The Surreal World

Diatribe Delhi

2012-01-14T21:34:00.000+01:00

I met an Indian girl at a Dussehra Dinner gathering last year in Madrid. She was new to the city and we got talking. When it came to topic of our hometowns in India, and I mentioned Delhi- her reaction blew me away. “Oh, you’re a Delhiite” (Pronounced Delhi-ite). Wow, are we such notorious creatures? I thought.

It’s only been two years and a few months since I ceased to be a resident of Delhi, but this holiday season, I feel more alienated than I’d ever felt before.
The years before I left Delhi weren’t exactly spent in a tizzy of love with the city, yet this time around I can unequivocally attest to the fact that as this city engulfs me in smog, meaningless traditions, blatant disregard for humanity in general and disrespect for women, I can’t wait to run away, again.
The cars are being towed away for being illegally parked on roadsides, but where are the parking lots? Can an action not be justified, if there is no other institutional alternative available? It’s easy to target young couples in parks, since catching actual criminal requires prowess (or intent) that eludes the police force. And what might I ask do I do with men who stare at women unabashedly? Stare back at them for a couple of minutes and they shy away like a little mouse. Such is their machismo. And ah! It’s the woman’s provocativeness that is the reason for such overtures said some lady of political dominance.
What about that fine lady with the high pitched voice, heels and a dark lipstick, who feels its her birthright to cut queues and barge in ahead of me? How many times must I draw out daggers so no one steals my spot in the queue?
And then, yes, the existential crisis of an unmarried girl of my age which is not fathomable to someone who is not an unmarried girl of my age.
I guess, us Delhiites realize these shortcomings, and in order to ameliorate the pain, must buy two cars each. Hello Traffic jams.
Delhi, you’ve failed to impress me. Yet again. Unfortunately, you’re like that family member who I can’t stand, but yet I must come back to. Bi-annually.
I’ll contend with being the occasional visitor. Or not.

2011-12-27T19:55:00.000+01:00

Amidst the smell of human piss and medicinal alcohol I realize how Delhi makes me resent myself. There is always Nizams kebabs to ameliorate this feeling but that apart, each push and jostle from the lady in the queue behind me has my adrenaline pumping as thoughts of confrontations loom in my mind. People are extremely comfortable jumping ahead of you in queues, and sure some hyper queue jumping junkie doesn't get me worked up but when it transpires three times in a row I feel it's time for a confrontation. And so it ensues and not that it leaves you simmering in a pool of victory. I felt resentful,like I have regressed. There are ofcourse many socio economic evils in our society that makes one sympathize with the bottled anger and frustration, but the words of German philosopher Nietzche resonate in my mind- he said- the measure of a society is how well it transforms pain and suffering and undoubtedly, en masse, Delhi has plenty of the aforementioned pain and suffering, yet we channelize it into hate and aggression. A new form of catharsis perhaps is needed. A metamorphosis into art, as Eric Weiner writes about Iceland in his Book "The Geography of Bliss", is required in this disgruntled city as well. Brooding writers, dark poets, struggling painters...where are you my friends?

The Invincible Bubble

2011-12-08T23:08:00.000+01:00

We live like we are going to live forever
Planning and doing, with the aura
Of invincibility upon us.
Forgetting we’re no different from the
Insects and rodents we disinfect our homes of,
Man is great at creating illusions, delusions
Why are we different from the stray dog
that was killed yesterday on the highway?
Why are we above this randomness,
The mortal nature of our living?
Why do we plan years and years of happiness
Ahead of us?
Why aren’t we more afraid?

The Silent Traveler

2011-11-09T20:08:00.003+01:00

There was a reason Robert Louis Stevenson said “I travel for travels sake”*. Perhaps it was so I could include it in this little verbiagal waterfall or for RL Stevenson to be able to smirk from the heavens at us, when he sees the next facebook Post that goes like this: “Off to Ibiza”. Afterall, we live in an age, where apparently talking about traveling on social networking sites is more gratifying than traveling itself. Ah, us Post-liberalization children, little do we realize that it brought many things to us other than Coca Cola. Greater purchasing power to the educated elite translated into endless spirals of pretentious travels to corners of the world, to the existence of which we were previously oblivious Yes, indeed, travel is amazing, but more amazing, is to update our facebook status’ to inform our “friends” of our inevitable submlime coolness on touching down in a “foreign” land. The real bravehearts are those who travel, not knowing, not talking, but with that blissfully palpable trepidation, that beats in their heart with every step they take into the journey. That braveheart however, isn’t me.
I revere, the Silent Traveler.

*"For my part, I travel not to go anywhere, but to go. I travel for travel's sake. the great affair is to move. - Robert Louis Stevenson, Travels with a Donkey, 1879

Anti-Beauty

2011-11-05T10:25:00.003+01:00

Why do the prettiest
Declare that pretty is overrated?
When all I see, and all I hear
Is thin stick figures, clacking along the way
Pages and pictures, movies and theater,
Replete with the perfections, that perhaps,
Aren’t real, yet define our reality so.
The long glossy hair, and the untainted skin,
Their diaphanous visage, cascade in a bucket of
Visual assault, that seems intolerable.
My own cells, scream, squirm. They know that’s what
They’ll never be. Yet,
This is all I see.

2011-10-06T12:47:00.000+02:00

Null Hypothesis: If our existence has meaning then everything we do has meaning.
Alternate Hypothesis: If our existence is pointless and without a meaning then nothing we do will ever have any meaning.

Veni. Vedi. Vixi

2011-07-15T01:00:00.000+02:00

Since my phlegm ridden state couldn’t keep my away from it, I’d say Paris has a charm to it. But that perception was perhaps consecrated over the period of forty-eight hours I spent in this city, where people surprise you as much as the beauty of the tour Eiffel or the din of pedestrians at Champs Elysees. So I am prompted to say : Not sure about the third so much, but fourth time is definitely a charm. However, the apparent purpose of this blog ( is there a purpose, of any blog, apart from some subtle ego-massaging to ostensibly enlighten the world with your eclectically giddy words ?) is to extol the people I met and perhaps the spirit of the humanity in general.
It started with the lady Thai-Chinese taxi driver who drove us cheerfully to our hotel on Rue de Rome whilst chanting concerned instructions about protecting our bags in the underground metro. My experience with lady taxi drivers has not been the best in general, and that would be an understatement. However this particular creature had the spirit that was contagiously cheerful and she happily shared her holiday plans for the summer and apprised us that Thai airways is offering splendidly cheap return tickets to Bangkok. Noted, Mademoiselle Sunshine. Another taxi driver who drove us to Tour Eiffel the next day from Tunisia, told me that Freddie Mercury had lived in India and his parents were Indian. I did not know this. Oh well. Bohemian Rhapsody has a new found meaning in my life. We also conversed in English, Spanish, and I even tried my hand at some Arabic and repeated some extremely tongue-wracking French sentences. My contribution was the longest word in English – Supercalifragilisticexpialidocious (Well, as far as coined words in English language go, and well Mary Poppins says so).
There was also an interesting tête-à-tête with a souvenir seller near the tour Eiffel. He was from Punjab, lured to Paris by an agent, having mortgaged his land to pay Rs. 10,00,000 to arrange his new life. Ofcourse, it was a ruse, and he ended up selling brass eiffel touwers to tourists on the road. He wanted to go back but well, he didn’t have the money, he told me. He seemed oddly at peace with this turn of fate though, and well I urged him to figure out a way to study more (he’d only finished high school). Once he realized I had nothing to offer more than some unsolicited advice, he decided to move on to the next potential customer. And yes, this was the underbelly of the city, a side I had not encountered before. This encounter also answered some questions that had floated around in my naïve mind as to the presence of multitude of Indian souvenir sellers around the Tour Eiffel area.

And thus, with these sweet and sour moments, the Paris sabbatical was wrapped up, sitting on a bench near the Seine, the proverbial tourist as always, staring up at the Eiffel Tower, as it gleamed golden in the rich blue Parisian sky.
As for the Latin in the title this blog, I shall let the incoherency hang.

PS: Midnight in Paris by woody Allen; is a must watch. Delectable , heart-lifting and magical!

1984 much?

2011-06-23T02:25:00.000+02:00

Right now we live in a world filled with choices. We don't have to tell others where we are or what we are upto, but we tell our machines to do so for us anyway. At a whim, if you will. A party or a special city.
Now imagine a world, where we don't have a choice, where all of us have to report our coordinates and actions and feelings through the machines at our disposal. Communication and networking is one thing. Being institutionally mandated to be made visible at all times, not so much.
Our present is the means to this eventuality. Our transparent present and this Orwellian future are not too far apart.

French Onion Soup

2011-06-08T21:37:00.000+02:00

I see, everything,
As it plays out
Slowly, unwinding
In front of my unrelenting
Eyes, that linger on your name
I watch, as you look past me
Onto others, ignoring, perhaps
Noticing not, as I stand there,
Waiting. Slowly wasting.

The Common Man Triumphs, and promptly forgets.

2011-04-21T07:30:00.000+02:00

April 9th 2011

As India awoke to the realisation of a resounding win in the world cup cricket, little did it realise that the week going forward would have the country united for another reason altogether: The passion to end corruption.
Growing up in India, I realised soon enough how the country is united by the force of Cricket. The faith of my country men and their belief in the countries cricket team is unwavering, something I can't say with the same conviction about our countries governance and laws. Rampant corruption weaving its way from the lower rungs of the hierarchy to the upper echelons, seamlessly becoming entrenched in the functioning of individuals and other structures, rarely questioned when indulged in, but often talked about with panache in retrospect, is perhaps the major impediment in bolstering our faith in our country.
The phenomenon of Corruption in itself requires one instance and one individual to start and then becomes self-sustaining. Can everyone promise to steer clear of this chimera? Corruption can arise when the existing functioning of the system is grossly inefficient and in order to get the work done one must bribe an official in power. Alternately, it can arise when someone in power realises to wield his power position to extract favours from others in order to get this party what they desire. The second case of corruption can only be dealt with in a remedial manner- punish those who abuse their positions. However to curb the fundamental form of corruption, the systems need to be made efficient in the first place so as to remove the need for anyone indulge in an opportunistic manner. Until this is done, I am wary of the level of commitments that is going to be forthcoming from individuals across the country.

When Anna Hazare a political activist, decided to fast until a bill that creates an independent body to address corruption cases was passed, the entire nation was propelled to join in this vortex of cataclysmic process- thousands of activists, school and college students and movie stars joined forces- organizing protest marches, candlelight vigils and posting relentlessly on Facebook to substantiate their support for the cause. After 5 days of protest, the government relented and decided to issue a notification to set up a committee to draft the “Lokpal Bill”. This is when Anna Hazare and many of his supporters broke their fast. The country is still celebrating this victory as I write.

But are celebrations really in order? The transition might have been kick-started here, but the road to transformation does not appear to be linear. Whilst the past five days have taught us the power that rests in the hand of the common man in a democracy, at the same time this spurt of passion brings to attention the short attention span of our media-driven society. For most part the media helped in spreading the word of the masses across the country and even beyond the countries borders. This freedom and openness is like a security blanket, every move of the government is under scrutiny, and in a democracy, any inappropriateness can spell out disastrous poll results. But come tomorrow, and there is a fear that this valuable attention is going to be turned to the next newsworthy story and the ignited passion might be washed away overnight.

Perhaps, what remains to be seen is that if, this passionate display of solidarity to demand a redressal mechanism for corruption related problems, is just a fad and would dissipate as the world looks in other directions or is this a new form of democracy in making, where school children and retired individuals alike, would stand shoulder to shoulder, demanding transparent systems and even being prepared to fast until death to rectify the system?

Happily (n)ever after?

2011-03-04T20:38:00.002+01:00

It’s exhilarating to look passively, on what tracks your mind trudges on after seeing a movie that displays a cornucopia of human emotions- dark and those which have no respectable place in this world. Not because these emotions induce you to a state of melancholy trance, but the glaring reality of their existence, and their denial in other mainstreams works and popular culture. The Hours – is a movie about three woman across generations, living out their lives, and making decisions on what to do with their lives thereof- live it in unhappiness, not live it at all, move on away, or throw parties to shield themselves from the emptiness. It doesn’t end on a joyous note, the last scene where Virginia Woolf drowns herself in a river, is mesmerizing, in its simplicity and lack of grandeur. The movies does not horrify me at any point, that is not Stephen Daldry’s intent. It makes the audience accept the decisions made by the characters, however unrealistic or preposterous they may seem. Moreover, the acting does not assault my senses, in fact, it is deeply ethereal, yet natural.
Coming to an actual assault on senses though, my mind is drawn to the movies I’ve seen courtesy the Indian cine industry. Somehow, I can’t think of a single movie where the finale of the movie isn’t dotted with giddy brides and obnoxiously handsome grooms riding into the sunset in their daddys Toyota Corolla or are seen making promises of an impending wedding. (It’s a glaring exaggeration! Is what you’re going to say. This is also where you refer me to movies like Rang De Basanti, Udaan, Tare Zameen Par, but let’s get real- these radical movies are exceptions rather than the norm.) So as I so rightfully mentioned in the parentheses, that’s it, that’s how 95% of mainstream Hindi movies end. Is this a representation of reality? Or is this shaping our reality? This issue of causality though confusing, is something worth a thought. I guess my thoughts diverge onto two levels now- firstly, why is that Bollywood adheres to this need to end movies with a couple getting betrothed? Perhaps their opinion of the audiences’ maturity and depth is excruciatingly low. Somehow, I am not surprised. People do treat movies like a popcorn crunching fest- a getaway haven of sorts, that makes the experience enjoyable only when their puny minds are not exercised. This is how the graphical representation would shout out bloody murder.

The second question is of practical relevance. Is a wedding the penultimate objective that any individual can strive for personally? Lets assume it is, and hence the Indian movie industries proclivity to absorb itself in wedding related hogwash. So if we are assuming that the movies are representing the actual state of the society, then the fact that comes to the foreground is even more appallingly shallow and well, my apologies, but blasphemous! Weddings are not the happily ever after that everyone makes them out to be. It isn’t my intent to sound deterministic or to belittle the institution of marriage (nor is this the account of an ugly, embittered 40 year old unable to find a suitable husband-as one may cognitively try to justify to himself or herself after reading this) however, I refuse to believe that this one event can cause me to believe that on crossing the threshold, on to the other side, life would be hunky-dory, I’d be ridden off all my foibles, and love will make all the issues disappear. Marriage has its merits (I do not attempt to elucidate this here though), yet the array of grandiose gestures surrounding it and making it out to be this pinnacle of happiness and delirium, need to be put to rest or squashed or well, whatever makes you happy.

When words fail...

2011-02-28T23:54:00.003+01:00

2011-02-22T01:24:00.002+01:00

Dolled up daughters,
in silver and frills,
trained to smile,
cephalically dead.

Happy Idiots*

2011-02-05T00:16:00.002+01:00

“It’s a great era to be born in” someone mentioned to me whilst sipping on a glass of wine and blowing plumes of smoke in every direction. I couldn’t help but grimace. Is it really true then, are we really lucky? This individual with radically utopian views continued “Particuarly for women, there is so much we can do.” Can we really?
The complacency that has come to surround the middle class, upper middle class and the nouveau rich is deeply rooted in a sense of narcissistic myopia, hedonistic, lifestyles and wielding of horse blinders against the gruesome reality of the world. Of course we are not bidding goodbyes to chunk of our male population and sending them off to fights world wars, or living in mortal fear of civilian bombings everyday. But that is just you and I. The reality is grimmer in many parts of the world. New poverty estimates published by the World Bank reveal that 1.4 billion people in the developing world (one in four) were living on less than US$1.25 a day in 2005 (www.econ.worldbank.org). Can we even relate to how these people sleep in extreme cold or heat, do we ever think of them when we take for granted the bed that we have, the roof and walls that give us our cherished “privacy”? Is it all right to live in this state of denial? Is it acceptable to generalize the excesses bestowed upon us to the rest of humanity?
For women, there is no room to dance in sheer abandon celebrating the liberalized era, yet. With rampant Female Genital Mutilation (FGM) in many parts of the world (according to a 2010 WHO fact sheet it is that estimated 100 to 140 million girls and women worldwide are currently living with the consequences of FGM. http://www.who.int/mediacentre/factsheets/fs241/en/), denial of basic human rights and imposition of restrictions which most women in the western world take for granted, the lacuna is perhaps even more pronounced. The factual position presented here is intended as a mere representation of the reality, and it is necessary to make our existing worldviews more coherent with the reality.
There might not be world-war looming ahead or a genocide to threaten our very existence, but the bi-product of the capitalist culture that dominates the world these days- the growing chasm of between the rich and the poor in some countries and the extremism of other forms of governance in others that leads to blatant denial of human rights to many, is something that our frugal human spirit trapped within the comfort of our bourgeois lifestyle need to acknowledge. We face the risk of becoming ketamine induced individuals where thought of people dying of hunger written off as “depressing” and prompt a quick redressal by means of deep conversations about the people that have the best sense of humour. Are we becoming more superficial and exponentially shallower? Are we at the risk of becoming happy idiots? I think you already know my answer.
I do not wish to offer a deterministic view here, however urge a sincere thought as to why the increased complacency of our comfortable life has numbed us so. Action on our part, though important, is a secondary issue at this point. Getting out of the cocoon that impairs our objective vision and worldview through its faux fur lining is the new social imperative.
* Thanks to Ms. Y. Shymko for sharing this phrase, who claims the genesis of this phrase rests with Professor D. Allen.

