ME, MINE AND MYSELF

Happy Diwali from Dr. Javed and Improwiz

2011-10-27T04:41:00.001-07:00

Dear Friend

Happy diwali and a great festive season to you and your close ones.

Regards,

Dr. Javed. Sipai

9979850396

the thin red line

2011-10-15T05:58:00.000-07:00

Life is an extremely confusingtopic. Esp. if you are branded as an impetuous guy of a dreamy demeanor. Well,then you tend to be living in an utopia with a lot of suffering peppered in thelife of your near ones. The same is the case with me. I can hardly be insultedwith being called mature and thought-provoking. Not that these words woulduplift my spirited self-realization but I doubt as to why they seem to be soimportant for most people around me. Recently I have been pondering as to whatis the most important message in life. I thought I could write it down. Acommon thread of most happenings in my life.

An important element to have inlife is the ability to manage contrasts. Not something most people have. It isnot the ability to ignore contrasts but the ability to manage them. Sounds straightforward and philosophical, right? Trust me but it is surely one hell of a thingto manage. Let me give you a few examples. It is a contrast if you are a maturetech-savvy geek and an early adopter while at the same time being a veryorthodox religious guy. It is a contrast if you take an initiative to startsomething and still seem dazed and confused as to how to take it forward. It isa contrast if you aspire to be a rebellious character defying social edicts andstill want to stay with your family all the time. It is like rising to theoccasion to conduct vigils on the crossroads to oppose corruption and yethaving no guilt in bribing a traffic policeman to get off the hook. These arejust a few examples that come to mind but most decisions that I seem to be making have logicallyappropriate equi-important options. They just help drive things a little bitdifficult for me. Most “mature” people I meet tend to give an impression thatthey are able manage these opposites. In fact, most of whom I have met seem todo a more publicly appreciated thing rather than just the right thing.

Off late, my learning has beenthat to sound a bit more socially acceptable decision maker, all we have to dois to think aloud to help you manage these contrasts. Let everyone know out deafeninglythat you have been toying with contrasts. Highlight all the points that tend toshow that any decision has a perfectly reasonable counter-decision which thoughyou are ignoring to conduct currently, will sound as the-thing-to-do if all isnot well. This is in no way going to change your decision-making, which to meis an art and not a science and hence is formulated by instinct and notcerebralization. The idea is that no matter what you do, you are going to walkthat thin red line which demarcates thesocial from the nerdy and reflects the acceptance of your decisions. As a friend rightly mentioned, it is balancing what is right with what is acceptable deep within. And hereinlies the so-called bitch-of-life, “Maturity”.

A case for failed friendship

2011-10-11T18:43:00.000-07:00

It is almost an year since I wrote anything for myself. No wonder the blog address begins with an apt description of mine, “erratic”. I have been making presentations and word documents during this time but that is not something you can describe as “writing for myself”. It was more to find a sustainable model for livelihood. I have been publicly married since the last post and have been paying my due EMIs in the mean time. Well, to structure the information which I have shared with you in the previous sentence, I mean to say: I am surviving.

I would have definitely considered my reception (I used the phrase “publicly married” earlier for this event as it was at this time that I was publicly acknowledged for getting married, an act that was committed much earlier) as the most important event to have occurred to me since my last post. But this is not the case. The most important incident has been a case of a failed friendship. I am not going to name that close friend of mine for the sake of mystery, discretion and intrigue. These help to increase the readability of the post. This failed friendship has been both an emotional and financial jolt and I wish to come our stronger, fitter and meaner from this episode. (oooo, I suddenly sound as if I am so heroic in my life!!!)

The friend in question also happened to be a business partner. Messed up, you say! A friend also a business partner. Don’t you remember the old saying of never mixing personal life with business? I do but it is every bit hard to set up a business without having a personal angle as this facilitates banking on an emotional support. Being an unprofessional fool, I had complete faith on this “Bhai” of mine (I have a tendency to address any close elder as either “Bhai” or “Boss”) and he made the most of it. Swindled money and ensured that he considers our relationship as priceless (in all the wrong sense of the word). To cut the long story extremely short, I found out and decided to move out of the professional partnership (if ever we had one on a duly signed pieced of paper!!!). The emotional setback notwithstanding the impact of this episode is that I have to start from scratch in my venture.

Moral of the story: In business as in life, Trust but Verify!!

Man is a creature of habit and I was habituated of having this “Bhai” as an integral part of my business. So I have to shake up my emotional lethargy and redefine my approach to my career in the near future. Everything currently seems a bit confusing and disheartening, the primary reason for me to write a post. I thought maybe writing would help me gain a new perspective.

If you are reading this, most likely you are one of my friends who is very “well settled” in life and would be wondering as to what I am up to with my life. Well, I agree with your evaluation and am trying my best to figure it out myself. Hope I am able to do that. In the meantime, if you have a good business idea wherein you think I can be a good bet, feel free to drop in. Cheers!!!

"I am not a bad guy"

2010-11-12T11:52:00.000-08:00

How many of you have actually felt this? Sitting alone, dead in the night, having watched a late night show of an inspiring movie and made to think about what directional vector your life is following. A time in your life when you suddenly feel lost, aged and off the cliff. I am sure no one reading my blog has had this feeling. It seems something special to be so lost and down after watching an excellent movie. I guess this is the burden of being an entrepreneur. I am back home having watched the movie, “The Social Network”, and to tell you the truth, am in freaking awe of Mark …uh…how do you spell that…Zuckerberg! (I “googled” that!)

I am about to be 30 next year and here I am, drooling over a biopic of a guy 3 years younger to me and hailed as the youngest billionaire on the planet (the 3^rd one from the sun, in case you are not on this one). The guy has a head-start of 6 years in being a CEO and also has had a couple of lawsuits to his name. If not the personal net-worth (valued at $ 6.9 Bn), the fact that the guy (see how much I am in awe of MZ. I can’t even type his name here!) has had a couple of out-of-court settlements and has a book plus a movie made on him, is worth being jealous of. I am jealous of him for sure. I am damn sure most of you who are reading this will be too busy to even think on these lines, right? The jealousy is not due to the fact of losing out making something big but it’s the admission of defeat settling in so long before even giving a worthy fight. 30, suddenly sends an impulse of age kicking in while it was a dream since years to be a millionaire by 32! For the uninitiated and hare-brainers like me, the last numbers denote my age!

As if the story is not enough to knock out the wind from those depressed lungs, on deeper thought, it’s tough to realize that the concept of Facebook was born in a night and was online within a few weeks. On the contrary, here I am, a business graduate trying to slog since months to get my new venture on track of being a successful and appreciated Endeavour. All those attempts to make out strategic confusing matrices to reassure myself of having a veneer of Strategy in this venture seem to fail in front of this amazing achievement of FB (that’s how Facebook is being mentioned nowadays, isn’t it?)

Still, let me try and get some positive thoughts going. The movie definitely propels the imagination of someone who wants to make it big. There is a lot to aim and aspire for. It does teach you that motivation bordering at the levels of obsession needs to fire up any successful venture. I know I am trying to squeeze the unnecessary juice out of a nice movie watched on a weekend but then that’s what you do when you are an entrepreneur (Funny thing! A lady in the movie corrects Shaun Parker by transposing entrepreneur as a synonym of an unemployed person). In times like these wherein I am, a little inspiration is definitely not a dangerous thing. Adios!

thick skinned image of ours!

2010-10-22T23:13:00.000-07:00

It seriously seemed long since I wrote something. Not that world had come to a halt and people were dying to hear from me but still, I felt being missed (That’s my acclaimed modesty at work!). Generally appreciated within the close circle of mindless freaks as an argumentative babbler, I have donned this new role of simplistic tranquility for quite some time. I always felt that I had nothing much to write and hence let the world be at ease. The trigger to click the blank MS word file was a quote which mentioned that “a writer is a person who finds it most difficult to write about something”. I knew that probably this is my calling and a sign that indeed, a grey cell filigree has matured. So this effort.

I have been having very limited excursions into a fun-loving world nowadays, the main reason being my urge to be a successful entrepreneur. In order to ensure that the venture is in place, I spend most of my time brooding and sulking about how to bring about some lump-sum revenue. To know more browse through www.improwiz.in. Damn, that was a digression!! Coming back to the fun-loving aspect, I had a chance to see “Eat, Pray, Love” (EPL!!). In a rather inopportune turn of fate, I seemed to enjoy the movie. Fostered by an ever-present action scene at home, I have been an ardent action flick fan. Romanticism has always been a fad that has been exploited to get some space in female…errr… hearts. But man, this movie was good. It could have been the general lack of fun that was causing me to enjoy anything which remotely figured on as good.

The only bit which seemed a bit strange was the “Indian” section of EPL. Liz Gilbert (LG) comes to India in search of spirituality and is affronted by the luxurious ashrams with “AC” meditation rooms and the privacy-infringing Indian Diaspora. Add to this the brilliance of our roadside garbage dumps, sure-fire promotion of “Incredible India” was in place. The icing on the insult was the “mad” elephant which happens to make a serene screen-presence in front of LG (Liz’s good!!). I was stunned to realize that the Western population will reinforce its impression that India is littered with either the “playboy-mate” females doing nude yoga postures (a recent news item!) or with pachyderms roaming about to crush the hapless tourists.

I was wondering about this patchy “patchyderm” image when I was jolted from my reverie by this recent admission on behalf of the Indian Government that the Elephant will now be respected as an animal of national heritage. Make no mistake; I appreciate the effort taken on the conservation of wildlife, but this news confounded me. We seemed to be following a natural image maturity (unlike the recent GAP controversy). Initially we represented the snake charmers and rope-tricks gradually morphing towards the land of “half-naked” fakirs. Today we shall be the cultivators of erotic breathing exercises (imagine the foreigners watching a bearded female called “ babe somdev” on TV) and elephant mahouts. We surely have come a long way. Bangalore and Bombay representing the technology and financial acumen of India are still a long way from registering into the psyche of the average developed world Joe. Cheers to our developing state! Three cheers to anyone who read this!!

milad e nabi in baroda

2010-03-20T03:41:00.001-07:00

Noor wala aaya hai, noor leke aaya hai…

Dekho saare aalam mein kaisa noor chhaya hai…

Assalato assalamo alayka ya rasoolallah…

Assalato assalamo alayka ya habiballah…

Sound of the “naat shareef” piercing the clean azure sky made me feel a queasy. I felt so much at ease, so much with my own self, so much comfortable, that I could hardly resist tears rolling down my eyes. In all these naats, this “juloos” (procession) and the “ruhaniyat” (spirituality) that pervades the air, I seemed to know where I stand. I could find my “wajood” in one of these moments. I know some purists in Islam would be saying that the scene in front of me was “shirk” (un-Islamic). It was the same thought that first struck me when I saw it. I had just conquered my lethargy to step outside my house after much coaxing from my mom to have a look at the “Jashn-e-milad-e-nabi”. For all those who could not gather what it means, for a layman it is the annual Islamic festival celebrating the birth of the Prophet (“Nabi”).

The procession was definitely stronger than 25000 people. It was massive in its own existence but the effect was magnified a thousand times due to the associated passion of love towards the Holy Prophet. I decided to carry my camera to get the snaps of the jamboree. I decided I would spend a couple of minutes and come back. But as I went and stood on the sidelines, a gamut of emotions seemed to overtake me. I decided to walk along the procession till its head and try and catch a glimpse of all the scenes that I could see. You can see the pics on my facebook page.

Every step of mine took me closer to the various shades of Islam. I could visualize a rainbow of colors flowing in front of me. Green, blue, red and saffron seemed to dominate the proceedings but maroon, black and white also found their footing in some place or the other. I began to realize, in my walk of couple of kilometers, as to how bereft of spiritualism I am. In that fluttering “Parchamb” (flag) and the blaring horns I was seeing the various interpretation of Islam. The scorn that had earlier rushed in my head had given way to a sense of “guilt” and “worthlessness”.

The crowd was formed by people who were much lower in the SEC classification but were expressing their gratitude to Allah in various forms. In the midst of all this, there stood me. A morally degraded youth who was trying desperately to uphold his Islam. I was perceived as a staunch muslim more because of my arrogance to try and achieve something which inherently I seemed to have lost. My undying love for “Huzoor-e-akdas”. All those sins which seem to flow with every waking moment of my life seemed to accuse me of ruining the gift of life from Allah. I could not understand where I was headed but definitely my life was a shining example of how not to live. As a tear gently rolled over and got dirty in the cloud of dust that had invariably found refuge on my cheeks, I could not do much but say a silent prayer to my “Aakaa” (Master). I could sense that He was somewhere around me and looking at me.

“Milad e Nabi” is the most important festival for a Muslim. Every muslim is aware of the nights that “Nabi e akram” spent to ensure that his “Ummah” (followers) are pardoned of their sins by Allah. As per “Riwayat” (testimonies) it has been sighted that He prayed entire nights the swellings in His feet notwithstanding. Overcoming pain, agony and tribulations, He was able to get the assurance from Allah that all the sins of His “Ummah” will be pardoned. The effort exerted by Him was for all those who were present in that procession. When He was adjudged “Masoom” (innocent), by none other than but by Allah, the Prophet had taken upon Himself to get His followers the mercy that ideally none of us ever deserved. A sense of shame seemed to stop my heart from beating. I felt as close to hopelessness as I have ever been in my life.

I could not say much but felt something very different when I was heading back home. I can summarize all that I wish to say in only one line. “I miss you very much; ya-Mustafa and I know you shall understand what I mean by that.”

Hip-hopping in luxury!

2010-03-10T10:02:00.001-08:00

Man! I am so excited. Just look at this Javed. This really defines fine living. Did you have a look at the cafeteria? Just fantastic! Such amazing range of food. What are your thoughts about this?

