Of this and that...

And we finally buy it...

2010-09-30T05:54:00.000-07:00

After months and years (yes years) of test driving and standard questions about models, accessories and mileage; we finally went ahead and bought a NANO! Now there is only one more thing to be done...I need to learn to drive!!!

Building Furniture

2009-11-14T23:37:00.000-08:00

Yes, the article is indeed about us making furniture at home! All thanks to our frustration at not finding what we want K and I decided we should make our own furniture.

The started the whole process of buying the wood, getting the tools and weekends on end spent drilling, chopping, cutting, sanding, polishing ...phew. But when we put out TV on a table we built from scratch the pride and happiness was worth all the efforts we put in!

Weekend in Chennai

2009-11-14T23:16:00.000-08:00

A day of gardening and learning how to take care of trees. Rovy seems very interested too - I am not surprised considering he gets to spend more time in the garden than all of us put together!

A new beginning

2009-11-14T21:37:00.000-08:00

Have had this thought in mind for sometime now. Considering we stay some distance from our parents and hardly ever think of calling them up more frequently than once a week (I of course sometimes call even less often than that); I thought it would be a good idea to have a blog like this where I could talk about everything we do here ...its interesting and definitely adds some zing to the usual phone conversations we have of whats cooking and how is the weather. And more importantly we dont forget the little things that made us happy everyday ...and sharing that with near and dear ones reassures them too that we are good and we are happy and anything at all to bring a little smile on their faces! So here goes...

Today was a fairly relaxed day. Got up a bit late (only at 8!). Immediately got into the balcony to see if the 'Malli' buds that had come up a couple of days back and much to my surprise it had opened up - so beautiful - I couldnt wait to wake up K and let him know about it.

My day already made, I quickly made some masala chai and was reading the paper when news of an earthquake in Mumbai came up. Made a quick call to mom and it turned out to be an hour long! But it was so much fun. We speak about once/ twice a month but when we do we really max out talking about everything under the sun and more. It was fun. Ash was making koftas in the background giving Amma the off day she is so desperately in need of. We could have talked for a few more hours but then my stomach started rumbling so I had to get off the phone.

Then it was to the garden again for a few more minutes, relaxing, reading the paper and smelling the flowers (literally!!!)

And some more...

2009-05-07T09:33:00.000-07:00

This is almost like an addendum to the previous post...came across another 'More' talk today...all about communication overload and conscious 'Quiet Time'. Sample this...it is 10 pm, the TV is on, and K and I are browsing on our respective laptops while calling our parents in India

And just a few minutes back I was wondering if I should apart from accounts on Facebook, Orkut (seems like another age when I joined that one), Picaboo, Picasa, Linkedin, 4 email IDs and 5 blogs also get a Twitter ID!

And this in addition to the close to 100 emails I process everyday at work!

I have to admit (old though I might sound), I do miss quiet times...when the TV can be switched off, the phone(s) off the hook and the laptop shut down.

And surprisingly I am not alone as I realized today! People are actually talking a 'half day' per week at work when there will be no communication distractions...

http://blogs.intel.com/it/2007/08/quiet_time_pilot_has_launched.php

And I am all for it - I was off from work for a couple of weeks and I had 1000+ mails in my inbox! By the time I waded through them I was half way through my first working week post vacation. Imagine how much more productive work I could have done in all that time...

While we are all trying our very best to come to terms with technology and its myriad offerings, I often wonder if I am not sort of 'technologically challenged'. In a post multi-tasking world where continuous partial attention is the norm the debate is whether jumping from one activity to another in a matter of 'nano' seconds is really what life is all about? Debaters vary in opinion about switching off to give ourselves 'non-tech' time to 'get used to it'.

The decisions we face in our everyday life seem to be increasingly complicated and increasingly trivial at the same time.

Even as I am finishing this post, I create a Twitter and Skype ID on the side...

More...

2009-02-08T21:32:00.000-08:00

Its been quite some time since I blogged. And I finally found something that has been disturbing me for quite some time...the idea of a world thats too overwhelming for itself!

Sample this little video from youtube and you will know what I am talking about.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jpEnFwiqdx8

More data, more information, more people, more jobs, more money, more technology, more advanced, more, more, more...the list of 'more' is endless. More is created, more is wanted, more is desired, more is appreciated. To flip the coin, we also have more problems, more pollution, more diseases, more depression.

Dont get me wrong. I am not against technology, I am not against advancement, I am definitely not against the idea of science. I dont think yesterday was so much better and we were far happier when we had less gadgets and more fun.

Change is good, I love to see the morning sun rise and dispel darkness as much as I love darkness envelop me at night with the sparkle of stars.

I love my ipod and I love that Google lets me get any information I want within 0.82 seconds. I cannot but be amazed everytime a flight takes off and I see the wings bend over a tiny little toy town that height reduces big cities to.

But I love playing with my dog too and wonder why the park next door where I used to take him for a walk not so long ago has been closed to make way for an apartment block.

I love the fresh air at the beach but the black polluted water and the plastic covers that stick to my feet when all I want to feel are waves spoil it all for me.

I am not just talking pollution overload. Think of all the million things you have to remember to do everyday - pay your bills, service your car, pay the EMI, pay up your insurance, take care of work, take care of home, did your kids eat, does the dog look unwell, isnt it someones anniversary today, oh I forgot my moms birthday, when will I learn to be more organized...why cant I be more efficient, why cant I be more helpful, why cant I learn more, why cant I give more (yes there is that too for many), why cant I volunteer more...

Think of all the people we meet and know and the amount of grudges we hold against them! Why cant my parents understand me more, why do my friends not do more for me, why should I try and compromise anymore, why cant the auto drivers be more considerate, why cant the pedestrians be more sensible and walk on (non-existent) footpaths!

In essence what I am strugging with is the idea of senseless more. The urgency of change does not include the need to understand its implications. And the acceleration we display in acquiring something does not turn into the intense need to sustain it, nurture it and perhaps sometimes even give it a chance, be it gadgets, people, jobs, pets, relationships or just ourselves!

