Cataloguing my personal library

It was not without a great deal of sadness that I told Motee about my Mom's latest declaration - "Thou shalt not buy any more books". And the reason is very simple, there ain't no more space in my room to keep books !!

It isn't as if my room resembles the grand hall of the National Library. It's just that the sweet and charming book-shelf above my erstwhile study table ("erstwhile", since there's very little studying happening nowadays and of course, there's the PC on top of the desk as well, leaving very little space for desk jobs) has absolutely no space to accommodate any more books. And because of this, of late, most of my books were being piled one on top of another.

This obviously led to a very frustrating time as a bibliophile. It is extremely irritating when one cannot keep track of all the books that one has at his disposal.

So today evening, I set out to at least iron out my troubles as far as cataloguing my books was concerned. I did the most obvious thing any b-schooler would've done...I Googled. And although the scientific methods of Dewey and the Library of Congress mentioned in the comments space of this page proved to be much more than what I needed for the handful of books that I have, the range of comments and the various manners of cataloguing books (both scientific and the not so scientific) did help me in coming up with a strategy, keeping in mind the limited space resource that I have.

I proceeded to lay out all my books on the bed and as I separated the fiction from the non-fiction ones, I entered the names of the books and the respective authors into a spreadsheet on my laptop. Once this was done, I arranged my non-fiction books into categories such as 'business', 'philosophy', 'religion', 'cinema' etc. As for the fiction books, I decided I didn't want to get into anything fancy right now and just arrange them in alphabetical order, first by the name of the author and then by the name of the books.

Two and a half hours after I started this labour of love, I had achieved quite a few things.

1) Most of my books have been neatly arranged in the same book-shelf that I, not so long ago, thought incapable of holding as many books.

2) I have been able to separate the "books" from the old text-books (reminders of my school life) and the various editions of the Readers' Digest.

3) A 'database' of books has now been created which shall help me in keeping me informed of all the books that I have and those which I have lent out to friends.

4) The greatest reward for cataloguing my books has been that now I have a fair idea of the next few books that I want to buy. For instance, I realized that I have very few books on cinema and cricket. Also, there are a lot many more classics that I want to read.

All in all, the back-breaking exercise seems to have paid off. At the end of the day, I'm a happy bibliophile.

Now, if only I could figure out a way to convince Mum that I should buy more books. Hmm...

Tata Crucible Quiz 2007 at Kolkata

On a day when I’m dead tired, I don’t know what it is that is keeping me awake. Perhaps it is because I am just so excited going over and over the gifts and merchandise that I won at the Kolkata edition of the Annual Tata Crucible Quiz.

Yes, you heard that right. An individual like me who must’ve set some sort of a record for not having browsed through a pink paper or a business magazine in the last few months actually managed to intelligently *ahem* guess my way through a couple of rounds of a tough quizzing contest.

It all began a few weeks ago when Rahul, a colleague at work, brought to my notice that the Tata Crucible Quiz was about to be held in the city. The plan was very simple. We two would put on our best Sunday clothes and answer as many questions as we knew (or, as we thought we knew).

Come today afternoon, our team managed to answer quite a few questions (11 or 12 out of the 25 asked) in the preliminary round and were pleasantly surprised to find that we had qualified as one of the 6 top teams for the regional finals.

Once on stage, however, the nerves set in. We let a couple of questions go past us, only to find out later that our guesses would’ve been correct. Darn!!!

Yet, the indomitable spirit of the heroes within refused to give in without a fight. We punched our way right back into the quiz with a couple of rapid answers in the last round, only to stop an agonizing 5 points behind the runners-up.

Nevertheless, at the end of the day, we got our share of the booty, and I was mighty pleased I didn’t sleep this Sunday afternoon away. What’s more, the compilation of speeches and letters of JRD Tata is a wonderful gift and I’m going to cherish the leather-bound books for a long, long time (not to mention the other cool stuff that I got, including a 1GB pen-drive and a travel bag. I initially didn't plan on mentioning the spoils of the day, but hey, it's not everyday that you get to do well in a quiz, do you?)

(Me and Rahul Srigyan cherishing the moments of The Tata Crucible Quiz 2007)

Subtraction by carry-over method

On Wednesday, I met up with my sister for a cup of coffee at the Barista outlet on Camac Street. The last time I met her, she still looked like a kid. Somehow, this time she seemed more mature. On my saying so, she just smiled and told me that it wasn’t maturity that was showing on her face, it was just that she had aged considerably since the last time we met.

Well documented references to emotional outbursts of the female species on uncomplimentary remarks about beauty and ageing started shooting around my head. In a classic reference to the movie 300, I told myself “Choose your next words carefully, for they may well be your last.”

Fortunately, the crisis was past even as I gulped and thankfully noted the absence of ancient wells which looked more like holes in the ground. My sister just looked at me and said, “This is because of the job that I’ve taken up.”

“Hey,” I said. “How tough could it be to teach mathematics to children of classes 1, 2 and 3?”

Turns out, its quite a handful. Apparently, the laws of subtraction by carry-over method are confusing to the simplified world of kids. My sister proceeded to fill me in on how she managed to break down the task and first involve the kids in practicing the subtraction by carry-over method for 2-digit numbers and then gently progress to the demonic 3-digit numbers.

And it is not as if the kids are without their share of naughtiness. “I get eve-teased by 8 year olds,” my sis giggled. On the recently conducted Independence Day festivities, 5 or 6 of these Lilliputians surrounded my sis and started going around in circles, shouting their young throats dry while singing “Nanna munna raahi hoon…”; a song my sister had taught them only a couple of days ago.

Sleeping Woes

I’ve often wondered what the correct method of sleeping is. It might seem to be the simplest thing to do, but then again, there can be so many complications.

First of all, there is the whole issue of which position to lie down in. There is the famous Baba Ramdev promoted manner of lying down on the left side of the body, with your knees slightly bent. Others say that at the time of sleeping, there should be no pressure applied on the stomach, and hence the best position to sleep in is on your back. Then there are others, like me, who don’t give a care to what the world says and just collapse on the bed when going off to sleep and hence, spend the night lying on the stomach. In fact, most of the times, when I wake up in the morning, I’m usually in the classic ‘dead man’s pose’, my hand and legs spread out, as if waiting for a detective to come and draw a chalk-line around the outline of my body.

Then there is the issue of the duration of sleep. Some say that 6 hours of sleep is the ideal amount. The latest issue of a leading national magazine says experts recommend 8 hours of sleep, failing which the body tends to accumulate ‘lost sleeping hours’, thereby having an irritated nervous system. Tell that to Chanakya, who advised that a king should sleep only for 4 hours each night.

A related issue is the hour at which one should go off to sleep. You see, if one wishes to wake up each morning at 6 (given that the individual is a normal working guy who wishes to reach office by 9), then in order to have completed 8 hours of sleep, he needs to go off to sleep each night at 10. Now, given the lifestyle led by most people that I know, not to mention myself, going off to sleep at 10 is an extremely optimistic notion. But, according to the coaching manual of Charles Atlas, the famous bodybuilder, there ain’t nothing better than going off to sleep at 10. In fact, he goes so far as to say that every hour of sleep before midnight is worth twice as much as every hour slept after midnight. Hmm…

And now, the most important issue to be tackled; the last thoughts before you go off to sleep.

It is surprising how few people I know who actually make it a point to say their prayers in bed before turning in for the night. The most famous image that comes to mind is, of course, that of Dennis ‘The Menace’ Mitchell saying his innocent and full of boyish-mischief prayers.

Another interesting idea came to be a few nights ago when I received a SMS from a friend. We had met up earlier in the day and the meeting had been full of the usual childish efforts of getting one-up on the other, as is the norm when you meet up with childhood friends. Anyway, she messaged me to say that she wanted to apologize for any harsh words she might have said to me during our banter. After mildly scolding her for even thinking she might have offended me, I asked her what made her think about the incident at that unearthly hour. She said she was about to go off to sleep and was just recalling the day’s events before nodding off. “Now that’s a healthy habit,” I said to myself.

