The last time I read a Chetan Bhagat book, I sincerely wished he would never write again. But I couldn’t resist when I saw his new book “2 States” at Bangalore Airport. At 95 bucks and with over 2 hours to kill it didn’t seem like a bad idea. It certainly wasn’t. I had a long flight ahead of me – Bangalore – Dubai – London and the only book I was carrying was “the interpretation of murder”. I was through with the book by the time the flight took off from Dubai to London.
Firstly he has stopped thanking Bill Gates for making MS Word, so that he can type his stuff out. He still thanks a lot of people, but its getting better. Secondly I realized something about Mr. Bhagat. He has had an interesting life. And his writing is interesting when it reflects his life. I loved his 1st book “5 point someone”. It had soul. It was based on his experiences at IIT. It was a good read. Something which most Indians under 30 could relate to as they may have gone through the same experiences (in some convoluted form or other) at some point of time in life, even if they may never have and may never will go to IIT. But then there were those 2 “novels” – about call centres and about cricket. They were mediocre to say the least. They were more to suit a Bollywood screenplay requirements rather than a novel.
But with 2 states, Bhagat has redeemed himself, at least in my eyes.
He has written a rather predictable story, and even mentions the mother of all interstate love stories ever made in India, “Ek Duje Ke Liye”, which the movie resembles, albeit if the movie were set in the 21st century rather than 1980’s. It’s more like a EDKL meets DDLJ. The book is very much like watching a Bollywood movie. You know what is going to happen. The hero and heroine walk hand in hand into the lovely sunset and live happily ever after. But it’s the journey that we look forward to. Bhagat has done a really good job of holding the readers attention throughout the book. At no point do we feel like the part between the 1st half and the climax of a Bollywood movie, which has been filmed explicitly for the purpose of making the length of the movie upto mark… the standard 3 hours. The over melodramatic Punjabi mother, the extremely understated tam brams, the modern lifestyle of our generation, the lack of inhibitions, the part where kids suddenly seem more responsible than the parents, the continual dependence that we have on parents, no matter how old we are and above all the underlying “Indianness” of it all.
He has brought out the angst in every upwardly mobile middle class youth in India. The pointlessness of our jobs and lives, the tendency to give more importance to our baggages than necessary, the search for love, the guilt trip that we undergo every time we do something fun – maybe because we didn’t deserve it or because it was not “how we were brought up”, the “chalta hai” attitude towards problems in life, everything.
The fact that he is not trying to be artsy with his writing, which according to some may render his work as pop-trash, is exactly the thing that draws my generation and may be a couple of generations under me to this guys writing. Not everyone can be a star, though everyone wants to be one. By star I don’t just mean a movie star. Some want to be movie stars, some want to be star Singers , some want to be star CEO’s….its as if the whole world took Mariah Carey’s “There’s a hero inside you” too literally. Anyway, this guy’s success makes you optimistic. If he could make it big and write stuff that people actually read and get Bollywood deep pockets to make his writings into movies, then maybe we have a chance too. With blogs and twits and what not, maybe everyone can be a 5 point someone.
Monday, November 16, 2009
Tuesday, October 06, 2009
The Departed
The call came at 00:30. I cut it… who the hell calls at 12:30!! The phone rang again in a couple of seconds. Through blurry eyes I saw the caller ID – it was Mom.. what’s up.. why is she calling me now… something wrong with dad… no … if that were the case, mom wouldn’t be in a position to call me… so then what was it.. was it ammamma..all these thoughts running through my head in a matter of nanoseconds. I pick up the call and mom says “appotten marichu” (appottan is dead). That moment was like déjàvu. I had gone through something like this a couple of years back when lakshmiettathi passed away.
It’s a feeling of immense relief coupled with unimaginable sadness and an unrelenting emptiness that stretches ahead in life. Relief that that a soul who was suffering and who was the cause for others suffering was now gone putting an end to all misery. Sadness and emptiness because the soul was close to me.
Appottan is an uncle of my mother’s. He was a peculiar character. A very handsome man. That’s the first thing that struck you about him. In fact till I was old enough to be told by my mom, I actually believed he was British. He was fairer than most Malayalees, he only spoke English and I though he was very refined. He was not one of those old people that you could cuddle up to and get all grandfatherly with. At least not every one could, but somehow he and I shared a special relationship. Apparently, when I was small, I used to go to him (leaving all other people in the house) and ask for food when I was hungry. Legend goes that he actually used to be so concerned that he went about making every ones life hell till I got fed. Even as he grew old and I grew wise and I knew that not all was so great about this old man.. I always felt a weird kinship with him. I was the only one, I think who had the freedom to run my hands through his porcupine sharp crew cut silver mane. I think I was one of those very rare people with whom he exchanged pleasantries over the phone. I may not be exaggerating if I thought (maybe incorrectly) but I though so, nevertheless, that I was one of the few people in the world that he actually cared about.
I reached Mumbai that afternoon and saw his body in an icebox. A momentary binge of emotions, a few tears and then I was down to business. It was a house with a dead body. There was lots to do, places to clean, people to comfort, tea to be served, phones to be attended. I flung myself into all these tasks and the body lying in the front room was temporarily pushed to a secondary place.. it was not priority anymore… seems strange… but once a person is dead and if that person is not someone whom you saw everyday or spoke to everyday – then its very easy to get over their absence. It seems heartless, it seems cruel, but it’s the truth. It’s the people who are left behind and whom you have to face in future who become your immediate concern. How will they do, how will they manage, will they be all right….
All said and done, it was time for the final goodbyes. This is a moment when I wish I were a man… because they somehow seem to be genetically built to resist tears as far as possible. All of a sudden this realization dons on me that the white haired British demeanored gentleman, one of those few people on earth to love me, is gone and is never coming back. When I return to that home again, his seat on the couch will be empty.. even with someone else physically there… it will still be empty. He will not be there to tell me… see you next time.. call when you get time.. take care…
The tight inner circle of female relatives who pay last homage burst into tears. Everything is bearable but the sight of a grieving widow seeing her husband of 45 years for the last time…. It doesn’t matter how strong you are… it’s a sight you cannot take..
