The Motherhood Chronicles - I

15 days back my life as I had known it for 30 odd years changed – whether for better or for worse needs to be seen. The change though gargantuan in nature came in a pretty small package, all of 2.75kgs and red – no I’m not talking of fresh ripe tomatoes… I’m talking about the stork visiting me with a lovely daughter as a gift. It’s one of those changes that nature gives you nine months to prepare for – both mentally and physically and still when the time comes you feel like an engineering student on the eve of his final exams – totally clueless with a new found faith in God.

It all started way back in August of 2010 when I discovered that I had conceived. Now, I don’t know what an ideal reaction to an incident like that should be, but I tried to act all pumped up and excited. Frankly, I was shitting bricks. What does this mean – and my mind was conjuring up all the extreme negative side effects of parenthood – total loss of freedom, additional responsibilities which I was not ready for, stretching my already stretched body to its maximum, additional expenses, maybe sacrifices required on the career front… was I ready for all that? Nope I wasn’t – and I didn’t think I ever would be. So I decided that as a matter of “social obligation” which is what my husband calls marriage (and it is one of the few things that I agree with him on) and family; a child had to be had and the timing was as good as any. I was just about to cross 30 and apparently my biological clock would be ticking away to glory and getting pregnant and delivering would only become an uphill task going forward. If the misery had to be undergone, better do it when the body is capable of doing it with the least amount of trouble.

Then came the months of uneventful checkups with a gynec. Even the selection of a gynec was a totally lackluster event. We looked for a hospital / nursing home close to our residence, called them up and asked them if they had a gynec – no references, no hi-fi hospitals, no second opinions. I had a pretty mundane pregnancy. No complications (touchwood), no excitements, no hiccups. Life was so ordinary that if an expectant mother were to ask me what are the symptoms of morning sickness, I would have to give an answer from one of the myriad pregnancy books as I have no practical experience of the same. My tummy didn’t even show till about the 7^th month. The highpoint in my life was the 1^st scan we took of the kid where I heard the kids heart beat. I was a weird feeling and the 1^st time that the feeling sunk in that there was life inside of me and I was responsible for it.

I was working from home practically for the whole duration of my term and though the work was hectic, I didn’t have to travel at all and that was a big relief. There was so much work that I didn’t have time to mull over the details of pregnancy like “is the baby kicking”, “do you have cravings”, “do you feel tired” etc. I was on phone all the time with no time even for the mandatory “walk”. Everyone at home and work decided that the kid was going to be an expert in the field of internal controls and anti corruption regulations around the world when it came out because that’s all what I spoke for around 7 months out of the 9 months of pregnancy. Then as usual at a crucial junction of my pregnancy when something had to happen, my hubby decided to go for a short stint to Singapore. The only thing we as a couple have an unspoken agreement about is the importance of our respective careers - I didn’t want to stop him. So with him out of the way, the path was clear for me to leave the dreaded city of Bangalore and come home to Mumbai.

In Mumbai, my parents smothered me with affection to an extent that I felt guilty being pregnant and turning their life upside down – little did I know what was in store after the baby came. Their actions also scared the living day lights out of me – these were big shoes to fill and these actions were too tough to equal. I could not for the life of me visualize myself or my husband being so selfless and doing all the same things for our child that my parents were doing for me.

And then the big day arrived – I was due to go for a checkup on 21^st April – it was mom’s birthday and we had the whole afternoon planned. As usual, the best laid plans are the ones which go totally haywire. My water broke at the stroke of midnight on 21^st – when the rest of the world was sleeping and I was contemplating waking my Mom and wishing her a very happy birthday – here I was waking her and telling her – Its time. It was a week early than we expected, but then the kid had other plans I guess. There was no mad rush to the hospital – I sure that if I wrote a detailed book on the days and months of my pregnancy, it would turn out to be one of the most boring books ever written as nothing exciting happened.