And finally, something that I discovered about sleep just yesterday. For some time now, there has been an unpleasant eventuality that I have been avoiding. Yet, in a very strange way, I want the eventuality to occur. I know the incident, the eventuality, if it were to happen would definitely cause me a lot of heartburn and pain. But, being the illogical person that I am (at times), I want the eventuality to happen as I have a nagging feeling that it might just be best for me to get over it.

So, last night, just as I lay down in my bed to go off to sleep, I began to wonder how it would be if the eventuality were to actually happen. Call it a ‘dry run’ if you will, but I could feel the emotions, the pain and the reactions that I would feel if I were to go through the happening. What the most curious part about this is that I don’t recall when I drifted off to sleep. And when I did wake up today morning, I felt that I’d slept the most sound and deep sleep that I’ve slept in over a year now.

Treacherous thoughts, I know. But then, hey, that’s me.

Chak de, yaar. Too much of this post. India has posted 664 at the Oval and is in a commanding position. I’d better head back to the television to see England’s response. Heck, they’re already four wickets down…

2nd Anniversary: HAPPY BIRTHDAY BLOG

Two years ago, on this very date, late at night, I had set out to finish an Organisational Behavior (OB) project that had been set by the faculty at my b-school. As it happened, earlier in the day, the marketing faculty had introduced us to the world of blogs. Curious, I logged on to the Net and registered myself on Blogger.

What has resulted since then have been 2 years and nearly 200 posts (this one is post number 196) of an outpouring of outright honesty from yours truly.

A very B-I-G thank you to all the readers of this blog and those who leave a comment back here. Each comment is special, since each comment tells me that my words have had some impact somewhere and some individual has thought it worthwhile to interact and share their own ideas.

THANKS A TON READERS !! :)

And of course, HAPPY BIRTHDAY dear blog. You've been a wonderful friend.

Inheritance

Man is not judged on the basis of what he has inherited - physically, mentally or spiritually. It is how much he has moved ahead given his set of circumstances that determine his place of standing among fellow human beings. The cosmos asks not what your forefathers left you - what they left you was of their own making, their karma.

What have you achieved?

Have you, with the loser's backbone, decided to sit in a corner and mope about how unfair life has been to you, even as the world around you passes by laughing, or have you been a man in the truest sense of the word, picked up your belongings, stood up tall and addressed the world thus, "I shall make my own destiny."

Of course there will be difficulties. Naysayers abound will doubt your very reason to exist, people will mock and laugh at you, at your weakling-like efforts to stand up. It is for you to show the world that the small steps you take towards shaping your future are not going to be enfeebled with thoughts of self-doubt, but are only the precursor to earth-trembling footsteps of a giant.

"Arise, awake and stop not till the goal is reached!"

El Mariachi (1992)

Robert Rodriguez’s first film in his ‘Mariachi trilogy’, ‘El Mariachi’ was a great hit when released with appropriate fanfare in the US. However, the film left me disappointed.

The film is about a wandering musician, a wandering Mariachi, who reaches a town in search of a job. Unfortunately for him, the local don’s men are on the lookout for a gangster whose appearance is the same as that of our mariachi’s; dressed in black and carrying a guitar case. There is only one difference between the two, the gangster’s guitar case opens to reveal guns and knives instead of a harmless guitar.

Caught in the middle of a case of mistaken identity, our hero seeks shelter at a local bar. Here, he strums the strings of his guitar as well as the strings of the heart of the girl who runs the bar. His time, however, finally runs out and through tragic consequences all three (the hero, the bar-girl and the gangster) end up at the don’s hideout.

The film disappoints because of the way in which it is shot. The low-budget that went into its production is evident everywhere throughout the film. The sequences where the characters in the film start moving in fast-forward mode are disappointingly hilarious. The scene where the hero manages to get two gangsters to shoot at each other seems like right out of a Hindi action film of the early 90s.

Another drawback is the very simple question as to why the don couldn’t describe to his men the gangster who is out to seek revenge? The gangster is fat and dons a moustache, much different from a tidy and ‘chocolate-hero’ Mariachi.

However, the manner in which the film ends is cool. The turtle on the highway, both at the opening and at the closing of the film is an indicator of the class of the director-scriptwriter.

All in all, this is a time-pass film. At least, you can have claimed to have watched the predecessor to ‘Desperado’ and ‘Once Upon A Time In Mexico’, the other two films in the ‘Mariachi trilogy’.

Top 5 reasons to stay single

1. You are not woken up on lazy Saturday mornings by your girlfriend's phone call. You are not compelled to jump out of bed, hit the shower, have a hasty breakfast that Mom has prepared, take a cab and reach a cafe 2 kms away (all of this in 20 minutes in order to avoid confrontation with Madame), just to have “where things are headed between us" chat over a 40 buck cappuccino.

2. When you receive your salary, you just look at the entire amount and know that you can spend all of it on all the crazy stuff that you always wanted to spend on: iPod, a 320GB external hard disk, hi-speed modem, clothes (of your liking), books, paragliding, rock climbing, etc.

3. You can walk into any mall without worrying about bumping into relatives of either party; relatives who flash that ‘gotcha’ smile and relish at the thought of adding sugar and spice and narrating the chance meeting to your parents.

4. On weekend evenings, all you have to do is sigh and smile to yourself at all the quality time that you have to yourself. You can either immerse yourself in a well chosen book or borrow the DVD of that western that you always wanted to see but could never watch (‘coz she could never appreciate “The Good, The Bad and The Ugly” in any case).

5. You can drink yourself to your heart's content without worrying about how you'll defend yourself in the next 48 hours. Yes, yes, I do agree drinking too much is bad, but the occasional drink never did anybody any harm. What is harmful is the “I told you not to drink” lecture sessions that follow.

A Few Magical Moments

Now, the following isn’t a verbatim account. Yet, an attempt has been made to capture the magic that a cricket lover feels when watching a ‘true’ cricket broadcast.

Magic Moment No. 1

(The opening moments of the live coverage of the first day of the India vs. England Test match at Lord’s. Camera pans out from the pitch at the Lord’s cricket ground to show Harsha Bhogle standing at the boundary ropes.)

Harsha: “In 1932, it was this very turf on which C. K. Nayudu led out the first Indian cricket team to play a test match on English soil. Seven decades down the line, Rahul Dravid will lead out his team to play yet another fascinating Test match series against the English hosts. ~pause~ Welcome to the nPower India vs. England Test series, the first match of which will be played here at Lord’s."

Magic Moment No. 2

(India’s opening bowlers, Zaheer Khan and Sreesanth, have been bowling either too wide or too short at the England opening pair of Andrew Strauss and Alistair Cook. Even as the commentators are discussing this, the camera catches Richie Benaud and his wife sitting in the member's stand. Richie Benaud is animatedly speaking to his wife with his hands moving in what could only be a bowling action.)

Alan Wilkins: "Oh look, there's Mr. and Mrs. Richie Benaud. ~pause~ (impersonating Benaud) You see Daphne, they're bowling too short..."

Magic Moment No. 3

(Lunch session on first day and the commentary team in the media box are speculating exactly how much the slope of the turf at Lord's can help or unsettle a fast bowler. Ravi Shastri, Nasser Hussain and Harsha Bhogle are in the media centre while Ian Chappell is standing at the boundary line.

The commentators in the box have just educated the TV audience that the ground slopes downwards from the Pavilion End to the Nursery End. Therefore, a fast bowler bowling from the Pavilion End would send the ball down with greater force.)

Ravi Shastri: "Now Ian, you were the captain when Australia toured here in 1971, and you had Dennis Lillee bowling for you. Which end did he bowl from, the Nursery End or the Pavilion End?"

Ian Chappell: "Actually Ravi, it was 1972. And to take Dennis Lillee AWAY from the Pavilion End would be like taking away a bone from a bulldog..."

