Captain Nemo

Excess Baggage!

2012-01-17T00:08:00.000+05:30

5^th January 2012, Thursday -

A pre-flight check was done on the bike, a Red Thunderbird Twinspark, at the HSR Service, a Royal Enfield's exclusive service centre The big rucksack was packed after checking each item off the mental check-list. I was ready to rock n' roll.

6^th January 2012, Friday -

I've always believed that travelling light is the only way to fly. As I hefted (and I am using hefted, consciously) the rucksack, I felt it was unusually heavy by my standards. I could feel my shoulders sag and get pulled back. I had planned at least a thousand five hundred kilometres and out of that about 600 kilometres of ghat sections. I wondered if I could ride through those winding roads with sharp curves and gradients with such a heavy bag restricting the movements of my shoulders and arms. But I am stubborn, if nothing else, so I told my byes to my dad and my friend and started off. As I hit the road and changed gears I thought back about the last couple of years. The whats and whys and hows of the whole gig. I recalled the opening lines from 'The Wild One', Johnny narrating - “It begins here for me on this road. How the whole mess happened I don't know, but I know it couldn't happen again in a million years. Maybe I could've stopped it early, but once the trouble was on its way, I was just goin' with it. Mostly I remember the girl. I can't explain it - a sad chick like that, but somethin' changed in me. She got to me, but that's later anyway. This is where it begins for me right on this road.”

That is where it all began, two years ago, on January 18^th 2010 when we started on a road trip. Two of us on the bike, riding to Hampi, Badami, Pattadkal and Aihole. I had quit my job then too, as now. My friend, living in Dubai had come back to Bangalore, he was on a sabbatical. We travelled a whopping one thousand six hundred kilometres in 6 days. Snapped about 1800 photos between the two of us. The last day's ride was 500 kilometres, from Kudalasangama to Bangalore. When you finish a ride like that, it gives an incredible high. A feeling of invincibility which percolates into every other aspect of your life. It affects the way you make decisions.

A little while after that, I started getting offers for work. Eventually, at his insistence, I joined my ex-boss at the company he had joined. We had worked together well as a team before. A highly successful team of two. He was the CEO and I was the Business Manager who had no reportees. I worked with almost every department / branch / country where the group was present to set up new lines of services and business. When I accepted the offer, I believed we would be successful as a team in the new company too. The described job seemed extremely challenging. I was fairly successful considering the growth in team size and revenues by the time I left, the respect I got from the team, the acceptance and acknowledgement of my leadership skills by peers and customers. Even with all of these achievements, there was a seething rage inside me that my work was not recognised and sufficiently rewarded by the organization itself. The feeling got aggravated when the boss who hired me quit from the company due to differences with the board and I had to manage more pressures internally due to the dilemma whether to continue or quit but a sense of responsibility for the guys I had hired when I more than tripled the original team held me back. The burden of expectations from the team, expectations from the top management on impractical revenue targets and even worse, no recognition or reward for already delivered performance. I had been considering moving out of the organization by October 2011.

Around the same time of October 2011, after much effort from my aunt and cousins, I got engaged to a girl, who seemed quite nice and sweet. Apparently, her parents were not very keen, but were being convinced by the girl's brother-in-law. This guy had initiated the contact with me, followed up constantly and was making decisions regarding the alliance. When my aunt and cousins met their family, my aunt mentioned to me that the girl's parents and sister are not talking at all nor were they taking any initiative. Though surprised by this observation, I shrugged it off saying – they've delegated the responsibility to their son-in-law, he had been insisting that I talk only to him regarding the arrangements etc. so maybe they do not want too many cooks spoiling the broth. Over a period of a week, during our phone conversations I realised that the girl and I are from different universes. She did not seem close to her family, had no interests other than going to the gym and watching TV. She had a friend count of three, as for me, the joke goes that IF I get married, I'll have to invite half of Bangalore and the other half will invite itself. As I was thinking about moving out of the organization I worked with, I communicated it to the girl and her brother-in-law saying I am thinking about quitting and looking out. I explained that the three months notice I have to serve is a deterrent to my job hunt. And morally I felt that it is unfair to the current company and the future company too (to expect them to wait for three months to know if I would join them or no) so I would quit and then look for the next option with a clear mind. This was the final straw for an already uneasy alliance and it fell through.

{A flashback to when I was a kid, my grandmother (my mom's mom) narrating a story to me – Once upon a time, there was a good king and he had a wise minister. The kingdom flourished because these two stuck to their tasks of administering the kingdom. One day, the King craved for a fruit and decided to cut one for himself instead of waiting for servants. As he cut the fruit, a momentary lapse of concentration resulted in him cutting off a finger. The king was howling in pain and writhing in agony when the minister entered. The king showed the minster the finger that had been cut off and the minister said 'that's good'. The king, who was expecting sympathy from his dearest and most trusted minister was furious and sacked the minister immediately. The minister, as was his habit, said 'that's good' and left. A few days later, the king, still lamenting the lost finger decided to distract himself with a little hunting tour. He and entourage entered the forest nearby and began hunting. Soon, the king in his enthusiasm left the team behind and got lost. As he wandered and got tired, he was captured by a few tribesmen, who kept him captive through the night. In the morning, the king realised that he has been captured to be sacrificed to the tribe's deity. The high priest came and examined the king and rejected saying he was damaged good and cannot be sacrificed because of his missing finger. The tribesmen released him and showed him the way to get out of the forest. The relieved king reached home and thought of the minister who had said 'that's good'. He summoned the ex-minister and narrated his story and said - “you were right that what happened to me was good, my life was saved because of it. But, how did it work out for you? You lost your position as a minister.' The minister smiled and said – 'Look at it this way – if I was still your minister when you went for the hunting, being loyal and taking your safety as my personal responsibility, I would have stayed close to you at all times. We would have been lost together and captured together. Come morning, you would have been set free, but I would have been sacrificed as my body is intact. So losing my job was a small price, for it saved my life.' The king understood that whatever happens, happens for the good and reinstated the minister's position. They continued to rule wisely as long as they lived.}

Once the alliance fell through, there was no need for me to hold on to the job. The resignation was sent without delay. I was released from my position on November 30^th as there was someone readily available to replace me. I was free again to do my own thing. The loss of a job was a small price to pay, it saved my life!

They'll talk to ya and talk to ya and talk to ya about individual freedom. But they see a free individual, it's gonna scare 'em. (George Hanson, Easy Rider)

Meanwhile, the pressure on me to look for another job and join it, another alliance and get married was growing unbearable. The sympathy was killing me and I was raging and seething and feeling like a mobile funeral pyre. I needed time to think for myself without any distraction. I did not want to be in an environment which was so filled with things that would distract – relatives, friends, newspapers, radio, television, books. I wanted solitary time. I wanted to ditch the mobile too, but kept it just in case there were any emergencies I needed to be contacted. Besides, despite my need to be alone, there were worried people in Bangalore and elsewhere, concerned about my well being. I had to keep them informed of my safety at however irregular intervals. And it was impractical to carry a list of names and numbers I had to call individually. I used Facebook to good effect throughout the trip. A kind of reality TV without the cameras in the bedroom and the loo.

The first couple of hours of riding on Mysore road was all about my rage and anger, my body was tense and I could feel the bile rise up every time someone drove badly. What should not have been a race was turning out to be one. I wanted to out race everyone, including cars and SUVs touted to be powerful. I usually prefer the 'taTTe idli and vada' at Bidadi, but that day I was famished, so I stopped for breakfast at Srinidhi Sagar about 15 odd kilometres on Mysore Road, which had a decent fare.

After breakfast, I rode non-stop till Chennapattana and got badly aggravated by the traffic jam caused by the asphalting of the highway. They had blocked one lane and diverted both way traffic to the other lane. They were allowing some vehicles from one way and then stop and allow the other way. It was cumbersome, the indisciplined driving of oafs not helping the cause of police and then there was the eye in the sky bearing down with ferocious intensity. Once I got out of the mess in Chennapattana, I rode till Srirangapattanna and went straight to my favourite place by the river Cauvery, Nimishamba. It being a Friday, the place was too crowded with devotees flocking to the temple of Nimishamba Devi. I sat on the steps of 'ghat' in the blazing sun for about half an hour watching the water flow by. Felt relaxed enough for a lunch and rode till Mysore's famed Vishnu Bhavan (opposite the KSRTC Bus Stand). I had the most delicious meal and without further delay, headed straight onto Hunsur Road, State Highway # 88 and rode non stop till Kushalnagar, where I stopped at the Café Coffee Day for a coffee before getting on to the winding roads, climbing up to Madikeri. After a phone conversation with a friend to get directions to Narahari Parvata and a tea (don't ask me – tea? At CCD? Yeah, tea, at CCD) I started off the climb up to the Madikeri town, which is about a kilometre above sea level. The road is a dream, I could sleep on it if I'd felt tired midway. The banking on the curves beautifully done, I could ride the curves at 70kmph and not feel jittery as one would when riding the ghat section. It was awesome riding up to the town after which it became a bit nightmarish as the roads inside the town were dug up. Still it wasn't as bad as in Bangalore.