We were at the hospital at half past midnight and the doc was there. No, I didn’t feel any pains and the doc expected no action till morning. Sleep well – its going to be a tough day tomorrow. The day came, many well wishers, mostly mom’s colleagues and friends who were almost like my surrogate mom’s were at the hospital more to provide moral support than for anything else. Between 6 am and 6 pm, the doc tried inducing labour pains some 4 times and finally gave me an epidural when she was convinced that I wasn’t going to deliver normally. She thought that if I wasn’t going to deliver normally I might as well be spared the pain. Finally at 6.50pm or so, nearly 19 hours after my water broke, I went under the knife and in 10 minutes the kid was out.

There was new life on planet E and I was responsible for it. I didn’t know what to feel, I drifted off into a fitful sleep aided by the anesthesia……Little did I know that for a very long time to come, all my sleeps would be fitful and an 8 hour sleep would be a luxury that I couldn’t afford – very much like a BMW or Audi.

Great Expectations

There are times in life when you feel happy that you did something ... something that normal people are supposed to do.. like taking up a new hobby, traveling, enjoying life in a moment... something that seems to happen in other people's life... infact everyone's life but yours.

So I'm happy. Now ask me why??

I figured that I am not expecting enough of myself, that I haven't set the bar high enough. I know that I'm not extraordinary, but then I am not one who believes that there is something called extraordinary. Every one is good at something - sometimes that something may be nothing, but doesn't negate the fact that you are still good at something. I am one of those people who has been called everything from over confident to arrogant to cocky. There were times that those "accusations" hurt. Not anymore. I've made peace with myself. As long as I can sleep well at night knowing I haven't hurt anyone knowingly, I'm cool.

So coming back to self expectations.

I'm in Erie, PA. A place I visited for a week in March and wrote off as a sleepy town, nearly comatose. Now I've been here for a month and a half and you know what, it's not half as bad as I thought it would be. It's small, but there is nothing wanting (maybe a bit of night life, but I'm not much of a nightlife person myself, so wouldn't know if one existed anyway). It has beautiful residential areas, a serene lake, a beautiful state park, an amusement park which boasts of the 6th best wooden roller coaster in US, HQ of a couple of big MNC's, a couple of Wallmarts, a couple of really top notch hospitals.....

So I got thinking. If this place which seemed so dead a couple of months ago could have so much hidden within, how much could I have within me... and I don't even seem dead or comatose. I have all this energy within me which normally just goes in watching life go by and not actually participating in life. I'm not Bolt, don't want to be either, but should I at least run in the race which is my own life? I remember a line from the movie "The Holiday", "you should be the leading lady of your own life". I guess with no one around in my life as of now (me being alone and devoid of all familial ties barring the 15 minute call to India per day) I finally can concentrate on my own life.

I have seen that when I'm alone I tend to do things which actually enhance my personality, things which I like, things which make me feel like the leading lady of my own life, things which give me hope and happiness...Everything to do with what I think of myself rather than what others think of myself. I am aware that this is not a permanent state of affairs. This is but a brief hiatus, a momentary respite from "real life". But its proving to be the much needed breath of air that I needed when I felt like I was sinking in the mundane tides of my life.

So what is it that I'm harping about. I've taken up swimming. Of all the things to do when in US and to spend an obscene amount of money on, I decided to do it on a new skill. I decided that if the tides of life became too much for me, I should at least know enough to stay afloat. With that in mind, I joined private swim lessons and finished 3 classes. I'm not doing as spectacularly as I thought I would, but hey.. I can float and I can get a few strokes in... so I'm getting there.

Another thing I do here with a lot of dedication is gymming... I haven't lost oodles of weight, but I spend atleast 45 minutes in the gym - walking, climbing, doing weights etc thrice a week. So at least that discipline is imbibed.

My next aim is to start driving when I'm back in India. I have allowed myself to be bogged down by other people's opinion of my driving skills. I may not be good... heck I admit, I'm not good, but its nothing that I can't do... there is almost nothing that I can't do if I put my mind to it..

