Midas I

Circa 2002. One day at work.

She saw him today. The man who would be her midas. He didn’t notice her ofcourse. There were the others. He was rushing towards his workstation unaware that she was in fact staring. Celestial comedy it must be to see someone for the first time and know that her life would change from then on. He looks confident, completely in control of himself and painfully handsome. There is something about him that makes him stand out in a crowd. Everyone seems to know him. And from them she heard his name. She stared for what seemed like eternity. He passed by without noticing anything.

Next to her, AP says “Wow is someone in a hurry or what!”

AP and she met during the interview and joined work the same day and they hit it off right then. She thinks AP is part crazy part cute but mostly friendly. It felt odd to be back in office after two years of staying and lazing at home.

scrap of a conversation

She: “Sorry, I didn’t call u last night. Had slept off really early. Getting tired easily. Looking terrible. Not finding anything interesting enough.... is this old age? But of course how would you know if it is...”

He: “Oh ok!!! That's ok....it's good if you can rest and get a good night's sleep....it's a luxury that I have not known in a very long time now....!!! And what the heck does...'but of course how would you know if it is’ mean eh?!!!! “

She: “It means you are not getting as old as I am. See that’s the beauty in this...no matter how old you get I would always be older! “

He: “That's all you will ever have over me…”

Gogol was a Bong?

Anyone remembers Akakii Akakievich, the habitually solitary hero of Nikolai Gogol’s The Overcoat ?

While reading it just now after a gap of few years it struck me.

‘akakii’ in Bengali means ‘one who is alone’.

Coincidence?

a Gift

Couple of mismatched plastic beads

Few inches of string

Promise of forever love

Two bright eyes

An impish grin

Tears of joy

A circle of life

Complete

Yogi Bear

"Do you have a brain?" Swamiji asks the odd five hundred people who had gathered on 21st February evening at Satya Sai Samskruta Sadanam. "Yes" some of us murmur hesitantly unsure where this is leading to. "How do you know that?" Swamiji smiles. "Well, we just know" someone says a little loudly. "All right, now how many parts of the brain do you have?" A doctor, (introduced himself as Dr. Pai) started to explain, "Cerebrum, cerebellum, brain stem..." Swamiji says, "Right, but I was talking about brain function and control." "Left and right Swamiji...." some one says. "Yes... and do you know what has become of us today?" asks Swamiji. Silence. Swamiji smiles. "There is nothing right in our left brain and nothing left in our right brain....." The hall bursts with laughter. "Imagination is the cause of hypertension," he continues. "We are influenced by the opinions of others and base our life and living on what other's think of us. No one except you alone can help yourself. Change yourself, change your opinion." He goes on to narrate a story to explain his theory. Then he talks about Yoga and how it can improve our quality of life.

I have always been fascinated with yoga. Back when my grandfather who was an ardent follower, made us spend the entire summer vacation practicing several ashanas and pranayams, the significance of yoga wasn't imperative, but I did realize that this path was worth a venture. Couple of months back in January, I championed along with our CEO, mandatory yoga classes at my workplace and was met with casual indifference. But after about two months of persistence, the response was thrilling and the ESAT (the score was published today) has taken cognizance. We partnered with Atma Darshan Yogashram for the Yoga@Work program and now we have a 'Y Huddle' before we begin work everyday across locations and shifts. It involves a quick unfurling of yoga mats on the work floors beside the work stations and do a few easy ashanas and a simple pranayam. The entire exercise lasts 10 mins and leaves the entire floor energized and bonded and has been particularly appreciated by the employees who work at night. This leads me to believe Yoga@Work truly works!

For sometime, I have been trying to introduce this idea at home and get Ro to practice the undemanding adapted version. I had taken him to the Ashram three weeks back and spent a day there to get him familiar. Though the ashram cat garnered more interest than the meeting with Swamiji, he did show some promise. Post our visit he didn't show any interest and I left it at that. But recently, for the last seven days he has been getting up early and joining me for the session in the morning without having anyone to tell him to do it. For now, my fingers are crossed and I hope the 'good senses' prevail even after the school reopens.

Hari Om!

In Pursuit of Happyness

Today I decided to take a break from life. Well not exactly from life life but my usual Friday life. The day began early with the habitual morning tea and newspaper. Then the routine morning chores and the task of getting ready for work. Driving to work I get caught in the legendary Hosur Road-Koramangala traffic snarl. Ten minutes. Fifteen minutes. Close to half an hour. The air-conditioned confines of the car starts to feel constricting. The traffic police with their neon-orange plastic outfit were directing traffic in all possible directions and further complicating the labyrinth. Drumming my fingers on the wheel impatiently, I try to listen to RJ on radio.

“Good Morning Bangalore! This is Cindu on the Big Breakfast…it’s a bright and sunny morning and welcome to the Classic Brew. Today’s mix includes INXS, Aerosmith, Queen and other legends. So keep it locked on 91.9FM.” ‘I want to break free. God knows God knows I want to break free’ Freddie croons. I look outside. To my left a little ahead is the Forum Mall, exactly 200 meters before my office on the same road. The traffic crawls ahead slowly. At the Forum entrance, I turn in. On the rear view mirror my smile looks almost evil. The parking lot is nearly empty. I take the elevator up to the top floor. PVR Cinemas it says in big blue neon. Headed for the counter I scan the screen above showing the timing and availability.