I was flabbergasted on hearing this description. I have always come across as a pessimistic and somber guy but this was definitely too much over the top for me. I was standing in the middle of a mammoth architectural wonder. The glistening floors, the towering ceiling, a large portrait of the patriarch whose son built this place and a general sense of luxury exuding from everything my senses perceived. I accept with all humility my sense of lethargic slowness in terms of my thoughts but still this place was intimidating. Whatever thoughts could dare to trigger the neurons of my brain, were immediately squashed by the grandeur of the scene around me. This was all but what you can think of about a hospital. Yes my dear old readers, I was standing in the waiting area of a hospital, Kokilaben Ambani Hospital, in Andheri West.(could only find this sad image that i have attached herewith!)

My friend with whom I had gone to this hospital is a walking Dante’s peak. He has all the energy and fire that you can dream of in a guy of his age. Let’s for the sake of clarity say his age is late 30’s. I could have said approaching 40 but then he would get offended about this. “Age is a perception of the brain”, is what he retorts at me quickly having read my thoughts. I avoided thinking “Well that’s what you keep saying yourself once having reached 40”, as I know he’d hear it out and come up with a nice reason for making my life hell.

Our prime reason to visit this glistening screen saver of hell was a sports injury. Any man of average intellect and modest dreams would agree with me that sports are something that you do before turning 30. After 30, it is called gesticulating with finesse. My dear friend begged to differ. He decided to take a plunge in his lifelong ambition to combine the agility of Roger Federer with the paunch of Shane Warne. In a span of two days, he tried his hand at getting selected in our corporate’s cricket team as well as an effort to impress Deepika Padukone with a game of badminton. He says girls prefer to have guys around them who remind them of their fathers. I could not differ to say the least. Before even Deepika could turn her head to look at the desperate dives of my friend, my friend’s hip gave way. I mean literally! He pulled something in his groin and ended up walking a lurching gait. This daring misadventure of my friend with his rudimentary hip muscles had occurred at least a couple of months back. The pain still refuses to go back and trust me this has nothing to do with Deepika’s heartbreak with Ranbir.

A short visit to the cafeteria, the elevators in the building, the uniforms of nurses, the conduct of the paramedical staff and even the layout of the washroom suggested that this place was a hospital by some big blunder. I thought for a moment that a couple of years of hard work in designing a luxury hotel was goofed up by a manager who came and plastered the word “Hospital” on the building. My fears were allayed when I realized that in hospitals you don’t have managements. Herein, either you are a patient or about to become a patient. The conduct of the hospital staff confirmed this when I applied this classification on them too. Either they are sick or bordering on the extent of being sick. Simple! My last touch point in this hospital was the doctor’s chamber. (A sad but very true realization in today’s world as patient interacts with doctors only at the end of bearing the brunt of questions from the reception, the liftman, the ward boys, the grumbling nurse and the assistant to the doctor!)

This doc’s chamber was something you see in those freely distributed porno clips. A very nice layout of a bed with a mirror in front of it. In a small and inaccessible corner of the room, I could see a table with a laptop, a battered blackberry and a giant luminescent screen (I guess for examining radiographs! I could not think of any other use of this!). The doctor also had the most genuine accent of a mid-western American and he seemed to be very busy to examine a patient. The blackberry and the landline phone seemed to be auto-regulated to give calls at every 3 and half minutes. The doctor punctuated his boring task of evaluating my friend, with short bursts on his phone, as I told you every 3 and half minutes. After care-fool examination of my friend, he reached a conclusion that a surgery is a must for my friend, if the pain is unbearable. Now this was a classic vague statement. It clearly hinted that the patient needs to decide whether he needs a surgery or not. I could see the 600 bucks that we spent on the reception going down the ornate sink which adorned the central portion of a wall behind the doctor.

I was realizing that all the grandeur that I was watching around me unravel was having a very big impact on my friend. He was beginning to realize that the only way to treat ailments is by throwing your money around. This is all the more relevant if you seem to have a Mediclaim or some other insurance support. Without even letting his breath a chance to vent its agony of being trapped in his body, my friend jumped with ferocity suggesting that the pain in his groin is unbearable to the extent of limiting his daily activities like tying a shoelace. He seemed to be inclined for a very expensive surgery all at the behest of an untied shoe lace. Please don’t consider those shoes to be some Jimmy Choo classics which would die an unnatural death if they aren’t touched and pampered. These were normal simple Bata shoes which could be replaced by simple Slip-ons by a poor guy of some average intellect.

My turmoil of 2 hours came to an end when it was decided that my friend (who was almost blushing with excitement by now) would consult his wife and decide if he needs a surgery or not. I was the only one in the room who understood rationale (the doctor was busy playing brick breaker on his blackberry. I hear it is a nice game). After all, his wife had as such stake in his hip as he himself has. As they say, a pain in a lap is worse than two in the blush. Or something like that.

I came home a wiser, smarted and slightly disgruntled man. This experience was a welcome digression from an urgent need in our society of “Affordable healthcare for all” (this logo was once seen plastered all the government hospital walls). Long live luxury hospitals.

अँधा युग

2010-02-25T10:07:00.000-08:00

मुजस्सम! उसका इश्क मुजस्सम नहीं हो पाया! इसीलिए यह अँधा युग आया था!

(Embodiment! His love could not reach the level of embodiment. That’s the reason this Dark Age came!)

You rarely hear such sentences in real life. These are either spoken on screen by those actors who want to flaunt their knowledge of urdu or by those drunk bosses reciting a shayri, whom you encounter in your office parties. I never expected to hear this at the end of a play. Well, you can hear it in plays esp. if they are using Urdu or Hindustani as a colloquial language. I was stunned to hear this coz I heard this at the end of a mythological play. The play dealing with the climax of the epic “Mahabharata”. It was called “Andha Yug”, written by Dharamvir Bharti.

For further details, read this Wikipedia page: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Dharamvir_Bharati

The play has been one of the most powerful performances that I have been lucky enough to see on stage. I don’t have much experience in judging plays but this was surely different. This is an old play performed by a fresh bunch of actors from Thespo, the youth drama club of Prithvi theatres. To summarize the play, it mentions about the lesser known details of Mahabharata. It was a touching reminder about the travails of Yuyutsu, the pangs of Vidur, the agony of Ashwathamma and despair of Gandhari. Each soul had some good in him/her but fails to uphold the “Dharm” which seems to recede in corners of a memoir of the “Andha Yug” (Dark Age). The above mentioned line was spoken by the playwright’s wife when she came on stage to explain the meaning of the play. (That’s the irony, the play was laced with perfect Hindi and most people in the audience seemed to clap hard to camouflage their ignorance of the proceedings!).

A dark age had befallen the age of “Mahabharata” because Krishna could not furnish the embodiment of his true love with Radha. That seemed like an ephemeral thought to me. Nothing has ever been said to me that highlights the importance of true love than this one sentence. It seemed to explain in crisp one line the terrible times of our life. With so much hatred directed at each other, the solution to all our problems seemed to be summarized in that one line. One just had to look at the recent news like the Australian hate attacks, Pune bomb blasts, Shiv Sena’s Mumbai dramatics, Maoist problems in India’s eastern corridor, etc. and it makes you wonder why can’t the gods sort this all.

The only answer is that future of humankind depends on how it acts now and not on Krishna’s embodiment of “True Love”. We need to personify our “true love” to humanity. If we really do, if we are capable of attaining this one feat of excellence, am sure our “Dark Ages” will turn into a “Golden age”. I wish to write more and see if I can at best try to explain the thoughts that are circling in my mind. But I am sure I would dilute the essence of that one line. So to let alone the beauty of the thought take form, I just wish you all who are reading this, spend some time on that thought and if possible, spread the word around.

Me, BT and Bombay

2010-02-03T09:13:00.001-08:00

Queen's necklace! The perfect ensemble of affluence, power and glamour of Bombay. That's the first impression of Bombay I have. I don't remember where I saw the image first but it always stuck in my psyche. My aspiration to come to Bombay was fuelled by one of SRK's interview. There was a program named "Jeena Isi ka Naam hai" hosted by Farouque Sheikh. SRK had been one of the first guests on the program. He mentioned the anecdote as to how on coming to Bombay for the first time, he stood on the promenade and dreamt aloud of ruling the city one day. (I am sure he didn't say this in Marathi!) I could just gaze and fantasize how I would re-enact that scene. Being a fan of SRK, it became a goal to one day reach Bombay and do this act of dreaming aloud. It was not so much a dream to rule the city but more to emulate the Legend who did it that way.

Reality crushes your dreams faster than your future can make them happen. I realized this the day I landed in Bombay for an interview. I was scheduled to attend my GD/PI session for XIMB at St. Xavier's college. After my session got over, I explored south Bombay on foot. Those magical 4 hours still remain etched in my mind and initiated my lifelong addiction to SoBo. Since then, the only thing worth its salt is South Bombay. On my way back from the interview in ST. Xavier's, I enquired if a "Virar fast" local would have a halt in Vile Parle (I laugh now on the fact that there are only 3 possible routes in Bombay local trains!!). The answer being an emphatic "Yes" from everybody I asked, I boarded the train from Churchgate. Everything went of fine till Dadar and then the nightmare began. The train was Chock-a-Block full and I began thanking my God for giving me such a strong Big Toe in my right foot. My toe was able to bear my entire weight and amazingly, I never fell off (Courtesy all those around me who acted as pillars!). The best part is that when Vile Parle was about to come, I made an attempt to move closer to the gate but I was denied getting off. People started a scuffle with me as to how can I dream to board a "Virar fast" when I had to get off at Vile Parle. With a good amount of flying fists in all directions and remembering a coterie of "mothers", "sisters" and their body parts, I managed to get off the train when "Parla" arrived. I got off with all of my luggage, a bit of bruises and nothing to thank for the experience I just had. Those 15 mins on "Virar fast" portrayed the worst of Bombay to me.

In spite of hating Bombay for what it offers on a picturesque palette for a struggling new entrant in a rented accommodation, I have fallen in love with certain things in the city. Be it the casual disregard to rules (e.g. Rule 1 for girls: Don't venture out late at night) or the spirit of freedom that anonymity in a swarm of people gives you. For me Bombay signifies a lot of Liberty that nowhere else I have felt so much in the air and other elements of a city. The creative effervescence of Prithvi Café brought me up close and personal to what all you can aspire for in Bombay. Bombay has come to signify an exploratory expedition for a lifetime. Each corner of the city has some mystic story to tell. This can be judged from an amazing assortment of restaurants that you can find in the most remotest corner of an alley as if shouting out to you of not to judge a restaurant by its location! These all sums up the brilliance of Bombay.

In this background, when I see goons of Shiv Sena or MNS stand up and claim Bombay as their own, I cannot but stop laughing. After all, Bombay is a dream. A collective reverie of those millions who have come and made this place their home. The pinnacle of what can be achieved by industrious people who leave behind their cozy hometowns to attain something. You can change the name of a dream but you cannot change the vision behind it. You may try and make Taxi-drivers learn Marathi, you can make a "Film star" bow to one BT (not the brinjal specimen!), you can stop youths from giving a central railways exam or you can stop Pakistani cricketers from playing IPL. I bet you can do all this. But can you replace the charm that "Bombay" has come to signify in my psyche? Can you stop another SRK from coming here to rule the city? You might keep Mumbai to yourself but Bombay is for people like me. For people, who have come and shall keep coming to get their slice of the "collective dream". You dare try and stop them. I bet you SS, that just like your German equivalent, you too shall perish and shall regret your acts some years down the line. Till then, I swear not to use "Mumbai" again in my conversations. For it is Bombay! It is my Bombay! And I shall reclaim it!

Dreams

2010-02-02T00:12:00.000-08:00

We are nothing but the prisoners of our dreams. Our future hinges on the false hopes that we nurture for ourselves. The past seems to be a long forgotten nightmare only to be recounted in periods of extreme isolation. The phantoms of lives gone by, in those years lost away in the deluge of modern day living, seem to haunt us only when we expect them to. The garrison of my aspirations is cemented by the flimsy and frivolous existence of my youth. Am I the only one feeling this way?

I know most of you would find what am writing as something close to “utter nonsense”. But these are real thoughts. Real not in their existence but real in their daily demise. I am being informed of the various ways people have obtained control in their lives. Some seem to be born with a clear and chalked out direction, courtesy their enthusiastic parents and an inattentive God, while some have already seemed to attain nirvana. In either case, there is a serene calm in their existence. The calm in case of the first scenario is the by-product of a rambunctious lifestyle that most of these super-achieving success stories maintain. On the contrary to this, there are a few bunches of ignorant, hapless and arrogant fools like me who seem to be continuously wandering like a flotsam to find the shore of their lives.

My dreams range from becoming a thoughtful revolutionary writer to a more humane doctor working for the rural population. Dreams for me are peppered with the glitter of glamour that I would love to attain though in either case the best results will be obtained if only I can shun glitz completely! The irony of my dreams is the persistence of their regularity to nag me and my inability to back them up with a self-defiant act of determination. I seem to revel in their nature to remain unattainable.

In the midst of all these stories that are recounted to me, stories of treading the unchartered path, stories of recreating an alternate humanity, stories of enriching lives with material riches and stories of belief in fairytales, will my story of measurable failure ever be told? Failure not in terms of not thinking the unthinkable but failure to act on something I always believed in. Failure to be myself. Failure to break away the shackles of my dreams and challenge their very reality. I need to prove that I am not what my dreams make me but my dreams are what I make myself out to be. In there alone, lies the secret for my story to be re-told. In there alone, lies my freedom from my dreams!

Escapist "idiots"

2010-01-17T01:25:00.000-08:00

Escapists! I think that is what we all are becoming. Yeah, well. The newer lot. Mind you, ladies and gentlemen, I have some real strong reasons to say this. I just saw all of this somewhere around me sometime back. I know, you don’t believe this coming from an “opinionated” guy like me. But that’s the truth. Let me cite you the example.

