My Platonic Antipathy

Men ~ there are so many kinds of em !

2010-09-04T17:25:00.000+05:30

Hard working men are dili-GENT,
Smart workers are intelli-GENT

Agreeable ones are conver-GENT,
Rebellious one are insur-GENT,
Radical thinkers are tan-GENT

Rulers are re-GENT,
Middle men are a-GENT,
Poor ones are indi-GENT

Some men are pun-GENT,
cos they are negli-GENT,
others use deter-GENT

Control freaks are strin-GENT,
Easy to yield are indul-GENT

Bright men are efful-GENT,
Ones still rising are emer-GENT

& some just don't quit, they are resur-GENT !!

MS - the dancing Madonna

2010-08-21T20:00:00.000+05:30

MS had always been a dancer. The music never mattered; it could be rock n' roll, blues, pop, bollywood peppy numbers, she loved them all. She would close her eyes and with a blissful smile begin to move to her own sense of rhythm. Her smile so fresh as if she's just heard the first joke of her life. It was always pretty to see her sway to her own mental notes. She never worried about a partner, MS danced by herself. As if her soul and her body were the two partners, dancing in sync with each other.

We went to a discotheque once. They had flashing lights, booming speakers, crowd comprising of mostly students and loud music. Whatever music was playing, MS moved effortlessly on the floor. Her smooth twists and twirls would have made any good gymnast admire and envy her at the same time. On another occasion she played some number on youtube over the laptop speakers and danced in the room. She commanded the whole floor, moving back and forth like a Gopika in her bhakti trance; until sweat was dripping down the middle of her back. I was lost in the moment and took a while to applaud her when she finished.

Dancing with MS was a challenge. It was a communication class. There were no exams or grades but you were supposed to answer the questions raised in her movements and also expected to pose your own. There were no books, yet many topics were covered, including faith, trust, work, family, aging, love, forgiveness and even death. She taught the meaning of life, the final bridge between life and death being narrated in her moves. She was a research if only one could study her dancing and learn. The last lecture was very brief though. It felt like a funeral procession instead of a graduation ceremony. The dancing stopped.

Rain !!

2010-07-02T16:54:00.000+05:30

I watched with amazement as rain droplets covered the window and a thick stream dripped right at the center of the pane. Sipping my cuppa, I leaned in closer to hear the a-la nightingale sound, awaiting my flight departure at the Mumbai airport. I watched the bubbles rise in the puddles with amazement as each drop made a spatter. In my mind, the professional said ~ 'what the heck, another flight delay'; but soon the kid overpowered him and said ~ 'let's enjoy one of the greatest gift of nature, Rain !!' I soon forgot my trivial worries in the grandiose sight and the anticipation of the sweet smell that would permeate from the soil beneath.

As a kid, I always loved rains, jumping in the puddles, sliding over the wet mosaic of the balcony. It was time to play games other than cricket in the colony playground. I loved watching the rain wet the leaves and cleanse the trees, rocks and buildings. I would imagine the Rainbow to be a huge seven colored swing on which the rain-god took a ride. Some of my most memorable walks have been in the rain. All wet, I would lift my head to the sky and let the rain fall on my face with my mouth open wide, as if requesting heaven to pour out its nectar of life.

Even after the rain is gone, the cool zephyr would fill the home; the surroundings become so clear as if everything has been given a fresh top-coat; the sound of the water as it gushes through the drainpipes in the neighborhood, the moistness at the corners of the windows and walls, all affirming that GOD was here and she showered her catalyst of growth and life today.

I guess everyone loves rain for some reason or the other. It's amazing how a simple phenomenon of precipitation continues to give ~ inspiration to poets, imagination to artists, free irrigation to farmers, brings life to the half dead - half open buds, quench of thirst to the 'Chataka' (mythological bird that drinks only rainwater), food diggers get an excuse for relishing 'Pakoras', kids get to sail there 'Kagaj ki kashtis' and get drenched in Nature's love shower and all living things get respite from the harsh summer.

To me, being in the rain revitalizes my soul. The lyrics of Madonna's song quite aptly describe my feelings:

Feel it on the finger tips
Hear it on the window pane
Let love come down like, Rain

Wash away the sorrow
Take away the pain
Let love come down like, Rain !!

I'm looking forward to the monsoon ........... I hope it comes soon !!

Manjistha - My journey with an Angel

2010-06-27T16:58:00.004+05:30

Travel by Indian Railways has become miserable. Dirty compartments, security is practically non-existent, disabled unfriendly, ever stooping level of service by railway staff; and GOD bless if one visits the toilet. I'll save my criticism for another time but I hope DIDI (or the next Railway minister) will do something, sometime.

