Sweetness and Light

Be back soon

2009-10-22T16:31:00.000+05:30

Sorry for the long absence...will be back soon. promise. :-)

Some more updates

2008-12-13T09:43:00.003+05:30

It's almost a year since I promised to be more regular. It was not a new year resolution, but nevertheless, it was broken just as easily. :-(

1. Since the last post, I have tried three more hair dressers in Bangalore and one in Kolkata. My hairstyle has changed completely, thanks to a complete shave that I underwent when my mother passed away in August (I can write a lot on that, so I am not writing anything). Clearly haircut remains a major variable component in my life (hint: if you don't know how to start conversation with me, try haircut as a topic, and see me gushing). :-)

2. My Blackberry Pearl is working fine. It had one major hiccup when I dropped it in a bathtub (I live life King size - what is a drop in a bucket compared to the bathtub?) within two weeks of getting hold of it. Boy, did I go through trauma for the next 4 hours, while my girl friend as usual took charge of the situation, drying it first with a hair dryer (that thingy IS useful after all), and then putting it out in the sun. Now it is hale and hearty, and frankly, to all those who crib about having their privacy taken away, my response is - it is worth avoiding the knots in the tummy not knowing what surprises await you in your inbox every morning. And frankly, you just get used to ignoring mails also, when you want to. :-)

3. I celebrated my nth birthday yesterday (n tends to infinity, or at least that is what it feels like). My lady made it special, because it was special for her. Surprise cake cutting at midnight (at least it was a surprise till 11 when I tried hard to go to sleep and she had to blurt out that I just had to be up till 12), lovely flowers delivered at office, and a dream gift of Lord of the Rings Trilogy DVD set. Thanks baby. :-) Now all I need is a La-Z Boy couch to watch the movies in. :-)

4. Visited Mathura, Vrindavan, Govardhan etc. on a road trip from Delhi two weeks back. My last "pilgrimage" was in 1991 (to Nathdwara in Rajasthan), and this time my father wanted to take my younger sister and myself to these places because he knew we won't go there on our own. It was a nice experience actually - roads are better and you have much better options than dharamshalas to stay in. The only problem is still crowd and garbage management in old temples (the relatively newer ones are much better). But that also becomes part of the experience, I guess. In any case, I don't have a right to crib if I am going there once in my lifetime.

5. Visited Detroit for two weeks in November on an assignment. Short and sweet experience, and a first-hand feeling of what is happening out there. Also caught up with one friend after 4 years (he might comment on this blog, will you, Tabula Rasa?), and another after 17, yes 17 years. Boy, was that some catching up! He came to pick me up at the hotel, I got in the car, we shook hands, chatted for the time he drove to a pub and then some more, covering all topics from personal details (5 minutes) to economy (15 minutes) to politics (30 minutes) and then plonked ourselves in front of the TV after reaching his home. I think his wife was surprised at our method of catching up - she said if it were a friend of hers, they would have been up all night! Guess it is the Mars-Venus thing.

I am tired now......hopefully more later. :-)

P.S. I forgot - Read two diametrically opposite but excellent books in the last six months - Ex Libris by Anne Fadiman, and My Sister's Keeper by Jodi Picoult. Hadn't heard of either of them before I read the books, so am trying to spread the good word. Both ladies can do with some help, I guess.:-)

Some Updates

2008-01-26T11:00:00.000+05:30

1. I gave in to my impulse and bought the complete set of Calvin & Hobbes for approx Rs. 5500. Three beautiful hard-bound volumes - weighing approx 3 kgs each. Now I am looking for a bank locker to deposit them in.

2. I am finally changing my handset - the current one has served for more than 3 years, and is now falling to pieces, literally. Have asked a friend to get me a Blackberry Pearl from US. Any feedback (only if positive or instructional - I have already spent the money).

3. I hope to start writing more frequently. Cautious optimism, and as always - proof of pudding lies in eating (but you can't have your cake and eat it too - is there some paradox here?)

4. I have found a new place for getting my hair cut. No need to do a cost benefit analysis this time, since it charges 80 bucks and provides a longer walk. But of course, no velvety fingers here. :(

Thats all for now, folks. Now let me ponder over cakes and puddings. :)

It's a dog's life

2008-01-26T10:32:00.000+05:30

The inspiration behind this post has been in the running for more than 9 years now - so I guess that creates some sort of record in procrastination. Of course, when the idea first occurred to me, there was no blogosphere, but even taking that into account, it's almost 2 years since I have started blogging, and that also is a long time. Anyway, the most recent inspiration for this post is a recent news item that I came across - about some rich American(the way US economy is going, it will stop being a tautology soon) leaving about $300,000 to his three dogs. Yes, Dogs. And they say it is a dog's life!

I have always liked dogs, except a pom belonging to a close friend of mine, who never ceased barking. But the notion that a dog's life need not be a bad deal first impressed upon me around 1998 winters, when I was in Mumbai for 3 months on a training. I was staying at a dear friend's place at Khar, and my office was at Belapur. Those familiar with Mumbai geography - stop and empathize right now. Those who aren't, open up a map, and then empathize. For empathize you must. My day went like this - leave home at 7:30 after being fed nicely by auntie, take a rick or a bus to Bandra station depending on whether I was poorer in time or in money (in practical sense, time ain't money - I never had them together then, and certainly not now), take a BEST 505 to Mankhurd station on Harbour line, then take a train to Belapur, and then walk about a km to get to office. Now there might be simpler routes - like going to Santacruz station and then to Kurla, and then to Belapur...but I was never much for Bombay trains - they serve a lot of humanity, but I am not human (or may be man) enough for them in peak hours.

But wait, I am digressing. What has all this got to do with dogs, and their lives? This. What was the sight that greeted me when I reached the office complex? A couple of dogs soaking in the sun. Eyes blissfully closed, body gracefully stretched, sleeping on content stomachs. If you think this was bad, there were other ways in which they spent their morning hours. Like "making love" to a female dog (why can't I use the b word?) And mind you, not the same one every day (the female dog, I mean). Day after day, for three months, when I was slogging my a%^ off commuting, working and then commuting again, I never saw a variation in these dogs' routine. Eat, sleep, make love, once in a while enjoy a good fight (all bark and no bite) - and this was supposed to be a dog's life.

I am currently trying to figure out what karma results in a canine birth in next life. Any clue, anyone?

Calvin, Hobbes and Me!

2007-07-06T18:27:00.000+05:30

I was first exposed to Messrs Calvin and Hobbes in late 80s, when they appeared every sunday in The Telegraph Magazine. I couldn't make any sense of their antics then - all I saw were ugly dinosaurs (now that's redundant - when did I ever find a dino handsome / beautiful?), or spaceships (I am not a sci-fi fan, except for comic sci-fi like H2G2), or a tiger that was sometimes stuffed, and sometime, well, a tiger. Then there was a long gap before I came across a whole book around 1995, courtesy some dear friends who were running out of ideas to cheer me up during my dialysis days. And I discovered the magic!! It has never failed since to bring a smile to my lips AND make me think, simultaneously. If P.G.Wodehouse is unadulterated beauty and elegance of English language, guaranteed to make you laugh whichever page you open in the book, Bill Watterson is that rarity who looks at everyday life with an uncommon lens, turns conventional wisdom upside down, and in the garb of a six-year old terror kid (and his sympathetic, if sometimes uncomprehending tiger) asks questions and makes observations that we as adults would be glad to shove below the carpet.

In my this leisure week (why am I feeling guilty about it?), I happened to browse through some old C&H collection, and felt inspired to jot some of them down here. Now there are scores of websites dedicated to the duo, and there must be legions of fans who are much more knowledgeable on the subject than me, so obviously the attempt is not to educate. Also, the source of my collection is just one book - "The Authoritative Calvin and Hobbes", so it will not be a best of C&H. Finally, there are some strips where it is pointless to reproduce the dialogs, because the true punchline is the drawing itself. How can I (or anyone, for that matter), convey Calvin's satanic glee (with teeth exposed) when some "evil" idea has struck him, or Hobbes' deadpan expression while pulling Calvin's legs in his inimitable, subtle manner?

So here I go:

Calvin asks his dad to pick up his ball from the gutter-
Dad (annoyed): This is the third time this afternoon! I thought I told you to play out back!
Calvin: Relax dad. Its just a ball in the gutter. It is not as if I've been embezzling money or killing people, right? Aren't you glad I am not stealing and murdering?
Calvin (last panel): I always have to help dad establish the proper context.
I am going to try this at office! :)

There are several compilations of exchanges between Calvin and his dad, where the latter routinely gets away with amazing answers to Calvin's incessant queries. But in the rare case where he admits that he doesn't know -
Dad: Heck, beats me. I guess we ought to look this stuff up.
Calvin: I take it there is no qualifying exam to be a dad.
Now, would you still blame dad for inventing all those answers?

So many times Hobbes reminds us human beings of our insensitivity, especially towards animals and nature. Here is one of my favorites, when the duo discover trash dumped out in the open -
Calvin (picking a dumped can): By Golly! If people aren't burning toxic wastes or testing nuclear weapons, they are throwing trash everywhere. You'd think planets like this were a dime a dozen.
Hobbes: You know, there are times when it's a source of personal pride to not be human.
Touche!

Every Christmas season Calvin gets mighty jittery about his standing with Santa. It usually starts with questioning the notion of good and evil and doubting the existence of Santa himself, but usually as the D-day approaches, cold logic and practicality reign over emotions - after all, if Santa DOESN'T exist and you DON"T believe in him, no loss, but what if he DOES exist? As Calvin himself puts it, it is a matter of "simple risk analysis".
Calvin: I want presents. Lots of presents. Why risk not getting them over a matter of belief? Heck, I will believe anything they want.
Hobbes: How cynically enterprising of you.
I am scared to think about the number of occasions I resort to such "risk analysis". :(

Calvin's new year resolutions are funny only to the extent that the character making them is a kid. I wonder how many of us adults have similar resolutions, consciously or sub-consciously -
Calvin: If the new year requires resolutions, I say it's up to everyone else, not me! I don't need to improve. Every one else does. How about you? Did you make any
resolutions?
Hobbes (eyes rolled up): Well, I had resolved to be less offended by human nature, but I think I blew it already.
I think I need a Hobbes too.

And then there is the episode where Calvin decides to secede from home and move to Yukon. Of course, good sense, or more likely, empty stomach prevails, and Calvin
decides he is better off at home. But...
Calvin: What if mom and dad won't take me back because I seceded? What if they tell me I can't rejoin the family?
They HAVE to take me back! I am their stupid kid. Right?
(Finally, in a rare moment of candid self-appraisal): Right! The operative word being "Stupid".

And, as my vacation draws to an end, can't help but resonate with the following observation from Calvin:
THERE'S NEVER ENOUGH TIME TO DO ALL THE NOTHING YOU WANT.

More later.

I will be back

2007-06-30T17:30:00.000+05:30

Of late, I have been very unfair to my readers (those who still bother), and to myself. More than four months since I have written anything at all. Not that this period was uneventful, in personal or professional sense. But it was stressful, and in both spheres, and I do not like to put down morbid notes for others to read. Remember - my blog is all about Sweetness and Light. So I decided to wait it out; after all, my motto has always been "this too shall pass".