~Ravi Shastri and Harsha Bhogle can be heard chuckling~


Magic Moment No. 4

Harsha Bhogle (reading out a piece of cricketing trivia which has just popped up on screen): "Andrew Strauss was close to scoring a century in both innings of his first Test match. He scored a 100 in the first innings and was run out on 83 in the second innings by Nasser Hussain. ~turns towards Nasser Husssain, who is also commentating at the time, with a wide grin~ Why did you do that Nasser?

Nasser: "'Coz he threatened my position. So I said, 'Off you go, lad', and back he went to the pavilion after getting run out. And by then, I too realised that my end was near so I retired that very match and walked back into the pavilion and retired into the sunset."


Magic Moment No. 5

(Quite suddenly, Lord's is enveloped in one of those silences which recur with regularity at English cricket grounds.)

Harsha: It's all gone quiet out there....even behind the stumps.

~camera pans in to show Matt Prior~

Ravi Shastri: "Not for long, Harsha, not for long. Wicket-keepers around the world are notorious for being vociferous. Sangakarra in particular... he can get very noisy. How about you Graham?"

Graham Gooch: "I don't know about noisy.. but when I used to be batting in the Caribbean, I used to look back and there I would have Jeff Dujon just look at me and smile. I mean, he would just look at me and smile. ~pause~ And why not, he could afford to. When you have the top four most fearsome bowlers on the planet playing on your side, all you need to do is smile at the opposite team's batsman."

Rants of an Indian cricket fan

India hangs on to a string of hope at Lord’s. As I write this, India is 282/9 chasing a target of 380. Thankfully, bad light has stopped play as of now but there’s no telling when the weather conditions will improve.

However, I’m pretty happy with this Test match. India’s precarious condition aside, this Test match was a joy to watch because of one very simple reason: the England series is being covered on the newly launched Star Cricket.

For someone like me who enjoys his bit of classic cricketing action, you have no idea how B-I-G a relief it is to see a proper cricketing show; a show which is hosted by Harsha Bhogle (someone who knows more than a thing or two about cricket) and an expert panel which boasts of names such as Sunil Gavaskar, Ravi Shastri, David Lloyd, Nasser Hussain, Graham Gooch and (best of all) Ian Chappell. With a line-up like that, one doesn’t mind the odd snippet presented by Gautam Bhimani during lunch breaks.

This, as anyone who has torn his hair watching the cricket coverage on Set Max, is a great saviour. Let me enumerate the reasons why I disliked ‘Extraaaaa Innings’ (I hope I got the correct number of a’s in the Extra.)

• One no longer has to put up with Miss Always-Controversially-Draped Mandira Bedi. Apart from the fact that she is an eyesore during a program which is primarily supposed to discuss cricket, the lady, I am sorry to say, hasn’t significantly improved on her chest (pun intended) of cricketing knowledge since the time of the 2003 Cricket World Cup.

• There’s no more Charu Sharma around who concentrates more on constantly blabbering instead of asking cricket-related queries to people like Ian Chappell and Arjuna Ranatunga. Like my good friend Chatur pointed out the other day over a chat on the telephone, Charu Sharma would often cut short Chappell and others who were talking good cricketing sense. And oh, I almost forgot, there’ll be no more of his stupid grin when he stares/ogles at whatever cleavage Miss Bedi has on offer for the world.

• The painful experience of having to listen to Ma Prem Ritambhara and others of her ilk is now, hopefully, a thing of the past. There’ll be less of fat women in clothes with outrageous colour combinations holding a conversation on how the ‘omens seem to be against the Indian cricket team but if a 100 million Indians pray for our boys, the good vibes might influence the performance of 11 individuals in the Caribbean’.

• The cricket lover will be spared the expert comments of people like Atul Wassan, Ranjit Fernando and Ian Bishop. Oh trust me there are a lot more where these came from. It’s just that I’ve somehow miraculously (and thankfully) erased my traumatic memories of the mostly disastrous commentary team on Set Max. Personally, there used to be moments when I would mute the television while watching cricket when the aforementioned esteemed gentlemen aired their comments about what was wrong with the cricketing world.

• A BIG relief is the manner in which commercials are shown between the overs. Set Max was not only notorious, but they were shameful in the manner in which they showed these commercials. Hardly would the last ball of an over have been played by the batsman than when the commercial would start playing. There were even some ridiculous and extremely frustrating moments when the commentator hadn’t even mentioned the score of the batting team at the end of the over and the picture would fade away into a commercial break.

All I can do now is look heavenwards and pray for two things. One, please let Star Cricket get the rights to the major cricketing action for the next few years at least. And two, of course, please either let there be more ‘bad light’ or rain at Lord’s so that India may be able to save the Test match.

P.S. I was originally also intending to speak about certain moments during the current coverage on Star Cricket. These were what I would call moments of ‘glorious cricket coverage’, for instance, the occasion when the camera caught Mr. and Mrs. Richie Benaud watching the first day of the Test Match. More of such beautiful moments in my next post.

Why I love my current job

There’s a scene in ‘The Lord of the Rings: The Fellowship of the Ring’ where Sam suddenly stops in the middle of a field and exclaims, “This is it.” When Frodo asks him what it is that has made Sam pause in his tracks, he says, “One step more and I’ll never have been further away from home.” Frodo kindly smiles at his trusted friend, and eggs him on with words of encouragement.

The best part about having the work profile that I have currently is that I am in Sam’s shoes almost every second day. I remember thinking this way when I took the flight to Delhi and now, when I’m in Calcutta and have to explore the fringe parts of this city, I look back at each day as a day when I’ve explored some new land, met some new people, interacted with people with experiences different from my own, and have shared cultures slightly different from the ones which I’ve observed since my childhood. It is as if I visit a new world every third day.

Marketing rocks! No offence to people who slog away in cubicles, but I would much rather have it this way than any other way.

You ask me why I tap my trouser pockets??

THE NERVOUS TROUSER-POCKET TAPPER

As of the last 24 hours, every few minutes, I nervously keep tapping my trouser pockets. To the uninformed spectator, it might seem to be an odd habit bordering on the vulgar, but there’s a much, much deeper reason than you might want to conjecture (No vulgar puns intended).

You see, yesterday morning, I took the Metro train from Netaji Bhawan to Shobha Bazar. Once at Shobha Bazaar, I needed to take an auto-rickshaw to reach my office building. A few minutes after I got down at Ultadanga (the place where my office is situated), I realised that one of the cell-phones that I was carrying was missing. As luck would have it, not only was the missing instrument the more expensive one of the two, but also the one in which all the details of my friends’ contact numbers were saved. Had I been part of a Ramanand Sagar production, there surely would have been lightning striking over my head accompanied with the sound of distant thunder.

Fortunately, when I called up the missing cell-phone, the honest auto-rickshaw driver told me to reach the place where I had initially boarded the auto, i.e. at the Shobha Bazar Metro station. Turned out that he was a part of some local auto-rickshaw drivers’ association, which believed in handing back lost items. *phew* Thank God!!

After a long, long wait (an hour, to be precise), I was told to prove that the cell-phone indeed belonged to me. Once that was done, the auto-rickshaw drivers almost ganged up and asked me for whatever sum that I felt I should “reward” the driver with. I ended up giving them Rs. 100 instead of the Rs. 200 that they were ‘politely asking’ for. No issues, considering that the phone costs approximately a third of my current monthly salary!!!

So, the next time you spot a stranger tapping his trouser pocket nervously, don't give him an ugly glare... just give him a sympathetic smile if you must.

THE TENNIS PLAYER

One female I’m really impressed with is Ms. Ana Ivanovic. For those who just went “Err…”, she is the female who has exited from the Wimbledon barely an hour ago. She lost to Venus Williams at the quarter-finals, but tell you what, I’m impressed with what I see.

(And by the way, what I see is this...)

(Photo courtesy of the Sony Ericsson WTA Tour)

Now, now…don’t raise those eyebrows, hear me out.

Day before yesterday, I saw Ms. Vaidisova overcome Amelie Mauresmo, and I was genuinely impressed with the manner in which she didn’t get overwhelmed by the fact that she was facing the defending champion. However, she was not at all her composed self yesterday when she played against Ana Ivanovic.

