Life for dummies

One year....and dead.

2006-07-23T23:13:00.001-07:00

A year has passed running this blog. It was an experiment and the experiment was a great success. Lets see...

1) My writing has improved.
2) I have found many friends.
3) I have acquired a reputation. See what all would be well qualified to describ me.
a) Funny
b) Communist, left of center and leftist.
c) Anti-American
d) Totally nutcase.

Feel free to add more.

Let me tell you all have been compliments. Neetha my dear psycho friend would tell me that I am an attention seeking provocative guy. Which is in a way true.

But I am curious. Curious to find out what happens to me without a blog ?

It has been a good experiment so far and its time to experiment on new things.

But all good things should come to an end.

Officially I declare this blog "Dead" (as loftily as declaring the olympic games closed)

I have made a decision not to blog here. My other blog needs some attention. Johna's way had been lost in the woods for some time now. I may blog in a secret identity somewhere else.

All life is nothing but an experiment conducted with utmost sinciereity. No duplicity, no negativity and no bad intentions and definitely no baggage. This experiment is done and I have learnt a lot through it.

Its time to move on.

RIP.

Confessions Of An Economic Hitman - A review.

2006-06-30T05:37:00.000-07:00

The first time I saw or heard of this book was during an election interview of Budhadheb Bhattacharya. The campaigning had been called off and it was a personal peek into the life of this marxist poltician.

Newscaster: "What are you doing today ?"
Budha: "Nothing, just catching up on reading"

Saying this, Budha brandishes a copy of this book. Time went by and one day I found myself within the higginbothom's stall in Chennai central railway station. I had an instant recall and made an instant purchase. Obviously I live an instant life :).

Summary
Authored by John Perkins , Confessions of an economic hitman is a story of the insider turned whistle blower.

This book talks of how corporations benifit from American imperialism. The things that they do, the lies they tell and how they leverage economic institutions like IMF, World bank, USAID to promote the economic interests of American corporations.

It begins with John perkins childhood, about his insecurity of having poor parents in an affluent school and his converting these inadequacies into a source of strength. He goes on to lay the foundation of the inner conflict which would dogg him for years to come.

John joins the peace corps to avoid getting drafted into the vietnam war and proceeds to work with Ecuador. He is guided by the uncle of his girlfriend/wife who works in the NSA. The NSA does an extensive testing of John's motivations in life and declares him as an ideal candidate to be an EHM (Economic hit man). NSA further advises him to join the peace corps and develop his skills and contacts.

While in ecuador John gets recruited by MAIN one of the biggest contracting companies then in the USA which appoints him as an economic analyst. John's worldwide sojourn starts. He is trained by Claudia on the techniques of economic manipulation, econometrics and high growth projection of statistics. According to john the procedure was simple. American consulting firms like his would be deputed to countries on statistical and economic assignments. These firms would depute their EHM trained executives ( just a few of them who are trained in liason with NSA and other US govt. agencies) to conduct econmic and statistical analysis and project growth based on cooked up numbers. These numbers would be based as reasons for extending large loans to the countries.

Developemental works like power projects, electrification etc would then be contracted to American companies most notably Bechtel, Haliburton etc. These projects would ensure that the loans granted would be immediately ploughed back into American companies. As time goes by the growth projections (sometimes as high as 20%) would not be achieved in a sustained fashion and the countries would bear high interest burden for the loan repayments (sometimes as high as 50% of national budgets).

The threat of this is used by American governments both democratic and republican to
leverage for votes, oil drilling rights, access to these countries resources etc.

John claims that the role of the economic hitman is to project cooked up statistics and economic growth and enslave the rulers of the nation using, kickbacks, sex and other western gizmos.

This in his opinion would ensure American domination across the world. He proceeds to add, "not of the common man but of a few corporates who are closely tied to the government". Bush Sr, Bush Jr, Rumsfield, Ford, Shultz, Cheney are all examples of this. He calls this "Corporatocracy". John proceeds to argue that the general American population are clue less of what America does to the world and elicits that as the reason why many are surprised of the backlash America receives.

Further EHM's are part of a larger 3 stage process of American corporotocracy.
Joh says, "If EHM's fail, The jackals step in.". By "Jackals", john means the assasination squad of the American government CIA. Panama's Richard Torrjos and Ecuador's president killed in quick succession of each other is given as failure of EHMs and success of Jackals. Both died mysteriously in plane crashes and had vowed to fight American Imperialism

The third stage is all too familiar to the world. John calls it thus. "When the jackal's fail, young men and women from rural america are sent to die in foreign lands". Iraq and Panama (under Manual Noriega) are given as examples of failure of jackals.

John calls all these a coordinated set of events and rips the masks surrounding US governmental AID to countries. He asks this questions "If so many people are against American Aid in the world ? and are so ungreatful of America, why is America so eager to promote AID ?, because it is profitable and it helps America". How ? was my first question as I sat confused ?.

towards the end of the book he explains. "American dollar is today the currency of the world. The currency of transactions between countries. Only America is allowed to print these dollars and the confidence and strength of American economy is what makes the world invest in America. America has printed billions of dollars and funded reconstruction and developement projects in many countries. This funding is unproductive and inflationairy. At the end of the day the american economy pays for it with high public debt (6 trillion USD). Some day if China calls for its loans back or if saudi arabia switches to euro's instead of America, this ghost will come back to roost".

He ends that book with a warning of what will happen to the world if we dream it and build it the American way. Amazonian jungle tracks in Ecuador are lost forever because of texaco oil company. The indegeneous Shaur's are displaced in their own land and their way of lives lost forever.

This book is a tremendous eye opener and illustrates beautifully the politics of middle east, Iran, Iraq, Saudi Arabia.

Iran

1953 Mossadeg a democratically elected ruler in Iran was overthrown by American propoganda machinery who stirred up the oil companies, businessmen and labour unions. The Shah was propped up as the ruler.

Verdict : EHM - failiure, Jackals - success.

Saudi Arabia (Hose of Saud)

The house of saud was coopted using money, Sex, status, to clean up saudi arabia and build palaces, electrification projects, construction, defence and the whole gamut of stuff we call as developement.

Verdict : EHM - resounding success.

Iraq

Saddam propped up by USA for its opposition to Iran and vast oil resources (next only to saudi arabia). Sold billions of dollars of weapons and help build WMDs. Fomented a war against Iran which went for a decade. WMDs which America helped to build was used to gas kurds, shias and other minorities.

Saddam nationalised oil companies and attacked Kuwait. War declared on iraq.

verdict - EHM failure, Jackal failure, young men and women sent to die.

teritorial war did not gaurentee them oil access as UN took over oil management in iraq. War declared again and occupation of iraq was launched.

Verdict - Young men and women sent to die. This time, they did die.

Meanwhile Haliburton, Bechtel and the American oil companies are benifiting from the spoils.

The american corporatocracy interest in Saudi arabia forced them to turn a blind eye to the extreme relegious fanatism the House of Saud was promoting. The house of Saud pumped billions of oil dollars into Hamas, Pakistan, Mujahideen and ismalic jihad.
These islamic relegious orgainsations was the foundation for taliban and Alqaeda. The most virulent of all.

Finally the shit hits the fan september 11 happens.

The cycle is long. Too long for common public memory, but according to john the connections are unmistakable.

My take on this book

1) Absolutely authentic in terms of facts and events.

2) Poorly constructed in terms of the narration.

3)I think this book is another case of profiteering and lacks genuineness from the
author. e.g. john claims to be morally torn about his choices all through his life
about the work he is doing and yet continues to do it for 20 long years.
After quitting from this, he goes on to form a alternative power company called
IPS and sells it off to an oil company. His explaination of threat and fear rings
hollow. Looks to me that he played with the big guys all along and snitched for a
lucritive book deal.

4) Some of the later events which John claims to be not involved with appears
sketchy and dubious. Some thrash this as conspiracy theory.

Vasu's Recommendation : Buy it. Good read and perfectly plausible. If its true that John did work for MAIN, I would even say a lot of the things he says is credible. But I am not the one to buy he was a noble soul.

I dont need to, at the end of the day I still credit John Perkins for having told this story however badly written or with illdisguised intentions it might be

Being Sardar

2006-06-06T23:35:00.000-07:00

When I was a kid, I used to love Laxmi Kara's geography class. Geography was the closest thing to travel which I later figured out was my source of energy in life.
Kara herself was stately in her appearencce. With silver white hair she had a perfect face. She must have been atleast 60. She had that sense of calm and clarity in her face. Very very similar to Nafisa Ali in looks.

Laxmi Kara single handedly made me dream about being a pigmy. I loved the fact that one can climb trees, live in the forest, be free of homework, school and uniforms, eat all the exotic foods. This image stayed on till quiet late in life. The whole idea of living without any possessions as a tribal does is extremely appealing. Especially sleeping on a treetop some 250 feet above ground. Watchng a clear starry sky, black as ink studded with a zillion diamonds.

Ofcourse all this lasted till I saw that episode on pigmys by NatGeo. Their exisstence and livelyhood in the 20th century. It was stark, devoid of myths and quiet literally showed them as "as humans as anyone else".

Even then the whole image of a pigmy remained etched in mind. No amount of realism could erase those.

To dream of being a pigmy when I was 12 turned to dream of being a sardar. If you think of any section of people in the world who have embraced life as whole heartedly as possible, they are the Sardars. Sikhs is the politically correct term, but thats just a relegious identity. To be a sardar is something else.

Firstly it is super human. Its dildhar (all embracing). Its filled with fun and goodness (as good as the lassi) and most importantly it is about the laughs, throaty, gutteral and at times self-deprecating. No one can dispute the fact that no one can say a sardar joke as well as a sardar.

The word sardar has come to mean dumb, stupid, loser. But one look at this world would say that there is very little truth in that stereotype. The only source of reasoning is because of the hordes of sardar jokes.

We had one pappe sardar in our team. Every morning we would ask him "Bhupi, Kuki ki ondhi ?". Every morning he would say in his trademark smiling style "Madrasi, it doesent mean anything". Well, in those days I would have taken grave offence and sprung in defence of anyone making fun of tamil iconography. Be it curd-rice, or Rajnikanth or silk smitha. How can these north indians do that ? But then as I lived more in north india (I still believe mumbai to be more north than south), I realised that the hindi speaking community especialyl the sardars dont have such a bipolar view of India as we think. Its more multi polar. The bumbling bong is as much a curiosity as a touchy tamilian or the mystic mallu or the shrewed gujaratis. That way Identity played its true intended role. To identify.

This identity pride thing is a mechanism to psyche a community to strive harder to overcome imaginary enemies. Something similar to the drummers on a dragon boat in kerala. The drum beat of identity, pride is more to get the group of boatman to act in synchrony to the drum beat. Idnetity icons are similar in nature. Gujarati Asmita, Tamilian pride etc.

I am not saying there isnt gujarati asmita and tamilian pride. There is infact a sense of commonality. But we make those commonality too much a centerstage phenomena than necessary. Its got its benifits, but the key question is are we over stretching it ?

Harpreet my senior in coimbatore is a sardar with a difference. Ask him where his native is ? he would say salem. Though thats not what people want to know. With time people started accepting Harpreet from salem as a plausibility although with a slight bit of suspicion. The funny thing was the look on people's face when harpreet spoke tamil. Some of us (including me), were taken aback when harpreet spoke flawless tamil (you know the beat, otha.. koodhi etc.)

Well it said more about the rest of us than about harpreet. Identity is real but its not always as stereotypical as we define it to be. Mahmood's padosan cast the death knell for many tamilians. kamalahasan's ek dujhe ke liye personally robbed me of anonymity at my workplace and made life difficult. Vasu meant Vasu-sapna as if sapna happened to be my surname(For more on this Read Morarjee Files - Parallel Run ). It dint help, I dint have sapna. But it helped to ease out tense situations, throw in some laughs and make people open. But how this identity issue will pan out is no gaurentee. All that matters is do we have the mindset to take something like that and make it positive ? or are we going to be confused, filled with angst and stressed out as the ABCD identity (American born confused desi). Are we going to make our identity the epicenter of our existstance ? Are we going to judge everything in the world through those lenses ?

Deep questions, but thats as deep as I can go today. Anyways I cant forget this one incident.

Andy was sitting down to play a game of Dave. Its 2.00 a.m. in the morning. Bhupi is impatiently waiting behind him for his turn to play. We had finished our shift and had 2 hours to kill before the first train came into lower parel. What do we do, but play Dave. Slowly it was becoming participative. "Left jao, right maro" rang the rarified morning air. Andy's reflexes were taking a beating at two and as everyone would say "old age was catching up". Andy got shot, by the revolving fireball. Immediately there was a loud laugh from behind Andy. It was bhupi, who was soaking himself in the situation andy was in. Andy sat there embaressed and fumin.

"Kya sardar bangaya yaar ?", managed bhupi amidst the laughs. Everyone joined in. Andy retorted. "Abhe, thu already sardar hai..". Bhupi was in form that day. "Haa par thera jaisa nahin.." And the laughter went on for a long time to come.

The ability to laugh at one's identity and not feel any less proud about it is sardardom in my definition.

I now dream of being a sardar as much as I once dreamt of being a pigmy. As for being a tamil, I already am one. Dyed in the wool. Unabashed. I can be both cant I ?

Chori me imandari (Honour amongst thieves)

2006-04-17T05:53:00.000-07:00

Mumbai is one hellava place. You will find the most stunning of all experiences. Some things that make you think, "Is this place for real ?". I started recounting all my experiences only after I left mumbai.

Some really shocking and some blissfully nice. While I lived there, I never had the time to think. I was busy running. It was one such day in the thick of monsoons. I had to sumbmit my original degree certificates for inspection at work. Just after lunch, the sky turned inky and a downpour was imminent. All of us took the cue and left for the day.

An earlier experience of ignoring the weather left us sleepless in office. With the kind of team I was with, we never could sleep. Atleast I couldnt sleep ignoring the sardar jokes that were loudly shared. I Have heard of sleewalking, but not sleep laughing. Wouldnt it be wierd if someone laughs in their sleep ? Spooky!!!

Dadar was unusually abuzz at 3.30 p.m. as everyone wanted to beat the rain. Thankfully the western lines were running. The 3:43 Andheri slow came and I decided to board it altering from my usual practice of taking only the fast trains. I love getting wet in the rains and was happy to find myself unchallenged for the corner position. People literally and figuritively die for that position.

The usual body language of the crowd standing close to the most coveted standing position were missing and I was happy enough to stake my claim. Obviously a rainy afternoon and the generall musty wetness detered the diehard train junkie who would give you a violently tough fight for that spot.

As the train picked up speed between matunga road and mahim it curves dangerously in one big arc. Instinctively one hangs out a little more than the normal. With my eyes set out straight into the rain I was blissfully in my own world enjoying every minute of it. My hands stretched out with a layers of polythene bags. My certificate, wallets everything right inside there..

All that would change in a short while turning this to be one long nightmare day. I have never felt a larger pit in my stomach and subsequently never elevated to a greater level later. Never anywhere in my life and sorry New York does not even come close.

That one day is enough testimonial for why Mumbai is the greatest place on earth.

My hands were stretched with warm rain streaming down the face. One half of my shirt was soaking wet. One arm clutching on the handle immideately inside and the other freely hanging outside. I was flying!. The thoughts of chai, some crispy bajji paav filled my mind.

Suddenly there was a sharp pain on my hand as the train arched midway between mahim and matunga. I heard a loud shriek from somewhere behind me and it was my co-passenger. He was also hit. As I reacted and recovered from that pain, I realised my bag with all the certificates and wallets was no longer there. My hands were clutching just plain water.

A lightning bolt of horror ripped through my insides. All I could think was "SHIT".. multiplied a 100 times... The bag from the other hand has fallen down!!!! Felt stupid, felt totally jolted out of the bliss. Shocked as if I landed on a granite slab... Totally chastised and my heart racing a million beats more.

I jumped in motion, swivelled and ran to the end of Mahim station. I got down onto the tracks and ran right on the tracks towards matunga. I could feel nothing. The rain, non-existent. All I was wishing was for the sight of the white and blue polythene bag. I strained my eye focused right on the sides of the tracks.

Just then a hand grabbed me from the back and pushed me gruffly to the sides. A few seconds later a train thundered by.

"Dhimarg phirgaya kya ?? Chuthiye " (Are you made, fucker ?) blurted an unkwnon face. It was the other guy who shrieked on the train. All I could mutter was.. a quizzical "huh ???".. "Shanthi rakh.. Mera bhi bag chori hogaya ?"... (Be calm, even my bag got stolen ?).

"Chori ???" I was stumped. How can it happen ? I felt infinitely stupid. Could see the whole world laughing at me. Could see "Shoba" - One of the few persons I totally detested laughing. "That crinjing shame, which occurs when one is utterly humiliated. When one's edifice of self esteem crumbles in one large public spectacle". That we were togather in the misery and stupidity didnt lessen the blow.

There is the certificates, driving license and all my visiting cards to consider.

Worse than humiliation is humiliation multiplied.

I recovered in the hope that we could locate the spot we got hit on the hand and the spot it fell. After a few trial and errors we searched searched and searched. Every once in a while a surge of hope, a voice inside would say.. "Abhe idhar nahi, aur thoda age hua".. (Not here, a little more ahead).

An hour later, completely humbled and grounded we reached matunga. Thats when the friend who alerted me of the train broke down and cried... A grown man crying.. I had my office files in it. I will be fired tomorrow.... "Whaaaaa"..

Frankly If I werent on the same situations, it would have been infinitely humurous. I couldnt put an arm and console him and neither could I laugh it out. I was caught in that dreaded grey area.

To break that impasse from no where I suggested, "Waapis doondthe hein, chalo" (Lets search again).

Through the misty rain, we could see a sillhuette of a man standing in a corner doing nothing. Our hearts raced. There was no anger, just the hope we will get our valuables. As we went there, he tried to sneak into the neighbouring mahim railway parallell road. Right through the shanties, right through someone's kitchen.

My friend (in miseries), caught up with him and prevented him from escaping. With his fists clenching on his cuff and violently shaking he was demanding "Sale, kidhar hai ? Maar dalega therekho"..

Obviously there was no response from him (we dint even know if it was him who stood there with a stick in the hope of catching some fallen valuables). "Kya poochraha hai ? Kuch samaj me nahi aa raha hai" (What are you asking, I dont understand) was his only response even after 15 minutes of pleading.

Finally anger gave way to pleading. The unknwon guy understood that we lost some valuables. Valuables only to us and worthless to anyone else. Frankly I dint care for the Rs. 500 cash. All I wanted were my certificates.

With nothing more to do, we crossed over into the backyard of a shanty lining the railway track in the hope of getting to the road. The tracks were becoming too dangerous as too many trains were whizzing past.

It was dark and my watch said 7.00 p.m.

We knocked the door of the nearest shanty and the door literally fell through. As we stepped into that musty stinky interiors, I felt 3-4 hands clutch my arms and cry.. "Aaja Mera Raaja"...(come my king) "Oye chikene, aaja"...(Oh fair one, please come). My body shook violently like when you step on human excreta or something like that.

In one massive lunge I jumped out of the front door and mustered my last ounce of energy as if my life depended on it. I could feel a pair of thuds matching me which only prompted me to run faster and faster. I turned around just in time to notice that it was my-friend-in-misery and not those eunuch (transvestite) prostitutes into whose den we accidently stepped.

The feet slipped on the wet road, I fell, got up and continued the sprint. Nothing mattered to me than the relative safety of Mahim railway station.

As we gathered our wits and breaths, the friend-in-misery in a wierd sense of humour says "Gaand lag gaya na ?" (Our ass has been taken) and laughs gurrulously. It was not even funny. I wanted desperately to remind him about the cry baby he was a while back. Better sense prevailed and I kept my mouth shut. Poor guy is recovering some of his spilt dignity. Why should I trip him in the the process.

I just nodded and we departed. Through out the train journey we were both standing well inside and I made sure I was in a different compartment.

I dint really like the idea of conversing with him and prefered the anonymity the company of strangers offered. It was comforting realising no one really knows.

A longer walk from Andheri to 4-bunglows gave me a lot of time to come to terms with what happened and gather myself. Specially required with snaketounge and pounce-on-another's-misery-for-some-cheap-entertainment roommates like A and S.

I tried to forget it all. Thinking of how to reapply for my certificates from IMDR and and how to get my Driving license back.

The day ended in horrible misery so much south, everything from then on can only be better.

A week later......

I unlock my house and right on the floor lies a brown envelope. "Something to cheer me up", I thought. Recieving an envelope always cheers you up doesent it ???

I rip it open and there folded hap hazardly were my certificates. Inside them were the license , all my visiting cards and the "Lord Rama" calender which my grandma had given me when she came to know I cam going to mumbai for work.

I just looked up and said, "Thank god"... No one else had come back from work and I let out a loud cry of gratitude.

My wallet and money were gone but I got my certificates back. I couldnt do anything that day too shocked to my wits. All I could think of was a great sense of magnanimity towards the chor!!!.

Chori me imandari (Honour amongst thieves) it was. Its like you want to thank someone and you just dont know who to thank ? You dont know what to do with that trapped energy inside your head.

I walked around the house aimlessly dumbstruck at what happened and the only thing I could think of was, "Hope that Friend-in-misery, had left his address". Luckily for me my own visiting cards saved me. The feeling was very similar to a post bungee walk when your hands and legs are shaking and you need to calm your nevers. If I were 50 years older, I would have had a nervous breakdown.

One accustoms oneself not to expect stolen goods returned. Not in India and definitely not in Mumbai. That myth lay shattered.

In all this hungama (chaos), I realised that I dint even know the name of the friend-in-misery. The city seemed to me like one big karma wheel throwing your karma back at you.

For a long time, I would have made atlest a 100 taxi drivers happy. What with all The 5 bucks tip I used to hand them back with the smile.

My other mumbai chronicles are listed below. I feel so nostalgic about mumbai that nothing not even what happened in the begining of 2006 can snatch those memories. Thats for a later date though. Some day, maybe never... But for now, I feel real good thinking of those crazy days.

Sigh!!!

Morarjee Files Parallel Run
Mumbai Madness I Crazy Roomies
Small town syndrome

Beyond Shotz... Three issues and going strong...

2006-04-07T07:35:00.000-07:00

Beyond Shotz started out as an idea for young amateur photographers who wanted a platform to showcase their work.

The mainstream photography magazines were too much of a hassle to approach and we all know how that coterie works. The option was simple, launch your own magazine and make it freely available for all to read on the internet.

This magazine also is designed to be broadbased and include photographers from all over the world. The only criteria for being featured is "how stunning" your photographs are.. Being a photo magazine, quality photographs are the key.

Ofcourse, this magazine is not just about photographs. It aims to go beyond the frames to the people, the story and the emotion of the subject. Afterall there is more to photography than light, lens and camera. Hence the name of the magazine

Beyond Shotz !! .

Did I hear someone say, "Elementary, my dear watson ?"

Through this magazine you would view some of the most stunning photographs taken All across the globe, Travel to off the circuit places, Discover a thing or two about people, their culture and the way of life, Learn about the equipments and the legalities concerning photography, Read interviews of some unconventional yet stunning photographers.

Through this magazine you would go beyond your horizons. Maybe it should be named "Beyondhorizons". Well thats an idea for another mag..

Meanwhile all the issues are available for download right here...

Like we say in true uncouth, poriki tam bravado.. Nsoy, Jamai, Njamai...

Download (pdf~3.6 MB)

February 2006
Cover story - Bird photography

January 2006
Cover story - Chembra

Morarjee Files - Parallel run

2006-03-30T02:36:00.000-08:00

Morarjee Goculdas spg and wvg co ltd. no longer exists. But for a brief period of 11/2 yers, that was my school, my home and my everything in mumbai. I finished my MBA from IMDR, Pune and like any other MBA passing out was full of energy an almost imatient drive to go and prove myself.

The first two months only added onto that fire as I sat in the head office twiddling thumbs and playing "dave". Piramal systems technology head office was one huge adda (hang out) where people pontificated on new softwares. Enveloped in a completely IT environment complete with AC, swanky cubicles, lounge music and internet connectivity, I sat for two months increasingly frustrated of my life. No real work was happening and my legs were twitching to get into a place where I did something purposeful. I smelt my first opportunity to get to field when my boss (vikram) asked me Shoba and sudhir to go on a field tour of all the group companies. Shoba was the typical MBA from goa with a huge chip in her shoulder and a mouthfull of jargons. Prescriptive, criticising and totally out of touch. Her most repeated statement was "This is not the way things are done in GE". She might be right in saying that statement, but she lacked a few grey hairs to appear more credible.

Sudhir and I were increasingly frustrated about the head office culture and were totally unhappy. First stop was Morarjee. Sudhir is a smart chap schooled in the MBA culture of symbiosis. Jump-and-get-ahead-of-life whichever way you see good. He quit piramal to join another company within 3 months of joining. "Got to be in USA within one year" was his mantra. I was an idealist with similar drives but determined to learn along the way. "Learning to learn", is a hallowed concept discovered, perfected and passionately taught in IMDR. IMDR is a management school with a difference. High on idealistic principles of Deccan educational society (DES) which ran institutions since the late 19th century like Fergusson college, Pune. Through DES institution's hallowed halls have passed many a great Indian leaders. Afterall a society patronised by Balagangadhar Tilak could be no less principled (The beginings of DES). IMDR is the newest child of this society and the first management institute in Maharashtra. Started in the 70s by Sumatilal Shah and Joshi, it is today lost in the cacophony of four letter acronymed MBA institutes. People often confuse IMDR for one of the high cost, high rhetoric (all-fart-and-no-shit) MBA institute. To the irkied up students frustrated by the lack of proper recognition, Dr. Bhupatkar, the smiling director would say "We are in the education of business and not in the business of education".

I was smitten by IMDR like my first crush. IMDR is a small environment with less than 150-200 living up to its stance of atonomy. Rebellious and idealistic, IMDR wanted to prove a point to the outside world. Like a bee to nectar, all of us were (should say are still) attached to IMDR. IMDR was a community.

Having said all this, we still had a little chip on our shoulder. A stunted chip. But one thing was clear, none of us ever shirked or eweeeed at digging our hands dirty getting things done.

So there we were at morarjee. Morarjee's IT was a mess a mossaic of arcane computer systems which needed a major surgery every 2 days and we were trying to implement the latest ERP. The textiles business is as old as business itself and no one would change their practices for any ERP software. The average user age was 45 plus and one can make a slab of granite move, but not these guys. Totally unaware of all this I was accepted into Morarjee's young but battlewary team of IT staff.

I grabbed the opportunity with both hands and legs. Atlast I have something purposeful to do.

Sunil was the project manager. Tough as the users were, realistic as the broken chimneys dotting the factories. Morarjee was like entering into a time wrap. And there we were trying to implement a cutting edge software to streamline operations. The operations which has changed very little in 60 years.

"Give me something more to do, I have completed all the sales orders entries", I demanded gruffly. Sunil responded, "Ok. Can you finish these vucher entries ?". Another fortnight later the same routine followed "Give me more to do". This time sunil was convinced that I am out to grab the most mundane of works with full vigour. "Come with me to the meeting", he said. Like a schoolboy I took my notebook and pen eager to pen down the notes.

The Meeting
===========

The CEO, CIO, Head marketing, CEO-Psytech and all the hallowed gods were present. Mamya, Sunil, Phanish, Andy and me were there from the user side. "Dont talk unless asked a irect question", advised sunil. I nodded vigorously in my newly elevated role. I was in a fully listening mode. The meeting started off with pleasantries and tea. That was the nicest part. Within a few minutes it deteriorated to accusitions and counter accusitions about problems. There was a departmental turf war and I was getting agitated. "A team of 15 professionals in the IT department are trying to better things and these guys were totally disrespectful, How can sunil take it lying down ?", My mind was screaming. Sunil was quiet and obeservant and finally the chairman Ajay, walked in and all democracy ended.

Ajay : "Are you guys done with the usual passing the buck thing ? "He asked.
The room was ominously silent. I was just controlling my temper. Ajay continued,"I dont want any more excuses. This implementation should be completed within a month. Otherwise all of you are canned." More silence followed and this time the silence spoke a lot. The language of fear.