So I am taking the next week off (to the extent it is possible to take a break in this age of mobiles and laptops with wireless cards), and plan to write something. I don't know what yet - but I guess I will find some amusement around if I look for it. After all, thats a method that has worked remarkably well in the past. :-)

Just one note: of late there have been some new visitors to my blog, and they have left unbelievably nice comments. One of them have also questioned my stand of not responding to comments. Well, I still have the same defence as earlier - I honestly don't know how to respond to praise without getting all vain about it. If there is a difference of opinion or a dispute on facts, I would be glad to comment back. Otherwise I would prefer to maintain a grateful silence. Believe me, it is these comments that keep bringing me back.

So, I will be back. :)

P.S. The haircut honeymoon is over. The realities of married life (read, repeat customer) have kicked in - even this hairdresser doesn't understand the word "medium". :-(

To Cut A Long Hair Short

2007-02-11T12:45:00.000+05:30

Shifting residences has its own hidden costs, beyond the ones incurred on packers and movers (hopefully not shakers) and the increase in rent. One such cost was revealed to me today morning when I went for my first haircut in this locality (the earlier one being a good 10 km off). I spent almost 2 years' worth of haircut on just one haircut today. And am now trying to justify the same to myself. May be my readers can help.

Ambience: I used to go to a place that would justifiably answer to the moniker "barber-shop". For it had barbers who would get you seated and then get down to work. No fuss around it. There would be a small TV perched atop in a corner which no one apart from the standing barbers or people waiting for their turn would be able to watch. Not that it mattered, because all the time it only played some Kannada channel. The waiting "area" was two steps behind the row of seats where people would be getting cut hair, of course) and shaved. The only entertainment available to non-Kannada patrons like me was the Times of India, and that too if there wasn't another of my ilk already waiting. The new place, on the other hand, will not answer to any name apart from a salon, I suspect. It has plush interiors, a separate waiting area packed with magazines (though it did not help that I picked up the latest RD and found the quote "even a bad hair-cut eventually grows up", or something to that effect), and peppy hindi numbers gently wafting in the air. Surely this difference is worth something? Say 50 bucks?

Location: The old place was bang opposite my old residence. Just get out, cross the road, and there you are. Plus there were some good eateries around, which usually
meant I had my leisurely haircut on a stomach filled with hot idlis and vadas, if not dosas. The new place is a good 15 minutes walk, which of course, is good for health. And I also have to climb 2 floors, though the stairs are easy. But no eateries around. :( There is a coffee day outlet just next door, but then in morning hours, at least for me, cappuccino and sandwich do not hold a candle to idli and sambhar. May be minus 20 for this?

Timing: The barbershop would be open at 6 in the morning. Not that I ever went that early. But essentially what it meant was I could have a haircut on a working day like
friday so as to preserve the precious weekend hours better. No such luck here....this salon does not start before 10 (I discovered after landing there at 9:45). So it has to be on a weekend, and the 15 minute walk is suddenly not that alluring once summer sets it. Definitely minus 30 here.

Process: The earlier place was an absolute no-frills place. You arrive, get seated, and your man is behind you, all with scissors and smile. You are suddenly wrapped up in a white cloth carrying with itself hints of a wash in hopefully recent past, and before you know it, you are paying obeisance to the man to the mirror, in response to the hand firmly placed on the back of your head. And then the butchery starts. Once in a while, you will get woken from your stupor by a sprinkle of cold water from a sprinkler used to water day-old flowers, but for the next fifteen minutes, it is just the efficient clipping of the scissors. And viola - you are a new man (at least for the next two weeks). The production system is surely inspired by Japanese management systems, following all the usual principles of Lean. In the salon, on the other hand, you first get your hair washed in hot water (and some nice smelling shampoo). Then you are seated in a chair where your head is actually pulled backwards instead of forward. And then the hairdresser (can't call them barbers) gets to work, slowly, methodically, almost one hair at a time. It seems as if there is an intense debate going on in the mind for each hair - maar diya jaaye, ki chhod diya jaaye, bol tere saath kya salook kiya jaye. And then the scissor descends, slowly, apologetically, and snips one here, cuts one there. At times the pace was so deliberate that I wondered whether instead of me, the hairdresser had fallen asleep. The process lasts some 45 minutes, and it also produces a new you - though I cannot comment right now for how long. So which of these I prefer? Honestly, I don't know yet.

People: I am a normal guy, normal in all senses of the word. Given a choice between an unshaven, probably unbathed man in his 30s who can himself do with a haircut, and
a pretty, nice-smelling young lady with velvety touch, who should I prefer to have the rights on my hair? Now this one is as no-brainer as it gets. :) 100 points for the new place.

Finally, the most important criterion - Communication. For the last 20 years (ever since I started getting haircuts without towing along with my dad), I have been struggling with that one word, one sentence that would adequately convey to my barber / hairdresser exactly how short I wanted my hair to be cut. And I have failed miserably. Initially I used to say "short", and would emerge from the salon in the danger of being court-martialled by the nearest military court for being a deserter. Then I tried my luck with express command "don't make it short", and yet ended up with hair that would barely pass through the teeth of the comb. Then, some time back, the word "medium" flashed across my inward eye and I shined in glee. Surely this would convey what I wanted to be done to my hairs? Alas, one man's medium is another man's crew-cut. Sometimes, while reflecting on my shorn head post such session, I honestly wondered - if this is medium, what would be short? But in this new place, I said medium, and I got medium. Nothing more, nothing less. And that, for me, is worth another 100.

So where does the points tally stand? 50 - 20 - 30 +/- 0 +100 + 100 = 200. That still leaves me with a deficit of 50 (250 - 200). What the hell! I think the lady with the velvety touch is worth 150 points. :))

Excuses

2007-02-10T13:05:00.000+05:30

Do I have any? For being "away from action" for such a long time? Especially when that period also includes the so called vacation season (Christmas, New Year etc.)? I will give it a try, but I doubt I will have any success in convincing any reader left that I absolutely could not manage to write anything at all for more than two months.

Excuse 1: No time.
The lamest of all. Don't they say, you always find time for doing what you want to do? And I do like, no, love writing. It is almost a therapeutic experience. And yet I could not find any time in the last two months. To be honest, I did make one attempt in between, but actually hit a writer's block in the opening para itself. Just ran out of something to write on. And hence, sensibly gave up. I can live with not writing, but not with writing poorly (self-proclaimed, obviously). But if it is of any help to build my case, I have also been busy enough in the last few months to fall enormously behind in terms of movies - haven't seen Babel, Blood Diamond, Guru, Parzania, and many others whose names also have slipped my memory now. So much for quality of life. :(

Excuse 2: No inspiration.
Frankly, no idea could sustain itself long enough in my head to make it from the loo (where ideas usually originate) to the laptop. And no, I have not yet started carrying my laptop to the loo - still rely on good old books / newspapaers. Of course, things still keep happening in the outside world, but guess nothing provoked me enough to pen things down. We did have a 10-year batch reunion in December, where I reconnected with some old friends and was dismayed to see more people in better shape than me than I would have liked to. Evidently young at heart has not percolated to the rest of my body particuarly well. It was a good experience, but when I sat down to write about it, somehow, words failed me. I also thought of writing about my new year resolutions, but considering their state of affairs now, am very glad I didn't bother - unnecessary torture to get reminded of them on the blog when I have so conveniently, effortlessly forgotten them already. :) Then I attended a concert by Ustaad Zakir Hussain, Taufiq Kureshi and Niladri Kumar (on sitar), and though I was completely bowled over by the mastery of Niladri on those sitar strings (don't miss his performance, if you ever get a chance), once again, couldn't translate the ecstasy into words (unlike my earlier experience with Ghulam Ali Saab). I guess sometimes we just have these periods - complete lack of imagination. Some of my friends did gently nudge me, even gave ideas, but nothing worked. Hota hai!

I can't think of any more excuses now. No time, no topic - that's about it.

So what's different today? Guess what, I have changed residence, and today, barely 30 minutes back, have got my new broadband connection. Guess this post is somewhat in celebration of that, and an attempt to rejuvenate my writing habit. Wish me luck, dear readers, and also suggest some topics please. I do enjoy writing, you know!

Nostalgia

2006-11-19T22:37:00.000+05:30

Nov 18 is a rather special day in my life. Precisely 24 years ago, we got our first TV set home that day. Now you may think of me as some sort of a weirdo for remembering such a date (especially when I cannot remember the birthdays of close friends, at least on time), but let me explain....there is a good reason not to forget the date. Nov. 19 is when the Asiad started at New Delhi (remember Appu?) We got the TV just a day before - as JIT as it gets. Of course, you may wonder why I remember the date when Asiad started. Its because it was also the then PM, Mrs. Indira Gandhi's birthday. And even at that age, it seemed too much of a coincidence to me.

Now don't ask me why I remember Indira Gandhi's birthday. I just do!

Remember those days, my friends? When there were roughly 5-6 brands of TV available - EC, Bharat, Weston, Beltek, Webel, Uptron, Sonodyne (reader, please add from memory if you can). Did I say available? There used to be a waiting list actually. And we had quite some wait since ours was a color TV - just launched in the market. We wanted a Weston, but ultimately had to settle for Beltek. It did well, actually, finally bowing out only in 1997, a good 15 years in service. Those were the days when acquiring a fridge, TV, telephone etc. was more than getting a consumer durable (the term probably did not exist then). It was acquiring a new status. Those were the times when neighbor's use of protagonist's fridge to make icecream was the subject of many a short story. You could boast about getting to drink cold water after a game of cricket because your dad had bought a fridge, its another matter altogether that your mom would not allow you to touch the fridge. You gave your neighbor's phone number for getting urgent messages (and I am not referring to text messages) delivered. And you befriended someone especially so that you could go over and watch saturday evening's hindi movie on his TV.

It almost seems another age, though it is just a decade or two!

Do I miss that age? No, I don't. And yet, coming to think of it, it had its own charms. Of course, I don't know how much of the charm was also because of my age - childhood is never as bad in retrospect as we might like it to be.

Ok, let me see how many pre-1992 hindi TV serials can I recall top-of-the-mind (arbitrary cut-off because thats when I went to stay in a hostel and lost touch with TV). Hum Log, Buniyaad, Yeh Jo Hai Zindagi, Mr. ya Mrs. Ados Pados, Khaandaan, Ek Kahani, Ramayan, Mahabharat, Katha Sagar, Darpan, Shrikant, Wagle Ki Duniya, Mungerilal ke hasin sapne, Daane Anaar Ke, Flop Show, Nukkad, Show Theme, Idhar Udhar, Circus, Fauji, Ghar Jamai, Naqaab, Satyajit Ray Presents, Malgudi Days, Intezaar, Karamchand, ....... phew!

Dear Readers, please contribute. :-)

Absent Miss!

2006-11-08T23:25:00.000+05:30

It was one of my childhood fantasies - to respond with an "Absent Miss", when my turn would come during the roll call. It just seemed a fun thing to do, but somehow the steely glares of most of my class teachers did not allow these thoughts to get out of the box at all.

Oh well, no idea why I have chosen that as the title for this post, except that I have been absent for a long while, and may be, just may be, there are more misses missing the lack of my posts than misters ;) (Wishful thinking, Thy name is Pankaj).

