Quo Vadis ?

This where I am (other than being here), this September…

I am reading:

• Open Secrets – India’s Intelligence unveiled by Maloy Krishna Dhar
• Shotokan's secret – The hidden truth behind Karate's fighting origin by Dr.Bruce Clayton
  
• Too Loud, Too Bright, Too Fast, Too Tight by Sharon Heller

I am listening to:

• My wife, as always…
• Byrds, Kadri Gopalnath on the CD Changer (Turn, Turn, Turn – both lyrically and musically is just a great song)
• Old Tamil Songs, PF, Eagles, S&G in my car
• Bruce S, Enigma etc on the PC (if I ever get around to sit at my desk)

I am amused by:

• People who are amused that Lalu has been invited to IIM, having pigeon-hole’d him
• This picture joke that someone sent me
• How we argue D/L method is a useless one when India loses one on that

I am amazed by (or I'm humbled by):

• The creativity in the blog-land
• The complexity of creating a new business

I am frustrated by:

• Being part of Bangalore’s traffic problem – I’m going with the flow (eh ?)
  
• Having to temporarily suspend Karate due to injury and having to opt for poor substitute (running)
• The complexity of creating a new business

I am intrigued by and drawn to:

• The mysticism of oriental martial arts
  
• The economic opportunity in India
  
• The complexity of creating a new business

I am impressed by:

• New breed of Tamil directors who experiment themes that aren’t black and white and dwelve in wide spectrum of grey (saw பட்டியல், திருட்டு பையலே, தலைநகரம் recently)
• Vijay’s comic timing in கில்லி (reminded me of Rajni in தம்பிக்கு எந்த ஊரு)

I am still impressed by (continue to be):

• Dravid’s Technique and his level-headed approach
• Watching US Open and
Wimbledon, Federer’s brilliance, even when he is struggling (make that quadruple-y impressed)

Decade-End..

Anyone here know north east corner of Harmony and College ?
Anyone here know about such a corner in Fort Collins ?
Anyone here know what/where is Fort Collins ?

Fort Collins is a sleepy old university town about 80miles north of Denver, at the foothills of the Rockies. With a total population of people equivalent to what you can find in Commercial street in Bangalore during festival times.

The monument (in the picture alongside), that exists in the north east corner of the Harmony and College road in Fort Collins has significant historical importance. If not for the whole world, it does definitely for me. For everyone else, its a gast station, for me its something more...

Flashback:

This was one of the typical new year resolutions that one vows at the start of every new year and by Pongal the resolution goes 'govinda, goinda'. I had unerringly taken this resolution every year. At one time, I had even made it upto தமிழ் new years day. It was a cycle that was repeated nicely and I was in a groove (or rut - but then, thats a point of view). Then, in a flash of brilliance, a colleague of mine and I decided to have that resolve starting that very next week. He did get through, but I followed my usual resolution pattern and broke it within the first 5 days itself.

Then I had to travel to Fort Collins on work. My supply from India lasted the whole week nicely. On that fateful "good" friday my supplies eventually ran out. On way back from work, to replenish it, I had stopped at this monument.

Then at the spur of the moment, I stepped out without buying that pack of Marlboro; I had walked out of that gas station. I had quit smoking. It was 6th Sept 1996.

Flashnow:

I am in Fort Collins. Today as I drove with another colleague of mine through that spot, I had pointed that out to him. Then I realized it was Sept 6th, exactly 10 years after.

I recall somone who had asked me what my achievement was (please note the singular inference in their question); Ignoring their hints, I tell them its two of them. One, that I quit smoking. Two..., well its covered elsewhere in the blog as "Black Thursday".

Perhaps, five years from now, I'd still be writing - blogs or otherwise; if that happens, that would be the third; or even learn to play a musical instrument !!

Enough for a lifetime, I guess...
____________________________________________________

ps: For another day, i'll probably write on test of temptations during the first two weeks, after quitting...

Vanavasam...

Whatever, I can never become that, even if I aspire to:

I cannot have the patience of the oak tree, that is shown when tackling adversity...
I cant be so devoted to someone with zeal that pales passion into looking ordinary...
I cant be so strong on something thats as significant as life, at the same time so fragile with something thats so unimportantly insignificant...
I cant imagine that I give up some material joys, so that someone else can lead a better life...
There are many things that I cant be. But you are...

I'm sure when the apple-of-your-eyes grows up, he would (be able to) look back in awe for what you have done for him. For us.

Happy Anniversary!!! Heres to Banishing you to another spell of 'வநவாசம்' !!!

[No comments :) ]

The Mist

She walked briskly. At that hour, the pathway alongside the lake hadn't begun to fill with the early morning walkers. She searched the faces. Would he be there?

Last night at the art show, he had said, "Ever since I moved to Bangalore, I go to the Ulsoor lake to jog every morning. Half an hour and I am ready for what the rest of the day brings."

His smile had crinkled his face and she has ached to touch the corner of his lip.

She paused for a moment and stared at the islands that dotted the lake. When she was growing up, she had always wanted to spend a day there by herself.

What am I doing here? She asked herself. I barely know him.

She stepped out onto the road and began walking home. At the corner, a car slowed down. The tinted windows slid slowly down. Shalini peered into the car, through the early morning veil of mist, beyond the sliding windows – it wasn’t Dev; it was a middle-age gent peering at her; Shalini quickly turned her head away, hid her disappointment.

It was a cool early October morning with a very light drizzle – she drew the parka over her head and thought again, ‘what am I doing here, I hardly know him – this is really pathetic and stupid ! I’m 29 and I’m falling head over heels…’, she smiled wryly and muttered aloud, ‘…all over again’.