Thy Soliloquy

2011-01-26T20:50:00.001+01:00

When Shakespeare eloquently elaborated in As You Like it: All the world's a stage, And all the men and women merely players, little did he know he was foretelling the future. In this digitized virtual world, we do live our lives like a movie, a script narrated by us on forums like Facebook and Twitter, and then instead of an animated applause from the audience after our soliloquy we are rewarded with “Likes” and “Comments”.

I am bracing myself for the impending critique following this verbal vocalization of thoughts, however, I would be wrong to say that I didn’t have inspiration to begin with. The author of the book Alone Together, Sherry Turkle – a Psychologist and Director of the MIT initiative on Technology and Self Program in Science, Technology and Society, talks of how everyone is “performing” on these virtual forums. (http://www.colbertnation.com/the-colbert-report-videos/371249/january-17-2011/sherry-turkle). Also vehement discussions with a dear friend who infact told me about Ms. Turkle, are also responsible for shaping these thoughts.

Ever heard of information overload? The amount of information that assaults our senses everyday is humongous. Do we really need to know what each and every one of us is engaging in and with what emotional intensity on an hourly basis? Do we really need to update 500 people every day about the food we ate that day or the clothes we bought for our birthday party?

Let me draw a simple parallel. Do we display on the doors of our homes what we are eating, doing, feeling whenever any significant variation occurs that we deem to be important in our self concocted bubble of narcissism? No. We don’t do that because it is socially inappropriate to leave a poster outside your door announcing the purchase of your new Mac Book Air and how it is any day better than a run of the mill PC or that you had an awful day and how life is a wormhole filled with feces. We don’t do that because we want to be private about these things. This brings me to another issue- the Privacy Settings option. We need to educate ourselves more about what we share and with whom. Yes indeed, there is a way after all- of not sharing everything with the person you met in a bar five years ago and haven’t met since. Free tutorials from my side to the uninitiated is going to be my civic duty as of now.

Well, online social forums are facades for easing communication, networking and casual banter on inane issues, and they work brilliantly for these purposes. Technology has its merits after all. It’s evolution and an indication of how far we’ve come. We need to curb our enthusiasm and fast. Otherwise, very soon we won’t know the difference between what’s real and what’s not.

Disclaimer: This work is not intended to offend anyone or instill self-doubt. These essentially are ramblings which should not be considered all pervasive or universal after all everything is ephemeral. Diatribes are welcome, though not encouraged ;)

More on Social Networks in NYTIMES: http://www.nytimes.com/2010/12/26/opinion/26dunbar.html?scp=1&sq=150%20friends&st=cse

2011-01-25T02:39:00.000+01:00

Late nights, and drunken eyes
Stars sing, the piano cries
Millions of me, in millions of universe;
I hold the warmth of sunshine.

Toxic

2011-01-17T19:48:00.002+01:00

The dark muck slides down,
It slides down the sides.
It slithers and it taints,
It dirties all in sight.
The noxious liquid of disgust,
It creeps up inside,
Engulfing the prolific center,
It corrodes till the good dies.

The Chimera of Capitalism

2011-01-01T06:26:00.002+01:00

What’s this thing I heard?
Let’s go and get it,
everyone must.

Perhaps, we need more,
this is now necessary,
to feel happy just a tad.

Let’s not think here now,
lets make haste,
we got to jump in.

I’m here now,
where everyone is,
Ah, yes, we’ve arrived.

But what is this,
out there, there’s more,
I’ m going to run,
lets run some more.

Foolish Sentiments

2010-12-26T05:21:00.002+01:00

We are all fools,
Fools of grandeur,
Fools of illusion,
First we fool others,
And then we fool ourselves.

Night, the mighty temptress

2010-12-26T05:19:00.000+01:00

The Queen of Dusk,
the agony of morn
Nightfall, your spirit
enamors all.
Your magic permeates,
descends like a fog,
us humans are prepared,
ensnared, in this fall.
Laughter of inebriation,
trickles down the streets.
You watch and conceal a smile.
Lust and Love enraptures the roads.
You open your hair, and
observe-pleased.
Mortals taste the elixir of immortality,
from your cup of darkness.
Oh, night! How you fetter my spirit,
and then you set it free.

Education and Creativity

2010-12-05T01:03:00.000+01:00

This talk is phenomenal!

http://www.ted.com/index.php/talks/lang/spa/ken_robinson_says_schools_kill_creativity.html

Thoughts on Feminism

2010-12-04T20:54:00.003+01:00

Simone de Beauvoir, writes in her book “The Second Sex” (http://www.amazon.com/Second-Sex-Simone-Beauvoir/dp/0679724516) that women have in general been compelled to assume a secondary position in relation to men, and although they constitute nearly half of the human race numerically, their secondary standing is only comparable to that of racial minorities. Moreover, this secondary position has arisen from social and educational forces in the environment.
Whilst, some may see the above excerpt, inspired from Mlle Beauvoir’s book as a cause for discomfort and dissent, I feel that even though with the progression of time, things are changing, much work still remains.

Motivation
Perhaps, what sparked this issue in my mind and caused much furore mentally, the product of which are these words, is a song I heard, typically known as an “Item number” back home. These songs are typical in the India Cinema, where a suitably voluptuous woman is seen gyrating to some pulsating beats, talking about her sublime levels of beauty and allure. Whilst, this aides entertainment value for the movie, it casts a woman right back into the role of a “sex object”, being objectified it seems, is not a problem for women. Could this explain the secondary stance of women then? I am not criticising the cinema or even the dancing diva, but for a country like India where our masses are uneducated with unbridled poverty, and existing oppression of one’s sexuality, would this abovementioned description of a semi-naked woman, extolling her youth and contours not create a latent unrest? What I am perhaps trying to get at, is that without social reforms, overt projections of women’s sexuality via media are only going to lead to disastrous results (Read: http://ibnlive.in.com/news/will-delhi-ever-lose-the-rape-capital-tag/136324-3.html).

Where does feminism fit in all this?
In India, Liberal feminist movements have been popular, seeking political and legal equality of men and women without actually altering the structure of the society. Currently the women get 33% of reservation in the village assembly and the women’s reservation bill plans to extend this reservation to the parliament and legislative assemblies. Other examples could be the 30% reservation for women in law schools. But liberal feminism without the support of socialist feminism is not going to achieve any plangent results.
Socialist Feminism which seeks to end the oppression and exploitation of women, was at its peak during the freedom movement in India. Raja Ram Mohan Roy’s efforts led to the ban of the Sati Pratha (Practice). Sati was a religious practice wherein widows were required to immolate themselves on their husband’s pyre. Even Gandhi encouraged women to participate in the civil disobedience movement against the British. Socialist feminism in India today demands not only radical activism to end similar new age oppressions such as sexual harassment, but also needs a conscious realisation of all Indian women, particularly among the educated strata of the society. We are at a threshold of a new era, where women are acquiring more higher education than before, working longer hours in corporations, but we are still thinking in the same way. The problem is not getting accepted into the mainstream, the problem is accepting ourselves to be equal and at par with men and using same value judgments and norms that apply to men. Why is a woman, smoking and drinking with as much abandon as a man does, frowned upon? If the reason is, that this indulgence is injurious to health, then why is the same value judgment not inflicted upon men? This is the dichotomy I am referring to. This is the reason it is essential that Indian Women, not only get an academic education but a spirit of questioning that catalyzes how others think.
India being a patriarchal society, the man is still expected to be the primary breadwinner, the woman is expected to follow her parent’s directions before marriage and then follow her husband after. And of course, a womans most defining moment in her entire life is her marriage or childbirth. Perhaps Mlle Beauvoir was right when she said that a woman have been thought of as a womb. Perhaps this was true and necessary for the purpose of evolution a couple of thousand years ago, when reproduction was necessary for sustaining the human race, but just as we progressed from the stone ages, perhaps the other mental progression is also essential.
Moreover, it is the women who need to realise that they can be independent- economically, physically and socially. They need to move above the need to objectify themselves. We don’t need activism, we don’t need another reservation or a bill. We need a thought revolution.

Questions anyone?

2010-11-29T23:55:00.000+01:00

Our life is based on assumptions, assumptions some of which are realistic and some that have been dictated by the environment we live in. It’s difficult to see beyond these assumptions when we are living in the environment that dictates these assumptions. We have thus, two solutions to change the status quo. Getting out of that environment; as the anthropologists say- moving away from our cultural environment and entering a new one is the best way to understand our environment OR engender a more prolific questioning system. Whilst, physically moving to a new cultural vantage point might not always be possible, the spirit of questioning can afford all the liberties that seem to be curtailed in the first solution. Questioning things, one might say might be governed by the cultural context. Some cultures tend to not perceive too much choice, and accept the status quo in a humble manner, some cultures on the other hand, are more vocal in expressing this spirit of enquiry. But then again, this is an oversimplification.
There might be this voice which asks, why the need to question anything at all? Well, that’s, the first step in questioning itself. Answer that and let the enquiry begin.

The Average Indian

2010-11-17T03:00:00.001+01:00

1. Does not speak English
2. Does not have a phone
3. Is not an IT engineer
4. Has never travelled outside his/her village
5. Does not have a facebook account
6. Can not read this
7. Is not you and me.

So, the next time we shimmy towards generalizations let us stop and think for a second.
This is not an attempt to extol our relative achievements or the privilege that might have ostensibly been bestowed upon us. It is but a mere reflection of our ignorance, and the great responsibility that rests in our hand to acknowledge it and do something about it.

According to a 2005 World Bank estimate, 42% of India falls below the international poverty line of US$ 1.25 a day (PPP, in nominal terms 21.6 a day in urban areas and 14.3 in rural areas).
2007 report by the state-run National Commission for Enterprises in the Unorganised Sector (NCEUS) found that 77% of Indians lived on less than 20 rupees (approximately US$0.50 nominal; US$2 PPP) per day.
As per the 2001 census, 35.5% of Indian households availed of banking services, 35.1% owned a radio or transistor, 31.6% a television, 9.1% a phone, 43.7% a bicycle, 11.7% a scooter, motorcycle or a moped, and 2.5% a car, jeep or van; 34.5% of the households had none of these assets.
(Source: Wikipedia. i.e- not that far away from our reach)

Madrid on my Mind

2010-11-09T23:04:00.001+01:00

There are some cities that can overwhelm your heart. Madrid is definitely one of those cities. There are sights to be seen and wonders to be encountered here at every step. These wonders aren’t the usual run-of-the-mill grand events, but small little things that one may come across whilst walking or even while waiting for the metro. It could be the notes of a roadside musician or the careless abandon with which lovers look into each others eyes, but they inspire just as well as Vangelis’ theme from Chariots of Fire or bring out emotions similar to reading a poem by Frost.
But this is just me, and my overzealous impressions. Let it not sway your sanity

Memorable Madrid Metro Stations

Alonso Martinez-Gregorio Marañon

Gregorio-my home metro station and Alonso-the one after. I frequent them more than other stations I believe. Alonso Martinez has been recently discovered by me as the station that opens up avenues for food-courtesy the many restaurants close by. Also the beautiful Plaza Santa Barbara just off Alonso Martinez is a great place to just sit on a warm summer night, or any night right after the end of the Jazz at El Junco. Ofcourse, there was the night I encountered humans dressed as aliens in the metro headed towards Gregorio Marañon. These upbeat creatures sang and danced and pranced around the escalators, with more alacrity than the usual humans.

Nuñez De Balboa

The green line at Nunez de Balboa goes everywhere. Everywhere that you need to be. Everywhere that you should be.

Atocha

Ah Atocha! The port of embarkation for the travel to Toledo, and the port of much search for car rentals for the trip to San Sebastian. It is most associated with promise of travels to exotic places.

Tribunal

I remember discussing with D once that the metro at tribunal must be built really close to the abyss of hell, considering the number of escalators we need to climb up to get out. But of course, Tribunal is associated with the Bongo Player more than anything else. His music provides a nice soundtrack for the mundane journey up the escalators. He even has guest artistes that perform with him time to time. His enthusiasm is unbridled and his tuneful beats make the journey to the depths of hell worth reminiscing about.

Chueca

Ah, Chueca. The Metro station where my wallet was stolen, so it has a special place in my heart. But Checua’s appeal lies in its numerous little bars and shops. It’s vibrant vista is definitely something that warrants a visit, a cana and a stroll.

Freedom from Social Isomorphism

2010-11-05T00:47:00.000+01:00

We fight for freedom. Wars are waged, rebellion is staged. But Is our freedom ever free? Will we ever by free from the need for social convergence?

Let us Be Taught

2010-10-26T00:34:00.000+02:00

I have always been one of those students who had this reverence for teachers. Perhaps it has something to with half my family being involved in that profession, or maybe I am just afraid. Let’s say at this point in time I don’t want to find out. My decision to explore and devote the rest of my life to academia perhaps didn’t come as quite a shock to me, which is more than I can say for my friends at the more ambitious business school fraternity. From within this newly forayed into domain of academia, I however feel this incredulous and disdainful array of questions directed from the outside- “ the real world” as it may be called. Of course, once the Pandora’s box of scepticism has been opened, it is difficult to let the spate of questions pass by without rationalising to some extent. So began the quest to express sentiment over the issue which validates all things real and marginalises activities associated with teaching as something for those avoiding reality.

My argument is constructed firstly on an attempt to clarify the role of teaching in a society that is undergoing cataclysmic change with the advent of the Internet, allowing easy access to knowledge. As I dwell back on the first memories of interacting with teachers, I am reminded of the countless hours we spent with out first grade teacher trying to learn alphabets that construct a coherent word in our myriad languages, the endless series of numbers written to put a value to this abstract world of ours, to the stories we heard which made us realise that stealing Tara’s lunch is wrong. But then, don’t we already know this? Pardon my temerity, but I believe we tend to forget these invaluable lessons that were indeed taught to us. It is perhaps easy for those of us being empowered with education to underrate the role of teachers in our lives. The very fact that many of us are able to comprehend what is being written here, is very testament to the fact that we were taught how to read at some point in our distant or not so distant past ( as the case may be). Maybe the value of a teacher is more to those who are never forced to learn and never pushed down the path of learning. There are countless children in the world who never go to schools, have never had a teacher, who will probably never be taught how to write their own names. Secondly, on a more abstract level, I question the construct of reality. Our unabashed claims marginalising teaching as a form of escapism from the real world, are based on our own interpretation of reality. Moreover, since many of us have created this collective sense of “reality” anything that does not adhere to it tends to lie outside this construct.

As I write this, I am reminded of a quote that I have heard often, particularly right after I have declared my intent as to the Ph.D I am undertaking- “Those who can – do, Those who can’t- teach”. A perfunctory attempt online to dwell to the source of this quote, surprised me. This quote was used by a famous author in a completely different context, however it is cited today to a great extent to the point of having degraded itself to a cliché. However noble the intent of the quote might have been at the time, at present it just fuels the determination of those who still question the profession of teaching.
Can you imagine a world where there weren’t any teachers? I sure can’t. Perhaps, I like to be told once in a while what is required, perhaps I am just a sucker for authority. But that’s just me. While learning by doing is perhaps the best way of acquiring valuable life lessons, rest assured, we do not want to explore the answer to 587683 divided by 365 using a trial and error approach.