I had reached Madikeri around 4:30 PM, still a couple of hours left to Sunset. I had no reservations in any hotel. I thought I will check out the hotel to stay and worry about dinner after I watch the sunset, so went straight to Raja Seat. The entry fee for Raja Seat is five rupees and it includes a 'dancing fountain and light show' which starts at 7:00 PM everyday. The ladies who were at the counter had one rupee less than what they had to return me, so they said they will give it later.

After a call to a friend who runs a travel agency to suggest places I can check out to stay, who gave me the number of a home-stay which did not work out as it was way off-course for my plans, I got a suggestion to stay in Popular Residency. Conveniently, right below it was a nice vegetarian restaurant called 'Woodlands' but in no way related to the Woodlands chain of hotels present in Bangalore, Mysore and other cities. With my boarding and lodging issue sorted out for the moment, I sat down on the steps of Raja Seat to await sunset.

The sky, between twilight and nightfall, is the most awesome spectacle anywhere in the world. Even in a place like Bangalore. Unfortunately in the busy metropolises, there is too much dust in the sky and the horizon is lit up so brightly as we move towards evening that the colours become indistinguishable. However, at the height we were and the clean fresh air above the woods was ideal for watching and photographing (if you were so inclined) the changing colours. The whole world – the sky, the clouds, the woods and the hills, all change colours as we move from sunset/twilight to nightfall. The time I spent watching the sunset that evening was so peaceful that I felt all the rage dissipate. It was as if the sun was a lightening rod for all my anger and he absorbed it all away. As I watched and photographed (actually what I photographed is only a very tiny portion of the evening, the photography was incidental, I was selfish and wanted to enjoy the natural show to the fullest.)

Madikeri Sunset, Jan 6th 2012

After nightfall, I started to leave the enclosure of Raja Seat, the ladies who were issuing the tickets but now managing the gates remembered that they had to give me back a rupee as change. As they gave me change, they asked me to stay back and watch the dancing fountain show. They seemed so proud of it, that I felt obliged to humour them. I stayed back and went again to the seating area of Raja Seat and contemplated in silence the awesome experience I just had.

I could hear the music of the show playing, random songs chosen – 'babuji, zara dheere chalo', 'onde ondu saari' and ARR's 'vande mataram'. I caught a glimpse of it and it seemed quite nice.

I went to Popular Residency, which is after the KSRTC bus stand, got myself a room without TV but with clean bed sheets and clean toilet, for four hundred rupees. Dumped the sack, went and had dinner at Woodlands, which was pretty good. Retired for the night and slept really peacefully after a long long time.

End of Day 1.

A meditation on biking...

2012-01-14T09:36:00.003+05:30

For the city dwellers a bike is a utility, the function of which is to take them from one place to another with relative nimbleness and lesser constraints during a traffic jam. As a utility, a bike has to be respected and maintained with care. I am not among those who claim their bike is their first love. I love my bike but certainly not more than I'd love a woman. I would prefer a woman any day of the year, anytime of the day.

I am not one of those for whom biking is a religion or a cult – they are the ones who worship their (super)bikes, gather every weekend with other similar (super)bike owners and go for the ritualistic long superfast rides. I do not subscribe to the thought that biking is rebellion, an attitude – the wind in the hair blah blah. I do not ride like some who think they are badass cats who can do 'wheelies' or drag racing, though, yes, I have done it to try out what it feels like (a long time ago, when I was still a student.) I celebrated a silver jubilee of years since I began learning to ride a bike – those were the days of Suvega, Luna and Enfield's Explorer. I use the present continuous 'learning' because riding a bike, like life, is a constantly evolving process. I can claim to have an impeccable record of an accident free twenty six years of biking. I learnt biking because I like to learn new things and when I was a kid, since I could take apart my bicycle and fix it together again flawlessly, I was considered a good material to be trained as a mechanic. My maternal uncles are great guys, all four of them, were good with their hands on anything mechanical, electrical or electronic. Each one of my uncles taught me, in their own ways, different approaches to life. Other than my mother and my grandmother (through her amazing narration of stories, with singing) it is her brothers who shaped my attitude towards life.

The eldest one taught me – a problem well stated is half done, a problem understood is solved. This principle was reiterated through anecdotes and stories.

The second one taught me to trust my instinct and go with the flow but to never be passive or allow any adversity to disrupt the enjoyment of life.

The third one showed me the world of books (at Sheshadri Iyer Memorial Hall), exposed me to the magic of PC Sarkar and wonder of technologies (at Vishweswaraiah Industrial and Technological Museum) More importantly, he introduced me to movies like African Safari, The Gods must be crazy and the works of Charlie Chaplin. I must have been 25, the last time I went with him to a movie. It was Omar Mukthar – The Lion of the Desert, at Galaxy.

The fourth one took me on bicycle rides to Bangalore University, on rented bicycles, with a couple of books and a pack of snacks. We would lie down among the trees and read for a couple of hours and return home.

I was an avid cyclist during high school and college days. I was among the only three of us who completed a cycling expedition of about six hundred kilometers over three days. Out of a group of forty NCC cadets. The other guys stopped and put their cycles on lorries or tempos and would stop at some refreshment place, waiting for us to catch up. Only one more guy, other than me, completed the Nandi Hill challenge – to bicycle from the bottom to the top without stopping. Though I did not know about it at that time, this feat was achieved with a chest full of congestion and infection. The thought at the back of mind then was 'why am I sweating so much and feeling completely out of breath?' I think I slept while riding on the way back because I hardly remember anything of the return journey.

I love cycling and biking for the feeling of being free, nimble and flexible. It is the only thing which allows you to be connected with the surroundings. You soak in the sounds around you. If you don't wear shades you can watch the real world in true colours. More importantly you feel the air around you, the fresh oxygen rich air through a green patch, the damp moist earth smell when it has rained or drizzled, the burning wood smoke and the stench of a rotting animal carcass. If I love cycling, why have I chosen biking these days? Because biking is a little smarter and I am a little wiser - want a machine to do the hard work, more importantly I am a lazy ass.

I needed some solitude to work out the experiences of the last two years – internalise the learnings but to discard the events. When I was discussing this some one suggested that I do meditation. I thought it was a wonderful idea. Since they did not suggest which mode of meditation I do, I felt there was no better way than to bike and soak in the sights, sounds and experiences. I chose a route which I always loved to explore. The West Coast (of India, of course – from Bekal to Gokarna.)

What follows next is a series of rambling travelogues with some sermons, some anecdotes, some photos, some attempts to describe the indescribable feelings and generally an attempt to infotain in my own way.

A year of hits and misses...

2011-12-31T21:34:00.000+05:30

A year end blog of hits and misses (I wish there were more Misses, but if wishes were horses etc...)

It's so typical of my luck that just when the mood to write rises within me, my darling muse elopes with someone else. But, I am a persevering (alright, stubborn if it pleases you) bull dog who plods on, not caring whether what I write gives pleasure to the reader or not.

The year 2011 began on a rather upbeat tempo but as usually happens to something that begins at too fast a pace, it quickly lost steam and towards the end of the year, it was just a tepid one foot tapping in sticky mud (my own foot.) Death by adrenaline shock, but quite a slow acting adrenaline (if you can sort out the confusion on how adrenaline can act slow, please inform me as well. I'm just mixing metaphors instead of cocktails on new year's eve)

First we raced against time to get the new office space ready for inauguration which was inordinately delayed due to some very inept management of labourers by the landlords of the place. The process for the shifting had started in September 2010. Inauguration happened on 4^th February 2011. Eventually we got the place the evening before the event and the team worked to get everything ready by early morning. We moved from a few hundred square feet of space housing about 22 people to a 3500 sft plug-n-play office which would house 60-70 people with 2 shifts running.

After all this running around, I had no time to prepare for my much anticipated trip to Jaipur in the first week of February to attend my cousin's wedding. Jaipur was fun. My friend who runs a travel agency knew a guy there who took me around Jaipur on his bike. Took a lot of photographs. We went to the three forts, palaces, Hawa Mahal and all the attractions, especially the food places. Shopped and blew up a huge amount of money, still getting ribbed by cousins for that indulgence.

My cousin's wedding was great fun too, the ceremony happening at midnight in the cold open air. The pundit's chanting of the mantras was so hilarious that all of cousins who were present and knew a smattering of samskrita ( I must tell you that one of the cousins is doing her Ph.D in Samskrita and another one can converse fluently, it is just me who knows a smattering, but then you know, if I cannot rise up to their level, I just bring them down to mine :-P ) were having a side splitting laugh. He was chanting 'Mangalam bhagavan Vishnu' thus “mangalam Bhagavana vishnu... mangalam garuDa dhwajah... mangalam punDareekaksha... mangalayaa ... stano Harihi” (I'll let you figure out what's the problem with it. Happy sleuthing ;-) ) We were so thoroughly exhausted by all that laughing that we made it for breakfast the next morning just as the caterers were about to pack and leave.

