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Tea break hypocrisy

2012-01-26T14:21:00.004+05:30

“Hypocrisy can afford to be magnificent in its promises, for never intending to go beyond promise, it costs nothing.” – Edmund Burke, an eighteenth century Irish philosopher and political theorist.

Having been working in the development sector in India for close to two years now, I’m wondering if all I’m doing is glorifying the hypocrisy of the self proclaimed passionate proponents of development. The answer falls in the grey area, it is not a clear yes or no. Come to think of it, I’m just deluged with grey.

What should I think of a group of people who talk about removing gender biases in the society, whose work is focused on making young women from feudal backgrounds comfortable with making their own decisions in life, who call upon these young women to rise above and beyond the societal predefined roles and expectations for them, and do what they believe is right; and yet who directly or implicitly indicate that it is not okay for their female colleagues to go out for a cup of tea in a nearby roadside tea-stall? It is a Patna thing, a Bihar thing, I get it. Women are not expected to have tea standing on the roadside. But pray, why? If they can have the same cup or glass of tea sitting inside a car, what is the issue with standing near a tea stall and sipping tea? I was told that “Women from decent families are not expected to do that. It is looked down upon.” Well, go ahead and look down then, what else can I say here?

I don’t remember how many times I have gone out of my college, hostel and office with peers, juniors and seniors at college as well as work, to have cutting chai at the dhaba around the corner. Sometimes, I have done that alone. I have done this in half a dozen Indian cities, without even giving the act a second thought. But Patna, my hometown, ah! it is indeed different. So much for the accelerated development, and spotless exteriors, the mindsets still reside in the middle ages. What shocked me even more is that even the young and supposedly progressive adopt the same mindset when here. A young colleague left me speechless when he said on my face, without batting an eyelid that even if he wanted to have tea at a tea-stall, he would go alone, rather than accompany three female colleagues. And this was coming from a young man of twenty-five, who has been exposed to much more progressive societies, and has worked in a much more open environment. I do not even want to think about the mindsets of older people who have spent all their lives in Bihar.

I’m usually upset and angry when something like this happens. It gives way to feeling sad and sorry at the state of affairs. What is particularly dismaying is the fact that this comes from people who actually go around trying to instill confidence in young women from far flung areas of Bihar, telling them it is okay to dare, dream and act.

Whatever happened to walking the talk? Are we really destined for hypocrisy? Why was this inconsequential act of taking a tea-break such a big deal?

Out of all this, there was one thing that made me smile. Of the three women who went out for tea, one was particularly hesitant, and had initially said an outright no. She relented eventually, and while sipping tea standing on the corner of a road admitted that she was hesitant because she had never before stood at a roadside tea-stall for tea. She had felt conscious about the negative connotation attached to the act. About what people would think.

So, how did she feel about this now that she was indulging in the act? She responded with a bright twinkle in her eyes and a disarming smile.

Questions and more questions

2012-01-08T17:44:00.000+05:30

“We are all, by nature, clearly oriented toward the basic human values of love and compassion. We all prefer the love of others to their hatred. We all prefer others’ generosity to meanness. And who is there among us who does not prefer tolerance, respect and forgiveness of our failings to bigotry, disrespect, and resentment?” – His Holiness, The Dalai Lama

What, then, makes people behave meanly to others? I observe a lot of meanness around me. Deliberately causing discomfiture, uncalled for rudeness, unsympathetic stances, all not necessarily directed towards me, but always pervading the environment. What makes humans inhuman?

I will admit that constantly being in such an environment makes me, what I would call, not the best version of myself. But it is a vicious circle. It never ends. Meanness, cold shouldering, hot discussions, meanness, cold shouldering, hot discussions . . . and the loop goes on infinitely. Where do you break free? By being neutral, disinterested and reserved? It doesn’t always work.

Sometimes, by your actions you also affect how other people are treated by the ones you have drawn battle lines with. Sometimes, for a variety of reasons, your opponents don’t attack you. Instead they take their vengeance out on these innocent others. What do you do then?

One can probably mend fences by being super sweet and nice. But when you genuinely don’t like people, don’t have respect left for them, a super sweet demeanour is nothing but a facade. It is like lying to yourself. Is peace bought this way worth the lie?

Today has been a fairly slow day. I am in Samastipur. My teammates decided to keep me out of the field trips today. Consequently, I was left with a lot of time on my hands. Time to read, think, reflect, brood and write.

While I’m glad to have this time on my hand, a part of me is annoyed at not being in the thick of things today. I guess I should limit myself to being grateful, for a busy week waits for all of us.

An overdose of sweets and tea killed my appetite in the afternoon, and a lack of company finished off any motivation to order lunch. Do you think more profoundly and objectively with an empty stomach? And why is it that you don’t feel hungry, even when you feel the emptiness in your stomach?

Innocent Hearts

2012-01-03T22:42:00.000+05:30

It has been over eight months now. I was their teacher for a year. And those of you who know me will have no trouble in believing me when I say that I was a very strict teacher. I yelled at them, made them miss games when they didn’t do their homework, postponed the breakfast break unless each kid in the class mastered tables, and snatched their pencils when I found them doodling. I threw away Kaustub’s compass and tore away Neha’s paper. I almost chopped away Shradha’s tangled, matted locks, reducing her to tears and forced Prasad to stay for extra classes in spite of him wailing for going home. For the most part, I have found myself incapable of touchy, feely and cuddly love. When I left Pune, I didn’t really think that the kids would spring up so frequently in my thoughts. But they did. They still do.

Intelligent Vidya, who surpassed all expectations from a second grader, sincere Uday, who never did a single wrong thing, sweet Pushti, who every kid wanted to be friends with, cutely naughty Saras, who each girl wanted to tie a rakhi to, restless Amol, whose writing refused to keep pace with his active brain, Vaishnavi, Shravani, Kaustub, Viraj, Priyanka, Bharat, Varun, Rahul, Kevin, and. . . the list goes on. And Neha. Neha, who was a huge challenge for me to begin with. Neha, who hated me at the outset. And yet, she became so attached to me that she practically blackmailed her mom into inviting me home for lunch before I left Pune. One of the best lunches in my life – hot vadas, delicious sambhar, in a humble chawl on the outskirts of Pune. It was a lunch thrown in my honor. Neha who made her dad practise speaking in English and Hindi before I, who she called ‘didi’ went to their house, because ‘didi’ didn’t speak Marathi, and if her father couldn’t converse with me, Neha would feel let down. Because, she told her ‘didi’ that her dad was great, and had completed college. He drove auto rickshaws for a living. Neha took pride in the fact that her dad was an educated auto rickshaw driver.

It has been eight months, and yet on a random day, out of the blue, a get a call from one of them – someone calling me to tell me how much the class misses me, someone begging me to at least visit, someone enquiring about my well being and whereabouts, someone wanting to know if I’m still teaching kids, someone wishing me a happy new year.

I spoke with Pavi today. It was like the old times. Her words are still ringing in my ears, “They remember you every single day. They rush up to me and Manj to ask about you. They’ve asked for your address to send you a letter and a gift . . . ”

My association with these innocent hearts is perhaps one of the most meaningful ones in my life. The photograph below shows some of them, taking a break after a strenuous practice for the school’s annual day last year. The photograph was taken in February last year, and is one of my favourites.

Pure Joy

Welcoming 2012

2012-01-01T00:12:00.005+05:30

I have welcomed many new years with eyes wide open and awake. But, this is the first time in my life that I’m connected to the internet while welcoming a new year. Guaranteed, 2012 will be different.
So many years have gone by! Really, at times I’m amazed at the speed at which time has passed. At times, I feel I’m still standing where I was ten years ago, and time has raced past me. So much has changed, and yet, it feels like nothing really has changed. The world still follows the same rules. Things are same and different at the same time.
Friends, acquaintances and relationships that span the globe, are so different, and yet feel so similar to me at a point in my reflections and memories. In a way this time doesn’t feel too different from the New Year celebrations of 2009, when I was standing at the Times’ Square in New York in frigid weather to see the ball come down, helped by the Clintons. Gosh! Time flies.
Fireworks of celebrations are lighting up my eyes and ringing in my ears. It feels good. May this new year of 2012 give you whatever you want from it.

Incredible India

2011-12-31T22:38:00.000+05:30

In a few hours, this year will be history. We witnessed blatant corruption and the 'Anna Hazare' phenomenon in India. We saw innumerable high level departures from the world, whether it was Steve Jobs or M.F. Hussain, Har Gobind Khorana or Sathya Sai Baba, Liz Taylor or Amy Winehouse, Gaddafi or Osama bin Laden , Shammi Kapoor, Bhupen Hazarika or Jagjit Singh.

Personally too, it has been a landmark year. What's a farewell to 2011 without a hearty laugh? The last post in 2011 calls for something funny.

So here it is, seen on one of the busier commercial roads in the heart of the city. . .

What is it? A discarded commode juxtaposed between a lamp-post and a car parked on the roadside.

Indeed, incredible India!

The most wonderful time of the year

2011-12-25T20:29:00.001+05:30

There is an old classic that goes, “It’s the most wonderful time of the year...” The joy in this song is infectious. I find myself humming along. The last week of the year invariably finds me in an introspective mood. Year after year, I take stock of who I am and what I am turning into. The warmth of feelings overcomes the chill of winters. The manifestation of a divine, supreme hand reinstates confidence in the state of the world. Lessons learnt during the year show the path for a better tomorrow.

2011 has been a unique year. I wrapped up my teaching job in Pune in the first half of the year, and dived into the social sector in Bihar in the second half. My former students, those eight year old innocent hearts still remember me sometimes. My former colleagues call me up sometimes to tell me how my kids are doing and to find out how I’m doing. Although I questioned myself on the propriety of my decision to take up that assignment in Pune, in retrospect, I now realize that it was a rich, valuable experience. It broke the monotony in my professional career. It shook me up to think and do something new. It made me think of new things, reignited the dormant creativity in me.

Coming back to Patna and taking up the assignment that I’m currently working on was another highlight of this year. Even five years ago, I would not have imagined that I’d ever take this step. Ten years ago, this would have been unthinkable. I had worked so hard to get out of this place. And here I was, returning to Patna with bag and baggage, out of my own free will. Life indeed is full of surprises.

Working here has been an eye-opening experience. From the vanity and meanness of those that dwell in ivory towers of their own egos, to the greatness of those who go by you most inconspicuously, I saw it all from very close quarters. Corruption is a bane, but it need not be a permanent feature. Like in everything else, innovative thought produces effective results in the matter of tackling corruption as well. I used to say earlier that one needs to speak up when one encounters instances that feel wrong to the conscience. I will modify it now and say that one needs to do something, and that something need not necessarily mean speaking up, it could be a silent action. And, I’ll leave it at that.

I have travelled a lot to erstwhile unchartered territories in the state of Bihar. Be it congested Biharsharief, rural Harnaut, beautiful Rajgir, far flung Motihari, crime infested Nawada, secluded Hisua, caste violence affected Warisaliganj, communist Bihat or loud mouthed Begusarai. I have enjoyed the road trips, and I have enjoyed the company I’ve had. I’ve had meaningful conversations, with myself, and with others. Knowing places and people around me, knowing myself, immersing myself in the moment, in the surroundings of all those places I travel to and spend time in – although physically exhausting, these trips have been a great experience for me. The seemingly endless roads, the brown and green countryside, the rising sun – all seem to be harbingers of a new life. In spite of uncertainties, there is a reassurance. I am discovering that forgiveness and letting go, hard as they are, are unparalleled virtues. Empathy, care and kindness come in unexpected packages. As does respect. And faith. Love and time do heal wounds. Travel clears the mind and meditation heals the soul. Multi-tasking is an illusion – you only do one thing at a time. Helping others helps you more. And, as my father told me when I was seven years old – honesty is the best policy. And the most important thing is to be honest to yourself. The year that is on the verge of sinking into history has been a very rich and intense year for me. It is hard to predict what turns life will take, but I have a feeling that mine will be worth its time.

Early morning road journey from Motihari

Huts in rural Nawada

A pond in Begusarai

Mahatma Gandhi's mantra in MS College, Motihari

Integrity

2011-11-26T22:52:00.004+05:30

Who are you when no one is watching? I think that sums up who you really are.

She spends a lot of time trying to understand who she is. The quest leads her to untraveled lands, unexpected jobs and mentally unchartered territories. Integrity – being true to herself – is important for her. Doing the right thing is important for her. There are wars and battles galore, some of them in such unchartered territories where many would fear to tread.

Her professional life has been a saga of adventures, surprises and discoveries for almost two years now. Sometimes, she shudders at the corruption rampant around her; sometimes she is disheartened by the character of people running matters; sometimes her guts swell with disgust and despise; sometimes she feels like withdrawing from all. But that is just sometimes.

Mostly, she takes pride in her decisions and actions, in spite of the opposition faced. She knows that she will not look back on these days and her actions with regret.

“Nearly all men can stand adversity, but if you want to test a man's character, give him power.”

– Abraham Lincoln

Sunday morning reflections

2011-11-20T10:32:00.000+05:30

Robert Louis Stevenson had said, “For my part, I travel not to go anywhere, but to go. I travel for travel’s sake. The great affair is to move”. I have been feeling like that lately. Just wanting to go. My work has been holding me back, but it has also shown me new avenues to explore.

I have been travelling for work, living in places I would have never dreamed of staying, doing things that are so different from whatever I have done before, or have aspired to do, that sometimes I wonder if this is all for real. I have been noticing greatness of the commons and depravity of the elite. Gaining respect for some, losing respect for others. Becoming cynical and optimistic at the same time. Finding order in randomness, clarity in nebulousness, warmth in winters and coldness in heat. Perhaps, I am not making much sense to the reader, but here I am sitting in my room in Rajgir trying to pour out all that I have been containing inside of me for the past so many days, and this is the form my words are taking.

I was up and out very early this morning. What I saw has left me pleased.

Rajgir is beautiful. I had come here with my family over twenty years ago. My unexpected line of work has brought me here again. I could not have asked for a better environment to live. The air rejuvenates you. The serene silence infuses a new life into you.

I have to get to work soon, and I sign off quoting another great writer, Mark Twain. “Twenty years from now you will be more disappointed by the things you didn’t do than by the ones you did do. So throw off the bowlines, sail away from the safe harbor. Catch the trade winds in your sails. Explore. Dream. Discover.”

The unconnected dots

2011-10-23T20:29:00.001+05:30

Diwali is just around the corner. After a long time, I am in Patna for Diwali. In the last ten years, I have been in Patna only around festive times for vacation. This time, I am working here. It feels different. Neither better, nor worse. Just different.

My father, the tall, brave and strong man of the family has grown old. I can see it now. Every day. At times, I stare on sadly as I watch him limp. Just ten years ago, he would be the one carrying the heaviest bag, being the strongest member of the family. Today, I am the strong one. But this strength makes me more vulnerable.

My mother, though also troubled by arthritis, feels happier than she did earlier. Her spirit of adventure has grown since her retirement. Her eyes light up when we talk about a trip. Although low on stamina, she loves planning trips. She also loves reading, just like me. I sometimes envy her for all the reading she is able to do.

Both my parents like having me around. They always thought that I would only come to Patna for a few weeks every year for vacations. In fact, so did I. The fact that I am here for several months, working full time is a source of unexpected joy to them as well as to me.

Even though I had not planned on returning to Patna, now that I am here, somehow it feels predestined. I know I am not going to stay here forever. I will be leaving bag and baggage for another city sometime next year. But this stint that I am doing here, for some reason I have a feeling that I simply had to do it. Steve Jobs had said that you can only connect the dots backwards. Perhaps five or ten years down the line, I will be able to, hopefully with a happy smile.