She had earlier met Dev briefly at the art school where she taught – he was a businessman, appeared to be in early 30s with a keen eye and interest for paintings. About a month ago she had bumped into him at an art gallery. She had talked to Dev for about 30 minutes – she found him to be interesting, engaging and very thoughtful; she didn’t think he was handsome, but he had a certain charm about him – Shalini attributed that to the kindness his eyes had exuded. Then last night she had met him in the art show; and at the after-show dinner, he was at her table. The discussion meandered around various topics – food, health, tea and some on the art fraternity. Shalini had decided then that she would accidentally bump him to him at the Ulsoor lake. She had come in around 6.30AM this morning, realized the futility of bumping into Dev around the vastness of space around the lake, listlessly done some work-out and was now returning home disappointed.

As she walked back, her mind drifted to her past – losing her mother early, growing up with her father and her disappointments. Sometimes, Shalini wished that her father had remarried, so that she would have had a women’s influence in her life. Shalini was a very gawky kid growing up, physically much uncoordinated. When she was in school, she ached to belong to a clique, but was always in the fringes. Her father tried to help, but it was only so much she could talk to him. As she grew, she appeared to become more gauche. All her lack of grace seemed to even out by her natural talent and flair for painting and art. She produced art that epitomized elegance and allure. At college, she found herself getting interested with one of her college mates and slowly falling in love with him. She soon found out that falling for someone has to be two-way; and for her it usually ended up as a one-way street. It seemed that because of her inherent niceness, lot of people loved her for she was, but never did one fall in love with her. Lonelier after her father’s death, Shalini also ended up writing a lot of poetry and notes that were locked away in her diary. She had so much love to give and the lack of reciprocity left a dull aching in her all time. Ever a romantic, it did not deter from hope that she would find the right man. The right man was always around the next corner.

Shalini was jolted back to the present by a barking dog. She still found poor visibility ahead of her due to the cool fog. The mist cover reminder her of her own life. It wasn’t very clear what the future held for her. She wondered…

Beyond this mist,
Would there be a tryst?
Not with a pot of gold,
Just his hand to hold.

“That was crap”, she told herself; If only she were a bit more elegant, if only she was less clumsy, if only she were to carry herself better, if only she wasn’t the Jassi… Life, it seemed to her, were full of precluded possibilities! Somehow time had stopped still for her and she remained an ugly duckling ! “Clichéd !!”, she muttered out aloud, and added, “I should stop talking to myself aloud” and broke into a smile at the paradox.

Shalini turned into the St.John’s road and was close to her apartment block. At the entrance to her apartment, she found her way blocked by someone. She looked up

“Hello, Good morning – I was in the vicinity I thought I’d drop by and give you the book”

It was Dev in his track-suit, holding a book on contemporary Indian art, with that smile.

[From here-on, I've two possible closures - tell me which one you'd like to see]

______________________ [Ending 1] ________________________

“To be honest, that was just an excuse, I was hoping to see you and perhaps have that special tea you were talking over dinner last night”, Dev continued with mischief in his eyes and the crinkle in the corner of his mouth.

Shalini managed to say, “oh sure, do come in”.

As she looked up, she also saw that the bright sun was beginning to break through and the fog was clearing.

______________________ [Ending 2] _________________________

“To be honest, that was just an excuse, I was hoping to see you and perhaps have that special tea you were talking over dinner last night”, Dev continued with mischief in his eyes and the crinkle in the corner of his mouth.

Shalini managed to say, “oh sure, do come in”.

"One sec", Dev said and turned around to wave towards a car parked a few yards away. He continued, "I want to you to meet my fiancee..."

As Shalini looked through the veil at the car, she just could make out the person's contours - it was blurred. She could not decide, if it was due to the mist that suddenly seemed denser or her tears.

_______________________________________________________

Past Imperfect, Present Tense.

As I was flipping through the channel on late Sunday night (the 20^th Aug 2006), I caught a set of surprised TV commentators who were talking about history about to be made.. I got a call from a colleague asking me if I was watching the idiot-box – I sure was, with morbid fascination of what was about to unfold at the Brits Oval ground in England. It was the 4^th test between Pakistan and England – Pakistan having gained a huge first innings lead, were in driver seat, with the last of English recognized batting pair at the wicket. One more wicket they’d have breached and England were still 30-odd runs in deficit. Tea was taken and Pakistan refused to take the field after the tea-time.

The trigger being, earlier the umpires – there was no doubt in anyone’s mind that it was Darrel Hair, who was driving the agenda – had called for a ball replacement; the fielding captain, Inzi was given no explanation as to why the ball was being changed; after the change Hair awarded five penalty runs to the batting side – which clearly implied that he was docking Pakistanis for ball tampering. I caught another TV snippet yesterday that had Hair following the bowler walk-back to the top of his run very intently – he obviously was very convinced that the Pakistanis were tampering with the ball. The problem however is this – in the age of legal challenges and the need for substantive proof rather than circumstantial evidence, the 26 cameras on field had not caught a single Pakistani fielder or bowler scratching the ball; the fact that the ball was 55 overs old and it had some natural wear and tear and the fact that it has been hit onto the stands by hard hitting Pietersen could have resulted in the scruffing that Hair was indicating to the other umpire Billy Doctrove (an inept umpire if I may add).

Pakistanis felt naturally aggrieved and wanted to stage a protest. After a confusing period of events that gets stated in a different chronological order depending on whose side one is on, the umpires had called of the match and awarded the test match to England, since according to them, Pakistan had forfeited the match as they failed to turn up after tea. This was the first forfeiture in the history of cricket.