The general reason for absenteeism is of course the usual suspect - work. But that was not all. I also did manage to take a two-week break in between and go home (Kolkata) for Diwali. Did think about a number of subjects to write on - diwali celebrations at home, a nice movie (Lage Raho..), a fabulous movie (Dor), a disappointing movie (World Trade Center), a very interesting book (The Corporation That Changed The World), the renaming of Bangalore, the importance (or lack of it) of spelling (in wake of a recent decision by some UK college to allow sms spellings in student answer scripts).....you get the idea. There is never a dearth of topic to write on (especially when your livelihood does not depend on it). It is just the question of alloting time to it. I have been guilty there...supremely so.

I will be back. :)

An Obituary

2006-10-02T23:48:00.000+05:30

We had a good dussehra break at office, and I went to Visakhapatnam (a.k.a. Vizag, a.k.a Waltaire) to spend some quality time with some relatives. Let me elaborate. My father's elder brother is now settled in Vizag for close to twenty years, and apart from him and my aunt, I have there a cousin sister, two cousin brothers (with matching sisters-in-law), a couple of nephews and a neice thrown in for good measure. In all these years, I have never visited them, though we have met on family occasions like weddings etc. The overall effect was that I did not know about the existence of my younger nephew (all of 5 years old) when I planned this trip, and that, more than anything else, struck me as being absolutely unpardonable. Little wonder that my uncle / aunt had actually stopped asking me to come over after innumerable futile attempts over all these years.

Anyway, I had a great time in Vizag friday through monday and was already thinking of posts to write - about the visit, about the place, about the relatives, etc. etc., when something else happened. My paternal grandfather passed away today (2nd October) evening around 5 p.m. By itself it would not have been remarkable. It is just that I had lunch with him in the afternoon before departing for the airport to catch the flight back to Bangalore. He was as hale and hearty as you could reasonably expect a 96-year old to be. Couldn't hear too well, couldn't see too well, couldn't eat too well, was weak generally, and so on, but no specific ailment.

For as long as I could remember, he had been "old" - at least by my standards. And he was always there. And he was an inspiration in being self sufficient. Our extended family (and it does extend quite a bit) held conversations in awed tones about his ability to walk a distance of nearly 40 kms every 3 months to a pilgrimage near Calcutta, carrying what we call "kaawad" in Hindi (can't translate, but it is basically a load balanced on shoulders) - and he did this well into his seventies. He was famously short-tempered, though never with me, and enjoyed his own company more than any one else's. For the last 15 years, he spent at least half an year at an ashram near Allahabad. It was only last year when his health deteriorated with age finally catching up with him that my uncle got him down to Vizag - much against his wishes, of course.

When grandpa was told about my planned trip to Vizag, he told my uncle that now it was time for him to leave the world. His guru had told him that he would depart the world surrounded by his loved ones. He was already staying with his eldest son, one grand-daughter, two grandsons, and three great-grand children (the age in the household ranged from 5 to 96 - isn't that amazing?). My father had visited him last month, and so had my other uncle. And now I was coming to complete the quota. My uncle told me this while attempting to explain the vagaries of a 96-year old mind, and we both had a good laugh. But the old man had the last laugh.

Is it possible to will oneself to die (am obviously not talking about suicide here)? For that is what my grandpa seems to have done. I took his leave around 1 p.m., and then he sat down to watch some TV (Sanskara channel, I suspect, though he was also taking an interest in Shashi Tharoor's candidature at the UN). It seems he just stopped breathing after some time while sitting on the chair. Did he decide to do so? It almost seems that way to me, when I recollect him now sitting at the lunch table with me, and looking just fine for another year or two. If he wanted to, he could have gone on. May be he didn't want to.

The left side of my brain tells me grandpa would have passed away anyway on 2nd October, and I am just terribly fortunate to have made it in the nick of the time. The right one tells me my grandpa was just waiting for me, so that I would not have to live with a lifetime of guilt.

I am inclined to believe my right side today. Thanks grandpa!

That Dull Feeling

2006-09-02T11:57:00.000+05:30

I think I have become dull. May be I have joined the corporate rat race without even realizing it. And I am doing all the running I can do to stay at the same place! What else can explain my lack of activity on my blog? I wouldn't go so far as to suggest that my creative juices have dried up (calling my writing "creative" would indeed be creative) :-) but there is a mental fatigue that prevents me from thinking beyond my work these days..... and I am not sure I like that.

Of course, I still remember the old adage - Even if you win the rat race, you are still a RAT.

I think what I will do is share some of my favorite quotes with those of you who could be bothered to read them. This will serve two purposes - one, lift up my spirits as I go through my collection (started mainly during my one year of dialysis and built ever since), and two, will give me something to write. And of course, if any of you add to my collection through comments, that much the better.... :)

So here are ten... in no particular order of wisdom or fun quotient or plain irreverence, just randomly picked up as I flip through the pages...

1. The discovery of a new dish does more for human happiness than the discovery of a new star.
2. A bore is a man who, when you ask him how he is, tells you.
3. Nothing is more conducive to peace of mind than not having any opinion at all.
4. Those who are serious in ridiculous matters will be ridiculous in serious matters.
5. He took his misfortune like a man - blamed it on his wife.
6. To be clever enough to get all that money, one must be stupid enough to want it.
7. You can never repay the people who help you in your trip through life, but you can pass on the payment.
8. True friendship comes when silence between two people is comfortable.
9. There is not enough darkness in all the world to put out the light of one small candle.
10. I ain't much, baby. But I'm all I've got.

:-)

I am feeling better already.

Its been a loooong time!

2006-07-30T17:49:00.000+05:30

I guess I have really been out of touch with my blog, and its few precious readers, and the wider world as such, for quite some time now. The last time I tried accessing my blog was on reading newspaper reports about certain blogsites being blocked. I couldn't....and felt my prestige enhanced manifold - finally some demonstration of keyboard being mightier than the sword. Today I was generally surfing (after ages), and found to my horror that I am no longer a threat to my country. This is disappointing - they should not dismiss untapped potential just like that!

So what all has happened since my last post? Quite a few things, if I think about it. Hey, I went to Ranikhet (near Nainital) on an office off-site in June beginning. And it was good fun. And most of us also discovered the true state of our stamina when going for the morning breakfast meant a climb of several stairs on uneven hilly terrain (such was our guesthouse). No wonder I had such a healthy appettite. The funnier parts involved being woken up at 1 a.m. and asked to report in the lunchroom because the big boss was still awake and his idea of fun did not include quality sleep. The hilarious parts included the worst rendition of "Pal Pal Dil Ke Paas" that I have ever heard - and this was the resident crooner. All in all it was fun...some work but adequtely compensated through booze and parties.

I also finally got an "updated" laptop from office. The old one had cleary outlived even its borrowed time and would have declared bankruptcy anytime. This one (Dell Latitude D510) is sleeker, has larger screen, and of course, faster. And I am finally using XP. So send me those 2 MB+ mails now, and I will not have to go on a forced tea-break.

Of course, with enhanced security measures at work, we cannot access blog sites from office, and the USB devices are disabled to access any memory device. One small factor why I haven't blogged off late. You look all around at office, and you find so many funny things to write about, but you can't access the site. :(

Oh yes, I also coached a team in our internal Six Sigma & Lean Quiz competition and we came a respectable joint third. Respectable because the team was in Hyderabad, and I was in Bangalore. And we were all very busy with our normal work. So the only coaching that I could do was through e-mails and phone (talk about distance education) for three days, before we finally met at Gurgaon for the semi-finals. Three hours of intensive closed-doors coaching and we sailed through to the finals. Five hours of intensive closed-doors coaching next day and we crashed in the finals. Guess should have left them alone! :(

In between, there were many events that stirred me into writing something. The Rahul Mahajan case (rather, the media overkill), PM's visit to Vidarbha (and the rest of the country suddenly waking up to the issue of farmer suicides), the IIM / IIT quota issue (and how it is not really the issue), Bombay train blasts.....long list actually. May be, if the work Gods are kinder to me in near future, I will get down to at least some of them. For the time being, this post is just to let everyone know I am alive and typing. :))

Doors

2006-06-17T12:55:00.000+05:30

The day could not have started at a brighter note, what with the winter sun at its glorious best at 10 in the morning. So it was hardly surprising that things went downhill from there on. Life doesn't really take into account niceties like it was a sunday, and a day before my birthday (for some unfathomable reason, I am more excited on the day before my birthday than on my birthday itself - may be it's the stuff about aniticipation and all that). Anyway, my journey downhill began with the discovery that the missed calls were not missed - none of the three receipients had bothered to call me back. How I wish these modern gizmos didn't have such advanced features - like telling you that someone called up while you were sleeping, and may be you should return the call. Or the features should be advanced enough - the phone grabs you by the ears and doesn't let go till you return the call - basic manners, you see!

The next step down was actually about my inability to take it - I mean, take the stairs down. The knee was still acting like a lover spurned - would send a shooting pain every once in a while to remind me that I had hurt it. Thank God for big mercies - the lift was working. I took the short cut to the bottom (if you are going to fall, might as well get it over with) and started my daily routine of walk. Completed one round, stopped at the corner store for my mid-morning cuppa of tea, and continued on my semi-brisk pace, the injuries of the morning forgotten. And then the bright note (refer para 1) disappeared behind a sea of clouds - all threatening to let loose a volley of raindrops. Welcome at most times, but not when I am out in the open enjoying my company.

Man proposes, Raingod disposes. So here I was, back in front of the lift, having my morning quality time with myself rudely interrupted, but still managing to hold my chin up. After all, there is more to life than walks that get interrupted. How about getting home, putting on the geyser, having some chocos in cold milk while the water gets ready, and then a nice bath? By that time some one would surely miss my call? Hold on bugger, sure there is more to life - but it need not be what you want it to be. So here I am, standing in front of my apartment door, with the same key which has unravelled the mysteries behind several hundered times in the past two years, but now suddenly refusing to do my bidding. I try everything - twist the key, insert it fully and then try to turn, insert it fully, then pull back slightly and then turn, push the door, pull the door, kick the door - everything short of kicking myself because I couldn't see where I was at fault - but the door wouldn't budge.

And suddenly, that seems to be my life story. Doors all around, all closed. Me having a set of keys, but all useless. Me trying to understand what I can do to open a door, but realizing that someone has locked it from inside. Several doors, all leading to happiness and peace, you see, but all locked from inside. My parents, who adore me, but cannot stand each other, and somehow expect me to bring happiness to their lives. The woman I love, and more importantly, who loves me too, but is too bruised by her past to even acknowledge my helping hand. There is nothing for me to do except to accept things as they are - just as I have accepted that even my own apartment won't let me in.

Why do we get so bogged down by the past - and are so fearful of the future? Hasn't the past already gone by, and isn't the future yet to come? And can any amount of avoidance actually help me avoid pain, sorrow, misfortune? And who is to judge that the pain I bear today in order to avoid the pain tomorrow is not actually worse?

These are the thoughts I reflect upon as I sit on the stairs, waiting for the carpenter to arrive, to break open a stubborn door that would not let me in what is rightfully mine (hell, I paid the rent just last week). And then my thoughts move on to more cheery stuff (oh yes, there is always loads of them, if only you would bother to look). A dear friend, someone who has loved me much, is getting married while I am sitting at the stairs - a fresh start to her life. Another buddy is finally all set for marriage after battling parental approvals for more than 4 years. Some one else is taking the first tentative steps towards being on her own after seven years of a confidence-eroding marriage. There is nothing like an end - except in movies (even there we have sequels). Every end is in fact a fresh beginning. And every closed door is just waiting to be opened - if you can wait long enough.

