Just another day...

I'm working on that

2011-09-10T22:57:00.000-07:00

I think there's some unwritten pleasure in the physical acting of 'posting'. It's almost a release, a letting go of some idea or a thought. Every post makes me feel a bit lighter. Its like the feeling when you finish a night at the gym. Exhausted, but emphatic.

But much like the gym, its getting here that's the hardest part. I've been restless these last few months. Many things have changed after finishing Scarborough Fair. For starters I've stopped enjoying watching plays - or so, I love theater, but I spend more time analyzing the lights and movements and am always, always wearing my skeptic critic hat. It's not nice, and I wouldn't want anyone to do it when they come to see my plays.

Now I'm feeling a bit better. A hint of a rhythm perhaps. The first trickle of sweat. So let's keep going.

I've also become incessantly restless. Adheer as my Dad loves to say. There's a constant need to do - anything, everything, something. But thats where it seems to end. A lot of ideas, a lot of energy and general enthusiasm, but unfortunately very little action. This in-turn is making me more restless. It's an endless loop, and I'm ranting. I know. It's inexcusable.

Ok, so on to brighter thoughts. Since a decent set of shows and a more than positive response (apart from one critic - I'll sort him later), many people around me have been asking about a new show. A new show? I don't have one I said - or to clarify, I don't know what to put up. Lost for content you could say, and I'm quite sure I don't want to adapt another playwrights play. It seems all selfish and indulgent, but I feel its 'his/her' play, and not mine to change/adapt or murder. So I must write a new original, and must stop using so many I's. I know. It just shows how unfit my mind is.

More push-ups, incline on the treadmill. Here we go.

Now, with this structure in mind, accompanied by my restlessness, I set out a few weeks ago to try and find an idea to write about. Anything that can interest me. Read books, watched a lot of plays, read some interesting plays, some classics, and savaged through the papers in search of the elusive 'aha!'. It's not that easy. By now, my mind is splitting at the seams with too many leads, little swarm of gems that can go in places, any script, but no overarching theme. I love this world overarching. Rolls of the tongue. Much like rambunctious, pretentious, grotesque. yummy.

Back to the point on hand. These little ideas are not all mine. They're picked up from friends, their stories, random observations, alcoholic revelations, articles, everything. Most of them ended with a "I should put this in a play" twinkle/smirk/furrowed frown.

So here they are. My Play-list. (And wow. even I know that's cheesy)

1) Minstrels in the Gallery. 2 acoustic guitars next to the wings. Sing, laugh, converse. Thing Flight of the Concords meet the Kings of Convenience.

2) Van's morning messages: My buddy van sends us Good Morning messages everyday. They're funny, witty and very easy to digest. Great way to start the day, and super fillers in-between scenes. Aha!

3) Ramesh: He's a character a bunch of created on a very drunk night. He's about everything and nothing at all. A guardian angel you could say, just a couple of whiskeys down. He's also got an evil half brother Suresh. I can't say more, but I know you're interested now.

4) Juniors: Crazy names if our kids were to become superheroes. Imagine naming your kid Crash, Storm, Microbittu, Maya, 'I don't know', 'I really don't know', Aluminum, Magnesium, Ditsy, Pork and JhonnySun. Now put them in a room, and let them beat the crap outta each other. There was even a kid that was born five years old. Just saying.

5) Talk to the bag: How a guy on his first date decides to get into a lady's bag and to his surprise discovers a world of goodies, just waiting to be explored. She calls him a mind reader for the rest of the evening. He calls it elementary.

6) Bro tips: just a blog with a lot of interesting reads about Bros talking sense to other Bros. This stuff is gender neutral, but ridiculously funny.

7) Songs that set the mood: Here's my list of songs: a) Iron and Wine - Naked as we came, Innocent Bones, b) Jethrotull - Lifes a long song, Minstrel in the gallery. c) Peter Paul and Mary - The Wedding Song.

8) We're all the same: Here's something interesting I read recently in Bill Brysons ' A short history of nearly everything' - Every atom we possess has almost certainly passed through several stars and has been part of millions of organisms on its part to becoming you. This means that a significant number of your atoms, up-to a billion belonged to Shakespeare, and a billion more to Buddha, Genghis Khan, Beethoven, Gandhiji etc.

Now that's just friggin' cool.

9) The perils of blue tac: I'd never used blue tac before. But when I did, it took a lot of different shapes and sizes. Now all thats fine. But when I did this act unintentionally in my bosses cabin, and when the shapes were long and sometimes curved balls, and when my boss might be, or most surely is gay, is when it became, lets say, slightly uncomfortable. ahem.

So that's basically it. It feels good to put this down finally. The head feels lighter, the mind exercised. Now to wait for the pain to kick in.

Live out of imagination, not out of your history. Excellent quote. Read it somewhere.

whale tale

2011-08-28T11:38:00.000-07:00

she said wake up
body green in mortal greed
he swam alone now

art credit: vanburn

pause

2011-08-28T10:30:00.000-07:00

it's difficult to be inspired again.

perhaps when you're empty as hell. and maybe this is a good learning. to not pour your heart out in one project. to save some fuel for the ride ahead. its a terrible feeling - to be like this, without a cause, just drifting aimlessly. hoping to get lucky, to wake up the next day alive and ready for the task ahead. but it doesn't come that easy. or perhaps i don't look hard enough. i try or is the game not to try at all? to give 'it', the elusive 'aha!', its moment of fame. to let it sneak up on you and take in the applause. it takes teeth to scratch the surface. and i'm headed for a root canal.

a friend told me a writer always writes. he must feel the need to at all times. only then is he a writer at heart. i can't write, not now i tell him. i don't agree with you either i said. i write when i must. i write when i have to. i write when my heart says it should, not when my head commands it to. i scribble in my head till i need to put it down or risk bursting at the seams.

perhaps this is my time to ramble. till i stop and begin to write again. someday, one day, maybe today. amen.

take your time he said
simmer till its golden brown
you could write today

mr in-between

2010-12-22T03:33:00.001-08:00

mr. in-between,
that’s who i am,
bumming in my bubble,
unaware of any trouble

idealism is my weapon,
i think no harm, i do no harm,
never mean and always keen,
thats me, mr. in-between.

i hate to argue, and hate to fight,
but debate the world and all its plight,
“judgment is bad, sarcasm is worst”,
my neutral take leaves this bubble un-burst.

come’on mr, they all do say,
where is the hunger?, where is the love?
i gently shrug and offer a pause,
“hmm...perhaps when there’s a worthy cause?”

but don’t i know it won’t last forever,
this habit of walking the dotted line,
with every second it begins to fade,
this bubble of life, that i have made,

for many have entered and left at will,
spent some time and had their tummy’s fill,
off to greener pastures!; another unfinished scene
shutting this shop is mr. in-between.

once upon a time in dadar

2010-08-18T08:24:00.000-07:00

As the steady trail of comments from my unknown Chinese fans continue (much appreciated guys, even if you are just spammers and hackers...lets face it i am quite comfortable with being needy), and the skies continue to shed endlessly, i have a little nugget to tell.

Of all things that are making bombay fun for me, the least has been the train. And mind you, i have my systems pretty well chalked out. Living in bandra, i get the starting train at 8:57am, empty, spic and span, with enough room for me and my umbrella to rest comfortably. Add to that, i have the back-up of the 9:18am which means i get 10 min more of nap time. super. Now that seems idyllic doesn't it --- a morning train, empty, 20 min to office and an evening train back without much chaos. All this bullshit about Bombay being a tough city to travel in - what a bunch of baloney.

or so i thought. All this changed one morning in my first month - the blessed day i missed the 9:18am backup.
Troubled, confused, i finally managed to locate an alternative train heading towards my office form the adjoining platform. Things seemed pretty much under control. The train came in, passengers got out, we all got in, the rains continued and i got ticked off again for waving my umbrella. typical day i thought.

now here's a bit of background. there are 2 stations between bandra and dadar - 1) mahim junction and 2) matunga road. Ipod plugged in, newspaper out, i swayed blissfully with the rhythm of the train. Blame it on the morning rain, or just a good hair day, but i was feeling jolly - smiling at the regulars on the train, moving aside for the passengers at mahim and wondering again why in god's name they would name a station - 'matunga'? (we even have an 'elephinstone'...but lets not get into African derivations here).

But something seemed wrong as we crossed matunga station. i could feel it for a while, brimming under the surface, but now it became more evident. The regulars stopped playing cards and huddled up close to one-another. The 4 guys who were defying death till 5 minutes ago by hanging half way out of the train suddenly had a change of heart and came inside. The smiles slowly turned to serious grims, the ipods came out, and some sort of re-alignment seemed to happen. It was on auto, as if a drill they could all do in their sleep.

The corners went first, then the space along the walls and finally the aisles.I was left hopelessly in the middle, clueless of what was about to happen. As the train slowed down at dadar station - all i remember hearing was someone in the adjoining cabin screaming "dadar aa gaya, dadar aa gaya". bam. and then it happened.

now i understand that bombay is a multicultural city - people from all over come here, and live harmoniously. they fight, bicker but there's still some common unsaid bond of humanity that connects them. Come dadar, and i was beginning to question this whole notion itself...
They came in, as warriors, savages looking to hunt down their prey. They came as vikings - born to own and rule - they were pirates - they took, never asked. They were hustlers yes sir. Came in, synchronized, experts at this deed. Used their stomachs for leverage, their hands for balance and their numbers for impact. They dint smile. Hell, they knew they dint need too.