Then again, she had played well and was on the verge of winning the match at one point of time. In fact, she had 2 match points in her kitty. But Ivanovic comprehensively outplayed her and denied her a place in the quarter finals. I was impressed with the body language and the confidence with which Ana clawed her way back into the match. Certainly, a player with a lot and lot of promise. She wasn’t seeded 6^th for nothing.

KAR LO KUCHH AUR BHI MUTTHI MEIN

And finally, all those of you who only think of a major cellular phone service provider from India when you hear/see the letters RIM, spare a thought for this:

(Spotted in a display window in a neighbourhood shop in Salt Lake, Calcutta: RIM Playing Cards)

Like I said, time to get something else in your 'mutthi'.

[P.S. Hey, I didn't top my B-school paper on Rural Marketing for nothing. After all, 'spurious brands' was very much a part of that paper :D ]

Calcutta - Mumbai - Delhi - Calcutta

Sitting in a waterlogged Calcutta, I ruminate at how my world has almost come full circle in the last one month. Almost a month ago, I left Calcutta wondering when I would be visiting this place again. I thought it would only be in November when I would come back for a friend’s wedding…but then, life has funny ways of it own.

My company’s induction programme was held in Mumbai and we were treated like royalty throughout our week’s stay. This treatment would only continue once we reached Delhi, the city where I was sent as a part of an 11-member team for ‘circle familiarization’.

The Delhi experience was both, fun and educational. We went through the various business units and the various processes that are in place. Evenings would either be spent reading a book or watching a movie on a friend’s laptop or just chilling out at the malls at sector 18 in Noida.

Perhaps the best part about being at Noida was the fact that we were hanging around in a group. Although it had barely been a week since all 11 of us had met each other, the fact that we all came from similar educational backgrounds and with the same set of fears, jitters and expectations at the beginning of a career helped us to bond.

Coming back to Calcutta was unexpected and fun. I must admit that I was slightly disappointed that I would be back in my ‘comfort zone’ and hence, would be receiving my doses of “worldly learning” in limited amounts. However, home is still…well, home. No matter how much you crib or complain, there’s always a little child who smiles at memories of a city he’s grown up in.

And the recent downpour just gives you a ‘picture-perfect’ opportunity to realize why you like this city.

Waterlogged AJC Bose Road. This is right under the flyover that connects the Race Course to Park Circus. By the way, at the time of taking this pic, I'm standing ON the green railing that you see. The water to the right is knee-deep.

"Rain rain, come again..." A man enjoys an impromptu swim on his way home.

"Row, row your boat...err...car!!"
The car actually floated idly with every wave of water that was displaced by the buses passing by.

I thought I was the only one mad enough to take my cell phone out and take pictures of the city as it was on Tuesday morning. Turns out I was wrong. The gentleman seated in the rickshaw was doing the same, unknown to the poor rickshaw-walla who was carrying the heavy load.

Krishna

Here is an excerpt from the book that I have been reading of late, "The Great Indian Novel" by Shashi Tharoor. The words almost capture the mental image that I have of Lord Krishna. Certainly one of the more wonderful descriptions that I've read of Him...

"From an early age Krishna had the rare talent of being able to talk to people at their own level. He was equally at home teasing the milkmaids while they bathed in the river as when debating the theory of permanent revolution with the local Mau-Maoists. He would disarm them all with his laughing good nature, then resolve the point at issue through the utterance of a perception so startling in its clarity and simplicity that it made all further argument otiose. And he would invariably get his way with members of either group.

This was not surprising, for the most striking thing about Krishna was his joyousness. He was always relaxed, always laughing, full of innocent mischief that never quite obscured his deep, instinctual wisdom. The wisdom was always apparent, despite the laughter, and it was not a wisdom acquired through learning or even through experience, but something that arose from deep within himself, as if from the very earth he stood on. Yet Krishna wore his wisdom lightly: he expressed it with a simplicity so profound that it did not seem to recognize the depths from which it sprang."

Rappling

I mentioned as my last quirk how much I liked heights and how they always thrilled me. So, how do you think I felt when I experienced THIS as a part of the outbound workshop?? :D

(pic courtesy: Nikhil Naik)

The Outbound Workshop

I have had a fun two days at the outbound training workshop that our company organised. We were taken to a resort in the sylvan outskirts of Thane. Once there, I made a number of good friends and also relished the fact that I was once again close to nature (twice in the Maharashtra countryside within a year!! Hmm…). What’s more, there was a swimming pool at the resort, and I thoroughly enjoyed the dip into a swimming pool after a gap of two years.

Let me share with you two moments of the outbound trip that made me reflect.

The Wrong Turn

After a morning of warm-up exercises (~sigh~ they were NOTHING compared to the kind of warm-ups I used to do before my practise runs), I was in a mood to explore the countryside. I must thank Nike; if it were not for him, I would’ve wandered off alone and have missed out on some fantastic company. It was Nike who asked a group of people whether they were interested on a morning walk to a nearby river and of course, there quite a few enthusiastic takers.

Off we went then, just a group of young people out to explore the world. We took a number of twists and turns, on muddy tracks, past fields and mud-houses with thatched roofs and some beautiful countryside. Villagers going about their everyday lives in a simple and honest manner were an absolute joy to watch.

And then, at this juncture where the muddy tracks of the simple villagers met the concrete roads of modern civilization, we took a wrong turn.

We kept walking in the wrong direction for a while till we asked these two men who we met on the road for clarification about our direction and our ultimate destination. We were told we needed to take a u-turn in order to reach the river.

And even as we walked back on the now correct path, I couldn’t help smiling to myself.

After all, what could be better than course-correction, irrespective of whether it is done in your life or simply on a fine Sunday morning?

The Drop

Later in the day, as I lay down on the cool green grass of the lawn that covered a significant area of the resort, I could hear the chirping of the sparrows in the trees nearby. I smiled and was greeted a fine ‘good evening’ with the gentle breeze that blew that very instant, and resulted in a endearing rustle of leaves.

~plop~

A drop of water fell on my face and I shifted my gaze towards the sky. There was a beautiful cloud formation right above us. Amazingly, this patch of grey clouds seemed friendly rather than threatening and for an instant I felt as if it were smiling down at me (I swear I wasn’t doped!)

~plop~

Another drop of water landed on my forehead. And as I continued to stare heavenwards, I could see hundreds of tiny droplets gently dropping towards me, as if they had been waiting to rush towards me and ask with a smile, “Isn’t this a beautiful planet?”

Some day, dear friend, if you ever get the opportunity, lie down on the grass and look up at the sky and feel the limitless universe.

'Aath' - The tag

'Motee' tagged me. Watch out world, here come 8 things out of the traveller's bags!!

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Step 1: Rules, Tag Ka Superhit formula:

• Start with eight random facts/habits about yourself
• Post these eight quirks on your blog and also post these rules along with them
• At the end of the post, type in the names of the lucky eight who get tagged by you and take this chain forward!

Step 2:

1. I buy books when I’m completely aware that I’m not going to be able to read it for the next few months, as I would be busy completing others that I’ve bought previously. (You should see me when I enter a bookstore. It is as if I’m in a trance. I walk in a stupor from one book shelf to another, held in complete awe by the sheer magnanimous collection of thoughts and ideas that quietly rest on the shelves and smile at the world passing by.)

2. I eat very very very very little. Recently, I stunned my parents when we went to this beautiful Rajasthani restaurant in Calcutta. I mumbled “I’m through,” after I’d barely eaten a quarter piece of ‘laccha paraatha’ and half a piece of a ‘tandoori roti’ along with a few spoonfuls of the vegetables that we’d ordered. My Mom almost dropped her spoon and exclaimed that I was now eating even less than what I used to before I’d left for my MBA.