After all the froth and fury on either side, let us take a look at the past record of both parties. Hair’s run-in with the teams from the sub-continent and his apparent policing of sub-continent teams more sternly; and that of Pakistan’s record in the ball-tampering saga (event details, thanks to Cricinfo).

First, Mr. Hair:

Australia v Sri Lanka, December 1995: Hair called Muttiah Muralitharan for an illegal action seven times during the Boxing Day Test at Melbourne. Murali was brought on from the other end but was not called by Steve Dunne. At the tea interval on the second day, Hair told the Sri Lankans that he was prepared to call Murali from the striker's end [which implies that Hair had already made up his mind that Murali throws]

November 1998: In his autobiography, Decision Maker, Hair noted that Murali's action was 'diabolical' .

New Zealand v Pakistan, January 2004: Hair and fellow umpire Billy Bowden reported Shabbir Ahmed, the Pakistan fast bowler, for a suspect bowling action.

England v Pakistan, August 2006: The match in discussion.

Now to the Pakistan team:

The English tour of 1991 (?) – When Wasim, Waqar and Aquib Javed were suspected of ball tampering, because they could get the ball to reverse swing prodigiously throughout the tour. Pakistani’s had attributed to the heavy overcast weather through the tour and to their ability.

Waqar Younis Pakistan v South Africa, Singer Cup, 2000: Received a one ODI ban and was fined 50% of his match fee. Azhar Mahmood was fined 30% of his match fee for "abetting'' Waqar in the same match. Moin Khan, the Pakistan captain, was also severely reprimanded.

Six Pakistan players fined for ball tampering Ramadan Cup, 2002: Naved Latif, Qaiser Abbas, Yasir Arafat, Sajid Shah, Zahid Saeed and Rao Iftikhar Anjum were found guilty of ball tampering during the Ramadan Cup domestic one-day cricket tournament in Pakistan.

Shoaib Akhtar New Zealand v Pakistan, Dambulla, 2003: Fined 75% of his match fee and banned for two one-day internationals for ball-tampering after television footage showed him scratching the surface of the ball during Pakistan's 22-run victory, over New Zealand, in the Bank Alfalah Cup.

Another theory is that the umpires started to watch closely after Alistair Cook was out LBW to Umar Gul after a reverse-swinging yorker got him plumb in from of the stumps. Strangely, when Simon Jones and Andrew Flintoff, used reverse swing so well in the 2005 Ashes series to defeat the all conquering Australians, there was no talk about ball tampering.

On the other hand, Pakistanis had not pulled out matches when both Waqar and Shoaib were fined; which does imply there is some substance to why they feel aggrieved this time.

To me this looks like a case of judging by past events. Cricketing-wise, I’ve seen Hair make some perfect decisions including on LBWs. I believe he is one of the competent umpires on decision making. I also believe that Pakistan cricket is getting its act together under Inzi and Woolmer and are converting their talent into results. This is the case of prejudices and biases on both sides that has clouded either of their judgments; and hence perhaps pushed truth to the background. It was a good fodder to all the TV channel, newspapers and people like me, who watched this with ghoulish interest as cricket degenerated. Sad, since test matches were again getting interesting moving away from the boring 5 day draws in the 80s and early 90s.

The next few days would be interesting – ICC would make its usual inane statements that have no relation to the reality of where the actual sponsors are. The boards will get arrayed on either side – one group with ICC and the other with PCB – hectic parleys would go on behind doors (perhaps such skill can actually be put to use to bring about World peace, I’d think); Both sides will talk at each other without trying to understand the cultural undertones of certain behaviours. We will all be left to wonder if the international cricket is headed towards Splitsville. As is wont these days, anything cricket is just not cricket; it has become anything but the actual game.

The Pall at Mall

[This story was published by Deccan Herald on 31/Dec/2006. The link is here (or):
http://archive.deccanherald.com/Deccanherald/Dec312006/artic1924120061230.asp]

I looked at my watch again. She had said 9.45. She was late. I looked around me. The mall wore a strange forlorn look. A cleaning woman mopped the floor. Her mouth drooped and her eyes stared at the floor as her hands moved pushing the mop this way and that.

What did she think of all that she saw here? I wondered. The abundance. The greed. Hungry mouths. Grasping hands… I shuddered. Malls frightened me.

"Are you out of your mind?" I had said when she suggested we meet at Garuda Mall.

"At that hour, you don't have to worry about the crowds," she had said with a laugh. "Think of it as a social experiment. A mall at an unmall-like hour. What happens there? Bring your notebook. You can make notes…"

I had smiled into the phone. Divya could be funny, and persuasive. Garuda mall was too much in the heart of the city and I had wanted to avoid driving in the Friday night traffic. So I had proposed a newer mall that had come up at the outskirts, still incomplete, but occupied enough with shops to loiter around; or help conduct ‘social experiments’ that Divya had suggested. She had agreed.

Here I was, waiting for Divya to turn up, biting into one of the small chocolate bars I had bought to satiate hunger and boredom – I had bought a couple for Divya as she loved those; As I was killing time going up and down the floors, shopping at windows that were downing their shutters, avoiding weird look from the shop keepers, I noticed something beyond the cleaning women. In one of the dimly lighted corners that had an offset into the toilet areas that was still incomplete.

There was this girl, about 10, wearing clothes that was neat, but clearly old and frayed at the corners. She was feeding the boy of, perhaps just over 2 years old. The way she ran up to the cleaning women, talked to her, it was obvious that the woman was her mother; with the mother busy, the girl had taken up the role of mothering her brother. Alongside the construction materials, there were a stack of papers, from which she picked one to clean-up her brother after the feed.