Seen the movie “3 idiots”? If you are reading this then there is 74% chance that you have seen it. Not because you are smart or intelligent to see it but because you had the time and inclination to go and spend 4 hours (at least, counting your travelling times), 600 bucks (am sure you didn’t go alone, did you? If yeah, then damn you, you loser!) and a lot more in emotional capital. The reaction after coming out of the movie? Well, most likely you identified with that bunch of three rascals and found a bit of “Rancho” in you. You dread being “Raju” and already aspire to take up wildlife photography courtesy of “Farhan” and Discovery/Nat Geo channels. Correct? Well, almost, if not completely. The problem is not the movie. It is a fantastic piece of cinematic excellence. The problem is the responses that the movie has generated.

The other day heard a couple of kids saying that we need not be in school. We can get the same knowledge outside. I wanted to retort that how are they planning to go about this one but then resisted myself. Suddenly, I have started bumping into similar kids who keep shouting “let’s revolt against the system”. The irony is these funky, “converse all star” shoe-wearing, English drooping, lethargic organisms (teenagers for the civilized guys!) neither are aware of what “revolt” means nor do they have any clue of the “system”. Before I go on further I want to clarify that I am in no terms defending the educational or the social fabric which these kids are vehemently opposing (am doubly sure they are not aware of it!). I just aim to tell you that given that the “system” is flawed and despicable, we need someone to present a counter argument too. An argument not just for the sake being argumentative but for sincerely believing that there is a flaw in the other side of the story too.

I recollect reading reports that a significant proportion of our educated graduates are not employable. Watching “3 idiots” definitely would give this unemployable bunch an excuse to present their case. We need to stop evangelizing geniuses. Not everybody can be a “rancho” who dreams of things and gets them executed, with a finesse that would put even Einstein to shame. We need to acknowledge that unless a young guy is not able to find out a tangible option for his life, he better follow the road oft-travelled. Over the course of this trail, if he keeps his mind open, he should find things that might evoke a grain of passion in him. If he is self-aware, this grain/seed can be nurtured into something that would be the guiding stone for his life ahead. Passion does not come about on its own. It needs to be worked upon, to be cultivated, to be nurtured, to be allowed to grow on its own self. The “system” may or may not provide the right atmosphere for it to show its true nature. So instead of blaming the “system”, we need to go deep into ourselves and answer the question “are we being honest to ourselves?”. This at times may start with acknowledging our weaknesses. E.g. Mine is, a miniscule attention span. The next would be to try and put my weaknesses to test and try to eliminate them. Once, we get the process right, the results shall follow. The need is to build a character of our own. Something with which we are comfortable when alone. We desperately need that “other one” in us who tells us that we are successful, not because we got what we wanted but because we tried our best.

The only take-away from “3 idiots” was that you need to pursue excellence and success will follow. This in no way means leaving away our school/college texts. As you grow older, you need to think more introspectively as to where you are headed. The movie should motivate elders not youngsters. Sadly, it has been the other way round. If it goes the same way, we might be flooded with more escapist “idiots” and not all of them will be as loveable as in the movie!

a new year and me

2010-01-09T23:42:00.000-08:00

I like this warmth of the winter sun. It is noon and I am sitting on the terrace of my house. The view in front of me ranges from meditating minarets of the adjacent masjid to staccato flutter of a kite trying to find its fold in the breeze. The only things that I am concentrating are either the spasmodic bursts of laughter from a squirrel nearby or the screen of this netbook. Technology has certainly raised expectations especially from new users like me. I am in some recess of my brain blaming that why haven’t we moved ahead in the technology of designing screens (laptop and mobile phones). I am finding hard to pinpoint the position of the cursor on the screen in this sunlight. Thank god for Heisenberg’s uncertainty principle. I seem to be managing well. Blame the sun, naah!

It was a year back that I posted something here! Trust me; it seems much further away in my memory than on my calendar. Many things transpired in between my last and current posts. From India winning a series against Australia and later on becoming No. 1 in Tests, to Chetan Bhagat blasting 3 idiots for dropping his credits somewhere obscurely in the movie. On the personal front, I got a promotion in office, my boss upgraded me from being a cretin to being stupid, my girlfriend finalized 10 reasons to settle down with me when she has a million for not doing so and one of my close friends successfully demonstrated the penetrating power of his sperms. To cap it all up, I bought a blackberry device and even took a 4 day vacation in Bangalore.

The New Year began with the ritual of finalizing the resolutions to be made. The list included the genuine ones like one post per week on my blog to the bizarre ones like getting married and pop a couple of wet dreams into reality. I did give credible thought to ideas like getting some direction in my life (still don’t know what it means!!), working hard to excel in medicine and healthcare, taking a trip to Ladakh (this one has no correlation to 3 idiots, I have had this thing on my list for last 5 years!!!) and also to start some meaningful savings (this is besides buying a good DSLR camera with capabilities of undertaking wild life photography). 3 years of professional life and still my savings are agonizingly close to zilch with a precision of 3 decimal points. That’s for doing my management and not managing my own self well!

I know you might not be interested in this but the only things that I have done with some enjoyment have been watching a couple of good plays in recent past and exploring the capabilities of my new phone. The good plays included watching Sammy (Lillette Dubery production on Gandhi) and Joker (produced and performed by Makrand Despande).These have been good literary stimulations to the point of making me numb enough to write. I have began to see the futileness of my writing but have to keep doing this thing as it makes me feel a bit more existent. I guess my writings give me a sense of pervasion when everything else has been fleeting. I am sure my stupidity will outlast my physical presence. The other thing I have wholeheartedly enjoyed is my new toy, the BB 8520. Having updated my gmail account on the phone gives me a sense of being in touch with everybody while using Ubertwitter has inched me closer to some people I’d love to “follow” like SRK, Joseph Stiglitiz, Shashi Tharoor and Guy Kawasaki.

I wish all of you who are reading this a very happy year ahead. Make sure you shine like this wintry sun and maintain the warmth in your heart which I guess the world needs so more (given that the recent events include attacks on Indians in Australia, a Nigerian with a bomb in his underwear, a Togo team fired upon, hockey players being fined for hugging females and the hate campaign still going strong between Rakhi Sawant and Mika). Enjoi!!

Curb on

2009-11-21T00:48:00.000-08:00

Some love stories have blood on them. Yeah, so very true. I was touched. Some have flood on them (vis-a-vis Titanic and Tum Mile). All love stories have something on them. In the good old days, it was either Switzerland or Mauritius which was on them. If a go little back from the good old days, then most love stories had clothes on them. Rest was immaterial, as they say. Currently, the public loves blood, Islam and a little bit of New York.

Well, that can very well describe this movie. To reiterate: Blood, Islam and New York. After 9/11 as such all the three have come out of synonyms in vernacular dictionary. The only thing that could very nicely be put beneath all the blood was a cosy real life couple. The hunky dory flirtatious guy who does “Ehsaan” on us by most of his cheeky roles and the curvilicious female “O-wow-teekka” who makes the nearby chicken hide her leg pieces. Damn! Awesome, twosome, fearsome or what-the-heck-some combo. The couple which you see so often in those free nasty supplements of tabloid newspapers is suddenly seen on screen, loving, kissing, crying, shopping and not the least, killing. In all these public frenzy of 9/11 or 26/11, you can do the societal bit by flashing billboards with a “controversial” image. The visual impact is too heavy to bear and most often than not, to ease off the agony of ceaseless “backless” exposure, you end up buying a ticket of this movie. Simply put, it was not so easy to ignore this movie. The last time this celebrated couple tried something it was a “Tashan” of a disaster. This time they had to careful.

Add to this hoopla of Islam explaining documentary, a zing of music with some Arabic phrases to it. Most people won’t even understand these lyrics and the ones who do, would have to cross check Google before explaining it to their not-so-aware-and-not-so-bothered counterparts. I myself had to do my bit of home work to ensure that I get the meaning of at least the songs. Meanings of Movies from the “stable” of Dharma productions could very well be a PhD subject. I guess they now make movies on the principle of “Fooled by Randomness”.

That’s how I can describe the movie “Kurbaan”. If by reading this, you seem to think I didn’t like the movie then I should quote one dialogue from the movie. The femme fetale mentions at a point that “agar tumhe thik laga hai tab to bahot accha hai”. I guess that can summarize the movie. On a serious note, do watch this movie. Nowadays, the ACs are fantastic in the theatres.

disasters in daily life

2009-11-18T09:15:00.000-08:00

The Mayans predicted this! Yeah, the world shall end soon. Suddenly, if you are hearing this view a lot more often nowadays then am sure you are going to outlast humanity. At least, I would like to believe what I have said. It seems a flavour of this season to predict doom. This sense of impending Armageddon which is pervading the public sphere of my life has also maintained a consistent presence in my personal life. I mean, my life has always felt to be perilously close to a disaster.

I take this useless opportunity given to me, in the manner of maintaining a blog, to list down some of my current problems. Please remember the word “current”. I am made for bigger things in life, esp. dealing with bigger problems. I have always tried to crib as less as possible (Huh!!) but then in the end my sanity gives way to my cravings resulting in me complaining about every irrelevant matter. To list down a few of my seemingly reverential irrelevant disasters, just read the following:

• Professional seniors have gone for the proverbial “jugular” by claiming incessantly on one occasion (mark the phrase: incessantly on ONE occasion) that I am highly opinionated. Something I said at least a couple of years back, comes back to bite my backside and leave behind a rabid scar. Of all the things that have been screwing around with my career, I thought this would have been the most innocuous one. I have already given my justifications in a few high profile meets about the same.Damn!
• My close friends believe that I am cannot play an “agony aunty” and help a friend in the manner that would be deemed right. I seem to represent all that is “completely wrong” in any friendship.
• To make matters worse, a few friends think my literary skills on my blog are slightly better than that of my chaiwallah who is a “nursery-failed” lad. I tend to forget the aim of my writing and end up with long sentences with no meanings. Explaining and defending here would not have helped as one the friends alleging this, happens to be fairly competent in such matters of literary capabilities. He writes RFPs at dime a dozen!
• My girlfriend thinks I am insensitive towards her gains in our relationship. A dried red rose given in a nice crumpled plastic bag found behind a damp garbage dump is the only semblance of gift I have given her till now. The only time, in our 4 years of relationship, when I have tried to justify my point by pleading for an hour, was when she screamed at the top of her voice “Could you please stay silent for a minute? Goddamit!”
• My parents have given up on their dreams of seeing me climb one of the most famished four-legged beasts of sublime stupidity and tarnished in ornate beauty. I.e. get me married earlier than I have to do a scalp hair implant! (The word “scalp” was a last minute addition to avoid any confusion!)

Just like writing official mails, I shall prefer to write that the severity of above problems is not in the order mentioned. The problems seem to get grave as and when I take notice of them and try my best towards finding a reasonably eccentric solution.

With regard to all of these problems, I am still searching as to what can be the best possible solution. Maybe some of you can help. Maybe none can. I am surviving on this small glimmer of hope that my irrational persistence will in the end outlast my pestering problems.

Cheers!!!

Adjectives!

2009-11-18T08:39:00.000-08:00

22/40. I still vividly remember the sigh of relief when I had first heard it. It happened to be a grammar class and the results of the midterm had just been announced. In the whole class of 50 odd students, I was one of the few who had managed to pass. The subject, as you should know about Grammar, was very logical and simple. I guess, that explains my inadequacy to master the same. The test-score nonetheless lingers on in my psyche whenever I think of my proficiency with language. The lessons are still being learnt by me.

I had been recently called up by one of my seniors to break some real great news. The news is something I cannot share here on my blog but I would share a bit of the conversation. He said that despite all the potential that I have shown till now there is something innate in me which would hamper my career progress. This something was “I am opinionated”. I wanted to argue about the fact but then since it was the fact, no point arguing about it. I have since been reflecting on this word, “opinionated”.

Whenever there are discussions, I somehow go blank. The only thing which keeps working is my mouth. I seldom focus on what am hearing. At least, that was the case before I came into corporate life. After joining the firm, initially I did have the same habit. I felt that I was not justifying the faith in me shown by my seniors. I could not change the conditioning that I have had since 25 odd years but I could at least devise a way out. I have started scribbling. Now when I have something very unpleasant to hear I start fiddling with my pen on a piece of paper and avoid the direct glances. I have worked pretty hard on this. Trust me. Despite all this and many more innovations that have become a part of me, I give an impression of being opinionated. A friend consoled me that you should always think on the lines that a shut mouth would never gather a moth. If you cannot understand what the last line meant then please feel some sympathy towards me. I have such friends.

The moot point here is that am I just a collection of adjectives. Opinionated, arrogant, naive, humorous, reckless, befuddled and last but not the least, immature. Sounds strange but that’s how I am being described. Every person who meets me seems not to be taking away a bit of my personality but rather an adjective for me. Everyone seems to be identifying me within the confines of a 6 letter or 7 letter words. Seemed just a little strange to me. I guess my initial learning in English has not endowed me with sensitivity which explains that that’s how we are. Or most likely, that’s how grammar helps us to be.

me and these fatwas

2009-11-04T20:10:00.000-08:00

What is your opinion on this?

This is the general manner it begins. People read, hear, watch or debate about any incident involving a Muslim and decide to bounce off the idea with me. I guess, I create this image of a sound board with most of the people around me. They find me the most sincere and innocuous guy who can explain the best possible intricacies and complexities relating to Islam. Yeah, that’s right! Not my view or my opinion but this is what people believe about me. Probably, that’s why they drown me with queries. Whether it is the practice of Hijaab, the chopping off of hands of thieves, mercy killings or in the latest scenario, Fatwas. I seem to give this impression of a know-it-all. Impressive, isn’t it?