On second thought too much control and authority makes us rebel, and makes us sing along to Pink Floyd “ Teachers leave those kids alone”. But then teachers aren’t here to take the blame for the way we think, and what we don’t make of our lives. We need to look at the profession for what it is intended, not more not less.
My parting words on this theme would have to be these:
“Those who can - do,
Those who can’t – teach”
And those who aren’t taught,
Shall soon beseech

An ode to the dried up Lense

2010-09-30T20:49:00.001+02:00

Dried up lense,look at you rot
you'd be with me forever, so id thought
I poured solution on u day after day
But in your final moments, no goodbye i could even say
Dried up lense all shrivelled up and grey
You were supposed to adorn me today

The Mighty Common Indian Man

2010-09-30T17:58:00.000+02:00

The transition presented in the Indian media from one sensational issue to another is phenomenal in itself. Is it the medias’ mercurial nature, like a child with Attention Deficit Disorder or is it that our country is producing scintillating news every day I am not sure I can answer that with conviction. From the level of preparedness for the Common Wealth Games ( or lack of it thereof) to the Ayodhya verdict, the masses in our country have found a common cause for unity be it the criticism of the Organizing Committee at the Commonwealth Games being hosted in Delhi in the next few days or the myriad reasoning for the possession of the disputed land in Ayodhya.

Freedom of the press is a basic human right and you would all agree with me on that. For censorship would most certainly breed evil, malice and other synonyms associated with all things wrong. So we whole heartedly embrace freedom, adorn out opinions with critique which seems to be the mainstream and then have heated discussions of all that is wrong in our country. Ah, such joy is accompanied with this liberating experience of being able to psychoanalyse all the ills of our society. So the media has managed to unite the masses after all- by making us critics, the elite of the society who sit in coffee shops and munch on cookies and discuss contemporary political issues with panache. But what happens once these conversations are over? Is there any purpose to this critique apart from a meagre ego boost resulting from our splendid abilities to synthesise arguments of what is wrong and how it needs to be rectified? Unfortunately, I think this is where the story ends. The process of sensationalism-igniting passion-criticism ends there. But it does leave some vestiges of positivity- the power of unity, the power of united passion. If we can come together to vehemently discuss all that is wrong, perhaps all is not lost just yet. Perhaps there is a way to make mends. We don’t need a change of the government, or any institutional change. We must remember the nature of the democracy; we must understand the power that lies with the common man. The you and the me of the society.

The media might be doing what it does best, but the incidental bi-products of this radical sensationalism is the generation of passion among the masse. Only when we- not as a nation, not as a state or a city or a school or a university, but as you and me, just individual units, decide to channelize this passion into a tangible action, can the country as a whole accelerate on its path to evolve into a nation that is developed in the true sense.

Abstract, as it may be, the concept of change is actually very fundamental. We can start now, by not littering our cities, by not jumping the stop light, and by generally being more happy. It’s time to take ownership, for India is a democracy. We have created it and we have the power to change it.

2010-09-02T14:25:00.002+02:00

We are all misfits
no one is cast in a mold,
with dreams unique
and secrets untold.
None of us know,
but each is told,
the webs grow,
dreams go cold.
We are all misfits,
stacked up in a row,
we need disarray,
ah atleast now we know.

2010-07-18T01:47:00.001+02:00

What is that you said?
I didn’t hear you,
Encore, my friend.
The loud voices,
The din of the room,
The girl rejoices,
What is that you said?
I want to hear you,
But I can’t, not a word
It doesn’t make sense,
The voice is blurred.
What is that you said?
I heard you, yes I did,
But I desist to comprehend,
I leave the room,
I can’t pretend.
What is that you said?
Ah, it’s all right
I choose not to hear,
My ears are blind.

Collision Course

2010-06-17T01:09:00.000+02:00

Indian Society is undoubtedly a collective society. If it is not evident to you yet (you-referring to an Indian reader, others can let this illustration be an evidence), please refer back to a memory when you were departing to some far off land to study/work/travel and your entire family comprising parents, grandparents, uncles, aunts and cousins had thronged to the airport to bid you a fond farewell. Family adhesiveness and societal pressures are indeed quintessentially Indian. I knew this at some subliminal level, but after interacting with people from so many Individualistic cultures, this realization has become completely conscious.

But although our collective conscious dominates, I see streaks of Individualistic tendencies creeping out and trying to make their presence felt. I can see this with greater clarity as I reflect on the difference between my parents and I. In a collective society people value the society more, and anyone not in adherence with the social construct would be deemed a misfit and outlier, if at all that is allowed to exist, because usually individuals would not want to do anything to be an outlier. I have heard of stories of girls wanting to become dancers and singers, but their parents opposition to trivialised profession as opposed to other respectable and well paid professions, lead to thwarted desires, and eventually contributed to those girls pursuing something in tandem with the desires of their parents, which in fact were influenced by the collective conscience. What we see here is a collision of collective conscience and an Individual identity. What eventually won here was the collective.

Indian society and culture prescribes codes of conduct, behaviour, sense of morality and sometimes even professional pursuits. This works fine as long as we live in a cocoon of socially constructed reality, oblivious to externalities of the world. But the minute this bubble explodes, as is evident now-with a vast influx of media, changed lifestyle, greater incomes, travels and perhaps an enhanced view of the world, we have rebellious youth questioning authority. How long that lasts, of course depends on how strong the collective conscience is.
Individual and collective desires are usually at loggerheads in a society like ours; there is almost always a trade off. There is no optimal strategy for gratifying both. If I do something that makes me happy, it probably will be at a cost of making my family and my society unhappy. Of course this is a simplistic generalization, and money and education has afforded some members of our society to develop their own accepted norms and values which are somewhere in between the continuum of Individualistic desires and the collective conscience.

The life of a pre-pubescent in India can be fraught with quite some confusion given a collision of identities. We grow up readings books that talk about dreaming big and exploring, we see movies in which individuals have defied the social norm to go on to do something grandiose, and then when we remove ourselves from this world of books and movies, we find ourselves confronted with a strange reality. We oft, can not do what we really are pining to do. Worse yet, our desires and wishes get engulfed by the great collective cloud, and slowly the dissonance we experience from holding these two contradictory thoughts in our head, ameliorates, and what is left is the nebulous cloud of the collective construct, and we don’t even realize when the individual became the collective.

2010-06-16T01:10:00.000+02:00

When does the life being lived
become a memory?
When do the strands of present
Melt away into the past?
When does the now
Become a moment gone…?

The Song of the Seas

2010-06-04T01:09:00.000+02:00

In the brilliance of the sun,
The shiny splendour blue,
It reaches the shore,
Swishing as if on cue,
Like it wants me to hear,
Stories of ships lost,
The places it has seen,
The battles it has fought.

Darker than night itself,
In the darkness of the night,
It just wants to hold on,
It waits for the light,
It whispers in my ears,
Promises of clear blue,
What it doesn’t know,
colour ain’t all that true.

2010-05-01T23:55:00.001+02:00

If my desires were a song
It would be an endless ballad
If my thoughts were a day
It would have a thousand hours
If my happiness was a river
It would meander along the world

Quintessentially Indian

2010-04-25T14:00:00.000+02:00

Indian Society is a collective society. You might have read that somewhere. Geert Hofstede and his study of cultures with IBM employees came to the same conclusion. What might that mean now? It translates like this…We thrive on interfering in others business, are prone to excessive convincing, behaving like your best friend, force-feeding food to strangers among other things. Here is a list of some quintessentially Indian behavioural traits:

1. If you visit our house, we are programmed to force-feed you even if you don’t want to eat. If you don’t eat, we will be pissed. Very pissed.

2. We will ask incessant questions if we see that you are not opening up and will not cease until you have convinced us that you are indeed not troubled.

3. We love dancing. Wherever-Whenever. The more the merrier. And you’d better not be sitting or you are going to be carried to the dance floor.

4. We love taking vacations with our family even at age 30.

5. We love food. It makes our day. Obesity is my worst nightmare. We also love carrying food with us wherever we go.

6. From the moment we set our eyes on you, we behave like your best friends. Don’t worry we wont stalk you.

7. Once we have established that you are indeed our best friends, we would go on to insult you. Do not take this personally.

8. We are great at Math. Calculus here I come!

9. We are genetically programmed to be warm.

10. We love you.

On acceptance and forgiveness

2010-04-20T23:52:00.001+02:00

There is religion and then there is an ostensible sense of morality to be adhered to in life, and boy can this be tedious. You’d think that with all these compasses directing an individual would certainly not feel astray, but surprisingly, the reigns of such religious or social institution fetter us more than liberate us.

Maybe the meaning intended has been lost somewhere down the hundreds of years, maybe humanity is guided by commercial pursuits to such an extent that it construes all wisdom as it deems suitable, which of them is applicable, if at all, I can not aver. However, there are individuals and schools of thought existing today, that make us realise how the chaos of the world plays with us, instilling in us a feeling of helplessness. Eckhart Tolle, talks of acceptance and forgiveness in his book the “Power of Now”, whilst in his other book “A New Earth” he talks of how unconsciousness among humans in terms of ego gratification and competition and how it leads to conflicts, chaos and unhappiness.

I wonder why we are not taught important things like forgiveness and acceptance, and instead are encouraged to propel onto paths of competition and achievement. This works as long as one is in effect attaining something, but the minute the accolades and achievements cease to come our away, we become distraught, caught in our ego circles, not willing to accept the defeat, chastising ourselves for the mistakes we have made, and blaming others alternately. Maybe it is time to question our deeply entrenched ways of existing, our mechanically socialised responses, and for once, let this moment be as it is and not resist it.

Attempt at Poetry in Spanish

2010-04-17T23:53:00.006+02:00

So I wrote my first poem in Spanish, only to realise later, that there is a song by Marc Anthony which starts very similarly, and has a generous usage of "cuando (When)" and "Sueno (Dream)" in it, just like my intended poem.
Anyway, I am no Marc Anthony, So I can safely post my poem on my blog without being hounded by the music industry for a calling in the song-writing business..

Recuerda me cuando
Estoy no con tigo
Recuerda me en tus sueños
Cuando hay nubes oscuro en el cielo
Recuerda me cuando escuchas,
Escuchas mi cancion favorito
Recuerda me a veces,
Recuerda me, como recuerdo ti.

.......

Remember me when
I'm not with you
Remember me in your dreams
When there are dark clouds in the sky
Remember me when you hear,
Hear my favorite song
Remember me sometimes
Remember me, as I remember you.

....

And for those who want more...

Marc Anthony Lyrics: http://www.metrolyrics.com/recuerdame-lyrics-la-5-estacion.html

An ode to the Charles Bridge

2010-04-01T19:36:00.000+02:00

Our forefathers,
Create history;
The castles and the wars.
Our fathers,
Study history;
The beauty, the pitfalls.
Us, today,
We see the history;
A story, a picture;
On the bridge, as the night falls.

Words

2010-03-16T02:12:00.000+01:00

My words, stumble
On a sentence
In a song
In an ambush of emotions
Through a sermon so long

My words, snowball
In euphoric success,
In an excited stupor,
When they must confess.

My words, elude
In the realm of love,
In peaceful existence,
The words, they learn.

2010-03-10T10:25:00.000+01:00

It's not about where you're from
It's about where you're going
It's not about what you've done
But what you're doing..

Forgive yourself for your past,
Breathe a sigh of relief,
You're new everyday
Today is your belief.

There is much to do,
And much to see,
Drown the baggage,
Set sail free.

Excerpt from "Packaging Dreams"

2010-02-28T03:45:00.002+01:00

Packaging Dreams- the book that I essentially call Work-in-Progress.
Maybe I will finish it. Someday.

Bloise, France

Saturday

We have shunned express highways for state highways, windy one lane roads that promise stretches of pristine verdure and placid canals, sheep and herds of the like grazing naively oblivious to the speeding cars, and little cottages with smoke billowing out of the chimney, making my stomach growl with hunger as my mind conjures up images of crepes and broths. Our destination is Amboise. An hour or so from Bloise. The map is our aid, Samarth our messiah, and me -just the usual driver. Smriti offers a cookie which I graciously accept; Ankur offers driving advice, which I petulantly ignore.
After some polemical crossings and turns we finally arrive in Amboise. It is the city that houses Clos Luce Manor, where Leonardo Da Vinci lived in his final days.
The city is small even by my standards ( people call me a midget sometimes) yet its abuzz with activity. The ‘Amboise on ice’ skating rink is a blur of colour and music. The cafes spill out on the road, people sit outside enjoying the overcast skies. As we make out way down the winding cobbled path in search for the Manor, the town strikes me as surreal, something straight out of a song in which a princess finds her prince, and they live happily in the their Chateau and take leisurely strolls in the town, stop in a Chocolaterie and indulge in some Rum flavored delicacies.
We manage to find out way to the Clos Luc Manor with some difficulty, the landscape comprises of wet grass, tall trees, swings, and replicas of Lenoardo Da Vincis inventions. There are radical water pumps, tanks, boats among other things, we let loose like children and prance around from one attraction to the other, climbing onto makeshift bridges, exploring contraptions with a curiosity that would have humbled George. The Manor is up ahead, we buy tickets and move on inside to get a glimpse of Da Vincis home. There are more models of his inventions constructed by IBM. There is the tank, the paddle boat and the swing bridge. So ingenuously designed. It is really awe-inspiring to be a part of this experience, to actually be at the very place where the man who painted the ever famous ‘La Gioconda’ breathed his last breath. History is made every minute, as I step down the stairs, observing the Manor, what it offers, the models, the rooms, I realize, with every new person who steps in, the history of the manor changes, the history of that individual changes.

Tempest Talk

2010-02-20T02:54:00.001+01:00

This force inside of me
Doesn’t let me be
It’s a tempest this one,
Still it sets me free...

It’s a furious storm today,
Igniting thoughts away,
It’s a constant drizzle perhaps,
Engendering words so grey...

It’s a vortex this storm,
It’s a force so wild,
It inspires, it propels
This force inside...

Attempt at Haiku

2010-02-08T01:33:00.002+01:00

Riding in the metro
We are like strangers
As winter fades

.........................

Contributions by KOTa

riding the wind
we are dreaming
the spring is here?

walking through the night
strangers become friends
shimmer of the summer awaits

the night is running out
we are worlds apart
autumn of our lives

Letting Go..

2010-02-02T02:06:00.002+01:00

I will start this brief account on philosophy in the usual fashion which is much appreciated by the masses-a list. I love lists really-they are concise and spaced out and if I’m lucky-entertaining. Ergo, the fervor for lists. I love making them, reading them, and putting them up on walls.

10 things I’ve lost in Madrid or should I say..In Madrid..I’ve lost:

1. One earring belonging to a pair; bought after much speculation as to price and quality at GKI-M block Market in New Delhi.
2. The will to iron clothes. I like the dwindling supply of clothes in my closet
3. The inertia that prevented me from cooking meals.
4. The ability to finish books in a day. When you have Organizational Theory readings to devour, who’d like to read fiction anyway? (For the uninitiated: We do not like OT readings and yes this is my feeble attempt at sarcasm; if it is a bit much, please hold thy breath as my pristine philosophy follows soon after)
5. 20 Euros in a club. I believe it was for a good cause. Some poor soul must have been bestowed with 2 more hours of inebriation courtesy my absentminded generosity.
6. My way to the airport. The circular line is just that: CIRCULAR.
7. One earring belonging to pair#2.; bought without any speculation as to price and quality at the famous Janpath (literally: Road of the Masses) Market in New Delhi
8. A couple of kilograms. But this was after I’d gained some. So it’s okay right?
9. All semblance of sanity on weekends. ☺
10. My way to Noviciado.Getting on to the train going in the wrong direction and not realising it till it ends up in the outskirts of the city-Not very promising. Even less promising when you realise there were actually 3 of you and none of you noticed the drastically changing landscape. Ah, but more of that later…

Engrossing as it was to come up with this list, the intent for writing this was in reality to broach issues of change and adaptation or to put it more colloquially-letting go. I have always faced inertia as the bouncer outside the club that greets you when you are dressed all wrong. It sneers, and declares that it won’t let you pass, such is Inertia and its power. It just doesn’t want to let you pass through the gates into something new and exciting, even when you are all ready to go.
So what do you do? Well, I for one,plan to visit that club oh so often, that the bouncer has to let up and let me through.
Lets it hear for change, lets hear it for something new..!

I would never date...

