

रंजिश ही सही, दिल ही दुखाने के लिए आ -
आ फिर से मुझे छोड़ के जाने के लिए आ।

पहले से मरासिम ना सही फिर भी कभी तो -
रस्म-ओ-रहे दुनिया ही निभाने के लिए आ।

किस किस को बताये जुदाई कि सबब हम?
तू मुझसे खफा है तो ज़माने के लिए आ।

माना कि मोहब्बत का छुपाना है मोहब्बत -
चुपके से किसी रोज़ जताने के लिए आ।

जैसे तुझे आते है ना आने के बहाने -
ऐसे ही किसी रोज़ ना जाने के लिए आ।

Happy reading!

Time, wait for me (tide, you carry on)

2007-04-11T01:38:00.000+05:30

1, 2, 3, 4, 5... No, I am not showing off my counting skills here. Wondering then what it was all about? Well, take a guess as I say it a bit differently again - 11, 12, 1, 2, 3, 4, 5... Makes more sense? For those who are still at sea as to what I am talking of, this is how the hours fly off every night. Yes, you are right - this is how the hours have been passing every night since the beginning of time - and what's the big deal? Don't mind my incoherence, all I meant was this is how I see the hours fly off every night these days. Hold on. Before you work your brain thinking I set hourly alarms before going to bed, let me, myself, clarify. Unread whatever you have read so far. Let's begin on a clean slate - I am suffering from sleeplessness at nights and have been waking through the nights for an unbearable span of time now.

I know, I know. There is this word insomnia. However blurred my thoughts are and however fatigued I feel, I would have used this exact word if it was appropriate. It is not insomnia, which is a chronic lack of sleep. My problem is exactly what I wrote - sleeplessness at nights - with a stress on the word nights. I feel terribly sleepy at the end of it all as the sun says 'Hi' and takes over from me. And I promise you - as soon as you promise me that you are going to take care of my living expenses - that I can sleep as if dead, every day, for at least twelve hours and show it to you that it is not insomnia.

Why is it like that? Well, it is one answer I'd love to know among all others. But you don't have to come up with an explanation. I have heard so many of them by now, but unfortunately, none of them are correct. I am not jet-lagged (imagine an intercontinental jetlag spanning 7 months now) at all. Neither am I worrying myself to death about anything. World Cup fever? With India's performance, the fever has made way to hysteric bouts. And the West Indies are also out as I write this. Leave a comment if you still think you know the real reason.

Now, before you come up with the remedies, let me tell you none has worked on me and I have tried them all. Apple and milk before sleeping, going to bed early, thinking of the most pleasing memories, not sleeping one day so that it will be ok from the next day, thinking of God (I do always, and wonder what made Him choose me of all people to go through this) - the list is long. And as far as jumping sheep go, I lost count after some 17,328 or something the other night. It spoiled the entire day that followed - as I was still seeing sheep wherever I went. Whatever was edible seemed to be mutton and whatever was worn looked like wool.

It is almost 6 now, and I am getting the first signs of sleep. It was all fine till now - the time of the biggest decision of the day. If I go to sleep now (which I did for the last 2 days), I'd miss my tennis class and be late for office. If I don't then I will play bad shots and fight to keep my eyes open at work. Worse - by the time I will be back home after work, I'd lose all of the sleep and the next night will just be marginally better. The scales do not tilt and I do not know which option to go for. I know you would ask me to sleep, but you have not paid for my tennis classes and nor can I get a job in your office when they kick me out for coming late again tomorrow. So I think I will stay up for today.

All is not rotten with this illness you know. With keeping up in the nights, I do not have a problem when I am to do night shifts. I could lose around 3 kg in real quick time, too. I do not feel like eating all day long. And it's given me a great opportunity to stay in touch with my friends in the US and be immersed in music. On a final note, I have gathered so many 'mythical' causes and cures for sleeplessness now that I could write a book. (Well, I did write this post on this, didn't I?) Though am no Emperor of the days of yore, I promise to give half of the money I have to anyone who can make me sleep from 11 pm to 6 am on a daily basis.

Early to bed and early to rise
Makes a man healthy, wealthy and wise.
While, never to bed and never to rise
Makes you groggy, gives you red eyes.

First showers

2007-04-10T15:09:00.000+05:30

It's raining for the first time this year in Hyderabad today. Too bad I am in office and cannot stand outside. Hope it keeps raining this summer to cool down the parched bodies and souls. Not too hard though, the mango produce should not get affected.

I was walking in the rain
I cannot recall where and when
But why do I want to know, again?
Since I was walking in the rain...

Play On

2007-04-08T17:33:00.000+05:30

Last Friday was special. I always had the dream - and to watch as dreams unfold in front of your eyes is always special. Not many times in life we get the chance to be among the most privileged. I was on the said day. The ghazal maestro Ghulam Ali was to perform in Hyderabad, and there was nothing that could make me miss it. So I was there - well before time - waiting eagerly for the Master to take over as the accompanists tuned their instruments.

The sound was tested out and the evening started with his son singing two ghazals in his own composition. On a different day, I - and the crowd - might have liked them. But not on this one. People were there to listen to the God's own voice and they were not ready to settle for anything less. Soon, he took to the stage and - it seems he does not like to speak if the words are not set to tune - with a brief introduction started off with Ghalib's 'Har ek baat'. I sat awestruck for the next two and a half hours as he picked and served ten back to back gems from his endless treasure. Time stood still and all senses stood rapt in unison as Music sang itself on the stage in front.