Jamiat-Ulema-i-Hind (JUiH). For some it is an organization representing Muslims in India. For some it sounds like a terrorist outfit. For some, it is the butt of the best possible jokes about bearded men. For me, they are a real pain in my butt. Yeah, they are. The main reason is that even when some member of the Ulema council farts, I have to come up with a justification or defense for the same. Given my miniscule knowledge on any of their dealings, I have to conduct an elaborate search to come up with something. I could have shot anything from my lip but I prefer to have concrete answers. Right or wrongs answer, I do not know. Answers which have a solid document supporting to what I am saying. Yesterday JUiH, decided to pass some 20 odd religious decrees, pompously referred to as Fatwas. Nothing to do with any adipose deposition in the body (most of the Ulemas have shown a slightly higher preponderance of this). Fatwas became famous coz of another jerk, by the name of Salomen Rush-died (seems like this baldy would dies rushing behind a salmon named Padma!!). He created a crappy book which no one could read beyond the first 5 pages, 3 of which were blank. People began associating Fatwas with a conference call between all Muslims who carried Kalashnikovs and swords for trying to dissect the throat of the subject on whom the Fatwa was issued.

None the less, let’s get some clarity about Fatwas. I am quoting something from Wikipedia. Not the best of sources but definitely a good first filter to go through. It states in the definition of fatwa:

“A fatwa, in the Islamic faith is a religious opinion concerning Islamic law issued by an Islamic scholar. In Sunni Islam any fatwa is non-binding, whereas in Shia Islam it could be binding, depending on the status of the scholar. Western media frequently uses the term incorrectly to specifically mean an Islamic law pronouncing a death sentence upon someone who is considered an infidel or a blasphemer; whereas the term’s correct definition is significantly broader.”

JUiH is a Sunni faction and its Fatwas need not be taken so seriously. Secondly, the Fatwa on Vande Mataram is not something new and relates to the last stanzas, not on the first two of the song. (These were even validated by greats like Gandhi and Tagore). By the way, please take a step away from what the press likes to write about such things. Somewhere the list of Fatwas also includes one against terrorism. I am sure no one is going to take that one seriously and never consider any Muslim with any skepticism. I also read yesterday (an article by Kiran Karnik) that 5000 people die daily in India and 60% of them from preventable causes. Will it not be better to try and spend some energy on this issue rather than on what an Ulema feels about a song (Come on man, generalizing Vande Mataram is just a song! Both Muslims and non-Muslims need to look at it that way!)

To answer the question: What is my view on this? Personally, I like Rehman’s version of Vande Mataram more than the JUiH’s. Should I would be awaiting a fatwa on me for this!

the liftman

2009-11-03T03:08:00.000-08:00

Every face hides an emotion. Well, I like this sentence. I just don’t know why. Sounds stupid and simple at the same time and I wonder as to whether I like the stupid or the simple part. I read somewhere that the Brain’s remote intrinsic memory (BRIM) stores better if events are dipped in the ink of memory. Emotions evoked help to keep things in your brain longer. Things that you don’t know that you know. Did it mean that being emotional makes you more capable of having a lasting memory? The answer is: I don’t know. What made me think of this sentence? “Every face hides an emotion”. Where did it get imprinted in my psyche? To tell you the truth, I don’t know. I wanted to write something in this post about a person in my office. The serene, sober and secluded liftman.

Every office building of more than 3 floors, sports a lift nowadays. Well, at least, in Mumbai all these buildings have a quintessential one. Lifts seem to feed the ego of these buildings to rise higher up as compared to the rest around it. For me, these lifts signify a deep craving in humans to try and set high peaks as performance targets and then search for ways to reach the summit. My office has 4 lifts and two of them are always manned. The two liftmen are like standard fittings in the lift. One is a young boisterous fellow who considers himself to be lucky to be a liftman. He is impressively dressed in his uniform with his hair nicely combed. Most times I would see him sitting on the tripod and either reading a Marathi newspaper or deeply immersed in some religious prayer. To all, he seems to be utilizing his time well. The way he punches the lift’s buttons tends to speak volumes about his style and panache.

I didn’t want to write about this younger liftman. Well, not that he is young but he is younger than the subject of my post. I wanted to write about this older person, called “kaka” by people of all ages in the office. This shows preponderance from us, Indians, to name an ugly old ragged guy with few hairs and a couple of broken teeth as “kaka”. His original name hardly seems to bother us as we are preoccupied to stereotype him with one of our names. He is not a standard fitment to his lift like the younger liftmen but seems to be an old appendage to an otherwise state of the art mechanical instrument. Unlike the younger counterpart, his “good mornings” are also a tad different. Very softly spoken and so full of warmth, I feel they dissipate in vapors much before they reach the auditory canals of the lift passengers. Most people don’t seem to acknowledge what has been spoken from this old fellow and I hardly think he ever wonders about it. Every indifference to his “good mornings” is cleared away by a gentle smile he seems to permanently adore on his lips. He keeps to himself and his fingers, the ones which seem to be displaying the trophy that Leprosy left him by. The third finger of his right hand suffers from a deep fibrotic stricture thereby giving an impression of a small pointer that he seems to use to punch the buttons of the lift.

Once in awhile when am not too engrossed in my own life, I try and give a smile to “Kaka”. This works like a small sparkle of rain in the Savannah and with all humility and affection, kaka takes me to my designated destination. At times his eyes seem to tell me if I could just stay a bit longer with him in the lift. In my youthfulness and vigor, I tend to refuse this invitation, most of the times. I guess it is the “physical perfection in my being” which just cannot handle the so grossly-disfigured human remnant in such close proximity. The most I do to tide over this guilt is hand him a small sugary toffee to run away. He seems to be disappointed but stays put to his tripod. When am leaving, he just gets up and does nod his small hairless scalp a little bit. I feel he still has a twinkle in his eyes and a small stretch of fleeting smile over his face.

Every face hides an emotion. Am still searching for mine, my face or my emotion? Nothing seems to make sense. Maybe nothing ever will. Thanks Kaka. For smiling behind my back. Most men I meet, seldom do.

married with three children!!!

2009-11-01T09:30:00.000-08:00

It has been one of the few weekends in my life when I really did try to socialize. I made an effort to catch up with some friends. Called up a few more of my friends and went to have either a dinner or a lunch at their places. I used to be very much in this process when I had my school friends around. Arranging for a weekly or fortnightly group dinners seemed like a norm. Somehow, after they left and the group dispersed, I kind of gave up and have hardly taken the initiative from then on.
While coming back from a Sunday lunch at a friend’s house (to name him, Bimal, if you happen to be from XIMB, you shall recognise this Andre-the giant fellow!), Prasun (another HEALTHY friend of mine) commented at how our minds function. People who have not had the exclusive background of studying in schools like St. Xavier’s or St Stephen’s seem to find it difficult to speak English fluently. He made a nice observation that English seems to flow very easily while we are in office but once out of that formal environment, Hindi happens to take the forefront of most close and cordial communications. “Hum sochte hindi mein hain and then translate karke English mein bolte hain” (We think in hindi and then translate it to English before speaking). That comment more or less summarised everything.
I thought of sharing this incident, when I read a sentence on a book. I am currently reading a management book and the short biography of the author mentions “He is married with three children!”. I felt it to be a very funny statement and did giggle for a moment. With the backdrop of hindi it effectively means a guy who has married three children. I was stunned as to how illicit the statement was. Firstly, you cannot marry a child (effectively a person below the age of 18 years) and then secondly, think three of them at the same time. Prasun’s earlier comment about the mental hindi-english translation came to my mind and everything fell into place. With a touch of shame and embarrassment, I had to acknowledge that I too belong to the same ethnic bracket of hindi-english translators.
Ever since I have been studying, I have always been fascinated by the English language. It always denoted a sense of style and elitist upbringing. I lived an illusion, wanting to free myself from the more naive and proletarian background, and English signified the language of societal freedom for me. This aspiration to enhance my vocabulary and refine my expression has become so self-containing that I started to look condescendingly upon the masses who could not overcome the societal barrier represented by English.
Small anecdotes like the present ones help to make me feel a little grounded and keep a reality check on me. They just seem to say that at the end of the day I am still the guy from a modest background and I should be proud of it rather than being ashamed. I wish when one day am married “with at least two children :)”, my kids will read this and laugh on their dad’s idiosyncrasies.

crushed for age!

2009-10-28T22:38:00.000-07:00

28? Man! You are so young, Mashallah!!
I was really flabbergasted on hearing this complement. I have been surrounded by people who are either married or busy planning kids. The most common refrain from them has been that I am already past my age of wooing a good healthy feminine specimen. In the middle of such negativities which pervade from my so-called well-wishers, I was stunned to get this complement. I was already in daze hearing this when the bomb was dropped. The next statement was something like this, “You look so old than what you really are!” The focus of my appraiser’s was my receding hairline. I had to keep mum just to let my ego not take over the reality check which was being offered.

The occasion itself merited in me being a little sober. How many of you have attended the weddings of your “Crush”? Do not for heaven’s sake think of some fruity syrup. The term means what we all tend to sweep underneath the carpet. Crush, as in the obsessions of a reasonably disabled mind. Those men and women who were always aspired by all of us but had not to be pursued either due to societal obligations (either we are married or engaged or in a relationship) or physical limitations (on the scale of being attractive, the best we rated ourselves on comparative grounds was “average” when we know in the deepest confines of our soul that we are being too lenient!). My crushes have all been recognized failures on my part in terms of the latter reason.

I could have told you of all my crushes. The ones which blossomed for 3 months in my 3rd year of school (the name was very similar to my mom and she aspired to be a Miss world!) to my current one which took its toll for a few days! I could have described in detail the agony of being dubbed an “immature imbecile” by one of such crushes, for having no concrete ambition in life! There are so many instances of what a poor soul like me had to go through but then I guess, one of the vital signs of aging is the fact that not just you lose a lot many friends but also suffer a lot of heartbreaks!! No wonder, I appear markedly aged my age!

some crap about ideas

2009-10-26T08:51:00.000-07:00

I am seeing a lot of blogging nowadays. More or less every person who has had a decent education and wants to address to his innate needs of being recognised is resorting to Blogging. This is pretty common in people who are already famous but suddenly I am facing a lot of people who have their own niches in their society because of their blogging. The goal of blogging ranges from “I want the writer in me to flower” to “I wanted to do something creative. I needed to address my creative cravings!” (Duh!! But then who am I to comment on these things in the first place).

My only response to all these writings that seem to be floating around is to add some junk of my own in this mess of words we seem to create. It is something akin to the public toilet. You ever been to one? Not the latest “Shulabh Sauchalaya Sankool” but the ones run by the local municipality of your area. Ideally, pretty close to the slums where either you turn your face in some unimportant direction or cover that over-sensitive fragments of olfactory orifice that you have. The thing I want you to know about these public toilets is that every individual who goes in there seems to believe that he has the moral duty to contribute to the crap which is stuck on the commode. Well, by the time some scores of people have given their social donation, the place is filled to the brim and the last ones seem to wonder what is the advantage of these toilets over open-air defecation (at least in open air defecation you get some good views of the place around instead of being holed up in some “crap-filled” room). Just an interesting bit of news to share with you. India, claimed to be the most progressive of the developing nations, has 66 million people who defecate out in the open. That’s a staggering 50 odd % of our population. See, this is the “development crap” we seem to be spilling.

Blogging seems to me something very related to this experience. The internet has its own virtual space. Since we are having this free opportunity, why not just go around sprinkling our intellectual crap to all such places. Suddenly, you have so many varied options to let your “gut” do the talking. You can go to social networking sites which are like dime a dozen or you have those comment options on most things that you read. You can start websites, blogs, upload videos, post your photos, leave behind nasty comments or if worst come to worst, make some porn clip of your girlfriend and circulate it to the nasty weirdoes, who just like you, are also doing something similar. Well, that’s how far the power of “empowerment” can get you. I even saw a website which uploaded the pics of your crap in your WC and gave people a chance to rate it. www.ratemypoo.com or something like that. Just too much, isn’t it!!!

In all these frustration wherein so many people seem to be doing so many fertile things (afterall, crap is nothing but undried manure!), I felt a little insecure. To counteract this, I made me write something. I know most of you who read this (I can see the two of you!!) would not agree with what I have written and say this to be complete and utter “Crap”. Well, that itself will justify my effort behind this piece of writing.

when i felt a little jealous

2009-10-23T12:42:00.001-07:00

It seems long since I last wrote something. Now am already reeling under this lethargic hangover of being in suspended animation. The mind seems to have stopped working though many people around me will testify that it never worked in the first place! The only temporary solution for giving CPR to my mind was to write something. And hence, this post. I have just come back from a whirlwind one day stopover trip to Baroda coz of Ehte’s wedding. Ehte!! Happens to be one of my closest pals. Really honest to the core and a complete nut as far as his sense of humor is concerned. I am sure it takes a real effort to find out the meaning of his jokes. Well, anyways, he happens to be the last of the kind for me. Last of my pre-B-school era friends who have lost their bachelorhood. Now the only remaining “soorma” is me!! (After all, Manan, Hiren, Arvinder, Kooldeep, Adnan and now Ehte!!)

I am surely very happy for my pal to get married. But, there is something which nags me right now. I know I should not be sharing this with you all but then that’s how I am. I prefer to wash dirty linen in public (I can already visualize a couple of incidents in recent past wherein all of you didn’t like my uploading a status message on Facebook). It is kind of really stupid on my part but I being the last of the species of irrational humans in this increasingly practical world, please bear with me. It is only niceties on your part that can help to make me a little sane. Coming back to what I wanted to write, I have to confess that I am feeling jealous. Jealous not of Ehte himself but the experiences that he is going through and the ones which he shall be getting soon.

It is not the kind of jealousy which rips your heart and guts and makes you wish ill for the source of jealousy. It is more of the kind a very idiotic competitor in a racetrack feels when even if he has given his best, he finishes last. I am very happy for Ehte (I am reiterating this again and again to ensure that no one feels I am cursing a friend. Trust me, when I say happy, I am playing it low. Ehte’s marriages, for a moment made me feel as if I have accomplished something! Strange but true!!) but I still don’t want to be the last of my friends to get married.

