A futile conversation

"Yeh sab heera hai ya yeh sone ka hai?"

I looked up, surprised at being so distracted during my trip to Turkministan. And that too just at the moment when i was beginning to appreciate the megalomania of that country's benevolent dictator. Mr. Novoyev, who the museum director was telling me, had renamed their names of days and months as per his choices.

Well, not exactly telling me, but telling Mr. Paul Theroux whose book i was reading seated in the auto on my way to office in Goregaon, Mumbai. Those words were spoken to me by my autowallah.

I looked up, and with memories of Turkministan fast fading, i realized what the context was. There was a BEST bus right in front with a hoarding screaming, "Kisna Jewels" and with sparklers the size of tennis balls shaped as rings and pendants. Even then, the question seemed out of place. A 3 year old could have told the difference.

"Heera hai", said I, feeling kinda stupid. He looked back, giving me a silly "i knew it" grin. He had an interesting look on his face though. A look of childlike curiosity. He asks

"Yeh heere ka mol kaise hota hai?"

I had by now shut my book. Partly to avoid making him look back and crash onto something and partly to satisfy my own need to share gyan, i started off on a long lecture on diamond valuations. I took him through a crash course on color, cut, clarity, and karats. Starting from the mines of South Africa, to the sweatshops in Surat, and from there onward to auction houses in London. About small pendants such as the one we'd just seen, used as anniversary gifts, and about the kohinoors of the world which influence bilateral relations amongst countries.

All along he was rapt in attention. Never once did he get a chance to look back during the next 15 mins. I felt good about myself. A glow which comes about when u've managed to explain a particularly arcane topic to a difficult audiance. Or so i thought.

As i was collecting change back from him, he asks. "Toh isme aur sone mein kya pharak hota hai?" I became silent. The realization of the futility of my knowledgeble and passionate speech saddened me.

Iska jawab phir kabhi dost, said i and walked away with a heavy heart.

Random thoughts on the Mumbai attack

Beginning the night of the 26'th of Nov and lasting till the early hours of the 29'th, Mumbai was under seige. Under seige the "Maximum City", of 20 Million plus, because of 10 armed professional killers. It ended, on the early morning hours of the 29'th with the NSG managing to "neutralize" 9 of them and take 1 to custody.
Below are some of my thoughts around this incident which i want (have?) to share.Maybe to vent as well. But purely from a volume perspective, would want to talk about views which i dont really find expressed in the media coverage around this incident.

• It is now the evening of the 29'th. The nation is seized with a sense of helplesseness which it doesnot know how to shed. Politicians are obviously the first target. Expensively dressed individuals come on television blaming the "system" or the "establishment". Any politician who tries to be remotely pragmantic is panned by the media. Clearly, everyone needs a tangible villian. Will they go ahead and create one?
• On the night of the 26'th, i was glued to the TV till the wee hours of the morning. Amongst the striking visuals i remember was that of Mr. Hemant Karkare, the ATS chief who subsequently was shot down by the terrorists, leading operations near the foot-over-bridge in VT. 'Why doesnt he have a bulletproof jacket on? I wondered as i comfortably dozed off ' that night at 3:30 Am. At 5:30 in the morning my phupha from Assam woke me up. "Are you aware that terrorists in Mumbai have killed most of the police top brass?" I got up, dazed and confused, not knowing what he was referring to till i switched on the tube. To me, nothing more that 120 minutes had passed since i last saw him alive.
• Mrs Karkare, has refused compensation offered by Narender Modi. To me , this is the biggest news item of the entire day.
• 10 terrorists . 400 injured. 1 guy on an average managed to shoot dead or injure 40 individuals. Who cares if they are civilians and not equiped professionals? They were kafirs anyways. If i were a brainwashed fidayeen, why would i want to fight a war? This is so much easier!
• I did an MBA. I saw it as the easiest way to earn money and be comfortable. And make my loved one's comfortable as well. I never regretted that. Till this day maybe. When i saw the body of Major Sandip Unnikrishnan, the 31 year old Major in the NSG who got shot down at the confrontation in Taj, being taken through his last rights by his very composed father. "My son laid down his life in his duty to the country", said his very proud father, almost smilingly to the TV cameras. To me, along with Mrs. Karkare, here atlast, stood an equal gentleman. Would i be ever able to make my father as proud?

Frankly, no chance.

• Mr. Karambir Singh Kang- the GM of Taj Mahal Hotel has not stopped work clearing hostages even after getting to know that his wife and kids have been charred to death in their rooms. There was this dazed photograph of him sitting by the bay on the early hours of the 27'th morning which was published in TOI. Having a sip of water before joining back work at the operations in the hotel. This was after he got to know about his family.
• "Are you safe?" Is what most of my outstation friends tend to start their converstions with whenever they have called me up in the last few days. I reply back,

" I'm home"

knowing fully well i cannot ever convincingly answer back on that question.