The Simple Life

2008-05-11T10:05:00.000-07:00

'If only life were so simple' is an oft used phrase. I have a problem and a very big problem at that ...about using If in that phrase. Isnt life simple? Isnt life all about giving your best to everything you do? To follow your heart no matter what? Yes, life throws our share of pain our way. I have curled up at nights, lonely, wondering what I did wrong, what I did to deserve the agony I was going through. Pain is self-inflicted. It has nothing to do with anyone or anything around you. Regret is pain. Guilt is pain. Loss is pain. Helplessness is pain. Yes, every single of these emotions tug at your heart, make you feel for the action, that thought, the reaction that should not have occured but did anyway...I feel for all the mistakes I made. Given a chance I would do it differently. Such thoughts plague my mind and I wonder will I get a second chance? And I realize, you take your chances...no one can give them to you. Take all the chances, take everything you have, give it a go. Its always worth it!

The Undomestic Goddess

2008-04-12T06:54:00.000-07:00

Its a peculiar title. The book is not at all. Its one of those books which you can relate to. The kinds where you nod your head or smile and say hey thats so true. Its not a great book and some of it may even make you shake your head and wonder why you started reading the book in the first place. But there are somethings about it that are good. The protagonist, her feelings as she goes from 'I could do no wrong' to 'Life is not about right and wrong' strike a chord. In some senses, its like a book equivalent of a 'chick flick'. But I recommed it to everyone who has ever wondered what they are doing in life, about their goals and aims. And most of all I recommend it to anyone who has ever gotten up in the morning and said to themselves 'Damn, another day to live through'.

Work

2008-04-02T01:08:00.000-07:00

I take the Volvo bus in Bangalore, takes me about an hour to reach work. Its air-conditioned, quite comfortable and I usually spend time reading something and feeling good that I am using my commute time constructively.

Today was a bit different; I had a change of perspective, literally. Most of the seats in the Volvo are front facing and I am usually quick to occupy one of them. But today I could only manage one of four seats facing the other direction. It is a bit weird, especially when you see that you are traveling in the backward direction. But soon I got used to it. And then I realized something else. I was facing everyone else in the bus! Feeling conscious apart, it kind of made me look at all the faces that commute with me everyday.

There is a girl in jeans and sleeveless top, hair colored brown, looks trendy, but hey, she is yawning! Okay see that guy in the prim blue shirt and black trousers with laptop in tow, why does he look so droopy. And there is the mother with the little child, dark circles accentuated by the sun shining in through the large windows.

And then it hit me. I started frantically searching every face I could locate in the bus, and my worst fears came true. The same story repeats. Laptops, droopy eyes, dark circles, tired faces, yawning mouths, careworn lines on the forehead.

Not a single, cheery face. Not one person happy to be going to work, happy at having another day to live, happy to do something with themselves.

Work is such a chore isn’t it?

Mr. Pappuswamy

2008-03-27T03:35:00.000-07:00

Unironed clothes. Unshaven. A wicker basket by my side with a steel carrier – food prepared by her, the last I will get to taste for a very long time. Thick glasses encased in black frames. Eyes that betrayed everything. She stood on the other side. Her yellow cotton saree, crumpled, a red and green check blouse, big round bindi on her forehead, a smile that displayed tooth uncared for, worn-out chappals betraying cracked soles.

Sitting there on the floor of that airport, separated from her only by a railing, I sat writing addresses and phone numbers on a million strips of paper. She is illiterate and cannot speak any English. She is all smiles, in her own charming way, but little does she see the worries plaguing my mind. She can say Hustan, I wish it were enough. I insert the strips into every piece of her luggage, hoping they all reach the right place. I hand one to her and ask her to keep. She impishly puts it into the purse tucked into her person. And then comes the dreaded announcement “Passengers traveling by Air India flight AI 763 to Houston via New York and London are requested to proceed for security”. And she stands there, grinning at me, oblivious. I panic. I tell her that she needs to go and point to the direction she has to take. I repeat my instructions once again. All she has to do is sit in the seat assigned for the next 23 hours as it takes her across the world to our son. All I have to do is wait 23 hours for a phone call.

Life is Beautiful

2008-01-18T03:25:00.000-08:00

Life is beautiful. If only you let it be. Instead of tweaking it and making yourself feel that you would be happier if only you had that car or so much more money or looked younger or slimmer or more beautiful or whatever. I could go on and on about what we all think would make us happy. But then it is not true.

We all dream of the day we will be better than what we are today. Many work towards it and work really hard at that. But somehow somewhere it just seems to elude us. What is it that we are all looking for and more importantly why is it so elusive?

Rovy

2008-01-18T02:35:00.000-08:00

I was always one of those dog haters. In fact abhorers would be a better term. I still remember when I was in school and was once chased from one end of the road to another by this stray dog, me screaming and running for life and everyone on the street looking bemused. Only later did I realize that the dog had given up chasing me about a couple of yards into the run, but me being me did not look back and just kept running for dear life. Phew! Having said that my fear for these creatures diminished but I was never what you would call a pet person. Imagine my shock then when I married into a family that had had dogs as long as they had been a family and even before that. Hmmm. Of course staying in far away USA made me not really bother too much about it. The few days we spent at home I tolerated the dog and to his credit he ignored me. And then we were back from the US for keeps. From screaming for someone to hold the dog while I walked out of the home and came in to gently walking along as it took its usual afternoon nap to eyeing it constantly as it passed its summer days under the ac in our room, I felt good about at least reducing my fear for our canine friends. But I could still not come to regard them with either love nor affection. It was neutrality and if I ever came across an unknown dog of course I was going to be scared. Rovy for that was his name lived his life for close to 12 years (and that in human terms is as much as a 100) and passed on. I didnt shed a tear and I definitely did not miss it much though in its final days I had come as far as patting it on its head (I guess he was too old to react and that made things easier for me). Then came Rovy II. After intense searching and visiting kennels and individual homes which wanted to give away dogs for adoption, one hot afternoon K and I made the trip to Rovy II's birth home. There were about 5 little puppies and 2 big dogs. K instantly took to this little dog, fawn in color with a Namam on its forehead. He came home and for the first few days I was a mere spectator to all the excitement around its arrival. What should be fed, where should he sleep, who will train him, should we give him extra calcium for his bones (I thought that was the limit)...well the point is 30 days down the line, I love this dog, I look at every canine on the streets with kindly eyes and want to pet it. Rovy's intense brown eyes love me unconditionally even when I have pushed him away for trying to bite me or bothered me when I am doing something else. When he was all of 33 days and he had his second bath and was shivering, he came and cuddled into my lap and fell fast asleep. I wondered how I could not love a little one like this. And today I miss him when I go out of town, I cant wait to come back home and receive the kind of rousing welcome only he can give me, jump all over and make me feel like he thinks me to be the most wonderful person he has ever known. And I have mentioned once too often that no one has ever expressed their joy at seeing me more than this little one. I know a lot of you who are still on the other side probably think I have lost it...well I can only say I have been there and believe me, this is a much better side to be on.