It is the sense of entitlement of responsibility that comes with a marriage, which entices me. I just want to marry coz I stupidly believe it to be a chance to show that I am real man (not in terms of popping out foetuses at regular intervals but in terms of being responsible for a household!). Most of you who are reading this, will find this a little strange. I am hardly ever associated with being capable of grooming myself leave alone being responsible for a household! The challenge is in creating a family and ending this vagabond existence which has somehow come to symbolize my survival currently. It is just to cast an anchor for a moment to reflect on the journey so far and planning a new sojourn with an exciting companion (most married couples though seem to find this “exciting companion” phrase a little too good to be true!).

The constant prayer I had in my mind yesterday was that may Allah ensure that Ehte and his wife have a very peaceful (very important!!) and happy married life which lasts till the end of time. I wanted to pray that may I get married soon but then I decided against it. After all, since I am praying for Ehte, somewhere deep inside I was longing for my friends to pray for my marriage. Given the odds I am facing, it would take a lot of prayers from my friends to make me climb the “ghodi”. No wonder, this is the moment when I do feel this to be the “emotional atyachaar”!

Last mile connectivity

2009-10-07T07:17:00.000-07:00

Formula 1 races! Ever sat in one of those machines running on the dizzying race track? I seem to sit in one daily. Well, this experience is reserved at the end of my working day. Helps to get me relaxed. I guess, adrenaline rush gives your muscles a good dose of blood and hence we feel so relaxed when it is all over. This phenomenon is what in my life is called the “Last mile connectivity”.

The distance between my office and my residence is roughly of 2 and half kilometers. I spend most of the distance either walking or enticing a rickshaw-wallah for a hitchhike. Both the tasks are arduously difficult and it would be a decision of the tune of Damocles’ sword to pick one. It is only in the distance of the last bit of my journey back home (a little over 500 meters) that I get the pleasure of a riveting ride. The worthy service is provided; well you guessed it, by the autowallahs. They charge the maximum they can for such a short distance (10 Rs!! The lowest fare for a rick is 9 but these buggers seldom carry the requisite change of 1 rupee. So you give 10 Rs. and curse him below your breath to move on!). The trip they offer as a service is the one which comes closest a contrivance of three wheels can be to a nice glistening Ferrari.

The machines! The glowing yellow is matched in its radiance by the mysterious black. Within the limits of this 2 and half feet tall metal box (rest 3 feet is made of a metal scaffold supporting a tarpaulin sheet!), you shall find the best possible calligraphy. The personality of the driver is evident from the one-liners that are spread across the rick’s body. Be it the decent “mulgi shikli pragti jaahli” or the precise “Maal behen wala, banega mera saala?”. The only thing more handsome than the driver would be the two walls of the back seat. Either there is an early 90’s Aamir khan, standing on a tripod to look taller, or Sanjay dutt with the hairstyle of the millennium (the long locks dating from the 1^st millennium in human history!). In order to embarrass the female passengers there is a nicely cleaved (I hope you get what am saying) pic of Mamta Kulkarni (a favourite of Laloo prasad!) or the Shilpa shetty photo from “Main Khiladi Tu Anari” wherein she suffers from Strabismus (also called “bhengapan” in hindi). In this movable advertisement media for outdated movies, only the pendulous motion by the driver seems to remind you as to where you are!!

The race track!! The road as such has all the curves that a plumpy Indian aunty has. Round, robust, dangerous and archaic, all pulled into one. To top this thing up, as the rickshaws are occupied by jerks like me, the intelligentsia prefers to walk. This crowd so much concentrates on the invisible straight line beneath their feet that they hardly seem to hear the honking by the poor rickshaw-wallah (This honking ranges from movie songs to various notes of dysrrhythamia!!) . To ensure no one suddenly gets a flying lesson (or I guess lesion!!) from the backside, the rickshaw-wallah has to make use of the best expletives and maneuvering techniques. The rickshaw seems to wobble at every moment and had it been remotely possible, the machine would have taken the front wheel off and given a salute to the driver for saving so many lives. Hawkers, children and beggars fill the remainder of this track as if the rick is playing an obstacles race on this race track!

The pit stops!! These are those strategic breaks (I might not watch IPL but I do read!!) which are deliberately kept to increase the excitement and hence the return on paltry investment (all for just 10 bucks!). Pit-stops in the journey are courtesy to either dozing donkeys or cows and the nice boulders dug up by the municipal corporation expecting to unravel an archeological site (I heard they found a lost kid from one of such pits which connected to a nearby sewage line! The story goes that this kid entered a sewer while searching for the municipal corporator of this locality). Once around such a pit stop, I had a sudden realization of a shooting pain in the elbow; all coz of a boy who in his science project was trying to understand projectile motion of a flying rock!!

At the end of a tired day, such a nice experience is routine in Mumbai. I am sure most of you are jealous of my Felippe Mussa (our very own desi autorickshaw driver).

Urgently needed: A little bit of normalcy

2009-10-03T12:08:00.000-07:00

I would have loved to have what most people around me seem to possess. A little bit of normalcy. Easily being understood by others and owning up a sizeable chunk of simplicity. But ne! I don’t seem to have it. I could easily be summarised as widely misunderstood and gravely misinterpreted individual. Mind you, this is my view and as of now I am the only one who believes it. For most of the people, this is nothing but an indication of the deviancy of my mind.

Why such thoughts? And that too, suddenly? All does not seem well. To answer the latter first, how does it matter if such thoughts come suddenly or gradually? These are pretty nagging thoughts and should be addressed to, not questioned about. For the first question, the explanation is as under.

Last weekend, I had taken part in the most important summit of my life till now. It was planned as a personal meeting between some elders (elders, both for the society in general and for me!!) and me. I had been cordially addressed to and gracefully shown utmost hospitality. The matter was of serious concern and to summarise it, I was pitted against all the elders to make my point. Wait a minute! Did I use the word “pitted”? Damn!! I am so very defensive. Let me rephrase it. I was not pitted but “poised to present my views which seemed a little contrarian to the ensemble of elite gathered in the drawing room which doubled up as a private parliament”. The result of that 6-hour-long-marathon discussion was the unanimous decision to brand me as an “arrogant”, “overenthusiastic”, “fundamentalist”, “should not metamorphose into a bigot” or simply “disrespectful”. Not that I am hearing these words for the first time but somehow this time they did pinch a lot.

I do accept that in life I have shown a very brutish and crude manner of talking with people, often resulting in me being addressed to in such inappropriate manner. But for heaven’s sake, not this time! I had been to the best of my grace and wit. Seriously! I swear, I acted well. Now, I know, coming from me most of you would not believe it. But man, how many times would I actually go on to give an explanation? I would have pointed my nose in a weird direction and walked off rather than sit and give an explanation which am currently giving. This should be a good enough reason to at least believe some bits from my end.

In those long hours of discussion, I had raised my voice to a slightly higher pitch and that too, only on a couple of occasions. These were the moments when I felt there was a definite need to "pitch in" so as to exhibit the seriousness of my words. I guess, these moments made me look stupid. I am being talked and despised behind my back. I wish I could initiate the dialogue and explain my side of the story. I wish I could either dial the numbers or draft a mail and send it across to the elders. Wishful thinking! Neither the courage to accept a mistake I presumably think I didn’t comment nor the elegance to carry out such an endeavour without any mishaps! I don’t possess either of these things. The only option I am being left with is to write my thoughts here and wish they echo in the void of life to reach their destined destinations. Just feeling a little hurt. Guess, I deserve it!

prithvi introduces me to Sakharam

2009-10-02T03:53:00.000-07:00

What do you like the most? It is either the thing you have or you want with all the will of your cravings. I aspire to be a writer. A writer, who might be respected for his creativity as well for the touch of humanity. In this regard, I have shown my inclination to hang around places wherein creativity seems to reside. My fascination with Prithvi Theatre could probably be explained in this fashion. The place seems to exude some enigmatic aroma (Please!!! It is not the smell wafting from the Prithvi Cafe in the vicinity. Take me seriously for heaven’s sake!!). Something always seems to be cooking with those small groups scattered beneath the trees and every member hunched over in some sort of a conversation. Some faces always seem to be omnipresent while the rest like us are there for a time-pass and lost in the conundrum. I have never been able to gather courage to go and talk to all these arty-type people (curly hairs, unkempt beard, cotton kurtas, wrists decorated with bicycle tubes, feet adorned by floaters and jeans showing the best part of their backsides). Anyways, let me tell you what I wanted to talk about!!

Yesterday, after a span of 45 days (a real long duration as I happen to frequent this place pretty often!) I had the chance to see a play. The month of Ramazan had kept me a little busy. I was planning to go to a play alone but then thought of having some mortal company. A friend happened to have the ability to tolerate me and accepted my request to accompany. The play was “S*x, m*rality and cens*rship”. It was a very unique play in terms of it being a historical depiction conveyed through a fictional setting. It was based in late 60s and the better half of 70s. The events were related to the public performance of Mr. Vijay Tendulkar’s (the play thankfully does clarify that he is not Sachin’s uncle!!) famous play “Sakharam Binder”.

The play was a two act play with the duration of 2 hours and 15 minutes and had fabulous performances by its actors, be it the “lavni” dance of the lead female narrator or the personal introduction by “sakharam”. A historical account of the challenges posed by the government, the censor board, Shiv Sena and the general public for performing the play, are very nicely captured. It highlighted the hypocrisy rampant in the Indian society with regard to what is acceptable for the masses per se. It was a treat to watch and be aware of the efforts that need to be put by the director of the play to get the play publicly performed. The characters seem to appal the vivid descriptions of the societal life in the 60s and 70s in India as seen from the eye of the cinema and their inherent sense of utopia. Anecdotal incidents relating to Pratibha Patil and Balasaheb make the play all the more interesting. The performances touched everyone in the audience as evident from the standing applause at the end of the play.

“Sakharam binder” does come across as a revolutionary play to someone like me who till now has stayed away from vernacular literature. Do read this wikipedia link: Sakharam Binder. I wish to read more of Mr. Vijay Tendulkar’s play to get a deeper insight in his revolutionary writings. I am currently trying to get more information on Sakharam Binder from the internet. If someone happens to possess an English translation of the play (original was in Marathi), do send it across to me.

kitsch and kiss---amiss

2009-09-28T00:03:00.000-07:00

I am very sorry for being so much out-of-touch. Too many happenings in my life currently. This incident is dedicated to some of my friends as I could not share this in Ramadan.

On a bright sunny afternoon, with some clouds trying to hide out the soft sun, I was lazily dreaming in my bed (a term undeservingly reserved for the two mattresses that I keep on the floor in my room). I was jolted out of my reverie by the ringing of my cell phone. A very close and old friend had called in to discuss something. Well, actually not discuss but to share a sense of guilt. Let call this friend of mine as S (I am trying to Keep It Short and Simple!). Now S (no co-relation with a vital back end of the body or the super intelligent being in animals dubbed as an idiot) had done a very big crime. In his sense of stupor on this wonderful Mumbai afternoon, he had prevented a thing of exquisite beauty from taking form. S walked around in his flat and prevented a rotund old flatmate of him from taking a plunge into the finest “expression of labial freedom” (“labia” in Latin means “lips”). To tell you in a simplistic manner, S barged into a room in his flat when his roommate was about to kiss his (not S’s) girlfriend for the first time!!! This inhuman act of involuntary interference into the private confines of one’s roommate’s public life has been a cause of severe concern to S. He has been writhing in pain and misery. He created a solemn picture in his mind that his roommate was attempting to learn the basic steps of “ball-dance” and hence had the female in his embrace. (S has been an escapist since his childhood and this was the best illustration of that)

S has been marred with an inheritance of coyness since his childhood and hence he immediately retracted his feet on seeing his flatmate in the middle of an important activity (Retracted backwards! Something that S has always found a bit difficult but thanks MJ, for letting him learn the trick). He closed his eyes and ran off in his room and immediately tried to get in touch with me. I, as usual, was valiantly ignoring him and hence did not answer his call. S then let the matter die down in his memory.

It was only recently when he came in contact with some common friends of his and his roommate’s that SS’s flatmate, for the matter of clarity explained that he was not dancing but was attempting the first kiss to his girlfriend. The details of the scene were then elaborately explained as S’s flatmate furiously shouting: “I had taken a shower and since I was only wearing a towel over my rounded self, the air did its part. The air had caressed me so softly that my internal being had let out some chemicals (preposterously called hormones) which had completely taken over me. In order to get rid of this internal turbulence, I decided to discuss the matter with the human form in extreme vicinity, who was my girlfriend. Just when I was about to let out my steam (I suspect he had a hot water bath), you bloody bugger of an “S” came into the room and forced me to “cease and desist the act of labial expression”. This was the final nail in the S’s already hole-ridden coffin!!!

My personal advice to S was to ensure that he sits tight in his room as far as possible. Knocks on any surface that he can put his hands on while he walks around in the flat. Last but not the least, since the flatmate has shown extraordinary sensitivity towards air, ensure that at night the flatmate is not exposed to any touch of breeze (always see to it that his cuddly surface is beneath a cloth-cover) as then he might attempt to let his expressions flow down on S and something might happen which both of them may not entertain when they get up on a listless and still-air morning. S’s Swollen Back Mountain!!!!

cattle class

2009-09-19T18:58:00.001-07:00

“...cramped in cattle class”. This tweet nearly got the Minister of State for external affairs, back to his previous state, that of without a political job. I would endorse here that the tweet did hurt me too. I respect the individual concerned for his standing in the international diplomatic circles. This statement seemed pretty naive to be becoming from a person of his sensitivities. I do appreciate the humour in the sentence but it seemed to put a lot of derogatory connotation to a large section of the society. The crude reality of the sentence dawned on me recently.