The message was pretty clear - comply or be prepared to die. And within a matter of seconds, the train - from being a joy ride with familiar faces became a concentration camp on wheels, plummeting forward. You wonder what'll kill you first - the sheer force of a 100 bodies stuck dangerously close together or the odor that comes along with the experience.
I'm quick on my feet else id been kissing the floor in no time.

Once in, the the second leg of the journey begins. How do you manage to get out at your station? Now that ive done this a few times, i can share my strategy. You feel a bit like Abhimanyu, weaving through the chakravyu, one man at a time. A hop to the left here, a step right there. A little shove here, slip in your umbrella there. Playing tetris is a good way to practice.
You cautiously ask the man in front "boss, lower parel utarna hain?" - pray to god he says yes, cause otherwise its back to the drawing board. And so you try again, this time in another direction, hopefully with more people watching your back.

It really does make you question why you take the trains every morning? why you chose to slum it out without really needing too? and why is it that despite all this daily chaos, you feel your tolerance level has reached a new high?

The answer seems simple enough really. This is the flavor of the city. Bursting at the seams with all sorts, shapes and odor of people. You might enjoy a little bubbled existence for a little while, but there's always a dadar to put things right back into perspective.

the city's a constant struggle - but isn't that where great fighters are born? you decide.

the long and winding road

2010-07-17T02:34:00.000-07:00

i love running. i don't get to do it as often as i should, but the looming guilt of a baniya paunch ( i'm skinny mind you, but it'll come - it'll turn up magically one morning, and i cant do a thing to stop it.) and the constant reminders from my mallu roommate (what a joke - he doesn't even eat rice) convince me to get re-started every few days.

and well that's one of the pleasure of staying in bandra. its beautiful - especially this time of year, with the rains and the muck and the lush green in the trees. it makes you want to get out everyday.

but the bigger question is where? in a city like bombay, where space makes you rich, i've found two respectable options:

- 1) every now and then i try one of those colony joggers parks. they're crowded with rather aged regulars (who stare at you when you lap them for the 19th time in an hour, especially when u you whisper out a "oh yeah" in motivation for round 20). Plus these parks are well hardly parks. I might have a heavy delhi bias here, but i was really surprised at how small these joggers parks are. and honestly, theyre nothing like the movie. i thought they'll be big and green, not brown, tiny and dusty. As my bombay friend says often " dude, go back to your lodhi garden if you wanna jog". haha. amen.

-2) The other approach is well the road less traveled. and for some very logical reasons. jogging on the road isn't easy - especially when its rained the previous hour, dodging muck, stray dogs, cars (who for some reason will drive "thiis" close to the puddle, daring you to jump last minute) and the riksha bhaiyas - that'll run over you without breaking a sweat, and scream out the choicest gaali without even an a hint of an acknowledgment. how rude. The only way to counter them is to do what my same bombay friend did once - pretend to be marathi and ask him why he's driving a riksha in bombay. it must be done convincingly mind you. they'll drive out of sight without a peep.
but i, obviously havent tried that yet. the only bit of marathi i get is the one forced fed by reliance through the phone " yeh number banda haain" or something like that.

back on the jog, forgetting all the woes that my knees will give me 10 years later, i continue on my charted route right till the carter road sea face - fully loaded along the way with three major junctions carrying the average speed of "get out of my way dude" and the climb to the summit of pali hill. On the build-up to the hill i rake in the mexican smells from 'papa pancho', scorn at the members coming out of gold gym, but that's all mostly in vain.

No amount of inspiration or motivation can prepare you for the climb. I've tried "eye of the tiger", i've tried the "departed soundtrack", i've even tried house dammit - and i hate house. nothing works.

so i try, and i try, and i try, at 2.5 km/hr, running what seems like almost walking, well just almost. once atop, the rest of the journey is a hoot. Its almost like the final leg of the tour de france...youre running downhill, its faster, the crowds whizz by, and you can smell the sea. the finish line. A final junction to encounter and you're there - carter road - populated by about 1000 more people, joggers and walkers and pet owners and lovers and loafers and writers and peddlers and what not. right there, staring at the sea as if its this magical pool that has an answer for everything - whatever your question may be and whoever you may be.

i try and spend some time there to cool off and just be. still without a thought. exhausted and empty. all that's left then is the long road back, all the way home.

oh and have i mentioned the legs in bandra? mama mia....well maybe another time.

you know, it don't come easy

2010-04-24T04:43:00.000-07:00

how much is enough. when do you stop to think. to listen. to hear, change, and listen some more. day, night, asleep. listening to my thoughts. i encourage my dreams. is it wrong?

from whenever i can remember, i’ve been told - think now, and for today. capture what you can, who knows about the future. but why? why not for tomorrow. the tomorrow that i dream about. the tomorrow that's bright, broad, breathtaking.

i do build castles, i do visualize. i think of what i want, what i wish. imagine myself almost living it. touch, feel, smell... i like to indulge my senses. immerse them. enact those dangling conversations, experience those superficial sighs. they're my lifelines, my destination. its where i feel at home. most.

sometimes the wait seems endless. without a go back n end, a destination. a hazy vision.

But its power is strong. it pulls, empowers, enables. breathes life into the lungs, injects fuel in my veins. goosebumps. ooh. its beautiful, yet painful.

i go back to it when i can. just close my eyes. they come alive, these images i've clicked in my mind. its almost a reflex, capture before it fades away. the stored sugar when i'm starving later. starving for expression, for escape, for release. it works wonders then.

my best friend calls this my bubble. she thinks i live - blindfolded, totally unaware and with unrealistic expectations. and then i think, what good is reality really? sure, one must'nt lose out on the moment, the present...but how can i just be expected to live on auto drive...give the accelerator to fate or karma or whatever one might call it? let it be, let it be they all say. bah. i never really liked the beatles anyway. at-least not until they broke up.

thats when we finally got ‘imagine’ and ‘here comes the sun’. the point is - is optimism really that bad? is it wrong to believe that a perfect place, a perfect person and perfect life awaits. isn't it what we should all work towards creating. is int it the only thing that remains ours, our own, unconditionally today. my dream is mine. and i might lose, fall down, but its mine, to enjoy and to despair in.

as i sit writing this rather narcissistic post, belting out my emotions on a boring saturday afternoon on my first weekend in bombay, i wonder. i wonder about this bagel shop i sit in bandra with its overhanging trees, its free wifi, and the women in flat chappals mind you. i wonder what experiences im gonna have here, on these roads, with these people. its silly, but i think its the start of a beautiful relationship.

bite me reality. let me dream in peace. it be awesome.

the girl who saw numbers

2010-03-30T00:25:00.001-07:00

a one, a one, two, three, four

what could numbers signify?
what could they perhaps imply?
one, and two, and three and four,
were they spiritual or just impure?

through the night would she debate,
these numbers and what they indicate,
twice a day every day, number plates and the cricket score,
the only constant in her life, there they were - one, anna two, three and four.

and many theories did she hear,
from friends and foes and others dear,
imagination!, coincidence!, perhaps just the lack of sleep,
but she knew it as something more, a connect that went far more deep

and then there came another floating thought,
with the potential of a scarier plot,
a life long gone, a window to the past?
signals and signs, a historical forecast?

uneasy in her daily sleep till a voice did she begin to hear,
twas smooth and composed in tone - this wise credo of her fear,
"bullshit sista!, get a grip will ya dawg,
pickles and chips at night again.. bah! get up and go for a jog!"

"numbers are fiction y'all, they exist only in your head,
why would the spirits waste time on you once they're dead?
and if you must, consider it, a gesture of a gentle nudge,
the universe is troubled my child, we're 'this' close to holding a grudge"

"tighten up your game girl and lay of that chocolate mousse,
i've had it with your laziness! and your broken knee excuse,
O! so pissed am i, for this time its personal strife,
but he's a patient old fool, the Big G, he ordered me to count till five!"

huff and puff this chant continued till she broke down enough to cry,
in her sleep she begged for mercy and promised to give an honest try,
and thus ends happily this sorrow tale, one that shook her very core,
of the girl who saw the numbers - one, anna two, three and four.

TIME

2010-03-18T02:32:00.000-07:00

oh time, my time, what use are you to me now?
passing me by, slipping as i sit still and watch you go,
we were in control were we not,
i the master, and you the muse.
sit still, wander, refresh, inspire,
you’re roles above, you knew only too well
but now you leave, severed and broken,
alone i stand, to dream of things to happen,
impossible! it seems, have i left it too late?
a new crutch i need, it might well be ‘fate’

The issue of a sliding door

2010-03-08T00:38:00.000-08:00

So, i write this entry oscillating on the garden swing, enjoying the tangy march breeze and a healthy dose of mosquitoes. persistent goddamn mosquitoes. And to think that being chucked out of your own room doesn't really sound half as bad.

Well, blame it on her interior designer skills or just her plain compulsion at being a parent, my mother believed very strongly in the principle of a sliding door. Now this wasn't just any other sliding door mind you, it was a sliding door separating my room from the adjoining room occupied by my Jim Morrison worshiping, rebel without a cause, 20 year old kid sister. And while we did both reject this motion with great agitation, our pleas were swiftly overruled in name of better security and air ventilation.

With frosted glass for company, wafer thin blinds, and a fake wall of plywood holding the ‘door’ upright, this situation has been fodder to many a technical problem. Picture my delight when i made aware, that in my absence as a student in Bangalore, my room had been turned into a entertainment pad with the sliding door now serving the purpose of separating the ‘conversationalists’ with the ones who really wanted to ‘jiggy’. precious. A recliner with beer stains, and a pin-up board now stripped bare of my efforts over the last eight years, it was humbling to be back home on vacations.

