lest i forget

My tryst with terror ...

2011-07-17T23:15:00.001+05:30

It’s been 18 years since the first series of bomb blasts in Mumbai. An entire generation has been born, grown up and earned the right to vote, since. And yet, nothing has changed as a result of that. I just read a quote by filmmaker Anand Patwardhan, in Outlook, which speaks about long term change. Take a quiet moment to read it –

“The only real solution to terrorism is addressing communal divisions over the long term. Not AK-47s for cops.”

It makes you think about what, if anything have we done with a long term view in mind in these 18 years. It makes me think immediately of what these bomb blasts have meant to me, if anything at all, since the first ones I can recollect. From 18 years ago.

What I recollect about the 1993 episode, when I was all of 9 years old, is something immediately preceding it – watching on TV the Babri Masjid being torn down, and Lal Krishna Advani on a chariot. I remember spewing to my Dad what had somehow crept into my conscience, perhaps from neighbours, family, TV – ‘Break the mosque, build a temple’. I can never forget that cold, all conveying tone in which my Dad told me I was wrong and should shut up right then. That there was zero tolerance for such nonsense in his house. I am sure now I did not understand what I wrote or what Dad told me. But looking back, I couldn’t be more ashamed.

Anyway, my next memory from the time around the 1993 blasts is that a famous movie, in which Manisha Koirala had the most beautiful skin and danced and sang like a dream was made. Bombay. By Mani Ratnam. I caught it in patches, for I was too busy watching DDLJ multiple times. And then, we moved on.

My next brush with terrorism, apart from a vague sense of violence in Kashmir, while growing up, was in Pilani. In the year 2000, all of 18 years old, even as I dealt with social awkwardness and a new discovery of how hopelessly inadequate I was academically as well, my one engaging interest in making sense of the world around me was beginning to take form and shape.

The naïve idealist in me was taking shape, being born in a sense. My various identities were coming together, and starting to mean something, even as I informed them, from various conversations, lots of reading, and some very naïve thinking – I am an Indian, a Hindu, a Tamilian who’s essentially a Hyderabadi, a girl-woman, an urban-dweller, an individual.

I distinctly remember a conversation with a Kashmiri friend one evening, even as we solved 3D engineering drawing diagrams (by now, I knew, the engineer in me would struggle to be born and die very soon). It was my first tough conversation, from memory. In my inexperience and thanks to my conditioning, I couldn’t quite fathom how someone would want to separate from India. What Azadi could possibly mean, when we were already Azad. I was furious with the very thought, and didnt really internalise the violence she spoke of as a daily routine. But somewhere in the middle of this, when she casually mentioned that in her life in Srinagar, it was so normal to run into a shop when a bomb went off in the middle of a market, and take cover, till things were ok, I was unsettled. “People help each other, if possible, and move on. Till the next one. We are used to it” she said, “That’s what we do.” It stuck me as very odd.

I can say now with clarity that I did not quite understand then what it meant to be in an environment of violence. Nor did I know I would ever be in such a situation. But I was convinced I would be extremely scared, and could not possibly feel normal, if ever this was to happen to me.

And then life moved on. In Sep 2001, when the twin towers came down, I was in FD1, along with the cast and crew of the English Drama Club’s latest production. A friend (and lead eccentric character in that play) came bursting in, slightly amused, that a plane had rammed into a tall, very tall building in New York, and was bombing Pentagon. I didn’t even know what the Pentagon was. And at that point, no one could understand or imagine what exactly the scale of violence was. We continued to practice. And in the coming days, would gaze in awe at the repeatedly played videos of the towers crashing, like in a video game. It was too far away from home though. And we hadn’t nursed our MS ambitions adequately yet, to care. So we moved on.

And then, while still in Pilani, the Gujarat riots happened, born out of violence on a train, and in a heated moment, a few friends and I started ‘Try Peace’ on campus. The idea was to engage in these very touchy conversations, share films, books and other pieces of work that shed light on these complex issues, and really engage at University level, with what we thought was a serious problem.

But we did not go far. We were an urbane, shielded lot. Who loved to talk. So we gathered in Sky (the college café), about ten of us, and heatedly took sides on whether it was ok or not to kill in the name of religion, when provoked. We all judged each other. I remember being particularly shocked when a friend I held in high-esteem vociferously argued that Islamic terrorism was a problem because Muslims were genetically tuned to be violent. I felt enraged, but did not know enough to counter this. And I was too polite.

When we tried to take things a step further, by trying to screen films that we thought would sensitise us, as students to the issues, the school came down hard on us. The Dean just said No, in plain English. We were furious. Weren’t we adults? Didn’t we know to judge between right and wrong? And anyway, who the hell was the school management to prevent us from viewing a movie, if we wanted to? So we sat in Sky with a cup of chai, and gave vent to all this. And then? And then, we moved on. Try Peace died that very semester. And as much as we tried to revive it in the next, none of us had the persevearance or the vision to do so. We failed to believe in what it could be.

In the next few years, I was busy acquiring MBAs and earning money. Yes, every now and then, there were the passionate discussions in the school cafeteria, in the office pantry, in fancy restaurants, about how wrong this was. How we had no vision, no resolve, no nothing. How this had never been repeated in America. My friends who had left the Indian shores would message or call me every time a bomb went off somewhere in India (by then there was a rhythm to these things), to check if I was ok. I did the same to others in India. We all felt loved, and cared for. And then we discussed life, the latest movie, how Indian politicians sucked, and how communal tensions would destroy our country. And we all simply moved on.

In 2008, when the famous BAD series took place, it all came a little too close to home. First, when the bus-stop in Bangalore saw the blast take a few innocent lives, I remember reading a very descriptive article in the Times of India (?) I think, and feeling particularly sad, may be because it is a city close to my heart, and one I have spent a part of my life in. The very next day, multiple blasts hit the city of Ahmedabad, another city I am familiar with and have fond memories of. Some of these were in hospitals where the injured were being admitted. Particularly brutal. I was really angry and upset, and obsessively consumed all the media content on the emails from the terrorist outfits, the planning and plotting, the alleged phone calls recorded on the success of the series of blasts, etc. My blood boiled, but if anything, I was even more confused about what one could possibly do. Who could we, as a people look up to? Was there really a way to tackle any of this?

And then, terror and I had a close shave. My husband (then boy friend) was down in Delhi for a long awaited weekend, unknown to his family in Bangalore, and we drove down to my favourite bookshop on the corner of Janpath, in Delhi on a lovely Saturday evening, the 13th of September, 2008. We were celebrating four years together, and life was beautiful. Even as I chatted up my favourite bookseller, who with great delight, introduced me to the world of Chugtai and such, a loud, but dull thud went off in the background. We immediately looked in the direction of Connaught Circle (above Palika Bazaar), about 200m away from where the sound came, and a painful voice in my head said this could be a bomb. As I voiced my concern, policemen at the little chowki near by nonchalantly walked away (think they did not want to cause panic), and my bookseller looked amused (and in denial). We were undecided because we wanted to walk towards the Circle to go withdraw cash but the chaos was starting to spread.

In the next moment, my world changed. Because my best friend, who lived in GK, near M Block called, to say there had been a series of blasts, her windows shook, and that we must rush home immediately. We knew we were in the middle of a series. And what better place for the next other than Janpath. So we crossed the road, begging to be away from Janpath, very alarmed, and ran towards my car, parked outside Tribhuvandas Jewellers. Suddenly now, every landmark felt like a sitting duck. And my hands trembled as I reversed my car out of the carpark, from next to a telephone cable box, which I was convinced, held the next bomb.

As we drove away, and I calmed down, we decided we wanted to drive back and help the wounded. We tried, but in all the panic, traffic towards the Circle was completely jammed, and images of the blast at the hospitals in Ahmedabad haunted us. So we decided to flee.

Even as I worked my way out of Connaught’s confusing circles, I realised later I had been close to more than one site, and by the time we were home, about 830 pm, I was exhausted and afraid. For the first time, I had had a personal encounter. And I had felt most helpless.

Things calmed down over the next few days, only till 26/11, when big terror hit home. Big, because by now the bomb series was a familiar event, and this was different. Big, because, in full public view, we were told that in India, not only was the average citizen helpless against terror. But also, the protectors – the best policemen, the army, the most powerful and affluent, and every other significant person was helpless too. For almost a week, we all circled around the office pantry table and gazed in disbelief at the TV screen as the media stuffed mics into weary relatives who prayed for their loved ones battling from within burning towers.

Because it was South Mumbai, we all knew people who were holed up in offices overnight, friends’ friends who had been at the hotel restaurants just two hours before, the odd person who had pretended to be dead amidst a pile of bodies. In the aftermath, we put up angry messages on facebook, we joined candle marches with no agenda, no vision, no leadership and increased frustration, and for a slightly longer time, kept memories alive with discussions. A few heads rolled, the savvier media sincerely went back to these stories for a while (of course we dutifully celebrate the 26/11 anniversary now) and then we all, once again, moved on.

In all these times, I have poured over any devourable stories on bomb blasts, most of which have taken place in Mumbai, and been part-victim in one, in Delhi. Now, just two months after I moved to Mumbai, hoping to make it my home, a series of blasts happened again. For the first time, I have been in Mumbai, when these blasts have happened. When I heard, I was close to Lilavati hospital, and because of all the traffic jams, decided to walk home.

I have to admit, I was very scared as I walked past Lilavati, nervously wondering if it could be a target in the series. After I got home, a colleague told me that the meeting we had between 4 and 530 pm earlier in the evening was next to Opera House. I was struck by the number of people who called and urged me to just quit Mumbai and go back abroad. All this, when I was not even really close this time around. I quietly finished dinner, watched TV till I could no longer tolerate the resilience talk, and then switched off and went to bed, thinking, this too will pass.

I think about being in Mumbai, and I do feel more confused, nervous and helpless than ever before. Because I understand better with each such incident firsthand, what we now confront. On at least two occasions, I have been scarily close. I see how we have done nothing as individuals or as government in the long-term to meaningfully tackle terrorism.

Our foreign policy is more contradictory than ever before. Our voice on the subject less informed, more confused, least confident. As communities, we have done nothing to make bonds with each other stronger, not encouraged mingling across divides, allowed our respect for diversity to weaken, and trivialised the most important and complex concerns we face as a people.

I write this not just because I feel scared, frustrated and helpless. I definitely do not write because I think I have a solution. However, for the first time, within my life-time, I have a sense for what could have been achieved in the long-term. I feel the weight of having lost an opportunity and a tremendous amount of precious time, to fix a serious problem. And worse, I feel like the next eighteen dont show any promise either.

In eighteen years, we have been constantly reminded to fix a growing menace. And yet among a billion of us, we have not had the vision or the leadership or the resolve to do so.

And I cannot help but feel a little desperate. And so, at the risk of sounding clichéd, I leave you with this wonderful poem by Martin Niemoller –

First they came for the communists,

and I didn't speak out because I wasn't a communist.

Then they came for the trade unionists,

and I didn't speak out because I wasn't a trade unionist.

Then they came for the Jews,

and I didn't speak out because I wasn't a Jew.

Then they came for me

and there was no one left to speak out for me.

Speak no English, use no computer

2009-04-14T21:33:00.003+05:30

Election season is no doubt the most entertaining period in a nation’s history. And savvy media in these times has taken the tamasha to another level. Your mind sees a rush of emotions – helpless laughter, cynicism, sarcasm, anger, sadness. Usually anger triumphs over other emotions at some point, courtesy some idiotic politician.

This time round, I would like to bestow the honour on Mulayam Singh Yadav, and the Samajwadi Party’s manifesto. I cant call it shocking; perhaps it is a tad annoying. But mostly, it angers you, and makes you want to pull your hair. Really, Mr. Yadav? No English in Hindi Des? No use of computers?

Let’s start by planning your itinerary ji. Wait, you possibly aren’t involved, in this busy election period. May be your PA would know better? Hang on, he needs a print out, to walk you through it. Aha! Alas, it comes from a computer no?

Let’s move on to those many flights and trains (really?) you take. No ticket reservations ji? I think I remember you saying on TV that you think computers should not be used where work can be done manually. Why not? Shall we wait 7 days for your ticket to arrive to transport you to the next city for a rally ji? Oh hell, did I just forget you don’t need a ticket anywhere?

I struggle to think of ways you use a computer in UP ji. And then it strikes me – you cant possibly know what role technology plays, given you spend all your time in UP (except Nithari of course) ji?

May be then, your sons could provide perspective. They’re my generation, it seems – I am all for the youth ji!

Apologies, but I am a big computer junkie. So I googled this – “Mulayam Singh Yadav son educated” and guess what I found sir. (Do ask your son to explain google to you ji – it may well be part of your slogan in the next elections - Bole har search google, Mahan SP ka cycle!)

Anyways, not to digress – this is what I found ji – your own son is considered one of the best users of IT, to reach a wider audience (now now, Akhilesh is a little pesumptious). Not only that, he is educated in English medium, is an Engineer (in keeping with popular English speaking elitist choice of this generation) and even did a higher degree from Sydney. No, before you think otherwise – you may not understand their accents, but they speak English too ji.

http://www.expressindia.com/latest-news/mulayams-son-eyes-net-gain/444950/
Hailing from Etawah-one of the most backward towns of UP-35-year-old Akhilesh is perhaps the only politician of Gen X, at least in the state, who is making full use of information technology to gain political mileage. And why not? With a diploma in Environment Engineering from University of Sydney, Australia, Akhilesh has done his BTech from University of Mysore, Karnataka
His close associate Anurag Yadav confirms: “Bhaiya motivates all youth members of Yuvjan Sabha and Chhatra Sabha to use the Internet to stay connected. Most of them have started using the net”. The site is professionally managed and a team of IT experts tag along with Akhilesh, who is always equipped with his laptop wherever he goes.

May be you should hire some talented IT bhaiyas ji, too get all this off the websites, before someone more powerful finds them? I assure you, many good English speaking institutes outside of UP provide such talent ji.

Is it time to move onto your better half in the SP, Amar Singhji? I haven’t sent that man on TV without a fancy gadget ji. Unfortunately, I don’t have the connections to observe him in person. May be he and his friends can set a sweet example in your honour ji? They can collect at Shivaji Park, and burn all the laptops in their large houses in a symbolic gesture? After all, this is one business none of them is really into yet ji.

Should we really move onto the Angrezi bit ji? Unfortunately, the irony does not escape me – I will have to continue in English. I can speak Hindi, but can’t type in Hindi on the computer ji. Double whammy no?

No English should be spoken in Hindi des. It is hard to tackle this one without being branded elitist ji. I must confess – I started in a convent, and went onto graduate class 10 from one of the best English speaking schools in my city. Tough one. But then ji, I knew I could trust my computer. All I did was google this – Spoken English in Uttar Pradesh and I am so spoilt for choice ji – it is more confusing than amusing!

Everyone around you, except you of course seems to be focused on speaking English. And of course yours being a high density population state, is hard to ignore for the English speaking – opportunity smelling corporate variety. After all, the non-elitist average UPite seems quite gung-ho about speaking English. And there are so many of them!

I can safely and proudly bullshit the elitist argument this one time ji. Leave my blog ranting aside, someone has actually bothered to research this – a few minutes on this may open your eyes? Don’t worry, we wont tell anyone your PA shot a print-out from the computer.
http://www.hku.hk/clear/conference08/doc/handouts/VERMA%20Meenakshi%20H_handout.pdf

And finally, haha … this is really the proverbial nail ji. May be you said no computers, because this is the age of Blackberrys ji?

On Facebook, he has over 300 regular members and on Orkut there are over 1,000. “This is the best was to communicate with friends and well wishers,” says Akhilesh, who mostly does his net communication through Blackberry while travelling.

On a totally related / unrelated note ...

2009-03-16T10:24:00.002+05:30

... I love this song. Would love to research and find out more about it.
I wonder what could have possibly prompted someone to write these lyrics...
Jo ab kiye ho daata, aisa na kijoagle janam mohe bitiya na kijo
Humre sajanwa humra dil aisa todin
O ghar basa-in humka rasta ma chodin
jaise ki lalla koi khilona jo pahwe
dui char din to khele phir bhool jaave
ro bhi na pahve aisi gudiya na kijo
agle janam mohe bitiya na kijoagle janam mohe bitiya na kijojo ab kiye ho daata aisa na kijoagle janam mohe bitiya na kijo
Aisi bidai bolo dekhi kahi hai
maiya na babul bhaiya kaunu nahi haiho,
ansu ke gehne hai aur dukh ki hai doli
band kevadiya more ghar ki boli
is aur sapno mein bhi aaya na kijous aur bhi sapno mein bhi aaya na kijoagle janam mohe bitiya na kijojo ab kiye ho daata aisa na kijoagle janam mohe bitiya na kijoagle janam mohe bitiya na kijo…
www.varshita.net

http://ibnlive.in.com/news/techie-father-throws-newborn-daughter-into-well/87631-3.html?from=search

2009-03-16T10:22:00.001+05:30

This (Source: CNN-IBN) piece of news I read over the weekend is disturbing. The alleged father is apparently a gold medallist from a leading Indian University, and two years older than me. He married someone 7 years younger, also a software engineer, and then went on to get her pregnant.

Just 4 days after the baby girl was born, he threw her into the well and killed her, apparently to make his point, rather explicitly, about not getting enough attention from the wife. Lame? Hang on.

The family now alleges there was dowry harassment. He claims he is insane. Of course he is!
Sooner or later, am sure we will hear female infanticide. In any case, infanticide is the only charge they can really book him under right now.

This may well be a one-off, but it angers me. There is more to education than a well-earned technical degree. The experience hopefully makes us more mature, and able to make more sound decisions. He was 29 freaking years old, in a good job, and with access to all the support that the modern world provides. No good came of all that.

Speak up for the moderate identity ...

2009-01-27T01:41:00.001+05:30

What happened in Mangalore is shocking. In a state ruled by the BJP, one more form of unfamiliar extremism comes to the fore. And the moderate voice of the Hindu must be heard. Loud and clear.
It is not just a women's issue. It is about a group of potentially unemployed and disillusioned men, being fed a single dogma and opinion, and having access to none other, especially a moderate one.
We need action - swift and conclusive. Disrespecting women is not a cultural standard we set ourselves either. Our tolerance has distinguished us as a civilization for centuries now. And it is this single discerning quality that sets us apart from our neighbours, especially in these confusing times. If we give this up, we give up the right to call others extremist, to judge others as intolerant and divisive, to accuse others of being regressive.
We hear different voices everyday. And in the omnipresent media circus, some voices are amplified more than others. But we cannot let the ignorant believe that the non-descript Sriram sena is the new voice of the Hindu. It definitely is not.
Every time there is Islamic terrorism, we accuse the moderates of not speaking enough. It is time now for the Hindus to show up now. Not just the women, but any Hindu who knows his/her religion. And knows it well enough to believe in the founding ideal of tolerance. And as an off-shoot of that, respect for women and freedom of thought.
The moderate Indian Hindu, who outnumbers the moderate Muslim by manyfold in this country must stand up now more than ever before.
I do. If I mattered to the circus, I would be up there fighting the Senas, tooth for tooth, eye for eye. And to those women in Mangalore: My heart goes out to you. And my head says - speak up, even if it is hard. Even if you are a pawn in a grand game. Speak up. It is what will separate you from the extremists. And the cowards.

Younger leaders ...

2009-01-09T18:44:00.000+05:30

It’s starting to happen – the guard’s changing in Indian politics. It actually started a few months back when 4-5 very young MPs were made ministers of state in various faculties in the central government. Now Omar Abdullah has become Chief Minister of strife ridden Jammu and Kashmir for a whole 6 years.

When the elections were over, it seemed like the senior Abdullah, Dr. Farooq would keep power, but the baton’s been handed. No power sharing gimmicks within the coalition. No wresting from the hands of the old. A simple pass-on.

There has been so much in the media about India finding its own Obama. Can someone with a clean slate, no decades long political history, no dynasty rise to the top in India? Look at our Prime Ministerial candidates for the elections in 2009 – one of them is 80+ years old Advani; the other likely to be one of Manmohan Singh, Pranab Mukherjee, or madam herself. Or worse, we may end up with Mayawati at the centre of it all. Unless, in coming a full circle, we actually end up seeing Rahul Gandhi. My vote in this case is for the sibling.

Well, you can be sceptical and say it is just one rung down in the same old stinking dynasty alley. We’ve seen it from the days of Jawaharlal and Sheikh Abdullah to Rajiv and Farooq, to now Rahul and Omar. Ah well, you could be right. It’s probably routine in the Indian context.

And yet there is some hope. These are a well-qualified, educated generation. They have had access to some of the best schools in the world, worked in the best corporate set-ups, and yet grown up with a unique sensisitivity for ground realities, given their backgrounds. The combination is unique and potent, and perhaps makes for an even more desirable personality than that of Obama’s.

Many of the senior generation are stalwarts, and yet many are tainted with corruption charges. And so you wonder if tax payers’ money may have potentially nurtured many of these bright, young Indians as they grew up. But if even one of them turns out to be worthy of his role and position in Indian governance, I would consider my money well-spent.

And it's ticking.

2008-12-01T15:12:00.000+05:30

On one of those mornings when you simply don’t want to get out of bed, have you imagined a scene where someone you can’t quite see is trying to forcibly prise your eyes open? Like literally using a flat spanner as a lever to pry open those heavy sleep-laden eyelids?

That’s exactly how I feel I am being treated by those terrorists who were at the Taj last week. In a strange way, they have done me and hopefully many other 20 something, rich yuppies some good. They have forced us to wake up and look around us, and not even too far away. For terror struck familiar territory.