I had celebrated the Islamic “Night of power or Lailatul-Qadr”, the 27^th night of the holy month of Ramzan. It was time to head home now since Eid was just around the corner. I had been booked a ticket in a train named “Avadh Express”. This train connects Bandra (a suburb in Mumbai) to Gorakhpur. This train is special as it serves as a lifeline for the large migrant population in Mumbai from UP (it even passes through Surat which is another hub for a large migrant population from the same geography). I boarded the train and it was already 11 30 pm. Tiredness was playing its role and hence I dozed off quickly. I was occupying a middle berth. I woke up after a couple of hours and this is when my moment of reality struck me.

The compartment was jam-packed with people. An ideal compartment of second class is to hold 72 persons. But I could suddenly count at least a 100 people in my compartment (that means at least 4 more to the 8 reserved in a coupe). The floor was just not visible as it was littered with human forms. I had placed my shoes below the lower berth. Being worried about whether they are still there or not, I did a frantic visual recon for them. Still perched on my berth, I tried to wrangle my neck at weird angles with my eyes almost popping out of its sockets. I could see the entire length of space beneath the lower berth full of bags and stuffed with whatever you could dream off. My mind had an illusion about a goblin rolling under the berth. I guess its coz of too much of influence of Harry potter and LOTR in my life now. Cringing on the edge of the seat for about half an hour, I gathered courage to ask the people sitting around (a whole bunch of famished looking youths who were clinging on to whatever space they could garner in the coupe) if they could locate my pair of shoes. The couple (yeah, a couple! A guy and his wife, I assume this, were sleeping in the space between the two adjoining lower berths) most likely responsible for the hiding of my shoe were unceremoniously asked to wake up. With some random gesticulations of the upper extremities the guy miraculously obtained a couple of pair of shoes. One of them, I recognised to be mine (the identity was not difficult as my left shoe has a torn lace, a result of an over-zealous gesture one day while tying the knot!!).

I just could not resume my sleep after this hour of battling for the existence of my shoe. I was sympathetic to the state of these extra and unofficial travellers (the ticket-checkers tried to get people off the train but in the end they gave up to the obstinate nature of these bull-headed poor migrants!) but I still cannot digest the scene. If you see western markets, even the cattle have shown more signs of owning up rights compared to the lower classes in India. A tweet by Mr. Tharoor was atleast able to make me sensitive to such a plight! Wish we could do more for this section of the society.

a vision for a television

2009-09-15T09:50:00.000-07:00

What symbolizes the distinction in the living standards of my life with that of the slums surrounding my building? Well, to tell you the truth, the difference can be represented by a Television set. Yeah, a T.V!! Before you sympathize with my comparator and start a discourse on “economic disparity and its impact on life”, let me tell you I am the party at a disadvantage. Despite belonging to a “middle class livelihood” on paper (this is the annual package which “they” say I get); I do not have a TV set in my flat. The reality hit me when during one of my visits to the masjid for an Isha-namaz, I happened to pass by a small “kholi” and saw nice gleaning TV in it, all with the latest hoopla of “flat screen”.

I have already completed two years of a shoddy existence in Mumbai. The first year and a half had a remnant of a TV in my flat. This was courtesy of two seniors who stayed with me (in fact, I stayed with them!!). One of them had the genius to get a desktop and get it all laced up with a “TV Tuner card” and “Jinga la la Tata Sky”. The other took care of paying the cable bill, regularly. The whole contraption worked coz of an assortment of accoutrements it represented. There were 3 boxes lined beside each other with wires going from one to other as if to say “Let’s play, who came first!!”. Beside the boxes, was the heavenly abode of the mighty monitor, a bulky heavy relic of post-T-rex era. When I had joined this bachelor accommodation, I tried to switch on the TV once. The SOP consisted of showing a refined sense of flair for balancing the act between two different remotes. After a prolonged battle for supremacy I had to acknowledge defeat. The TV would just not get started!! A couple of such battles of brains and I had decided that a TV was not basically aimed to work for a guy of my IQ. Hence, started the period of my being disillusioned with TV, esp. if it requires me to start it!!

In the last 6 months in Mumbai, the closest I have been to a TV set has been at Suhailbhai’s place. They have a very large flat-screen giant which seems to be suspended from the wall. As it represents advancement in the digital age, this piece of visual simulation works fine with just one remote and I have showed exceptional capabilities of switching it on. No wonder, they say technology upgrades facilitate the “mentally challenged” to join the mainstream. I can very often be identified as a wide-eyed identity watching TV with a gaping mouth and bated breath in Suhailbhai’s house. I try to put together the current schedule of events on TV by ardently following the OOH hoardings on the road I take from office to home. I know exactly which are the new soaps and who is going to be next on Farah Khan’s show. Add to this compilation of OOH media my ability to find out relevant internet pages and I can almost be on the top of most happenings in TV.

What made me write this post? Well, I have found a way of living without having a TV. But once in a while, I come across moments when I miss it the most. I am not jealous of the family in the slum who laughs aloud watching Akshay pass off a comment in “Khatron ke Khiladi-2” but I missed the opportunity to watch my dear ol Fed loose in his 6^th US Open Final. I tried different sites to identify live streams of the match but to no avail. I am even used to watch India play cricket matches, thanks to the ball by ball commentary on Cricinfo. The thing I missed the most is: following up either tennis matches or football matches on TV. My hopes are currently hinged on a dream that maybe I might marry sometime soon and would have a house of my own wherein even I would hang a beast of a TV on the wall. Till then, let me let me make the most of the YouTube’s sliced version of Federer’s matches!!

the pathan finds his plate of "paaya"

2009-09-12T15:53:00.000-07:00

How rituals come into being? What is the basis of things that become a norm? Such thoughts have always done their “Brownian dance” in my brain. Though now, I am beginning to get an answer. It is just that something innocuous starts, gradually becomes a habit and over a period of time, becomes a ritual. My Saturday evening night outs are one such thing. Each Saturday in the month of Ramzan, I am desperate to be invited to the open air dinners that are hosted by Suhailbhai. I say “hosted” coz that’s what they are. Suhailbhai religiously arranges the party each Saturday night with our group (I have to acknowledge, I now have a stable group in Mumbai). Non vegetarian food is ordered from the choicest of places nearby Minara masjid and then the “dastarkhan” is spread on marine drive. I am writing this post after one such excursion. It is already 4:15 am.

I did find a topic for today’s post but would delay it for later. The thing I am writing about is what happened in the last half an hour. The time for close of Suhoor is 5 o’clock, so I decided I am not going to sleep. I had bought a couple of pastries from “Theobroma” (a very famous pastry joint in Colaba) to have them for Suhoor. Unfortunately, when I reached home somewhere around 2:55 am, I open the box to find them melted. Just shows how inexperienced we are at handling the good stuff. Rich chocolate laden pastries melt but since I am habituated of eating the “cheapo” stuff, I never realised it, till today. I was about to give up any plans for Suhoor that a thought struck me as to try and search for food. Yeah, search for food at 3 am. Ridiculous idea! But then, that’s me. No wonder I have this buddy called Loony.

I start out of my building and ask the security guards as to where would I find food for the suhoor time. They look at me puzzled but later enthusiastically declare that I would not find anything before 4 am. I decide to try my luck:no point going back home!! Bouncing with energy (I have always shown this preposterous tendency to be energetic for the wrong reasons); I find another human soul some 100 metres ahead and decide to barge him with questions.

"Bhaijan, you are walking in the wrong direction. Turn around and go for 500 metres. You would find a small hill. Don’t climb it but instead take the lane opposite to it and ask anyone for Cafe Noor”. Hence, begins my search and sojourn towards “Cafe Noor”. {“Noor” in Arabic means “light” the trait that Allah (SWT) is endowed with}. I wander in the direction this lad directs me. The confidence of this lad was worth appreciating and hence I decide to abide by his guidance.

I pass serpentine “gallis” and dodge what seemed like a million tennis balls. (In the month of Ramzan, Muslim localities are flooded with the phenomenon of “night cricket”. Children and youth alike are cheering their teams. I felt so happy seeing them all enjoying life to the fullest.) These gallis seemed like architectural wonders. They were so narrow that they limited the concept of having doors opening outside the house. After all, you don’t want your door to open and bang the door of the neighbour staying opposite to you. Yeah! That’s how narrow they were. I happened to locate “Cafe Noor”, the owner exuberating with pride to explain the hot “paaya” which was ready for Sehri. But he had a problem!

Ahmedbhai (owner of “Cafe Noor”) explains that I can get the “paaya” but the “parathas” would take some time. He advises me to go to the bakery nearby and get some fresh buns. I head again for my search for food. The bakery was closed for customers as it was the time for planning the next day’s production. Looking at my pathetic state and my quest for food, the bakery workers who were sitting on the veranda, decide to help me out. There I was! Taken into the “bhatti” of the bakery at 3 15 am and asked for what I want! 4 buns!! The price in total was “Char rupiah!” (4 rupees). They laugh and get it packed while I am busy clicking the photographs on my cell phone. I take my trophy of buns and head back to “Cafe Noor” to get the “paaye ka saalan” packed. Ahmedbhai made my day by asking “nalli dun ya boti?” I click a few pics here also to treasure this excursion and share it with you guys. Before leaving, I devour the fresh “phirni” that was ready too for sehri time. Total cost of paaya and phirni comes out to be a nominal Rs. 15. I convey my sincere thanks to Ahmedbhai and come home.

Process time: 35 minutes. Distance travelled: 1.5 kilometers. Location: Slums of Andheri west. Search term: Food for sehri. Resources involved: time and money. Gains: Paaya and buns. Value spent: 19 Rs. Value and Experience gained: Priceless.

Pics: Click here

My escapades with creativity and talent

2009-09-10T10:34:00.000-07:00

Creativity and Talent! These are two words which scare the hell out of me. Ever since I tried to use Lego bricks to stuff out my howling brother, my parents have been skeptical of the lack of both these capabilities in me. I have been kept on a tight lease not because of these characteristics but due to the lack of it. The closest I have come showcasing these traits was when in designing my resume I wrote “my Talent lies in Creativity”. This was the most creative I could get with the use of the word “Talent”.

In school years, most of my friends showed exceptional “Talent” in writing essays. Their essays exceeded in more number of pages than my entire answer-sheet. The longest essay I was able to write was something related to “crispness and clarity of thought in writing”. These friends showed great “memorizing powers” in deftly quoting authors and leaders in their essays. On the other hand, most of my essays were littered with quotes which were mostly mine (I am lying here! In fact, all the quotes were cooked up!!). I had a small book of quotes back home and glancing through it I realized that somebody by the name of “anonymous” had the most of quotes from him. So where I could gather strength to mention, I would say the quote was from “anonymous”. Reflecting today I realize how true I was. My existence is signified in its Talent by the “anonymity” of survival which I have shown.

I survived my childhood years, primarily by managing to pass literature subjects and not showing any “Creativity” in object papers like “Mathematics” and “science”. I was fairly confident I would be able to last my term on this planet without the two dreaded words of “Creativity” and “Talent”. Suddenly in the hackneyed chain of events called life, I happened to be enrolled into a medical school. Here I was, the guy lacking all that which the stream of medicine signifies! The furthermost my Talent could take me was concealing till my final year the fact that I never truly knew how to handle the “stethoscope”. For those of you, who might be like me, I have to inform you “the eartips should be pointed forward” and not the other way around. Also, there is a small knob that you have to turn to ensure that you are able to “auscultate” the sounds. All this I got to know thanks to the professor who came for my viva voce exams in the final year. He was sympathetic towards me primarily coz of the lack of “Creativity” and “Talent”.

Having terrorized my medicine batch-mates for 6 years, I could have taken some respite. Instead I decide to be “creative” and land myself in a B-school (that’s not the place where they teach you how to make a B-grade movie or live a B-grade life!!). Yeah, a Business school! I displayed immense “Talent” in not remembering either my class timings or the names of my courses. To cut a long story short, the best I could learn is the use of something very “Talent”ed called “Google”. The most things that I would ever be asked by someone are likely to be answered by some other wisecrack somewhere on the net, so just “Google” the same.

Armed with all this experience since childhood, here I am. A quick summary of my “Creativity” lies in the word “zilch” and the best Talent I display, is surfing through “Google”. The worry is: Will this be sufficient to last my stay in a corporate? Do let me know what you think.

LL and french kiss

2009-09-08T11:05:00.001-07:00

Some people are borne out of mishaps and then they take retribution on the entire humankind around them. One of such likely wonders of a sperm’s wrongful penetration is my buddy Loony Lemur. I have described his traits in my earlier post but those who have no clue about him, it would be better if you structure your own judgment. I happened to bump into this lad while coming from office. The discussion without any editions from my side is as under:

(Completely giving the control of his body to the breeze around, a mass of matter structured as human seemed to be wafting along) Da Da Da deee deeeee dooooo. Hey doc! That’s you!

Is it? Is it really me? I thought I was carrying off as somebody!

Oh dear! Must be tough to be walking carrying someone you are not!

(Damn, never gets my sarcasm in the first bit) Yeah, yeah! So LL (Loony Lemur is LL for me coz of short attention span), where have you been? You seem to be in a good mood if your style of walking is to be judged upon.

Yeah man! I am so very happy today. I happen to know something which has made me immensely proud. In fact, we all should be proud of ourselves, esp. people like you, who have no reason to be proud of anything in the first place.

(Sneering) Oh wow! What happened? Let me know. My Google reader was not capturing any news feeds today so I have no clue as to what transpired in the universe. (I knew he is going to start talking in paragraphs now and not in sentences!)

Hahaha. (There it goes!!) As if it was working and you would have learnt everything. Anyways, we can discuss your mental in-equilibrium later. I learnt that France is in great cultural turmoil. They have had to think over disbanding one of their cultural practices due to the swine flu scare. (I unknowingly happen to twitch my left orbicular oris and this bugger happens to notice it). I have seen that look before, doc! Don’t be surprised. I know you are thinking as to which cultural practice France has in any place. They have been harking on “Liberty, Equality and Fraternity” right after the sanest guys jumped off, what they call Bourneville (I dare not correct this guy with Bastille). But you are wrong! I got to know that they take their “Kisses” very seriously.