Anyways, so here I was travelling to my hometown after months, feeling nostalgic, stressed (thanks to local Delhi conveyance), but looking forward to a relaxing weekend at home. There was still some time for the train to depart, but I decided to settle down on my side lower berth, took out 'The story of my experiments with truth' and began to read Gandhiji's experiences and events in apartheid South Africa. Just as the train began its slow departure from the platform, I was joined by a sweet 4 yr old girl accompanied by her smartly dressed mother. Just one look at Manjistha (her name, that I came to know of later) told me that Gandhiji will have to wait for my return journey, as I was already lost in her black eyes and innocent charm.

They both settled opposite me and it wasn't long before I stuck a conversation with Manjistha's mother. As it turned out they were also from Gwalior and she knew a lot of people in my locality. Coincidently, she also knew a lot of professors from my engineering college as they had studied together. Thankfully though, she hadn't heard of my misdemeanors either in Gwalior or my college.

So, once the ice was broken and maa was at ease with the stranger, me and Manjistha started chatting. Soon she came over to my side of the berth and started playing with my mobile. I was amazed at this toddler's ability to learn the functions of such a complex technological gadget in a matter of mere minutes. After a snack break, we started singing poems and jingles together; she even told me a story about a dog called Comet. I was laughing and enjoying this so much that no passenger in the audible vicinity had any doubt about who the bigger kid was.

Manjistha got tired after a while and decided to snuggle into me for her nap, still holding onto my mobile in her hands. A tear formed in the corner of my eye as she hugged me in her sleep without any fear, trepidation or concern. What a fool I was to have missed this platonic bliss while T was there. I played with her hair while the angel slept in complete abandon to the earthly issues of time, money and resources; that me and her mother kept discussing.

The train was about to reach our destination when she woke up. She was feeling hungry and decided to munch popcorns. When I casually declined her offer, she pushed one right into my mouth and didn't lower her hand till I had finished eating it .......... 'Ek popcorn ka woh dana, sukh de gaya mujh ko manmaana'. I guess for children, kindness is impulsive. They know that what you give with all your heart return to you blessed and multiplied.

Unfortunately, like all times, this journey too came to an end as we reached Gwalior by late evening. As we started deboarding, I held her in my arms to save her from the in-rush. I bid adieu to Manjistha and her mother after we got down and started to head home. That little girl and her sweet hug will stay in my heart forever. Btw, her mother told me that Manjistha actually means a medicinal herb (could there be a better name). Who knows what she may grow up to be, but to me, Manjistha will always be an angel and a sweet memory of love and compassion.

Morning After !

2009-03-21T23:57:00.005+05:30

amazing we were, together and alone

much was left to be said and done

was impossible not to be overcome

hearts were beating, hands went numb

forgive me if I felt that way

we've just met - tell me that's ok

and wud you mind if I bared my soul

came out and said you're beautiful

and......

I can't resist your sweet smile

pure and soothing like river nile

how I get so lost (in it) after a while

(and now)

I can't think of anything ending in ...ile

we have our own past and present

and they may be a little different

I may not exactly understand

what was said, what was meant

so we may have our little fights

(but) can't we together turn it upright

there may be ups as well as downs

as the band goes from town to town

life is like a roller-coaster ride

so fasten the belt - just hold on tight

if we can see through the dark night

the morning will be bright sunlight !!

The Break-up

2009-02-26T15:39:00.003+05:30

I watched with awe and amazement as she came out of her hiding place. First a little peep over the ledge and then her whole absolutely symmetrical body. A perfectly blonde head and a body one could die for. White as a virgin island's sand. I stared at her with admiration and fear. She had changed the course of my life. Everyone said that she was killing me softly without me realizing it.

At first, like all bachelors, even I just wanted to hang around with her and show her off as my new found love. I was successful too. I raised many eyebrows but at the same time I was shit scared of introducing her to my family, even as “just a friend”. We met scarcely in the beginning but gradually we bumped into each other more often, sometimes unwillingly, at other times through a common friend. We grew close, so close that I was addicted to her.

Days passed into weeks, into months, into years. We were together all the time. She accompanied me to my office, to the movies, shopping, parties, even to my bed. We were inseparable. I felt great but inside me a feeling of guilt was beginning to rise. I used to get tired very soon and my mood was always cranky. At first I thought it was because of my close association with her but then I realized it was much more. She always stood by me in my times of distress and was of great help too.