The body is taken away, the family is dragged away and in a few moments the body will turn to dust. It’s then, no matter how many deaths you have seen and how well insulated you think your heart is to such matters of emotion, it’s precisely at such moments you realize what a precious, beautiful bubble like quality life is…. You never know when the buddle bursts and all that’s left is a popping sound and then….. thin air.
It’s a feeling of immense relief coupled with unimaginable sadness and an unrelenting emptiness that stretches ahead in life. Relief that that a soul who was suffering and who was the cause for others suffering was now gone putting an end to all misery. Sadness and emptiness because the soul was close to me.
Appottan is an uncle of my mother’s. He was a peculiar character. A very handsome man. That’s the first thing that struck you about him. In fact till I was old enough to be told by my mom, I actually believed he was British. He was fairer than most Malayalees, he only spoke English and I though he was very refined. He was not one of those old people that you could cuddle up to and get all grandfatherly with. At least not every one could, but somehow he and I shared a special relationship. Apparently, when I was small, I used to go to him (leaving all other people in the house) and ask for food when I was hungry. Legend goes that he actually used to be so concerned that he went about making every ones life hell till I got fed. Even as he grew old and I grew wise and I knew that not all was so great about this old man.. I always felt a weird kinship with him. I was the only one, I think who had the freedom to run my hands through his porcupine sharp crew cut silver mane. I think I was one of those very rare people with whom he exchanged pleasantries over the phone. I may not be exaggerating if I thought (maybe incorrectly) but I though so, nevertheless, that I was one of the few people in the world that he actually cared about.
I reached Mumbai that afternoon and saw his body in an icebox. A momentary binge of emotions, a few tears and then I was down to business. It was a house with a dead body. There was lots to do, places to clean, people to comfort, tea to be served, phones to be attended. I flung myself into all these tasks and the body lying in the front room was temporarily pushed to a secondary place.. it was not priority anymore… seems strange… but once a person is dead and if that person is not someone whom you saw everyday or spoke to everyday – then its very easy to get over their absence. It seems heartless, it seems cruel, but it’s the truth. It’s the people who are left behind and whom you have to face in future who become your immediate concern. How will they do, how will they manage, will they be all right….
All said and done, it was time for the final goodbyes. This is a moment when I wish I were a man… because they somehow seem to be genetically built to resist tears as far as possible. All of a sudden this realization dons on me that the white haired British demeanored gentleman, one of those few people on earth to love me, is gone and is never coming back. When I return to that home again, his seat on the couch will be empty.. even with someone else physically there… it will still be empty. He will not be there to tell me… see you next time.. call when you get time.. take care…
The tight inner circle of female relatives who pay last homage burst into tears. Everything is bearable but the sight of a grieving widow seeing her husband of 45 years for the last time…. It doesn’t matter how strong you are… it’s a sight you cannot take..
The body is taken away, the family is dragged away and in a few moments the body will turn to dust. It’s then, no matter how many deaths you have seen and how well insulated you think your heart is to such matters of emotion, it’s precisely at such moments you realize what a precious, beautiful bubble like quality life is…. You never know when the buddle bursts and all that’s left is a popping sound and then….. thin air.
Sunday, September 27, 2009
I'm an untouchable!!
The subject of untouchability has been at the very heart of Indian “culture”. As a part of our great 5000 year old culture and tradition, we propagate, even in this time and age, a certain amount of untouchability. This is especially prevalent within the illiterate sections of the society where a person’s caste determines which well he drinks from, which temple he is allowed to enter and even where he is allowed to sit to see a movie. I guess 5000 years of tradition and culture is hard to be unshackled from.
I realized from an early age that I’m also a part of the untouchable society. I’m a woman. By that definition, I menstruate. And as per Hindu rituals, I am literally untouchable for the days when I have my periods. I’m not allowed to go to temples, take part in holy rituals. In fact even people who touch me are considered impure and hence not fit to do anything which involves Gods. In earlier days, this was stretched to the extreme where women were not allowed to enter the kitchen, have any contact with others, refrain from touching anybody. I guess, with the passage of time, the growing financial contribution of working women to the house hold and the grip of the nuclear family on the modern society; it became clear to the male dominated Indian society that to keep the women isolated will do them no good. If the women enjoyed in isolation, who would do all the slave labour.. Earn the money, cook, clean, keep the house in order. So the lowly woman was allowed to enter the kitchen and do everything around the house…. But she was still kept away from God and everything holy, lest she makes it impure.
I researched the subject a bit to see if Hindu scriptures actually mention something about the acceptance of such untouchability. I also wanted to know if it’s just Hindus or are all religions equally fanatic about such forms of female domination. I was sure that they were and right I was.
My first problem was laying my hands on the right source to search Hindu religion’s views on the subject. Being a staunch believer that Hinduism is not a religion, this was kind of difficult. Apparently the views regarding this have their origin in the scriptures by Manu. Considering the fact that this guy was of the opinion that women should not be educated or given any kind of freedom, it’s not difficult to imagine that he really would not be too opposed to the idea of declaring women as impure generally, especially when she is having her periods. Christianity apparently prohibits women from accepting the Holy Communion during menstruation, however not many practice it – most women are not even aware of this prohibition. Guru Nanak, apparently condemned declaration of women as impure during the “special days”. Even Islam, for a change, didn’t target women alone. It just considers all impurities be removed before prayers and that includes menstrual blood, semen and vomit.
I understand where the concept could have stemmed from. Maybe in the ancient days, there were no effective ways of keeping a woman clean during menses - they hadn’t discovered sanitary napkins and tampons then, I guess. So maybe a woman walking about would not leave the best trail. So it would have made sense to keep a woman isolated to a room so that she doesn’t cover the house and surroundings with her menstrual blood. Also I would like to assume that they she was forbidden from house work was because she was maybe considered weak due to blood loss and stomach cramps to actually be productive around the house. I rather like that theory. So maybe it all started innocently with good intentions.