The evening was sublime as only he could have made it. Interspersing his timeless ghazals with references about the poets, the underlying ragas and the meaning of difficult portions, the Ustad took us back to the days of poetic celebration and musical triumph. The best ghazals were presented in pure classical form - and one could never declare either words or the ragas victorius. It is this perfect blend that makes him inimitable. No one hums along in a Ghulam Ali concert, because no one knows what he is going to do next. You never know which notes in the five octaves he would use for a particular line - and that too with the same smiling face. I lose myself in trying to analyse how he manages to sing like that impromptu; ending up concluding that God has been highly partial and selfish when it came to making his own voice. So here are the songs he sang in sequence -

Har ek baat pe kehte ho ke tu kya hai
Tum hi kaho ye andaz-e-guftagu kya hai
- Mirza Ghalib

Bheed mein ek ajnabee ka saamna achha laga
Sabse chhup kar wo kisika dekhna achha laga
- Amjad Islam Amjad

Jab tasavvur mera chhupke se tujhe chhu aaye
Apni har saans se mujhko teri khusboo aaye
- Qateel Shifai

Ye baatein jhooti baatein hai, ye logo ne faylai hai
- Ibn-e-Inshaa

Ye dil ye paagal dil mera, kyun bujh gaya? Awaargi
Iss dasht mein ek shaher tha, wo kya hua? Awaargi
- Mohsin Naqvi

Mera shauq da nahin
- Punjabi ghazal translated from Ghalib's Persian ghazal.

Ni chambe diye band kaliye
- Punjabi geet

Dil mein ek laher si uthi hai abhi
Koi taazaa hawa chali hai abhi
- Nasir Qazmi

Chupke chupke raat din aansoon bahana yaad hai
Humko ab tak aashiqui ka wo zamana yaad hai
- Hasrat Mohani

Hungama hai kyun barpa thodi si jo pii lii hai
Daaka to nahi daala, chori to nahi kii hai
- Akbar Allahabadi.

As I mentioned just ten ghazals in two and a half hours and keeping the audience in awe is a feat that only Ghulam Ali can achieve. He sang each one of them perfectly - encouraging the musicians to take over in the interludes. When everyone shouted for Chupke Chupke, he calmly said 'Pehle ye suniye' and started off with the nazm 'Ye baatein jhooti baatein hai' - going to point out that it is actually a Muqaddas Ghazal, a unique form that has 5 lines to come back to the Sthaayii. And then did his usual variations of the word Laher in Dil mein ek Laher Si like only he can do. He created at least 20 waves - each different, difficult and sublimely divine. Again, you could actually visualise a lady rotating her bangle in when he sang - 'Kangan ghumana yaad hai'. When he said 'Tanhaiyaa' in Awaargi, he sounded as if he really wiped out all traces of life in front of him. He pointed out how the word 'Jahaan' is actually the start of the second line and why it is difficult to sing this couplet to convey the correct meaning of -

Logo bhala is shaher mein kaise jeeyenge hum? Jahaan
Ho jurm tanha sochna, lekin sazaa Awaargi.

All said, it was one evening that I am not going to forget.

Elixir

2007-04-02T04:02:00.000+05:30

Gathering moments I passed the days
Alone, quiet - in the maddening crowd.
The TV and mind both kept on mute
Wordless thoughts blared in the nights.
Lullabies of the first sunrays
Brought to life, the world around.
More in trance than strength I walked
Blinded by the soothing lights.

Frivolous talks and vacuous smiles
Translated to happiness for one and all.
My self was left to but, myself
Sponging tears, lest they spread.
Yet far away - across thousand miles
Was the bloom of spring, to my wintry pall.
My spring of life, I drank unpaused
Albeit in dreams, while tossing in bed.

The pains slowly started to please
Sobs were showing up as grins
As I knew that day was close
When I'd be back to where I belong.
The fervent prayers began to cease
But hopes were kept, by all means
The Almighty showed all His might, but
Back I came to life, before long.

A single, soft hand in my hands,
A relentless heart that doubles my beats
Two more eyes to see me through
As I sleepwalk through the dunes of death.
As He looks down on the endless sands
And in a hurry flips the piles of sheets
Stopping on the page He wrote my life
To erase and re-write in bated breath.

Vivacious, Imperious, Victorious

2007-03-08T00:44:00.000+05:30

Sir Vivian Richards turned 55 today. The most destructive batsman the world has seen, the most fearsome batsman any bowler can bowl to, the man with the most powerful presence each day he walked on to the field - you exhaust all the superlatives when you talk about this individual. We all read eulogies - but those for this dynamo always stand out. They reach the highest level of reverence, and go further to infringe the territories of worship. For, there are cricketers. And then, there is Viv Richards.

I thought of writing something for him, but then, I am not too good at overcoming my emotions. I would update this with one essay I wrote about one leader I look upto which is not currently in Unicode now. I am also compiling a document on articles and news on the great man from various websites. Reading his autobiography opened a whole new perspective on his personality. No one relates the word discipline to Viv, but - beneath his masterly swagger and legendary arrogance - it meant the most to Viv.

I end with one advertising campaign that Reebok used to run on the King in his playing days. A giant billboard with a close-up shot just read - "Also avaialable for mortals." Here's wishing you the best life has to offer, may your mind flourish in the same spirit and your physique defy your age for countless sixers to come!

A year goes by - March 2

2007-03-08T00:42:00.000+05:30

As mentioned in my last post, today is my brother's first wedding anniversary. (Quite coincidentally, it is my dear sister-in-law's anniversary too :D)

What rendered a grand celebration impossible was around 90 degrees of longitudes between us. They presently live in the UK, which means we had to distribute the joys and celebrations evenly in three cities - Newbury, Calcutta, Hyderabad. My brother is a grand foodie who prefers to go only for the interesting cuisines (read non-vegetarian) in enviable quantities. And since the beginning of time, he always does it in style. He gets all the more rampant and 'hollow' when Maa prepares the (out of this world) chicken and mutton dishes or when he eats out. Go out with him once to know what I am saying. With such a 'broad outlook' (the twisted pun is intended), it is only apt that his wife would show so much enthusiasm to prepare what he likes. My parents in Calcutta went for a few good dishes to celebrate the occasion, we went out (read previous post to know where) but they did it in real style. The menu for the night is - crispy duck, prawn curry, stuffed salmon, chicken tikka strips and ice cream :)

He's not just about food like me though. He's among the smartest, sharpest and broadest minds around with unbelievable resilience and confidence. He's the one I look up to - especially for the last two traits.

