tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-661650924371661702024-03-12T21:23:03.439-07:00tDhirajhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11239425233622910577noreply@blogger.comBlogger14125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-66165092437166170.post-84008689767651522192009-01-01T09:51:00.000-08:002009-01-01T10:01:54.953-08:00First day of a new year<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 13px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial;">Today is January 1, 2009. The new year has arrived, and with it comes the hope that this will be a better year than the last one. Hope is what makes the world spin, but under the current circumstances the world over, there is a lot more to worry about than the world spinning or not.</span></span><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial; font-size: 13px;">Be that as it may, and I am not going to write a lot on current economic circumstances (gulf news does that dutifully everyday - much to my disgust), I wish that this new year brings peace more than anything else, to all of us.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial; font-size: 13px;">i did not mean the kind of peace that comes about after an atomic war - just plain simple peace that pervades a contented world.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial; font-size: 13px;">I know I am asking for too much. But then, I have always asked for too much, and have hoped that I get too much. </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial; font-size: 13px;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial; font-size: 13px;">We went out today for a drive to Ai Ain, but took a detour into the desert where sahasraditya, anamika, philomena and myself slid on dunes. Sahasraditya is turning into a riot, and refused to leave the dunes and come back to the car. Somehow we extricated him and got him into the car.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial; font-size: 13px;">We thought of going to dubai mall, but saw a mile long queue of cars trying to get into the mall. That changed our mind - nothing changes mind like a traffic problem.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial; font-size: 13px;">Took a huge u trun and headed back home. Then decided that the three of us-Man, woman, and child - will go to Second cup. Riot was with us and he made sure that everything was turned upside down while we had coffee.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial; font-size: 13px;">headed back home, and I cooked roasted potatoes, and Anamika made soup.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial; font-size: 13px;">And that is what I am going to have now.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial; font-size: 13px;"><br /></span></div>Dhirajhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11239425233622910577noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-66165092437166170.post-80840571741288213032008-12-30T06:01:00.001-08:002008-12-30T06:01:24.017-08:00Welcome to the Club<p class="MsoBodyText" style="text-align:justify"><span style="font-size:10.0pt; font-family:Arial">Office is a very interesting place. It is like a club, just that they don’t serve snacks while you play cards, but apart from that, the place has all ingredients of a nice, cozy club.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoBodyText" style="text-align:justify"><span style="font-size:10.0pt; font-family:Arial">Take for instance the fact that it is air-conditioned. It does not matter who you are and what you do, you get to sit in an air conditioned place. At home you might not even have a half-decent fan, or a properly working cooler (or heater – depending on where you are), but at office, weather can hardly touch you with its vagaries. The temperature is set at 23 degrees, the year round, and you never have to worry how hot or cold it is outside. Like me, you can also grow sensitive exotic plants on your desk, and not worry at all. If you are more like me, you would also tell the office boy to water it everyday. That way, even when you are gone on holidays, you don’t have to worry about them dying. And you know the best part? You don’t have to pay the electricity bills or maid charges. How nice is that?<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoBodyText" style="text-align:justify"><span style="font-size:10.0pt; font-family:Arial">While you don’t get served snacks, all is not lost though. Till recently, we had copious quantities cola at our disposal – drink as much as you can (Like one of those ‘eat your heart out, and pay only X’ but without the payment clause). With this recession, the first axe by the wise old men has been to stop that supply, but that is not the point here. We have green tea, earl grey, English, and mint tea (if you are lucky) to lay our hands on. Mineral water is a standard, and there used to be biscuits as well (gone in cost cutting for the time being). But I know of offices, where you have selection of juices, milk, colas, fruits, and snacks. Now that comes close to a club, doesn’t it? I mean, in day time if you happen to be in a club, you would order something from among this selection, isn’t it? (Yes I can hear ‘beer’, but let us not get too greedy right now). Again, who you are, what you do, does not matter. All the things are at your disposal.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoBodyText" style="text-align:justify"><span style="font-size:10.0pt; font-family:Arial">Let me ask you a question – do you have your personal laptop? How many of us have that? At home, most of us make do with an off-white sack of machinery called a desktop, and that too assembled one. But in office, they provide you with a sleek laptop, replete with mouse and connected to an ‘always on’ internet connection. How nice is that? So you have the world on your fingertips. Access as much as you can, and if you are a little smarter than mongoose, you can also download as much as you can. Write emails, surf the net, read news, movie reviews, follow cricket, and yes, write your blog! And let me remind you, the best thing about it all – it’s free. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoBodyText" style="text-align:justify"><span style="font-size:10.0pt; font-family:Arial">Offices resemble clubs in another very important way. You can invite your guests here and entertain them. Let me give you example of one of my colleagues – he is not called the ‘plastic man’ for nothing. He has almost all the credit, debit, airlines, shopping, valet, and loyalty cards that have ever seen the light of the day. I cannot say for sure because I have never peeked inside his bag, but I suspect he carries visiting card diaries stuffed with all the cards as they won’t fit in his wallet by any chance. Where did you think he calls all the sales people to get such cards? I have never been able to get our corner meeting room, because he is perpetually sitting there, filling up forms while some random sales person feasts on tea and biscuits. And because our office is wood-paneled and all, he always gets gold or platinum cards without paying for them. Ambience helps.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoBodyText" style="text-align:justify"><span style="font-size:10.0pt; font-family:Arial">And now let me come to best bit in town – the telephone. I don’t think you could get through to any of us in the day time in less than five tries. Not since the time Mr. Edison invented the stuff, has it been used with so much passion. Our fingers have no fingerprints left on them – they are nice, smooth, and are now shiny round on the tips – it happens when you are dialing a lot and doing that incessantly. The constant murmur in office gives it a kind of spiritual aura – like universe being created by the sound of Aum that constantly reverberates in the cosmic creation. The buzz is almost like a soothing hum, that engulfs you as soon as you are inside the office. I must appreciate all my colleagues who seem to be connected to each other by a universal telephonic consciousness – never shouting, or never letting go of the receiver. What a nice place – a place with the ‘buzz’!<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoBodyText" style="text-align:justify"><span style="font-size:10.0pt; font-family:Arial">And when it is free, it is all the better. The place looks nice with all the suited booted people, it sounds nice with all the buzz everywhere, and it smells nice, with all the smell of different kind of beverages.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoBodyText" style="text-align:justify"><span style="font-size:10.0pt; font-family:Arial">It is a club I tell you, it is a club.<o:p></o:p></span></p>Dhirajhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11239425233622910577noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-66165092437166170.post-90156778117973893192008-12-29T05:16:00.000-08:002008-12-29T05:37:31.093-08:00A New Plot?