Attended an intense training program to learn being a Lead Auditor for Information Security and cleared the very tricky exam. I am now a IRCA certified Lead Auditor for ISO 27001.

In between all this there was some hectic work in office - some new customers, new colleagues and learning new stuff. A satisfying year as a professional.

Throughout the year, I met some amazing people, made friends with some, others perhaps thought I was too pedestrian ( did I hear you say lowlife is apt? ) to be their friend. Met some wonderful women and feel honoured to know them.

Towards the end of the year, I got engaged, nearly got married and then became single again. Funnily, I actually felt relieved the wedding did not happen.

Quit my job, now freewheeling.

I am planning a route for my long over due Bike trip which I intend to start in the first week of January 2012 (after all the drunks get back to their cubicles and the broken bottles cleared out from the roads and beaches.)

This time around I am thinking of the West Coast. Hopefully I'll be able to chronicle it with lots of photos and notes. Will keep all the 3 readers who will check this blog page posted.

Happy and Joyful new year to everyone across the world... Let there be Love, peace and Joy.

Bahut shukriya, badi meharbaani...

2011-07-09T23:08:00.001+05:30

Bahut shukriya, badi meharbaani...

Final Solution

2011-04-06T21:05:00.001+05:30

Dear Mr. Manmohan Singh, Madam Sonia Gandhiji,
I have been following the ruckus being created by those anti-corruption fellows. That too at the Jantar Mantar, no less. As an ardent follower of your esteemed selves, I am deeply distressed to see how much of a discomfort that old man in khadi dress along with that retired lady looking for post-retirement identity are causing you two.

I actually have a solution to your problem - You should accept Anna Hazare's demand for civil society's suggestions to be incorporated. There are 1.21 billion people and it would be totally undemocratic if only a small section of Anna Hazare supporters are given a chance to suggest and achieve their personal agenda. Also, it can be said that Anna Hazare and his supporters will be subjective because they are a bunch of cynical people, targeting politicians. Like Anna Hazare has doubts about Shard Pawar and his ilk's integrity, You two great leaders and Manish Tiwari have every right to have your own apprehensions about Anna Hazare's integrity. Which is only fair.
In order to have a completely objectively drafted Jan Lok Pal Bill, here is what should be done.

There should be an election, where 5000 monkeys will be chosen amongst whatever number is around in India.
Then, those 5000 monkeys would be given a fully functional typewriter or laptop loaded with Microsoft Windows (with auto correct disabled)
They should also be given unlimited bananas, coconut and jaggery etc. to keep them happy during weekdays and unlimited supply of liqour during weekends.
Each meaningful sentence typed out by individual monkeys should be collected periodically and collated in chronological order.
In case of demise of any monkey, another monkey will be elected in it's place and whatever work was done by the previous monkey will be discarded, including any meaningful sentences it had created.
There would be no time limit for this exercise. The exercise will go on till a 1000 clauses are thus formed by the monkeys to be incorporated into the bill.

I am sure you will find this solution eminently satisfactory as it will buy you all enough time to be dead and your great great grandchildren can still continue to further your legacy of power and wealth and enjoy themselves.

Slavishly yours,

CN

OK, I am filing this under the 30 mins trick that Scarlett turned with her wonderful whoddunit type blog. Of course this is inspired by real events and took much less time (I am sure the quality shows that too :-P )

Glib Talking or How the wars of disinformation are won...

2011-04-06T15:23:00.000+05:30

The unpalatable truth is that the anti-nuclear lobby has misled us all

This is exactly why I am cynical when it comes to some movements. I have seen how manipulative some of these leaders can be. While some 'so called' progressive intellectuals whip up uneducated masses about the threats to their existence, some usurp legitimate protests for their own agenda by spreading further disinformation. In most cases, people who follow such 'leaders' have no educational background to thoroughly probe / investigate whether the cause is legitimate or justified. A case in point is a whole lot of people were protesting the elevated Bangalore Metro and asking it to be underground. Now, if so many kilometers of tunnels have to be dug and a tube formed, imagine the amount of cement, sand and steel that is required. The weight of it, along with the disruptions to the underground water flow and in some cases, closing up of the underground water sources would wreak havoc on the already fragile ground water situation in Bangalore. When I asked some of the protesters about this, they had no clue to the phenomenon of 'water table' or subsurface flow or had any knowledge of the dangers of an extensive underground tunnel system disrupting water flow from catchment areas to other areas. They did not know the source of the water in the 'bore wells'!!!
For most people, these issues are more emotive than logical or scientific. Scare someone enough that tap water contains harmful chemicals, you can see the surge in demand for bottled water, though it would be the same tap water in a sealed bottle. No one will even question where the water for the bottling came from.

When love came to town - 1

2011-01-20T16:20:00.000+05:30

I remember now. I remember everything. Her perfect body, her raven black hair, her lips. Our eyes met across the last few dancing pairs. Her smile. Perfect. I had seen her down a few drinks, but her gait was perfect. Not easy, I had used all my guile to get her. As we made love, her responses were perfect. I could not place what was missing. When I woke up, I was in a strange bed. She was there too, conferring with an odd creature, the perfect android bait. I wonder what experiments they’ll conduct on me, these aliens.

Break another piece of my heart now...

2010-07-01T12:09:00.000+05:30

I woke up early morning today, around 6:30 AM, as I had to attend a family function. But it was not the alarm I had set in my mind that woke me up. No bad dream. Just a sudden sinking feeling. A sinking feeling, that has been a reliable indicator for a long long time that something terrible is going to happen that day. My father told me he was feeling nauseous and weak and did not want to join me for the function. So I held back thinking I might have to take him to the doctor. He asked me to get some breakfast, as our cook had informed earlier that she would not be coming today. I got him some idlis from the nearby restaurant. And waited some more time to see how he will be. He asked me to go ahead to my work as he felt better after eating breakfast.

I started for office quite late, a bit disconcerted, the awful sinking feeling still with me. While riding my bike to work, I missed a call from a friend and since I had just hit the Ring Road and there was no traffic, I parked my bike and called her back. That awful feeling had just got stronger and I was actually feeling bile rise up to my throat. The news hit me - Ajji (as she was fondly called by everyone), one of our mutual friend's grandmother had passed away that morning.
Suddenly the anxious feeling was gone only to be replaced with even stronger feeling of regret - for not having gone to meet her when she was in hospital. For having broken a promise I made to myself. That I would never get another opportunity to sit by her and talk. To listen to her stories of olden, glory days of the areas where she lived and which had much later become a part of my life, her passion for Kannada language and literature. The last time I went to Ankita Book Shop, on an impluse, I had picked up a couple of light short story collection thinking I would go and give it to her (though she would hardly have been to read, since she was really ailing) I would never be able to give them to her. I had met her once at my friend's wedding and those couple of hours were enough time for her to get under my skin and be a part of me forever.

Peace be upon you, Ajji. I know everyone who knew you, for however short a while, will miss you for the rest of their lives. I hope for strength to my friend and her family to endure this loss.

Whoever you are up there, go ahead, break another piece of my heart now. You know, you've already got so many.

Mr. Clean

2010-04-16T15:50:00.000+05:30

There he goes, name's Mr. Moon,
wilted when he fought another Moon,
claims for thirty years he's been Mr. Clean
for years, none knew where's he been,
He thought parliament was a gutter
shootin' his mouth off, he emerged on twitter
about a cattle-class-holy-cow to aykar
his cash cow and good joy has turned bitter,
now he's thinking - throw her out, push kar, push kar...

Inspired by a TV News 'Breaking News' report which said - Mr. Shashi Tharoor distances himself from the lady.

aykar = tax

push kar = push it, generally heard in garages, where minor children are often forced to push vehicles which do not start, in an attempt to start with first gear when the vehicle gathers sufficient momentum.

The Last Hurrah - Redux

2010-03-06T01:28:00.000+05:30

It is hard waiting anywhere. It is especially hard waiting when you look forward to holding your love close to you and you want that moment to arrive soon... It's been days since I saw Kalpit, god! I miss him so. I'd never understood what Sinatra meant when he sang 'I've got you under my skin' but now I feel it... every waking second of my life, I want to be with him.

I've arrived here and wait for him to pick me up. The airport café is filled with people, I get myself a cup of cappuccino and sit thinking atleast I wont feel lonely here.

I see him. He is searching for me. Then I see her, an attractive woman in her early twenties, her eyes following him. He doesn't see me as I am sitting down. I want to see what he does, so I rein back my eagerness to hold him close and continue to sit.