2009-12-30T06:29:00.000+01:00

1. Someone who wears skinny Jeans: These are gods gift to WOMEN, not men. I can’t be with a guy who has the same jeans as me.
2. Someone who pays more attention to his hair than me: Tresses are important but hair narcissism is something I cannot condone.
3. Someone whose vocabulary comprises only “cool” and “rocking”:Kindergarten got over 2 decades ago.
4. Someone who has more shoes than me: The concept of Metrosexual man may be endearing in magazines but when it comes to shoes-I’d like to boast of a bigger collection please.
5. Someone who believes that empty roads are Gods way of telling him to drive at 200 kmph :I agree testosterone makes men trigger-happy** but I am not risking my life for a dim-witted display of bravado.
6. Someone who behaves like a Page-3 socialite when in reality he owns a grocery store :If you can’t respect your life I can’t respect you. Capisce?
7. Someone who is fussy about food: I have known guys to eat anything and everything. I’d like to hold that thought please.
8. Someone whose life revolves around alcohol: There are better elixirs in life. Period.
9. Someone who wears jewellery: Shallow as it may be, if the guy wears more jewellery than me, I think I will probably get confused and think he is me.
10. Someone who thinks that dating a woman is like wielding a high tech gadget: Have you heard of Women’s Liberation my love? If you want a show dog, I know some nice pet-shops.

**- I owe the usage of this word to Mrinal “trigger-happy” Yadava. Gracias ☺

Travel Travails

2009-12-28T20:58:00.000+01:00

Madrid

Whoever said that traveling is always fun, enlightening and brimming with heart-warming experiences clearly didn’t travel in Europe during Christmas break. The world becomes a different place altogether during this inferno of Santa and Snow. It’s not that Narnia of magic and smooth transitions but a vortex of delays, missed flights and flight diversions.
So, having finished my final submissions for the semester and having bid happy holidays to all my friends in Madrid I set off for Barajas Airport in Madrid amidst fresh snowfall. Of course, at that time my naïveté, had me thinking of how beautiful everything looked and not of impending delays.
So even when I saw serpentine queues at the KLM check in counter at the airport and the sign “Delayed” flash next to my flight to Amsterdam, I still thought everything would come around. But after having stood in the queue for more an hour, my enthusiasm started to dwindle akin to the effects of Prozac on a patient ,and I didn’t feel so optimistic anymore. I grabbed a croissant and started the mile long walk towards the boarding gate-what surprised me was that even though the flight status said delayed and the check-in lady affirmed to bad weather conditions, why were we still required to board.
I was one of the last few people to enter the aircraft-and how I hate this, on two counts. Firstly, I never get space for my carry on baggage if I enter late. Secondly, since people have nothing better to do like read, sleep etc, they all stare at the late arrival like he/she is an actor in a low budget drama. Thousand staring eyes spells unnerved me like no other. But even though this logic had me anticipating the worst I was able to rest my bags comfortably in a semi-empty overhead compartment with the help of a generous gentleman and I don’t particularly remember anyone’s piercing gaze.
Then long wait in the aircraft began-the snow had to be cleared, the weather had to ameliorate, and the planets had to align. When did that happen, I don’t exactly remember, because I was fast asleep.

Amsterdam.

The aircraft circles the snow covered land mass, which contrasts sharply with the blue of the seas. As the plane lands in Amsterdam in the morning, I am craving a hot breakfast, which I finally have to take to- go from Burger King due to paucity of time. The boarding announcement for the flight to New Delhi flashes every five minutes, prompting me to walk faster and not indulge in duty-free shopping. I reach the boarding gates and have a sigh of relief only to wait there for another hour - squatting on the floor on my jacket.

New Delhi

Flight is an hour delayed ofcourse, and the immigration queue I end up in is crawling, I am not complaining though. I am home and loving it.
So the weather conditions aren’t ideal and exactly conducive to air travel around Christmas time, but everyone wants to be home at this time of the year, and would go through any thing to make sure they do. All the delays and running from one gate to another, standing in queues and sitting on floors seems so trivial when you compare it to where it takes you-Home.
I’d love to be in this inferno of Santa and Snow year after year ;)

Year roundup

2009-12-14T23:48:00.001+01:00

The impending economics final exam tomorrow has me probably in a thought frenzy making my verbosity come to life in this form, or has indeed rendered me foolish for instead of reading for tomorrow I am here, intending to write on matters of existential relevance and economic irrelevance. However, feeling Christmassy a tad, I want to spare you the clichéd thoughts running through my head about the alacrity of time and the onset of quarter life crisis.
So late, on this Monday night as temperatures crawl towards the sub zero range, ushering in a feeling of glee at the prospect of impending snow, I realise that the year is indeed about to come to an end. Well, silly me for having ignored that realization so far, but when you have intriguing papers on platform markets to devour, who cares about such trivialities right?
So, the customary favourites for 2009 have to be listed without further ado and here they are- The overrated-only-appreciated-by-me Award nominees

Song of the Year 2009
1.Who will save your soul-Jewel
2. If you could only see-Tonic
3. Lost-Coldplay
4. Lucky Man-The Verve
5.Cowboy Take me away-Dixie Chics

Book of the year 2009
1. Power of Now-Eckhart Tolle
2. The Secret- Rhonda Byrne
3. Many Lives Many masters- Dr. Brian Weiss
4. A New Earth-Eckhart Tolle
5. Eat, pray, Love- Elizabeth Gilbert

City of the Year 2009
1. Mumbai, India
2. Madrid, Spain
3. San Sebastian, Spain
4. New Delhi, India
5. Guangzhou, China

Movie of the Year 2009
1. Curious Case of Benjamin Buttons
2. Garden State
3. Sweet November
4. Lock Stock and Two Smoking barrels
5. Rock and Rolla

Event of the year 2009
1. Cooking Chicken Tikka Masala
2. Watching the first snowfall of my life
3. Learning SPSS
4. Cycling through San Sebastian
5. Watching Real at Santiago Bernabeu

Winners to be declared soon..although this is a purely discretionary award, votes are welcome :)

Scribbled on Page 179 of Milgrom ROberts-Chapter on Moral Hazards and Performance Incentives

2009-12-10T12:46:00.002+01:00

A cold winter morn,
full of eager yearn,
foggy from yesterday,
tumbles through the grey.

brrrr.

Back to Business.

10 Things I've learnt in Madrid ( which I have taken upon myself to pass on to the world)

2009-11-20T13:50:00.004+01:00

1. Do not put a baguette in a bag full of other groceries. This would cause the said baguette to split into two and fall on the ground mid-way between the grocery store and your apartment.
-First Occurrence: Day 2 of stay
-Frequency of baguette drops till date: 3

2. Do not leave the house with promises of returning early. This almost never happens.
-First Occurrence: Day 1 of Stay
-Frequency of broken promises till date: 3456

3. Ask for directions and prepared to be surprised. Every time. For the uninitiated, the warmth with which the Spanish people direct you to your destination is just short of a hug.:)
-First Occurrence: Day 1 of Stay
-Frequency of being directed by happy passersby till date: 50

4.Do not say no to Sangria. That's Sacrilege.( Not for cultural reasons , but you'd be a fool not to have it)
-First Occurrence: Day 7 of stay
-Frequency of saying no to sangria till date: 3

5. Do not venture out to look for a Ferreteria ( Hardware Store) on a Saturday afternoon at 2 pm. You'd find it but it would be shut. (The same can be generalised for other small specialised stores)
-First Occurence: Month 2 of Stay
-Frequency of failed ferreteria searches till date: 1

6.Jaywalking works.
-First occurrence (involuntary): Day 3 of stay
-Frequency of jaywalking incidents till date: 500

7. Tapas is not Dinner and will never be. Do not confuse Tapas with a full meal. It isn't. I've learnt the hard way, so I suggest plan a meal before or after Tapas in order to satiate those hunger pangs.
-First occurrence: Week 1 of stay
-Frequency of feeling hungry after tapas outings till date: 10

8. Talking to taxi drivers is fun. Particularly in your limited Spanish.
-First occurrence: Hour 1 of Stay
-Frequency of fun conversations till date: 12

9. The sun never sets in Madrid. Not so much literally, but the parties start at 2 am and end at 7 am or even later..(unfortunately I haven't been around to usher in the end of the dancing). Dinner starts at 10 pm. You have 24 hours for everything, except sleeping.
-First Occurrence: Day 1 of stay
-Frequency of late days till date: 70

10. Dogs are everywhere. In streets, in shops, in restaurants. For someone who is petrified of dogs ( although I must admit my neighbors dog Laila has begun to grow on me)that is NOT good news.
-First occurrence: Day 1 of Stay
-Frequency of encounters till date: 88

Notes on Mortality

2009-11-12T02:30:00.001+01:00

Commercial Pursuits seem to be in vain really. Mortality being imminent, why on earth do we need to go on and engage in these apparently officious and ostentatious activities that seem to do no-one any good really. Of course, I’m saying assuming everyone engages in commercial pursuits that have the sole objective of enhancing and aiding their hedonistic desires.
Do we need to live life in such a way that we make lives of other people better? Other people who are significantly worse off than we are, and there are a lot of those in this world. Or do we just go about our own lives, trying to achieve the best for us, monetarily, socially, emotionally, spiritually? Of course, if we are to become apostles of the school of thought that says “yes” to question number two, then the normal construct of the society and commerce is adhered to. However when I am inclined to swing to question number one, I feel, that if everyone had the same thought, there would be a total breakdown of the system and of course, that would be really really bad. So I guess, being pragmatic is not ideal if I want to live in the affirmative with respect to question number one.
Having rambled on so far, the lessons to be learnt from the imminent mortality briefly mentioned above, should certainly be highlighted now. The years given to us are finite, but rather than count the number of moments that life gives to us, we need to look at the number of moments we give life to. Hell, do what we must-commerce, charity, travel, …name it. But do it right.
This was so not what I intended to get to when I started writing, but writing is like traveling into the unknown. You know where you start, but you never known where you end. -Amen

The Economics of Being "Nice"

2009-10-29T01:58:00.005+01:00

If utopia were something that existed, it would probably be a situation where blogs with titles like these ceased to exist, for people wouldn’t really want an answer to this question. That, however, would not bode too well for me, because then either no one would read this (assuming some readership now) for my writing would be regarded hyperbole and ergo not warrant any flicker of interest. On second thought, utopia would probably deter me from harbouring such ideas in the first place, so the very reason this (this being the words that I am writing now) exists, is the inherent absence of utopia.
At several points in my life I have succumbed to decadent thoughts, those which propel me to wonder-“ Is being ‘nice’ the right strategy?”. I use the word strategy here because I am a fledgling in the world of game theory and having been recently enamoured by Nash Equilibrium, and seduced by the world of strategies and concepts of the like, I feel this propelling urge to appease my narcissistic side. Having managed to successfully drift away from the topic I promised to dive into at the very inception of this endeavour, I think any further procrastination albeit comic relief attempts might warrant a change in the title.
Let us assume that being “nice” or “not nice” are the two strategies that two individuals have.
Let the names of these individuals/players be “ Phelangie” and “Phoebe”

Whereby in (x,y) we have payoffs of Phleangie (x) and Phoebe (y).The payoffs are written so assuming that when a player plays a nice strategy and in turn gets a not nice strategy he gives all the benefit to the player receiving the “nice” behaviour award. Also, when both players choose “not nice” strategies, then the payoff is in negative as the society as a whole also suffers from the absence of “nice” behaviour.
Assuming this is a one shot game and both the players act simultaneously, we can elaborate as follows:
If Phoebe plays nice, Phelangie would chose strategy not nice so as to get a payoff of 20.
If Phoebe plays not nice, Phelangie would play strategy nice to get a pay off of 0.
If Phelangie plays Nice, Phoebe would play strategy Not Nice to get a pay off of 20.
If Phelangie plays Not Nice, Phoebe would play a strategy of nice get a payoff of 0.
We get 2 Nash Equilbriums stating that Phelangie and Phoebe would play the following Strategies:
Phoebe-Nice, Phelangie-Not Nice (20,0)
Phoebe-Not Nice, Phelangie-Nice (0,20)
So economics clearly states that there is NO rationale for people to be nice to each other simultaneously.
Maybe this is what explains when on any given day, a stranger smiles at you, the lady in the bus gives you her seat, your friends bring over flowers when you are feeling unwell, and someone says something nice to you while you have nothing to offer except a frown.
Converse: Stop wondering why others aren’t exhibiting the “nice” behaviour you dish out their way. :P

PS: I am new to this. Corrections are welcome. However, I must warn you, a correction may prompt me to ask you for help with economics homework.

Life in Fast Forward-I

2009-10-06T02:17:00.001+02:00

Absence of words in my life make me feel defunct and non-existent, but it’s written words I am talking about and not spoken ones. There is no dearth of conversations out here. The conversations in my head however seem to have been given a horse tranquilizer, after which they were last spotted with a backpack on the periphery of my head, waving goodbyes without much promise of a prompt return. Now that scares me-horse tranquilizer and travel plans don’t seem to be congruous, but then again when did you ever hear about personified thoughts doing inane things?
While I construct these inane sentences, I realize that the past month has been a blur of activity. Perhaps since the day I left New Delhi, I haven’t really had the time to sit down and just be by myself without some task at hand or some conversation to indulge in. As the clouds of the inertia start to dissipate, I realize that the travel to Spain was indeed quite flawless and brought with it some people that I will probably not be able to forget so easily. Not that they were grandiose in their gestures or anything out of the ordinary, but just that they were there at the right time..kind of wizarding* my journey into one that can not be forgotten so easily. I guess I owe a thank you to: the lady at the check in counter, at IGI Airport, New Delhi the genteel male steward aboard the BA flight to London, the gentleman on the seat next to mine, Janet in the BA flight to Madrid and the taxi driver who drove me to my hotel in Madrid.
Travel is a word that engenders mixed feelings among people. By Travel here I am referring to the passage of time in moving from one airport to another. From the euphoric enthusiast to the pessimistic business travelers, the feeling varies like day and night. Airport Travel can be particularly fun, and even a way to be present intensely in the now (Reference: The Power of Now and the New Earth by Eckhart Tolle). Here are a few ideas (picked up from personal experience) to enjoy those dreaded fifteen (ten?) hours or more of travel and transit time:

1. Always be nice to the personnel checking in your luggage, immigration officers and security check officers. Smile, talk, exchange cordial words and some inane information. This makes them happy and will make you happy as well.
2. Always set aside some space in your hand bag so you can store some duty free shopping product in it. While not necessary, duty free shopping is useful in killing the long transit hours in the wee hours of the morning. Even if you buy only a bar of chocolate, the thrill of browsing the aisles in these shops is something that can make the most insipid of journeys a little interesting.
3. Perch yourself on a table in one of the many cafes at the airport with a coffee and a magazine or a book and just observe the people ambling by. It can be quite an engaging experience to try and figure out the nationalities and destinations of people from the way they are dressed.
4. Loading your mp3 player with music containing idyllic lyrics can actually soothe your nerves and perhaps transport you to your destination whilst you are waiting to board the aircraft even.
5. In long haul flights, a mix of books like an engaging paperback novel (I recommend Eat, Pray Love by Elizabeth Gilbert), collection of poems, and some periodicals can keep you nicely occupied, intermittently with bouts of sleep.
6. Talk. To your co-passengers in the aircraft, the man behind you in the queue, or the friendly kids on the next table. You don’t need to exchange personal information to share a few laughs and conversations and the best part is that there is a mutual understanding that the conversation would truncate at the cessation of the journey or the end of transit. Cute deal that.
7. Try and orient yourself with the airport prior to departure. On arriving at the airport you’d feel like you are trying to piece together a giant jigsaw puzzle when trying to maneuver the ways.

* Wizarding: A word coined mid-conversation by Janet Kagan and myself aboard the British Airways Flight from London to Madrid to denote an infusion of that unquantifiable extra variable into something banal and routine.
Going Further I would like to use the symbol *w to indicate the wizarding variable. This variable would have to be used with different constants depending upon its usage in different contexts. In the Luxury Hospitality Sector for instance *wH can be a measure of how well the Hotel/Resort can enhance the customers experience over and above the expected outcome.

Order/Chaos

2009-09-04T22:34:00.001+02:00

The area outside the arrivals terminal at the IGI Airport is a traffic nightmare today with cars strewn across everywhere, and add to that the flurry of passengers who are running late, trying to dodge the cars and the trolleys, an innocent passerby would probably flip at the pandemonium that is probably breaking out before his eyes.

But then again, it’s a sordid dance of sorts, this chaos isn’t it? Order in Chaos some wise men call it, and Delhi is quintessentially that. So it is no surprise when my car manages to bumper-graze another car. It isn’t even worth a frown.

As the driver eases the humble hatchback out on to the road, we are accosted by a recalcitrant man, ordering our driver out of our vehicle. I am shaken from my reverie by the commotion and realize it would be prudent to step out for a reconnaissance. Turns out, the car whose bumper has been so grossly grazed and thus violated, is a BMW. My shiny hatchback looks green with envy inspite of its metallic tinge, but I see some shade of pride too, since it has very conveniently manage to leave it’s mark on the ever so spiffy bimmer.