As we trodded back. Sunil spoke for the first time "Guys so here we are. We need to do this within a month.". Paneesh's first words were "Thats impossible". I couldnt contain myself and opened my mouth for the first time, "sunil why were you silent when the other department folks were blaming our team.". All the others joined in, demanding an explaination. Sunil took his time and replied, "Guys that is morarjee's politics and I dont want to be a part of it. Look all that is of little concern now. Lets get this job done within a month. The top management has one brief. Finish it in a month or look for a new job".

Andy responded, "sunil I cant deal with kini anymore. He doesent cooperate atall".
Sunil looks on. "Ok Andy, you work in the finance module now. under paneesh. Who is going to work with kini and train him to take over ?". this was my opportunity and I jumped in and said "I will do it".

There was laughter everywhere. "Arre bache... kini will eat you alive", sneered Andy. Sunil was observing this closely and that was my last straw. I spoke up exasperatedly, "Look guys, no one wanted to enter sales orders. I did it. No one wanted to enter the backdated vouchers, I did it. No one wants to train kini and work with him. I will do it. If I dont do it, this whole thing will fail and we all will have to find another job".

Sunil broke the impasse and declared authoritatively. "Andy will work with paneesh and Vasu you and mamya will handle sales. I need this thing wrapped up within a month. Comeon guys, lets do it and get out of here".

The whole team was galvanised and I dove into the work like a dolphin chasing fish.

D-Day
=====

D-Day dawned and I was in Kini's cabin trying to talk him into getting trained onto the new system for sales orders and getting backdated sales orders entered into the system. The new system was longer and tougher to learn initially and the new system lagged the old system by two days. The theory is simple in implementation. You carry on with the old system and parallelly run the new system till the point where all issues in the new system are ironed out. In implementation parlance, this is called parallell run. Its tougher on people, longer working hours and harder to train. Its generally done for a month before pulling the plug on the old system and continuing on the new. We were 2 days of transactions lagging in the new system and kini was the only salesman with the knowledge of computers and fast enough to achieve this.

Vasu : "Kini saab, lets do this training and finish the back orders. We have to complete everything in a month."

Kini : "Abhe computer gadhe (computer fools in reference to our department), what do you think I am ? Thera rakhel ? (your mistress ?). Bahar nikhal ja, nahi tho maar kayega (get out of here or I will thrash you.)

Vasu : "kini saab, please this is not nice. Lets do this and finish strong. We need to get this implementation done and the CEO has given us this responsibility. If you need help, I will help you too."

Kini :"Who are you to help me (annoyed at being viewed as helpworthy), you are a kid and what do you know ? my experience in this company is bigger than your age ? Are you trying to challenge me ? "

Thats how the whole day went. In Kini's defence, he was old and nearing retirement and he has been overworked by everyone around. Worse he felt extremely insecure and suspicious of the computer system. Afterall when you are 60, it not exactly a great thing to be told to work under a 22 year old green horn who is a raring bull unmindful of how change affects human psyche. But for my IMDR grooming of humanistic management, I would have thrown up my hands and quit. I decided to work with what I had and that whole day was spent in argument bordering on conflict.

Quiet a few times, Kini's face was an inch away from mine. Close enough to hear our thoughts. But we were on full decibels loud enough to alarm the whole factory. Yet no one bothered as it is the work culture of a 100 year old cotton mill.

Kini : "Thum kya ek dhin me, sab badhal dalega ? jhaant bhi ukaad nahi saktha. (Can you change things in one day ? you cant even pluch a pubic hair). For my MBA schooled jargon receiveing ears, this was blasphemy. But then work situations involving the livelyhood of many people are bound to be full of such preaures. Passionately defending his territory, I realised that this fullthroated venture was leading us nowhere.

I walked out of his cabin at around 2.00 mainly to cool down, but also to eat some food and rejuvenate my spirits. Andy walks by with a beaming smile going from ear to ear and a face that said I-Know-What-happened-last-hour.

I tried avoiding him and go about my lunch in silence. The whole canteen was in whispers, chuckles and glances in my direction. the simple dal, roti and rice was bitter and jokes were on of how I became the bakhra in the computer department.

"Woh naya chokra hain na ? Madrasi ? Usko Kini ne masth gaand maar dhiya ?". (Kini took the new guy's ass. The madrasi) I gobbled up my lunch as soon as I could swallow and tried to get out of the place. Sunil was silent and kind of understood what I am going through. He just let me be. Later when the episode would be over, he said that day is the day I grew up.

Next to Morarjee is an old Dutta temple which used to be solace on some of the stressfull days in my life. I walked in and sat in a corner dampening all thoughts inside. A full 5 minutes of blank brain felt like red bull.

That day, I decided i will turn things around. Post lunch Kini was sitting in his cabin and I walked in acting as if nothing ever happened.

Kini : Exasperatedly. "Thum kya chahthe ho ? (what do you want ?)"
Vasu : "Kini saab, I understand what you are going through. But we need to do this thing. I will help you in whatever way you want. But I need you to devote some time to this. there is no point fighting like this. Everyday we will fight on and on and within a fortnight I will get fired."
Kini : Ok... we will do this. But dont be like the other computer gadhes (fools). They didnt do their job well the first time and we had to re-enter the sales orders again. I am not a machine you understand ?

An hour from there, I guided Kini through his first sales order entry. Every single query as to "why this, why that, this is more work than old system" was tackled without losing temper.

By 5 p.m., we were not in talking terms. We were in typing terms and with two computers we started entering the first of the 5000 pending sales orders. I decided I will finish it before end of day. Kini left the day at 9.00 p.m. finishing 500 sales orders. I had some vadapaavs for dinner and ploughed on.

It was close 2.00 a.m. when I wound up with the last of the pending orders and as I reached the railway station just missed the last train home. I hung around the station for a while and it was close to 4.00 a.m. that day as the firset train of the new day chugged in. As I wandered into my apartment and slumped on my bed it was 5.00 a.m.

The clock struck 10.00 a.m. as I entered office and picked up my cup of sick and lousy coffee. Ever wondered why office coffee is always lousy ? Sunil, looked at me in stock astonishment.

"The sales report as on yesterday is tallying", he announced.

"What about today ?", I asked irritatedly not wanting to sit with kini for another day.

"Kini is entering sales order in both the systems. Good job Vasu", quipped sunil quiet apparently surprised on seeing a cooperative Kini. He proudly turned and anounced "The parallel run is on folks!!!".

The team suddenly showed some new found respect for me. This kid can get things done. I went to kini's cabin and checked out if everything was fine. He looked at me and said, "The two reports are tallying. Kaisa ? (how). I had done only 500 pending sales orders and atleast 4000 was left, yesterday". "I did it saab", I said and I could see a astonishment in his eyes. "Dont worry, I will take care of every sales order from today", he voulenteered. Now the two systems were level and tallied. We needed 15 days of parallel run to uncover all issues and to fix them. I thanked him and as I was leaving. "Aapka naam kya hai ?", kini asked. "Vasu", I replied.
"Ha Vasu!!!!.. Like Vasu (Kamal) and Sapna (Sridevi) in Ek duje Ke liye ?", he said with booming laughter.

I just smiled. Ever since that day, I was known as "Vasu Sapna". Like there existed a physical sapna and like it was my surname. It opened doors in the packing section for our packing implementation. In the dyeing section, In the yarn section. "Vasu Where is your Sapna ?", became the smart cool statement to say whenever all these old warriors came across me. It helped me get work done for the implementation. It eased language and other departmental gaps. With one stroke kini gave me the weapon to disarm all resistance and subversion by disgruntled workers to the new system.

Though I sound elitist when I say that, It was a deadline and we had to make it in time.

A tinge of sadness enveloped me when I learnt that Morarjee is no more. The company was shut down after a fire and in all probability would be sold off, developed into some gaudy mall burrying with it a history of 100 years.

In its dieing years, Morarjee taught me a lot and was the perfect platform to learn human behaviour. Wonder what happened to Kini, Pande and Dalvi the numerous friends I made while in Morarjee. They were old, but witty and extremely generous folks. I visited their ganesh pandal in 1999, met their families, enjoyed their hospitality, their loud and dry sense of humour.

"Sapna, Raath ko aathi hai kya ?" (Does Sapna come in the night ? pun on the word sapna which also means dreams in hindi).

Fly on the wall

2006-03-12T21:09:00.000-08:00

A major fan of Asimov like me had to figure it out some time. Despite my obviously slow clump of clay in my head, I realised soon enough that Asimov is not a science fiction writer. He did write about the future as he foresaw it, but it was quiet apparent that Asimov was more an explorer of human psyche than the future. The future, robots, transmutation et. al were the right context, the right distraction for him to dwell deeper into the human mind. Two stories would remain in my mind for eternity. The Jokester and The billiard ball . Every tenth knowing smile, I smile is more because of the instant recall of these two amazing stories rathar than the inherant comedey in the context.

It was one such smile. An old uncle who came back from the USA and was regealling all the natives with stories of the promised land. He drawled on pausing stratigically to very very good effect.

"We Indians are extremely intelligent. You know when I was a student in caltech, I had a friend coming fom India for the first time. He joined Princeton to persue his doctorate in physics. Now as students we had to save a lot of money. What did this friend do ? He places a collect call to my number. The phone rang and I picked it up. A sweet voice anounced to me saying, 'A collect call from Ramesh Aagaya. Would you like to accept it ?'. No I replied and she went on to inform Ramesh Aagaya how his collect call had been denied. See without spending any money he informed me of his arrival".

The whole living room burst into laughter applauding the intelligence of Desi Americans and ridiculing the hole ridden system in America. The message was simple. Indians are too intelligent. Give them any system, they will work with it and even twist the system right on its head. That living room was thich with pride and I have to admit, I was the first one to roar with laughter allbeit an entirely different reason. Uncontrollable laughter. Everyone else took the cue and dint want to be left behind.

Why did I laugh ? Is it a unique joke ? Definitely not. Its not even original. I have personally heard ten different people tell me the same joke in ten different versions. Each one claiming with ferocity that he/she/, his/her friend was the original inventor of this great Desi discovery. I laughed that day of the wonderous beauty of Asimov and how mis-understood his stories were. I laughed at the joy of my own discovery of what Asimov really was. A writer of human psyche, letting us have a sneak peek as to why people do what they do. This post is about that.

Asimov's theme in Jokester was simple. Jokes are small little experiments performed by aliens on humans to understand their psyche. To find out why they do what they do. Its not quiet important weather the alien experiment theory is true or not. But for argument sake, lets say it is true. Then why did the old uncle repeat the sadofied (stale) joke ? Why did he expect a laugh ? Why did I laugh ? Why did all the others laugh ?

That uncle was returning back to India after dog years and like every Indian it is central to his life what people of his community think of himself. His sense of success is directly dependant on what his earstwhile peers think of it. His accomplishment is directly co-related to how accomplished he feels out here. In all this there is a fear too. The fear of retaining his Indian ness. Even the most outgoing and liberal person in India, when confronted with the stark reality of a western society steps back to his identity and wants to retain that at any cost. This protective nature is what makes him go to "Bridgewater temple", Learn vedas, look upon carnatic music as some holy grail to be preserved, become more of a hindu than he would ever be in his lifetime. This sense of who you are is so starkly visible in the general American landscape it turns the most outgoing person into a recluse.

If you happen to live in middle America, it is difficult to just become friends with anyone in town. The kind of culture and style an American society brings about is entirely alien to the sometimes intrusive and curiosity ridden Indian way of life.
This uncle, was trying to get back into his old setup at a higher rank than when he left. I was just helping him to ease back into the community as soon as possible and I couldnt help laughing with disbelief of how many different claimants are there for this joke. Each claimant using it for his own unique purpose displaying his own unique psyche. And for perhaps the first time, I wasnt too critical of the fakeness in tihs narration. It was just too funny and I was screaming to myself "I cant believe he was telling me this old sadofied (stale) joke". There was no condescention but it was purely amazing.

Very soon the others who saw this, realised that they all should laugh. Why did they laugh ? Two main reasons.

1) Epidemics
2) Tipping point.

Read Tipping point for a detailed analysis of this.

Anyways in brief we laugh because laughter is a huge social ice-breaker. Its a peek into informality and a certain bonhomie between people. Once you laugh at an other person's joke, you are accepting him into your inner circle and telling him he is accepted and vice-versa. Its a kind of low stakes approach. Instead of openly asking "I want to be friend's with you" (Not the amorous kind megha encounteres often), if you crack a joke and people laugh at it, its apparent that your company is liked and both of you do want to engage in that social interraction. The problem with openly asking that question "I want to be friends with you" or any other social interraction question like "Can we have a cup of coffee ?" (the oft used dating opener) is the fear of rejection.

"How would it be, if I am rejected ?". Well instantly any human would feel bad being rejected because everyone genuinely wants to be liked. A joke is a face saving way of testing that acceptance/rejection theory.

Jokes are also an amazing way to alter the stakes in a relationship. I was told by an old school friend Neetha "that one of the reasons you are funny or try to be funny is because you want to alter the stakes in your relationship and bring it to the zone where you can handle. You can entertain people and often you think that all people want is entertainment. So if someone wants something deep and meaningfull and you cant give it to them, you lighten up the conversation, make them laugh, entertain them and even hope that this can distract them from their real need." I dont really believe this sweaping statement by Neetha, but there is a little truth to it. When can one actually think beyond the rut one is in ? When can you get creative and innovative ? When can those amazing brainwave solutions to your problems appear ? When will you go to your happy place ?

Only when you laugh and lighten up isnt it ? Laughter is nothing but an externally induced natural mood elevator. When your mood changes and your brain processes some puzzles and enjoys the victory of figuring something out, it gets creative and you would find easy ways to untie some really difficult knots. I am built that way actually trying to figure out how knots are opened. Jokes and laughter actually alters many of the assumptions in our brain without us having to be confronted by our set positions in an open way. If someone tells me "Vasu you have to change". Hell there is no way I will change. But if the environment is non-threatening and easy, I will change even without being let know of the fact that I need to change.

Jokes and humour help to generate that non-threatening environment where we all have face savers to not injure our pride.

Whats the connection between the title and the post ? Through and through this whole experience of mine, talking to the old uncle, seeing through the smokes and mirrors of human behaviour, sifting through the tons of crap Neetha told just to find out the odd precious stone, I was a fly on the wall. Non-participative, alert, overworked in my mind and figuring out new relationships between evensts and elements in my environment. If I had involved myself I would never have understood many things. Never would have recalled Asimov and certainly wouldnt have laughed so hard at the "Rames Aagaya" joke.

I was just a fly on the wall.

Totally recall (nothing to do with that obnoxious switchneggar movie)..

2006-02-27T07:51:00.000-08:00

I am right now on a nostalgic trip, thinking of all the good things that happened in my life. The umpteen friends, the few relationships. The first crush and all that. I am so reminded of my life for the sheer variety of experiences and people whose paths I have crossed, in one emotional decision I have decided to put my photograph

.

Source: "The hindu"

Just kidding!!!!!... I thought which is the best way to pen an ode to one of the brightest filim makers in tamil movie industry. Thats cheran and if you do happen to have a taste for tamil movies, you should watch Autograph He is a genious.For the rest of the folks who are not too keen to watch a tam movie dont you worry, its being remade in all major lanugages Kannada, Telugu, Mallayalam and Hindi (Prayer : God please god, save this movie and please let not shah rukh khan act in it.... Even mithun would be ok... but not shah rukh... please god)

When I was in coimbatore I positively tried to get out of that place and for a while thought, "Oh god what kind of a college i have joined ?". RVS was hardly known for its academics. It was popular for the IDC (Indefinite closure. College shut down and students sent back home normally for 15 days. It is accompanied by strikes, a slew suspensions and an odd dismissal. It could be as profound as cauvery issue or anti-jayalalitha or as silly as bad dosas in the canteen)

Any batch which hasnt forced 1 IDC atleast in a year is known as a sissy batch and people would constantly rue and complain about the falling standards in college kids. From a P.S kind of school(shark infested, where dyslexic kids like me would be routinely humiliated) in chennai where I was the top of my class (from the bottom), I suddenly found myself the only guy clearing mathematics, electronics an all the mumbo jumbo of science in my college. Back then my only aim was go to North India for an MBA.

When I did go to Pune for my MBA, I realised the value of studying in RVS and I realise now that those were the years I got transformed into a person. I formed my identities, gave my idealism some structure. I was so full of activity that I used to have 16 hour work days doing all kinds of things. The library was mine to dig out dust laden but non-dogeared books and have it issued, stamped and read from preface to index.

Even now there would be books with just my stamp on it. The NSS camps trying to build toilets and educate old guys with a big heart and gutteral laughs. It was RVS that gave me an opportunity to go up on stage, commit a few mistakes without being bludgeoned for that. I realised, I could sing well fight for my rights, argue with professors who were worse than me and represnet myself in an honest way. Thats the word, RVS was an honest place. With all the politics and tension, you would never find instances of backstabbing, manipulations etc. It was as uncouth and unsophesticated as its stark barren environment. It was one of the few non-threatening environments which gave me space enough to develop. For a meek kid I was, RVS was a growth tonic.

I realised that only after reaching IMDR. from RVS to IMDR was a humongous leap in all aspects. you had 50 people highly motivated from all parts of the world cocky and self assured about their abilities (afterall they all cleared CAT). It was a place of real testing my potentials. What surprised me was I had the courage to put myself and my ideas out in the open class with a typical south indian accent but I never really believed I was good. To be acknowledged by peers was a great thing and despite all my insecurities I was a computer expert from rural tamil nadu. When you are inside tamilnadu you never realise how tough you actually become in achieving goals. That state with its horrendous scarcity of resources makes you a near vulture. But when you meet people from other states, you are suddenly aware of the fact that your basic nature is aggressive.

It took a while for me to get out of the "I have to survive" trip and calm my mind down and make some real friends. Friends like Sachin who are totally unencumbered in their thinking and totally non-threatening in his approach. I had to literally disarm myself to be percieved as non-threatening and acceptable. The confidence was there thanks to the 3 year RVS experience. The utter confidence that I can be whatever I set my eyes on. Maybe that one lesson is worth the three years of percieved lost opportunities.

"Its all nostalgia", my mind sometimes says chastising me for this luxury. But isnt it nice to think of your past and feel good ? There were some serious lessons I learnt without knowing I was learning it and its worth a look once in a while isnt it ? but the whole dilema is between participation and analysis. When you analyse you look at your experience in a non-participative way. When you participate you dont have time to pause, think and come back into the loop. "It is a contradiction. But only if you look at it as mutually exclusive processes", says sachin. You can always count on sachin to immediately get on your train of thought and talk at the same plane.

Maybe that is my next sign post. To participate in day-to-day life and still have a analyst process running in the background...

There is one thing I did good in RVS. Because of my tremendous insecurity about falling behind acadameically I over corrected. I packed my day with so much activity that I was juggling college, NIIT, NSS, Library and a ton of other things including spending long hours in the electronics lab. I am glad I learnt COBOL and UNIX in coimbatore. Can you actually believe COBOL and UNIX ????

But hey whatever it is do take some time and watch Autograph...Its worth the DVD rental.

Venkat's sitution

2006-02-25T05:34:00.000-08:00

I told you, Karma always pays. Well it did, allbeit a little delayed. Venkat who all of us affectionately called as prachanai (tam for the word trouble) came up with his classic first liner "Machi prachanai da" (Machi there is trouble). Six of us looked up instantly not bothering to conceal the cards in our hands. Rummy with serious betting money wasnt important. If "prachanai" ever was to utter those words, the reactions would have been same. We would have broken chairs, shouted choicest and ear polluting expletives and gone of running in our lungis to bludgeon whoever it is who is acting smart.

Questions generally came later. That was how our own close knit group functioned. Extreme comradire, trust. Afterall life in a faction ridden politically charged and sometimes violent college campus was no less than a battlefield.

This time, it was different. There was no resolve in venky's face. He looked defeated.

Karuppa : "Whats the problem da ?"
Venky : "Personal machi"

all of us jumped in shocked. "What the fuck personal ?". "Is this what our friendship has become ?". "I cant believe you dint trust us ?"... Conclusions were being drawn thick and fast and no body was in a mood to let that slight pass. It was no slight actually. Venky though the gang leader, we all realised was having some issue ouside of college and in our own offended brash way, we were trying to make him cough it out. We took our friendships real seriously. Wehn Bull's mom wanted some blood, we donated it unconditionally. When I lost my monthly allowance from dad, my friends chipped in. When Shyam ran away from college and was absconding, we all scoured coimbatore to locate him. It took 3 days and when we found him all of us gave him the blanket parade. In such an environment, "Its personal" wont cut it.

Venky finally relented.

Venky's sister was seeing a boy. She was just a year younger to venky and the boy (Senthil) was a rival gang leader. We all knew that boy's activities. From a very violent background and a charismatic bully of sorts. To his credit, he dint know it was venky's sister. If he had known, he wouldnt have lifted his head and seen her. None of us knew it. We all looked at palladam with the expression how-hell-did-you-miss-this ? Palladam was the maven of the group. One who collects, searches information and keeps the interests of the groups alive. He was the one who should have known but it was apparent he dint. We decided to postpone his inquiry for later and tackle the matter at hand. "Then...what happened ?", continued karupa.

Venky : "She came home yesterday crying and bruised up..." (even as we spoke he was chocking). "She wouldnt stop crying and she was uncontrollably weeping".

All of us were shell shocked.

Venky : "That's when we found out that she is in love with him ?"

Palladam was jumping in the air. Gomma, I am going to kill him man.

All of us irritatedly looked at palladam with a first-you-fucked-up-and-now-you-want-to-kill-him look. Palladam became silent quiet embaressed in not living up to his roles.

"Go on da", Ramesh said (one of the few sane voices in the group. That includes me).

Venky : "My sister was abused man!!!!... venky was uncontrollable...not sexually but physically. That bastard got drunk and beat her up outside college. She refused to go with him alone to ooty (a nearby hillstation frequented by lovers)..

This turned all of us into palladams... Raging to go and positively that day we would have cracked senthil's skull.

Venky sensed the change in situation and went on. "Hey cool it guys. There is another complication. My sister loves him more now and yesterday she threatened my dad that if something happens to him, she will commit suicide ?"

This brought a sense of reality in the gang.. Arguments followed as what kind of medival torture that could be re-enacted. Literally every approach was shot down by Ramesh, the conscience keeper of the group. A gandhian by heart who abhorred violence. But in a group with such bloodthirsty bastards hungry for revenge, he generally had little choice. For the first time in our lives, venky listened to him.
When all cacophony of "we will do this, do that" died down, Ramesh spoke up.

Ramesh : "The key thing is venky's sister. We dont care for the guy, but her sister should not end up harming herself". As we all nodded our heads, he proceeded to quizz venky about her sister's behaviour patterns and weather she was a rebel or not. I was there sitting dumbstruck at the sheer details of questioning venky was was answering. Every small thing about her likes, dislikes and insecurities were discussed threadbare. But never in a way to make venky feel vulnerable or uncomfortable.

"Alright now",concluded venky. "Boss looks like this is not the first time this must have happened and for some reason she is liking it. Normally we would hate people who abuse us. I mean really abuse us. But for some wierd reason, she seems awe struck by that and is feeling asif it was her fault and not his. This in itself is a dangerous symptom".

Looking at me Ramesh adds "similar to stockholm syndrome ??" and he nods his head vigorously. Ramesh along with yours truly are one of the few in our college who have read all books in our library. Literally every book from economics, philosophy, politicsl, fiction to gmat exam papers. His breath of knowledge and analytical skills were amazing. His comprehension of situation was astute. His values of "no violence" ("unless necessary" was lateron added) coupled with all these things ultimately convinced us that this guy can untie the knotty situation without causing damage. All of us knew that in this situation brain could work it out and not brawn.

"First of all, leave her alone. Give her all the space. not more than what is normally given, but not less than what is generally given. Bring the situation back to normal asif nothing ever happened.". Venky sat confused. "Machi, understood ? just do as I say. Behave normally to her, talk normally. Dont ever act as if she is a victim of anything. Just be calm, relaxed. Dont act as if you guys dont care though. Show that you love her and you wish the best." Ok nodded venky looking terribly unconvinced.

"Do so for a month or two or three... Let her do whatever she wants within limits.Her curfews would stay the same". Ok nodded venky still confused.

"You have to do this sincierely, genuinely and consistently, because human beings can sense vibes. You cant put an act. She will know." Ok nodded venky.

For the next 3 months someone or the other will travel from college to coimbatore in the same bus just to keep a watch on her and make sure nothing happens. Ok...

"Once the term ends and she is through with her class 12 (The college I studied had a high school in the same campus and affairs between college guys and school girls were not uncommon), take her on a holiday somewhere nice and talk to her about how she feels and engage with her. She feels she is not attended at home and poor girl is seeking it outside. Further she thinks, that all this is her fault. Even that bastard senthil's behaviour. Most importantly your and your parents support system should take her away from the path of saying that I deserve him and nothing better. You touch senthil, there is no telling what your sister would do. We dont need to do anything drastic unless I call for it", Ramesh looks at Palladam giving him a stern stare.

Ramesh has mastered the art of communication, especially verbal. In a modulated voice he puts an arm on venky's shoulder and says "Machi, this is not some election issue or tamil comitteee issue. You have to handle this carefully. Do as I tell you and all will be fine", he says confidently. What we (looking at me) will do is talk to your sister and ask her how her preperations are happening. you have to act as if no one apart from your family knows what's happened. All of us", looking at palladam "will act as if we know nothing. Alright ? I will just ask her how her preparations are going on ok ?.. not now but a week later".

The plans were made and palldam firmly reined in. He along with karuppa was given the task of tailing senthil every waking moment of his college day.

That week passed of peacefully and when ramesh and I spoke to venky's sister I was really jittery and tensed. She seemed fine to me, but in Ramesh's opinion it might be a facade of comfort she is putting. Just to confuse things, he added "Oh thats healthy and normal, Most of us actually put facades because they are security nets for us to even out our insecurities. Most humans want face savers in situations to preserve our dignity. If that is denied, all of us even me are capable of taking drastic and impulsive actions. If you want decisions to go in your favour, give the other guy a tough time but always give him a face saver so that he can graciously withdraw his stance. Most ego hassels and problems happen because we dont believe in giving face savers, we want the other person to be emotionally broken because they hurt us". I looked at him awestruck "Ok Mr. Shrink, how about our group ? there are no face savers here ?". "You are right", he proceeded. "This is a controlled environment where we will be togather for 3 years. And hey if you are threatened in this group, you always have the option to walk out... isnt there a face saver, in built ?", he added with a intellectual victory writ on his face. He was spot on and man lucky we had him in the group. He never loses cool and maybe thats why none of the hotblooded turks landed up in jail.

Finally to cut the long story short, things were resolved everyone followed our roles to the tee. Paladam continued to tail senthil for the next 6 months for no apparent reason. "Hey Iyeru" (Refering in a jocular way the caste affiliations of Ramesh and me), "you go and study. What can studies give you man ? I will manage my power loom business".

Life moved on and we all moved on. Untill.

"Vasu anna" (Vasu brother), rang a voice in the middle of the bangalore railway station a full 10 years later, I was on my way to chennai. Who could that be ? could it be my cousin priya and her daughter sandy ? there was this beautiful girl standing with her luggage. I went there with a totally quizzed out look... Shalini, she introduced herself and added Venky's sister from coimbatore. Oh my god, she is now a grown up mami making me totally concious of my age. We were in the same bay and had a totally good time talking about the old days and how venky was doing. From no where she just looked up at me and said "thanks for what you guys did. Anna (refering to venky) told me later all the things that happened, bursting out into tears". "I am ok, she said consoling herself", I wonder how women can cry so easily and relieve all their stress. Is that the next step of evolution ? I felt neanderthanlisque. Dint the neanderthals become extinct ? As I looked up, no sign of tears were there. She was sporting a smile on her face and I was thiking "Hello ?? did you see someone in tears just 2 minutes back ?".

Anyways, I couldnt resist and asked her, "what was the issue ?". She took a long breath, "I was just young and he was the first guy I met. But I think those three months were the time I grew up. Now I am smarter, intelligent and hey I dont let others trample over me. Nothing serious but part of growing up you know..". I was thinking to myself, "ya ya... we can always look back and say it was nothing serious
But things could have gone wrong"..