Oh no, it wasn’t in those 4 feet wide galis where you went shopping before Diwali, when you were still part of a middle class household. No sir, this time round, you can’t say “Man, I used to go there with my mum to buy diyas every Diwali. I (of course!) haven’t been there in 12 years. Now, you get them at Shoppers’ Stop you see. Thank God!”

If you went to business school in India, and decided to stay back, you probably ended up in South Mumbai, or Gurgaon, which is quite obviously the other sitting duck, for everyone to watch with bated breath now. Thanks to the famous ‘lack of diversity’ syndrome at Indian schools, you should have known a minimum 10 people who were your friends / friend’s friends / friends’ fiancés / friends’ bosses, etc. etc. who were at one of the restaurants, cafes or simply sauntering down the causeway. So no big surprise then that you knew someone who was shot dead/shot at / choked to death in the tragedy. Even if you missed this one, you probably knew someone’s someone who was on the Mumbai local in 1993 or 2006 or 2008 – take your pick. Or may be in the bazaars of Delhi, Hyderabad, Ahmedabad, Guwhati? The malls of Bangalore, Delhi?

It’s almost like, if I had my entire life mapped out, the law of averages is heavily stacked up against me. Like in a video game, I have missed target narrowly multiple times over. Be it city, time, location, method – I have escaped narrowly several times now.

Well then, what more can I possibly be waiting for? If I don’t open my eyes, and do something now, I never will. Yes, sitting on a time bomb feels uncomfortable indeed.

Nation or religion ... and which terror to go with it?

2008-11-19T00:34:00.003+05:30

The Malegaon blasts issue has given birth to a new concept - 'Hindu terror'. On We the People, on NDTV 24x7, the discussion on Hindu terror was based on the premise that while Hindu fundamentalism has been around long enough, perhaps Hindu terror is relatively new, and hence quite confusing to many of us. Considerable airtime was hogged by the whole army angle. About how a national institution of the highest integrity had maligned itself with the rise of the Purohits of the world. The counter of course was that making a generalisation starting with one Purohit and extending to a 12M+ force, was a gross error. Agreed.

Everyone on the show, with great patriotic fervor proclaimed how the army was above all this. It was the most secular of institutions, and no religion was above one's loyalty to the country, and hence the army.It makes you wonder - why is it ok to fight to safeguard the sovereignity of your country, when it is not ok to stand up and say, my religion is superior. Has a time come, when in the natural evolution of the world, religion is going to emerge superior to nation?

PS: Let me clarify that I dont support this emergence. Perhaps, I will perish then, in one of those many blasts, as I dont survive the test of the fittest! Sigh. In fact, I am quite sure I will, especially given I believe I took more naturally to being an Indian as a kid, than a Hindu. Indeed, the world order ain't for me.

And as far as the original topic of debate, Hindu terror, goes, here goes - I think it is naive to assume that religion has no links to terror today. While it is stupid to not acknowledge how much it can motivate terror and terrorists, it is even stupider to hence focus on Islamic terror, over Hindu terror, given their strikingly similar end goal - death and destruction. Let's not waste time over this one.

A weekend at Unchagaon ...

2008-10-05T21:28:00.002+05:30

Finally, I managed to take advantage of being in Delhi – I did a quick weekend trip, into the beautiful countryside, in the adjoining states. Two girl friends and I went to Unchagaon, a little over a 100 km away, in the district of Bulandshahr, east of Delhi, yesterday.

After a laborious drive through Delhi and Ghaziabad, we were briefly on good roads till, the road got expectedly monstrous for a 45 min stretch. A quick right off the Delhi-Moradabad NH24, and we were along a picturesque canal, 20 km away from Fort Unchagaon.

Driving along the canal was exactly the rural India experience you would imagine. A narrow lane, struggling to stay pakka, healthy buffalos barely visible as they lazily let a part of the head stay above muddy water, beautiful women in the brightest sarees, and bullock carts that defined snail’s pace.

Just when we thought this fort was nowhere in sight, bang!, and there it appeared right in the middle of the colourful Saturday bazaar! Having dodged potato carts, tilted cycles, precariously placed large brass turrets, and a few scurrying animals, we were finally within the gates, and sipping into some refreshing lemonade.

The village and adjoining areas were actually a separate kingdom, whose Raja’s abode is today’s heritage resort. A quick tour reveals a large room with the heads of 17 tigers, shot down by the bade sahib. Bade sahib is now over a 100 years old, and lives a lavish life in GK-I. Other royal splendour on display includes swords, silverware and antique furniture. A little dramatic perhaps, but you begin to understand better what they mean when they say India continues to be plundered through the ages.

After a lazy afternoon, we stepped out and drove the 5 km to the Ganga, that flows calmly by the village. It was a beautiful sight – a few villagers sitting on the banks, after a hard day’s work, a boat ferrying people across the breadth of the river, and the sun beginning to show a lovely orange tinge.

In a few minutes, we were aboard the simple wooden boat, being steered by a long pole, into the waters of the Ganga, or Gangaji, as the boatman fondly referred to it. Shots of a beautiful sunset, lame attempts at trying to steer the boat, and some dolphin spotting later, we are back on shore, knowing we have lived the moment of the weekend. There is something calming about the river, and the its harmony with the empty skies, and how the people of the village fit in beautifully. Perhaps, only we stuck out as sore thumbs.

On our way back, we stop at a ganna field, and lick hot gur off our fingers. Also pick up some ganna sticks to rip off later. Our next stop is at a potter’s house, even as he is about to wrap up for the day. Unsuccessful attempts at the wheel are quickly put away, and we end up playing with the most adorable goat kids ever born.

Back at the fort, we indulge in some happy badminton after many years, and I thoroughly enjoy it all. Soon, the evening’s lok geet karyakram begins – 3 men, a harmonium and a dholak regale with local folk songs and some hindi film music from many years back. They end with an extremely insightful song on how Godess Parvati urges Lord Shiva to move with the new fashion. And what defines the change then – wearing baggy pants, buying a maruti car, drinking campa cola, and becoming the new Devanand.

It’s striking. Being in a business which advocates an entry into the Indian market to tap the gold mine so often, and attempting to articulate how customer segments are different, and how rural India is another ball game, I feel like this 1 min song did it so much better.

The other memory that will stay with me forever, is the concept of the ‘Jugaad’. The most common means of transportation in these parts is the Jugaad, and it is literally just that – a vehicle put together from abandoned parts of other vehicles. It is a little like a tractor in the front, with a carriage to seat humans on the back that is pulled. Of course, most times you can hardly see the vehicle, beneath the layers of human beings for whom it is an indispensable lifeline. It is innovative, necessity born, and striking proof of the average Indian’s penchant for the sub-optimal. Jugaad se sab chal jaata hai.

We are back in Delhi, after a relatively quicker drive back, and sign off with Chinese lunch at 3 pm, Sunday afternoon, at a posh restaurant. Guess they don’t make ‘em campa colas no more, in these parts.

Now that I think of it, it was pretty close.

2008-09-14T23:03:00.002+05:30

I was at Janpath yesterday. And yes I heard the loud thud that accompanies a bomb blast. Of course I was one of the commons, and didn't think much of it. I was at my favorite book store right at the start of the bustling street, fighting the urge to buy more books. Book Land, is it called? I had just bought 20 books the previous weekend at the Delhi Book Fair, Pragati Maidan. Not so far away either. And had promised myself I wouldn't buy anymore.

But I so love this book store. The last time I visited was I think in Jan? I had lost my way and found myself at Janpath. And Pilani days came flooding back. Of leaving luggage at the cloak room at Ajmeri gate, and taking the auto to Palika Bazaar. Of lounging in the central park lawns - hoping to catch the elusive winter sunshine, hoping to feel less cold. Of being so unbelievably badly dressed and still callously wandering the circles of Connaught Place. Of checking out the movies at Regal Cinema. I remember going there straight after the XAT in 2004, to catch a movie.

I had a lovely time. I bought little trinkets, earrings and a top I'd never wear, at Janpath. And then I casually stepped in to this book place. And surprisingly, for a book store in Delhi, he had more than the 23 regular best sellers - fiction and non-fiction. So, I gingerly set down my shopping, and started searching. Casually at first. And soon, vigorously. And began to discover new titles, familiar titles, unheard of authors, charming covers. The book shop owner craned his neck to see me from behind numerous piles - "aapke liye kuch nikalen ma'am?"
"Haan Bhaiya, kuch alag dikhayiye. Indian." He fished out this Ismat Chugtai for me. Short stories. From a feminist of the early 20th Century. Intrigued, I picked it up. And with it, 6 more.
Happy day, well spent buying books and junk, in good old Connaught Place/Palika Bazaar/Janpath.

Back in mundane Gurgaon, I never managed another visit to my favorite part of Delhi. Till yesterday. When the now familiar bomb series happened. Till yesterday, when Hari was in town and we were celebrating 3 years of being together. When we first met, on the first date we ever went on, we had hopped from one coffee shop to another, never wanting the day to end. For a whole 8.5 hours. And we wanted to do that again, 3 years down the line.
So we woke up on Sat, went to the food court at Ambi, got a wrap, watched 'Rock On' in Gold Class, went to the coffee shop at Reliance Mart, had coffee together (our second stop), picked up a couple of books, and then decided to drive out to Delhi, and find a Barista. One road led to another, and suddenly we were on ShantiPath, Satya Marg, and I thought, Why not go all the way to Janpath/CP, and surely there will be a Barista to play Scrabble at?
After a few wrong turns, we were at the McD signal, and turning right, on a gut, when Hari spotted Saravana Bhavan. And then like they say, there was no looking back. Hari really misses his South Indian food in Hong Kong. In that moment, we were so excited, thinking about little idli's dipped in molagai podi, and rava dosa with filter coffee.
We ignored the Barista, drove round the block, and came back to park at Tribhuvandas. I had to leave my keys behind at the parking, and well-trained to expect this, I picked up my stereo, parked my car, and off we were.
Once at Saravanas, the inevitable '1 big argument for every visit' had to happen. And we had our pointless moments over how Hari didnt have the right clothes for a party we had to go to later that evening, and how he always didnt take this seriously. I was pissed.
So we walked out determined to find our hosts later that evening a nice piece of Indian craft along Janpath, and my boy friend some decent clothes to wear. But of course, after a little meandering, we ended up at the book store.
Before we knew it, we were piling up books to buy. Hari was so excited about his finds at the store (I personally think he reads some really random books). I fished out the shop owner from behind the piles this time, and eagerly announced - "Bhaiya, kuch achcha dikhayiye. Pichle baar, Ismat Chugtai jo dee thi, bahut achchi lagi." He promptly vanished.
I picked up a magazine 'Covert' with an interesting cover on terrorism, if I remember right. And the Frontline, on the Kashmir issue. Also, the latest Outlook. In the mean time, my 'Book Land' friend came out with 3 books for me - all of which I just had to glance at, to know I was taking with me. I was so happy. Which is when I realised I didnt' have cash on me. And the book store didnot keep a card machine. Shit. Bhaiya, ATM kahan hogi? And he told me what I alreay knew - it was in that big building - you had to walk up to Central Park and take a left and walk up many steps to a Citi ATM. Let's go Hari, these books are so nice. I really want to get them. And Thud. There was a shudder. I turned to look at the Police booth right there. There were 3 policemen right there. And everyone looked at each other for a brief moment, and got back to what they were doing.
10 seconds later people started moving. Many more people soon joined. Hari grabbed my arm, prodding me to leave. I remember distinctly what I said - 'Come on, you think it's a bomb! Nahin hoga yaar. Let's go get the cash for these books.' He wasn't convinced, but I bullied him. He wanted to cross the road. And I didnt because I knew we wouldn't come back. I turned to the shopkeeper, picked up my pile of books, asked him to keep them aside, and said I'd be back with cash. We started walking away. And I asked an onlooker, 'Kya hua bhaiya?' 'Kya malum, madam.'
We'd walked a few steps, when we realised we'd carried a book along by mistake. So we went back, to return it. It was when we started walking away once again that I realised this was serious. Anxiety was beginning to show on faces around me. When we looked towards Central Park, it seemed normal, only a little more crowded.
We quickly crossed the road, and I began to panic. We were at Janpath! If there was a bomb blast at Central Park, surely there was going to be one here. Worse, I had to walk towards Central Park, to my parking spot. It took us 3 minutes.
My car was jammed, right behind a maruti and a bigger car. I looked at the parking lot keeper. Kya hua Bhaiya? He grinned - Pata nahin madam, 10 rupees deejiye. chalan kidhar hai?
I was numb - space had been cleared in the meantime, and I could take my car out, but at the back of my mind, I was beginnning to digest the fact that it was a blast. I looked towars my car, and it was right next to 3 telecom boxes - the ones that look like little steel Godrejs on the road? My mind was in a whirl - all 3 were partly open - should I check? should I whizz my car out?
We were in front of a famous jewellery store. Were we at the next target?
For the next few moments, I dont really know what I did. I wasn't scared or in a panic. Mostly distracted. I pulled my car out, Hari stepped in, and we were on the road, away from Central Park. The traffic on the opposite side was already jammed, and a fire engine was screeching. For a moment, I thought - must be a transformer and a fire. The next instant, I could hear ambulances.
Adu called, anxious. And finally, I believed it was a bomb blast. She lives rihgt next to M-Block. Her dressing table has shuddered, but she was fine and at home. She was alarmed I was in CP, urged me to drive out, into a hotel may be.
By now, Hari and I were driving blindly. He was unusually calm. I was freaked out. Every turn, tree, traffic light seemed like the next blast target point. We ended up near India Gate, and I was so sure we're going to catch the blast here. Of course there would be one here!
We drove into a gali in darkness, when I found myself on the way back to Janpath, and tried to avoid it. There were a few men coming out of a building, and the road ahead was blocked. I quickly swerved and dashed out, onto the main road. About 40 minutes later, I was on gyarah murthi, somehow, after having driven past India Gate, Parliament, north and South Avenue. And then we headed home. People called constantly, and we didn't tell anyone we were so close, till we got home.
And now the irony of it all strikes me hard. How Hari and I needlessly fought at Saravanas. How for no rhyme or reason we ended up at CP yesterday. How I picked up a magazine called COVERT, with a cover story on violence. How I had left my keys with an unknown person at a parking lot, in an unknown spot, where terror, unknown, struck. It could have been inside my car! How those books still lie at that book store, waiting to be bought. In cash.
I am so going back next weekend.

2008-08-12T12:32:00.003+05:30

I just had a life milestone last month. I finished 2 years on the job. My first 2 years working hard (and making money for it!) out of school. And it ended in an 'on time' promotion. Ye to that!
I like milestones. Like, I always make a big deal about birthdays. A big big deal. There has to be cake; and phone calls at 12 mid night, a plan for the day, not too much time spent in bed on the day, a visit to the temple, dinner with your best pals, happy flowers from distant friends, etc. etc.
I like the idea of a big new year's celebration. Or diwali. Or Christmas. I know a lot of my friends don't. Especially, new year's eve. What's the big deal? It's just another day. I agree. the 31st of December is probably one of many more to come. But what I love about new year's eve, is whether you like it or not, at some point during the day, a kaleidoscope of the year will run before your eyes. I love remembering crazy moments during the year, silly fights, sillier impulsive actions. I love all of that. So yes, the fuss is not about 31/12/xx so much. It's about 1 day every 365 days or 500 or 737 - I don't really care; when you sit down and think about all that happened since the previous such time - in a flash. I love the feeling that washes off you as you live that moment. That kaleidoscope.
Funnily, it always seems so happy.

yet again...

2008-08-12T12:29:00.002+05:30

I have wanted to write for a while now. Things to write about come flooding - at least once a week. And yet, somehow, I don;t get down to doing it. Ever. I have written this kind of post before. I don't think it's writer's block. It's some strange inertia that never lets me translate the thousand thoughts on my mind to a post or even a sheet of paper or a word doc - for laters. Why? Why? Why do we stop when it comes to the things we enjoyed doing most as kids?

Tax my time, not my money.

2007-09-04T00:13:00.000+05:30

Sometimes, I marvel at the HRD ministry. At the diligence with which it has been super-effectively plucking out all the wrong issues in Indian education, over the past 4 years. First the whole debate on reservations for the OBCs. Then the controversy over how IIM directors should be selected. And now, exit tax on graduates from the IITs and IIMs, to stem brain-drain.

I wonder if these guys just sit idly behind tall ancient wooden desks, and scribble a law out on yellowed government paper, when they're bored. May be on a non-Bollywood movie release Friday.

That the IITs and IIMs are infamous for brain drain is long established. But to think that an exit tax will fix this is, is at my euphemistic best, short-sighted.

Why have these graduates chosen to leave Indian shores? Why are some of them choosing to return? What are the merits to them going abroad and making a life for themselves? Likewise, what are the de-merits? What about the graduates from Pilani, the RECs, that the UGC subsidises as well?

I worked for a year in Singapore after IIMA, and have returned this July, hoping to build a career in India. Brain drain is not a malady facing India alone. You want precedents to what happens when you think extortion can fix this?

Look at Singapore. From the age of 9 or so, you go through rigorous school and exam systems, to make the President and other scholar scholarships to study abroad - at a Cambridge or Oxford or Berkeley or Stanford. You are bound to return and work for the State for anywhere between 4-6 years. And the price to break this bond is definitely prohibitive, at a few hundred thousands.Yet, I found out over the course of my year there, that almost all of these 'scholars' chose to break that bond, to join a leading investment bank/consult firm/law firm for a better career. And they just paid their way through the fine, over 3-4 years.

Some improvisation in recent years. These very same consulting firms/investment banks are now offering to pay half the amount, or lend it on an interest free rate, to entice 'bright youngsters' such as these scholars to join them.You think money can stop these guys?

And to imagine, the Singapore government's among the most efficient in the world, and it wouldn't be half as bad to work for their treasury or civil services. Infact, they're debating in parliament right now as to how to benchmark civil servant salaries to top notch private practices.

Will the Indian government be able to stop any of this? With the exchange rates still not in our favor, the tax will probably work out to a month's salary abroad.

Don't get me wrong. I am the most vocal when it comes to how we lose people to other countries, after investing so highly in them. I am all for a rule that says you need a six month stint in the rural areas, before you get a degree. Or that you need to spend x months in a PSU before you can graduate from the IIMs. Or a 5 credit course, as part of your curriculum requires you to work on a key government issue. So be it. Make the course 3 years long.

If time is the price one has to pay to go to a great school in India, so be it. At least, one lives in hope, that some part of it serves a purpose. Money is no price to pay. Especially when someone else is paying it for you.And that is exactly what an exit tax will ensure. It will just mean spending 7-8 lakhs on my MBA, instead of 4, and will leave me with no sense of greater debt towards my country, for the equal amount it spent on me, to get me that world class management degree. On the other hand, even if only by virtue of a rule to earn my degree, if I fixed the accounting system at an ailing UCO bank, I'd may be unwittingly sow some seeds of giving back to my country, some day.

You can of course go on to argue, that all this will fail when it comes to implementation. All students will do is grease some palms to get that rubber stamp on their grade sheets. But hey, let's not throw up arms in surrender before the battle's even begun.There are several forces in the market that can control that. Placements for example could be one. With Engineering School, it could just be a good project you need on your resume when you apply abroad.And then, let's not give up on our best institutions' ability to do it the right way so easily.

Finally, let's play fair.
a) The IITs and IIMs may have started the trend, but enough and more other schools' students go abroad, at the expense of the govt.And these are kids who're probably at the other schools, cos they didn;t make it to the IITs and IIMs
b) Don't buy my money. Buy my time. It is more valuable, and will really have to come from me.
c) Please let's not be short-sighted. The IITs and IIMs have done us a world of good. India's intellect, wich they represent is clearly its best equity and identity abroad today.
d) For the 1147th time, whatever happened to fixing primary education? Truly, moral tales taught us nothing. We're still after the goose that lays the golden eggs.
e) Wake up! Smell the coffee! Get a pulse on the ground. Every IITian and IIM grad worth his salt knows India is the land of opportunity today. The world is a free market, and traffic flows where opportunity lies. So, please can we get some perspective!
f) Why doesn't the government ever want to talk to people like us, who've been there, done that, before coming out in the open with something this bizarre?

You will feel it too...