• I have been in this city since 2006. During my early few months, and in some ways -till date, the ultimate symbol of arrival in Mumbai was all about walking into the Taj Mahal Hotel for a dinner. Of whatever history i've managed to read up about this city, these aspirations were not too different from what people have had a 100 yrs back. To my mind, the terrorist have not hit a landmark, a structure, or a monument. They have hit my aspiration, and the aspiration of millions of other Mumbaikars. And that is what their biggest mistake is.

A city lies in wait..

Raj Thackrey was arrested early today morning. I was about to leave for office in the morning when i got a call from a colleague advising me to switch on the tube. Fascinating shots of the 30 car long convoy carrying him from Ratnagiri to Bandra with an "embedded" reporter held my attention for long. Of course this meant no office and the fact that i'd have to cook lunch on my own. Oh bugger!

Around noon, decided to step out instead and try out the restaurants in the neighbourhood. The fact that something was wrong struck me from within the gates itself. They were locked from within and the two security guards (who'd normally be dozing) were on their feet. "Saab, sub dukane-mandi band hai." I stepped out nonetheless. Hunger and the horror of self cooking is a powerful deterrent. I should not have.

What i felt (saw?) was disturbing. I felt fear. I saw gates-locked and bolted in broad daylight. Worried shopkeepers peeping through downed shutters. Youth, gathered in small groups chatting in a purposeful manner. Bored servants loitering in the courtyards watching them. Anticipating things to happen. Sometimes it is this anticipation which loiterers decide to oblige. Worried passengers on bus from Pune, staring wide-eyed to verify what they would have seen on onroute in wayside hotels. All presenting a perfect audience for mischief mongers. One loud cry, one stone thrown at a windowpane, one parked vehicle attacked was perhaps all it took for the situation to snowball.

I have seen plenty of such situations in my childhood growing up in the days of ULFA insurgency in Guwahati. Eerily, Mumbai today closely resembled Guwahati of the 90's. Not a sign of good things to come.

City Runs

"The best way to explore a city, is to run through it"

This truism apart, i find it really fascinating to explore whatever small part of the city i can by taking a jog through it. Mumbai, Delhi, and Hyderabad are 3 cities where i've managed to do this, and an early morning jog lets me discover some aspects of the city which i never knew existed. I am writing this immediately after returning from a trip to Hyderabad, so i'll start off with that.

With the mumbai marathon season being around the corner, i'd made sure to pack my sneakers on this trip. On the day i left, i was not too enthusiastic about the place of stay supporting me with any sort of open spaces. I was to put up in White Fields, Kondapur- the heart of the Hyd IT city. Curiously, the landscape around that part is very similar to what Gurgaon is. An odd mixture of rocky terrain, glass buildings, dry heat, glitzy cars, and no public transportation. Except for the last bit, nothing that would really enthuse a runner.

Next morning i had to call upon every ounce of my motivational strength to pull me out of bed. The extra two hours of sleep with the warm blanket never seemed so tempting. The most active time for self doubt seems to be at 6 AM in the morning. Running a marathon? Forget it man. That was another time, another you. Now you are 6 kilos overweight and on wobbly knees. Whats the damn point? What's the point of running on rocks? my running shoes seemed to scream as i sat dazed tying them inside the dim light of my hotel room in the morning. Somehow i pulled myself away from the room and went down to ask the reception guy about a good route for the run. I expected a bemused smile and a furrowed brow on such a question which i believed no one before me would have asked him. It was after all, a guest house in the heart of the business district of the town. Instead i got a prompt answer- botanical garden saar...right across the road!

The place had a nice ring to it for a runner. If he would have said park i'd probably have started running on the road in the other direction, ground would have meant an open grassy surface without any tracks around it, just garden would have probably meant a small flowery place. However, a botanical garden immediately conjured up images of me running through an empty jogging track meandering across acres and acres of landscaped tree varieties separated by cute ponds with wooden bridges across them. Something straight out of central park in the movie Autumn in New York. And of course Winona Ryder taking a leisurely stroll across the grounds.

Yeah right, i thought, wake up and cross that busy road without getting run over.

When i entered the place, i knew my wildest running dreams had come true. Immediately when inside the impressive gates, a small wooden midget signboard stuck on the ground gave me an inclination of things to come. Walking track- 3200 m , it said. Pointing to a red gravel path which actually meandered between two humongous lily covered ponds and disappeared between tall trees and manicured shrubs. I pushed back my dropping jaw back and slowly started breaking into a jog. I knew i had to run through that track. Walking across such a landscape would have been a waste. No, an affront, an insult rather.

The initial 700 mtrs of the track turned out to be very well maintained. A broad walkway through which four people could walk abreast. Criss-crossing flower gardens and the two ponds. With pagoda shaped shelters dotting the path. And plenty of cheerful morning walkers wishing you a good morning. The rest 2 and half kms was even better. At one point, the road suddenly tapered off into a narrow one lane path which disappeared into thick dew covered shrubs. I didnt see any walkers ahead and headed straight through. Almost immediately the jungle closed in. There was barely a path visible now and nothing around except for the track through dense trees and shrubs. Surprised, i stopped and turned around. I realised i'd left the landscaped part behind, and this pathway probably circled around the entire park and would lead me back to the main gate. Encouraged, i continued running this secluded and dark track. It brought back memories of a similar lane in my village in Assam which used to lead to a smaller hamlet.
Dense, dark, and mysterious...this track piqued my curiosity and i become determined to run it through.