<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:10.0pt;font-family:Arial">I don’t usually write twice in a day (I save for the next post as that makes my blog look more filled and more regular)<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:10.0pt;font-family:Arial">However, I would like to write about my dream here, as succinctly as possible. This is because I dreamt that I got a plot on which to base my book. Sounds very strange, but it is true.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:10.0pt;font-family:Arial">I dreamt that I am being told to write a book that is set in distant future, may be four or five hundred years in the future. The deal is that all of us a controlled by a central group, which makes sure that we are never out of line by injecting us with a ‘vaccination’ that is nothing but a chip in liquid form. Once this chip is vaccinated into us, we are in direct control of the central group or the Order. The whole story takes a turn when my protagonist discovers this truth, and then sets out to destroy the Order.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:10.0pt;font-family:Arial"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:10.0pt;font-family:Arial">I am going soft in the head.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:10.0pt;font-family:Arial">But it is a good plot!<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:10.0pt;font-family:Arial"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>Dhirajhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11239425233622910577noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-66165092437166170.post-68658204421530932062008-12-29T05:04:00.000-08:002008-12-29T05:05:59.067-08:00120 kmph<p class="MsoBodyText"><span style="font-size:10.0pt;font-family:Arial">Yesterday was one of the better days in my life. I cannot say the best – there are many – but better...yes...definitely.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoBodyText"><span style="font-size:10.0pt;font-family:Arial">I went to <st1:city st="on"><st1:place st="on">Abu Dhabi</st1:place></st1:city> to see Anil. I must admit that I was not in a good mood - as soon as I woke up and saw the paper, I knew I not happy. The front page was splashed with gory scenes of people killed in air attack by <st1:country-region st="on"><st1:place st="on">Israel</st1:place></st1:country-region> on Gaza Strip. That set the tone of the day. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoBodyText"><span style="font-size:10.0pt;font-family:Arial">As soon as I reached for the business section – I wish I had not done that. ‘Banks tightening credit further’ greeted my eyes, and I had no intention to go any further on that news, especially with one of my mortgages still undecided. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoBodyText"><span style="font-size:10.0pt;font-family:Arial">My mood became as grey as the weather outside. Pulling myself away from the newspaper, I decided that I had had enough. Went for a bath, did my pooja with a heavy heart, and decided that I could not stay home. Called Anil, and set out for the drive.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoBodyText"><span style="font-size:10.0pt;font-family:Arial">While driving the mood did not lift, and many thoughts started crossing my mind – to do with the job, investments, moving houses, loans, assets, and many things. You know, bad mood is like a magnet – it starts attracting all bad thoughts and shuns anything that can help you become better. The weather did not improve either.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoBodyText"><span style="font-size:10.0pt;font-family:Arial">While all this was happening, I just looked at the car I was driving – an Audi A4. it was not mine, but a replacement car from Anamika’s company. I got the tank full from a gas station close by, and that too was company’s account. I had got this car as a replacement as our car had gone for service – Nasir from Anamika’s company had taken it.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoBodyText"><span style="font-size:10.0pt;font-family:Arial">As I looked around me, I realized how easy it is to get bogged down by issues and to forget all the good things that a part and parcel of my life. This car for example – I was driving it without a worry about the fuel or the fact that for many people I know, there is no such facility. When there car goes for service they have to leave it at the service centre, pay for it, hire a car or hope for catching a taxi (yes, the word is ‘hope’ when one talks of getting a taxi in Dubai), pay for all that, and pay for the fuel (of course), and then repeat the whole process when you have to collect your car.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoBodyText"><span style="font-size:10.0pt;font-family:Arial">And here I was, driving away to meet Anil, without any hint of inconvenience that comes with giving your car for service. How could I possibly feel bad about life and world around me? Agreed everyone has right to sulk sometimes, but I could hide from the fact that I am in much better position than many! Small things in life also matter, and it is no secret that being mobile is a great hygiene factor.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoBodyText"><span style="font-size:10.0pt;font-family:Arial">These thoughts crossed my mind, and the veil of bad mood starting lifting with impressive speed. I noticed, quite poetically, that the sun had started shining, and the world around me took on a sharp, crisp morning hue, replete with vivid colors that come with a crisp morning yet soft morning sun in winters. I could not resist that I was in a much better place than many, and honestly speaking, apart from the fact that I was Anamiks and Sahasraditya (who are in <st1:city st="on"><st1:place st="on">Nagpur</st1:place></st1:city>), there is nothing greatly wrong with my world, and that God has been and still is kind to me. I had the right to feel a little low to start-up, but definitely not qualify for depressed mood! <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoBodyText"><span style="font-size:10.0pt;font-family:Arial">Moreover, I have one of my best friends an hour drive away. How many people have that kind of luxury in life? I had a spate of bad mood, and all I had to do was decide to go and meet Anil. How many people can do that? So what was I really complaining about? <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoBodyText"><span style="font-size:10.0pt;font-family:Arial">The car sped away at 120 (pretty standard on that highway so don’t panic please), tearing through the black road and through the slight mist, and I started feeling a sense of renewed spirit seeping through the ac vents and into me. I did try to suppress the good feeling, but only to test whether or not it was for real. But the answer came back a resounding yes. I did not bother much, and left my bad mood and all the depressing thoughts far behind me.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoBodyText"><span style="font-size:10.0pt;font-family:Arial">It is easy to do that at 120 kmph you know.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoBodyText"><span style="font-size:10.0pt;font-family:Arial">Thank God.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoBodyText"><span style="font-size:10.0pt;font-family:Arial"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoBodyText"><span style="font-size:10.0pt;font-family:Arial">Footnote: Anil and I saw Ghajini and talked a lot about things in general. The latter was responsible for why it was one of my better days.<o:p></o:p></span></p>Dhirajhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11239425233622910577noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-66165092437166170.post-47182836813288862822008-12-27T10:32:00.000-08:002008-12-27T11:35:27.509-08:00Getting real<p class="MsoBodyText"><span style="font-family:Arial;font-size:10.0pt;">Easily one of the most boring days of my life. I could not well ever imagine that I could ever be bored especially doing nothing. I know that sounds strange, but it is true - I have, all my life, never found doing nothing as remotely boring. In fact, on the contrary, I find it greatly invigorating. Quite comforting to know that one has all the time in the world to do all the inane stuff that one wants to do.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoBodyText"><span style="font-family:Arial;font-size:10.0pt;">Some of the shining examples of my endeavors, in this regard, include sorting out the hard disk of my laptop – you know the usual stuff like sorting out the files, deleting unnecessary stuff, bringing it all together in one place, so that it looks nice and is easy to access. One avocation that I have a go at, (might I say ‘with a vengeance’) is reading news and geopolitical stuff on the internet. I follow current events and issues (of rather flammable type), with quite a vigor. And then there is the issue of mastery of the irrelevant – in which the Internet, and to be more specific- Wikipedia- is my partner in crime. I usually come home from office and before I sleep, almost always read up something on this site. Then there is the issue of repairing stuff (lamps, computer, flower vase) etc. Not to forget my inclination towards things spiritual. I can get on with that for a lot of time, you know.