The thin walls continued this torment as we grew older over the years. Now sitting at my bed at night, its hard not to overhear my sister’s repeated efforts at placating her friends, their girlfriends, their cousins, her ego, their egos. what not. and mind you, all of this while resting the phone skillfully on one ear, and as i recently discovered, on conference call with five other people. “Keep the voice low will ya!”, id shout to convey my displeasure. to which she’d say “Don’t you have someone to talk to at night? you do know its sorta free?”. Fair point id think, as i plug in my earphones and get back to the book I'm reading. who am i kidding really. sigh.

And while we’re on the topic of ear-phones, I’d say i am quite a patient listener. Give me my earphones and an ipod and im quite content to tap my foot, and hum at a respectable decibel level. All this until i decided to take up the guitar. By now, my more frequent attempts at enjoying the liberty of a full fledged performance in the comfort of my room is usually met with a “really? you’re actually gonna sing stuff like that?”. I guess I do understand her plight at some level. I mean, it would be tough for a teenager to be forced to listen to mediocre covers of Scarborough Fair, and Blowing in the Wind. We both love the 60’s and 70’s, yes sir. She for the Doors, Bob Marley, the wailers and the drugs, and me for their poorer docile cousins. So, on the off chance, that we’re both feeling a moment of inspiration, the door does give way to our own concocted version of woodstock. the neighbors never complain.

And i guess its this sort of flexibility that makes the concept of the ‘sliding door’ really work. Closed when we both need our space and time, and open when we’re ready to share, converse and ideate together. The fact is, that beyond the innumerable mistimed knocks, the desire for uninterrupted sleep, and my displeasure at our tastes in music, its great to be bound by three and not four walls everyday.

That said, being skillfully ejected out of my room on her 20th birthday (presumably by her friends who never got the memo of the big brother back in town) is not a habit i’ll be encouraging anytime soon.

Tom, Dick and Harry: Volume 3

2010-03-08T00:24:00.000-08:00

AFTER HOURS:
**Pricky Dick

MORNING COFFEE
** Harlem Harry

Run

2010-03-04T00:17:00.000-08:00

Run. I run for myself.
and I run for the crowds.
I run to see.
I run to search.
I run to forget.
I run to celebrate.
I run to lose.
I run to gain.
I run in fear.
I run in hope.
I run for change.
and I run away from change.

I run.

afternoon cartoon

2010-02-16T00:02:00.000-08:00

just found this funny link that picks at the 'thinking' or 'lack off' behind My Name is Khan. super read.

http://ow.ly/17KpE

family ties

2010-02-15T04:09:00.000-08:00

a lazy afternoon + mum & dad's anniversary + limited money for a respectable gift + a hint of boredom + one talented sibling =>

P.S.: and to think, they thought the Agrawal's were destined to become doctors and engineers. heh

two to tango

2010-02-14T11:43:00.000-08:00

What propels us forward as a nation, and what really holds us back?

It would be unfair to ignore the success that has been India. Most of us have been witness to the growing middle class that has increasingly embraced the mainstream. Dreamers from the sleepy towns of India, Buntys and Bubblys, stamping their presence in every way. 'Activating one's own destiny' has become their chosen chant, and one can see its effect in the lines outside the numerous air hostess academies, hotel management schools, media colleges, not to forget the success of Indian idol, Dance India Dance and Star voice of India. Yes sir, its true - brands have become currency, simple living is now passe and outsourcing has some stiff competition in the future. the white tiger is here to stay.

And what makes this change interesting to see, is the other silent revolution brewing in the larger cities. I may be a bit biased here, but I do see more and more people in search of the extraordinary. As if making a sincere effort to 'step away from the mainstream'. So one isn't surprised today to hear an 18 year old wanting to become a photographer, a film maker, a musician. Changing the system has become a valid belief - we ask, question, demand answers not just from each other, but from the men in white starched kurtas and their counterparts in black coats. Rang de basanti, Wake up sid, twitter. Social themes have become progressive to adopt - lead india, jago re, what an idea. And while this search for the 'extraordinary' among the more educated is a direct consequence of our confidence in the nation, it has also revealed some of the nation's persisting problems. Why else would news channels sensationalize every bit of content for higher TRPs? why else would serious topics such as past life hypnotic therapy be used in a frivolous manner to communicate with the dead on prime time? what business does a former convict, wife beater and drug addict like Rahul Mahajan have on television?

As a country, India is living through many life-cycles. Our growing, hungry middle class that is lapping up every opportunity it sees to join the mainstream and in contrast a steadily rising pool of the urban city class that is hunting for newer avenues to stand out, away from the mainstream. And while this path isn't very different than the one taken by other countries in the past, one needs to remember, than unlike the US, we are not as liberal. With every 2 steps that we take forward towards becoming a better, more progressive society, we are held back one step by the same age old beliefs of caste, culture and religion. So with every laurel that we place on Mumbai, AR Rahman and a Slumdog millionaire from Dharavi, we have a Bal Thakrey and his brand of regressive politics. For every Shashi Tharoor who returns to India as a diplomat with a certain pedigree for change, we have a weak political system that prevents him from expressing his views openly on twitter. Fair and lovely is still Unilever's largest selling product, and homosexuality is still a word that shouldn't be mentioned on the dinner table.

I really believe that this 'two steps front, one step back' tango needs to give way to the basics, once again. Basic issues such as caste, creed and culture are still strong enough barriers preventing our progress. It is encouraging to see young, progressive minds like Rahul Ghandhi and Sachin Pilot speaking practical sense on television. It is heartening to see Nandan Nilekeni step down from Infosys and atleast aim to empower our people with ID cards. Aman Ki Asha, whatever people might think of it, is the only way forward, the only way towards a real solution and not war. We need more initiatives like these. More responsible actions from our leaders and influencers in the media. This may take long, but we aren't China - we don't know how to sit mum, while the center cleans up the mess.

afterthoughts from Bombay, err Mumbai...Sorry Bhaiya...I mean Boss!

2010-02-08T22:51:00.000-08:00

notes to myself: WHAT NOT TO DO IN BOMBAY

- plan a trip to coincide (yet again) with Shiv Sena's annual tryst with Biharis
- repeatedly use the words "Bombay baby!" during this same week
- refuse to give up on 'Bhaiya'...who the hell says 'Boss'?
- loudly rejoice when auto drivers ask you to ‘tell’ and not ‘ask’ if they’re willing to go to a location. (eery few moments of blank stares follow if you do the latter)
- "meter? you couldn't be serious? you have meters that work?"
- ask town people to come to Bandra. they dont.
- ask Bandra people to come to town. they wont.
- set out to prove to your Bombay friends that Dilli walla's can rough the local train. (Goregaon to Lower Parel is no walk in the park)
- in your excitement of 'slumming it out', forget to look at the compartment sign. A Rs 250 fine for a mistaken ride in the First class coach follows. sweet.
- try and argue that Delhi is more than Pummy Malhotra, Lovely Chaddha and their kitty parties. no one listens.
- use the "its really dangerous to talk to women in Delhi bars" excuse for being single.
- attempt an 'all you can eat’ street food fest at Bandstand. Pudin Hara will not help you after a bombay sandwich, vada paav and bhel puri agenda.
- deeply introspect why women in Bombay understand the mantra of 'flats, anklets and nose rings' and why enough women in Delhi don't.
- question (on location) how a seemingly loud sindhi called 'Totlani' (now come on) could run a place like Toto's. Also to remember to stare back at him when he eyes you suspiciously in his dark glasses and red/golden floral shirt.
- visit Prithvi cafe and resist the urge to overhear table conversations
- grow a goatee. (80% of the guys had one. at-least i cut my hair).
- try searching for the exact set of fake concrete rocks on marine drive that you saw in the Munnabhai sequel
- eat at a place called ‘Stomach’
- spend an entire morning reading the 20+ pages of a very informative Mumbai Times
- make jokes about traveling distances. people are touchy
- proudly proclaim your desire to rent a one bedroom, hall kitchen with an attached bathroom and pay off your loan. triggers a laugh riot.

Tom, Dick and Harry

2010-01-29T01:50:00.000-08:00

OH!LIVE HER!
(After a night of passionate love making at the local town brothel, Harlem Harry approaches the manager at the desk)

HH: "um, excuse me sir, but could i have some more?"

POST-IT
(Pricky Dick to his new secretary as he strolls in on a Monday afternoon)

PD: "Listen missy, and write this down will you.
My name is Dick. and i've always been a late-comer. (wink)"

TOUCHE~
(Inside Temperamental Tom's head as he stares lustingly at Dick's new secretary)

voice 1: "remember Tom, whatever be the case - you never mow another bro's lawn"
voice 2: "hmm... what if the grass is greener on the other side?"

return: spoiler alert

2010-01-29T00:25:00.000-08:00

so a few months back, i had this idea of three characters. I wanted to write about them, just anything - how they are, what they think, doodles, lines, anything. i never got down to it, so am trying some stuff now.
bear with me for the first few tries.

for a quick recap, here's a little backgrounder to what i was thinking:

Richard - now known as 'pricky dick' (a.k.a. tharak tantrik in his hay days) has, as is his name would suggest an urge he cant really resist. Shape, size, colour, orientation, structure, texture are irrelevant to him. He's pricky and well is a vulture - swooping in on a prey, smelling the blood. In his life there are no zebra crossings, and definitely no red blinking man. A cross between Barney Stinson and Donald Trump.