But nothing ever stays the same over time. So the interpretation changed and then somewhere over the ages, women became impure. I so abhor the thought and concept. Imagine someone telling you that you are impure. Believe me it’s the most insulting scenario you can face. It’s worse than racism – I think. I have in many instances entered temples when I’ve had periods. Unless God has already ruled eternal damnation for me and he is waiting for the right time to unleash his forces on me, I don’t think either God or I have been negatively affected by me entering his abode. The worse thing I think is that women strongly believe this concept and they alienate themselves from religious ceremonies when they are in their cycles. I think if we insist on being backward in our thoughts, next we can start actively practicing child marriages, sati cremations and all those wonderful concepts of our 5000 year old culture and tradition.
I realized from an early age that I’m also a part of the untouchable society. I’m a woman. By that definition, I menstruate. And as per Hindu rituals, I am literally untouchable for the days when I have my periods. I’m not allowed to go to temples, take part in holy rituals. In fact even people who touch me are considered impure and hence not fit to do anything which involves Gods. In earlier days, this was stretched to the extreme where women were not allowed to enter the kitchen, have any contact with others, refrain from touching anybody. I guess, with the passage of time, the growing financial contribution of working women to the house hold and the grip of the nuclear family on the modern society; it became clear to the male dominated Indian society that to keep the women isolated will do them no good. If the women enjoyed in isolation, who would do all the slave labour.. Earn the money, cook, clean, keep the house in order. So the lowly woman was allowed to enter the kitchen and do everything around the house…. But she was still kept away from God and everything holy, lest she makes it impure.
I researched the subject a bit to see if Hindu scriptures actually mention something about the acceptance of such untouchability. I also wanted to know if it’s just Hindus or are all religions equally fanatic about such forms of female domination. I was sure that they were and right I was.
My first problem was laying my hands on the right source to search Hindu religion’s views on the subject. Being a staunch believer that Hinduism is not a religion, this was kind of difficult. Apparently the views regarding this have their origin in the scriptures by Manu. Considering the fact that this guy was of the opinion that women should not be educated or given any kind of freedom, it’s not difficult to imagine that he really would not be too opposed to the idea of declaring women as impure generally, especially when she is having her periods. Christianity apparently prohibits women from accepting the Holy Communion during menstruation, however not many practice it – most women are not even aware of this prohibition. Guru Nanak, apparently condemned declaration of women as impure during the “special days”. Even Islam, for a change, didn’t target women alone. It just considers all impurities be removed before prayers and that includes menstrual blood, semen and vomit.
I understand where the concept could have stemmed from. Maybe in the ancient days, there were no effective ways of keeping a woman clean during menses - they hadn’t discovered sanitary napkins and tampons then, I guess. So maybe a woman walking about would not leave the best trail. So it would have made sense to keep a woman isolated to a room so that she doesn’t cover the house and surroundings with her menstrual blood. Also I would like to assume that they she was forbidden from house work was because she was maybe considered weak due to blood loss and stomach cramps to actually be productive around the house. I rather like that theory. So maybe it all started innocently with good intentions.
But nothing ever stays the same over time. So the interpretation changed and then somewhere over the ages, women became impure. I so abhor the thought and concept. Imagine someone telling you that you are impure. Believe me it’s the most insulting scenario you can face. It’s worse than racism – I think. I have in many instances entered temples when I’ve had periods. Unless God has already ruled eternal damnation for me and he is waiting for the right time to unleash his forces on me, I don’t think either God or I have been negatively affected by me entering his abode. The worse thing I think is that women strongly believe this concept and they alienate themselves from religious ceremonies when they are in their cycles. I think if we insist on being backward in our thoughts, next we can start actively practicing child marriages, sati cremations and all those wonderful concepts of our 5000 year old culture and tradition.
Monday, August 10, 2009
A, B, C...Z and Some Extras...
There is a very famous piece of dialogue in Namak Halal (1982) starring AB, which is “I can talk English, I can walk English, I can laugh English because English is a very funny language”. I agree with AB on this one. English is indeed a very funny language. I’m not talking about the spoken language. That’s funny all right, but it’s a topic for another time. What interests me more after my travels around the worlds, is the use of English alphabets, or let’s say the Latin alphabets. India being a country which has such a wide variety languages and an equally tall order of scripts, we have never had to use the English language to express our linguistic thoughts. We would use English to type out our Hindi sms’s or to communicate our Regional movie names!! There is no other reason to use English alphabets other than when we are communicating in English. However, this is no so in other parts of the world.
In Netherlands, the official language is Dutch. They have all the alphabets of English (I think) and an extra one “ij” – pronounced “I” or a “Y’ makes you wonder the plight of the “j”. How redundant would it be feeling! So Rijwijk becomes Rywiek. By the way, the Dutch are crazy about their “ij’s”. They pronounce the “G” as “Kh”, so for example “Gratis” meaning free, becomes “Khratis”. And that’s not all, the “Kh” has come from the base of your throat – as if you are gathering all the phlegm you have been storing in your chest. They call “I’ as “E” – so Identity becomes Edentity. They also pronounce “V” as “F”, so you have Vincent Van Gogh which is pronounced Fincent Faan Khoh.
Then there is Poland and its obsession with “z”. In most cultures that I enter, I at least get the basics. This was one language which is beyond my comprehension. How can it be… every 2nd letter is “Z”. So I went to this place spelt Gorzyce and it was called Gorzhitca. I went to another place spelt Wroclaw and it was called Wratsvav. J is called “Y”. Apparently its just in English that J is called J as in Jack and Just and Jug. So Jaeck is called Yacek. There are a lot of other names which I don’t know how to write or read… so just leave it at that, that I will not be speaking Polish any time soon.
My latest fascination is with Spanish. And let me tell you, it is as funny a language as AB thought English was. One of those rare moments when AB measures upto me…..