“Welcome to PVR. How may I help you?” Sweet boy at the counter.

“Spiderman 3 - 13:05 and Life in the Metro – 16:10. One ticket each for today”

“One ticket?” Sweet boy looks almost incredulous.

“Yeah, one” I stare at him defiantly.

Why do we find it so difficult to accept a woman going for a movie alone? Ditto when I have lunch alone at an eatery. I have been asked this question before, by well-meaning friends (How can you go alone?) and some have been sympathetic (Sweets, if you were that lonely, why didn’t you call me?) Now, how do I make them understand that I do a movie alone or lunch-out alone because I want to. My usual reply is that one cannot possibly be alone in a theatre with two hundred others gaping at the screen! Moreover, I see people around me inhibited to do something they really want to because of lack of company. My view has always been, if you want to do something, just go ahead and do it. Lost cause they call me. So be it.

Tickets in pocket I head to the basement parking and off to work.

“I am taking the second half off” I announce post the morning meeting.

“Why? Is everything ok?” Bossman looks puzzled.

“Couldn’t be better” I say with a smile and trudge off without any further explanation.

Around lunchtime I leave office and head to the mall leaving my car parked at office. (The parking fees at these malls are unreasonably high and in any case it’s a short walk) In the mall, it’s easy to get lost in the crowd. As I grab a bite at the food court I watch the giggling, mumbling, visibly happy people that you would typically find in a mall. Hunger sated, I head for the PVR floor on top.

It always fascinates me that despite the row/seat numbers clearly printed on the ticket and these swankier theatres making it child’s play to find ones seat, people still invariably ask the usher for help. Old habits dies hard I suppose. Generations of theater goers have been subjected to the torchlight wielding ushers of the ‘old-gen’ theaters who invariably would shine the light on an undetectable point in the rows of seats which no person of reasonable eyesight can locate without asking, irritating and mauling at least a dozen fellow cine goers.

Coming back to PVR, I settle down eagerly in my plush G1 seat. I must confess that I absolutely love the advertisements and the movie trailers that play before the movie, and sometimes like them more than the movie itself. The theatre versions of the TV ads are longer and looks better on the large screen. And the trailers are a treat in themselves. Therefore you would rarely find me late for a movie. Just so that I don’t miss the ‘treats’. Here, after drooling over Johnny Depp in ‘Pirates of the Caribbean – At World’s End’, the scheduled Spiderman 3 begins.

Let me confess again, I am not a Spidey fan. Never was and post this never will be. With the first movie release of Superman, Christopher Reeves stole my heart when I was not more than five. Subsequently, I fell in love with Batman. I realized early that I prefer my super heroes to look seductive, wear their underpants on top and swish a cape. So I have been bowled over by Batman of Gotham City with his dark, brooding good looks, his menacing attitude and his appetite for fancy gizmos. Therefore the close-to-three-hours special effects galore of Spiderman 3 failed to convert me. Although I liked the ‘sandman’ digi-effects and empathized with Mary Jane, the only positive I can say is that I didn’t get bored. But when it got over it didn’t leave me with any thoughts, not even inconsequential ones. I felt thirsty and waited the next movie.

One quick coffee and I was ready for Life in a Metro. I settle down easily in my K5 seat this time, to watch the trailer of ‘Ek Chalish Ki Local Train’. People trickled in. The movie began. The crowd is matured. Thankfully, I didn’t spot any kids here since it was certified with ‘A’. Three hours and the movie got over. I am not going to critique the movie. I liked what I saw and that’s that. Konkona was brilliant. Dharmendra was inappropriate. Shilpa was sensitive. (she looks really bad when she cries though!) But the movie belonged to Irrfan who was the spark of the movie. But most of all I loved Pritam's ‘goth-rock' inspired score. (I am sucker for angst-ridden torments of the soul..heheh!) On the flip side, the apt title for the movie should be “Life in a Call Center” Or better still “Look Who is Sleeping Around Now!” Honestly, looking at this industry as closely as I do, it isn’t like the caricature that got portrayed. But that's Anurag's take and he made the movie.

Post the double dose, I sat sipping yet another cup of coffee and wrote this post, while trying to answer some of the pending emails that had piled up. At the end, it was a day well spent.

P.S. Those of you who know my boss, keep this info to yourself :) Thank you.

Toast to the Jams of Bangalore

This came as a mail forward. Author Anon. Interesting read I thought.

Over these last few years of living in Bangalore, I have slowly grown to like the jams, which this city provides in abundance.

These jams do build your patience and character. Is it a coincidence that India 's most patient cricketers, Dravid and Kumble, hail from this city of jams? (Dravid is even nicknamed "Jammy"). Does it tell you something? Sri Sri Ravishankar…does he get his daily dose of spiritual inspiration while in a jam?? And will I also get a halo after a few more years of this "character building"?? There are, I am sure, thousands of future Anands stuck in the Adugodis and Anand Rao circles, who are plotting their moves against future Kramniks… those poor little Kramniks stand no chance. And if you see a professor-like guy prancing around the Palace road jam, you can deduce that a postulate in Physics has just been proved.

A few days back, I had a thought - If we can have reviews of movies, which occupy only a few hours of our life in a month, why not reviews of traffic jams, which takes up significant hours of our day?? So here is my review of some of Bangalore 's famous and not-so-famous jams(in no particular order).