Harold - growing up in the roughest of towns, 'harlem harry' (a.k.a. baba baladkari) has seen the tough side of life. He's lived, fed, bled and pulled his way to the top. But while he might be wearing a suit now and then, and drive a black cadillac, the savage in him still survives. He likes it mean & dirty - quantity over quality. The brothels of harlem were his first taste of purity and he hasn't sipped another cup since. Hookers, he believes are man's best friend - they listen to your instructions, don't shed on the sofa, and leave the house when dirty.

Thomas - also goes by 'temperamental tom' (a.k.a. pyasa pujjari). Stuck between a rock and a hard place. We'll - figuratively at least. He believes in being a decent guy, and unlike some of his other colleagues is still looking for love, life, peace and all that jazz. But unfortunately, a man isn't always in control and as the years sweep by, he's become horny as hell. These opposing motivations confuse his very being and actions. He might be mushy at one point and desperate at the other. tender at first base, trouble at the second. a ticking time bomb that is waiting to blow.

So here it is, three men - friends who's personalities compliment and often conflict with each other. i like to call 'em Tom, Dick & Harry.

SHAKE-EH-SPEAR

(Harlem Harry and Pricky Dick after watching a performance of Hamlet)

HH: "TO BIG OR NOT TO BIG... now that shouldve been the real question"
PD: "baah. he knew the answer to that. why else would he wear tights all day?"

(Temperamental Tom in an unrelated moment of deep contemplation)

TT: "if music be the food of love, (pause) i'm pretty sure i'd fork Beyonce on the go.
a leg piece perhaps. they are rather easy to grab."

just another day

2009-12-11T12:44:00.000-08:00

the wind blows chilly, my shoes are all wet,
magical snowflakes around - so fresh and unkempt,
a broken heater, a few pictures for memory sake
one slippery walk, how much longer will the laundry take?
its pitch dark outside, only 3pm in the day,
another check-mark off the list, its just another day

the guitar stares de-tuned, cut my finger somehow,
im sorry i say, we'll have to settle with 'G' major for now,
i imagine Jon Lenon, with Paul Simon im homeward bound,
the left foot taps to the beat, the right- never stays on ground
its simple and pure, these strings make me sway,
perhaps a band-aid would help, its just another day

pangs of hunger, the stomach screams to be fed,
its - 8 degrees, and i'm even out of stale bread,
so here's an idea, i can sneak off an egg or two,
my roommate has many, he wouldn't mind losing a few
but the sun wont always shine, i have an hour to make hay,
sunk to a brand new low, its just another day

then i see her when i close my eyes,
the silhouette that deceives me,
i try to feel her, hear her, touch her beside me,
awake, asleep, even when i pray
wake up they all say, and why should i? i ask
this feels better, better than just any other day.

testimony

2009-09-24T15:08:00.000-07:00

the year was 1972, the place, well i wasn't born for another 36 years, so lets just take it as unknown. they tell me they were the brightest two lads in the entire lake district - Jack, with his bright blue eyes and big ideas and little Danny, the shy, industrious one. I owe everything to them. they made me who I am today.

But honestly, i wasn't as happy as I sound today. let that be a lesson for all of you. i struggled. the first few months were tough, and i tried hard not to reminisce. Day after day, i would stand in my place, isle 7, towards the back. “stand straight!, dont slouch” they would say. i’d try and lean against the walls sometimes, but always get caught.

i wasn't one of them. thats what i always heard.

one of them. hah. what a joke. i dint have the right ‘look’ it seems. i think it was just my colour. the white’s were elite, they were almost never around. got picked early and never bothered to look back. the blacks, pardon my french, were the crowd favorites. they’d lean alongside each-other with their shiny personalities and ripped exteriors, just waiting to be picked. where would a brownie like me ever stand a chance? we were left to do what we’ve done best since the very beginning of time - mingle and multiply.

we shall take over the world i tell you, one day, yes sir, we will.

but i digress. this skepticism towards the world lasted only till last year March. I hit puberty i guess. he came in all high spirited, looking for the blacks. i know, he wont admit it now, but i know. the white’s were never in his league. it was love at first sight. his soft lanky fingers and my crunchy voice. we were a bunch of tuneless idiots. an odd couple for sure. i admit, i wasn’t an ebinez or a washburn...just a little country gal with a darn good figure and hardly the weight to match. but to think of it, he wasn't any great shakes either. i suppose thats why we choose to be together.

I’m Rosemary by the way. (pause) yes, yes, i know, but parsley, sage or thyme are hardly valid options. this one time he called me Mrs. Robinson. ‘its time to B major and not A minor’ he said.

needless to say i showed him an F, and remembered to make it sharp.

Home, where the music's playing

2009-08-13T12:50:00.000-07:00

its funny how much things change in a week. My folks say its like I never really left. I fit right back into the dal chawal, locked up in my room, ' i hate to park the car back in the driveway at night' self in a jiffy.

But this time the week gone by has been different. No so the content, but just the freshness of it. I left Singapore in two minds, trying hard to express my feelings openly, only to be shunned by a Busy signal on the other line. My sulking brooding self is put to rest only when i see two young men, dressed in their shiniest best, spiky hair and sunglasses et all. Its 7AM mind you, and by now im sure im heading right back to Dilli. inshallah

The flights a pain. Air India i wouldn't suggest again. The mid-air wobbles were hardly a deterrent for the 'mile high' kitty party the air hostess aunties had arranged at the back. 8 people in the entire flight, without video or entertainment and they still forget to serve me breakfast. Waving my hand for some attention, all i get are whispers of " kya Rashmi, tu bhi na. Sir ko khana bhi nahi diya" before breaking into an idiotic laughter. I wouldve strangled one of them but the pilot did mention that we needed all passengers on board, lest the plane lose its balance.

Not too bad im thinking, and after filling up the wrong immigration form (Air India again), getting a H1N1 screening done by a fake compounder at the airport, all i needed was to be harrowed by a friendly neighborhood cop. "Kyu gaye the Singapore?, laptop kitne hain? sach bolde beta laptop kitne hain andar? family ke liye laya hain na..." It was 42 degrees outside and i gave him the benefit of doubt.

But i digress. The point, as i started, was how comfortable i feel back home. I did of course transition myself back. Very nearly gave a S$ 10 note for a Rs.10 parking. Took Nan to Dilli Haat and attempted to explain why the momo's there are so darn spicy w/o tasting the least bit like thier older dumpling cousins. And the highlight - braved the darga at Nizzamuddin pretending to be a tourist while hearing the quwwali's live. This i hadn't done before, and it really did feel like an entirely different world within Delhi.

But to be honest, these initial few day's put aside, it still seems like there's hardly been a second's pause since i was here. The roads are still dug up outside my house, the atm's dont work ( although i hear atm transactions are free from any bank now, wow), and atif aslam still creeps his way back into every damn radio station ( this i blame entirely on the cinema strike, no bollywood = re-rerun heaven).

One week, and I've managed to get my first parking ticket, met testy loan officers who have changed for a third time, and the unlikely sight of two guys, very simmilar to the one's in goggles from the airport, 'air-guitarring' there way on Bon Jovi at the Hard Rock Cafe.

As I now continue my war with aloo bhujia and its attempts to give me a baniya paunch, restack my kurta collection from fabindia, not to forget shave off my goatie (and with it the ability to look 25), i know its back to the drawing board once again.

Flu's blues

2009-07-26T19:09:00.001-07:00

at first i was afraid, i was petrified,
would i make it alone, with no one on my side?

but the time had come, i had to be free,
for how long would i be shunned by my own family,

they thought i was different, while we looked all the same,
i was kept in the corner, as if to hide some inner shame,

this one gray night it happened, i crept out on the road,
just me and this guitar, my one and only load.

passers sneered as i crossed, "is he the prodigal son?",
i quickened my steps, lest my cover be undone...

i sat by this river, strumming something a little blue,
"what's my purpose in this world, i'm just an ordinary flu",

but he crept from the shadows behind, a face marred with scars,
"I've been there, done that my friend, you can call me SARS"

And he told me the lessons of this new life i must lead,
there were others like me, i had found my chosen creed,

together we were ruthless, no one did we spare,
the monsoons were busy, we all got our penny's share,

But SARS came back one evening, he was unusually mum,
his eyes were swollen, lips were blue,.. i knew his time had come,

"Oh have you people no shame, have you forgotten the feeling of fear?
How could you even think of eradicating someone so dear?"

He sensed my agony, and held out his arm,
you're no longer an apprentice but the 'master of harm',

I appreciated the sentiment, but dint like the name,
it lacked a certain depth, it would never get me fame,

we debated all night, every option under the sun,
but only one felt strong, i would be called 'H1N1'

I spread like fire, from Mexico uptil Japan,
they trembled and called me swine! - "you poor idiots, I'll infect every man",

And one mid summers night, i saw my beloved prize,
this group of twelve, who still believed in all the lies,

i mingled freely, shared their every drink,
snuggled and waltzed till they were left at their very brink,

one mighty blow was all i thought it would take,
they were just kids after all, this would be a piece of cake,

"sniffle sniffle little lambs, go check your temperature degree,
Consider it a gift, i roared, from a man with no pedigree",

They sat there unfazed, some a little bemused,
As if this precious offer they had just bluntly refused,

Oh those bastards survived, not once did they fall,
not even antibiotics, they disgraced me with paracetamol,

back to the river! they said, to the place you had fled,
battered, bruised and broken, every ounce of me had bled,

i take out my guitar again to strum something blue,
just a has-been, a set extra, i'm an ordinary flu.. woo hooo hoo.

behind the scenes, the 1960's

2009-07-09T01:49:00.000-07:00

for Dad, who introduced them as 'Simon and G'.
singer/writer Paul Simon, and well the other guy who sings behind him.