Their (I guess he means the French!) temerity towards kissing can be deduced from the fact that they have influenced their ex-colonies like Lebanon to take up kissing as a mode of expression. (I take this as a chance of this babbler to showcase his newly learnt knowledge). Just imagine!!! Giving up something you have grown up on (and many people who were born coz of such innocuous gestures which later led up to things under the influence of hormones)!!! It is ludicrous. I sympathise with the French people who are famous only for three things: French beard or Frenchie (not the VIP one, which is an Indian patent), An erectile dildo of Sir Eiffel and guess what! French kiss!! Just imagine!! That all-famous French kiss is supposed to be prohibited in the place of its origin. (This guy is going gung-ho with his ‘just imagine’, I have to close this thing as early as possible or I might be lost in translation with this nut!)

I get all that sir. But it still does not explain your happiness. Are you in the state of schadenfreude? Rejoicing at the haplessness of the French?

Obviously I am that Swan-de-fraud. I have my distant relatives.. (I am completely switched off by now. The only guy I think he is related to is the Lameduck Temur!!)....God save the French (and me from you!)

Hmmmm.

What hmmm, doc! You seem to have gone blank. Oh yeah! Your month of fasting, right? It should not be tough for you though! Running low on glucose? What do you need it for? Brain?? That slimy sticky mass of grey matter which you don’t have?

Yeah yeah LL. I guess we can discuss this later. I have to rush off. Take care!

Yeah, you take care doc! May the Lord shower you with all that he has given me!

(I feel embarrassed and say a quick “No Amen” and run off hurriedly.)

Baldy and Loony

2009-09-08T10:57:00.000-07:00

Let’s get the root of the matter sorted out first. The blog-post about “Faith and Reason” was written by a very dear friend of mine. He calls himself “Baldy Boothead”. Since he is a little “media shy” (I had no clue what that is but that’s what he cited as a reason to be kept anonymous on the blog), he let me take the credit for writing something as critical as that article. I know. Those of you who are reading this post (I can actually count the 5 of you), would surely be surprised as to what kind of name is “Baldy Boothead”. But well, the guy got himself introduced to me with that name and so he shall remain that. Now, having let him post that article on my blog has caused a little “gag war” in my life. My other buddy, who is all chirpy and bubbly about being famous, is really pissed off at me. How can I let “Boothead” write something on my blog when I have not even mentioned a phrase about this friend of mine? You can just imagine what kind of bombastic babbler he would be, who would say something like this. But that’s “LL” for me and you.
“LL” is preferred over “Loony Lemur” by the man himself and who is me to challenge his knowledge about himself. So for me he is “loony”, “lemur”, “LL”, “big eyes”, etc. He is so self-obsessed and happy that he hardly notices what I call him. My just nodding in his direction is a sign enough of his taking it upon himself the onerous task to initiate a diatribe towards the modern day living. The sole reason he is happy is the fact that he is living in history as compared to what he would be living in tomorrow! (You might take some time to understand that, I am used to what “big eyes” says). The only moment that I could figure out I saw him a little sad and melancholic was when he realised that despite having big eyes (what do you think is the reason for him being named “Lemur”) he could not look at his own self (after all using a mirror is taking some help, and “LL” is much above such petty things like asking for help). The only person who can tolerate loony’s jingoism is “baldy”.
My first meeting with Loony was in a go-carting track. Loony had just finished his turn of banging off the car and was visibly elated having rescued his own life from his own driving. He was so self-engrossed in the self-congratulatory messages that he was sending himself, that he could not see me walking down the rink. He banged into me and due to my childhood reflex of saying “Sorry” whenever something evil happens (I have been nurtured since my early years as being the progenitor of most evils on our planet), I apologized to Loony. In desperation to get things right, I commented that “Dude, you drive pretty well!! I haven’t seen a safe pair of driving hands.” That complement was enough to get Loony off his pre-occupation with “Congrats Loony, You did a great job” (the message he was sending to himself) and make him realize that I was the best guy in a periphery of some hundred miles. I later on came to know that Loony was seldom praised by anyone and those who dared rarely lasted the bouts of utmost closeness and craziness that arose from his cell phone. Loony had predilection to keep sending messages to anyone who shows any sign of interest to him (now you might know the reason why he sends so many messages to his own number!!) From that day on the carting track till today Loony has shown greatest affection to me. (He even let me wish him his b’day; no mean feat that he had to stand quiet the entire 35 seconds that my message lasted).
I hope my introduction of Loony makes him happy today and maybe we can contribute more meaningful posts in future.

Groups!!!

2009-09-06T10:22:00.000-07:00

Javed, why don’t we have a big group like others?
Sorry, but I don’t get you. Of course, we have a group it’s just that the group members are segregated. Some are in Bangalore and rest are yet to be found.
No, you don’t get it. (I told you! I don’t get you!) Why don’t we go out like others do? Why don’t we have dinners at restaurants in bunches of 10s? Why is it that on our birthdays it is just me stuck with the old you and the same chocolate cake years on years?
Come on, you are lying. Last year it was different. It was a chocolate truffle with a vanilla ice cream next to it.
See, again you are digressing from what I am saying. I just want to know that are you (suddenly the “we” becomes “you”!!!) anti-social? If not, then why don’t people call you like they do the rest? You are never the centre of any party, mostly stuck in the dimly lit corner of a restaurant where the only person who notices you is the steward.
Is it? I think I get invited. My boss yesterday called me for a small gathering at his place but I could not go coz of the month of Ramzan.
Yeah!! Yeah!! Someone invites you once and that happens to be the time of the year when you just can’t go anywhere.
Oops!!! Sorry. Next time I’d ask my boss to take care and invite me appropriately!
See, there you go again! You made me go away from the topic. Why don’t we have a group?
What about bhai, bhabhi, aapa, anni and arafaat? They also are our group. We do go and meet them on weekends. Isnt it? Remember the nice little dinner parties on the marine drive? I thought you felt at ease with them.
Yeah. I so very loved it. Was wonderful. Nice cool breeze, the dirty sea whose filth is not seen in the dark and nice mughlai food. It was amazing. Even then we were around 8-9, right? Not in the bunches of 10s?
Aww. Nah!! I guess some one must have ran away. I thought they were 10 (i had to count myself twice to get to that figure).
Is it? Really. No wonder , I feel it was the best day of my life in Mumbai!!

a guy of Reason"able" faith

2009-09-05T16:10:00.000-07:00

Things are really becoming serious around me and this merits me to write something which is very close to my heart. I have always exhibited a very wry sense of humour and have not taken things of note seriously. One thing which has always occupied my conscious thoughts is the tussle between faith and reason.

I could have explored with the dictionary meanings of faith and reason at the start of this discussion but it would not help me to elucidate my own thinking. As such, dictionaries are definitions which we ourselves have given. So it cannot be taken as something absolute.

How can we define faith? I am always perturbed by this query, very often recently. Is it the love and attachment that our soul feels with something, which seems close and personal but appears very distant? Is it the connection of my being with its own origin? It somehow feels like the umbilical cord of my spirit which connects and gets nourishment from something or someone who has bestowed me with existence. I know this all may be sounding a mix-match of words but then how can something felt by the soul be expressed by the mind which has no control over the other. The object of faith cannot be seen, heard (not through the sense of hearing), touched (within the confines of the tangible world) and nor can it be given form. It can though be felt, communicated with, listened through some means which cannot be defined and can be visualised in the manner that it wills. Faith seems to be that ray of light which connects my vision with the source of it, originating in a place unknown.

In contrast to this realm of faith, lies the dominion of reason. It thrives on the largesse of logic. It differentiates us from the “animals”; after all, man is the rational being. Ages have been spent, pondering on this concept of reason, justifying it as a means that has given a meaning to our existence. It is the sprint that enabled great leaps of development that we have claimed over our mammalian neighbours. It is the knowledge that we acquire with the help of existing knowledge. It gives us the ability to go deeper into things which are presented to us, to recognize patterns from a complex set of information, to decipher codes which permit peaceful existence or to substantiate mass-killings in the name of concepts like Democracy and liberty.

Reason enables me to complicate the simplicities of faith. Reason is the building block of “bounded rationality” which thereby incapacitates me to understand the underpinnings of faith. Faith exists outside the boundaries of reason. No wonder, in order to reach to the other side, you have to take the “leap of faith”. If you apply reason in the matters of faith probably you won’t be able to reach higher coz by definition the limits of reasoning are there. Reason is all about breaking, disintegrating and atomization. It is the search towards something recognizable. Something which researches the known cannot be used while exploring the aspects of something unknown. Hence, applying reason does not make sense for faith. Probably, I am wrong and I need to dwell on this deeper.

Let’s wait for time to segregate the intermingling of faith and reason for both seem essential for the existence of someone as banal as me.

An "un"happy shock: Pak V/s. India

2009-09-03T00:45:00.000-07:00

Popping up something which is a little perplexing, in front of me in the morning, GOD makes sure I spend my day humbly and don’t try to be a “Jackass”. I know, the word “Jackass” would limit its use in humans only for the kinds that are ably represented by me, but mind you, my self-esteem is shouting aloud “Ahoy! You are smart, whatever the rest may say!" Before the world goes worrying around with regard to my being pompous about my own self, I would allay all the fears by declaring that I hardly hear my self-esteem (my decisions in life with regard to my jobs, my friends, my bosses, my dresses, etc. are testament to the fact that I am too naïve to hear to it in the first place!).
I am attaching here, something that shocked me early morning today, a link which talks of the “Happy Planet Index”. (That’s the influence of analytics on humans; we have shown an excessive affinity towards indexing everything. This makes sure that things are understood by a “chosen few” who hark about their intelligence by emphatically declaring the idiocy of others if they fail to understand the “amazingly simple algorithm” of the index.)
You can download the report from:
http://www.happyplanetindex.org/learn/download-report.html
Also, on the link you can get the relevant excel sheet (for those who don’t understand this; indexes are generally backed by god-forsaken list of numbers which are intertwined to produce the most amazing enigmatic effects on a white background in a file type which has been by far the greatest curse by Microsoft on humans, called Excel sheets!!) listing the rank order of different countries and the suggested rationale for the calculation.
Now the best part of the report, India ranks 35th on the list and Pakistan is ranked 24th. I was flabbergasted.!! Whatdaf#$@!!! No, this can't be true!! Afterall, we have "Katrina Kaif" working in our film industry. How can Indians be more unhappy??? Heading this list, is a seldom heard country called “Costa Rica” (for guys like me who are addicted to coffee, the name reminds me of a very nice coffee outlet close to my house!!). If you have a television back home (I had to put this phrase since I don’t give myself the luxury of owning a television. I reserve its purchase after marriage as it would help me nullify the blaring feminine sounds we associate with post-married life!!) and you have this habit of skimming across channels looking for advertisements (for the sane-minded, you might be jumping along to see programs but for most it is the advt. that causes a lot of exaggerated hopping!), then am sure you would have seen some news about Pakistan.
Pakistan is the rudimentary country located on the left of ours (India) if you are standing such that the sun rises over the right of your shoulder. The country is mostly inhabited by people of my religion (for those who don’t know what it is, don’t bother!) who have shown utmost penchant for playing “Musical Chairs” with the official government chair located in Islamabad (that is around some hundred miles from a place where fundamentalists are playing with ammunition taking aim at any female who dares to bare her ankle to them!!) The best thing of this country is actually always away from the country and is called the “Pakistan cricket team” (The team part is reserved only on paper; you might often find the team-members competing more against each other than the opposition). I have used the term “away” for the team coz after a recent episode wherein a rocket was misfired aiming at a visiting team who dared to play in this country (don’t worry, these guys were not showing their ankles) the team is seldom going to play in their own country. They want to preserve their rockets for other purposes and not waste it on some Sinhalese lion-hunting. The most progressive attempt the country ever made was trying to link a dead woman (supposedly very liberal) with an aging cricket star by saying that they had a “liaison” going along since the days they were studying together in the now far-off England. The lady has already been buried and forgotten by her husband whom people prefer acknowledging by the nickname “Mr. 10%”. The aging star also called the “captain” successfully runs a cancer hospital and has had several unsuccessful attempts atraising a party and raising a family (“Jai-ma ma clan” didn’t work!!).
Comparing this with India, I have to acknowledge we represent a very boring bunch of people. Either most of us are firing members for writing books on Pakistan or we are busy returning “Press Club of India” cards. This is in no way comparable to what the “Pakis” are doing. We generate no interest in the world while the “Pakis” are the fulcrum from where US is trying to address the “axis of evil”. No wonder then, that we are much unhappier than the comparator.
No wonder the Happy Planet index has a pun in its name and as most things in life, not many would understand it!!