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoBodyText"><span style="font-family:Arial;font-size:10.0pt;">However, I could not bring myself to do anything of that sort today. It is a kind of surprising that I could be afflicted by this malaise called boredom. I find it rather strange, because I could never fathom what boredom was all about. A look into my past, and you will know why I say this; let me give you some examples.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoBodyText"><span style="font-family:Arial;font-size:10.0pt;">Back in Dharamshala, one of my favorite pastimes was gazing at the sky - specifically, the clouds. I could sit near the window sill, and in one of my favorite positions (feet on the window sill, pushing the chair just as far back on its two hind legs that it won’t topple backwards), and gently rock myself for hours together, gazing at the bright blue sky, waiting for the clouds to take the shape of my thoughts. I could do that for as much time as possible, for as long as possible, till someone broke my reverie, wanted me to go to the market, or study, or do the homework, or something else. Or when I got a call from friends to play marbles with them, or cricket, or some such thing. I could just sit there, and…well…do nothing.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoBodyText"><span style="font-family:Arial;font-size:10.0pt;">I liked doing another thing as well. My bed was besides a wall, with a window next to it. I liked putting up my feet on the wall, sprawling them so that my ankles rested on the wall. I used to gently sway my legs, and feel the blood rushing into my head, while looking out at the world (well, for a long time I thought that Dharamshala is the entire world, and if I went beyond the paan shop, I would fall of the edge). It used to give some ethereal kind of comfort resting my legs on the wall, and I would continue to do that till it actually drained the blood off my feet, and I could feel the coldness in my toes. The impulse used to be to bring down the feet, but just at that point, I used to push doing it a little longer still, and when the coldness gave way to a mild pain of sorts, I used to bring down the feet. That surge of comfort was never less than heavenly.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoBodyText"><span style="font-family:Arial;font-size:10.0pt;">When I had absolutely nothing to do, I used to rearrange my room, sift through my books, stack them nicely on the one shelf that was there on the wall, move the bed and fit the table in way that gave the room a little more character, hung my airgun in as regal a manner as possible (replete with a cycle chain to complete the ‘mean’ look), stick car posters so that other kids could see my unique collection from outside the window, work on table lamp so that it was squeaky clean, or better still paint it in garish red color so that it looked new. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoBodyText"><span style="font-family:Arial;font-size:10.0pt;">Back then, I could read anything for hours together. One of the greatest imaginary luxuries was to be able to read a mystery novel, cooped up in the bed, but without having to hold the book in either of my hands. It used to be cold outside and it was almost painful to bear it. I always dreamt of a gadget in which I could somehow string the book, keep it on an angle that made my reading easy, and with the help of some mechanics, have the pages sift by themselves, while I lay fully covered in the cosy territory of my warm bed - with both my hands inside the quilt. It does get quite cold in Dharamshala, and I think this is a very legitimate fantasy to have.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoBodyText"><span style="font-family:Arial;font-size:10.0pt;">I must add that in my true sense of fairness, I used to keep one hand outside the quilt/comforter for exactly the same number of pages as I would keep the other. 2 pages for the right and 2 pages for the left. You might find it funny or even strange, but I have always imagined my body parts to have their own life and character. I know I know, this has a lot to do with fantasy stories that I read in my early childhood, but I always thought of hands as two people – with their own lives, their own set of freinds and families, and their own stories to tell. So I could never bear doing even the least injustice to either of them - I did not like being partial to my left hand, even when I knew that it was right that did most of the work. Look, I know which hand to reward more in normal circumstances, but winter is a different thing altogether. One has to be magnanimous.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoBodyText"><span style="font-family:Arial;font-size:10.0pt;">I think the reason I never got bored of anything back then, was because there was an inner world I was always busy with, always intrigued in, and most of the time absorbed in. I used to dream with my eyes open, and was perpetually lost in doing so, bereft of the reality around me.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoBodyText"><span style="font-family:Arial;font-size:10.0pt;">I think I have started becoming bored because I have started looking outwards to keep myself busy.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoBodyText"><span style="font-family:Arial;font-size:10.0pt;">I am getting real. </span></p><p class="MsoBodyText"><span style="font-family:Arial;font-size:10.0pt;">Is that good or bad?<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoBodyText"><span style="font-family:Arial;font-size:10.0pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>Dhirajhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11239425233622910577noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-66165092437166170.post-71168570772315427092008-12-26T14:42:00.000-08:002008-12-27T11:35:52.917-08:00Return<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(51, 51, 51); line-height: 22px; font-size:14px;"><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; "><span style=" ;color:black;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">I am back. Limelight, shine upon me. Now!</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0); font-family:arial;font-size:13px;">The much awaited return has happened. I have to blame Anamika for that. She is my better half, and better reader still. I am told that I write well and that I should continue writing. I am also told that I am quite funny.</span><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0); font-family:arial;font-size:13px;">I take that fully in my stride. While one is humble, and would want to shun all kinds of fame, one has to give in to popular demand, and take on roles that require oneself to do that come with fame and popularity, all the while enduring the pain of being in public eye, hiding from paparazzi, living in perpetual limelight, and..alas, becoming famous. What to do, such are the demands of being a (famous) writer.</span><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0); font-family:arial;font-size:13px;">Having said that, I know that one day writing will become my profession. It is the final escapade that I long for, when all will be paid by the publisher, and my ego gets relentless massage in the act of knowing that scores of people yearn to read my books. What a day will that be!!!</span><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; "><span style=" ;color:black;"><o:p><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">Imagine, all that I write would be lapped up by readers without hesitation. In fact, they'd be queuing up in lines on weekends to get their hands on my latest. My musings will be revered - hotly debated on internet, fan clubs will sprout all over the place, I will be thronged by media, a function here, a function there, cameras blowing out their flashes on me, prizes galore, bank overflowing with royalties...!</span></span></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0); font-family:arial;font-size:13px;">And I would be sitting in my porch, atop a hill, overlooking the green valley soaked with the golden afternoon hue of a benign sun. The cool air would pass by, and whisper the song of the mountains in my ear. The clouds would play idly with the sunlight, taking on its redness on the front, while hiding their greyness behind. I would have the august company of my favorite singer, the cricket, but I would not be able to see it – just hear the lovely songs that it comes out with. The mountain tops would recede into the skies – slowly and gradually, and far away in the misty horizon, a star would peep out, marking its attendance.