But before that, a general comment - As they say, the taste of food in a restaurant is dependent on the ambience ; similarly, the way I see jams, cozy inside the office shuttle or public transport, is different from the way the owner of the swank new SUV sees it. (btw, if you are the owner of the swank new SUV, don't run me down).

1. The Hosur Road Jam - Unarguably, the mother of all jams. We (ex-) Infoscions are proud of being (once) associated with a great company. We are equally proud of contributing in no small extent to this jam. This jam gives a great glimpse of the Other India - colorful music-blaring interstate buses, garment factory workers, highway trucks, smoke spewing lorries and such. Provides ample food for thought for socialist minds. (Rating: ***1/2)

2. The jams around K'mangala/Forum mall - Definitely the best jams in town. PYTs (Pretty young things), fancy cars, and fancy restaurants; this has it all. But you can't afford any of those. Never mind!! Your sadistic brain can take pleasure in the fact that the guy in the fancy car next to you is cruising around for a parking space, feasting his eyes on the PYTs , while his family is having dinner in one of the fancy restaurants. (Rating: ****1/2)

3. The KG Road jam - To be experienced in the evenings before a long weekend. Every auto/taxi in town seems to be stuck while going towards the City railway station - your hair stands on end, you start sweating, the heart beats faster, and you get the rush that a Michael Schumachaer gets on his last lap. And just as the auto moves, a movie show ends and a few hundred more vehicles pour out… Which was the train that hooted just now?? (Rating: ***1/2)

4. The Jayanagar jam - The puzzle-lovers jam; Jayanagar is maze of bylanes, one-way streets, no right-turns, no left-turns, traffic signals and whatnot. It is an establised fact that Point A to point B, in Jayanagar, can be reached in 6436 distinct ways. But whichever way you take, you are left with a hollow feeling that another route had a better and bigger jam? (Rating: **1/2) 5. The jams around Marathahalli/ Whitefield - The IT professional' s dream jam; As she sits in the office shuttle looking at other office buses, she can make her career plans. A typical evening in this jam goes thus:

Voice from Company A bus : "Any J2EE developers in your bus?". Three guys from Company B bus respond "Yeah" and get down. By the time, the bus crosses the Marathahalli bridge, the first guy is hired as a J2EE developer. The second guy, who didn't know what J2EE meant, is hired as a project manager and the third guy is rejected as he realised late that he has already worked for Company A last year. (Rating: ****)

6. The Airport Road jam - Similar in taste and character like the Koramangala jam but has socialist twist. This jam treats the rich businessman, who will later travel business class on Jet, the same as a poor programmer, who had unusually come to office early in the morning, 3 months back, to buy one of those cheap airline tickets. (Rating ***)

7. The BTM 7th Main x 7 Cross jam - Close to my home, so close to my heart. But alas, the spoilsports at BDA finished the flyover at the Jayadeva circle and brought an end to this jam. But for a couple of years, this jam used to give me pure joy as vehicles of all types created a tangle in the small bylanes of BTM layout. The BDA is now planning a new flyover at the Udupi Garden junction; so there is still hope (Rating ***1/2).

We jam lovers - currently this club consists of only me - have petitioned the government to protect and preserve traffic jams as a cultural asset of Bangalore . Just so that traffic jams are not endangered in the future, we have these suggestions:

1. Build more flyovers - Flyovers do not reduce jams. They just transfer it to the next junction. And in the 2 years that it takes to build them, you are assured of some joyous jams. I am drooling...

2. No public buses - If everybody goes by buses, where will our culture go?

3. Make Tata's 1-Lakh car cheaper by making it tax free - Imagine every two wheeler replaced by a car...The prospects are mouth-watering.

Dragon Tales

Yesterday I received a wonderful mail from a dear friend wishing me for Mother’s Day. We both are working moms of boisterous boys. Therefore the mail, which talks about the mothers who do everything right and those who don’t, made both of us smile in agreement. Then there was another wish from my best friend that called me a super mom. (Now, if I did half a good job as his mom I would be happy with myself!)

For one, it feels nice to be acknowledged for a role that is all too obvious and at most times taken for granted. But then the crass commercialization hits on the face. “She gave the best years of her life for you. Buy her a diamond to show how much you love her” Excuse me? I don’t even LIKE diamonds!

[In our house, we are two women (Ma and I), both mothers. And since we are not particularly gender-biased the gents (Baba and Ro) make up the other half of the household.]

Being a Sunday, I decided to surprise Ma by making the morning tea. She sipped with a smile but I realized soon enough the brew wasn’t even close to what she prepares every morning.

Bad start.

The rest of the morning we decided to laze. And suddenly, almost on impulse Ro came up with the brilliant idea of painting tattoos.

“Make a special tattoo for me, Mommy. It's Happy Mother’s Day!”

“Huh? Aren’t you supposed to do something for me?”

“Noooo! I want to show them how good you paint.” Infallible logic.

So we sat down, to draw a dragon. Chinese one. No wings and lots of flames.

After about twenty minutes.

“That’s a coooool dragon!” he smiles smugly at the result.

“You like it?”

“Yeah!” Tight hug and a wet kiss followed to show me just how much.

He ran downstairs even before the paint had dried.

The aftermath.

The rest of his friends ran home to demand tattoos from their respective mothers and some of them even called me in distress. “Happy Mother’s Day” I said with a smile.

Moon Knows Its Own

My current inspiration. Created by an emerging artist . The title of this work is the title of this post.

wAnNa jOiN?