I settled down at the one of the ornate benches, and watched. As the women came closer to the seating area to clean-up, I lifted my legs up to help her swab the floor; she looked up to me in thanks and I smiled at her. She returned the smile reluctantly; her son came running up to her playing catch and run with her sister; the woman with a resigned admiration, like any other mother, let the kid climb over her and push her. I took one chocolate bar that I had and held it out for the kid – the kid looked to his mother for approval and tentatively took it – and then ran with unadulterated joy, screaming out his sister’s name.

I started making small talk with the cleaning women. In any case I was killing time, waiting for Divya to show up. In a few minutes, I heard the oft-said story about a poor woman in India – Santhamma’s husband was a drunkard and had left her only to return to beat her up for money. She takes care of her children; her daughter goes to school sporadically; but of late with her brother in the family the living was taking its toll. The daughter had started doing odd jobs and graduating to regular jobs. Santhamma was repentant that her daughter could not go to school, but she had no way out. Her daughter earned some money that helped feed the family and very basic needs and help retain their dignity; there was no help from any other quarters.

Santhamma moved on and yet no sign of Divya; I sighed and called her on the mobile and it was not reachable. “Damn Networks”, I muttered. I looked at my watch, it was 10.45 and the mall-security in his beat gave me the strange looks; there were just couple of shops still open.

I saw the girl do a ruck-sack kind of carrier around her back and she lifted it to her back along with her brother. She gave the sheaf of paper to her brother who playfully handed one to her, as she walked to every shop and slipped one under the door. It looked like some ‘notice’. I saw Divya walking in with a smile. I waved to her and motioned her to wait a while; as the girl moved closer to the shop behind me, curious, I reached out for the notice and took one to read it.

As I read it, I was stuck the incongruity of it; I could feel my anger rising – I was getting incensed. Then the futility hit me; and I laughed out loud, at the irony of it all. The girl, puzzled, went about her work that would help put food on the floor for the family.

Divya took the notice from my hand and read it aloud,

“Whomsoever it blah, blah… … Government of India blah, blah, …, ban any children under the age of 14 employed blah. You hereby have time till 30^th of September 2006 to comply with this order… blah”.

I walked up to the girl, gave her the remaining chocolate bar. Her eyes lit up. I quickly averted her eyes, took Divya’s hand and walked out of the mall. I’ve had my social experiment for the day, perhaps for a long time to come. As a 52 year old mother, holding my daughters hand, I had trouble deciding if the Government decision was right or wrong for someone else’s daughter.

_________________________________________________________________

Author’s Note: I wrote this story for http://www.refreshbangalore.com. The starting lines of the story were already published as a part of “kathe Korner”; that story needs to complete those lines. Those lines are the ones in italics.
The winning Story is at: http://www.refreshbangalore.com/shortwinner.asp

Deconstructing Shylock!

He wasn't aware,
Nor did he care
For that lilt from a bamboo
Those colors of a rainbow
That caress from the breeze
The quiet rustle of the leaves
That sounds of a mynah
The sweet smell of the flora
The world could dress itself in all glory,
Shylock would see dreary!
He would just walk away
from those that dont pay.
The colours he could ever see,
was that of money!!!

He knew he had a disdain,
Looking at the weak and pain,
That was until today;
Facing that child's stare.
Nor was he aware,
That something so forlorn
could breach his scorn,
That something so tall
could be in that heart that small,
holding him in thrall.
So much love, so much fear
in those eyes with a tear
Looking up in innocence
seeking his acceptance;
Apprehensive and yet bold,
wrapping fingers, in a unsure hold,
His cold apathy begins to sink.
The orphans eyes blink
and the tear drops falls -
The stone resolve stalls;
The moist's first diffident signs
Appears in Shylock's soul's confines.

The Writer's Block

The self-proclaimed and twice published author was in a quandary. He was going through a bad, bad writer’s block. He was sitting in most idyllic sorroundings that touched him, made him feel good and made him want to pay tribute to it; but still he could not write anything. EnGeeTham (not his real name, a pseudonym, if this writer may add), the author in question, pondered on, looked for all possible plots, but still could not come up with a plot that he could write on.

Engeetham was sitting on “The Ridge” at the Simla, watching the people go by, in an unhurried way - the locals and some tourists. It was start of the summer and he was told the tourist season had not yet begun. He saw that famous church picturised in several movies awash with a lovely glow of lights. He had been sitting there since the evening, but still had gotten no clue nor a divine intervention nor a bolt of lightning (although it was beginning to drizzle) for a story; but just failed to come up with a plausible plot.

Engeetham was captivated by Simla’s beauty. The mountains, the valleys, the pine trees, the greenery and the vast expanse of forest were a treat. The air seemed to cooler and cleaner. The surrounding areas around Simla, as one moves away from it was even more refreshing. The stillness of the air lent to the surreality that the life itself was going in a slow-motion; it seemed to add a time-dimension for him to step back and survey in a detached way. It was philosophical; yet he could not come up with a plot.

Engeetham has been in Simla for about a week then, with his family staying as guests in his friend’s parent’s house, along with the friend’s family. It was kind of first visit up to the hills and he had enjoyed it thoroughly. He also knew that his wife and kid too were enjoying the visit; the wife the hospitality and the scenery; the kid – the horse-rides, the new place, the yak-rides, the serene pine forests and ability to walk around. Engeetham knew his family was experiencing something different. He looked for angles there, but still no plot or a sign of a story.