So, maybe this is a good time to pen down a few things that I want done before end of this year.. all for me and me alone (even at the risk of sounding totally selfish):

At least do a complete lap in the pool before my 10 lessons are over

• Continue with swim lessons when in India
• Continue walking / gymming when back in India
• Do whatever is necessary to drive independently in Bangalore
• Write atleast a couple of CIA papers..
• If possible (and if not an overkill) - start a new language course.

Even if I get a couple of things from the above list done by the time I redo my new year resolutions for 2011, I would be satisfied.

New things in life

A lot has happened since I last wrote.

I got promoted. I got a decent hike. I got a project which will keep me out of home for around 6 months this year. So I screwed my family life. My husband who has a steady job for 3 years, changed jobs finally. And now that he did it once, he is all excited and he is on the verge of changing to another job in less than a month. Our flat in Bangalore is getting ready quite on schedule. Most probably I won’t be around when we get the keys to our house. Go figure. I keep advocating others not to allow people to take you for granted and to ensure that you have your dignity. I guess all that is just pep talk for others and really doesn’t apply to me. We keep having plans of starting a family which we keep pushing to the next year or some occasion because “ it is not the right time”. I liked the attitude of my new client… a go for it guy who says, there is never a right time for anything. So why wait.. just do it. So simple. He runs a $ 20 billion company and if he says it doable then it must be.

Had a chat with the guy who keeps the kitchen at Hotel Avalon in Erie, PA where I stayed for a week. Spoke to another old man, who has been sober for 8 months, or so he says. Things they said seemed to echo conversations that I can have with any middle class person back at home. Most of the issues we discussed, Oh yeah.. we discussed issues over breakfast…. Were simple day to day things.. spending too much, saving too much, having a job, not having a job, good, bad, evil, god, drinking…. Kinda felt like home…. In a strange land, in a strange hotel, watching college basketball, eating stale muffins, talking to a strange black guy and an even stranger white oldie.. I felt safe. Caught up on the old episodes of CSI, CSI NY, Law and Order, Bones….. good use of time.

Walked around the town.. Erie. Small place. As Debbie at the bric a brac store down told me.. the town strives to keep itself small. Covered in pristine snow, it had a charm of its own. It is home to Gammon University. Maybe it’s a good place in summer when the lake is not frozen and people come out more. When summer comes here is another question, but whenever it does.. I’m sure it will be beautiful and the way things are now, I’m sure I will be there to see it when it happens.

Travelled in Air India for the 1st time and I have to admit, it was not as bad as I thought it would be. The food was great, to say the least. The service was ok… can’t compare it to Emirates. What really let me down was the entertainment. There wasn’t enough to keep me occupied for 8 hours on my way up to Frankfurt, I wonder what I would do for a 21 hour flight down to Mumbai.

Waiting for life to just pass me by…

Chetan Bhagat’s New One

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.

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.

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.

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….

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.

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.

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).

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!!

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!!

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!!

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!

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!!!!

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.

Mahabharatha

I was on my way from Bangalore on 26th Nov. Gosh! It felt like a weekend and it was just Wednesday… two more days to go for the weekend. How I wish I had a break, I was in no mood to go to office the next day. Little did I know that God actually heard this prayer.. of all the things that I had ever asked – a Merc, a villa in South of France, an Oscar – of all these humble things the only prayer he heard was that I wanted a break on Thursday. And how did he go about granting me this wish. He killed around 200 people. Is this called two birds with one stone? I get my break and he gets to control the population by a bit. I know I’m sounding morbid. But, I don’t know how else to feel. I am numb.

Like all previous visits to Mumbai, I thought nostalgia would creep up on me and leave me teary eyed. But it was not to be. I looked out of the window when the flight was landing. The sight of Mumbai all decked up with diamonds, or so it seems from up above, didn’t make my heart soar. When I got down and walked out, the once familiar sights, sounds and smells didn’t overwhelm me with the sense of familiarity. Maybe my umbilical chord with the city was being severed – a bit at a time – all thanks to my resettlement to Bangalore. But then it happened - the 60 hour siege on the city by a few thugs who brought this mighty city to its knees. And all those feelings about the city surged back into my heart. Once a Mumbaikar, always a Mumbaikar – what a cliché!!