</span><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; "><span style=" ;color:black;"><span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">And I would have no worries sitting there, day after day. Because my books would be selling, and I would be a celebrated author, just getting his usual dose of creativity.</span></span></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">That day would come.</span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">Today's the start.</span></span></p></span>Dhirajhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11239425233622910577noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-66165092437166170.post-35126704601174552042007-05-22T04:07:00.000-07:002008-12-27T02:59:42.945-08:00The long and short of 'now'<span style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">It has been somewhile that I have published anything here. I can come up with many reasons for that, but the real reason is that I was just not in the mood. Writing for me is usually an intense experience. I mull, I think, I go over a sentence again and again, and just like making a sculpture- I tend to make it a laborious process. Not that I produce materspieces, but I like to make my writings well-rounded and polished - as I said, like a sculptor working on his masterpiece.</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family:arial;"></span><br /></span><span style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Well, today's awakening is dedicated to my dear friend Arun Uday. He works with a swanky company in Mumbai, and is a deal-maker. We exchanged some mails, and I discovered that he blogss quite regularly. I think every 4th day or so. </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family:arial;"></span><br /></span><span style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">He writes about what he does. So his blogs are (very justifiably) business oriented, MBA like, and have strong corporate overtones. I think that is superb-next time he needs a job, all he needs to do is send across his blog link to the employers. They'll go flat.</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family:arial;"></span><br /></span><span style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">I wonder if I should ever do that with my blog. With the kind of stuff I write here, I would be helping other candidates get selected, and very fast.</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family:arial;"></span><br /></span><span style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Anyway, let me tell you about Mr. Uday. He is easily one of the brainiest people I have met. M.tech from Indian Institute of Science, and MBA from Indian School of Business (a qualification that we share). Works now in private equity, and looks corporate.</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br /></span><span style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">He was usually found in yellow sweatshirt, and brown baggy corduroys. As it is with brainos, he was duly confused as well. It took him exactly 20 meters walk from the examination hall to realise that he had committed some kind of grave insanity in the exam. Loud 'SHIT!!!!!!!' was usually followed by wild gesticulations, that almost always culminated in hitting his forehead with his hand. </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family:arial;"></span><br /></span><span style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Then, almost as ritual, we'd accompany him to the living room of our apartment, where Vijay (another roomy) and Sai (another one) would rave and rant at him. Vijay would break into hysterical laughter, replete with expletives; Sai would endlessely giggle; and I would wait for Arun to go supine on the sofa set (I think it was a freudian response - Mom! take me unto your fold!), whence he'd take keep on repeating his Mantra - 'How could I do that!!!, Bloody shit!!'</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br /></span><span style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Short of running 10km away (which he once decided) from ISB, he used to calm down and then get stressed about the next day's exam. This was followed by 'guys, I am going to sleep' (usually at 8 pm).</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br /></span><span style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">After all this, our man used to get good marks. </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family:arial;"></span><br /></span><span style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Quite a chap, I must say. he also went and bought for himself a biege suit, cream shirt when the going got tough during placements. Now you can see him sporting a black corporate suit on his blog.</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br /></span><span style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Anyway, so after this mail exchanged, I thought I should indulge in some activity. That is why this entry.</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family:arial;"></span><br /></span><span style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Just to add: I have been keeping extremely busy of sorts. I like to spend all my time with my son, who is cynosure of everything for me. Apart from it, office kept me busy, and I was quite stressed about my last golf game, where I screwed up the first nine. </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br /></span><span style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">But aced the back ones, with a solid birdie on the 16th Par 4.</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family:arial;"></span><br /></span><span style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">I think I will also go Arun's way and create a corporate blog of sorts, and display my corporate feathers in all their resplendent colors.</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br /></span><span style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">I will include that in my CV.</span></span>Dhirajhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11239425233622910577noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-66165092437166170.post-73285478348783557692007-03-09T04:14:00.000-08:002008-12-27T03:00:20.521-08:00Sahasraditya<span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial;">Sherry.</span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial;"><span></span><br /></span></span><span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial;">I became a dad on 1st March, 2007. Anamika gave me Sherry, and I gave him his name. Mom gave him his nick.</span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial;"><span></span><br /></span></span><span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial;">It is difficult to express what it feels like. It surprises me that giving birth to offsprings is one of the most common things to happen to humans, but no writing can ever express what it means to have a child. Let me know if you have ever read any that completely explains the feeling. </span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial;"><span></span><br /></span></span><span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial;">As I write this, he is by my side, looking at me intently. I don't know what he is thinking. I do know that I have a bundle full of joy in my arms.</span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial;"><span></span><br /></span></span><span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial;">I will write more about this later. Right now, I have no time for anything else.</span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial;"><span></span><br /></span></span><span style="font-family:arial;font-size:85%;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;font-size:85%;"></span>Dhirajhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11239425233622910577noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-66165092437166170.post-68588878769830083692007-02-25T03:16:00.000-08:002008-12-27T03:00:58.025-08:00Virtues of having less hair<span style="font-family:arial;font-size:85%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">For whatever little is left on my head, I go to an Indian barber (from Kerala), to do the monthly honors. What he cuts and dresses always eludes me, but what never escapes my attention is that he forces all of us to watch Chinese channels. A Malayalam barber who watches Chinese channels, replete with uniformed comrades exhorting the teachings of Chairman Mao.<br /><br />How I get to know such people is a matter of detail. What is important is that there are people who excel in the weird and the strange, and I feel quite connected.