Without my knowledge some of those words leaked out in a low mumble. "What anna ?" she looked quizzingly. "Nothing", I covered my tracks and continued. "Good, you grew out of it". She went on about the usual "what about you ?". "I have a lot more of growing up to do shalini, but you take care that you dont trample on others alright ?", I paused like a true elder giving sagely advise.

The train chugged along pretty similar to the way our lives chugged along and I was left wondering "It feels good when someone almost at the brink of falling in the abyss of continueous abuse, musters that last ounce of courage and pushes themeselves away from the edge".

It feels real good and I drew a mental smile, feeling happy that tuesday.

TLA - The mother of all three letter acronymns

2006-02-21T21:47:00.000-08:00

Whats the POA ? I dont know, maybe GPD ? Not today man, its the MOW. HBE is a right thing to do. That way we will be RTG for tomorrows meeting.

Wondering whats happening ? welcome to the world of TLA (Three letter Acronymns). We use it so often in our work places it almost sounds cool. It is said that TLAs constitute 20% of inter-office corporate communications in.

Now look at the opening statements with the following information:

POA-Plan of action
GPD-Get piss drunk
MOW-Middle of the week
HBE-Hit bed early
RTG-Rearing to go

These TLAs were originally discovered to ease written comunication, monotony and a quick way to get to know whats happening between two people. A kind of shortcuts. They have grown so much that all seeminglt complicated phrases have their own shortcut. When you overdo it or do it without realising that many wouldnt know it, it can backfire tremendously. Any finance guy would know terms like ROI, a economist would know GDP and so would an architect FPR. But you mix up the group you got a real quizzing game happening.

observation: No one really likes to admit they dont know what a particular three letter acronymm actually means. To his frustration it is like a guessing game where his mind is trying to fill in the blanks by the general context of what is being discussed. If he guesses it quickly, there is a sense of elation in mind and hey you can bet that it would be tested out once in a conversation. Nonchallently using it just to see if it fits in "So are we going to track TOT this month too ?", just to see if his guess of TOT - turn around time is correct and to tell people at large, "hey I know it ok..."

Many times, people dont guess it atall. They ask, often slyly and after the meeting is over to a trusted friend. "ughh What is ROCE ?....., oh ok" with a sheepish grin barely conceling the embaressment. Now he feels part of the club and can play the dance to the select few and the ignorant masses. "So what is the POA?".

Some like shankar get real irritated at the lack of sensitivity and utter snobbishness of the user. Shankar says, "Generally if I find myself in a situation where someone uses a three letter acronymm without caring to understand that there are others who dont know it, it means that guy could be on a power trip. Trying to show off that he knows something and making it look as if those who dont know somehow dont belong. I just say oh another TLA... putting him on the defensive.
If he asks me what is a TLA ? the response would be its a three letter acronymm... sending him further on an endless loop".

There are 2 TLAs which have sticked in my mind. Without going much into it, I would let you make whatever sense you can.

PYB- Pick your battles
EIN - Everything is negotiable.

TLAs are usefull communication tool, but only if you know when and how to use it. The general advise is use it first in a written mode among your chosen group but the first occurance of the acronymn provide for an expansion, so that people who dont know have a reference.

There is one mighty benifit in using TLAs. Afterall you cant make a spelling mistake in a TLA can you ?

untitled as of now.....

2006-02-15T23:18:00.007-08:00

Often, I end up writing my thoughts and come to a point where I dont know what to name it. I thought this time, I would leave it untitled and let the reader make whatever of it. If you do come up with a title, I would be greatful and would gladly post an update. Neverheless this is how it is now.

How many times have you heard "Just be yourself, dont try to be someone else.". I was told so just yesterday. My solid, strong friend of as long as I can remember was giving his take on how my life has panned out. I value his feedback probably much more than anyone else's. Atleast he has seen my fuckups and falls right from the first ones. With each fall and each feedback he has been improving tremendously and here we are finally. "Dont try to be someone else, Just be yourself".

But what do I make of it ? This is as abstract as it can get and hey what concrete changes do I adopt. Ideally I would have loved if he had said, change this and change that. Be extremely particualar because I can change literally any part of my existance and be anything that I want. From being a charmer to a recluse. Seriously the ability to be anything that you want is a frustrating one, especially if you dont know what you want. Essentially for me it was a debate on what I "should" as supposed to what I "could" do.

Sachin went "hmmmm...." on this. He was honest and sinciere in giving me a take on my latest fuckup. But like bongs who ruminate for a long time before arriving at a diagnosis, he was as abstract as my brain could handle. Atleast he was trying to go further. "What do you do, is what you want to do ?. The whole question is within you ?". "Ok, so thats the question I should answer", I said genuinely trying to grapple with his feedback and make some sense.

"I dont know" was my honest answer. "This too shall pass", he went on to add trying to be positive and counter my sense of exasperation. "I know that", I hastened to add unconciously defending myself. Here is what good friends do. They recogonise the fact that in conversations we take defensive and offensive roles unknowingly and end up defending things which we dont believe in at all. Many times we all just slip into it. One thing leads to the other and before we know, we are poles apart drawing exaggerated personal conclusions. Ours is one of the few friendships (I know off) where we are both attuned and want to avoid it. Sachin didnt persue that line anymore and just let it go.

"The thing is, if you know what you want and if it is within reasonable expectations from the world, it will all work out", he added. I sat down thinking and trying to make sense of it all. In the current predicament, I am helpless like a wood drifting down a forcefull stream never exerting myself and anchoring to one place. Whatever I do just makes it worse. I dint like that position anymore. The past was ok, because I did want to drift. Now no more. "Wait, instead of chase", he concluded. Another thing about sachin is he has great timing almost guessing what is coming next. He says it is easy with me. "Your face cant hide a thing and thats you. Just be that."

Somewhere my flagging confidence got a boost. "Why did I take it as a complement, it isnt a good thing is it ?", I was thinking to myself. He continued, "Many times the things that happen to you may not point something in you. I am not saying, its never you. But I am saying there are things that are definitely outside of you and maybe you are not listining to it because you are damm convinced its you.". "Ya thats possible", I said. "But then what do you do ?", I asked. "You do nothing and nothing is something. But whatever you do, do it from instinct and do it honestly.", he thundered conclusively crashing his clenched fist on the metal table.

that was really helpful as it was concrete thing that I can change and it kind of fitted into my spiritual mooring of rna and karma. There are debts that need to be paid and there are consequences that need to be absorbed. Of what actions and debt to whom I am not aware of. I need to and if I get to know to who all I owe unpaid debts (not the money ones, which are always accounted for) but other stuff, I would gladly go down the path, pay all debts and be at peace.

"Now I get a hang of it", I said. with a buddha like halo flickering on like a tubelight suddenly getting a higher voltage supply. A part of me was telling me, "Watch out now!!!". This is where Sachin the Nag (snake) would strike without warning.

"I can just be honest about things and let it be without expecting anything from the outside world. I said, with a greater sense of relief". "Just be honest", he added "Just be yourself".

"But you know, listining to your fuckups give me a sense of confidence that I am not really alone.. Its very reassuring", he added with a knowing smirk on his face. "Huh...", I said stunned for a second before bursting into peals of loud laughter.

"Madharchodh..." was the only words that I could manage to get out of my mouth for the next 5 minutes.

Psychoanalysis of a painter - MF Hussein

2006-02-09T22:50:00.000-08:00

First of all, I would like to Thank Megha for giving me this opportunity to rant about the original Indian idiot, the painter MF Hussein. I would also take this opportunity to thank girish for bringing this incident to megha's attention. I would also like to thank my parents (Looking up dreamily at the sky and mumbling "I love you mom, dad") the noisy street dogs who wont let me sleep and ofcourse how can I forget God - the evil conspirator who makes each day of my life "the worst" day ever.

Sorry guys, have been watching grammy, apsara and dubakoor awards all week so got a little overwhelmed with emotion. Anyway coming back to the issue of the day. I think, Hussein MF is the original indian idiot. not asshole, not bastard, not hypocrite, but idiot. Going forward, I hope I am able to explain why he is an idiot and not the rest of it all. Anyway here is a sitter of an explaination. In today's world of widespread usage of cusswords and heavy cussword-impact-fatigue both on the eardrum and on the grey cells, something as simple and plain as "an idiot" has greater effect than asshole or motherfucker or dickhead. I mean my nephew who just started speaking has already mouthed "shit". I am sure in time simple derogatory words like "fool", "idiot" would be considered more offensive. A few years from now someone getting into a street fight might no longer get angry if the other guy calls him a mother fucker or dick head. Though by themselves mother fucker and dick head are highly derogatory, the frequency of usage of these two words in modern communication has eroded their impacts considerably. "Idiot" will become the most powerfull insult of the future. Wars can be fought on them. Go on try it out in your life. conduct an experiment. Call someone something horrible like asshole and call him an idiot. See which one makes him more angry. Today people know when something is an over reaction and ignore the over reaction. Asshole or mother fucker is an over reaction. Idiot seems just right. As of now few people have a lead over the rest in laying claim to the title of "idiot".

You are right, MF Hussein surely gives tough competition to George bush for the exclusive title "The idiot". But for the "the Indian idiot" MF hussein has no competition. He is a class apart.

MF Hussein is no stranger to erotic art. But as time goes by and as he gets older and older, his artistic sense borders on the macabre. For all those who are inclined towards beastality and who would gladly argue "that meow/trumphet/roar/squek" of the animal actually means pleasure and not trauma, I apologise; I cant be politically correct. Its not even got to do with the sodomy laws or so called unnatural sexual unions. Its straight forward dangerous. Forget the fact that it was laxmi copulating with an elephant (ok.. baby elephant). Even if it were fathima, it would be damm freaking dangerous ? Does he realise it is an elephant ??

I am sure it is just artistic license and doesent mean factual representation in the real world. But, isnt it wierd that the imagination of a painter (an erotic painter at that) borders on the most macabre of all acts ? A die hard tantric like me who thinks cannibalism (as long as the food is already dead of other causes) is not immoral or perverse feels there is something really low down on beastality acts.

there is one other way of looking at MF Hussein's paintings. Hussein like any other painter uses the canvas as a means to express his innermost desires unfullfillable in his life. Just to stroke his ego (did I say stroke ?, maybe I should say paw or gnaw or scratch) there are these "associate idiots" sociolites like "Nafisa Ali", who flutter around Hussein like love struck butterflies. I am sure Nafisa Ali must have been praying to allah, please make me an elephant.

Another thing that is worth noting in all of the said hussein beastality paintings (available for view at Snatan ) have the male animals having sex with hindu godesses. Mostly, it is sita, parvathi, laxmi and saraswathi. Its never Jesus the holy christ or Allah.

If he draws an allah/fathima or any one of allah's wives, sisters, daughters, hussein would have to find a cosy elephant ass and hide himself just like his friend rushdie did. To understand why hussein does all these nataks, one needs to go back into history when he was a struggling painter and he would paint giant bollywood hoardings in mumbai.

Hussein learnt early on that popularity/notoroiety works to his benifit and his pieces worthless as they might be, would sell in the art circles. Anything to do to get the attention of people and be in the public is legitimate subject to be painted by him. Moreover there were many animal based movies like "Haathi mera saathi", "Bandhar mera andhar" etc. etc. Hussein owes to these animals but being a muslim cannot represent himself or any of his gods to be with his favourite animals. In fact he secretly longs for the freedom hindu religion gives him to do whatever he wants in India. Afterall within India one can have a free license to do anything and everything as long as the target of such an attack is one of the million gods/godesses.

MF Hussein has made it a habit of being irreverant, insulting, obnoxious of every other community except the one he fears (Islam) so that he can continue to stroke his abysmally low self esteem by being in the spotlight. I would love to give him a bigger spotlight and request the proprieter of gemini circus (who I am acqainted with) to give hussein a job. The animals, especially the lions are restive and havent had u know... ;)

The most liked sardar writer Kushwant singh, though displaying similar tendancies turned out to be an honest and honourable man. He openly admitted once that his vulgar language and sexual inuendos actually hide a deep sense of sexual insecurity. extrapolating the same argument given by Kushwant singh onto hussein, surely hussein seems to be terribly underendowed... I have known people exhibit starkly opposite behaviour on the outside to compensate for a vaccum inside. The deeper the vaccum the starker and more obnoxious is the exhibit.

I care really less for how indian society is going to view this. There are other more urgent things to take care off. People dont have food, many dont even have access to basic healthcare and education. I think the antics of one idiot isnt worth their attention.

What I am really worried about is the plight of animals in mumbai. Did you guys notice that panthers and leapords in borivalli national park have become a little agitated these days ? If I were you, having a cat, dog, donkey, elephant, iguana or any such pets I would watch out for them. A mad man is on the prowl stalking and prying on unsuspecting animals.

Just one word of caution to "the original Indian idiot" hussein. Be careful with the snake and certain kinds of fish like piranahas. You may not be there anymore to paint.

Atleast thank god he isnt married. Imagine hussein doing a panda (who imagines himself to be Radha) and roaming the streets on all fours.

Sicko!!!!

Small town syndrome

2006-01-24T02:07:00.003-08:00

As it usuaually happens, Suman called me at around 5 in the evening to see if we can meet up for a drink.

As it usually happens, I relish at the possibility of discussing the world over a quater of fav whisky, gobi manchurian.

As it usually happens we meet around 7 at one of my favourite hangouts in town. Brigade fuel.

located right opposite guzzlers and right next to pecos.

There are some real pluses about Fuel. Firstly, it is a place where you can order your quarters without being given the shocked look. You get personalised service, cos we know the guys very well. The music is managable atually you can hear the other person talk. I even heard "Ellodhagoppa ninna aramame" once. There are two t.v.s playing the latest in sports.

There are a ton of things one can keep telling about such places, but the truth is "Its got a small town feel". That is what I decided to blog about today.

What is a "Small town Syndrome" ? People from the dusty small towns of India who generally migrate to big cities and countries often leaving a trailblazing path in their wake. They never tire, never stop, never pause and certainly never rest.

Never think someone having the "Small town syndrome" is an easy pushover. Most of these guys are driven like V8 engine, acidic as vinegar and most importantly risk takers the likes which vegas blackjack players would respect and be proud to call as one of them.

They are people who have a higher dream to pursue and achieve it with plain, brute force. They have a tremendous appetite for learning, a dogged perseverence to feed their ambitions and a street smart approach which would make the rest of us look like wayside admirors. Some of us may even cry horse and say "Its not fair".

Small town India stretches across the vast hinterland like hubli, madurai, chitoor, coimbatore, satara or Ranchi, Gorakhpur, Gaya. These are the places from which people with dreams and people with a real desire to achieve something greater than what fate seems to ditate for them gatecrash into the big league with impunity. Generally these are people who have a sense of confidence, sometimes bordering on cockiness and arrogance. They have the attitude "Nothing can stop me from reaching my destination". The arrogance and cockiness apart, these guys are toougher than hibernating spore. They cover their insides with a tough protien compound which renders all other distractive elements of city life useless in derailing them from the goals. They have scant regard for existing norms and end up redefining them.

Pasha, A muslim friend from coimbatore with English skills only in the written and the reading world arrives in mumbai. A phone call the day before warned me of his coming and I was notified that I would have to provide him with a place to stay for a while. Till he got a job in bustling mumbai.

I knew pasha for 3 years in coimbatore and for the next 3 years I had no contact with him. Another friend of mine, located my number through a quick investigative search and called me at my on-location office. Imagine my surprise when I heard Vijay's voice over the telephone telling me "Machi, Pasha is coming, do the needfull". Small town guys can track look upon themselves as a community and would never shy away from returning favours. They live by an honour which makes them remember their roots, yet they fly free unconstraint by their roots.

Pasha's stay at my place itself was interesting. He would have tremendous humility at our place always concious of the fact that Vasu is not the same Vasu I knew. I tried telling him, that nothing has changed except the fact that I spoke hindi well now.

What really surprised the hell out of me was, it was October and my US Visa was in process when Pasha came to mumbai. October 1999. Pasha could not talk, english, or hindi and all he knew was a tamlish urdu and tamil itself. Hardly helpfull if you want a job in the shipping industry. But the way he went about the process of getting a job and achieving his dreams was just too tremendous.

Everyday he would be up before 6 and off to the harbour scouring every little dingy export/import company near the docs. Deligently compiling a list of names, contacts and addresses he would follow them up with clockwork regularity. Never losing the hope that one day, he is going to make it big.

Somewhere in december, Pasha calls me and says that he has got a job with an Aircargo company in mumbai and he would work out of their Andheri office. He even takes all of us out for a drink. A small town guy, feels a sense of gratitude for whoever had helped him. Its actually not a great help, we shared our room with him. Where it was 3, we were 4. No big deal actually, but Pasha would never agree on that.

Most importantly small town guys, never forget. A helping hand or a stinging slight. They never forget. The drive and focus is so high, very soon you will find yourself in a situation being paid for your helping hand or the stinging slight, pretty handsomely.

months passed and my US visa had arrived. The ides of march were there and I was standing outside the US counselate in Walkeshwar in stinging unseasonal rain when I heard a familiar voice. Pasha was standing along with his cousin just 2-3 steps behind me. We spoke a lot about our lives and the way this great city had altered it forever, when Paasha interrupted me with an announcement.

Machi.. next week nan dubai poren. (Machi, I am going to dubai next week).

My jaw dropped literally and the first words out of my mouth was vow!!!.. Apparently his boss had shifted companies and took him along with him. this guy was so good at his work, he offered him 10 times the salary he was drawing. A somersault from Rs. 4000 to Rs. 45,000. All within a matter of few months.

The one thing about small town guys are, they dont complain about hardships. They just roll with good and bad till they reach their spot. Mumbai I have a feeling has been made of a million small town guys. Not Delhi, Not calcutta. Small town guys make the best rags to richest stories. Is that a right definition of small town syndrome ? A need to break the ceiling so desperate that they not only break the ceiling but tear the sky.

Small town guys are pretty naive about social norms. They would jump ahead of a waiting woman into an auto and there is no place of chivallry. Their sheer naivity and ignorance gives them the license not to conform and most people end up accepting that.

A conversation I overheard at a friend's engagement party. This friend worked with MX as a sales executive one of the most cut-throat workplaces.

Miss X: "You know, Joshi ?"
Miss Y: "Ya, that ghati (slang for someone coming from maharashtra. Usually used as a derogatory reference to lack of sophestication), who doesent have any sense of decency ?"
Miss X: "Ya, he is the top performer for this month. He is going to spain for a vacation. Company paid".
miss Y: "Spain ?. You must be kidding me. What does he know about spain ? bloddy unpad, gawar.. (hindi slang for uneducated)
miss X: "Ya, but he beat Pramod in sales. Thats no mean achievement."
Miss Y: "so what, he doesent deserve to go to spain. I mean what does he know ? He cant even speak english.".
Miss X: "The best part is he is not going. He is encashing it out. I find his raw drive very very sexy."

I burst out laughing, the whisky-soda combination almost exploding in my mouth. As the scorching glares passed through me, I could not help but think "These guys dont have a clue as to how to handle someone who is brash, unaware of his non-conformance and infact self assuredly ignorant of his rock bottom reputation. Infact joshi was a good friend of mine and I had to reveal to him, that Miss X found him sexy. Maybe he will get to score. Pretty surprising how small town guys appear as romantic to some of the sauve women in corporate mumbai.

As suman and I wound up our drinks, we agreed that for being a 'small town guy', you dont need to be from a small town. You just need the attitude to go get your dreams or die trying.

Some examples of small town guys.

1) Dhirubhai Ambani
2) Shehwag
3) Dhoni
4) VG Paneerdas (of golden beach fame).
5) Don Vito Carleone (remember the godfather dialouge ? "The weakest, of the weak will one day become stronger than the strongest of the strong", In response to sony caroleone's exasperated questio to Don asking him why he patronised such common folk like the cobbler, baker and the butcher.

This list is endless and certainly pasha does figure there. But then I was left wondering have I become sophesticated, become a little more of a conformist ? Have I become someone who can agree with someone even when I disagree about it ? Can I play ball and do the dew, to get my share of the booty ? Do I agree very easily when the whole world says something.

Important questions which need answers. It was pretty clear. I cant think the way the conformist world does. I cant, wake up and say "Yes, How can we sacrifice merit and quality for reservation ? chi chi chi" and nod my head in mock disapproval.

I cant do that. I am a small town guy and that makes my life interesting.

Its hard to define exactly what it is to have a "small town syndrome". Even with all these disjointed thoughts put togather, we cant get accurate. Afterall as you are reading, some small town guy is on his way to mumbai to become the next new kid in town out to change it all.

Britney spear's new avtar

2006-01-19T02:25:00.000-08:00

Just bumped into the story and was amused. How does it matter what relegion Britney spears is following ? The Indian media's obsession with the west is more than obvious here. It appers as if the western perception of what Hinduism is, seems to be the measure of the idea "look we are a great relegion, even Britney is joing us". I am not saying they say that, but it appears very evident, especially with Times of India. Ofcourse the common argument is, "Britney sells. The very fact that you are looking and commenting about it proves so are you not hypocritical ?".

A good question and a valid point. I dont seek here to deny that even my eyeballs raced, when I saw that news item. But then, does it take away the right/honesty to comment about it, even at the risk of being called a hypocritic ? I dont think so and lets say by making that loaded statement I am being self critical "Damm why am I so attracted by that stupid news item". Maybe some busty pics of britney or an exciting possibility of what will pop out when the page finally gets loaded. Besides, If a brain dead article on britney can sell 4 images of brtney's generous bust (cant comment on weather it is au`naturale though), why not use her to sell the idea of what I think being a hindu is ?

I smelt an opportunity, an entry point for me to give me my gyan of what is a hindu and who is a hindu. There are n number of definitions going around, but I thought this is a good time to talk about that.

Every man is born and as soon as he is born his death is certain. What he does in between is really not going to alter that reality. The perception of what happens after death and why the things that happen, happen is what drives man to look beyond the physics of living. There are no one single truth / holy-grail / messiah / morals set on stone in this. This "looking beyond the physics of things" is what we often call as being spiritual.

A spiritual quest is purely an existential quest in figuring out an abstract which is not apparent but impactfull. Therefore there is no one way or one guide book to figuring out this abstraction. Remembering and paraphrasing the famous words of Herman Hesse from his book Siddartha. Siddartha looks at Budha and says, "I know you have reached nirvana and you are in a blissfull state. Your face radiates a great sense of calm and peace. I also know that you cant teach me how to reach there."

Spiritual progress and the quest thereof cannot be denied to anyone irrespective of the path or morals upon which one lives. The morals of how we live and what we do is purely determined by the person's physical view of the world and her/his level of comfort.

Cave bound humans shared partners and mating rights. Some of the Hunting / gathering societies are cannibalistic in nature. In the eyes of a catholic way of life, the cannibal and the philandrer would both be viewed as aspiritual practices. All aspects of sex, food, actions are deterministic only within the confines of physical ties. To make it simple, what I eat would depend on what is available as food and what is valuable enough not to be frittered away by eating. Of course, personal taste plays a big part in the scheme of things. Some people would not be comfortable eating a meat, maybe because of taste or a strong sense of right/wrong. The action itself in that context assumes an underserving profoundness.

A seeking mind unable to ask the right questions seeks to establish a structure which is prescriptive about what is right and what is wrong. Right and wrong conduct, hence is limited in its usefullness. It doesent achieve much beyond social conduct and personal comfort. When I was a kid, I used to cycle to school every day. There were two routes from home to school and for some reason, I would prefer to go by one of them and not the other. For some unexplained reason (for which I would later invent justifications), route A seemed more favourable, even though route A was longer than B. The reasons that I came up are funny by themselves. Route A is empty. The roads are wider. Priya's home was on the way somewhere there.

To me, this is the true meaning of hindu. A spiritual progress based on a curious mind seeking to understand the whys. To be a hindu, you dont need any pre-requisites. Contrary to the belief which many (once including me) hold (held), it doesent require ordaination, it doesent require a god, it doesent require a belief system, it doesent require going to the temple or doing rituals. It also doesent require any changing of habits or cultural practices. All it requires is waking up and walking up.

There are no moral prescriptions either. If your society allows for free and unrestrained physical sex and if it pleases you, by all means indulge. If you are a prostitute bartering body for money, you can be a hindu too. What you do in real life doesent deny you spiritual progress. There are really no rules. Thats what makes me so damm comfortable to live by. What lessons you learn and how you conduct yourself in your own life is purely the result of what your spiritual path teaches you.

simply put an action say "sex" may be spiritually regressive and retrograde for person A. That in no means translates to the universal dictum "Sex is immoral". It only means that person A does not have the make up to spiritually be stimulated by sex. Maybe it is meditation for him. For person B, sex might be a highly spiritual experience. There is nothing immoral with that either.

Modern morality of life really is a product of victorian principles of conduct and Brahmin principles of sathvik life and bakhthi mode of spirituality. Love, devotiona and renounciation. That may be a valid path no doubt but certainly not the only path. There is one other path.

"Left hand path" or Vamachara. The goals are the same, the path may even criss-cross and borrow tools and techniques from each other, yet they are all meant for our progress. Understanding all paths and chosing the one we like is the key thing here.

Unfortunately hinduism is also losing its open character and is falling into the trap of prescriptive conduct. It might not be the best suited thing for many of us. For some of us who are indulgance seekers, spiritual progress is very much important and is possible within the confines of our apparently decadent lives.

Cheerleaders - Bob's confession.

2006-01-15T22:52:00.000-08:00

I often wondered, how would the life of a cheerleader be ? I am not talking of those who cheerlead for basketball matches. Not those flexible, agile and artificially voluptuous women. I am talking of men and women in suits, glasses, rolled up sleaves who jump up and down when the space craft returns home (also read as when the aliens start catching a cold and start dropping dead).

I am sure thats one cheerful job. "Its not an easy one", says bob who goes on to give me some valuable insights about what it takes to be a cheerleader.

"You got to get hysterical in an instant".
"You got yo have a good fore arm, so that when you pump your fists it looks good." "You got to to have good legs so that you can jump up and down. Its bloddy competitive", goes bob. So what is bob's secret mantra for success in a competitive market like cheerleader actors ? "My pot belly, grey mustache and bald head. My USP (Unique selling proposition) is I look like a common American 50 year old who works in NASA". In any given season for movie making bob works 3 shifts a day for over a month cheering all kinds of things.

"Some of my specials were Adam Sandler hitting the home run in a base ball game wearing red sox jersies against the yankees. Oh, how can I forget the aliens dropping dead in 'war of the worlds'. That day, I smeared half a ton of ash on my face just to blend in the back ground. Directors dont like cheerleaders to have a strikingly beautiful face. They dont want to get distracted away from Tom Cruise. As it is Tom distracts the director from his acting by praying to the scientology god in the middle of the scene. I mean the dialouges go for a toss and the director has to yell 'cut!!' every five minutes. Off late Tom and I have become close friends".

Doesent bob ever feel sad in his life ? "ya I do sometimes, but then I take vitamins and do meditation. I dont know weather it works or not. But If I take drugs my obsessive scientology friend tom would jump up and down.".

We all know he jumps up and down. But obsessive ? I dont think he is obsessive. "Dont you see he literally clutches on to Katie ?", goes bob. Bob has a point but this one stumps it all. "According to Tom, everyone in this world is crazy except for him, katie and me.". "What does tom do when he gets depressed ?", I dig sensing a scoop. "Well he has a whole crew waiting to re-shoot a scene where he kills the alien queen by seducing her and he saves the world. Tom has this storyline that his DNA is poisoness to Aliens. Katie ought to watch out". Bob can get very discriptive as he goes on in great detail. "I get the best cheermongers (excessive cheerleaders who can pull a person from the pits of post natal depression to the heights of ecstatic nirvana within minutes) to cheer him when he seduces the alien and kills her. Many times these episodes are taped for maintaining authenticity of a shoot and Tom has a whole house full of these dvds. I have a faint feeling he likes to watch himself.... errr.. saving the world in his own unique way".