Glued to the TV, gobbling up every detail that was being spewed out by the reporters, at times wishing they would give updated information, at times cursing them for giving out details of movements of our security forces, at times hating the Muslims for being such a brainless and ruthless community, at times being sure that the Bajrang Dal, BJP, RSS and other forces were the brains behind this and indeed all such terror attacks on the country, at times hoping that all the hostages come out safely, at times reasoning that if it meant sacrificing a few civilian lives to kill the terrorists, then so be it, at times feeling genuine sorrow for the captives at Taj and Oberoi, at times envy raising its ugly head that they could afford to be there and I cannot, at times thinking of the terrible blow this event had caused to the image of the city in eyes of the international community, at times beaming with pride that we had a NSG that was touted as being brave and couteous at the same time – presenting a perfect image of India, at times mourning the death of the dead police offiers and NSG personnel, at times thinking these are the very people responsible for this calamity because of their complacency and indifference, at times feeling deeply saddened by the state of the foreigners who were caught in the mess, at time cursing those very foreigners for being the harbingers of death for so many Indians – civilians and otherwise, at times pitying the government and the decision takers for the immense pressure they were under and the ultimate guilt they would have to carry to their death bed of blood of innocents on their hands, at times wishing I had enough money to put a contract out to kill these very politicians for raping my country over and over again. I was so unsure of what I felt, what I should feel, what is appropriate for the occasion.

There was just one thing of which I was sure, that nothing was going to change. Nothing has changed since 1992-93 – I am not very optimistic about any change in future either. The country is made up of millions like me who pay lip service but lack the courage, will and conviction to actually do something about it. India is indeed very unfortunate to have such impotent children. It’s as if she was Gandhari, mother of Kauravas – blindfolded and mother to a 100 children who are destined to die an ignoble death from the time they were born.

Indian or What????

It's been sometime since I have written. Yesterday I read something in Sunday Times which prompted me to think. It's been a long time since that paper has made me think... its almost a joke now a days to read the papers. Anyway, let me not digress from the point. The article was about Obama (obviously as he is the current hot topic). It said how Obama, who is part black, part white, part Indonesian, part African, part American, stood tall to become the ultimate icon of America - apparently he is the penultimate American!

This was followed with tales of whether regionalism is relevant in the Indian society or not. Various people gave their views. I being one who rarely pays any heed to what others have to say, have my own opinion about the issue. I always thought the best thing about India was its diversity (translation - regionalism). Don't we brag about it all the time... unity in diveristy!!

It's the fact that we belong to different states, speak different languages, dress differently, have varied food habits, pray to different Gods, have innumerable customs and traditions which are poles apart from each other... its this that makes us uniquely Indian. But do we actually deserve this tag??? Most of us don't know our native languages, customs and traditions. I can thankfully speak Malayalam as my parents advocated the language at home. But I can hardly read and write to save my skin. I am clumsy when it comes to wearing a mund and veshti (our traditional garb), I know the names of all the traditional dishes, but can't cook any, and I have never made a pookalam for Onam or set up a Vishukani. I don't know the history of Kerala. Can I still call myself a Malayalee? I was born and brought up in Mumbai, Maharashtra. I can speak, read and write Marathi. I relish most Maharashtrian dishes (though the state of cooking these remains the same as mentioned above) and have partaken in more Ganeshotsav celebrations than Onam celebrations. So does that make me a Maharashtrian? Thankfully both my parents are Malayalees and both belong to the same community Nairs. So I think I can still officially call myself a Nair. What of those poor souls who have mixed parents say a Punjabi mother and a Maharashtrian father or cross religious parents say a Tamil Brahmin mother and a Manglorean Christian father? Whats to become of these kids? What language do they learn? What customs do they follow? As far as I know, they speak English and Hindi and they celebrate all festivals which are declared to be National holidays by the Indian Government. They celebrate Diwali, Christmas and Id with the same fervour.. they chillax... they have no clue what to do for either of the festivals. They call friends and wish them and if they still have a pure bred regional friend whose parents practice some sort of regionalism, they gather and hog the delicacies and then leave after thanking"aunty" for the lovely time they had. They are none the wiser after the event.