Anyway “H” is normally silent, but is used abundantly. J is H, L is Y, Q is K and above all is “X”. I have never seen a language so much in love with the letter. They use it in the name of every city. But it is either silent or called H. So let me give you a few examples. Hugo is Ugo. Jorge is Horhe. Padillo is Padiyo and of course Mexico is Mehico, A son is called Hijo and is pronounced Eho and a daughter is called Hija and is pronounced Eha… Sounds like Indian war cries Eho… Eha…..And you can’t imagine the number of cities with X in them. Lets c Mexico city, Acamixtla, Acaxochitlan, Calixtlahuaca, Doxey, Panixtlahuaca…. The list goes on. I think Mexico is the country with the largest number of cities starting with X……
Waiting for more cities and more languages……..will update you….
In Netherlands, the official language is Dutch. They have all the alphabets of English (I think) and an extra one “ij” – pronounced “I” or a “Y’ makes you wonder the plight of the “j”. How redundant would it be feeling! So Rijwijk becomes Rywiek. By the way, the Dutch are crazy about their “ij’s”. They pronounce the “G” as “Kh”, so for example “Gratis” meaning free, becomes “Khratis”. And that’s not all, the “Kh” has come from the base of your throat – as if you are gathering all the phlegm you have been storing in your chest. They call “I’ as “E” – so Identity becomes Edentity. They also pronounce “V” as “F”, so you have Vincent Van Gogh which is pronounced Fincent Faan Khoh.
Then there is Poland and its obsession with “z”. In most cultures that I enter, I at least get the basics. This was one language which is beyond my comprehension. How can it be… every 2nd letter is “Z”. So I went to this place spelt Gorzyce and it was called Gorzhitca. I went to another place spelt Wroclaw and it was called Wratsvav. J is called “Y”. Apparently its just in English that J is called J as in Jack and Just and Jug. So Jaeck is called Yacek. There are a lot of other names which I don’t know how to write or read… so just leave it at that, that I will not be speaking Polish any time soon.
My latest fascination is with Spanish. And let me tell you, it is as funny a language as AB thought English was. One of those rare moments when AB measures upto me…..
Anyway “H” is normally silent, but is used abundantly. J is H, L is Y, Q is K and above all is “X”. I have never seen a language so much in love with the letter. They use it in the name of every city. But it is either silent or called H. So let me give you a few examples. Hugo is Ugo. Jorge is Horhe. Padillo is Padiyo and of course Mexico is Mehico, A son is called Hijo and is pronounced Eho and a daughter is called Hija and is pronounced Eha… Sounds like Indian war cries Eho… Eha…..And you can’t imagine the number of cities with X in them. Lets c Mexico city, Acamixtla, Acaxochitlan, Calixtlahuaca, Doxey, Panixtlahuaca…. The list goes on. I think Mexico is the country with the largest number of cities starting with X……
Waiting for more cities and more languages……..will update you….
Monday, August 03, 2009
Little Venice
I never really did think too much about travelogues. Who would anyway be interested in reading some strangers’ tour of a strange country? If there were pictures to look at … now that’s a different story. So it’s with extremely realistic views of the diminutive readership of the following account, that I begin my blog.
I was in Venezuela for a week on work. It’s at times like this that I love my work. How else do you think I would have ever got to see an exotic country like Venezuela?
Anyway it was one of the most interesting trips I have made abroad. The country totally belied my expectations. I thought it would be a typical banana republic – blacks, civil wars, unsafe streets and all.
I was pleasantly surprised. It is a country endowed with a lot of natural resources and people who have the capabilities to exploit the resources for the development of the country. It reminded me so much of India.
The country is warm (not just the temperature); the people are warm and friendly. They make you feel at home, even if you cannot mutually understand a word of what the other person is saying. I had a Spanish tour guide and between us we had,
say, 10 words that we could understand, but we did well. He took me to a lot of beautiful places and tried in his own way to make my experience unforgettable. He knew that I had an early morning flight and he offered me a couple of fruits from the bunch he was taking home for his daughter, so that I wouldn’t have to get on my flight on an empty stomach.
Venezuela has a great mixture of different cultures – Indians (Red), Spanish, Arabs, Japanese, Asians, Americans. It’s a country that is so inclusive..... It allows you to lead your own life. It takes whatever is good from you and makes it a part of its lifeline. You could never feel unwelcome in Venezuela.
The country has a fairly developed infrastructure. Good roads, decent public transport system, the tallest building in Latin America, Parque Central, the biggest and busiest shopping districts in Latin America – mainly known for its eateries – one can find food from all over the world on this street is in Caracas – Las Mercedes.
There are many things atypical of Venezuela. For one, I wouldn’t be caught dead driving in Venezuela – not because it is dangerous. Simply because except for 2-3 main highways, the city of Caracas is riddled with many small streets- very much like gallies in Mumbai. It would take some one with an excellent directional sense, like yours truly, a lifeltime to figure out how to get from place A to place B. My gracious host ensured that he took me through a different route every day from my hotel to the office, just so that I could see more of the city. I didn’t even try to figure out the route.
Another thing which reminds me of home is the weather. Just like in Bangalore, the skies are forever cloudy. Even if it rains, it’s just for a few moments and then the sun is there – bright and shining.
My biggest fear when I travel outside of India is the food factor. I am an eggetarian. So normally on trips to Latin American countries, I tend to lose weight due to – well – starvation. But Venezuela was a whole new experience. I ate traditional Venezuelan Arepas and Chapakas, I devoured yummy Lebanese food, I had a very aesthetically presented sandwich, I ate my filling of eggplant lasagna…. I’m sure if I had stayed longer, I would have had the fortune of eating at least 4-5 different cusines. That is the variety that makes Venezuela wonderful.
I was in Venezuela for a week on work. It’s at times like this that I love my work. How else do you think I would have ever got to see an exotic country like Venezuela?
Anyway it was one of the most interesting trips I have made abroad. The country totally belied my expectations. I thought it would be a typical banana republic – blacks, civil wars, unsafe streets and all.
I was pleasantly surprised. It is a country endowed with a lot of natural resources and people who have the capabilities to exploit the resources for the development of the country. It reminded me so much of India.