Salt To Taste

2008-01-18T02:22:00.000-08:00

The humble sodium chloride is its own thing. Of course we Indians have given it iconic status what with Gandhi doing his Salt Satyagraha to awaken a Nation and every movie worth its salt (pun unintended) refusing to be made without the mandatory 'Jiska Namak Kahaya...'.

For me however, this white powder has its own meaning. It is a symbol of my cooking skills gone awry. Let me be frank - I was never a good cook and anyone who has tasted my mother's cooking will tell you that I couldnt touch her in a million years. Yet, I make do. My food is edible if not very tasty though K will vouch I have a tendency to take cooking experiments a bit too far. But I am digressing. Salt is an essential part of any meal. And this humble salt (dare I call it that) has just proven elusive to me in the sense that I just am not able to get the right amount into food. And I mean never. Not a single meal have I cooked when the salt has either not been found wanting or is just a bit too much. After more than 2-3 years of cooking, I am still to master this very fine art of adding 'Salt to Taste'. Somehow all those amazing websites where ammas and mamis and of course the Sanjeev Kapoors and Tarla Dalals of the world who hold your hand and guide you through everything from simple dal to Lacha Paratha, where they will tell you to add 2 cloves and 1 1/4 tsp of coriander powder seem to miss out on one simple fact - salt to be added is always to taste. Sigh.

Kulu Kulu Endra Kodai

2007-11-23T03:02:00.000-08:00

May 1, Tuesday was a holiday. I took Monday off making it a long 4-day weekend. The whole family packed up and we drove down to Kodaikanal or Kodai as it is fondly known.

The plan was to start early (hahha) Saturday morning, and drive down to Kodai by the evening. We did start early (well its relative!) around 7. And drove ahead full speed. The most important aspect was of course the food - K2 very responsibly stocked up the car with food of all kinds, some sweet, some savory, something to drink too. With very many stops en route eating, drinking, reading and sleeping, we made our way to the Palani hills.

As we were driving by at top speed, I noticed men, clad in nothing more than yellow veshtis, clutching yellow cloth bags, walking barefoot alongside us. Curiosity led to enquiry, they were devotees of Lord Muruga, who had vowed to walk barefoot from their homes to Palani, Muruga's most sacred earthly residence, their dark faces calm and serene, full of purpose, unmindful of the heat, dust, the passing vehicles or the scorching tar roads, strengthened only by the sight of the six-headed Shanmukha, waiting to bless them with his ever-so beautiful smile.

By the time we reached the foothills we were tired, fatigued from travelling on bumpy roads for over 10 hours. And then came the transformation - lush landscapes all around set the tone for what was to be an experience. There were coconut groves and banana plantations lining the roads we drove through, as if welcoming us to the beauty that we were to sight soon.

As we started the climb, calmness dawned on every one of us. We switched off the ac and opened all windows and let nature sweep us away. The cool breeze and the lush green slopes at once transformed our moods - as we stepped down at the little cottage where we were to stay, we were relaxed and all set to enjoy our little getaway!

After a quick dinner at Hilltop, we retired early, dreaming of the wonderful time we would have over the next couple of days.

Day One started with a hearty breakfast of Pongal Vadai and Coffee sitting on the lawns, soaking in the sun. Then we just drove around, exploring unknown Kodai. We randomly drove into roads we knew nothing about, and found amazing views of the hills and the valley. Lunch was perfect - at Woody's. The clouds gathered and a slight chill enveloped us as we ate hot soup and enjoyed the step-gardens full of flowers and the little brook that ran by. As we waited for our lunch to arrive, we even managed to capture on camera a lovely rose bud and some bees attacking the flowers with full fervor. A relaxed lunch later, we resumed our expeditions and went to a yet un-named, unexplored place simply called Land's End - the view was fabulous. After a round of dinner and drinks at Carlton at night we returned home, exhausted but happy.

Day Two was more adventuresome! K1 and I rode bi-bicycles - the ones where two people can ride one cycle. I was not so sure if I could even ride a cycle after such a long time (the last time was probably about 10 years back!) but after a wobble or two we were on our way. We stopped by after a few minutes to admire the huge, lovely house on our right. We passed by little kids riding their little cycles, some littler ones sitting on baskets in front of their parent's cycles. Some adventurous kids were even riding horses almost 3 times their sizes!!! We passed by the Sai Ashram where devotees were waiting to see Baba, sitting on the pavements and roads, yearning to catch one glimpse of the Divine. We ended our journey with a compulsory posing for snaps on our cycle as the very friendly cycle-man took our photo. Post the ride we were obviously very hungry, and made good by having some nice lemon tea and Cheese Toast at the lake side Boat Club Canteen. Muscular men were rowing boats by themselves even as a not so muscularly built couple struggled to paddle their 'two-seater' boat. We had a good laugh watching them and adding our own wise-cracks where possible.