There are other battles, small and big, going on inside of me. There are dilemmas and questions. There are people at work, and some more people related to work. People I have found respect for and people I have lost respect for. People I have come to admire and want to know more about and people I have come to despise and want to avoid. My sister says I read too deeply into people’s actions and words. May be. It is indeed uncanny how much I have discovered about people by observing them. I think experience also has a lot to do with it. In spite of everything, all open ends, all ethical dilemmas and all unconnected dots, I am strangely at peace with myself.

Growing older is a highly underrated experience.

Autumn Leaves

2011-10-16T14:29:00.000+05:30

Climatologically, India does not really experience much of autumn. We have hot summers, wet monsoons, a brief dry transition into winters, a full blown winter, again a brief transition into summers. It is the brief dry transition period in October that a lot of us like to call autumn. I love this time. For one, it marks the end of the rainy season. The nip in the air in the mornings is a harbinger of hope and happy days. At least, I like to think so.

Universally, there seems to be a touch of wistfulness and nostalgia about autumn. The falling leaves perhaps are a metaphor for bigger losses of the world. Those dry, lifeless, skeletal leaves softly floating down in the air, landing quietly on the ground. Soon, they would pass into oblivion, perhaps getting ready for another life. Or perhaps mingling into the cosmos for once and for all, who knows?

When people depart this world, we often pray that they may rest in peace. What about the ones they leave behind?

On the morning of October 6^th, I went quiet for a while after reading ‘Steve Jobs dies’ running on the television news ticker. I had read in February that he had very little time. Then when, he resigned on August 24^th this year stating that he could no longer meet his duties and expectations as Apple’s CEO, many of us believed the end to be near. He died exactly six weeks later on October 5^th.

I read a bit about his life after his death. That was when I knew that he had, in his early years travelled to India in search of enlightenment, only to be disillusioned and then return back to the US. What Jobs had said about that experience is something I ponder about quite often these days, “We weren’t going to find a place where we could go for a month to be enlightened. It was one of the first times that I started to realize that maybe Thomas Edison did a lot more to improve the world than Karl Marx and Neem Kairolie Baba put together.”

Why am I saying this now? Because yesterday, I was in a meeting with a bunch of people including a bureaucrat who claims to be the torchbearer of empowerment of ordinary people. And this bureaucrat made an arrogant statement about how only the top of the class is worth grooming. And I was left gaping open mouthed at this messiah of empowerment. How do you aim for mass scale social changes when top of the class is all you are aiming for? Another autumn leaf fell on the earth for me.

In the last few days, I have read Steve Jobs’ Stanford commencement address of2005 several times over. I think there is a little bit for everyone in there.

Introspection

2011-10-02T18:03:00.000+05:30

Continuous work sometimes makes you operate mechanically. You go through your daily lists of jobs meticulously, ticking off one job at a time, and feeling satisfied. The tasks sometimes obscure your vision. You meet people, interact with them, work with them, and thank them for the time spent. You notice them as individuals after they are gone. You wish you had more time with them. You wonder what kind of a life they’ve had. You start to want to know them better.

Sometimes, you feel a rapidly expanding vacuum inside you. You wonder, what is it exactly that you are doing? You question your own intentions and wonder if you really know what you want. You wonder how and where you’d eventually end up. You dive into the vacuum inside of you, and realize, it is not a vacuum after all. You keep thinking. Images fly by. You stand and watch, as an onlooker. You come back to where you started, sometimes feeling wiser, sometimes not so much.

Dreams

2011-09-21T21:09:00.001+05:30

On a dreary day at work, I decided to take an in situ break from work with my colleagues. The mini office seats Rash – the warrior, Ants – the foodie, Abs – the events guy, Neers – the designer and me.

The warrior was out, and it was the four of us in office.

My communications with the representatives from the Department of Social Welfare had been going back and forth, with no clear results. I was also annoyed with some directives issued to me. Some bits of information I gathered bothered me a little. I was debating over morality of decisions. I felt tired. At that moment, I wanted to go away for a Vipassana retreat.

I had broached the subject of Vipassana meditation with my colleagues. They showed interest in knowing more. We spoke about it for a while.

I then moved my chair to the centre of the hall that seats us, and asked Ants, who was at the other end, “If there was one thing you really wanted to do in your whole life, your single dream that you wanted to come true, what would it be?”

Ants is a chubby, cheerful person with a heart of gold. She loves to talk about dreams and wishes. “I want to clear the final group of Chartered Accountancy exams. I just want to do that. Everything in my life has boiled down to becoming a CA. If I had to ask for one thing, that would be it.”

Abs and I protested over, what we called her myopic vision of life. But she was clear.

I then posed the same question to Abs.

“I want to go away to a quiet and peaceful place and settle over there. Alone. I want no company. I want nature, peace and serenity. I don’t want anyone around me.”

So far, so good.

I turned to Neers with the same question.

Neers is a short, thin, dark guy, very soft spoken and very courteous. He is our designer. He is recovering from appendicitis. His appendix burst at work about two months ago, and he went on a one month leave. He has been with the organization I am currently doing a project with for over three years, yet he is a contract employee. He doesn’t get any employee benefits, gets a pittance in the name of salary, and yet he works diligently, painstakingly, day in and day out. He is not particularly scholarly, but he is good at his work – designing. He comes from a humble background, and doesn’t talk unnecessarily.

When I posed the question to him, he pulled away his chair from his computer monitor to face me with a sad smile and said, “Ma’am, mere zindagi ka ek hi sapna hai – ki mujhe ek sarkari naukri mil jaaye. Wo kuchh bhi ho, kaisi bhi ho, bas ek sarkari naukri mil jaaye. Aur kuchh nahi chahiye mujhe.”

(“Ma’am, I have just one dream in my life – that I get a government job. I’ll accept any role, I just want a government job. I don’t desire for anything else in life.”)

Neers grew up dreaming of a permanent government job. Not a lot of money, but security and stability. The fact that he works day in and day out without any acknowledgement, verbal or monetary, does bother him. The fact that he doesn't earn on days he takes a sick leave breaks his heart. Even though he maintains equanimity through everything that is said to him, even when he shrugs off the disrespect people show him, I can see the sadness and disappointment in his eyes.

He works very hard. He never says no. He is extremely soft-spoken and humble. He is a pushover. He is a simple man, with simple needs, simple wants. All he wants is stability in return for his efforts. When I shared my lofty dream of traveling the world after listening to Neers, I felt sad, self-centered and selfish. Some dreams are as simple as that, and yet it is a gargantuan effort to realize them. Some things are so uncomplicated, and yet people don't bother to spend a minute to understand them. For reasons that I had not fathomed at the outset, this job is proving to be an immensely valuable learning experience.

I still haven’t found what I’m looking for, but I really hope that Neers, Abs and Ants do.

Corny Conversations

2011-09-20T21:18:00.003+05:30

IS: “How is this experience going to add to your CV value?”

Me: “I wanted to do this for the change it offered from my routine corporate job, not particularly for CV value.”

IS: “You must be getting paid a lot more than you are being now, no?”

Me: “Yes.”

IS: “You still wanted to do this, in spite of the pay cut?”

Me: “Yes. Pay was not a deciding factor.”

IS: “Pay was not a deciding factor? So would you have worked for free?”

Me: “That depends.”

IS: “Depends on what?”

Me: “On me.”

IS (startled): “Of course. So you had personal reasons to return to Patna, I guess?”

Me: “You could put it that way.”

IS (with a glance at the wall clock): “Ah! The clock is ticking.”

Me (not sure about what the equivocal statement meant): “Oh! I’m sorry. Don’t let me hold you up. I didn’t know you had a meeting.”

IS: “No, no. No meeting. I meant the clock is ticking for you. Getting married, having kids and all that.”

Me (a little nonplussed at why she had to look at the wall clock when she was actually referring to my biological clock, but soon regaining composure): “And all what?”

IS: “All that. Marriage and kids.”

Me: “But you said getting married, having kids and all that. What was the all that you were referring to?”

IS: “Arre baba marriage and kids only.”

Me: “But you said all that. I thought you meant something more.”

IS: “Nothing more. I just said it like that.”

Me: “Like what?”

IS (slightly annoyed): “Please, why are you talking like this? You are asking stupid, irrelevant questions.”

Me (smiling): “Exactly my emotions and exactly my question.”

The lady searched for words but did not manage to create a coherent statement.

And I realized that I enjoy the act of making people speechless more than I should.

People. Sometimes, they just don't get you.

To think that I was starting to become a milder version of myself! Huh!

Eerie emotions

2011-09-18T21:04:00.001+05:30

It happened a couple of hours ago.

I was sitting at my desk, browsing through all the newsletters that were housed in my inbox. The week that went by has been enervating. The last bit of vitality had been sapped out of me. Weekend has been reduced to a part of Sunday. The siesta did some good, and after a cup of tea in the evening, I was finally in a mood to go through my personal inbox.

I had just plugged in my datacard, when I felt as if someone was trying to move my chair. Flummoxed, I looked down. I felt it again. Mild vibrations. The chair was shaking. I felt the wooden bar on which my feet were resting also vibrate. I have had some inexplicable experiences in life, and eerie emotions in my mind were just taking the form of words when I heard the glass doors of the cabinets in the room reverberate.

At that moment, my father came in, gesturing to me to move outdoors quickly. “Tremors”, he said.

Stationed on the flat roof, we saw the neighbourhood go all abuzz. Many people had gathered outside their houses on the street. Several, like us, gathered on their rooftops. For no particular reason, thoughts of death and destruction clouded my mind.

In my family, we sometimes joke at the ‘curse of the monsoons’. Monsoon months have not been good for us in the past. Over the years, these months have brought sadness, gloom, despair and disappointment. Probably that is why, I have never liked monsoons. Every monsoon, there is a trepidation of something awful happening. I wish I could lead a life in which I would be away from India, from this subcontinent for the duration of monsoons every year. Leave in June and return sometime in October or November. Live in some other part of the world for these three or four months.

Scarred September

2011-09-11T14:03:00.001+05:30

I was in the first year of my Post Graduation in Management in 20o1. Scattered memories about this day in September 2001 have been floating in my mind since morning.

It was a little past 8 in the evening, and I made my way to the hostel mess for dinner. I remember Sandy J rushing out of the common room in his abominable little shorts, shouting, “Guys, the third world war has started, America has been attacked”. I dismissed his remarks with a smirk. Sandy was known to exaggerate.

But, to my surprise, I soon saw a couple of other shocked faces rushing out of the common room expressing similar sentiments. Dinner was abandoned as most of us rushed to catch the news in the ‘Old Hostel’ common room. The sights on the television left us flummoxed.

“Is this some sort of a media prank?”, someone called out from the background.

Alas, it wasn’t. That was no prank. It was reality. Mind numbing reality. Through the night, we followed news of the attack on the World Trade Center in NY on television and internet. Bone chilling videos of the plane tearing through the second WTC tower left everyone speechless. We later learnt of the crash in Pentagon and of flight United 93, which crashed in Shanksville, Pennsylvania. There were no survivors. The site of the crash in Shanksville is now home to a memorial.

The website of the National Park Service details the story of United 93. It was the only hijacked flight that day that missed its target. An eponymous movie was made about the flight and its patriotic crew and passengers, who decided to fight back once they realized the intentions of the hijackers. The film makers tried to be accurate, with the cooperation of the families of the passengers of the ill fated flight. It is an excellently made film, compact, well edited and brilliantly presented. It also leaves my face wet with tears every time I watch it.

When the passengers realized that they were destined to die, what would have transpired in their minds? Some people had managed to make calls to their loved ones from the plane, knowing that they were never going to see them again. They said that unexpected final goodbye, knowing they were going to die a painful death. The transcript of the cockpit voice recorder of the flight has been made available by the Government of the United States of America. You witness religious fanaticism at its worst.

Biographies of the passengers and crew of the flight have also been made available. Sandy Waugh Bradshaw, a flight attendant told her husband from the flight that they were boiling water to throw on the hijackers. Another flight attendant, 33 year old CeeCee Ross Lyles spoke to her husband minutes before the crash, “Tell the boys I love them. We’re getting ready to do it now. It’s happening!” Todd M. Beamer, an account manager for Oracle, called Airfone customer service and provided information about the hijacking. He sent a message for his pregnant wife and children. The customer service representative he spoke to, recalls that at the end of his call, Todd said to his co-passengers, “Are you ready? Okay. Let’s roll.” These are only a handful. Each life lost has a story to tell.

An otherwise little known Shanksville in Pennsylvania became home to the saga of the patriotism of the passengers of United 93.

Death as an absolute finality has often occurred in my thoughts. As I have known more about the passengers of United 93, a group of people united by a strange and tragic hand of destiny, I have often pondered over some questions. What would I do if I knew I just had a few more minutes to live? How would I spend the last few minutes of my life?

What would you do? How would you like to spend your last few minutes?

In the days that followed the attacks, every expert worth his salt analyzed the attacks.

It was in the fall of 2006 that I started living in USA. It was the Black Friday afternoon in 2006 when I visited Ground Zero. It was a Saturday afternoon when I visited the Staten Island September 11 memorial.

During the time I lived there, I met people who had experienced 9/11. I got to know someone who lost his mother in the attacks. I became friends with someone who was trapped in a subway. I once saw a teenager sit quietly in front of the memorial weeping. Her choked voice was addressing someone dear. Her grief was infectious, and people around her stood still. There were many moist eyes there.

While reading Rudy Giuliani’s ‘Leadership’, I got to know of hundreds of acts of bravery.

I’m reading and hearing a lot about 9/11 on the tenth anniversary of the deadly attacks today – a reminder that sometimes it just takes a bunch of blindsided, obsessive maniacs to jolt our lives and bring our world to a crashing end. Life moves on, and time heals. To an extent. Some wounds run very deep. Some scars never completely heal. Closure is most likely a mythological concept. What is truly commendable is the fact that after September 11, 2001, no major terrorist attack has occurred on the US soil. Attempts have been made, yes, but none of them have been successful. That says a lot about the national intelligence, law enforcement, administration and government of the country.

Stars

2011-09-04T20:46:00.000+05:30

Twinkling dots on the navy blue sky. Lighting up the vast sky. Mesmerizing a terrace onlooker in the silent night.

Old memories come alive. A child’s yearning for the elusive fairy. Different fairies from different stars. Hours spent on the terrace waiting to catch a mere glimpse. Wondering about what the stars hold.

Waking early to see the morning star. The blinding brightness of the evening star. A surge of accomplishment on identifying the stars. Still wondering, what is on them? Still wondering if I could ever get any closer?

Hours spent under the stars. Traveling, walking, talking, stopping. Standing. Sleeping. Waking up with stars in eyes.

Heartaches laid bare under the canopy of stars. Tears melting away on starlit nights. Fears and insecurities swept aside by their twinkling presence. Ambitions defined with an eye on the stars. Silent celebrations of triumphs on starry nights. Marching ahead, with stars in my eyes.

Reaching for the stars on shores wide apart. Watching them on my way back home. Staring at them with thoughts of those I cared for. Thinking of a friend while looking at them. Searching for answers when talking to them.

When my thoughts are fuzzy, and priorities unclear, the blanket of stars guides me sometimes. I sought their company as a child. And they have always been with me.

Officiously meddlesome colleagues

2011-09-04T09:02:00.001+05:30

At work, very few things piss me off more than a meddlesome co-worker. I have usually got along well with co-workers, peers, bosses and reportees. Back in my corporate avatar, I had become the troubled project specialist – one who would put assignments gone awry in order. I enjoyed it. Even when I have not liked people at work, I have been civil to them, and this has invariably been reciprocated.