2007-08-26T21:01:00.000+05:30

When I was in school, my Sanskrit teacher hailing from Punjab would often talk about the bloodshed that was partition. She would mock at India's description of its freedom struggle as non-violent. It instilled respect, painted a picture of what freedom struggles must've been like, in my mind. But I don't think I really empathised.
When at BITS, I befriended two girls from Kashmir - one Hindu, and one Muslim. They expectedly had radical views on all that was going on, and little affection for each other's faiths and identities. But they described with almost an exactly similar degree of pain, the bombings and shoot outs, that were a regular feature of their visits to the bazaar. "Haan, kabhi kabhi bomb phat thi hai, tho dukaan mein ghus jaate hain, 1-2 ghanton ke liye.", one friend casually mentioned. It hit me, just a bit. It must be scary to live like that I thought. I had come sympathy. But did I really understand how they felt? Perhaps not.
And then, the constant debate and discussion on the Mumbai blasts. And the usual spiels that followed, on Mumbai's resilience. I love Mumbai. To me, the whole story was purely romantic. Heroic. Here was a city, teeming with people, that just got up, picked its spirits up, and continued living. Never mind a string of blasts now and then. Wow! I said to myself. But did I really realise what it took to live that attitude?Not quite. But this, I realised yesterday.
When suddenly over dinner, friends mentioned there had been blasts in Hyderabad. Come on! Bomb blasts? In Hyderabad? Must be some stupid home made bomb by a bunch of naxals who lost their way from the interiors of AP I thought.
No, it was a string they said. At least, a planned series, of which Lumbini Park and Gokul Chat had been successes. My heart was racing. Gokul Chat? That place in Koti you went to, every time, you picked up a text book, from across the street? It was the happiest place on a weekend evening! Colleges broke out, office half days got over, families stepped out - we were one of them. And often. In fact, everytime someone was in town, and they'd done the Charminar-Golconda-Salar Jung circuit, we'd drag them to Gokul Chat! You had to do a Gokul Chat on every trip to Hyd. And to the average Tamilian, who's only had poor substitutes to the original, Gokul was a life changing experience!
And then Lumbini. Remember when in class 8, the twenty of us had gotten together and 'hung out' at Lumbini, to give Niti and Namratha a farewell? We'd packed Chinese food from this little restaurant, and played there all day! And taken our first steps towards couple busting! How could they target Lumbini? It was just the place you'd find the extended Muslim families meeting up, for a nice evening out on Saturdays. The entrance is always teeming with hawkers, like in those large multi-stall exhibitions, they hardly have nowadays. And then the boat rides, over bad smelling Hussain Sagar. You had to take one to the Buddha statue, it was our very own equivalent of a ride to Statton Island. The other spots, I hear include Venkatagiri theatre. That's where they played hit Telugu movies, and you could always catch which one, in the morning's DC. And Dilsukhnagar. Ironic. The name speaks for itself.
It's a weird feeling. Hearing about the city you grew up in, being target to a bomb blast series. Suddenly you can empathise. Suddenly, you feel a stinging pain, and tears well up. It just can't be true. This doesn't happen in Hyderabad. This doesn't happen in happy places; in places where people go, to be happier. In places that offer the simplest joys of life - nothing makes the tummy feel nicer than a 12/- aloo chaat at Gokul's. Nothing is funner than the stark pink candy and the masala puri and the bhutta right outside Lumbini. Nothing is more liberating than the pav bhaji at Gokul's melting in your mouth. And nothing makes you freer than the wind whipping your hair on the boat ride at Lumbini.And then, perhaps not. Not anymore.
I want to stand up and scream. At everyone who thought up all this. I want to shake them till their last bone is rattled, and ask them how they feel now, post the half-baked success. I want them to tell me if they loved their chat and coal charred bhutta. I want them to relive little moments from the past, when they made visits to their Lumbinis, and Gokuls, wherever they may have been. It will be hard not to empathise. And when that does happen, it will be hard not to be heartbroken.

Perhaps ...

2007-06-18T20:12:00.000+05:30

I was just watching the "We the people" debate on India's first woman president in the running, Ms Pratibha Patil, and there was of course heated argument, the sort that is synonymous with such talk shows in today's news world. It did set me thinking on a few points though -

Firstly, are we subjecting her candidature to much more scrutiny, unabashed dissection, etc., simply because she is a woman? I am divided on this one - I think my excessive desire to know more about her stems partly from the fact that she is unknown to me, someone who devours mostly anything available on politcs; and partly because I am curious to know more about a woman who's managed to generate consensus at a time when the great Pranab Mukherjees and Arjun Singhs have failed.

Quite simply, the novelty of a low profile woman has made us more sceptical than we would like to admit. Ideally (and ironically), precedents have been extreme exceptions (Kalam) or psycophants.

Secondly, I wonder if we're judgmental, because we are elitist. Again, in this case, we wouldnt have debated the issue if it was an Arjun Singh, (for while still elitist, we would've simply surrendered to processes born out of dirty politics). However, here I find women talking about how Pratibha isn't your well-known literatti/social worker/prominent scientist/movie star even, but some non-descript lady from Maharashtra who also happens to have been minister, leader of opposition, qualified lawyer, and currently Governor of Rajasthan; all this mind you, with an untarnished political record. Isn't it then the beauty of democracy to see someone like her elevated to the highest post? I think in some sense, yes. I would, indeed, love to see a 5 time Panchayat elect become President by some vagues math calculation of votes. Why not? She is as qualified for the job (if not more, like in this case, given her experience) than a Hema Malini or an Indira Nooyi is.
Which brings me to my third point - about a woman President being a symbol of some sort, to Indian society at large. Sort of redundant, if you ask me, given the post itself if fairly powerless and quite symbolic. But does the woman behind the veil in Churu in interior Rajasthan look at her and feel like the world's gentler and more accepting because a woman heads her country, I think yes. Also, I think, even if this was just one woman, it's worth it.
So, in the larger scheme of things, a prospective woman President for this young democracy is a winner - historic, momentous, and worthy of a nation's endorsement.
Means mean a lot. And so we can debate endlessly about how she was desperately pulled out of the hat in the last minute - hardly gracious. We can talk about how she really is only a Congress loyalist, symbol of how psycophancy to the dynasty will always bear fruit, let's also remember that we don't know yet if Ms Patil is going to tow this very line. That she will be all that our judgmental minds have already made her out to be.
If nothing else, let's give her a chance. At least, even if we record another Congress pliant loyalist in the history books, it would've been a woman the first time round. And perhaps, that woman in Churu, will still benefit, in all blissful ignorance.

Over-reacting...

2007-06-13T10:58:00.000+05:30

...yesterday I was watching a seemingly harmless episode of the 'been around forver' Antakshari...previously on Zee, and now on Star, but still with the irrepressible Annu Kapoor as host...
Surprise! The famous "Deewane-Parwane-Afsane-Mastane" format was replaced. With guess what - North, East, West...and Central!
Wonder what happened to South...we don't play antakshari here...? we don't know the language, and wont be able to compete...don't know...but it sort of struck me as odd..
and may be i was a little too sensitive given the whole "Rajni-Amitabh" debate in the background...
But I think it's sort of wrong... agreed, harmless...but it didn't feel great...

Something is seriously wrong ...

2007-05-08T14:35:00.000+05:30

I don't know if I notice some things more, simply because I am older now, but it seems like the world just got a little too gory for me. There's something wrong about all the violence you read / hear about nowadays, you know. So?, you say. Violence IS on an upward curve! So?, you say. The media is going crazy about every thing - even the ant that harmed the fly. So?, you say. Newspaper headlines are unflaggingly morbid. (I wonder if the bookies have one on that). But it's not about all this.
It's something more. It's about crossing the line, if they ever drew one on the wrong side. It's about being more violent than there is a need for, however unjustified. It's about ceasing to be human, like never before.
As I write this, I think about the foetuses pulled out of raped bodies in Gujarat. About little kids being chopped up, their bones found floating down the drain. About innocent women who are retained along with accused husbands, and then beaten, raped and burnt. About forty year olds raping 3 year olds (yes, i am not quite sure how that's even technically possible). About unending deaths in custody. About being roasted in a Tandoor.
Surely there's something deeply wrong with us. Surely there's some unsatiated rage or dark desire that's pent up in us as a people. For, while it may be natural to be blinded by faith, it may be a passing passion to raise arms for that very same faith, and it may even mean in some contrived way that you can kill to protect it, I simply can't understand what would explain slashing out half formed babies from the bleeding wombs of dead mothers.
Indeed then, something with in us no longer exists.

And all I do is write ...

2007-01-08T22:46:00.000+05:30

There are many things about Nithari that send a shiver down the spine. That little children were the victims of indescribable torture stings and disgusts like nothing else. That the crime was perpetrated by proverbial trustworthy neighbourhood uncles further compounds this. That the perverted criminals proceeded to do unthinkable, grisly acts with the dead bodies leaves you in absolute disbelief. That the chief minister will not show support with his presence because of the supposed ‘jinx’ makes you sick with hatred. That he can dismiss it as “small, and (even more blasphemous) routine” breaks something inside you.

Is this the kind of world we live in? Does he not have a child of his own, and has he even stopped for a moment to absorb that it could’ve been his child? What will it take for some compassion or at least sympathy, or at the very least some pity from his side? This sort of incident leaves me feeling wretched and sick in the pit of my stomach.

So, there is a press release saying he might after all decide to go to Nithari. Like I care! F*** you, I want to say. Like those worried parents who currently probably feel like they’ve lost it all, care. I hope they stone the man, if any such effort is made at all, in the future.

Oddly, I think of Desperate Housewives – How much do we really know our neighbors? Every house has a story to tell. Hopefully, not every one of them is as gruesome.

What constitutes a safe environment to bring up a child? Not even something on the outskirts of the nation’s capital? Not even a place where the kids still meet and play together on the streets? Certainly not even ensuring your kid only talks to people he knows as family friends. No, definitely not.

So, what constitutes a vigilant justice system? One that suddenly throws up 800 prospetcive kids missing in the vicinity of this horrible crime? One that wakes up years after crime and fires 2-3 insignificant policemen? One whose head dismisses countless tales of abuse and murder as small and routine?

I want to be a pessimist. You can show me how several Supreme court lawyers have visited the families and offered their support in fighting litigations, for perhaps, the first time. You can show me how the resident’s association has come together and is raising it’s voice without apparent bias, with clear objectives, and well-placed anger. You can tell me this is perhaps the next time the nation is going to rise in collective anger, in the post Jessica Lal era.
I simply don’t care. A muted ye! is all I can manage.

For nothing will restore my faith. The enemy was in my own backyard – the police taking no stock is small and routine, perhaps; but what was I doing? Was I wrong in placing fundamental trust in those who inhabited my neighbourhood? Was I naïve to not expect someone who lived 2 houses away to kidnap my son and abuse him, and then bury him in a sack 2 feet further away? Was I plain stupid to not raise a hue and cry when even an FIR wouldn’t be registered, however much I begged? Was I oblivious to my neighbour’s misfortune till my own went missing? What is it in me that refuses to wake up, unless the loss is my own?

What is it in me that restricts my bravest, strongest reaction to writing a piece of literature in anger? Indeed, I do feel sick in the pit of my stomach.

Why the IIM MBA works...

2006-12-31T02:46:00.000+05:30

Forever, we have heard the arguments on why the Indian MBA is glorious because of the job opportunities it provides, or why it is terribly flawed because it admits freshers.I have been at various times, on both sides of the argument. And finally, I feel I am able to offer a stronger argument for why the fresher MBA is a boon to the average Indian student.Of course, one can quickly point out that I belong to this category, for I went to IIMA, having graduated in Engineering, from BITS Pilani.To this end, I must say at the outset, that it is indeed my view, biased as it may be. And may I add, that I donot deny the several merits of the MBA post work experience.
So, I was contemplating when I was 17, about majoring in Advertising or Marketing. I know of several friends who thought similarly of Finance. However, the reason why most of us still pursued the glorious "one size fits all" engineering course is the following -
- Parental pressure, as you may call it, to this day, in most Indian families deigns that the BE is a natural progression after Sciences in class 12
- It is the course with the most seats on offer, making the odds more favorable- Most importantly
- Most people look around and find there is really no quality Business Program at the Under-grad level, and decide to come to it after the BE
- The knowledge that the IIMs are biased towards picking a largely engineering class is the icing, though that is somewhat a chicken and egg issue
All valid reasons, to my mind, and mostly advantageous. An engineering course is 4 years, of which at least 2 are flexibly designed in most colleges, to allow students to pursue diverse interests. A small digression - for those purists who believe this is abominable, for engineering is a highly specialised course, I'd like to point out how most students today use Engineering courses as a tool to build strong analytical and problem solving skills, and a stepping stone to more opportunity to challenging studies - be it the MS or PhD or MBA. And I see nothing wrong with such an agreeeable end.
Coming back to the MBA that follows the BE: At the end of 4 years, people are either frantically pursuing the CAT coaching, or the GRE version. So, why does someone pick up the MBA at this stage?
- It's available, and a lucrative option, for starters
- It's a great course (IIMs) and in an area of interest to most people giving the exam

So, the perception is indeed true that in India, the MBA is looked at as an extension of school, and another course to extend the portfolio, instead of a year of networking, and sharing of business learnings from a live environment.My answer to this is, why not? May be it's a misnomer. Call the MBA what you want, just another Finance / Marketing / Starategy course rolled into one? Fine. All I know is that it serves the purpose. A quality course like that from the IIMs teaches you well, and gets you a good job.

So, the IIM MBA fetches the same jobs as one from Harvard or Wharton? Not entirely.When you join a top notch investment bank or Consulting firm, straight out of one of the Ivy Leagues, you're taken in as Associate / Consultant ranking = ~3 years into the firm, at about 27-28.

When you join the same firm with an under grad degree, you're an absolute fresher, starting at the very bottom at year 1. You're likely 21. When you join one of these firms from an IIM, likely you're given the advantage of an MBA, but the disadvantage of no work ex, and so you end up somewhere in the middle- 2nd year Analyst (1 year into the firm) or 3rd year analyst (2 years into the firm).To my mind, it's a fair deal, as long as you're given a bit of both, the deal for a quality program, and the cut back for the lack of experience. But most people tend to overlook this.

Move on to the new era now. Over the past 2 years, the number of Associate offers made to IIM graduates has steadily risen. This turns the theory on its head? Not quite. A couple of factors drive this -- Not every bank / consult has done it yet...it's just the beginning- Likely, only the banks that employ for the markets can do this, primarily because the skill increment from one level to another is relatively lower- These offers are still largely made to students with some work experience; however, this year has been the big difference - Associate offers to fresh students

That last bit really does change the story. So at 23, you could, out of an IIM potentially be doing what a Harvard grad could get to at 28. And why not? Who cares how you or I define the MBA! The markets jobs look for specific skill sets they find ideal in your average engineering background under grad Indian, and they're willing to bet on him to see it through.So, purely in terms of NPV, the IIM offer is tempting. Oh yeah, you can count in the millions saved in fees.
More importantly to my mind, in the way the Indian job scene works currently, the IIM degree is your best shot at a supposedly "high-flying" job, from India, primarily because like I said earlier, no quality Business programs are on offer at the under grad level.

So, let's set aside the I-Banks and consults. What about a regular MNC offering multidimensional managerial roles. My argument here is that most of these firms recruit for their India offices. These have tailor made programs to absorb the average fresher MBA, and are designed keeping him in mind. The ascent is desgined to be for someone straight out of school, and woth no work experience - that has traditionally been their pool, and they're quite happy about it! So who exactly complaining?!

Bottom line - Comparing the Indian MBA to the Ivy-league is not really apples to apples. And at the end of the day, in wither case, the ends seem to well justify the means.

Of course, this piece doesn't entirely capture all the points I hope to make. And perhaps, I will follow it up, with more constructive arguments to support the same. However, it does contain some facts, and attempts to offer perspective. And in the end, it really is quite from the horse's mouth!

New year cheer ...

2006-12-31T02:32:00.001+05:30

The regular blog feature at this time of the year is perhaps the round up. And I am attempting mine as well. Perhaps, that really is the biggest reason why a new year’s eve must remain larger than life – just so that each one of us can take stock of life, like we lived it in the past 365 days. Now why 365 may be a good question at this juncture. Let’s just say it’s convenient and a common milestone, so easy to benchmark.

Having rested my case on why write now, I proceeded to think about why I was writing at all. It’s definitely not a habit, nor a ritual or a tradition passed on. No one really is going to read what I did with my life in the past year and feel particularly elated or depressed, or smaller or bigger. Nah, my life hasn’t been life changing to anyone at all, perhaps, anyone except me. There it was! That is why I write! Optimistic me feels there is enough to put on record, enough to look back and feel happy about, definitely enough to look back and regret!

I made the great transition this year – from student to corporate junkie. To my mind, it’s significant. I wonder why the 4 ashramas of the Hindu faith didn’t consider this one as big as the others – perhaps it is enshrined in the getting married after studying one – you’ve got to feed a family or whatever, right? Anyways, to me, it’ll remain one of those moments, or periods, more likely – when I stepped out quite literally from the sheltered yellow run down walls of Pilani and then the staid red bricks of Ahmedabad into the work life.

As many variables as could change, did. My first job, my first job outside my country, my first brush with consulting, my first brush with my firm, my first time in a city with no close friends around to lament about everything to, my first travel like mad job, etc. etc. And what a roller coaster ride it’s been! All that yada yada about learning every day, is quite true fellas, and learn I did! And whether I chose to or not, rather quickly! There were other firsts as well – living in 5 stars, travelling business class when I got lucky, actually being able to shop in the duty frees, using the taxi recklessly (and hoping for a Mercedes cab each time …) – little joys in life, I guess.

I travelled, and how, especially given my mostly non-flying past. I am glad I did, and then not so much as well! So now, at the end of 2006, the US (NY, Chicago, and Boston), Vietnam(Hanoi). Hong Kong, Thailand(Bangkok, Pattaya, Hua Hin), Singapore(well, I could list the neighborhoods) are ticked off. I could’ve done more, and then I could’ve done less. So, that part of the work-be23/24-and-do-random-travelling worked out well, I guess.

On the personal front, Hari and I crossed the one year milestone – super kicked about it, and well, still smitten and touched. He moved to Singapore from London, and I can’t wait to finish on my project in Bangkok, and hope to work out of Singapore next. It’s funny – in one year, we’ve made the transition from having no money and all the time, to having all the money, and no time! Guess life’s like that.

There are other little things, like hunting down and renting a house I share with Megha and Parijat; bickering over provisions and other groceries; paying bills, bills, and more bills; and living the whole Expenditure expands to surpass income theory. At the very end, I am well-equipped with a long list of New Year resolutions on that front!

Now, I guess it’s time to move on from being so self obsessed! A lot of things happened to the people I love loads – Reddy got married right at the start, in February. She’ll stay my absolute darling, and I’ll never be more glad than when amazing things happen to her! So did Apu, to her PS sweetheart – how cute! And then Tikli in December – the first from the IIMA gang – wild times in Chennai, and a picture perfect wedding. Champi did as well, in June, and delightfully is in Singapore! So did Nana, and scores of others! Guess, it is the start of a new era, this year, haan?

Of course people made lovely jobs, and wonderful things happened to them, their lifestyle, their confidence, their lives, in general, and it’s heartening, and warm!
Friends fell in love, can’t remember any close ones who fell out, thankfully; friends apped to big schools, and are most definitely headed there, sooner than later.

In a nut shell, it’s been a happy year, or at the very least, neutral, if I look at my immediate world in general. Trust there is enough to crib about, as far as the world at large goes. Will save that for another one.

But as I finish, I realise, my wishlist has never been longer for the new year; my list of resolutions is so long, it makes all expectations unrealistic; a run through in the mind of complications is impossible to complete – so complicated are the expected ones – indeed I sign off, not too optimistically. And yet, the new year’s cheer I feel sure will eliminate any doubts/hangups/worries about life in the next 365 days – and leave me feeling yet again, that life is beautiful indeed; and can be as lovely as you want it to be.

So long, ol' humor!

2006-10-18T13:25:00.000+05:30

I don't quite know if this is a recent phenomenon. But I have definitely encountered it more in recent times than before.
I thought I could laugh most at anything. I am the cheerful sort, can see the humorous side, more often than not, and love my daily laughter dose. It invariably comes from various sources - a funny sight, an unexpected blunder, a well put sarcastic comeback someone offered, ridiculously dressed folks on the street, a couple of well written lines in a book, and so on.Somehow I feel increasingly, my humor though not depleted, stems from a single source - sarcasm. Whatever be the context, I find everyone's comebacks in a sarcastic tone are the only jokes that ever do the rounds. And somewhere between laughing, and marveling at the clever minds behind them, it has begun to hurt, just a little bit. Don't get me wrong, it wasn't like they were all retorts to something I said. I am still quite a sport.
But there's something about sarcastic humor that doesn't always go well with me. For one, most often it becomes a one-upmanship game. Invariably, it upsets someone at some point in time. Worst, I feel, because it is so closely tied to being smart / clever, other forms of humor pale in comparison, and are hence dying a slow death. In other words, there is not so much glamor left in the other forms.
It is sad, but increasingly, among us twenty something smart ones, getting back with crisp, one-liners that are "oh! so cool!" is hip. Whatever happened to good ol' jovial, harmless, good natured humor?

Restless...

2006-08-16T23:15:00.000+05:30

Boy, these times when words come out in a burst. It’s palpable…you’re in a rush, a thousand things are running amuck in your head,a nd you’re scared it’s about to explode. That isn’t figurative by the way – there comes a day when you truly feel it.

The restlessness can make you want to slap the first person you make eyes with. You grab that notebook, and begin keying it all in…your fingers fly, you don’t see typing errors, you produce absolutely disorganised pieces or writing, and yet, nothing’s enough.

Suddenly you remember how strongly you felt about that brilliant girl who was denied admission at a prestigious school, and your blood begins to boil. Then you remember a that touching conversation with a friend you spoke to many months later, cos you’ve just gotten yourself a new life. The sigh – you can almost hear it! You’d promised to record that for later.
The big wide reservation debate, 59 years of independence, the power of communication (America’s biggest weapon – Thank you for smoking, ma friend!).

And then you’re filled with a frustration – why am I never more organised? Why can’t I make time for the things I feel so strongly about? Do I just don’t feel enough? Am I letting other people guide my life too much? For example, why do I shop every weekend, when at the back of my mind, I think I want to be sitting down and writing. Will there be a day when I feel confident about a zillion things to be truly impulsive and spontaneous? Will there be a day when I stop feeling like a fake cos I am always volunteering for a 1000 things and never doing anything concrete on the ground? Will typing out all that I feel about myself and what I want to do at breakneck speed make it all a little clearer, make me want to do something about it all? Will something just snap, and release this energy and jolt me into action? But to act on what? To do what ? to be passionate about what? To give up this life of chaos for what?
And we’re back to square one.

