West-side Story

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

"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

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

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

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

“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

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