And i was glad i did. I took way-too-long to run that distance, however on the way i managed to disturb two wild peacocks, passed a curious sight of a man sleeping on a huge earth excavator in the middle of the jungle(it definitely was the under construction part of the park), crossed an old public urinal which looked deserted and suitably evil at 6:30 in the morning to be a part of a Ramsay brothers movie. And all this, along with the not-so-distant view of the under construction IT buildings seen through breaks in the foliage.

When i emerged out of this on the western end of the park (not without having to ask for directions though), i couldnot help noticing a signboard which pointed to the same direction i'd come out from saying - 'Restricted area, please donot enter'.

Boy, was i glad i did.

Wars and their movies

I have picked up a quirk of watching war movies over the last couple of weeks. The fascination has grown over to such an extent now that the view rate is almost one a day. I have come to realize that this is a really vast genre of film-making and the breadth of work on offer demands one to be very selective based on tastes. At the same time i never did want to be straitjacketed into only watching lists on IMDB or Academy award winners. Like i said, i let me decide what to watch.
To my mind some of the classifications i work with are contemporary big budget, jingoistic 4'th of july release types (behind enemy lines, LOC, black hawk down); takes on the idea of war by acclaimed directors (private ryan, full metal jacket ); and fictionalized accounts of past wars and strategies adopted by generals ( longest day, letters from iwo-jima, Patton, Mc Arter etc).

The last is the type of movie that i enjoy the most. Maybe its because of the fact that of the other classifications ive mentioned, these movies are the one's most fiercely anti-war. I believe it stems from the fact that the overwhelming futility of war can never stand the test of solid reason and objective questioning. And in the military, its only Generals who are allowed to do that.

They are the ones debating the finer details of going to war with mostly unscrupulous and at times war-mongering politicians. Knowing fully well that the stakes are as high as they can be and that the only voice of reason and experiance of the horrors of war's would be his alone. As Field Marshal Sam Manekshaw once choose to put it "I wonder whether those of our political masters who have been put in charge of the defence of the country can distinguish a mortar from a motor; a gun from a howitzer; a guerrilla from a gorilla."


They are the one's weighing between battles to be fought or sidetracked, it is their decision alone. And most of the times these decisions need to made with incomplete information and gut feel. Even worse is when these decisions need to be taken under political interference. For example, as shown in the movie The Longest Day, on the night of D'day when german troops were stationed at all the wrong beaches and there was enough evidence that the allies have landed elsewhere, following is the conversation purported to have been held between Field Marshal Rommel and his deputy General Jodl:

Field Marshal Erwin Rommel: Those men are sitting on the beach at Calais throwing rocks at each other while our men are being slaughtered in Normandy.
General Alfred Jodl: [firmly] The Fifteenth Army is waiting for Patton at Calais and he will land there.
Field Marshal Erwin Rommel: You seem perfectly willing to accept this nonsense, Jodl. Why? General Alfred Jodl: [chuckles] Because I am not allowed to dispute the Fuehrer.



And then there are the times when, as a last resort, the Generals have to push their forces, at times fully aware that their doing so can means certain death for the soldier. Even at these times movies have typically shown Generals to be at their witty and learned best. In Patton 1977, the general is shown to have remarked "No bastard ever won a war by dying for his country. He won it by making the other poor dumb bastard die for his country." His adversary Field Marshal Rommel, in a different context, eggs his loosing foot soldiers by saying "In the absence of orders, go find something and kill it."


Unfortunately, within a military hierarchy serious thought about issues of actual importance during a war are only encouraged above and from the ranks of Generals. Below them everyone else is engaged only in thinking through the best way to make that kill. Any other thought is quickly branded mutiny or cowardice.Thinking, for the military war machine, is pushed up to the Generals. That is why most of the engaging of war movies have to be on them.

Pegging Patiala- Part 2

Absolutely non-discrepit. Thats how you feel about Patiala city. To someone who's grown up north of India, the city is non-distinguishable from any other. In fact you wouldnt even know that its Patiala until you reach that one big chowk with the State Bank of Patiala building nearby which welcomes you there in big fonts. Hmm...now what? is perhaps the question which would spring up in every tourists mind.
Yep..we thought as much. But we'd heard of a couple of places from friends. Though sceptical we were, we were deprived of civilization, fairly confident of the peg at the end of the rainbow (read: day), and therefore knew that we couldnt do much wrong. Sheesh Mahal is where we headed to first.

Unlike the n number of sheesh mahals in n cities of India that n number of tourist mom's drag their bored kids to, this one here in Patiala has no mirrors. Can you beat that?? Whoever has heard of a Sheesh Mahal with no mirrors. I felt cheated. And almost wanted to demand my money back from the guard. Particularly after having seen the interior of the palace converted into a museum. We were desperate to see the sights and sounds of the city instead, here we were pretending to appreciate ancient tibetian art inside a dinghy gallery. But then there's a upside to the Sheesh Mahal we didnt realize till late. And i'm sure even the late Maharaj Narender Singh, the founder of the Sheesh Mahal was not aware of this. They serve Fountain Pepsi in paper cups on the gardens outside. Ah bliss! To get to taste cola after all that time almost made up for having to see Narender's collection. On later reflection, maybe Narender's future generations had gotten plagued with guilt over their Sheesh Mahal with no mirrors and decided to make amends with all those glass structures we saw along the road? Tch...Tch...one wonders..maybe it would have been just easier to re-name the damn thing?