I love my sister-in-law, she's one of the sweetest persons you can ever come across. You see less of her sharpness and more of her warmth, and instantly feel at home. Like my brother, she has immense and unquestioned faith on my abilities and I don't think both of them believe that I cannot do or fail in something. Other than cooking for my brother, she loves listening to old songs, solve jigsaw puzzles and not to forget video-chatting in skype and playing pool in yahoo with me. :) This is rather a very weak account of her but this is all you get to know when you have not stayed more than a few hours with someone and have always chatted online. Even though she does not sing much, her voice and laugh sound like music. Talking of songs, reminds me about a unique talent that could take her to Ripley's - she sings while sleeping almost every other night! Imagine the plight of my brother in the middle of the night when she suddenly breaks into, say - 'Dekh le, aankhon mein aankhein daal...'

We'd be celebrating in grand style when they come to India in April. So holding on for a month till the ambience is all food, music and laughter. Here's wishing the best in this world and beyond to two of the best around. As I wished today - 'Happy First Anniversary, let's keep counting till we lose count.' :)

Adonis wants to die

2007-03-02T15:42:00.000+05:30

I am sure all of us are familiar with pop-ups promising out-of-the-world gifts ABSOLUTELY FREE just because we were the site's 1000000th (may vary with more number of zeros). If you do not close the window right away, you are in for an impromptu test of your patience. Same with emails claiming you have won a fortune based on a draw of lots on email ids! I get excited calls and messages from my not-so-conversant friends on such pop-ups and emails quite regularly.

So when I saw this mail in the morning about winning the Best Couple Competition for Valentine's Day, I was on my usual 'select, send to trash' routine when I gave it a second look. This one looked original with no fancy images or formatting and had names of real people. Even the mail was addressed to two real people, who happened to go out for dinner on the mentioned date. Soon I could relate 'mlc' in the sender's email id to 'Mainland China' - indeed the place we dined at. The body of the mail read, yes in ALL CAPS, thus -

CONGRATULATION ! WE ARE PROUD TO INFORM YOU THAT YOU ARE THELUCKY WINNER OF BEST COUPLE OF VALENTINE DAY OF 2007.YOU HAVE WON A GIFTVOUCHER WORTH RS 500/- WHICH YOU CAN REDEEM AT ANY OUTLET OF SPECIALITYRESTAURANT PVT.LTD (THROUGH OUT THE COUNTRY) WITHIN 13TH MARCH,2007.

Why wait till 13 March when there is so much to celebrate today? (Incidentally, this day last year my brother got married.) The food, especially the starters, were great that day and we ate to our hearts' content. An encore is on the cards tonight and I am thrilled about it. :)

I am happy to say the least. But also quite flummoxed at this newest title. Why? Well, there are two equal parts in any couple. And where one half is yours truly (and truly ugly, you bet), such a title keeps taunting in the mind. However charming my far-better-half is. If I were not myself and someone told me this, I'd be rolling on the floor by now - which is exactly what my friends are going to do.

All I can do is to thank her for always being there with me, making me a better person and sharing the joys together, even the embarrassing and ridiculous ones like this. :)

Way to go

2007-02-27T22:29:00.000+05:30

There are three sportsmen I admire bordering on worship. And none of them are new additions to my list of favourites, it's since 1989-1990 that I am amazed by these superb athletes and following them closely on a regular basis. One each from my three favourite sports, they are the incomparable, adjective-exhausting Vivian Richards, artistic Marco van Basten and charismatic Andre Agassi.

Well, I could go on with unwavered enthusiasm about each of these greats, but let's keep it for some other time. I thought of writing this as an introduction to this speech by Andre Agassi after his last match at the US Open last year. My dream was to see him in the US Open 2006 since it was his last hurrah and I could have been in New York. But, as fate would have had it, I was in India during that time. This is what he had to say to all his fans wearing his professional gear for the last time. Quite impressive and inspiring. Times changed and so did his form, appearance and image - but in each of those 21 years he was there, the loudest cheer in any part of the world would always come for Andre. When a fan would say, "We love you Andre!" he would respond, "I love you too, man!"

Watch it here..
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=V7lO23K8wi0

Irritatingly Yours

2007-02-27T15:42:00.000+05:30

Sometimes we offer to do more than what is normal - solely for the sake of friendship. The difference between doing something out of sincerity and doing someone a favour is simple - you do not feel that you have done a good thing, and the other person does not stay thankful to you, in the former case. A favour, however, gives a sense of superiority to the doer, and a state of subdued presence for the one who benefits. What, then, is the differentiator? On the surface, it seems it is what you are doing. But actually it is who you are doing it for. You can risk your life, happiness, career, money and any other thing for a true friend - without thinking twice. On the other hand, you might hesitate to even ask a minor adjustment from someone who is not. Examples abound in scores and let's not get into that. But the irony is that we do not get many real friends in life and usually distribute our relations with varying degrees of genuineness and selflessness.

Well, the seemingly heavy start is by no means indicative of why I started this post. One of my very good friends came over this weekend to attend a function and we met up after almost a year. We were in the same group in college all through. I really admire her intelligence and unwavering love for coffee, chocolates and reading. But the best part about her is that - ever since I know her - I have always come up stupid remarks to all her questions, comments or observations and she has withstood them all for all these years. I just love that look of hopelessness and frustration everytime this happens. :D

We met for lunch yesterday and I was to come to office (office starts at 2 pm for me these days) after that. After a very good meal and even better time - regularly interrupted by calls from office for the both of us - I realised I was running very late as usual. She did not have much to do for the afternoon and was thinking of something interesting to do. So I offered her the best I could in that scorching Hyderabad afternoon - she could come with me to my office (around 15 km), wait at the cafeteria alone for about 30 minutes till I settle in, chat with me for some more time before I see her off to an auto again for her to travel the return journey to her relatives'. I vouch I could show such genuineness only to people like her. Already irritated and put off further by this rather unpleasant proposition, she did what she should not have done, given she knows me for all these years. She tried to reason.

- 'I don't want to go so far in this heat', she said.

- 'Don't worry, I would drop you midway on my way to office. You come back after that,' I said with unchanged earnestness.