It was only later that I realized that all this while, it was she who was killing me softly every time I kissed her. The realization made me reach a conclusion finally. I had to break up with my love. I didn’t want to, but I had to. I had no other option. She was great with me and we had some great times but now she must leave me alone. She was too good to be ignored and I was sure that she would have already chosen her next partner by now. I finally collated all the courage I could and decided to confront her with the harsh truth of breakup.

Sitting at my favorite place in the campus, the roof top of my hostel, wearing an old torn jeans and the XL T-shirt, I pulled her out from where she was hiding behind me. Looking at her, I felt sorry, she was so innocent and yet…….. I had to kill her.

“What’s the matter darling?” she asked me with the most tender care and utmost love.

“My love,”, I said kissing her lightly, “I have to leave you now. It’s been a long time and we had a heavenly experience. We were a match made for each other”

“Oh yes we were and we still are…. Then why do you want to leave me? You know how much I love you and how much you love me. Please don’t leave me now… ”.

“Im sorry my love but I have made a decision”, one more passionate kiss.

“Why? Have you found someone else? Is there someone who can make you happier, remove your sorrows the way I can? Help you in times of pain?”

“Maybe there is someone else, maybe not. Forget it, you won’t understand coz you don’t have a heart.”, another kiss, a brief one this time.

She said “I loved you more than anyone ever did. You will be sorry for this.”

I could feel her heat in my hands, in my fingertips and could sense the fire running within her. I had to stay calm. She was now withering away and I was almost there… My goal was almost reached….

After a few more kisses and heated words I finally was able to convince her. “Goodbye” I said and sent her tumbling down four floors. She watched me as she descended the distance until finally her head struck the floor below. Red sparks flew and my love, the cigarette bud, died without a sound. I succesfully broke up with my love, yet again !!

Want to marry a working woman

2008-02-13T11:18:00.003+05:30

Please remember these simple facts.

Here is a girl, who is as much educated as you are. Who is also earning almost as much as you do.

One, who has dreams and aspirations just as you have because she is as human as you are.

One, who has never entered the kitchen in her life just like you or your sister haven't, as she was busy in studies and competing in a system that gives no special concession to girls for their culinary achievements.

One, who has lived and loved her parents & brothers & sisters, almost as much as you do, for 20-25 years of her life.
One, who has bravely agreed to leave behind all that, her home, people who love her, to adopt your home, your family, your ways and even your family name.

One, who is somehow expected to be a master-chef from day #1, while you sleep oblivious to her predicament in her new circumstances, environment and that kitchen.
One, who is expected to make the tea, first thing in the morning and cook food at the end of the day, even if she is as tired as you are, maybe more, and yet never ever expected to complain.
To be a cook, a mother, a wife, a caretaker even if she doesn't want to; and is learning just like you are as to what you want from her; and is clumsy and sloppy at times and knows that you won't like it if she is too demanding, or if she learns faster than you.

One, who has her own set of friends, and that includes boys and even men at her workplace too, those, who she knows from school days and yet is willing to put all that on the back-burners to avoid your irrational jealousy, unnecessary competition and your inherent insecurities.

Yes, she can drink and dance just as well as you can, but won't, simply because you won't like it, even though you say otherwise.

One, who you expect can be late from work, only when dead.

Be grateful & generous to her, cause she does all of this without cribbing or complaining (she made have a few mood swings), only for you and the happiness of your family.

Twenty20 - this is the future !

2007-09-23T23:00:00.000+05:30

Cricket, has come a long way today. What used to be a gentlemen’s game played between two sides, leisurely for 5 days, (and would often still end without a result!) has today been reduced to a three hour battle of skills, nerves and teamwork. Reduced, but only in the span of the playing time, and it has gained a significant lot in the bargain. Back in 1970’s The 5 day long test matches were shortened into one-dayers, which promised a lot more excitement, and most importantly - a result. It drew larger crowds, and gradually became the face of the game. But over the last decade, the game was becoming monotonous in its approach, and the little changes like the power-plays et all were unable to bring any more spark to this day long event. It was becoming predictable, with the Aussies ruling the roost for more than a decade on the trot.

There was a clear call for change, and as always, it came from the Home of Cricket – English county. Move over one-dayers, here comes the Twenty20. A reduced format of the one-day game; this one is a hell lot more exciting, challenging and dynamic. The signs were ominous right from the start that version 3.0 was going to be a hit. The first Twenty20 game held at Lord's in 2005 attracted a crowd of 26,500; the largest attendance for any county cricket game other than a one-day final since 1953. While still in its infancy; here are a few statistical highlights from the first world TWENTY20, currently being held in South Africa.