Collection B...

2006-08-16T23:03:00.000+05:30

So, armed with my first pay cheque, I resolved to make one of those dreams come true. Thoughts that had motivated me to do one extra exercise in Class 9. Petty? Well, who says they weren’t at 14!
I decided to start my classic book collection. My mind conjured my the familiar wooden shelves one atop the other, neatly stacked with books in their complete series – the 6 terms of Malory Towers and St Clares, all the best sellers who ever walked the New York times – the Grishams, the Sheldons, Archers, despite the snide ‘poor taste’ remarks…the Indian classics – Seths, Rushdies, RK Narayans, Suketu Mehta, etc, etc….the comic strips…Calvin and Hobbs, may be even a few Archies…the classics…ok, stop muttering Pride & Prejudice…that still is my top favourite!, well, add to it the Huckleberry Finns, Tom Sawyers, Tale of two cities, …fine, so they really aren’t the same genre, but they’re still one cheap paperback option!

So, thus my collection grows – randomly and in every direction! There are the fat Suitable boys in Maximum city; the ‘can recognise cross eyed’ famous classics paperbacks, and the incomplete years at Malory towers…and they’re growing by the minute.
Boy, is it a joy, to buy and own and re-read those very books you borrowed for Rs. 1.5/week from the local neighbourhood, and longed to ‘lose’ and never return!

I read really slowly - haven’t gotten through more than 2.5 of the 12 books I have begun my collection with. But then , I didn’t really buy my Tom Sawyers to read it in one night – I’ve done that several times over in classes 6, 7 , 9 and 12…I just wanted to own it the next time I read it; I just needed to pick it off my very own rack.

...

2006-08-16T23:02:00.000+05:30

Sometimes I am just ashamed at the fact that I haven’t written about the most eventful moments of my life – the time I got my first big job, the time I started being with the love of my life, the time I moved to live in a foreign country for a bit, the time I stayed in my first five star hotel, the time I first began to fly twice a week from twice in 10 years, the time I’ve been the loneliest with absolutely no one to talk to, however much I wanted to, the time I visited my first cabaret show, the time I saw opportunities I believe motivated me in every goal, fall at my feet…well…and these were the best and worst of times……

And I wonder… the busiest times bring out in us the need to multitask like never before…when I had never studied enough, never knew enough for the impending test was when I religiously updated my blog….and now, in spite of the busy life, my loneliness leaves me with a lot of time, and yet I don’t write…I don’t make an effort to learn new things, I don’t see myself going out and getting ‘em things I thought I’d fought to have for a lifetime. In short.

It’s ironic, and yet what’s even more ironic is the fact that you never wake up to the irony.

No kids on the block?

2006-04-23T13:00:00.000+05:30

The easiest thing to do when you read this would be to label me the one who speaks thus " These children nowadays I tell you! In our times..." But I do hope to convey and wash off at least a tenth of the horror I felt this morning as I watched this episode of some Confidence Champion contest.

First off, one's greeted by a non-bearded Derek, simply quite not the energetic, fatherly, quiz master we grew up watching. BUt that's besides the point. The program he currently hosts seeks to identify confidence champions, kids who're supremely confident of their abilities and many other things. But again, all this is besides the point.

The sample on display is 10 kids in the age group of 6 - 13, I am guessing, who come forth and state many achievements and answer questions with aplomb, as it may seem to some. In one of the many commercial breaks that relentlessly sting these programs, one is left wondering if you were indeed watching a children's show. For there are kids who come up, all of 9 years old, and standing tall and wax eloquent thus - " I was 2 when I first picked up a violin. And I fell in love with the feel of the strings on my fingers. " My, my!

And then there is this kid who is questioned in jest, about the cap he's wearing. He takes it off to show a tonsured head, and begins a minute long monologue with “Superstition has become an integral part of the Indian society. It's mostly women, in my family, my mother and Ba, who are superstitious. The men never are." Hail stereotypes!

There are these kids who when asked why they picked chess to b world champions under 10, or why karate to be black belts at age 10 who never seem to think of fun. Am I being judgmental? Well, may be. But I wish they would'nt walk into a confidence champion contest and spout " Nothing gives you more confidence than Karate or I am confident of winning this because it is only confidence and dedicated effort that made me win the XYZ Nationals. You may have immense talent but without confidence, you are going nowhere." Anything else would do!

I used to think when I was in school that we recycled the patriotic mumbo jumbo a little too much. You know, I want to be a doctor and serve the poor in abc district, because I think the country needs me. Or, I want to go into the armed services (courtesy Border?) and be of service to the country. Or the worst, I want to do an MBA and get into policy making for India in the government.

Fine fine. I think the last one, luckily for me, I didn't think up in school. A little later perhaps. But you can't blame me for stretching it here, ladies and gentlemen. After all, I live in constant fear of the earth being taken over by a species with no child left in him. And none around either, to keep the sanity going.

PS: The latest buzz in education – The MTI course to improve the communication skills of those who feel burdened with the Influence of the Mother Tongue on their English speaking skills. To drive the point home, the journalist picked up a quote from a 12 year old, and this is what he had to say – “ I felt humiliated when a friend corrected me for saying “pizeon” instead of “pigeon” at school. That was when I decided I needed to do something about it and it was time to take this course.” Sigh.

Fire burning...

2006-04-13T15:30:00.000+05:30

There is so much to write about these days...
the sinful holiday that lasted a month and served up beaches, palaces, temples, hills, oceans, templs and more beaches!
the convocation where i wore those flowing black gowns and was denied a hat to throw into the air beacuse i was to only end up a diploma holder:(
the whole crazy debate on reservations for the BCs, OBCs, MBCs, and whoever else you manage to classify...
this fascinating piece of information on how the BCCI is giving away 50 cr for development of other sports in the country and the 10000 predictions on what the government could possibly do with that money...
the chinkaras turnng in their graves while bare bodied and empty headed actors strut about casually...
these steamy comments my friends drop generously and set me thinking and making mental notes to blog a 1000 words on...
and well, just for the happy writing days!

And yet, I am clocking miserably on the frequency front on this page...:(
yes, yes, time to redeem...time to redeem...

The Updates...

2006-03-15T10:27:00.000+05:30

What did I do all of November, December, January, February and March?
Well, Nov went planning the fachcha summers, and hosting yet another successful placement circus. We do it, and in style. Every year, we place 250 students in the best of companies across the world for internships in April-June, during the month of November. I myself went to Unilever India during the summer of 2005. And what a summer it was! Kav, Ranji, Anku, Shrankhs and Rahul would agree.
Which brings me to December, where I wrote some insipid exams, and managed to do a paper review on the Philosophy of despair (excerpts of which form the next blog entry). I also went on a trip to Pune-Lonavla-Khandala, and got back home for a chilled week after 8 whole months!
On my way back to college at Ahmedabad, I stopped at Mumbai, made a job after an interview with HLL, and then went to Chennai for a wild 2 days with Sanketh.
There is this magic to meeting friends after a couple of years. Affection flows, so does the mischief and so do the "My God!, you've changed! Look at you...blah...blah..blah..." I think often we just say it, to simply say it:) Not so here, with Sank's newly found Amru accent:D
Anyways, way back from Chennai meant 2 days alone on the train, where I placced for many books to be read, but ended up sleeping mostly.
Back on campus, and into placement work upto my ears, I was jolted out of it all with a surprise b'day gift of tickets to Bangalore for New Year's. So, like it turned out, I spent 30th and 31st bringing in New Year's with some of my closest friends at Bangalore. It was lovely. And you just feel right about a year that begins like that.
January brough with it much work in the form of new courses in Securties Regulation and Corporate Tax Planning I had no clue why I had taken. But then, the birthday came along. And what a beautiful one it was!
Every year, especially since I went to Pilani, I keep thinking next year can't be better-This year was such a dream. And every year, something new and beautiful happens.
I brought in my twentyfourth birthday at Nalsarovar, watching the sun rise, and hundreds of pink flamingos fly in perfect formation across the red hues of a virgin sky.
Ouch! Did I just give out age details?!
But it simply was an ezquisite birthday.
January went by after that in a haze mostly, with resume preparation, and applying starting off, and company pitching into full swing. Oh, anyone wanting any tips on the art of resume making is most welcome to ask me! Any MBA student would know how to glorify minute achievements like no one else. You have to see it to believe it.
February came, and so did Valentine's Day, with the roses and the chocolates. Very pretty.
Applying and supposedly preparation was on in full swing. And the Reddy got married, and after all the bookings, I couldn't make it because of a company interaction. I have never felt lamer.
So, I flew down next weekend to Hyderabad for the reception. It was so beautiful.
I love Redz. And I am soooo happy for her, it's hard to write about it one-millionth as beautifully as she looked or as I feel. U can't want anything but the best for lovely redster.
Back from this on the 25th, I plunged straight into some sort of prepping, given I really did have some interviews coming up!
And then, March came, and with it those crazy days of high pressure. On March 8th, post 11 case interviews, and two banking interviews, I finally had my dream job. My number one preference. It's still trying to sink in. It's most unbelievable, that Bain and Company chose to interview me, and I am on their team, post 4 gruelling rounds of interview. It's a dream come true, and I hope it works out exactly the way we all want it to.
And thus, with dream job in hand, I live my last few days at IIMA. It's all floating by - the tears, the fear, the helplessness, the stress, the cribs. And then an overwhelming calm. I remember my last few days at BITS. Just when I was desperately looking for that one spike out of those four years, IIMA happened. And now, Bain, as I look for the spike again. It's the end of a long journey. And a beginning to a most exciting one.
Nothing feels nicer, than finishing a period in time on a high.

Anybody home?

2006-03-15T10:26:00.000+05:30

This is it. It has just been way too long. Too many moments have gone by when special ideas flash in the mind but never find their way to the keyboard. Too many minutes wasted postponing the plunge. Too many seconds spent thinking wistfully about why I wouldn’t write. So, stop. Period. It ends here. Welcome the ramblings of the-one-where-she-is-on-a-ninety-day-holiday. Ah! Good.
Hmm....incidentally, does anyone still visit?

Feb 28th 2002

2005-11-09T09:46:00.000+05:30

Swords glistened, hints of red
Brains numbed, words unsaid
Identity extinguished, bodies charred
Skin deep and more, all that's scarred

Iron-wrought, mangled; bloody stained
Concrete turned rubble, exposing bare frame
Structure remains - shaken, yet resolute
Painted in shame. Vengeful. Mute.

Life's plucked out, umbilicals butchered
New beginnings nipped, before they occured
Sanguine ghoonghats tell violent story
Of mindless assault - forced; gory.

From tall bamboos wound in stringed marigold
Loudspeakers blare, the dogma unfolds -
"You are superior, the rest you maim"
And you thought it began with a burning train?

The wagtail tells me....

2005-10-17T13:06:00.000+05:30

I was just browsing through the Insti e-Notice Boards this morning on the internal messenger, when I came across this post titled, “Winter is here!”. It proceeded to give me a description of how the wagtail from the Himalayas had been spotted at the Louis Kahn Plaza, and there could be no better indication of the same. The wagtail, a small sparrow like bird comes down to the warmer climes of the plains in the winter, it stated. Further more, there was a picture to go with the post.

Memories came flooding back - of all those childhood scouting adventures, to see this bird and that; of reading a zillion Enid Blytons that introduced you to the English countryside following which you hoped in vain for daisies and lilies and daffodils to spring up at your doorstep; of discovering little sparrow nests on the store room fan in grand ma’s dilapidated home every summer; of nursing baby squirrels that had fallen off tree boughs.

Where have all those times gone? Whatever happened to being curious every moment about everything around you? Why don’t I stop to see those birds and flowers anymore?
And so today, the wagtail told me -

"indeed, as in the poem, by William Henry Davies
What is life if, full of care?
You(we) have no time to stand and stare"

Tell me what you think...

2005-10-05T03:47:00.000+05:30

It's been a long time since I posted something not personal on the blog. Well, that would actually be the wrong adjective to use, because most of all I write affects me at some deep level. BUt then, I've noticed, each time I write something about women, or anything with remotely feminist tones, even the meagre 1/2/3 comments dry up. I wonder why.

I have heard a lot about being the quintessentail feminist, and about being incapable of thinking objectively when it comes to issues on women. I've given up trying to deny all of this. Isn't it natural to feel a little more for something that affects women, given you're one? It's like trying to defend someone's choice of India as best cricket team, simply because it's yours (let's set aside dismal present)! You feel a wee bit more strongly than normally.

Anyways, I often wish something that I write on this whole subject of women would be even mildly controversial enough to provoke some reaction; from ANYBODY. Evidently, I am either way too intimidating, or simply not good enough a writer. But I am trying, this time round because this whole controversy over a spate of incidents in Chennai kicked up a lot of fuss on my College discussion forum. The drama unfolds in perfect series of cliches.

A celebrity (who else but an actress, do we have any outside that fraternity?) voiced her opinion on pre-marital sex, and she was burnt in paper a thousand times over. The usual 'moral dress code'(will I ever understand what moral dress is? ) enforced in Engineering Colleges throughout Anna University added fuel. And the 'outrageous' women groups drinking in a 5 star hotel's bar and kissing their boy friends on the dance floor.

The stories are so drab I wonder how they still manage to kick up some semblance of a passion to moral police in the protagonists. Yes, so the women were reduced to unreproducible abuses. They were termed blots on the rich Tamil culture. They had defied the good tamil ponnu, and been worse than men(wonder why taht would be a benchmark!).

It set me thinking. I've been through this whole college moral dress code crap. I think the two years when I was in such an institue were my most regressive. I couldnt be more glad they were sandwiched between times spent at reasonably forward looking Bhavan's and fairly open minded BITS. I use qualifiers for both schools because nothing is a generalisation. The intolerant and narrow minded, as would fit my definition existed there too.

There are arguments about how when you are seventeen, you don't know what's good for you. That even if you did, your actions affect a larger group of youngsters who're out to ape you, and so it isn't ok to be seen in rising hems. That's a lot of nonsense to dish out.

Your ability to discern what is right and wrong, what is appropriate and what's not is a direct function of your upbringing, and no one else's. If you didn't learn it from your folks, you'd still be smart enough to pick up acceptable stuff from your environment. If you aren't, I think people around and the environment itself is smart enough to teach you. It's just that the foundation's gotta be right. And if it isn't, you're screwed any which way. You'll find the hard way out. So why put everyone through some crazy rule set when you're old enough to be using a sane head!

To argue that provocative dressing is what gets the men started is to tell those men not to be bothered with imbibing the right set of values and attitudes. When everything is just a reaction to external stimulus, why bother with getting anything internally right? And when questioned about the rationale, the response is that dress codes are equally applicable to men and women.

Now, this got me charged. This is a possible digression, but seriously, we're all harping about equality all the while. Even the men are! But what do we make of this business? To me, it's all really simple. In my head there are three sets into which all work and deed can be divided. You respect the men for all that they can solely do. The men respect the women for all that the are solely capable of achieving. And you learn to accept the fact that there is stuff both of you can do equally well, whatever the metric. And though this may not have been the case early on, it is today, and you accept that gracefully, and get on with the job! It is really isn't a constant one- upmanship game. No.

Anyways, coming back to the Chennai thing. There's lots on who does and does not have a right to wield the moral whip. I don't think anyone does. Actually, honestly I don't care. That's besides the point.

To my mind, the problem is more fundamental. It's about the way you are brought up. It's about the formal systems that exist in the average Tamil family for example that instill certain stereotypes in the young mind. The formal dealings between sister and brother the moment they are teenagers, is a case in point. You may argue about still being able to physically fight your older sister, but please pause and probe a little deeper, and you'll see what I mean.

Why are we so hell bent on establishing clearly defined roles for everyone to fit into? Why must we always have preconceived notions and pictures of what we want our daughters, sisters, mothers, sons, brothers, etc to be, irrespective of the individual? If we didn't know by the time we were 15 exactly what to expect of our wife 12 years down the line, we wouldn't look at every potential woman at College and evaluate her against this set paradigm. If we weren't brought up to believe we own certain individuals, simply beacuse they fulfil certain roles in our lives, we wouldn't go ballistic about their attributes being sized up by some other man. We wouldn't feel threatened by their 'independence streak', beacuse we wouldn't extrapolate their drinking/smoking or late night partying to some extraordinary, frivolous behavior. We would be wise enough to look at an individual's trait for what it is, and take it or leave it.

That in essence is the issue, to my mind. This failure to discern one individual from another; to see him or her as someone beyond and above the role. At first level, it's the daughter/son, mother/father stereotype. At the second, it's the boy/girl stereotype. And you have to transcend both before you begin to cease passing judgment, and view things in free spirit and mind.

This one's special.

2005-10-03T06:34:00.000+05:30

I don’t know why I am writing this. It just seems to me that it’ll always be a job half done. I could never write well enough to convey all that I want to. And yet, at this moment, I feel like I simply must.

There are certain people who just make that big impression on you. It could be wrong or right. And very often, it wants to be both; alternating all the while. It’s fun getting to know them, because they affect the way you think all the while. You evolve. The way you think evolves. It’s pretty.

And then there are times when you just can’t stand their guts. Yeah, you know they can’t stand yours either. But what the heck? They seem to want to drill holes into your every argument. They always take the opposite side when you have something to say. It’s almost as if you’ve had a strange day if the great daily confrontation hasn’t occurred.

He’s just one of those guys. When I was first introduced to him, I thought to myself, “Here’s one of those typical boys’ school products.” I spoke to him when situations threw us together. I was very amused when he used to get all uncomfortable with the silly juvenile teasing.

Second year in college loosened up things a bit. And we got talking. He has this insane urge to tease you about anything that catches his attention. And he’s good at it. I am a decent sport. So we hit it off. It’s beautiful when you build a rapport with a potential friend. Soon you begin to predict what the other person will say, and semantics of a different kind take over. I built that with him through semester three, and we thoroughly enjoyed ourselves. Over this and that. He even did some outrageous stuff like spill the beans over my only crush ever. And I don’t think I quite forgive him for that even today. But it was all fun.

That’s not to say the arguments didn’t happen. They were perennial. And in retrospect, the foundations of a very firm friendship. But boy, did I go through a phase when I thought I couldn’t dislike someone more. For his disinterest in the events of my life. For his dismissiveness of problems that were insurmountable to my mind. For his infinite capacity to label me this and that.

He was worse. Not only did he hate me, he couldn’t even bear to talk to me. Honestly, I’ve never sat and thought about what I could have done to spark off something so strongly disagreeable. And yes, perhaps we both thought we’d hit an impasse.

But then there’s this thing about special friendships. They just don’t die. And they love to bounce back. So, so did this one. And beautifully.

And it grew with each passing moment. It’s a little funny how it all happened, when there was hardly any time to spend together. There were departments to be run, and project exhibitions to be won. And yet, through all that, there was unspoken support and just being there. Not that either of us really needed it. Actually, I don’t know about me. But we’d hit the comfort zone. And it needed no effort.

I can’t count on my fingers, toes and everything else put together ten times over, the number of times I have wanted to crib about the silliest thing. It’s painful to remember the times I’ve wanted to feel like the sole victim walking the earth. It’s scary to imagine how outrageous and inconsolable I must’ve sounded, explaining the zillion things that haunted my mind. And yet, each time, in not the kindest, yet the most sensible ways he taught me to DEAL with life. To face it upfront, to be honest to myself, and most importantly, to always believe.

Life’s moved on. Today, as I live a relatively calmer, more settled second year in business school; he’s braving a second year’s tryst with robotics. Boy, did he see me through a hellish first year at IIMA! There wasn’t a single thing I didn’t feel like complaining about, and there wasn’t one of those things he couldn’t rationalize, justify and explain to me to be most natural and hence acceptable. He pampered me in my most difficult moments, and never let me feel silly or small about anything.

And again, as clichéd and repetitive as I might sound, I want to risk it. Again, he made me believe in myself, in my capacity to do a good job, in my ability to use my judgment when it came to relationships. He believed in my honesty towards causes, certain actions. He began to understand like no one else my need to be silly, do downright dumb stuff, every now and then. He saw why I did the things I did, and just let me be. It gave me strength to believe more and more strongly in the concept.

I hate to sound this sentimental. I can almost predict my best buddy’s reaction to this post. He’s probably the only one who reads my blog. I’ve had issues with telling the world I write. But this one time, I hope everyone else reads too.

There are going to be addendums to this post. Firstly, because I simply can’t put all that I want together. Secondly, because I just don’t anticipate growing up, and giving up the silliness and the stupidity in the longest time. And finally, because every now and then, I know there will be in me this undeniable urge to chronicle all that he’s done for me, and all that I know he’ll always do for me, whenever I need it.

Here’s to slow cycle rides, Sank. Love you lots.

2042 - an Introduction to my autobiography.

2005-10-03T06:17:00.000+05:30

It is a warm summer morning, in a little corner of Bangalore. The year- 2042. The first day of February. As the sun shines through the wooden chequered glass window, and forms patterns on thick handmade paper, I settle down in the tall hard backed chair that looks out.