No respectable singer, he says, can call themselves a name like Garfunkel. heh.

spoiler alert

2009-07-01T20:33:00.000-07:00

So yes, i have been noticing it too. This blog business has been getting a little too mushy, weepy, cribby. All the blogs Ive been reading around these days, including mine i admit, have been overtly introspective - success, failure, love, careers etc, etc.baaaaah.
aren't we being a little too hard on ourselves?

we need change, and believe you me - change is here.
So just to mix things up, I'm gonna reveal an idea that's been cropping in my head for a few days now. Its an introduction to what i hope can become entertaining and hopefully a regular feature on the blog. Its not about me for a change, and is not a discourse. There will be no preaching here, but just, hopefully a few moments of fun.

But here's the catch - its sleazy, cheap and admittedly a little sexist. It might even shatter your impression of me. So i'd gently advise parental guidance if need be and really to keep an open mind while reading...

Well the story begins with three men - friends, accomplices, partners in crime. But these weren't just ordinary lads - they were, as people would remember them to be later, on a planned mission. born & reborn again from my initial days in engineering to their now more current international avatar.

So without further ado id like to introduce you to three very special people:

Richard - now known as 'pricky dick' (a.k.a. tharak tantrik in his hay days) has, as is his name would suggest an urge he cant really resist. Shape, size, colour, orientation, structure, texture are irrelevant to him. He's pricky and well is a vulture - swooping in on a prey, smelling the blood. In his life there are no zebra crossings, and definitely no red blinking man. A cross between Barney Stinson and Donald Trump.

Harold - growing up in the roughest of towns, 'harlem harry' (a.k.a. baba baladkari) has seen the tough side of life. He's lived, fed, bled and pulled his way to the top. But while he might be wearing a suit now and then, and drive a black cadillac, the savage in him still survives. He likes it mean & dirty - quantity over quality. The brothels of harlem were his first taste of purity and he hasn't sipped another cup since. Hookers, he believes are man's best friend - they listen to your instructions, don't shed on the sofa, and leave the house when dirty.

Thomas - also goes by 'temperamental tom' (a.k.a. pyasa pujjari). Stuck between a rock and a hard place. We'll - figuratively at least. He believes in being a decent guy, and unlike some of his other colleagues is still looking for love, life, peace and all that jazz. But unfortunately, a man isn't always in control and as the years sweep by, he's become horny as hell. These opposing motivations confuse his very being and actions. He might be mushy at one point and desperate at the other. tender at first base, trouble at the second. a ticking time bomb that is waiting to blow.

So here it is, three men - friends who's personalities compliment and often conflict with each other. i like to call 'em Tom, Dick & Harry.

Disclaimer: A notice of decency

The sections will not be porn, trust me. If you have any thoughts, ideas, sketches or stories - send them in or post a comment.

And well, I'm only tagging on to a social trend i observe around me. Here's the latest from an agency that just won a few awards:

Sleepless in Singapore

2009-06-23T20:57:00.000-07:00

L.I.V.R. - Learned, Impartial and Very Relaxed aka Judiciary Pag from the Hitchhiker's Trilogy is what my father loves to be refereed to as most.

It was, in this way not in the least bit surprising when he revealed the idea of 'Benign Manipulation' to me the other day over our discussion on my negotiations submission. Benign Manipulation - a form of strategy that looks awfully convincing and fair at the time of use, but is in fact a carefully planned and calculated move, one with the result already decided well in advance.

What really made me think was when Dad went on to extrapolate it to the growth of Singapore, . This city, will all its set laurels, well shined roads and surfaces, and almost clockwork efficiency must have its cracks at the bottom... there must have been beginnings, errors and the occasional 'streakers' who drew the curtain on this well rehearsed community performance.

So it began with the buses. Morning & evenings, as i now travel to work i would see the locals snoozing blissfully. Perhaps it was the comfortable temperature of the air conditioner, the green leaves newly wet with the rain, or just the smooth road devoid of any substantial bumps, i couldn't really tell.
But what i can tell is how I've discovered/ or say developed a hypothesis on how the local Singaporeans without any apparent reason, as if by timer or intuition can wake-up seconds before their bus stop arises. And walk out, as if the feat they've just performed was as normal as eating lunch or tying shoe laces.

For us Indian's this isn't easy to digest. When we eat- we eat. When we talk- no one else should, and well when we sleep - you have balls if you're gonna wake us up. So it began as challenge. How did they do it? Uptil then my strategy for catching up on sleep while traveling was rather crude. I would look for the most friendly face nearby - ask him/preferably a her if she was traveling uptil my bus stop and would casually summon her to be my 'wake-up buddy' for the ride. The chosen one would be given the responsibility of precisely timing her instruction to wake me up with enough room left to rub my eyes and hold my balance while the bus swayed to stop at my stop.

[I was once given the 'wake-up' buddy role. Jaimin reached office half an hour late that day(haha) - but i know he had the best bus nap in Singapore, even if he wont admit it outright.] And while i wasn't at the losing end this time, i had to think of other alternatives - just in case. Two ideas came at the top of my mind. I tried em both.

Step1: Find a familiar face who i can promote from occasional to a regular, everyday 'wake-up' buddy role . With a slight manipulation of arrival and departure schedules and a quick check on the internships of my fellow MBA's - I narrowed down on one - who i wont name. It worked beautifully for the first few weeks. I slept, she read. She signaled, i woke. wing-woman for my 30 min/day dream flight - synergy at its very best.

But the ride ended sooner than planned, and her timing's have now shifted. She leaves for office at 9 30am, way too late even for my flexible advertising schedule. Next then i thought? would i need to fly solo?

Step2: So i brought out all stops. Cell phone well charged. vibrator mode on, and hand tightly clasped around the device lest it falls while I'm playing 'shut-eye' on the bus. Not too bad i say, the method works well. I was shaken literally from my sleep at the precise timing (18 min - morning am, 20 min- evening pm).
People around me would find this act odd but why blame them?- they were still getting up without any external help. They were the pros and here i was, a mere amateur making use of a handicap while celebrating his first goddamn birdie.

Practice makes perfect i guess. Consistency, try try try - all that jazz. A month into this method and I'm sleep trained like a toddler. Who needs a 'wake-up' buddy. Hell, for the last week, I've been getting up on my own, almost preempting the time my phone will vibrate.

Wait a minute. So this is it perhaps. My hypothesis - Did all the locals go through such trials and tribulations before discovering their way of sleep nirvana? did they attempt and preempt their phone alarms too before outrunning an alarm's need altogether? perhaps. They are kinda secretive though - the kiyasu tendency would probably kick in if i ever ask them them to share their mantra openly.

So as has been my recent revelation - there are in fact teeny weeny cracks on the surface of Singapore's well painted face. Some more welcome signs of human emotions behind the much practiced facade the locals have been trained in. Fear, doubt, sorrow even rebellion. Its uncanny when you begin to observe this - the number of jaywalkers in Tanjong Pagar and the CBD, passengers chewing gum without getting caught, drinking in a crowd at night yet not making too much noise.
Last night we even managed to carry an entire single-bed mattress in a bus for a few stops! A month earlier i would've cringed at even the thought, but now there's really no limit to how much you can push. There are no cops. Why i might just even start a rally one day for the kicks.

And if you do ever prowl late at night for a leisurely stroll sometimes, you can see the workers picking up the garbage silently, carefully scrubbing the bus-stops clean, covering up the pot holes on the road and carrying away the rubble from a hard day's work- Almost as if they're constructing and deconstructing the image of an ever efficient Singapore.

Benign Manipulation? LKY would like to believe he built this city on plug 'n' play. I dare think the people might just prove him wrong. i hope they do, really.

Music of the soul

2009-06-11T20:07:00.000-07:00

Something I'd written back in 2005. Just updated it with a few more lines and figured i'd post it.

whoever said there was something to fear,
whoever said that the end was near

whoever said that there was something to fight,
the monotony of life that's become my plight

i can feel the rhythm, the sound of the procession,
the lyrics of my thoughts, the tune of my expression

the orchestra plays on, the conductor my mind,
the trumpets of my aims, the passion strumming behind

i try to suppress it, to lower its sound,
to surround it with the walls with which I'm bound

to mute these voices, to drown the claps,
its all just a dream, just a memory lapse

reality strikes, with new miseries to be met,
the show is over, the audience just left

but in all this darkness the music persists,
as if to reinforce that my faith still exists

it hums on hoping endlessly for a win,
in this eternal battle, this competition within

a knight's tale

2009-05-25T20:50:00.000-07:00

when i first saw her, i'd admit it wasn't love at first sight,
she wore neither the flats i admire nor the nose ring i liked

but there was a glimmer of something much harder to find,
in our breezy conversation i sensed a similar mind

in wonder i pondered, could this be a sign,
this chance first meeting, would i ever make her mine

but the winds blew strong, sending each to his task,
we found no time to wander, to unveil our masks

the facade continued as we ploughed through the day,
as actors with scripts, only acquaintances in this play

but one day an ally came along, carrying my lady's message of intent,
in my pride I only shrugged & wallowed, pretending to be content

but they say the winds do change and I saw there were many others in line,
my lady indulged them too, alas! i was but one of nine

oh what had i done, how could this I not foresee,
it was now too late to call another hearing for my plea

we met with restless eyes, the air was a sudden, stale and tense,
i signaled but got no response, it seemed she had crossed her moral fence

i relented. cantered and galloped throwing caution to the storm,
wooed, flattered and cajoled, i would've broken every norm

but what else can a man do when he is helpless in want,
when he dreams of love and a muse with whom a life he shall flaunt

she teased and tested, lest my expectations rose,
i tried poetry, literature, staying committed to this game of prose

rise they did, to a time where romance i felt would revive,
but she was not the same woman anymore, her interests did not survive

i felt cheated, betrayed, as if my loyalty had been broken,
it was not meant to be - to this truth i have now woken

be blunt my sword, I shall let my armor now rust,
the fair maiden has left, these poems can only gather dust

blow away, go on and spread another story of never greater woe,
i have no poison nor daggers to offer, just one Juliet, who never met her Romeo

disclaimer: this is a work of fiction.