The carpenter has delivered his verdict - lock has jammed from inside, you need to break it, and replace the lock etc. etc. Off he goes to get the tools - his sunday is made. I retire back to the stairs, defeated by the stubborn door, the door that would not open. And then I am reminded of the P's of life - patience, perseveance, persistence - and decide to give it one more try. What do I lose any way? I walk towards the door with purpose (another P of life), carefully insert the key (yet in no different a manner than I have done in the past), turn it clockwise - and hear the mellifluous note of "click". The door yieldeth, finally.

And this is also the story of my life - keep trying, and trying, and trying - till you have the strength to go on. That way, either you will open the door, or you will collapse against it - exhausted, but without regret.

Farmer Suicides in Vidarbha

2006-05-23T09:34:00.000+05:30

There is neither any sweetness in this post, nor any light. My manifesto does proclaim that I will try to stay away from controversial topics, and the reason I am posting this particular post is that the topic is not controversial enough - at least not in the mainstream media as I know (and avoid) it.

P. Sainath is a journalist I eminently respect. That, however, should not be a criterion for anyone reading him up. Check out the link below, and if you find it "interesting" - for lack of a better word, may be you will be sufficiently motivated to check for other articles by Sainath on the Hindu website. There are many on farmers' suicides, in A.P. and in Vidarbha, dating back from early 2000s.

http://www.hindu.com/2006/05/22/stories/2006052202251100.htm

Incidentally, I first noticed Sainath and his writings some time around 2001 when he shocked and moved me to tears of frustration by pointing out in one of his articles the reason behind increase in death of farmers in A.P. due to snake-bites, and how it was linked to the much hailed power reforms in the state. It seems the power to start the irrigation pump sets would be available only in the dark hours of the morning (say 2 a.m.), which meant the farmer would have to get up and go to his field to start the pump in that darkness. And that explains the snake bites.

This post is not a tirade against government policies or capitalism or reforms. I believe I am too ignorant to really talk about these. But may be we can pause for a while, just be aware of what we have, and be thankful about it. And if we can, may be do something?

Economics and Organ Transplant

2006-05-21T12:02:00.000+05:30

May be this topic is closer to my heart than the general reader, but do check out the link below for a thought-provoking discussion on whether there should be "market" for organ transplants.

http://www.becker-posner-blog.com/archives/2006/01/should_the_purc.html

Animated Laughs

2006-05-21T10:26:00.000+05:30

I watched Ice Age 2 yesterday. And thoroughly enjoyed it. Rolled in laughter, so to speak. Which might have disappointed my mother who could never fathom what I enjoyed in cartoons but always hoped I would grow out of them. Well, I have grown out of a lot of things - both vertically as well as horizontally - but not my love for animations. :)

The affair started with Mickey and Donald Show, 9 a.m. sunday morning on DD-I. Remember? That was a perfect way to start the sunday - get ready after bath and breakfast for 30 minutes of unadulterated fun, broken in between only by jingles like "Chalo chalein hum, le kar apni, Tobu cycle-ein....." It is still quite hummable, by the way! The show would start with a strip of Mickey, usually accompanied by Goofy, Minnie or Pluto, then there would be a strip of other characters like Chip 'n Dale, and then the grand finale of my favorite character, Donald Duck. After the show got over, there was always a feeling of emptiness, mixed with regret that the next sunday was, well, as far away as it could be. When Mickey and Donald was taken off the air (I still wonder why), I was heart-broken. Sundays lost their charm. Somehow I could never enjoy the replacements like He-Man - too predictable and hardly funny.

Then things got better once again with Jungle Book. Apart from giving a generation its anthem (Chaddi pahan ke phool khila hai - to be applied especially in hostels whenever a guy was caught in short shorts, or something even shorter), the brilliant animation accompanied by some very competent dubbing held me spellbound for weeks together. And this was when I was in 12th standard - not exactly a kid. But I still remember discussing the previous day's episode with friends at school on mondays, marveling over Sher Khan's wickedness (Nana Patekar's voice, by the way) and Baloo's goofiness. Normally dubbed versions have a horrible look and feel about them, but then, this had a touch of the sublime - from Gulzar himself. What else can you ask for?

At least till you get exposed to Tom and Jerry, that is! Can animation get better than this? Never mind, it's a rhetorical question. Whatever made me laugh in Mickey and Donald, was present here in extra helping. The colors were brighter, Tom dumber than Goofy and Jerry more wicked than Donald at his worst. I don't think I can really put it in words - those who have watched these cartoons will know. At time, my heart would really go out for Tom - no one deserves an adversary like Jerry.

Then there are these full length movies that take things to a different proportion altogether. I enjoyed movies like Lion King and Aladdin, but somehow the idea of going to a theatre and watching "cartoons" never seemed particularly appealing. That was till I saw "Finding Nemo". I first watched the movie on a flight back from London to Bombay, on a really small screen, but aided by a personal audio system that allowed me to listen to some side-splitting dialogues. I was completely fascinated by the dude turtles, student fishes who went to a different school on an Exchange program, sharks who were trying hard to turn vegetarians, the clownfish who couldn't tell a joke, and of course, the extremely helpful Dori with a rather volatile short term memory. I think at last count I have seen the movie five time - in screens of all sizes - and am still going strong. Finding Nemo is not just about funny characters or mind-blowing animation, it is also about life. Sample this dialogue between Marlon (Nemo's father) and Dori:

Marlon: I promised Nemo I will never let anything happen to him.
Dori: Well, thats a funny thing to promise!

Another movie that I love not only for the laughter it generates but the beauty of its sheer concept is Monsters, Inc. Top Scarer Sulley and his Scare Assistant Mike are adorable, as is the baby Boo, but the whole idea that there is more "power" (literally and figuratively) in making people laugh rather than scream is ageless, isn't it? Beautiful concept, beautifully executed, this is a heart-warming movie. My current count here is 3 and going strong again.

Anyway, a lot has changed in animations in my own living memory - from the sunday morning 9 a.m. shows to full length movies in theatres or CDs. My kid sister, who in her childhood was a model of Victorian primness and hence objected strongly to my laughing out loud at the antics of Donald, (imagine being scolded by a 6 year old sister for laughing at cartoons!) has since gotten some sense in her head and now laughs alongside with me on the rare occasions we watch Tom and Jerry together. And now I also have company in my seven year old nephew, Jerry (named thus by me since all I could think of when I first saw him at the hospital was a small mouse - Jerry), who rattles off the timings of all the cartoon shows on all the cartoon channels, and arranges his schedule accordingly.

It pleases my heart when I find more adults unaccompanied by kids than otherwise at movie halls for these movies - like it happened yesterday. As long as we have not lost the child inside us, I guess there is still hope for humanity - or at least, for laughing out loud! :-)

P.S. I finally managed, with a help of a less technologically challenged friend, to insert links to some other blogs that I like, and also to some websites that I frequent. Check them out at your leisure.

Tidbits

2006-05-13T19:42:00.000+05:30

I did it yesterday. Bunked office. Just like that. The decision was taken after realization dawned on me that you cannot add anything to, or subtract anything from, infinity, and expect a difference. So a day playing hookey would basically make no difference to the volume of work on my lap(top), but it has the potential to recharge me for the endless monday mornings lying in wait. Now it is saturday evening, and while I am not very sure whether I am recharged enough for monday or not, what the hell, I had fun yesterday. Watched a movie, reached TGIF well in time to legitimately claim the free drink at Happy Hours, and slept at 10 p.m. In this day and age, you can't really ask for more.

I think I will do this a little more often. May be once a month?

________________________________________________

I first met him when his father, the iron-wallah in my block, sent him with me to collect clothes to be ironed on an urgent basis (with all my planning, it is always JIT for me, and the supplier relationship has evolved accordingly). He had large, bright eyes, and it seemed to me that a promising smile was being suppressed only because he wasn't sure about its audience. So I decided to put his fears to rest and asked his name. "Balaji," came the prompt reply. I asked him which class he studied in. "Seventh," he said, and then added as a proud afterthought, "pass." That in turn brought a smile to my lips.

Then I bumped into him again today, when returning from my evening walk. It had been a few days, and I have never been good at remembering names or faces, of the same person at any rate. So I almost did not notice the kid in the lift. But then it stuck me, and I hesitantly enquired, "Balaji?" He took his time and then said, "409B?" that being my flat number. I nodded in agreement and then followed a torrent of good-natured complaint about how he had been coming again and again to my flat to check if I was there so that he could return the ironed clothes, and take some more to be ironed. I apologised for not being at home and asked him to come right away, which he did.

I think Balaji and 409B will get along fine. The former warms the latter's heart. :)

_______________________________

Remember Nirmala? My earlier post "Inspiring"? I met her again today. She is walking much better now, and has started swimming. Physically she will probably never be the same again, even though she will be fitter than average by far. Mentally, I am sure she is much stronger than before. She commented today on sometimes feeling "not normal". I told her that she wasn't normal anyway - she was "super-normal". By her smile, I know she will remember it.

An Update on Paritran

2006-05-13T19:26:00.000+05:30

Remember the party? The link in the title is an interview with the candidates from Paritran that contested the recently held assembly elections in Tamil Nadu. Underscoring the difference between reel and real life, they did not win any seats. But my friend, and amateur psephologist, Sameer Nair, tells me that the percentage of votes polled by them is not at all bad for a new party. It managed 5.4% of votes in Annanagar and 6.4% in Mylapore. Thanks, Sammy, and do add more analysis if you feel up to it.

Ramblings of an uncluttered mind

2006-04-29T22:45:00.000+05:30

Something unthinkable happened today - twice. While stepping out of my home for a span of more than 2 minutes, I forgot to carry my mobile. The first time it happened, I was on my morning walk, and the second time in the evening, when I stepped out for dinner. Now don't get me wrong - I am not a mobile fanatic. Nor do I hate it the way some people seem to do. I find it an extremely useful tool (especially when you are locked out of your house and your flatmate is at his office and you don't have his mobile number in YOUR memory but only in the phone memory), though it might become an irritant at times. But there again the fault lies with the users, not the instrument or the service, isn't it?

Anyway, the crux of the matter is that I was without my phone for about 45 minutes in the morning, and about an hour in the evening - and no one missed me! No missed calls, no smses waiting for a reply. I am still to fathom out its impact on my ego. It does seem that the world can go about its business for substantial length of time without missing me. Taking a detached view of it, it does seem that one of the sources of self-esteem can be the number of people who call you on your mobile. Coming from my measurement oriented world, I wonder whether I can design a dashboard on self-esteem through mobile usage. We can divide the calls in three categories - personal, professional, and third-party (credit cards etc.). The calls you make or the calls that are being returned won't count. The number of points for each type of call will vary by the time of the day - during office hours, personal calls will get a higher weightage than professional calls, and vice versa. Professional calls during dinner, weekends and holidays will be absolute chartbusters. Calls from bankers and stockbrokers will rate higher than calls from the grocery store (asking for payment). Calls from a dentist will bring in more points than from, say, a gastroenterologist. And calls from spouses will be more precious than those from lovers (unless of course, its a call from a lover AFTER your marriage). And number of years of marriage should definitely be a factor - a call from a year-old wife is not quite the same as that from a 5-year old one, isn't it?