Anyways, it was already late afternoon by this time and the next two city-must do's was the gurudwara Dukhniwaran and Baradari gardens. Post that, we could safely say been-there-done-that and down those much talked about pegs. On the way to the gurudwara is when we had the first chance to really travel on Patiala roads. Smooth and neat they were. And running alongside elaborate tree line bungalows on either side of the roads. And for a change, none of those bungalows had football, Maruti-800, or Jet-plane shaped water tanks on their roofs (this is fairly common in rural-Punjab). The roads ended in circular roundabouts with well maintained gardens and designated yellow road signs. Not bad for a small city, one thought. The Gurudwara itself was in a busy marketplace and was sort-of special to me becuase it was the first ever i'd entered in. Maybe i'd never write about religion in my blog, so i am choosing not to elaborate on this.

Next stop was baradari gardens, which I remember more becuase of its huge and ancient peepul tree more than anything else. Navnit had a good idea and decided to take some sepia tinted pics which give it a very bhootia look against the late evening sun. Other than that, the garden has a decent joggers track which i remember being quite inviting to break into a run in.

Having done the mandatory touristy thingy we realised we were hungry and had not eaten post lunch. Thats when the hunt for the highly recommended M/S Oberoi and M/S Verma bakery of baais no. phaatak started. Of course, as with almost every highly recommend places this one also had to be exclusive to the point of being obscure. But after a sizeable number of bewildered passer by's and nauseating u-turns later we did manage to reach this market below a flyover which had two bakery shops resembling the describtion. The bakes were good but Mr Oberoi was better becuase he seemed knowledgeable and did guide us to the right watering hole. It turned out to be a nice place with a breezy garden and tables with white cloth on top.

Yep folks..thats how the peg finally got downed. I think it was Vodka, though we didnt down it neat as we perhaps should have, as a mark of respect to the city that's given th world the measuring instrument tipped 30 ml more towards the correct side. But what the heck, the city has also introduced the trend of glass less sheesh mahals. We mixed it with sprite, and aptly so becuase the mix symbolised how our experiance was.

Pegging Patiala- Part One

We knew we had to go. Being stuck in a plant site in a remote village on weekends is not exactly fun. You do that for for 3 weekends in a row, and somehow you know u've reached the tipping point. But where to? is the question that bothered us. For making it to Shimla or Delhi you definitely need more than a weekend, even Chandigarh with its added attraction of sophisticated civilisation (read malls!) was annoyingly slightly more than a day's journey away( four hours one way). But why Patiala? We kept asking ourselves. We didnt get any reasonable answers though. Its just another small sleepy town. Allright, maybe 30 ml more, but could we drink to that?

But then we didnt have much of an option and therefore set off late morning on a Sunday. It was a boring two hour ride through empty rice and paddy fields. Perhaps the only point of attraction in that journey was two varieties of structures which i can only classify as being punjabi architecturul marvels.

Let me introduce the first as being symbolic of punjabi foresight and vision. Circulars steel mesh boundary walls covering an empty area as large as a cricket stadium. Set amidst lush green rice fields culminating in large ornamental greek gates of intricate columns and gargoyles. The gates are fabulous structures in pristine white marble carved into cupids with pointed arrows on one side and greek godesses, shielding themselves with bare hands, on the other. With a huge signboards over them announcing, "Gaurson: Rural City" or "Dhillons: Countryside Town" or "Ravinder's: Village Appartments" or something equally ridiculous. Of course, the signboards and the elaborate intricacies in the gate design varied, but the consistent part was the stark emptyness inside those gates. Some of the most populated "townships" we saw, at best consisted of a merrily grazing goats. I guess the only real similarity these places had with the promised comfortable punjabi rural life were crooked land agents and Swades inspired Kannada returned NRI's rolling in cash.

The other structure, and one perhaps much more common, consisted of slick glass covered nursing and engineering colleges stretching the entire highway. We were there towards the end of May so it was holiday season for the schools. Juxtaposed as they were against numerous rural straw and bamboo hutments and townships, at first it elicited a snigger. In a green landscape, they resembled shining-square alien eggs. Most of them didnt even have their base cemeted structure nor visible pathways leading in from the highway. Viewed from a passing car, they just seem to be sitting there (waiting to take off to intergalactic worlds?) in the green fields. All glass emerging from the earth. Sadly, unlike the above"townships", this blot cannot be easily laughed away and is perhaps more harmful to more than just a few rich NRI's.

Anyways, this is just the story while I was on my way. Let me tell u what Patiala looks in my next blog.

Mumbai Rains

Everyone has their respective best rain story to narrate. Here's mine.