I stoop low to inspect the damage and see nothing at first glance. I adjust my thick glasses and there in front of me is a scratch all of 1mm staring at me right in the face. The chauffeur of the BMW seems to be in a frenzy of sorts, reiterating the fact that the car is indeed a BMW and his company would not be pleased to know of the damage. A police patrol car pulls in, and two cops step out and continue to lurk in the background. The driver of the hatchback clearly believes in quid pro quo and is on the defensive, rebuffing all accusations being thrown his way and throwing in his own conjured accusations for good measure. I am a little melancholy from the events the day has managed to transpire, and maybe that attenuates my inclination to launch a full-blown offensive. The cops seem to have had a look at the “scratch” and I can see them muster a quite laugh from the corner of my eye-this makes me feel resplendent. I bring up the topic of chaotic Delhi roads and how a car in Delhi cannot operate on the roads until it has bumped at least one car a day-somewhat like a right of passage. Pun intended. I look at the cops, and they seem to be nodding in approval. Bless them I think.

A call to the chauffer’s superior, a quick tête-à-tête, and it seems that I’ve managed to convince him that neither his driver nor mine is to blame. “It’s the chaos sir”, I tell him. And it is.

The story ends with the chauffer thanking me with a toothy grin, me thanking the cops for their patience and laughter and all three parties returning to their vehicles with a sigh of relief, thankful for the order that was ushered in by the chaos.

My not-so-little sugar 'n spice

2009-08-29T17:07:00.002+02:00

There is this girl I know
She was so small some years ago,
but she looks bigger than me today.
There is this girl I know…
who makes everyone smile
wherever she goes
she has angels by her side
There is this girl I know...
who fears nothing that comes her away
except the silly mangy dog gone astray
There is this girl I know…
who has dreams in her eyes
her love and her words of compassion
humbles even the aged and wise
There is this girl I know…
who came into my life
one fine morning fifteen years ago
she’s my not-so little sugar ‘n spice!

10 Reasons why I love Delhi...

2009-08-27T23:12:00.002+02:00

1. The brilliant night-time driving on the wide well lit roads.
2. The fact that every colony has a shop selling Kathi-rolls, kebabs and momos!
3. How all the shopkeepers from the salesman at Shoppers-Stop to the guy selling kolhapuris(A kind of Indian Slipper) at Central Market to the fruit vendor reply to the call “bhaiyya”( Elder brother).
4. The crazy bollywood masala music on radio which makes you want to dance in the middle of the road.
5. The abundance of key-makers around every corner to ensure easy access to your home/car in the event you lose your precious keys.
6. Riding in cycle rickshaws in the rain in Delhi University.
7. The fact that you can wear a hot red lipstick, flip-flops and a Hawaiian print shirt OR a saree in the middle of the day while shopping and still feel comfortable.
8. You can be half an hour late for a meeting and still be on time.
9. The realization that you can stop your car anywhere on the road anytime you feel like.
10. The long green stretch from Panchsheel Club to Chirag Delhi Flyover.

Karma Quotient

2009-08-22T09:15:00.002+02:00

As I my mind dwells on the pages of the books I put down some minutes ago, I realize that my hands might have stopped turning its pages, but its words are still hanging like vapor on a humid day around my head.
It’s a little disconcerting when thoughts collide, not angry, brutal thoughts but just thoughts of existence, death and other things in between. So I have to take a minute here and perhaps come to an amicable solution.
Is it possible that my existing notions of karma being settled in this very lifetime are giving way to the concept of reincarnation of souls? I was always an apostle of the theory of the neutral playing field-whatever goes around comes around, and not in the next lifetime or the lifetime after that, but in this very life itself. But Hindu mythology, and others, particularly the author of the book I’m reading say otherwise. It is over a period of many lives that we settle our debts and make up for our wrongs. It takes time, and we come back again and again until that is fulfilled. So, as we all let out a collective sigh for that lie we told that morning and think it won’t come back to us just yet, I say think again.
Maybe, it is possible for both these thoughts to co-exist, I wonder. We have often heard of some past life encounters sometimes from an old friend whose neighbours aunt started calling out names of her Rajasthani grandparents in a former life, or courtesy the evenings news featuring some child in a rural village in Haryana speaking fluent French. Bhagvad Gita also validates the concept of reincarnation when Lord Krishna tells Arjuna that he would return millennium after millennium to restore order and re-establish principles.

“yada yada hi dharmasya glanir bhavati bharata
abhyutthanam adharmasyatadatmanam srjamy aham
paritranaya sadhunamvinasaya ca duskrtam
dharma-samsthapanarthayasambhavami yuge yuge”

Translation

Whenever and wherever a decline of righteousness and a predominance of unrighteousness prevails; at that time I manifest myself personally, O descendant of Bharata.

Apart from this reference there are several other references in the Gita that directly assert that the soul is eternal and it takes the human form over and over.

“acchedyo'yam adahyo'yam akledya'sosya eva ca
nityah sarva-gatah sthanur acalo'yam sanatanah”

Translation

As a person gives up old and worn out garments and accepts new apparel, similarly the embodied soul giving up old and worn out bodies verily accepts new bodies.

Source: www.bhagvad-gita.org

So, assuming that we do re-incarnate over and over until we achieve a higher learning curve, there has to be something that is applicable to this life as well. I mean c’mon I cant believe we run amock lawless in this life, thinking, hey-it’s A-OK because, I will settle it all in the next life, and even better, I won’t remember any of it! I think, there needs to be a cut off line as to what we can pass on to our next life and what we must settle here in this lifetime. Like you know, a minimum amount due kind of a feature we have in our credit card statements. Those initiated in the ways of plastic money would know what I’m talking about.

So lets say, there should be a dossier somewhere talking about various permissible wrongdoings we can set off in this life, and then those which are carried forward to next life, much like the accumulated depreciation for those familiar with the accounting world. So ideally, ideally we should try and restrict our offences to the Schedule A of the dossier (wrongdoings that can be set off in this lifetime) to ensure a comfortable life in the future. But, then again, comes the question, if we already committed say a Schedule B (wrongdoings that are carried forward to the next lifetime) offence say within the first thirty years of our existence, so one might think that since we anyway have to bear the brunt of that in the next life, we might as well go crazy committing Schedule B offences, right?

So we incorporate some clauses to make this right. For instance there could be a Clause A.1 specifying the number of Schedule B.1 (least offensive) offences that will ensure an increase in future lifetimes. Ex; If an individual indulges/commits “x” activities listed in Schedule B.1, then the number of lives he must appear in to absolve himself/herself (or to write off those activities) will be defined as LnB1= n+x/3, where “n” is the number of the lifetime in which he/she committed/indulged in that lifetime and “LnB1” is the total number of lives the individual must appear in as per lifetime “n” because of offense committed under Schedule B.1.

Therefore the increase in lives over this one by virtue of committing a Schedule B.1 offence can be written as:

LB1=LnB1-n ; where “LB1“ is the lifetime determinant by virtue of offence committed under Schedule B.1

Similarly we have;
LnB2= n+x/2; where “LnB2” is the total number of lives the individual must appear in as per lifetime “n” because of offense committed under Schedule B.2.
LB2= LnB2-n; where LB2 is the lifetime determinant by virtue of offence committed under Schedule B.2 (moderately offensive)

And;
LnB3= n+x; where “LnB3” is the total number of lives the individual must appear in as per lifetime “n” because of offense committed under Schedule B.3.
LB3= LnB3-n where LB3 is the lifetime determinant by virtue of offence committed under Schedule B.3 (most offensive)

Another clause that is of critical importance is Clause A.2. This would probably have something to with the quality of the future life as determined by the present one. So if an individual curtails his activities to Schedule A, although he will pay for his Schedule A offences in this lifetime, the quality of his future life(s) will proportionately decrease. (Like, even if you pay the minimum amount due on your credit card statement, you’re fine, but you still got to pay the interest on the remaining amount).

So we have Qn+1= Qn. (1/x); where “Qn+1” is the Quality of life in the life following the present life. “Qn” is the Quality of life in the present life and “x” is the number of Schedule A offences committed
.
KQ= {LB1(Qn+1)}+ {LB2(Qn+1)} + {LB3(Qn+1)}; where “KQ” is Karma Quotient by virtue of wrongdoings.

One might wonder, that there should be another element to the Karma Quotient. Which works on the basis of the good one might have done over the period of his/her life. We won’t dwell on that in the section because, by virtue of THAT I’m sure coming back as a rodent in the next life. I’m not ready for that realization yet. So watch this space for Karma Quotient-the sequel.
Considering the way our population is escalating, it would be difficult to work with the above algorithm and expect a fair answer to an individuals Karma quotient. There might need to be a case-by-case study, which might be beyond the comprehension of an artificial intelligence. And then again, the very comprehension of drawing up a Schedule A and B of the dossier will have the best of philosophers stupefied. After all is there a universal right and wrong? Is there a universal truth or lie?
Perhaps, that’s why we have a God.

An Ode to the Compass

2009-08-17T23:10:00.002+02:00

The roads are many,
The right ones are few,
This night is good as any
for I have promises to renew

The distance stretches out,
The journey is sparkling new,
I will travel till the end of time,
Even if hurts to say adieu.

Lost are some on roads,
Consumed are some by pain,
Nostalgia is a feisty demon,
Farewell drives many insane

I stand on a dusty corner,
In the distance the mountains call,
I pray for a guide, a direction
Point me to my being, amidst this squall.

Flutter,Flutter.

2009-08-15T20:15:00.001+02:00

Maybe it’s the day, and I feel the collective sense of euphoria Indians feel this day, maybe it is the Codeine Phosphate in my system sensitising me to inane stimuli, maybe it is books on past-life therapy that are making me think beyond the usual realms someone’s imagination can run to. Whichever one of these reasons are inspiring me to write this, what is really transpiring is that these kites I see flying in the sky, have me in a symbolic trance of sorts. Life isn’t much different from these paper carved creatures whizzing past each other this evening. A gust of wind lifts them high, a lull heaves them down. A slight ease in the tenacity of the string has them lunging for the earth, a firm pull has them fluttering with a cautious abandon. And then, out of nowhere, come these predatory kites, cut your string, have you plummeting to the ground. You grope around some, pick yourself up, tie another string, and wait, wait for that gust of wind.

10 Steps to International Drivers License acquisition

2009-07-30T22:26:00.001+02:00

My love and need for bureaucratic government departments doesn’t seem to die out. It even instills in me this generosity to make available details of the application process on my blog. Now that is some love I’d say.

1.Requirements: Ability to breathe in depleted oxygen levels and a dash of resilience for the sporadic brusqueness that may come your way. Apart from these two pivotal requirements (I say pivotal because their absence can spin your head oh so round) you’d also require a pen, glue, original license, original passport, original visa , photocopies of the before mentioned three documents and 4 passport sized photographs. (it’s actually 3, but in case you find a cute guy/girl lined up behind you, you can inadvertently drop the extra photo with your number written behind it.:) In case you were thinking, if that’s how I meet men, then no you’re wrong. Transport Department has boring crowd. Try the same at the Passport office. ;)

2. Queues are a myth created by mankind but fear not -some gumption goes a long way : The enquiry counter is always the hotspot at places where a lot can go wrong( and it does go wrong). The place in question here, also had one of course with a motley crowd standing around it. My attempts to locate a queue were in vain because there did not seem to be one. So three very kind gentlemen see right through the very opaque looking me and manage to get ahead in the crowd, I realize it’s time to put the next man in place. And put him in place I did. Excerpt from the conversation:

Me: Do you mind Sir? There is a queue here. (No there wasn’t a queue, but I got there first!)
Disgruntled boy: Frowns (in reply)
(Crowd in front of me thins out, and as I head towards the counter…)
Disgruntled boy: (to man behind counter) I’m a tool. I’m a tool. I’m a tool. (Of course he didn’t say that, I don’t really remember now -*malicious grin* )
Me: Aap ko samajh nahin aaya? Queue! (Don’t you get it you doofus, there is a Queue here)
Disgruntled boy: (amidst grunts and snorts) Kya queue? (What queue?)
Me: Push-Nudge-Look defiant. REPEAT.

3. Room 217: The beautiful symphony of application for the international driving permit is conducted from this room. Kind of like the Vatican of the International License application process. Here, you must produce your passport and license, quickly grab on to a form handed out to you to fill and listen to the list of documents required to be submitted (mentioned above in the same post) in sweet rapture.

4. Medical Examination-Fear no more!: Now one of the documents that need to be provided is a medical certificate. Not having had the foresight to have thought of this prior to my decision to embark upon this joyous mission, I realized I’d have to pay a visit to the in house doctor at the transport department building who had a room juxtaposed to room 217. (No, I exaggerate, it was down the hall☺). On indicating my desire to get a medical certificate I was instructed to fill another form. The doctor then proceeded to sign the same and ten minutes and fifty bucks later I had a certificate attesting my good health and happiness.

5. Room 217: See, it all comes back to room 217. You can’t do one thing here without the approval from Room 217. So I was going to do just that.
Me: “Look at my shiny new certificate! What prize do I get for it?”.
ANSWER from Room 217: “ You get to pay the fee and get the hell outta here!”
( Note: This conversation happened ONLY in my head)

6. Paying the fee: Now there was a serpentine queue outside the room you go to deposit the fee. This freaked me out a little bit. Thoughts of self doubt starting crawling down my back, later I realized it was perspiration. A few questions later, I realized that was not the queue I was suppose to be a part of. As it turned out there was no queue for depositing the fee for the international driving permit. So that was pretty darn quick. Five hundred Rupees, does the trick.

7. Room 217: Fill up a booklet (which is going to be your LICENSE btw) and sign your name in a couple of places with a flourish, after presenting the receipt for depositing the fee. You are then told to come back in the afternoon.

8. The return: This happens in the afternoon. Did for me atleast. We are required to hover around Room 217. (Remember-the temple?). A nod beckons us inside, and we are handed the documents and booklets and instructed to go to room 211.

9. Room 211: Not as important as Room 217 as you may have figured. But this room holds the key to cementing the entire process. The holy grail of all of the twenty million signatures that are required on the booklet.

10. Room 217,Yawn: So now, you know you’re almost done. So you have a smile playing at the corners of your lips. You present the documents with an unparalleled confidence. The guy stamps it at a zillion places, and just when you think that there is no surface area left for the green stamp to leave its mark except the wood on the table, the guy looks up with triump. Woohoo! It’s done!

2009-07-23T22:37:00.000+02:00

Dissipating winds
Over lands wet,
Wet from the rain
Over prolific thoughts
Of people and places
Dissipating winds
Displacing leaves and faces
~

Life Lessons Over Greek Salad

2009-07-09T23:09:00.003+02:00

As the Camarero brought the salad over to my side of the table, I was curious as to taste that it would have to offer. It was no surprise though, when it turned out to be devoid of any mote of salt even. Not to be deterred by the absence of sodium chloride and other flavourful substances, I promptly proceeded to spruce up the multicolored salad (which had guest appearances by feta cheese and green pitted olives) with salt, oregano, olive paste and chili flakes. I intended to make the most of my culinary moment. My gastronomic ambitions can not be crippled so easily I thought to myself, as I instructed the garcon to sprinkle freshly ground black pepper on the revamped salad.
Maybe it was the salad or maybe it was the dim light at the Italian restaurant or the fact that I was eating a Greek salad at an Italian restaurant, either way, I realized in a state of stupor, that little moments in life or hell, life itself, is like a plateful of insipid salad. Agreed, the salad was more edible than some of the grotesque things that comes our way on a daily basis (if you’ve hit a particularly low point) or the one of those dementor like apparitions that confound us once every full moon with the occasional werewolf like demons. But really, those dark ghosts and ghouls aside, life mostly deals us raw vegetables without seasoning.
Now, the first reflex of any individual who unknowingly ordered the insipid salad, who is obviously looking to broaden the horizon of his/her palate, would be to grimace, look around helplessly, crib/complain to fellow diners then settle down deep in the seat with a submissive shrug. Some individuals with particularly resilient and pugnacious genetic material would argue some and get their order replaced with a run of the mill spaghetti arabiatta. Same applies for banal life situations. A boring day, a lonely hour, a particularly hackneyed moment.
What I would advocate is (by virtue of sheer experience-not that I have much of it, but I am writing this so yes, read on), a sincere look around the table. Oft, there are enough spices and condiments to make that moment come about. I sure found the requisite amount to save the Greek salad from the abyss of the garbage dump.