That look! I could do anything for that look on her face. With unadulterated sincerity :D

P.S. - Nidhi, if you are reading this, don't get mad. You know I like you so much. :)

Beyond boundaries

2007-02-26T16:57:00.000+05:30

This isn't going to be one on cricket after the one on tennis. Boundaries here, refer to the ones drawn on the basis of geography, language, culture, literature and music. Octave 2007 was being celebrated in Hyderabad, (the name is derived from the eight constituent states from the North East that participated in this fair) and yesterday was the last day. My earliest travels - thanks to my father's transfers - were all in the North-East: Assam, Meghalaya, Arunachal Pradesh, Nagaland and Manipur. From what little I can recall, there are two things that stand out in these states -

The raw, stark and pristine beauty of nature.
The naively simple, straight-forward people who are happy with what little they have.

Anyways, so off we went to Shilparamam Cultural Complex. I was initially disappointed as there were only a few stalls set up from these states and the rest were the usual fare you get there. I thought it would be another disappointing visit since all my earlier trips for other events ended without satisfaction. But it was different this time - as we could hear the strains of some soothing music from a distance. As we approached the dais and the words became clear, I could make out that the language was Assamese and the singer was singing like the legendary Bhupen Hazarika. I do not understand Assamese, but could roughly make out what was being said because of its similarity with Bengali and a few words I knew before.

My initial observation turned accurate when the singer said that Bhupen Hazarika was his uncle. Mayukh Hazarika indeed has a good voice - he is in that class when the voice alone tells that you are listening to a pro. He and his wife Laili sang quite a number of songs. I was waiting eagerly for 'Bistirno Du-pare' - the 'Ganga' song that is most synonymous with Bhupen Hazarika for all Bengalis. Mayukh sang it, in Assamese and Hindi, and it was indeed the song of the night. Gives me goosebumps, everytime the Mukhda reaches the crescendo - the first time, without music. He did full justice to the unparalleled rendition by his uncle and brought the entire audience to a spontaneous applause. I had my time's worth with that song alone.

I could only get a skimmed understanding of what was being sung, and many others there hardly understood anything more than what the singers translated - but the rendition and accompaniment was so soothing and the tunes so lively and simple that it never became a deterrent. It is said music has no language - it was beautifully exemplified before me yesterday.

Watch out Roger

2007-02-26T15:16:00.000+05:30

I went for my first tennis lesson with exactly the above in mind. I had always had a great fascination for the game and always wanted to learn it. But, tennis was never a game for the masses and I had to contend with watching the game closely over the last 17 years. So when on the way for my first shot, I was excited to say the least. For those who know me, my interest and enthusiasm for this would be evident from the fact that the classes are from 7:30 am for an hour, six days a week. Given the deadly combination of my sleeplessness and laziness - both certified as exceptional by all and sundry - accepting such a timing was in itself a stupendous effort from my side.

Anyways, with my Wilson in hand and a my gear on, I walked to the courts this Sunday morning. (Fortunately the place is just a 3 minute walk from where I live, and it'd give me an extra 30 precious minutes to sleep.) I learned the technical details of playing the forehand. I have an inner feeling that this would last for sometime and deepen my interest in the game.

After an hour, I was told that I did quite well for my first shots at the yellow ball. However, before you visualise me hitting ripping cross-court forehands from the baseline like one Andre Agassi, let me tell you that the title of this post is quite literal - with balls flying higher and further with each subsequent shot. One of them could have easily knocked him down - wherever he was lifting his latest trophy that day. :D

Perceptions Of A Dormant Mind

2007-02-22T19:00:00.000+05:30

Perceptions are hard to overcome. Our minds are often tuned to a certain thought or belief which we keep carrying on without realising. Sometimes - due to certain events - we come to know that what we believed had no basis, just that the mind started housing it for some unknown reason. Though we may actually rectify and go ahead with reason and thoughts, sometimes the mind is so programmed to what it had stored that it refuses to budge. I have never been able to understand the thought process behind this whenever it happens to me. And more often than not I lose my way midway - like I am losing it in writing this down.

Let me not get into the philosophy of it all and just give a few examples. One of my friends read my blog and remarked on a line in my profile - "I really like the quote you chose, 'Yesterday, today was tomorrow'. This is really one of the most concise and powerful quotes I have come across." I was indeed a bit flattered by the compliment till he asked me this question - "Whose is it, by the way?" I told him it was mine, I thought of it while in college. He did not believe at first, and kept on insisting that I divulge the name of the real author. When I persisted with my answer and he found honesty in my voice, the admiration in his did not last a moment longer. He said, 'But, somehow, it sounds a bit incomplete,' and went away. Perception - ordinary people cannot write original quotable quotes.

Some years back, a family was visiting us and my mother - in her usual enthusiasm and attention to detail - charted out what to treat them to a week in advance. And in the final, much-modified menu, was something that we all loved - fish chops. There was one more fish item, a curry. When the guests arrived, they refused the fish curry but they had already had the chops. We were told they get nauseatic if they had fish - while mentioning on the same breath that the 'chicken' chops were too good. :)

Let me wind up with something from my stable. When I was very young, there was programme on TV titled 'Hello Zindagi' and Jagjit Singh used to sing the title song for it. Somehow, I did not like the concept of pitting the words Hello and Zindagi against each other. The singer bore the brunt and I did not like any songs that was sung by the legend. This - thankfully - changed when I was in college and I became an avid Jagjit Singh listener.

After this, I normally try to reason out things and not get driven by pre-set notions. But as is the case, mostly our perceptions are formed and stay in the subconscious terrains of our mind.

P.S. - If I were to vote, I'd vote this post as the worst till date, but I am publishing it anyways because I decided not to have a quality check in this blog. If you read my blog, you need to accept my ordinariness and not form any perceptions which are unfounded. :D

7 Sure Signs

2007-02-19T20:25:00.000+05:30

I know I am in -

1) Calcutta when I -

feel happy for no special reason the moment I land.
overhear a banter or a 'special comment' within an hour of reaching. Hear someone voicing out his support for Bengal and it's heritage - with all examples in past and future tenses.
start sneezing and have itching eyes, whatever time of the year it is.
have more sweets in the first few hours than what I had the month before. And by the time I return I have more than what I will have in six months to come.
go to any random Phuckawala with full confidence that I will return fully satisfied.
surely get back at least one 25 p coin the first day I go out.
sweat and acquire that special sooty look on my already-repelling face.