So in this scenario, should I say that if I get angry when someone says something detrimental about India, like Hayden callling India a third world country, or feel proud when I see an Indian acheive something, like Anand becoming the Grand Master or have goosebumps evverytime I hear Jana Gana Mana, I continue to be an Indian? An Indian without an individual identity? Is it necessary to retain that individualism? I think yes, when I have a child, I would still want him or her to know Malayalam, I would want them to be as big a fan for Avial and Sambar as they may be for French fries and burgers, I would want them to celebrate Onam and Vishu with the same enthusiasm that they show towards Valentine's day and I want them to be as comfortable in a mund and veshti as they would be in a pair of Levis, I want them to be as proud of being a Malayalee as being an Indian, but I would never want them to be a Malayalee first and an Indian later. I would never want them to put their regionalism before Nationalism. But them wheree do I draw the line? I somehow seem to have got it right. I am a proud Malayalee and an even prouder Indian. Maybe it's all in the upbringing.

7 / 11 - A View from two worlds

I have been seeing a lot of movies now a days. Surprisingly all hindi and even more surprisingly most of them good and thought provoking. Bollywood does have the occassional Ardhasatya, Krantiveer, Rang De Basanti etc. to try and pry open the eyes of our dead souls to what is happening around us. They did - momentarily. None of the thoughts depicted in these movies are revolutionary. These are movies made by normal people who live in the same society as us and see and face the same problems as us. These are people who may be better privileged than some of us with regards to money power, but they have the same fears as the common man. The fear of the omniprevalent uncertainity of life.....
I saw Mumbai Meri Jaan and A Wednesday on consequent weekends. There could not have been two equally brilliant movies based on the same event with such views which were poles apart.

Mumbai Meri Jaan tells the tale of 5 distinct individuals who were in Mumbai when the 7 /11 train blasts took place and how they come to terms with the aftermath of the shock. How they pick up the pieces left over from the debris of the blast and get used to moulding their lives around the attack. It will remain as an indelible memory in all their minds but they have moved on in life.... You easily identify with all the characters in the movie, your heart goes out to them and you feel a personal triumph when they get over the terror and return to normalcy.

A Wednesday!, on the other hand deals with the same theme and tells us that we have got so used to being attacked and battered and bruised and have become such great friends with the fear of being killed every time we step out of our homes, that we have become incapable of any reaction. A stupid common man, that's what the character played by Naseer calls himself. A stupid common man, who is so busy in trying to run his life that he has no time or resource to try and protect it. We have become really adept in picking up the pieces as shown in Mumbai Meri Jaan and getting on with life. As he says, there is quite a bit of house cleaning to be done in India and we have got used to waiting for someone else (preferably the "authorities") to come and deal with it. As the old cliche goes, if you want to clean the gutter, you will get dirty in the process. We as a generation have evolved so much that the prospect of even a stain in our pure white lives is a blasphemous thought. You will sympathize & empathize with Naseer's character who is aptly nameless thoughout the movie, only referred to as the common man. You will understand and agree with his emotions. It's just his action that you cannot digest. Not because they were morally wrong. Just because we do not have the courage or the conviction take the same drastic steps. He might have been just another character in Mumbai Meri Jaan who chose to react differently from the other 5 characters....

Don't we all think that keeping politicians and terrorists locked up in jails for decades and feeding them with our hard earned tax money is total injustice? When each and every one of the 1 billion odd of us know who were behind each of the major communal / terrorist riots and economic scandals which have shaken the very foundations of the Indian way of life, why don't we do anything about it?
Have we all become like whores? No woman gets into this particular profession willingly, but once in, they beecome resigned to their "fate" and move on with life, maybe even beginning to enjoy their way of life....Sound similar to our lives... your and mine??