Engeetham loved the simplicity of Simla. It was much uncomplicated and the flow was slow. People had time to do things and they were not rushing from here to there. People seem to take time off, even during the work-day to walk on the Mall road. Just walk up and down and have some ice-creams or any other such eats. It seemed one could have a lot for a lot less. The undulations on the road provided a lovely setting to watch the imposing and rising hills all around. He found it specifically very very strange yet child-like when people stopped on the streets, said hello, shook hands with their acquaintances and moved on their earlier trajectory (refer to mention of undulation above) of walking. Engeetham could sense a possibility there for a story; but try as he might, he just could not convert it.

Engeetham and wife were touched by their hosts; there was this endearing non-urban, village-like quality in them – the community feeling. They seem to have that something that urban population like himself seem to be yearning for – having the time, quality and willingness to care for someone other than themselves. He found his hosts were most welcoming. He was sure their visit has introduced chaos into their lives and intruded into their normalcy. In spite of inability to communicate effectively across the language barrier, it was still special. Engeetham’s wife was touched that his friend’s mother insisted that she buy a shawl as a parting gift. Where does this happen? Engeetham could see a possibility of human interest and emotions that the TV News channels effectively peddle these days. He thought hard, but still no cogent plot.

It was more than 2 months since they returned from the vacation. Today, Engeetham was on a plane, on a flight home, from one urban jungle to his home (another urban jungle) – Engeetham took one last attempt; but still nothing; He sighed, as hard as he may try, he just could not get a story out of it. As he gave up, it stuck him: YES !!! Here was the story, with that recommended twist in the narration towards the end of the story that Jeffrey Archer wrote in his Twists in the tale.

...Eureka !!!, Just convert the writer’s block and present it as a writer’s blog.

_________________________________________________________________
Authors Note :) Googling Writers Block spurts out 1000s of pointers. One interesting one is
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Writer's_block
Someday, this blog would appear in the top 8s list :) ;)

Metamorphocyst

Scene1: A few days ago, I came to know that my son loved a song from one of the recent tamil movies – the song is “Vazhai Meenuikkum Vilangu meenuikkum” from the movies Chittiram Pesudadi (which I thought is a pretty decent movie for director who is making his debut). The song itself is in the Gana genre of tamil songs (folksy). My wife had found an internet site from where he could play the song; but he knew if that something were to happen to the network connection, he can hear that song no more. So his goal was to get the song to play on “winamp”, as he calls it. Which implied a download session; and hence my project to download that song started. After googling for the song, after several aborted attempts including a network failure, I could download the song only on the 2^nd day of the project. As I had told him that I had downloaded the song, there was unmitigated joy in him. He was so happy, that he gave me a hug, sat next to me to hear the song out (a couple of times, if I may add, including restarting from the middle of the song again), and doing a sing-along. He was so glad that he could now hear the song regardless of how the network turns out – “its on the winamp”, as far as he was concerned. I looked at him and I could see that he was just overjoyed at that moment; unadulterated joy over a simple thing. Those were so exciting and fulfilling. No grand things. Be excited about one that touches one in away that is not fathomable. A clean refreshing statement on innocence.

Scene2: For the past month or so, I have been thinking of buying a new TV, partly influenced by the fact that one of my friend has bought a 36” Plasma TV; but mostly influenced by the need to have the progressive scan feature on my TV, so that my DVD player that has the feature of progressive scan is compatible with the TV; it gives clearer picture, I was told; and I needed better picture clarity of the DVD movies I would like to watch. So, did my DVD player have the progressive scan feature? It does now, after I replaced the older one, since the older one did not play some of the DVDs well enough. Now that my new player has a feature that cannot be enabled by the existing TV, I’m looking to replace the TV. My existing TV is a 29” model that is working perfectly (well, not so perfectly, but that’s my excuse anyways J ). So, the chain of wanting new things is now on. I wonder if the new TV would lead to connecting my home theatre and finding that I need a sub-woofer, which would perhaps leading to changing the whole speaker set; and perhaps then the upholstery… the possibilities are endless. All for that probable two hours in a week, utmost, of watching a DVD movie…

With human imagination and wants, like I said, possibilities are endless – we have reversed the natural cycle of evolution. We have learned to change from a beautiful butterfly to an ugly moth!!!

This past weak...

My work involves no death, no taxes and certainly no certainity. I've very little control on what I could accomplish (as a result) at work, but need to influence everyone around. Its mostly discovery process of finding out who today will find our concept to be useful, who would find it threatening, who would find it politically expedient or who would bless it but not throw hir weight behind it or... So, I go to work with an hope that the lightning would definitly not strike the 6th time. It is generally stressful, since there is no certainity around anything...

This past week, my non-work was far more worse that it made the work look saintly and a breeze ! It has been an emotional roller coaster; with a sense of disquietude. Something that had a probability of 0.00000001% to go wrong did not just go wrong, but went awry with 100% certainity. Along with the mice's, all my plans went south and awry.

It awashes you with a deep sense of futility particularly when you do not have control over the situation and you can only influence it to a minimal extent. The sense of helplessness is more pronounced since it is not about personal self, but some other person who is solely dependent on you and you are burdened with that accountability. Last week, I was running very hard to a stand-still. I was gasping at straws.

When you awaken in the morning, sometimes you have a sense of foreboding. You kind of know that today, at best would be no different from yesterday; the best it could become, is to get worse. And every day, dawn is unrelenting. It happens without a fail. Its the day that begins with hot sun, not a cloud in the sky with clear blue sky. I had complete blues in me.