Highest team score: 260/6, by Sri Lanka against Kenya. (13 runs on an average per over)
Highest win margin: 10 wickets, Aus Vs SL (58 balls remaining. It got over real fast.)
Fastest half-century: 12 balls, by Yuvraj Singh. ( Are you kidding me ?)
Fastest century: 50 balls, by Chris Gayle. (That had 10 mighty sixes in it.)
Highest number of runs scored off an over: 36, by Yuvraj Singh (6 out of 6)
Highest number of sixes hit in a team innings: 14, Australia against England.
Biggest six: 119 meters, by Yuvraj Singh. (That went some distance !)
And we’ve already witnessed the first hat-trick. Brett Lee, for Australia against Bangladesh.

Add to this, the fireworks in the stadium, cheer leaders dancing to fours and sixes, and what you get is a 3 hour fanfare for every spectator on the ground. Clearly this third generation of cricket offers all that was missing in the earlier two formats. No wonder it is drawing some of the biggest crowds ever witnessed in the history of South African cricket. As the first edition of the ICC world Twenty20 moves into the finals today, it’s INDIA Vs PAKISTAN. The biggest rivalry of cricket in modern times, it doesn’t get bigger than this. Call it coincidence, but the fact is that these two countries support more than 85% of the worldwide cricket viewership and revenue. Here it’s not a sport, it’s a religion!! (A big factor to the dismal viewership of the Caribbean World cup was the early exit of both these teams.)

In a short span of two years, this format has tumbled a lot of records, (both on the field and off it). Viewership (& game follow-ups) is the most important factor for the stability of any sport, and if the recently published TRP’s of TAM, for the ongoing ICC World Twenty20, are any indications, this format is here to stay for a long time. A direct impact is that the advertizing rates have scaled newer height, and this tournament has drawn the best advertizing revenues, considering the recent past. Even the betting market is hot, and the bookies are left with little choice, but to upgrade their systems to match the fast pace of the game. Unlike one-dayers, here the odds change with every ball, every shot, every wicket, and that too considerably. (The bookies ain’t complaining tough, they’ll gladly do the needful.) But the biggest factor of all, for me is that it has brought the spectators back to the stadium.

I think while it keeps selling around, and keeps entertaining the spectators with their presence at cricket matches, it means Twenty20 will be very successful and will gain a lot of popularity. The players like it, the spectators like it, the bookies like it, and I think it is here to stay at the moment. But it is important that we keep it in the box that it's in. Its fun, and that is what cricket should be, and if gets another generation of cricketers (young people), through to watch, then it is the best thing that can happen to cricket.

AYE DIL HAI MUSHKIL JEENA YAHAN …

2007-08-15T19:51:00.000+05:30

My recent visit to BOMBAY

I first came to this city – Bombay, when I was 20, and have been here a few times since then. It’s a place in India I am proud of – lowest crime rates, women safety, sociable people, the list is endless. Every time I come here, I feel I should have been born here. Despite jibes about overcrowding, matchbox housing, sardonically packed trains, perennially repaired roads, one off criminal incidents, I hold firm that Bombay is not about space or basic amenities (or the lack of it), but more importantly about the resilience and courage of its inhabitants.

Over 75% work attendance after the BLACK FRIDAY and the more recent LOCAL BLAST clears the doubt, if any, that Mumbaikars (people who work in Bombay, no pun intended) are not easily terrorized or beaten. This is my tribe, this is where I belong, there’s nowhere else on this earth I’d rather be.

But this time when I came to the shores of the Arabian Sea, I discovered new things, and I’ve realized that all the platitudes are exaggerated and oversimplified. So much has been said about the spirit of the people here – hour long TV shows, short films, newspaper columns, but beneath all the top stories lies a hard reality. This is not a friendly city, this is the Maximum City and has the ability to make money, and the people here are – “to get rich or die trying”. This is the real reason why cab drivers will drop a girl safely at 2am, instead of taking her down a dark alley.

Step back and take one look at the city when it’s not in disaster management mode. People here are not involved unless it means – “ROKDA”. That's why every one is rushing somewhere. This is a selfish city, the homes are clean, but the streets are dirty, filled with garbage and lined with PAAN stains. The houses are glaring of DIWALI luminance, but the street lights are out. Driving past a road accident, people often wonder – “should I stop and help” (is it worth the hassle!), but somewhere each one wishes that someone would stop and help.

It’s a tolerant city though; it tolerates all nuisances - poor roads, pathetic living conditions in slums, citizens being stabbed and looted in public, improper governance and corrupt politicians (the value flows down the line from there). The citizen here needs to stop tolerating. The space will never increase, the population always will, the politician may never be incorrupt, but then a city is only as great as its inhabitants. The only justice we can do to Mumbai is by being the real Mumbaikars – not only in headlines at the time of crisis but at all times.