How will I be defined in the dictionary? PiYa [noun]: A person of questionable sanity who starts their own cult. 'How" will you be defined in the dictionary?'

What kind of a monster are you?

You are a vampire!

You are suave and seductive. Eternal life is yours and you never tire of coming up with crazy ways of amusing yourself and others. Sometimes, however, your taste for blood comes in the way of friendships as you are constantly turning your friends into vampires.

Take this quiz at QuizHeaven.com

"My fancies are fireflies..."

I woke up today with “Akash bhora shurjo tara…” Quickly realizing through the early morning slumber that Ma was playing one of her favourite CDs. I listened through the quietness of the morning. This is not how ordinary Wednesdays begin.

But then this is no ordinary Wednesday. Today is ‘Ponchishey Boiskakh’, the Poet’s birth anniversary. Rabindranath Tagore. Robithakur, as we were to know him in childhood. This man has been an anchor in Ma’s otherwise clichéd life.

As a young bride, she determinedly completed her then-considered exalted education (she was the only girl in her batch of Jadavpur Univ. B.Tech) despite pressures of a traditional joint family and a boisterous child (me), uprooted all her known ties and followed my father to an alien land.

In the clutter of a new land, she hung on to his words, his wisdom, his poems, his songs. We had been at awe. Not so much for his words but for Ma’s devotion to him.

We assimilated well, bhai and I, with the world outside home. We went to school just like other kids in the neighbourhood. We made friends, spoke deutsch, ate sauerkraut with relish. But once inside, it was a different world. A world filled with Rabindranath, Bankinchandra, Saratchandra and other stalwarts and of course Ma’s enormous collection of bangla music. From puratoni to calcutta youth choir, she had it all. And what she didn’t have in records, she would sing. Her beautiful voice would fill our hearts with a longing but we didn’t quite know for what. It would take us to the world we sampled during our annual visits to Kolkata and a world we found difficult to relate, at times. She took us through the meanings behind those mellifluous words and helped us learn the bangla script. With patience she corrected our intonations till she was satisfied. She took enormous pride when bhai could sing “alo amar alo ogo…” with near-perfection (he lisped a little), when he turned five.

My mother was undoubtedly the mistress of the house. And everything ‘in’ the house was essentially bengalee. Or rather as bengalee as one can get in an ‘alien’ land. Baba never interfered and I believe he secretly enjoyed and indulged Ma’s obsession with turning us into genteel bengalee bhadrolok. “This is who you will always be” she told us gently, “no matter where you are”.

Over the years I rebelled and I balked. I indulged in music and thoughts that Ma considered anguished. My new world of Sartre and Camus, Floyd, Morrison, Iron Maiden and later Nirvana and the rest of the urban angst didn’t appeal to her. Successively, life took me to various cities away from home and as I moved through the maze much got lost. But somewhere the strains of music long forgotten stayed with me.

Today, I listen to the same music with care. It appeals to me in ways it had never appealed before. Today I want my son to appreciate this legacy. Life has indeed come a full circle.

For that alone, I salute you, The Poet.

Black Hole Sun

6.52PM.29th April 07. Bangalore.From my 7th floor window.

I hate sunsets.

They leave me melancholy.

I dread the twilight halo

and let it pass

hiding in my windowless cubbyhole

on weekdays.

But Sundays are particularly tough.

All of my seventh floor apartment windows face west.

Ironic?

I try to ignore, but the orange glow

seeps in under the heavy drawn curtains

taunting me.

***********

You are getting obsessive

my mother says.

So I decided to work on it.

Last Sunday evening

I pushed the curtains aside

braved the disparage carroty blaze

And stared out for a while.

The sun

placid and unfriendly

all consuming and shameless.

The familiar inexplicable hollow feeling.

When will I learn to deal with it?

Much ado about...

Ro lost his first upper front tooth today. An event of utmost importance in his life. Dislodging the front upper tooth has been his pet project for the last 2 months and he has not left any stone unturned to meet his objective. He had even braved a visit to the dentist along with my father. But the tooth remained ‘unmoved’. The apparent trigger has been his ‘peers’ in school who have all lost their ‘uppers’. In the 6-years-old circle, a missing ‘upper’ is a writ of passage to be considered ‘arrived’.

Every morning for the last one month he would religiously asked me to ‘test’ his now slightly wobbly tooth and predict the date by which the tooth would ‘fall off’. Thus ensued serious calculations for forecast, which would dominate our morning teatime. In jest, I had told him 1st May. And in his innocence he had believed.

Today, over breakfast the much-revered tooth comes off the ‘hook’ and unceremoniously falls on the dish filled with his half-eaten tuna sandwich with a ‘plonk’! All conversations stop. Eyes rivet on the blessed tooth. Split second. My mother rushes to help him wash off the blood that followed the ‘plonk’. My father, being the practical person that he is, wonders how he will eat the rest of the breakfast now that he has a gaping hole for a mouth. Ro of course is overjoyed and wants to call all his friends with the breaking news. In between his gushing he looks at me with wide-eyed amazement and says “Mommy, today is 1st May!”

In the middle of a rushed morning, I got myself a believer.

confessions of a deranged mind...

Ok this is a result of someonearbit’s tag. I suppose it’s confession time!

Pick out a scar you have, and explain how you got it.

The ones on my knees from my tree-climbing days of youth have faded to sliver streaks. The ones on my heart however are pulsatingly raw.