2) Hyderabad when I -

am making the stupidest comments and cracking poorest jokes imaginable all through the day, only to be replied with some highly competitive ones.
wonder at the end of every working day what I really did all day in office. My checklist stays unaltered but the calendar keeps moving.
look the other way when my companions are eating Paanipuri.
am watching movies at an average rate of 4-5 a month.
hear the loudest possible songs whenever I step in an auto - the female voice shrieking louder and coarser than you can imagine, the male voice trying to sound cool and putting on a funny accent.
feel my life is easy - somewhat in tune with my laidback attitude.
regularly overhear megastar Chiranjeevi is the best of them all, and that all hit Tamil movies are remakes of original Telugu movies, and all Telugu remakes of Tamil movies are better than the original.

3) Chennai when I -

myself start speaking broken irregular English trying to talk to people when I am out - when I know both of us know we can have a better conversation in Hindi.
forget the existence of winterwear and feel de-hydrated as long as there is daylight.
regularly overhear superstar Rajnikanth is the best of them all, and that all hit Telugu movies are remakes of original Tamil movies, and all Tamil remakes of Telugu movies are better than the original.
meet people from other states who are eye-opening followers of 'eat to live and not live to eat'.
feel like hitting the driver unconscious and running him over with his own auto whenever I hear the answer to the question 'how much?'
am made to hear everything Tamil is the best, from the language to the heritage, films to music, actors to singers, food habits (I have actually read in newspaper that idli and curd rice are best foods for breakfast and lunch, respectively and that there is no cuisine in India that is as varied as one that comes out of a Tamil kitchen!!). This reminds me of the actual caption in 'The Hindu' under the photograph of a newly wed Salman Rushdie and Padma Lakshmi. It read something like - 'Newly weds - renowned author Salman Rushdie and supermodel and actress Padma Lakshmi - after their wedding.... Padma Lakshmi grew up as a child in Delhi with her grandparents (so and so) who are now settled in Chennai.' This is what I call drive home a point!!
forget everything I wrote above when I go to the beach and lose myself to the grandeur of the sea.

4) New York when I -

sit up all night/sleep on alternate days - and hence, spend the maximum possible time online, on the phone and listening to/researching on music.
am looking up maps and information regularly - and mostly for that one restaurant with rave reviews. (I missed quite a few, will surely make it next time.)
am ready to go to Times Square as many times imaginable, the later it is, the better it gets.
actually like my job.
and people around me are at their courteous best, and smiling more than ever. Thank you-s when nothing is done, sorry when you have not done anything wrong. :)
get bored and enjoy to the hilt on the same day.
am in my best form of generosity - spending and tipping with no second thoughts.

These are what all that came to my mind at the moment of writing. Am sure I missed out on many more points that actually matter more to me than what I wrote.

Body blow - blowing out of proportions

2007-02-12T09:57:00.000+05:30

Back in India, I did an assessment of what all tasks I need to be doing. To my surprise, the list turned out to be quite a long one. But topping the list of personal, official and miscellaneous to-dos in big bold letters is something that starts and ends with myself. Well, it is my ever-expanding girth that I am talking of here. All those midnight digs at the tempting ice cream buckets have left an impression on my being. Not to mention the well-researched plans for the weekends, always ending in lavish, multi-course meals. The aftertaste is gone, the after-state remains. The second thing that anyone I met here said, after the usual hi, was 'You have put on so much weight' or the more friendly 'Have you been eating all through your stay?'

So I put across this plan to get back in shape by the end of March. I'd keep the details of the plan to myself for proprietary reasons. But to assure the legions of fans of my magical appetite, cutting down on food has never been in my scheme of things. The eating will continue in the same spirit, would just try to incorporate some healthy habits and exercise in my static routine.

P.S. - The snap is of a typical Friday evening dessert ration, that would be over by the next Wednesday. :)

Adieu

2007-02-06T04:47:00.000+05:30

Am leaving for Hyderabad tonight, will be starting in 10 minutes, and happy about it. New York was good, especially during the last one month. Will take over from India.

New! Orkut Video

2007-02-04T13:22:00.000+05:30

Orkut is riding the highest wave these days, higher than ever. Have to admit, it's a great site to be in touch with your friends. Even though I joined it in its infancy (yes, long back in 2004), I started using it only since last June. And I have to admit, I am fully hooked into it since. I have never been in regular touch with so many of my friends - and rediscovered long lost ones, too. In the communities' discussion boards, I found a lot to learn and share, especially in the few music communities that I am a part of. A few days back, they added the favourite video section - and I have already added some of my favourite video links from youtube. This now conclusively proves the old-fashioned tastes that I am laughed at for by my friends. If my friends are around, there's always a state of apprehension that I'd start off with one of 'my' songs and bore them to death. I have put up a sample in the videos page for all to concur. :)

All, however, is not good with my aggressive orkut usage. If I were to single out one thing that's not so good, it's the fact that I have wasted so much of my time on this. I know, and can sometimes feel, that my friends get fed up of my nagging presence. I could have done so many productive things if not logged in to orkut for most part of the day - at least I could have started this blog earlier.

Broad Grins on Broadway

2007-02-02T08:03:00.001+05:30

The wait was finally over. Yesterday, I finally went for a musical at the Winter Garden theater on Broadway. The wait was long and bred a lot of excitement, research and tentativeness. After a cursory search at the summaries, we had closed in on The Phantom of the Opera and Mamma Mia. Each had rave reviews and has been running for quite sometime now, 18 and 5 years, respectively. Finally we went for Mamma Mia - a musical interspersed with songs of ABBA. Given my idea of English music, it felt great that I had heard 2 of the songs before and could vaguely recall a few more. The music was refreshing, the stage and lights out of this world and choreography superlative. It was not much about acting, and was even overtly dramatic at times, but that's how it went throughout, what it was all about. All in all - complete entertainment, amazingly refreshing. Am a bit heady with about a combined 5 hours of sleep in the last 3 days. Otherwise, this post surely deserves more space.