I guess Kalpit is panicky now, his eyes are getting smaller in anger, perhaps at himself for being a few minutes late or thinks I missed my flight. I get up and wave at Kalpit... He sees me, smiles and starts a short jog to embrace me... As I hold him close, I so want to kiss him and never want to let go. Then I notice that woman again, I see a strange sense of loss in that woman's face, almost like a child who's lost a candy and realizes that no one's noticed it... Desperately seeking for some reassurance that what's lost can be replaced. Wanting to cry, wanting to hold something or someone close but cant because of some inhibition...

As we let go of each other and look into each other's eyes, I sense some movement close to us. That woman is coming towards us, I can read determination on her face. Kalpit senses something's wrong in my eyes and turns to look, that woman gives a peck on his cheek and says 'You were wonderful last night' she then winks at me and leaves... I see Kalpit is tongue tied and stunned at this turn of events for a moment, then he smiles at the back of the woman. I work up the best rage I can and and shout that he is a cheat and a liar... The woman takes a quick look at us, me shouting and Kalpit trying to calm me down... She looks happy.

As she disappears out of sight and out of our hearing range, I wink, smile and hug Kalpit. And I ask him, if he really thought I'd forget the video conference we had last night till the wee hours, almost missing the flight because I cut the time of my departure too fine, so soon?

With my love beside me, I'm at peace... I hope she is too.

xxx--------xxx--------xxx--------xxx--------xxx--------xxx--------xxx--------xxx--------xxx--------xxx--------xxx--------xxx--------

This is again a repost of what I had posted on Dudseascrawls a long time ago (2006). This was written in response to another story written by the very talented Dr. Vivek Sharma, which was posted on DSS. Thankfully, he also posts on Sulekha.com which has survived over the years, the original story by Vivek is available here - The Last Hurrah.
My effort drew criticism of all kinds - some were upset that I spoilt the original with a different spin, some others argued on my behalf that this presented point of view of using situation and characters created by someone else. Do let me know what you think.

Me 2 4 B2

2010-03-02T16:19:00.000+05:30

This piece was written in response to a challenge by a dear friend and blogger 'Pradzie' (from Sulekha and Dudseascrawls). This was exclusively posted on DSS, unfortunately the site has gone offline. Reposting it here after about 2 years since it originally appeared. I am also taking the liberty of posting the original story by Pradzie and his challenge at the end of this piece. You will find the meanings of all the tough words used here in Pradzie's Challenge, reproduced below. All credits to respective copyright holders and Pradzie acknowledged.

Overture :

The sutler sat in front of a colorful quilt spread on the footpath, peddling postiche artifacts, a la Honest Abdul. Most of the passersby, in their weltschmerz, did not even notice him or his wares. Once in a while, he would open his truttaceous mouth to spew out a stream of pan masala juice. Having nothing better to do on a Sunday afternoon and my recusant behavior having alienated my latest girl, I felt I should confabulate with him. This eapilotade is a result of that shmooze.

Introductory chorus :

Have my love
It fits you like a glove
Join my dream, tell me yes
Bail out should there be a mess
The pieces you don't need are mine

Take my time
I'll show you cloud nine
Take my smile and my heart
They were yours from the start
The pieces to omit are mine

Have my love
Use it while it does you good
Share my highs but the times
That it hurts pay no mind
The pieces you don't need are mine

I'll see you there on cloud nine

Take my hope
Maybe even share a joke
If there's good to be shown
You may make it all your own
And if you want to quit that's fine
While you're out looking for cloud nine*

“That is a song from the first pirated tape I sold, a PMT, had smuggled it from Malaysia” said the sutler, as he passed me a glass of negus, “has nutmeg, good for digestion, may taste a bit weird and mildly intoxicating if you are not used to it, but trust me, no one’s ever died drinking this… as yet… but there’s always a first time”. A nudge and a wink to make sure I took that lightly. “Don’t look so surprised, I not only know the Beatles, but Jimi Hendrix, Elvis the Pelvis and Tennessee Ernie Ford too… used to sell records in my first job”

He brings his mouth close to my ears conspiratorially: “want to lay your hands on something beyond your wildest dreams?”

Feigning excitement, I ask him, “can you bring Pam Anderson here right now?”

“ha!!!” he smirked, “no!!! silly boy, guess you have never seen Vithalacharya’s fantasies, like ‘jagan mohini’, ‘gandharva kanya’ or ‘madana manjari’; tsk tsk, you’d not ask for Pam if you had… but that is besides the point, tell me, do you want to experience something you’d never even have dreamt of?” Having read ‘The pterodactyl’s egg’ by Satyajit Ray I am skeptical of all such offers, I hesitated. I guess he read that in my face; “come now, you wont have to pay a paisa for this, what are you afraid of?” he continued “perhaps it is destiny that you chose to speak to me today, I have seen you watching me intently many days and making sketches of me. You are an artiste and I am sure you will preserve what I am about to give you. I am leaving town tomorrow and do not want to carry these…” he took out a pair of beautiful clay statues.

Act I

A week later in my cenacle: Early morning, I was walking up to the bath in a stupor because of calenture when I felt a wisp of cool breeze brush against me and heard the beccafico sing. I felt that it was the Terpsichore that had come visiting me and I made a series of rhythmical steps in time to music. A steaming hot cuppa in hand, I ignored the unfinished pencil sketch I was doing and started an arfé on a furfuraceous handmade paper, sitting on the windowsill watching the waves break over sands…

Act II

Woh Jo Ab Kahin Nahin Hai
Uspe Bhi To Yakin Nahin Hai
Rehta Hai Jo Phalak Phalak Pe
Uska Ghar Bhi Zameen Nahin Hai
Akal Ka Khayal Agar Woh
Shakal Se Bhi Haseen Nahin Hai
Pehle Har Jagon Par Tha Woh
Suna Hai Ab Woh Kahin Nahin Hai **

The song repeats itself, I use roast coffee beans, water, fingers, toothpick, forks and strigil to create I know not what. I don’t know how or why, there is a strange calmness. I don’t miss the restlessness of the last few years and feel blissful. I don’t miss the pain of parting with the one girl whom I had come close to getting married. I don’t miss my daily dose of Pink Floyd and grass nor the friends who had a incessant supply of that. It was almost like an intended Staphylotomy ending up as a lobotomy and disconnecting my past.

Intermission

Act III

An affiche advertises guaranteed cure for psilosis with a sagittal mark showing the way, while I jog through the streets one early morning. I almost step on a lying dog which bares it’s carnassial teeth and growls a ‘gardez’ and sends me scurrying for cover. I pull off the hood of the grego like sweatsuit I am wearing, bend down and hyperventilate for a couple of minutes. I look at the lomatine covers of nearby shanties and their futile attempts to maintain privacy and get protection from the elements. I consider the Porphyry and a thin trail of Rhodochrosite left behind by a leaking truck. I notice the intricate burelage on the piece of a postage stamp lying in the garbage heap, something I must have seen a zillion times when using stamps, but never paid attention to. I catch a glimpse of myself in a small piece of broken mirror, I have managed to lose some weight and look much fitter than in ages. I hear the sounds of some distant melotrope playing an unknown melody...

entr'acte

Tell you ‘bout a dream that I have every night
It’s in dolby stereo but I never hear it right
Take me for a fool well thats alright
Well I see the way to go but there isn’t any light

You’re readin my mind you wont look in my eyes
You say I do things that I dont realise
But I dont care its all psychobabble rap to me
Psychobabble all psychobabble
Psychobabble all psychobabble
You’re lighting a scene thats faded to black
I threw it away cause I dont want it back
But I dont care its all psychbabble rap (1)

Act IV

The arfé is complete. I consider it complete because there is nothing much I can do to improve this. A brilliant example of repoussoir, it was a castrensian scene with a couple of Hussars discussing strategy inside a tent and the sculpture of a retiarius framing the right edge. The smoke rising from the oil lamp had created a diaphanous form in front of a Jardinière, uncannily resembling that of a human figure. I’d never imagined anything like this before. It was extraordinary and scary too. Then looking at it objectively once again, I feel there are some Chromotrichial issues and think that I should perhaps get some Ooporphyrin to set that right… or maybe get that shade with coffee itself. I look at my fingers, they look as if they are stricken with Onychomycosis.

Then I heard a tiny voice that seemed to speak inside me. Soon I realized it was someone else speaking to me and definitely not some chemical imbalance that caused me to hear voices. It sounded like Plattdeutsch, but I could clearly understand it’s meaning.