Of moody Mondays, veggie Tuesdays and wonder Wednesdays

2009-03-30T10:10:00.001-07:00

I've been thinking about this post for a while now. How the weeks are passing by - fast, speedy wooshes of information packed into them. But if i did have favorites, itll be Monday, Tuesday and Wednesday. Not that i hate the other 4 but its just that by mid week i inevitably find myself in a mix of moods and motivations.

Lets begin the discourse: woo hoo.

moody Mondays:

Now you would think this 'moody' tag is quite obvious. Start of the week, end of the weekend..duh. stop wasting our time Yudi. But no. Mondays i look forward to. Not my nerdy instinct but come every Monday 12pm i get to separate myself for 3 hours into the world i love. Convincing the Theater Studies department to allow me to audit the 'Cultural performance in Asia' class was a task itself. But these three hours, i get to discuss performance - not on stage but in our everyday life. We've analyzed crowds, rallies, spirit mediums, the workers at little india, the hijras from old delhi, the sheer agony of thaipusam. For a few hours every week i get to be my arty farty self, debate on the intricacies of performace and the perfomative (ahem) before tucking in my shirt, straightening my hair and heading back to the business school. Its exhilarating. As if im back from a rock concert, smoked up on a strong dose of freedom.

Although i must mention, from 3pm i get the pleasure of attending a scheduled corporate strategy meeting with my team. Moody Monday? well its like being thrown back into an opera after headbanging on Nirvana.

veggie Tuesdays:

I like meat. I like chicken and all its forms. But come Tuesday's i do my bit for religion and the community. Vegetarian options in the school are limited. Ask my marwari buddies and you can silently hear their stomachs screaming in revolt. Now after a rather eventful Monday the veggie Tuesday's arnt always easy to digest.literally. The choice is between greasy, often sleazy version of Indian food in the biz. school canteen or a rather friendly aunty from the 'deck'.

Aunty is perhaps lesser of the two evils. She'll cook, serve and before you can say Jack Nicholson engage you in her well rehearsed selling pitch. "Beta another lassi? le lo, bahut acchi hain". - Nah aunty thanks, its really heavy for lunch. " accha then a parantha for good measure?" " where are you from?" ...this conversation is fine. Its the bitching and cribbing about the other stalls that are painful " chaval he to udhar manga hain, pata nahi aisa kya paap kar diya", " ye log ke khane me maza he nahi hain na beta, there's really no soul in their kitchen"...baah

Our man at the canteen, distinctly Malaysian i suspect, has some decent lassi ill admit. His hygiene and penchant for using the same serving spoon are definitely not keeping my god's happy.

wonder Wednesdays:

A mix of perhaps two opposites. In the blue corner, straight from the land of sunny palm trees, fish curry and coconuts is Prof. Trichy's brand management class. Engaging, confusing, perhaps a little fuzzy - all at the same time. I've learnt a lot here. Mastered a new accent, an improved understanding of birds and eagles, and not to forget my developed threshold for 'trash-talk'. This last feature is a consequence of a rather competitive simulation game. Our teams took this game seriously enough to lose enough respect for all opposing teams. Popular CEO's, dandy secretaries, brutal China strategies and a rather intrusive JW - none were spared. Im still watching you my friend, Alex. Im still watching.

Now mix this with the man in opposite red corner. A three hour lecture on Asia Pacific Business, by Prof. Mahmood. Clipped accent, gelled hair, shiny shoes and a Harvard Degree. Prof. Mahmood is really quite difficult to ignore. His insights on history, culture, korean drama's just add to the spice. Every now and then, our discussions on asia tend to end with tit-bits on his years in Bangladesh. That too is Asia you know. i have no option but to agree in silence.heh.
But a few things still intrigue me about this wednesday class. I've been working on this conspiracy theory. Every wednesday afternoon, at 3 30pm, in the midst of our video session in Prof. Mahmood's class, with the light turned off, their is a heavy downpour. Every single damn time. I've been tracking this for the last 2 months. It's only making me more sure of this 'legoland' they call Singapore. In all its glory with the manufactured beaches, concrete surfaces and robotic workforce.

Now as is quite apparent, my mood is cribby, stingy, and a discussion on Singapore might lead to some serious repercussions. I think ill stay mum for a while.

adios.

the day i met myself again.

2009-03-14T13:01:00.000-07:00

uncanny things happen when you least expect them. Namrata headed to shivpuri, to raft, swim, and forget her woes and questions she's been asking the universe. She found something - something surreal, revealing that makes me write this and look for my own answers.

below is the picture she clicked on a random street, in a random lane, on a random billboard in a very random rishikesh. A friend said things like these happen only in hrishikesh, well they do. i guess.

The man in the black frames, long strands, cheeky smile, the goatie and ofcourse the chic kurta looks like me, or almost to my untrained eye...but isnt .

they say there are seven people who look just like you in this world. And so, a few days back, i found the first. what does this mean? - to suddenly realize that "hell yudi, youre really not unique". This face is just a face after all, a template who's time had come to be reused.

and how uncanny that the yudi i see in this picture could so easily have been me. i love kurtas, i like long hair, but... almost as if yudi 2, the fellow in the picture, is starring at me, laughing at how he did do it, how he managed the transition, how he is my amlost alter ego - the yudi i sometimes urge to be, and sometimes dont. He probably writes poetry, does theater, wears chappals. He likes to smoke, strum the guitar, paint. talks less, drinks whiskey and laughs out loud.

i, yudi 1, try to be him. i try to be a little bit of the yudi in this picture everyday. A little of this, a little of that, mix-match, a concoction of 2 motivations, yet striving so hard to co-exist together. so yudi 1 heads to cornell this august, only to satisfy yudi2's hunger for watching broadway and paul simon live in new york city.

this picture motivates. yudi 2 smiles, and till he does, so shall yudi1. old friends for life.

the pieces fit. this puzzle makes sense.

a winters day, in a deep and dark december

2008-12-20T11:16:00.000-08:00

‘ people talking without speaking, people hearing without listening ’

words of Simon and G perhaps best articulate my emotions at this point. As our initial fury dies out, the screams soften, peace marches, candles and hugs become less frequent, I find myself asking the same question over and over again... where do we still stand? I don’t despise what has been done by people to cushion the impact of November 26th but am saddened by how soon we all decide to move on.

‘ like a poem badly written, we’re all verses out of rhythm, couplets out of rhyme ’

i know that we all feel, that we are all equally affected by this brutal crime. Angry, hurt, surprised. But then why do we still forget? Why is it always easier to take the simpler road - “thank god mera koi nahi mara”, “the bloody government must take stronger action” or “all politicians are dogs!” - why do we always choose to restrict ourselves to just these dangling conversations, these superficial sighs?

I heard Shobha de the other day on NDTV claiming purposefully that “Mumbai will manage terror on its own. We do not need our political system to protect us anymore”. And i wonder - then what? arm a billion + population with guns, condition an already enraged youth with motives of bitter revenge? This only seems too familiar. I'm quite confident that each and every one of us has a different opinion of the inflictors behind these attacks. Irresponsible statements like these can only give birth to more terror. Ignite broader, more pronounced communal conflicts.

‘ we’d like to help you learn to help yourself ’

my belief is that while, as a democratic nation, we must believe and trust our chosen government, it is imperative for us as citizens to play an equally important role. A role that does not, and should not act independently, but be willing to work alongside.

and this is where i wish to make my point.

As a nation, we must strive to strike the right balance. As people our role is to demand, to make our chosen leaders accountable for their actions. We should focus on that and not breach into other defined roles. It is, as any successful organization works. You don’t see marketers matching balance sheets or accountants moderating consumer interviews - Its just not meant to be.