Over the years, as I have learnt that I am not perfect, I have also learnt to be more accepting of what I perceive to be faults in others. I have tried to keep my personal and professional life separate and not let my work become my life. In the same spirit, I have avoided doing personal work and making personal calls while at work. Sometimes, I can’t help it, as I spend ten to twelve hours at work, six days a week, but overall, I manage quite well. To the extent that it concerns people, I am a firm believer in keeping personal and professional spaces separate. Hundred percent of that, I know, is difficult to achieve, but I try my best. I never pry into the personal lives of colleagues, ask them personal questions or make remarks on their appearances.

It, therefore, pisses me off no end when people start prying into my personal space. To the extent that they are directly asking me questions, I can handle it. But this week, something super annoying happened. I had received a text message that had the contact number of someone a colleague needed to speak to. When she asked for the number, I started to read it out loud, but she was already on the phone with someone, and with a gesture indicated that it’d be better if she could just read it from my phone itself. I just handed it over to her, thinking she’d note down the number and hand the phone back to me.

The phone remained in her hand for over five minutes despite my subtle protests, during which my call records, details of address book contacts and the text messages were lovingly browsed. Why didn't I go and grab my phone from her hand? I'll say, because I thought it would be rude. But then, what she was doing doing was equally rude and unprofessional.

Subtleties were wasted and I learnt that expressions of displeasure are not taken seriously unless you make a loud (and I’m being quite literal here) hue and cry over it – an act that I’ve never really indulged in, at any of my workplaces.

In the last few days, part of my annoyance has given way to amusement at the overt interest being shown in my life and affairs. I feel like a neophyte in this environment.

Century

2011-09-02T09:01:00.003+05:30

This is my one hundredth post. Finally the elusive century is here.

For four years, I averaged one post each month. I was almost absent from this space in 2010. This year, 2011, has been my most prolific year blogging. I should credit that largely to my decision to move to Patna, where, in spite of hectic schedules at work, I can use most of my spare time reading and writing. I am discovering that being taken care of can be empowering too!

I started blogging when I was in New York. Subsequently, I lived in Delhi, Pune, and have been living in Patna for the last three months. It has been a long journey. And I know this journey will continue to destinations that are, as yet, not clear to me.

I started blogging very apprehensively. I was unsure of how much to express on a public forum. When I revert to my initial posts today, I find them a little hazy and unspecific. Over the hundred posts, I have become more direct and forthcoming with my expressions.

For a very long time, I limited my posts to text only. You could say that I liked (and still like) the Google style minimalist philosophy on websites. But slowly, I moved to pictures. They made the space more attractive.

Talking about Google, I must digress a little from the topic here and add that in the last four years, my admiration for the company and its founders has grown. I am a huge admirer of the company, its code of conduct “Don’t be evil”, its founders and the business model. I sometimes regret not specializing in web data mining, for Google is one company I would have dearly loved to work for. Apple is another. I’ll write more on this, may be some time later.

These days, at any given point, I have at least two or three drafts in waiting. But I wanted my hundredth post to be exclusive. It has been an interesting journey of expression, self discovery, learning and connecting. I am now fairly sure that I will not abandon writing (blogging), wherever I am, and whatever I am doing. For, I now take time out for writing in the middle of working through practically all holidays and personal tribulations.

When lives are short and roads are long, a century does tell you at least this – that you have endured.

The pest control guy

2011-08-28T19:51:00.000+05:30

How hard some people have to work to make ends meet!

This was the weekend for pest control at my house. The pest control guy was supposed to reach by 10.30 am. He called to let us know that he would be a little late.

It was noon, and there was no sign of him. Tempers started to rise, and his number was dialled again.

“About to reach”, was his response.

He reached fifteen minutes later, drenched in sweat. A thin, middle aged man, he had a mild look.

“Would you like to have some water?”, asked my mother.

“Yes madam, thank you”, he said and immediately gulped down a couple of glasses of water, adding, “I’ve been cycling from Patna City and it is quite hot outside.”

He had cycled fifteen kilometres in the hot, sweltering noon sun.

He told us later, that he always does that. The more houses he covers, the more incentive pay he gets. Money is important, he tells us, with a family to support and skyrocketing prices. We nod in agreement.

There is not much I can say to him. Till yesterday, getting the pesticide job done was just one task on a list. But today, I view it as something more than that.

Seemingly inconsequential encounters sometimes give you a new perspective.

An unexpected loss

2011-08-28T11:52:00.004+05:30

“The baby’s heartbeat stopped. I lost my baby”, she said with a wry laugh from the other end into my shocked ears.

That wry laugh. I flinched. I pictured her calm exterior as she was describing the ordeal in her matter of fact tone. It happened so suddenly, they still find it unfathomable.

I am not a mother, have never been pregnant, have never married. I do not grasp in entirety how they feel. But I've known her for so long. Why should this happen to her? I cannot start putting in words what lies behind the wry smile and the calm exterior.

I am speechless.

Road trip

2011-08-25T21:57:00.004+05:30

I need to travel a lot into far flung areas of Bihar for my current work. My first full day trip was to Nawada this Wednesday. For the uninitiated, Nawada is a district in the state of Bihar that is notoriously famous for all sorts of crimes. When I asked my team member who is based there about what the most famous thing from Nawada is, without batting an eyelid, he replied, “Crime!”

I was a tad nervous about the trip, as I had to return late in the evening, and the route back was through areas that are not known for many good things. There were moments of fright, but as I got home unharmed by eight in the night, overall, the experience was empowering.

The entire experience of the day is too vast and too complex to express in one sitting, but I did want to post some photos from the road trip. I love travelling via road through the countryside. I roll down the windows of the car, and from time to time, capture the scenes that energize me most. Here are some of my best scenes from the recent road trip.

The morning sun peeping out of clouds, watered fields, rivers, mountains and sunset, each sight was worthy of a million words of admiration.

Tree of prosperity

2011-08-25T21:19:00.000+05:30

Graphic by Jinksy at In Tandem

(Two in Tandem series)

For centuries, the tree of prosperity stood straight;

Bestowing bounties on all in that place.

Until one night when a greedy man

Axed it, collected bounties and ran.

Only the base of the tree remained;

Everyone was deeply pained.

However, imagine the utter surprise

At what next morning, all saw with their eyes.

What remained had turned into gold;

Scratches seemed to tell a story untold.

Wherever the axe had bruised the tree;

Tiny rubies embellished it with glee.

The invisible companion

2011-08-21T20:02:00.001+05:30

I heard a beautiful song last night. It is from the soundtrack of a recent Hindi movie, and has been rendered beautifully by Pakistani singer Rahat Fateh Ali Khan. The lyrics go like this:

Dhundhla jayein jo manzilen, ek pal ko tu nazar jhuka

Jhuk jaye sar jahan wahi milta hai rab ka rasta

Teri kismat tu badal de, rakh himmat bas chalde

Tere saath hi mere kadmo ke hain nishaan

Tu na jaane aas paas hain khuda

Loosely translated this means:

When your vision gets hazy and you are no longer sure of your goals, just remember to pause for a while, and remember God with humility. Wherever and whenever you let go of your ego, you will find a way to get your voice and prayers to reach God. You can change your destiny, but you need to persevere and keep working towards it. Once you have truly let go of your ego, wherever you tread, you’ll find God is with you. You probably don’t know it now, but God is always walking alongside you in life.

Dumb and dumber

2011-08-21T14:53:00.002+05:30

Last night, while feeling euphoric over the start of my one day weekend, I was flipping through channels on the television. I came to a lifestyle channel where the uber chic anchor was saying, “Answer this question and win fabulous prizes.”

It was a multiple choice question, and had three options.

“Q. Which of the following should you wear to office?

(a) Sleeping suit

(b) Track suit

I stared. Eyes wide open and mouth gaping. Did I hear it right? Then I saw the question with the options printed on screen. Whoa! I did indeed hear it right.

The show seemed to target urban, modern, stylish females who were fairly well to do in life. Why ask such a dumb question? Did the producers really want to make a fool of themselves and insult the audience by asking such a dumb question? If they really want to pick a name by lottery, why ask any question at all? Just ask people to mail or message the programme with their name and contact.

They are really trying to live up to the concept of an idiot box. May be they should have added a fourth option as well – that of a bathing suit!

The ‘WIN’ Principle

2011-08-21T09:40:00.000+05:30

Noise distracts. I find it difficult to concentrate on a task in the backdrop of a loud conversation or a noisy office squabble. Well, there are things beyond your immediate control.

Gone are the days of individual offices. The only time I had an individual office was when I worked in the US. For some time, I shared the office with Kevin, who was the best officemate anybody could ever have. He was a great support to me when I started work in a new team, in a new country, with new colleagues. From sharing pies after Halloween, to advising me on business case assumptions, and sharing idiosyncrasies of top executives in order to help me decide on the content of my presentations during review meetings, he helped me with practically everything. In the team, he was your typical stand-up guy. Soft spoken and extremely well mannered, he was always sensitive to people around him.

I haven’t met many more soft spoken and high on etiquette colleagues. Usually, colleagues and co-office space sharers have been loud. Not only have they had loud voices and loud ringtones, more often than not, they have been accustomed to put their conference calls on speaker on the highest possible volume for hours. Not to mention the loud personal chit-chat that I’m sure nobody else in the office was ever interested in overhearing.

Having been quite experienced to the rambunctious office space, I was not surprised to discover that my current one was no different. Nevertheless, the solitude lover in me desires for silence. Articulating, planning, budgeting and detailing require a lot of concerted thinking, which is best done in a relatively peaceful environment. Yes, noise does affect my efficiency.

What is also new to me is the use of caste and faith based innuendoes in routine conversation. It is disturbing. So far, I have gone with a strategy of careful polite dissent and calculated silence. Time will tell how the quiet battles on this front will progress.

Another rule – addressing people as ‘sir’ and ‘ma’am’ is a new thing for me, but this one is not a big deal. It is just the culture of the place and field I work in, and is a matter of habit. Years of addressing people by first names though have made it my first instinct to use the first name, causing me to err several times on this rule.

This second full time project of my sabbatical is going on expected lines – learning, surprises and overall good fun. I have learnt that focusing on the task at hand is the most important thing in most circumstances. Reminds me of the ‘WIN’ acronym that Kevin had explained to me during a particularly stressful engagement – ‘WIN’ comes from understanding ‘What’s Important Now’.

Yes, surroundings matter. People too matter. But everything and everyone cannot be changed at once. To dwell on extraneous factors outside your sphere of influence only creates frustration, without accomplishing anything. I’m going with the strategy of picking my battles, and fighting them.

Miracle birds

2011-08-18T21:47:00.002+05:30

Graphic by Jinksy at In Tandem

(Two in Tandem series)

Wondafeathers, also known as miracle birds, are an almost extinct species of birds. They are born with a deep green-blue-grey hue, and as they age, their color becomes paler. Even their eggs have both these shades. These birds have a special quality – wherever they go, they absorb all the negativity from the environment there, and fill the space with positive emotions. They get this quality from their mother's sacred whispers in their ears when they hatch from their eggs.

However, like anything living, the wondafeathers also have a limit. There is only so much they can absorb. After they have done their share of cleansing, they die.

Their numbers had started decreasing a couple of hundred years ago, but today they are close to extinction. They have died in the process of removing ills like corporate greed, political lust, exploitation, religious fundamentalism, terrorism, government apathy, and similar plagues of the human society. As of today, nobody is sure how many of wondafeathers remain on earth.

Freedom

2011-08-15T13:07:00.005+05:30

Patriotic songs from old hindi movies blaring on loudspeakers woke me up this morning. I sat in my bed for a while, crossing my legs. Today is the 15^th of August, the day of Indian independence. The sixty-fourth one, to be precise. We are a free country, and today’s date is supposed to remind us of that.

As I was turning pages of the newspaper while sipping my morning cup of tea, I was amused to see page sized greetings for a happy independence day. My brief stints with newspapers have made me fairly knowledgeable about the operations of that industry. Full page advertisements and greetings cost a lot. I wonder if those page sized greetings and advertisements really have any impact, apart from generating ad revenue for newspapers. What do people really mean when they wish each other a happy independence day? I have often wished people happy Independence Day, but what I was actually wishing them was a happy extra day off from work.

Freedom is an overarching concept. It has a different meaning for different people in different contexts. And even though August 15^th, 1947 was the date when India became free in the books of history, freedom was, and is, really an evolving, ongoing journey. Foreign rule was one aspect of it. That was in the first half of the twentieth century. Today, there are many other contexts in which, we as a nation are fighting for freedom. For once, I am not feeling my usual cynical self. I do not feel like lamenting the lack of freedoms we do not yet enjoy. Rather, I feel fairly enthusiastic about being an active freedom fighter. Some of our wars of today are not just the wars of India. After all, who does not want a terror free world?

It is difficult to articulate accurately what freedom means to me. It means so many things; small and big. Recently, I was overjoyed when I received my new passport without being asked for a single rupee in bribe. My friends and relatives, spread across the length and breadth of the country had told me that the going rates for police verification for the passport issue process were Rs. 500 for re-issue of a passport, after the previous one had expired in the regular course of things and Rs. 1000 for new passports and re-issues after theft or loss. Well, I am proud to declare that I received my new passport in time, not only without paying any bribe, but more importantly without even being asked to pay any bribe. My friends from North America and Europe might wonder what the big deal in that is, but trust me, where I live, it is a really big deal, and an indicator for positive change. You know, may be things are changing here.

I wish to see evidence of such positive change even in freedom from power cuts and freedom from the stinking brown and black water overflowing from drains in the streets of my locality and stagnating there for days. I guess we humans are a greedy lot. Always want something more.

I talked about how I usually mean a happy extra day off from work when I wish people happy Independence Day. The holiday really does mean a lot to me; more so, now, because I’m in a line of work where holidays are scarce and rare. This weekend became a rare two day weekend because of 15^th August falling on a Monday. I celebrated it by cleaning up my messy shelves, doing my laundry, devouring the August issue of ‘Readers Digest’, finally watching ‘Avatar’ and back to back episodes of ‘Castle’ yesterday. After I have started going to a proper office full time, television suddenly has an added charm. I even watched part of ‘Slumdog Millionaire’ actress Freida Pinto’s interview on a matronly chat show that I haven’t watched after the super annoying, super inconsequential and superficial first episode. Perhaps, a part of me was hoping for the sensitivity of the earlier talk show by the same hostess. As far as ‘Castle’ is concerned, I am not a huge fan of the series. I liked ‘Lie to me’, ‘White Collar’ and ‘Bones’ much better. My favorite contemporary crime series from America remains ‘Law & Order’, the seasons featuring the inimitable Jack McCoy, played by Sam Waterston. My favourite series from all times remains M*A*S*H. Sadly, neither of the two is telecast on Indian television.

From television, now back to the reality of freedom. I recently met a senior officer from a UN agency regarding the work I am doing. We had a brief discussion on empowerment, and what it means to be empowered. I have been mulling over that. You cannot be empowered if you are not free. The home-grown and world famous Mahatma had said, “Freedom is not worth having if it does not include the freedom to make mistakes.” I agree. I have made mistakes in my life. Many times, my judgement has erred. But, the most powerful lessons I have learnt in life have been because of my mistakes. You can always play safe, but where is the adventure and learning in that? I have made my share of unconventional decisions in life. As I reflect on those, I realize that the freedom I have enjoyed has been a huge enabler for me.

At the end of the day, the freedom I most value today is the freedom to be myself.

Realization

2011-08-12T21:28:00.000+05:30

Graphic by Jinksy at Alias Jinksy

(Two in Tandem series)

My spirits rise above layers of resistance;

Resistance from myself, from people around me;

From people who love me, from my world and society.

My spirits rise above everything and meet the sun;

The new sun of freedom and success;

The new sun of hope and victory.