Then we went to what was to be the highlight of our trip - Vettakanal. Most of the way is via road, some good ones, some bumpy but the real challenge was the walk downhill. The slope was about 45 degrees downhill from the road and it was muddy terrain with loose stones. Me and MIL ventured about 10-15 steps and sat down at the little tea stall on the way - letting the men travel the remaining distance to see the breathtaking view. The lady at the tea stall was very friendly, chatting away to everyone who passed by, offering drinks and food and renting out hawaii chappals for grip! We had a gala time watching her and her interactions with the myriad bunch that passed us by. There were couples on their honeymoon, the daintily clad new bride shyly removing her heeled shoes and putting on the hawaii chappals, her husband teasing her about her inappropriate footwear for a trek. And there was a couple with a little kid who refused to travel unless she was carried. The very friendly tea stall lady ventured to advice - its difficult to walk down alone, with a baby would be impossible. A helpful guide offered to carry the kid for a price as the parents happily walked down to see the 'breathtaking' view. Soon came a large family, little girls insisting on walking down in their slightly heeled shoes and an old lady, their paati insisting that she can endure the walk down, at the ripe old age of 85. Suddenly there was commotion everywhere - the friendly tea stall lady, the old lady's sons and daughters-in-law, her grandchildren, a lady from Chennai who was recuperating at the tea stall from her trip down and back up...all spoke at once on how difficult it was going to be for the old lady to even attempt this trek. But the lady remained firm - and she got her way...she walked down.
The tea stall lady in the meanwhile started chatting about her life. She had two sons, one was doing a diploma - she wanted him to get into an engineering college but could not afford it. She yet dreamt of him getting into a college and getting a BE degree. She was optimistic - she had made good money this season and it was just the beginning. She hoped her second son, still in school would be helped along in his studies by his elder brother. Hope and optimism laced with just the hint of despair marked her speech - even as she was joking around and offering food, drink and hawai chappals.
I would never know if the paati went all the way and saw what she wanted - we had to leave as soon as the men folk returned, totally exhausted! Some lemon soda offered by the tea stall lady rejuvenated them to some extent and we headed back, talking about what the other group had missed!

Lunch was once again at Woody's followed by pastries and ice-cream at the Hilltop. With a full stomach and droopy eyes we headed back to get some mid-afternoon shut-eye. An evening chat session over chips later, we once again headed over to have dinner - this time good old 'Thair Sadam' as all of us had had more than our share of food for the day!!! Sleep brought another morning, a walk by the lake, two breakfasts, one Indian and one continental. The continental breakfast is especially worth talking about – a nice, cozy little place with a friendly owner served us lemon tea, ginger tea, mint tea and chamomile tea followed by a sumptuous breakfast of pancakes, omlete and baked beans and toast. While we waited for our order to arrive we even walked across to the other side of the street to buy something from the Pottery Shed – profits from which go to disadvantaged children.

And then we drove down – and temperatures rose. Soon we had shut ourselves in again, the ac was on and we retired into our individual activities - some of us reading, some sleeping and some looking at the roads and the people we passed.

We talked about the trip and how Kodai was nice, lush and beautiful inspite of the people and the filth they have created all around them. I noticed plastic bottles everywhere and the lake was harboring cows and stray dogs in some obscure corners. And the other funny thing was at restaurants people just sat where they found a chair - never mind if it was a honeymoon couple trying to indulge in some sweet talk over dinner - a couple with a recently 'mottaied' kid was ready to share the table with them, no questions asked! All the infuriated couple could do was to throw dark glances at the kid who was happily munching at his dinner!!!
In the midst of our talks, just as we were leaving Trichy, we saw a sight so spectacular, words could not begin to describe it. The sun was just setting and in the fore ground the temple of the 'Malai Kottai Pillayar' loomed in all its majesty. We ran around, jumped up and down, climbed on top of our car and just about managed to capture the beauty in our cameras.

The setting of the sun kind of triggered something in all of us - we all retreated into our shells and were lost in our own thoughts for the rest of the journey - silence ruled.
Reaching home in the dead of the night, we all slept. Wednesday dawned and things were back to normal, me hurrying around trying to get ready for office, grabbing my lunch bag and rushing through the gate with a byeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee.