The voice had said :

“When heaven above was not yet named,
nor earth below pronounced by name,
Apsu, the first one,
their begetter and maker Tiamat,
who bore them all,
had mixed their waters together,
but had not formed pastures,
nor discovered reed-beds.
When yet no gods were manifest,
nor names pronounced,
nor destinies decreed,
then gods were born within them.” * [Source]

Act V

I relaxed after the breathless dysbarism of initial shock and awe faded. I asked it’s name, rather I thought it. “Call me Al” it said, “or call me by any name you want, I will know. I have stopped counting and remembering my names… it is difficult too, especially when people let free their fancies and name me ‘Swaralkaalebhujivyumkesh’ or ‘Suranoviremblastiran’ or ‘dubdubbu’ or ‘bialy’.”

Over the next few days, I changed. I, who would boil with rage and impuissance whenever I saw what the politicos were doing to our planet no longer cared about Earth imploding because of diastrophe from excessive mining or rigging. I no longer worried about what I ate, if it was Cotechino, Reblochon or soubise or plain bread with tea. I was content. I attributed the strange calmness and sense of peace to Al’s presence. He was Mephisto to my Faust, only here I had not sold my soul… not yet.

Act VI

Once I asked him how we were communicating without speaking. “Words aren’t everything and that communication has stopped since mankind devised speech”, he pontificated further “Speech, originally, was the device whereby man learned, imperfectly, to transmit the thoughts and emotions of his mind. By setting up arbitrary sounds and combinations of sounds to represent certain mental nuances, he developed a method of communication – but one which in its clumsiness and thick-thumbed inadequacy degenerated all the delicacy of the mind into guttural signaling”. ***

He continued; “in what way can words like Melioidosis or Sarcoidosis describe what a person suffering from them experiences? Can you ever describe any of your artworks in words exactly the way you felt when you created them? Don’t look at me like you are suffering from exopthalmos, can you?” I pulled my eyeballs back into their sockets and shook my head in negative and said “that does not answer my question, are we reading minds then?”. “Telepathy, is still evolving on Earth, but we of Gaia have mastered it… while men on Earth still dig old graves to learn history, we dig minds to understand emotions and communicate completely and unambiguously. The time will soon come on Earth when I can say ‘annurig gabbīšunu uptaḫḫir’ (I have now gathered them all)and all would have realized how superfluous words are… that is the time we would all be found as a single cosmic consciousness at the Edge of the humanity’s foundation”.

I felt the didymous clay statues on the table nod in agreement.

The End

*Cloud Nine, George Harrison
** Gulzar, Aks OST
***Second Foundation, Chapter 8 : Seldon’s Plan
(1) Psychobabble, Alan Parsons Project
Additional glossary:

shedu - A benevolent spirit that protects houses from Akkadian mythology.
Moloch - or Baal an ancient god or a Phoenican ritual of sacrifice.
cromlech - Prehistoric megalithic structures
psitticism - automatic speech without thinking about the meaning of the words
ursprache - A proto language
heilegenschein - a bright halo of light that appears around the shadow of the observer's head or around that of the camera
clinamen - swerve
poiesis - to make
weltschmerz - world-weariness
tatterdamelion - a ragamuffin , someone in tattered clothes

Pradzie's Challenge aka B2

It's only words and words are all :
Let the words take over:
Let them.

Rhodochrosite - usually rose-red in color: a minor ore of manganese
Affiche - notice posted in a public place; poster
Sagittal - pertaining to or resembling an arrow or arrowhead
Gardez - part of the phrase 'Gardez la dame' used in chess when the queen is in danger.
Lomatine - lateral membrane flap, membranous flap
Calenture - fever caused by heat.
Diastrophe - deformation of earths crust
Soubise - brown or white sauce containing strained or puréed onions and served with meat.
Exophthalmic - enlargement of the thyroid gland accompanied by exophthalmos, usually due to hyperthyroidism
Psilosis - falling out of hair.
Melotrope - A piano fitted with a mechanical device for automatically reproducing a piece of music by means of a melograph stencil.
Impuissance - powerlessness
Castrensian - relating to a camp
Furfuraceous - Made of or covered with scaly particles, flaky
Plattdeutsch - the Low German vernacular dialects spoken in northern Germany
Burelage - A design of fine, intricate lines printed on the face of security paper, either to discourage counterfeiting
Carnassial - teeth meant for cutting
Staphylotomy - The operation of removing a staphyloma by cutting
Didymous - growing in pairs, twofold, twins
Sutler - a small vendor, petty tradesman
Sardoodledom - a melodramatic plot
Truttaceous - resembling a trout
Chromotrichial - relating to hair colour
Porphyry - variety of igneous rock consisting of large-grained crystals,
Bialy - this large very chewy yeast roll is round and flat with a depression in the center.
Melioidosis - infectious disease of humans and animals caused by a gram-negative bacillus found in soil&water
Eapilotade - story hashed together
Tufoli - a large macaroni shell
Grego -
Ooporphyrin - A pale brown pigment in eggshells
Beccafico - A small songbird or warbler
Reblochon - A soft French whole milk cheese of delicate flavor
Strigil - an instrument used in ancient Greece and Rome for scraping the skin after a bath.
Azotea - In Hispanic architecture, a flat roof.
Onychomycosis - disease of nails
Jardininere - an ornamental stand or receptacle for plants, flowers,
Cenacle - a retreat house
Terpisichore - dancing, choreography
Negus - A beverage made of wine, water, sugar, nutmeg, and lemon juice
Retiarius - gladiator with trident and sheild
Hussar - a member of a European light cavalry unit; renowned for elegant dress
Dysbarism - the complex of symptomsthat accompanies exposure to excessively low or rapidly changing environmental air pressure.
Cotechino - pork sausage with white wine and spices.

47 words! New ones i had never heard until this years Spelling bee contest that was held a few months ago. As usual down with my pen and pad and furiously writing down every word that was thrown at kids not older than 14. And as usual most of them knew what language these words were in by the sound of it. So here it is for you.

Is there any willing soul on DSS or anywhere in the blog world who would spare a few minutes to hour(s) in writing a piece using the words typed above? If there is, come forward with it and take away 3 metallic prints (8x10) as First Prize, 2 prints 1(8x10), 1(5x7) as Second Prize and 1 print (5x7) as Third prize from the images galore and the first prize winner can take a rain check on one choice of image i.e. for a years time.

Pradzie's Original Story

In the stillness of an October afternoon, I knew the shedu, like Aladdin's genie was going to look out for my children. With the mansuetude of a shy woman, he did just that when I was out of town for long along with the 'aaya' I had hired. While she took physical care of the children, he did more than give them mental peace when they came home. He kept them happy, like Casper.

'Swaralkaalebhujivyumkesh' tutoyerly calling out the creature's name i had christened.

And a grunt is all I hear from him amidst the endless space in the hallway that was long and wide with artwork from all over the world spawning the walls. He didn't take to the idea of having form or shape, but rather liked to tease me by hinting at clues about his existence.

He believed he was the next of kin of Paathaalabhairavi, so at least that is what he told me. This claim of his was as believable as the other stories he had told me, tapping the energy of the Kundalini, his dislike of being a lacertilian Moloch 2,600 years ago and so on.

I nodded in empathy while walking into the dimly lit hallway with him watching. Towards the end of it, I did a Uie and walked back. The fact that I loved walking up and down this lovely hallway was known to all. He walked with me or rather flew, glided with me. I don't recall the time or day when I realized that I was being watched by someone or something, but I knew there was someone. It was probably my imagination on an overdrive during a visit to an African cromlech in Sudan four years ago. But ever since that day, each day has passed by learning bits and pieces of this spirit and he taught me something in return. The psitticism he indulged in from time to time gave me a bleak window of opportunity to decipher his Koine. That is when I realized that my best language lessons were about to begin. He cachinnated over the fact that I taught dead languages and its origins to 'diggers' of history. He referred to archaeologists as diggers of the dead and gone. The ursprache of his speech while vaguely familiar didn't ring any bells to me until he started conversing in a Delsartian manner. The physis of my understanding was now growing each day once I got hooked to his mannerisms.

To index my symminct understanding of the nuances of his language, I would lazily indulge him in causerie usually by making a reference to the names of regions before the continental drift happened. That in itself was nepenthe for the ghost of history.

But as we walked into the lawn, I saw a heilegenschein around the little marble waterfountain. It was beautiful. We see it as an everyday phenomenon, but rarely notice it. The thoughts and ideas that arose from my literary and historical interest relationship with him could be seen too, but nobody noticed it. Like our lives clinamen in various directions inside us, we seek to superficially hide it with the ordinary. Without the concinnity of language to wrap the grostesqueness or beauty as the case be, of our character inadequacies, we couldn't possibly indulge in poiesis about such. Derailing my train of express thought was he back at his own weltschmerz self pondering about the recent blasts and daily state of affairs of the world. He thought and I knew, vice-versa. He was the unnoticed tatterdamelion traversing through time for who these incidents while causing much grief, was just another addition to the history of the world he was stuck in. Incapacitated by his inability to forge relationships, which would determine his 'present', words like 'past' or 'future' had no relevance. Like a sfumato, the linearity of his grasp on the world and its works, people were made to feel blurred and unfinished.