The country is warm (not just the temperature); the people are warm and friendly. They make you feel at home, even if you cannot mutually understand a word of what the other person is saying. I had a Spanish tour guide and between us we had,
say, 10 words that we could understand, but we did well. He took me to a lot of beautiful places and tried in his own way to make my experience unforgettable. He knew that I had an early morning flight and he offered me a couple of fruits from the bunch he was taking home for his daughter, so that I wouldn’t have to get on my flight on an empty stomach.Venezuela has a great mixture of different cultures – Indians (Red), Spanish, Arabs, Japanese, Asians, Americans. It’s a country that is so inclusive..... It allows you to lead your own life. It takes whatever is good from you and makes it a part of its lifeline. You could never feel unwelcome in Venezuela.
The country has a fairly developed infrastructure. Good roads, decent public transport system, the tallest building in Latin America, Parque Central, the biggest and busiest shopping districts in Latin America – mainly known for its eateries – one can find food from all over the world on this street is in Caracas – Las Mercedes.There are many things atypical of Venezuela. For one, I wouldn’t be caught dead driving in Venezuela – not because it is dangerous. Simply because except for 2-3 main highways, the city of Caracas is riddled with many small streets- very much like gallies in Mumbai. It would take some one with an excellent directional sense, like yours truly, a lifeltime to figure out how to get from place A to place B. My gracious host ensured that he took me through a different route every day from my hotel to the office, just so that I could see more of the city. I didn’t even try to figure out the route.
Another thing which reminds me of home is the weather. Just like in Bangalore, the skies are forever cloudy. Even if it rains, it’s just for a few moments and then the sun is there – bright and shining.
My biggest fear when I travel outside of India is the food factor. I am an eggetarian. So normally on trips to Latin American countries, I tend to lose weight due to – well – starvation. But Venezuela was a whole new experience. I ate traditional Venezuelan Arepas and Chapakas, I devoured yummy Lebanese food, I had a very aesthetically presented sandwich, I ate my filling of eggplant lasagna…. I’m sure if I had stayed longer, I would have had the fortune of eating at least 4-5 different cusines. That is the variety that makes Venezuela wonderful.
Caracas is a happening place, but it is something to be experienced rather than seen or photographed. So my host decided a couple of must see places near Caracas and arranged for me to be taken to these.
Imagine having a taste of Europe in South America. That’s what Colonia Tovar was.
A colony set up by Germans in 1840, it is an idyllic tourist spot – has the freshest strawberries and hence the most delicious strawberry and cream that I have ever tasted. However to get to Colonia Tovar you have to go through a couple of pretty run down areas on the outskirts of Caracas. The two worlds that you see in the span of an hour are so much of a contradiction, that you wouldn’t believe that you are in the same country, much less the same city.
Imagine having a taste of Europe in South America. That’s what Colonia Tovar was.
A colony set up by Germans in 1840, it is an idyllic tourist spot – has the freshest strawberries and hence the most delicious strawberry and cream that I have ever tasted. However to get to Colonia Tovar you have to go through a couple of pretty run down areas on the outskirts of Caracas. The two worlds that you see in the span of an hour are so much of a contradiction, that you wouldn’t believe that you are in the same country, much less the same city.And then there is the magnificence called El Avila. Caracas is a valley and Aliva is the imposing guard that
holds vigil on the city. There is a ropeway which takes you to the top of El Avila. On a clear day you can see expanse of the Caribbean sea on one side and the whole city of Caracas spread out on the other. I was not lucky enough so see this. But the journey to the top of El Avila was like a journey on the clouds.. literally. It was still a breathtaking site when one moment you could see hotel Humboldt getting covered in clouds and the next moment it is totally engulfed – its as if it were never there. The hot chocolate that you get up there is lip smacking (they actually make it in front of you – not from a machine and Venezuela is famous for its Chocolates).
holds vigil on the city. There is a ropeway which takes you to the top of El Avila. On a clear day you can see expanse of the Caribbean sea on one side and the whole city of Caracas spread out on the other. I was not lucky enough so see this. But the journey to the top of El Avila was like a journey on the clouds.. literally. It was still a breathtaking site when one moment you could see hotel Humboldt getting covered in clouds and the next moment it is totally engulfed – its as if it were never there. The hot chocolate that you get up there is lip smacking (they actually make it in front of you – not from a machine and Venezuela is famous for its Chocolates).But one of your more long lasting memories of Venezuela would not be a pleasant one. The government of the country has imposed a forex restriction which is cause for a thriving parallel market where you can get a much better rate for Dollars as compared to the official rates. The market is very much like the Indian stock Market – some idiot sitting in the capital says something and the market falls or rises on sentiment. Then there are talks of efforts which are underway to make the country a socialist economy. For a country like Venezuela which is so diverse and so free this would be like a death knell. For the sake of the treasure that Venezuela is for the world, I hope to God that this doesn’t happen.
All in all Venezuela is a delightful smorgasbord of experiences that will leave you gasping for more!!
Sunday, July 12, 2009
The Miracle
“You are most welcome Ma’m” These words pleasantly surprised me. Because they didn’t come from a customer service executive of my cell provider or my bank or some one trying to sell me something useless, they came from an auto driver – and that too in Bangalore. Bangalore – a city where I have had not many occasions to be pleasantly surprised. I am eternally at war with the city’s auto drivers. They don’t come from Bangalore Central to Ulsoor because its too close They don’t come from Bangalore Central to Banaswadi because its too far. They want Rs.20 on the meter for a normal distance that they do graciously agree to ply on. They ask for one and a half times or if they are really in the mood of a prying hyena, twice the meter fare. On top of all the cash they ask extra, they then jack up the meter. So a fare which should cost you say 50 bucks, turns out to be 80 on the meter and you pay double of that … so go figure, why I love them so much!!