In the movie Gladiator, Rome was defined as an idea, an idea so fragile that it could disappear even if you whisper it. Bombay is an idea too – a place where one could work, live and prosper, irrespective of caste, sexual preference or ethnicity. In the national budget the finance minister said India Inc. has plans to make Mumbai - the Gateway to India. The marketing brochure remains the same, but somewhere the product has changed.

The reality of REALTY

2007-08-05T20:25:00.000+05:30

Are we building HOMES or just SHOW CASES ??

It’s been a long journey from a dream destination, to a personality statement of sorts – but a little glimpse at any up-market magazine, real estate pages or even a stroll through the city malls on a weekend will reveal the change in the way the Urban Indian consumer looks at their home – the so called SWEET HOME.

Rising income levels, increased employment opportunities, tax incentive on housing loans, lower interest rates, double income, and transition from joint families to nuclear families are the reasons for this change. Add to this the rising aspirations of the urban middle class and an egoistic desire to own and enjoy things ‘now’. The result – an explosion in the real estate prices with metros and their suburbs witnessing over 30% CAGR over the last 5 years. The sector looks promising for the years to come.

But let’s talk about the more humane side of the picture; remember those HINDI movies of 70’s & 80’s with that typical ‘neelami’ scene, where the family ‘izzat’ was being auctioned off. What was being sold off was not merely a piece of land with a structure, but the very nest of one’s family. The place which was both the origin and the final destination, where you would be born and eventually die. The ‘khandan ka chirag’ would take over the reins thereafter. The home signified stability along with prosperity. Generations came and went but the family abode stood firm. A small confirmation of the same is that most of us, the Indian youth still quote their ‘parental home’ as their ‘permanent address’ when filling out various forms.

It mattered little that whether the home was big or small, decorated or simple; it was like a mother who is never beautiful or ugly, but just a mother. A home had little to do with beauty, as the family was the reflection of the home and not vice versa. At festive times, the home would be refurbished with a pretended newness. It needed to look well looked after rather than look beautiful. Even today a majority of us look forward to, and travel back to our ‘parental home’ in festive time, if only in the name of ‘quality family time’ and ‘taking a break out of our busy work schedules’.

Today a majority of the first time house buyers are between 30-35 years. They have a very strong urge to show off. The Indian youth today travels widely and sees what is available where. He/She wants to have everything to their taste and are willing to pay that extra buck for that. The idea of a home today is one of perpetual progress; the home is never fully realized, but always in the stage of becoming. We sell and buy our houses, see them as empty spaces to be filled with our tastes and loveliness, till it’s time to move into a bigger one. It has become a mirror of our evolving selves.

Today the Indian youth wants to shun off the label of mediocrity and wants to stand a brand apart. If Swiss watches, imported sedans, French Perfumes, Polaroid sunglasses & the latest Nokia are means to do that, homes are not left far behind. Every element of the home is today being used as a potential site to show off, from the positioning of the La-Opala crockery to the placement of the waste paper basket. The bathroom, which was traditionally placed outside the sanctity of the home, is now its shining jewel. ‘Good taste’ in an apartment comes from 3 shades of Italian marble, contrasting plastic paints on walls (gone are the days of cream and white) and a Jacuzzi sprinkled bathroom. We are living in a time where home is all about brand visibility; Legrand switches, HR Johnson tiles, Parryware sanitary, Bombay Dyeing home furnishings are loud advertisements of the esteem of the owner. Our pride comes from the individuality of the singular objects in the house, rather than the totality of the effect. Today the more is better, and we just keep filling the empty spaces, without a sense of what is appropriate and what isn’t, and more importantly what is required and what isn’t. The home has become a collection of objects and not a unified space.

Moving forward I believe that the idea of a personal signature should evolve, and personal confort shall become the key discriminator. Though the people will continue to speculate the value of the house owner based upon the visibility factor, but stuffing the home with objects will not be enough. The coming years shall see reestablishment of the idea of home coming - a place to heave a sigh of relief !!

AIM Match box.

2007-05-27T22:12:00.001+05:30

Everyone needs some homour in life, and it's found in the most strange places. I found these lines on the backside of the AIM Match Box. KUDOS to the manufacturers !!

Butcher's window display - "Let me meat your needs."
When you laugh, the world laughs with you, but when you cry, the world laughs louder.
I was always wear my wife's specs, she wants me to see things from her eyes.
In the corporate world, every VISION has an equal and opposite REVISION.