It included all the component parts of an opera - overture, introductory chorus, arias and recitative - though in highly condensed form

Play...

2008-07-05T14:49:00.000+05:30

Recently I heard the news that one of my favorite supergroups the legendary ‘Return to forever’ will reunite [ Return to Forever to reunite in 2008 ] And I have been looking forward to some really exciting live performances being recorded during this summer. Chick Corea has been a favourite musician of mine for as long as I remember. And I’ve been a fan of Bobby McFerrin ever since I heard ‘Dont worry be happy’ on the soundtrack of the movie ‘Cocktail’.

A few days ago while browsing some titles at my fav music shop I came across a couple of titles:
Bobby McFerrin/Chick Corea : The Mozart Sessions
Bobby McFerrin & Chick Corea : Play.

I had heard ‘of’ their collaborations but had never come across the tapes or discs, so picked up both just wanting to check out how these two awesomely talented musicians worked together. What follows is my enjoyment of this music created by ” two young children with sweet tooth on overdrive in a candy store without parental supervision”*If you ever thought that a vocalist making kidlike noises has no place in a Mozart concerto orchestration or ‘Round Midnight, think again. Bobby and Corea are not the ones who approach music conventionally. Two of the best improvisors in the music scene are in top form as they explore the music with passion, their skills are impeccable anyways. As they ‘Play’ exchanging notes after notes weaving poetry with animal sounds my feelings changes between pure bliss at the harmony and awe at their skills in creating such magic… It is a delightful experience as I am finding newer and newer feelings as I listen to these discs again and again, it has been a while since something like this had happened to me.

Highly recommended.

*Bobby’s comment in the liner notes of ‘Play’.

Nemo Goes Bananas

2007-10-21T02:12:00.000+05:30

I'd run out of aftershave. Not strange, considering I have to shave almost everyday to keep up the pretense that I am a manager and it wont do any good to enter the office with a stubble.

I am an old school guy when it comes to cosmetics and I never use anything that contains soap or strong chemicals. I use soapnut. But I have to use a shaving cream and an aftershave. From as long as I remember, my choice had been simple : Old Spice. I have never felt like trying anything else. I just love the way 'whitewater' or 'fresh lime' smells.

Coming back to the point where I started this narrative, I'd run out of it. And I mentioned it while shopping with my friend. He's a good guy, but I realise he should have been in sales rather than in HR [I do agree that HR requires the same kind of sales skills and I am sure in his deepest thoughts, he accuses me of being a sales guy too]. So, he says he wants to buy an aftershave too... He picks up some variant of 'Axe'. I tell him I am picking up my Old Spice. He says nonsense, that is why you are still a bachelor. I ask him what's the relationship between me using Old Spice and remaining bachelor. He says, use Axe, a lot of bikini clad babes will hound you wherever you go. I am drooling now. Here I am, a 33 year old has been Casanova, under pressure from cousins and aunts to get hitched to some hapless girl and settle down. And I am being told bikini clad babes will hound me... Would you fault me when I succumb to such temptations? He's decided for me too. He picks up the pack which has 2 Axe aftershave bottles. I get one.

I cannot sleep that night, restless... Awaiting the next opportunity to use that seductive magic lotion. Next morning, I chicken out. I have to go to the office. I cannot afford to have babes hanging to my arms as I enter a very conservative workplace. What will my team say? I squeeze the last couple of drops of 'whitewater' from the plastic Old Spice bottle, grateful that it was not the old style ceramic bottle. I see that there is a little left of 'fresh lime' too. I resist the bikini babe temptation for a week.

On saturday, I decide to test my new Axe and go to Jayanagar area which has the highest density of 'oglable' babes. Forget hordes, even if one is hooked by this magic lotion, I can go back to tell the folks back home that they can end their useless search for my bride.

I usually hold my breath [I guess most guys using aftershave also hold their breath just before slapping on the liquid heat on to their chins] to numb out the sting of alcohol on skin. The anxiety of trying out a new thing, the anticipation of wonderous pleasures had made me breathless as I poured out my new Axe on to my palm. I slap it on my chins still holding my breath and closing my eyes too [perhaps my subconscious imagined that this would change the way I look too]. This was too mild, surprising me. Then I open my eyes and let out my breath.

I take in some air. It smells weird. I wonder what that familiar smell is. Smells like pineapple and bananas... someone's making a cocktail of juice, I think. Then I realise that the smell is much closer than someone else' house. I feel it on me.

I look at the bottle and read what's written on it. It says 'An arresting fusion of sweet juicy fruits'. I take a bath and rub my face furiously to remove the smell. I regret not having read that before getting myself embalmed in this idiotic fruity smell. I regret having been disloyal to my favourite brand. More importantly I regret that there wont be a bevy of beauties fighting over me.

I keep that bottle open all the time and my bathroom smells like a juice stall. Heartening thing for me is : there have been no fights among beauties to use my loo. :D

Aerosmith Bangalore concert : June 2nd 2007

2007-06-08T00:59:00.000+05:30

June 2nd 2007, Saturday

The day’s packed. I am sick of waiting for the “clients” who are supposed to come to our office. As the HR bumpkins scamper around trying to spruce up the place, I am reminded of a Kannada saying ‘boLammanige singaara maaDidru’ [they decked up the widow].

They were supposed to come at 12:00PM, finally they arrived at 2:30PM. Which meant that I’d be cutting it too fine for the concert. Pissed already because I’m looking like a jerk, dressed in formals on a Saturday when I should have been rightfully ogling babes in 4th Block, I curse out loud. I have to get home after this charade, quick change into something more comfortable for a live concert and rush back 15 kilometers… It’s not gonna be easy.

Thankfully, they hogged like err… hogs in the conference room and very not too keen on listening to our droning, so we were spared. It was 6:00PM when I got out of office. 15 kilometers to my place. Concert starts at 7:30PM

Do I dash home? Do I go to the concert looking like some honcho from Microsoft? I realize there is no time to do a Ham-let, so I quickly get transport and head home. I’ll take my chance… I reach home at 6:55PM. By the time I reach the main door, I am stripped to my waist… My neighbors usually don’t look into our compound, but if someone did notice my circus, stripping with one hand holding the bag in another and trying to get my black leather shoes off with the legs, tangling up and almost tripping, they would not have been surprised. They have seen me do crazier things.

7:00PM I rush out of the house while buttoning my shirt and hail the first auto that passes in front of my house. I tell the driver that I need to be inside palace grounds before 7:30PM and that my life depends on it. He thinks I’m a hero rushing to protect my girl. He grins and says OK boss!!! Rest easy.

I know it’s not possible, but why break the man’s heart? To be fair to him, he did reach quiet close to the place by 7:30PM, but the traffic police deputed to handle the influx of vehicles to the concert area were clearly incapable of handling such volume… so it took us 20 minutes to cover a couple of kilometers. Which in hindsight I could have walked in half the time if I had set my mind and not sat on my ass fretting and fuming at my inconsiderate bosses.

I reach the concert arena at 8:00 and by the time I get my turn to enter it is already 10 minutes and two songs into the concert.

They were singing some song I could not pay attention as I was intent on getting as close to the center of the arena to get better acoustics and view. A few hands shook and a few backs slapped and apologizing for pushing off, I reached my vantage point by the time the song finished… That was ‘Falling in love (is hard on the knees)’

For me the concert started with ‘Cryin’ [ Could I have been prophetic? ]
Steven Tyler swigging from a water bottle, gurgling and then spitting on the audience… pulling his t-shirt to display ‘lick me’ on his waist…

Eat the rich, Jaded, What it takes, Baby please don’t go [from Honkin’ on Bobo]…

Two wooden chairs on the extended ramp. Steven Tyler and Joe Perry start a acoustic version of “Hangman’s jury” and then move to “Seasons of Wither” which develops in to a regular electric version midway reaching a crescendo and continues into ‘Dream on’ as Joe Perry screams ‘Dream on baby’…

Last child, Livin’ on the edge…

Then Joe ‘fuckin’ Perry as he was introduced by Tyler takes the centerstage… he tells us that they’d been waiting to perform in India and that they were always fascinated with India for all the right reasons : not for the elephant rides, not for the colourful things that you put on your hands but for the Kamasutra. And then he explains that Aerosmith were always about messin’ around and what better teaches that than Kamasutra?
That was his way of introducing the trippy and bluesy ‘stop messin’ around’ which he sang brilliantly apart from the licks on the guitar with a few Jimi Hendrix imitations [simulated sex with the monitors on stage with the guitar, playing the guitar behind his back] thrown in…

Then Tom Hamilton is introduced and walks to the end of the ramp where he begins the signature bass lines which bring ‘sweet emotion’ to life…

Draw the line… and the band walks off stage.