What is on the walls in your room?

Besides the usual book shelves and CD racks, a pair of korean war masks, a pair of framed Jamini Roy lithos, a set of watercolours of Halong Bay done by yours truly.

What does your phone look like?

Sleek, black, functional. Completely unlike me.

What music do you listen to?

60s and 70s rock and Country.

What is your current desktop picture?

My desktop is way too cluttered with icons to appreciate a picture. (Cluttered mind you see!)

What do you want more than anything right now?

To be free. The mind is a prison.

Do you believe in gay marriage?

I like gays. Marriage however is another ball game. (Oops! the pun was completely unintended!)

What time were you born?

8.25 AM on a Saturday morning after making my mother suffer through the night.

Are your parents still together?

Yes. And I am not sure if it's because of the previous answer.

What are you listening to?

Right now, Garth Brook’s Unanswered Prayers.

Do you get scared of the dark?

Only the darkenss of the mind.

The last person to make you cry?

I can blame him. But it was really the onions.

What is your favorite perfume/cologne?

Dune, Cerutti 1881, Pleasures on me.

Fahreneit on my man.

What kind of hair/eye colour do you like on the opposite sex?

Hair that ain’t curly and eyes that don’t lie.

Do you like pain killers?

I don’t think anyone LIKES painkillers, unless ofcourse they are addicted. My pain threshold is high therefore I rarely use painkillers. (touch wood!) BTW are there any painkillers for heartaches?

Are you too shy to ask someone out?

No. Alas! Never get the opportunity.

Favorite pizza topping?

Pepperoni.

If you could eat anything right now, what would it be?

Hot chai at Bishu’s thek near our old Southern Avenue home in Kolkata.

Tiramisu will be close second.

Who was the last person you made mad?

Has to be my mother.

Is anyone in love with you?

I want the world to be in love with me. Dream on, did you say?

Inanity thy name

Today, I got out of work in the afternoon and dropped in to my regular beauty salon. My favourite girl (ok…this sounds corny, but she really is a doll!) is tending to one young metrosextual male with blonde streaks (I guess only males are called metrosexual…whoever heard of metrosexual women?) She smiled and asks me to have a seat and wait for a while as she was in the middle of a manicure session. I curse myself for not taking an appointment as I carelessly flip through the latest copy of Femina.

As I look around, there’s this young girl all of 5, having an adult dialogue with the attending hairstylist while the mother watches with pride. Now, don’t get me wrong. I have a huge thing for little girls. They melt my heart and make me desperate for a daughter despite the small issue that a man is required for the process. However, this one is really cute and she knew that. She had sweet-talked the salon girl into putting strawberry nail paint for her. I watch them leave with mixed emotions. At her age, I didn’t even know nail paints existed. But maybe she will grow up more confident than I am even at my age.

Lost in thought I watch a familiar figure loom close. I reluctantly manage a smile.

“What are you doing here?” she asks. Her tone overtly patronizing.

This lady is an old acquaintance. I don’t know her enough to hate her but I know enough to avoid her company. Coming back to her question, what does it mean?

• She doubts whether I can afford this?
• Am I too ugly for this place?
• Did I ever sign a contact with her not to use the same salon?

I run through possible answers in my head.

I come here to letch at the men.

I am an apprentice here.

Ohhh My God! I thought this was the library!

I loveeee the music they play!

“I am doing a sex survey.” is what I finally say with exaggerated politeness.

The metrosextual is clearly smirking. The lady at the counter tries desperately to hide her smile. At last, Her Highness gets it. Turns and leaves without a goodbye.

It must have been my smile.

Now, you can call me a bitch, but my tolerance for inanity is close to zero.

Do you think I need help?

Smoke Signal?

A law to ban smoking in public places could save more lives more quickly than the development of a single new anti-cancer drug - according to Cancer Research UK.

The Indian Government finally seems to have woken up to this reality and has announced a definitive plan to ban public smoking in Delhi and Mumbai by 2009. The announcement is a welcome move. But how far this will be successfully implemented is a matter of debate.

According to the World Health Organisation, tobacco causes one in 10 deaths worldwide which translates to someone in the world dying of a smoking-related disease, every eight seconds.

Overwhelmed?

Consider this.

By 2010, it is estimated that the annual global cost of tobacco use will be half a trillion USD. This is more money than the combined Gross Domestic Product (GDP) of 174 of the 192 member countries of the United Nations.

In India, the cigarette market is growing at around 4% every year, but what is more worrying is that the non smoking tobacco segment, including guthka, chewing tobacco, zarda, has seen 15 per cent growth. The hike in excise duties on both cigerette and bidis in this year’s budget maynot dent either the production or the consumption pattern. Also, it maybe too soon to comment. Just like every-where-else in the ‘developing world’, the tobacco lobby is strong and would have a covet operation plan to counter this move by the government.

Personally, to smoke or not is a matter of individual choice. But in a public setting this freedom of choice need not exist. I am reassured that the Government is taking this into cognizance and taking steps towards smoke-free public space.

Sorry folks. Smoke, if you have to. Just keep your butt out of our public places.

A lot has been written about the Flat World. And as the world stands today, a lot more would be written in the days to come. My CEO, a man I respect immensely both as a professional and as a person, has gone gaga over Friedman for over a year now. Every time I have met him since (and I meet him often) he has mentioned Flat World in some context or the other. He has even loaned me his author-signed copy to read. Subsequently, I have meet new people who live and breathe this phenomenon. This, it would seem has become the unauthorized bible of the new free world. (Amen!)

