As for me, I wanted Federer to win though I wouldn’t have been crushed if Roddick did. Sports does not hold as much appeal for me as do the movies or real life. I am a sucker for feel good endings and brave all odds stories. I remember relishing the Drama section of Readers Digest taking in the courage of the little girl in the sea or the brave pilot saving lives.

Perhaps, the relative normalcy of my life makes me crave the improbable? What do you think? Why do we root for the underdog? Do we see ourselves in them? Is there some message of hope in each of these stories urging us to follow our dreams, hold on to hope and overcome our personal mountains? Or is it the sheer drama that keeps us glued to the story? Come on now. Share what you think.

On a different note, when I wished a colleague Happy 4th, I said something that resonated with me for a long time. “Guess one of the good things about having lived in two countries is that both feel like home and both independence days have come to mean much.”

It is true. I alternated between two phases for the longest time. A time when it was cool to denounce anything desi and a phase where everything desi was cool. Patriotic sparks flew whenever the topic of India came up during get-togethers. Now, finally am at a place where both countries feel like home.

The first time it really hit home was when Akay was here end of April and we visited downtown Philly and stood in the room where the Declaration of Independence was signed and the constitution drafted. I have been on that tour before but this time felt different. I ‘felt’ a sense of thrill. Of sharing space with ghosts of the past. In a strange way, it all felt natural.

Every year my American friends talk of grilling and fireworks to usher Independence Day in. Someday, I think I will start my own tradition to mark this holiday. As years pass and I feel a sense of connection to this land, I feel incredibly lucky. To have been born in one with thousands of years of history and be part of another that is making one. As I straddle both worlds, I count myself blessed. Twice over.

Happy Birthday to my adopted country.

The bhajan session was by Kailash Anuj and Piyusha Anuj supported by their son on the tabla and two other local musicians. As we watched them take the Dias after the intro, my mind was skeptical. By the time they were into the second song “Hari Bhol” I was a convert. As my foot tapped and head swayed to the music, I noticed I was mouthing the words and merging into the one voice that was raising from the hall. Even as we left after sighting my bro and family, my mind was decades back in a house across the street.

Growing up I spent a good many evenings sitting in a hall across from my home in a neighbors home singing at the top of my voice till I was hoarse. The clashing of the cymbals and the powerful lead singer who’s voice rose steadily and clearly above the crowd resonated with devotion and oneness with the divine. For a couple of hours at a stretch I would forget myself, forget my inability to hold a tune, forget that in normal times I would not venture to even hum along a tune I knew well and immerse myself in a chorus that traversed time and faith. The group would reach a crescendo and the silence that followed would feel strange and comforting.

It was the anonymity in a crowd which came together in a love for music and faith in the one person the songs were an ode to. I joined not because I was a believer but because the music drew me there. I found something that moved me and touched me at an intangible level. Somewhere between then and now, I had forgotten all about that experience and the bhajans night at the temple brought it all back.

Epiphany

I stepped out of my home rushing to get to work for an early morning call. In the throes of the morning rush, this bunch of bushes caught my notice and I slowed down visibly. Mentally too. I stopped to admire and capture it. Settling into the passenger seat as I always do, I fiddled with the phone and eventually kept going back to the picture.

Wondering what was it about this simple picture of a flowering bush by the wayside that captured me so much, I realized it had to do with my frame of mind. Caught in a mindless rush of emotions and thoughts hurtling towards the future, the simplicity of a flower that lives but for a few days, gives joy to many and food to the bees that swarm around it made me stop in my tracks. These past couple of weeks I’ve been thinking so much about the future that the present has been passing me by.

In honor of the flowers that brought me back to earth, I title this Epiphany. I would love to hear your take on this.

All your life growing up, you took it for granted that you’d grow up, go to college, get a job, get married, build a career, have babies, go through mid life crisis, lose your parents and retire. If somewhere in this list, you hit a glitch, how do you cope? You look around and all the people you know seem to be chugging along predictive lines. Where do you go for inspiration? Do you trust yourself to take the right decisions? Do you look to strangers for inspiration? What is it you do?

This is not about me. This past week I have been going through strange conversations in my head which is making me rethink all my safe ideas of the future. I realize I have no clue. About coping, about reaching out. About anything at all.

Mulling over these thoughts, my friend and I headed back to the room. Relaxing a bit, we then stepped out for a spot of shopping. Most shops were closed. Wandering past Wharton, I was awestruck at what represented the best in business schools. Stopping to get a mug shot, we went past and found ourselves at this college hangout called Mad Mex.

Hesitating for just a moment, I followed my friend in. We found a good part of our class there. The evening was young and the conversation varied. Shouting to be heard and nursing a glass of Sangria, I clicked away with my phone. The faces around me looked relaxed, the smiles bigger and suddenly the world felt friendlier. Hanging out for over an hour, we then left to get dinner at a local pizzeria. It was getting dark and the conversation took a different turn. As we shared peeks into each others lives, a new friendship was born.