I am a harbinger of a new world.

I am the leader of new thoughts.

I am what I have wanted to be.

Finally, I have become the best me!

Hiatus

2011-08-10T22:01:00.001+05:30

I enjoy writing, whenever I write. It has been an extremely therapeutic experience. But I have not yet been able to write consistently. I have been an inconsistent blogger, and an inconsistent diary writer. Every time I get super busy with work, my love for writing takes a backseat. I wonder why that happens.

Is it because I look at writing as a stop gap arrangement to keep me busy while I find something else? I have been mulling over this question for some time now. I know prolific writers who have a different day job. Not all of them are published writers, but they are consistent and prolific. What differentiates them from me? Love of writing? Discipline? Commitment? Stamina? Perhaps a little bit of all these.

Irrespective of my workload, I have been happier when I write, vis-a-vis when I give it a pass. I believe that when you really and dearly want something, you go beyond yourself to achieve it. I have done it in the past. So, what is this now? Am I becoming fickle? Or inflexible about stretching myself beyond the limits of my physical comfort? In my thirties, I sound funny even to myself if I say it is age catching up with intentions!

I am enjoying my new day job. In fact, it is more than a job. It is an experiment in redefining personal dimensions. It is a passionate project. It is an elevated platform for invaluable experience and exposure. And it is an avenue of going beyond the last mile, stretching myself, working in an unfamiliar situation, travelling to the disadvantaged, underdeveloped hinterland, and doing so many things that I would not have imagined myself doing five years back.

It is beyond the job that I feel time deprived. There is so much I want to do. Really, so much. Not all of that is as adventurous as my job, perhaps, but all of those things are things that make me happy. Reading, writing, traveling, painting. Experimenting with cooking. Redesigning my house. Reinventing my furniture. Recycling clothes I do not wear any more. Creating useful items out of redundant or waste household stuff. And then, there is going on long walks, listening to soft instrumental music, looking at stars in the night. And reading and reading. And writing and writing. And travelling and travelling. So many things. Just so many things.

And I’m not even able to discipline myself enough to write regularly. Tchh Tchh. Whatever happened to that girl who worked her day job nine hours a day, six days a week, and still regularly and diligently worked towards an examination that she believed would change her life, burning midnight oil, read two books a month, wrote the exam and was successful! Just thinking of those days gives me a sense of achievement and pride. That was when I told myself I could do anything I wanted. The years that have passed by are the years that I have added to myself. I like to think that I am a wiser person today. But I had hoped that I would remain as zealous and energetic towards my interests out of my day job as well. Somewhere on way to becoming a conscientious worker, I perhaps started taking myself too seriously.

I am happy that this realization has struck me now. There is still so much I need to learn. I hope, at least, this will keep me writing.

Tote bags

2011-07-22T20:11:00.001+05:30

I have always liked recycling old things. Part of it is because of the good it does to the environment. And part of it is because it motivates me to do my own research and create something out of what would otherwise be a waste.

My house is stuffed with old possessions. At times, I feel that it is more like a museum of memorabilia than a residence. I admit that I have played a role in making it thus. Sadly, it has been a significant one.

With my (soon to end) flexible schedule, I have made some headway in recycling some of my old t shirts and dresses. With help from instructables, I converted them to tote bags.

Three things

2011-07-22T09:06:00.001+05:30

Three explorers I wish I had been:

Ernest Shackleton
David Livingstone
Magellan

Three scientists I wish I could have been:

Jagdish Chandra Bose
Isaac Newton
Charles Darwin

Three books I wish I could have written:

Great Expectations
Fountainhead
Catch 22

Three professions I wish I had pursued:

Travel journalism
Astronomy
Law

Three things I hope I’ll see end in India during my lifetime:

Garbage piles (with hovering stray dogs)
Power cuts
Dynastic democracy

Three things I wish I’ll do in my life:

Travel the world
Create something big
Leave a legacy

Spaceship fantasy

2011-07-21T12:40:00.000+05:30

Graphic by Jinksy at Alias Jinksy

(Two in Tandem series)

I feel I’ve been on this spaceship too long.

I’m starting to miss people; I’m yearning for a song.

Will I be reaching any place soon? I start to wonder.

Something outside catches my eye and I keep looking yonder.

For the beautiful mass I see, I cannot exactly identify.

When my Earth station pings me, I cannot reply.

There is green and blue, purplish pink and a bit of grey too.

‘I’ll get back to you’, I tell them, and return to enjoy the view.

Uranus or Neptune, this cannot be.

I haven’t travelled that far, do believe me.

A fairyland on my route, then perhaps it is?

Yes! God is fulfilling my childhood wish!

Scattered thoughts

2011-07-20T15:03:00.000+05:30

After a particularly dry fortnight, the rain gods decided to spread a wet blanket across my city. The splashing sound of rain woke me up at three in the night. The heavenly reservoirs seem to have an unending supply of water. The temperature has dropped and it is much cooler. Water from above has flooded the streets and has caused drains to clog. That is the downside of a pleasant turn in the weather during monsoons.

It wasn’t just the skies pouring water this morning. Silent drops of water floated down from many eyes as life support to an old patriarch was pulled off early this morning. Death is really the end. It is final. Everything else is transient. I have lived through the worst phases of my life thinking, ‘this too shall pass’. But death, it doesn’t merely pass. It takes you along. For better or worse, it is the absolute finality as we know it today. Isn’t it ironic that death is probably the only certainty of every life? This truth scares me sometimes.

Also this morning, I heard from a good friend about her mother’s illness. She has been through very tough times in the last couple of years, and hearing from her about her mom makes me wonder about how long a cruel streak in life can go on for. How long, really?

An ex-colleague feels that ‘The only quest worth pursuing is the quest for power and money. Earn as much as you can and splurge. Enjoy your life.’ He definitely has more power and more money than I have today. But, I don’t find him enjoying his life any more than I am enjoying mine. Our definitions for enjoyment and life probably differ.

I watched the British parliamentarians question Rebekah Brooks on BBC for a while yesterday. I think I’m regaining some of my lost cynicism.

I feel heavy in the head. Today has been a day of serious news and reflections.

Magic

2011-07-18T11:57:00.000+05:30

We live in a world of shrinking distances and internet access. Of video conferences and android phones. Of mobile apps and BRIC economies. Of consumers, services and sophisticated technologies. Of fast lives and faster cars.

I belong to the generation in which friends are made on facebook, and lives are saved by twitter. A generation which is characterized by smart college undergrads and dropouts becoming billionaires.

But most astonishingly, this is also a world, and this is also a generation that is fascinated by, what else but old world wizardry and magic. By Harry Potter and Voldemort, Hermione Granger and Ron Weasely, Hogwarts and Dumbledore. Across continents and countries, the love of magic persists.

What is it about the Harry Potter series that makes the facebook and twitter generation crazy about it? If you have read the series, you’d know that the plots, incidents and characters defy all precepts of science and common sense. Vanishing by putting on a cloak? Flying on a broomstick? Killing and saving by chanting spells and pointing wands? Transporting yourself by using a powder? Pouring out memories from your brain in the form of a fluid? Dividing your soul into seven parts to gain immortality? Things just don’t make any sense.

Yet, I enjoy reading Harry Potter. And it is certainly not for literary value. I think of J.K. Rowling as an extremely imaginative writer, and I turn to her works for respite from plebeian life, not to learn literature. She is creative and smart, and she is also commercial. She spun a multi-million empire out of the world she created with words. I’d even agree that she is an entrepreneur. For her creativity, acumen, and business sense, I have the greatest admiration for her. But I do not think of her as someone who has produced great literature. Great entertainment, she has.

I read the first Potter book in late 2004. I have since then read all the books in the series several times over. I read the sixth book in the series, ‘Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince’ mostly in my office in Mumbai during a particularly slow phase, when I had very little work, and was yet required to be physically present in office. Of course the entire office, including my boss knew about it. We had lunch time discussions about how dark the series had become, and who could the half blood prince be. In contrast to the slow phase at work during the release of the sixth book, when the last book in the series, ‘Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows’ came out, I was heads down in work. I lived in downtown White Plains then, twenty-five miles north of New York City. Although I had reserved my copy at the local Barnes and Noble weeks in advance, and even gone and picked it, I struggled to find time to read it. Those were days of super crazy work; of blurred boundaries between days and nights; of no distinction between weekdays and weekends; of sleep deprivation, migraines and takeout meals; of black coffee at two in the night; of loss of sleep, appetite and hair. Yeah, that was an enormously busy phase. But that is not the point here. The point is whether or not I was able to read the Deathly Hallows. Yes, I was; after I finally chalked out time over a weekend to read it. And once I finished reading it, a sense of accomplishment swept through me.

I have often wondered, what makes a person like me enjoy Harry Potter? I believe several social psychologists have mulled over the same question. What makes an entire generation go gaga over a boy with a scar, and his friends and enemies, all of who have one thing in common – Magic? Melissa Burkley, professor of Social Psychology at Oklahoma State University thinks that people in general, believe in magic, whether or not they admit it. Her recent Psychology Today post talks about why people like magic.

Honestly, I don’t know if I really do believe in that kind of magic. I’d perhaps like to believe in it, and perhaps I’d be enamoured if magic of that kind manifests itself around me, and in my life. But till the time that happens, I cannot, for sure, say that I wholly, truly and sincerely believe in it.

What I do know is that magic has offered me an enticing and enjoyable escape from the sometimes monotonous, sometimes cutthroat realities that have surrounded me. It has enabled me to fly away on flights of fantasy. It has enabled me to take a break, imagine and visualize the unimaginable, feel happy and liberated. It has offered a lively infusion of energy into my jaded spirits. In some way, by making me a witness to colourful wizardry, it has awakened the dormant child in me. Yes, perhaps that is it. It has provided a pathway back into my childhood. Childhoods are usually happy. Mine was.

So may be, that is why reading J.K. Rowling makes me happy. Because the magic in that world tricks me into believing that I am little again.

Can you read faces?

2011-07-15T12:23:00.001+05:30

I first read about Dr. Paul Ekman in Sheena Iyengar’s ‘The Art of Choosing’, which was nominated for the Financial Times and Goldman Sachs Business Book of the Year Award in 2010. Shortly, I came across him in greater detail in the next book I was reading, ‘Destructive Emotions’ by The Dalai Lama and Daniel Goleman. I was fascinated by his work. The ability to read faces accurately bestows on you some kind of invincibility. It would be very difficult for people to lie to you, to cheat you.

In the early days of my fascination with Dr. Ekman’s work, I came across an online test on BBC, where you are asked to separate the fake smiles from genuine ones. Dr. Ekman believes that people with a pessimistic and cynical outlook on life are more accurate in judging genuineness or fakeness of human expressions, as overly positive people tend to get delusional in (and with) their optimism.

Hmm. That is worth a thought.

Dr. Ekman after all, is a scientist, not a self help guru. May be we should hire his services to figure out the real intentions of those, who for now I’ll call, the battered baron, the obstreperous opponent, the babbling baba, the spicy sushi and the wily widow. (Wow!I'm on a roll!!)

Acknowledgement: Thank you, Mr. Salman Rushdie and Midnight’s Children for inimitable inspiration.

On a completely unrelated note, have you seen the Time magazine’s recently released list of the Top 10 most expensive cities of the world? The list had some big surprises for me.

Old Walls

2011-07-14T09:37:00.001+05:30

Graphic by Jinksy at Alias Jinksy

(Two in Tandem series)

My old room was yellow and white;

It was such a fun place to live.

Walls like happy sunshine;

And a pristine white ceiling;

Filled my childhood with glee.

My old room needs new paint today.

The walls are old, the ceiling is weary;

Tired of the paint that is decades old.

I should take out time to make it new;

For those old walls made my childhood happy.

A soft target?

2011-07-14T08:53:00.000+05:30

Is Mumbai a soft target for terror groups? Why does it keep getting hit again and again?

Yesterday’s multiple explosions killing several people comes less than three years after the nightmarish 26/11/2008, when the city was held siege. And precisely five years after the July 11 train blasts in 2006. A disturbing, horrifying déjà vu, is what a news anchor called it.

I haven’t lived in Mumbai for almost five years now, but I have friends living there. Every time I get news like this, I panic. I reach for my phone, vacillate between calling and not calling for minutes, then finally call, only to hear a recorded voice chanting, ‘All lines in this route are busy; please try after some time’.

Is there an end to this?

Who do you write like?

2011-07-13T13:36:00.006+05:30

A couple of days back, when I was rummaging my old diaries for forgotten memories, I found I had written down the url to a website named I Write Like. Curiosity aroused, and memory not helping, I went on to read my entry. And then I remembered that I had heard about this website on some radio show (was it John Tesh?). The website has an analyzer that compares word choices and writing styles of the text pasted with those of famous writers and gives a result.

I went ahead and submitted most of my blog entries for analysis, one by one. It appears that I do not write like any specific writer. Based on my blog entries, the maximum number of times I write like Cory Doctorow, a Canadian writer, about who, I did not know anything till today. Of course since the analyzer told me that 23% of the times, I wrote like him, I was naturally curious to find out more about this writer. He is almost forty, lives in Canada and mostly writes science fiction, a genre I am not a huge fan of. He is a huge proponent of the Creative Commons organization.

In all, my blog post writing style has resembled that of twenty-six different writers (!), plainly implying that it resembles no one in particular.

The analyzer tells me that I have written like these ten writers 80% of the time:

Cory Doctorow 23%
David Foster Wallace 13%

James Joyce 9%

H.P. Lovecraft 9%

Dan Brown 6%

Kurt Vonnegut 6%

Edgar Allan Poe 4%

Vladimir Nabokov 4%

Gertrude Stein 3%

Stephanie Meyer 3%

And beyond these, apparently, I have single blog entries that correspond to the styles of Arthur Conan Doyle (I am a huge fan!), William Shakespeare (Shakespeare in me? It is a flattering thought, nevertheless, not true, I must admit), J.D. Salinger (again, I’m a huge fan!), Mark Twain (another writer I enjoy reading), Margaret Mitchell, J.K. Rowling (hmm, really?), Raymond Chandler (I haven’t read much of him, but I know of several fans who vow he is the best ever in that genre), Bram Stoker, Margaret Atwood, Ray Bradbury, Ursula K. Le Guin, Chuck Palahniuk, Harry Harrison, Stephen King, Issac Asimov and Douglas Adams.

Notwithstanding the absence of any clear basis to these results, it is a fun activity.

Ladies, Time Alert!

2011-07-11T13:54:00.004+05:30

Delhi’s police commissioner had some words of wisdom for the ladies of the national capital recently, for which he has been drawing a lot of flak. The essence of his advice was that women should refrain from venturing out very late in the night, and if they do, they should be appropriately chaperoned by a male friend or relative.

Perfectly sound advice. The kind my father gives me every time I have talked about being late at work. The kind I try to follow religiously ever since I returned to India. So then why is Mr. Commissioner drawing so much flak?

Blame it on his accompanying statement that ‘police alone cannot be blamed’ if a woman is on the streets after 2 a.m. and becomes the victim of a crime. The statement is tantamount to washing hands off primary responsibility of maintaining law and order post 2 am on the streets of Delhi. What, on earth, could his underlying assumption be? That to be a woman not at home after 2 am implies an intrinsic character defect in the lady in question? That women who are out after 2 am are whores, and police cannot take responsibility for crimes against whores because, well, they are whores anyway? Or perhaps some other assumption equally biased and judgemental, an assumption that is, in all likelihood, an offspring of the one-track North Indian cow-belt mentality? If you are a woman, and heaven forbid, for some emergency you need to go out after 2, and someone attacks you, leaving you in mental and physical trauma, or worse still, kills you, then the primary responsibility for what has befallen you lies on your own shoulders, lady!