Of Nawabs, Kebabs and Me

2007-11-23T03:01:00.000-08:00

There is definitely a lot to write about the sights and sounds of Lucknow, the town traditionally known for its cultured Nawabs, mouth-watering kebabs, exquisite chikan and of course the warm hospitality.
But I am a little disappointed. I was hoping my camera would share some of my burden in capturing the decadent splendor and a serene, sleepy city vibrating with life in pockets like Aminabad. But unfortunately, the first day here, I left my camera behind in my hotel room and day 2 was just too hectic for me to be able to even wield it on unsuspecting people and sights.
So here I am, at 6 am on a Tuesday morning with exactly 10 people in the Amausi airport, struggling to keep my eyes open and waiting for the Sahara staff to arrive – I don’t know if this is a first but I was the first person into the airport. I was here at 5.30 am, exactly 2 hours before the flight time and was welcomed by 3 very amused police officers at the entrance. They wanted to know what time my flight was and I said 7.00 am – Air Sahara. They gave me a wide grin as they asked me, with typical Lucknovi hospitality, that I should just relax “aap aaram Karen…ab tho staff bhi koi nahi aaye hain”, they told me. As I entered the airport the gravity of what they had just spoken dawned on me. The airport was empty – and when I say empty I mean empty – a lot of us probably don’t even know what that word means anymore but let me tell you, experiencing it did me wonders. The policemen switched on the fans and lights for me asking me to make myself comfortable which I did. I waited for close to an hour like this, all alone with the 3 policemen checking on me once in a while, one even assuring me that people will arrive soon. People started streaming in by around 6 for a 7 am flight – not bad I thought because by then I had realized that this airport is just not like any other ones I had been to (excluding the varanasi airport which was composed of space just enough to construct a 1 BHK flat in Mumbai) – this is Lucknow where people are known more for their graceful style than for pace and frenzy. And slowly and surely the crowd built up, the staff arrived and the place started resembling an airport. And then the staff took some time to settle down. Meanwhile a lady sitting next to me beckoned me with a ‘Beta, kahan jaa rahe ho’, as if the place had a million gates and a zillion flights. ‘I am going to Delhi’, I answered. ‘Oh by Sahara’, she ventured. I managed a nod. And then there was some chit chat, of chai walas and why they are yet to make their presence felt in the airport. Then they announced that check-in procedures had begun. I keep writing, after all its just one flight leaving which also was yet to arrive from Delhi airport, why stand in queues when it could be avoided. But apparently the Indian penchant for making queues has not escaped the Lucknow populace.
Even as I write this, the 3 passengers who have already arrived at the airport apart from me (yes the count is till 3, I am wondering where everyone else is or if at all there are more passengers) have formed a neat queue in front of the “Check-In Baggage X-Ray counter”, the “staff” there yet to arrive. I turned around to give it one amused look and here I am back to writing.
It really is fun to capture things as they happen. I remember Pico Iyers words on how he has to strive to actually capture the color, the mood, the essence of every single minute he spends traveling and how words have to take on hues and meanings of their own – though I wonder how me with my limited skills can even remotely paint the pictures that will always form in my mind when someone says Lucknow.
Oh! Now there is a power cut now!!! Hehehhe
I arrive in Lucknow on a very hot (Delhi was at 46 and Lucknow at 45 when I arrived) and dusty Sunday evening. As the pilot announces that we will be landing in Lucknow shortly, I peep out, waiting to have my first glance of the city I have heard so much about. And what do I see, but open lands. I was to come to know much later that Amausi where the airport is located is actually in a different district outside Lucknow city limits. And then I kept waiting for the airport terminal to appear, which I finally saw to be a red and cream building in a very traditional mould with minaret like structures appearing out of nowhere, a very discernible pseudo-traditional building (I don’t know if that’s even a technical term but it kind of describes what I want to say). Coming in I was greeted by the Green and Red Channels (did not know this was an international airport!) though no one was actually manning these very important posts.
S from my office was waiting for me at the arrival gate, I had met him in 2003 last, when I had traveled to Gorakhpur and he was a very staid, typically north Indian looking bloke with moustache and all. Imagine my surprise then when I see blond, cropped hair and some snazzy dressing. And all I had to show for the 4 year gap was a bunch of grey hair and a few extra pounds. He certainly reiterated one point to me, the same point as is made by the Saas-Bahus of the world everyday on our television sets, that the world today is all about getting younger and hipper – I wonder when I will start feeling the need to hide my age (ha, a certain person chided me as being rude recently because I asked his friend how old he had become on his birthday and no amount of hey I am anyways at least a couple of years older than him seemed to convince him of the ‘okay-ness’ of the whole situation). Well, so much for age.
Then we sped towards the city in a non-ac cab, though the cabman insisted on switching on the ac I refused because I had developed a slight sore throat and was wary of getting a cold. The warm breeze hit my face and I realized I was in India’s heartland, where summer was peaking and the heat wave claiming lives by the dozen everyday.
What hit my eyes instantly were hoardings and banners for coaching classes claiming to give “100% results” in IAS or IIT exams with tiny, very badly photographed (don’t passport size photos always do that to us – I have never heard or seen a person who actually looks even as good as himself or herself in a passport size photo) boys who had been coached in the institute and were now top rankers in these entrance exams. I wondered about Abhishek Rai (Abhishek by the way is a very common name in these parts – I met one in every one of my four groups) and his future, coming from a sleepy town like Lucknow and being catapulted into say an IIT Mumbai or an IIT Delhi.
I arrive at the hotel – it was a decent one, nothing great and definitely nothing Lucknowi about it to merit much mention in this space.
Moving on, since I had traveled the whole day from Chennai changing flights, getting quite some time at the Delhi airport to see a pretentious and obese family insist on getting serviced before me by sheer muscularity and rudeness (one of the kids, a boy of maybe 12 who looked like he was Bappi Lahiri’s son actually pushed me aside at the check-in counter – a very quick apology by the airline staff saved the day for him for I am never in my best moods when encountered by people who show utter disregard for people around them, and had recently requested a spoilt rich kid to keep her chappals firmly on the ground at the waiting area in the airport) I was too fatigued and just ordered some food and went to sleep, preparing myself for the grueling week ahead. I was already beginning to feel depressed (eating alone always does that to me).
After a decent breakfast at the hotel buffet next morning, I decided to get to the office to check mails and to check on people who are mere names to me through my quantitative projects – it is always nice to add faces to them. S told me that a cycle rikshaw would transport me to the office for Rs. 15 and I thought it was a very novel idea – I hired one promptly. Little did I know that the guy was either a novice or pretending to be one and almost took me to Faizabad when all I had wanted was to go to Faizabad Road. After numerous phone calls to S and after being rudely judged by a mehendi blond man owning a pharmacy (me actually committing the crime of asking him for directions and he looking at me like I was the scum of the earth) I reached office. I offered everyone some Krishna Sweets Mysore Pak which I had hurriedly bought at the Chennai airport just to let Lucknow have a taste of Chennai – and I am glad to report that it was a hit. A wanted to know if he could finish it by himself and if he really needed to share it with the rest of the office! I will gloss over the work bit and come straight to the lunch – which was simple yet absolutely delicious – rotis, arhar dal and a mix veg. subzi, salad (of which I obviously did not take any), followed by a bowl of curd and dusheri – the most amazing mangoes which were the sweetest I had ever tasted (you will be advised to note here that I actually hate mangoes and politely refuse them whenever offered). And then off to the venue.
What a place it was – cheap cloth stores in the basement selling spiderman suits for kids and tight black t-shirts with gold embossing for blonded and streaked young men, the rest of the building occupied by classes (what else), all promising to ensure that you are the top ranker in CPMT, IIT-JEE and other such. A board proclaiming to teach you Englis (transliterated from what was written in devanagari) pan-stained and spit covered corners welcomed me as I climbed up the three flights. A, who heads our field here did warn me of such issues but I didn’t mind them as much. I had seen the Ganges suffer worse when I had traversed through Varanasi a few years back – I knew what not to expect!
As the groups were nearing an end the next day, the moderator asked me if I had done any shopping and when I replied in the negative he looked at me most incredulously. Immediately a friend was called up and a store was asked to remain open till I went there to shop. Aminabad was like the Commercial Street in Bangalore, full of little shops, all selling the same thing and it being extremely difficult to judge whom to trust and what to buy. I didn’t know what to say or do – just went along and bought a few things.
And then came the sweetest moment – someone from the office was standing in front of the hotel, waiting to give me a pack of sweets from Chappan Bhog, the best Mithai Shop in Lucknow – with compliments from everyone in office - I was too thrilled for words!
Spent the entire night working because I was scared I would be unable to get up at 4 and rush to the airport. And here I am, waiting for my flight to arrive, and to take me to Delhi.
It was drizzling slightly when I stepped out to take the bus to the flight – just before I stepped into the aircraft, I looked up at the grey skies, droplets of water caressing my face and I smiled – I might not have seen Lucknow, nor really explored the markets or the old city or made any mandatory Chikan purchases, but I experienced something in its rustic settings, a sense of old world charm which I had only read about in books or seen in movies. This was the thread that ran through everything – the act of traveling on a cycle rickshaw even as the faster vehicles (largely two-wheelers) passed you by and looking at people enjoying chat at the Royal Park, two girls gossiping as they sat huddled together in a cycle rickshaw, people lazily walking by and even two and four wheelers being driven at a slower pace as if there was no hurry, as if everything was happening as per one big clock and no one really needed to strive to keep time or to keep pace with the world around. It seemed like I was and everyone else was in one long, idyll dream – a midsummer daydream. And most of all I had experienced the one thing that always makes any place unique - the people and in this case their unique trait - hospitality, done with unsurpassed grace. Take for example the moderator asking his friend to keep his store open, he as well as the store keeper made me feel so comfortable about the whole thing - I hardly felt like I was imposing. Only in a land where 'ada' and nazakat' are common parlance can such grace and beauty exist in every little gesture.