The matching sturdy deep brown raw wooden amoeba table is cluttered. Sheafs of paper cover the minature laptop, which is my latest gizmo acquisition. The outlook ver 52.03 shows up a million darkened subject lines. They all read the same. They wish me well as I begin a new life. My ancient cell phone lies on the side, popping up a list of calls unattended to. A few books lie strewn around, some still ensconced in wrapping paper. My tall glass of tea squirms, jostles and settles down amidst all this.

Music plays in the background. Soft, melodious Kanada on the flute. Soon, the system that occupies most of this special room will play Simon and Garfunkel. Dangling Conversation, may be? Well, speculating on song lists still retains its charm.

White smoke wafts into the room. It’s almost surreal. There is a beautiful blend of the old and the new. A perfect mix of tradition and modernity. A wonderful atmosphere that breathes the present, while it listens to nostalgia.

Indeed, it’s a milestone. Not obvious or one that makes a statement. Not one that clearly demarcates one era from another. Yet, turning sixty has been a celebration for as long as I can remember. It may not be a grand Sashtiabdhapoorthi. But the cake shall be cut, the candles shall be blown, and the dinner had outside with family.

It’s also time to action the promise, made somberly many years ago. To write about the life I have lived. I thought I would have a string of adjectives to qualify it. Long? Well, it hasn’t seemed so in 21915 days. Accomplished? I can’t even begin to not refute that. All that incomplete work lying around me is staring back in indignation. Perfect? My ego wouldn’t let that pass. I have to leave a little space to feel victimized, you see. Demanding, disappointing, hopeless simply aren’t allowed. Beautiful? It comes to mind. Timid, suggested with the merest whisper. Umm…hmmm…ah…well…may be. Hell! Actually. At least it comes close. May be I am glossing over a lot of uncomfortable times. May be its just acceptable because it’s comforting.

But it fits. Intuitively. And so, it qualifies. Temporarily? Perhaps. On a relative scale? Certainly. In sadness and in joy? Affirmative.

Life is beautiful.

And I wonder if I thought as much when I was twenty three. It was the first time I tried to chronicle my few days of being. Did I think as much about the perfect word to describe my life when I was twenty three? Did I imagine what it would be like? Did I dream without restraint, and promise, without deliberation?

Frozen...in memory. in time.

2005-09-23T23:07:00.000+05:30

They rush down to claim bored surface. Dusty, dry, may be even parched. The dull brown, or almost gray surface has been untouched for a while now. And yearns to be smothered.

It's a little like a kind, plain lady's countenance. Black rounded eyes lie nestled in deep set symmetrical sockets, just above the long graceful nose.

For a while now,she's been abused - in many ways. They haven't been kind, the suitors. They've complained about the mouth - too straight, too firm, they say. Not full enough. And the cheeks; the cheeks are too wide and pale.

Just like the barren earth. Undernourished and overused. So much so, that the vital signs are missing. The greens have aged a sad brown. It's almost as if it is to complement the underlying brown surface.

But this time it's different. There's something about the air - the crackling sound, the buzz, the occassional rumbling - it's almost palpable, the feeling. Suddenly the rush becomes a torrent.

They are arriving quickly now- racing against each other, against time. They seem to me to be in a great hurry, as if tomorrow will never be the same. The pace quickens. they're reaching a crescendo. Then, a certain symmetry hijacks the environment.

And as the pitter patter fromthe union outside screams into her ears, athousand kisses wet her face - exploring every cranny, every nook.The moment is frozen. In time. In memory. And as the sun peeps over the rain kissed earth, her face radiates the glow of a million others'.

And she opened up what....

2005-09-21T02:53:00.000+05:30

I know I'm opening a Pandora's box here. But it is just something that disturbs me excessively. And I need to put my thoughts down.
I know the debate on value systems is eternal. I am willing to grant the whole concept of a value system being relative, and highly customised, so as to say. But aren't some things absolute?
To be honest I dont want to get into the classifications. Let's assume you uphold X value each and every time you are faced with a choice. It gets increasingly tough with each passing example. And yet, you hold on, even as others around you compromise.
Are you then right in feeling proud about the same? Are you supposed to experience some unique inner joy that others dont, and hence, is that your reward?
In case you think that I assume that by feeling proud of myself for having up held value X, I can afford to hold the others who didnt in low esteem, then let me qucikly clarify that i dont. I firmly believe I have no right to pass judgment on people. More importantly, I am no one to extrapolate a few scattered actions of theirs to mean a particular set of values. So, I really am talking only about the one who is morally upright.
You can easily say to maintain an equal balance between him and the one who compromises, I must not allow him to be proud, because I refuse to pass judgment on the one who did. But that is no way to win an argument. You need to prove A whether B happens or not.
Anyways, again, I want to leave this thought with no conclusions whatsoever. It is partly because the eternal confusion clouds my mind. That doesn't affect the way i act. I think I do most things more out of habit than any value system to talk about. However, I write to be sure I can look back a few years down the line and know that at least till 2005 AD I thought I held a particular set of opinions/value systems/habits that I would have liked to be proud of.

Salaam Namaste...what kind of statement?

2005-09-19T15:58:00.000+05:30

Everyone's been talking about Salaam Namaste for different reasons. and i just read yet another review of it in the OUtlook. They've termed it "watchable", which is pretty low on their rating scale.
I couldn't agree more. I am no movie person. I hardly watch movies, unless I really fee the need to, or if someone drags me to one. I watched Salaam Namaste because I hadn't been out with friends in a long time, and when we did decide to, everyone wanted to see the movie.
So, there was the charming Khan at it again. It amazes me, this pace at which the line between the metrosexual man and being plain gay is blurring. Why must you wear feminine cuts, pink tees, sweat shirts, shirts exposing clean waxed chests, and finally your girl friend's super small tee that says 'Girl Power' in pink! IT'S NOT FUNNY, i tell you!
And there's Preity Zinta with the quirkily spelt name. Not that her screen name's any better. Ambar, she calls herself. And there's some silly stereotype about how the South Indian boss can't say Ambar, but Hambar. Bah, humbug!
But while, we're on stereotypes, I have a few interesting points to make. Before that we must forget the whole 'getting pregnant' sham. It's an affront to the concept, and the humor/angst/sadness expressed is annoying, to put it mildly.
It's interesting how a lot of gender stereotypes are broken. It's Nick who wants to keep the house clean. It's Nick who can't sleep if the drawing room is not in order, and the plates aren't cleaned and put away after every meal. ambar's a fiercely independent girl, well caught up with her life, and relationships are as much a part of her life as are her radio jockey days, and medical student role.
Look at the other stuff. The movie makes a clean break from being presumptious about anything. You could never associate a certain action with the boy or the girl. Either could make the first move. Either can put a meal together. Either could ask the other out for dinner. These may seem trivial to your mind. But if you've seen the movie, you'd get a drift of what I am saying.
Yes, it is definitely very bold screenplay. It seems to me it would be quite a culture shock for the older generation. It gives up on almost all inhibitions, which takes a little getting used to.
I can't recommend the movie to anyone. I don't know if the path breaking statements made through the film, if the story was set in upmarket Mumbai. I think the film is escapist in some sense, in that it uses the fact that these two young, ultra modern Indians meet in Melbourne, to further it's 'modern' agenda.
However, it's certainly representative of the times we live in, and to a certain extent, the times that are to come. In that sense, if you want to tag it, it's a milestone.

it's changing...

2005-09-15T02:42:00.000+05:30

There are things i keep wanting to write about and never get round to doing.

There are moments in life when I want to call up my closest friends and talk on for long hours about this and that. Today was one such day. I picked up my phone, and scrolled the phone book.

There was just about no one i could call. I can't afford ISD all the while, actually almost never. And they're all now in the States.

Kavya joined them today. And it feels like a new phase to life is beginning. It'll only be on the fone from now on. And occasionally.

It kills me. And makes me quite sad.

I hug onto the old memories, and hope that I can hang on.

And while i am at it, all you US types... hope there's a place laid out at the table for me, each time you guys decide to have dinner together.

Love you all. And miss you.

Musings at Leh...

2005-09-05T10:56:00.000+05:30

The mountain speaks, in proud baritone --

Not always am I firm and solid

Not all of us, from experience, wise and rugged

And yet, as I tower, many heads above

In confidence and humility, I take a bow

And speak to thee, "Trust me, I say."

"I'll try my best, depend on me, you may."

The river prods, she gurgles and giggles --

I flow with purpose, I flow with grace

And with every moment, more furious is the pace

In excitement and fervor, I seek my own tomorrow

Should I explore, dig harder, raise that brow?

Indeed what must be, a decade from now

Has formed its roots in today's what, who and how

The green bends over, and in ever soft whisper --

I reach out, successful, to the world beyond

The fruits of effort that i offer, abound

All this while, this little brown inside of me

Clings to the ground, where I first braced destiny

The balance is exquisite, delicate, sublime

Future stems from past, creating vibrant prime

The wind appears, bristles in invisible cloak --

The old rock is strengthened, the green reed shudders

With me beneath her wings, the butterfly flutters

I wage war with mountain, I swim with the seas

I paint noisy skylines, as I wildly kiss the trees

With each encounter, I see a different view

Enriched, refreshed, energised, I dream anew

The sky sits upright, clears his throat --

From a distance so great, as I look below

It seems to me, there is so much to know

Ages have passed, I've been there forever

yet as i grow, there is more to discover

And so, I promise, to myself, each day

Every moment, every thought shall spawn a new ray

And thus, I implore thee, great mountain

teach me to be humble, my trustworthiness proven

And to the river that giggles, I say

Empower me to make special tomorrows, today

And to ye tree, apostle of balance

Teach me to seek for others and I, true substance

Let the breeze that touches me, leave my mind open

So that from several insights, my perspective may sharpen

And finally, to the sky, who watches from above

Please, may I never be felt wanting in will, sense and love?

the twenties...

2005-09-05T10:45:00.000+05:30

I guess I've said this before. But it keeps coming back to me.

That the twenties are special. You live them for a reason. And then you don't. You live them to do exactly what you wish. And then, you live them to move closer towards making true a lot of what others want of your life.

It's confusing. It can be frustrating. It puts you at gun point all the while. It forces you to make tough choices all the blasted while. It makes you feel vulnerable, and iron strong at the same time.

If you're a believer in what I have here, add the whole pressure to do something that's 'me'; that's 'different'; that's 'defining' - whoa! that's one boiling cauldron.

Well, I fought hard to overcome the guilt pangs... I hadn't gone home in a while, and I needed to; I was spending 12 grand on a flight, something I would'nt have dreamed of, a few months back; I had had a hard term - the least I could do was go home and chill out for a week.

And then I did Ladakh. Don't ask me why. I am still figuring out. Did I make the break through the course had promised? Did I actually find some sort of path to the grand things I wanted to do in life? Did I finally find that one elixir to life?

I don't know. And presently, I couldn't care.

What I do know is this: I lived up my twenties. I did the one thing I had dreamed for myself when I was a young twenty something - I let go. I lived a dream. And it was beautiful.

Goodness gracious!

2005-08-09T18:13:00.000+05:30

shucks...how do people manage when there are a million things to do at the same time! Just so that I don't forget this glorious eighth month of 2005, I need to list down all that needs to be done...let's see...

There is the volatility assignment in Futures, Options and Risk Management, that needs to be previewed on the 13th and submitted on the 18th. I obviously don't know any of it. 'cos the last time i studied the subject was when I began on the 11th and finished on the 14th of July. Add to that a volatile memory. Sigh!

I just got done with the Portfolio Management group Assignment and we weren't selected for the final presentation. Which is both good and bad. Cos now you don;t have to fret over that PPT for the next week wondering if it's good enough. Bad 'cos you don't get to show off those cool flash and ppt skills you spent 40 straigh hours mastering.
There's the other bad part. I have to start on the individual assignment due on the 18th too:(

Then there is the fartuest Strategy project, in which we have ambitiously offered to study HDFC, a bank that's doubling revenues before you can say 'Jack Robinson!'. Add in the never comprehensible professori. Double Sigh! Coming up on the 24th.

There are two surveys I need to complete in the next four days. One for the Marketing Research project on Chai bars, in which we ambitiously set out to do many things and are now alarmingly narrowing down options:D
And then there is the survey/perception study/interviewing to be done on Bata, as a brand. As abstract as it can get. And as if that weren't enough, we have promised to suggest restructuring and rejeuvenating methodologies. God save us! That's due on the 14th incidentally. And the chai thingy needs to be previewed on the 17th, and presented on the 20th!

I simply have to attend that talk by Nandita Das on the 12th, between 7 and 9 pm. Don't ask me how I am going to find the time.

I am going to be working on this project next term on analysing spending/saving patterns and cash flows of migrant workers, and see if I can fit out some suitable models to make it more sustainable, and a viable micro financing opportunity. I am so excited about the project. He is the best Professor I haveever been taught by. And the subject is really closeto heart. even more so, after I read about 'Harvest of Hunger'. But then, there is a deadline for the proposal, and that's tomorrow!

Then, there is Place Com!!! Goodness, all I ever do these days is mail people:(
There is the brochure to be looked after. There are companies to say hullo to, and much else that needs to be taken care of. It's carcinogenic, the place com work basket. It just keeps growing!!!

There is entre, for which many speakers need to be invited and said Hullo to. And I think boss will skin me alive if I don't do it today! Also, once they're invited, a millionm other things need to be done.

There are things to be sent to Inder at the office, and these have to be gathered from everywhere! There are things to recover and keep track of, from office.

Oh, I need to write my autobiography, as part of an introspective course I am doing. Shucks, I can almost see myself writing it when I should actually be studying up! No bhare, not this time...

I need to prepare, both in terms of processing loans, and getting trekking stuff together for the Ladakh course and trip. There is a lot of thinking that needs to go into that one. And planning too. And I am leaving immediately after my exams.

Oh my God! exams! I need to study for them. Especially since i havent been doing so all term.

And then there's Insight, for which we have volunteered, in some crazy moment. Now that will have to be kept as well. Gosh! May I just stop now.

My goodness...this listing business is not a good thing, I realise! There is just too much to do...
and then, there is t-nite, something I simply can't miss! Who else will cheer the section and boo the others, and have coffee at the canteen reminiscing old times...nah! that's top priority. Certainly.

More power to this one!

2005-07-19T21:51:00.000+05:30

There's this piece on child marriage I read yesterday. So, you thought Rajasthan/Madhya Pradesh. No sir, this is the land where life has lost value before it's begun - Andhra Pradesh. Cynical? Ask the cotton farmers. Hmmm... some more probing. So, you thought this one's going to do the young gal-liability-not educated-maried off for a sum to old man-laborer parents live better hence routine? Wrong again. There's some hope here, though how much, I know not. Yet, I wish to record what I read, because to me it signals elusive change.

This week's Outlook (paradox?) carries a story on how young girls in Andhra are married off as soon as they reach puberty, invariably to men much older. The most horrifying, well, as is to such stories, has to leave you speechless. There was this six year old girl married to a man around 30, and now when she's 12, he's kicked her out of the house to marry someone else. I doubt the poor girl, oops woman (ye, they don't see childhood too much in these parts) even knows the repurcussions of being in, and out, of such a 'sacred' relationship.

Break: I listen to Pudhu vellai mazhai from Roja as I write this. Fresh snow, newly wed, new dreams come true. Yuck. I want to puke.

Anyways, yeah, so what are these girls subjected to? For starters, dowry harassment. Oh yes, as dramatic as being set to fire, and forced to hang by the old vinyl pipe. I told you, Bollywood never was original. Then there is the whole do-the-house-work-cook-for-a-1000 hungry ba****ds-clean up-wash up blah blah...Then there are a whole lot of strange things done to the body by some horrible beedi stinking, doused in Rs.3.47/liter liquor man, that must be borne. They've been taught to believe they're a wife's duties, you see.

Anyways, what would you expect as a logical end to the story. Girl lives the sad life, bears many children for useless husband and family, and leads a life she never ever wanted to. Hey, that's where it all changes. For these girls are stepping out, and speaking up.

The story quotes examples of young girls, in their teens(or yet to enter them) giving up these 'in-law' homes, and returning/entering school to carve a respectable life for themselves. They've fought with their parents to be taken in again. They've made NGO shelters their homes. They've stood up to drunken husbands who come to claim them. They've even tackled legal hurdles to try and annul marriages that the law doesnt even recognise.

And all along they've kept their dreams alive. Of becoming teachers. Of running their own little enterprise. Of growing up to be doctors. yes, in case you've forgotten, they're hardly grown up yet.

Most of them show no remorse. They easily pin responsibility on the husband; the parents; society. To my mind, it is refreshing. It is liberating. That they see education as a way out. It tells me that years of spreading the message has worked. It is reassuring that they couldn't care about societal boycott while speakign out against these families. It tells you that there is hope. And whether you choose to be cynical or not; whether you choose to have hope or not, they hang onto it. Dearly.

Three cheers to these child-women. May their tribe increase!

Booked!

2005-07-14T19:28:00.000+05:30

I think it's a little ego thing with me. I'd like to believe am quite a "reader" and all. Perhaps, because, as a little girl, it was considered cool and intelligent to be able to tell exactly what ensued after George, Julian, Dick and Anne had had their fill of baked potatoes and ginger ale at the island's spooky fort.

But now that this lovely ju friend has gone ahead and tagged me, I'm wondering. Whatever have I been doing these twenty literate years. I really can't quite come up with a cool list of famous books. But I'm going to try.

Total books i own

Well, my "to retire in a few years" paranoid Dad firmly believed, houses would hence get smaller and so would have no room for a book collection. But of course, the collections of Enid Blyton's Sleepytime and Leisure time tales, the famous books on the Indian freedom stuggle, the Russian fairytales, Papa's two decade RD collection, prizes won at school, and the 'platform picker's' collection add up to a modest 120-150 books.

Last books i bought

I had promised myself that on my internship (which just got over), I'd pick up atleast half a dozen books. And I am so glad I did! One of most memorable evenings was on the Jayanagar 4th Block footpath, all by myself. It was a beautiful day - slight drizzle and starry sky. I walked as slowly as can be, stopping at every wayside store, eating panipuri to my heart's content, emptying the corner ATM, and flipping pages by the book cart. The end result? A good bargain on The Class by Erich Segal, and the much hyped "The Monk who sold his Ferrari". Devouring of pizza and the monk's Himalayan journey followed. In my last week in Bangalore, I bought Doctors, by Erich Segal, and I was gifted Malcolm Gladwell's 'Blink'. The latter looks extremely promising. Fingers crossed.

Last books i read

I just finished with Doctors. It's not greatly written. But Laura Castellano is one hell of a woman. I am a huge weekly political magazine freak. I have to read every word of what the Week and the Outlook have to say on every single burning issue. I thought Vinodh Mehta's take on the whole Pataudi episode was very interesting.

Oh, I also read Dilip D'souza's essay on Kashmir recently. I'm terible at recollecting names. This one read River something. But that doesnt in anyway take away from the piece's ability to leave an indelible impression on your mind. Beautifully poignant.

Currently reading

Blink for one. The concept is super. And my observational antennae are in hyperactive mode, tying to detect the slightest trace of such behavior. Also, 'Young managers at the crossroads', which is meant to be introspective, and make you look for deeper meaning, signals and connections in life. I've entirely missed them till now. I live in hope.I am just about to begin on An Equal Music. I've heard so much about it for so long now, I feel terribly ashamed to have not
done the deed so far. Today shall be different.

Books that have had an impact on me

No one escape this one. It's almost impossible for any piece of writing to not leave an impression, good or bad.

Anyways, the absolute special is Pride and Prejudice. It's easily Jane Austen's most glorious piece of work. Emma and Sense and Sensibility don't come anywhere close. Elizabeth Bennett is the epitome of feminine grace, sharp wit and delightful candour, for that time and age. And I simply cannot write about William Darcy without gushing, smiling and giggling to myself. He's been my hero for an age now.

One of the most hardhitting books I ever read has to be Not without my daughter, by Betty Mahmoody. I picked it off a library rack, from amidst the choicest best sellers, simply because the title hit a chord. It's a most sensitive and gutsy account of an American woman, who finds herself plucked out of an almost unbelieveable liberal world and is forced into a regressive, medieval existence in Iraq. And how she goes onto shield her young four year old impressionable daughter from all the rhetoric and manages to escape it all. The book stays with you, long after you're done reading, and each time you think about it, yet another human emotion tugs at you and compels you to dwell on the feeling.

To kill a mocking bird is a usual suspect on such a list I guess. Should I say the innocent tone, sheer candor and charming narrative make it an all time favorite?

There's this compilation of essays by Geeta Mehta on India that is a most different read, even within the genre. I guess, you don't find it cliched as most such books end up being, simply because it doesnt pass judgment, and is not written while perched on a higher post!

City of Joy is one book I hold really close to heart. It was my first brush with the realities of my country, and well, it's a most beautifully sad account.

Several others come to mind. I guess it's bound to happen when you've not done this in 23 years. But I simply have to mention Archer's Kane and Abel, the Undir series in Gokulam, the Amar Chitra Katha series, Saki, Du Maurier's Rebecca, Hop-o-my thumb and other stories, and well, this is just going to go on...

Lessons tht ive learnt from being tagged

Well, this one's done me a lot of good! So, I'm presuming, tagging's a jolly good way to make people happy!

Well, am glad I got down to doing this!!! But I also want to suddenly read all these favorites again, lying on my bed, tucked under a quilt. And the pakodas transmit themselves from side table to mouth, as I giggle, frown, cry and smile to myself.

Sanketh, Ramya and k2(if u still remember the blogging concept!) - time to wax eloquent on the reading!

No, don't let that jaw drop...