I like to believe that I am a rational human being (on most occasions), and as such, I will not knowingly endanger my life. Life is dear, friends. Everything else that you lose, with efforts, time and luck, you can hope to regain some day. Not life. Once gone, it is gone. The curtain falls and the show is over. The end. There is no coming back. No second chances. Fighting sick maniacs, rapists and criminals on my own at 2 in the night has never really been my aim, notwithstanding my desire to make my cities better places to live. That job is best left to the police and law enforcement.

Mr. Commissioner should appreciate the fact, that unless there is a need, women (and for that matter, even men) would not be out that late. So, is he saying that even if circumstances necessitate me being out late, police will not take responsibility for my safety? I’ll give you an example from the time when I lived in Delhi. I had come to Patna for a week’s vacation, and was going to fly back to Delhi on a Sunday evening, scheduled to land in Delhi at 7-30 pm. I had to be in my office the next morning. Air India delayed my flight hour after hour, till it finally took off at 11 in the night. It was past one in the night when I sat in the cab for home. Call it the driver’s bad luck or whatever, the guy hit a van parked near the exit of the airport, and immediate hit the brake. The single piece of my baggage that was parked beside me on the rear seat flew and after tangentially touching the driver on the head made a head on impact with the glass. As for me, I was hurled forward, my chin hitting hard against the back of the front seats. In time I had tightly grasped the back rest, so did not have to suffer any more damages apart from a swollen jaw. As I painstakingly turned to look at the vehicle that my rented car’s driver had hit, I saw men in black, some of them carrying sleek machine guns (or some other kind of gun – I am not a gun expert) around it. And then I spotted ‘Anti Terrorist Squad’ written. ‘Great!’, I remember myself muttering, ‘this is exactly what I need at 1-30 in the night.’

Thankfully, only a short conversation took place, and after my credentials were checked, I was safely despatched home (the driver was detained).But, not before being lectured on how I had the primary responsibility for my own safety, and that I should have taken an earlier flight. ‘If anything happens, you’ll blame the administration.’

When I heard about the commissioner’s remark, I was reminded of this incident. I was not trying to act daredevil, or prove my courage to anyone that night. I had planned to be at my Delhi residence by 8-30, 9 that night. But matters went out of my hand. Air India played a spoiler. Why did I not call male friends or relatives to the airport? Well, for starters, how about not wanting to spoil someone’s Sunday night? Maybe I didn’t have close family in Delhi, so there was no family member to call. I can think of a dozen different reasons. Is the commissioner saying that had something untoward happened that night, it would have been my fault?

What the hell do I pay my taxes for, if I cannot even expect this bare minimum from the guardians of law? I know it is not wise for a woman to be on streets very late, but sometimes, you just cannot help it. As a citizen and a loyal taxpayer, is it too much to ask for that security?

Such incidents make me yearn for the life I had in New York. Yeah, they make me miss it so badly, that I sometimes feel like just going back and starting over. And oh! There, I wasn’t even a citizen. I want to live in the world that Tagore once envisioned, a place ‘where the mind is without fear and the head is held high’.

I should add here though, that it is possible all Mr. Commissioner was really trying to do was to give some fatherly advice to the women of the city he is supposed to be legal guardian of. In that case, though, he should not have added the ‘police alone cannot be blamed’ phrase. I can live with advice.

Victory by absence

2011-07-10T09:58:00.001+05:30

It seems counterintuitive that you win after you leave. Doesn’t most of the pop motivational literature tell us to stay put, and try and try, and eventually we’d win?

And yet, my point was best put across when I left.

Those were difficult days, and although the well formed decision in my mind left no room for doubt, I often wondered if my time, efforts and voice were all a waste. My acerbic tongue and their nebulous, romantic optimism hardly prophesised a successful partnership. I had realized it long back. And still, I am glad that I was there for one year. As I now know, it did make a difference.

For sometimes, it is by refusing that we make our strongest statements; it is by leaving that we make our presence most strongly felt; and it is our absence that actually champions the cause we vociferously advocate continuously, and brings about the change we’d perhaps have given our lives for, had we still been there.

Well, that is how things work sometimes.

Opportunity

2011-07-08T08:28:00.001+05:30

Graphic by Jinksy at Alias Jinksy

(Two in Tandem series)

The window of opportunity beckons me.

Full of promise, it draws me towards it.

And when I have answered it, and have done it justice;

Its light will shine in my soul, and carry me higher.

For then, I would have realized my true potential;

And would have become the best I can ever be.

Phoenix

2011-07-08T08:16:00.000+05:30

Graphic by Jinksy at Alias Jinksy

(Two in Tandem series)

The phoenix rises from its ashes, as it must, everytime it nears end.

For it never dies, the phoenix; it goes on learning from the life just lived.

The life of trials and tribulations, of successes and victories.

And it rises again, everytime it is down, to start all over.

Confession

2011-07-05T09:27:00.005+05:30

I am becoming lazy. My addiction to the luxuries of staying at home, working at my own pace, setting my own deadlines (for the most part), having most of my household work done for me, not having to worry over what to cook and then not really having to cook, not having to clean, not having to worry about paying any bills except for my internet bill, is assuming gargantuan proportions. This needs to be rectified. Really. I’m getting worried that I might end up as a skeleton of my former workaholic self.

Abeunt studia in mores. (In English: Practices zealously pursued pass into habits.)

The right practices need to be in place.

I spoke with Pavi yesterday. For more than one hour. I was overjoyed to hear that one of my former students who has just progressed to grade 3, was reading with 95% accuracy on an end of year grade 5 English text, which is to say, almost three years ahead of her actual grade level. Well done V-Day (that was what I called her), you have done me proud!

I also came to know that despite having over forty-five students in the class, and not being able to speak a word of Hindi (or Marathi), Vijay, the new teacher, manages the class with relative ease and often remarks with amazement, at the discipline and receptivity of the class.

I feel happy to know that whatever little I did, tried to do, was worth something.

Torn by Partition

2011-07-01T12:56:00.003+05:30

I have been reading Midnight’s Children. I am struck by the poignancy of Rushdie’s magnum opus, which at times is heartbreaking. And yet, because the poignancy is so skilfully cooked in satire, you cannot help letting out a wry laugh. I must add here, that I haven’t finished reading it. What I express here are passing, intermediate sentiments that have been forming in my mind as I have been progressing through the book.

Post India’s independence, when the news of Gandhi’s assassination reaches the Sinais, it is as if they are struck by lightning. They do not, as yet, know the identity of the assassin, but are pretty certain that hell will break loose if he turns out to be a Muslim. Imagine their relief when they hear the name of the assassin on the radio, Nathuram Godse. Ah! A Hindu, a Brahmin at that!

Amina Sinai’s remark in that moment of panic, followed by relief, stays with me.

“By being Godse he has saved our lives!”

What was it like to be a Muslim in India, immediately post-partition?

For that matter, what was it like to be a Hindu refugee during that time?

I cannot claim to have a firsthand experience of being either of the above; but my grandfather, who I called dadu, could, had he been here today.

Dadu migrated to India leaving behind his ancestral land. Acres of fertile land. The common explanation behind his decision is that dadu, like most Hindus, did not want to live in a Muslim nation. But was that the only reason? I want to know, but I am five years too late with the question.

I found out only recently that my dadu’s father, who was alive and in good health during the partition, did not migrate to India along with him. But my dadu’s mother did. She made the decision to be an Indian when India became independent, and accompanied her son. Her husband died within a decade. And with that, the last remaining ties with the land that was once her own, were snapped. Partition tore apart a lot more than history has documented.

Rushdie’s opus has transported me to the history that I wasn’t a part of. Yet, in a strange way, that history is a part of me.

The gift of monsoons

2011-06-30T11:44:00.006+05:30

Graphic from Jinksy at Alias Jinksy

(Two in Tandem series)

The empty pit is filled with water to the brim;

Teeming with life, and with colours blue and green.

Tiny flowers in a multitude of colours;

The oil spill floating on water for hours;

And alongside those, the weeds that have sprung up;

Show me scenes from the artist’s universe.

Rains truly have a wondrous effect;

Turning a Patna garbage pit into a heavenly lake.

A cab ride to the nineteenth century

2011-06-27T12:12:00.003+05:30

When I was a young child, there was just one television network here: the national network called ‘Doordarshan’. The invasion of a plethora of channels on the Indian television had not yet happened. We had very limited choice. During weekdays, 'Doordarshan' programmes were telecast only for a few hours in the evening. Although my memory is a little blurred, I do remember that most of the daily programmes were around agriculture. We used to wait patiently for the clock to strike nine, for it was then that we could watch ‘Lucy’ on television.

Weekends on television were more entertaining. Sunday mornings were the best. My father used to watch an English show that featured a tall, thin man with sunken and thoughtful eyes as the chief protagonist. There used to be a shorter man with a moustache who would always be with the tall one. Together, they went about in horse driven carriages and hansom cabs, solving mysteries on my television, Sunday after Sunday. Each episode was for one hour, and my father decreed pin-drop silence in the house during that hour.

To my young, inexperienced ears, the British accent of the show was a little difficult to follow initially. However, in a few weeks I grew used to it and could soon understand every word. The fact that my school, founded by British sisters, used British pronunciations, helped me to understand the accent better.

So, that was how I was introduced to Mr. Sherlock Holmes and Dr. Watson, when I was a seven year old. The first time I would read Arthur Conan Doyle would be several years later, though still in school. It was a short story called ‘The Blue Carbuncle’ featuring the tall, bohemian detective. I would then go on to rummage bookstores and book fairs in Patna to get hold of all Sherlock Holmes short stories and novels. And this was how I got hooked to vintage mystery stories. Finally, I had grown up to look beyond Enid Blyton.

It has been close to two decades since this happened. And even today, for me, the charm of vintage remains irresistible. While my reading interests have broadened significantly, I cannot look away when I see a collection of vintage detective stories. Modern day forensics and technology might have helped real crime detection, but the methods of the mind, as was characteristic of nineteenth century fictional detectives, fascinate me a lot more.

That is precisely the reason why, when I saw this book on the shelves a couple of years ago, I immediately bought it. I have just finished reading it.

The book is a compilation of fifty detective stories; forty-nine are short stories, and the last one is a novella. I hadn’t read any of these stories earlier, and that is not surprising, since the compiler admits that forgotten narratives from the late nineteenth and early twentieth century form the bulk of this collection. Like most things earthly, I found some stories in the book very good, some good, some average, and some not so good. Overall, I enjoyed the hansom cab ride back to the nineteenth century.

Elements of Nature

2011-06-23T12:24:00.001+05:30

Inspired by graphic from Jinksy at Alias Jinksy

(Two in Tandem series)

Air, fire, water and earth; I discovered all of them inside myself.

With air I soar up and high; I am detached and my thoughts are free.

The fire in me powers my world; I march ahead, I can do it all.

Earth is what keeps me real; I take in my stride, all that I see and hear.

And water brings me peace of mind; it helps me feel and calms my fears.

As I see this eclectic mix in me, I smile.

You’ll see it too, when you look inside.

Monsoons are here

2011-06-21T19:01:00.001+05:30

We finally got a respite from the insufferable heat. Monsoons arrived a few days back. Temperatures have gone down by a good five degrees. That is a big relief. Consequently, power cuts have become extremely bearable.

A day before the monsoons came to the city, we had a pre-monsoon thunderstorm. The coconut tree in my neighbour’s yard swayed from side to side like a mad drunkard. I watched, standing on my terrace, even though it was hopelessly dusty outside.

Then, the next day monsoon rains poured into the city. The amount of rainfall was good, though by no means overwhelming. And yet, look at what a few hours of moderate rainfall did to my street.

I enjoyed the weather from my sheltered terrace. I don't think I would have enjoyed being out on the streets so much, though!

Goodbye, old love

2011-06-19T22:18:00.001+05:30

Ten long years have passed since I first set my eyes on you. I still remember the excitement I experienced when you entered my room for the first time. I stayed up almost till daybreak. For two years, we lived together. For two years, we explored the whole world together from our room. I know you loved the ‘lakeview rooms’ as much as I did. Ten years since our first meeting, wow!

It is time to say good bye now, old love. From the long study desk in my hostel room to the table in the corner of my erstwhile room in Patna, you have been a part of my life. It is true that after B-school, I haven’t given you consistent company. It was for the better, for with your rapid ageing, you probably would have broken down much earlier if I taxed you too much.

The inevitable end has come, for it must come to each one of us, sooner or later. I hope you rest in peace. And I say thank you to you for being a faithful companion, first to me, and then to my family, all these years.

Goodbye, old love!

Lessons from my NGO stint

2011-06-18T14:37:00.001+05:30

Since the January of last year, I have been leading a life that is a little unconventional for someone in my place and position. I chose to take that life out of my own free will and learnt a lot on the way. Ever since I started reflecting on the wide gamut of issues yesterday afternoon, it struck me that writing down lessons from each of the last eighteen months would be a good idea. I know these lessons apply to me, but they may or may not apply to others.

January 2010

Job offers from the social sector; adieu to corporate job.

Don’t be scared of making unconventional decisions, but do your research before you take a final call.

February 2010

Vipassana; left Delhi, back to Patna; a bunch of odd jobs.

Meditation heals the soul.

March 2010

In two minds over Sierra Leone, attended training in Delhi, but decided to pass the job; accepted Pune job offer.

Exploring new avenues gives you the much needed enthusiasm after a dull, dreary stint.

April 2010

Preparing for Pune; doing odd jobs; left Patna.

It is a good idea to relax before taking up a particularly tiring assignment.

May 2010

Arrived in Pune; first impressions of the job and peers not very good.

Even if you are the most rational, logical left-brained person alive, never ever ignore your gut instinct.

June 2010

Placed in a saree school, almost left but eventually stayed; found a cosy apartment; settled in; learnt to wear a saree.

Do not lose yourself completely in an effort to comply; say ‘no’ when you know you must, and if it doesn’t fly, leave. The more you bend backwards to comply against your wishes, the more you will be expected to bend; it is like circular reference, never yields the correct result.

July 2010

Short visit from parents; setting up the apartment; got a cooking gas connection; started cooking all my meals by myself; settled down in Royal Roses; huge class, no electricity, no toilet, no food, no public transportation; school administration was cheating parents out of hard earned money; reported to my NGO, got an evasive reply.

Enjoy the small things of life, they are the most endearing and they will give you the strength to take on bigger challenges. And whoever you are, learn to cook.

August 2010

On my feet for seven hours every day in a wet saree; developed joint pain, muscular pain and chronic fatigue; cut down heavily on water consumption in the absence of a loo; started to practise bladder control; 15^th August preparations and show; read ‘Banker to the poor’; started learning how deeply entrenched in corruption and dishonesty the administration and the Trust was.

The body can only take so much, learn to listen to your body and respect its limitations. Drink adequate water, and never knowingly accept employment in a place where you cannot use the bathroom for seven-eight hours at a stretch.

September 2010

Many holidays; feeling better; started to visit student communities; reflected on the decision to be in Pune doing what I was doing, started boycotting fluffy sessions; more instances of dishonesty and money laundering at school; again reported to parent NGO, but advised against taking a strict stance.

Enjoy your vacations; take tough stances on things you know are wrong. While cheating innocent or ignorant people is never a good idea, it is incriminatingly criminal if you profess to work in the social sector. Following your superior’s instructions in indulging in practices that you know are wrong and unethical under the garb of not being in a position to speak up against it because you are new to the system, or because it is not your job, takes away from you the chance to plead ‘not guilty’. Remember aiding and abetting? Charging students 250 for a form that actually sells for 25 is an act of fraud. And if you do it, notwithstanding under whosoever’s instructions you do it, you are an equal partner in crime.