Sometimes its good to be a loner. Sometimes its really not. The knot-times really stressful, when the Gods are merciful and painful and when they aren't. These are the times you wish you stop being strong for others and be strong for yourself. You wish you had your folks around so that you can have those uncomfortable silences of non-conversations. You atleast know that physical proximity is comforting - its your not-a-care-in-the-world return to innocence. Last week, I certainly caused consternation amongst my folks by calling them to come visit at the earliest.

I thought about the poem I read when I was in school. The poem was called the "Pulley" (iirc). Someone asked God as to why he messed up by creating complexity and sadness in the world, when he had the opportunity to create perfection. God had responded: those were the few pulleys that he had for the man to think about Him. I actually thought about visiting Tiruchendur sometime soon - just to sit in the outer praharam and gaze at the sparkling sea with the breeze. Ah, for that peace.

If you are a loner, sometimes you marvel at how that person can make friends. And how he can ask for a favour with no discomfort (and at the same time, how he would go out of the way to help his friends). It is tough, if you are a kind of person who typically are not used to asking for help. I looked at one such guy last week. Also, somehow I talked to him.

As it is said, once you have hit the rock bottom, found soft sands to sink a bit more and then innovatively could tunnel to plumb new depths, the only way is up. Once you hit the bottom, is when you perhaps ask for help, talk to someone, think about God, be a bit more positive. Not really sure if those are the right things; But for some reason, I did do all those. Was I gently nudged to do those ? By who ? I really dont have a clue. But on cue, on the Friday afternoon, the pieces started falling in rightful place. The puzzle is on course to completion, the picture is emerging; the picture isn't that bleak as I thought it to be, infact it isnt at all - the despair is getting to be weak and is falling away. Things can yet turn out well - there is Mr.Hope around; or is that Mr.God ?

(The Asterix on) The Divide*

* The Asterisk being simply my opinion; nothing to do with Goschinny and Uderzo

I am on the so-called impacted side of the divide, where I am being denied my rightful share. I've experienced first hand and I’ve been many a times told by my co-habitants on the affected part of the divide why reservation are bad for the country and dilutes the meritocracy mindset in the country.

Color me liberal, pseudo-secular or whatever. I relate to several instances that I’ve seen in the past: to me it is just not about the economics or if a person is well off and is able to afford an education. I believe it is about a mental state – of how aware one is about the need for education (any form of education) in an economy that is growing and becoming more and more global. I’ve seen instances where, in a situation where the awareness of the importance of education does not exist, typically kids and young men at an age do not have the right mentorship, guidance and control (where it is necessary) for them to make the right choices. This is not about if they have the financial support; it is one step beyond it – it is that mental support and push. There is no scaffold available for them to use. Typically, I find such young wo/men, inspite of all their effort, there is that intangible that they miss to get past the inflection point that turns the effort into results. It kind of gets to be a double whammy – this is the age when the hormones are at the highest raging point and the distractions are the highest; secondly there is no alternate and opposing control and context point that gives a true picture of current reality and future reality. If I take my own case, my father was pretty unrelenting on driving home the need for good education; he constantly gave me the context as to how the world is changing and pushed me in to situations where I was forced to get the context. He also ensured that there are necessary control points in my system. Environment around me, my sister, my cousins, my uncles and aunt were all in the same context and regardless of my own wish, I was constantly forced to see and live in it; so right at outset of the right age, I had some clarity on why education was important (not that I did much about it :) ).

Although I was for the policy all along, recently I’ve been more convinced for such a need; we are going through the painful rigours of change management at my work, I have internalized, that the "need for reservations" is not about economically and otherwise deprived. For I see, people all around me have the intent to change - but where the challenge comes in is in "the how to" and in "the what to change to" . It is just about how long does it take for a mental mindset to change! It is the ill-awareness of the amorphous end-state; that knowledge comes a about only by experience ; and experience comes in by constantly being in a situation where the changed-state is the natural state of being. I was told by a change-management expert that it normally takes about a year for a small group of people (in one hierarchy) to even internalize why a change is required. And for the organization to change its mindset it would take several years – this is in an industry that is not even 30 years old.

In India, we are talking about a huge population who has been in a different and stereotyped (and perhaps subjugated ?) mindset, been on the receiving end for eons of several generations, denied the basic education and access to richness of our culture and literature. With this background, somehow, it is not intuitive for me that the change would happen in one generation. Just because the opportunities present itself does not imply it will be taken – the ecosystem where one grown up needs to have that mindset: I believe, the reservation is about ensuring that kind of change comes about; where the changed-state is prevelant everywhere and to everyone. Once that happens, I think the collective excellence of India would increase; but prior to that, we could probably, repeat probably, see a blip in the sigmoid curve!

Ps: On this, there was an excellent article on the Sunday Magazine of the Hindu at http://www.hindu.com/mag/2006/06/25/stories/2006062500180400.htm

Pps: On the other hand, I also do think that reservations in higher education and jobs where basic education (where reservation already existed) is a pre-requisite, is redundant and its pushing the vote-bank envelopes; and hence, perhaps, one of the reason why a rationale person too paints all the reservations (needed and extraneous) with the same brush of “death of meritocracy”.

Airlines People, Enakkoru (pala, Infact) Sandegam...

· Ever wonder these “beautiful people” who come across aloof and cold outside the confines of an airplane become warm and caring once they are inside? Would this dichotomy stress them enormously?

· If ever a Stewardess in hir personal lives, get angry and ask someone to “get out”, would they also tell them, that the “nearest exit may be behind you”?

· As the airplane flies higher and higher, it appears smaller and smaller to the eyes – is that why everything that’s served in the plane are in mini-sizes – like the food, peanuts packs, liquor bottle; Is this the case of “Honey, I shrunk every damn thing” ?