<br /><br />The din around his shop is just about enough not to let you hear yourself thinking. May be that is a good idea – you don’t want to be thinking too much when he gets to work. One, he does not speak much and does not seem to like people who do so. Second, whatever you tell him, he will take his own decisions. A man in control. Third, I don’t want to argue with a man holding a razor blade next to my ear. I just sit there like a good boy, and let him mow the defunct plains of my head.<br /><br />I usually have to wait for a good hour to get my turn. In the process, I have become a bit of communist myself, exposed to the channels he watches. The other day, when India was ripping the shreds off the Sri Lankan team, I was watching a highly informative program on how to grow potatoes. It was followed by an infomercial on road safety, which began with a somber looking uniform clad Chinese woman showing us the remnants of a car that looked like it was hit by an asteroid. The infomercial ended with teachings of Chairman Mao – chapter and verse. Apparently he had devoted a lot of his time on road safety, while also managing a revolution in his past time.<br /><br />What I watch in that saloon is tactical brilliance of watching TV, bereft of any strategic aim – much like the Indian soap operas. For the first 130 or so episodes, they veer of in all conceivable directions, and then in the last two the scriptwriter wakes up, breaks a pen or two in hastily writing a highly unconnected end, which is more often than not suited more for another serial on another channel. Tactically, these soaps help in supporting the Glycerine industry (and Foundation/Maskara business) but strategically they make as much sense as lighting a fire for warmth in the middle of desert at noon time. My TV has gone for repairs three times already because of the moisture produced in these serials.<br /><br />This time when I came home after the hair cut, one side of my head felt heavy. As I discovered, our man had completely forgotten to do the honors of cutting hair on the left side. I don’t blame him, if my memory serves me right, there was a highly illuminating program on painting light bulbs (red, of course) and turning them into nice little show pieces, that our man could not afford to miss. The TV is placed such that our man has to stand on the right side of any customer to be able to take in all the wisdom emanating from the TV. Hence the heaviness in my head. Next time I plan to go to him after referring to the TV schedule. He does not seem to like chorus songs dedicated to industrial revolution - I better time my hair cut when those are getting aired.<br /><br />For a curios soul, wondering why I subject myself to such gamble, I have just few humble submissions to make. One, it gives me a hearty laugh to walk out with one side of my head fluffy and the other flat. Second, for the Love of God, I don’t know why he watches that channel. I would like to sit with him one day and understand his reasons. Third, I find it too interesting and curious to see what will he be watching when I go to him next.<br />And finally, I don’t have much to loose. See my picture, and you will understand why. Not a high price to pay for an interesting hour or two!<br /></span><br /></span>Dhirajhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11239425233622910577noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-66165092437166170.post-73553697811590495792007-02-21T23:00:00.000-08:002008-12-27T03:01:34.157-08:00Dark Side of the Moon<span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Feb, 21. 2007.</span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></span><span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Dubai.</span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span></span><br /></span></span><span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Roger Waters.</span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span></span><br /></span></span><span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">I was there.</span></span></span>Dhirajhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11239425233622910577noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-66165092437166170.post-5545868554429636532007-02-04T10:51:00.000-08:002008-12-27T02:59:12.601-08:00Alice in Wonderland<div align="justify"><span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial;">Well, sometimes it is difficult to know where to begin, but let me try. I have a lot of things going on in my mind, but as usual, it is difficult to decide what to write on. Here goes something. I hope by the end of it, it looks good enough to publish on the blog.<br /><br />I am in Doha, Qatar right now. Staying at The Ramada. A particularly confused client needs my assistance. I hope that by the end of this project, I don’t end up requiring someone’s assistance!<br /><br />It is funny that this hotel never changes. It is a five star, deluxe category hotel – from which angle I don’t know. But as you read below, you will see that there are many angles to it really.<br /><br />Let me begin with the mirrors (Hold still, my heart..) </span></span></span></div><div align="justify"><span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial;">They are all triangular. One of them, just in front of my bed, is pointing downwards, with a serious intent to pierce the table into two. Another one, an isosceles triangle, is challenging me to find which two sides are equal. I think I will get up at 2 am with the answer.<br /></span></span></span></div><div align="justify"><span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial;">And then there is a scalene triangle next to the door. I almost bolted out of the window - I got up after a small nap, turned around to see a strange figure clad in white clothes, with a balding head staring right into my eyes from within that scalene triangle. Only after the initial shock had subsided, and possibly the people next room decided to move to another, safer neighborhood, did I realize that I can look scary even in my night suit.<br /></span></span></span></div><div align="justify"><span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial;">So at the last count at I have 3 mirrors in my room. More discoveries can happen as I wonder about. I don’t know what purpose they serve, but I can tell you this one thing for sure - whoever designed this room must have had psychotic parents and (not 'or') a very demented childhood. Or like me, must have had psychotic math teachers (One name tops the list, but let bygones be bygones). I must mention that one of the mirrors must have been donated by Family Planning Mission of India. It is a huge triangle, much like the red family planning sign I grew up asking questions about to my Mom. Publicly, let me add.<br /><br />Let us come to the bathroom (Now is the time when you hold your breath, and brace for impact)<br />First thinsg first, they need to keep a ‘Manual’ in each bathroom. This should be made mandatory by law. For the love of God, someone tell me how to do what in here and not get soaked while doing / not doing it?? This one time I want communism to rule. I want a manual in here!</span></span></span></div><div align="justify"><span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial;">The manual should explain what knob does what,. It should be cross-indexed with a glossary of terms to explain everything. It should have a contents page with a small summary of events that might happen to unsuspecting souls like me if a specific button is pressed or not pressed. At the end of it, it should have a helpline number and a website address where you have FAQ section. If this is too much, at least the hotel guys should have a video (much like airlines' which is so badly made and so boring that it makes you strangle the passenger next to you). If nothing else, they should start giving a crash course titled ‘Managing Bathroom Fittings with Ease’ as soon as you check in. Better still, write a book titled ‘Using Bathroom fittings for Dummies’, (or how about this one?) ‘Bathroom Fittings and Me: A life in retrospect’. It will be an instant best seller, I tell you.<br /><br />I entered the bathroom and was instantly transported to the front deck of Starship Enterprise. Forget doing anything, I stood there like Alice in wonderland, dumfounded by the sheer nickel around me. It shone and shone, and bedazzled the lights out of me. The only difference between Starship Enterprise and this metal museum was that in the Starship, captain Kirk smiles and nods his head, and feels good about alien life forms and about saving the earth. Here I was marshalling all my energy to hold nature’s call with every fiber of my body, going through the maze of equipment to understand what does what.<br />(I rotated a few knobs here and there, pressed some buttons quite frantically and ended up getting soaked from a shower burst that came from no where and hit me in the back. Coward.)<br /><br />From next time onwards, I am going to carry my own bucket and mug into such hotels.<br /><br />Did I tell you about the lighting? (take a deep breath...)