The Indian Writer

I wrote a couple of months back in disgust after having read "3 mistakes of my life", about the appaling condition of Indian literature. I would like to retract my statements. I have since then read some Indian authors and am pleasantly surprised. Though its only the soft porn written by Ms. De and Mr. Singh which gets publicity, I have in the past 2 months read a few really good Indian books.

It's a revelation to read Indian authors and identify not just with emotions as you can in foreign novels, but with situations and places also.

I have read a couple of translations - both in their own rights were path breakers in the original language that they were written in. It should come as no surprise that one is a Bengali book called Chowringhee by Sankar (1962) and the other is a Malayalam book called Nallukettu by M.T (1958). These book date back nearly half a century and there is so much within them that still rings so true. It ought to be a source of shame for us that the appaling conditions of the demise of the Nair society that M.T describes so lucidly in Nallukettu and the underbelly of Calcutta that Sankar describes so vividly in Chowringhee still wouldn't require to be changed much if these books had to be re-written in today's day and age.

I've read a couple of stark commentaries on human nature and especially the Indian variant. Again these books Guide by R.K Narayan (1958) and The White Tiger by Aravind Adiga (2008), being 50 years apart mirror the Indian mentality that we are so seeped in. You start identifying with the aimlessness of Raju, who whiles away his life and time doing literally nothing noteworthy and sympathising with Balram, who kills his master and runs away with his money to start a business. These are characters that you know in your life, characters whose actions you can justify because you know the "system".

I also read "Ladies Coupe" by Anita Nair, where there were at least two characters whom I know personally and was disturbed by the accuracy with which sentiments of these lives, which are so typically Indian, were etched by the author.

Though I was disappointed with God of smalll things and have not yet been able to get through "A tale of two lives" by Vikram Seth and "The Great Indian Novel" by Tharoor, I have new found interest and confidence in Indian writers.

An interview with MYSELF

I have not been seen or heard from for quite some time now. So I decided to catch up with myself and probe a bit into what's new in my life.

Q: So, What's up? How and where have you been?
Me: All's well.. all is in a well (as a friend once used to say). I have been steadily grounded to Bangalore. It's been nearly 2 months since I've left this place. It is starting to grow on me now, I think.

Q: What do you mean it's starting to grow on you?
Me: You know, when you have been in a particular situation for a long time, you kinda get used to it. It becomes a part of your life, even the inconveniences. You remember Mohan Bharghav telling the villagers in Swadesh, that it's as if they have got so used to not having electricity that they have started to enjoy it. It's the same with me. Being totally helpless when it comes to going some place on my own, being dependant on my husband to chauffer me around, feeling obliged when a auto driver charges you by the meter, spending Rs.300/- to see Bollywood trash and another Rs.100/- for soggy popcorn, paying Rs.55/- for semi-decent pav-bhaji and pretending to relish it, buying drinking water, thanking the not so oft seen maid for coming once in a while and exercising my broom.....the list is kind of endless, but I'm getting used to all of it.

Q: Is there nothing good about Bangalore?
Me: I'm sure there is plenty good about Bangalore, but I have such a mental block against the place that I just don't seem to be able to see any.

Q: Still, give it a try.
Me: Ok, lemme see. I think it is a place which offers fairly good work life balance. The pace of life here is not as bad as in Mumbai. So, I manage to reach home by 7 every evening and we as a couple have dinner by 8. Thats a rarity in Mumbai. Maybe, due to the proximity and abundance of all the malls around, i have been watching a lot of movies, again something that I didn't do too mcuh in Mumbai. In Mumbai, weeekends were to laze around at home. In Bangalore, where electricity takes a hike for 8 hours every weekend (I'm sure the mall owners association in Bangalore have a tie up with the Electricity Board for ensuring zero power supply at weekends, so that business at malls boom), there is no point in staying home. Also, I have been reading a lot lately. Don't know if Bangalore has anything to do with it, but lets give it the benefit of doubt, shall we?