· I’m not looking to look as thin as you folks do or as fit as you folks are – If I’m on a diet, I will tell you; so, can I actually have a full and real meal, please?

· If one were to meet you on the road and ask for directions, would you do the side-ways karate chop there too?

· If you were to tell the Stewardess, while deplaning that you are planning to kill yourself, would they with their stuck ready-made smiles tell you – “Bye now, Buh Buh-ye now”?

The Gandhi Trials

The Accused:

Ganesha was circling looking for a prey. He always ended up finding one; these days it was tougher than early days where people seemed to fall for cons easily; but these days, there seemed to be smarter people all around; he himself had to become smarter. Earlier he had worked alone without having to split his spoils with anyone;now, he needed to develop a support system, since people have started asking more questions and there are more disbelieving people – he thought aloud, ‘tch… what is this world coming to, where have all the faith and trust gone’ and grinned to himself wryly !

Ganesha always picked his spot carefully – this time, it was near photocopier shop; where there are more business and companies around. Although more and more companies moved to the outskirts, he found the newer companies took their place. In Bangalore, he found the people in IT companies with their higher affluence, and perhaps guilt of having to do something for the society were easy prey. As Ganesha hung around the photocopier shop, with a copy of B L Thereja’s text book and a photocopied version of it, he found a person who could be a potential for Ganesha. The person was wearing glasses, thin and was sipping coffee alone. Ganesh, prepared himself, checked if his mobile was hid well and was on mute; he did not want to give himself away by ringing at the wrong time. Ganesha then approached him, with a tortured and unsure countenance,

“Sir… Sir, I need some help, Sir”. “I’m a 2^nd year engineering student. I’m from a small town near Hubli, Sir”. The thin-man stayed silent.

“I need some help Sir”, Ganesha repeated; “I cannot afford to buy my books, and hence I had to take xerox of a text book that I borrowed”. As he was talking, he pointed to the text book and the sheaf of photocopied, spiral bound book. “Whatever money I had, I had paid for the photocopy; but my exam fees are due tomorrow, Sir”, he trailed off, with an unsure voice…

The thin-man looked at Ganesha quizzincally. Ganesha felt he is being evaluated and quickly ensured that he ensured that he kept his diffidence and helplessness in his face. The thin-man asked incongruously, “which branch”, which Ganesha answered easily. Then Thin-man threw him off by asking about his first year marks. Ganesha mumbled something that could be believable and kept it just over 1^st class. The Thin-man then asked him about his college. Ganesha knew what was coming next – he needs to be careful here. These days most people offered to pay the fees in person. Ganesha learned this the hard-way, when his medicine-scam came undone when the person he approached, spent Rs.400/- on buying medicines for Ganesha that he need not need; but that had taught Ganesha the lesson and he developed a support system around it – a medical shop, where he could return the medicines back but having to forego a 25% cut; a clerk in the college who would collect fees but return the money for a cut. Although Ganesha would like to avoid this, but these days, he needed back-up plans.

He aware that Thin-man was watching him; Ganesha gave the name of the college that was on the outskirts; Before the thin-man could speak, Ganesha produced the ID-card of the college, which could be made very easily from lost cards. The thin man had given it a cursory glance; but Ganesha knew not to underestimate anyone – he held the card out, so that the thin man can study it more. Ganesha could feel that, he had his man, but the thin man was wrestling with something else in his mind – perhaps he wanted to offer to come along with Ganesha and pay the fees. Then finally, after what seemed to be eons, the thin-man asked, “how much” ?

Ganesha took out the letter that he had received from the college reminding him to pay the exam fees before a certain date – it had Rs.1750.00 in it. He quickly added he could cover some of it and he short by Rs.1050.00 – Ganesha had found that not asking for the full amount made the whole story highly plausible and credible. The Thin man took out his purse and pulled out a Rs.500/- and three Rs.100/- and gave it to Ganesha. He was saying – “normally I would have come with you to pay, but today I cannot”. As he gave the money away, Ganesha took the notes with earnestness, thanking the thin-man profusely and asked him if he could meet him here again to give a copy of the receipt. The thin-man waved him way and quickly turned and walked away. Ganesha looked at cash in his hand – the portrait of Gandhi on those notes seemed to mock at him in a smile.

The Defendant:

Vikas Rao wanted to take a break from work. He has been struggling with a complex problem at work and wanted to get out to get some fresh air, which was paradoxical to talk about in Bangalore. He got out of his seat, went out to the tea shop on what looked like a shopping complex. He had ordered for a coffee and sipping his coffee when he felt someone calling for him.

“Sir…”

“Sir, I need some help”. Vikas looked up to a find a person standing in front him. He looked younger than what his age was perhaps. In the next 10 minutes, Vikas heard the story of Ganesha Gowda who was a poor student from a town near Hubli and was a reasonable student, who wasn’t able to afford for the exam fees and wanted some help; the young man had offered his ID card and the letter from the college as proof. Vikas had studied it, but he was street-smart enough to know that these can be produced. He studied the young man again – there was something about him that Vikas found not credible. He gave Ganesha another look over – there seemed to be something hidden in his pockets, that seemed like a mobile. Vikas knew he could be wrong, but in this case, he probably wasn’t.