The gradually unfolding events do make it apparent that the world is indeed getting flatter. My humble opinion is limited to the question, how much flat is desirable and are we geared enough to manage the various dimensions of the fallout. However, we shall leave that for another post.

Niladri’s post got me thinking, personally how have I experienced the Flat World?

I remember my last trip abroaad and my desperate attempt to buy something ‘Made in USA’ for the folks back home, which did not burn a hole in my pocket. But everything that was affordable had ‘Made in Some-where-else’ tag and that left me trifle irritated. My Lee was cheaper in Bangalore. My Godivas were available at comparable rates with my friendly Brigade Road store and where I didn’t have to face the custom officer’s disapproving look at my sinful chocolate pile (If chocolates were sin, I am a sinner many times over!) Even, my Estee Lauders were a whiff away in the city malls.

Therefore I decided to try elsewhere. Finally I was gifted a Dreamcatcher. I was thrilled to find the ‘love’ Dreamcatcher that I had carefully researched. 25 USD. That’s expensive for a contraption of messily woven threads on a wooden frame with a few eagle feathers (!) hanging at the edge. You don't bargain in Reservation Area, I was told.  Moreover, this was a Dreamcatcher! It’s supposed to bring luck. And no one bargains with luck. I feel a shiver down my spine. This is it, I think. The package is wrapped carefully and I treat it like a pirate’s treasure till I unwrap it back home and discover this tiny tag. ‘Designed by local artists in AZ, USA. Made in China’.

I still have the Dreamcatcher hanging in my room over my bed but being of chinese origin, it miserably failed to ‘capture the heart's desire in my dreams’ as otherwise I believe it would have!

Long Live the Flat World!

Take off from an SMS

Celebration means....

Hundred bucks of petrol.

A rusty old bike.

And an open road.

Celebration means....

Maggi noodles.

A hostel room.

4.25 a.m.

Celebration means....

4 old friends.

4 separate cities.

4 coffee mugs.

1 internet messenger.

To all the Men

You showed me the stars and how to reach them. I lost my coordinates for a while when you died. Want you to know despite all the mess, I will make something of my life. Like you did. I will find my way too. I love you.

You never said you love me. When I slipped, it hurt. But you sheltered me when I was abandoned. You gave me hope when the world shunned me. You took up my cause when I was broken. I never said I love you either. But I do.

You taught me how to love unconditionally. From the blue-eyed stray kitten you brought home when you were five to holding my hand when I wasn’t strong enough. Death cannot take you away from me. In my heart you will always live. I love you.

You made me complete. You wrapped your tiny fingers around mine and we fell in love. When I look at you, I know my life has a purpose. You give me faith. I love you.

You gave me your friendship. You stood by me in my pain. With you I learnt to give myself. My friend. I love you.

You reached out to me. You made me a woman. You made me love myself. You gave me your wisdom and your passion. But fool I will always be. Want you to know that I love you in my fashion.

You gave me the courage to be selfish. You held me and I dared to dream again. You abandoned me when I was most vulnerable. But, perhaps that’s the only way to be. I walk again. I will love again. For that, I will always love you.

Last Night

Driving through blinding rain, she gets mesmerized by the incessant drops falling on the windscreen. Splatter. Splatter. Splatter. Swishh! ‘Get off, you scoundrels’ the wipers seem to be saying. But the drops are defiant. The high beam of the truck opposite, shines on the persistent splattering drops. Pure liquid gold. Falling. Scattering. Disappearing.

Hypnotised.

She barely hears the loud screech. The rain has forced her to keep the windows up. The audio system plays ‘Drops of Jupiter’ loud enough to shut the world out. Suddenly she sees the teary red tail light of the truck. No time for a prayer. She holds the wheel tight. Brakes hard to avoid a head on. The car swerves madly. The rubber slips on the sheet of water and finally comes to a screeching halt blocking the cars on the next lane. The drivers honk with alarm. She looks up apologetically. Her heart beating fast. This was close. Would have been fatal if the others were not alert. She thinks of the child waiting for her at home. She promises to be careful.

The Great Pretender

It was the lie.

She had told him and he believed. Her words. Her voice. Her life. Her joys. Her pain. Her passion. Her dreams.

She found herself. She knew she belonged. She knew she was loved. Across space and time he reached her heart.

She lived.

But. She wasn’t her. That was the lie.

A lie that took all of it from her. His words. His wisdom. His pain. His passion. His joys.

She was left. Alone again.

Janie’s Got a Gun

17/04/07. ABC News Cho Seung-Hui is a 23-year-old resident alien of the United States, a Virginia Tech senior majoring in English and the man who killed 33 people — including himself — on the Virginia Tech campus on Monday.

Over a conversation yesterday with a friend in LA, she expressed that she is scared to send her 5 year old to school since the campuses are becoming so violent. All this when I am hoping the world becomes a safer place for all my children.

Couple of questions:

1. Who will take the social responsibility for the deaths now that the killer is dead?

2. Agreed guns don’t kill people, people kill people but would some body wake up and make access to firearms difficult in the US of A?

3. Is it fair to assume that all consenting adults have the ability to hold reasonable judgment at all times when given easy access to kill another?