Value For Money

2007-01-31T12:50:00.000+05:30

Money sells. This is something that I am made to realise everywhere I go. Ambitions, alliances, art, activities - that's all of the words I could think of starting with 'A' - are all steered and driven by the paper that buys. Its presence is so pervading, at least in the urban population, that its impacts are no more disceranable. The present time, it seems, has put our minds on cruise control - we move on without even as much as thinking for ourselves.

In the Indian cities, at least in the ones I have been to, the masses are driven by a common goal to show off. The places you go are not the ones that interest you, the food you eat may not necessarily be what you like and what you wear is not what looks good on you. Places we go, clothes we wear and where (and not what) we eat, must qualify under the misconstrued category called 'cool'. Hence we have no choice but to 'hang around' in 'eating joints' wearing the 'popular labels'. And, surprisingly, no one realises - it's all so internalised.

One more way, for the booming IT fraternity, to be 'cool' is to hook an 'onsite trip'. I am not sure about the grass but, with US companies making up the majority of the parent companies/clients in the Indian IT sector, the money definitely is green. And it's all so easy - sit back while the company applies and sponsors your visa, go to the consulate for the stamping (with colleagues congratulating and relatives celebrating your 'success'), do some shopping from the foreign travel allowance and start off. The client takes care of most of your daily needs, so you don't need to worry about anything. Except, of course, your bank balance, expense reimbursements and money transfers to India. Just mention any number to an absent-minded professional and chances are high that he'd reply with a figure that's 45 times what you said.

I'm no ascetic who thinks money is 'maya', neither am I a spendthrift who leaves a trail of notes wherever he goes. Worse, I don't have a sharp mind for investments and returns. I just do not want to give it the unnecessary importance ahead of the simpler pleasures in life. If I am to do something I like, I wouldn't think about the money involved. But when it comes to spending for something 'cool', I don't ever have to convince myself to save. The answer is a clear NO from within.

It just stirs and makes me wonder when I see someone - who is making more than 7 times the money he makes in India - count single dollars or find convoluted ways to make more. The defining moment that left me flabbergasted was when one of my friends came to know the ticket price (after a 40% discount, though) for the Broadway show we are going tomorrow. If he said that the rates are far too exorbitant for his liking, I would be least thoughtful or bothered. But the first question he asked was 'How long does the show run for?' Either we like something or we don't - but liking something on the basis of amount spent per hour was something that made me think. Hence this post.

Movie Going

2007-01-30T11:59:00.000+05:30

Till three years back, I never used to go to the theaters. I found movies a waste of time and they did not appeal to me at all. I would occasionally catch up with movies on the TV but my big-screen total between 1990 and 2003 was, as far as I can remember, 8. I would sit through old movies on television, waiting eagerly for that priceless song in the usually ordinary proceedings. Else, who would sit through a thoroughly nerve-wrecking movie called Mahua - if not for the strong, poignant and rebel notes of 'Dono ne kiya tha pyar magar, mujhe yaad raha tu bhool gayi - Maine tere liye jag chhoda, tu mujhko chhod chali'. I did not watch a frame after this song was over, and frankly don't remember what I saw before.

With a proper fraction as my yearly average, I could barely be called a movie-goer. But this changed after I moved to out of house after college. I started going for the movies more frequently - and notched up quite a number of them by the time I moved to Hyderabad. With nothing much to do after work hours (and a 11-8 work hour at that), our group resorted to movies. I am not sure how many of us went for the movie itself, and many times people would turn up and ask - 'What's today?' Even though I liked quite a few we went for, including Dor, Rang De Basanti, Lage Raho Munnabhai, Parineeta and 'the different one', Being Cyrus, I have to admit the liking came after the show was over, and I never quite had a wishlist.

Anyways, it was fun with all those last minute plans, and I became quite an expert in identifying potential sellers outside the Box Office in the multiplexes, even in the first weekend of the show. The evening and night shows, which we usually went for, would mean we had to eat out either after or before the movie, respectively - and was an added incentive for a foodie like me. I remember going for a midnight buffet after watching Lage Raho Munnabhai - eating from 1:00 to 2:45.

All in all, it's good fun going out for the movies or have friends over at my place and rent a VCD. There's not much to do when you live away from home with new found friends who are, well almost all of them are, living away from home themselves.

Talking of movies, my favourite genre is comedy. Golmaal, Half Ticket, Munna Bhai and some Govinda movies top my list. I am also a great fan of Guru Dutt classics Pyaasa and Kaagaz Ke Phool.

And, on a very recent note (actually 2 days back), I'd suggest everyone who is reading this NOT to watch Salaam-e-Ishq under any circumstances. If someone tells you he'd pay for your ticket, or take you to dinner after the show, or whatever - please reply with a firm 'No, thanks.' Simply put, this is THE WORST movie I watched that I can recall.

Line of Fate

2007-01-29T13:30:00.000+05:30

Yesterday will definitely go down as one of the worst days of my life. Little did I know about the outcome of going for a haircut, long due. The nearest barber shop was full - so I and my friend went to take a stroll. And, of all streets, walked to one that hosted a shop with an unbelievably attractive sign - "$4.99 hair cut". It was too tempting not to have a closer look.

Getting in, we found around 20 people cutting and about a 20 more waiting for their customers. Someone said - 'Sign in there'. We signed - even though the declaration above started with 'I hereby understand that the students working here are not professionals and are aspiring barbers... I understand that I might get injured in the process...' I have no explanation whatsoever as to why we did not come out of that den then and there. :)

I was directed by the student instructor towards a chair and asked what number I'd go for from the chart displayed above. Confused, I just said I want my present style to be preserved. So he instructed to his waiting student - 'Do a 4 on the sides, 6 on the upper area and scissors on top' -and went away. I could see the clumsiness in the first few clips and in the way he was going about the whole task at hand. Unknowingly, I joined my palms for a silent prayer.

The 4 was over and so was the 6. But his hands shook when it held the scissors. His ordeal showed in his face and found expressions in his frequent 'I'm sorry'-s. At one point of time, I told him he needs to hold the comb in the other hand to do what he was trying to do. Two deep cuts made me utter the only words I found that could save, literally, my face - 'Please go ahead with the blades if you are not comfortable with the scissors'.

His reply was that of a confident man - 'Definitely better - I'm a blade man, you see.'