Anyway, that fateful day, I was wearing my new paid of shoes and they were killing me. I didn’t think I could do my regular hike up to Shivaji Nagar bus stop. So I steeled up for a fight with one of the many auto drivers who laze in front of my office building. Most days the word Banaswadi affects auto drivers like the black plague or something. They violently shake their heads and then lose their senses – go around making crazy demands like “150 hota ma…” a bangalorean’s way of telling you that the fare would be Rs.150/- (if that’s not crazy talk, I don’t know what is). I decide to start from the last guy and work my way to the head of the line. But lo behold!!!!! The guy actually smiles and says OK. So I get in and give him the location. He then does something which is even more unbelievable. He asks me if he can take me through Ulsoor, Cox town as Kamraj Road is kind of clogged with traffic and signals… I say ok… the trip is going pretty much smoothly. I keep looking at the meter to see if it’s jacked and there is no indication of that. Finally “me casa” arrives. The meter is on the dot what it should be Rs.58/-. I pay him Rs.60/-, thank him as I thank all my auto drivers – even the ones that don’t deserve it and start leaving and that’s when he says the magical words – “you are most welcome Ma’m” and gives me back Rs.2/-.
I guess miracles do happen!!
Anyway, that fateful day, I was wearing my new paid of shoes and they were killing me. I didn’t think I could do my regular hike up to Shivaji Nagar bus stop. So I steeled up for a fight with one of the many auto drivers who laze in front of my office building. Most days the word Banaswadi affects auto drivers like the black plague or something. They violently shake their heads and then lose their senses – go around making crazy demands like “150 hota ma…” a bangalorean’s way of telling you that the fare would be Rs.150/- (if that’s not crazy talk, I don’t know what is). I decide to start from the last guy and work my way to the head of the line. But lo behold!!!!! The guy actually smiles and says OK. So I get in and give him the location. He then does something which is even more unbelievable. He asks me if he can take me through Ulsoor, Cox town as Kamraj Road is kind of clogged with traffic and signals… I say ok… the trip is going pretty much smoothly. I keep looking at the meter to see if it’s jacked and there is no indication of that. Finally “me casa” arrives. The meter is on the dot what it should be Rs.58/-. I pay him Rs.60/-, thank him as I thank all my auto drivers – even the ones that don’t deserve it and start leaving and that’s when he says the magical words – “you are most welcome Ma’m” and gives me back Rs.2/-.
I guess miracles do happen!!
Monday, March 09, 2009
The Dirty Window
I love the dirty window
Encased in unspeakable grime
Giving you a blurred view of the world outside
Giving you a false hope, that’s its just the window which is dirty
And not the world seen through it
I love the dirty window
Silent witness to a multifold of events
Letting you see just enough through a speck of cleanliness
Giving you a false hope, that’s its just the window which is dirty
And not your view of the world
I love the dirty window
A mirror of our souls
Viewing the world with biases galore
Giving you a false hope, that’s its just the window which is dirty
And not your soul!!
Encased in unspeakable grime
Giving you a blurred view of the world outside
Giving you a false hope, that’s its just the window which is dirty
And not the world seen through it
I love the dirty window
Silent witness to a multifold of events
Letting you see just enough through a speck of cleanliness
Giving you a false hope, that’s its just the window which is dirty
And not your view of the world
I love the dirty window
A mirror of our souls
Viewing the world with biases galore
Giving you a false hope, that’s its just the window which is dirty
And not your soul!!
Friday, February 13, 2009
New Year Resolution 2009
Better late than never… Every one makes their New Year resolutions by New Year eve and by the 2nd week of the New Year they have already broken the resolutions. Two months have gone by and it just dawned on me that I have not updated my New Year resolutions.
As my mom says, all I do is copy paste the previous year resolutions and change the wordings a bit.. that’s all.. So in protest I am not going to do that.
I have only one resolution this year and that is not to swear. I have discovered that I have a very “Mumbaiya” slang of talking which includes a lot of the word “saala”. Also due to the esteemed company that I’m in now a days professionally, every second word I hear is “fuck”. So I have also developed a tendency to keep punctuating my sentences with these choice epithets.
My new year resolution is to take one day at a time and try to avoid using “saala”, “fuck”, “damn”, “bloody”, “asshole” and “bastard” in the normal course of life. These, now that I think back are my favourite swear words and though I’m conscious every time I use them of their unbecomingness I haven’t made any real attempts to stop.
I have also surprisingly (it came as a shock, albeit a pleasant one, to me too!) written one of my Oracle papers. So am tempted to put down on my resolution list that I will finish off the remaining 2 papers in the next 6 months, but I don’t want to jinx anything. So it stays off the list.
Pulling down on my weight is not something that I need to work on this year as it has started with a 3 week trip to Poland at the end of which I’m sure I would have lost at least 2-3 Kgs. That’s good enough for a year.
Regarding my talking a lot and trying to cut down on it, I’ve realized that I talk on and on when I have an audience that I know enjoys my blabbering. Given that I spend most of my time at office or onsite at the client location where there is too much work and the audience is not very receptive, my talking has gone down considerably. Needs working on thought, but am getting there. I’m sure by the time I’m sixty I would be mute!
So here goes my New Year resolution list:
I will not swear!
As my mom says, all I do is copy paste the previous year resolutions and change the wordings a bit.. that’s all.. So in protest I am not going to do that.
I have only one resolution this year and that is not to swear. I have discovered that I have a very “Mumbaiya” slang of talking which includes a lot of the word “saala”. Also due to the esteemed company that I’m in now a days professionally, every second word I hear is “fuck”. So I have also developed a tendency to keep punctuating my sentences with these choice epithets.
My new year resolution is to take one day at a time and try to avoid using “saala”, “fuck”, “damn”, “bloody”, “asshole” and “bastard” in the normal course of life. These, now that I think back are my favourite swear words and though I’m conscious every time I use them of their unbecomingness I haven’t made any real attempts to stop.
I have also surprisingly (it came as a shock, albeit a pleasant one, to me too!) written one of my Oracle papers. So am tempted to put down on my resolution list that I will finish off the remaining 2 papers in the next 6 months, but I don’t want to jinx anything. So it stays off the list.