As Vikas was wrestling with his thoughts, he went back to his own past. Not much unlike the young man in front of him, Vikas too was from a small town. His father was a typical lower income group and worked in a local office; the money from the work was just enough to make both ends meet; with that money, he could not have sent Vikas to an engineering college. Although Vikas was not an outstanding student, he was a very good and sincere student. He knew that education was way out for his family and himself and spent enough time doing that well. Vikas did secure a good seat in an engineering college, and fortunately for him, one of father’s friends gave him a loan to complete his studies and sponsored some of Vikas expenses. Once he finished his studies, got a job and he went back to his sponsor to return the money. The venerable old sponsor smiled at Vikas and told him to help other poor students out with that money.

That was the day Vikas had made up his mind – that he would sponsor couple of students on his own through their education and would not turn down people who come to him for help for their education. He was not a fool not to know that there were scam artist who used such modes to con people of their money. At those times, he always went back to his ethical blueprint of needing to help; he knew that if he took that excuse of con, he may actually have turned down some with genuine needs too. He also typically ensured that he doesn’t give away money without verifying a few things. However, he knew out of 10 people, 5 could be a con. But he stayed the course, he believed because of those dirty 5, he had made up his mind that the real 5 should not be denied; to some of his friends that was a warped logic. But Vikas believed in the value of education. Even if his money reaches only 5 out of 10, he was ok with it; although he knew he could be conned via this route, he did not want to cynicism to come in the way for those genuine 5 to be helped. In an important thing such as education, he did not want to play the odds.

As Vikas studied Ganesha, he was reasonably certain this guy belonged to the dirty 5. But then Vikas also knew he could be wrong. He took out his purse, took out a Rs.500 note and three Rs.100/- note. Incongruously, the portrait of Gandhi in those currency notes, seemed to smile at him in approval.

The Great Leveller

Henry Mpenga could hear his class and his rows of seats being called for boarded. He had waited patiently for his name to be called; as his area of seating was called, he found himself in a melee and was being pushed around. Finally, a semblance of order was restored and he found he was gently pushed towards his seat. The stewardess, with a high lack of interest of Mpenga’s well being, directed him to his seat with a plastic smile. Mpenga found his seat in the middle row and unfortunately it was not an aisle seat; he looked for a place in the overhead bin for his luggage, but found that it was already overflowing. He had called out for help and the stewardess told him to stow his bag underneath the seat in front of his. Mpenga wondered if they could repeat it even when they were woken from his sleep. Mpenga stowed, rather stuffed under the seat, his luggage and then squeezed himself into the inside seat; with his generous built and height found himself to be constrained. He wanted to get another seat; he looked around, but looked like he had no freedom to find another seat. A few minutes later, he found both the seats on either side were occupied and he found that he was constricted more. After what seemed like a punishing time, the plane was ready to take off. Mpenga who had a weak bladder wanted to go, but he looked up – the seat belts signs was still on – he had to endure it for a long while. As soon as the plane reached a cruising altitude (the pilot said), the seat belts signs were switched off. Mpenga wanted to get to the toilet; the person on the aisle seat who has just settled down to a snooze across the trans-Atlantic flight, did not like one wee bit that he was being asked to get up. He gave enough hints to Mpenga that he would not appreciate being asked to move out every few hours (“There goes, thought Mpenga; he killed the very idea of moving out of his seat once in a while to loosen and keep the blood-circulation going). Mpenga went to the toilet and had to wait until the queue dissolved; he was thankful that he just got into the toilet as he relieved himself. He regretted that he needed to ask his neighbor to move out again to fit himself. As Mpenga eased himself back into the seat, he began feeling hungry. The little peanut pack only acted as a teaser; as he asked the passing stewardess, he was told that he needed to wait and he would be served lunch in about half hour. Mpenga wished he was in ground and was free to just walk across the street to a food joint to buy something that would satiate his hunger right now; however, with no options, he waited; fighting to stay awake and his hunger. After what seemed an interminable wait, the stewards wheeled in the food; a tray with some standard fare was plonked in front of him; it was ordinary and cold. He wished he had some choices; but there was no luck, since the stewardess told him that it was a full flight – he did not get the relation, but then let it go. After the sumptuous lunch (Mpenga thought wryly), Mpenga snoozed off. As he was just dropping off into a deep sleep, he was awakened by the noise: the stewardesses were getting ready to serve food; He wanted to go relieve himself, but he found his 35D neighbor feigning sleep looking away from him. After he could hold no longer, Mpenga awoke the 35D and slipped out. He freshened himself in the toilet, looking forward to return to his homeland. When he got out, he found he could not get to his seat, since the stewardesses were serving food and the cart was between himself and his seat. The stewardess motioned him to wait and he moved incrementally as they moved serving food. Finally, the whole train reached his row and he was allowed to get into his seat. As soon as he settled down, he was given another decrepit food of vague recipe. Mpenga, who did not want to stay hungry for another hour, just gobbled it up. As soon as the yet another lunch service (“An oxymoron” thought Mpenga) was done with, the seat-belts lights came on; and the in-seat incarceration began… Finally, after 7 hours of flight time, the pilot said that they would be landing soon in Mpenga’s country. Henry Mpenga looked forward to it, as the plane touched down in the capital city.

Henry Mpenga was traveling incognito. Henry Mpenga, the greatest freedom fighter who was in the threshold of emancipating his country from the oppressors was returning to finish off the occupiers. It was the last thrust of the sword that will kill the occupation. It Henry Mpenga’s revolutionary ideas, his incessant questioning of rules and oppression, first from within the country and then from exile, his refusal to accept constraints in choices had inspired the whole nation to raise against the occupation and he was in the threshold of success. Henry Mpenga, who rebelled against the idea of being told what to do against his free will, had endured through the seven hours of being told what he needs to do; He now stood patiently awaiting the stewardess’ signal that he is free to move out of the plane.