<br />Well, the room has about 3 gazillion lamps (give or take a few). The way they are placed remind me of Chinese torture chamber. This one, right above my desk is shining so brightly on the key board that I wish the keys had brail characters – I can’t see anything. I am sure this hotel is facing a constant surge of extreme voltage. I think I need to invite some astronomers and scientists in here – they'll know how centre of Sun feels like.<br />The upside of this all is that by tomorrow, I will be glowing so much that the client will need to switch of their lights when I enter their offices. I will dedicate this project to the all glorious Ramada.</span></span></span></div><div align="justify"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial;"><span></span></span></span><span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial;"> </span></span></span></div><div align="justify"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial;"><br />On that happy note, let me sign off here. There is still a part of me that wants to talk about the art-deco wall with a pot embedded in it (like it came from outer space and got stuck here), but that will take me another three hours to write under present weather and light conditions (Please note that it is not that I have not discovered the switches to turn of these lights; I tried doing that and ended up turning the room into a discotheque). Then there is the case of the lost butler, who entered my room while I was sleeping, woke me up, saw my face and went out in silent anger, quite upset that I was not his master. I also don't want to write about how I searched for a plug in here and could not find one, and how I have a long wire extension that helps my laptop with its power. The technician told me 21 times that they don't give extensions to people, lest they start using water heaters, ovens, and microwaves in the room </span></span></div><div align="justify"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial;">(what is going on in here????)</span></span></div><div align="justify"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial;"><br />Weird connections- It is a weird world.<br /><br /></span></span><strong><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial;">Tailpiece:</span></span></strong><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial;"> While I was searching for some topic to write on, I was reminded of two beautiful Shers by Ghalib, wherein he mentions his lust for writing (in his case, letters to his beloved)<br /><br /></span></span><em><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial;">Khat likhenge garche matalab kuchh na ho, </span></span></em></div><div align="justify"><em><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial;">ham to aashiq hain tumhaare naam ke.</span></span></em><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial;"><br />(I will keep on writing letters to you, whether they make any sense or not.<br />I am hopelessly in love with (writing) your name)<br /></span></span></div><div align="justify"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial;">The second one is actually one of my favorites. It tells how hopelessly one is in love and is quite hilarious.<br /></span></span><em><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial;"> </span></span></em></div><div align="justify"><em><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial;">Magar likhvaaye koi usko Khat to hamase likhvaaye,</span></span></em></div><div align="justify"><em><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial;"> hui subah aur ghar se kaan par rakh kar qalam nikale.</span></span></em><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial;"><br /><br />(Anyone interested in writing a letter to her, please come to me.<br />I step out every morning with a pen tucked next to my ear just for that purpose)<br /><br />Ghalib has also written about his dwelling place, and since we were on my room’s case, here is something he wrote while he must have been on his room’s case…<br /><br /></span></span><em><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial;">Ug rahaa hai dar-o-deewaar pe sabzaa "Ghalib",</span></span></em></div><div align="justify"><em><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial;">ham biyaabaan mein hain aur ghar mein bahaar aaii hai</span></span></em><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial;">.<br /><br />(Moss is growing on the walls all around me. </span></span></div><div align="justify"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial;">I am alone and Spring season is coming right into my home)<br /><br /><br />Finally, a Sher by Iqbal extolling the virtues of silence (I should note this one for self-improvement)<br /></span></span><em><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial;"><br />Keh rahaa hai dariyaa se samandar kaa sukuut</span></span></em></div><div align="justify"><em><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial;"> jis kaa jitanaa zarf hai utanaa vo Khaamosh hai</span></span></em><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial;"><br />[sakuut = silence; zarf = capability/capacity]<br /><br />(Ocean’s silence is telling something to the river; one is as silent as one’s capability)</span></span><br /></div>Dhirajhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11239425233622910577noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-66165092437166170.post-46247040689391793942007-02-02T05:56:00.000-08:002008-12-27T02:58:28.810-08:00Tissue box and the cricket match<div align="justify"><span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Today I witnessed one of the most historic moments in Indian history – India winning in style over West Indies in what will be remembered as an iconic match of our times. I could not believe that India actually won.<br /><br />Not all that long ago Indian cricket team was not so much a disgrace as an embarrassment. You watched them play, or rather watched them go through their antics, and it was a problem deciding where to hide your head. You squirmed and under your breath cursed ‘louts’ and ‘yahoos’ — my selection of words when describing our cricketing heroes. Some times they batted well and bowled miserably or vice versa. Sometimes they did both well, and fielded miserably. Never did they do everything well. I am sure these players are great devotees of Indra Devta, because He has saved them more than any one or anything else, with all those timely rains that saved us from the otherwise guaranteed shame. Men in blue have taken that color so literally that they get beaten blue periodically, and are great harbingers of that mood as well. The only player who seems to be consistent in our team is the real Mr. dependable, the</span></span></span><span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> great run-getter Mr. Extra.</span></span></span></div><div align="justify"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span></span> </span></span></div><div align="justify"><span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">We were used to India snatching defeat from the jaws of victory, till the last match with West Indies happened.<br /><br />I sat down to watch that match (Which was as soon as I entered the office, reached my desk, left my strolley there and headed diligently for the TV room; one needs to get their priorities right in life). I kept a tissue box next to me. What a game. I kept dabbing my eyes with tissue paper, this being the kind of emotional high this game produced. The way all of them played, it just took my breath away and I must have sobbed the room wet. What a Game.<br /><br />It seemed to me that dark-ages of Indian cricket were over. At least in the case of Indian cricket, I like to quickly rush to reckless conclusions; because all joy is short-lived (I say this from experience). I am busy hero-worshipping Ganguly these days, before the next series begins. God knows what will happen - rains are still some time away. (May be they will have all the matches in Chepauk, Chennai, where rains seem our constant companion. I will write to BCCI in this regard. I am from the age of innocence in case you did not know))<br /><br />Then there was Sachin. I have been his constant fan. One needs to have some constants in one’s life and one of mine is Mr. Tendulkar. (If and when you read this Sachin, please know that you will have at least one shoulder to rest your head on, even if the world turns against you. I am ready to fly to Mumbai, when you need one)</span></span></span></div><div align="justify"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span></span></span></span></div><div align="justify"><span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Dhoni, true to his buffalo-milk antecedents, was another thing altogether. I have discovered one thing about him – his arms are no longer under his control. The way they go about swinging the bat, his body shakes and rattles to stop our man from going into a spin. When I see him, I am pleasantly reminded of our hostel dog (named ‘clinton’ for some divine reason), whose tail was never in its control. You show the mongrel a little love, and the tail went mad, oscillating from east to all the way to west, in the process vibrating clinton’s body so forcefully that I could see only a shiny nose standing in one place – everything else was a blur. Same is the case of our man Dhoni. The only difference that instead of him, the bowlers usually complain of blur and nausea. May God help them. (I am seriously contemplating switching to Buffalo milk these days).