Five minutes later, I realised there was no way I could save myself. I just decided to close my eyes and let him make merry. When I opened my eyes and looked at the progress, the hurt showed in my own reflection - and I was doubly sure to see my friend standing far away and laughing his heart out looking at me. Whatever little doubt I had went away after one glimpse of the look in his eyes. I could feel he had already got over the dissatisfaction over his own makeover - after seeing the still amateur craftsman giving the final touches to his, maybe first, creation.

The thing that took the cake was the razor clean hairline he made on my forehead. A straight line running ridiculously parallel to the brows, and demarcating hair from skin - is what anyone would see on my person if I stand in front. A deeper, sharper line runs where this blow cut across my bleeding heart.

Subway Stop

2007-01-27T00:22:00.000+05:30

Coming out of my laziness, I took the subway today - despite having to walk a few blocks in the freezing cold. It's easier to come out, hail a cab and be home in 20 minutes. But the subway surely has more experience in store. For instance, today the train just stopped at Fulton Street for a full 10 minutes. No one knew the reason, no one showed any signs of restlessness. Most commuters here, even if getting down a couple of stops later, would open a book or plug in the i-pod and sink in. 10 minutes of a stoppage without any announcement does not make the New Yorker stir. I was sorely missing the presence of a fellow Calcuttan with me. Sounds of 'Ki Dada, train-ta cholbe naki?' were echoing inside my mind - would have surely come out if there were one. Loosely translated it means - well, the essence of comments like this cannot be captured in translations :)

TV again

2007-01-25T08:56:00.000+05:30

I switched on the television after a long time yesterday. The channels I get here are from the basic package the cable company provides - and, hence, are not worth raving for. Morever, I am not a TV regular and do not fall in the 'everybody' group that loves Raymond. Neither am I an English movie/music buff. I am not into basketball, baseball and golf - that is shown almost always in the sports channels. This leaves me totally out of choices and I just managed a princely combined duration of 2 FIFA world cup matches and another 20 minutes in front of the TV in my apartment in five months.

Yesterday night was different. After a long time, I switched it on for the Australian Open Women's Semifinal match between Maria Sharapova and Kim Clijsters. The match turned out to be almost entirely one-sided as Sharapova cruised to a straight-set victory. Much to my disappointment, though - Clijsters, along with Justine Henin-Hardenne, is one of the two women I like in the circuit at present. Sania Mirza remains a sentimental favourite nonetheless.

Talking of tennis, if I were to pick just 2 of my favourite players, I'd pick Andre Agassi and Gabriela Sabatini. They remain my favourites from as early as I can recall.

I am not interested in the men's game after Agassi's retirement and would not want to watch Sharapova vs Serena Williams. So I guess I had my share of tennis viewing for now. Will Sania Mirza break into the 30s once again? Would there be any different champion in the men's grandslams this year ( other than the 3-1 between Federer and Nadal)? These are the questions I'd be having this year...

All About Laugh

2007-01-25T07:33:00.000+05:30

We all love to laugh. But at times I get restive seeing some people laugh. I am talking of that class of people who you will find rolling in splits at something amusing - but reactive, angry and even vindictive when the joke is on them. I just do not like people who are like this. Most of us, however, would wait till the tide dies down when we are at the receiving end. And then - there is a small group who would laugh the loudest when in a similar situation. Laughing at myself - I have to admit - makes me happiest.

I have a very good friend who shares this trait. We rarely met after college- but whenver we talked over the phone, a great deal of talktime used to be spent on our recent 'achievements'. This done, we would move on to what others did - and conversations hardly went out of hilarious accounts/experiences. He came to the USA recently and we are having a rollicking time during the weekends when he comes over. We met for lunch today at a chinese joint near my office. Just as he picked up his fork to gorge on his chicken and rice, the man behind the counter came hurriedly and picked up his plate and went back. He apologised - saying that he had given him someone else's food by mistake. I could have given anything for the perplexed look on his face, the still down-pointing fork reflecting his state of mind. We had a good laugh over the incident and it made up for the disappointment over the overly sweet General Tso's chicken which he could manage to just half-eat.

He had come to my office after work a few days back and we had a very simple plan - pick up the one of my teammates from his Broadway office in our cab and go home. The friend would get a missed call and come out on the streets - and I assured him that my call would be so sweetly timed that he would come out to our braking taxi. I was, throughout, telling my friend about cabs since that was his first cab ride - how you stop one, rates, routes, tips, etc. It was all going well. But just as I picked up the phone, I realised that I did not have any minutes left on my cell. I tried to make my brain work beyond its capacity - and it retaliated brutally. As our street touched Broadway, I told him to take a right - on a one-way going left! He looked at the mirror and taught me a new meaning of 'if looks could kill' altogether. Then, why I don't know, I dialed my cell again. Failing at that too, I told him to wait at that junction till I walk down a few blocks, make a call from the building reception to my waiting friend, come back with him when he was down from the 13th floor. The cabbie said many things, which were supposed to bring a lot of curses on my being, but ended up in rumbling sounds at the most. I came to my senses and did the only thing I could do - settled the bill, with a 25% tip. As we were leaving the car, he finally got his speech back. "I don't know what kind of a passenger you are" is all we could hear.

I end here, and I hope I could bring home the point I started this post with.

Company

2007-01-25T04:18:00.000+05:30

My office has suddenly become a better place. My friend from my India team finally joined me here yesterday - and we are having a great time working and interacting together in office. Makes things easy for him to settle in, and breaks my monotony that I unwantedly had to bear for the 4 months I was here prior to this. We talked throughout the day, and worked together. We even finished a short, impromptu photo session (short because the batteries gave way) sometime back. By the time I go back to India in 10 days, he would be knowing the people and process around him without having to explore. And, I will be happy that my stay in this office at least ended on a high note. 'All is well that ends in the well' - as someone said long back :)

Office back in India is so different - it's like being in a group of compulsive pranksters vying for the ultimate championship. It's fun and utterly nonsensical, let's talk about it in a separate entry here. It's time to leave for the day.

Smiles!