3. I still find games like ‘Spider Solitaire’, ‘Minesweeper’, ‘3D Pinball’ and ‘Freecell’ irresistible.

4. My longest crush ever was for Angelina Jolie. (‘was’?!! Change that to ‘IS’.)

5. Although I’m Mr. Lazy Bones and love nothing more than to lie down and go off to sleep at the slightest opportunity, I’m pretty enthusiastic about my long-distance running. It is one habit I picked up during my MBA, and I’m so completely in love with it. I know I haven’t been running regularly of late, but I have a feeling it shouldn’t be long before I get back to my ‘5 kms a day’ running routine soon.

6. I have always been smitten by entrepreneurs. I guess it all started when I was browsing through my college library and stumbled upon ‘Business Maharajas’. At a time when my Marwari college-friends bunked early morning classes to treat their girlfriends to hot samosas and lassi at ‘Sharma Snacks & Sweets’, I would bunk the boring economics lectures to study the business dynasties of the Birlas, the Tatas & the Goenkas, not to mention the spectacular rise of Dhirubhai Ambani.

7. My choice of ‘good films’ can be quite surprising to some. There have been quite a few occasions when I have left the cinema hall with a contented smile on my face when others leave with an expression as if they’d just been inside a gas chamber. Three such films which come to mind are ‘Mission: Kashmir’, ‘Jaan-e-Mann’ and ‘Eklavya’. I thought ‘Mission: Kashmir’ was amazing in terms of ‘slick presentation’, action sequences and awesome cinematography. I loved ‘Jaan-e-Mann’ for the unique style in which it was made (India’s own Hollywood-influenced musical?) and the guts which it required to actually pull off a project like that. (I’m also completely in love with its songs and their picturisation.) ‘Eklavya’? ‘Nuff said.
8. I love heights. Whether it is a mountain peak or just the view from a very tall building, something inside me starts ticking. Way back in school, I remember going to a friend’s terrace flat and looking down and saying ‘I feel like taking a jump’. My friend of course thought that I was suicidal.I’m sure someday the mountains will call out to me loud enough for me to return their call. :)
   

Step 3: I tag

1. Just so
2. Gulabo
3. Banana Pen
4. Nerd-beta
5. Anna
... and whoever else wishes to pick up the tag.

Ennui

I’d written the following words down on a night when I was engulfed with thoughts as dark as the night that surrounded me. Yet, even then, in the darkness, I knew that these weren’t negative or pessimistic thoughts as I saw them; they were just normal everyday thoughts, with perhaps a morbid touch to them:

A Million Crazy Questions

Quarter to three in the morning. I yawn, I’m slightly groggy, but sleep eludes me. And why not? I did what I’d promised myself I won’t do two nights ago… I promised myself I wouldn’t think anymore about certain issues. But hey, I’m human. ~smiles~

As the title suggests, this post isn’t about any one particular thought, just a crazy stream of questions. Questions, and a few grasps in the dark for answers that may or may not be correct. Answers, which may perhaps be best left untold.

I wonder if I’m the only 24 year old who’s having this thought, but is it only me or does somebody else out there too feel that all that needs to be done has been done; all that was to be seen has been seen; all that was to be heard has been heard; all that was to be felt…all the tugging of heart-strings, all the tearing feeling within, all the mind-splitting headaches, all the laughs that were to be laughed…

Not even 25, and yet one wonders what could be so exciting that would elicit interest when the sun dawns tomorrow morning.

One wonders if we have actually been human or have we just somehow managed to convince the baser animals within that we have become civilized. We all have at some point in our lives given in to sins of flesh, food and money. Haven’t we been simply selfish all our lives? Or did we actually learn something about ‘human goodness’ from all those early morning assembly prayers at school? Did we actually learn to love another human being or did we simply do it fulfil our own desires of companionship?

I’ll tell you what I don’t feel. I don’t feel sad. Sad would’ve been me sitting with tears rolling down my eyes, but that’s not what’s happening. Sad would’ve been the end of this world, where examples of humanity and brotherhood wouldn’t have existed, but thankfully, that ain’t coming to an end either.

I don’t feel happy either. What purpose are we moving towards? I’m certain there is some great grand picture that we’re a part of, and each one of us has a role to play in the grand scheme of things. But when will the moment of truth dawn upon us? And what’s there to be happy about anyway? You were born alone, you live alone and you die alone. You meet a few interesting, and lots of uninteresting, people along the way. You remember a handful of them for the rest of your life, for the smiles they brought to your lips or the tears that you silently wept for them in the dead of the night.

I’m not ‘Comfortably Numb’ either. Whatever I am, I certainly ain’t ‘comfortable’.

I know exactly how some people are going to react to this post. “You’ve had lots of free time and you need to join your job ASAP so that you have something to keep yourself busy.”

Exactly.

Get me busy before I find out the truth. The answers could be more damning than this state of being in the dark.

[P.S. Background track – ‘Ehsaas’ by Atif.

Main ek fard hoon,
Ya ek ehsaas hoon?

Main ek jism hoon,
Ya rooh ki pyaas hoon?

Sach ki talaash hain,
Door akaash hain.

Manzil paas nahin,
Kya tu mere paas hai?

Kabhi main amla hoon,
Kabhi be-amla hoon.

-------

~translation~

Am I an individual,
Or a feeling?

Am I a body,
Or the thirst of a soul?

I’m in search of the truth,
And the sky is far away.

The destination isn’t close to me,
But are you?

Sometimes I’m a worker,
And sometimes I’m a useless nobody.]

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~End of previously written post~

I spoke to ‘Biscuit’ today and during that conversation, I told her something that I feel captured my thoughts and current state of mind. I told her that I feel like “I’m on a wooden raft, in the middle of a wide wide ocean. The water is dead calm and is leading me nowhere. The raft remains where it is and I have no tomorrow and no past. All I have, all I have the power to experience is the fleeting moment which is the present. I have to live my life and make the most out of the present moment."

Tarakeshwar Trip - 13th May 2007

Tarakeshwar is a village approximately 80 kms from Calcutta. It is a site of pilgrimage for the Shiva devotee as this is where a major temple dedicated to the Lord is situated. The rush of pilgrims to this place during the holy Hindu month of ‘sravan’ (or ‘saawan’ as folks from northern parts of this country would call it) is worth admiring.

I myself have been fortunate to have walked a couple of times to Tarakeshwar. On those occasions, we travelled by train from Howrah to Seoraphuli, a suburb of Calcutta where the ghats of the Ganges are considered to be particularly holy. Once there, we collected water from the holy river in two earthen pots and suspended them by ropes to either end of a bamboo stick, which we then carried on our shoulders all the way to Tarakeshwar. The distance of 40 kms from Seoraphuli to Tarakeshwar was covered barefoot (as is the custom), which usually takes 10 to 11 hours, inclusive of the numerous breaks that one must take for resting the feet and taking a bite to eat.

However, last Sunday’s scheduled trip to Tarakeshwar was bound to be special. First, I was going to Tarakeshwar after a good two years. I was waiting rather eagerly for making a trip that I have made innumerable number of times. Second, the ‘adventure’ bug had bitten both, me and Chatur (my good buddy Prashant Chaturvedi) and we wanted to do things slightly differently.

I guess it all started when Dada put the idea of travelling to Tarakeshwar on his bike. Although he said he couldn’t make it, he had absolutely no qualms about me taking his bike. With that idea, I’d called up Chatur. Chatur was immediately gung-ho about the whole idea, but there were speed breakers ahead.

One, Dada’s bike has a Maharashtra number plate, and on a highway, that itself increased the chances of our papers being checked. And since I don’t have a license to ride bikes, that could spell trouble.

Two, Chatur’s sister’s friend also wanted to come along. Chatur’s sis, Vandana, had already said she wanted to come with us. That made five of us: Chatur, Bulla (another great friend, whose real name is Ravi), Vandana, Vandana’s friend and me. Two bikes, five people…problemo.

Hence, we decided to chuck the bike-ride idea and had almost convinced ourselves to a more conventional 7:25AM train to Tarakeshwar on Sunday morning. That was till Saturday evening.