Since i've returned back to Mumbai last week have been really keen to get back to my jogging schedule. Came back early from work last evening and headed straight to the park. I had just about completed two rounds when the heavens opened up.



Now, this rain was no drizzle. Unlike short burst of light rainfall which was typically the pattern that monsoons were settling into this season, this one had large and heavy raindrops. The kind of rain which stung if you stood in it unprotected. Combine this with un-predictable winds and imagine me caught in white sneakers, black shorts and white t-shirt, and an i-pod (without a water casing) and you know I have a situation at hand. Running back home is not an option at all, and autos-taxi's in mumbai would rather drown than ferry me for such a short distance. The park where I jog in is circular and is surrounded by a busy roundabout leading into the sion-trombay highway. Finding nowhere else to take shelter in, I had to cross the road and take cover below the awning of a bakery shop. This was at about 8:30 PM in the evening when traffic was at its peak. From below the awning i had a view of the road leading in from Chembur rail station which circles around the park, and hits the sion-trombay highway.



Initial relief at having found protection quickly gave away to irritation at having my routine disrupted. But looking at the heavy downpour, very soon i realized there's nothing to be done except to stop and wait for the rains to subside. I possibly couldnot afford to have my gadgets getting drenched. I turned on my music and started listening to Indian Ocean. I think the song is Kya Maloom and very aptly some of the lyrics went "teevra aandhi, mrityugami baadlon sangh chale...". Trees around were swaying around in the wind almost as if they could listen to what was being played. Meanwhile people around, who like me initially ran helter skelter from the onslaught were fast recovering and getting back on their feet. Roads which had turned empty of pedestrians for a short time were now beginning to show some activity. Cars, which had parked themselves on kerbs because of sudden lack of visibility were beginning to rev up and pull out. Large multi-coloured brollies sprung up and people around started pairing up, with the request of only reaching upto the nearest auto/taxi. As for me, perhaps of all the people under the awning who stayed the nearest, I had comfortably resigned to me fate of being stuck. The rain showed no sign of relenting and there was no one who could come pick me up as well.

Thats when the smell first hit me and I realized what a fool i'd been all along! I was standing in front of a god-dammed bakery shop. Quickly i rushed in to make amends and bought my self a large blue-berry muffin. Indian Ocean had meanwhile moved on to "Arre ruk jaa re bande" but i didnot let that deter me. I came outside and slowly let myself sink into the bliss. Rain drenched wind on my face, a muffin to finish off, good music, and time to kill while u watch other people scurrying around. God, i could do this forever.

The economy and my bai

Prices all around are rising. Rising inflation numbers have smugly settled into double digits. The OPEC chairman grimly say's crude prices are going to rise further. World wide food and commodity prices are near crisis levels. Bush says its becuase Indians and Chinese are eating more. White collar salaries are rising in India, Hewitt say's so. 15% on an average, fastest in Asia. And it comes at the back of 20% growth last year. And it shows. On our roads. Like cholestrol accumulating on a prosperous heart tissue, SUV's accumulate in Mumbai roads. Town planners do a bypass by building flyovers but any doctor will tell you this is a lifestyle disease.
On our empty city spaces come up malignent malls. These are tissue which grow uncontrolably fast by sucking in all available resources. No-one minds becuase people have money to spend.

I was looking for a bai for housework, and had sounded off the security gaurds about it. In anticipation, i did speak with a few neighbours around about the going rate. Nothing more than 300, i was sternly told. (warned?) A month. Apparently building folks had done much to try and maintain it at this level 2 years now. For 2 hrs work. Even if she manages to work four houses it comes to 1200 a month. Of back-breaking jhaadu-poocha for 8 hrs a day. Her husband probably manages as much, so the household total comes to 2400. Price of a evening get together over dinner and drinks.

She comes knocking on my door. I ask if she can come in at 7 AM in the morning. She says yes. I ask about the pagaar. She hopefully says 700. I say 300. She say's OK.

My name is Abdullah Omar Bin Ghati...and i'm Irish!

Yep folks..this is to announce that television still works.

Apart from cricket and news i mean. It always works for them. Just as it never did work for day time soaps. With or without Ekta Kapoor. Or for infotainment (whatever that's supposed to mean). Or for stylish english movie's dubbed in Hindi. Kill Bill Part -2 (Bill ki Maut-Dwitia)

If you havent guessed what i'm talking about, ladies and gentlemen, in true stand up comic style I give you- Last comic standing. Mondays 10 PM Star World. One -hour. Unlike sanitized, de-odoured, studio produced shows like simpsons or friends or the others-this one is raw. And gritty. And embarrassing. And you get to get to see guys like Buck who followed the talent scouts around 7 cities in the US and got rejected every single time.The scouts gave up in the 8'th and allowed him a live performance. This guy changed nothing and and came up with his standard intro line for the 8'th consecutive time across 8 cities-"Hello everyone-and welcome to the BUCK-STAR show!" And of course-got kicked out. He was super cool though.