Time...

2007-06-05T21:01:00.000-07:00

Time is the only thing we are all aware of...there it is a second, a minute, an hour, a day and even a year lurking at the back of our minds goading us to do this and that. What would we do if we had no sense of time? Would we have rude alarm clocks waking us up in the middle of a deep slumber? Would we be buzzing about screaming at everyone that we are late for something? Would we be cursing the bullock cart slowly ambling its way through bumpy roads probably constructed for a more urbane vehicle? Would we jump signals? Would we shout and scream and ensure the world takes notice that we have a deadline today? I am reminded of the voice which said 'Main Samay Hoon' - it was a powerful voice even then. And now when childhood and adolescence have both passed me by, I look back and wonder where all the time went away. I have memories of course, but have I really lived close to 3 decades? Do I have memories so varied so vast so expansive? And then I saw it. A letter my sister wrote to me when I was away from home for the first time, away studying and she missed me. I read that letter, and then re-read it. And a little drop came rolling down my cheek. I had my answer.

Vethala Pakku...

2007-04-15T22:58:00.000-07:00

Any girl/ lady who visits another home in Tamil Nadu is definitely familiar with the practice of receiving the 'vethala pakku'. Betel leaves or vethalai (paati says exactly five in number, not more, not less), paaku or betel nuts, manjal or turmeric sticks are neatly arranged on a plate or tambalam. Then additions are made to it based on how prosperous the family giving the vethala pakku are, and of course on how prosperous the family receiving the vethala pakku is. Accompaniments include but are not restricted to a small box of kumkumam, a box of chandanam, some 'dakshinai' which could be as low as a Re.1 coin to an elaborate Rs.1001 (thats the maximum I have ever received but maybe it can go higher), a blouse piece (more about this later), a coconut, a couple of bananas, sweets or sundal...the list can go on. The elaborately or not so elaborately arranged plate is then offered to the guest lady/ girl. She accepts this very graciously, usually preceded by a 'Namaskaram' if the host is elder to the guest.

There are other aspects to this whole situation. The plate has to be as elaborate as it was when the hosts had themselves gone to the guests place at some time in the past - 'we cannot do anything less than what they have done for us' is the prevalant attitude. And then there is the blouse piece which for all practical purposes attained redundancy when the very enterprising saree stores in chennai changed over to 'Saree With Matching Blouse Piece' sometime in the early 80's. But then traditions are traditions, never mind practicality. So all households have blouse pieces tucked away into neat corners of the 'almirah' pulled out and recycled on the next vethala pakku occasion, the receiver now playing the host, pulling out the blouse piece that least interests her and giving it away to the unsuspecting guest who has no say in what she receives.

The vethala, pakku and manjal themselves are quite redundant nowadays, what with modern lifestyles and no one really eating vethala or applying manjal (my 10-year old cousin says 'chee, manjal makes the face yellow').

And come Navaratri, women folk dress up in their best (how the combination of silk sarees and hot hot chennai came about is something I will never understand, but then thats another blog altogether) and visit every lady they know - friend, foe, neighbour, colleague, distant and not so distant relatives...as much as nine evenings will permit. Not only will these be visits where enormous amounts of sundal are eaten, it will also be the occasion for the amused observer to hear every voice in chennai sing out in praise of the Divine Mother. Talk of time management, learn it from the women folk of Chennai!

The extraordinary brother of a not so common man...

2007-03-29T05:15:00.000-07:00

10 pm in the night. I have successfully managed to wiggle out of office and also let thoughts about work wiggle out of me...I reach for that slim book I had so neatly covered in newspaper, a strip of white paper which is the label tells me the book calls itself "A Writers Nightmare". I wonder what it means. I open it and start reading. Its full of 1 or 2 page write-ups on everything under the sun - marriages, school, mathematics, the scouts, the traffic situation, the writer's ego and even umbrellas (yes you read that right - there is actually an essay on umbrellas and a very interesting one at that explaining how we should all have 3 umbrellas - one for us, one for lending and one back-up in case anything happens to the other two!). I read each and every word with relish. I think about how unassuming the author is. And how humble. He actually says he started writing columns in The Hindu because he wanted to have a regular income - his first 3 novels bringing him fame but no money. And when he had the compulsion to fill in half a column by EOD Thursday he had to write something. And look what he writes!!! A little perspective is all we need in life and no one better than RK Narayan to sensitize us to this little fact - how else would we know that the marriage market is a sellers market and that a love for mathematics is never quite acquired. And how else would we know and even understand especially in todays world where we are all more than free to say and write what we want (this blog being a case in point) that a writers nightmare is when he is robbed of the only thing he has - thoughts he shares with everyone, dressing each one in clothing he alone can weave...Here I am as I drudge through yet another day wondering when I can lose myself into the delightful world of everyday as seen through the eyes of one extraordinary man.

Being regular...