So at the end of it all, we can have a score published for every mobile user - some index similar to, say, wealth or popularity. What say! Of course, from my twin experiences today, I doubt I will be anywhere in the table at all.....need to start thinking of how to rig the system. :)

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BTW, I normally don't comment on comments (refer my first post outlining my policy on the issue). Now my friend Tabula Rasa tells me that this is against blogettiquette. I have no clue. What can I comment anyway? The usual comments are about liking what I wrote, and while I can question that (or give friendly advice like go get your head examined), I would rather bask in my moment of sunshine. When comments are specific to some point in the post, I don't want to react unless there is a factual error, or a misunderstanding of my point of view. Rest, it's all reader's point of view, isn't it, and who am I do dispute it?

That doesn't mean that two warriors can't choose my blog as their turf for blogging it out. So go ahead, thbpthh, do give Tabula a good one in the solar plexus for daring to comment on your comment. Since I know both of you, I can anticipate a good debate on whether there is anything like fair and unfair. Look forward to it... :)

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Had a pretty good saturday today - all to myself. Cleaned the house, washed two loads of clothes in washing machine, cut fingernails as well as toenails, shaved (on a saturday, thats an extraordinary gesture from me), read bits of Maximum City (deserves a post on its own, but in short - amazing insight into a city that I have deep feelings for), had a proper lunch....and washed the bathroom with acid (thats what I have in common with Narayana Murthy - though I don't know whether he uses acid or not). Anyway, the thought of acid takes me back to my least favorite subject - Chemistry, where I leant my acids from the more basic stuff.

I have never been able to understand my relationship with this subject - I did not hate it because it never seemed particularly malevolent, I definitely did not love it because it did not excite me the way History or Maths did, I wasn't even indifferent to it because, well, I had to pass in it at least. The teacher was not bad...in fact she was, and still is, one of the sweetest, prettiest ladies that graced our classrooms. She was more likely to herself cry after scolding a student for typical pranks (which would leave the student thoroughly confused). Since I was reasonably good at other subjects, she almost took it personally that I wasn't faring well at her's. My entreaties to her to take it professionally as all in a day's work failed - after all, it wasn't her fault if she did not know about the existence of some of the compunds I "discovered" on my way to balancing equations. That was one thing about my chemistry answers - my equations were always balanced, so what if by mixing two organic compounds, I ended up producing an inorganic one (I guess a mathematical inclination always helps). Anyway, I routinely scored my lowest marks in Chemistry all the way from class seven till 12th, and then dumped it for good. But it has been only of late that I have stopped getting my most frighetening nightmare - that I have my 12th standard chemistry paper and I haven't studied (which is pretty close to the truth, incidentally).

I am no longer in touch with the world of Chemistry. I wonder whether some of my discoveries have been validated by the scientific community by now. In that case, would like to go and submit my papers for revaluation. :)

The Stockdale Paradox

2006-04-18T11:37:00.000+05:30

It has been quite some time since I posted something. Last weekend (very long one, btw) I was too busy relaxing. And now I am too busy pretending to work. So I thought I would just post something that I had read somewhere (don't remember where), which itself had quoted it from Jim Collin's "Good to Great" (I am told it is a genuinely good management book - a rarity). I guess the overall theme of The Stockdale Paradox gels well with my previous post, but I like it a lot mainly because of its paradoxical nature. Think about it, and it does makes sense.

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The name refers to Admiral Jim Stockdale, who was the highest-ranking United States military officer in the “Hanoi Hilton” prisoner-of-war camp during the height of the Vietnam War. Tortured over twenty times during his eight-year imprisonment from 1965 to 1973, Stockdale lived out the war without any prisoner’s rights, no set release date, and no certainty as to whether he would even survive to see his family again. He shouldered the burden of command; doing everything he could to create conditions that would increase the number of prisoners who would survive unbroken, while fighting an internal war against his captors and their attempts to use the prisoners for propaganda. At one point, he beat himself with a stool and cut himself with a razor, deliberately disfiguring himself, so that he could not be put on videotape as an example of a “well-treated prisoner”. He exchanged secret intelligence information with his wife through their letters, knowing that discovery would mean more torture and perhaps death. He instituted rules that would help people to deal with torture (no one can resist torture indefinitely, so he created a step-wise system – after x minutes, you can say certain things – that gave the men milestones to survive toward). He instituted an elaborate internal communications system to reduce the sense of isolation that their captors tried to create, which used a five-by-five matrix of tap codes for alpha characters. (Tap-tap equals the letter a, tap-pause-tap-tap equals the letter b, tap-tap-pause-tap equals the letter f, and so forth for twenty-five letters, c doubling in for k.) At one point, during an imposed silence, the prisoners mopped and swept the central yard using the code, swish-swashing out “We love you” to Stockdale, on the third anniversary of his being shot down. After his release, Stockdale became the first three-star officer in the history of the navy to wear both aviator wings and the Congressional Medal of Honor.

You can understand, then, my anticipation at the prospect of spending part of an afternoon with Stockdale. One of my students had written his paper on Stockdale, who happened to be a senior research fellow studying the Stoic philosophers at the Hoover Institution right across the street from my office, and Stockdale invited the two of us for lunch., In preparation, I read “In Love and War,” the book Stockdale and his wife had written in alternating chapters, chronicling their experiences during those eight years.

As I moved through the book I found myself getting depressed. It just seemed so bleak – the uncertainty of his fate, the brutality of his captors, and so forth. And then, it dawned on me: “Here I am sitting in my warm and comfortable office, looking out over the beautiful Saturday afternoon. I’m getting depressed reading this, and I know the end of the story! I know that he gets out, reunites with his family, becomes a national hero, and gets to spend the later years of his life studying philosophy on this same beautiful campus. If it feels depressing for me, how on earth did he deal with it when he was actually there and did not know the end of the story?”

“I never lost faith in the end of the story,” he said, when I asked him. “I never doubted not only that I would get out, but also that I would prevail in the end and turn the experience into the defining event of my life, which, in retrospect, I would not trade.”

I didn’t say anything for many minutes, and we continued the slow walk toward the faculty club, Stockdale limping and arc-swinging his stiff leg that had never fully recovered from repeated torture. Finally, after about a hundred meters of silence, I asked, “Who didn’t make it out?”

“Oh, that’s easy,” he said. “The optimists.”

“The optimists? I don’t understand,” I said, now completely confused, given what he’d said a hundred meters earlier.

“The optimists. Oh, they were the ones who said, ‘We’re going to be out by Christmas.’ And Christmas would come, and Christmas would go. Then they’d say, ‘We’re going to be out by Easter.’ And Easter would come and Ester would go. And then Thanksgiving, and then it would be Christmas again. And they died of a broken heart.”

Another long pause, and more walking. Then he turned to me and said, “This is a very important lesson. You must never confuse faith that you will prevail in the end – which you can never afford to lose – with the discipline to confront the most brutal facts of your current reality, whatever they might be.”

To this day, I carry a mental image of Stockdale admonishing the optimists: “We’re not getting out by Christmas; deal with it!”

That conversation with Admiral Stockdale stayed with me, and in fact had a profound influence on my own development. Life is unfair – sometimes to our advantage, sometimes to our disadvantage. We will all experience disappointments and crushing events somewhere along the way, setbacks for which there is no “reason,” no one to blame. It might be disease; it might be getting swept away in a political shake-up; it might be getting shot down over Vietnam and thrown into a POW camp for eight years. What separates people, Stockdale taught me, is not the presence or absence of difficulty, but how they deal with the inevitable difficulties of life. In wrestling with life’s challenges, the Stockdale Paradox (you must retain faith that you will prevail in the end and you must also confront the most brutal facts of your current reality) has proved powerful for coming back from difficulties not weakened, but stronger – not just for me, but for all those who’ve learned the lesson and tried to apply it.

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Simple, and true.

Reflections on My Tenth Birthday

2006-04-02T19:36:00.000+05:30

On March 30th this year, I celebrated the 10th birthday of my second life. 10 years ago, in 1996, I underwent a kidney transplant surgery on this day that gave me a fresh lease of life. The word "lease" here is, of course, both literal and figurative. :-)

I was diagnosed as suffering from chronic renal failure of the CGN variety in June 1994. Sometime in March that year I had volunteered to donate blood for a friend's relative who was undergoing some surgery. While checking my blood pressure, it was found to be higher than what you would expect in a 20 year old normal guy performing all normal activities. To cut a long story short, further tests finally confirmed my kidneys were failing, though when I would need to undergo transplant was still not clear. My kidneys could last me six months, or a year, or two. Ultimately, they did last me about 9 months, just about enough to allow me to complete my first year of MBA program, and take a logical break in studies. I still remember my thought process in March 1995 - I should be able to get the transplant done during the summer break(April-May),recover and be back at the school by June, may be a couple of weeks into the semester, but no great loss. Little did I know what lay ahead!

We had originally identified my mother as a donor for me. My father had a different blood group, and my two sisters were then both unmarried, and hence ruled out. However on discussions with the doctor, we found that my mother could not be a donor since she was a high BP person and the surgery would endanger her life. So began the process of searching for a "donor" -someone who would be willing to donate a kidney in consideration for a sum of money, ethics and morality be damned. The experiences during the next 12 months till the surgery - happy, sad, comical, frustrating, inspirng - can fill up entire blogs, if I some day decide to write about them. But this post is about celebrating the first decade of my new life - and the lessons learnt during those defining 12 months. Bear with me if I sound a bit preachy at times - I understand that the experiences, and hence the lessons drawn, are entirely personal, and just because I have survived to tell the tale doesn't mean they are universally applicable. But just want to share my thought and reflections.

Lesson 1: Things cannot always be explained. Life could not have been much better for me when the disease struck me. I had just completed graduation, and got admission to the prestigious MBA program at IIM Bangalore. Inferring from the past, a bright future lay ahead of me, at least in conventional terms - do well at IIM, get a good job, earn well, and so on. No one told me the script had been changed. Even after the diagnosis, I was hopeful I would emerge with minimum damage - get the surgery done during the summer break and be back, losing only the summer internship in the process. But ultimately I lost an entire year, and then suffered during my placements as companies were reluctant to hire someone with a recent serious medical problem. During this whole phase, I guess there were times when I wondered - Why Me? But somehow deep within I realized this question was meaningless - both from a practical as well as spiritual point of view. From a practical aspect, I was digging into a past about which I could do nothing, and ruining whatever my present had to offer. From a spiritual aspect, who was I to question the larger scheme of things? Could I say with certainty I did not deserve this? In any case, I guess I learnt that things happen to us for seemingly no reason. You can choose to spend your energy trying to figure out the whys, or you can accept your present situation and then concentrate on figuring out the whats - what can I do about it? Which brings me to the second lesson.

Lesson 2: Sometimes you cannot do anything about your situation. At least nothing that seems like "doing". Our former prime minister, Narasimha Rao, of course epitomised it. Do not do anything about the problem, and it will go away in its own sweet time. May be he did it by choice, I was left with no choice really. The search for a donor took its time. Unlike what movies like "Saheb" would have you believe, matching a donor to a reciepient is not a simple process -blood group match is the basic minimum. There are a whole series of tests that check the degree to which the donor kidney would be accepted by the "host" body. Only in case of identical twins is no test required. In all other cases, related or unrelated donors have to undergo these tests. They take their time, and money. You also need to check how physically capable the donor is of donating, i.e. what would be the effects of the donation on him / her. Obviously you do not want to take the kidney by endangering the donor's life. Anyway, essentially all this is a long process, and while my father and other relatives were busy with these, I had nothing to do except go for my twice (and later thrice) a week dialysis. It was frustrating to be so helpless, but by succumbing to my frustration I would have only made things more difficult for everyone, including myself. So I just reposed my faith in the greater scheme of things, and busied myself reading. I read voraciously in those 12 months - everything under the sun that I could lay my hands on (even sci-fi :-)), and I feel I am still reaping the intangible benefits of that today. The important realization was that sometimes we are indeed powerless. There is no point to rave and rant against the circumstances in such cases. Sometimes, just waiting the bad times out is the best strategy.