<br /><br />I am not a fan of Dravid, so let me not waste my time writing about him. The only thing noteworthy of his batting was that he reminded me of another cricksting nemesis, Dinesh Mongia, whose claim to fame could be in road-rolling, given his perennially leaden feet and overly light head (almost floozy actually), which never seemed to understand that the game being played is called cricket, and one of the elements of the game is taking runs. He stands on end, and….just stands there. If you are a bowler with bad economy rate, stand on one leg and pray to God that Dinesh Mogia face you in all the matches. If your wish is granted, you will enter the hall of fame and rub shoulders with the likes of Hadlee and Imran insofar as economy is concerned.<br /><br />Dravid was no better. The transmission seemed to have frozen in one place, until Sachin forced him to run and took the strike. Were those tears of happiness in my eyes when Dravid got out? I am yet to witness so much joy in one place, as was the case when all of us went into rapture when ‘the wall’ came down. (What an apt name – walls don’t move!).<br /><br />If you thought I am being partial towards Dravid in comparison to Mongia, perish the thought. I am usually comatose during Mongia’s batting (God save us from that torture)</span></span></span></div><span style="font-family:arial;font-size:85%;"><div align="justify"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br />I think the best thing to have happened to us in the recent cricketing past is Ganguly’s resurrection. In the land of Saas-Bahu, make-up and glycerine, where all good things come to an end (unless you are a politician), we Indians have witnessed the light at the end of the tunnel, and seen how someone down, out, and written-off, can actually come back, and show why he was called the ‘god of off-side’. In a hero-worshipping yet hero-starved country of ours, that is some example of determination.</span></div><div align="justify"></div><div align="justify"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">All said and done, I came back home with that bounce in my feet that even Nike Air cannot replicate. One of my most fulfilling office days, filled with a great sense of satisfaction and achievement. Ah, the smell in the air!</span></div><div align="justify"></div><div align="justify"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">May God bless our saviour - the hunter wielding, undertaker with thick black moustache. Colonel Vengsarkar. Thank you sir!<br /><br />Tailpiece: Sidhharth Pande has been quite a source of my literary discoveries. This poem, whacked from his profile, is dedicated to Ganguly:<br /><br /></span><em><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Out of the night that covers me,black as the pit from pole to pole.</span></em></div><div align="justify"><em><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">I thank whatever gods may be,for my unconquerable soul.</span></em></div><div align="justify"><em><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">In the fell clutch of circumstance,I have not winced nor cried aloud.</span></em></div><div align="justify"><em><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Under the bludgeonings of chance,my head is bloody, but unbowed. </span></em></div><div align="justify"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><em></em></span></div><div align="justify"><em><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Beyond this place of wrath and tears,looms but the horror of the shade,</span></em></div><div align="justify"><em><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">and yet the menace of the years finds, and shall find me,unafraid. </span></em></div><div align="justify"><em><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">It matters not how strait the gate,how charged with punishments the scroll,</span></em></div><div align="justify"><em><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">I am the master of my fate;I am the captain of my soul.</span></em></div><div align="justify"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><em></em></span></div><div align="justify"><em><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">- "Invictus" [William Ernest Henley]<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /></span><br /></em></div></span>Dhirajhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11239425233622910577noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-66165092437166170.post-60536508966447509002007-01-29T21:33:00.000-08:002008-12-27T02:57:25.278-08:00The Tavern<span style="font-family:arial;font-size:85%;">“Ke harkat tez tar hai, aur safar ahista, ahista”</span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;font-size:85%;">A bad rendering of this would be ‘movement so frenetic and journey so slow’. How immortal Munir Niazi, now departed for the eternal shades, summed up the situation around me.<br /><br />Many times I am left amazed by the focus on sheer activity by folks I know here. More the activity more satisfied they are. No need to know what happened to the hazy concept called ‘Performance’. Even I am guilty of adding to the conundrum and the chaos. But the difference is that I feel guilty, and sometimes cry out loud, and cut the chord to actually ‘do’ something. As I was telling a good friend of mine, I would be nothing if I am not doing something meaningful. Just that both the frequency and the intensity of doing something ‘meaningful’ has nosedived so elegantly that it may actually qualify for some kind of a big award.<br /><br />I am not being critical of anyone or anything. I am not critical even of myself. The most difficult thing to find in one’s life, according to me, is addiction to something -wherein one wants to go down in a blaze doggedly pursuing a goal. Dhirubhai Ambani, the great corporate seer, succinctly called it ‘Nasha’. I cannot think of any word more apt- we all search for an addiction - that blinds one to everything else, makes you go mad running after that one objective, rendering you listless in the process. </span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;font-size:85%;">It is that state of inebriation I am looking for. That is the biggest challenge in my life, and in everyone else’s.<br /><br />It is more than just a ‘sense of purpose’, because a purpose usually is a broad definition of things one wants to accomplish. My purpose in life could oscillate between being a good son/husband/father, to being an ace in my profession. Purpose is a state of mind. A very broad philosophy of life. The addiction I am talking about comes in spurts, and it is an ecstasy while it lasts. It consumes you, and every fibre of your body is attuned to reaching that one single goal, that one single place where nothing matters – not even the goal.<br /><br />Let me make it a little simpler to understand, by citing few examples from my life (I am given to rambling and do a little self-aggrandizement every now and then). </span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;font-size:85%;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;font-size:85%;">I was preparing for ISB (The Indian School of Business), and I was quite literally a man possessed. I woke up to GMAT preparation and ended my day with refining my essays, honing my application to a level, where I was literally chiseling words on the paper. I slept, dreamt, ate only ISB. In the office I put on ‘Dark side of the moon’, and from dawn to dusk worked only on my preparation. I renounced everything and everyone. I can’t remember if I did anything else. It was an all encompassing consumption of my being. A singular obsession. I will talk about the results a little later.<br /><br />The second instance was when I sat down to master (that’s the word) one of my biggest academic nemesis’- Physical Chemistry. I spent all my day cursing my university to have included that in our course. Ask me to immerse myself in hot sand for a day, and I would have given all but a little thought; reading Physical Chemistry was a different kind of torture by itself. Chinese torture seemed like a massage in comparison to opening that book and reading it.</span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;font-size:85%;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;font-size:85%;">Anyhow, the only memory I have of that day and age, is that I still hold the university record in that subject. I know you'd be surpised to know that. But this is what 'addiction' does to you, so read along.