Chatur gets a brainwave around 6 on Saturday evening and asks me if we could ask my Dad to allow us to drive to Tarakeshwar in our Santro. “Not bad,” I thought. I convinced Dad and I called up Chachu to ask for directions. (‘Chachu’ is our family driver; he’s been with us for almost 30 years now. I’ve never called him ‘Driver’ or even ‘Driver ji’. It’s always been ‘Chacha’ until around class 9 when I decided ‘Chachu’ sounded cuter. :D ).

The next morning, the skies were clear and the cast had gathered at my house for what turned out to be a beautiful outing. As luck would have it, Vandana’s friend couldn’t make it due to some reason.

We drove past the Vidyasagar Setu (the second Hooghly bridge) and onto the Kona Expressway. Next, we were on the Calcutta-Delhi highway which forms a part of the Golden Quadrilateral. The road was simply awesome! Bulla obviously had butterflies in his stomach, being the guy who prefers listening to Jagjit Singh numbers to Aerosmith. But Chatur and I were absolutely ecstatic when I managed to touch 120 kms/hour on the speedometer. The Palsit-Dankuni stretch was awesome and there were regular stretches during which we had a clear vision of the 2-3 kms ahead of us. A beautiful day, clear skies, morning sunshine, cool wind in your hair, friendly road conditions and the company of great friends…what else could one ask for?

We had left my house at 7 and we reached Tarakeshwar by 9:15.

(The entrance to the temple)

We met up with the local priest who has been helping my family conduct prayers at Tarakeshwar ever since I can remember the place. We washed our hands and feet at the ghat and were then led inside the dark and extremely crowded sanctum sanctorum. The place was chaotic with all the shouting and chanting of Sanskrit shlokas. Add to that the smoke emanating from the ‘agarbattis’ (incense sticks) and the smell of fresh flowers offered to the Lord, and the picture of the place is complete. Somehow, serenity and calmness engulfs you even in the midst of all this.

We offered our prayers at the Shiva Linga the temple and then at Kali Ma’s mandir right next to the main temple.

(From left: The priest, Bulla, Chatur, Vandana, Me)

Puja completed, the hungry quartet headed for the local shops where we treated ourselves to hot samosas. Our angry stomachs quietened down a bit and we headed back home. Somewhere on the highway, we stopped to quench our thirst at a street-side vendor who offered freshly extracted cane juice. Little did we know the kind of delight that crushed ice in a glass of cane juice can bring on a hot summer afternoon. :)

We were back on the Palsit-Dankuni expressway, and this time I decided to check how high up I could take the needle on the speedometer. As I glanced around and saw that we had a completely empty stretch ahead of us, I pushed the accelerator as far as I could. Absolutely confident of the safety factor, I kept pushing well past the 120 km/hour mark (my previous fastest ever) and eventually managed 140 km/hour. Woohooo!!

(A great capture of the Vidyasagar Setu that Chatur took on his cell phone. I'm actually using this as my desktop wallpaper currently.)

The Menagerie and other Byomkesh Bakshi Mysteries - Saradindu Bandyopadhyay

The book is a delightful read. Sreejata Guha does a nice job of translating the Bengali original. The stories themselves are more or less simple and free-flowing. This is the kind of book with which you want to settle down after a wonderful lunch or a lavish dinner. The mysteries aren’t too complex and neither are the plots ‘heavy’ with too much treachery.

The two short stories, ‘The Jewel Case’ and ‘The Will That Vanished’, are solved with a certain heart-warming quality that Byomkesh Babu has. The other two mysteries, ‘The Menagerie’ and ‘The Quills of the Porcupine’, are novella length and are a testimony to the author’s ability to narrate a seemingly complex tale in a lucid and simple manner. My favourite story has to be ‘The Quills of the Porcupine’ where Byomkesh Bakshi is called in to stop a serial killer.

The most enjoyable aspect of this book is the description of old world Calcutta. The author is simply describing what he sees around him. This results not only in unique snapshot images of Calcutta in the early ‘50s but also the Bengali lifestyle and the culture of the time. The telephone and fridge are still a novelty and every visitor to the house is treated to “sandesh and sweet lassi chilled with ice cubes”. Also described in delightful detail are the ‘adda’ sessions that Bengalis are so famous for. In ‘The Quills…’, there is constant reference to the tea-parties that a group of bachelors have at a gentleman’s place, often accompanied with one of the friends settling down to sing a tune on the piano while the rest either play chess or discuss films.

I can’t wait to lay my hands on the other Byomkesh Bakshi book ‘Picture Imperfect’. I have already searched at Crossword and the Oxford Bookstore on Park Street, only to be told that the book is out of stock. ~sigh~

Joining the Dots

“No more adventures?” read Himanshu’s scrap on Orkut.

I couldn’t help but feel a twinge of guilt. I had, after all, been at home and having my share of tiny adventures, the sort that makes for bitter-sweet memories. It was just that I had either been a lazy bum or too tired to write them down.

But on a day when I’ve slept for 12 out of the last 18 hours and with two steaming cups of chai just consumed at Ajanta Dhaba, I know I’m in the perfect mood for a long post.

Holmes & Aunty

One TV channel that I have been watching a lot of is the History channel. The two most keenly awaited programs on that channel are ‘Biographies’ and ‘The Sherlock Holmes Mysteries’.

The latter is fun not only because it brings to life the London of old that Holmes lived in (I find it difficult to suppress a smile every time I see the old styled street sign announcing ‘Baker Street’) but also because of the ‘different’ manner in which Jeremy Brett plays the legendary detective.

To be honest, when I first watched the episodes on youtube, I was slightly annoyed by the pronounced manner in which Brett would speak and carry himself. It all seemed so affected! However, over a period of time when I’ve seen around fifteen or twenty such episodes, I think I’ve started liking the quirks that are essential to the Brett version of Holmes. (I remember reading an interview of Pankaj Kapur where he said that the producers of ‘Karamchand’ were swamped with phone calls of people calling in to say how irritating they found the mannerisms of the detective, especially that of scratching his head. Later, the very same people said they couldn’t imagine Karamchand in any other way.)

Anyway, here I was on a Monday evening at Aunt Patsy’s place discussing how I loved watching Holmes. Being the sweetheart that she is, Aunty immediately asked me to come over the next day for dinner (the program is aired on Tuesday nights at 9). Grinning, I agreed.

At around 8:30 the next evening, I was on my way towards Aunty’s house when I decided it would be a good idea to buy some popcorn. I went to this local supermarket where, surprise of surprises, I found a whole section dedicated to alcohol. Given that this supermarket is located in the ultra-conservative Gujarati area of Bhowanipore in Calcutta, it was a BIG surprise.

But my joy knew no bounds! ~grins~ I called up Aunt and she said she would have a Bacardi Breezer. I settled on a bottle of Cobra Beer (have always preferred Kingfisher) and Bulla settled for a bottle of Coke (spoilsport ~sticks out tongue at Bulla~).

At Aunty’s place, we were treated to pizzas that she ordered from Domino’s. What had been initially planned as an innocent TV-watching event had turned into this fun evening.

Pizzas, beer and great company. Plus, Sherlock Holmes solving the ‘Mystery of the Copper Beeches’. Ah, Perfect!! :)

Munna, Guru, Bulla, Pizza

The next Saturday, Bulla and I were again sipping our cuppa of tea at Ajanta when I asked what his plans for dinner were. He shrugged and looked at me inquiringly.

I grinned and decided it was time for another pizza party. We rented ‘Lage Raho Munna Bhai’ CDs and walked up all the way to Ballygunge Circular Road for the pizzas. Around midnight, when we were half-way through the movie, Chatur messaged to say that he wanted to go to the Jalaram temple the next morning. Now, this meant that we would have to leave our place at 6:30 the next morning in order to be at the temple for the morning ‘aarti’ which is at 7:30.

The only problem was that we were in no mood to stop the movie mid-way, which would go on till at least 2. And going off to sleep at that hour would almost ensure that we wouldn’t be able to get up in a matter of four hours to be on our way.

Solution? I suggested the most simple solution known to any B-school graduate…night-out! :D At two, when we finished watching ‘Lage Raho Munna Bhai’, we simply took a ten minute break and started watching ‘Guru’, a movie which Bulla had stored on his home computer.