I remind bob, its a talk about him and not Tom. I was a little curious. Where did he learn to laugh and cheer like he does in all those climaxes. "Well its a family tradition. It all started with war films made way back in the 40s, 50s and 60s. No one back home really wanted to believe that the battalion which won the battle of the bulge came back to the base camp and had no cheer leaders. What kind of a nation would america be, if not for the cheer leader's tradition of cheering others. My cousin was the cheerleader in Rambo. We make America's overseas screwups appear heroic back home.", he adds with a sense of supreme purpose and pride. "Even ,my mom was a cheerleader in the movie 'Revenge of the moms'", he boasts.

"What about when you dont have a job bob ? how do you practice ?", there were a zillion questions cropping up in my mind. "Its easy man, I practice every season watching hockey, football, baseball, basketball even in spellbee contests.".

Spell bee ??? is he crazy ?. "Come on man, everyone needs my service",Bob reads my mind. Bob is now looking up with dreamy eyes. "Imagine the scene. The underdog boy hero with nerdy glasses and underconfident face. He has been bullied by his class, the whole world including the gym instructor. The bully king is another kid in his class who is competing in the competition. Imagine the bully's girlfriend, hot and sexy and independant. She has a good heart and takes a liking for the underdog. Imagine, the final word to be spelled. 'Popoalopulous'"... a long pause and a sigh. "Is there a word like that ?" I ask.

" Doesent matter if its 'Popoalopulous' or dickshit", he retorts angrily. "This man is passionate about what he does", I tell myself making a mental note not to rub him the wrong way. A cheerfull Bob is any day better than an angry Bob.

"P-O-P-O-A-L-O-P-U-L-O-U-S ", he continues ignoring all other things around him. His eyes dialate widely and he is excited almost expecting some miracle. "The judges look at our boy hero and say, you are right and the timing is 5.8 seconds. 0.2 seconds faster than the evil-bully. The girlfriend dumps the evil-bully and flings herself onto the shy-nerd-hero, almost choking him in her grip.". Suddenly Bob jumps 2 feet above with laughter in his voice, victory in his demenor and anger in his face and his hands continueously pumping uppercuts. Tears stream down his eys that left me wondering. "Vow!!! this guy is something", I say to myself. Just then his phone rings bringing bob wakes up from the trance he had whipped up.

"Hey tom... how are ya ?... what ? now ?... no problems give me an hour, I will be there ?... Just wondering what is it today ? Oh ok... bomb diffusal squad ? last second bomb diffusal ?... Ok.. will be there in a jiffy.."

Bob is in a fenzy working himself up for another cheer scene.. he jumps up, stretches, claps and pumps in the air... laughing hysterically all in between.

"Bob, Bob... just one last question", I desperately interrupt wanting to grab a last piece of his attention. "do you ever cheer for yourself ?", I asked. "ya, when my wife got remarried.. I hugged the priest and one of my pumps knocked him out completely... ", he adds irritantly and not liking anything else distract him from the task at hand.

"NUCLEAR BOMB FOUND IN TOM'S BATH TUB", shouts Bob into the cellphone. "Get detonation squad ready and reach ground zero asap", he grunts.

A faint voice from his cellphone reveals a screaming crew from the other side of the cell connection.

"Oh no... Not again"...

New blog

2006-01-12T03:22:00.000-08:00

Offlate, the humour mill has gone on strike. The social and rebellious old vasu has sprung up like spring bloom. Life has become serious (ok, dont laugh now). Some of my friends whom I met lately were complaining how I have veered away from what I used to be extremely passionate about "Management thought".

"What happened to your zest and zeal towards management techniques ?. What happened to the old vasu ?", asked one of them. Well they have a point and I have decided to better utilise the blog world to advance that side of me.

As a first step, I set thinking for the last few months about what I would be blogging about and how to go about that. After a few rigmaroles, the topic seemed a no-brainer. TOC - Theory of constraints. My favourite flavour of management. I remember the days in imdr days when life was simple, focussed and exciting. Reading books, talking to professors, arguing and debating about something and later applying all this on one of my pet research projects, filled those glorious two years on an enriching trip into the management world.

This conversation with old friends re-invigourated the old vasu and he needs his own space.

I have started another blog Jonah's way.

I think I will be blogging more there than I have done here. But this is the new Vasu's space and perhaps he will inspire the old vasu to blog more often.

Do go through Jonah's way and do give me your inputs.

The year that went by

2006-01-01T02:11:00.000-08:00

Ya Ya!!! whats the big deal. Happens every year isnt it ? for some reason, people become euphoric on Dec 31st. As if, your hand is on the flush handle. Irrational Exuberance takes over and people suddenly turn hopeful about the next year. They dont even know, weather they are going to live or not. Nonetheless the party must go on. How ironic.

One of my funnier friends wished me "happy new year" and asked me, what is my new year resolution ? I mouthed some old ones not having the creativity to come up with new ones. The same old shit. Will quit smoking, will keep my place clean, will go to gym. Nothing more was said when he burst out laughing almost at the same time, I burst out laughing. That was all that need to be said.

I am addicted to t.v. and between 9-11.30 p.m. no force on earth can shake thy will. You would find a body close to dead with just one finger doing some kind of motor action. The left hand index finger. Bobbing up and down, it controls the world. Teaming up with the dependable thumb, it dexterously manipulates a 100 parameters like volume, contrast, colour and clarity. Its almost a state of samadhi (in this context translates as deep penance), that I am in. My mind as empty as it can get. Nothing, nothing atall can alter that state of affairs. No hunger, no pain, no thirst, no rain. As I thumbed through the channels as always, I was wondering which loser in this world would spend a new year's eve watching news channels beaming in live pictures of the hottest parties in town ? Which loser is thee ? Hold your answer.

I smiled and instinctively the channel changed. Discovery is my second favourite channel. Simply because, the narrator is earnest, educated, erudite (dont they mean the same thing ? ya go on hang me for repeatition), bespectacled, respectable and sinciere in the narration. I dont know, if its all an act but man I dont mind watching some shit which people have taken extreme pains to record. Like a camera capturing two snakes mating 30 ft. below the ground. There is some honour in watching that, than Amitabh Bachan trying to answer a totally dumb and stupid question with utmost profoundity. What is so profound about the question, "how does your rectum feel ?". one word would have saved 10 minutes of airtime and innumerable breaths for Amitabh himself. One word - "Sore". But then you can count on these brain dead morons called t.v. presenters ask with finnise and professionalism - "How sore ? can you describe how it feels ?". I am sure amitabh must be crinjing in shame. Imagine amitabh talking to his shrink with choked emotions.. "That journalist asked (chokes) me how my rectum feels (chokes and sobs uncontrollably like in black) ?". Poor man must be feeling violated.

My instincts are good, especially when I am hungry. I know exactly what I want to eat. A couple of days back, I scoured the city for "Baingan bartha" and roti. I literally biked 10 km. thinking only of that gorgeous purple egg-plant based dish. And when I had my fill, I was satiated. I know what I want to eat when I want to eat. Sometimes, this skill deserts me completely.

Especially when the three of us decide, its time for lunch and we dont have any instincts telling us anything more than "we have to eat". We end up asking each other in turns the following questions.

"Where do you want to go ?".
"I dont know ? where do you want to go ?".
"I dont know ? where do you want to go ?".
"I dont know ? where do you want to go ?".

These questions keep going round and round and round as we walk in some general arbid direction. Untill. H gets bugged and says exasperatedly "Each one onto himself, go eat wherever you want, whatever you want".

As if this really helps. We just dont know where to go for lunch and such exasperation takes us nowhere. P gets edgy when H goes balistic and responds quicker than usual. "Nandini ?", he goes with a siddarth-basu (quizzical) look on his face. A few cotntorts on Hs face answers the question. The key thing is no one wants to take a call on where to go and have lunch.

After many cycles, of exasperations, suggestions and intelligent reasons why not to go to "Gitanjali" and why go to "Chalukya", we end up eating drab food at "New punjab food zone" the friendly coloufull (I mean full of red colour) neighbourhood punhabi restraunt. The menu arrives and the questions change from "where to go?" to "what to eat ?". Five minutes of intense concentration and scanning of the plastic menu cards convinces us that we cant eat anything. But then we have to eat something. So the mystery is kept alive by ordering the most insipid and most personality devoid item. Veg Meals!!!.. Afterall no one knows (sometimes even after finishing the food), what veggies were there in the veg meals.

Point to ponder : Dont you feel that almost all the dishes taste the same in any punjabi restraunt ? salty, spicy, tomatoey. doesent matter if it is alu gobi or aloo mutter or rajma ? If you think so too ? Go see a doctor. Your tounge just died.

Anyway the best part of the lunch break is the after food smoke. Did someone just say "No new punjab food zone in the new year ?" Huh.. dream on.

Somehow I feel pretty calm and relaxed thinking about the next year. Life is such a drain and in such pits right now, "what can be worse than this ?" If you know the answer, dont tell me. But seriously, "what can be worse than this ?". I dont feel jumpy and euphoric about the new year. Which actually makes me feel better, because things can only get better from now on. Isnt it a good idea though ? have a boring new year and become progressively interesting as we go on ?

Am I saying somthing totally sacrilagious here ? Am I blurting out the truth ? Do I have to sound like my life is euphoric and damm interesting when it is not ? Am I being the spoil sport ?

I am done. I think I am flushing off all my left over grouchy thoughts. Up there its totally empty... Helloooo... Helloooo Helllooooo.. (echoes like the gol gumbaz )

And ya, I know.. There is still one more step in this mundane drill "Happy New Year". Go on, have a great year. May you become prosperous, rich, famous, healthy, whatever else that you dream off. Do I sound sarcastic enough ? Damm even my language skills are deserting me.

Correction

2005-12-10T02:16:00.000-08:00

The Indian stock market is the darling of liberalisation. The one place where the story of India is told in all its glory. This Post is however not just about stock market but an attempt to study as a model which many believe as the "India story". I am also attempting to see the path trodden by this institution of free trade (how free or how regulated is a different question altogather) over the years. The peaks, the valeyes and the mariana trenches. Before we plunge in lets rewind the clock a bit. For more about Sensex check out tradersedgeindia

One of the lowest points in the track of sensex was May 2004 when it touched a low of 2400. Today (10/12/2005) the same index is at 9067!!!. Along the way you would see falls after every peak and a bigger raise after every fall, thus taking the market higher. This is called Market Correction "Markets are always true", thunders Rakesh Jhunjhunwala (considered as India's very own Warren Buffet). On his walls hang the caricatures of Warren buffet, Franklin Templeton and many other investment gurus. Such is the faith in the market and celebrations in its raise. When the markets fall, its a different story altogather. The small investor sinks fast and deep. The surviors (large investors, FIs, Banks) profit from the fall too. They turn bears quickly (short selling) with chameleonic efficiency. I remind you, this is not a post on stocks.

The bulls keep telling the masses. "Buy when the market falls. Its just a correction. There is an opportunity". These market evangelists are the stuff legends are made off. The bottom of this food chain is always some small investor having a few lakhs of exposure. Mostly he comes out with his psyche deeply scarred by a butchers knife. He still carries on and says solemnly "The Market is never wrong. Its just a correction ". Mind you the market is never really free. It is corrupt, manipulated, engineered by a few (The infamous of the mehtas and Parekhs). Still these educated folks suspend their thinking and get duped again and again and again.

Funny isnt it ? The very same people who swear by the market turn a blind eye to government spending money on human infrastructure. The very same people who say, the every slump (even if it is a bllodbath) is a correction cannot accept a correction in government priorities, national reforms and common man's priorities. For them the only indicator of a Nation's health and welfare is the Stock market. The government need not sneeze and catch a cold whenever the stock markets fall. These are people speculating their wealth to gain more wealth. They should know better. The government should not by decree engineer a budget (India's budget is an annual finanial polcy anouncement of the govt.) to spike up the stock market.

Its time we reversed investment trends, shift gears and expand the wealth.Its time we invested in infrastructure (quiet apart from roads, airports). Its time we built more schools, Equiped them to educate, feed and empower more kids. Its time we ensured, water, housing for the poor. These should be classified as infrastructure and not as deficit.

The reformist brigade through the world bank and the anaemic intellectual community has created a ghost of which the Indian govt is scared. Almost shaky. Its called fiscal deficit and the abuse word in and around the finance ministry is fiscal debt. This ensures that all developement expense like free power to farmers, free education is classified as expenses and swanky IT parks (complete with golf courses and dancing fountains) in India's silicon valley benifiting a select few is considered investment. However ugly, obnoxious and repulsive all this may sound. Its the naked truth shorn of even its undergamrent.

All this needs to be changed. Enough of gingerly tip-toeing through indecision and maintaining status quo. Enough of keeping one eye on the markets and another eye on the chair of power (placating the left). Enough of striking a balance between greedy market players and socialists. Enough of branding any idea/person concerning larger good of India as communists. Being called a communist today is considered a slur in India. Sad how we became a nation of free thinking to one sucking up to the large dick of fat, obnoxious world bank executives.

We need a correction in our government spending. A large one. And this correction is the only way India can leapfrog from the current level of 8% GDP to 16% GDP covering a wider spectrum of people. We need to equip an entirely new section of people below the poverty line and show them the "quand" (borrowed it from jerry McGuire). We cant do this by killing the old below the poverty line by robbing their livelyhood and driving them to suicide deaths. We have to do this by making their own lively hood profitable for them. We need to give specific emphasis to rural economy and thrust liquidity back into dried up markets. We need to get back to an era of bank financing developement projects and re-nationalise these banks. I dont think you can change the course of money flow by sitting and twiddling your thmubs. We need to replicate the success of microcredit financing and make it a bank's mandate to fund it. We need to get our banks back in our control.

"Government", Jared Diamond says "is a kleptocratic institution". It takes from people. We need to make the government give back that money. But not to the same people from whom it took, but to those who dont have enough. Government should become the big daddy of all "Robin hoods". Only then can there be real equality and opportunity possible between a high flying jetsetting IT professional's kid and a simple farmer's kid.

Will the market pundits buy this logic ? I think they will. If the believe in a larger goal and are large hearted enough to make small sacrifices. Most people in today's urban india are decent people. But evangelised by a wrong god and sold onto his lies. They very willingly submit themselves and become foot soldiers of a few who make more money and share a small piece of that pie. This need not be the case. This can change. The history of India is strewn with such instances of people raising over their own self interests and working for the country.

I think most people will see reason. Afterall hasnt the sensex risen higher after evrey correction ? Even when the correction went on and on and on for months togather ? Havent the same market pundits accepted this truth ? Dont the say the market is never wrong even when it is manipulated and engineered ? Why then is it so difficult for them to accept a national correction on developement priorities ?

That is the only way India can raise higher. Let there be that correction.

The very fact I can say this without fear or fervor and the very fact that every person in India rich or poor can exercise his belief and effect a real change makes India much much better than china. To be a peasant in India is relatively much better than to be one in China.

Kramer

2005-11-12T03:51:00.000-08:00

Cosmo Kramer is the closest I could relate to any T.V. Character. Thats because I havent followed Homer Simpson that much. Nevertheless, this post is 'an ode to Kramer'.

Before we go on further, sample this.

(CUT TO: Nina's studio. Mr. and Mrs. Armstrong are admiring Nina's "Kramer.")

MRS.ARM:I sense great vulnerability. A land child crying out for love, an
innocent orphan in the post-modern world.

MR. ARM:I see a parasite.

MRS.ARM:A sexually-depraved miscrient, who is seeking to gratify only his
most basic and immediate urges.

(CUT TO: Armstrongs admiring painting again.)

MRS.ARM:He is struggled, he is man-struggled. He lifts my spirit!

MR. ARM:He is a loathsome, offensive brute, yet I can't look away.

(CUT TO: the Armstrong's dining room. Mr. and Mrs. Armstrong are having Kramer over for dinner.)

KRAMER: ...then, when I was seventeen, I ran away from home and hopped a
steamship to Sweden. (beat) This steak is excellent, by the way.

MRS.ARM:More potatoes?

KRAMER: Yeah, sure. Please.

MR. ARM:Yes, yes. Go on. You hopped a steamship to Sweden?

KRAMER: Yeah. (beat) And, it was a big one.

Kramer epitomises the simple opportunistic, base, vulgur existance of ours. He reminds me of my wild days. The things that I did to get by. Sometimes those days re-visit me for real. But most of the times its just t.v.

The brilliant ideas that spark lightnings in Kramer's brains spark in mine too. The sheer inspiration Kramer is to the other characters is unforgettable. Who can forget the charming and smooth way Kramer makes Jerry lend the money for Elaine's apartment, or the amazing fondness with which Kramer says 'I adopted this highway'

The sheer stupidity and simplicity he displays while cleaning the highway in the face of speeding cars launches a million laughs.

The expression of 'Eureka!!!' on Kramer's face when he dicovers a new pizza making business or running a rickshaw service in the city or when he smuggles Nicaraguans to roll cuban cigars is unbelievable.

Last of all is the sheer opportunism he displays when he asks Ninal - Jerry's girlfriend to take of her clothes while modelling for her painting is simply incredible. Here sample this.

KRAMER: You sure you don’t want me to take my clothes off? (beat) I’ll do it!
NINA: No, that’s the last thing in the world I want you to do.
KRAMER: Well, why don’t you take your clothes off?
NINA: I don’t know... I don’t think Jerry would like that.
KRAMER: (debonair smile) Well, it’d be our little secret.

In a bleak life full of dull drab images, being Kramer and discovering simple joys of living, doing simple and stupid things is a treasure to possess. Unfortunately this is Earth, not neverland. Out here the truth stares loud 'Breathe till you die'. But then there is 'seinfeld' to be entertained. Forget all those worries and de-stress.

(Theme music plays on TV, Kramer walks in, waves at Jerry and Elaine, then
walks over to Jerry's bookshelf, dancing to the music. Voice of Mary Hart
starts on TV and Kramer starts having a wild seizure behind the sofa.)

Jerry is dull and drab. Elaine is hot. George is hilarious.
Kramer is brilliant

Just a minute

2005-10-27T01:11:00.000-07:00

I lay on the bed sideways with my arms twisted to muff that nagging pain. I realized that the light was still on and sheer laziness forced me to mentally shut it out of the system. It happened then.

I found myself staring at the bedside alarm clock. Initially it was difficult, It was grindingly slow. I found myself listening to the dogs, howl, laugh, cry, howl and whine. Never a bark. I heard the heavy chugs of a passing goods train. I heard the farsi chatter of my Iranian neighbors and there I was wondering how long did a minute actually last.

Slowly all thoughts faded away and my eyes rotated along with the unhurried, purposeful movement of the second hand. The methodical tick-tock had me mesmerized. I felt as if the floor in my brain gave away hurtling to abyss all that junk I cart around. I don’t even remember what time that alarm clock showed.

Then there was silence. A silence that just said tick-tock. There was nothing ever more silent than the tick-tock that I had experienced before. “How can a clock be silent ?”, one might be tempted to ask. Silence is a factor of the mind and not the ears.

The minutes passed on until I woke up from this wide eyed stupor with a start. The 5.00 a.m. alarm chimed loud and electronic. I shut it out and went back to my thoughts. There was none. I just felt empty up there and totally peaceful. I even forgot that nagging pain on my left arm.

The first thing I wondered was, “How long exactly is a minute ?”

A minute is what it feels when you spend hours with someone. Say friends over nice whisky and succulent kebabs talking politics. Or someone really really nice discussing mundane details of a life that can be. A minute is what it takes to read Saki’s exciting ten pages introduction on early feudalism in India and the Lingayat movement. A minute is what it takes to realize how badly screwed up this world is right now.

It takes an hour on the other hand to get a parking slot in brigade road. It takes an hour to step up those few inches between you and your certain someone all the while talking inconsequential things which you and the other person aren’t even aware off. It sure does take an hour to watch one dry gaudy episode of Kyonki Saanski Bahuki Maki Jai (One of those obnoxious Hindi soaps running for like 756th episode). I had to do this while baby sitting “saumya” my niece while “Shradha” my cousin sat hypnotized in front of the tube.

It took just a minute for sandy to smile, learn a new word, try it out and practice a few uppercuts on poor uncle.

That’s when it struck like a thunderbolt. “A minute is a concept and not a quantum”

So here we are folks, What do you think ? Did it take a minute ?

Defensive

2005-10-14T22:55:00.000-07:00

This is an interesting piece of association running in my mind for the last couple of days and at worst it would be just babble. So bear with me folks.

Often we find ourselves in defensive positions. Defending something ferociously to the point that our rational mind shuts down. This is quiet natural and instinctive. Dale a naturalised American of chinese origin one day got on this argument of American dominance over the rest of the world. Some of what I said, was mis-construed as anti-american and Dale was visibly and emotionally charged. This tendancy was totally alien to Dale as many of us knew. He was the mild-mannered, soft spoken and international American. Atleast thats what we all thought. But that day was a revelation. What started of as casual banter between a few of us, turned out to be irretractable as each one had an ego to protect. Each one-upping (source word : one-upmanship) statement feeding on the other one-upping statement and soon the lines were drawn on country boundries. somehow, Everyone said and did totally alien to our characters as we knew it then. Or was it totally alien ?? The next morning like mature humans do, we just decided to erase what happend and act as if, nothing ever transpired. All of us further made a mental note not to tread that thin ice again, atleast not without protection. It should have ended there, forgotten over time. But the learning were archived in my mind in some corner. Wierd how brain makes its circuits and associates events, people totally unconnected and out of nowhere this incident popped up in my mind.

Why am I defensive about certain things ? Why do I feel the need to protect, gaurd, preserve ? All stems from this single feeling called vulnerability. the fear of losing something. But do we actually possess anything ? Its a notion at best. Its about being vulnerable and being exposed to danger. Did we forget that we are what we are today because we were exposed to danger once upon a time ? Did we forget that we are survivors of history and we would survive other things too ? Did we forget that at the end of the day, we just survive it ? Did we forget that we possess the intrinsic quality to adapt and evolve in an ever changing environment ? I think we have forgotten much of our history and origins. We did climb down trees, hunt with the wolves, raise crops, invent things and for most part of this whole experience wore little clothes. We created our own heroes and worshipped them to mythological proportions that the sheer spectre of that history has hidden the path that was trodden. We forgot that they were men. Like you and me, who faced similar trials and tirbulations and lived life well. They were judged by their peers, but what made the different was how much that judgement affected them mentally. Galelio really dint care. Basavanna really dint care. They subjected themselves to the harsh realities of their times and made the peer judgements look smaller than what they actually were. In that sense they were towering men.

How easy is it to free oneself from the burden of being judged. Its not. But then what is easy in this world ? In a way its easy. It just takes a second to free yourself mentally of the burden. That second may come in small installments over a period of time or one stroke of brilliant epiphany. "Vaanam enak oru bodhi maram, Naalum enakadhu seidhi tharum" Sang a famous tamil contemporary poet. The sky is my Bodhi tree (the tree under which budha gained enlightenment, and hence the name budha derived from the name of the tree bodhi). Every day it sends me messages. Now is something being not easy appear too daunting ? Thats the problem, we try to reach destinations and forget the journey till there. Our goals, dreams all a mesh of destinations thus making the journey look daunting.

Is it fun being free of burden ? Absolutely. How cool is it, going into the sea and taking all your clothes off ? Try it next time you go into water. Isnt it liberating not to be defensive about something ? The other day, my mom burst into my room and gave me a dressing down on how irresponsible and careless I was. I came home at 2 in the morning and forgot to latch the door. It was open all night. I just checked my rising temper and decided to take another approach. A simple smile and a genuine "Sorry mom" totally disarmed her. She appeared confused giving a What-the-hell-is-happening-here look and toatlly disarming her of all ammunition. Now she cannot go back in history and relate all my past pitfalls to this act of great stupidity (not bolting the main door shut). I just made it a point to put up a board in red paint saying "No Defenses Here - Free to attack".

It took away the pleasure of felling a defense and claim victory. The message was loud and clear. "Want victory ? Come, take it. I have no problems". Is that a good strategey. Yes it is, but again needs to be used carefuly and judiciously lest it portrays a lackasidal, careless and irresponsible image of oneself. Do things right and when you make a mistake, dont defend it. Also dont get into a situation of mutual defensiveness. Reacting to other people defenses and erecting your own in return. make defenses redundant. Are there consequences ? I never said the consequences adverse/good is going to vanish. They exist as this world works on action-consequence cycle. But they wont be as ghostly and as traumatic as they seem to be now. It helps to correct distorted perspectives and lead a burden free life.

My uncle and me after a couple of scotches recently.

Uncle: "There is nothing called long term"
Me : "Yes"
Uncle :"In the long term, everyone is dead".
Me : "Yes"
Uncle : "You just have a bunch of todays"
Me : "Yes"
Uncle taking a long pause here and collecting his thoughts methodically as I sit there soaking the whole thing in.
Uncle : "Be good, Be happy and live well"
Me: "Yes"

Now how many times have you seen me mumble four "Yeses" with nothin more to add ? But then that was wise Jedi Master Yoda speaking. Padowaan skywalker better listen.

The land of absolutes

2005-09-24T00:16:00.000-07:00

You are my best friend.
I am having the best time of my life.
Thats absolutely wrong.
Thats the worst thing ever to happen to me.
Without you life is nothing.

We have seen these statements so many times. On t.v. By Friends, by lovers. even by ourselves. I am also prey to such absolutes like worst, best, greatest, highest, funniest etc. etc. Do we ever pause to think how ridiculous they sound ?

Absolutism is the outlook/tendancy to have a constant unchanging structure built to act us guiding post for conducting our life.

It is like visualising something so that we can reach it. Thats why people climb mountain peaks. If they dont reach the peak, the climb is incomplete right ? Do you see someone coming upto you and say "hey guess what, I climbed down the lowest point in town ?"

Why do we do that ? This is not unique to one culture or one set of people. Its not even unique to man, many animals do that. But Animals do that for securing mating rights (I know it sounds like mining rights )with the maximum number of females or to win the queen bee. I thought man has conquered that problem. Everyone who wants to mate has a chance to mate isnt it ? The rich, get married and so do the poor. What is then the source of absolutism.

It stems from the latent instinct man as any animal has. Thats comparison. Man has no use for this tool anymore. Afterall he has cracked the whole puzzle of mating. But he still has this tool as an instinct and this gets channelised into other areas of social behaviour unrelated to mating or in-conflict to intra-species norms of mating (Monogamy).

Lets take walrus. Two walruses off the coast of tiera-del-fugo (southernmost tip of south america) are fighting it out. First is the show of strength. Who is the taller one ? "Yeah me, says the one on the red corner". "So what, I have bigger tusks and I can dig deeper into your blubber", says the one on the blue corner. "Right, but before you can move your half a ton ass, I can nail your face cos I can move faster", retorts back the one in blue corner. When all comparisons of size, agility, length, stamina etc. etc. are done and all options exhausted the fight begins. Sometimes the fight is to death.

Well men are like walruses but with rules. You cant fight and kill. You do that, you would lose mating rights for minimum 12 years or maybe for ever. Men make rules, and other men are smarter. If I cant hit at you physically, I will do it mentally. A slow process of social comparison and superiority has been set forth.

You have big assed women of south africa now playing down their assets because the black man's perception of beauty has been terminally altered. Its no longer the healthy cushion next door, but the anaemic bony thing that walks on the ramp every night on Fashion t.v.

Then there are the fairness creams. They created a god who is fair (have you ever noticed Jesus an arab jew of sweltering middle east is a white, blue eyed, blonde ??) and have absolutely undesirable connotations associated with darker colour. This is big business for the L'Oreals. Afterall it is one biggest thing which has completely transformed a wish/want to concrete numbers and dollars.

Again as this superiority game became open and blatant there started a counter superiority movement. You see, whenever I see the stronger and obviously more endowed man/woman assert her superiority over the weaker male. I see myself from the weaker guy's shoes and I dont feel good. Now thats lesser money for the movie makers. "Damm I am like him a loser and see what happens to me". So the opinion makers decided to make the apparently weaker guy win. There was born "The underdog". The underdog phenomena kicked in quiet a few icons. Rocky, Revenge of the geeks. But essentially the message was the same. Win or lose.

This comparison mode is good, but it leaves people unfullfilled. People want ultimate victory, annhilation, a clear statement of "you are wrong and I am right". People also expect change and following. How happy were the christians when constantine of Rome converted to christianity ? ITs a vindication of right, and a purpose for existance. Here in, there are the always right guys and the new comers. The new comers are more than willing to accomodate to the rules of the old gaurd. And the old gaurd feels more than secure in numbers. Here the subtle "you are a better boxer than me or you have a better smile than her" doesent cut ice. The neanderthal world that existed thousands of years back provides a much attractive world of absolutes. The world of relegions.