</span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;font-size:85%;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;font-size:85%;"> When I sat down to tame that demon, honest to God, I was almost trembling looking down the path I was about to choose – I had never lasted one complete class (lasting excruciating 45 minutes), never knoew where they held it, knew no one who had taken the subject, and had absolutely no idea who the professor was. It was only in the last month that I realized that I actually had a book of that subject, bought in complete ignorance at the start of the year. If sub-zero assessment on a written paper were possible, I would have been the flag-bearer of that illustrious group of students. Less than a month remained for the finals, and I was busy preparing my family to brace impact - a thorough failure in Chemistry, and consequently in that class. An unprecedented situation in my life.<br /><br />It was then when I faced the truth, and in a true-blue patriot-kind of approach to life, decided that I will teach physical chemistry to myself. I still don't know what made me do that, but I think that is anbother discussion altogether. The challenge sat in front of me, in 400 illustrated pages. Less than a month to go, and a tome of a book to cover. </span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;font-size:85%;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;font-size:85%;">Clueless and naked in that situation, I did not know what to do, so I followed what came instinctually. I sat down and started writing down page after page, filling it with whatever I read in the book. It was not some kind of grand strategy, but just a brute force model. Tom Hanks was busy running, and I was busy writing.<br /><br />Just two days into this, and it got to me. I could not do anything else. I read and read, and wrote and wrote endlessly. I spoke to walls, and to the plants, and taught them a thing or two about Ostwald’s law of dilution. They responded to me, challenged me, and showed me what I needed to get right. They sparred with me, and I sparred with myself. I was dancing in that ecstasy, and they danced along with me. Wherever I looked, I saw only equations, laws, theories, hypotheses. I was a man-possessed. </span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;font-size:85%;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;font-size:85%;">I did not want anyone around me-there was no need. Some senses like those of food, heat and cold almost vanished. I remember I felt hungry, but I don’t remember what I ate. It did not matter. I had not seen my friends for a long time (except Savi, at whose house I had stayed during that time), and I did not feel the need to interact with my family. As I retrospect, it was a complete surrender to that one cause; a complete renunciation of everything. It was a relentless pursuit of that one thing – mastering that subject.<br /><br />When I took the exam, I knew everything. I finished everything, including helping others in two hours, instead of the allotted three. I did not care about marks, or about the fact that my fellow student might get more marks than I would, if I help them. I was beyond care. I stood up, gave the sheets to the examiner, and walked out of the room and into reality. The dream was over. </span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;font-size:85%;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;font-size:85%;">I have never felt so empty in my life. I still remember, it felt like the grass had just grown-it was so fresh, the sky had just opened up-it was so blue, the earth had just been soaked with rain-it was so fresh. I am not rambling here. I felt a sense of happiness when I saw people around. They looked so happy, so nice, so good.<br /><br />I was walked out without any baggage. Whatever I had (and that was a lot) got burnt in a blaze that lasted a mere twenty five days. I was not exhausted; I was (what is the word?) blissful. I walked out a new myself. Nothing mattered to me - one could take my favorite tennis bat and I would not care. You could walk away with the girl I liked, and that would have been alright with me. You could have hit me, and I would have forgiven you. You could have belittled me, and I would have just laughed out loud. I was something else, and the ‘me’ in me did not matter.<br /><br />No, I am not rambling. I am not exaggerating. Those who search for God through music or through devotion, will recognize my experience as that small, infantile step, that they took when they started on their long journeys. Nothing mattered to me, like nothing matters to an inebriated person-heat, cold, greed, joy, sorrow, ego - nothing.<br /><br />I reckon the reason nothing mattered to me was because I had experienced something greater than all that I was used to. I discovered myself, and I played with and against myself. There was no opponent, just me. And I realized that in life too, nothing matters except discovering yourself. Stretching your limits, and seeing what lies beneath the letters that spell your name. Nothing mattered to me because I had seen a small part of what I was made of. I had spent time with an individual called Dhiraj, and engaged him in an experience that was just about him. I had put myself through a grind that brought hidden flavors out to the top. And those tasted like nothing else.<br /><br />It is of such experience that I talk of, and I yearn for. I search for that bliss. I search for that goal, that blaze that will consume me. I search for that elusive moment when I would give up everything to attain just one thing. I may not even get that one thing, but I am okay with that - the journey is what I yearn for. </span><span style="font-family:arial;font-size:85%;">I search for my addiction, my ‘Nasha'<br /></span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;font-size:85%;">Tailpiece: Madhushala by Sri Harivansh Rai Bachchan sums my feelings… </span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;font-size:85%;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;font-size:85%;"><em>'madiraalay jaane ko ghar se, chaltaa hae peene waalaa'</em></span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;font-size:85%;"><em>'kis path se jaaoon asamanjas, mein hae woh bholaabhaalaa'</em></span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;font-size:85%;"><em>'alag alag path batalaate sab, par maen yeh batalaataa hun'</em></span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;font-size:85%;"><em>'raah pakad tu ek chalaachal, paa jaa aega madhushaalaa'</em><br /></span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;font-size:85%;"><br /><br /></span><span style="font-family:arial;font-size:85%;"></span>Dhirajhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11239425233622910577noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-66165092437166170.post-4513629729901749322007-01-28T06:09:00.000-08:002008-12-27T02:57:25.175-08:00Birth in the blog world<span style="font-family:arial;font-size:78%;">Today I got born here.</span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;font-size:78%;">Since I am yet to register this overwhelming experience, I will be at loss of words for today.</span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;font-size:78%;">Also, it is the end of day / close-of-business, and I need to rush back, get into the long snarling traffic lines, and get home to eat and sleep, and be here tomorrow.</span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;font-size:78%;">It is not that mundane, but my creative juices have all been used in solving issues of various hues and varieties, best described and summed up as 'client-problems'. </span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;font-size:78%;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;font-size:78%;">The question that stares now in my face is - 'Is this that proverbial <em>start</em> of my eternal longingness to write?' Quite an intimidating situation I seemed to have got myself into.</span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;font-size:78%;">Well, the <em>proverbials</em> will have to face the <em>reality</em> of life. I will have to wind up this post for now, and trade my heroes for the cold steel - at least for the short term.</span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;font-size:78%;"></span><br /><span style="font-size:78%;"><span style="font-family:arial;">The grain has been searching for the oyster. The pearl was not made in a day</span>.</span><br /><span style="font-size:78%;"></span><br /><span style="font-size:78%;"></span><br /><span style="font-size:78%;"></span><br /><span style="font-size:78%;"></span><br /><span style="font-size:78%;"></span>Dhirajhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11239425233622910577noreply@blogger.com2