Lesson 3: Be Positive. Have faith - in yourself, in your well wishers, in God / Supreme Power / whatever you call It. I guess this is the most difficult part to articulate. The first two lessons probably have something that would appeal to the left side of the brain - over here, its purely a matter of belief. I do not know how or why, but I always had faith in God, even when I was confused about His existence, gender etc. :-) I had also always believed myself to be very lucky, in a sense, God's Chosen One (to do what, I didn't know or care). Somehow these beliefs survived the tumultous 12 months (and more) - and in turn helped me survive. :-) In addition, I started appreciating the goodwill of others - my relatives, my numerous friends, the nurses in the dialysis ward, the relatives of other patients undergoing dialysis - I have lost count of the number of people who wished me luck and recovery from the bottom of their hearts. And I somehow believed in them all. And that gave me strength when things looked bleak (they frequently did). I cannot explain it logically because there is no logic to it, but I just "knew" that things could not go wrong when there was so much positive energy around me. I have always been an optimist, but if that needed any fortification, this was the period that gave it. The head nurse of the dialysis ward cancelled her vacation because she wanted to be there to take care of me after the transplant. There were at least 50 relatives in the hospital when I was being operated on. A nurse performed a special service at her church and brought me a charm to be kept under my pillow while I was in the hospital. My batchmates and juniors (who had not even seen me) at IIMB collected and contributed a sum of Rs. 1 lakh towards the costs of dialysis, surgery, recovery etc. Apart from the material value of all these gestures, it was the spirit that really helped me. I could not have let all these people down by giving up, by becoming negative. Things could not possibly go wrong when so many people out there were rooting for me. Illogical - possibly, but what the hell - it worked for me! :-)

I guess I could go on and on. Experiences of one year, especially one as eventful as that, cannot be all captured in these many lines. But I have conveyed what I wanted to. Things go bad, sometimes for no apparent reason at all, and completely out of our control. All we can do is to stay positive, have faith in ourselves and the goodwill of our wellwishers, and battle it out. In this case, the end was favorable. I am not naive enough to believe that it always will be. But I believe it is the approach that counts. The results are not in our hands, to repeat the ultimate cliche, and the ultimate truth, from Bhagvad Gita. :-)

Minding my Q's

2006-03-24T16:20:00.000+05:30

There are few things in life that I am more confident about than my ability to pick up the slowest moving queue in any environment - railway bookings, ATM, airline check-in counter....even security check. There is no formula to it - at least none that I am conscious of. I guess I am just a natural.

Over the years, the skill has been honed to near-perfection. When I first stepped into the world of decision-making under uncertainty over which queue will move at which pace, I applied
what seemed to me extreme common sense - pick the shortest one. After all, if the first queue has 5 people and the second has 10, I have a better chance being the 6th person than being the 11th, isn't it? However, life is a cruel teacher, and I did slowly learn that school time / distance arithmetic is not as applicable to real life situations as it seemed then. With my appreciation of Six Sigma principles, I realized that there might be several X factors that influence the output variable Y, in this case, the time taken for me to get it over with.

One of the first changes I made in my strategy was to choose queues with the least number of members of a particular gender. At the risk of being politically incorrect, being branded a MCP, and losing some valuable visitors to my blog, I must confess that I started practising gender discrimination against the fairer sex. This was based on a simple observation that typically
the document of interest to the person on the other side of the counter was safely ensconced in the inner cavity of the wallet inside a hand bag that usually had a complicated operating system - at least for opening it. So while I would be holding the document (bill, ticket, ATM card...) in my hand and almost raising it with the same enthusiasm that the most studious pupil in the class displays when a question is asked to the class at large, the person in front of me would be
spilling every thing from her bag - except the document.

Alas, this strategy just proved to be the old dictum - necessary but not sufficient. Somehow I still managed to end up with the slowest moving queue. Now I started paying attention to the number of units that seemed to require the service - say, the number of luggage pieces at the time of check-in, or the number of shopping bags at the billing counter...you get the idea.
Surely this, when combined with the first avoidance strategy, would be a winner? Alas, no! People may not have any check-in baggage, but they may get very emotional about how their name is spelt on the boarding pass, and insist that it's a Chakraborty with a y and not an i. They may forget their debit card pin number three times in a row...and then create a row. If nothing else, there can always be an urgent request that has to get processed while I stand at the counter and see the queues around me move faster than a Churchgate-Virar fast train.

Basically, life is uncertain, but what is more or less certain is that the queue I stand in moves the slowest. Call it Pankaj's law, if you will, and avoid standing in the same queue as yours truly. It is not as if I have not tried to benefit from my talent. Since I know the queue I stand in will move the slowest, I have tried to change queues myself midway through the waiting. All it has done is confirm the base hypothesis. So Pankaj's law may even be modified to include the following
clause - no matter how many queues do I change, I will still end up with the slowest moving queue.

It is not as if picking the right queue would make me feel like a winner in life, but picking the wrong one does make me feel like a loser. Especially in this bonus and increments season!! Or am I being paranoid?

Long Time...Ghulam Ali saab

2006-03-11T18:56:00.000+05:30

It's been some time since my last post, and my big ego got bigger when I found that at least one visitor was disappointed enough to remind me to get on with blogging again! Was busy at work, plus was a little down with the normal viral, and of course, there wasn't anything stirring to write about. Or may be, the last bit is not entirely true. I did attend a concert by Ghulam Ali - my second in two years, and I also discovered (courtesy a friend) a place in Bangalore that serves Calcutta style "club kachoris" and "hot" jalebis. You can't expect more from life in the happiness department in one week. :-)

I enjoy ghazals, though I wish I could improve my knowledge of urdu from the current abysmal to at least pathetic (don't know why but that seems an improvement). And I love Ghulam Ali, even though he is irritatingly difficult to hum along with, for the way in which he goes off on his own raags and aalaaps after every second line. But I find his voice mesmerizing, and his stage manners exquisitely cultured, even when he is playing to the audience. And I feel lucky that within a short span of one year, I was fortunate to witness him perform live twice. The first time, honestly I could not "witness" much, given the galactic distance of the stage from my seat and the flat (instead of slope) surface. But this time it was much better. I could observe his expressions, his gentle nudges to his accompanists when he wanted them to showcase their nuances, and his mild displeasure when, even after three hours, new requests kept pouring from the audience. It was good.

There were the usual treats - "Bheed mein ek ajnabi ka saamna achchha laga", "Humko kis ke gham ne maaraa", "Kal Chaudhvin ki raat thi, shab bhar raha charchaa tera" - along with some that I hadn't heard before, like "Hum tere shahar mein aaye hain musafir ki tarah, sirf ek baar mulaqat ka mauqa de de" or "Zindagi se yahi gila hai mujhe, tu bahut der se mila hai mujhe". Then of course, his famous "act", for lack of a better word, with "lehar" - in "Dil mein ik lehar se uthi hai abhi...". Every time, he seems to go on and on with his variations on lehar - I cannot explain it, you have to hear it to love / hate it. And of course, my favorite three - "Chupke Chupke raat din, aansoo bahaana yaad hai", "Yeh dil yeh paagal dil mera, kyun bujh gaya, aawaargi" and "Hungama hain kyun barpaa, thodi si jo pi li hai". What more could I ask for in one evening? :-)

My introduction to ghazals started in 1982, courtsey Doordarshan's year-end special, which featured Ghulam Ali and his "hungama". I was an impressionable 9 year old already in love with the songs of Rafi, Kishore and Mukesh, and this didn't seem all that alien, though the language was a bit tough. The logic of the ghazal itself was impeccable - get a perspective man, whats the big deal about drinking? :-) 23 years later, sitting in the auditorium, I was reminded of that yet again, not in the context of drinking...but in the context of artificial, man-made boundaries. Did it matter to me, or to anyone else enjoying the evening, that the person wowing us for over 3 hours was a Pakistani, a muslim? I realized, not for the first time, that art and artistes have no nationality, no religion. I always used to be cynical about the "power" of these events, or cricket matches, bringing people closer. I find my cynicism on the decline these days. May be I am getting old. Enemity and hatred do have a longer shelf life than artistes.

Rang De Basanti, Swades, and Patriotism for our times

2006-02-27T08:43:00.000+05:30

At the outset, would like to clarify two things. One, this article is not a comparison of the two movies, both of which are among my favorites. And two, I am not a particularly patriotic person. When I first heard the phrase "Patriotism is the last refuge of the scoundrel", I was quite taken aback by the seemingly pre-posterous idea. After all, I had been brought up on, and strongly believed in, the notions of loving one's country (which, at least then, seamlessly translated into hating Pakis), and sacrificing everything for the motherland, and so on. Today, I would like to believe, I know the difference between patriotism and jingoism. One can love one's country without necessarily hating another one. And one can love humanity without regard to nationality. Not that I have reached that stage!

Anyway, to get back to the main theme, I first saw Swades during the Christmas break of 2004. I watched it again after a week, and then bought the VCD as soon as it hit the shelves. There is something about the movie that appeals to me tremendously - and even now, I feel pained to think that the movie was not a commercial success. Pained because it seems to indicate the lack of audience for such movies. I am not a movie critic or trade analyst, and cannot speculate on why it flopped. Some said it was too long (so was Lagaan!), some said it was too preachy, some said SRK was deglamorised....I don't know. I personally feel this was the first movie where SRK acted - not over-acted. The music was melodious, the lyrics had meaning (my favorite being "Yeh Tara Woh Tara")...anyway, it was not the first time that I liked a movie that had flopped. What appealed to me most was the idea that there could be battle between good and good, or to put it another way, just because someone is opposed to what we perceive as "good", does not necessarily make him / her "bad". I am referring to the opposition SRK's character faces from the village elders, especially the character played by Lekh Tandon. There is no typecast villain out to ruin our hero's efforts - the villain here is ignorance and the tendency to live in our "glorious past". And the villain is vanquished not through death-defying stunts, but by generating electricity - the light of knowledge. Simplistic - may be, Idealistic - definitely, but it appeals to the simple idealist in me. :-)

On the other hand, Rang De Basanti makes no bones about the fact that there is evil in the system. There are immoral politicians and arms dealers, insensitive police force, etc. And the youth of today is largely self-serving, when not downright clueless. The reality of the "system" is known to all, but it doesn't bother them, because bad things happen only to "others". But when tragedy strikes in their midst, they realize that there is no such distinction like "us" and "them" - it is all "us". And then the movie is about a series of events that have the air of a Shakespearean tragedy around them, ending with the inevitable. The movie strikes a chord because of its believability - we have been, or at least know, characters like DJ and Aslam. We have wondered about our aim in life, while choosing the path of least resistance and getting into obscure jobs paying for roti, kapda, makaan, and then some more. Barely a day passes when we do not learn about some injustice somewhere, and sometimes we witness it ourselves, but life goes on for us, secure in the fond, if stupid, belief that "it happens only to others". We feel good, at least I do, that by not doing anything "evil" we are contributing to the society. And when the Hobbes inside me asks whether "good is more than just the absence of evil", I quickly change the channel.