Thoughts of España….and some other nebulous ones thrown in for good measure

2009-07-06T20:01:00.000+02:00

A year ago, when I watched Thierry Henry score a splendid goal for FC Barcelona at Camp Nou against Real Valladollid, little did I know that at this time of the year I’d be packing my bags to move to the country of Paella, Flamenco and some kick ass football. Living in France for three odd months I knew I had a special affinity to this part of the world, what with the Café Crème’s, Lemon Meringue’s and leisurely walks around the streets in the ear numbing cold, becoming a daily ritual of sorts. Ofcourse, there were the evenings fraught with loss of dexterity at the impending thought of preparing a meal to feed myself, but I somehow managed to survive courtesy goat cheese pizzas, crazily concocted fajitas, hash browns, baguettes, gouda cheese and Haagen Dazs.
At this point, I am mighty curious as to what life of a doctoral candidate would entail. I can picture myself with thick glasses (thicker than the ones I wear now) bent over Adam Smith’s Wealth of Nations or Hofstedes Culture’s Consequences in dim candlelight with a magnifying glass. (I guess my imagination is fueled from some book written in the1800’s). Apart from this mental image from the dark ages, there are the reoccurring thoughts of travel to Prague which have me walking on the Charles Bridge at midnight listening to the Moonlight Sonata as the light from the nearby houses bounces off the sparkling river. As I am lost in this reverie, a part of me brings my thoughts back to Spain.
I am the kind of traveler who loves all things travel. The pre-planning, the planning, the journey, the travel, the wandering, the unpacking. All of it. Even the wait at airport is something I can take in without much grumbling.(No, I am not on Prosaic)So of course, the days leading up to the date I leave for Madrid, are of as much significance as is the actual arrival and the post arrival days.
Visa application, Ticket Booking, accommodation hunting online, opening a bank account, purchasing insurance and several other mundane tasks that ought to be carried out in this phase, make one feel even closer to the destination than they might be in reality. So having visited the Spain Embassy twice now and looked at a thousand apartments virtually, I feel I am already there, living the Spanish life, the Sombreros and the Siestas all included.

Invincible

2009-06-28T00:51:00.001+02:00

I never thought to be that person who would grieve the loss of a pop-icon. But here I am dedicating this blog to Michael Jackson-He who rocked my world for some twenty odd years, and will continue to do for many years to come.
Michael and I go a long way back. Somewhere in the early 1990’s someone gifted me the album “Dangerous”. And since that day all the colours were either “black or white“. Even as years progressed dear Michael always managed to figure in my life somehow. Whether it was “Give in to me” as suggested by a very special person at a point of time, or “Stranger in Moscow” downloaded after the very positive recommendation from a friend, MJ has given me music that has given shape to so many of my life memories. The drives on roads along the Mandovi in Panjim, would have been so different without his Grammy nominated “ You are not alone”. I know these words are fraught with nostalgia. But that’s what music does, a familiar tune is enough to push you down those old paths. Music lives on forever.

In the opinion of some cynics, revering Michael Jackson could possibly be a result of the mass adulation wave that rose tsunami like when the news of his death became public. But then, the eternal optimist (recent converted) that I am, I’d have to say, such was his impact on music in the decades gone by. I am not writing this to reiterate the accolades he might have to his name-we have the wikipedias of the world to do the needful on that front.
It has been asserted by some publically , and some even close to me that the death of Michael Jackson is fortuitous in that it leaves the world a safer place for children. Now, I agree allegations and suspicious out of court settlements have marred MJ’s career since the early 1990’s, add to that several rhinoplasties and idiosyncrasies and you have someones life all mangled on the front pages of tabloids worldwide. Michael Jackson was a singer and a great one at that too, the world loves/d his songs and moves, yet somehow when all the media frenzy came to do the rounds, we seemed to promptly forget his forte and decided to focus on all the negativity. I am not saying we ought to condone his misdoings, but amidst all the controversy it is imperative to remember that MJ was an individual, and like so many of us out there, had some flaws. Agreed, being a public figure everything does tend to get completely out of proportion and makes for lucrative headlines. All of us have some dark secret in our lives at some point of time, and it would be highly unpleasant to see it being sold at a few cents a piece on a newsstand. So maybe this once, we can let a great singer rest in peace, and remember him for what his music was: Invincible.

Perro Pathos

2009-06-23T23:43:00.002+02:00

I have wanted to write a witty story with the above title for about two years now. It was first intended to be “Perro Pathos-Ek kutte ki dard bhari kahani” (Perro-Pathos-One dogs painful story). I contemplated writing about life from a dogs perspective, having encountered atleast one dog in every campus I have managed to study in or visit over the years. Somehow, the discussions and thoughts never materialized into anything substantial or into a first draft for that matter. I brushed off the feeling of abandoning what could have been a masterpiece of contemporary literature, thinking that perhaps I was meant to be scared of dogs eternally and not make them the protagonists of my Pulitzer Prize winning book.
It is only today after my 1,87,645th encounter with Rocky (christened so) and Silly (Conjured up by yours truly) at my haunt of choice for a quick chat and thirst quencher with the girls, did I realize maybe I am attracting the Rockies, Sillies, Jangos, Mochas, Thirsty-D’s the world because of my bad dog Karma.
Bad Dog Karma, you say?
This theory is essentially two fold. Firstly, my fear of dogs has only become more entrenched over the years and not dissipated as anticipated by me and predicted by some wise men/women. I have often heard that dogs can sense fear and get attracted to dimwits who are unable to mask their fears with a brave face. Some like me are even worse, and start an enchanted supplication process which entails chanting names of God, family, friends and willing them to make the dog vanish, all the while with eyes squeezed shut as a dog innocently approaches.
If this is true, then perhaps I have concluded after much thought, that the dogs approach me over and over trying to get across a message that I ought to let go of this fear. But what fails me is how they manage to coordinate their efforts across the National Capital Region.
The Second line of thought is bordering on the Reincarnation of Souls. I have a strong feeling that I was a very notorious dog in my past life, motivating hoards of dogs to fight a gory war to regain territorial control. And now, just for fun, I’ve been born a human in that very territory the dogs had managed to defeat some hundred years ago. No wonder the dogs in the general area always approach me with vengeance.
Now I don’t really know which theory has more proponents at this point, but I can definitely say this in Spanish: Mi perro es fiero y fuerte. ( My dog is fierce and strong)..and lest you think otherwise, I don’t have a dog. I just like to talk about them.
(Disclaimer: All of the above mentioned dog names are written as heard/concocted by the writer for comic relief purposes ONLY. Any resemblance to humans with similar names is purely coincidental)

2009-06-19T17:34:00.001+02:00

The evening was quite luminous
Then the night descended
And changed everything….

The perception, the visage of love
Was distorted and dark
The thoughts transitioned
Dancing their insouciant outlandish dance
Their serpentine caress
Albeit the sagacious charm

Resuscitated soon after though,
The dark attenuated to grey
The chimera abated

It’s a manic world as they say
But somehow it’s just right.

Revolutionizing the Inveterate Systems

2009-06-15T10:37:00.004+02:00

As I step into the Patiala house courts grounds for the first time, I am confronted with a bleak reality. Amidst the deplorable state of cleanliness and the general disarray I am forced to face the thought that perhaps we need to awake to the need for a radical change –a radical shift in the functioning of administrative divisions.
Given my newfound optimism in life, I was able to cast a blind eye to the disorder at the passport offices, but a quick trip to the MEA offices for apostillization had me thudding back to reality.
Going with the optimistic tone that I am trying hold here, I will shed only minimalistic radiance on the reasons that compel me to think what I’m thinking.
An average citizen of the country in need for a basic service such as renewal of travel document, flutters to the passport office with much hope having taken the day off from work. He/She hopes he/she has all the documents mandated and progresses at snails pace to the window. Fast forward thirty minutes and he/she has been reprimanded for being in the wrong queue, with the wrong documents and for having created a commotion. The hopeful innocence has trickled down his/her forehead by now and all that is left are fractious fragments of doom.
Another dampner for the complete novitiate could be a sense of complete disillusionment upon arrival. With forms in tow and faith in his/her heart the fledgling arrives promptly at 9 am and looks around for a friendly face and sees none. If he/she could just ask someone -where to go and what to do? So without a scintilla of doubt that his/her resilience would pay off, he/she strides purposefully toward the mass of crowd that looks like a queue. Come, 10 am and our novitiate is standing in a corner sipping water, letting the five varied answers he got from the crowd do their own sordid dance in his/her head.
It would suffice to say that given the rapid development we are observing today in infrastructure (Cometh Commonwealth Games 2010) and other corporate miracles being witnessed everywhere, it is excruciatingly important that the administrative departments progress proportionately if not in tandem.
Perhaps it is time we develop Standard Operating Procedures (SOPs) and Model Business Processes (MBPs) for these wings of the government. It would be interesting to wonder how this might be conceptualized. To begin with the Government can hire consulting firms to study the AS-IS processes of various departments involving interface with the general populace. Followed by which they can carry out a gap analysis and come up with a model process which would expedite the functioning of the department at the same time enhance customer satisfaction (After all we are paying taxes and a fee for the service!). Development of standardized practices all across would result in readily available information at various portals to the citizens of the country to prevent redundancies and omissions, which in turn further enhance the functioning of the departments.
A simplistic illustration; If there are large displays indicating the process of acquiring a new travel document detailing layouts, instructions and lead time, the time devoted to answer incessant questions at application windows could be avoided. Also, we observe that token numbers are distributed to applicants for which they are required to queue up hours before the counter opens up. Now, would it not be easier to install token dispensing machines and utilizing the excess manpower on other domains such as enquiry counter, extra form verification counters, helpdesks?
I would be wrong to say that things have not improved at all over the years-they have indeed. But if we are to say that we are fortified and liberal in our existence as a nation we must replace the hackneyed ways with a professional optimism.

13 Thoughts for the day

2009-06-12T18:02:00.003+02:00

1. What goes around comes around. It's all Karma.

2. Mangoes taste sweeter than they did ever before. Is it me or is it them?

3. Cracking up in a murder mystery where the protagonist is going through a sombre phase , is something that needs to be given a try. Thrice.

4. Body Shop should have a sign saying "Mudra not allowed inside".

5. Bollocks to the literal interpretation of "Corgito, Ergo Sum"

6. Assam tea tastes brilliant even at 41 degrees.

7. God bless the empathetic officials at the collection counter at Passport Office.

8. The Bertlitz Spain guide is waiting to be devoured.

9. Life is now adorned by 4 new books I can't wait to get my eyes into.

10. Playing chauffeur to '' Betty Crocker -gone-berserk' and 'Whacko-laughing/maniac-movie-watcher' is quite fun!

11. Wearing a kurta(http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Kurta) invites less leching on the roads.

12. You can't resist what IS.

13. 'Coming Back to life' is the new anthem.

2009-06-11T20:25:00.001+02:00

The day ends, the journey concludes

My heart still beats with the myriad hues

My mind dwells in memories past

The friends that were, the friends that are

The night descends, with promises in pockets

I wander a little, my thoughts astray

The questions slowly give way to calm

My walk is not aimless, my steps are firm

The journey untold has just begun.

10 Travel Faux Pas

2009-04-13T16:01:00.002+02:00

1. Requesting the ground staff to give you a 'nice' seat, attempting to explain the word 'nice' by contrasting it with the few lecherous inhabitants of my city,particularly like the one in front of me in the check in queue, only turning up in the aircraft to find out that you are sitting next to the very definition of 'not-nice' spilling onto the next seat, but who turns out to be quite harmless in the end.

2. Wearing slim fit jeans so that someone who can ordinarily sit quite comfortably in the most uncomfortable seat in the history of all uncomfortable seats EVER, has to squirm and fidget every five nano seconds.

3. Traveling without a perfume strung below your nose to ward away drafts of fart smell from a co-passenger.

4. Looking forward to an airplane meal only to discover that the meal was just a good looking substance perhaps a hybrid of stones and sawdust.

5. Stuffing twenty books in your backpack to make your suitcase lighter only to realize the precious worth of your fragile vertebrate.

6. Not wearing socks and having your feet break off from your body once frozen, when the aircraft crew thought it would be prudent to simulate arctic temperatures.

7. Waiting out the queues while boarding and feeling witty only to realize that the overhead compartments are all full leaving you looking perplexed and burdened.

8. Writing THIS when the plane is about to land and being told to bugger off with the diary and pen however only a tad more politely.( They can't expect me to jump off now, lets get real)

9. Using the washroom right after someone has spent an enlightening hour clearing their bowel.

10. Spending the entire five hours of the flight whiling away precious night hours with silly activities like day dreaming.

If I were born in Delhi again, I'd like to be a man please, Here is why: ( Yes, I believe I just went a step down on the Women’s lib)

2009-03-12T10:07:00.001+01:00

1. I would be able get drunk at a bar all by myself without harboring tortuous thoughts of sordid and lecherous men coming my way to beat me up and/or pass lewd remarks.

2. I would be able to drive at 1 am at night with the windows rolled down-enjoying the tranquility of the night, and appreciating the width of the roads without having to worry about heart palpitations at the sight of a car nearing mine.

3. I would be able wear shorts in the sweltering heat without thinking 49 times about the repercussions of that minuscule decision.

4. I would be able to take a walk at leisure without having to look behind my back.

5. I would be able to stop the car and relieve myself on the road. (Not really sure if I’d do that though, but it makes for a valid argument)

6. I would be able date ten people at the same time and still be the epitome of morality.

7. I would be able to go to Nehru Place feeling non-descript even if I looked like Hugh Jackman.

8. I would actually be able to act on capricious cravings for chocolate-chip ice cream at 2 am.

9. I would be able travel in DTC at 10 pm and befriend the listless conductor.

10. I would be able to embark on a sightseeing adventure to parts of old Delhi with just a camera in tow.

What's Your Story?

2009-03-07T03:28:00.001+01:00

If I ask you today, ‘what is you story?’ Your answer would probably be a nonchalant shrug followed by a hackneyed “the usual”. If you ask me the same question I’d say the same albeit semantic differences. Now let’s dig deeper…is that really true?

Everyone has a grand plan, a blueprint of sorts. Some make one for themselves; some have it partly drafted for them…by life. And all through we try to ensure that we live according to those charted out plans. Illustration#1 to prove point: Finish School-College of Choice-Work/Another Degree-Marriage-Kids-Work-Blah-Blah. And then that becomes our story.

But is that really our story?

Whatever billions of people humanity has managed to produced, it has taken pride in compartmentalizing each of those billions into these rigid silos. As time progresses, the number of silos will start to dwindle until an age dawns (in the near 3020) when there’d be just two classifications: the follower and the nonconformist.
Coming back to the NOW, I can assertively state that all our efforts are directed towards following that path which is generally prone to fewer deviances from the Model Societal Path 2000 henceforth referred to as MSP-2000. Now that’s brilliant really because it offers tremendous succor. But is that really the way God intended it? Billions of creatures called human, and one MSP -2000? Now that can’t be right. Maybe there is something awry and vapid about our orientation then.
For those on bordering on peripheral agnosticism and atheism the above thoughts might be incomprehensible, however as the history of disclaimers go, this is just my thought and totally subject to belief. ()

Test#1 Ask a complete stranger what he/she does. In most cases we would be told of academic/professional pursuits. (In case of non availability of those: entrepreneurial/prospective pursuits would be elucidated).
Thought#1 Are we letting the definitions we created to spell out our lives, define us? Is the MSP-2000 creeping into our souls and fettering our spirits?

The way each one of us is fine tuned, genetically and spiritually, is inherently different. If we realize that, then how that is we don’t realize that our lives our not defined by the acts we undertake or the decisions we make to ensure sustenance. Yet, it is these life choices that have been established as the benchmark for introduction, evaluations and my least favorite: judgments.
Each experience for every individual is unique. A music concert attended by thousands would engender different memories and thoughts even though the stimulus is the same. That is something so fundamentally beautiful about life. Our experiences form perceptions which get intermingled with our thoughts which in turn give birth to new experiences. And that is what defines us.
We might all have come with pre-downloaded MSP-2000, but our experiences change every instant. We may have just one life to live it, but there is never one story.