4. If yes, then why is US crying hoarse over North Korea’s/any-other-nation’s nuclear program? (I would assume that people taking decisions on nuking another nation have more control over their emotion and judgment and more time to deliberate than the average Joe who have a gun in their back pocket)

5. If the killer had say a switchblade instead of an automatic, the death toll would have been lesser?

6. Is it fair to highlight that the killer is not of American origin? Is redemption easier if he was?

7. Levitt says swimming pools statistically, claim more lives of children below 10 years than do guns. Will extending that argument trivialize the issue on hand?

8. Agreed bold policy decisions often influence ground realities like crime rate (abortion and its cumulative downstream effect on crime rate and here we are talking about US). But are we seriously analyzing the increase in the rate of first-time viz a vie repeat offenders across the various nations? And what are the correlations there?

9. Is it practical to police a campus?

10. Is it practical to do a socio-psychological profiling of all students?

11. Flat world is fine when it is with commodities (I have reservations here too). But the same in case of people/talent brings in socio-cultural challenges. Are we doing enough to address this?

12. Will this affect the immigration laws?

On a more personal note, I went to a school that had the following distinctions:

1. More students per square foot than the written words. (got a Guinness book mention no less)

2. An environment that stifled creativity and encouraged as Niladri said intellectual apartheid.

3. Apathetic teachers with only a few exceptions.

4. And all this in what was supposedly one of the better schools at that time.

Consequently, the level of frustration was high. In fact, my guilt-tripping, value-oriented upbringing did not debilitate me from plotting a plan to blow up the school before a physics test. We plotted and planned (while the blessed lot studied) but eventually it didn’t fructify because of a design flaw (the standby power generator room was too far away from the main building) and the fact that we did not have access to the primary raw materials required for the fire show. At the end, I got 82/100 in the said test. I went on to study in DSE and have a job that I love. If we had access and license to destabilize lives, I would have had a life term in prison.

I am making a limited point here.

More about Me!

My friend Shreyasi’s post is the inspiration. Its not often that I think of these but they remain in my consciousness at all times. Just that every once in a while I puts words to wrap up the thought.

My best dream

That I am an astronaut (too late for that one!)

My worst dream

To hurt someone I love

I pine for

Solitude

I am uncomfortable with

Hypocrites

Closed minds

Negative gossip

Arrogance

Talking about money (specially when it’s mine!)

I am scared of

Heights

I enjoy

Innocence

Cool fresh breeze teasing my hair

Darjeeling tea

Tiramisu

Snow on the mountains

A good book

Silence

Driving with just the music for company

Listening to a friend

I dislike

Conformity

Lack of imagination

One-dimensional personalities/opinion

Sycophancy

Lies

Good friends think I am

'Sunshine'

Creative

Intelligent

Dreamer

Down to earth

Compassionate

Martyr (!)

Mother thinks am

Stubborn

Idealist

Dreamer

Romantic

(But she wouldn’t exchange me for anything!)

Father thinks am

Optimistic

Multi-directional

Difficult to fathom

Fighting for lost causes

(But he would always support my lost causes!)

I think

I am Confident

I am Generous

I am Trustworthy

I am careless with my money

I believe

Happiness is peace within

Love begins with oneself

There is no absolute truth except death

I hope

To see the world become safer for my children

The forests are preserved

To have a library (of my favourite books and music)

I wish to

Make a difference wherever I am

My greatest fear

To lose my sanity

I am awed by

Nature

Space

I love

Traveling

Sharing a good conversation

Watching kids at play

Holding hands

I draw energy from

Nature

Gyatri Mantra

Believe in God and myself

I want to die

In peace

My Epitaph if I die right now

Miles to go before I sleep

Poila Boishakh 1414

It started off well enough. With just a 15-minutes delay. Which isn’t alarming by our standard. The resident bengalee community was regaling themselves with the splendor of dakais (sarees), kantha-work silk kurtas and enough gold to put fort knox to shame. The evening air was cool and crisp with no threat of rain. Greetings of “shubho nobo borsho” abounded. Most importantly, the ubiquitous screaming unruly toddlers ambled about with no concern for either the entertainment or the excitement that their parents shared. New-age parenting must be.

The cultural program began. The stage wasn’t wobbly. The sound system cooperated. The light guy knew what he was doing. Must mention this is a rarity in itself. Usually the technicians are local and have no comprehension of the language and goof ups because of it, are common. The singers sang surprisingly well and the dancers were well coordinated. Everything was going as planned. Now it was time for the bangla natok (play). Ten minutes into it, I miss my cue. The practiced script went blank. Hell! The others on stage are staring at me. Few seconds and a couple of heartbeats later I manage to squeak something that wasn’t completely out of sync with the scene. Praise the Lord! My ‘stage -brother’ glares at me but the rest of the cast catches on to the improvisation. All’s well. But moments like these are not meant to last.

“Mommy forgot the d-i-a-l-o-g-u-e-e-e !!!”

My six-year-old screams sitting in the front row (and now standing) and pointing a finger at me on stage. At least a dozen pairs of eyes turn towards him. I hear a few loud giggles. Ignore, I tell myself. But he wouldn’t give up till some one acknowledges his opinion. Why did I ever take him to the blessed rehearsals? Last I saw, he was being gently dragged by my mother, who had a hand covering his mouth.

Namesake@fLaT wOrLd

While the world identifies with Gogol Ganguli as he searches for his identity and even promises a possible Oscar, let me tell you, no one was so benevolent with me!