October 2010

Mid-term exams and Diwali vacations; more money laundering; finally got down to reading, read ‘Destructive Emotions’, ‘The Art of Choosing’, ‘Teach like a Champion’.

Read and relax when you get time.

November 2010

Ahmedabad retreat – all show and little substance; bought a printer; school reopened; no response to concerns raised on corruption; continued to not go to meaningless sessions.

To know that a seemingly noble looking act or profession is actually not worth it, you have to experience it firsthand.

December 2010

Bad meeting with Clark; that clinched it – I decided to leave after completing the academic year; good riddance.

If you know you should leave, leave.

January 2011

Meeting with Clark and Sheth; offer of changing school, but I said no; immediate peers knew I’d be leaving after academic year; school annual day.

If you know your reasons well, do not let cheap thrills or temptations deviate you.

February 2011

More nonsense at school; this time I took a hard stance, and surprisingly, authorities backed off; Pavi’s engagement.

Be yourself, under all circumstances; people will know exactly what they are dealing with.

March 2011

Cracks earlier running beneath the surface came to the fore; was in for a lot of coldness; kept a distance and a civil demeanour; end of year assessments and final examinations.

It is not important to like everyone, most likely you will not; and it is a perfectly normal human situation to be in.

April 2011

Realized this was the only instance in my entire work history where I didn’t make good friends at the workplace; last month at work clearly showed me I was isolated from the others; did not feel good even though I was never in doubt about the stances I had taken; finally it was over; left Pune.

Unless you are God, or really saintly, people will piss you off. You don’t often have a control over their behaviour, but you always have control over how you react to it. Be true to yourself; do not try to be artificially extra nice to people you don’t like. It usually shows, and who trusts a fake? But not liking someone is not an excuse to be nasty to them or behave pettily. You are what you do, so if you don’t like them, maintain a distance and be civil.

May 2011

A whole new world of relaxation; staying at Tutu’s place took care of some ailments developed during the last one year; short trip to sister; returned to Patna.

Disconnect from the humdrum of the world for a while, relax and take care of your health.

June 2011

Life goes on at home; introspection, meditation and planning.

When you make unusual decisions, be prepared to handle uncomfortable questions.

Reflections

2011-06-17T15:44:00.000+05:30

It is my blog’s birthday today. It completes four years. This is my sixty-seventh post. Clearly, I haven’t been a consistent or prolific blogger. In fact, about eight months ago, I abandoned this blog for a new one, wanting to make a new start. Over the next few months, I realized that to make a new start you do not necessarily need to completely wash out your past. And I resumed here.

Yeah. Life has been a learning opportunity. Successes, failures and the whole nine yards. It has also been an adventure, with my constant yearning for change. That said, I have to confess that often I am deluged with a sense of purposelessness. I mean, what is it that I am doing? What is it that I have done?

Have I been too selfish, thinking only about myself? In trying to be responsible to a thousand outsiders, have I been recklessly irresponsible towards the few who matter? I have taken pride in my ability to speak my mind and be upfront with people. I have always believed that integrity is, before anything else, being true to your own self. If you don’t like something and you say that you do, you are not being true to yourself. Following this precept, have I sometimes been upfront to the point of insensitivity? I feel like I am seeing this whole new ugly side of me. It was such a long journey, and yet, I am where I started. While I am grateful for all that I have, I’ll also be honest in admitting that I want more.

I recently wrote to a dedicated Vipassana practitioner, to elicit some suggestions on getting my derailed practise back on track. Among the points he mentioned, one made me think hard. While I have maintained that people do not need to introduce more suffering in their lives for spiritual practise, is it perhaps possible that I was actually trying to do the reverse? Thanks Nick, for pointing this out to me.

I have also realized how therapeutic writing is. Just giving words to my innermost conflicts has helped me consider them in different perspectives. Well, as I continue to ponder over these existential questions, I’m sure a lot of things will come to light. May be the mind will think of something. For now, coming back to my day to day life, I have decided to learn basic conversational French, and may be a bit of Italian in my few months at home, before I start full time gainful employment again. Of course, the prayer that the right job comes my way when I look for it, goes without saying. So, help me, God!

Reality Check

2011-06-14T13:41:00.001+05:30

Till about a six or seven years ago, Bihar had been widely reported to be languishing under successive corrupt governments. Patna, my hometown, and the capital of Bihar was believed to have lost itself in the pits of backwardness.

Well, I grew up here. And I studied here, right from primary schooling to undergraduate studies. I even worked here for a year after completing my bachelor's degree. You could say that I have been familiar with many different aspects of Bihar. It was only when I got an admission offer from my B-school that I left Patna, left Bihar.

I was out of the state for ten years, and have just recently come back here. While away, I have been following the change in tone of the reports covering Bihar. I was pleased to know that my home state had been making progress. That the new, progressive Chief Minister of the state, Nitish Kumar was doing all he could to take the state out of the pits it had fallen into.

When I returned to Patna a few weeks ago to live here for some time, and do some development sector work, I was expecting to see a vast change in the overall landscape - infrastructure, cleanliness, health and sanitation, public transportation, electricity situation - you name it.

Now that I have started moving around the city a bit for work, the situation on the ground has become clearer to me. There are certainly a lot more cars - big and small - on the streets. There are also several new flyovers. Unfortunately, I do not see too much more positive change. One of the premier commercial complexes in the heart of the city is filthier than it was ten years ago. The pervading stink of urine nauseated me. There is still no viable means of public transportation. Drains keep overflowing. Garbage doesn't get picked up from many residential areas. Power cuts are frequent and prolonged. But the thing that disappointed me most was the number of women who venture out generally. The situation is still what it was ten years ago.

I'm starting to wonder, is all the progress story more of a PR and marketing exercise? I do not deny that there has been some change. But, considering the noise that has been made about it, I am a tad disappointed.

Saturday

2011-06-11T20:50:00.001+05:30

It is another sultry Saturday. I have a lot to read, study, write and consider. This is a welcome change from the schedules I have been used to. The last one year was particularly hard, nay torturous. It was out and out my decision, and I paid through the nose for it. Thankfully, I have recovered.

I still think about the children sometimes. Once in a while, they crawl up in my dreams. I wake up with the immediate intent of preparing for the class, but soon realize that I'm no longer there.

Saturdays have invariably been closely tied to 'me time' in my memory. Currently, that impression is blurring. For these days, I get plenty of 'me time'. And I'm grateful for it.

I'm no longer hooked to the TV on Saturdays. Neither do I look forward to eating out. Rather, I feel content with my books, diary and laptop. Is this a permanent change, or a temporary one, dictated by a change in lifestyle? I don't know. But, I like this change. I feel more satisfied these days. Perhaps because I'm generally calmer and healthier now.

I have the half-read My Experiments with Truth - Mahatma Gandhi's autobiography - waiting to be finished. No offence to Gandhi, but I really am not liking this book too much. May be it is my cynicism, nevertheless, the book appears to have a self-elevating tone to it. There is something painstaking about the writing that I don't like too much. It is me in all likelihood, and not Gandhi's autobiography. I should just take a break from that book and get back to finish it later.

Strings that bind

2011-06-10T10:30:00.001+05:30

I met you on foreign shores years ago.
That we'd stay in touch till now, I didn't know.
We were as good friends as colleagues could be.
Oh! what chats we had over lunch and tea!

Wishing each other farewell at that time,
We didn't know what life had designed.
Our letters brought us closer than we had been.
Life goes in cycles, as we have both seen.

That our lives would be similar, oceans apart,
We could not have known right from the start.
May you achieve happiness and satisfaction in all you do,
And the strings that bind us shower their blessings on you.

Avoid Boring People

2011-06-09T12:55:00.005+05:30

Nobel laureate Dr. James D. Watson’s autobiography ‘Avoid Boring People’ is anything but boring. Unlike some of the other autobiographies I have read, this one neither dwells too much on the autobiographer’s philosophies about life, nor on long winded explanations of his actions. That is a good thing. The ability to be objective about oneself is a quality I greatly admire in people.

Dr. Watson has summarized each chapter in the book with lessons he learnt from each chapter of his life. He refers to it as a ‘life in science’. That, precisely, is what the book is all about. While he does not skip mentioning major events from his personal life, he has stopped at the bare minimum. Almost all his lessons are from his life in science.

A large part of the book talks about genetics, structure and composition of DNA and RNA - topics that constituted the major thrust of Dr. Watson’s research. The story of discovery of the structure of DNA is fascinating. So is Dr. Watson’s honesty in narrating how he and Francis Crick got lucky in their quest for the structure of DNA. He attributes their joint success in unravelling the double helix structure to immense assistance from several colleagues. To quote him, “Francis and I were far from being on our own”. Crick and Watson left behind several other worthy competitors in this quest, each of who had the opportunity to make this discovery before them. Notable among them were Alex Todd, professor of organic chemistry at Cambridge University who won the Nobel Prize for Chemistry in 1957; Linus Pauling, the great Caltech professor who won a Nobel Peace Prize and Rosalind Franklin, the dark lady of DNA who tragically died from ovarian cancer at the young age of thirty-eight.

Dr. Watson also talks in detail about his long stint at Harvard, and subsequent reluctant resignation. That he loves the university is obvious from the way he writes about his stint there. Not so much love is expressed for his fellow colleagues at the Department of Biology, who he largely considers to be mediocre and old fashioned. In the chapter about his resignation from Harvard, he expresses his dismay over not getting a proper farewell. Nevertheless, he poignantly says that even he was not immune to the old chestnut that there is no life after Harvard. Later in the book, he highlights the issues he faced when he tried to publish his manuscript, ‘The Double Helix’.

Three catastrophic assassinations that rocked the United States and the world find a mention – President John F. Kennedy’s, his brother and Democratic presidential nomination aspirant Robert F. Kennedy’s and Martin Luther King’s. At one point, he says that the military is interested in what scientists know, not what they think. Indeed!

Some parts of the book that focus in detail on his research would be a little over the head for people who are not from a molecular biology background, and these parts I skimmed quickly. Another minor issue I faced was keeping track of the people he introduced. Thankfully, he has included a ‘Cast of Characters’ section at the end of the book.

The best part of the book is the last section of each chapter that summarizes the lessons learnt from that particular phase. And that is where the title also originates from. In more than one chapter, he advises us to avoid boring people. What does he mean by that? Well, for one, do not keep company of boring people – ones who cannot make any intelligent, thought provoking conversation, who thrive on banality. Second, don’t become boring yourself. You become boring when you start to get bored with yourself, doing the same thing, reading the same stuff. You should act younger than you look, and not the vice-versa.

Overall, I liked reading this book. It was fairly fast paced, full of events and incidents. Watson never lingers in half baked philosophies. He does not brag. Neither does he seem to be full of self importance. He candidly admits that he realized fairly early in school that however much he wanted to be a super intelligent child prodigy; he was really in the above average category.

So there - that is one more lesson: Don't think you cannot win the Nobel Prize if you don't demonstrate a super high IQ. Genius(es) are overrated. After the above average mark, focused determination, humility, willingness to learn and the support of your mentors and peers are too important to ignore.

Dancing in the rain

2011-06-07T21:01:00.000+05:30

In the last few days, the soaring mercury and the prolonged power cuts, compounded with the effect of living on the top floor of a building made me feel as if my body was going to hell in a handbasket. Sweat rashes were all over my forehead, neck and torso. With temperature running northwards of forty degree celsius, and no electricity, the continuous and profuse sweating hardly helped matters. I had been cursing tropical summers and the State Electricity Board.

Until this afternoon.

The electricity went off at two. It was extremely hot and humid. As usual, I was drenched in sweat. One full hour elapsed, and no power yet. Come on, get used to this, I told myself.

Suddenly, the weather changed. In a matter of minutes, the piercing, bright yellow sunshine first became diffused, and then went behind a heavy blanket of clouds. Dark, black clouds. The kind that bring rain. A strong wind started to blow. Suddenly, the air seemed cooler. Ah! relief at last. Finally, it rained.

There is something extremely sanative and soothing about rains after a dry, hot spell of tropical weather. It is like heaven on earth. After many, many years, I was running and dancing in the rain. It is so much more fun than I had expected.

I hope the weather stays cool tomorrow as well.

The Tell-Tale Brain

2011-06-06T19:47:00.003+05:30

V.S. Ramachandran’s ‘The Tell-Tale Brain’ is a delectable attempt to decipher the unexplained connections between the brain, mind and body. It is a scientist’s narrative.

The book is replete with instances of peculiar behaviour aberrations in people, most of who have been Ramachandran’s patients. He describes the oddities, proceeds to lay down a hypothesis, and then delves deeper as a neuroscientist, explaining and justifying his hypothesis. Every explanation has some kind of an anatomical basis in the structure of the brain, and this is where I found the book so elegant.

A layman like me, who has no formal education either in psychology or in neurosciences could understand every bit of what he has talked about in the book. The thrust has been on what constitutes the “self” and how the inner self interacts with the world while at the same time maintaining its privacy.

Ramachandran does not belong to the class of people who like to say, ‘God desired it thus’, and he never once shirks back from attempting a scientific explanation for the oddest of behaviours demonstrated by his patients. He deals with fascinating subjects like phantom limbs, synesthesia, art and aesthetics. The connections and subtle differences between between seeing and knowing, identifying and recognizing make a very interesting read. He also talks in detail about autism and the development of language. With respect to mental afflictions, especially autism, he lays a lot of emphasis on what he calls mirror neurons.

I have done some serious reading on different topics in psychology; but Ramachandran’s book is by far the most interesting piece of scientific literature that I have read in this field. So much so, that after finding me engrossed in brain science for the last one week, my mother asked me if I was planning on a career switch to study the brain! While I did not give a clear answer to that, I cannot but help imagine how interesting that sort of a career would be.

The disputed wedding

2011-06-06T13:28:00.000+05:30

Mr. BL was a General Manager in a prestigious public sector bank. He retired over half a decade ago. He has always been a fit man, and even today, looks younger than his age. He also has a reputation of being a loud, short-fuse and dominating man. His wife of over forty years passed away last year. I am told that her death could have been prevented had she been communicative enough, or had her husband been caring enough. I am also told that she was too scared to mention any symptoms of fatigue or illness to her husband. The couple's children live in different cities and used to visit them once in a year. They duly came after their mother's demise, stayed for two weeks and went back to their own worlds.

Yesterday, I came to know that Mr. BL married for the second time last week. I'm told he married for company as he was feeling too lonely after the demise of his wife. Fair enough. But that was not all. Mr. LC, who was our source, took an obvious delight in narrating the dramatic sequences prior to the wedding.

Mr. BL's children, while refusing to be a part of the wedding, had ultimately left it to their father to take the final call. Their first cousin P, however, was vehement in his disapproval (although his opinion had not been asked for). P is late Mrs. BL's nephew, and was very close to her. Mr. BL's second marriage had been on cards for the last six months, but everytime P played spoilsport. Once, he bad mouthed Mr. BL to the bride to be. Another time, he brought in police to investigate the death of his aunt.

Mr. BL, the lonely widower finally found a way out. He found a small temple in the outskirts, and got his marriage solemnized by a priest at midnight. There were no guests, only two witnesses. This was followed by violent reactions from P, who, I am told, is still fuming. He is contemplating bringing about a murder by negligence charge. The children have vowed not to come home for at least two years to honour their mother's memory.

I'm writing about this because in the last twenty-four hours I have not figured out how to react to this.

Happiness

2011-05-24T12:21:00.001+05:30

Lately, I have been thinking about happiness and the reasons behind it.

I consider myself.