My First Sub

2007-01-23T17:36:00.000+05:30

It is not that I had never had at Subway before, but that was in India where you hardly find any person other than those behind the counter. I could take my own time and customize my order as well. Still, I did not like what I had that time and could not correlate the word cold with sandwich while paying so much. Anyways, seeing the long queues at the nearby Subway joint everyday, I thought of trying to see if this was any different.

The first difference - Fast Food queues should move real fast. And so, even though I was around twenty odd in the line, it was hardly 3 minutes before I was to order - fully undecided about my order. The fast movement of the queue was apparent from the fact that 6 people were behind the counter. Your bread travels from one to the next till it becomes a sandwich and you pay to the last person.

The first person asked what type of bread. I replied - "I don't need." :D (He had pointed to a chart that had all the bread varieties, but the only thing I read was, add a delicious garlic bread to your subway meal.) Then he said, "How can I make it without the bread?" Finally I said I wanted the first bread type.

The bread passed on to the next person.

She said - Cheese? My reply - "No, thanks". That would have meant paying extra, you know. But on quickly running my eyes on the board I found no mention of paying extra for cheese. But it was already too late.

The bread passed on to the next person and I could not understand what she did other than passing it on. The next person gave me a look and I could understand she was expecting me to say something, but did not understand what. Finally she said - "What all you need?" Did not get her accent and thought she said something else. So I replied - "yes, fine." She said, pointing - "WHAT ALL? Lettuce? Tomato?" I got the point and continued - "Onion, ummm.. yes that's all." Then realised what all I should have said when the girl behind me replied to the same question - "Lettuce, tomato, onion, carrot, cabbage, pickle, jalapeno, olive…" I realised what I had missed because mine was already packed. And then came further grief when I heard the girl continue - "yes, mayonnaise, mustard, yes a little bit…."

The bread passed on to the next person who billed it and said enjoy your Sub! Enjoy I did!

Afterall, I unknowingly removed some extra calories from what they claim to already reduce. And, like the calories, I had taken away most of the taste out of what little it was supposed to have.

A Rare Purchase

2007-01-23T13:27:00.000+05:30

I don't usually visit music stores to get my music - and normally rely on MP3s and online music sites. Youtube has been a recent addition to my musical destinations. It is because of this site that I could witness Ghulam Ali and Mohd. Rafi singing live, and also could unearth some very rare Rafi gems like this one.

9 out of 10 songs I listen to are either by Rafi Sahab or by Ghulam Ali. I have formed a decent collection now - 500+ Rafi and 100 Ghulam Ali numbers. If you want to know more about them, do a simple search in google or look up the wikipedia entries for MR or GA.

Opinions may vary and everyone is entitled to one's preferences, but in my book Mohd. Rafi will remain the best playback singer ever and Ghulam Ali the best ghazal singer ever.

Coming back to what I started with, I don't visit music stores often. But whenever I amble into one, either with my friends or just to pass time, I browse the Ghazal and the Old Hindi sections. In one such recent visit to Planet M when I was in India in December, I chanced upon this double CD Ghulam Ali collection called Kohinoor. I decided to take it at once, solely because of this one ghazal spanning 23 minutes - Apni Tasveer Ko Aankhon Se Lagata Kya Hai. I am simply speechless each time I hear this one. Smooth, soft and elegant - the rendition leaves me wanting for more despite the unusually long duration. Vintage one.

Kohinoor also has Dost Bankar Bhi Nahi Saath Nibhanewala which is right up there in my favourite list, mainly because of its maqta -
Tum takalluf ko bhi ikhlaas samajhte ho 'Faraaz'
Dost hota nahi har hath milanewala.

takalluf = formality
ikhlaas = sincerity

I paired it off with a different CD by the Ustad - one on classical raagas. I do not have a critical assessment of the CD as I don't understand the Raagas and their intricacies. But I love listening to this album as well.

Drops with a difference

2007-01-23T09:23:00.000+05:30

I was walking out of office - headed to meet my teammate, who had just arrived in New York, in his hotel - when I realised my overcoat was all white. I brushed it off my sleeve and looked up. It was indeed snowing - white flakes floating all around. I had seen my first snowfall a few days back - and now I was walking in one. I wished I was not all decked up and could feel them all over me and not just the few drops on my face.

Anyways, I was happy beyond words. I knew I would like it. There are a few more invigorating feelings than getting drenched in the rain. It's been really long that I enjoyed a long stand under the crying sky. Back home, I'd come out whenever it poured heavily - and many times this happened just as I came out of my bath. My dad does it too in the summers, as cure for the dreadful heat-boils he gets. Standing in the first shower is almost a ritual for the both of us - rounding it off later with the deep fried onion pakoras. My brother joining in - too lazy to get drenched, too eager for the snack afterwards. :)

Walking on snow-covered streets is next on my agenda. My friend says she has slipped many times and it's quite impossible to avoid them - so am prepared for the bumps. Will update here when I experience my first 'snow-fall'.

Smiles!

About Us

2007-01-23T03:50:00.000+05:30

The 'Us' above was necessary to bring forth the numerous perceptions people have about me. Although not drastically different from each other, people pick and choose the traits they have seen or imagine to build their own persons for me. And in this journal, I would have entries for all of them.

I'm 26, working as a Security Consultant (on paper, though - with no mind/aptitude for the field) with one of the Big-4 firms. I am from Calcutta, but work in Hyderabad. As I create this blog, I am in - what I feel the best place to be for me after Calcutta - New York.

I am intensely passionate about a few things - respect where it's due, my conscience, people I like, sports I follow and music I listen to. And I am a great worshipper of food - am sure many of the entries here would be testimony to that. I like writing down my thoughts - as poems or even while mailing or chatting with anyone. Which means, I am better at writing down my feelings than speaking them out.

More to come in the days ahead. Packing off for the day now.
Smiles!

Hello Space

2007-01-18T12:18:00.000+05:30

After, literally, years of procastination I have finally created my profile. Each time I thought of starting my own blog, I always ended up not doing so - thinking I must be getting ideas to write something really interesting and meaningful to start off. And so passed three years - which could have been captured through their numerous interesting incidents and myriad experiences. Anyways, it is never too late to start something.

This is definitely not well-begun - and hence not half done :) Just the one post till now.