Joie De Vivre-Making the Most of Ill Health

2009-02-19T11:41:00.002+01:00

Being under the weather gives one a lot of time to think. In between naps that stretch through the day, and vile medicines, throw in some rumination for good measure. It's fascinating really, the realms the head can traverse when it’s supposedly on a "time out".
Amidst capricious thoughts of launching a career as a waitress in some roadside cafe in Antibes, my mind assaults the stomach with cravings for all sorts of food which are indeed prohibited on the other side of good health. Alas! The book I am reading with its graphic narratives of truffles, Bresse Chicken and Burgundies, is like an anathema, but only till the time I reach the chapter on gelatinous snails. Now THAT I can pass.
Another observations that dawns in my clogged up head for want of gastronomic delights, is that how television has nothing good to offer when you actually do have the luxury and liberty of devoting more than ten minutes to mind numbing movie marathons.
As I convince my self to watch the fifty eighth rerun of that movie which I already saw twice post my resolve to not watch it in the first place, I realize that the aroma of tea offers much comfort to me even as the decadence that has been brought about by excessive medication and rest refuses to let up.
I browse through the pages of a glossy magazine promising to reveal all on the haute couture of the working wardrobe. It is exciting this promise, I must admit. I feel like a dilettante in this world of fashion and accessories to be honest, and it’s valid to tell you the truth. I really can’t afford that Lambskin Chanel worth thirty thousand rupees.
Last of all I’d like to thank the inventors of muffins. They have been the best of friend in these trying times. The kind of best friend you eat though.

Metamorphosis

2009-01-14T10:11:00.001+01:00

Permanence is an illusion which confounds us. And then, there is this eternal question of what is change really? Definitions can be half as warped as us. There is change inherent even in redundancies and repetitions. We change, time changes, how can repetition be repetition if the parameters which characteristically defined the occurrence of that instant have changed? The possessions we accumulate, the relationships which we engender, the people we encounter, the places we visit-all of it is transient. Why is that we develop such inveterate bonds with some things (I use the word things loosely, it can refer to humans as well) while with respect to some others we live in a state of oblivion or even a self constructed cocoon? We submit to winds of destiny when we are confronted with transmutation in mundane matters. Alternate driving paths are chosen without the slightest feeling of loss; a new seating arrangement is embraced with a servile undertaking, even a change in day is ushered in with a complete disregard for the one which went by. Perhaps we have made ourselves this way, carefully selecting a set of things towards which we will remain ossified. Is it self defense? I say it is hypocrisy. Embrace change pervasively. Feel a sense of loss when the road is blocked, it was the one that carried you home everyday. Say goodbye to that chair and bid a doleful goodbye to the day. Or if that’s too much - embrace permanence. Try anyway.

2008-12-11T12:32:00.000+01:00

A song propels someone to do a mental jig of sorts, a little stream of water is perceived as a serene river cascading down rocks and the darkness of the night is paralleled to a space adventure. A wise kid said in “A Bridge to Terabithia”…close your eyes and keep your mind wide open.

Amen to that.

2008-11-11T19:33:00.001+01:00

There is this issue of love and man
Perhaps god made love to show that he can?
And then he brought in the lovers and their heart
He told them his wish…love..
..my children, never part
Bud did he prepare them for the labour of love?
The agony, the pain, the upheaval of trust?
Pray, did he give a hint at all,
To the lovers and their heart..
About the mighty fall?
Nothing was told,
They were not fore warned
To bear the burden..
Would not be easy at all

Obscure Battles that are won everyday...

2008-11-11T19:25:00.002+01:00

"I’m weak and ungrounded, the accident didn’t leave me with much to go on with. All hope was lost, all self resolve, all forms of resilience gone. Each day was a long journey of survival, every breath an effort of protest against the urge to give in to the abyss of loss. Every step I took came after much deliberation, and hesitation, it was accompanied with constant foreboding of doom. The fear of failure to walk was always at the back of my head. It impaired every move I made, it made me lose hope in myself. The days would float by, without much from me to it, and without much to it from me.
The passive existence continued. The hope would come one day and encourage me to conquer the fear and start anew, yet sometimes it would elude me for days at a stretch. The days it engulfed me, life seemed to have given me another chance. The days it went absconding, I wanted to crawl back to the beginning of existence or perhaps the end of it. I was broken at places I hadn’t even realized. I was broken in my belief in myself. I was broken in my belief in existence. I was broken in the perception of life. I would cling on to anything that promised to get me a step ahead. I believed I needed this support to learn to crawl back into the race. Somedays help came, other days I waited by the window, I called out its name, I even begged, yet it decided to stay away. Soon, I stopped waiting. I decided to inch back into the game by myself. I was tired of waiting for a miracle, a rescue mission. It started then, the recovery.
Soon, I was trying hard to live. Striving to move. Striving to be more than a breath. The motion and the breeze were my heroes, I sought inspiration from them. I was walking again. I could feel the wind in my hair. I started dreaming. Hope and fear stopped being quirky then. I knew they were not my enemies anymore. I wasn’t ready for the final race yet. Baby steps were all I could do. Then came the aftershocks. I wasn’t ready. The defense wasn’t in place, the gameplan wasn’t final just yet. I was broken again, the blow split me up. I lost my brace and suddenly found myself back in the abyss from where I’d just emerged. But this time I recovered faster. I’d been there before. It was familiar. I knew what was to be done.
I’m not perfect still, my insides are still weak from all those falls but I know, the next time when I fall again, I’ll be up faster than before, and then one day I’ll just stand the fall out."

2008-10-22T22:00:00.001+02:00

All that you do is a drop in the ocean, but still, it counts...
All that you do can be wiped away by a single wave, but still, it counts.

Revolving Doors of Life...

2008-09-16T13:22:00.000+02:00

People.Perhaps the single most defining thing in our life. Without the right kind, all accomplishments and sybarite lifestyles are worthless, and with the right bunch, pedestrian excursions to the ice-cream shop can be more fun than a helicopter ride across Manhattan.
All though life, some people make their place in our life, some however, leave.
All that seems important though is developing that keen sense of discernment, who do you let go of, and who do you cling on to for dear life.

2008-09-14T08:57:00.001+02:00

How easy it is for people to rip our lives apart, as we go on with our life, naïve, vulnerable. Is it that the next step we intend take has been consciously destined to be our last, does such a though ever occur to us?
Outside, the sky is blue, the pedestrians mill about in quotidian fashion, but at some level we know, that something lurks behind the façade that obscures the darkness so well.
The reality that we can be violated grotesquely tries to reveal itself to us, and yet we choose to remain oblivious to the fact.
The Delhi serial blasts confirmed our worst beliefs, the plangent effect they had on the lives of its citizens, is evident. For, we have been intruded upon, our city has been attacked, and the places we frequent have been subjected to destruction. Government, and legal jurisdiction aside, the thought that something bigger, more powerful can change the face of a city in such a short span is unnerving. Terrorist activities leave us all wondering about our control on mortality and above all, safety in the place we call home.
Perhaps, in the context of these events, freedom has a new meaning for all of us, maybe its time the nation comes together, keeping the caste, language, religion, and state barriers aside. It could be the time to declare our solidarity; it is the time to be one.

2008-09-10T16:43:00.000+02:00

Give me sight
Beyond the world I see
Let my speech
Be more than the words I say
Let my steps take me
Farther than where I can go
Let my mind wander
Beyond the realms of imagination
May this life bring to me
vistas unseen

2008-09-08T15:55:00.000+02:00

Tiptoe around the dark
my child,
I can see through you
I know what you hide
These pernicious affairs,
Avaricious nightmares
ghosts of the past that reside,
I can tell like it is,
The beauty , the ill
All that rests inside.

2008-09-06T17:35:00.002+02:00

Pray for this day, today
my strength, my religion
Pray, for the day, someday
my clarity,my tomorrow

A typhoon, universal gratitude and a somewhat lost me.

2008-08-24T09:39:00.000+02:00

I have watched enough movies to know that the slightest of hunch about a thing going awry, particularly when related to death by accidents, comes true. So, it was obvious when I heard about a typhoon in Hong Kong, I wanted to reschedule my flight. But such convenience was not to come my way, perhaps the universe wanted me to become more resilient, withstand higher degrees of turbulence, or just simply perish. As the hope of traveling on another date due to closure of reservation office dwindled, paranoia escalated. I battled that by promptly sleeping for three quarters of the flying time. The captain assured us of a bumpy albeit safe journey. But bless the man for he landed us amidst torrential rain and heavy storm cloud cover onto a runway that materialized out of the choppy seas all too suddenly but at the right moment. The landing alleviated my impending sense of doom which had resurrected itself as I had come back to consciousness after the slumber. Now all I needed to do was to eat an overpriced meal at the airport, buy a bus ticket and be off on the last leg of the journey.

Things however did not materialize as I had so brilliantly planned. The bus services had been cancelled, the tropical storm warning had reached 8, and If I didn’t hurry the trains too would be overcome by inertia and wouldn’t budge from Hong Kong. I hurried to get a taxi, as luck would have it, the guy knew only two words in English, thankfully one of them was ‘Danger’ , so I knew exactly how to feel on the ride to the train station. The rain swirled all around, and the taxi swayed sideways, which was the drivers cue to blurt out the word danger repeatedly. Even though the bridges were off limits, half the roads inaccessible, and my mind was running amok with huge tsunami like waves crashing on top of the taxi, I reached the station in time to catch the afternoon train to Guangzhou. But I wish the transition from the taxi to the train seat was as effortlessly brought out as the last sentence. When you add a person with my gait, and four pieces of luggage weighing more than me to the equation, the result is, well, nothing short of a miracle.

So I’d like to thank the man who helped me load on the luggage onto the X-ray machine, the people behind me who didn’t squirm or push when they crawled behind me as I struggled to maintain balance, walk, and push giant pieces of luggage onto the escalator, and the kind, kind man who helped me put on the above mentioned luggage on to the carriers in the train, and who broke his glasses in the process. Eternal gratitude is what I feel, and perhaps this is the only way I can express it. Xie, Xie all.

The end of an era

2008-08-20T20:35:00.003+02:00

How do you fit your entire life into two bags? Your whole twenty three years of existence, your memories, your thoughts, your belongings? How do you say goodbye to the place you called home your whole life? Such a tirade of questions, few answers though.

There are some goodbyes which happen because they must and no number of wars waged against them delay their occurrence. There are some which happen suddenly, like an untimely death or an impromptu official trip, and then there are some which are carefully planned, meticulously thought about, goodbyes that have been ruminated over for a while, stewed in their own intensity, and are thus gulped and swallowed into the pit of reality ever so slowly. That is my goodbye, a heady, heavy feeling of loss that has become a part of my being now. It was premeditated, the consequences known. When I decided that this is something I need to do, I went through the final few days several times in my head. I’ve already shed my tears, and my heart has felt heavy many times now. I feel relieved somewhat. Even if I do get overwhelmed on that fateful day, I will be prepared.

Change is universally unwelcome usually, not here though, not by me. It is daunting at first, difficult to traverse, it throws curve balls your way, and you’re caught off guard most times, but that is exactly what endears me to it. It is my tonic for survival; it is what I do to break free. It is what I need to dream. It is what makes me say goodbye today.

Farewell! a word that must be, and hath been -
A sound which makes us linger; - yet - farewell!
~Lord Byron

Search for my puddle

2008-08-17T13:39:00.000+02:00

This surrogate life, that I live, tells me I’m not to live it, this isn’t my life. I watch as raindrops fall down in slow motion onto the ground, into their personal little puddles, and wonder where my personal puddle is. Has it dried up or did it not exist in the first place?
The raindrops are fortunate; they have somewhere to be, a place where they can return to their form. No wonder they do their sanguine dance with such flamboyance. Enthralling us all. They know their personal puddle awaits them.

Wind Of Nostalgia

2008-08-11T20:06:00.001+02:00

As yellow leaves fall down between the pages of the book I read, I look up the sky that filters through between the spread of the trees. I sit on one of the benches in college, two years since I studied there last. The sights I see, the surroundings, are ever the same, yet so different.

If I close my eyes I can picture the familiar faces milling around campus, amidst these familiar surroundings. How is it that human life is so transient where as the things around me stand transfixed, a witness to the journey? Perhaps they undertake a journey too, maybe these very things that stand transfixed in their existence have changed as well.

A moment in time is an amalgamation of the people and their surroundings, all intertwined together. Their existent together makes for that very instance. When I look at the trees that have stood here all through, in my presence, outside my presence, I realize that they have changed. The leaves that they shower on me are not the same I walked on two years ago. The yellow leaves that the wind brings my way have a different rustle to them. The buildings and classrooms are inhabited by a different set of people. How could they ever be the same?

Reminiscing comes easily to me and it is reminiscing about the small frivolous bits that makes me feel most nostalgic. It isn’t the grand bash that I miss or the day I got my result that I think about. It’s the walk down the road that leads to college that I want resuscitate , it’s the pages of the book I read while bunking class that I want to browse through again, it’s the laughter of my friends, that I want to hear, as I picture myself running away from mocha the resident college dog.

All through life people yearn for those big moments. A supreme accomplishment or that much sought after accolade won, that we could narrate to our grandchildren someday. But really, it is the mundane little things we disregard in the very instant of their occurrence, that we seem to remember two years hence. Believe me, it’s all about the song you hummed while driving to college, the flutter of the heart at an inadvertent gaze, the folding of jeans to wade through puddles and sharing that hot cup of coffee on a cold winter morning

The Passport Chronicles

2008-07-31T20:17:00.003+02:00

5 Steps to easy application for an Indian passport:

The quest for passport acquisition. It promises such dreams, realization of plans of travel to exotic lands, and the much needed identity proof in this cosmopolitan global age. For me though, it was just a frustrating realization that the visa sheets are indeed all stamped up and no future travel can be embarked upon without an additional booklet. So with all the documents in order (or so I thought) I decided to accomplish this task and thus began the most enlightening three hours of my life

1. The Complete Addle-ment

On arrival (forty five minutes before the counters are to open) I am confronted with multiple winding queues that seem to have no start or an end. I look around everywhere standing in the middle of the road for a board or assistance personnel but all I can see are more confused people. But atleast they have water bottles. I convince myself to break the inertia and start moving around the general area, I remember some instructions which were uttered to me, they seem hazy and grey, but the words “queues at the back” seem to emerge victorious and I can literally imagine a light bulb popping somewhere in my vicinity as I rush to the rear of the building. To my horror, I see more serpentine queues, the giant grey building seems to have grown tentacles that seem to be encroaching on to edge of the compound, then on meeting the wall, they turn and start growing in the emptiness, multiplying by the second. Every time I look away and then look back, the tentacly-queue seems to have grown. There is no time to think or wait. I must do something now. But the profound questions is, What exactly?

2. Enter the Tout

I think the likes of touts have come to thrive because of little girls who are totally lost in environment described above. No wonder Shri Gopal, sensing my discomfort rose to the occasion assuring me of getting the mandatory Affidavit which I’d conveniently ignored from my documentation to bypassing the meandering course of the queues. For a meager fee of Rupees eight hundred of course. The notary fee is separate, might I add.

We walked, we braved the stray dogs, we got the affidavit, and the notary obviously doesn’t have much work to do apart from signing affidavits for complete randoms.

Shri Gopal had a lovely gentleman waiting in queue for us while we were trying to accomplish the unthinkable (the affidavit bit), on return to the compound bursting to seams with human queues, I was made to stand in place of Shri Gopals lovely gentlemanly friend. He tells me to stand in front of an ‘ uncle’- a man I’d never seen before, and wait for my turn at the window. I start counting the number of people behind me, in order to calculate the price of skipping each position in the queue. There are a good 50 people behind me. Had I just handed out sixteen rupees to each individual ( or offered them a coke) , in exchange for their position in the queue, I would have been here, same place, having performed a great deal of social service in the process. Ah well, if only all entrepreneurial initiatives could come to life.

3. In the midst of the serpentine melee

So what do you do when ‘uncle’ behind you fails to come to terms with his decibel level and the existence of ears of others? In a mere five minutes, I know his entire familys’ first name. His daughter isn’t exactly soft spoken either who intermittently comes in to check on the progress of the queue. I wish someone would tell her that it hasn’t managed to move an inch since the attendant who is supposed to be at the window is on a prolonged tea break or is absconding. Whatever takes your fancy.

A fight breaks out in one of the other queues, I hear a scuffle, some agitated voices. The security guard next to our queue is urged to go and settle the issue, but he seems to be either suffering from some form of ear dysfunction or information assimilation disorder for in reply he assures us that the window would open soon. People give up. I shut my gaping mouth. The tout is MIA.