(And yes, we DID make it to the temple the next morning. You can always bank on my gang of friends when it comes to enjoying ourselves full-time, whether it involves staying up all night watching movies or being at the early morning prayers at a temple 10 kms away from home.)

Dada’s Day Out

I called up Arindam Barman (‘Dada’ to the Nirma MBA batch of 2005-07) and we fixed up an outing on Rabindra Jayanti. Dada and his ever loyal bike were at the Elgin Road crossing at the appointed hour. We made our way through a busy Calcutta traffic to reach just in time for the afternoon show of ‘Bheja Fry’ at the Forum Inox. A thoroughly enjoyable 2 hours later, we headed to Balwant Singh’s Dhaba for tea. The joy was there for all to see as Dada gave in to what he describes as the ‘ultimate temptation’, “sutta aur chai”. :D

Tea and cigarette over, we headed to the Academy of Fine Arts. Two of the three galleries at the Academy were displaying the works of some of the most talented painters from West Bengal. Some of the paintings just blew our mind away and there was this painting of a woman from rural Bengal which just made all the visitors to stand and stare. It depicted a 20-something woman wearing a white saree standing in front of the mud-baked walls of her house. I promise you I would have bought the painting had I been a millionaire. ~sigh~ Oh well, a few years ain’t nothing after all.

Dots

I'm pleasantly tired after a wonderful walk and I want to spend the remaining energy reading an Asterix adventure on my laptop. Moreover, I have a long day tomorrow ('travelogue' post coming up.. Yeah!! ~thumbs up~) and want to conserve my energy for the drive. I have been intending to write about quite a few things, but just haven't gotten around to doing it. Hence, just jotting down a rough skeleton here... will join the dots tomorrow... Promise!!

Himanshu's scrap --> Holmes & Aunty --> Guru, Munna, Bulla, Pizza --> BBA Angreji --> Dada's Day Out

The Afghan - Frederick Forsyth

"The Afghan" is one Frederick Forsyth novel that I’m going to remember more for the description and the details he provides than for his brilliant narration of action sequences. The description of the rise of the Taliban and the Al Qaida in the heart of Pakistan and Afghanistan is breathtaking. Forsyth’s ability to dole out detailed information about the lives and ideologies of people from a different part of the world is formidable. And at the same time, he ensures that the reader doesn’t get too carried away with individual stories within the larger framework.

I did feel that the suspense was stretched out a little. And then, let me come to the most disappointing part of the narrative. The book revisits Capt. Mike Martin, a character who we’ve been introduced to in "The Fist of God". The reader’s patience is tested when he has to again go through the life and times of Capt. Martin, something that has been thoroughly discussed earlier.

However, this does not take away the fact that this book is a delightful read for the first time reader of Forsyth’s novels. And even I must admit that the action bits and the detailed descriptions kept me riveted.

Watch out for the part where a meeting with Osama Bin Laden is described. Forsyth makes you feel the tension.

The Great Indian Arranged Marriage

I was waiting for the elevator when I met a friend who recently got married.

‘Now that you’ve completed your MBA, what next?’ she asked.

‘The usual. Waiting for the job to begin and let’s see where that takes me,’ I replied.

‘And what about marriage? I’m sure Uncle and Aunty have started looking for a nice Gujarati girl for you,’ she asked.

‘You think I’m the kind of guy made for an arranged marriage?’ I laughed off the matter.

However, with the number of friends and relatives around me getting married, I’m a troubled soul. I am not in the least indicating that I would like to get caught up in conjugal bliss, but what I have always been uncomfortable with is the whole idea of being a central character of the great drama that we Indians love to be a part of – ‘The Great Indian Arranged Marriage’.

The flowchart unfurls somewhat as follows:

Step 1: Son has either already been engaged in professional services for a couple of years or has just earned his degree from a reputed college and is about to take his first few baby steps in the world of corporate affairs

Step 2: Parents are consumed day and night with one question “Mere bete ka number kab aayega?’ (“When will it be my son’s turn?”)

Step 3: Mom’s blood pressure falls, Dad’s heart-rate increases

Step 4 (a): All well and good if Son demurely (and shyly, for good effect; add giggle if necessary to be portrayed as ‘sweet fellow’) agrees to parents’ call for getting him hitched, proceed to step 6; else refer to Step 4 (b)

Step 4 (b): Dialogues of emotional blackmail straight out of Ekta Kapoor’s serials are unleashed on the hapless soul (complete with tears in eyes and worry lines on forehead). Sample: “We are getting old and want to see you married before we, we… (sniff, sniff). Who knows how much longer we will live…” ~voice trails off~

Repeat step till Son caves in to emotional pressure

Step 5: Son caves in

Step 6: Roar of triumph in the parent’s camp. Dad tells people he meets at morning jogs to refer him any ‘good girl with a nice family background’; Mom conveys the same message to relatives in a trembling and excited voice over the telephone

Step 7: Photographs of girls are sent to the boy’s house for ‘cursory inspection’

Step 8: Either Boy is bamboozled with the girl’s picture or Mom n Dad have reason to believe that they have found a Sita to their Ram. Repeat Steps 6 & 7 till this stage is reached.

Step 9: Formal meeting is set-up and boy and girl meet for approximately 20 minutes.

Repeat Step 9 till such a 20 minute meeting results in the Boy going over to his parents and saying ‘I like her.’ Confirm if Girl agrees to Boy or not.

If Yes…

HURRAH !! You have passed the first stage. Move on to ‘The TAMASHA’ (The Great Indian Arranged Marriage – Part 2)

Even as I write this, I’m seething with rage.

Firstly, the idea that the first step for agreeing or disagreeing to further deliberation results from a photograph taken of a girl disgusts me. I personally know people who would rather call this procedure ‘civilised prostitution’ than anything else.

Secondly, this whole 20-minute meeting business is pathetic. I will not comment on other people’s abilities to ‘read’ people in a span of 20 minutes, or even 3 sessions of 20 minutes each. However, as far as I’m concerned, I will NEVER be able to agree to this idea.

20 MINUTES??!!!

Is a 20 minute meeting ALL that it takes to know a person with whom you plan to spend the rest of your life with??? In case that wasn’t very clear, let me repeat: THE REST OF YOUR LIFE???!!!

Those 20 minutes might be enough to find out which school and college the person attended, but is it enough to know the amount of EDUCATION that the person has received?

Those 20 minutes might be enough for a person to know the other person’s favourite song, but are those 20 minutes enough for knowing the REAL reason why the person loves that particular song?

That meeting might be enough to know whether the person can speak to you in the same tongue or not, but is it enough to know that the person shares the same wavelength?

The 20 minutes might be enough to know whether the person follows the same religion, celebrates the same festivals and is knowledgeable of the same religious texts as you, but is it ever going to be enough to know whether the person shares the same ideology as yours?

Is that 20 minute meeting ever going to be enough for you to know the other person’s definition of LOVE, a definition on which hangs the happiness of your life for the next 4 decades or so?

The answer, I hope you’ve realised, is a resounding ‘NO’.

I agree that the other side of the argument refutes this logic by stating numerous examples of relationships which have broken up in spite of long-term romances prior to marriage. They say ‘It is never going to be enough to find out whether the other person is a perfect match for you or not’.

Point noted. But at least I had the privilege of knowing a wonderful person and had the decency to respect the other person’s life and personality by making an attempt to finding out whether this was the ‘correct’ person instead of putting up a sham ‘meeting of the minds’.

And that, dear reader, was the reason why I asked the lady at the elevator whether she considered me a suitable candidate for the Great Indian Arranged Marriage.

Madam Greedy Guts

A humid summer afternoon had given way to a gentle breezy evening in South Calcutta. I decided it was time for a pleasant evening walk. I roamed around the streets, taking in the sights and sounds of this city that have always so enchanted me. I stopped at a street-side stall where tea and samosas were being sold.

And that was when I spotted her.