Innuendo query in the morning

2009-09-01T01:22:00.000-07:00

What’s the meaning of “innuendo”? That’s hardly the way a dimwit like me would love to start his day. Already reeling under the influence of sleep (waking up at 4 o clock early in the morning due to the month of Ramzan) and an empty stomach (half of it is filled with food early in the morning before 5 and half of the filled stuff is puked out), I was splashed this question over the phone by A. The context was A is going through Barack Obama’s book, “Audacity of Hope” (which in itself is pretty audacious!! How can somebody start a dull boring weekday by reading something talking about “Hope”? After all, in weekdays there is hardly any hope alive. “Hope” seems to be borne on Friday evening and by Sunday afternoon is dying a terrible spastic death!).
Anyways, I have to impress the lady with something so I stutter and scatter something in my English, the language I learnt to ensure confusion reigns supreme on the minds that thrive around me. I quickly open google and type in the word. The lady hears the tapping of the key board and realizing that she is losing the oft-aspired grip on humiliating me with my sense of language, types in quickly to get the meaning herself. But!!! But!! But!!! I belong to a fledgling company which boasts of having only one thing in working condition and that too which works pretty fast. The Net connection!!! I get to the webpage I am looking for quickly and it says “Innuendo” means “an indirect remark about somebody or something, usually suggesting something bad or rude"; the use of remarks like this: innuendoes about her private life or The song is full of sexual innuendo” and quotes the Advanced Learner’s (Hell with advanced learning!!! I am already paying a hefty price for trying to learn something in my school and college!!!) Dictionary for the same. Since my mind is still working in the fashion the computers used to use vacuum tubes (aka terribly slow), I take my time to register the full meaning of the word. I read it twice. Copy it from the webpage, paste it in the word doc, highlight it in three different colors and finally, ask the person sitting next to me to explain the meaning in Hindi. Well, he snarls at me aided by two grayish protruding teeth and says “Abey chimpu, innuendo matlab kissiki mast tarah se le lena”. Then I relate this use of the vernacular to the phrase I have obtained and realize the full potential of the word.
“Innuendo” makes me brim with pride. Coz I seem to have found my reason for existence. This is, after all, what I have been doing full time all my life. Passing indirect (direct ones are reserved for females!!! oops, A seems angry with this. Damn!!This is going to cost me another chocolate!!!) remarks which are deliberately bad or rude!! (I am sure if someone from my college reads this he would be reminded of something said about him from me. Please, don’t bother to ask me if I remember. My mental storage capacities are the same as Mr. Vajpayee’s who has to take his own notes in mid-sentence to understand what he wants to say!!).

Garbage bags!!! I say...

2009-08-31T11:04:00.000-07:00

Walking garbage bags! Well, that’s what I exclaim when I see obese persons around me. I can understand those who have a pathological state which translates into obesity but that would hardly be true for the most of the obese I literally get “bumped” into. They are everywhere esp. where a just-earned-some-bit kind of youth (read me!!) is flouting his wealth around. In the first class compartment of the train, in the malls, in cinemas, in restaurants (these seem to be the places where obesity lurks like a phantom atop a tree!!!) and even in isolated precincts of my office. In India, the prevalence figures are approx 5% but it can be high as high as 30% in some places.(It must be >80% in Lokhandwala, the area where I visited yesterday and nearly got stomped in the gathering of Adipose around me).

As if the mass epidemic was not sufficient with regard to restricting the space available for breathing freely (in Mumbai which is as such so densely populated, if the person next to you is taking the share of two people and you are in the lurch to fit yourself in the place of one, it is restrictive, I say!!), it is compounded by the tide of decreasing lengths of clothes. As Sallubhai says “cheezein getting upar se thoda niche and niche se thoda upar”. So suddenly, you have walking garbage bags which have been torn somewhere in the middle. Mind you, this is not just affecting the honorable females as many of you would be thinking, it equally affects the males of the generation. I think I saw somewhere a guy who had his shorts tucked away somewhere in his love handles and I could just see this fella walking with a t-shirt and a pair of shoes. The shorts seemed missing. (I hereby assume that the shorts were hidden somewhere, just giving him a benefit of doubt! Decent fella I am, I say!!). Not a pretty sight to recollect and hence this difficulty to cite it here. I guess this is taking the revolution of “freedom of expression” to a new level; letting each and every skin fold on your body have the right to talk freely (in fact scream loudly at the top of its voice!!) to the people around.

In case of females, it makes a very eye-popping case. You don’t want to see anything and still with all due respects, gravity seems to be playing its part for your benefit. I have to really get my eyes dug up into my feet to avoid noticing the not-too-familiar site of a walking Rani Latifa trying to make sure no person in this world is weaned of his childhood fantasy.

I thank God, with all the gracefulness of my being that I am slightly on the anorexic side. It gives me an option to fit me into any space I deem right for me. Nonetheless, it is not a good feeling to have these flabs of fat touch your being at real awkward places, esp. in a train (considering that it was an all-male compartment!!!) Damn, compulsory drafting should be acknowledged for anyone who has shown a predilection towards an expanding girth!!

Mannah in mumbai!!!

2009-08-30T05:58:00.000-07:00

Islam is the subject of criticism left, right and centre. In a highly polarised society like India this is at times a topic of ridicule. In the midst of all this Islam-bashing, there are some aspects of influence of Islam on India which are highly liked by most people. One of such things is the preponderance of food inspired by the Islamic rulers of India. This is called Mughlai food in the local terminology. You might be surprised to see most of the ardent anti-muslims waiting to pounce on a pound of Tandoori-fry or Naarih-gosht.

This fascination for Mughlai food in us Indians, really amazes me. Just yesterday, I received a call from a very good friend of mine, who asked if we could visit Mohd. Ali road for dinner. For those who are unaware about Mohd. Ali road, a brief intro can be made saying it is the “Chandni Chowk” of Mumbai. Now if you are again one of the elites of Indian society who has seen Chandni Chowk only in an Aki-starrer flop flick or in a “masakali” humming Motorola-sponsored advertisement, then let me mention , that Chandni Chowk is the hub of Mughlai food for most conscious food-premi junta. It is the place where Kareem’s makes the best tandoori rotis with Naahri or Fry Gosht. “Khaliya” is pretty awesome esp. with a lot of “tari” on top. Coming back to Mohd. Ali road, the place seems to be the “Land of Midnight Sun” in India, in the month of Ramzan (currently underway). It is jam-packed with the food-devouring Muslim devouts and non-Muslims who come specially to show solidarity with their Muslim brothers on the widely-placed dinner table. The stalls range from Chinese to Mughlai (but trust me in every bit of cuisine that you eat here always has a Mughlai touch!!!!) Tawa fry mutton to Chicken butter Masala, all seem to be laid to rest on your table as if you are the royalty of the place. For those who seem to follow some avoidance of Non-veg food, there is ample mannah in terms of the sweet dishes. This can range from the Falooda to “double ande ka maal-pooa”. I would have elaborated all these dishes to you but my limitation with language would spoil all the ephemeral delicacy of these dishes. (I am writing this while observing my fast, so it is as such an added mental tribulation!!!)

I have currently decided to avoid visiting Mohd. Ali road. The prime reason is the distance that it is situated from , my current location (Andheri, at least an hour by train and more by drive!!!). I would better spend this time in asking for some pardon for all my sins. I am assuming here that not going to Mohd. Ali road does seem to be sin currently but then it is a small one considering my colourful past.

For those, who are within reach of this magnificent place, my advice to them would be to at least visit this place once. After all, you might like something about Muslims there. For all the best foods to devour, they don’t charge much!!!

impact of rural telephony

2009-08-29T11:11:00.000-07:00

India has always been described as the land of diversity and this definition is time and again slapped on my face. On one side I have seen the profanities of humankind in the riots of Gujarat and on the other the majestic co-existence of divergent cultures in the slums. In the same regard, a very diverse piece of news struck me recently. It relates to the use of mobile telephony.
I am relating the stories in order of how I read them over the internet.

Increasing reach of rural telephony is a very well accepted phenomenon recently. It is very enlightening that it can reach to some really astonishing levels of rural em”power”ment. I just learned that instead of walking or travelling all the way to the farm to see if there is power supply to their tube wells, farmers can be updated of this information on their mobile phones. The real good bit is they can switch the tube well switch “on” through the mobile phone. This seemed fascinating to me. Especially having known what are the problems that modern day farmers face with regard to the power shortage. For detailed information, please see the following link. (Source:http://springwise.com/telecom_mobile/nanoganesh/ )
The grim story is wherein a Dalit person by mistake called up an “upper” caste guy in Uttar Pradesh and he “head” to face humiliation for this. He was tonsured and paraded in the whole village as an example to deter other people from committing similar mistakes. I agree that a “wrong number” is at times irritating but to take the matter to such a nasty level wherein you beat one of your own village-man and defame the very existence of the so-called “civilized” race in itself is disheartening. (Source:http://timesofindia.indiatimes.com/news/india/Dalit-tonsured-paraded-for-dialling-wrong-number/articleshow/4938843.cms)

Whenever such contrasts are cited, regarding India, it evokes a pretty enigmatic emotion in me. I am happy to be associated with the ingenuity of the farmers using mobile phones but I am also deeply disgusted to be associated with the same set of people who might go to the deepest levels of racism. It is often quoted that empowering people will lead us to a more equitable and just society and I hope that such experiments of telephony help us reach there. But will it ever happen if the mindset as demonstrated by the “upper” caste members of the society is still rooted in our society. Will this search of “liberty and equality” remain a “pursuit” and not reach an end? Or is it that the “pursuit” is the justifiable end in itself. I would close it on this confusing note, after all such disparities to an untrained mind, are bewildering.

A thought on marriage

2009-08-26T21:57:00.000-07:00

Being 28 years old (that’s a play of words; despite being old I don’t know what should be your age- the number of years completed or the year running) has its own charm and tantrums if you are single. Like I am at the moment. The whole wide (and married) world seems to be singling you out for a piece of advice. Whether it is a gentle telephone call to inquire about the daily misgivings of a life lived menially or it is a poking probe to ask where this life is headed. When everything less important like heart failure and infrastructure catastrophe has been talked about, I have to face a lull after which the who’s who of my world starts the topic of “Marriage”. It always boils down to the date when I am supposed to get myself underneath the guillotine. Till marriage is not the priority, guys want to rush towards wedlock, and once everything is finalized, they go around telling they are going towards deadlock….going to lose every little ounce of freedom they have. What hypocrisy!
As if this is not enough, some of my friends who dared to enter into licensed sexual arrangements (well, that’s how you describe marriage if you are unmarried; the daily labour of carrying vegetables with dal and other provision is not accounted for here) have started going gung-ho about their family plans (well, family planning needs to follow after a plan). So I have queries flying across as to when the next embryo is likely to fertilize. I have to be a mute spectator in all this coz the day I dare to ask something or wish someone, the honorary mortal gets a strike at me asking when I due. See, I have utmost faith in the human kind, believing that it is a going concern and my contribution to it will not be scorn upon if I am a little late. Definitely people who have already been guillotined would secretly wish others also to follow the same fate! If I am suffering, so be it for others!
In all such horrific background, suddenly, the interest of my marriage (yeah!!! Despite being bald and lean like a stretched polythene bag, there is someone who wants to marry me!), has had a chat with her parents as to what is the likely date when we can file for Chapter 11 (legal terminology for m-a-r-r-i-a-g-e). What hits me with force here is the fact that for a pompous brute like me to give a commitment about a lasting relationship like marriage is a bit too mind numbing. I have lasted 4 years in the relationship and negating a few small bumps, I have done a decent job (nothing feels better than a self appraisal!!).Considering all the talks about 360 degree appraisal, you should at least take feedback from your boss, what say? Well the boss does not mind giving you a good rating; you can claim that you have done a good job. Either I am skeptical as to whether I shall be able to bear the responsibilities and the burden that accrue with a development like this (till now I have been surviving on ordering outside food; now suddenly a prospect of choosing my raw vegetables looms in front me; no mean challenge as anyone who has been to the mud strewn paths of a local market would acknowledge). By the way, would you deem it relevant enough that there are several air conditioned supermarkets which offer almost all and better vegetables than local subzi mandi. Considering this fact, you might be spared from the effort of dragging yourself through mud strewn paths.
The only consolation I take is by looking around. There are too many smartass people who have been able to last this rout of character (marriage). If my mental incapacities are to be taken into account, I can proudly claim (or dis-claim) that I would surely last marriage. The question then is whether the marriage (if it happens) will last? Pray it lasts…

Indian family

2009-08-26T02:51:00.000-07:00

A close friend of mine recently wrote an article which was a critique on the “Indian family”. He was disheartened to note that we do not have something akin to “The Simpsons”, e.g. “The Patels” or “The Marksons”. Well, I do not completely agree with this. The best of family entertainment is available in India if one would view the Political theatre.
Indian politics has now been on a national scale represented by two main parties. The Con-(re)gress and the Be JP (reminds me of a college friend whom we nicknamed to be JP actual abbrev. of his name was GP. He seemed perennially confused coz of the anti-matter that occupied his grey cells). Both are prone to family drama.
The regressive front of the oldest party is represented by the members of family started by a rose-tagged sherwani-clad Pandit. The guy, immensely educated and knowledgeable that he was, is credited with setting up the last of the royal dynasties in India. The current prince of the dynasty goes by the oft-familiar name of “naam to suna hi hoga” Rahul. He considers most Indian population to be the symbolic reference of the Bahadur Shah Zafar (BSZ) who in his last days was a frail self of the glorious dynasty he was part of. So apna Rahul is trying to ensure all his newly found BSZs are armed with a minimum wage under his “Papa Rajiv” employment guarantee scheme to bring about a dynamic change in the Indian infrastructure. The scheme in which he seems to be giving a political photo shoot (most of the new photos of this apna-Rahul are like that of Neil Armstrong on the moon’s surface; a person in white jumping around on barren land) is the official sanction to dig potholes in places least dangerous to human population.
On the other extreme, we have the (Comic)San(s)gh Parivar (Family). This family is mostly made up of white bearded babas who seem to know all about Indian culture, more than the Indian population who carries this (bacterial) culture daily. These grandpas are either destroying historical artefacts (be it the mosque or the book of a fellow family member which was never read even by its own publisher!!!) or are busy pursuing helpless females on Bangalore’s road outside a pub, where they had been banned (only Royal Stag could get into in such Pubs). Anyways, this paternal family of India is the genesis of Be JP. The party which nearly high jacked the growth agenda of the Con(re)gress by embarking on liberalisation of its own kind, seems to be going back into it’s shell of talibanised Hinduism. If I have to use the words of a famous author of mine then this is the Banised Party, constantly trying to ban something or the other. Being a big party armed with tones of general secretaries enables you to have a workforce surfing or googling to find out the best new things to be Banned and panned in india.
With such families on the prowl, it is the creative lack of our film industry (which seems to be busy about SRK’s hold up on the Newark airport) that we have not received out Indian version of “the Simpsons” till now. I guess it is just a matter of time before we get our very own “The Gandhis” or “The Sangh(Adam)’s Family”!!!!