Pulling down on my weight is not something that I need to work on this year as it has started with a 3 week trip to Poland at the end of which I’m sure I would have lost at least 2-3 Kgs. That’s good enough for a year.
Regarding my talking a lot and trying to cut down on it, I’ve realized that I talk on and on when I have an audience that I know enjoys my blabbering. Given that I spend most of my time at office or onsite at the client location where there is too much work and the audience is not very receptive, my talking has gone down considerably. Needs working on thought, but am getting there. I’m sure by the time I’m sixty I would be mute!
So here goes my New Year resolution list:
I will not swear!
Monday, February 09, 2009
Postivie Action
Ever imagined what a criminal waste of your time it is to lie in bed or snuggle on your couch and watch movies that preach positive action. No, it’s not the inspiration in the movie that is disgusting. It’s not that there are so many of them for your viewing pleasure that is appalling. What is however unacceptable is your unchanged view towards things even after these movies. I saw a wide variety of movies today – a cartoon, a Hindi movie and an English one. All three in their own way spoke of just one thing – believe in yourself and you can change the world, or at least the part of it that most affects you.
How many of us watch movies like these are shed a tear or two at the director’s cue? How many of us have our hearts soaring high when we see the underdog triumph. How many of us wish for a moment that we were that underdog?
How many of us have the guts and the will to become that underdog?
Let me answer my last question - not many. We conveniently forget that it took positive action from someone at some point of time in history for us to be enjoying our privileges today. Agreed that in today’s day and age, it is very difficult to gather the time, energy and motivation to take time of our “busy” lives to do something which actually contributes to the world that we are living in.
So let’s take baby steps. It’s not a question of doing big things, great things and monumental things. It’s a question of doing atleast something – something positive. Paying the fine rather than bribing the hawaldar, trying not to break the traffic rules in the first place, respecting another individual’s time by not making him / her wait for hours (how often have we said “he is just a driver, he can wait”), closing a dripping tap, helping a blind person cross the road, giving atleast an inconsequential fraction of our salary towards charity, doing something with your life other than eating, sleeping and going to office…. Anything…..
I’m so tired even trying to write up this list as I’m sure that most people trying to read it would be. We can’t even conjure up enough energy for introspection, forget it, we are no underdogs! Infact, I don’t even know what kind of existence we lead?
The sum total of an average life = 0.
Shit, why do they make inspirational movies? To mock our existence!! I’m sure there is some conspiracy. The universe is unhappy at my inertia and is conniving to stir my soul…but hey, its not going to work. No Siree, I live in oblivion and no amount of cajoling, pushing or scaring is going to get me out of my safe cocoon. I know I have the potential to be a beautiful butterfly. I know I have the capacity to make the world a better place with my colour. But I also know that the butterfly has a very short life indeed. So I would rather shrivel in my shell than venturing out to fulfill my potential, lest I meet resistance on my way. Nothing and no one is going to change that! I won’t allow it.
Never. NEVER!!!!
How many of us watch movies like these are shed a tear or two at the director’s cue? How many of us have our hearts soaring high when we see the underdog triumph. How many of us wish for a moment that we were that underdog?
How many of us have the guts and the will to become that underdog?
Let me answer my last question - not many. We conveniently forget that it took positive action from someone at some point of time in history for us to be enjoying our privileges today. Agreed that in today’s day and age, it is very difficult to gather the time, energy and motivation to take time of our “busy” lives to do something which actually contributes to the world that we are living in.
So let’s take baby steps. It’s not a question of doing big things, great things and monumental things. It’s a question of doing atleast something – something positive. Paying the fine rather than bribing the hawaldar, trying not to break the traffic rules in the first place, respecting another individual’s time by not making him / her wait for hours (how often have we said “he is just a driver, he can wait”), closing a dripping tap, helping a blind person cross the road, giving atleast an inconsequential fraction of our salary towards charity, doing something with your life other than eating, sleeping and going to office…. Anything…..
I’m so tired even trying to write up this list as I’m sure that most people trying to read it would be. We can’t even conjure up enough energy for introspection, forget it, we are no underdogs! Infact, I don’t even know what kind of existence we lead?
The sum total of an average life = 0.
Shit, why do they make inspirational movies? To mock our existence!! I’m sure there is some conspiracy. The universe is unhappy at my inertia and is conniving to stir my soul…but hey, its not going to work. No Siree, I live in oblivion and no amount of cajoling, pushing or scaring is going to get me out of my safe cocoon. I know I have the potential to be a beautiful butterfly. I know I have the capacity to make the world a better place with my colour. But I also know that the butterfly has a very short life indeed. So I would rather shrivel in my shell than venturing out to fulfill my potential, lest I meet resistance on my way. Nothing and no one is going to change that! I won’t allow it.
Never. NEVER!!!!
Friday, January 02, 2009
To stand or not to stand – that’s the question!
I was in Bangalore for the Christmas weekend and went to the theater in Ulsoor which I frequent. This particular multiplex opens every show with the national anthem. Kind of a strange tradition, imitating the Americans who open every ball game with the “Star Spangled Banner”.
But I am a hardcore patriotic and a mushy one at that. I’m one of those who gets goose bumps every time Jana Gana Mana is played and whose eyes tear up every time the National Tricolour unflurs.
So it is natural that when I saw two illustrious citizens of my country hesitant to rise for the national anthem, I was royally pissed. These two guys, maybe around 30-35 years, were giggling away to glory when the announcement was splayed across the screen. Everyone promptly got up.. it is so heartening to see youngsters who bunk college or steal away from their parents vigilance to enjoy some quite “love”, standing still, cutting calls, stopping their chatter to respect the anthem, to respect the country. So when you see people who think that the whole thing is a joke and wait for the whole theater to get up before deciding to get up just so that they are not the only ones caught sitting, your blood boils.. or at least mine does. A pre-trailer of Ghajini flashed through my mind where I was Aamir with bulging muscles and 10 packs and all and was chasing these guys through MG Road and Ulsoor and beating the shit out of them. I thought of a 100 ways to torture them such that the next time they even hear the opening strings of the anthem or for than even Vande Mataram or Saare Jahan Se Acha they will stop whatever they are doing and stand still and maybe even salute the imaginary flag.