‘ cut him till he cried out, in his anger and his pain, i am leaving i am leaving, but the fighter still remains ’

So what can we do? how do we prioritize our role? I believe we need to sustain our momentum. We are all worried, we are all angry. Lets continue to ask and question. To demand answers like we are now.

be aware. I’ve heard many of my own friends carelessly talk about terrorism, about religion, about revenge. We are the educated populace and it is our moral duty to remain fully aware of all the facts and subsequent decisions being taken to tackle the situation. The atmosphere is tense. We should, I believe consciously restrain from taking extremist stances.

spread the message. Sure the peace marches seem irrelevant. “Solidarity isn’t enough” is what i heard my sister say. “It has no purpose, no action”. I disagree. These marches are the only measures keeping this issue current. still relevant. Isn't it those little event pop-ups on facebook that make us think again. A minute away from our profile scraps and picture tags. Lets talk to people, discuss these issues in an organized forum. It the only way to keep them alive. Having an opinion, wanting results shows the world that as people we are a thinking nation and that we will not forget as easy. Our voices influence government decisions. We’ve already seen that with the rapid pace with which the new law has been inducted. What is most important today, must stay on longer. the fire must keep burning.

respect authority. Its common knowledge in India - everyone has a price. Its shameful how we are willing to shell out a 200 rupee note to avoid a ‘challan’, yet still openly demand more vigilant police officers. Can we, for once be honest. Allow that policeman to check our bags. Stop honking like retards, be patient when the car in front is stopped at check posts. Report anything suspicious that we see. Help out the injured and patiently answer the questions later. Stop the fake driver licenses, the “you don’t know who my dad is” speech. Give way to the ambulance, fire brigades.

Lets not push and encourage our authorities to be corrupt. We cant change what is already done, but can surely affect the future. we must have faith.

choose wisely. This doesn’t just end with forwarding 49-O amendment emails. But is about how well we really know our leaders. I frankly have no clue who my MLA is, what is agenda is, or even his name for that matter. Lets be willing to make an educated decision on our vote. Have a clear reason why you’re voting for someone. One can walk down to the nearest party office for a copy of the agenda, even google it for that matter. Why don’t we discuss them on our forums? develop our own group consensus before voting?

question. This is the most difficult step and will perhaps take the longest to realize. As a group we need to form one voice that can question our chosen leaders. Reaching such a day will mean an evolution of our individual mindsets. can we shed our barriers and embrace fearlessness, responsibility, curiosity? I did visit the ‘right to information’ website. It takes a few days to return answers, but at-least we can begin this journey by accepting it as a potential channel of communication.

we are the people. we choose, we question, we evaluate. this is our chosen role in society.
lets get it done.

‘ i am a rock, i am an island. a rock feels no pain, an island never cries.’

Idle...

2007-06-15T04:28:00.000-07:00

Yup. Idle. It's funny how people today have become increasingly secure about expressing their feelings publicly.

I'm doing it via this blog. Some do it through websites, user groups and others through orkut, hi-fi and online chats. its the last item on this list where my concern really lies. Not the concept of an 'online chat' persay, but specifically those 'teeny weeny' status messages people leave below their name...

So comm'on, the chat was supposed to be a private thing. A one-to-one interaction. Thats probably why the group chat forums are restricted to the 'can I make frandhship with you' and the 'la we d sere pis senor~ pisa del ca' types.

Let me dig a little deeper. Im writing this to really undersatand why people activate a custom message. All credit to the Google geeks, they figured 'Available, Busy and Away' kinda covered everything..But i guess they arn't as smart as theyre made out to be..no...they definetly dint cover my favourite song, hobby, lifestyle, sexual orientation, emotional state of mind, career goals, performance, phone number, pet, lifestyle, and of course the general mission and vision of my company... Now of all things possible do I really wanna know if you're 'Immagineering at work' (courtesy my pal at L&T) or if your'e 'finally dillusioned' (that's the other at Deloitte) ....

On some deeper thought, yes..deeper thought i've been able to classify these users into some basic categories. This may sound like an analysis..but i've tried my best to keep it simple...

Presenting Yudi's "misusers of the fredom of expression" Hitlist....

Kicking things off, the first are the 'guess what i did's... Easily identified with messages stating exhausitive details of daily activities, proposed vistits or planned expenditures. A coulpe of my favourties are 'Out of India till Feb'07' ( still blinking strongly in June '07).., ' It's an FCD for me!!!', 'Applyied for visa, please pray for me' or even the 'Just ate a heavy lunch, feeling kinda queezy'... But I hadnt seen the best one yet...'Not on orkut till tuesday'... whoa..no scrap shap for two full days... I'll get the glucose ready...

Ever had a to start a speech or a presentation with a famous 'quote' for impact. Invariably a net search gives you zilch. Well, problem solved. Its now as compact and handy as it can get. A simple click on Gtalk and voila!..No2. the 'i wanna tell you all' 's

Talented mind you, they'll sumarise their life's philosophy into one neat short phrase (except a certain mr.balakrishnan who ensures we read full twenty line paragraphs...) and punch it in for you to see and admire...Famous phrases are their meat.The highway's flooded with the 'To be or not to be's and the 'may the force be with you's.

So this morning 'Life's a bitch' pings me telling me he's pretty messed up and wants to give it all up. I give him my general doze of gyan. "Do something you want bugger, life's not gonna keep waiting, exersise, To hell with the world- think for yourself..blah blah'...By afternoon he's feeling better and deciedes to make sure everyone knows it... 'I am what I am' is what he comes up with... Says he's inspired by the new reebok tagline. And people actually question the authenticity of my business...we're not always conning people..we'll atleast not on thier faces..ahem...

Breaking News!!...Aaj ki taaza khabar. Its here, better than television, clearer than radio, cheaper than the mobile, its on Gtalk. News you can use...

Meet No.3...'Did you know?'

They've taken full responsibilty to inform you about every single development in the world. Mr.'D.J. akeel ka vakeel' and Miss. 'Jhoom barabar jhoom sucks!' are good pals of mine. They update thier statusess on a daily basis...Updated cricket scores,The race for the prez., Nadal v/s Federer, Paris Hilton's stint in the dump, even a daily run-up to the Abhi Ash wedding...

Hutch? Airtel? are you guys listening...theyre millions to be made here.... Its a 'good idea' ? aint it...

Bringing up the rear, are No4. the ' I'm qute a loser, so i'll just copy-paste' s. Caution: These guys get their hands on anything and everythng. Movie titles, latest book names, cartoon charachters, song lyrics(BK again) even shakespeare's poetry. Steven speilberg with david dhavan. Chacha Chaudhry v/s Spiderman. Even 'break on through' head to head with 'jhalak dikhla ja'...If only morrision wore a cap..sigh...

This is all i could come up with right now. But im guessing gtalk isnt going anywhere. I might as well learn to live with it. if i do ever give in, ill probably join No.2..'Fry or Die' like our banya community motto.. or perhaps 'Live and let live'...maybe not.. : )

Disclaimer: These thoughts are not meant to be personal jibes at anyone.

None of the 'custom names' mentioned are made up. I've picked up all from my exisitng list on Gtalk.

Hello darkness, my old friend...

2006-12-05T22:56:00.000-08:00

Songs... theyre words strung together in groups...notes- bunched together jumping up and down in different combinations and times- highs and lows...loud, soft, suttle, distinct even harsh at times.

These sets of letters have power. Power to bring back memories of lost times and friends, to make one introspect, feel, emote, confuse, question...

Its funny, but music has always been a part of my life. Like the long lost friend, not always seen, hardly remembered, but there, standing by, as if in the wings, ready for the big debut or rather Act 2.

Its been there, around, and i've heard it subconciously. Each phase of life , relflected by some thing i heard at that point. Acting as reminders good and bad of times gone and sometimes better forgotten. Like post-it's attached to the diary inside, ready references to times i feel like visting again and again.

I remember 'Sound of Music' distinctly. The first time i saw it. Julie andrews and the 'Vontrap' family. How i tried to match the "do re me" to "sa re ga ma"... The " white paper packages tied up in strings"... they actually were one of my favorite things.
Mary Poppins happened around the same time. I watched it over and over. From the two kids ending the nanny advertisment recitation with an emphatic "James and Micheal Banks" nod to the "Chimmeney chimmeney chim chim churoo" sequence, i loved it all.

And yes, "SUPERCALIFRAGILISTICEXPIALIDOCIOUS" was never intended to be a 'real' word.

Taste's change with age.time. College. Engineering, not really a cake walk. Confusion, frustration, late nights, Pink Floyd, Doors its all just a purple haze now.

I never did mind hindi music. i listened to it, some what secretely, sometime's unknowingly. Swades, DCH. Monsoon Wedding was my favourite though. 'Kawa Kawa' was emotional. First year, few months in to college, rain,high tempers.Delhi. It all just seems stupid now.

Work was a little different. Fun. Not that SAP was anything i liked, but sometime's the freedom of earning your- own-bread just overshadowed it. Booze. Lots of it. "Drop the pressure". The endless evenings spent drunk in BnC.
Gaurav's Alto. Like our royal steed. served us till the end. Broken oil tanks.Ganster."Ya ali", though largely due to Puneet's continous insistence. And the fact that he did always sit in the front. Not to forget his 6 1/2 feet frame. "Ya ali" it was.No questions asked.

Bam.
The bubble burst.

Back to Delhi. Advertising. endless hours. ideas.concepts.communicate.
The first whiff of purity. The first step.the first ray.Enter Don Mclean. "Starry starry night". "Castles in the air".

Potraits hung in empty halls. Aimless heads on frameless walls.
Partners waltz, devoid of all romance. the music plays. everyone must dance...So be it.

Paul Simon.Art Garfunkel. a Dynamic Duo."Sounds of silence", "The Dangling Conversation", the superficial sighs.

the borders of my life.

I sit here now,comfortable, listening to the accoustic version of "Classical gas" , still wondering, still dreaming, still reminicing...

I'd better make a note of it.

Whats the deal?

2006-12-04T03:43:00.000-08:00

what next?...i really dont know anymore. Its a question i just cant seem to answer. Ive tried. to really realise my true potential. tried my hands at things and fantasies. Dreamt longer and stronger than most men have really. Have visualised future, applause and recognition.