When I watch movies like these, I feel stirred - and distinctly uncomfortable with myself. There was a comic scene in some movie, I forget the name, where the character says that he wanted to be a freedom fighter but by the time he was born, we were already free. Rang De Basanti and Swades remind me that we are not yet free - we are enslaved by the demons of ignorance, corruption, communalism...the list is endless. There is no dearth of battles to be fought - but I don't seem to have it in me to enlist in any.

Inspiring

2006-02-25T12:49:00.000+05:30

Every once in a while I seem to come across people who have, or are trying to, overcome substantial odds. People not out of some movie or storybook, but real life people, like you and me. Whenever something like this happens, I consider myself blessed, for being reminded yet again that there is no adversity that you cannot fight against. You may or may not win, but then, there is no shame in losing, only in not trying your best.

I had first noticed Nirmala when I started going to the gym in my apartment complex about 2 years ago. She was easily among the fittest people I had even seen, so much so that I was positively embarrassed to work out in her presence. I guessed her to be in her early thirties, till I overheard her mentioning to some one that her eldest son was at IIM-A. So I obviously had to revise my estimate upwards, to put it mildly. :-) Anyway, we never communicated, and soon she became just another person whom I would bump into once in a while at the gym. Then, sometime in 2005, Nirmala disappeared - I noticed her absence for some days and after that, she faded from my conscious memory. People come and go all the time.

Last weekend, when I was on my saturday evening stroll in the complex, I saw Nirmala again. I could recognize her even without seeing her face - she was in the same shape as I had seen her last. The only thing that I found odd, very odd, was her pace - rather, the lack of it. She was almost taking baby steps. I was puzzled, but since we had never interacted earlier, I did not make any effort to speak to her and just walked past. Given the difference in our speeds, it wasn't long before I overtook her again, but this time she stopped me. Hesitantly she enquired whether I was the same guy who used to go to the gym. I nodded and also commented that I hadn't seen her for ages. She said she had been in a bit of trouble.

Nirmala tore her ligaments while playing badminton. The initially surgery, though conducted by a very reputed surgeon, was botched up apparently because it was done even before the swelling had subsided. She had to go through three more corrective surgeries. Most of this period she was confined in bed / wheel chair. It was only now, for the past three months, that she was trying to walk again.

For any person, all this can be harrowing. But imagine this from Nirmala's perspective. She used to be a cross-country runner, an ace shuttler, an aerobics instructor - basically an extremely active and fit person. Now imagine the change that the accident invoked. Physical pain apart, Nirmala was wrecked psychologically. She could not meet people, she hated the thought of the wheel chair, she could not comprehend why all this was happening. But only for a while. With emotional support from her husband, and good medical care, she decided to fight back. Slow steps, painful steps, but important steps. She devised diets and exercises for herself so that she would not put on weight even with a largely sedate lifestyle. She slowly started walking outdoors at odd hours when there would not be many people around, because she could not bear the thought of people overtaking her. As she explained, she had to literally teach herself to walk again, as her brain had "forgotten" how to walk. Over a period of three months, she has regained enough confidence to walk in public, at her own pace. Now she plans to devise and teach aerobics specially to people who have had similar injuries. And she is going to run the marathon in 5 years' time.

While Nirmala was sharing all this with me, I was again impressed by the age-old dictum: It is all in the mind. No doubt Nirmala's existing fitness level has helped her bounce back faster than an average person. Not having to worry about the financial aspects of the treatment is also a blessing. The emotional support from a loving family also goes a long way. But ultimately it is you who has to conquer the odds. If your frame of mind is positive, you will make the best use of all the help that is at hand. If it is not, then all the help in the world will not be enough. To end with another cliche:

Life's battles do not always go

To the Stronger or Faster man.

But soon or late, the man who wins

Is the man who thinks HE CAN

Yes Nirmala, the writer was gender-biased. :-)

Mera Wala Pink

2006-02-17T08:51:00.000+05:30

I have always viewed the world as essentially a simple place. Things are usually black or white, with occasional shades of grey. And yes, sometimes one does catch a glimpse of a rainbow, and then one is made aware of the seven colors that supposedly make up white - Violet, Indigo...basically the VIBGYOR. So all in all, 7 + 1 + 1+ 1, about 10 colors. Not too complicated for my rather constrained mental resources, though to be honest, I do get more than a little confused between violet and indigo. Remaining five I am absolutely confident about - wake me up at 2 a.m. and I should be able to tell a green from a red.

And then women talk about colors like peach, strawberry, magenta, beige, teal, mauve - and I am all at sea (then they ask me, which color sea? seagreen or seablue?) I always thought, and still do, that peach was a fruit with a sweetish-sour taste, and strawberry was the stuff icecreams were made of (when you wanted a change from vanilla in the hostel mess, that is). And now they tell me that you can have peach colored curtains. Will it attract ants - is my question, which of course, they deign to answer. I always thought turquoise blue was a tortoise with a special case of monday morning blues, but no, it is also a color. And then, a knowledgeable friend tells me, there are combined colors - those with an "ish" (not the Aish-in-Devdas variety). Brownish-yellow, for example. I am fascinated. Is bluish-green same as greenish-blue? Of course not, comes the indignant reply. Obviously, the basic properties of mathematics don't apply here.

What all this has done to me is dent my confidence completely, mercilessly, when it comes to identifying a color. As mentioned above, BGYOR I am comfortable with, and within each of these, if you ask me to stretch a bit, I can differentiate the light from the dark. So that makes it 10, apart from white, black and grey, and I strongly feel 13 is a good enough number (at least in this case) for a man to go about earning a honest living on this planet. At least as long as it does not involve shopping trips.

No wonder the Asian Paints "Mera wala pink" ad was such a huge success. It convinced all women that they were not imagining colors - and convinced all men that they were not the only ones who could not tell "this wala pink" from the other 9999 shades of - you guessed it - pink.

P.S. And I am no longer able to eat strawberry or peach - have eaten enough crayons in my childhood to have an appetite for colors anymore.

Valentine's Day - Musings on Love

2006-02-13T09:33:00.000+05:30

Just thought would ctrl+c, ctrl+v some of my favorite musings on love on this "auspecious" day. So below are excerpts from some top-of-my-mind recall of writings on love. Not suprisingly, lyrics from hindi movies dominate - but hopefully not the run-of-the-mill kind. But I cannot think of anything better to start with than the words from 'The Prophet' by Kahlil Gibran. A poetry in prose, if there ever was one...
__________________________
When love beckons to you follow him,
Though his ways are hard and steep.
And when his wings enfold you yield to him,
Though the sword hidden among his pinions may wound you.
And when he speaks to you believe in him,
Though his voice may shatter your dreams as the north wind lays waste the garden.
For even as love crowns you so shall he crucify you.

Even as he is for your growth so is he for your pruning.
Even as he ascends to your height and caresses your tenderest branches that quiver in the sun,
So shall he descend to your roots and shake them in their clinging to the earth.
Like sheaves of corn he gathers you unto himself.
He threshes you to make you naked.
He sifts you to free you from your husks.
He grinds you to whiteness.
He kneads you until you are pliant;
And then he assigns you to his sacred fire, that you may become sacred bread for God's sacred feast.
All these things shall love do unto you that you may know the secrets of your heart, and in that knowledge become a fragment of Life's heart.
But if in your fear you would seek only love's peace and love's pleasure,
Then it is better for you that you cover your nakedness and pass out of love's threshing-floor,
Into the seasonless world where you shall laugh, but not all of your laughter,

And weep, but not all of your tears.
Love gives naught but itself and takes naught but from itself.
Love possesses not nor would it be possessed;
For love is sufficient unto love.

__________________________________________

Sahir Ludhiyanvi is probably the finest lyricist Hindi cinema has ever seen, and will ever see. I personally do not share his intensely negative attitude towards life and world, but that does not take any thing away from the sheer beauty of his poetry. Many of his popular lyrics were originally poems in Urdu that were suitably "modified" to fit into a movie. One example is the song "Kabhi kabhi mere dil mein khayal aata hai.." from the movie "Kabhi Kabhi". The original poetry is much more tough to follow, but I love the lyrics version too. Here are some excerpts:

________________________________

Kabhi kabhi mere dil mein khayal aata hai
ki jaise tujhko banaya gaya hai mere liye
Tu ab se pahle sitaaron mein bas rahi thi kahin
Tujhe zameen pe bulaya gaya hai mere liye.....

Kabhi kabh mere dil mein khayal aata hai
Ki jaise tu mujhe chahegi umr bhar yun hi
Uthegi meri taraf pyaar ki nazar yun hi
Main jaanta hoon ki tu gair hai, magar yun hi....
Kabhi kabhi mere dil mein khayal aata hai

__________________________________

Javed Akhtar, one of few genuine poets of our times, expressed the longings of lovers separated by circumstances beautifully in the movie "Silsila" - "Main aur meri tanhaayi...". Excerpts from it...

____________________________________

Yeh raat hai ya tumhari zulfein khuli hui hain
Hai chandni ya tumahri nazaron se meri raatein dhuli hui hain
Chand hai, ya tumhara kangan
Sitarein hain, ya tumhara aanchal
Hawa ka jhonka hai, ya tumhare badan ki khushboo
Ye pattiyon ki hai sarsaraahat, ya tumne chupke se kuchh kaha hai....
Ye sochta hoon main kab se gumsum yun hi
Ki jabki mujhko bhi ye khabar hai ke tum nahin ho, kahin nahin ho
Ye dil hai ki keh raha hai
Tum yahin ho, yahin kahin ho.......

__________________________________

Finally, Gulzaar sort of sums it up when he says in "Aandhi"...

Tere bina zindagi se koi shikwa to nahin
Tere bina zindagi bhi lekin, zindagi to nahin....

_______________________________

Of course, I doubt any of the above would be of much use if one were to pursue his / her Valentine today. I would highly recommend the anthem of our times for that purpose -

Aashiq banaya, aashiq banaya, aashiq banaya aapne.... :-))

Have a good Valentine's Day (whatever that means).

Paritrana - and Good News India

2006-02-10T14:41:00.000+05:30

I came to know yesterday about this new political party, one which can claim at least as of now, to be a party "with a difference". My first reaction, kept to myself, was that it won't work. My second one was that of admiration mixed with jealousy - which is how I typically feel whenever some one else does something that I would love to do, but don't have the guts to.

Now, having gone through the website of the party (http://www.paritrana.org/index.htm) and read the profile of the members, I am less cynical. Not because these people will change the face of India or Indian politics - they may or may not - but because there are some things in life, like love, that I don't ever want to get cynical about. And the good intentions of these guys (most of whom have actually struggled a lot to achieve what they did, and then gave it up for this cause) deserve at least respectful neutrality, if not passive / active support. There are times, I believe, when one should not get bogged down with whether something will work or not - it is better to get going than to brainstorm on 100 reasons why something will not work. After all, as the saying goes, the journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step. May be these guys are taking that first step right now. If we cannot join the march, let us not at least be cynical about it.