2007-03-29T05:09:00.000-07:00

Being regular has never been my thing. Routine kind of gets to me. When things are routine I feel like I am dead. I have a diary which I write in sometimes. Sometimes I get up at 4 in the morning, switch on the tube light and insist on doing yoga much to the chagrin of my husband who likes to have his 8 hours plus under the sheets. I suddenly read up on something and start talking to everyone about it - stem cll research is one such, the middle east conflict is another. There was a time when people around me would avoid using words like Jews, Palestine, Israel, Moses, East or even middle. Imagine trying to say 'hey can I call you back...I am in the...ahhhahh....'. You get the drift...Sometimes I become a fanatic about my health and start eating sprouts that get ground in my mouth resembling something like dosa batter. I wonder if I will ever be brave enough to eat dosa batter by the spoonfuls, then why on earth was I doing this. But then I remind myself that all good things in life come with effort. Then one day I see a box of mysore pak on the dining table. I sigh and move away. Then I see it again lying there, ignored for a few more days (I should point out here that I am the only one with the sweet tooth in my family). And then one day I just give in. I open the box and start eating one piece. And before I know it I am out of the ‘routine’ of dieting too. Sometimes I break the monotony by surprising others – I land up at people’s places without prior warning, I buy people gifts for absolutely no reason (people have asked me whether it was their birthday and they had forgotten it!). And then I am tired of the routine of not being in routine. I try to get back into a routine then. And then I have a blog – where I write but not so regularly. So here’s for all of you who have been asking me why I don’t write anymore…

Where do we go from here...

2007-02-07T15:55:00.000-08:00

I am not a very avid follower of the news be it on TV, websites or good old newspapers. And I do not go out of my way to learn about what is happening around me. What I know of what can loosely be termed as "Current Affairs" is purely due to chance. But when something catches my eye, I usually try to read up on it and maybe discuss it with people around me. But the more I read about things the more I seem to lose my grip on reality and what this life and world are all about. I came across an article somewhere and this particular sentence just stayed with me - 'One man's terrorist is another man's freedom fighter'. And believe me when I read this line a shiver ran down my spine, the kinds that happen when you are scared, when you are beyond hair-raising...and I pondered over it. And I realized that the world today is so complicated, we just do not have anything to hold on to. Change is good and it is necessary but so is stability. Having roots is as important as spreading our wings. But what do we anchor ourselves to? I look at myself and I see cynicism, half the time I hear about something good someone has done I am thinking hey what do you think they got out of this. I read about a charitable organization which is pitching to me the wonderful work they have done and all I can think about is tell me how much of the money I give you actually goes to these kids. I wonder why when there are millions of charitable organizations and billions people contribute out of goodwill or out of a desire to save taxes (there I go again), we still have children begging on the streets. When I see beggars on streets I wonder how many of them are begging because they are just lazy. There are some simple things we all were brought up to believe in, like truth, honesty, a sense of duty and responsibility, respect, faith in people and the good in them. Holding on to any of these ideals seems impossible when I look at the world around me. Each man seems to have his own truth, everyone has perspectives and everyone's perspective needs to be respected. I can respect different views but how do I make up my mind on what to believe in? I think of the term rose-tinted glasses. I seem to be wearing grey-tinted glasses...Morality is a joke, Ignorance is bliss, Life goes on.

Ayn Rand was right...

2007-02-02T18:51:00.000-08:00

I was just browsing through rediff.com today and read two articles. Two very distinct articles yet connected by one common thread.

One talked about the Indian Consulate in San Francisco which allegedly handled visa applications in a very callous manner. The applications were found in the open yard of a recycling company. The related public outpouring about this mishap is understandable and very valid. But what I could not understand is Indians coming together in full strength to bandy the Consul General, displaying an absolute lack of civility and use of abusive language.

A day earlier the same site had published an article about 4 Americans of Indian origin, all in their teens entering the Intel Science Talent Search Awards (the Awards are billed as a Junior Nobel, six earlier winners have gone on to win Nobel prizes). And I read exactly one message congratulating them on their achievement.

When we can come together to pull down one of our own for a mistake he made, why is it that none of us cared to commend so many of our own, talented, brilliant youngsters working for a future of hope and success for themselves and the world?

Life and beyond...

2007-01-27T20:03:00.000-08:00

Something caught my attention recently. Stem cell research. I wanted to know why it was such a big point of debate in this country and around the world. The issue I found out was specifically embryonic stem cell research. And very intricately linked into this is another controversy - termination.

Currently extraction of stem cells destroys the embryo. And is not an embryo a life waiting to see the world, to live and experience it like all of us? I feel the issue is beyond that. Yes, an embryo is a baby waiting to be born. But the more pertinent question is - is someone waiting for the baby to be born? Are the parents waiting to give the baby every possible chance to live and see this life in all its glory? Human babies are by far the most helpless and need care and attention not only for the first few years of their lives but they need love, support and guidance throughout their lives to really live what we call a 'life'. And in such a context is it not better for a parent unable or unwilling to bring up a baby to terminate it? And when you are willingly terminating an embryo that you created, do you also not have the right to willingly 'donate' the embryo to save lives elsewhere?

Its not about morality anymore. And even if it is, is not brining a baby into this world unwillingly and abandoning it in a dumpster a more henious crime?

In fact the stem cells extracted for research now are from embryos created for in vitro, and many are eventually destroyed. And fact is once we have what is called a line of stem cells, we no longer need to destroy any more embryos. And fact is that researchers are working on techniques which will enable them to extract stem cells without destroying embryos.

I dream of the day when we could create replacements for our 60-year old tired kidneys or heart from stem cells which were extracted from us when we were mere embryos - imagine perfectly matched organs, would we all not have better longer lives in which to accomplish that much more?

And lastly from a legal standpoint, if a state or a country has legalized termination, raising a controversy about stem cell research is about creating issues where none exist.