Q: So things are not all in the well, right?
Me: Ha ha... the way this place gets flooded after a mild shower, I would say things are always in the well, drain, lake, river... or whatever.

Q: Hows work?
Me: Ok, so far so good. Lots of time on the bench, why do you think I'm giving this intereview! Even work wise (that is when I do have some work), its ok. The people in my office here are pretty chilled out and things are going kind of ok. Have some good colleagues, intelligent conversations, lots of shopping during office hours.. so I'm not complaining.

Q: Any changes in you as a person after marriage or after shifting to Bangalore or as a result of your new job?
Me: I think marriage makes you more responsible. If you have had a life like mine with no worries, no responsibilities, no ailing mother to look after, no younger siblings to educate, no nothing, you would suddenly wake up one day to find that the life of this guy whom you barely knew is now intricately linked to yours. I guess no one spells out your responsibilities, you just learn them. Its kind of nice sometimes to care for and to be care for by someone who did not have a direct stake in your existance on planet Earth.

Q: How's health?
Me: Awful. Just awful. Own cooked food, everyday lunching outside and total lack of any form of effective exercise - it's all showing on me.

Q: So what are your plans for rehab?
Me: You make it sound like I'm some kind of addict! Yeah, maybe you are right. I'm an addict of lazziness. Need to do something about it. Maybe when Unni is gone, Not that way silly, wipe of that shocked look off your face!, When Unni is gone to Finland and I've more time on my hands, then will plan out some schedule.

Q: And what about you Oracle thing? Its been almost a year since you blew a bomb on a 3 week course?
Me: Man, you do know how to hit where it hurts the most!! I w'd 've loved to reserve my comments on that one, but just because its you, I'm baring my heart out. I've lost focus totally. It''s been a hellof a year - lots happpening - new man, new job, new place...I'm not justifying anything..Need to regain my focus.. Once Unni goes...

Q: You seem to be hellbent on getting Unni out of the picture! You sure you are not using him as a crutch too mask your inabilities and failures.
Me: You have an agenda against me or something? Why are you being so unpleasant??

Q: Gimme a break. I'm only trying to get to the truth. You don't want to accept it, we can move on..
Me: No..No wait. I'm not a coward. Yes, to an extent you are right. I'm blaming circumstances for all that happening wrong in life now, which is quite contrary to my belief of "One is solely responsible for the mess one is". Its a self-effacing attempt to mask my inability to cope well with situations. Will have to pull myself together.

Q: You have quite an ego.
Me: Me and Ego.. ha ha ha.... Ok...I do. I try not to let it get better of me most of the time.. but I guess I haven't acheived Nirvana yet.

Q: So now that you have told me all this, how do you feel?
Me: I've been talking to myself for the last 2 hours, how do you think I feel?? I am reinforcing the public sentiment that I must have lost it.

Q: You believe that?
Me: You tell me....

The 3 mistakes of my life

No, this is not a book review of Chetan Bhagat's latest. It is also not about the three mistakes of my life. But, it is certainly about the book.

As a common rule, a book is always better than its screen adaptations. Let me assure you that in this case, it will not be true. Chetan Bhagat has specialised the art of writing movies. When I read The 3 mistakes - I had Akshay Kumar, Tushar Kapoor and Vivek Oberoi playing the main characters and Vidya Balan playing the love interest. I even had all the supporting characters figured out. Some scenes were right out of a Karan Johar or Yash Chopra movie.

Mr.Bhagat is a pretty intelligent guy - being all IIM, IIT and all that. He has caught the pulse of the youth of urban India. Two days after his book was released, it was sold out. He claimes that he wants not to be the most admired writer in India but the most loved writer in India. He will certainly have that love for some time. The longevity of that love is what I seriously doubt. The youth today needs to be challenged. If we wanted a 3-hour entertainment with a box of popcorn, we would prefer to watch a Bollywood flick, not read a book. In a era where the urban youth is exposed to Jean Sasson, Kaled Hosseini, Paulo Coelho, John Grisham, Dan Brown and are being inspired by an earlier generation to read the Archer, Frosyth, Sheldon, Hailey, Cook etc. it is really doubtful how long would Mr. Bhagat be able to hold on to the imagination and interest of the youth.