And then there is this 65 yr old guy with a strong texan + amitabhbacchan accent. Smooth. Like crude(oil), if you get what i mean. He's been doing stand up comedy for the last 35 yrs in small bars around in Texas and never got noticed. Now he feels he's mellowed and matured (like (in) whisky) and his time has come. He's moved on to the next round and looks a strong contender. Do see where he goes next week.
Till then.(as he says)

Good night ladies and gentlemen,
and thanks for laughing.

Pandit Jasraj!

Was a virgin to Indian classical music concerts before. Dipesh, my colleague, got passes so i tagged along for the finale of Idea Jalsa to Nehru Auditorium yesterday. Went mostly for the novelty value, but if classical concerts are typically even a fraction as good-i'd be happy to go again.

This concert had solo performances by Janyanthi Kumaresh (on Veena), Dr. L Subramanium(india's leading violinist) and for the finale- a jugalbandi between Pandit Jasraj (Vocals) and Dr. L Subramanium. I really do not understand the basics of classical music but logically two yardstick seemed obvious-melody and the range of the sound/voice. Would tend to give more credit to the later because melody is far more easier to achieve. Solely based on this, what i heard was truly magical. I heard the human throat getting transformed into a musical instrument. An instrument whose strings were plucked at will across the octaves to match and better the notes emanating from the violin strings of another maestro. One inspiring the other to to excel. To move away from the beaten path. To innovate. To stamp their authority on the base as well as the highest notes. And then come back to the mean. Only for a moment though, to reflect on their journey-and smile together. And then embark onto new ventures again.

Something like a Roger Federer vs. Rafael Nadal match. Or Alain Prost pitted against Aryton Senna. Only in this case both knew they would win at the same time.

Afsane-The Nautanki

Caught a play in Mumbai after long. Had never been to Prithvi before this. The place is more a bungalow converted into a stage rather then a "theatre". The ambiance feels quite nice though. Kinda like a classroom. Intimate. With sets where the Prof. would have stood. Be on time, queque up to to enter first for the best seats (no seat numbers assigned), switch off mobiles, no talking-whispering-giggling except when the script tell u to-said the instructions. 50 odd people for the first day in class. Strangers. Rushing in for the best chunk of seats for self. Once done, demurely gazing around to see if their flusterings have offended any one. Gentlefolk. Unexpectedly thrown together yet sitting expectedly for the ice to break.

Still some time to go before class starts. Who are these folks around? None look like people who have to rush to work tomorrow at 7 am. They wouldnt have caught the 9PM show otherwise, one reasons. Dim lights. No uneasy conversations happen. No introductions are given. A lone candle in a red vase placed at the center throws flickering shadows around. The early arrivals walk back to the loo in the dark by trying to create non-existent space in the aisles. They are met by late comers trying to do the same in the opposite direction. People seated irritatedly slip legs back on sandals shoving them beneath seats to avoid getting crushed. Soothing kothi type piped music on speakers. Late comers groan eying their corner seats.
The sense of expectations suddenly rises. People hush. Lights dim further(didnt think that was possible), music alters. The curtain rises.

The show begins. No introductions are given there either.

While waiting for a client to call

Have got exactly an hour-and-half to kill before the call. Dont have no specific thoughts i want to write about, so read the below at your own risk.

Am simultaneously reading two books at the moment. Started off with The Gathering written by Anne Enbright and winner of the 2007 Man-Booker prize for literature. A dark, depressing, but strangely hilarious story of a large Irish family with too many (12) siblings growing up at the same time. Told through the eyes of one of the intelligent but masochistic sister, it talks about happenings in the family when one "problem" brother decides to drown himself-first with whiskey-then(and finally) with sea-water. I quite like the way the main protagonist, who happens to be quite close to the guy who drowned, feels guilty while at the same time has a fervent belief that she's not to blame.

A good read but somehow the Booker seems to be only interested in promoting depressing, elegiac, slow, beautiful, but utterly unreadable novels. In recent years The Gathering, Inheritance of Loss, Disgrace, God of small Things seem cases in point. Somehow chances of bright, pithy and hopeful stories like Life of PI seem to have drastically gone down. As Robert Harris, the bestselling author of novels such as Fatherland and Enigma, said in an interview that authors were being forced by agents to write 'Booker-winning' novels that were “grim and unreadable and utterly off-putting for many readers”. Sad.



P.S. :- Dont have a rat-ass's idea about who Robert Harris is or what his novels Fatherland and Enigma talk about, but he seemed like an authority and being a consultant i'm practicing building a penchant for quoting authority ;-)


The other one(thankfully) is a cheerful, freewheeling collection of short stories by Lavanya Sankaran based on the theme of Bangalore. Called "The Red Carpet" this one surprisingly has a very corny tag line which says "Every Family has a Story" which kinda makes it like a Ekta Kapoor-show wannabe. Or something out of bollywood like "Daag-The Fire" , or the hindi translation of Arnees Eraser, "Eraser-Naam aur nishan mitaa dunga".

But dont go just by the name-this is actually a very good read. Have found this nice review of the same online which also has her photograph prominently displayed (va-va-voom!)

http://www.hindu.com/mp/2005/05/09/stories/2005050901540100.htm

A random thought, but would authors who look like a fairer version of Smita Patil + Chitrangada Singh combine end up automatically selling more copies particularly if they grace each and every one of their reviews?

