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."

Devanagri script enabled on Blogger

क्या बात है! This is Awesome !! Google का जवाब नहीं।

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’.”

How the curtains were drawn

This post is authored as I sit in a flat in Mumbai with dollops of time to spare and a laptop which refuses to install ‘Counter Strike: Condition Zero’ no matter how many times I bang my head on the table and plead for mercy to the IBM Gods.

As a result, the post is slightly longer than my usual posts, but I have made sincere efforts at keeping it interesting. Do read. :)

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Let me recall the events of my last few hours at Nirma.

Anyone who thinks packing bags is an easy business hasn’t obviously met me. I have been told that I have the most exasperated look on my face when such an eventuality occurs. In fact, I keep getting this uneasy feeling that people are reminded of dear old Uncle Podger who hung a picture upon the wall (for further references, please read “Three Men In A Boat” by Jerome K. Jerome).

I am almost certain that I must cut a sorry figure while packing, what with running from one end of the room to another, picking up an article, thrusting it wildly into a bag, scurrying to another part of the room, only to realize that perhaps it would be better if the article already tossed into the bag should indeed be packed in the carton which is to be couriered.

If any further proof is required of the fact that things can go horribly out of control when I’m packing, let me cite the example of last year when I had to pack my bags before leaving for my summer internship. I had projected that I would leave the hostel by 3 in the afternoon. As expected, the packing Gods didn’t approve of my projected figures and my friends heaved a mighty sigh of relief when I finally left the hostel at 11 at night.

Going by my track record (late by 8 hours on the previous occasion), the crime this time around was definitely excusable. I was late by a meagre 2 hours; I had planned to have my bags packed and left the hostel by 9pm, but could not leave till 11.

Of course, Dolphin was partly to blame. The moment she saw me wearing my red-and-white t-shirt, she grimaced in a manner which would’ve made Jeeves proud when he didn't approve of an article of clothing worn by Bertie Wooster. And in order to ensure that I would never again have the happy privilege of wearing the particular t-shirt, Dolphin simply asked for a pen and promptly proceeded to write a good-bye message on the shirt itself. This was encouragement enough for everyone around to jump in and write their ‘love-you’ and ‘goodbye Rupa’ messages. It was a good twenty minutes more before I could step into the waiting auto-rickshaw. However, it was worth the wait. I love that shirt now and am going to treasure it forever. :))

But it didn’t take more than 2 hours in Bhaiya’s house that night for me to realize that I was now on a different plane altogether. Mom and Dad hit the sack around midnight (they were awake only since I had been late in arriving home) and when Bhaiya wished me good-night around 1 in the morning, the house plunged into darkness and silence. To think that Sahu Sahab and I had made a daily routine of going down for a cuppa of tea at 2 in the morning!! Wow!! This DEFINITELY felt weird.

I felt as if 2 years ago, I had been plucked off from this (so called) normal planet and had been placed on a different one where not only were you responsible for everything you did, but you were also certain that no matter what happened, you would have a rollicking time. Sitting in the darkened hall, I could almost see the two years zip by right in front of my eyes.

The next day was Convocation day and boy was it fun. The best part about the day had to be us roaming around in the boys hostel wearing our convocation robes. All of us were in a crazy mood that day as we’d realized that this was our last opportunity to hang out like a bunch of happy-go-lucky characters. We had a gala time walking the ‘ramp’ and doing the ‘Reservoir Dogs’ walk in our convocation robes. [Crab even did a special Muzaffarnagar dance, details of which cannot be provided on blogs such as these which are meant to provide wholesome reading material for the entire family].

It was while these crazy deeds were being executed that I realised that I just HAD to spend the last night at the hostel and not at Bhaiya’s place in the city.

Wise decision. I got to take a tour of the most coveted real-estate property on the Nirma campus, i.e. the Girls’ hostel. ~wink~

It so happened that some of the girls convinced the girls’ hostel warden to allow them to visit the boys’ hostel. Now, since we had all convocated that very evening, we were technically not students anymore. And that, ahem, gave us the license to roam around. So, even before the girls battalion could move into our hostel, we attacked theirs. I had the privilege of visiting just two rooms, that of the Dolphin and the Piranha. Motee had already vacated her room, and poor Dolphin was left all alone to do her packing [She left with a record 8 bags the next day]. And true to her character, the room was a mess. To be honest, Whale and I looked at the room with a certain sense of pride in knowing that the Dolphin had come somewhere close to keeping her room as untidy as we had in the last one year together.

Next was Piranha’s room, which was, as expected, clean and a shocking contrast to Dolphin’s. Utterly neat (ouch!) and almost a hotel-room like feel is what all three of us (Sahu Sahab, Whale and I) felt.