Everytime I rose above the benchmarks of excellence in academics in my school, I was happy. Everytime I failed to get the desired results in an examination, I was not. Not making it to IIT hurt for a very long time. So much so, that the academic achievements at the university level and beyond failed to bring about the usual cheer.

The letters of acceptance from B-schools brought happiness. So did coming home during vacations.

Ackowledgements, appraisals and rewards at work brought happiness. So did the money and prestige that came with it. And the international stint.

But all this brought happiness only to a point. Then, it did not matter that much. I moved to the verge of indifference.

Then I travelled a lot. For pleasure. The memory of the joy that came out of it still makes me happy.

Bookshops make me happy. So does reading.

A good movie makes me happy. So does a good meal.

Walking makes me happy. So does music.

Feeling the fresh morning breeze touch my face makes me happy. So does walking on grass barefoot.

Spending time with close family makes me happy. So does talking to and meeting friends.

Coming home makes me happy. It always has. And I think, it always will. The sight of overflowing gutters this morning on the way home made me smile. Some things never change.

I haven't felt like this in a long time.

A royal wedding, a secret funeral and forgiveness

2011-05-08T15:56:00.004+05:30

‘Forgiveness is the hardest of all acts. Love, by comparison, is easier.’

On the morning of April 29th in London, Prince William took Kate Middleton to be his legally wedded wife. It was a beautiful wedding ceremony in Westminster Abbey, solemn in its tone, yet regal in its grandeur. The ceremony was telecast live on television and was reportedly watched live by over two billion people worldwide. It was a Friday.
I enjoyed watching it on television. If I had to summarize in two words how I felt as I was watching the ceremony, I would say ‘solemn happiness’.

Happiness is infectious even when it is around people who are not directly connected to you.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

In the wee hours of May 2nd in Abbottabad, Pakistan, US Special Forces killed Osama Bin Laden. There were reports that Bin Laden’s twelve year old daughter saw him being shot. Then, there were other reports claiming that Bin Laden blew himself up before the US Forces could shoot him. Either way, Bin Laden died. By self admission, the US Forces buried his body, or whatever remained of it, at sea. Soon, the American President told the country and the world in a televised address that Bin Laden was dead. There were street celebrations across America, including in New York City. In the next few days, reactions poured in from across the world.
Questions were raised about the manner in which Bin Laden’s funeral had been carried on. Some people prayed for him. Countless were relieved that he was dead. Terror experts are coming up with their view on what the implications of his death might be.

What I have been reading lately has caught my attention.

The Vatican’s official statement was issued on the morning of May 2nd by the Director of the Holy See Press Office, P. Federico Lombardi.
This was his statement:
“Osama Bin Laden - as everyone knows - has had the gravest responsibility for spreading hatred and division among people, causing the deaths of countless people, and exploiting religion for this purpose.
Faced with the death of a man, a Christian never rejoices, but reflects on the serious responsibility of everyone before God and man, and hopes and pledges that every event is not an opportunity for a further growth of hatred, but of peace.”

Did Bin Laden’s death bring closure for families who lost loved ones in 9/11 attacks? I am not qualified to answer that question. May be, it did.

I asked a son who had lost his mother on September 11, 2001 in the twin tower blasts, “How do you feel about this?”
He said, “She taught me that I should learn to forgive, not avenge, if I wanted to become a better man. Am I happy that Bin Laden was killed? You are goddamn right, I am. Am I celebrating his death? No, I am not. She would not have wanted me to. All life is precious. His was too. He used it too badly. And he finally paid for it.”

Looking at Osama as an individual, isolated from his fundamentalist mindset, I see a man who had the charisma to attract people from different walks of life and unify them for a cause. I see a man who had the acumen to plan and the daring confidence to execute the most difficult and seemingly impossible missions.
And what did he choose to do with all this? Divert people to fundamentalism and violence, kill innocents all over the world, instill fear and hatred in the minds and hearts of people.

What a waste!

Resumption

2011-05-05T12:04:00.000+05:30

I am back to where I started. This is where I will write primarily.
And if the past is any indicator, I will enjoy it.

More soon.

My new workplace

2010-07-18T12:05:00.003+05:30

These are the playgrounds of the school I am currently working in. The school caters to kids from low income communities in a far flung, almost rural locality of Pune. The view is breathtakingly beautiful, but getting there is an uphill task every morning.

The Sound of Water

2010-04-13T08:38:00.000+05:30

Serene, gentle and peaceful. A calming effect. Sounds of serenity, sounds of silent joy, sounds of quiet change.

I really do love waterfronts.

Vipassana

2010-03-22T12:48:00.001+05:30

I have been meaning to write about this for some time now. The practice of Vipassana has been a unique experience for me. I am not a Vipassana veteran. Far from it. But after recently attending a ten day camp, I have benefitted from it. The course was amazingly detoxifying. And, regular, disciplined practice ensures that things keep improving.

I cannot compare Vipassana to any other form of meditation because I have never tried any other form before. What I will say though is that this is something worth trying. Being away from the daily humdrum of life, far away from the city, in silence in a peaceful environment, close to nature, and with yourself . . . it does have a therapeutic, detoxifying effect. The meditation makes you focus on the sensations inside your body, non-judgementally observe every sensation as it occurs and fades away. As you do this, you look inside yourself, and you discover a lot about yourself.

The regular and disciplined practice of Vipassana has been known to break down the barriers between the conscious, sub-conscious and unconscious mind. The practice of Vipassana has helped in the cure of psychosomatic illnesses. However, Vipassana teachers are very clear in informing that Vipassana is not a substitute of psychotherapy, or, for that matter, any kind of therapy. It is an art of living, that helps you live life better. Patients should not go into the course expecting that they’d be cured of all ailments. Most important, like any other form of specialized education, you have to learn Vipassana from a teacher who is authorized to conduct the course.

Vipassana is not a one time detoxifying procedure. To experience the benefits of Vipassana, one has to practise it regularly. The teachers recommend two sittings of one hour daily, one in the morning, and one in the evening. I have not been that disciplined, as the evening one hour has been considerably difficult to follow through. But even with what I have been able to do, I have felt positive differences in my thinking, my reactions, my interactions. . . in short, in a lot of things.

I have been reading essays on Vipassana by Dr. Paul Flieschman, as well as a study published by Prof. P.L. Dhar of IIT Delhi, that tries to find a scientific explanation behind the proven efficacy of Vipassana meditation; both very interesting. The Vipassana website has relevant information about course schedules, requirements and locations. The Vipassana Research Institute website also has a wealth of information about the technique as well as the various projects going on at the institute.

It has been so long

2010-03-19T18:51:00.000+05:30

Lot of changes. A few milestones. Took a few interesting decisions.
I needed to disconnect for a while, and so I did. Now, I'm back, and with my real name this time, so that is another change.

I have recently said no to an offer to work in Sierra Leone, and a part of me is still craving for the adventure that would have been. I have also recently said yes to take up an assignment in a field in which I have no hands-on experience, and I am patting myself on the back for taking that step. In any case, my expectation going into my new job is to immerse myself in an unfamiliar situation, do some meanigful work and learn something new, so hopefully those would be met.

Strangely, kissing the big bucks goodbye wasn't such a tough thing to do. Zeroing on my next assignment from a few very different choices, was.

I want to sign off with a few lines from 'The Road Not Taken' by Robert Frost. It is a favorite of my sister (whose course work in English included this poem) and me (who was introduced to this poem by her). It is a tricky poem, and while many people believe it encourages you to move away from the herd and be different, more discerning readers have felt (and I agree with them) that it does not judge the choice you have made, it just tells you that you always have to make choices, and ironically, you never understand your choice in its entirety unless you have made it, and lived through it.

I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I -
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.

Who knew...

2009-12-16T13:14:00.001+05:30

That all decent radio taxi companies would be overbooked between 5 am and 7 am on a normal working Delhi Wednesday!

That I was actually capable of gulping breakfast at 4-30 am in the morning!

That half of Delhi would be at the airport before 6 am on a cold, working, winter Wednesday morning!

That I could sleep uninterrupted for 2 hours in the plane on a 2 hour flight!

That Mumbai would be literally hot and humid at 9 am in the morning, making me look like a clown in my thick, hip-length, woollen jacket, beads of sweat adorning my forehead!

That it would cost me less to travel to the Mumbai office from the airport, than it did to travel from my home to the Delhi airport, even though the distance in Delhi was half, and Mumbai is supposed to be the more expensive city!

That Ashish would be the first person I'd meet when entering the office!

That they would actually open a coffee shop and a library in the empty space downstairs!

That my key would not just open my Mumbai office locker, but also all other adjacent lockers!

That my locker would have held on to so much of what I used to be, of what I had done, and what I still am!

That I would be typing this from the Mumbai office, and thinking, 'Though much is taken, much abides...'*!

* Ulysses by Tennyson

Delhi Shops and Sunset

2009-12-08T16:00:00.007+05:30

Joie de vivre

2009-11-23T15:09:00.001+05:30

May be it is the season. May be the decisions. May be it is the spirit of thanksgiving that Jessie sent my way, those wishes from Janine, Kevin’s encouraging letter... or may be the thought for the day (an excellent quote from Leonardo Da Vinci: “It had long since come to my attention that people of accomplishment rarely sat back and let things happen to them. They went out and happened to things.”)

Whatever it is, the fact is I am feeling upbeat and alive and happy. Looking forward to each day, feeling empowered, making plans... and humming along. The road ahead isn’t exactly laid out for me, and the freedom will come at a cost. But the adventure of it all is simply irresistible.

I am rediscovering the urge to experiment and anticipate. To go for the uncommon, to discover the unknown. To learn new things, to be all that I can be. I am not bound, I am not confined. I can be myself, just like Jonathan Livingston. I am living my life and I am doing great!

Exhausted

2009-10-02T18:00:00.004+05:30

Last couple of days of my vacation. Oh! I don’t want to get back to work again. Two weeks leave is a luxury, they tell me. . . that too my fifth one this year. And I still don’t feel rested. I feel more tired than I did when I went without a leave for one full year and without a weekend off for eight weeks in a row. And now, here I am. Ten days off in January, twelve days in March, two weeks in April, practically the entire month of May off, two weeks off again in June, and now two weeks spread over September and October. Well, April, May and June, I was sick, all the same those were weeks away from work.

To feel tired after having such a vacation spaced year, that’s not me. I just cannot make myself look forward to work. There is just one sentence repeating again and again at the back of my head – I need a break. And this one week and two week thing ain’t doing me any lasting good. For the most part, I have been a tired heap on my bed – a sleep deprived soul you’d think, who can never have enough of bedtime. I haven’t even visited the blog world, and my favorite blogs in the last few weeks.

I have managed to read a few books and watch some movies playing on TV though. I also did go out to witness the Puja festivities one day. It has been a full seven years since I was last home during Durga Puja . . . looking back, the years have just flown by. Years, full of friends made and lost, full of beautiful blends of happiness and sadness, triumphs and setbacks, holidays and work, exams and excursions, books and clothes, travel and movies, newspaper and TV . . .

I have felt tired earlier too, but never for so long at a stretch. A weekend off, a week of travel to new places or Christmas vacations with family have always rejuvenated me. But now, I have been tired for a year. I do need a break – a long one this time. Like Liz may be, though our circumstances are very different.

That is the thing that struck me as I was reading Elizabeth Gilbert’s ‘Eat Pray Love’. Sometimes very different circumstances can evoke very similar emotions in people. A friend had recommended it as a good one time read last fall. It had slipped off my mind as I was engrossed in Alan Greenspan’s Age of Turbulence then. Suddenly, my mind went back to that recommendation when I read in the local newspaper at the Delhi airport at the start of my vacation, that Julia Roberts was in India, to shoot for this movie. A few days later, I picked up a copy at Howrah station, when waiting to board the train from Kolkata for Patna.

Gilbert has dwelt in a little detail on traditional Hindu meditation and spiritualism, as well as local Bali customs. I couldn’t agree more with her on her thoughts about satisfying spiritual and material needs at the same time.

Should I take one year off too? May be read, travel, learn new languages or new crafts. I don’t know. . . I am still contemplating. Any ideas, suggestions are very welcome.

Introspective Insomniac

2009-08-23T16:25:00.004+05:30

That’s me, these days. I can’t sleep. Worse, I can’t figure out why.

May be I’m worried. But I don’t feel worried. Rather, I feel totally in control of myself, my actions and my decisions. I feel that I rule my universe.

What is it, then? I am worried about something, and I don’t know that? Perhaps a fear or worry that is nagging at my subconscious? How do I get it to the fore? I don’t like not being able to sleep at night and then feeling drowsy all day.

I went to bed at 11-30 last night, hoping to fall asleep in a few minutes. But oh! The fairies of slumber simply refused to descend upon my eyes. Tossing and turning... right, left and center, eyes wide open. I tried with the air conditioner on, and I tried with the fan on and the windows open. All futile.

music. The music was okay, but it was heavily interspaced by the blabbering of one RJ who spoke in a constipated accent, trying to make herself sound anything but Indian, and ending up sounding like the empress of fake accents.

I ended up staring outside my windows... at the leave-laden branches and the dark blue sky. It is in these moments that I am at my introspective best. I replay my whole life till now. Suddenly, memories of inconsequential incidents warm up my heart, echoes of a friendly voice lift up my spirits, a phrase, an expression just floats in from somewhere making a bygone era come alive... and faces, voices, laughs, gazes carry me away.

All of that made me. In that light, my values are crystal clear. It is a moment of truth. I know exactly what I am doing. I know exactly what I should do. I feel content... I am entering a new world.

A sharp continuous sound disturbs my world. My phone has been ringing. There is light outside. I had fallen asleep.

Half a year in Delhi!

2009-07-26T15:19:00.008+05:30

I am barely five days short of completing six months of having moved to New Delhi. And the city has grown on me. I won’t go to the extent of saying that I love it. . .yet! But it does remind me of home. And in spite of the harsh weather, I feel comfortable. Well, more or less.

I could do with more decent conduct in general, fewer ogling men, better public transportation, more safety for women, more disciplined traffic, cleaner roads, less show-off, fewer cheats and broader mindsets. But, I still like the city. It is like a treasure to be explored. I have not been too adventurous in my six months here. Partly because of the weather, and partly because of my health. But I have enjoyed capturing pictures of this city, even as I have rambled lazily over weekends.

This is the entrance to a wedding ceremony in the neighborhood.

This is a government official’s bunglow hidden by the trees in his lawn.

This is our Red Fort.

This is the colorful Meena Bazaar inside the Red Fort.

This is a structure inside the Red Fort premises.

This is my tea in the restaurant in the Red Fort premises.

The inspiration for this post is my conversation with Anu yesterday, who remarked that many people, especially people here, do not write a lot about the place they live in. Six months in this city did deserve a post from me!

Friends

2009-07-04T23:47:00.003+05:30

A cup of tea and the whole universe to discuss.
Triumphs and setbacks. Career and hobbies. Heartbreak and joy. Family and relationships. Journeys and places. Parents and siblings. Traffic and weather. Frustration and hope. Memories and future. Love and hate. Marriage and friendship. Health and illness. Life and death. You and me.

We were, we are. Like fire and air. Like roots and leaves. Like mountain and sea. We are different and alike. A little different and very alike. Very different and very alike. . . like harmony in contradictions.

We meet and part. Sometimes, we meet again. Sometimes, after years. And yet whenever we meet, we start exactly where we left. . . a cup of tea, all those years, and us. Isn’t it amazing?

Simple words. Trivial questions. Nonchalantly mentioning your pains, when you hear about mine, making me think that we were never alone in our tribulations. Stating facts simply, as they are. No glorification, no downplaying. Wanting to know, offering to help, but knowing so well when to keep quiet, where not to ask more. Never judging, never prescribing. Sharing experiences, but never advising without being asked. You are you and I am me. And you know that just as well as I do.