2005-07-05T13:02:00.000+05:30

...for these are the 'Khadied', from the land of Godhra...

Federer...

2005-07-05T02:46:00.000+05:30

...will u marry me?

Man! How the hell can someone be so sublime in deed! Not a single lob sent sailing crossed the baseline ever. The best serve in the game seemed most pedestrian. A chance unforced error happened when speechless spectators had almost forgotten the concept.

What would I say if you asked me? Well, Roger!

Comp woes...:(

2005-06-29T11:49:00.000+05:30

Did we ever live in times that meant living in rooms that didn't have 17' screens staring at you all the bloody while, and ununderstandable cables ran allover the floor corner?
The good old super- fast- donkey has let me down for over 10 days now. First they said, the OS didn't want to ever wake up. So, we smartly let all my secrets onto this other donkey, next door, and got ourselves a new (fake) one installed. This, after many promises to oneself not to store every single damn thing on the silly C.
Then, when the good ol' service engineer had gone just beyond earshot, my screen returned to the faithful "Intel desktop". Fuming at his inefficiency, I sat wringing my hands till the next evening, when he came, pulled a few cables, and pronounced my hard disk uncooperative. Like hullo! How is that possible?
Quite a nonchalant engineer this man is. He couldnt care less. Ask him about how the malfunctioning of the average Mehta machine ALWAYS peaks in the 01.35 secs - 700.34 seconds post the expiry of the warranty, and he just dismisses these queries as "to be redirected to management". And adds the inevitable "I am just a poor engineer" rider. Wonderful.
So, I must now spend a pocket getting meslf a new HD (over zealous friends insist nothing less than a robust and humungous(?) 160GB would do:( ). But only after I've slaved mine on the donkey next door and convinced myself that these things hold up only as long as the Mehta man says they will. In other words, not a nanosecond over a year and 1.35 seconds...

For the Phenomenon-2005

2005-06-19T23:22:00.000+05:30

As I begin to write for the Phenomenon, I am trying to find suitable qualifiers that will justify the act. To begin with, I just graduated from BITS in Chemical Engineering in 2004. Yes, I just about managed to keep the holy CGPA in the comfortable 8+ zone. (Note the use of the diplomatic ‘comfortable’ instead of “good” or “bad”). And, I chose to take up Chemical Engineering over the much sought after Electrical and Electronics Engineering in 2000.

However, the string of attempted justifications ends there. There are the minuses to factor in. For starters, I wasn’t your most regular student to class. May I add here that I attended the ones I enjoyed with great dedication. I left the ‘techie’ in me way behind when eight months back, I chose to take up a course in Business Administration. I certainly wasn’t amongst the brightest in my batch of over 90 students. No, people didn’t flock to me with doubts in mass and energy transfer. So you might as well give up hoping for some technical contribution from this piece of writing.

And yet, I cannot seem to stop the stream of thoughts that flood my mind this very moment.
Let’s begin with the general fire-fighting one invites as soon as one enters first year. Be sure to be told how a B group course over Chemical Engineering was a saner decision. If by any perverse set of circumstances, you have chosen A1 over some princelier engineering course, you’re in for an earful.
By the time you’re in second year, there’ll be counseling sessions on exactly which million of the zillion courses in software you must choose in order to do well. The Chemical Engineers’ fraternity hasn’t really bothered to make its presence felt so far.
Third year begins on an optimistic note, with many promises to be sincere and devoted to all the courses. Most of your time is eaten up in conjuring perennially confusing results in the several labs.
The disillusionment is setting in. Peer groups contribute adequately and growing options in software pitch in. However, I firmly believe it’s finally got to do with the abysmal energy levels.
What is it about A1 that is so listless and negative on the energy scale? I have always pondered the question - in solitude, and over cups of chai with fellow discipline mates at sky.
Is it the old faculty block that is not abuzz with activity? Is it about the lack of Chemical majors coming down to recruit and offering fat salaries? Is it about low knowledge of illustrious Chemical Engineering Alumni? Is it about the low faculty-student interaction? Is it about sarcastic remarks made in classrooms that are a consequence of foregone conclusions about the quality of students? Is it the general lethargy? Is it about not doing enough that is cutting edge?
To my mind, it is a culmination of several of the above points raised. And to top it all, there is this general lack of respect inculcated in the new students. Some of this may be attributed to the absolute lack of any initiative from the senior students of the discipline. If people want to go the software way at the end of two years, let us a least ensure their decision is a well informed one. That they know exactly what they are giving up in terms of learning experiences and careers.
On the other hand, zero initiative, no innovation and low effort on our part are a certain threat. It’s easy to lose track of Research and Development in a place like Pilani. We don’t need to help the cause by not talking about it ever.
It’s heartening when the few batch mates who decided to stay by reactors and distillation columns a while longer, write in about the popularity the discipline enjoys in the USA. It’s wonderful to hear about fellow students working on the latest in nanotechnology, modeling and simulation, etc. When I reflect on my undergraduate education, I often wonder if a little more exposure to what one could do with all those CDCs would have grown the Chemical Engineering loyalists tribe.

Enraged!

2005-06-14T11:40:00.000+05:30

Yet another example that proves that the law and its practice are worlds apart.

First a well educated, high profile, wealthy Nawab of the yesteryears indulges in wanton killing. Then he disappears, even skipping the partying extravaganzas, mindless buck barbeques, and pretentious polo matches that I'm sure form his daily routine. Exactly from where Mr. Pataudi derives the strength to ask for more time to show up is beyond me. And then to buck up the masala stir, we're told the animals have been burnt(barbequed??) and buried.
Please Mr bureaucrat! you're not to disturb our Nawab, who's kept busy 'burying' many other things that are to keep his innocence intact, in the future.

Kya karen, Nawab na rahe, par nawabi nahin chooti.

Sunshine...

2005-06-06T12:05:00.000+05:30

What is it about days that are just happy to wake up to?

Nothing particularly special's happened. Still, the cold shower's particularly cheerful and gurgling. The perfumed soap smells as heavenly as the advertising claims it can. Apple juice at breakfast is tangier. And the bread couldn't've been toasted better.

The roads are busier, yet not irritatingly crowded. I actually enjoyed the extended traffic jam this morning as i dreamed away and smiled to myself, completely oblivious of the auto man's uninterrupted banter!The trees seem greener, and so much happier. The purple leaves are purpler.

You walk into office, and everyone's smiling that much more. "Monday morning, no way!!!", you say! Well, may be it's just a happy world.

I love the warmth from with in that such days bring. It's raining sun. And pouring sunshine.

Contrasts...

2005-05-20T15:22:00.000+05:30

Contrasts. They're a great lesson, me thinks. In any form or fashion.
And they mostly always hit home.

Mumbai's a lovely city. You fall in love with it slowly. Gradually. To me, it symbolises largeness - Geographies, golgappas, the vadas in the golden brown pavs, the local taxi wallah's integrity, the platform stranger's willingness to help. There's a generosity lacing all of it that is indescribable. Many would say I have just been lucky. May be. But I am just as happy.

Anyways, a small part of Mumbai is called Vadala. It's an area close to Dadar, perhaps a more familiar location in Mumbai. My first business trip as an intern took me to Vadala last Friday morning. The address for accommodation read "Flat 5, Centrum towers, Barkat Ali road, Vadala". I'm only beginning to know Mumbai. But of course, the taxi wallahs are always made to believe I am terribly familiar with the city. Many warnings about the notoriety of the average Mumbaikar have made me wordly wise in bouts, when I am in Mumbai. So, this Fri morning, I feigned complete knowledge of the Vadalas of the world to the polite taxi man and we were off, with no haggling(surprise surprise!!!).

After many winding, but clean roads, we were in Vadala, racing down a straight road. The sides of the road were lined with the filthiest slums that fit seamlessly into the general window picture. These are quite inconspicuous after a few glimpses at regular intervals. I carried on my frantic shop signage reading to locate Barkat Ali road, and soon we were on a flyover. Just when the hapless driver and haplesser me had given up, we saw the only talllll building in the vicinity. And phew! It read Centrum. With renewed confidence,I guided our not-so-impressed-yet-politest driver to the building. (Sometimes,I wonder if I shall fall in love with the Mumbai taxi man, have one of those fairytale Bollywood romances and be happily married ever after. Such is the affection that their general demeanour, behavior and conversation bring out in me. But we are going astray now!)

Comfortably settled in in my wonderfully cosy room, having soaked in the comfort and privacy, i stretched out to draw the curtains. My eyes were treated to sheets and sheets of grimy, greasy, dust caked asbestos sheets. They stretch on endlessly, greedily eating up landscape all around the high rise. It's almost as if this defiant piece of concrete forced its way through the old grimy asbestos layer, to make a statement. About what, I wonder. The disparity cannot be ignored. I sat lazily in my room, ordering green sandwiches at Rs 25 a plate, completely oblivious of my
surroundings. That night, I returned from Colaba, having downed a kahlua that cost me 200 bucks and in another friendly-and-polite taxi driver's service cab. It's not like I had to have that kahlua, I thought as I zoomed down fish smelling, shining, well kept roads, lined with endless rows of slums.

Slums grace every Indian city. They tell the tale of the glorious town of yesteryears that took the wrong road somewhere down the line. lapierre's 'City of joy' paints the truest picture about kolkata's slums.some of us have done the train route from Delhi to Pilani. One has to see the settlements by Narnaol and Rewari to believe them. half built constructions with a first storey that can be reached by climbing a rickety ladder. and then there are the extremely dirty slums of a generally dirty Chennai.

But Mumbai is different. the contrast is striking. The genereal squalor is incredible. On my way back, I passed by this settlement by the city nallah. There was a grimy sweet shop at the beginning of the gali. Balconies that looked like they'd dettach themselves at any moment from
the oldest of buildings had people looking onto the general scene below. Even as one was choking with the general degradation, sky rises would pop up from nowhere. A casual query to my yet-another-friendly-cabbie on real estate there threw back alarming figures. 'ye mumbai hai madam' soon followed, as if in response to my large round, popping-out-of-their-sockets eyes.
Would you call living in comfort amidst such obvious poverty insensitive? At some level, it is almost vulgar. No, i don't mean to make a case for anything. To each his own. If one's worked hard to do well for oneself, why not splurge in style? If one's had the advantage of superior birth or a good education, it's only so that one may reap its benefits adequately right?

It's just that the growing disparities are disturbing. Sample this. Ten years ago, the CEO of an MNC in India earned about Rs 5000 per month.. And the lowest rung attendant an approximate Rs 800. Decent enough for both to afford the kind of lifestyle each would aspire for. Today the CEO earns approximately 10-12 lakhs per month, while the attendant earns about Rs.4000. the divide only increases when you add the perquisites up for grabs, etc. Take a look around you. And you'll notice there are many more things today that are beyond the reach of many more Indians. The galis with matchbox sized stores selling the most colorful clothes aren't visited as often anymore. The malls have taken over. The cinema hall down the street is not doing great business. The mall has taken over. Mind you, the halls in a mall don't house half as many people. They charge thrice as much though. The divide deepens.

There are things such as entrepreneurship to be gung ho about. Many more youngsters are seeking good business models as an alternative to the 9-6 job. Opportunities are immense. But they come with several riders. Just a few more ways to create niches.

What scares me is that a lot of us choose to ignore what we see. That some of us do not even see this is a greater concern. But the contrasts only get starker. And it doesnt help to know that Asia's largest slum is a stone's throw from Vadala.

Violins..Choudiah...Bangalore!

2005-05-10T13:55:00.000+05:30

We went to this play yesterday. It was called "What's love got to do with it anyway?". 'Twas being staged at the Choudiah hall, and one of Kav's friends was acting in it. A musical, it claimed to be. And Kav, Ranji and I in excited states took off to indulge.
Expectations increased when the brochure proclaimed Priscilla Corner was in it. To the uninitiated, she is one of Bangalore's best known thespians.
To me, Choudiah brought back fond memories. As a little girl, I used to accompany Appa every year to Sankey tank to immerse Ganesha after the festival. I was quite happy to play in the tank's waters, and to little me, the tank itself seemed like a reasonable substitute for Madras' beaches which were visited only in the summers. The best part was walking alongside Dada to the lake. A good 4 kilometers away it was, and it would take all of me and my reserves of energy to keep pace with Pa and walk the distance. We've always bought two Ganesh idols for the festival. One for the general household, and a special chotu for Bhartu. But this only began after we moved to hyderabad. I dont remember why. Visits to Choudiah's neighborhood involved bidding farewell to the household Ganesha only.
Our visits to Sankey tank always involved stopping by the then 'under construction' Chowdiah hall. The violin replica architecture was the talk of the town. Everyone marvelled at the brilliance of the construction, and was extremely proud of it. Tamil mothers dreamed their daughters' Arangetrums at Chowdiah. That was indeed the pinnacle of achievement. Others wanted to be among the famous few who attended the stalwarts' concerts at the memorial hall.
Back to 'play', we are. To put it simply, it was quite bad. A weak storyline, no plot on offer, nothing to talk about, leave alone think about. But Priscilla Corner sings like a dream. Very beautiful. A tribute to Tina Turner, the play had "Simply the best" and "Golden Eye", apart from "private Dancer" which kav and I quite liked at Opus the other day.
Mainland China beckoned after the play. However, minor miracles such as restarting kav's 'confused battery and very nearly dead' car had to be worked before we could head for Church street. And of course, through dinner, one had to suffer at the hands of two die hard non-vegetarians. And all because, I conned Ranji and kav into splitting some vegetarian soup with me!
anyways, am off to work after this random rumbling. Sigh..the eighties and bangalore...

Hazy..but getting better...

2005-04-07T00:19:00.000+05:30

The World Bank classifies the living poor into three categories - the extremely, moderately and relatively poor. Those who inherit the first category are familied who manage less than a dollar a day and so cannot meet even basic hygiene requirements. The moderately poor make on an average between 1 and 2 dollars aday and this is apparently barely adequate to meet minimum hygiene standards. 'Barely' perhaps says it all. How the hell can an entire family do anything with an optimistic Rs 100 a day, given these are typically large families and perennially
under-nourished.

Mr Jeffrey Sachs must be an optimistic man. Or in the least, eternally hopeful. He states a most cliched plan to overcome the meanest poverty. Having thrown many graphs that gruesomely describe the helpless situation in Sub Saharan and the rest of Africa, South and East Asia, he proposes the following among many others:

Boost Agriculture

Improve basic health

Invest in education

Provide clean health and sanitation

The rhetoric continues with the special American ones thrown in - "Commit to the task", "Adopt a plan of action", and even a dramatic "Raise the voice of the poor". Just when you are about to give up and throw your hands in the air in absolute disbelief, anger and heave a huge sigh to show general concern, he ends with "make a personal commitment".

I have thought about this for what seems like an age now. I know for sure I want to do something that is alleviating for someone at some point in time. Ouch! Hail thee ambiguity! But seriously, I just cannot better that.

Over the years, as you grow up, it's increasingly obvious that it is more and more difficult to do anything at all. Through college, we're all aware and occasionally even a part of something that is philanthropic. Perhaps collecting donations for the odd earthquake/tsunami. Devoting time on a
Saturday to spending time with kids from the orphanage in the neighborhood. I don't know. It could be just about anything. I am sure people have found a million ways to satiate a grumbling conscience.

As children, I think it is more important to inculcate that ability to look beyond you. To nurture the capacity to empathise. To be simply aware that not everyone in the world is as priveleged. To be able to see that you can make a difference in the simplest of ways. I am reasonably sure that these feelings and thoughts are expected to evolve as you do, into something more concrete. In fact, I would go a step further and say they simpy have to. However, each time I stop to think what I'd like to do to make any contribution more meaningful, I end up drawing a blank. This is not to belittle the continuing endeavors to earthquake relief funds, etc. I am just trying to figure out how you take it to the next level.

I also firmly believe that I must put my education to some use in the process. Fortunately, my current tryst with Business School is providing me with ample learning experiences that are sure to be of use. In his article in the March issue of the TIME, Sachs argues that developed countries need to shun the doublefacedness and do some hhard thinking on their efforts to help the lesser developed world. Most of the richer world doesnt part with even 0.5% of the national GDP for the cause. The US has for long promised 0.7% and has for long not crossed the halfway mark to 0.5%. Since 9/11, America sets aside $ 500 billion a year to invest in defence. The matching amount for development of the underpriveleged is an embarassing $ 16 billion.

You want to stop for a moment here and wonder as to why America must forcibly be generous with its money. Exactly why must America feel generously towards the poorest cousins of the world? Especially when the single biggest impediment to all developmental activity in recent years is professed to be the unmindful corruption in these nations.

Well, you have to factor in a thousand other things. History's had a significant role to play, for starters. Did you know that most of Europe, except for the Nobles and Royals was as poor as Asia and Africa till the Industrial Revolution? The political ramifications cannot be ignored either. The established organisations of the UN, namely the World Bank and the IMF are arguably the biggest sham. Nothing else can be quite so blatantly biased. Some reading on the GATT, the MFA and a dozen other similar prejudiced banter should convince you.

Yes, America certainly is morally obliged to help the needy. But that is only half the story. While we need the developed world to be largehearted, we also hope desperately for them to see the more useful sides to the issue. Sustainable development across the world can only help every living being. At a certain time in history, the Imperialists began to suffer because there was no one to buy the superior goods they produced. Zero purchasing power for your customer can't be a means to riches for you!

If only we'd bother to stop and study the problem in detail, we'd see the problems are more structural than anything else. For instance, micro financing at the grassroots level in some parts of South India has worked wonderfully in bringing thousands of families out of the poverty loop. All it takes is a paltry investment of a few thousands from an enthusiastic Venture Captalist. You form a sort of mutual fund and then disperse small amounts for temporary periods of time. Amounts as low as a one time low interest loan of Rs. 2000-3000 have done the trick. In the two months that the poor family manages to avoid the money lender's interest, they have made enough money from the small business set up to get out of the loan-interest-loan cycle. And what do you know? The VC has a stake in the business. Now, before you disperse that as insignificant, you want to stop and factor in the potential in the same over a ten year period. It may/may not prove to be a huge benefit. But I bet you're going to recover at least Rs 5000 from the exercise, which in itself is a 167% return, discounting for time.

What does this do? Well, to my mind, it starts off repair at a more realistic level. Because it doesnt make grandiose plans of a nation-nation connection, it manages to hope for sustained survival. With a little effort, coordination and commmitment, it promises regular, healthy returns and a permananet solution to a family's woes.

I strongly believe it is the state's job to invest in infrastructure. It is the government's duty to build roads, provide water supply, build healthcare centres, and schools. Simply because there are gains from a natural monopoly here that are quite untappable in any other way. While uproars, litigations, strikes and continued pressure don't seem like such a bad idea towards seeing the governement act, it is foolish to want to play the government's role by trying to provide the multi-natured facilities that are demanded by a society. Instead a little personal
commitment, intelligence and persevearance can prove more helpful. Microfinancing, and particularly this facet is just one example. There are a million others. Each, if worked on can prove to be quite fruitful, liberating, and most importantly sustainable.

The thoughts are all very hazy. Some of this is already happening in parts of India as I said. This entry hasn't really researched in depth any of these initiatives. The TIME article just got me thinking. And I really think it's about time I did. To be honest, I've had enough with being inconsequential. That is not to say the next moment is going to be my productive best. But the haze had better clear. And clear fast.

Go gal!

2005-04-05T01:15:00.000+05:30

A March issue of the India Today is centred around a tribute to the Indian woman. I chanced upon it at the railway station while making the journey home and jumped at the issue. Oh, how I loved it.
Nope, i really truly am not a feminist. I am no woman's liber. And i feel neither shame nor pride in stating the above. Yes, i feel extremely special about being a woman. I believe that there is something unique to being a woman, and there is this whole inner strength, pride and beauty that i derive from being one. But I realise I am currently struggling to pour my feelings into the right words. I see that I am reduced to cliches in trying to convey the same. So I just won't bother.
Coming back to the issue. It really talked about several women who have achieved extraordinarily in their respective fields. There was India's richest X chromo - Kiran Mazumdar Shaw. There were the sisters - Brinda Karat, the famous Mahila Andholan head, and the graceful Radhika Roy. Some were inheritors of growing legacies, such as Priya Paul, Preetha Reddy and Anuradha Desai. Some gloriously talented, such as the one and only Shubha Mudgal and aptly named "Sania Mirza of squash", Joshna Chinappa.
Each one had an inspiring essay that described life. One may be tempted to discount the inhheritors their head start. That's thoroughly unfair. They may have started off with the golden spoon. But they've kept the fires burning. And they're only burning brighter with every passing year. There were some who in my opinion didn't deserve the pedestal. Sample? Vasundhara Raje. She's really nowhere in the same league. She hasn't done well enough with all the world's golden spoons at her disposal.
A lot of the women on the list were news to me. That is truly sad considering they are such high achievers and have been quite exceptional in their domains. A left-hander friend once dismissed my examples of similarly gifted celebrities as just glaring exceptions that were easily noticed because of the oh-so-conspicuous difference. At this point, I wondered if these women are also being noticed simply because they happen to be an obvious aberration. Of course the analogy is not exactly pertinent, but I hope you get the drift.
But then, you stop and look at how they've grown from one achievement to another. How they've continued to excel and do better than any individual is expected to in the same circumstances. And you realise that the "womanness" is but another factor in the extraordinariness. This is at the same time heartening and a significant change.
I find that increasingly people marvel an individual's achievement more for what it is than for the fact that the concerned person is a woman. And this to my mind, is truly liberating. To be able to see an achievement for what it is and commend the person behind it is beautiful.
Every year, the odd magazine endeavors to highlight the achievements of many a woman on a particular day. It's quite a ritual now, as I see it. However, while articles previously glorified the trials, tribulations and eventual triumphs of the average hugely distressed woman, they now seek to highlight the rise of the individual. They seem to want to recognise more what a particular individual has been able to achieve, given a certain framework. The fact that the individual under scrutiny is a woman is just another fact that goes into building the framework's foundation.
Now, i must quickly add that this cannot be a generalisation. There are still many sectors and areas in India where women continue to be deprived of equal rights and says. One cannot entirely discount in every situation the disadvantages that are to be or have been overcome by women on their way to a hoard of achievements. However, today there are certainly areas that enjoy the status of having risen above the differences, simply by eradicating them. Achievements in the corporate world are seen less as those of a woman's and more of as an individual's. Quite oviously, this is going to take a long time to trickle down. The differences between your avearge rural illiterate lass and corporate executive are immense, and only growing. However, when u remember that society is as unforgiving, crooked and messed up almost everywhere, u can see that the beginning has been made. And made well.