Anyways, gotto sign off, its past 6 PM and the client never called.

Two Cities, two engagements, a holiday, Goa, and beyond.......

Am back blogging after almost a month. Think i've gotten into this bad habit of waiting for an event to write about, and when an event does happen-then i get into evaluating if its significant enough to subject readers to the torture. Net result-no entry for more than a month! Therefore, have ditched this idea and have decided to be more frequent with my posts from now on, even if i dont have much to write about. Just to fill in the gaps-here's what i've been up to for the past one month.....

Post marathon i was out of action for 2 days with a strained ankle. Given the pain, i was fearing a stress fracture but thankfully it didn't turn out to be anything that serious. Had to limp to work for more than a week though. In hindsight, the marathon was actually an exhilarating experience and i feel i am hooked onto it for good. Unfortunately its an attriting sport and in the long run your knees tend to get shot by running on tar. Till i find a good grass track i have been taking a small break from it. Below is a pic of me having to work with a tortured ankle....


Meanwhile, was travelling quite a bit over the past month and had an opportunity to visit Bangalore and Hyderabad again. Managed to plug in two weekends at Bangalore so did have plenty of opportunities to go pubbing around with friends. Was quite looking forward to the biryani at Hyderabad but the gastronomic delights at the clients place proved too hard to barter.
Was quite impressed with the city though. Good people-comfortable with HindiEnglish so communication is not a problem, its a small city with good roads so transportation is also not an issue, and perhaps the best part....its quite inexpensive to live in as well.

My batchmates Amit and Anushree got engaged in Delhi over the past weekend. First couples from my batch to go the distance-so congrats to them! Unlikely people- one a Garhwali bustling with energy and opinions about everything under the sun-and the other a Bihari who's totally laissez-faire and cant understand life otherwise. Good going u guys, real heartwarming to see this materialize! Amit, buddy, i hope u realize fully what u're getting into. There's still time, its just an engagement! [:d] Managed a dinner with Anushree on Wednesday at a place called Kabura Resturent in Hyderabad where i got a good download on happenings around the event. All the talk about convincing parents, introducing relatives, settling down, starting afresh etc. hit home with the realization that the same thing is going to get repeated at some point with moi. Quite sobering!

Also, my cousin brother Uddippan threw in the bachelorhood towel. Only, as with almost all things with him, it turned out to be a bomb cause Prachee is a Marathi. But the dust settled soon and we decided to visit his in-laws place in Badlapur this weekend. Its a sleepy township, 3 hrs drive from Mumbai along the old Pune highway. Being at the foot of the western ghats gives the place a hill station feel with winding roads and houses with sloping roofs built atop stilts. The family turned out to be genuine marathi manoos with an open heart. It was good fun trying to interact with Prachee's two grannies who could speak and understand nothing except Marathi. Since my aunt and my mom did not understand even a word of that language, they together only contributed to the general noise. Imagine a room with 4 women speaking at the same time but none understanding the other and u get the picture! But the good part was, all were able to see the funny side of things and soon left the communication to my other cousin Rikul who could manage with patchy bits of that language. Things went off pretty smoothly since and as a next step the girls parents come down to my aunt's place in Assam.

Was in Goa over this weekend and let me tell u that place is fabulous as ever. Had hired a self driven car this time around with which we roamed the length and breadth of the state, literally. Did less of the beach thing this time around, so I got to see a more non-touristy sort of a flavour of the place. I still could not escape awesome food, good roads, and cheerful trusting people. What more could u ask for in a holiday?

Guts and Glory...

Phew....finally am one half-marathon old!

All old doubts, trepidations, and self-debates about possibilities are laid to rest....I did it- ran the entire stretch of 21 kms from VT to Worli and back in under 3 hrs (2hrs 45 mins to be exact). This culmination of efforts is extremely satisfying mainly because of the immense stretch involved in its fulfillment. But far greater than what i did was perhaps a few things that i saw happen on that day. Some i try to describe below.

• I donot know how marathons are like in other cities and countries, but from whatever i'd seen on TV i expected a serious and somber start. Given that we were starting off at 6 in the morning, I'd assumed a few cheerleaders, a few hundred participants, and a guy with a gun to signal the start. In their place, after coming out of the VT subway i was hit by psychedelic dance floor lights, techno and dhol music, and waves of thousands of runners-each runner cheering as loud(if not louder) than the 100'ds of cheerleaders themselves. I jumped into the crowd and immediately panicked as there was no space to run!Here you are trying to regulate your breathing to conserve energy and you suddenly get bumped into by another runner trying to do somersaults to the music!

I immediately knew i was in for a treat that day!