Paper is more patient than people

2006-12-09T08:52:00.000-08:00

She is you, me and everyone else. She is every teenager brought up in every family. She is insecure, curious, confused, self-righteous, takes herself too seriously, yearns for acceptance, hates everyone one day and loves them the next, is angry before she understands why someone is different from her, she is every single girl. But she is amazing. She is amazing because she speaks about her dreams. She speaks about them to her dearest friend, Kitty. She loves to talk to Kitty, about herself, her every dream and emotion, her thoughts and feelings, her love and life, her hatred and pity. She finds in her diary her only true confidant, self-reflecting and self-indulging at times. She is amazing because she endured everything that came her way with the innocence of a child and the maturity of an adult, in all senses a teenager. My heart goes out to her and her honesty to her diary, when many of us shudder to be honest to our own selves. I salute her because she found the courage to write down her every thought. I am grateful to her because she gives me the inspiration to be comfortable with myself. I wish she had lived longer, I wish she had seen a lot more in her life, I wish she had lived a fuller life and I wish she had written about it all. I can only imagine how beautiful a life she would have lived. I can only imagine how much richer my life would have been if I could read about it. I miss Anne Frank. I miss a girl I have nothing in common with except that she is a girl, a girl who is as unlike me as possible, a different country, a different upbringing, a different era in history, a girl caught up in the worst mass crime the world has ever seen. I miss her as a girl, as a companion, as a reflection, as a thought and as a life. And yes I agree with her, paper truly is more patient than people.

I saw...

2006-11-21T09:38:00.000-08:00

Our eyes locked for a moment. I could see his eyes, smoldering with passion and intensity. I could see anger and frustration as well as the fire that drove him to be who he was. And then he turned around and started walking away. I looked down, took a deep breath and waited. I knew he would be back, he had to. His life was at stake and so was mine. I watched as he walked away, carefully counting his steps as he always did. There was me and there was him. The millions around did not matter. I could see him and that’s all I saw. And I could see what he was doing, and I could picture what he would do in a while. I waited, ready for him when he came back. And then he turned, pausing for a moment, assessing me one last time before he ran towards me. The tension was building up. I watched him, unblinking, my sight fixed on one thing. A fraction of time passed. He hurled the ball at me, I met it with the middle of my bat, and the umpire raised both his hands high up in the air. I had hit a six yet again.

I know...

2006-11-20T09:44:00.000-08:00

“Will you write to me? I will still be available on mail. I am not really going away you know. I am going to be around.”

“Yes, technology, isn’t that what they call it? That’s what you will use to still be around.”

Anjali could not pretend she didn’t grasp the hint of sarcasm. It was painful for him. It was painful for her too. But no one will understand that.

“You have to promise me you will take care of yourself”, the emptiness engulfed her. She could not say anything more. What could she tell him? How much he meant to her? How much she wanted to remain, to wrench herself away from the life that beckoned?

The laughter they shared when they talked about everything and about nothing. Yes, it was his laughter more than anything else that she would miss. Or maybe it would be his voice. The voice that lifted her spirits, made her believe in herself, encouraged her.

The voice that calmed Ma when she was hysterical.

But she could not find those words. Every word seemed empty as if by expressing her feelings she was robbing those words of what they mean, what they stand for. She wanted to stop herself. She wanted to be quiet. Silence would preserve what they had.

“And you should take care of Ma”

She had said it. Now there was no going back. She wanted to hold his hands one last time look into his eyes and ask why. She wanted an answer before she left, probably forever.

She could not believe she was quitting. She never was a quitter but she had to. The dilemma killed her. She did not want to make this decision but she had to, she had been forced to. In a sense she wanted to.

“It was not my fault you know”

“I know”

“I know too, Anju, I know too…and maybe that’s the whole problem.”

She looked into his tired eyes. Eyes that spoke of a lifetime of understanding, suffering, regretting, pain, loss.

She did not want to be so inhuman. She wanted to just flee. But she knew she could not. She knew she had started it. She had to hear it before she left. And she wanted to know. She wanted to know why. She wanted to know how he could have done what she knew he had, she suspected but still hoped he had not.

“I was just talking to her. Telling her how important this was for me. She would not listen to me, Anju. She would just not listen to me. She screamed at me. She was unreasonable.”

He broke down. He sat down on the couch, the palms of his hand holding his eyes, shielding those tears…she panicked. She had never seen him so emotional about Ma. She wanted to hold his hands, she wanted to wipe away his tears, tell him she understood him. But she could not bring herself to. Then she heard Ma’s screams.

10 long years Ma had suffered because of him. And today, Anjali wanted to know why.

She waited and watched as he wiped away those tears. He knew it was his judgment day too. He sat erect. And he started speaking. She listened as he spoke. In the same calm, placid manner as always…the tone he used when he introduced her to the wonders of the English language. He was choking with emotion, he broke down in between but she remained calm, listening to those words she always knew would come one day. And here when she was listening to them, she felt like she was not a part of the story. Here she was just an observer. It was a man redeeming himself. Absolving himself of the crime he knew he had committed. And the long torturous punishment he had endured. This was his day of deliverance.

He stopped, lifting his head to look at her with those eyes she had seen only strength in. She could see the pain now and the relief.

“I really loved your mother, Anju, I really did”

She walked out of the door, softly, never to return.

I miss...

2006-11-16T20:47:00.000-08:00

I miss the written word…and I mean writing. Remember, the days when we used to pick up a pen and write on a piece of paper (uh, what’s that again?!!!). I do. Perhaps I miss it because it was such an important part of my childhood, when buying stationery was an event and a delight in itself. Buying text books and note books, new, crisp and waiting to be written. Peering through the dull transparent glass was a row of shiny pens, ball-point, “Pilot” pens and the best of them all “China” Pens – fountain pens which were reserved for use only for our fair note books. I miss going home with all the goodies, pumping ink into the “China” pen and eagerly waiting for the first day of school to dawn, so that the crisp smell of new notebooks and fresh ink, the scratching sound the nib sang out as it created those alphabets could all be experienced once again, a coming of age ritual, the symbol of starting a whole new year, being a year older and presumptuously wiser! I miss holding the pen in my hand trying to write neatly, words spaced appropriately, writing my own hand, unique and utterly identifiable.

I also miss the letters I used to write, in little beige postcards, which cost all of 15 paisa and the only means of communication between me and my cousins. I miss writing my letters with the proper salutation and a closing, date and place at the top right corner. I miss saving an old shoe box to put all my letters away, letters written by cousins and aunts and uncles and everyone else far away thinking of me for a few moments as they write my name. Now I am just an email id, is it yahoo or g-mail? And I miss pulling out those letters every once in a while, feeling them with my hands, playing games with my sister trying to recognize who wrote the letter from the handwriting. I miss having more letters to pull out and read and re-read. I really miss the written word. Will anyone ever write me a long long letter again, write a letter, and not type a mail?