Mumbai - September 2004

2005-04-04T13:24:00.001+05:30

There are a thousand and thirty seven things i want to write about at this very moment. And I am hoping to manage to write about at least a half of them. And exactly why must I be in this highly writing-phillic state? Well, I jst got over a tiresome, challenging, crazy first year at business school...and my head's currently filled with a zillion good and bad things. And mind you, none of these come without an opinion. If you know me at all, u'd know I have an opinion on just about everything.

Anyways, let's begin with something that is more a consequence of Business school-the train ride back home. It's the most wonderful thing that can happen to u. Especially given you end up taking the journey alone 'cos most people are flying back. I take the overnight to mumbai, break journey for about 4 hours there and then board the afternoon express to hyderabad.
It takes me a total 36 hours to get here as a result. But i tell you, i'd give my right arm for those four hours of solitude in mumbai.

The first time i made this trip was in september 2004. the ahmedabad train leaves you at Mumbai Central(the movie by the same name incidentally is quite canned thanks to some characters making it). Well, then you take a cab from Central to VT(oops, was that CST) which Tadka(Sushanth, my long lost friend from school times who I found quite happily in the same class as mine at IIMA) and I took. Then you deposit ur luggage at the cloak room, and freshen up, and lo! it's only 9 and u hav a good 3 hours to faff around in mumbai!

Having done the above routine, i convinced tadka about the need to do some exploring in the 180 minutes on hand. So we found soon that the Gateway of India was just a ten minute walk from VT station. And off we were!

Mumbai is a most beautiful sight in the monsoons. The stone roads are a beautiful dark shade from all the wetness. The freshly-washed-from-the- rains shop signposts gleam and announce names that have been in existence since the 1700s. The VT area really takes you back in time. I remember feeling 223 years old when I saw the "West End Shipping and Co., Estd. 1757" board above a rather dilapidated but stately building.Through many winding roads we went, with T calling any building that met the requisite 7 storey norm the Taj by the seaside, in vain hope that we had finally arrived at the Gateway of India.

The Taj by the way is the easiest landmark used to find the Gateway of India. Funny how something that came up many years later and for lesser historically significant reasons wins the race to recognition. In the process, the mighty(and rather modern!) Reserve Bank of India HQ, an insurance house, etc etc were with in regular intervals conferred the Taj title by an impatient T.

When we turned the final corner however, i was, to put it simply, bowled over. I doubt if i could explain it. The bus stops that line the street to the Gateway are full of Parsi women in colorful floral frocks and skirts, with bright scarves on the head. Some of them are easily over ninety. Then there are the confectioneries, selling breads in variuous shapes and sizes, with cups of Irani chai. The odd clock mender, cobbler and the
numerous curio shops are literally huddled against one another.

It's too early in the morning for the hoarse throated shouting to have drowned all other more pleasant decibel contributing endeavors. The gateway in itself is not the most magnificent of monumental structures. But with the sea in the background, it's transformed into this unreal beauty. The launches with their launch owners haggling away for the (n+1)th customer for marginal gains only add to the general buzz and excitement. The school kids, in twos, and in perfect lines chattering away in obvious excitement about the impending ride to the Elephanta caves take you back to school days when "best friend" status was most sought after, so as to find a "two" companion on picnic day.

There are the wise, old men who continue to feed the pigeons every morning at the kabutara. It's quite a pretty picture. And to be honest, it was the first time i thought pigeons in such large

numbers could make a pretty picture too.

For a moment thoughts of the infamous bomb blasts that struck here a few months back, as also the neighboring jewellers' bazaar, coming flooding back. And the lone taxi parked a few yards away seems sinister. You wonder if it could actually be possible for the general din to be disturbed by such horrors.

After a first dekko, we just sit around and soak it all in. You just don't want to speak and disturb the tranquility in all the noise and confusion. It's such a microcosm of the Indian scene. And you so want to be a part of it.

Oh, the Taj is right across the road. The much talked about magnificence of the structure creates an impression. But only just. I guess the view from the rooms onto the sea is what really makes it all so beautiful.

Of birthdays and telephone numbers...

2005-03-21T23:50:00.000+05:30

This has been bothering me for a while now. But in the past few days, I've been most embarassed by its overly conspicuous absence.
I can't quite lay claim to the proverbial memory of the elephant (so what if i look like one:P) nor can I entirely dismiss the smallest inheritance from the pachyderm's world. But seriously, there was a time when I used to remember things. And remember them well.
For example, I never forget birthdays. Ever. And I never make a note of them in my diary either. Simply because I don't keep one.
I always memorise phone numbers. I'm too lazy to maintain the above mentioned diary, yet again. So I find it amazingly useless to want to write numbers down on scraps of paper. I know they're never going to be permanently recorded.
I don't write down messages received for others on the phone. I am not used to post-its at all. I find them incredibly irritating and unwanted.

But all this was till I got myself a computer. And then closely followed it up with a cell phone purchase. Soon, numbers were recorded on the cell. I get the feeling I used it more for that than anything else. Fine, this is not one of those junctures to deviate and talk about the absence of a social life. At 22, I guess you are expected to hang on (by the ear, mind you!) to the cell phone while in every form of movement or otherwise. Getting back to not losing those blasted numbers, well, yeah, so I soon forgot even my own number. Now I keep a record of it on the phone, just in case I need to give it to someone.

Since I've been in a new University for the past eight months now, I've made a lot of new friends. This adds up to many new birthdays to rememeber. Frustratingly, I don't seem to remember any; not even of those who fall in the "good, close" category. Blame it on the damn "superfast donkeey" (Source: marketing Prof) that offers irritating solutions to anything. My desktop is adorned with calendars that can blink, scream, repeatedly remind, and sometimes I think, wish the person for me on the appropriate day at the appropriate time. To top it, I invest in e-post-its now to take down 'gentle' reminders for birthdays and phone numbers and phone card numbers.
Then there are those irritating mails that flood your inbox asking you to fill in birthday reminder charts and whatever. There are sites that will automatically send in those cards, never mind you've sent the same a million times already.

Bah! Am sick and tired of it all. I wish I could remember stuff like old times. Or I wish I wouldn't be drowned in guilt each time I forgot. Now the guilt's multiplied a doazen times 'cos everything's apparently easy-to-remember.
I'm quite a dumb sorta chap. I have a sinking learnign curve.The one thing I did reasonably well was not forget birthdays and telephone numbers. Now the superfast donkey, with its inseperable-from-the-human-ear brother just makes my life worse.

2005-02-27T13:58:00.000+05:30

ispe...thoughts..and thought processes

That technology does more harm than good seems to be the eternal debate, THIS POSTER IS NOT ABOUT THAT. We believe firmly in technology's capacity to empower and simplify a number of tasks.
It's a shrunken world. Global village is the buzz word. Information was never more accessible. But hey, perhaps THAT is the issue today! Our minds are full of the latest, strangest, most complicated facts. So much so, that there's little space (or time) to absorb and process the very same wealth of information we're so stuffed with.
Having the computer for an extended arm is a little like a fast track to the top of theisolation pyramid. Extreme? Well, ten years back you wouldn't have thoguht it possible to live in absolute ignorance of creatures that inhabited the 10m radius!
Put simply, we could read a million things into this...We've killed the creativity. We're technology's most capable slaves. We're irreparably dependent. We've become inaccessible islands.
Or instead, we could simply put out THINKING CAPS back on.

Well, THINK about it.

weave the magic...

2005-02-21T21:02:00.000+05:30

Let me begin this with what I have conceived exactly 5 seconds back - a "Rushdie". A rushdie is defined as a thought process that attributes magical qualities and extraordinary abilities to a person born on a historically significant day.Well, we all know where that came from.
But why I begin with this strange expression is to convey to you the rather grandiose, unique and 'precariously bordering foolish' skills I wish to claim ownership rights to. And what in the name of heaven would be the basis? Well, the fact that I was 'sensible 18'( after all the Indian constitution lets you vote as well as get married if you are 18!), and not just sensible, but intellectually stimulated(!), eager to learn and incredibly capable 18, when we broke into the new millenium!!!
I think the great coincidence urges further investigation. Actually, skip the poking around. My greatest power stems from my belief that this divine intervention happened! And that it's all part of a greater scheme that isn't quite revealed(or dreamed up yet, as your school of thought suggests!)
We, the twenty somethings of today have lived an exciting childhood and teenage. Yes, turbulent, deteriorating may be, but mostly also hopeful and promising of things to come.In economics, this term, we have been trying to understand the macro perspective. And as I learn about the pre-post liberalisation sea changes, I often wonder if the likes of us are even able to grapple and appreciate the magnitude and scale of what we are witnessing.
Imagine.Today if you were to decide to milk the textile industry of its impending riches, thanks to all the relaxations, you'd probably walk in to the neighborhood bank, and sign a few forms and walk out with enough to fund at least half your capital requirements. Twenty years back, you would've been running around endlessly for a thousand licences, approvals and permissions. And of course, you needed to know the minister's uncles grandson's nephew's sister's husband, if you wanted that elusive scribble on the dotted line.
We're not all going to be merchants and traders and entrepreneurs are we...? Fine, let's scale it down. What about getting yourself a new telephone line. Or picking a cool bike from a plethora of options. Or being able to buy all those YSLs, Yardleys and Maybellines in India and not hanging on to well settled saath samandar paar relatives to do the job for you.
What about the access to world class quality and standards in every gadget you set your eyes on? What about the Baristas, the coffee days and the 'soon in India' Star Bucks? The "may the adipose tissue tribe increase!" McDonalds, Pizza Huts and Dominos?
Have you thought of the sweeping changes in retail banking? The smooth as Audrey Hepburn's cheeks golden quadrilateral heritage? The kirana-to-provision stores transformation, the great shopping malls that now house the Tommy Hilfigers, the Levis, and the Guccis?
Most of us have grown up seeing these changes intrude our happy middle class lives and transform them into something unrecognizable. Just about five years back, I thought Rs. 50/- was a fairly large sum to spend on a movie ticket. I didn't think watching a movie in an ordinary undercushioned and overused theater seat wasn't regular.As I blow up 200/- on a Pizza meal today, I hardly stop to think how different life was a few years back.I can't quite imagine not getting myself a cell phone connection with in a couple of hours of moving into a new city. How can one possible have to keep track of home gas bookings a fortnight in advance in order to not miss the date!Imagine no snake lines at the Teller on a Saturday morning at the bank. Recently, on new year's eve, people gasped in disbelief when the ATM near by has a small 3-4 member queue! Obviously, we've assumed the 'any time money' concept as eternal. Anyways, all you need to get these rather dramatic facts on the humungous changes caused by liberalisation is to have a five minute conversation with a parent. Like any such conversation between two generations, I guarantee a liberal dose of "in our times" and "aaj kal ke bachche tho", in relation to the kind of monies we spend/waste. However, what is noteworthy is the accompanied "you know how difficult it was to buy one extra bajaj chetak!" or "you haven't seen the glorious days of dalda tins"
I really don't believe we come even close to understanding what those days were like. I don't think we even comprehend in part the kind of transformation that has taken India by storm. Perhaps, we will never truly appreciate the glory of free markets and the spirit of liberalisation. Can we ever fairly evaluate the cultural, behavioral and attitudinal changes it has caused? Should we even try to contrast the two eras and try and gauge how much we have gained and moved forward since 1991?
To see the magic would be a sure beginning. Yes, a truly earth shaking, all revolutionising dream was being weaved as the earth turned 2000, since the days of Christ. And I do believe, we, the 18 somethings in that historic moment were the chosen ones to carry forward the revolution. We are meant to seize the spirit; capture the magic.There is something mysterious, certainly powerful, about being on the brink of adulthood just when the world decides to hit 2k. As we equip ourselves with all the BE, MS, MBA ammunition, someone is stirring the potion and weaving the greater design. One day it shall unravel. And I bet we all have important roles to play.
Perhaps, by our actions and deeds, we will define the next such historic moment. Perhaps.

BITS of fun?

2005-02-06T01:39:00.000+05:30

No way!As i begin to write this, i want to flail my arms in familiar fashion, make irritating and angry noises, roll my eyes and convey as much agitation as humanly possible. Cos I cant begin to imagine a day without fun at Pilani. Now, that does not do away with those awful days of the lowest lows and "oh u're so worthless" times. Nor does it try and claim the "it's the way u live ur life that makes it fun or otherwise" philosophical high ground. However, I do hope to convey beyond doubt that there was always something that was fun to me and happy about Pilani. And the best part was, there were times when things were fun simply becos u wouldn't live or do them anywhere else. Ever!Sample? Well, what about baking cakes together as a wing for the 12 o'clock birthday? i continue student life in another school now. The dorm comes with a pantry, a well stocked refrigerator...well, the works. Birthdays are brought in beautifully here too. There is this huge congregation of 70-100 people singing for u, and cheering u on as u cut your 20th/27th/31st/42nd birthday cake. The cakes of course come from this speciality place called "Upper crust". Or was it "cakes and bakes"? Never mind.You thought that was girls' domain? Try and ask some of those guys from Krishna, who tried valiantly to produce one of 'em chocolate wonders on 'her' special day. With or without cake, you've lived (and survived) a fun experience.Oh, before i move on, throw in the trips to the dairy farm for fresh cream, punctuated by the more than necessary stops at chimpu's for mango shake.We're most of us Orkutters I presume. Well, either way, u must check out some of the scraps that the BITSian species leaves at the "sky-heaven on earth" comunity. The best thing about sky was that not everyone became a sky-person. You had to hav undergone sufficient wear and tear changing positions on the sky lawns. You had to hav chosen precisely the most important CDC class of ur student life to devote to the amoeba in order to finish that Terry Pratchett. You had to be possessed at 5 in the evening everyday to walk straight past FD-3 and through those gates, as if in a trance. And finally, you had to be able to say "ek veg moinneee dena rei.." just like only Pappu could. For the uninitiated, that's veg mayonnaise sandwich.So, u'd think, every college has the good ol' canteen with memories peeping through from every corner. Well, to that, i say, not every one of them comes with a sun dial to laze and sun bathe on. Not all of those canteen's dirty blue green pools are used to good naturedly welcome the new department head. Ok, let's stretch it! None of them houses a Dakota!By the way, i haven't even begun on IC yet!I've heard the "conforming" argument often enough at BITS. Of how, by second year u've risen one rung in the evolution chart. The individual is lost and you can only think in groups. Of how, by the end of year two, you are steeped in department tradition, silly club rules, wing defined c'not behavior and well, the general lethargy. I cant claim all of it doesnt exist. But i also think that to grandly label the entire population is a gross generalisation.If that were true, wud u believe me if i said a coupla crazy friends wore pink trousers and purple shirts a few days in a row simply 'cos they wanted to. That some only grew to enjoy solitary walks more and more as time passed by, never mind if the rest of college was watching "har dil jo pyaar karega". That a particular batchmate wore the most paint stained and food stained crumpled t-shirt on a monday morning, matched with 2" shorter than appropriate brown trousers becos the rats in the lab beckoned and everything else ceased to matter. What about the special final semester DW? The locally defined Kapoor chopsuey?To top it al, the concept of zero attendance and the freedom to attend the lecture u liked. Everyone made his own decision. To make this clearer to me, a friend once said, " After all, everyday my friend and i wake up at 10, when the common hour's been kissed good bye. VK's abandoned at 5 to 11. I drop him off at FD-1 for a CDC i hate, and proceed to sky. When he's done with two hours of Ghotting, he comes over for the before lunch dum. And then of course, it's off to c'not for a two hour lunch. He's happy cos he's done his day's quota of classes. And I am 'cos i've done one fifth my day's quota at sky:) " They were part of a larger fun loving group of guys. They did a thousand different things and held a thousand different opinions. U'd find them occupying the hallowed parapets or "walls" in front of the c'not stores in the evenings. Hmm...i think for the greater part, they conformed to not conforming:)True blue BITSianly, i could go on and on and on. And even more true blue BITSianly, i could feel psenti about a million other things. But then, v all hav our little potli of psenti things at BITS. I jst wanted to share a coupla mine that to me make the BITSian experience put simply, fun.You see it all in a different light when u're on a new plane and absorbing a new system. Comparisons and contrasts showcase the uniqueness in full glare. I've just been able to soak in some in the seven months since i graduated. And i continue to believe, when it's time for fun, i'd love a liberal dose of the Pilani one!

blah...

2005-01-28T21:39:00.000+05:30

This is perhaps the first time i begin to make an entry without a clear idea as to what i really want to write about. I only know that i feel like writing. And so i will. Never mind the 2 humongous Harvard cases that await my attention, for tomorrow's classes, apart from a huge 36 problems exercise in statistics. Never mind that I hav a draft proposal to make on exactly how I want to use IT to better a business' chances of making it bigger. Never mind that I dont even know which business i want to provide my unsolicited advise to.

Well, i cud write about the lovely time i had at the recently concluded college fest, chaos 2005. I cud take that further by declaring warily about my gallant debut in the dancing sphere. yes, yours truly was part of the college dance choreography team that actually won. The theme was "celebrations" . Random? u bet! We attempted to depict the celebration of the resilient human spirit in times of crises, through a ballad on the tsunami. Cliched? well, not just in pure defence but also in true earnestness, i beg to differ. May be the write up will help.

When we first brainstormed to come up with ways to depict celebrations, we ended up with a kaleidoscope of occasions.
The ones who ate, drank and breathed sport, wanted us all to give it up for sport. What better way than to celebrate with sports, they argued. And while on sports, how can it be anything other than cricket.
Then there were the others who believed the best way to celebrate was through music and dance. Think of happy occasions, they urged. What would a mazedar shaadi be without all that naach-gaana to Bollywood numbers.
There were others whom most of us would best identify with. You don’t really need an occasion to party, do you?, they proclaimed.
In an earnest effort to accommodate all our whims, we tried to thread it all together. And what shone through all this was the true celebration of the human spirit, in times of adversity. Calamities may be man-made or nature’s fury. They take us by storm, and leave us helpless.
But a true hero is he who shows the spirit to fight them. He may be the regular fisherman by the sea. Or the big star from Bollywood, who chooses to make a little hamlet his home to show his support. Hmmm…isme hai Dum! Or still, many heros may emerge in the form of the world’s cricket teams.
In the next 15 minutes, we hope to take you through the lives of such heros…busy film stars, passionate cricketers, who fight tooth and nail for the cup of glory; and the common man. Each individual’s life is transformed by a recent calamity. And each rises to the hour of need beautifully. That, ladies and gentlemen, in our opinion is the true celebration. The celebration of togetherness. The celebration of the resilient human spirit.
May we add humbly that this is an offering entirely from our very own stables- conceived, choreographed and directed, by the students of IIM Ahmedabad.

Chaos also brought lovely performance frfom Euphoria, Pt. Hari Prasad Chaurasia and Parikrama, aprt fromt he renowned Qawwal Aslam Sabri. Here's a sample from his kitty...

Talash jiski rahi umrabhar vahi na mila,

Bichad ke mujhse mera yaar fir na mila,

Khuda ko itni badi kaynat mein,

Bas ek shaks maanga, magar vahi na mila.

Akla kahe bar bar, unko na aajmaiye,

Dil kahe ek bar aur fareb khaiye.

Jo nazar aar paar ho jaye,

Vohi dil ka karaar ho jaaye,

Aaine mein na dhaaal surat ko,

Yeh na ho khudse pyaar ho jaaye.

Adu has maintained forever that Urdu is the most beautiful language every created. shudn't take too much to get a Hyderabadi to agree with u on this one. So u know whr exactly my loyalties lie. Well, such concerts jst reaffirm my faith!

Suddenly there's so much i want to write about. But this shud do for now. there's too much in the real world to be dealt with!

Hail thee Gujju-ben!