The following day, driving back home my mind was in a swirl of thoughts. In the three days I had been away, I had not had the time to think of home, worry about whether K had food or if the team I worked with in the office had issues and needed to talk to me. The world went on. All was well and I enjoyed leaving behind everything I knew to make forays into a world that had always intimidated me. In some ways I felt younger, care free and enjoyed the anonymity it offered. I was free to define myself any which way I wanted. Like writing on a clean slate.

With every term of the MBA that is over, I am not sure what value I am taking away from the courses I complete, but I do know that I am evolving as a person. Each class and every activity pushes me beyond my comfort zone and I am liking what I discover. To new horizons I think and clink glasses mentally.

Each day as you came back from a gruelling day at work, I watched you listen to Amma as she vented her frustrations. I sat content at your feet while you stroked my head and watched TV. I loved it when you asked me to make ’sottu kaapi’ before you called it a day. I was proud when you visited me in that tiny apartment I call my first home and I made macaroni for you and served it with ketchup. I loved you for it when you finished it without a word and asked for more. I cherish the memories of you and me going shopping a long time back to get a dress for my sister for her birthday. I remember picking a solid lilac colored boring dress and you agreeing with me that it was smart. It was fun going home and listening to Amma pick it apart as a team. Us versus her.

I remember you trusting me with princely sums of money as I lived away from home and never once asking me how I spent it or why. I remember you tirelessly calling random people in the quest for a perfect son in law. I cherish how you never once took me to task after calling off a marriage that was doomed from the start. I love you for patiently and silently standing by my side as I went through teenage angst and a rebellious streak. I remember you leaning back with my weight on a bundle of sticks refusing to sit on a chair as you wanted your daughter’s marriage to be perfect. I remember fondly your pot belly and your incessant ‘walks’ around the house hands behind your back.
I smile looking at the picture in front of me as you watch over me from above. It has been three years almost and not a day passes without you crossing my thoughts. Father’s day is not for me. Every day has been and will be special for me because of you. I love you and miss you Appa.

Halfway done we wrapped up around 5:00 and headed out to the New Deck at Tavern near the University. Entering a packed dim lit space I could see my classmates already there. I felt the familiar anxiety rise up. Quelling those feelings, I said thanks as a another friend bought me a lemonade. Sipping and watching, the next couple of hours flew past. I was tired, sleepy and just wanted to be home. Patiently waiting for my friend, I could hold out no longer and gently asked her if we could go. I felt guilty for pulling her away from an obviously good party. We reached the hotel and realized we had been bumped up to a suite. Grinning, we went upstairs and found the room to be real nice. A dining space, a living space, a huge double bed and a sparkling clean bathroom. The sofa in the living room was a pullout bed. Like a kid in a toy store, I took in the surroundings. I loved it.

As my friend headed out for the evening, I changed into pjs and sat with my laptop, then it came to me. Somewhere in the course of the day, we had done group exercises and for one of them, I volunteered to make a speech that would inspire people to join my army. I stood there with four other volunteers facing a room of about 80 people. Mic in hand, I felt it course through me, the adrenalin. My voice rang out clear. “Dear men… ” I started and went on to make a very short speech on being part of a bigger mission. Something grand. Done, I handed over the mic and headed back to my seat. Through the day, I had people come up to me and say “I would have followed you.” I felt thrilled beyond belief and it reminded me of school days. My constant fascination with the stage. I loved the feel of standing at the podium, looking into the eyes of a crowd. I loved the rush of adrenalin and the quaking gut. I loved the my voice booming over the speakers. Where did that part of me go all these years I wonder. It has been ages since I held a mic leave alone make a speech.

Hidden behind layers of unsureness, there was a part of me that craved attention, that loved the limelight. A side to me that was the flamboyant Leo. Parts of that personality peeked out occasionally. In the raised hand in class. In the eager questions about Vedanta in eighth grade. In the debating club at college. On the board of the college magazine. In checking out places to hold our annual extravaganza at Wipro Chennai. In fixing the all day outing near Mahabalipuram. The list could go on and on.

Today after ages, I felt like my old self. And I enjoyed every bit of it.

I give up.

I know. I know. It is a phase. Things will turn around. I will feel silly for having put this out there. I don’t want to hear it now.

You see, she was wearing anklets, a metti, a very elegant watch, a nice diamond ring, her long hair braided with two slides keeping stragglers falling into her face, her shiny thali kept glinting in under the dull bulb above them. She was looking deeply into the eyes of the person sitting against her, toying with her ring and her hands punctutating her conversation with its fluid movements. Her eyes were bright and lively. Every now and then she would adjust her well fitting top pulling at the neck line and waist and glance around uncomfortably. As she walked up to get a pastry, I noticed her jeans were baggy and then I knew.

She was me eight years back. Right down to the metti on her feet. For that one moment, I could see my life flash before me. The changes, slow and steady. Every year losing some of the ‘traditionalism’ and merging into the sameness around me. As I left that night, I turned around one last time to see her. To remember what it was like. It was bittersweet.