 

Must say, I am fortunate that my grandmother overcame the overwhelming urge to give her brand new grand daughter a complex-intonated bengalee name that would have surely twisted my Grade I teacher. For that I am thankful. Therefore I was saved from the torture of having to spell out and pronounce my name repeatedly whenever I met someone new. Except when someone asked for the meaning where in I would invariably blush and say it means ‘darling’. ‘Oh, how nice!’ my father’s German friends would comment.

School was smooth sailing as far as the name goes and in college it always managed to garner some curiosity among the male crowd since there were atleast a dozen bollywood songs that they could tease me with. This unfortunate trait continues till date.

In Delhi, my cosmopolitan DSE classmates didn’t stumble over my name and most thought the combination of my first name and last name was ‘sexy’. Therefore, I hung in cloud nine when a visiting French prof. I had a crush on back then, rolled my name on his tongue, making it sound very endearing indeed. You got to give it to the French.

Next stop, Mumbai. No problem here either. Though many were surprised to meet a bengalee with a name that was not as elaborate as Sushmita, Anindita, Anusuya, Shashwati, Suchismita or exotic like Ujjaini. Well surprise surprise. Only a friend insisted on calling me Pee-ya and he alone choked at his own joke everytime.

Finally, I was hurtled to Bangalore. Here alone began the fun.

Circa 1996. I am in the queue for my driving license at the RTO office.

What name madam? (that's how we speak here!)

Piya De

Prrrriya Daay? (Damn! They have to roll that bloody ‘r’!)

Its Piya…no ‘rrrrr’

Waaatttt? (yes, that's how we speak here!)

Its P-I-Y-A

Ohhh! Peeyaa....daru peeya? The officer sniggers, immensely proud of his hindi.

(I am counting backwards from 10-9-8-)

I get my license eventually and for the first time felt foolish about a name that I was hitherto proud of.

As I continue living here, I have gradually stopped being obsessive about correcting one and sundry about the right pronunciation and spelling. In fact, I respond to Priya more readily than I do to the original.

Only regret, thanks to globalization, my collegue Subramaniam has become Sab, my friend Anindya had become Andy, I of course remain where I began. As my mentor says, Your's  is already ‘globalized’.

My grandmother, the wise old lady that she was, must have seen this coming.

Hahazaaro.n Khvaahishe.n aisii ki har Khvaaish pe dam nikale

She looks out of the window. White clouds float in the sparkling azure sky. Her dreams were many. But she has learned to let go. It doesn’t hurt anymore.

He looks out of the window. The brightness hurts his eyes. He lost all his dreams and the pain remains. Why did he let her go?

Lyrics: Mirza Asadullah Beg Khan/Ghalib 27th Dec 1796-15th Feb 1869

Singer: Jagjit Singh

The girl from yesterday

He left her. Just like that.

She kept staring at his picture and the eyes of her unborn daughter he promised they would have. She continued living on the memories they had made.

It has been weeks. But she waits for him everyday.

Her foolish heart didn’t know she had become the girl from yesterday.

Hazards of the profession

My father dreads going to the dentist. It’s a fact well established and accepted. As I see him enter the sterile room I can feel his jaws tighten. The pronouncement wasn’t happy. He needs a RCT (root canal treatment, for the uninitiated). My father of course was already in denial.

“Will it hurt?” he asks the young doctor.

“Not a whole lot and we will be giving LA”

“LA?”

“Local anesthesia”

“Oh”

“Don’t worry, once the crown is fitted it would be like a regular tooth”

“Oh”

“Shall we start?”

“Wait! How will the crown stay? It’s an upper tooth.”

“Sorry?”

“It’s an upper tooth. The crown will fall off because of gravity, no?”, his attempt at humour.

I am looking at him bewildered. This is not my father. I am not here in this clinic.

“Look at the ceiling fan. Is it falling off?” the doc retorts. He is amazingly self-possessed.

“No…”

“If we anchor the crown well it would never fall off”

With that she gags his mouth with a rubber extender.

Learning to let go

Pride is when I watch my 6 year old beaming as he receives his award on Prize Day and then promptly runs to me saying, “This is for you, mommy!” I look at the prize (which is a delightful heap of books!) as he prances off with his friends to have that last dash to the playground and the tussle for the swing. This was his last day in Standard I and the last day at this school. The thought of a new school after the summer holidays, has filled him with excitement and sadness in equal measures. He says, ”I will miss the swing” as his Principal, the affable Sister Aneeta bends to shake his hand. “Such a sweet boy”, his class teacher, Mrs. Philips gushes. He is her pet and she bestows him with affection and attention that he may not deserve at times. Being a boisterous child he could be quite a handful.

In the last few months, since we moved house, I have been waking up real early to drive him to school and taking a break from work in the afternoon to pick him up. It has been hectic and it has irritated me at times. But knowing that I wouldn’t be doing it again, fills me with sadness. I looked forward to our time together in the morning and the long drive back home at afternoon. His continuous chatter about his day. His little joys and hurts.

“Adi pushed me today”

“And did you push him too?”

“Yeah!”

“Is that the right thing to do?”

“You always support him!” he whimpers, close to tears.

Then begins the hugs, the reassurances and the wiping of tears. At the end of the drive we are best friends again.

Oh! I will miss all that. And I realize something else.

As a mother, I will have to learn to let go.