I was relishing that thought when another thought flashed through my mind. If India had to police the morality and actions of her citizens and punish them for every flaw, wouldn’t she be like one of the Arab countries which impose their will on their citizens? Wouldn’t the citizens of India then want to flee and resettle in some other country where they are guaranteed some degree of freedom? (Even with all the freedom that this country grants, her thankless citizens still want to resettle abroad, that’s another issue and another blog subject). Anyway, if we were to chase every Indian who said something against the nation or its leaders, that’s all we would have time for – given our population and given the fact that all we do is complain and whine. We would be like the Taliban who dictates what to do and what not to do to its citizens and nobody liked Taliban, now did they??
Shouldn’t we be proud of the fact that we live in a country where freedom is taken for granted to such an extent that we are eligible to give our opinion / advice on even topics about which we know zilch. We can tell ISRO how to do better when Chandrayan 2 gets launched, we can advice the EC on how to hold clean elections, we can dictate to PC the best way to control inflation, we can spit on the PM for not implementing our innovative ways of dealing with terrorism… we can do all that and still walk around without the fear of getting apprehended and thrown into prison for being a traitor. How many of us want to exercise that freedom but on our own terms. When we say / do something, its justified, its for the country.. when someone else does something totally contrary to our imbibed thought process, then we need to kick them in their ass!! Maybe the two gentlemen in front of me didn’t see the point of playing the national anthem before a movie.. neither do I, but my reaction to the situation is totally opposite to theirs and its only in countries like ours that people can have such diametrically opposite views and still co-exist peacefully (for most part).
I love clichés and I love SRK and so can’t desist from quoting a line from one of his movies. In Main Hoon Na, when after a totally unbelievable chase sequence where SRK, who is on a cycle chases the villains, who are in a Scorpio and catches them (man.. aren’t Hindi movies awesome!!) he takes into custody one the key players of the enemy camp who during interrogation accuses the Indian army of being passive and not doing anything for the country. And there is a one line by SRK “Accha hua tum Indian Army ke samne ho, isliye abhi bhi zinda ho, hum agar tum jaise hote to tume kab ke mar chuke hote”… or something to that effect.
Meaning in short that India still allows her subjects to rave and rant against her without starting a witch hunt against them. And that.. that singular factor is enough to make me even more proud to be an Indian.
But I am a hardcore patriotic and a mushy one at that. I’m one of those who gets goose bumps every time Jana Gana Mana is played and whose eyes tear up every time the National Tricolour unflurs.
So it is natural that when I saw two illustrious citizens of my country hesitant to rise for the national anthem, I was royally pissed. These two guys, maybe around 30-35 years, were giggling away to glory when the announcement was splayed across the screen. Everyone promptly got up.. it is so heartening to see youngsters who bunk college or steal away from their parents vigilance to enjoy some quite “love”, standing still, cutting calls, stopping their chatter to respect the anthem, to respect the country. So when you see people who think that the whole thing is a joke and wait for the whole theater to get up before deciding to get up just so that they are not the only ones caught sitting, your blood boils.. or at least mine does. A pre-trailer of Ghajini flashed through my mind where I was Aamir with bulging muscles and 10 packs and all and was chasing these guys through MG Road and Ulsoor and beating the shit out of them. I thought of a 100 ways to torture them such that the next time they even hear the opening strings of the anthem or for than even Vande Mataram or Saare Jahan Se Acha they will stop whatever they are doing and stand still and maybe even salute the imaginary flag.
I was relishing that thought when another thought flashed through my mind. If India had to police the morality and actions of her citizens and punish them for every flaw, wouldn’t she be like one of the Arab countries which impose their will on their citizens? Wouldn’t the citizens of India then want to flee and resettle in some other country where they are guaranteed some degree of freedom? (Even with all the freedom that this country grants, her thankless citizens still want to resettle abroad, that’s another issue and another blog subject). Anyway, if we were to chase every Indian who said something against the nation or its leaders, that’s all we would have time for – given our population and given the fact that all we do is complain and whine. We would be like the Taliban who dictates what to do and what not to do to its citizens and nobody liked Taliban, now did they??
Shouldn’t we be proud of the fact that we live in a country where freedom is taken for granted to such an extent that we are eligible to give our opinion / advice on even topics about which we know zilch. We can tell ISRO how to do better when Chandrayan 2 gets launched, we can advice the EC on how to hold clean elections, we can dictate to PC the best way to control inflation, we can spit on the PM for not implementing our innovative ways of dealing with terrorism… we can do all that and still walk around without the fear of getting apprehended and thrown into prison for being a traitor. How many of us want to exercise that freedom but on our own terms. When we say / do something, its justified, its for the country.. when someone else does something totally contrary to our imbibed thought process, then we need to kick them in their ass!! Maybe the two gentlemen in front of me didn’t see the point of playing the national anthem before a movie.. neither do I, but my reaction to the situation is totally opposite to theirs and its only in countries like ours that people can have such diametrically opposite views and still co-exist peacefully (for most part).
I love clichés and I love SRK and so can’t desist from quoting a line from one of his movies. In Main Hoon Na, when after a totally unbelievable chase sequence where SRK, who is on a cycle chases the villains, who are in a Scorpio and catches them (man.. aren’t Hindi movies awesome!!) he takes into custody one the key players of the enemy camp who during interrogation accuses the Indian army of being passive and not doing anything for the country. And there is a one line by SRK “Accha hua tum Indian Army ke samne ho, isliye abhi bhi zinda ho, hum agar tum jaise hote to tume kab ke mar chuke hote”… or something to that effect.
Meaning in short that India still allows her subjects to rave and rant against her without starting a witch hunt against them. And that.. that singular factor is enough to make me even more proud to be an Indian.
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About Me
- methinksthat
- Mumbai product - went around the world - got hitched and escaped from the Silicon city of India to the land of glamour and royalty - London. I write every time my heart stirs......