She was barely 7 years old, wearing a white frock with pink roses delicately embroidered all over. Her chubby cheeks pointed to a love for food. Tightly clutching on to her dad’s hand, she was inspecting the options that lay sprawled out in front of her. What should she indulge herself in? Of course, the evening must start with that puchka-waala bhaiya (the vendor selling paani puris).

As I took the first sip from my cup of tea, I was captivated with her innocence as I observed the little angel leading her dad to the puchka vendor. She greedily eyed the fellow as he readied the preparation of potatoes, salt and chilli powder along with imli paani (tamarind water) which would be used to fill the puchkas. Taking hold of the leaf-cup from the vendor (after a struggle with her dad who unsuccessfully tried to explain to her that he would be able to handle the cup more stably), her eyes lit up with every puchka that was placed in her cup. Madam Greedy Guts would then gingerly pick up the puchka, her hands trembling with anticipation. She would proceed to take a bite and more often than not, the puchka was too big for her little mouth and the water would stream down her cheeks. She didn’t seem to mind at all as she gleefully looked up at her dad, who acknowledged the feeling with a smile.

Three puchkas later, it was time to move on to ice creams. As I ordered another cup of tea, she had decided she wanted a chocolate ice cream. Her father paid for the ice cream, and madam wrapped her little fingers around the treasure-cup holding the very substance that made up heaven. As she passed by, she looked up and with a cherubic smile told the tea stall vendor, “Kaaku, singhara kaal ke khaabo” (Uncle, I’ll have the samosas tomorrow). The ageing tea-stall vendor beamed back at her.

As I walked back home, I was wondering what purpose kids serve. Of course, procreation and all that nonsense about taking civilization ahead to survive another generation. But what that little girl taught me was the simplicity of man’s needs. Not 15 rupees (little less than 30 cents) had been spent on her outing, and yet she had had the time of her life.

Man’s needs are simpler than what the grown-up buffoon makes it out to be. It is the attitude that matters.

Back home

It’s a quarter to four on a Saturday afternoon and here I am in my house in Calcutta with nothing to do. Err, technically speaking, of course I can keep myself occupied with a dozen things if I wanted to, but then, I’m me and I opt for the lazier way out and say that ‘I have nothing to do’.

Travelling in the train from Mumbai to Calcutta was unbearable…for the first few hours anyway. You see, according to me, one of the greatest pleasures in life is being aboard an AC coach in service of the Indian railways and to be armed at the same instant with a good book. The former without the latter is a deadly combination, as you’re then left with no other option but to:

a) listen to aunties discussing the ‘kundli’, the guest-list and the wedding card of Abhishek Bachchan and Aishwarya Rai

b) get irritated to hell by the snoring of an obese Bengali dude who just about manages to fit into the side berth and believes that sleeping away to glory (snoring in tow, of course) for 25 out of the 30 hour train journey is a brilliant strategy

c) stare out of the window praying for a station to arrive where a decent book-stall would be visible

(c) mentioned above was how I spent the first night in the train as (a) and (b) above were quite unquestioningly thrust upon me. I did everything I could to fight the fit of depression. I called up the Whale and Dolphin and tried to explain how the poor me had scouted the entire length of the Kurla Junction in a desperate bid to find a book stall owner, but to no avail.

Relief only came next morning at Nagpur station where I literally jumped out of the train and ran to the nearest book-stall. Talk about a weary traveller from the desert finding an oasis! I lapped up the books just as the aforementioned traveller would have attacked water. I decided to give in to temptation and bought two books; ‘Five Point Someone’ by Chetan Bhagat and ‘The Afghan’ by Frederick Forsyth.

The Heavens, it seemed, had decided to give me a fair return journey home after all, as Sam, Dada and Anubhav Misra came over to meet me up at Raipur station. Felt really nice meeting up with them. The five-minute stop at Raipur seemed to end too soon and I almost felt guilty for having asked them to come down to the station and meet up with me. But then, what the heck, they were ‘vella’ in any case and hey, given the situation, I would’ve myself hopped on to a bike to go and meet my friends at the station.

On returning to Calcutta, I spent the first day in Dad’s office. Met up with Ravi in the evening, and as is our norm, we headed over to a dhaba for a cup of chai for him and gilassi of milk for me.

Ah, the joys of being back home. :)

From Mundan to MBA

Last night, I had dinner at an uncle’s place. Uncle is one of Dad’s closest friends and I have forever known him as ‘kaka’ (Uncle).

During dinner, conversation led to the time when he and Dad had established their friendship, and I was surprised to know that this is a friendship which has lasted *touch wood* for just over four decades now. Phew!

And as would be expected, he is among the handful of people who’ve known me since the time I could fit into his palms. :P

Last night was a rite of passage, as far as he was concerned. Happily sharing a drink with Dad, he looked at me and commented how he had been there at my ‘Mundan’ ceremony (the holy Hindu ritual when an infant’s hair is first shaved off at the age of 3 or 4) and here he was again after I’d completed my MBA. I suspected more pride in his voice than pleasure when he congratulated me on having gotten my degree. From what I gathered, it wasn’t the education which was as important as the degree which announced my entry into the world of corporate affairs.

Also, quite importantly, I lay bare before them what had been happening in my personal life for the last few years. I was surprised with the maturity and the calmness with which they accepted whatever I'd been through.

Just as we were leaving, Kaki produced an envelope with a few currency notes inside which were a sign of good luck. On the envelope were the following words:

Dear Shekhar,

May God bless you with lots & lots of happiness, success and good health. Don’t ever stop loving, don’t ever stop believing and don’t ever stop dreaming your dreams.

Blessings from Kaka and Kaki.

Love you folks. :)

Self fulfilling prophecies

I was having lunch at a wonderful couple's house in Ahmedabad the other day and the after-lunch discussion was most amiable.

We kept veering from one topic to another and during one such turn of discussion, I told them about a singular thing that happened to me. You see, apart from this blog, I do maintain a personal diary. And in that diary of mine, I had made a passing remark about how wonderful a particular eventuality would be if it indeed came true. As luck would have it (is it so?), things which lay outside my control almost magically happened such that I had to make my best efforts and hence, display some of my own strengths. I wondered out aloud if in writing that journal, I had somewhere unknowingly shaped my own destiny.

At this, the lady of the house also pointed out something similar. She said that in Linda Goodman's book (I forget which) she mentions about the people under a specific star-sign who never 'save for a rainy day'. And it so happens, that because of their belief, that particular rainy day never does arrive. We just laughed at this intriguing co-incidence, but what remained a question was whether man was indeed capable of carving out his/her own destiny.

I end this post by recalling a poster I'd seen in a faculty's room: "Be careful of the thoughts you think; they shape your future."

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Defining Youth

The setting was indeed idyllic. Sun God raced in his chariot towards the end of the day and my parents, bhaiya and I were seated in a Maruti Omni which was taking us back to our native village. Bhaiya and I had occupied the side positions on the rear seat and emboldened by the sparsely populated Gujarat countryside, both of us had opted to keep the sliding doors open.

I cannot say about the others, but I quite enjoyed taking in the sweltering heat, the dust that was being kicked up by the tyres and the quietness of the surroundings. It didn’t take long for John Denver to start singing ‘Country roads, take me home…’ in the mind’s stereo-system.

I am pretty sure, though, that the setting sun was having a magical effect on others as well since all of us had suddenly gone silent and were perhaps meditating on some day gone by.

It was then that the stream of thoughts was translated into words and bhaiya and I started speaking about youth and their ways. The discussion came to a point where we needed to clearly define what ‘youth’ was.

It is here where bhaiya’s wisdom shone through.

“All those who always keep thinking or speaking about the future are children or immature beings. And those who crib about the past or keep living in the glories of the day gone by have weathered minds – no matter what their physical age, they’ve already decided to live in the past and are hence, old.”

“And what about the youth?” I asked.

“Simple. Those who live in the present and think about changing their present circumstances rather than choosing to keep building castles in the air or boasting about their past are youth. They, indeed, are the ones who shape the environment around them and to them goes the title of being ‘youthful’.”