God is good, Devil is evil. Do you see how clear the message is ??
God - Good
Devil - Evil.

I mean even an absolute dodo like me cant mistake devil for the good and god for the evil. Afterall everyone has learnt "match the words" in kindergarden. This structure of relegion is based on clear and concrete symbols which forms the foundation of our existance. The things that were taught to us right from our childhood. Dont steal, stealing is wrong. How ridiculous can this be ? Isnt it ridiculous to say stealing is wrong ??

Stealing at best is illegal. Its got its base on rules and not morals. But to take some of the fundamental rules that kids are taught as unchanging absolutes and build a moral framework, is what thats unique and ingeneous in relegious indoctrination. But man isnt foolish enough not to question those. There comes another set of absolutes. Heaven and hell. It takes care of the time aspect and reward/retribution aspect of behaviour. When Saddam asks the priest, he asks "If stealing is wrong ? why is George W Bush stealing oil". "Dont worry son, God is watching and he will punish George W Bush on judgement day, he will go to hell".
George W Bush hears this and approaches the priest. "Hey I dont want to go to hell, and its just ridiculous to say I stole. I just took what was mine". The priest replies, "Dont worry son, confess and accept Jesus christ into your hearts and all your sins would be pardoned because he already died for it. You will go to heaven". Here arithmatic works.

Who stands in judgement of who ? and why ? and how ? Relegious dogma is no different from "Lakme Fair and Lovely" or "Shahrukh Khan" or "We have to free the world from tyranny". Its all part of the same phenomena, same world. A world of absolutes.

So cant we not have absolutes ? We have to, but absolutes that change. "Wait a minute.. It cant be absolute if it changes". Maybe thats the problem.

Death - Imepermanable

2005-09-14T10:01:00.000-07:00

Yo Mo, used to be the common way Mo was reffered to at work. One would always here these two words shouted out loud when there was an unsurmountable problem with the server, something complicated with a new piece of software or an old bug driving a new alergy. Mo would scurry down to the cubicle and would scurry out within a few minutes with the flag of victory waving high and nice.

Mo was the saviour for many of us green horns and yet there was no one to save him when a ton of bricks fell on his head.

Often Mo would be staring down Dundas square sipping a cup of coffee. One day I joined him and mouthed 'Whats happening Mo ?". There was a israeli protest march winding its way down younge. "Damm these israelis want everything taken from us. They are seeking revenge for the holocust, because there was no hitler around they are bossing around arabs. Not to say many of our leaders are stupid nitwits picked and chosen by british and americans to be divided so that the israelis can have their land and the America their oil". That was mo, a complete straight shooter when it comes to politics. he never believed in diplomatic comments even when david (jew) was around. With Mo and David in the team playing cold war games across their Line of control (now thats completely indian LOC), I ended up playing the mediator.

It was pretty frustrating especially when there was a software release down the corner. mo would go, "Can you tell David to lock the server up ? I need to get some testing done". or david would say "can you get the search code from mo ? I need to make the changes". Things came to such a point that one day, I setup a usual looking meeting between mo, david, and rest of the client team. I called in sick that day and let them handle the meeting themselves. There was no way they are going to avoid each other.

That was the last time, I mediated. From then on, David and Mo got along for work reasons but anyway thats all there was. No socialising atall. One september weekend when I had nothing else to do, mo invited me home for some soccer and dinner. I reached his home in missisaga at 3 p.m. We all know Mo was a muslim. I found out more that day. he was a very very conservative 2nd generation arab palestenian in canada. his father migrated from gaza to egypt and he brought them to canada. Migration is all he knows. he loves football (soccer) and plays for his club in toronto without fail, a leading striker and an very good player for his team he belies his small frame as he rushes back and forth the ground with ease and stealth(that explains the scurrying).

I met his wife, hijab and all. I even saw her face. With two beautiful kids he was well settled and looking to conquer the world. the sky was the limit for a talented guy like mo, if only he shed his conservative outlook to other cultures. The evening went perfectly, a piece of succulant mutton and lots of sherbet. We discussed among other things, Islam and the west. He was labouring to explain how islam is not all evil as it made out to be. But his general negativity about the west and concern and longing for palestine is almost complete. His house is more like a tent with everything arab in it. He literally dislikes (note, dislike need not be hate: this is especially for many americans) the western outlook to life, the general sense of moral degredation (instinctively I flinch, I felt he was talking about me almost chiding to quit drinking). Often when such a thing happens many an uncharitable white supremist would come and say, "if you so hate the west what are you doing here ?" David asked me that once. Most of the times, people are just trying to live by. "Does that mean that one should suppress oneself ? I found that really ridiculous", I replied.

mo pissed me off once, when he cut across borders and bonded with a pakistani colleage in saying that muslims were persecuted in Kashmir. David was smiling and smirking, "I told you so". I did become a little more suspicious about mo. but thats just my indian/non-muslim speaking. Mo as a human was no different as David or me. I felt bad when he said, "Canada is much different from america". America is too racist for a muslim. I could understand that because after america went crazy post 911, I was called a paki "n" number of times by strangers as old as the 60 year old woman in k-mart.

Anyway all these are pointless. Mo died six months back when he visited gaza and was caught in civil strife. His wife doesent know how it happend and its either crossfire or an israeli targeted building which fell on his head. No one really knows and hey when hundreds are murdered you cant always do post mortem. So he lays burried in gaza and she has to rise her 2 kids a 3 yearold son and a 6 month old daughter on her own. I spoke to her after this shocker came to me. She is an educated intelligent lady and she says she can get by.

I did call a couple of other friends in a nostalgic whim and tried to catch up after years. Interestingly david it seems broke down when he heard the news. So much for israel and arab. But you know the value of life is damm low in our parts of the world. A couple of asians/arab/muslims die. "ha its just another disaster that hit the third world or oh these awful terrorists, they are spreading tyranny". Well such is life and i felt sad for mo's family.

That led me on to ponder the whole aspect of death and grief. I was flipping through the pages of one of my favourite books "Jathaka tales" - by fancis thomas
and I found these lines which just felt apt.

Say by what power thou grievest not, Rama when grief should be ?
Though it is said thy sire is dead grief overwhelms not thee ?
Then Rama-Pandita explained the reason of his not grieving saying,

When man can never keep a thing, though loudly he can cry,
why should a wise intelligent torment thereby ?
The young in years, the older grown, the fool, and eke the wise,
For rich, for poor one end is sure: each man among them dies.

As sure as for the ripend fruit there comes the fear of fall,
So surely comes the fear of death to mortals one and all.
Who in the morning light are seen by evening oft are gone,
And seen at evewning time, is gone by morning many a one.
If a fool infatuate a blessing could accrue
When he torments himself with tears, the wise this same would do.

By this tormenting of himself he waxes thing and pale;
Thsi cannot bring the dead to life, and nothing tears avail.
Even as a blazing house may be put out with water so,
The strong, the wise, the intelligent, who well the scrip trues know,
scatter their grief like coitton when the stormy winds do blow.

One mortal dies-to kindered ties born is another straight:
Each creature's bliss dependent is on ties associate.
The strong man therefore, skilled in sacred text,
KEen-contemplating this world and the next,
Knowing their nature, not by any grief,
However great, in mind and heart is vext.
So to my knidered I will give, them will I keep and feed,
All that remain i will maintain: Such is the wise man's deed.

In this he explained the impermanance of things.

Mo's death was a little wierd to me and changed some of my thoughts about things I thought would never go.

Now, I am so fascinated by death and I am going to read and find more of it. The learning engine starts again for me after months of stagnation.

Egg delight

2005-09-10T04:13:00.000-07:00

I am an self confessed cook. I love cooking. Never for less than four people. I generally end up cooking for 5-10 people irrespective of how many are there. A couple of weeks back some friends from coimbatore were there in town. We pontificated about where to party and ended up buying a bottle of "Old Monk", some "Kababs" and a home grown egg ommlete/pie. It was totally extempore like most of my posts and the egg pie was consumed faster than you can say "Egg pie".

So I thought I should share this discovery with all you fine folks.

All my food includes a lot of vegetables. I just had
2 carrots,
1/2 cauliflower,
1 large potato,
1 large onions,
2 tomatos
1 large bell peppers (capsicum)

a phone call to cheta (borther in mallayalam) - our friendly neighbourhood grocery shop guy ensured that I had a half a dozen eggs.

Soon the large tossing pan was on the burner and after some pre-heating onions were fried. Feel free to add any spice you wish to add along the way. The beauty of my cooking is it depends on my mood. As the food gets cooked my mood may lift up and it would turn into something new.

1) Cut all vegetables (except onions) into small pieces.
2) cut onions in thin slices.
3) Fry onion in oil till golden brown.
4) Fry all the vegetables except tomatoes. (Suggestion: Its always nice to fry one veggie at a time since various veggies take various times to cook).
5) Add red chilli powder and salt.
6) Dice tomatoes to small pieces and add.
7) lower the flame and cook in open stirring occasionally.
8) meanwhile brak the eggs and mix the white with the yoke.
9) Add the egg stir the mixture and cover it for 5 minutes, cook in low flame.
10) check for the eggs to be cooked and voilla all-india egg pie is ready.

I know this is nothing new or unique in this recepie. I would like to flatter myself in thinking so. Its just another deep psychological need of a totally worthless life.

Anyway the pie is tasty and spicy a perfect foil for old-monk, thumpsup and ice.

The trick is to be imaginative about the masala. Just be creative and see what comes out.

If you are a safety-seeker, stick with the plain salt and chilli powder. None of the vegetables are compulsary. It totally depends on what you have and how big your pan is.

The old barber

2005-09-05T10:10:00.000-07:00

Sometimes you know when you walk back those very same streets you once ruled with impunity, a smile creeps up from nowhere. You dont rule them anymore but you have pleasent memories. "The old tree still stands", I murmered and breathed a huge sigh of releif. The barber shop that was part of my sunday life once a month stood there too. I felt my mind wondering, "Would mari still be there" ?

It was a typical sunday morning and I was 9. My dad as usual woke up at 5, got milk, got water from the community handpump, made coffee, woke up my mom, throrroughly analysed "The hindu", (A prestegious member in all tam brahm families) from headlines to obituary. He even finished his bath, a neat shave and was towering over my bed. GET UP YOU LAZY BONES !!! he thundered. The door bell rang and he warned me in a loud voice "I will answer the door and come, if you are not ready I am going to throw you to the crockodiles today". By this time, poor me (petrified of crocs) is awake and brushing my teeth. Now I couldnt reach the tap. I just waited for my dad to come from the doorcall. He looked at me with both hands on his hips and went on,

"Hmmm you are 9 and you cant reach the tap yet ? what can you do ? you cant do multiplications, you cant even brush your own teeth. You are a good for nothing kid (odhavakarai). Now look at Rajesh. He is up at 6 does sandhyavandanam, practices violin and is neatly dressed by 8 on a sunday morning".

Generally by this part of the tirade, I shut down up there in my head. Voltage overlad. Cant take the high decibel and drift of to my dream world where I am the hero with bulging muscles and all the babes in my class are dying to come and sit next to me. As I drifted off, I did all the normal chores as robotically as possible. This actually helps. It gives the impression that I am actually speeding up, and it helps me get over a ton of chores without physically subjecting my senses to the realisation that I am doing those chores. Confusing ? ok let me explain. Its my duty to throw the garbage out. If I shut down my brains and still do the garbage-chore, I somehow dont realise that I am actually dumping the garbage.
Up there, I am dumping the evil villain who tried to outrage the modesty of the princess in distress, I mean princesses.

You see in my dream world I am the lone hero all other dudes basically wet their pants when I walk by.

Anyway as I walk smiling still existing in this dream world, In the real world things are happening. Dad, Rajesh and Me are walking into to this old rickety barber's shop. I snap out instantly and see myself sitting in a gaudy waiting room in between two massive dudes. Rajesh (I hate him) sits smiling in the other corner with a book on tables. My dad sits stunned next to him awestruck in wonder. Rajesh knows the 17 tables by heart. He must be thinking "God, why, why me. Why do I have a son who chokes at 3 six are ? ". I pretned not to notice him and take a magazine lying on the table. Barber shop waiting room magazines are a real learning experience for a nine year old and somehow my dad thinks it is inappropriate. Its not my fault that there are skimpy pictures of women in that magazine ? For him, it really doesent matter. He has already made up his mind "No tom and jerry. Today you are going to do 17 tables", he goes.

Maari makes me sit on a wooden plank placed on the handle of a chair(since I am too short). Rajesh gets to sit in the chair without problem. Maari is the oldest barber in the area, literally everyone has gone to him. You can tell a mari's cut just by looking at a boy's head. I mean there is an evil mean cut in the back of the head with a little blood clot. That's Maari's signature. Literally every kid in the block if psychoanalysed (hypnotised) would end up with the same story of Maari's cut as the single most traumatic event in their child hood. Well every kid except me. Back to the present. Maari grins evilly when he takes the mechanical machine out of the drawer and goes click cluck click cluck. There is a huge shriek from the chair next to me and it is Rajesh trying to jump out of the chair. Maari summons help and Rajesh is pinned down and is shut up while Maari goes about his deed with finesse and professionalism. Doesent matter if it is the head of a 9 year old who can answer what 17 7s are ? If you resist Maari, you get a cut to remember. Resistance is futile is his message to all kids.

When Maari comes to me he stares at me from the mirror. I tell him "I am not afraid of anything except crockodiles. Go ahead maari". Maari is surprised and happy. We become good friends and there were no cuts in my head. Maari even gives me a balli muttai (candy). I love those small balli muttais. After every haircut, maari uses an alum stone soaked in warm water as the standard after shave. The price of this hair cut seven bucks per kid. His was a volume business and he uses the hand machine with great efficiency.

Its been years and in one instant I wanted to check if that place still stood. It did and I was a little scared to step in. What if I find out Maari is dead ? I took my chance and a lot of young men stood there. Maari walked in from the room inside as soon as he spotted me. When we were young, we all thought he lived there.
I dint say a thing as I felt strange to reveal who I actually was. I thought maybe he wouldnt remember or maybe it is wrong to rock his world now with old memories. The same old transistor blared aloud rocky-poppy tamil tunes with trendy numbers. Not the old TMS songs. Maari asks me to sit on an old chair (I am glad he dint put the plank) and says, "You know kids these days. They are trendy and I am no good for them. They dont even play TMS songs. What do you want ? he asks ?". I say with a little fear in my voice "Standard NCC cut". Maari gives me the standard NCC (National caded corps, similar to scouts. Its basically a crew cut) cut he is so famous for. The NCC cut is very comfortable. Low maintenance and long lasting for a madras summer.

All I wanted was to get done with the haircut and get out of the place. It was wrong to have come there again after all those years. Its wrong even to identify who I am and to rock this old man's life with all those memories. At 30, my memories torment me. How would he feel ? He must be 70 or something. Maari completes his haircut and even douses me with the traditional madras saloon aftershave (A rock of alum and some warm water). I am surprised there is no cut in my head. Maybe he gives kids the cuts. He then asks me to wait and comes out with his hands washed clean.

I was telling myself "Just pay and get out. You know Maari is alive, you dont want to trouble him more, do you ?". I dig my purse and find a 500 Rupee note. I press it in his hand. He smiles and gives me the change 493. As I am doing my exit, Maari's old voice crackles. Enna kutti paiya (What kid), balli muttai vendama ? (Dont want your balli candy). A huge clamp crushed my heart.

Thats it, I couldnt leave his saloon. I sat up with him and talked for over 2 hours. The longest time, I spent in a saloon. He still had his crackling sense of humour when he went, "See I never cut your head".. I gave him a thousand Rupees that day, not because I felt bad for him. I realised, Maari is part of my legacy.

He is much more than a haircut guy ? He is probably the first adult who became my friend. He was fifty when I was nine. He still remembers me. That must count for something. He takes pride in his work and he still works at 70. He is happy and contented and doesent suffer from any ailment, physical or mental. I therefore promised that till Maari's saloon is there, I would get a haircut done through him. I will have to travel once in a month or two to chennai for that. But I will do that. I also wanted him to feel happy knowing that one of his kids still remembered the old place and is doing well.

Dileep - Crazy Roomies III

2005-08-30T01:03:00.000-07:00

"How many room mates have you had" ? 11 years of living with people (includes my bro).. Some day, I will count. as of now you do the math.

Room mates come in all types. "Dileep" is among the most extreme of those. How can I forget him...

It was a typical winter in jersey. I was depressed like hell. Some said it was the winter syndrome. Lack of oxygen, Too much t.v. and super sized fries. It was much more than that, the dingy absolutely negative place where I lived in. Not to forget, the feeling of "expecting to be laid off" and my two room mates "Trevor" and "Dileep".

My previous room mate "chetti" kicked me out of the house (the lease was in his name) because he was getting married (actually he got pissed, because I forgot to close the salt lid). I was looking for a place to stay when I stumbled across "Trevor". Trevor was an old school friend from chennai who I bumped in by accident over www.roommates.com. I decided to move in.

There was another guy called "Dileep" who was there. This part of my life was one of the darkest and as an exercise in exorcising all my ghosts (read issues) I am recollecting this painful experience, just to make you all laugh.

So make sure you laugh. In summary two months after moving in, I decided to move out. Here is what happend.

Dileep is a 30 + PhD in laser technologies from IIT and has had over 40 publications in international publications. In US he was consulting for TCS!!!. Dileep never eats out. He cooks all his 3 meals at home. He buys the cheapest potatoes, bread and ketchup (Usually the stock that would be just thrown out). He was on a super saving spree and he would go to any lengths to achieve his savings goals (between 70% - 90% of what he earned). He owned a 15 year old toyota coralla with no heating. So after dusk, he would piggy ride on other people's cars. He never rented any videos of blockbuster. He always rented videos from the local govt. library (free). The t.v. ??. Our first t.v. in India (Dynora) way beack in 1980 was more advanced. This t.v. had knobs for changing channels !!! He hasnt watched HBO ever. Basically He employed all tactics possible to achieve his savings goals and he would one day write a book, "how to save Dollars living in US, even as your life went down the drain". His idea of parties were the stupid desi potluck parties where they talk of green cards, cars, politics back home, kids, sale offers, and cook food for each other. I attended one of those parties. I came back home and puked.

We lived in PP, NJ where so many desi married couples lived. I was careless eough not to do the negihbourhood check. They all made me more than welcome in their clockwork lives. Work, parties, temple, laundramat, hindi movies. If life was tick-tock-tick-tock for these clockwork couples, I was a out of sync Tang-Ting-Talang no two notes repeating itself. The focus of the whole extended families were my wild ways and miserly living of Dileep. They would exclaim to Trevor "Both your roomates are crazy. Vasu parties all the time in hoboken and dileep never has eaten anywhere apart from burger king and McDonalds. You must be having a horrible time !! ?? ". Trevor would smile sheepishly offering no other comments. He never displayed any identity which Dileep and Me displayed. And I hated to be clubbed along with him. So this is how I lived those horrible 2 months of my life.

I always had the feeling that married desi couples used the surpless availability of techi bachelors to crack their stupid insipid bachelor jokes. They will make jokes about apparent desperation in us bachelors' lives and give out really stupid laughs. This dull tame jokes spiced up their useless lives. Some of the wives in that group had a lot of time and patience on their hands (H4 visa holders). I avoided them for mainly two reasons.

1.) I had a flirting problem back then. I mean I was in a flirting spree getting to expand my horizons. I was genuinely interested in women (RR says all women, any women) and was absolutely non-self concious about my ugly looks and south asian swagger. I was putting a lot of guys in discomfort. As I said, I was just expanding my horizons. I dint want to rock the fragile platforms on which these families were built on. I could have easily overdone it and offered a wild experience to any one of these wives. As it is most of them lived a highly repressed lives in recreating home away from home. These were genuinely decent guys and I dint want to hang around them making them feel inadequate because of my flirting problem.

2.) I felt that these wives of friends were acting like mothers. "Dont smoke". "Dont drink too much Vasu". "You are doing so good. Why dont you get married". The assault on my free independant spirit was incessant. I longed for the anonymity and freedom of lodi (zip code: 07644). Worse was when some of these wives would take turns to invite all 3 of us for dinners. Conversations would always end up being asked, so when are you going to get married ? I usually skip these things. Dileep never missed the chance. I always thought it was wierd that Dileep discussed the floral patterns on curtains and home furnishings over dinners.

Even when I wasnt there, I was subject of much discussion. The vagabound tam brahm boy needs to be saved from the evils of the west. Whenever I did happen to bump into them in the launderomat, all attention would flow to me. I just couldnt help it. Once Arun's wife and mother caught me reading "Venus in India" while waiting for the drier to finish. Arun's wife grabbed the book with authority despite me protests. She gave a shriek of blasphemy when she looked at the cover.

Arun's mother never again spoke to me.

Trevor reasoned with me that it was because I missed all those get-togathers that I was being remembered so much. He reasoned, "Vasu just make an appearance once in a while and enjoy the fun and all will be fine and besides, Arun's sister would be there too". I dint know what was the reason, but it worked and I Decided to attend the next event.

The whole married couple's jund (crowd) decided to go for an outing to a temple and a restraunt. It was a huge plan. Took 5 days to confirm and re-confirm and as usual the toyota corolla sat in the parking lot. Arun's sister, Arun and me travelled by my car. Luckily Dileep had to discuss the intricacies of kasur methi (an indian spice) with Arun's wife. Ours was the only car with three people. Arun's mom joined us at the last moment just to keep a watch on her daughter. She was a nice kid, a student somewhere and we really had to watch out for all the protective hawks around that day. I did manage to exchange numbers despite the intense glare from her Mom.

I somehow endured the bridgewater temple. As we went back to our cars, Dileep is told of the plan to go to a restraunt. He was aghast. I cant afford "Olive garden". He wanted out. He asked me to drop him home before going to the restraunt. I politely told him "Fuck off, take a taxi home". Dileep dint have a choice. Olive garden was a slightly more expensive place than other restraunts. But it was a good place to go once a week. The food was great. Some white wine, Arun's sister was keeping me esoteric company across our table. Both of us were sick of the games married people play. I was enjoying the after temple dinner and for once dint feel guilty of flirting. What a relief.

Dileep was silent. His mathematical brain was calculating all that he ate. His average savings rate calculation left a bad taste in my mouth. He finally ordered a basic salad and was aghast that he paid USD 3 for taxes. I felt good that he had no choice but roll the economy forward. He kept grumbling about the USD 15 he paid for the salad that day.

By the time we came back home, he was almost in tears. "How can these people do this to me". He was aghast. "Why dint they tell me that they had plans of going to "Olive Garden". They purposely planned it". He felt most betrayed by Arun's wife because she was in this plan too. It was a plan to both tame me and to shock him. Tame me by making me bow and go around the temples of bridgewater. I am sure Arun's mother was behind this idea. Like a good boy he should go to the temple once a week".

Dileep dint eat for 3 days. He said he was offering fast to "Lord Brahma". "Let me know if Brahma comes", I said. "I need to ask him when did he create you ? Monday morning before the crap ??". Its a huge rigour living with Dileep.

One evening I opened the refridgirator and it was empty of all beer bottles!!!. Never is my refredgirator empty of beer. He (you know who) had removed all the beer bottles and replaced with humongous pots of paneer makhanwala, biriyani and dal. I was in my pits that day having been laid off, a bad snow fall... and a life that was increasingly going downhill. Dileep's only responsw was, "You dint come to Arun's dinner today.They have given you all the leftover food. There is food for 3 days man!!! hurray !!! we dont need to cook. I had to make space so I removed your beer bottles".

I slammed the refridgirator and mumbled to myself "this is the last straw". That evening I packed all my stuff into the jetta, called "RR" who lived in Lodi and moved back with my old friends. I called up Trevor and told him that I am quitting. Thats it. Trevor understood. He later on advised me about the necessity for me to be patient. He also advised me not to get married anytime soon. I dint know why he said that though ?

Apparently my sudden decision to quit forced Dileep to recalculate his savings formulae. I had rocked his equation. So to reduce the burn and save more he quit the house and moved in with a colleague in Patterson, NJ. Now Patterson is a dangerous hood town. Guns, rap and graffiti all over the town. The rents are 30% lesser than elsewhere.

One day as Dileep and his new friend return from work. They find their house broken open and swept clean of all possesions. Music system, computers, camcoders, t.v. all clothes, even undergarments had been lifted out. Basically all that they was remaining was whatever they wore and luckily they carried their passports along with them all the time. Nothing else survived.

And yes, Dileep had piggy rided along with his new friend to work and his 15 year old toyota coralla was also gone.

For some wierd reason I dont know why, I felt good. I am generally a nice guy who doesent wish evil to others. But that day, I couldnt help it. One cant say admit this to others though. It is not politically correct. But the funny thing was, I found Trevor suppressing an evil laughter as he was narrating the complete disbelieving look on Dileep's face.

Last I heard, Dileep bought a t.v. with remote !!! and has bought a 2000 model toyota corolla. not bad huh..

A week after I moved out. RR asks me. "So Vasu, how was your experience in PP ?". "Totally fucked up two months da"... "Its all in the game", adds the wise RR... Amen..

Shrink Attack !!!

2005-08-23T08:43:00.000-07:00

Ok, many people had told me that I am funny. Some have paid me this complement without taking a break from their laughing. But no one, not one of them said its dangerous except Neetha (names changed).. In her cocky, snobby, know all opinion I have "unresolved issues" from my past. Before I could protest with all my ferocity, she shut me up with a PhD degree in behavioural psychology. Now how would you tackle that..

My usual entertain-friend-over-beer-and-maggie turned out to be a major "couch experience" on two seperate single couches ofcourse. Neetha is a pain in the the the (ya thats where) despite her stunning looks, tone body. After all those years still, things have never changed. I could never get to make a pass at her. Somehow I felt wierd being associated with her.

I am in no mood to do a blow by blow account of what happend but here it is in summation. She thinks "My funny facade is to hide a deeper sense of a need to be recogonised, to have attention heaped on me and hide my inadequacies. Further it can also stem from possible anxiety (of what she never elaborated)".

I decided to explore a bit and see if I atall hide my inadequacies. now these are the few times, I thought about all my "inadequacies".

1) I am horribly organised.
2) I sometimes talk. Ok.. I talk all the time.
3) I make people laugh and make them forget about how sick, dead, useless, fucked up their lives are. ok thats a little overkill. But take heart whose life is it anyway ;) .
4) I give complements very freely and easily (She thinks, I do this to overcome my inadequacies too. Feeling cocky, arrogant and proud).
5) I genuinely like some people who laugh uniquely (like the girl I recently met who chuckled at all my jokes and who laughed incessantly. She thinks thats because I like my audience) and I tell them that. Now sometimes it makes people uncomfortable.
6) I am always behind schedulde at all my personal chore (She thinks, I need a core purpose in life and this being behind in scheduldes (paying bills mainly) is a reaction to a purposeless life).
7) My speling suck and I am too lazy or indiffierent to correct it. not that I notice it. Responses have been pouring in in 100s of how funny and witty my posts are if only you do the spell check. I say all these people have problems. They cant deal with a little imbalance and disorder and chaos in this world. They crave for perfection and precision. This maniacal obsession is a disease, I dont suffer from. And yes, I purposely mispelt the word spelling to open people's eyes to reality. See how many people suffer from this disease ?

There are a ton of other nasty habbits that I have, but I am not going to take me down in public glare. I am not that stupid.

I think Neetha is psycho, cos she has done so much of psycho reading to do her PhD and she has to use the full power of her knowledge on an unsuspecting subject. Ya, I know its a little lame. I also think that everyone has to have some issue or the other ? even the guy who thinks he has no issues. Thats very abnormal isnt it ? Someone with no issues ? maybe that is the issue. "you dont have any issues, how wierd, you are hiding something". I think she has issues. to her mind everyone is hinding something and she is that cop. I think when she was a kid she never played the cop.