P.S. As the site says, "Trana means the act of relieving a conscious entity from the state of distress or pain. However, this relief may not be of permanent nature. Paritrana is the complete relief implying the end of the very cause of distress." I wish they had specified the pronunciation for non-Hindi speaking people - it is Pari-traan, and not Pari-tranaa, as the reporter on CNN-IBN was hell-bent on demonstrating yesterday.

P.P.S. If interested, please check out http://goodnewsindia.com/index.php/gni - Good News India. As the name suggests, the site focuses on the good things that are happening in our country, not necessarily sensational, headline grabbing or "breaking news". Again, the handiwork of one committed individual. If you find it interesting, you can subscribe to its newsletter.

Big Brother is Watching?

2006-02-05T13:01:00.000+05:30

It is amazing, and scary. One of my friends recently posted an article on Sodexho, that of the food voucher fame, questioning the rationale for such a system existing at all. Would encourage you all to actually check it out yourselves (http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=20764729&postID=113844783945381362) but the gist of his argument is that a company like Sodexho is not required at all. The logic of giving food vouchers that are tax-free in the hands of employees is convoluted - conveyance allowance is tax-free but you do not need conveyance vouchers to claim it. Moreover, increasingly employees use the vouchers to buy non-food items during non-working hours - both violating the stated terms of usage. Sodexho benefits by having access to lots of money at zero interest - and you don't need a degree in finance to understand what it means.

Anyway, my post is not about the existence of Sodexho - my friend has done a much better job of questioning it. It is about the response the post generated. Within two days of the post appearing, there was a comment from one Hanif Shah, which started promisingly by questioning the "little knowledge" of my friend, and then went on and on about why Sodexho was a good thing. What Mr. Shah conveniently "forgot" to mention was his links with Sodexho. Do a google search on Sodexho Hanif Shah and see for yourself. So much so that Mr. Shah's blog, unfortunately no longer available, is named Sodexho India. Interesting, the blog is created in January 2006. I wonder whether it was created with the express intention of commenting on the post. I know that you don't need to be a blogger to post comments, but does Mr. Shah know it?

The purpose behind this post is not to pass judgment on Sodexho or its defenders or detractors. What I am more impressed with, and scared about, is the power of the Web. An anonymous guy in Mumbai posts an article on just another of millions of blogs, and it gets a response from the target of the article (ok, an alias has been used, but it would be the height of coincidence if Mr Shah had nothing to do with Sodexho India). I wonder what kind of surveillance mechanisms are in place. Looks like not only the Big Brother, but also his cousin twice-removed on maternal side is WATCHING. We sure are living in interesting times.

Packing Punches

2006-02-05T11:58:00.000+05:30

I was supposed to be in Delhi / Gurgaon at this moment, with two days of training on Change Management behind me, and the prospect of attending a dear friend's wedding ahead. Instead, I am in Hyderabad, sitting in my comfortable guest house room, and typing away my thoughts. Not a bad proposition in itself, but then, the mind always compares "what is" with "what could have been", isn't it? My trip to Delhi got rescheduled at almost the last moment. Amidst the disappointment of not being able to make it to my friend's wedding was the consolation that at least I wouldn't have to unpack - not because the trip to Hyderabad materialized (that did not happen till some hours later), but simply because I hadn't packed yet. You see, I habitually postpone my packing till the last possible moment.

Which brings me to my today's deliberation - what is it about packing that I dislike so much? It is not as if I am terrible at it. On the contrary, I am quite efficient - it is usually done in a jiffy, and I rarely forget to put in something really important (of course, there have been couple of instances when I have really regretted forgetting my camera). I have a variety of luggage pieces to choose from - soft / hard, trolley / backpack, red / blue - you name it (I like collecting luggage pieces - more on that some other time) and I got it. I am an experienced packer - staying out of home for 14 years does that to you - at least two visits home every year, apart from the normal short trips on work or pleasure. In fact, I am quite good at packing - my mom says so, and no other ceritifcation is required. I even keep my toothpaste and shaving cream in their original cartons, because experience has taught me that it is easier to fit boxes together in the shaving kit than to dump tubes on top of each other. (May be I just made that one up, but I find it more aesthetic, at the least). So then, what is my problem with packing?

I wonder whether it has something to do with inertia. You see, packing implies moving - for however little distance, for however short time. It is a change from status quo. And I guess I don't like change much - like most of us. It is not as if I have not seen change in my life, or not handled it well. In fact, I think I am very adaptable to changing circumstances - more on that some other day. But just because I can do something well doesn't mean I have to like it, right? Like packing? :-)

P.S. all those who do not like packing, please raise your hands and post a comment! :-)
P.P.S. for that matter, I do not like unpacking too. Am I weird or what?

Of Gandhi, and dustballs - II

2006-01-31T11:58:00.000+05:30

Last night, on the way back from office, I was having this chance conversation with my fellow passenger, which veered from Rang De Basanti to Bhagat Singh to Gandhi. And the lady happened to remark that she did not agree with Gandhi, or Nehru, or other leaders of their ilk. I confessed to my admiration for Gandhi, to which her immediate reaction was (suitably impressed, I think) - "you are a Gandhian?" I immediately denied any such claims to greatness (at least thats the way I perceive it), but it also set me thinking - and hence this piece. :-)

Being a Gandhian is not just a matter of wearing Gandhi topi. As an aside, I wonder why the cap is called Gandhi topi at all. Gandhi himself was a minimalist when it came to clothing (and also food and shelter, for that matter). Even if being a Gandhian was that simple, I wouldn't don the cap, so to speak - for two reasons. One, it is no longer fashionable, even among politicians, and two, more importantly, this is the performance appraisal time where I work, and I don't want to give my boss more reasons to regret his recruitment strategies. :-) In any case, to get back to the main issue, I simply do not have the courage - physical, moral, spiritual - or the conviction, or the dedication, or the empathy, or....basically I don't have what it takes to be a Gandhian. Even Gandhi probably was not always a Gandhian - as the sorry episode over Netaji Bose's election as Congress President reflects. Which, of course, just emphasizes my point in the previous post, that Gandhi was also a human being.

Was Gandhi really responsible for our freedom? I was quite amazed when I went through a fairly decent biography of his (I think by Robert Payne, but need to cross-check), and found that post his return to India, he was involved in so many causes which had tenuous link with our freedom struggle. Yet, what all of them had in common was that it related to the masses. And may be that is what freedom meant to Gandhi - power to the masses. The oppressors might be the British government, or the mill owners of Ahmedabad, or the village panchayat that would not allow the untouchables to draw water from the village well. But the struggle was always for the downtrodden. To that extent, Gandhi's fight for freedom was about freedom from injustice - not just from the British. At least that is my interpretation.

In fact, it can be argued (and not frivolously) that Hitler (him of the Nazi fame) probably did as much for India's freedom as any Indian leader - and I am not referring to his aid to Netaji (which wasn't really material). If Hitler had not done to the British Empire what Toyota has done to General Motors (i.e. make it bankrupt - of course, through vastly different means), it is questionable whether the English would have left us in 1947 just because we told them to "Quit India" in 1942. This is not to trivialize the sacrifices of freedom fighters at all, but it just brings me to one of my pet themes - correlation does not imply causation. Or, a lot of effects can probably be explained by the theory "at the right place at the right time." Would strongly recommend the book "Fooled by Randomness" in case any reader is interested in following up on these thoughts.

There are times when I wonder whether we got the freedom too early. If the real idea of freedom is freedom from oppression, then for the vast majority of Indians even today, we have probably exchanged one set of oppressors for another. This is unlikely to strike a note with most of the readers, and indeed myself, because of the India we inhabit - IT, BPO, economic growth, Sensex etc. But is that the real India? Of course, the fact that I can write all this without the fear of censorship from the likes of Yahoo, MS and Google (all under the patronizing glance of the Chinese government) is itself a testament to our freedom. But what does freedom mean to a pavement hawker, to a slum dweller, to the farmers in AP and Vidarbha? Would they trade freedom for assurance of food? Wouldn't I?

P.S. As I was leaving for work, I spotted two of them, engaged in a conspiratorial whisper, just behind the front-left bed-post. The battle continues between me and the dustballs. Tomorrow is another day! :-)

Of Gandhi, and dustballs!

2006-01-30T10:06:00.000+05:30

Today, 30th Jan 2006, happens to be the 58th death anniversary of Mahatma Gandhi. A day as good (or as bad) as any to think about the man, if one wants to. As it happens, I do.

My journey in "knowing" Gandhi started, I suspect, as most Indian kids' do - there was an essay book in class 3 that had an essay on him - born on 2nd October 1869 in Porbandar, son of......so on and so forth. Then I happened to watch the movie by Richard Attenborrough, and was mesmerised. Then read the book "Freedom at Midnight" by Lapierre and Collins, and was even more hooked. What sort of a man could choose to be thousands of miles away from the centrestage on what could arguably be his finest hour? At the midnight of 14/15 August 1947, as India made its "tryst with destiny", Gandhi was in Noakhali, in Bengal, trying to calm down the fires of hatred sparked by the Partition.

And yet, many believed, and still do, that the Partition itself was sparked by Gandhi. I don't know. My further readings, on as well as by, Gandhi, have only generated a sort of love for the man - a love born out of, and not in spite of, his imperfections. He was no Mahatma - he was indeed just another human being - but with staunch belief in himself, and whatever he happened to deem his duty for that period - be it in South Africa fighting against apartheid, in India fighting for the Indigo farmers, the mill workers, untouchables, India's freedom...

Today, Gandhi is little more than a prop for politicians and masses alike. The popular saying "Patriotism is the last refuge of the scoundrel" may indeed be rephrased as "Gandhi is the last refuge of the scoundrel". We first created a Mahatma out of a man, then forgot what the man stood for, and now care little either for the man or the Mahatma.

P.S. What is it with dustballs? They are all over the place when the last thing you want to touch on a saturday morning is a broom. Then they do a disappearing act when you actually get down to cleaning. And finally, when you are lying down on your bed with the satisfied smirk of a job well done, they again pop from all nooks and corners. It cannot be a coincidence, or am I just being paranoid?

Inaugural Address?

2006-01-30T09:37:00.000+05:30

Friends, friends of friends, and those on their morning constitutional on the cyber highway! Welcome to all of you. I think it was Shaw who said "wise is the man who has nothing to say and cannot be persuaded to say it." Some one else (I don't quite remember who - all readers will have to bear with this irritating aspect of mine - most of my words are not original, but I am bad at remembering the source) had the following to say about bores: " a bore is someone who has nothing to say and all the time to say it in". Well, if I were to believe some dear friends, I am more BORING than wise, and hence this blog! :-)

So what will I typically write on? On anything that I feel strongly about - life, love, positive thinking, Calvin & Hobbes, Random Acts of Kindness, brushing teeth regularly - just to name a few. Things missing from my notes would include coherence, logic and common sense - because I want my blog to be the reflection of my world. :-)

As a rule, I would avoid responding to comments unless there is a factual error somewhere. Firstly because who am I to judge your comment? And secondly because its fun to prove some one like Dr. Amartya Sen wrong - I am not an Argumentative Indian. :-)

Oh, by the way, the name of the blog is inspired by the motto of Uncle Fred's life (ever heard of him, of the Blandings fame? P.G. Wodehouse?). In fact thats his motto - to spread sweetness and light. So if any sentence of mine (original or quoted) brings a smile to your face, my day is made. :-)