The crowd cries out for more… and Steven Tyler comes on stage with a ‘Mysore peTa’ [Mysore Turban, a unique piece of headgear if there is one…] There’s no Run DMC this time around, but Aerosmith “walk this way”. And what the heck they are off again…

The crowd shouts for more and they are not going towards the exit yet.

Tyler comes out again as the crowd shouts for Joe ‘Fucking’ Perry and after a minute more, Tyler says looks like you got him and Joe comes out. Tyler says they will play 2 more songs. A mushy “I don’t want to miss a thing” later, the police surprise the band. As everyone leaves the stage, Tyler is heard saying apologetically: “they’re dragging us off the stage guys”

The crowd of about 25000 was well behaved… It was an evening they’ll remember equally for it’s magic as much as the music that the cops killed. Some of the best numbers were probably saved for the encore but were cut short.

I was there. Despite their best efforts, everyone who conspired against me [my bosses, my colleagues, traffic police, Bangalore’s lousy undisciplined drivers] that day, failed.
10 minutes, 2 songs. That’s all they could dock from my concert account. Fuckin’ Losers.

My Imagini Visual Profile...

2007-04-17T14:46:00.000+05:30

Read my VisualDNA™ Get your own VisualDNA™

My personality type...

2007-04-07T20:35:00.000+05:30

ENTP - "Inventor". Enthusiastic interest in everything and always sensitive to possibilities. Non-conformist and innovative. 3.2% of the total population.

Free Jung Personality Test (similar to Myers-Briggs/MBTI)

The Blu Magnet

2007-04-07T11:32:00.000+05:30

In death, there is redemption
- Captain Nemo

The old man sat cross legged on the balcony. Back ramrod straight, staring into a distance, unaware of the restless movements of the young listeners around him, some lying down on their sides, some on their backs, some sitting in awkward positions. The night was cool without being chilly. After a while of silent staring, the old man slowly got back to the present from wherever his mind had wandered. He cleared his throat and started :

A long time ago, there was a young boy who was full of life and love for everything around him. His closest friends said he had strange supernatural powers, they called him the Blu Magnet : Blu is short for Bad Luck. He could not predict future but whatever he suggested to his friends turned out to be the best possible alternative, but soon after the success of the other person, Blu’s effort would fail. Such successes of others and failures of Blu ranged from passing exams to getting a job to holding on to a job. If he touched someone ill, the person would get well soon and some of the symptoms would appear in Blu. He seemed to be unconcerned about all these happenings, willing to help anyone in trouble, living on whatever limited resources he could mobilize, attracting others bad luck and being a nobody to everyone who did not know him. Sometimes, strangers would come to him for advice, hearing about his success as a counselor from someone… He never accepted that he was a healer or a miracle monger and laughed off all such suggestions.

Blu was an orphan. He had lost his parents at birth… mother died at childbirth and father as soon as he got the news of his wife’s death. Blu grew up in an orphanage without ever getting to know who his parents were or where he belonged to or if he had any siblings. Some people thought it was unnatural that he did not even show any curiosity to know about his origins.

He went to school and made some friends who started realizing that there was something strange about this boy with wide, shining eyes and dimply smile. There were a few things missing in his life… fear, sadness and self-pity. He had never been known to cry for himself. He spread cheer around wherever he was. A wise counsel, healer, brother, friend.

On his 22nd birthday, he accompanied a friend to the hospital. He had met the friend accidentally while on his way for some important work. As he stood in the lobby waiting for his friend to fill in the required form, he saw a girl being wheeled in to an emergency ward after collapsing while climbing stairs to attend her final year degree classes. Her ragged breathing and her glazed eyes caused an intense pain in Blu’s heart. As he moved towards her, his friend held him back realizing what was happening. But Blu couldn’t be stopped. He moved beside the stretched out form and held her hand wishing with all the will at his command for her to get well and for his friends’ belief that he was a healer to be true. For the first time, he felt sadness and fear, they shone in his eyes.

He forgot about his work that he had set out for. He forgot about the birthday get together that his friends had planned for that evening. He did not even notice the strange stares of the girls’ parents, friends and relatives, he just sat outside the ward while the doctors and nurses ran in and out, wheeling her in and out for tests with oxygen bottles to help her breathe and intravenous infusions running into her all the time…

The girl was diagnosed to have a serious heart condition after a day of tests. On the second day, the girl opened her eyes and mouthed a few whispered words into her waiting father’s ears. The surprised father asked Blu to come into the ward, the next time the doctor allowed visiting. He had not eaten or drunk anything throughout that period despite pleas from his concerned friends, who had come to take him back, but stayed back after seeing his determination. They all waited for a miracle to happen. As he heard the invite, Blu’s eyes lit up for the first time in two days.

He walked tentatively into the room, not knowing what to speak to the girl he did not even know, but felt a tremendous love for… He held her hand and kept looking at her calm sleeping face, after a while she opened her eyes and smiled. Blu smiled back and said : “I wish you life and love.” He stood there for some more time, looking into her eyes. They were no more glazed, instead they glowed, full of life. As Blu walked out of the ward, he was smiling his old dimply smile.

A week later, the doctors amazed at her recovery, allowed the girl to leave the hospital with a recommendation that her heart condition has to be monitored frequently to avoid emergencies.

As he stood outside the hospital and watched the girl leave, a content Blu knew he would never have to fear again or feel sadness… That one time was enough. He had been redeemed by his maker as he collapsed and died.”

The disquieting story had stilled all movement from his young listeners. It was quite for a long time before the obvious questions piped up. Who was the girl? What happened to her? Why did Blu have to die to save her?

The old man replied with a smile : She is someone you all know, she still lives a happy life… Blu died so that you all could come into being and live.

I am the Sun...

2006-11-23T13:46:00.000+05:30

You are The Sun

Happiness, Content, Joy.

The meanings for the Sun are fairly simple and consistent.

Young, healthy, new, fresh. The brain is working, things that were muddled come clear, everything falls into place, and everything seems to go your way.

The Sun is ruled by the Sun, of course. This is the light that comes after the long dark night, Apollo to the Moon's Diana. A positive card, it promises you your day in the sun. Glory, gain, triumph, pleasure, truth, success. As the moon symbolized inspiration from the unconscious, from dreams, this card symbolizes discoveries made fully consciousness and wide awake. You have an understanding and enjoyment of science and math, beautifully constructed music, carefully reasoned philosophy. It is a card of intellect, clarity of mind, and feelings of youthful energy.

What Tarot Card are You?
Take the Test to Find Out.

Mother - A dirge

2006-08-24T19:49:00.000+05:30

ಇನ್ನಮ್ಮವ್ವಿಲ್ಲ...

ಇನ್ನಂಗ್ಯಾರಿಲ್ಲ...

ಬರೀ ಬೇವೈತೆ

ಯೆಲ್ಲೈತೆ ಬೆಲ್ಲ?

ಕಸ್ಟ್ವೋ ಸುಕ್ವೋ ಯೆನ್ಗೋ ಬೆಳ್ಸಿ

ಮುವ್ವತ್ತೆಲ್ಡ್ವರ್ಸಾ ಉಳ್ಸಿ

ತಾನಿಸ್ನುಪಾದ ಸೇರ್ಕೊಂಡ್

ಮಾಡೋದ್ಲು ನನ್ಬ್ಯಾವರ್ಸಿ

(೨೪ ಆಗಸ್ಟ್ ೨೦೦೬, ಅಮ್ಮನ ವೈಕುಂಠ)

Peanuts...

2006-06-07T14:25:00.000+05:30

Which Peanuts Character are You?

You are Woodstock!
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A paper abstract I wrote a long time ago...

2006-05-14T22:25:00.000+05:30

This is a paper abstract I wrote for the 'ISTR Sixth International Conference' which was held in Toronto between July 11th and 14th, 2004. This paper was selected for a poster presentation, but as I was not given a travel scholarship [they were magnanimous enough to offer conference registration scholarship] and I was not too keen on spending money from my own pocket for a trip to just show some papers, I did not participate. For that matter I did not complete this paper either for various extraneous reasons [which certainly seems to be the story of my life these days]. Anyways, thought I'd post it here to live off past glory for a few more moments...

Cultural Exclusion and Social Capital – An inclusive role for Third sector
(A case study of Tibetan refugees at Bylukuppe in the state of Karnataka)

"Nowadays, the young generation hardly takes any interest in Tibetan music. They want rap and techno. They prefer electric guitar to traditional instruments like the dranyen," - - Dorjee Rapten ( Jay Shankar, AFP, Published by the Canada Tibet Committee, Friday, July 27, 2001)

Nothing can be more despairing for the developing world, when cultural exclusion comes from within. Economic marginalization, cultural exclusion and political alienation have compounded the problems of refugee communities. The number of refugees has grown exponentially over the years, all over the world. From the malnourished African countries to developed western countries, refugees have been created because of economic, political and racial reasons. Their problems continue despite efforts by International agencies. To make matters worse, these refugees lose their identity continually vis-à-vis their counterparts from their land of refuge.