The problem with her was, the last time we met I was 19. She still relates to me when I was 19. Awkward, never been on stage, last in the race, curd rice gulping, brain dead no opinions, absolutely no sense of comptition or aggression, not protective about the things I liked. That was 11 years back (ya, I am thirty). And she suddenly is told by a friend of a friend of a friend how socially networked and active I am. She couldnt believe it and is trying to find the switch in my "id". Know what an id is ?? She just cant believe that I am charming, funny and basically at peace with my f*ed up life. Ya once in a while I do one of those big binges "30 hrs of t.v." (cant you watch 30 hrs of female wrestling ? whats wrong with you ? ) or "3 books in a row", but by and large my phone book is full and I get phone calls from most people. No, I dont know sonali bendre not yet(for my international readers, here is where I fail. I cant make all my annectodes and examples international friendly You guys have to learn your sonali bendre as much as your pam anderson).

Ok. one thing she asked me was, "why do you write long posts ? is there a problem with your inner mind about not having been heard enough". Alright thats it. I couldnt take it anymore and promised her that I would keep it short. Anyway she went back to US after getting married and I really really hope I dont bump into her for another 13 years. Poor guy (whoever married her) is going to get psychoanalysed and this way forget problems related to performance anxiety, He is going to have problems related to performance !! phew..

Now where was I, ya the girl who laughed incessantly... isnt it a great thing to laugh so easily ?? I just make people laugh. But Neethu literally made me sob. Now I cant do that, not even when I am psychologically stripped and analysed in a cold blodded fashion. But it really hurt to find out how sick and warped human beings are. They are always looking for an opportunity to demoralise you and put you down.

But you know what ? "Mard ko Dard nahi hotha".... "ghar jake hotha hai"..

Why am I writing about all this (apart from making a few people laugh..including me) ? Its the flavour of the month. These days people are out there putting nasty derogatory blog posts and there are people out there defending their honour and integrity with full ferocity (Read "The season of defamation and defence. An exciting episode of how rival law firms are at work to sully white "Van-huesen" shirts with brown mud... only on Practice...tada tan tadatan").

Apart from social causes and philosophical views how really serious can a blog post get anyay. This one really pushes the envelope. The buzz is everywhere and I said to my self, why not. Lets get nasty.

Mathrubhoomi - A nation without women.

2005-08-10T02:02:00.000-07:00

A girl child is born and the rejoicing father(s) are stunned. A large pot of milk is prepared and the baby girl is just immersed and held till the bubbles die.

Mathrubhoomi - A nation without women. The title comes alive. This is Manish Jha's movie on female infanticide. The irony was evident in the title. Matrhubhoomi (motherland) - A nation without women.

What happens if there are no women in a population of say 5,000 adolescent and unmarried menfolk ?

What happens if there had been no weddings in the village for Fifteen years ?

What happens if the male-female sex ratio falls drastically say 200 women for 1000 men ?

The movie explores these questions in a realistic way.

a young effemenate man play the parts of a dancergirl in a small village skit with all the other vllagers hooting and jeering the dancegirl. They know that it is a man. But they have no choice.

The local cinema theatre doubles as a mass pronographic den were men jack off relieving their frustrations.

One of the protaganists' friend gets engaged leaving the protaganist fuming with jeleousy. The groom gleefully says "Choudha saal ki apsara hai" (An Fourteen year old Angel). The wedding ceremony is on and the father pauses to pay the bride's dad A lakh of rupees and a few cows. As the wedding draws to a close, it is discovered that the bride is a young boy. The boys father escapes with the money.

A powerful family of fuedators are searching high and low for a bride for the eldest son. The pandit (priest) helps them locate a girl (Kalki) . Unable to decide which of the son to be married to. The father marries all his sons to Kalki. The price of Kalki is Rs. 5 Lakhs.

After the wedding, the sons discuss and work out a schedulde for sleeping with their new bride. Exasperatedly, the father father in law crys "What about Me ? " !!!

Then starts the ordeal for Kalki. The father in law starts consumates the wedding on the first night and a sexual ordeal of macabre proportions follows day in and day out. Kalki is bedded every day of the week for months in continuity. In all these dark surroundings there is a small ray of light and hope for Kalki. Suraj the youngest of the sons is a little more considerate and compassionate towards Kalki. Kalki falls in love with him and really laughs with joy when he is around. He is her only hope in this dark life. The brothers and father in a fit of jelousy murder suraj and thus extinguishes the only light in Kalki's life. Kalki tries to run away with the help of the "house help". The "house help" a young bot of 11 is brutally killed by the brothers and Kalki re-taken prisoner. The "house helps" uncle seeks revenge.

Kalki's ordeal continueous now as a bonded sex slave for the brothers. She is housed in the cowshed, with legs and arms bonded. The brothers and the father-in-law continue to rape and ravage her. The avenging uncle of the "house help" enters the cowshed one night and finds kalki tied and bruised. Unable to control he rapes her tied and bonded.

Kalki becomes pregnant and is now accorded the status of the mother. Things change and she is accepted back at the household. It is strange the eagerness of these men to procreate and further their genes. Kalki gets all the attention for one brief moment.

Who is the father ? "Me" cry all the brothers. The avenger who rapes her for his slain nephwe is elated too. He comes to claim his bride and the baby starting off a bloody caste war. Kalki goes into labour when the whole village fights, killing and burning each other.

Kalki delivers and its a girl...

The whole movie is so intense it disturbed me completely. Shorn of all Jhatak Mhataks (bollywood hip gyrations) and lousy candyfloss songs set in switzerland, Mathrubhoomi demands your full undevided attention. It would shock you, stun you and numb you with its in-your-face story telling and gory violence.

Kalki represents India in some of its villages, raped and abused by fuedal lords who fight to take posession of.

Sadly, many parts of northern India (haryana) are as portrayed in this movie. Sex ratios have fallen to as low as 650 women for 1000 men. bride buying from bangladesh is also common. Frustrated males have taken to crime and have unleashed a terror unimagined in independant india.

A similar problem cropped up in southern India (Tamil Nadu) but thanks to Jayalalitha (one of the shrewedest Chief ministers) it was nipped in the bud. Small Self help groups are promoted funded by the state to aleviate poverty and provide opportunites at the lowest end of the society. These self help group have spread education and counsel young mothers and families. Coupled with this tough (in terms of female infanticide) poliece action and swift prosecution has curbed this menace in the mid 90s. More importantly female infanticide is considered a social stigma and this has given the girl child a little larger window of survival.

I would advise people with a faint heart not to watch the movie. But I believe this is one of the best scripted movie to come out of bollywood in a long time.

Kudos to Jah for a brilliant piece of cinema.

According to the Union health and family welfare minstry and UN organisations over 35 million girl children had been killed systematically over the last hundred years.

Female infanticide must stop and the full force of law should be behind it, else we would really become "a nation without women"

Mumbai Madness I. "Crazy roomies".

2005-07-25T01:23:00.000-07:00

NOTE : Be warned !!! This post is long and is from an unabashed mumbai fan. If you are in mood for a short bite, perhaps this is not the place and time.

Every morning I am jolted out of my bed with a recurring bad feeling that I overslept. More precisely I am out of step and rythm with the life around me. All dictated and clocked by one thing called the Eight.14 Andheri Slow local. Here is a samll slice of my mumbai life. It was a typical friday morning. We were excited saturday is coming and just one more day of the week to endure. The weather gloomy and threatening to dump. "Ats" and "Sangy" two room mates. Now life cant get more crazy, a tam brahm (vegetarian) a maharashtrian (sauve sopesticatd financial whizkid and "Ats" - an ahomese (he made me pronounce ahom), with a raw sense of humour and an even rawer sense of cullinary taste. "Ats" had a vivid imagination and a potly figure which can pull a smile even from an Ambedkar statue. "Sangy" losened up and laughed only when "Ats" was around. Quoting "Ats". "Like sangy has a choice. I would crack offensive, adult jokes anyway. he can laugh if he wants to". "Sangy" relented often.

six.30 : The old mechanical alarm from yester years shrieked and I
was scared. I realised that if I dont haul my ass out of bed, I
am going to feel very very sorry. I would be late to office and
I hate arriving late and I missing my appointments (Thanks to an
ever moving life in the big bad city). I could hear

"Ats" moaning "Ughhhh Noooo Man..." Madrasi , throw the thing out of the
window man. I make a mental note today is the day I got to do it. put an
extra spoon of chilli poder in the sambar. "Ats" loves sambar. "Sangy"
sleeps like a rock. Of course, he can afford it. Afterall he goes to
goregaon for work and travels the opposite direction.

Six. 35 : I got to get out of my bed. 5 minutes of my grace time is over.
Time is up. Move it man..
Six.40 : pour a hot cup of coffee down my throat and feel it
reach the cells in my eye lids. Wake up stage II accomplished.
Time to do the dew ;)..
Six.45 : "Ats" banging on the loo door .. Madrasi Madhru... bahar aa
behen Ki Laude (my sister's lover) come out man..
Six.50 : "Ats" banging on the loo door .. Madrasi Madhru... bahar aa
behen Ki Laude (my sister's lover) come out man..
Six.55 : "Ats" rushing into the bathroom with mumbai times in hand.
"Crappy paper man and I am going to use it as a toilet roll".
"Ats" likes to read up his morning share of bollywood gossip.
He particularly likes Rambha and calls her
"The-thunder-thighed-wonder". (Dear reader, Offended reading
it ? Imagine, we were roomies for 2 years. I couldnt afford to
get offended. With a little attiude, patience and practice,
I got to enjoy it)

Seven.00 : "Sangy" banging on the loo door .. "Ats"... bahar aa
behen Ki Laude (my sister's lover) come out man..

Seven.15 : "Sangy" to "Ats" - Sale how many times I have asked you not to take the
paper into the loo. You have to change man. "Ats" responding. Sale, the
paper had a story on rambha man.

"Sangy" is a true gent. calm, composed, sauve, sophesticated and professional. Maharashtrian sums up his character. "Ats" was hopeless. Laughing at everything, ogling at MTV grunch at 1.00, hitting at my HR manager "Soni" when she asked me to refer somone for a marketing position. He was so openly flirting with "Soni" and the word went around that "Soni" was interviewd by "Ats" and not the other way around. I later explained to "Ats" telling him that "Soni" was a mallu and not a (TTT) tam thunder thighs. As usual "Ats" sulked for like 20 secs. "Ats" once decided that he would seek the surreal and went upto dharamshala (Himachal) to become a budhist monk. His descent to the plains was equally surreal and quciker than the ascent, when he realised the monks had their balls frozen to marbles living in cold and that was the unavoidable path to salvation. "Ats" in his own words lamented, "Marriage is better than aching balls man".

Seven.25: "Savant" (our domestic help. "Ats" calls him domestic Hell) rings the bell. Fires a salvo to "Sangy". If the bathroom is not free in 10 minutes, I would not wash the clothes. "Sangy" pleads with him in marathi and abuses ahomese bath habits just to please "Savant". Life is hell without "Savant" and its heller with "Savant". Precisely life sux.

Seven.40 The run begins.

I always felt that everyone in mumbai is running. I very carefully observed that even if I have enough time, I invariably run and hurry. Somehow I want to reach the station and catch the first train. I have never waited and observed the architectural wonders of a mumbai suburb railway stations. Even on sundays, I run. Its not about being punctual. It is psychological. Everyone hates missing the train. Not just missing their appointed regular train. But missing any train. Thats why a mumbai station is a mass of bodyies, dodging squeezing and running. Like an animal pumping blood. Thats why I like mumbai. Its a constant adrenaline rush, and I am a selfconfessed Mumbai addict.

Eight.04 I reach Andheri station and see the train standing on its bay. A fast train moves in and I leap and jump a bunch of stairs at a time so that I make it to the train before the maddening crowd comes out. Its a personal race to the finish line. Its not just getting into the train. Its running to get your spot. The first in line of the four people standing on the door.

Eight.14 The Andheri slow local leaves at Eight.14. Not a minute earlier and not a minute later. It is just waiting for the borivili fast to leave. I open up my packet of hide and seek. With the right hand clutching the holder, I eat with my left hand. The white bhajan and clapping competes with the "dhadhak-dhadhak" of the train and I get the white goli prasad. Its my favourite mint variety. Metropolitanism and devotion go hand in hand. Even though I am not particularly relegious and god fearing, I like these guys. They have fun. Loud throaty music and the rythemic clapping. It has its own high cresendo which sometimes mesmerises me. The rains lash my new shirt and the monsoon spray refreshes me completely. I just pray its not too heavy, cos I want to reach office.

Nine.05 I reach office and slug on my chair. I space out for like 10 minutes (even spacing out in mumbai is compressed. No more one hour spacing out like in US. For more gyan on spacing out, watch the movie "office space".)

The day rumbles and grumbles. Like any day its got its highs and lows. Awaiting the dubba and hogging the meager meal. eating with my whole team including my project manager. Cracking jokes at "Bhupi" the lone surd in Cool cool canada. thats our server room and the only airconditioned spot in our rundown office.

Five.00 "Ats" gives a call and says we should meet up for a beer, before heading home. He has invited new Ahomese friends home for lunch the next day and wants to cook them some good ahomese food. Fish, mutton and chicken. I just mumbled to myself "Sangy" is fucked tomorrow.

Six.30 "Ats" rolls his way through the crowd and we meet as usual at McDonalds. he is smiling widely. Abe sale Madharchode.. how come you dint tell me you have a hot cousin ? "Oh my god...", I blurted out. "So 'Ats' got to 'S'". He explained how his day was full of life and how he bumped into her during a client call and how both of them chatted and finally figured out that his Mad Madrasi roomie is cousin of this hot chick. First time in my life, I hated beer. To tell "Ats" to stop it or to display any sign of irritation would be like throwing petrol on fire or more precisely "Axe" in a bonfire... Ever tried that ?. I silently mumbled keeping a fine balance between showing my displeasure and not airing it. I just wanted the topic to pass and die a natural death. "Ats" seemed to guess what is happening and proceeded to reassure me. "Vasu, dont feel bad I am hitting on your sister. If you hit on my sister, I wouldnt mind.". I just couldnt take it any more and said. "Ats, enough da.."

Seven.00 : "Delicate daisy" (the model type mumbai woman, who thinks that a little smile and a boob show would melt the battle hardened commuters) bypasses the cue of half irritated, half anxious and on the edge BEST (local buses) commuters. Daisy flies like a butterfly and non-challently ignoring the shouts and cries boards the bus and occupies the seat. Now no one cares enough for gender in mumbai as regards to catching a train. It gives many women (they say) the anonymity to do what they want and not be judged. But the flip side to this lack of "C"hauvenism is a total lack of "C"hivelry. "Delicate daisies stay away" screams the mumbai life and sorry there are no exceptions. I found myself a seat and when it came to "Ats" all seats were taken. "Ats" walks upto the "delicate daisy" and lectures her in a totally fake-moral voice of how everyone should follow rules. "Delicate daisy" sheds a tear and exasperately asks "Ats" " Tell me what do you want me to do, get up and give you a seat ??? !!! ". Obviously she doesnt know "Ats". With a gleeful 100 watt smile "Ats" says "I wouldnt mind that". Thus delicate daisy stands the whole way on the BEST bus and feels totally humiliated. I am sure she would think twice before breaking rules again. My heart went out to her but that was for like 10 seconds. I couldnt care less as I was reading "Mid day". Though one might think that "Ats" is inhuman. He has a softhearted side too. He admitted that he felt bad for the "delicate daisy" and wanted to offer her a seat. "On my lap", he added later with an obnoxiously throaty laugh.

Eight.00 The fish market was full of fresh arrivals and "Ats" was picking up the best of the pick. I was telling him about my latest meeting with "Admiral Ding" who is a famous bodyshopper. I have a job offer for US, I added. "Ats" looked at me and smiled. "You know what Vasu ? This body shopping thing is demeaning man. They look at you, examine your tounge and peek down your asshole and decide that you are a good body to be sent to US. ITs like me buying this Rohu. If I dont like it, I would not pick it up.". I just hated his guts.

Nine.45 The kootu is boiling(I am the sambar + kootu + rasam guy). By popular demand we decided that todays menu would be kootu and rasam. "Sangy" voted against pappaya sabji in khar, bamboo shoot pickle and pumpkin flower fry. According to "Sangy" we cant experiment on fridays. No logic just an absurd criteia to disqualify khar and vote in kootu. Again "Ats" sulked for 10 seconds. Meanwhile the kootu was boiling and the rest of the guys having a good laugh at Rajdeep sardesai's guffaws. "Sangy" anounces, "Guys, you are now looking at a lakhpathi. I won the Brand Equity quiz contest. I won cielo". I watched Atanu's eyes change shape. His mouth fell open and said "madhroo". We listened with rapt attention and found out that the clinching deal was the caption which had to be filled by the participants. "Sangy" had written "ET is part of my family". He was laughing loudly as how much of a sucker for sentimentality these ET (Economic times) chuthias were.
"Ats" had a profound look on his face. He sounded conciletary and asked "sangy". "Who is your family man ?", "who cooks for you, pays the bill, helps you wake up ?". He was intense with emotion. "Us sangy, us. We are your family". "Sangy" was dumb struck and some gutteral sound smilar to "ughhkkkjkj" came out. "Sangy" was shut. "Ats" was brilliant. He made "Sangy" promise to take us movie, mondegaar and bade miyan that sunday.

11.00 The kootu and rice are done. the t.v. room is silent. It generally goes quiet when MTV grunch starts. And after that no one talks, just watch a bunch of booties and boobs dance to glory on some beachside swimming pool in jamica. Its animal-like and even "sangy" sports a weekness for grunch. I clutch the kadai full of kootu with a pair of clippers and bring it to the living room. Sangy engrossed with grunch was blocking the way. I found myself shouting "move Sangy. move" and before clayfoot could get out of the way I could feel the kadai slip the clipper. I could feel the pit in my stomach and instinctively clutch the kadai harder. Sometimes I am possesive of my diner and food. I like to cook well and have people eat food and say "The food is good". Its a good feeling. No one can fake that kind of feeling. Meanwhile the kadai slowly slipped down the clippers (idukkis. Used for picking up hot vessels and transporting them small distances). With a bang the kada hits the floor and splashes hot kootu al over. Less than one spoon of kootu is left.

Thats it, I hit rock bottom. Blood rushes through the face and I thought, "there goes the dinner". The first few minutes of losses are the worst. Like when you realise that your pocket has been picked or you lost your cellphone. This one was similar. "How can I do something stupid ?? " is what I end up asking myself. I feel shitty and extremely angry at myself. Anger is an understatement of the mood that prevailed that day. Rage was more like it. All of us look at each other and one wrong word uttered would have sent two of us at each others' throat there would have been murder. I was shivering with rage. Intelligently "Ats" shut his mouth and quietly picked up the telephone. "Sangy", picked up a wet cloth and wipes the floor clean. I stare emptily not knowing what to do. I dont get too emotional that easily. That instant I was in a delicate condition. I could have murdered, cried or commited suicide. It was too intense.

Eleven.45 Three room mates living in a matchbox-in-the-city quietly munch through tripple schezwaan noodles and egg fried rice. All one can hear is "munch" "munch" and "munch".

Ten.00 a.m. saturday. "Ats" comes to me and says. I think MTV grunch was the reason. Bad karma got you man. Predictably he lets out a throaty laugh. I dont resist and let out peals of laughter.

After an exhausted laugh, I just sigh, "What a day. Thank god its a weekend".

Hypocricy or Ostrich

2005-07-20T09:27:00.000-07:00

“Don’t lead a hypocrite’s life. That’s all I say”,thundered “V” in response to the discussion we were having. She was not following the discussion that was happening but citing superficial examples of how capitalism is the only way forward. It was eerily similar to her famous words “The media is the torchbearer of truth and without it the world would be in hell”. Yet her comment on hypocrisy sounded instinctive and absolutely natural, I couldn’t deny that, even to her. I thought, “this was one of the few moments were a genuine reaction has come out of hermind. I should respect that. maybe I should do more discuss that. Am I a hypocrite ? and if so ? is that necessarily bad ?"

Today Indian economy is ruled by a pervert version ofcapitalist economy where very little government spending happens for the benefit of the poor and reaches the poor. Most of it goes to sustaining the age-old feudal systems re-born in new avatars as corporates. Fairness is sacrificed for profits and justice for equity. In this equity and profit culture everyone else is sucked into. By virtue of engaging in gainful economic activity, many Indians are part of this create-more-wealth mania. In this stampede, we step on others, laws and justice are manipulated to suit balance sheets, and standards of humanity are re-defined to suit our own “Arrived instyle” Image. Otherwise how would you explain Government giving a drug offender a certificate of good conduct and help secure his release ? (Read : Bidappa released from dubai Jail) Obviously money has exchanged hands. Shouldn’t there be seething anger at this? There are hundreds of innocents languishing in foreign prisons for small and petty crimes. In this seasaw debate on communist and capitalist debate the commonest of all statements is "Dont be a hypocrite". There is no middle ground and we free thinkers have no place.

The political spectrum is crudely and falsely divided in India as “Left” and “Right” based on ill-fitting western classification. If on some opinions I agree with a particular group’s views, Do I have to conformto all views of that group? And If I don’t I am labeled a hypocrite ? The economic views of the communists and RSS are very similar , but that of BJP and Congress (allies of both the right and left) are exactly the opposite. “How would then one analyse the spectrum and give it labels?”, one is tempted to ask. Do we require labels tohelp us analyse ? Is it really useful ? Can we not adopt stances purely based on issues ?

The basis of everyone’s political position is on what is good for himself/herself. This infinite variation in a huge population of ours is funneled into a few political choices. Depending on the primacy of these chosen. The government however is a combination of changing people’s representative and an unchanging structure (bureaucracy) that can be manipulated by people who know which levers to pull and which buttons to push (basically the rich and famous). Here money and influence talks. This is where capitalism has succeeded in influencing the rules to suit itself against a set of disadvantaged people who don’t know how to influence the rules. Is it possible in this wide spectrum, to isolate a few opinions and call a person hypocrite?

The answer is Yes and is because of a narrow black and white analysis of the issue. Hence the outburst “You are a hypocrite” carries withit the sting of adverse judgment and humiliation. My political views are never etched in stone and are constantly calibrated to changing situations. Being McCauley kids we are taught the Victorian views of black and white in an Anglo-Saxon context. Obviously the delirious among us still believe in the same Anglo-Saxon context to exist in an India werehardly 10 % speak the language. The language is not a major issue here, The issue is of the context. Good and bad. Right and Wrong. God and Devil. Such black and white thinking pattern spills liberally in political analysis thus forcing everyone to take sides across an artificially drawn line, which serves no purpose, except enact a distractive battle. This artificial line is drawn and re-drawn all the time to divert attention to other pressing problems. It also diverts the attention of simple folks who trust and believe in our form of governance. “Hypocrisy” has become what “Witch” was during the dark ages in Salem,USA. Anyone raising uncomfortable questions is labeled “hypocrite”. It is the style of looking at people using pre-defined labels.

It starts from the assumption

"If one is working in a capitalistic structure, he or she has to defend the structure".

I can for matters of survival and benifit be a part of a structure but still think of poor and marginalised. Profit need not be the guiding motive for everything in life. I know everyone dies and deserves a decent life before he dies. If you are an American you can still stand up against the wrong policies of your country. It is not hypocricy. It is being brave and standing up for your beliefs. If you are an Indian and see corruption and unbriddled capitalism harming the poor, you can stand up and say "this should stop". The very aspect that you are part of the wheel which churns out the profit cannot deny you the right.

It is choosing to become an ostrich in fear of becoming a hypocrite.

Between becoming an ostrich and a hypocrite,

I chose to be a hypocrite.

Now How is that huh ?

Monsoon days !!!

2005-07-18T05:40:00.000-07:00

Monsoons are magical. The thick multilayered clouds are way different form the whiffy and pasty out of season wanderer. For a biker like me the rains are a great time to hit the roads. Last weekend was one such night. A saturday evening movie took me onto airport road and it was pouring real hard. Needles falling painfully on my face, hands twisted on the accelerator, eyes focussed on bleary vision trying to make out the road from the pavement. I sped fast and away. The roads were surprisingly empty of the rickshaws and other sensitiver bikers. Just a few large cars, gingerly inching ahead and avoiding the water-traps called potholes. I zigged and zagged through the crowd and just wondered "dont these cars have better shocks ?". Windows shut and jazzy panel lights lit, I cuold feel the warmth of the family inside these cars. But on the bike is my world and I am the master of it.

Sitting inside these behemoths were kids playing with water streaming down the window panes. people young and world listining to Raaydiohhh cityyyy.... There were even a couple of busses on the road but not like usual days. The road was empty. Everyone must be waiting in their offices for the rains to stop. Thankfully I dont suffer from hydrophobia. As I reached domulur the traffic was stopped to allow some politician to whizz past. The motely crowd of cars soon accumulated and I found myself surrounded by cars. One lone biker in a car world. Looked like America. It was raining harder and a couple of claustrophobic cars, opened their windows to savour the monsson sprays and the hindi song of the century wafted out "Rim jim Gire Saawan..." I grew hungry waiting for the blocade to be lifted. I switched off the engine and opend out the shourma... It was wet.. On an usual day, I would have thrown it out. But today I was in my adventurous best. I was wearing my favourite blue shirt and my lucky Nicholas (I used to work in mumbai with NPIL) tie. Today was a great day rain and all. Completely drenched wet and soaked, the soggy shourma was the driest thing around. I ate and ate and relished the piece of meal in the middle of the monsoon. Vow!! The car engines stopped and I could hear all the conversations now. Moms asking kids about homeworks, loud cellphone conversations about codes, releases and invoices, politics, movies and everything else. Sudenly there was silence and I found the eyes peering from the two cars either side of me. Looked to me like the collective wondering of people "what is this bloke doing in the rain" ? "what a crappy life ?" or "I wished I can do that ?" or Just an empty glare at this freak of nature called Vasu. Here I was standing there, hunched over my gast tank with one leg on the kick starter waiting to bring the beast to life and scorch the goddam roads. The moment of silence did not last long..

The pilot cars zipped past with NSG cover and the blacked out windows of the stately ambazidor boomed past. The engines started and the music was revived. The "purr" of the monsoon rains was once again drowned by the cacaphony of life.. kids back to their games, mom back to her quizzing, couples back to their bickerings. Even the mobiles buzzed alive.

Soon it was green and the moment passed. I just smiled and lied to myself, "I would never give up my bike".

Erotica, Brahminism and the hilarious Five point someone...

2005-07-09T01:39:00.000-07:00

I walked into crossword and ambled as usual in the Indian section. Trying to see some good books on history, constitution, ancient history etc. I have been bitten by this bug and man the infection is spreading. Its like black coffee or beer. Bitter and unpalatable to start with but then in a really fetish sort of way amazingly addictive and satisfying. Basically I was looking out for some big book which will last me for a month atleast (at 20 pages a day. A little reading on the shit pot and a little before bed) . All of the books had jazzy reviews, glossy covers and dollar rates. I somehow stepped out of that world because I felt my knowledge growth should be selctive and controlled. Its like splits training in body building. you want to isolate a muscle and train it to breakdown. I just ambled by not impressed by the title untill I hit the "EROTICA" section... Vow... that transformed the whole experience.. I pulled a seat for myself and poured into one of the best EROTICA dictionairies ever come across.. literally every term had been laid out thread bare from sitophilia to necrophilia. With illustrations, drawings and clinical explainations. It was mindboggling. I wanted to steal that book (dollar rates remember). I did the next best thing. Hid the book in the travel and living sectoin. No one but me can find it.. hee hee.. Meanwhile I saw one elderly lady groan and complain about falling standards of social norms. It felt wierd because I could hear this background whining as I sat engrossed pouring over books and books of Erotica. I turned and looked and I saw her with two 20 something girls sitting. She just stared back and I smiled (genuine and corteus).. The girls were giggling and I think I saw them flush when they looked back at me. I said to myself, If I were twenty I would have cared a fuck for her aunt/grandma or who ever it was and went there to talk to them. She frowned back and told me "are you not ashamed sitting there and looking at nude women ?" "no aunty. why should I be ashamed. I like it", I said thumbing a nude photo album. The girls were silent and were flushing more. Somehow I thought to myself, here is someone offended by these books. But I dint intend to do it, and I was simply enjoying myself and having a good evening out without encroaching onto anyone. Is that wrong ?