The story of his book was interesting and it was well told, but it absolutely lacks any kind of depth. It can be compared to something like a Mills and Boons novel, a light flick and nothing more than that. Or maybe that is what Mr. Bhagat was aiming for and I just expected too much from him.

I had read "To kill a Mockingbird" and "Mayada" before reading The 3 mistakes. Needless to say I was extremely disappointed. Here were two books written almost 50 years apart and still had the same capacity to pull at one's heart and then there was the Indian book which also broached good thought provoking subjects like communal violence, lack of entreprenural support in India and the like, but in such a unthought provoking manner.

It is true that traditionally Indian fiction writers have been utterly unreadable. Its just been
Shobha De and Khushwant Singh and between the two of them, they could operate a xxx site. Other writers like Jhumpa Lahiri and Divakaruni are Indians who have been living for long years outside India. I haven't read either of them and hence can't comment on the style and quality of their writing. But, other than these far and between writers, India has a dearth of good fiction writers - writers who can depict our politics, our every day lives, our romances, our hamlets. Writers who can bring suspense and excitement into our lives.

Come on people, we are a country which produced the most truthful, powerful, psychologically valid and enduring book in the history of mankind - we produced "Mahabharatha". Now, as a country we are hell bent on calling a beautiful work of art, albeing fiction (purely my views) a religious text. The characters, their dreams, their hopes, their passions, their ideas, their actions, their quarrels, their enimities, their jealousies - all of them transcend generations and still remain the same. Except for scifi, it had everything. It was the 1st and last great Indian novel. Its been over 5000 years and we still haven't been able to match it.

Shame on us............

I had an opportunity to visit Dallas recently on business. I was there for a week, including a Sunday. I decided to check out downtown Dallas. It wasn't too great. Just a lot of buildings and not much else. Nobody on the streets to ask directions from, an isolated McD's here or there and a lot of asphalt... thats what it was. It is the 1st time I have ventured out to explore a city which has disappointed me so much. Anyway, there was one sight that i couldn't miss in Dallas. The Sixth Floor Museum. The fateful building from which Oswald alledgedly shot JFK. I had made up my mind to see it and was there promptly at 10:00 AM - when the museum opens.

Now, I was surprised to see the number of visitors there, more so because of the number of kids that were accompanying their parents. The museum is obviously on the 6th floor. It is an attempt to recreate the life and times of JFK. Lots of pictures, videos and an audio commentary of the events that marked that era. It was a nostalgic hour and a half. There were countless occassions when tears nearly welled up in my eyes. I was surprised. What prompted me to shed tears of mourning for a man who was the president of one of the most hipocritical nations on the planet and that too someone who has been dead for 45 years.

What did I know about JFK? Except for his famous saying "Ask not your country can do for you, ask what you can do for your country" and his hush hush affair with Marilyn Monroe, not much, I'm afraid. I remember my dad telling me that he remembered the death of Pandit Nehru. The tiny village that he belonged to came to a stand still when that happened. Even young boys who were left early from school, didn't play football - it was as if even they realised the enormity of what had happened. The world had one less ray of hope.

Seeing the videos of the day when JFK was killed, Isaw the same thing in the eyes of Americans. Nothing would ever be the same again.

Everytime a Gandhiji, a JFK, a Mother Teresa leave us, they leave a gap in the fibre of human site that we as an entire generation are incapable of bridging, yet another ray of hope extinguishing and spreading darkness over our future. These were not extraordinary people. These were ordinary human beings, with as many natural fallacies as you and me. It was just their efforts in rising above those fallacies and in doing so helping others to do the same that made them who they are. We as a generation, a species need to come together and fulfil the one dream that these few souls from different parts of the world saw for us, for our future, for our children - the dream of peace, co-existence and happiness.