But sometimes it just seems too distant. Hope like waves , crashing against the walls of uncertainty and society, rising every morning, but dying soon within. The evening tide, the shattered rocks, the broken dream, the sand empty, as if waiting for someone to come and carve their name on it.

waiting to be moulded into something new. A castle maybe, or perhaps a umbrella. An umbrella sheltering me from the horid rain. Rain of onlooker's, questing my very existince. scorning at my decisions.

But is it all worth it?.. Is it worth the dream i hold. The passion-m or something like it. These compromises I need to make still. The trade off's . the constant pain at the back of the head. Like a nagging mother or a hopeless wife.

Sometimes one fears. Fear of diving too deep. Of swimming too far out into the ocean. A point of no return. Bermuda triangle. I love the beach. Pina Colada. The peace and quiet. The vastness and spirit. Ive hust seen it in the movies but it makes me wanna go there.

There is a place i love to go. A place where i can rest. where my mind switches off. My feet relax. Blood circulates. Flight. Soar. high above the ocean, the cities and the people. I always have one place. Alone at last. Me and my thoughts. Buddy's. Best friends for life.

Life. hah. A game of ping pong at best. A little joy, then some pain.Like a recepie thats no complete without either. A layer of sorrow, topped with some fun. a dash of emotions, sprinkled with some love. An icing of frustration and a cherry of hope.

Hope. Just the four letters. A bigger impact. Hope. like a lifesaving drug. Injected into my useless, listless life. Helps me dream.Think.Believe.

Belief. Simmilar to hope. but different aswell. Its inside. hope is distant. As if borrowed from someone. Shared with others. Hope to achieve. Hope to see. It shows my lack of confidence. Belief is my own.Conviction. A stamp of my abilities. A way of living. A way forward.

Forward is the only way. The only road. The path i see. I feel. I know. This is what ive chosen. Ive pressed the pedal. I wanna roll...

Of sticks and stones...

2006-11-13T23:18:00.000-08:00

Id never done this before. Nervous? yeah...exicited?..hell yeah.... yup this was it...something i'd been wanting to do for a long long time...I finally managed to attend my first 'polo' match....

Polo as its called is definetely the "game of kings"...The game's a little different from the other's...teams of four per side...two refrees..four 'chakars'( or quaters)...10 pony's (suprise suprise: yes pony's...horses arnt used in polo!)... each time a team scores a point or a goal, the side's switch. So if youre on Team A and manage to score on the left post, your team needs to score on the right post the next time...and no, there's isnt a goaliee on either side...so you wont see two horses galloping accross the field everytime a goal's scored.

But thats not the point. Polo's really not about the game persay, but more about the atmosphere. Its as if youre transported back, a number of years, when the kings and prince's called the shots. And it still attracts its share of royalty....so almost all the blue blood in India from the Scindia's of gwalior to the Rajputs of jaipur "claim" to be confortable with the sport....

I havnt mentioned the Wadiyar's (pronounced "Oodiyar's", as my south indian buddy tells repeatedly)...Now I can only imagine what happened to the poor pony once Mr Wodiyar managed to mount on him...I mean its a pony for a god's sake!...i'm not sure if even the famous 'mysore' elephant is too confortable with the "not so lean" Mr Wadiyar...

Where the royal lineage flows, so does the elite... thats why i wasnt really suprised when i spotted Mr. Jindal hob nobing with the Anil kapoor's and Saif Khan's of the world...
The polo community has still remained very true to its true past, still following all the customs and traditions of the yester years.

An intresting one was "treading the field". This happens at the end of the third chakar. The MC of the event invites the entire spread of spectators to walk on the ground. No, she wasnt trying to ignite the health bug in us, but in effect was asking us to smoothen the ground, roughed up with all the running...

Or so she thought....

The custom, as history goes expects the spectators to walk the entire length and width of the ground but the spectacle i saw was quite different. There was booze..lots of it...some people did get up... but only till their first step into the ground. They sipped on some delicious champagne, got a few pictures clicked by the press( some of which almost got run over in the process!) and promplty went back to their seats.

The term "remaining true to one's custom" in a whole new dimension...

It wasnt soon after that i realised that polo is also a game of sheer patience. No, not for the players but for the bored, rather intoxicated audience. I would be too..sunday afternoon..chilled beer..women...horses..ahem...

But seriously speaking, the game does lose its charm after a few chakars. Firstly the spectator's are too far away from the action. Us the new generation, fed on satelleite TV and mobiles are far too used to being in the center of the field. The only time one gets to see the ball (ie. the polo ball) is when the players come charging towards your end of the grandstand.And at that time, you scream..not to cheer...but in true, unadultrated fear!..

Well, it did end. thankfully. But before the "la di da" headed for some more pressing matters like the "after" party or a pedicure, the Jindal group had few antics up their sleeve. They did lose, but dint fail to entertain. So the trumpets sound and one suddenly sees a man balancing his entire 45 Kgs by standing vertically on two galooping horses. Now if that wasnt enough..he manages a handstand on the same as well..

I think i distinctly heard him praying..something about the two horses getting along......ouch!

Anyone gotta light??

2006-11-02T01:47:00.000-08:00

So, this is the way it is then. Every morning , afternoon, and evening.
Lunch breaks, snack breaks, after meetings, before meetings, any sorta free time.

Ciggarettes: A cylindrical roll of finely cut tobacco cured for smoking, considerably smaller than most cigars and usually wrapped in thin white paper... hmm.. thats what most parents, wives, girfriends (no offence to the fairer sex but the % of male smokers is kinda overpowering) would describe it as.

Ask a cigarette smoker this and he'll tell you why its the best thing man discovered. Now i, by no means want to propogate smoking, but its just the satisfaction that i see on these souls thats making me talk about this subject.

Now its always easy to spot a smoker. Theyre invariably in a bunch...like the bullies in hostel or a pack of harley riders. Always huddled up,thinking, laughing,cursing, blissfull in their small little world. Its as if the cigarette is an extention to their personalities. For once in their life's theyre all equal, at the same platform, irrespective of age, sex, designation. Not suprisingly its the only form of male bonding that i know off. You can find two completely different people , absolute opposites in thinking , appearences, prefernces but together because of that one peice of rolled paper.

And theyre different kinds...atleast where i work...

youll find the habitual smokers...the kind who think, talk, literally breathe smoke. these kinds can be easily identified from a distance. Theyl be the silent types, enjoying a smoke irrespective of the company, boss, juni..whatever. They are also the ones who get the most 'pissed' off when you ask them for a drag.

trust me..i know...

Then there are the ones who smoke outta boredom. Now these are the dangerous types. Theyll come to you, looking all innocent ,as if here only for a general chat or on some work.. and before you know it.. youre outside, doing what they know best.

And theyll keep doing it. Once youre in their radar, say bye bye to your cozy little chair, cause youre not gonna be sitting in it for long. The breaks become longer and slowly, yes slowly, returning back to one's chair becomes more of an obligation rather than a necessisity.

The third type are the "hang-on's". These guys dont smoke regulary..or SO they say.
They never really have the cash to buy a cigarette, and love replaying their favourite excuse: "Yaar, you know i dont smoke man!..i don wanna get into the habit, thats why id dont have a cigi".... Their practised (I've a gut feeling that they plan it well in advance) act comlpete, theyll sheepishly ask you for a drag. everytime.

If youre nice youll even give them a cigirette.
Thats as close to "digging your own grave" that you can get.

And then there's the issue of the "Charachters"...
Now you may actually confuse these ones with circus performers but they're not, theyre just weird or DIFFERENT (like they like to be known). Theyll have the most peculiar smoking styles ; some who move around only in circles when smoking..(that actually reminded me of a poodle the first time i saw it,but...ahem) ,then there are those who resemble steam engines; pacing "up and down", huffing and puffing...breaking occasionally for a release.... and
yes finally, my personal favorites; The "clint eastwoods"...These guys do the whole routine; From the wincing look to the peircing eyes...theyll even cook up a funny little accent...just for the impact...

Now our advertising community has done all to really propogate this felling of "manhood" thats associated with cigarettes. There've been the Akshay Kumars, hanging precariusly from trolley carts, jumping mid air to save a stranger's life, or scarf or something on those lines. After possibly breaking all laws of gravity that Mr. Newton wasted his lifetime on, our daredevil casually takes out a cigarette and comments "Hum Red and White peene wallo ki baat hi kuch aur hain"... Yes, Yes Mr Kumar you are the Indian Clint Eastwood, no questions about it.

But to their credit, there have been some "educational" campaigns too. Like the one made by the Cancer federation of India.
It showed the life cycle of a male, right from his school days to his end.
Whats intresting is that they picked on exactly the same point that all the commercial cigerretes brands were using; "Cigarettes = manhood" ( w/o the additional bonus of less gravitational pull).
From a jingle like " A cigerrete in my hand, i felt like a man" to the very impactful "Ciggerette in my hand , i was a dead man", the campaign did wonders in breaking that myth.

It did, really... I gotta go now...time for a break...My "hang-on" buddy's approaching.....

adios.

Just another day...

2006-10-16T01:01:00.000-07:00

This is a result of pure boredom at the workplace...

Advertising: A bunch of crazy people, big ideas, lot of coffee and a healhy diet of cigarettes...apart from all that.. the constant urge to be the 'next big thing'... work wise that is...they work so hard that the other take on that isnt even an option...

So basically this blog is just a little peekaboo into the lives and times of some nutty folks who call themselves profeesionals..!!