I think like sex, food, friends, entertainment and hewnceforth dress are nothing but choices. Here I got sucked into this mammoth discussion spawned out by Srivatsan's blog and adequately debated by Senthil's blog. To give you a brief, it is about brahmins, their identity and its display. Srivatsan firstly pointed out that how a brahmin displayed his identity against all odds and how harshly the world in general (including himself), and an MNC company in particular (HP) judged the brahmin. He goes on to ask "what's wrong if a brahmin does the same thing, as a sikh does in India". Srivatsan's blog is more about the displays and trappings of brahmins rathar than being a brahmin or not. Is appearance itself function of identity ? I found myself asking. I had blogged about language and identity because I am convinced of that. language gives man to express and it is his first form of expression. Is appearance so critical ?. I am being simplistic here to say appearance. But includes, cultural practices, rituals etc.

Senthil's blog spoke about how inconvinent Dhothi is and how salwar is not traditional south Indian etc. It is a debater's point by point resopnse to Srivatsan. Some brownie points but nothing beyond that. No aspects of identity addressed. Vishitra made a beautiful point of answering the fundamental questions unstated in Srivatsan's blog and asked by me in the previous para (see in bold). In some cases it is and in some cases it isnt. Its purely individual choice and definitely a personal one. Being born brahmin, Iyengar (thengalai-vadagalai, madhwa) or iyer (smartha, iyers) is not in any way demeaning or lesser. Afterall some of the great thinkers are exactly that. Basava, Ramanuja, Subramanya Bharathi. Yes Brahminism has some really bad and retrograd practices. And they have to go. period.

1) Descrimination between people of various castes.
2) Too much ritualism.
3) Orthodoxy.
4) Too clanish a mentality.

The greats that they are never consigned the identity they were attributed to. The changed what the identity meant and stood for. Basava created the veerashaiva community. Ramanuja convered lowercastes to brahminism. Subramanya barathi taught a greater concept of Indianness and so did many other greats. What matters is what is acomplished in the world and how identity helps us lift people marginalised socially and economically and make them stand on their own feet, proud of their achievements. If this is not possible by identity. Identity is useless.

The 60s identity struggle in tamilnadu was a complex one of reaction to caste suppression, abolition of ritualism (masqureded as hinduism) and more importantly giving the marginalised people a chance to look up and feel better. No longer would chandala or ambattan be an abuse. It is manifested in the growth and identity of each community asserting itself for its share of legitimate political, economuic and social space.

So it is left to see what my dear friend Srivatsans' acquaintance in college seeks to achieve by asserting his identity. The key question is does it translate into a larger good ? I mean if it is, I would support that irrespective of what others say. If it isnt, its just another cerbral exercise of vanity. Good for his ego and pride. Nothing beyond that.

I studied in a pune colelge (B-School) and for every major college function, there would be one man in a dhothi and white shirt (yours truly). Sometimes the dhothi wuold go above my knees and reveal a beautiful set of calf muscles and thighs.. (I mean I thought so). Somehow my unabashed comfort with the dhothi made it damm cool in college. I have always worn lungi in my hostel.. its thin, airy and you know all the benifits...

It never really bothered me that the dhothi will slip off. I was good at that. Infact, I secretly wished it would slip off. I was a closet exhibitionist :D..

Infact, I was so moved by "mustafa mustafa" song when it came out in 1997 that I did a stage performance of that song including the electric guitar piece in the begining (with my voice)... Never really bothered me that no one except my prof GI and one fellow chennaiite (she always called herself madrasi and was embaressed to talk to me in tamil) understood tamil. Just two in my whole batch. But then, I was singing for myself and not for anyone else.

You think its wierd.. ever heard of kumar gandharv ? he sings with one lung and man his voice isnt traditionally beautiful but will keep you rivvetted and on a trip much better than the best grass..

Some of the biggest industrialists in tamil nadu were indegenous entreprenuers like PSG group, TVS, Murugappa etc. ever seen any of the board meetings you will have crisply clad directors in starched dhothis. I thought there used to be an ad for premier dhothis... I think it is wrong to say dhothi is not professional. Some may like it some may not.. infact If I want to, I wouldnt for a moment flinch to wear a dhothi. Ofcourse it will be on occassion and with a purpose.

let people judge others on basis of their dresses and customs at their own peril. History has been changed by these people wrongly judged. Remember the story of Dannanda and Kautilya ?

Anyway as I was walking out of crossword, adequately chastised by the elderly lady (she was lilke an aunt, and I could see the struggle in her mind. I sufficiently convinced her that I am not a bad guy - a rapist or a eve teaser. Just that I liekd erotica), I remebered sachin (Bong Machan) saying read "Five point someone" "dont miss it man. Its like our IMDR days. Eerilly simialr to Aapka apartments (ITs an apartment complex where my friends used to stay. Its on the road just before roopali on FC road)".. I picked up the book and instinctively turned to the last page. I was glad that it was just Rs. 95. I told myself "This is fiction, but at Rs. 95 and Sachin's reco what the heck..", I succumbed.

The book was amazingly mindblowing. I was readig about IIT and was imagining about IMDR and fergi campus. the hanuman tekdi, our trivial trials and tribulations. The only sad thing (which saruabh also agreed too ) was that our group of seven had enough life experience language skills, hilarious annectodes to have written the very same book. I just felt that, man we should have done it. Anyway.. Kudos Chetan Bagath. That is a beautiful and alltime favouirite reads.

I think Indian writers are surely coming of age. I just wish the amazing thought purge that is happening continues and tells more endearing stories.

A collage of books that inspired me and my thoughts (strong and black like my coffee) on language and identity

2005-07-01T06:14:00.000-07:00

I am reading this amazing book (not found usually in bookstores) which talks of a different perspective of history. Written by "Saki", the book is titled "Making History : Karnataka's People And Their Past" in two volumes. I picked up this book from a CPI book stall in bangalore and I have altered some of the ageold perceptions held steadfast in my mind. This book narrates history from the common man's perspective under different dynasties. Instead of talking of which king killed whom and which monument was built by whom, it talks of how people lived and existed during the various periods of karnataka's history.

Another book that I really enjoyed reading is a book by James Michner titled "The source". Set in Israel, this story traces through time, the travels of a mound of earth from early neolethic periods to the current day complex West asia situation. In between it traverses through the Kingdom of Israel and Judah, Greeks, Romans, Early christians, Turks, Crusaders, Arabs, Ottaman empire, British and the raise of Israel. Surprisingly it has a non-relgious, non-racial tone and just seeks to tell, that all that comes will one day pass and things wont be much different from what it was.

"Guns germs and steel", another brilliant work by Jared Diamond clinically analyses and looks at human civilisation from a socio-cultural, scientific and biological slant without getting into any of the cliched arguments of civilised and uncivilised. In fact it is a breath of fresh air from many of the indophiles who hail India as the cradle of all wisdom. It neither has the arrogance of "West is the best" widely displayed by Americans and Westerners seeking to civilise the world. A must read for people who like objectivity and deep thinking analysis.

Often my friends have asked me, "why do people in Tamil Nadu dont speak hindi ? Whats wrong if they learn hindi ? Comeon ya, its the national language it would be good if they learnt it". My reactions used to be just that, reactions of a strong kind acidic, sarcastic and even jingoistic. Over the years (as any good wine would), I have matured and became more inside looking in analysing issue. Why dint I learn hindi in Chennai. I thought, I did. Afterall isnt "Lavadekabal" a hindi abuse ? I had started using this word as early as class X and as frequently as "ongamma..." or "Ongakaa.." ("your mom", "your sis" genre of abuses). Havent we given the prized position of abuses (Its difficult to make it up there) to a hindi word ?

Down the line, we altered some of the meanings of hindi words. Lets look at "dil". The hindi take on "Dil" is love, romance, emotion, coooing and all those mushy-sushy things people engage in (sans the rock-and-roll. Atleast that was what was portrayed in the movies).. Instead the tam version of dil is rock hard bravery, jumping from cliffs, challenging an army of 100 men, catching the bullet with left hand and sending it back faster than it came. But overall the image is one of courage, bravado, action, danger and daring. Havent we took a hindi word and made it as cool as it can get ? We took Paratha and made it Brrrrrota. We even invented kothu brrrota. Infact adaptation of other language words and giving it a tamil twist is a fine art practiced and perfected by the common man of the streets. My uncle exclaimed that hot chicks (he said "modern" but he meant "hot") in besant nagar beach speak in chaste gaana tamil and make it a cool statement. One of my last remaining friends in chennai still exclaims "dai dubukku" whenever I visit her in chennai... Eeirily similar to my chum buddy, punjab da puttar who addressed me by "VASU - Gandu, Madarchod, how are you" ? Vow he made the "ma ki" gaali so cool and so endearing. I guess, all this explains the tremendous level of self confidence and pride people have in their identity. I have. That was the reason when someone in pune called me, "Madorchod LTTE idhar aa... ", I couldnt tolerate it and shouted back "Sardar behen ke laude, bhara bhaj gaya kya ? thu idhar aa". Ofcourse we became good friends, but on equal terms. He saw for himself that the only tam in the class is not going to take it lying down.

As again, I grew up. I met a lot of friends and genuinely and openly wanted to learn their way of life. I lost that attitude "Tamil is superior to everyone else" and re-caliberated it to "Vernacular is superior". Somehow my taste for hot retorts hadnt changed. The other day My uncle (who has lived over 25 years) in bangalore said "These Kannadigas, they are all somberis (lazy)", blood shot through my face. I just without thought reacted "Chithappa (uncle), have some gratitude for the place where you lived. you have eaten their salt. Dont be an ettapa (The tam equivalent of brutus who betrayed Ceaser, bhaji rao who betrayed shivaji)". Weeks later, through informal channels, it was communicated that I am a "Persona-Non-Grata". I felt very bad, not for the comment but the virulence with which it came out. I managed to soothe his ruffled feather, massage his ego and do the dew ;).. dint I tell you that I have no fucking shame or pretentions ? (dont believe all that I say huhh...?)

Anyway, I realised that we tamils or no better too. We shouldnt just talk about tamil and tamil greatness whereever we go. Wherever I cite examples of tamil having achieved this or that, please consider "tamil" as a vernacular experiment. There is nothing exceptional or unique in tamil which has achieved it. It is a call to resurrect the identity of an oppressed set of people and was tagged along with the language. Afterall language is an important component of identity, isnt it ? My use of tamil is in that spirit and not as a statement of "I am greater than you". Who ever you are, oriya, parsi, Punjabi, Urdu, Hariyanvi, bhojpuri, telugu, tulu, konkani.. I wish you well and when I live in your part of the world, I will lend my might to you..

Jai Vernacular :D

In this spirit, I believe strongly that Tamil promotion should be confined to inside tamil nadu. When we live elsewhere we should also seek to learn other languages. Afterall, we know the hard journey and the tough choices that were in front of us in the 60s. The onus is on us, to lend our voice and support to others in the struggle against hagemony (dominance of one way of life over all others). Its impoirtant we dont become hagemons ourselves. When I say, "We should help others" it is not out of the arrogance displayed in full bloom like when an American says "We will free people from tyranny", but of the way the French helped settlers throw the british out of the colonies in "1756" with warmth, respect and a desire to help friends. Silent yet respectfull of others. Thats why today, no one in America remembered that the statue of liberty an icon of full blodded american patriotism, jingoistic and all was a gift from the french upon winning the civil war. The true americans (who cherished the freedom but not the jingoism) nevertheless knew that and were not seen dumping fine french wine in the gutters or renaming french fries as freedom fries.

Helping should not be touted as a proof of superiorirty. Its just coincidental we found the path and we want to share this with others out of genuine goodwill, with respect and honour.

In retrospect, I realised that my tamil identity should be perceived as non-threatening to others. The onus, lies in me make it so and not in others to percieve it so (remember the parsi message back to the king of cochin, saying "we will be like sugar in milk" when asked "who are you ? friend or foe ?". Its that way).

I realised that "when in rome", be a roman. I have made it a point to speak in kannada every available opportunity. To the autowaala, when asking directions, in hotels, everywhere. I feel everyone should do that too in bangalore.. No questions. Period. There are no logics here. It should be a rule, a silently enforced one by the people. It is not a crime "not knowing or not having learnt kannada in bangalore". But it is one "Not wanting or needing to learn Kannada in bangalore". Yes it is not so practical for people who dont know kannada. But once you give it a start with "saku", "beku" you can soon graduate and become a good speaker within a year's time. Dont feel shy to stumble and make mistakes. Do your mistakes with flair that the other person says "gothuaithu... heli" (I understood it, you just continue). Slowly friends (almost embaressed for having to correct you) would help you upgrade your language (correct your mistakes, improve your vocablary).

For a long time, I used hogi for "I have finished" with my friends mom. She understood that I was confusing the word "hogaya" (hindi) with "aiithu". But she never openly corrected me, just sent a message to her sons who are my good friends. She understood what I meant and yet never spoke in anything other than kannada. I realised that unless, I stretch and exert myself. I will never learn the language. Now I am good enough to converse with her. The best complement ever received was an unsolicited comment from their mom (with awe) saying "Vow... your kannada has improved". The comment was so natural that a very very modest person like her wouldnt dare make it so openly, if it hadnt been an instinctive reaction on my fluency. She used the spinal chord here.

I gave a self pat on my back. None of my friends appreciated me, well thats another story..

I feel sad, that marathi is not spoken much in mumbai as much as kannda is not spoken in bangalore. The sense of loss is asif it is tamil. Vernacular gives the indegenous, the common man, the poor man, the farmer, the non-english educated, the weaker sections a strong sense of confidence and identity. In TN, developement has been uniform throughout the states with industries in tirunelveli, Tiruppur, madurai, coimbatore, salem, vellore, karur, namakkal, kanyakumari. All this because in the 60s a virulent campaign to install Tamil as the prima-lingua was done despite criticisms and reaction. As an afterthought, it was a great move because, indegeneous people have developed. Tamils all over have developed the strong sense of confidence which was long shattered by colonial and fuedal mis-rule.

No more is it considered a slick english speaking "Peter" or "Mary" (btw, thats the slang for an english speaking duo.. spelt as and peeetar and mayri) is superior to the tamil medium educated diploma holder. The reaction in my college (coimbatore) would have been one of disdain and they can easily spot the fake guy. Nobody gets awestruck by a fluent and articulate vasu if he is articulating crap. They would just say "dai peetar mooduda (addressed to me, and asking me to cock up)" (refer the start of the para for explainations on peetar and mayri). This is because there is no sense of lesser or greater associated with language. Its a level playing field.

I used to think when in school "whats wrong with learning national language and speaking it in tamil nadu ?". The answer came to me from an uneducated farmer in dhindukkal district where I was attending an NSS-YFI camp (trying to teach uneducated people to sign their names in tamil. build toilets for schools).

The farmer : "Whats the use of education" ?
My reply : "Education will liberate you from under-developement".
The farmer : "All that is fine. Whats the practical use" ?
My reply : "Nobody would cheat you anymore ? you can do business with city folks. your son
can expand and make your farms more productive".
<..totally exasperated by now...>
My reply : "If you complete XII they will give you more loans".
The farmer : "Ya, that I know, thats why both my sons are doing their degree and besides I
dont have the time. I got to export these mangoes abroad no..." ?

That sent a hard assed slap right on my face (not literally, figuritively) and I found a new found respect for him. When someone has not been educated and has no practical use for hindi, is it reasonable ? acceptable ? and worthwhile to teach him hindi ? He doesent even know how to read and write tamil. But let me tell you, this guy is a mind reader, he will nail you if you try to take him for a ride. If he does get cheated once, he will hunt you and mow you dowm. Such is his confidence. He is the king of his small town. Thats the way every villager and oppressed man should feel. Thats the India that will take us to greatness. One of the reasons for his confidence is a strong sense self belief. He did go on and learn to read, write and sign (just in case). I learnt the importance of self belief and confidence in one's life. Predominantly from movies and the tamil movement. They just told him that "you are cool" and dont lose you are protected. They gave him the confidence to not feel low about who he is and think practically upon situation.

I also learnt that if found practical uses, these self confident and smart people would learn dutch or german (if he needs to impress an exporter). If you think I am talking shit, just look at tirrupur a hoisery town of entreprenuers. The largest in Asia and one of the growing areas for SAP implementations. They would use other languages as a tool to further their life, because their own language has given them the confidence to stand up and feel proud. I know some would say "what crap", but from the point of view of people who have been suppressed and oppressed forever, it is a great moral booster and an assertion of their own worth as citizens of this country, weather or not they are educated. This sense of mass infusion of pride is what was achieved by the heroes of tamil movement. Kudos to them.... If not for them, We might have missed the fiery dialogues of "Parashakthi.." (an earth shaking movie penend by Karunanidhi and rendered by Shivaji" or the great lyrics of "Veera pandi kattabomman" (one of the few chiefteins in India who opposed the british on sound principles of anniyargal (foreigners) and not because he was opposed to someone else. The "Kanni pengalukku Manjal araithaya ? edharku vendum vaddi ?" dialouge rings in my ears like a strong medicine to the tierd soul rejuveneting and giving it eternal life. I wish every language in India have such a revival of position. Malayalam, Telugu, Kannada, Bhojpuri, Urdu, Assamese, Mizo (isnt it sad, they have lost their script and are using english to write their own tounge ?).

Here I have to grant credit to the Saets of Chennai (marwaris and gujjus) who speak flawless tamil, The enterprising sardars of Namakkal, Salem who literally control the spareparts market and truck/busses body building market. Nammakal also is the second largest poultry farm in Asia. Its millions of eggs and lolly pops baby...ummm... The sardar speaking tamil literally made me dumbstruck... I was gaping so widely, it made the sardar very very uneasy. He just barked "ennap pakara ?", "what are you gaping at ?". The tone was bordering on irritation. I just scooted.

I very strongly believe a re-assertion of vernacular in general and kannada in particular would be beneficial in the long run. Ofcourse the "children of libertalisation" (a.k.a the IT companies, the MNCs) would run away to gurgaon or hyderabad. But 25 years from now, we would have more farmers and a stronger set of indegeneous people. ITs actually a minute price to pay for the large and cascading benefits that would accrue later. IT doesent take much, just 10-15 years of a strong implementation of kannada in day-to-day life. Infact all people should be encouraged to stay here and learn kannada.

World over, the indegeneous people are getting diluted and losing the race for a better life because there is a strong attempt to dilute their political voices by promoting uni-cultural and uni-lingual images. It cant work in India and I would be a sad man to see a glorious and beautiful language like kannada see an untimely demise.

As a parting statement since I am in bangalore, I owe my aleigence to the vernacular of the land. That side of Miraj, it would be Jai Maharashtra, cross over to hosur - It would be Jai tamil. For now it is

JAI KARNATAKA

Naxalism - Is it actually violent ?

2005-06-27T01:49:00.000-07:00

I just finished my lunch and the deccan herald news paper. The main news items in the news section screamed "Thousands arrive at village to attend Naxal’s last rites" . I saw a smart young fellow, saying in Kannada "These guys deserve it saar". "If one is violent and kill innocent people, the law will take you down. The police have done a good job"

I just paused and pondered ? Have they done a good job ? Thousands are mourning his loss. Sure there must be atleast 50 to 100 teens in the thousands, who share the same angst as this young guy when he joined the naxal movement. Sure there must be 50-100 youths who share the same determination as Umesh. Atleast there must be 100s of people who would be willing to support the naxals in their armed struggle. I carefully checked my words and thoughts so that I dont appear as endorsing their actions. Why do we so abhor the naxals ? Because they are violent ? Physically they are violent and nothing else.

Is it not violence, when a few corner all resources for propogating their economic machinary thus driving people in marginal existence further down the tube ? It is violence too.
Our sense of morality is shattered when the stuccato fire of the AK47 fells innocent people. Where is our sense when thousands silently die of starvation, disease and many among them with no way out, lose belief in this world and consume pesticide. Is that not violence ?

Is it not violence when non-tax paying IT companies, gobble up agricultural land and deprive a family of its only source of livelyhood ? All they do with the land is build golf courses, fountains and re-create switzerland literally. Is this not violence ?

Where is our sense of morality when we ask, protest and preasurise the government to build swanky flyovers and smooth roads worth thousands of crores so that we can reach our homes and offices faster, while a sick man in the village dies on the road to the city ? Is this not violence ?

Obviously, things havent changed, The same resource grabbing is being promoted by a few industrialists in the name of market economy and making bangalore a Shangai. If India were china, Bangalore would have been Shangai and poor people would have been driven out of the city because they are just too dirty to look at or unclean to touch.

It is not wrong to be profitable in what you do, gamble in the market. What is wrong is making a virtue of the same. In the name of professionailism all we are cultivating is an unsustainable model which seeks to marginalise the poor and make the rich, richer. The middleclass is a willing accomplice in this game so that some share of the spoils will reach them too.

As I finished reading the report, I just felt sad that Naxalism is going to increase in leaps and bounds. I knew instinctively that it is a flawed model because it is too fundementalistic and dictotorial to be of good to anyone except those on top of the revolutionairy structure. But What surprises me further is a total lack of response or sense of humanity from any of the so called civilised world. While reems and reems of newsprint (including the front pages) were devoted to debating "Metro Rail" or "Mono rail". No one cared about the hapless people staring death and facing bloodless violence every day.

If I were fifteen and from the villages, I would have had a gun in my hand. The appeal is so strong and the disparity so huge none of what is being done by the society, governmetn and all the rest of the jokers put to gather would provide me with a viable alternative.

Seriously, where is this going to lead ? or more importantly what is it going to lead to ?

What a way to start the thirtieth birthday !!!

2005-06-22T23:44:00.000-07:00

It was an usual working day, with its own set of quirky and wierd ways.
There is always something that is more urgent than what is planned. There is always some fire and the fire fighter (yours truly) is called upon. There is always some ruffled feathers to be smoothened. There is always something that makes me postpone my lunch by just another 15 minutes. Luckily as the clock struck 6.30 p.m. I decided, I will call it a day, quietly sneak out (we all do that) and I would get to see my babies developed, mounted and proud (My slide filim from honnemaradu). As I twisted the accelerator, I could feel my heart pump and the tension inside me raising. The suspense was killing me. It was like checking the boards for my class 12 exams. "Damm, this kind of excitement isnt my cup of tea", I told myself.

I stepped into prabhu and gave him the slip. He looked at it and stared back at me. I felt he was mocking me with a look that said what-a-sucker-all-photographs-washed-out. He rummaged through the stacks of photos developed and picked up the phone to get my set from a nearby building. Dammm... a wait for another 15 minutes. Meanwhile, I busied myself looking at hemanth's scan and discussing mundane details. My mind was on the frames that would come mounted. If there was an apt hindi song for this situation, it would have been "Dhak Dhak"..

The slides came and I literally snatched it form his hands. Lunged for the big light box, flipped the switches on and spread the slides all over. Hemanth my bud, was there too... One by one, the pictures came to light. All fears and douts about my abilities vanished. I felt a couple of smiles creep onto my face. Vow... I felt good, on top of the world. The photographs were good.

But I realised that there are no scans to share it with my friends. I need to get them scanned now.. As I was transfixed by the results, I felt a nudge and there was Anita and Venky. Even she agreed that my photographs were brilliant, that I was a genius (Ok... I tend to exaggerate a little bit and indulge in self complements once too often. Thats hedonism. Persuit of pleasure.). Not brilliant and genius. But definitely my photographs were good. Phew... I had a face saver man, after all that heady gyan I gave on photogrpahy in Honnemardu.

It was 7.45 p.m. and I was late. Remember the training schedulde ? I rode like a maniac, owning the road. "I am the king, I am the master and the road is mine. Anyone else who is blocking the traffic and the path of the "vazu the terrible" should be shown his place", was my attitude. Totally cocky, self assured and so full of myself. I reached home, changed into my trunks and with just a Rs. 250 (no purse, just money in the loose), bike keys, I set off. Locked my house and I was in the gym working the iron.

I felt great, top of the world. Sweating it out in the gym, grunting my way through, I felt light and bubbly. I could feel my muscles groan in pain. Sweet pain. Excruciatingly sweat. I was totally done and my biceps were nearly torn. I couldnt do it anymore. My iron buddy, cajoled me to do just one more set and I set off. I maxed out the weights and put all I had. squeezing every inch into a complete range of motion and as I finished it, I just collapsed onto the sofa. My head went for a spin and I knew, I had achieved a milestone. "Nothing could go wrong today", I thought to myself or is it ??

Straight at 9.15 p.m. I sped to empire, had one shourma and lime juice. I was just thinking, now what would I do ? go home, listen to some music, light reading (10-15 pages) and sleep. The devil crept in. It kept reminding me that I hadnt watched a movie for quiet a while and "Anniyan" a tam movie is running. I dint want to go. I just wanted to call it a day. But neither did I banish the devil from my thoughts. I gave it a little more time (till I finished the shourma) and by then, the devil had worked its ways. I quickly checked and I found I had Rs. 200 (no need to drop by home) and half an hour to reach innovative in Marathhalli. Today was a wednesday, and I reasoned that tickets would be available. Quickly, I got another shourma to go, and whizzed past the empire at kammanahalli to ORR and was off.

I loved the freedom, the freedom to take off and do whatever one wants to do, whenever one wants to do. No parents to seek permission, no other commitments to fullfill. After 6.00 p.m. its my time baby. I have been like this since I was 16 (when I finished my 12th). What a way to live. Still on the high unaware of what is to follow and full of gloat, cocky sense of pride and totally full of myself, I stepped into the theatre and watched "Anniyan". The movie itself was ok. Not great or earth shaking, but entertaining in its own way mainly because of "Vivek". "Vivek" is the best comedian in India right now. Too good.

Anyway, the movie got over at 1.00 p.m. and I returned home at around 1.30. I just put my hand into the shorts pocket and I could feel a pit in my stomach. A hollow sense of feeling, one gets when taking a brutal fall right on the face. "I dint have my house keys". I checked, both my pockets, incessesently. So unsure of myself and irrationally hoping to find it in my pockets the eleventh time, where I couldnt find it the first ten times. I checked, checked and checked.
It was nowhere. Gone. I went below, checked my haphazardly parked bike from top to bottom. I couldnt find it atall. The roads were deserted. Nothing there except mosquitoes. Even the dogs had slept off. My mind suddenly ran amock, trying to fire fight this awful situation I found myself in. Trying to come to alternate ways to get myself to my warm cosy bed. My furry, wolly blanket (which I so proudly flouted on a recent trip to honnemardu).

The beat cops saw me, hanging out near the gate in a wafer thin t-shirt and shorts slightly longer than my undies. The wind was breaking out and it was extremely chilly. These guys must have thought "How wierd". They questioned me and wanted to find out what I was doing at this time of the hour. I told them, that I lived there and had lost my keys. They chuckled loudly and man it hurt my heart (small and black ... yeah yeah thats the one) . I then remembered in a flash (my subconcious mind was working all the while, desperately trying to contact other subconcious minds via telepathy. Apparently they were all asleep at 2.00 a.m.) that one of my spare keys is with Prashanth, Hemanth's brother and he lives in HRBR (just a little distance away). For some unknown yet godsend reason, I had given my cellphone and keys to prashanth before going to honnemardu. Anyway I decided to call him and requested the cops to give me their cellphone. There was a sheepish smile. no currency saar!!! I felt like hitting him smack across his face, swallowed my pride, cameflouged my looks and mumbled "Paravagilla saar" (Its alright sir).

The cops were gone, the opposite house iranians were chatting something in farsi and smoking. I approached them for a cellphone and finally rang Prashanth. The phone rang, rang and rang. It rang, rang and rang. It rang, rang and rang and rang for 10 minutes. No response. Damm such an irresponsible guy, prashanth is (I said to myself). I cant trust him in emergency (I again said to myself). Another voice spoke now for the first time (Dai Addakku da.., Stop the whining).

The cops were gone, the iranians decided to sleep and I was for the first time in my life homeless. So near to my bed, yet so far. And I was 30. What a way to celebrate your big birthday !!!... Yet my mind wouldnt give up. I conjured up other plans. What if I wake my cousin up ? But did not want to burn all goodwill for just a night's sleep. Prashanth has a big family, uncle, aunts, servants and subbu the dog. By now, you all would know how much I like dogs.. So his house was also out. I then decided to go to the terrace. The wind which was silent till now, kicked up and started howling... the dogs started howling and I found myself a cosy corner under the syntex tank. With mosquitoes for company, an aching body and chill winds I just lied there curled up like the beetle in Honnemardu.