• The course started and ended at VT having passed through Pizzaria, taken a U at Oberoi, all along marine drive in the early morn, a right turn at Babulnath mandir, past Mahalaxmi temple and cheering residents from roof-tops, straight through haji-ali and upto Atria mall and back along the same route. The most scenic part was the combination of dawn breaking over Marine drive and the enthusiastic crowd cheering participants on. This was the stretch during which the chaff started thinning and one had enough space to run comfortably. Also I happened to reach Haji Ali at about the same time as the lead Marathon runners who's efforts were being filmed by two coast guard choppers flying in really low on the water. The picturesque white mosque glistening off the bay, the sight and sound of the two choppers hovering low overhead, and the fresh morning breeze made me forget that i was well near my max stamina stretch.

• When into a long run, it typically helps to get distracted from the pain. During preparations in the park this was accomplished by either music or by measured sprint bursts which lifted thresholds and boosted stamina in the long run. On marathon day this was taken care of by just glancing at the other runners. To say that there were all sorts would perhaps be a big understatement. A 60 yrs+ old couple zipped passed me at a steady pace near the Oberoi turn-dont recollect having seen them later in the circuit so they must have finished before i did; a 40 yr old lady running alongside me struggling to finish-running, walking, bending over with exhaustion and then running some more-but never giving up, later she managed to finish in about the same time i did. Enthusiastic school kids bursting with speed at the start of the course-almost all sitting along the kerbside half an hour into the run; one sweat drenched stinking dude promoting his website on his T-Shirt which said "know me better at harmitsethi.com".

Inspiring people there were plenty. There was this one dude who I crossed near the Intercontinental on my way back. A short guy on walking sticks and clearly in great pain having covered that distance, he still was doing a steady pace. Inspite of the fact that I was half-dead with exhaustion-I realized I was clapping as I crossed him.

This other runner- a villager from Yavatmal I’d met the day before at WTC while collecting my running bib, I saw him at the hospital tent at VT after completing my run. He was on IV drip and to me his knee bone appeared bent. But he was clearly happy and smiling. Went up-to him and he cheerfully boasted that he was second in the veteran category and had completed the race in 2 Hrs 10 mins. I asked if there was someway I could help him? He pointed to the running chip at his ankle and asked me to remove it. When I bent down to lightly touch his ankle he grimaced horribly. While walking out I wondered how would he reach back home in that condition?

• Spectators were obviously not to be left behind. You had a large party standing and doing bhangra at 6 in the morning near the Amex curb with 3-4 dhols and traditional attire, amused grey headed morning walkers at chowpatty smiling at the runners while their labradors furiously barked. One lustily cheering uncle near Wilson college clearly was not used to waking up early cause his T-Shirt message read in bold "TODAY IS NOT YOUR DAY". Enthusiastic? They were clearly much more than that. One Mahalaxmi resident was so keen on making a lady runner drink from his glass jar of electrol that he actually started running alongside her-and he did that for a good 5 mins in his slippers and pyjamas till the irritated runner had to stop, turn around, and vehemently say no!

Run-Mumbai -Run

The excitement has now moved on to the next level with the route map being released. 10 days to go and self doubt seems to grow exponentially every passing day. Perhaps I would be able to squeeze in only 1 or at max 2 practice sessions before the run and really havent moved forward from my limit of 15 Kms.






It sure would be fun to get up early in the morning and reach VT by 5 AM. I am in a dilemma if i should do a test run along the below route or should i leave it to be a virgin territory to be conquered?

The Gentle Game

New year's first post and i was planning to write on some other topic but then Sydney happened!

There are so many ironies to the incident that i find myself doubling over in laughter just thinking about the unlikeliness of the entire bit:

Irony 1 : (perhaps the most obvious and the biggest) Australians pointing fingers at Indian's for being racist.

I mean, WHAT THE! Of the many ills which plague Indian society(and there are many) racism simply does not figure in. Religious extremism, casteism, plagiarism, vandalism, xenophobic, misogynistic etc etc can perhaps be accepted but Australians need to understand that Racism does not exist in India. And no, we are not going to accept your guilt and heightened sensitivities just because your media blows things out of proportion.

Irony 2: In the face of extreme provocation, a sardar bad-mouthing someone by calling him a bander! This morning, Australian media seems to condone this by saying its a cultural issue. Poor Bhajji didnt know what he was talking about.

I'm like.....what the! Of course he knew what he was talking about. Thats precisely why we're giving Bhajji more credit for being a gentleman than due. In all likelihood, like any self-respecting sardar, Bhajji's first word out would have been a BE#$^C*OD! which a smarting Symonds couldnot fathom and chose to hear otherwise.

Irony 3: (actually 2 hidden ironies in 1)Umpire Mr. Benson asking the opposition captain Ricky Ponting if Matthew Clarke had caught Ganguly's catch cleanly.

hidden irony 1 : An experienced Englishman pleading an Australian to be fair.

hidden irony 2: ICC elite panel umpires not being introduced to the concept of 'conflict of interest'. This for me is another WHAT THE! moment of the test match. I mean if the umpire is to get the final say on contentious calls from the captain on the field , what on earth is he supposed to be doing standing there in middle of the ground? He might as well go sit in the shade of stands.

Irony 4 : The Australian media getting into an introspective mood and questioning tactics of their own team. That's not ironic, the fact that it took a single comment from the gentlest of all Indian captains on only one team playing the game in its true spirit to spark this mood, is.