I was reminded of something I read at the start of the last Harry Potter book - William Penn's words from More Fruits of Solitude:
'Death is but crossing the world, as friends do the seas; they live in one another still. For they must needs be present, that love and live in that which is omnipresent. In this divine glass, they see face to face; and their converse is free, as well as pure. This is the comfort of friends, that though they may be said to die, yet their friendship and society are, in the best sense, ever present, because immortal.'

And then there was fire!

2009-07-01T22:44:00.004+05:30

Does fire follow me, or I invite fire?

It was again the summer of 2006 in some ways. Unannounced, the Gods of Fire burst upon us after lunch, and after hours of waiting sent us packing.

There is no fighting the fire. And everytime it erupts like this, I count my blessings. Eventually, we are all gone - dust to dust and ashes to ashes, but till the time it is not so, I cannot but be indebted for my being.

Top Executives

2009-06-08T13:26:00.008+05:30

What do you do when your eyes and your mind are engaged in a banter that is necessitated by your futile presence at a place that neither wants nor deserves you, and the scare of a terrible illness gnaws at your mind?

You observe, think and reflect.

So I was observing, thinking and reflecting.... when I came up with this:

Three sure-shot characteristics of a Top Executive -
(Caveat: holds true for men only, women much more difficult to identify)

1. Wears a formal suit with or without a tie
2. Is overweight
3. Shows mild to acute degree of hair loss

Most I have seen exhibit all three characteristics, and invariably all exhibit at least one. There is just one notable exception.

Yes, the only exception that I can recall, to all of the above, from my last six years of corporate existence, is the illustrious Jon Newman. He retired last week. They don't make many like him any more.

Changes

2009-05-27T11:51:00.002+05:30

That, which was the reason that I looked forward to each day, today makes me cringe backwards and leave it all. That, which brought out the best in me, today brings out that vicious being in me who doesn’t mind even harming herself, to stay away from it.
It became a part of me, it made me who I am, but I don’t belong there anymore. Every time I gave it more than it expected, it graciously bestowed on me more than I had expected. But, my paradise suddenly isn’t the place I used to know.
People changed, but they had changed earlier too. This time, perhaps, the values changed too. The time has perhaps come to again look for a new beginning. . . a whole new world may be, new skies and new horizons. How long it shall take, I do not know. But then, I have never really known . . .

Flowers in my Garden

2009-05-21T13:52:00.006+05:30

Blooming happily. . . even in this heat!

Indeterminate

2009-04-02T16:15:00.004+05:30

I have a penchant for explanations. The inexplicable, the uncertain make me uncomfortable. But the reality of life is that there are things you cannot logically explain.

I am a student of many things, and science is one of the important ones. I love the way science explains phenomena like gravity, rainbows, auroras, black holes . . . and well, countless other things. I say to myself . . . P E R F E C T!

But then, not everything is perfectly explained. While I marvel at the explanation behind the aurora, I struggle to understand why my being somewhere coincided with something happening at that moment. At the bottom of my heart, I often feel, there is a reason. . . but I just cannot find it. Years after some strange coincidence, I am awed by how perfectly everything fits in! Could I have known at that point?

Probably not. Time unveiled the mystery. And time always takes its time. . . . I heard somewhere that ‘Time takes time to reveal to you the person you are meant to be’ . . .
Could I have at least known how much time it would take? Will I be able ever to know? I don’t know. . . I never have . . .

So many of the decisions that I intuitively take, turn out to be so right. . . when I look back years later.

I wonder, how many factors is a person’s life a function of? Will we ever find out . . . ?

The Elixir of Life

2009-03-28T15:14:00.008+05:30

Everytime I listen to it or read it, I feel blessed by a thousand years of human wisdom, and though it sounds like the commencement or convocation address for a class of students, it was actually a column that appeared in the Chicago Tribune in 1997, by then staff writer of the newspaper, Mary Schmich.

Thanks to the Chicago Tribune and Mary Schmich. . . here is, what I call, the elixir of life!

'ADVICE, LIKE YOUTH, PROBABLY JUST WASTED ON THE YOUNG' by Mary Schmich, published in the Chicago Tribune on June 1, 1997:

"Wear sunscreen.

If I could offer you only one tip for the future, sunscreen would be it. The long-term benefits of sunscreen have been proved by scientists, whereas the rest of my advice has no basis more reliable than my own meandering experience. I will dispense this advice now.

Enjoy the power and beauty of your youth. Oh, never mind. You will not understand the power and beauty of your youth until they've faded. But trust me, in 20 years, you'll look back at photos of yourself and recall in a way you can't grasp now how much possibility lay before you and how fabulous you really looked. You are not as fat as you imagine.

Don't worry about the future. Or worry, but know that worrying is as effective as trying to solve an algebra equation by chewing bubble gum. The real troubles in your life are apt to be things that never crossed your worried mind, the kind that blindside you at 4 p.m. on some idle Tuesday.

Do one thing every day that scares you.

Sing.

Don't be reckless with other people's hearts. Don't put up with people who are reckless with yours.

Floss.

Don't waste your time on jealousy. Sometimes you're ahead, sometimes you're behind. The race is long and, in the end, it's only with yourself.

Remember compliments you receive. Forget the insults. If you succeed in doing this, tell me how.

Keep your old love letters. Throw away your old bank statements.

Stretch.

Don't feel guilty if you don't know what you want to do with your life. The most interesting people I know didn't know at 22 what they wanted to do with their lives. Some of the most interesting 40-year-olds I know still don't.

Get plenty of calcium. Be kind to your knees. You'll miss them when they're gone.

Maybe you'll marry, maybe you won't. Maybe you'll have children, maybe you won't. Maybe you'll divorce at 40, maybe you'll dance the funky chicken on your 75th wedding anniversary. Whatever you do, don't congratulate yourself too much, or berate yourself either. Your choices are half chance. So are everybody else's.

Enjoy your body. Use it every way you can. Don't be afraid of it or of what other people think of it. It's the greatest instrument you'll ever own.

Dance, even if you have nowhere to do it but your own living room.

Read the directions, even if you don't follow them.

Do not read beauty magazines. They will only make you feel ugly.

Get to know your parents. You never know when they'll be gone for good. Be nice to your siblings. They're your best link to your past and the people most likely to stick with you in the future.

Understand that friends come and go, but with a precious few you should hold on. Work hard to bridge the gaps in geography and lifestyle, because the older you get, the more you need the people who knew you when you were young.

Live in New York City once, but leave before it makes you hard. Live in Northern California once, but leave before it makes you soft.

Travel.

Accept certain inalienable truths: Prices will rise. Politicians will philander. You, too, will get old. And when you do, you'll fantasize that when you were young, prices were reasonable, politicians were noble and children respected their elders.

Respect your elders.

Don't expect anyone else to support you. Maybe you have a trust fund. Maybe you'll have a wealthy spouse. But you never know when either one might run out.

Don't mess too much with your hair or by the time you're 40 it will look 85.

Be careful whose advice you buy, but be patient with those who supply it. Advice is a form of nostalgia. Dispensing it is a way of fishing the past from the disposal, wiping it off, painting over the ugly parts and recycling it for more than it's worth.

But trust me on the sunscreen."

Vacation is over!

2009-03-20T12:23:00.011+05:30

My vacation draws to a close. This wasn’t my typical one. No traveling all over, exploring new territories or rediscovering the past. . . . no lazing around the old, unorganized ancestral house. . . that place I call my ‘home’ with not having to let the thought of doing household chores enter my mind . . . . no watching movies and gorging on home made savories . . . this was different.
In a different city, in a different house . . . . running errands, keeping a watch, thinking of others, taking care. . . . this vacation had a different purpose. . . and hopefully it served at least a part of it.

The regular day job of course, has been a nuisance throughout. . . but, what the heck! We shall overcome. . . as we always have!
The connectivity did enable me to be back in the blogging world regularly, and as I rediscover my expressions, word my thoughts. . . I feel more and more sure of myself.

Revolutionary Road

2009-03-16T11:32:00.002+05:30

I lived within walking distance of a couple of malls and multiplexes in White Plains, so didn’t always have to go down to Manhattan to catch new releases. The snow season put brakes on my travel spree, and both factors contributed to frequent visits to movie screenings.

When I watched “The Reader”, I was certain Kate Winslet would be sixth time lucky this year. . . and I had watched “Slumdog Millionaire” much before a lot of folks in India had even heard about the movie. Jessie had introduced me to the movie when she told me how much she enjoyed it, thinking I knew about it, since it was based in the backdrop of Mumbai. Even the non-theatre-visiting Scott paid a trip to the theatre for that movie. And he told me over lunch how much he was going to root for it for the Oscars. Somehow, that movie enthralled audiences in a manner I wasn’t able to comprehend. To me, it was overhyped.

Of all the movies I saw, while I did enjoy several performances and stories, the one I could relate to most was “Revolutionary Road”. The lives of Frank and April. . and the metaphor of Paris. They said it was a story of the much hyped, but elusive American dream. I think it is the story of any individual who tries to discover himself, but becomes overwhelmed by possibilities, and gives in to 'the safe bets in life', and loses something a lot more valuable in the process.

I was intrigued by the name and the business of the company Frank worked for, after a friend pointed it out. . . he worked for ‘Knox Business Machines’, a company trying to move into computers from machines in the 1950s. That rings a bell!! How much more direct could the movie makers be! Wasn’t that movie really meant for us. . . or the likes of us?

Is the fear of becoming ‘second rate’ so great, that we always settle for the safer bet? Because most times, the way to becoming what we are meant to be isn’t a hurdle-free expressway . . .

It wasn’t just Frank and April. . . most of us live on the Revolutionary Road, with a distant dream of the Paris we want to go to. . . the paths and the ends of course, are different for all, and that makes all the difference in what each life turns out to be.

Saying it all

2009-03-14T15:04:00.002+05:30

Arziyan saari main chehre pe likh ke laaya hoon. . .
Tumse kya maangoon main, tum khud hi samajh lo. . .

Jessie's Drive

2009-03-13T11:02:00.004+05:30

It isn’t Fall, but I’m thinking about it. It was lovely last year. And, thanks for telling me that it was the most spectacular in the last three decades.

I love these pictures. And I cherish the memory of being in the midst of all this. It was heaven.

Thank you, Jessie.

March Eleventh

2009-03-12T12:56:00.002+05:30

Just like that, in the midst of people and places I call my own, I am suddenly transported millions of miles in space and time. I start walking on the edge of the universe. . . alone, detached and unyielding. I don’t feel the warmth of affection, the pull of belonging. . . I just feel the open space around me, I feel the universe. I feel something beyond me.

Things are blurry. I live between worlds. Between layers of hope and despair, happiness and sorrow. . . between life and lack of it. Wallowing in an ocean of miserable thoughts, I suddenly feel an inexplicable reassurance. It puzzles me. But I don’t know where to direct my questions because there isn’t a place or person to go to. Sometimes, I don’t even feel the need to ask. I feel I know everything. . . but I don’t. I know I don’t, because I don’t have words that explain it. And yet, somehow I know.

Now that I am here

2009-02-14T09:25:00.007+05:30

This year, I'll miss this. . .

. . . and of course this. . .

It just strikes me. . . how you never know what it was worth to you till it is over. . . but one end gives way to a new beginning. . . and that is life. . . redefining yourself with every experience, making the best of it. . . as long as it lasts.
As I said in my farewell mail, life permitting we'll meet again. . . till then, lets make the most out of what we have.

Home sweet home!

2009-01-26T22:04:00.005+05:30

It feels like a million years. . . but finally it is a done deal.

Soon I'll be talking about Connaught Place, India Gate, and Lodhi Gardens and perhaps only reminiscing about Times Square, ESB and Central Park. I will be planning trips to the forts and palaces of India instead of the national parks of the US. . . writing more about Indian Railways and auto-rickshaws than Amtrak, Metro North and NY Subway. . . swearing about the boiling heat in Delhi instead of the biting cold and below-freezing temperatures in NY.

Ahhhh. . . it has been such a long time . . . covering more than half of the states through mostly pleasure, and some business trips. . . New Orleans, Atlanta, Chicago, Boston, Washington DC, Philadelphia, San Francisco, Los Angeles, Las Vegas. . . the road and train trips through the mid-west, South Dakota, Utah, Nevada, Arizona and California. . . through Connecticut, Rhode Island, Vermont and Massachusetts. . . through Georgia, Alabama, Mississippi and Louisiana, through New York, New Jersey, Pennsylvania, Delaware, Maryland. . . and then all the way up to Canada.

Some of the most memorable and beautiful experiences I have had in my life. . . oh life!

I went wandering . . .

2008-10-21T05:55:00.007+05:30

What is it with lyrics and me these days... I even think in songs.
Here's one that is practically a part of my DNA now.

U2 and Johnny Cash

I went out walking through streets paved with gold;
Lifted some stones, saw the skin and bones of a city without a soul.
I went out walking under an atomic sky;
Where the ground won't turn and the rain, it burns...
Like the tears when I said goodbye.
Yeah, I went with nothing, nothing but the thought of you;
I went wandering.

I went drifting through the capitals of tin;
Where men can't walk or freely talk, and sons turn their fathers in.
I stopped outside a church house where the citizens like to sit;
They say they want the kingdom, but they don't want God in it.

I went out riding down that old eight lane;
I passed by a thousand signs looking for my own name.

I went with nothing, but the thought you'd be there too;
Looking for you.

I went out there in search of experience;
To taste and to touch and to feel as much as a man can before he repents.

I went out searching looking for one good man;
A spirit who would not bend or break, who would sit at his father's right hand.
I went out walking, with a bible and a gun;
The word of God lay heavy on my heart;
I was sure I was the one.
Now Jesus, don't you wait up,
Jesus, I'll be home soon.
Yeah, I went out for the papers;
Told her I'd be back by noon.

Yeah, I left with nothing, but the thought you'd be there too;
Looking for you.

Yeah, I left with nothing, nothing but the thought of you;
I went wandering.

The Song

Always an outsider

2008-10-13T05:17:00.006+05:30

Sums up everything.
Perhaps it is the reason of this gravity-defying free suspension in time and space.
Whether it was home, school, university or B-school.
Whether it was Employer #1, #2 or #3.
India or US.
Indians or Americans.
Patna, Delhi, Calcutta, Mumbai, Bangalore or New York.
Lotus or HCM.
IGS or SWG.
S&C, Finance, SO or CD.
Friends, peers, relatives or neighbors.
Co-workers or co-travelers.

Always, always, always the outsider...

Where we are

2008-10-10T07:22:00.007+05:30

"What is good for GM is good for America" has now taken the form of "What is true of GM is true of America", or even vice versa. GM stock ended below $5 a share. As of today, by definition, it is a small cap stock. While that is unnerving in itself, it is a lot, lot, lot more ominous because it seems to be a symbol of so many bigger, more dreadful and traumatic things to come.
Just like Lehman Brothers. Or Fannie and Freddie.
These are times of uncertainty, times of insanity, times of nervousness, times to keep our fingers crossed and pray. These are also historic times. Offering us some very important lessons. These are times of learning.
Its futile to deny that we are scared. We undeniably are. For different reasons.

Total eclipse of the heart

2008-08-26T08:02:00.006+05:30

The day is long, night even longer. The sun chars, the darkness disorients. Nothing seems right. Not a soul around.
No helping hand reaches out even after a thousand screams for help.
Uncertainty leads to grief, and then the realization that this is probably the end. Pain overpowers every other feeling.
Who was right? Who was wrong? Was there any right and wrong in it after all?
So everything will be left behind..... why doesn't anybody care?
Damn.