2005-01-26T10:04:00.000+05:30

Here's to cliched beginnings...I've been meaning to write this one for a long long time now. But this article in this week's The Week has done it...finally!
My life's road map reads Bangalore-Hyderabad-Pilani-Ahmedabad...so, you could say i am a fairly small city woman. (I was in Bangalore in the 80's ...)
When I first came to Ahmedabad, my head was filled with visions of authentic dhokla-khandvi treats, and the inevitable Saas-Bahu Gujarati woman image. I'm left in no doubt about the Hyderabadi dhoklas being a far superior species to their Gujarati cousins. But then, let's not deviate to the "food is the best" and "i live to eat" path...cos then i'll just go on forever!
This one's about the Gujarati woman. I write about her for several reasons. She intrigues me for several more. She's swept the soap scene like no one else. And i bet the dhoklas she makes would beat the Hyderabadi ones hollow.
Your average 20 something Gujarati-ben looks not a day older than 17. She is petite, is blessed with a perfectly symmetric face and figure, has lovely eyes, and dainty feet. You can't take your eyes off her at the dandiya ras - graceful as can be, and matching the rhythmic and fast paced music, step for step, with perfect ease. While you carry yourself about, from circle to circle, clumsily huffing, puffing and panting, and blowing all the dusty earth down, she moves swiftly, never tiring.
She wears the coolest clothes on the block, has the latest fashion accessories, knows exactly on which pierced part of her body the ring goes this time of the year...well, the works.
If you thought the 'delicate damsel' was enough to describe the Gujju-ben, think again! 'Cos if you don't watch out, she'll mow you down while atop her Bajaj Chetak, on her way to a thousand chores in the morning. Yessir! She has no time to waste! The children are packed off to school, husband seen off to office, mom and dad-in-laws and a thousand other aunts and uncles attended to for a thousand different reasons, elaborate meals prepared that cater to a zillion different demands, and finally, the entrepreneur is unleashed, to set up shop for the day, be it the travelling beauty parlour, or cooking class or, innovative 'girl-grooming' classes, or knitting, stitching...blah blah blah...it's ben's time in the sun!
By noon time, she's made a little clever quick money, and after a power nap, is ready to transport the kids back from school on the reliable ol' Chetak, and get started on those Dhoklas and Khandvis for a tasty snack. By the time everyone's whim has been satiated and every tiny query in the household addressed, it's time for the soap sagas to begin. Nothing, absolutely nothing will make her move an inch away from the idiot box while woeful tales are spun on TV.
If it's the weekend, you'll find her on a train, dishing out the most elaborate meal to a noisy troop of kids, leaving you awestruck at the kind of precise planning that goes into every outing. If it's not an away destination, she's engaging the family at the city restaurant, always game to experiment, trying out the latest pasta or that strange sounding fetuccini.
By the time she's 40, xyz.ben is a rotund, cheerful, pious sorta lady, and invariably g'mom to a few. She's amiable, gives you the coolest tips on anything under the sun, and is the soul of a host of family activities that involve a double dozen all the time.
I write this piece for a coupla reasons. You might want to think this is really the life of the average Indian woman. What's with the Gujarati angle? Well, to that I say, true, the lifestyle may not change greatly from one region to another. But I haven't quite seen anyone else do all the routine stuff with the cheer, charm and composure of the Gujju ben. And don't you forget the enterprising attitude!

Hail thee, ever smiling, all enduring Gujju-ben!

Simon and Garfunkel

2004-12-16T01:47:00.001+05:30

Two posts in two days! You must be kidding! well, for a change, it's the lack of the writer's block. Or, to be honest, it's this timeless love for Simon and Garfunkel! They've been my favorite group since I dont know when. My introduction to their world was typical: a legacy passed down by young aunt to elder sister, and by an "overly enthusiastic to develop some semblance of a taste for good music in lil' sis" sister to me.

The first number to endear itself was the evergreen Mrs Robinson. The Enid Blyton smitten twelve year old in me found it easy to conjure up pretty, regular, images of a rotund, rosy cheeked Mrs Robinson content in her good smelling world of brownies and cookies, somewhat like Mrs Quentin, from the Famous Five. Ok all ye S&G die-hards. Don't kill me with those looks. I was but an impressionable twelve year old.

Soon, a family friend's visit shifted the focus to Scarborough Fair. As Suresh Anna continued to elaborate on wife Mary Akka's ability to play the song most flawlessly on the piano, I was convinced this was the perfect dream. Imagine this young lass sitting gracefully and playing those haunting notes from Scarborugh Fair on the grand old piano as the young man leaned onto the shining ebony surface. It painted too pretty a picture to not become an immediate favorite.

Over the years, I moved from the rebellious "I am a rock" to the confusing "I'd rather be a ...this and that" to the extremely different "Cecilia"...At eighteen, armed with a single tape of S&G's best, I set off to chase my engineering dreams, to college, and suddenly 'Homeward Bound' seemed that much more relevant. "At the zoo" was a piece I thoroughly enjoyed with a good friend who was equally crazy, if not more, about the group.

On the solitary walks with my walkman, at BITS, "Sound of Silence" was a constant companion. To be honest, I took a long time to even get the lyrics of the song. Yours truly wasnt savvy enough just yet, to look up the net. But there was something about the music. Haunting...drifting...into another time and space...an underlying plea...I don't know for what. But it sure struck a chord.

My current favorite, and it's been one for a long long time now, is Dangling Converstaion. It's as poetic as a song can be. The words are simply awesome, and are impossible to forget, once you have heard the song. Most of it is as if it was always meant to be. And it seems as if it was written, keeping a very specific picture in mind. I'll be damned if you don't find yourself painting the scene as you listen to the song. It's quite exquisite. Paul Simon and Art Garfunkel were truly gifted.

Imagine my delight, when I stumbled across a couple of old Simon and Garfunkel gramaphone records, while shopping for a play's props three years back, in good old Pilani. An equally thrilled friend picked up some unforgettable Survivor and Floyd records, while I grabbed three old, old S&G plates. One even had a letter from Art Garfunkel to Paul Simon. I knew it was just a reproduced print. Yet, as I held that record, a tingling thrill ran through me. And I am sure my friends felt that way too, when I gave them the record for keeps, as a good luck charm, before their play began. It's just something you'd have felt too, that evening, if you were a true blue S&G fan. Love you guys!

And, as I sign off, how can I not leave you with these words...

It’s a still life water color,
Of a now late afternoon,
As the sun shines through the curtained lace
And shadows wash the room.
And we sit and drink our coffee
Couched in our indifference
Like shells upon the shore
You can hear the ocean roar
In the dangling conversation
And the superficial sighs
Are the borders of our lives

And you read your emily dickinson,
And I my robert frost,
And we note our place with bookmarkers
That measure what we’ve lost.
Like a poem poorly written
We are verses out of rhythm
Couplets out of rhyme
In syncopated time
Lost in the dangling conversation
And the superficial sighs,
Are the borders of our lives.
Yes, we speak of things that matter,
With words that must be said,
Can analysis be worthwhile?
Is the theater really dead?
And how the room is softly faded
And I only kiss your shadow,
I cannot feel your hand,
You’re a stranger now unto me
Lost in the dangling conversation.
And the superficial sighs,
In the borders of our lives.
- Dangling Conversation, Simon and Garfunkel

Inspiring!

2004-12-14T21:40:00.000+05:30

A few days back, I attended this talk by Shanta Sinha, Magsaysay awardee, and head of VM Foundation, that works on eradicating child labor. Naturally, most of us were excited about the opportunity to listen to someone of this stature speak.

She began by elucidating the guidelines and functions of VMF. Her definition of child labor struck a chord at once. "Any child that doesnt go to school is a child laborer, in our opinion", she said. To be honest, that seemed a little extreme. Haven't we lived the famous Group Discussions and farcical school debates where we have vociferously prescribed a hard day's work and then 'generously' doled out the "evening" school concept to the 7-14 year olds? Our reasoning? How can the poor starving family support itself, minus one earning hand? How can one expect the little boy to go to school if he is fighting hunger to survive? Well, the harsh truth is we were horribly wrong. And stand corrected. And though it took me while to be convinced, I couldn't be more glad.

She argued that withdrawing youngsters who worked on much lower wages in fact gave a philip to the area's employment prospects. Because now these vacancies were forcibly filled by adults who demanded higher wages, and thus, in the long run, the entire family perhaps benefited.

Another startling observation that really shook us 'drawing room opinion makers' was about the willingness of the poor to educate themselves. Ms. Sinha emphasises that it is our misconception that the poor don't wish to give up on earnings and so dont send their kids to school. She says, in her 14 year experience, not even once has she found parents unwilling to send their kids to school, or even unwilling to fight to keep them there. Most arguments such as the tribal poor, for instance, believe their traditions will be killed, are bogus, she claims. In fact, she humorously adds, that when approached, they even joke about striking a deal where one may take away all their 'preserved traditions' in exchange for some useful education.

The entire talk had a deep underlying earnestness and sincerity to it that was touching. Here was a lady who had gone beyond mere discussion and rhetoric, and put more that 300,000 children back in school. And yet, in as unassuming a manner as possible, she was stating how it was important to accomplish much more. The 'elitist' in me was brutally snubbed. Any false sense of esteem (I wonder now how i ever managed to feel accomplished about anything at all) was quickly cut to size. In short, I felt unbelievably small.

Thoroughly influenced by the insightful talk, a group of us took her up on the offer to meet informally at a professor's home, where she was put up. The little, confused, and most often hopeless ideas that we put across were all received gracefully. She almost embarassed me with the kind of attention she paid to the inconsequential mutterings I offered.

The day was a huge learning, in more ways than one. It told me it was time I took my ideas beyond the silly, aimless debates and discussions. It taught me that the cliched "make a difference" dream was easier dreamt than accomplished. But it also ensured that I continue to dream and hope to make them real.

hmmm...ispe...ethical dilemmas...

2004-12-06T01:39:00.000+05:30

As I begin to write this, a kaleidoscope of events flash through my mind – events that have helped shape strong opinions and caused irreversible change; events that have influenced my behavior greatly and altered my perspective; events that have tormented me and left me in a perpetual quandary; events that have taught me invaluable lessons - each one without exception has left an indelible impression, and that is perhaps what makes them so easy to recollect.

I can’t claim to have done any serious thinking before I was seventeen. One may put that down to a happy childhood or plain ignorance and stupidity or absolute nonchalance, as one may choose to be generous, disgusted or severe, respectively!

As I try to put down coherent thoughts about ethical dilemmas, few questions plague. As a child you are taught not to do some things because it is wrong. Example: It is wrong to speak lies. You follow it quite blindly, if you do at all. Today, I wonder when I stop myself from lying if I do so because it is drilled into me that lying is wrong, or because a fair analysis of a situation tells me that lying will cause such and such undesirable repercussions, and so I must not lie. Also, if it is the former, is it a farce in some way to not lie simply because I still choose to follow a rule blindly.

Another question that I have tried to answer in vain: Who can be more dangerous? Someone who does something wrong, inspite of being fully aware of doing wrong? Or someone who does wrong in blissful ignorance of it being so obviously wrong?
I hope to explain better with an example.
A generally ‘high on morals and ethics’ friend and daughter of a respected IAS officer doesn’t see anything wrong with accepting mobile phones and other expensive items in the form of gifts from subordinate officers on various occasions. That she’s been brought up in an environment and household that promotes this thinking doesn’t to my mind absolve her of blame, simply because it is a most glaring and obvious fault.
Is this as wrong as someone who knows its wrong to accept gifts in this form and still does it? Sometimes, I think it’s worse.

Moving on, the past few months have been a revelation in more ways than one. In short they have been a true test of how much one can really hang onto one’s ethics and principles.
I may sound cynical, but the analysis has been disturbing. More so for me because it has disturbed this basic rule I had laid down to follow for life. It’s simple. You be good and do good and do the right things, and it’s all bound to come back. The moment you try and twist the morals and compromise on values, it’s bound to cost you. As a student, I believe the expenses to bear are possibly missing out on a good grade or a good admission. However, to my disappointment, the ones who compromise continue to do exceedingly well. The ones who cheat and use unethical means continue to make the dream job and the high grades. What all this has done is shaken my faith in my long held theory. And badly so.
But I continue to hope and I don’t know why. I am trying to figure that one out.

From here to nowhere!

2004-11-29T02:38:00.000+05:30

well...it's been an eventful few weeks to say the least. I've had a fair taste of them all - saddening failure, giddy success, calming peace, absolute delight, and most importantly, some very welcome freedom. They couldn't have come at me in more haphazard fashion. First, the knowledge that the I-banks didn't take much notice of a fairly accomplished resume(that mind you, was the opinion of some well-versed-with-the-system individuals). Anyways, when it was long since I had given up any designs of an I-banking summers, one bank decided to bestow it's cursory attention. To be honest, the surprise more than defeated any chances of a good performance. I was finally offered the Indian equivalent in consumer banking.
Day 1 proved kinder, infact overwhelmingly so. 17 interviews in a day! obviously, I missed out on quite a few. But, i did convert a lot of the invitations to interviews to offers. can't say the faith was entirely reaffirmed. But I did feel a lot better. I took up HLL, Sales and Marketing, mainly because I loved the interview panel. Irrational? well, may be. But somehow, it seemed only right to want to work for someone who thought you were damn good and wanted you lots, over someone who seemed to be filling a vacant slot. Make that slot...am not even sure if they had one on offer!

But these are the unimportant details. The process in itself was a huge learning experience. A true test of endurance, one that for some, lasted well over 10 days, with day 2 placements just getting over. It teaches you a lot of things. And announces to you a lot of things about you too. Sample? well, for starters, you may not be as honest as you think you are. Pressure, my friend. People who till a few months back wouldn't ever dream of copying or cheating didn't think it immoral to collaborate for an online test. Soon, we were hearing stories of the odd lie on the resume. Which brings me back to the issue I raised in my precious post. Who counts for greater guilt? The one who does wrong because he couldn't care too much for principles and values. Or the one who doesnt seem to think any of it is wrong and so carries on doing it?

There were other things to feel bad about. Some felt let down by the system. Can physical appearance matter so much? How far can you get by bawling in public? Doesn't having made it to IIMA adequately establish my capacity to think? or must it be butressed by the towering IIT credentials? The favoritism, bias, prejudice...well, if you looked for it, there was lots to feel dejected and depressed about.

But, lets not forget the good side. Newly made friends cemented their places by really being there when it mattered. The good natured felt genuinely happy when guys made it to the big names. People were forthcoming with information, and willing to go that extra mile.

It was a test of nerves. It was a test of continuing to keep the faith going, however pessimistic the scneario. At the end of it all, I remember distinctly that it all boiled down to how well you could sell yourself. Hang on! If you thought that was by being someone sophisticated and suave and different, you're absolutely wrong. It was about being yourself! walking, talking, laughing - just like you would everyday. About being honest about the person you were and what you expected from a two month relationship with them. About figuring out if you'd make a good fit with that organisation.

The week that followed the marked weekend was one of jubilation for some, disappointment for some, a dreadful wait for still others, and an overwhelming relief for the majority. Hopefully, everyone's placed as i write this.

This extended week end has been most unusual. It's been the first time I've lived my own life in IIMA. I took long walks, with friends and by myself on Thursay evening. Had the loveliest of conversations on thursday night. Caught the most awful Bride and Prejudice. Spent Friday and Saturday working and doing my bit for Place com. and topped them off with dinners with Gwain and co on Friday and the exchange group on Saturday.

Sunday's been most delightful, with Pride and Prejudice receiving my undivided attention. Oh! It's the loveliest of stories ever told. And the British Television adaptation, I must admit is quite brilliant. I must hastily add that I did my bit at the Marketing assignment - collating data and regressing it to come up with acceptable models of demand forecast. Oh oh! I simply have to get back to Pride and Prejudice!

I've never thought myself a romantic. But with every bout of Pride and Prejudice, I cant help but fall hopelessly in love with a host of things. Nothing ever quite caught my fancy, as a bunch of fresh white roses. Or getting wet in the sprinklers with a good friend. Or the smell of a thick leather bound classic. Not exactly a list of romantic things you would say! Well, let's quickly redeem that with..."And the charm and pride of a man such as Mr Darcy."

Well. There ain't no Darcys in my little world just as yet. And even if they do appear by some quirk of pure magic, I must confess, I have an inkling the white roses will remain a favorite!

Trust

2004-11-11T18:49:00.000+05:30

I really mean to be more regular. I also seem to always have lots to blog. Then y won't i get down to doing it? Well, i'm not going to try and explain that.
Hmmm...classes these days throw up a lot of ...well, emotion, tension, controversy...call it what you want.
Like the other day, divided into four groups, we played this game where the only way you could win was by cooperating and winning together. We were allowed to talk to each other and negotiate, basically to facilitate trust building, three times in ten rounds. And each time people went back on their word, after mutually agreeing on a particular answer.
This upset quite a few, who felt cheated, angry and let down, at various stages of discussion, post the game. A majority downplayed the entire episode, stating it was only a game, and really, no sweat about a little meanness here and there. Some others were indifferent. It was just one more hour of class on Group Dynamics.
And then there were those who toed the extreme line. The cynics - "This really is the way the world works, isnt it?"; the pessimists - "We weren't ever friends, were we? We wouldn't stop a moment before we stabbed someone in the back."; the distraught - "There's no niceness, I tell you. I feel so bad. Why did I have to be honest?" and finally, "Come on, I really don't think people meant to lie!"...hmmm...let's call them the, ahem! -naive.
Words were exchanged. Occasionally, foul stuff. Tears were shed. Anger vented. And finally, a stoic silence was maintained by some, to express extreme hurt.
It set me thinking. How much do we really trust in people? More importantly, in what they say. How many times would you inadvertently go back on your word? And how many times would you make a conscious decision to? Is there an absolute to what is serious and what is trivial, or can everything be swept under the "it's relative" carpet.
Well, the first thing that struck me was that every answer lay in the circumstance. In how important, (yeah, relatively) the situation and the game was to its various participants. Some people even seemed to agree when they argued that in a real life situation, when it mattered, they wouldn't back stab someone ever. To which the counter argument was, how you reacted in a regular situation is what is magnified in trying times.
Oh, it's just a game. Of course I can choose to cheat a bit. Well, if it's all in jest, count me in! Somehow, those weren't the impressions I formed that day. Somehow, it seemed that the objective was to win, and if that were not possible, to make sure the others surely didn't. Everyone turned a blind eye to the possibility of winning together. Because, to do that you needed to believe the other person was willing to let you win. And how pray would you think so, when you yourseld werent going to do be holy and do that! When you yourself were at the lowest rung, and assumed everyone else obviously hung onto positions in the values pyramid, way below yours.
The latter half of the class was taken up in explaining how it was important to trust and be trusted in. Various ways to build the same were highlighted.
I don't know if it's that easy. Because, in all this we've left out a category of people. The ones that think you don't need to trust. The one's who think backstabbing is a necessity.
now, that really is the greater evil.
Think about it.

in the name of sport!

2004-10-15T00:19:00.000+05:30

hmm....i've been careful and not put in a pic on my blog space....but those of u who know me wudnt think twice before emphatically stating i cudnt've shared a square foot with a racquet-be it any shape or size....but hey!! hang on....i've had a fairly 'sporty' life!

I simply loved throw ball and volley ball at school. And my Dad's enthusiasm managed to induce some TTness in me too. I've been smitten by tennis (players) :), and I am the true BLUE Indian cricket fan....BITS with its deftly put together BOSM demanded a choice of sport over music that i simply refused to oblige. And so for four years, the sporting giant in me was sound asleep. Only till I came to B-School though...

Wow! Did I ever think that the two things I'd do consistently here would be to crib about the crazy system and manage to play for a bit each day? No sir. No way!!
And yet, here I am, making my foray into the world of tennis, and bathing in this new found delight just about all the time. Recapturing the throw ball magic, as part of a new team. And chopping 'em ping pong balls in glee! why, i think i went a step further when I relived my long forgotten kho kho days....for the uninitiated, that's a desi game with lots of running and well, kho..ing.....

And through it all, the one thing that's stayed with me is the fresh, happy feeling that comes from sweating it out for a while in the open. Oh!! only sports can do that to you....Give u a high, as high as can be.

Chacha Choudhary!!!

2004-10-13T23:22:00.000+05:30

hey....when was the last time you believed you could hang onto one of 'em diwali rockets and zoom onto the moon's surface for a neat holiday?! well, for me it was the last time I read Chacha Choudhary!! Oh what joy!!! Those moments spent with the red turbaned uncle and the larger than, well, most creatures-Sabu!!!! And the Indian flavor to the humor. The fat chachi, the helpful chacha and the loyal Sabu. And strip after strip, they would perform miracles and always manage to outwit the "bad" men. And boy! would your chest swell with pride or what!

Well, since I've started off reminiscing the Chachas of yesteryears, I simply cant hold back memories of Pinky...and... was it Billu?? They had a fair share of their brand of entertainment on offer. And what was truly a riot was catching these in Hindi....

Oh, if there's CC, Pinky and Billu, you simply cant leave out the ad they ran on TV for all of them....Diamond Comics ...ring a bell?!!! Boy, seems like an era has gone by since. What jogged the memory was a few strips posted on my college e-board....oh yes, chacha choudhary has caught up with it all right!!!

for starters

2004-10-10T11:16:00.000+05:30

They said there couldn't be a better friend than a blog written straight from the heart. Especially when u r in a new place and unsure about almost everything. So I said "well, I can't fit the description of the blogger better. So, why not?"
That was decision 1.

My friend's got a blogspot on this very website. It seems to be doing well. At least I, in all my loyalty, read every one of his blogs. So, when I wanted one created, I said "well, blogspot.com! thou shall bear my woes from now on"....and so, here I am, pouring out my thoughts on this very page:)
That was decision 2.

This morning I woke up, determined to write my first blog. My page says I had apparently created two blogs and not written anything in them. So, I decided to redeem the same. And this is the outcome of that.
That was decision 3.

Wow!! Does B-School do this to you? I want to keep listing the silly decisions I make. Surely I could do better!!! So, let's just say this would do for a first blog....and that the blogs of the future would involve several decisions made....but none that are numbered:)