The voice inside me which rarely speaks said "Give me pain", "Give me more pain". Someone (you know who) heard that and it started drizzling. I decided to face the shit. I said to myself. This is what makes a man. Lesser people would give up. Take the shit damm it.. Give me more. Give me hard rain. stinging rain, hail, meteors. Give me everything you got you sonnofabitch. It started raining harder. Somhow, I put cause and effect theory in action and realised, "Maybe there is a connection between what I utter and what is to happen". By now pain was maximum, discomfort intense, chill bone numbing and my whole body shivering like mad. I decided that it is prudent to stay alive to fight another day and not to be stupid and dead in the morning, however exciting it is to die on your birthday (how many people had this coincidence, I wondered).

I gave up, looked up at the dark and cloudy sky raining needles and said. God, why me... why... in true salman khan style (a.k.a Khamoshi, hum dil das baar de chuke sanam). Oops sorry, no cockiness pelase. I came down the stairs, defeated, broken down and totally humbled. Man david may be brave in challenging the goliath, but he would be stupid to stand there watching if he had broken his sling...

As I was coming down, I could hear surush (my friendly Iranian neighbour) put on the lights and open the door. I cried out to him and he was startled. I patiently explained what happend. Dropped all inhibition and requested him to give me a place (without fan) to crash. He smiled and let me in. Infact, he made me some hot black tea and we ended up chatting for another hour about internet, hacking and other things. He spoke about wife, family, chicks etc. I invited him to the party at my place promised to show him a couple of places in karnataka. I felt full of gratitude, whatever for him. I shudder to think spending another 3 hours in the goddammm place squeling like smeagol and gollum and talking like salman to the monsoon clouds. What an Idiot.

The terrace wont be the same place anymore...

I slept peacefully and woke up, drained of all cockiness, humbled, worldly wise, beaten, annealed and the most excruciating pain inflicted on me.

I woke up 30.

What a way to start your thirtyeth birthday !!!

Honnemaradu Blogout !!!

2005-06-21T10:03:00.000-07:00

Actually, there is so much to say after this trip. So many new experiences and such varied set of people.

Firstly, I should thank Suman and Anita for getting this whole trip organised. There she was patiently, informing everyone what to do weeks before the trip actually began, making sure everyone had seats to sit and births to sleep, handled the Ticket checker, managed the finances and quaterbacked the whole team. Such dedication. We even did a hip hip for her at the end of the trip.

Suman apart from being a (errrhh) strong supporter of Anita also has doubled up as a perfect chronicler of this trip. No one else but him can with such lucidity describe all that happend. As for now, the best way to kow about our trip would be to read his blog. You can find it at Honnemardu: bLogout - Part 1 . As for me, I would wait to see all the parts published before offering my comments/adding onto this. Suman is a man of supreme integrity who would not forget to mention any part of the trip (even what happend inside the tents).

On a much serious note. Do kindly read the travelouge on suman's blogon Honnemardu. He is the best.

What kind of a society are we becoming ??

2005-06-20T22:26:00.000-07:00

I used to be very defensive whenever someone said, "You are a communist". This arose from the defeat of the soviet system of governance and the fall of communism. I was 15 then. The Iraq war happend I remember, and it was the first war. Everyone in my class and friends supported the US and there I was somehow feeling that what saddam did was correct. Afterall there is credence to his claim that Kuwait was stealing oil from him.

Ten years passed and I got educated and went after money. I tried figuring out the world and how it worked. Somewhere I was looking for a fair and equitable system of efforts and rewards, because I was sold onto this concept. Afterall is not life in school and college like that. Outside college, life was about opportunities and the one who has it. It seemed an unfair system, yet I played the game. Became cutthroat, jumped jobs, differentiated myself from the rest and got my rewards.

I attributed the rewards from the point of view of, "hey I deserve it". But did I ? truly ? I was there in the right place at the right time. I even came to think of it as a personal achievement of being in the right place at the right time. Its my effort and my achievement. I turned a true capitalist. Money brings money. justice is about who is more powerful. Fairplay is about who is smarter.

My return back to India was about money and making it big on my own. The keywords being "on my own". That was a struggle, which continues. The cause a selfish one, trying to get that elusive house, car, that elusive five crores. All the travel and excitement of going to a new place and doing new things. Anouncign my arrival loudly and voiceferously. The "travel and living" life. Afterall all these trapping are about making a statement "I can do it" and not about "I like it". I may not get there, or maybe I will get there. But the fact still remains I sought to get there.

Its a gamble and I realised, I am a gambler. I gamble more and better when the stakes are higher. I realised I am cautious and careful when I have something left to protect and gaurd. Take that away, I turn a gambler and a dangerous one at that.

One sunday morning as I was having a cup of coffee and just wandering in my thoguhts, I realised. The ultimate winner is not the gambler, but the "house". Because the house sets the rules and the gambler just challenges those rules. The rules are loaded against the gambler. It rewards him one time and eats him away the rest of the 9 times. The more the gambler there is , the richer the house. The house always wins. To win, one should change the rules by which the game is playes to ones advantage.

Learning # 1. Change the rules of the game.

The cause : Is winnign equivalent to acomplishing ? This thought sprang up like a ping pong ball... ? No they are not. Sometimes, winning is acomplishing like when Bangaladesh beat Australia. They won, they also aomplished something. They banished all doubts about their own ability. In some wierd ways, they were equals to australia. Winning is about overcoming your opponent. Acomplishing is battling your own inadequacies and overcoming those. A lost cause is therefore never without acomplishments. But it is important to win as winning itself is a habit and is infectious. IT is also important to acomplish something everytime.

Learning #2 Accomplish something bigger than your own material needs.

What is happening in India is we are changing the rules of the game and suddenly the causes are lost. Where are the poor. They are poorer. Where are the workers ? they are still struggling. Why is peenya broken down and desolate while electronic city is swanky. Where are the Dalits, they are still oppressed by a whole section of us, who are just hungry to consume and think morally superior of ourselves. I recently saw a series of movies on dalit oppression. What I saw totally revolted me. Oppression unkwon to human kind. Dalit woman forced out of economic blockade to clean human excreta with bare hands. Dalit women, abused by highercaste men young enough to be their sons.

Where is the logic, when within the same city people que for hours to get drinking water and a well known IT MNC waters its golf courses everyday? Where is the logic, when tons of food gets wasted in cafeterias and people go hungry. Where is the logic that we consume more and more and more when poor people dont even have enough to consume for themselves. Why should the governemtn continue to fund the IITs and IIMs when the poor dont even have toilets in schools. The priorities are all wrong.

The rules have changed and the causes have been lost. But like Anita's dad pointed out, the "Wheel always turns full circle". In places like chickmagalur, parts of andhra, bihar, jharkand where oppression is intense, a counter reaction in the form of Naxal violence has sprung up. The poor dont have a weapon to fight with. The rich fight unfair and donot share the benefits. A single Amalgamated bean coffee limited (A.K.A coffee day) destroys the government coffee board, acquires all processing capabilities in the coffee belt and constructs its own oligarchy.

Coffee plantation owners convert their unproductive fams into homestays. IT professionals and newly rich middle class from the cities drink the coffee in coffee day and stay in the home-stays of coorg. The poor migrant farmer unaware of the coffee collapse and changed rules, finds himself without a job and prey to loan sharks. There is no way out, he commits suicide. Not for his son thiough, he joins the People's War Group.

Whose fault is it ? Is it the IT professionals/middle class newly rich's fault ?. No. This is the leverage class. With very very little votebank, this is the class which has leveraged maximum benefits from the government post 1991. I belong to this class and I benefited from all the changes that happend. This class is actively supported by the cream class which has, its own vested interest to bring in more money. The leverage class in its eagerness to go up the wealth chain actively worked with the cream class. The leverage class provided the extra weight to tip political power from one side to another in a highly fractitious political scenario. They controled the money and they controled the votes.

With the onset of violent left wing movements, the breaking point has reached. The government has failed totally in its role of providing developement and succor to the backward sections. There is nothing that can explain why bangalore should get six lane highways and swanky flyovers, when bellary or bidar doesent even have mtorable roads. The army and the poliece are a private police force for the rich and the connected. Police turn extortionists helping a few rule over the rest. The poor fight on.

This form of developement is absolutely unsustainable and is a sure path to doom. Where are we heading ?

Its just something that tells me, that whats happening in terms of government spending for the rich and the urban elites at the expense of the poor is absolutely unaccceptable and unfair.

The cycle of socialist developement is not over yet. We need another 2-3 rounds of social eqality and justice before we can claim India to be an egalitarian and equal opportunity society. Till then it still "off the few", "by the few", "for the few".

I will just leave an open thought for people to muse over..

What is wrong with private sector reservation ? Should we not implement it to set some of the imbalances ?

Somehow one comment of bunty's on the way back from talguppa stuck in my mind. "We are doing the same things, that we did in the 80s before the internet". "We would be going back to the usenet era. I think we are just going in circles". I think so too... because the circle is the truth. We go round and round till the whole society progresses like a helix. The "spring model" of developement means. a verticle plane of wealth creation and a horizontle plane of "equitable wealth distribution". Both are needed. We need another round of intense political chaos like during the untied front days and massive re-organisation of public government investment from urban focused to rural focus.

point to ponder : Is it time the IT companies started paying Income taxes ? and became a truly responsible corporate citizen than just became a resource hungry industry ?

Smell of Life - Trains

2005-06-11T23:00:00.000-07:00

One of my most enduring memories was a train journey from Mumbai to Chennai. I have done this circuit an umpteen number of times and always by general compartment. Very rarely, I used to book tickets. Somehow the train journey seemed to represent a journey from one time zone to another and one way of life to another. I was coming to Chennai after a year of hard ass working in Mumbai. It was Diwali time and I could smell moms avial in my dreams. The train got delayed after Sholapur and was re-directed via Miraj and Bellary towards Guntakkal instead of Raichur. 2 stations before Bellary, the train entered a non-descript station and stopped for a few minutes. It was 12.00 noon and the sun was scorching the brown earth. It was like before the rains came in Lagaan. Cracked earth and all. None of us had anything to eat since the dinner at Sholapur and the whole train was voracious. What was supposed to be a 10-minute stop became a 2-hour stop as all passengers stopped the train and refused to let it go unless food was prepared for everyone.

I had a few bananas and took a small trip into the near by field. There was one small agriculture well and a tree. A few people were sitting there and smoking beedi. As I approached them, they instinctively stood up (my trousers of course). I asked the to sit down and lit my own “Rajas”. The simple peaceful smoke calmed my mind and for a moment I felt that the purpose of my vacation was fulfilled. I felt re-charged already. I sat there for a few more minutes chatting with the farmers and I observed they were very very humble. I am still extremely cocky and self assured. I take a bad fall right on my face once in a while.I just get up and go. I am an expert at getting up and going. The equanimity and serenity these farmers possessed was amazing. Its not something unique and maybe most village people possess that sense of quiet. I was wondering and thinking up my co-ordinates (latitude and longitude).

It amazed me a Mumbai mole like me, standing in a village well and chatting with folks who had absolutely nothing in common. They were chatting with me and I was with them. Perhaps that’s what was common. It was an epiphany. I will remember that particular day, all my life. Nothing spectacular and life altering, yet spectacular and life altering. Simply !!!

Trains represent the slow but steady movement of life. Rarely does life move fast like a jet air craft or Does it ? I don’t know. And definitely life isn’t as easy as catching a plane. Neither is it as pamperous (I will stick with this word even if my vocab sucks) as a plane journey, fresheners, juices, entertainment and pretty little things they call airhostess. Life mirrors a train journey in a general compartment. The hard board sleeping quarters and the scramble for a place to rest your ass in peace. Goodwill is everything here, if you dont build goodwill, you cant even pee in peace (without forgoing your seat). Shitting for 2 days is out of reckoning. Still as the train moves from one station to another, people who you knew well move on and strangers come in (suspicios eyes, cautious glances and all). You have to build the goodwill all over again.

I love the chance of meeting new people, chatting with unknown folks on subjects of their interests. I love introducing myself to normal folks and explaining to them what I do sitting in a cubicle in a corner of a city and traveling to another corner by train. I love hearing their stories of life, trials, and tribulations. I love learning a different sense of humor much different from the city slick sardar bashing funny bone of mine.

I love the sweat, the grime, the dirt, the greasy poori baaji at Raichur. The soggy dosas with salty chutnis at Renigunta. I love the wonderfully happy sight of basin bridge junction just two stops before Chennai. For a long time the broken chimneys symbolized homecoming for the weary traveler into Chennai. I love the earnestness and nimbleness with which folks board and occupy every inch of train space at Arrakkonam. I love the sight of mango trees laden with green and golden fruits in between Puthhur and Tirutani.

My uncle used to say, there is great sense of calm and peace if you do a mundane and simple chore (his e.g. of jadu pocha / washing dishes). Something as simple and humbling as mopping the floor and doing it intensely, so intensely that you sweat and feel tierd. A train journey symbolizes the same kind of labour while traveling. Right from getting into the station and boarding the train (while it is coming in to the station) for a seat. I always managed to get an upper birth for myself. I would then chose a deserving candidate and share it with him. The logic was simple, if you don’t share it with someone, soon more than one would occupy it (to your misery). Why not share it with just one more tierd traveler and build some goodwill so that you get to lie down and he will be glad to just sit.

I have long watched the gujaratis/marwaris travel and eat. From chivda, to roti, gur dal, thepla and paan every thing is neatly packed with a lot of care and love. The whole families don’t just have dinner. They celebrate dinner !!!

Soon the ticket checker became a good friend. One particular checker used to say “enna Vasu sir”. He used to pride by the fact, that he remembers my name. And almost immediately he would quip “where is your sapna”. Though I used to be sick of hearing this “ek-duje-ke-liye” take on my name, I would smile and humor the ticket checker. You know why ;)

For my love of trains, I am a true Mumbaiker. Trains are a great equalizer. A metaphor of a public space, that belongs equally to all and not just a few rich. It’s a market place where one could buy and sell stuff. It’s a puja room, where one could do bajhans. Its my dining table, where I have my half pack (err.. full pack) “hide and seek” for breakfast. Its my singing room, where I sing on top of my voice and the dude pressing his sweaty back onto mine in a crowded borivili fast, doesn’t care. You see the rush to get last into the train so that one can hang free and breathe the smell of salty Mumbai air. There are the regulars, who play rummy on the go. Sitting, standing, leaning. If you stare long enough, smile and pick up a conversation one would get a place to sit and play too. That’s confirmed ticket in a Mumbai local. It can be had only by building goodwill.

It’s the heartbeat that never stops (only when it floods the tracks). Once in every 3 minutes. It’s the Dadak Dadak, with a harmonic shake that incessantly takes it to my destination.

As I am reading the book “Why everyone loves a good drought” by Sai Nath, My eyes adjust themselves to the incessant to-and-fro motion of the train and. My mind is amazingly still and is focused on the book. I hear myself say “Nowhere else can I do this but on an upper birth of a general compartment”. There is so much peace. I just close my book and drift into a dreamless sleep.

Movies - Rajni and Shah Rukh Khan

2005-06-03T22:02:00.000-07:00

Last week, I met an old classmate (of college days) of mine and we talked about almost everything under the sun, The years that went by, old flames, new friends, Past ego hassles, Movies et. al. It was an interesting time overall and we agreed both of us have changed quiet a bit. She has too, except when it came to some weird maniacal obsession with her matinee idol "King Khan". According to her, she and her whole family have never missed a single Shah Rukh khan movie first day first show. Never missed a show of his in Bangalore. I am not quiet surprised by the female fascination of Shah Rukh Khan. But guys? blowing French kisses when he sings "Thum Paas Aaye, youn muskuraye"... That kind of shit makes me squirm..

I decided, that there is a bit of soul searching that I have to do and also examine dispassionately this phenomenon so that I can better grapple with whats happening. What’s wrong, is it me ? or is it the world I live in. I desperately needed to solve this disconnect.

I hail from Chennai. Lived my life in alwarpet, mylapore and T.Nagar. Friends mainly from tondiarpet, mylpaore, ayodhya kuppam. Ever since my childhood, I have been a boy of the streets playing street cricket, kings, mudug puncture (for a detailed description of this game of raw power, accuracy and manliness please wait for the next post titled “The games we played”) , Seven stones etc. Women have always been restricted to a dry comment once in a while of "super figure machi". My closest friends had names such as Jayapal, Rames, sottai. The ramakrishnans and Sunderramans were classmates who I rarely hung out with. Bryan adams, mettalica etc. etc. were English music fundas the iyer boys used to give and so was Kambodhi, Thodi and Kalyyani (carnatic rags). I was not that dextrous. For me, it has always been thalaivar songs (thalaivar equates with leader. At times, it is Rajni, Ilayaraja, SPB, Jesudass and even Deva). The hero worship was immense and virulent, cos Rajni represented all our ambitions, aspirations, and he was always an underdog changing the world order. It was a carefully cultivated image by Rajni. All his songs right from "Annan yenna, thambi enna" had a deeper meaning of life and were mildly philosophical.

Movies have always been "Rajni" and always "Rajni". A trip to a Rajni movie used to be an affair to remember. It starts the day when thalaivar announces the name. Immediately all the manrams (clubs) would be buzz with activity and sub manrams used to vie for the biggest honour. It was a show of strength. Right from sticking posters to putting up banners. The responsibility was onerous. Thalaivars' movie should beat the record. The territories would be divided and every known person contacted and goaded to make a trip to the theatre. The watching experience itself was a challenge. Right from getting the ticket and getting into the theatre, setting out flyers when "Super Star Rajni" comes on the screen. Whistling, dancing, shouting, clapping, and lighting up a thousand wala (inside the theatres). It was a carnival. The whole experience from organising till making sure the movie is seen the mandated 10 times was simply mind blowing.

As I grew up, I grew out of rajni, drifted to Kamal and Barathi Raja, even ventured into adoor, Sathyajth Ray, Shyam benegal, Ram gopal Verma, John Mathew mattan. I started understanding Rajni movies and the values they stand for. It gives the poor common man, a sympathizer and a sense of identity. If he cannot challenge Amma, there is always Rajni who could.

The jewel of the crown was in 1993 elections. Rajni and amma live in the same street - Poes garden. Amma was used to traveling in an entourage of 50 cars and holding up the traffic sometimes for an hour or two. In one such occasion outside his own house, Rajni was caught in a jam and he decided enough was enough. In true style, he got out of his car and walked straight out on the road. The crowd mobbed him and swelled all over him. He continued walking and Amma's juggernaut came to a screeching halt. The police couldnt do a shit and Amma and her entourage had to wait till Rajni reached his house. All that culminated in Rajni giving a loaded statement "If jayalalitha came to power, no one can save tamilnadu". Amma lost power and her deposit in bargur. The message was clear and simple "Dont mess with rajni, he will stand for the poor and question injustice. He will stop Amma for you".

That was years back and now Rajnis movies seldom appeal to me except for nostalgia of the golden time. I moved onto Coimbatore, Pune and Mumbai. My dream of studying in Pachaiyappas (a college of ill-repute but super cool attitude) remained a dream. even Tamil movies changed to relationships and romances. I dont mind romantic turns, but should be a natural part of movie. I cant take too much sweet. I am diabetic. I moved on to English and voraciously saw movies of a different kind. I understood the world was larger and grew steadily and sometimes fast.

As I moved from town to town, then country-to-country, I made a lot of friends. Discussed movies, understood other cultures and values. I adapted a large part of my experiences and changed my outlook to life. My old friends laugh at me, If I say "lets go for an english movie". I am a changed man compared to the 90s. As I undertand there is a lot to life than just romance and when life is so balanced, I expect the movies to be balanced too. That’s where the Shah Rukh-Karan Johar movies bewilder me.

My first Shah Rukh movie was Bazzigarh and frankly I liked it. After that came a string of romantic movies of the sensitive kind, where the King Khan almost seemed to be a girl. To start with he wears lipstick, and is immaculately groomed – no sign of roughness. In almost all his movies he is international, lives out of london, has a super rich father and wears swanky suits in Mumbai. Now the only people who wore suits were the corporate honchos and the cuff parade waalas. And you need to have an AC car and a chauffer to carry a suit gracefully. Imagine getting into the borivili fast at Andheri with a Raymond suit on :D. Back to the topic, It looks to me as if the hero’s purpose in life was to bag the girl and nothing else. At least nothing else is shown. He rarely works somewhere and he cries profusely almost as immediately as a teen. Looks as though he was a hero created to satisfy the maternal instincts of a female. The heroes they wanted to connect with. It was not a hero without an identity of his own. There is a big disconnect between this world and myself. I can not understand this imagery and portrayal of a character. There is no one like that I know. Perhaps someone can throw some light.

All questions started when I found my 12 year old niece screaming for Shah Rukh Khan. All the mushy-mushy karva chauth, connecting with the heroine, her mother, her sister and her whole family, bearing of deep emotions out in the open is fine. But men, going ga ga over these phenomena stumped me totally. One of my friends was expressive in his narration of how Shah Rukh khan would connect with Kajol's mom in DDLJ. I was damm embarrassed hearing it narrated. The only comparison to this awestruck admiration was when Jayapal my friend years ago narrated how Rajni the underdog, tames telugu action queen Vijay Shanthi in Mannan. Just these two images side by side stressed me out totally. They were the total opposite ends of my movie experience. Is not all this bearing of innermost feelings unnatural? I even thought there is something wrong with me. I tried rehearsing it with my friend and changing my style. She just said "Vasu you look ridiculous".

Nowadays I walk out of theaters when a movie is lousy (English, Tamil or Hindi). After my old obsession with rajni died down, I watched and appreciated all good movies that make people think and those that focused on life. I walk out of movies that are bad and no chick flick unless there is a chick around. The only exception was Govinda and I am a great fan of comedy. All kinds - charlie chaplin, crazy mohan, Jim carrey. My all time favourite was and is Office space. Where does Shah Rukh - Karan Johar fit in all this is too difficult to fathom for my mind?

Maybe I am not mature enough to understand the subtle nature of those emotions and expressions. I dread the day when I start understanding these. Kindly dont be offended by my dislike of King Khan. I assure you, I tried my very best, but really cant come to like him or his chum buddy Karan Johar.

"A karaoke night to remember"

2005-05-30T01:33:00.000-07:00

Sometimes life throws up this amazing pair of experiences. Literally on the extremes. Yesterday was one such night. Upon invitation (not that I needed) from Anita Bora "The Oracle" of the blog world (http://www.anitabora.com/), I joined her in Opus a karaoke garden bar with step seating, white cushions and candle lit ambience. It was the typical metrosexual's haunt. Anyway I was feeling queasy and decided to double check with Anita, if this was the same place. It was and I finally spotted her. There was Bunty a fresh new face (literally) and Suman. I did recognise him but couldn’t get where and when we had met. He also went on an endless loop on seeing my face. It was like the windows program gone bad and the hour glass is perennially rotating. I could see the hourglass on his face in slow motion. Anyway we settled in and the beers arrived. At least there is something that fits in with me. Before no time, I was comfy with the place (I am changing already).

I tried deciphering the equations across the tables. What brings Anita the blog queen, Bunty the whiz kid and Suman (The The The ok whatever) on the same table? A few gulps down and a lot of listening got me a ton of blogger tips and I eventually got it, everyone was a blogger !!!.. I know half the world would have gone "Dumbo" , but hey I come with windows 3.1 preloaded and I am totally out of step with what’s happening.

Meanwhile there came the caricaturist. A typical KCP guy, who had the gift of the gab. He caricatured the handsome Suman and produced the most grotesque looking large chinned cartoon that dint even look like him. I dint want to be so blunt with the comment especially in front of the artist, but seriously Suman should think twice before framing it. After all a frame costs 300 bucks and the cartoon costs 75 bucks. Is it wise to put good money behind bad ???

Bunty - Bong who doesn’t drink !!! "Crap, there is no such thing", that’s what I thought. Where else but in bong-land would you get a peg of Old Monk for 8 bucks in a theatre that too.... The good thing is he is on his way to some US university. He is going to rock and roll for sure. Some sexual healing ;) . Wish him the very best. Do continue your post and kindly be a little more candid :D. It has always been my dream to watch "Pather Panchali" with Old Monk in my hand.

Dr. Chitra, Suman's wife came in and instantly recalled where we had met earlier. BTW, I had figured it out much earlier and on my own ok..(5 mins after meeting suman) and Suman's hour glass was still on. Chitra's memory was impressive. She even remembered what we ordered that day in Pizza Hut... my only response was "Suman, watch out"...

The crowd started streaming in slowly. All kinds of people walked in, some young, some old, some drunk in love and some drunk… In no time the whole place was full. The beer calmed my nerves. A couple of gulps, it was time for another one!! When the big show started.

There it was, an opener by some of the organizers and Romolacola was up on stage and belted out some song about love, McGee etc. etc. in perfect voice, rhythm and poise. I was stunned by the whole performance. Then came Anoopa, a thorough professional who deftly adjusted the mike from her face as she went high... The night was just getting started... Singer after singer after singer some professional and good and some real bad belted out love numbers which included "Bye Bye Miss American Pie".. Now I have some rancid feelings about this song. The last time I heard this song was in Jersey years back when five of us benchers shared a car and gloomy "days inn" lodging. One of them used to play this song everyday from hotel to office. Damm those bench days, I am sick of it. And this song epitomised all that was wrong with my life then. I get sick in my stomach every time I hear this song. I can even remember the turns the road took when the song meandered through the lyrics. And that fellow bencher of ours who we all hated used to play this song twice. He was the only guy who knew how to drive and would rock his head from left to right rhythmically as the lyrics went "Bye Bye Miss American Pie". This was the low point of the whole night.

There was one brave guy who bleated out a song named "Day sleepers". It embarrassed the shit out me and crashed all thoughts of going up there to sing. He was part of this large crowd who cheered through the embarrassment. I wished I had a couple of such people cheering me when I lift some iron. Then came a couple of enthusiastic ladies (especially the one in yellow) who just forgot to switch on the mike. It was nice watching the one in yellow; she was more dancing than singing.

By the time "The Oracle" said, ok let’s call it a night I was numb hearing all those songs of love, pain. I even felt a small change legitimising all that "singing the heart out" people were doing. A couple of months back, I would have said, "what crap". But today was a dose well beyond what I can handle.. or maybe I have changed, become true metrosexual... or maybe the beer was spiked, I would know tomorrow. We then went to Garibon ka saathi Empire for some parota, dosa and by the time I dropped Bunty and hit the bed it was close to 12.30.

GRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRr... the alarm roared and I woke up to reality... Instinctively I mumbled to myself....

"I am an animal. I need to train. When I put on my shoes for training, it’s like turning on a switch. I become a creature, not a human. I look to tear apart anyone and everyone in my way to hugeness and I don't care how I do it. I can feel my heart start jumping and my body saying "Beat me into the ground like a red-headed step child, I want punishment. I want to be a freak, a FREAK I TELL YOU!!"

Slowly I made it to the kitchen and gulped half a liter of milk. I put on my shoes and I was off to an hour of intense work out. Today is chest day, I want to annihilate myself totally before getting my ass back home.

Rakesh was there sweating it out on the tracks when I entered. Rakesh is my Iron buddy... the meanest sadist in town. He lifts a ton everyday (10x4 fucking sets of 30 Kilos) makes him big. When we met first time, I was struggling at 10 kilos and requested him to spot for me. The MoFo upped it to 15 when I wasn’t looking and almost destroyed me. His response was "Hey no mercy between Iron brothers".

I want to grow big. If not like Arnold or Mike Metzner atleast big enough to give me snake tattoo some room to move.Somehow things are back to normal, so normal I can look back and say "What a freaky night"... But the comment that takes it all came from Bunty..

In one of this moments a true and genuine emotion spills out right out of buunty's mouth.

He goes,"I have come to the conclusion that the opposite sex is a complete bitch !!"

I just laugh quietly and say to myself as Jedi master Yoda does "Little Bunty Skywalker much pain he is in "..

I like it...