Later that night, after the girls had visited our hostel, we decided we didn’t give two hoots about the boys’ hostel warden’s calls of returning to the hostel before midnight. Most of the gang was outside on the benches and on the lawn. The poor hostel warden had to keep getting up at regular intervals in any case, since many of the hostel-ites had trains and flights scheduled at odd hours.

The next afternoon, I too left the hostel along with the Whale. And with that auto-rickshaw ride on the Sarkhej Gandhinagar Highway, my life as a student of the Institute of Management, Nirma University officially came to a close.

Nirma Boys Hostel, Block B, Room no. 309 - Adios

Last post from this room and from this hostel.

One evening, after a marketing prof. introduced us to the world of blogs. Fascinated, that night I started this blog from the confines of this hostel.

So, as I pack up my laptop and gaze at the tonnes of baggage that has been packed before I vacate this hostel forever..


THANK YOU NIRMA BOYS HOSTEL.... I found the warmth of a place called 'home' here. Thanks for all the wonderful memories that shall always bring forth a smile, a chuckle and even the occasional tear.

...Adios!

Blood, toil and sweat...

In my two years of MBA education, I thought I'd seen it all. And just when one thought that everything there was to be seen and done had been achieved, there was just that one little thing that needed to complete the picture. I realised that most of my friends at this b-school had been part of one small road accident or the other (most of them, thankfully, not very serious). ~wink~ Today, was my turn.

So, a friend of mine and me were on this Kinetic Zoom when we skidded on this patch of sand and landed, face first, on the ground. Thankfully, none of the cars nearby rolled right over us and we were up in a jiffy. In fact, we were pretty lucky to have gotten away with just minor bruises. I managed a slight cut on my right knee to show for the evening's efforts. Even better was my friend, who immediately stood up and after casting a look at all the dust on his clothes, looked up dismayed at me and announced, "Yaar, kapde dhone pad jayenge!" ("Dude, I'll have to wash the clothes.") The next instant, the two of us were in complete splits and the onlookers were (I think) left wondering if these two nutcases had suffered serious injuries to the skull. :D

Anyway, ~deep intake of breath~ the MBA draws to a close and I've emerged victorious from a battle (of the mind?) which, I must admit, got almost too close for comfort. ~phew~ Friends who've been close to me have witnessed the nervousness and anxiety that I used to feel from time to time. In the end, I knew there was no one else but I who was responsible for putting myself into a difficult position. Like I said to a benevolent professor who offered to lend me a ear, it was again no one else but I who could draw myself out of the mess.

And work myself out of my troubles I did!! There was blood, toil and sweat (Sorry to disappoint you Mr. Churchill, but there were just no tears). Tell you what... it was all worth the fight in the end. The very man who predicted my doomsday congratulated me this evening on a brilliant performance. The same man who had told me that I was fast hurtling towards failure gladly shook hands with me and told me [not in as many words, I admit; but then, I'm a dreamer, and a dreamer who has just won has the liberty to dream these words ;) ] that I had the mettle of a winner.

Some have told me, in jest of course, that I should've laughed at him or reminded him mockingly of his prediction that I was headed for failure.

The truth is that I did remind him. And frankly, I couldn't be more thankful to the gentleman. If it hadn't been for that one statement which put the fear of the worst-case scenario in me, I don't think I would've pushed this hard. True, I couldn't sleep peacefully for days in a row and had the most harrowing nightmares of living the failure that had been promised to me. However, if it hadn't been for that feeling of cold sweat on my forehead, I don't think I would have excelled in the manner in which I did.

And so: 'Thank you Sir for your unkind words. That was simply the BEST thing that you could've done for me.'

Like all victories, though, there is more than just one person to whom the victory can be attributed. This victory, too, wouldn't have been possible without my parents, Aunt Patricia, and all my friends who stood by me and supported me. They did all that they could, either by doing their little bit in finishing excellent group project work or by giving their words of encouragement and hope. I can't end this post without thanking 'Bulla', 'Herbert', 'Horatio', 'Biscuit', 'Whale', Sam, 'Basanti', 'Piranha', 'Gola', 'Dolphin', 'Mr. President', Sahu Sahab, Motee, Sudhanshu, 'Pappu' and of course, 'Baap'. Thank you folks.

Perhaps for the last time on this blog, I must also mention 'her'. I must thank 'her' for the encouragement she provided and the promise she made me make.

(Although our paths have parted for some time now, you were among the first few persons I thought of when I knew I'd won. May God be with you. And yes, I shall keep my promise. ~smiles~)

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And oh, if you were wondering how the Goa trip was, what do you think of this??


~grins~