4. Directions through ESP

I have a new identity. I am token number 15. I look at it with sheer happiness inside my heart. But then reality dawns, I don’t know where to go next. I try to look as confounded and confused as I can, so some person feeling super helpful would stop by and ask me If I need help. This doesn’t work. So I take a round of the building, asking around guards and looking for some kind of board that would guide me to the realms of clarity. My respite comes in the form of a gentleman, who on being asked tells me that I am to go inside the building, into hall number one. Of course, hall number one! It all seems to be a breeze now, I confidently walk in and settle down on the chairs in front of the huge electronic board which seems to be belching out numbers in red. I make small talk with the kind lady on my right.I look at the board intermittently as I ask the lady about her work and her family. She volunteers information willingly. She is married. I am taken aback for I had passed her off as a college student. She has children. She has TWO children. And she is a housewife. I volunteer my meager details in return. I have nothing to offer really. Stale job. No family by virtue of marriage. The ‘ uncle’ from the queue joins us, oddly enough he seems to be happy to see the gang from the queue outside the building and gleefully points us out to his wife. We exchange token numbers, and settle down in the endless wait.

5. The counter relay

So I am indeed called to a counter. But that’s not it! I am harshly reminded that I need to fill in some details. When I look at the form, the blank space asking for husbands name stares up at me. I look at it more blankly. Then the kind sir, tells me that the identity proof is also absconding.
Oh well.I walk, I brave the stray dogs, and get a photocopy of my drivers license. Then a gory wait begins. A baby cries. A lady jostles me to the side. An over enthusiastic girl points out that a particular is incomplete. I mumble a thank you. It’s my turn and I’m parceled off to counter number eight. Counter number eight then shuns me to counter number seven and half. Some signatures and nods occur, I’m thinking perhaps now, I'm done. But then the file is shoved in my hands and another counter is fated for me. I’m asked to produce money. I do it quickly lest he ask me to move to another counter for delaying the same. The nods of head look more promising this time around; maybe it is actually the end of the counter mania. The cashier hands me a green coloured receipt. I look at him. I look at it. It says collect on 4/8. I ask the words hesitantly “ Ho gaya?” - Is it done?. He nods without looking up. I’m stunned. I walk out in a daze.

I love this storm, Why don't you?

2008-07-28T18:07:00.002+02:00

There is this storm, it’s here and there. Its really everywhere. Sometimes outside, sometimes within.
I am not quite sure if it’s a portent of the good or the bad. Adage says it’s a symbol of things going awry; it’s a symbol of turmoil, an indication of bad times to come.
My heart tells me it’s just a bunch of clouds blocking the sun, it allows me to look at the sky without the usual beads of perspiration on my forehead, I’m free from the squinting eyes.
I see people running, taking shelter. I stand there transfixed. I find myself getting drenched. I close my eyes. I let the storm swirl all around. My heart flutters a little, and then beats steady.
The turmoil of the storm churns me up. It takes me to thoughts and moments I’ve never experienced before. It rids me of the inertia, it propels me to explore.
The gusts of wind, with their mighty force crash into me, against me, instigating action. The rain seeps into my pores. It creeps out the inaction.

I look up to the sky, I wait for another storm.

Silly, Stupid Heart

2008-07-16T19:03:00.001+02:00

I’ve wrapped my heart in butcher paper, and told it to wait. There Is no point to its beating, no need to carry so much weight.

I’ve let it subdue from its convivial self, and I’ve coaxed it sit tight. I beseech it to not skip a beat, when the words said are right.

I will it to cease from aching, after all this effort that’s been made. For all the joys and tribulations, I don’t think it likes this trade.

Someday perhaps, I’d unwrap it so and let it flutter again, my vulnerable little heart, that beats for everyone, under all this mountain of pain.

Lets Make obscene Sounds, Lets Shout!

2008-07-10T18:45:00.002+02:00

I am in the mood to say sod off today. Having reached the conclusion that anger is better than sadness, and shouting better than being morose, the garb of demureness is being shunned and the tails of acrimonious, venomous words being clutched, as they prepare for their launch into the oh-so-unprepared world.

What is the point, If I may pose a question to everyone, of grieving when wronged? Does the wrongdoer have any inkling of the silent sniffling that is being carried out in the dark corners, the tissues that are being littered all across the floor with silent promises to self of cleaning up later? Does the sorrow do anything but cast more cement into your already heavy heart? These rhetorical questions have been my muse of late.

Such inspiration seldom comes one’s way. Shove the sniffles, embrace the spontaneous yelling. Amen.

To the dreamer...

2008-07-01T12:51:00.006+02:00

This is dedicated to 2 very special people in my life, who have been my dream rechargers of late, in this very very turbulent time.

You are a Dreamer. These thoughts that weigh you down, need to be unfettered, this moment that hangs like an ominous cloud needs to shower just this once and disperse. Compel the forces that work in tandem to abash the dream to exit, order the dream to pervade.May this be a moment to reckon with, a reality check of sorts, a time to believe, that everything you do, all that is your existence will take you towards that very dream...your new reality.

May the eloquentless of this inspiration instill the will to laugh at my pretentiousness, but that was MY dream for today...:)

PS: ' All that we are is a result of what we have thought' Buddha

Memories of Marseille

2008-06-25T20:04:00.000+02:00

When I settled comfortably on the lush green seat aboard the TGV to Paris, the thought of leaving Marseille probably had not occurred to me. Had that been the case, I would have lingered on a little while longer on the platform, taking in the last few gusts of the mistral, forming the last few memories of the place I’d called home the past three months At this time, I can’t help but think of the Chairman in Memoirs of Geisha and what he eloquently mentioned -“Sometimes the things I remember are more real than the things I see”. So mesmerizing were the idyllic days spent. Could it be possible that your sense of reality at a point in time is so magnified, so well entrenched, so deep, that it never ceases to overpower your today, never detaching from your existence in the present? As I rush through life just a few months later, it seems the days gone by would be cherished by me, as memories unparalleled. On deep thought, I realize that there was no one defining moment or an exceptional circumstance of clarity which I could attribute this experience to. There were no momentous occasions where I was overwhelmed a great deal, barring the isolated sighting of a shooting star on a drive to the Loire valley. It was just an amalgamation of each day, each new city visited, every gust of wind that blew my hair astray and every drop of that drizzle that didn’t drench me.

As I think back to the day of the journey from Marseille to Paris, I recall sitting by the huge window and looking at the sights speed past me, or rather me speed past them. The terrain transitions all through, the beauty remains ever the same though, casting a spell on me, a reverie that sends me to a place where words are redundant because all there is to experience is transmuted naturally, effortlessly. The music seems to agree with the sights that quickly disappear before my eyes. The speeding train, the ubiquitousness of the wilderness and the music all seem to work in tandem, creating a filigree of paradise.

The journey could have extended beyond the stipulated hours without me ever realizing. Such was the power of that moment, simple in its setting, yet so intoxicating that its vividness lives on as I write these words.

I lasted through the winter, until the onset of spring, the trees, that stand transfixed on either side of the road that is testament to this journey, accompanied me on this adventure. They had stood there in the cold winter months without any speck of green, bare, exposed, but they had persevered the test of time, and a few days before I were to leave, I saw the first few leaflets blossoming on to the branches.

Answer to a question asked...

2008-06-24T19:12:00.000+02:00

What are we here for? Does anyone really know the genesis of this existence? The root cause of everything, the fundamental that guides every breathe we take.

We can live through this life doing the mundane things we do, without understanding why we ought to be this way. Our materialistic pursuits guide our existence, warp our existence, and convolute it too. But then again, there is the other way of doing things. We don’t always know where our actions will lead us, perhaps we have a general idea, but that’s about it. I guess its okay not to know all the answers, hell if we know half the questions that should be asked, I’d say we have achieved something. What is of consequence here is realization that the answers can be found only when we get in touch with ourselves. These seem like grandiose words which we hear spiritual leaders talk about but I’m just borrowing the words, literally, the interpretation is my own, perhaps ideas I’ve garnered from the varied experiences.

Emotions are what govern my life, it’s the heart behind the thought, the euphoria of existence and experience. Love is the fundamental behind each and ever particle that exists in this universe. The beauty that the spring day shares with us, is it not but love for mankind? The flowers that bloom, allowing us to marvel at the extraordinary spectacle, the fusion of colors and contours, exude love every moment of their existence. The ocean, with the pristine azure quality, it lies down before the sky, is that not love, which makes the ocean bare its soul? And we watch out in amazement, the culmination of the water and the sky, the love which they bring out in each other.

The stars in the night sky that religiously sparkle, to decorate the lackluster emptiness of the darkness, would that not be self-less love? And of course the darkness, which hangs on to the numerous stars for hours together, giving them an existence?

What about music, that makes us skip as we walk, nolens volens?The desire it creates within us to soar up above everything else, is that not love in our being for music, and why would music permeate the way it does through us if it didn’t love us in the first place?

I could go on about the examples in the physical world, but sounding idyllic wasn’t the purpose of this realization.

We always seek love in the wrong places, we look outwards to other people, without realizing that love is indeed all around. Accepting this reality would magnify every minute of our existence. Every breath we take is a new breath, it brings with it new experiences, hopes and it wipes out the vestiges of the past. Such is life too, it is intended to be experienced with panache and a sincerity that is only paralleled by the respiratory system. Only if we let the experience engulf us from all directions can we learn to love the existence that has been bestowed upon us.

the muse

2008-06-20T19:31:00.000+02:00

But my memories are stronger than ever before, my past ever in my present, during my day, engulfing me like a wave, and then it comes crashing onto my reality, my now, and breaks my reverie.

Reality Bites..and How...!

2008-04-27T08:58:00.001+02:00

Nothing prepares you for the eyesore that is Delhi than the reality check at the Indira Gandhi International Airport. Okay, I can relent a little and state that the airport is indeed being revamped and the city is being spruced up for the Commonwealth Games in 2010, but is there some training planned for the people too? Because unless our ruffian populace is taught a lesson or two in respecting women, hell respecting people at large, I don’t think much good is going to come out of all this so called beautification.

Something is fundamentally very very wrong with the men in this city. They openly stare at women as if they have descended from a planet unknown. Flattering, perhaps one would say. Believe me the look in their eyes is anything but respectful. It is impossible for a woman to venture into certain areas of the city without a male in tow. It is shameful that in this day age a woman needs to think ten times before choosing her attire depending on the areas she will frequent that day. Slacking on this front can lead to circumstances bordering on molestation also popularly known as eve-teasing in this area. It is important to note that no matter how a woman dresses no one has the right to feel that they have the authority to either pass comments in a lewd manner or in a way to make that woman feel uncomfortable. I have seen other societies and nowhere does this exist except for our country where women are supposedly revered. It is ridiculous how such an obscene overture can make a woman doubt herself.

Once on an airline, I was nicely tucked in the window seat, sleeping away the unearthly ours of the flight. I was jolted out of my sleep by my co-passengers hand trying to reach across me in order to shut the window, while innocently ‘brushing’ against me. As I was coming to senses from the slumber I realized there was some thing touching my back, I thought it was possibly my co-passengers foot, who was fidgeting around in his sleep trying to find a comfortable spot. I couldn’t really see because of the blanket and was wondering how to get him to shift when the supposed ‘foot’ started getting a bit too comfortable, I jumped in my seat and removed the blanket only to see him pulling his slimy hand away. I was in a state of shock for several minutes in which he decided to strike up a lame conversation to hide the awkwardness. Well, as soon as I came to my senses.. I ran …ran for the nearest free seat and plopped myself there, thinking, much to my dismay, that was I possibly wearing something that was suggestive. Barely a month ago I was strutting around in France without a care in the world about what I wore, and here I was on an international flight where men’s hands start flailing around independent of rationality and totally devoid of control. On second thought I had dressed well for the flight, nothing flashy, nothing revealing, just a simple pair of cargos teamed with a black shirt. Why am I telling you this? Perhaps to prove to myself that I never brought that incident upon myself, probably to realize that I could have worn a tube top and a miniskirt in some other country and wouldn’t have even invited a second glance let alone a slightly out of control albeit sleazy hand action. Is this the society we are building? One where a woman is confronted by self doubt on having snubbed an insinuating gaze from an unwanted eye? Is this what we call progress?

No amount of tall buildings and fat pay packages can make for a progressive society unless we do something about this deep seated insecurity that hounds every woman in this city. Anti-social elements exist in every society be it any country. But the problem is so widespread here that an untoward incident isn’t a chance occurring, it’s a part and parcel of every woman’s life. The extent varies of course, it can be as casual as a bunch of men laughing over a lady driver in her car at a traffic signal, and it can be as demeaning as a guy producing kissing sounds directed at women crossing the road whilst his rickshaw glides across the road.

I have no reason to believe that I am any less than a man, then why must I be subjected to such obscene behavior? The reasons are etched in social history, an understanding of those might help us fight the problem. But for that we need to acknowledge the problem, at a mass level. There is an easy option of running away, settling in some super developed nation, and visiting your city once every five years. I am very tempted considering the events of late. Then there is another option, one which entails fighting back. Reminding men of their role in upholding the honour of womenfolk ( I know its getting a tad dramatic here), rather than embarrassing them in public. It can start with reprimanding men who resort to measures which lead to writing of such pieces. It can start with stopping the guy who utters obscenities on the road and reminding him politely that he can better impose his manliness in the police station. Walking away should never be an option. There is always a choice, I regret looking for new seats. I should have slapped the guy and prescribed him a sedative for his hand lest it feel the urge to go on an exploring spree anytime soon.

Oh this trivial existence...

2008-04-24T20:36:00.005+02:00

An excerpt from " My wonderous musings and aimless thoughts" by yours truly

I am unable to find a reasoning to the existence that we all share. All through life we have objectives set out for us, either by the society or by our family or if we are lucky by us, ofcourse within the sanctioned limits of the social system. These objectives are often monetary or status related. Some accolade won here, some candidature obtained there. We trudge on. Is it possible to ever get satiated this way? Thriving on these tangibles which stem from mans commercial activities and pursuits ought to get jaded some day. The very reason behind this is that all these objectives which we resolve to achieve, amidst the onlookers who egg us on, are a function of the artificial world. A world which man has created, it stretches beyond the grass root level of survival, it exists contrary to the world which thinks with the heart, and believes in the greater humanitarian good. It goes on like that, the objective may reach crescendo but the piece never ends. The music starts all over again. There is no end. There are just more pursuits, a bigger car, a better position, a prettier house. And once we have that, the cycle repeats itself. The quest for the superlatives is endless.
What is the greater purpose? Is it a mere obstacle course where on crossing every hurdle we land a plump prize and after a minuscule sense of pride and effusive appreciation we brace ourselves for the next hurdle? Is it just ruse, to throw us of the bigger objective? Perhaps there is a bigger purpose, one beyond seeking the highest pay package, something other than the desire to get into the top rung university, one that stretches beyond the incessant urge to pull ahead of that car in front of you at a crossing. I think it could be the greatest mystery of all. The great divine façade. The supreme attempt to throw-off the mortals by inundating and engulfing them with the penchant for commercial pursuits. How many of us are willing to see beyond this reality, how many of us are willing to compromise on the objective setting path. Are we brave enough to go the Robert Frost way and question the path frequented and take to the road less traveled? I am not sure if I can foray into this great unknown.

Thoughts..

2008-02-08T02:21:00.000+01:00

Rain when smelt…
for what good is rain
trickling down the sides of a glass house?

Music when felt…
pulsating through
each and every vein

Wind when caressed…
on a mountaintop under the sun
affectionate tousling of hair

Book when held…
promising a journey untold
an existence in itself

Tears when shed…
for what good are welled up tears.
that get stifled before their time?

Love when said…
beauty like no other is sharing it
suppressed love isn’t love at all

The Sun roof

2008-01-21T21:29:00.000+01:00

The concept of the sun roof, simple as it may be, offers a very profound view to life. On a bus journey back to my apartment, the thought struck me..the inventor of the sun roof must have been a very wise man indeed. Come to think of it, it’s the ideal filter mechanism. All we need to do is keep one view of the world open all the time, so we can experience what goes on outside whilst being protected from the extreme variations in weather..and yet we have the option of opening the window whenever we desire to become a part of that world. Perhaps he was the sanest man alive, for he realized how important it is to shut out some aspects at the same time having the opportunity to revel in the beauty the world offers.

Divine Retribution

2008-01-21T00:02:00.000+01:00

Life takes us along paths and alleys which we think will lead to somewhere beautiful. In an idyllic world this might be true but in the real world, things seldom fall perfectly into place with the flamboyance we desire. On the journey we might encounter trouble, and we are tempted to compromise another person to ease the pain of our sore sore feet. Then we continue to trudge on, carrying the false sense of complacency of having made everything alright.

Who has seen Heaven? Has anyone experienced hell? It’s all here. It’s all in this life. There is no wait till death to get to the justice. It all happens in this lifetime. The good, the bad. The right, the wrong.