The main reason for economic exclusion is the blind implementation of western development paradigms by cash starved developing economies without any thought as to whether such a model is sustainable in the particular region it is being adopted. Sustainable and eco-friendly methods followed by the natives are considered “traditional” and hence primitive and naïve. Emphasis is on the western or euro-centric vision of modernization rather than on “traditional” models of sustainability.

Huge subsidies are offered by developed economies to their own farmers. They are also adopting protectionist measures like import restrictions on agricultural produce from the developing economies. These measures have led to the marginalisation of farmers in developing countries, resulting in the exodus of the rural poor into the cities in search of work. These people are refugees in their own land, driven away from their ancestral homes and heritage and thrown into the great unknown – the urban ghettos.

Refugees fleeing their native lands due to political and racial persecution usually choose a country which they consider better suited for their survival. But more often than not, they end up in camps set up exclusively for them, monitored and constantly policed. These camps, where people from the same political and racial affiliations are put together, are usually the breeding grounds for strong and often militant political underground, working against their erstwhile oppressors. On the positive side, they also form closely-knit societies rooted in their culture and history. The problem of the displaced is in their inability to get assimilated into the mainstream of their chosen land and the lack of opportunities for them to be self-sufficient.

More than 100,000 Tibetans live in India as refugees after their failed 1959 uprising against Chinese aggression, and their government-in-exile is in Dharmashala.

Lugsung Samdulping, situated in the town of Bylakuppe, 225 kilometers (140 miles) southwest of the Karnataka state capital Bangalore, was the first Tibetan settlement in India, formed in 1960. It now spreads over 3,000 acres (1,200 hectares) and is the home to more than 36,000 Tibetan refugees living in five settlements in and around Lugsung Samdulping and has monastaries, nunneries, primary health care clinics and hospitals.

This settlement is different from the usual refugee camp models as the people here enjoy the same freedom and facilities as the native Kannadigas ( people of Karnataka ) do. The refugees here are involved in agriculture, leather industry and garment industry selling their produce in the nearby tourist attractions like Bangalore, Mysore, Coorg and Ooty. By studying this camp, this paper attempts to study the impact of cultural exclusion on the development of social capital. The paper makes an attempt to understand how a focused third sector involvement could help in developing a positive social capital.

come into my lair...

2006-05-11T11:43:00.000+05:30

An unfinished sketch which I never got around to finishing... Was trying to copy the artwork from the CD Sleeve of "In the Court of the Crimson King" by King Crimson. Since I do not know how to paint, I've to rely on pencils, pieces of papers and charcoals to get the shading... Hope I finish this sometime.

Why Opal got kicked, got wild and got corn[y]ered...

2006-05-03T00:57:00.000+05:30

She is not sleeping, not eating.
- Steve Ross, Sr. Veep, pub fisher, Clown

McFarty was not the conscientious Don Corleone types, who did not peddle drugs. McFarty wrote puerile literature, which was the opium of the mindless adoloscents who'd copy even their peers' exam papers simply because the others never noticed. No one knows how many actually read the books McFarty wrote. But they were bought and random checks suggested that her books carried around by lots of kids, almost as if it was a proof of literacy.

Among those teeming millions of boys and girls with nothing between their ears, there was a clever one called Opal [not the gem, but opaque nonetheless]. What was between her ears was packed so tightly that sometimes they just froze up due to lack of adequate blood circulation and did not recognise their own from someone else'. Opal thought [since neither McFarty or her publisher know what she is writing about and what they are publishing, the kids are buying without knowing why or what they are buying and everyone is acting like a winner] : 'let me find a lamb, whom I can feed at some swanky restaurant and promise a hefty commission for a book contract. There is always Ctrl+C and Ctrl+V.'

The deed was done and champagne flowed as 1,00,000 of the very same McFarty readers now started to read Opal's literature. Unfortunately, Opal forgot that very common species : A local page 3 reporter. [remember that story about a murderer being the postman and no one noticed because he was such a common sight?] Being new to celebrity-hood, she ignored the first law - Never forget the yellow jounalists from your local papers, grease their palms, feed them well and oil their innards with expensive liquor. She'd pay for the oversight. Boy, would she pay.

McFarty chose to go on a diet. She decided that she had to get out of her overeating and oversleeping disorders that she had got into in the first place by writing teeny pop novels which were bought by 4,00,000 high school students who had excess pocket money and wanted to show that they were in the loop [not the one advised by the Indian family planning Commission]. She had so much money that she never had to work ever again in her life. Till someone stole her words and consequently her identity [which she never knew she had], sleep and hunger. The real reason she woke up from her big sleep, just like kumbhakaran during the war, was she could actually smell the lamb when her agent said: "There is a nice juicy lamb, let's take it to the slaughter". The words juicy lamb and slaughter kindled a burning fire inside the belly which roused her from her deep slumber. She realised if she was going to face a fight from the lamb,she needs to limber up and become atleast fit enough to not let the lamb run away.

The tightly packed grey cells turned liquid and loosened up. The lamb bleated "He was definitely invading my personal space, as I had learned in a Human Evolution class last summer, and I instinctively backed up till my legs hit the chair. That just made him move in closer, until the grommets [dont ask me what they are] in the leather embossed the backs of my knees, and he finally tilted the butcher's knife toward me." It continued in it's best imitation of SRK's patented bleat, unmindful that he could sue it and claim huge royalties and undisclosed damages : "It was a very hard process and there were endless attempts to clean me up, I am the first person in the family - aunts, uncles, cousins - who has ever shown the slightest inclination to be creative [the others were unimaginative, but hard working, fit and lean], but a fat lot of good did it do to me... well fed, unfit and lazy, I'm now cornered with that guy who has invaded my personal space breathing heavily down my neck, either to kill me or in desperate desire... you kids will have to wait to read what happens in the next part - IF I SURVIVE"

Disclaimer: This work is pure f[r]iction, any resemblence to people living or dead is [un]intentional. I apologise if I have internalised the language and words from books which spoke to me in a way few other books did.

Godspeed Dr. Raj

2006-04-12T16:04:00.000+05:30

Dr. Rajkumar, icon of the Kannada film industry, awesome actor and an amazing human being, passed away today at about 2:00PM. Details are still sketchy but the cause is attributed to cardiac arrest.
I’m an ardent admirer of his histrionic abilities which covered such diverse roles from mythlogical characters to even James Bond type thrillers, heroic characters to negative characters… There were no limits to his talents while portraying even the most complicated roles. A good singer, who became a great singer because of his dedication and discipline in understanding the nuances of the lyrics and communicating it. His clarity of speech and pronunciation was impeccable. A front runner when it came to fight for Kannada’s cause, he was the face of a few struggles for getting Kannada it’s rightful place under the sun. If I set out to list his memorable performances, I’d have to list all his 200 odd films.
To one of my idols [and I dont have many] whom I’ve lost today, I take my hat off, bow my head and pray that his soul rest in peace…

hogbanni aNNore, nimma aatmakke shaanti sigali…

April 24, 1928 - April 12, 2006

Being Cyrus

2006-04-05T23:46:00.000+05:30

Movie title: Being Cyrus
Starring: Saif Ali Khan : Cyrus Mistry, Dimple Kapadia : Katy, Naseeruddin Shah : Dinshaw Sethna, Boman Irani : Farokh Sethna, Honey Chhaya - Fardoonjee Sethna, Simone Singh - Tina Sethna, Manoj Pahwa - Inspector Lovely
Directed by: Homi Adajania
Written by: Story by Kersi Khambatta, Screenplay : Kersi Khambatta and Homi Adajania
Genre: Thriller
Country: India
Language: English
Runtime: Approx 90 mins
Media: Celluloid, Big Screen stuff
Imdb: tt0412308
Rating: 9
Price: Worth every paisa, penny, cent or whatever other denomination you pay

Synopsis

Who you let in can change your life

Review

A brilliant movie which has all the right ingredients to thrill you for an hour and half.

One of the best and the most sensible of recent movies, very slick production values and great story telling makes this movie a compelling watch. Maybe the length of the movie has got something to do with a firang editing it, but the job he has done is awesome. Jon Harris, take a bow. The background score is superb, helping build-up the expectation and tempo beautifully.

This movie is not for everyone, as I could feel that most of the people in the theatre were regretting getting into an adventure they did not pay for. As any good thriller should, this movie also begins a little slow - red herrings strewn all over place during the first half build-up. Finely developed characters played by experienced actors mouthing funny dialogues leading you up the garden path, as Katy would’ve probably said. You miss a dialogue, you miss a small piece of the jig-saw which makes up the characters and the story. The attention to detail is really mindblowing, a welcome change from the mediocre and mindless threads that’ve been made into movies these days.
My fav quote from the movie : After the game, the king and the pawn go back to the same box.
Highly recommended.