Advt bloomer

 

Are you suffering from

Depression, Hair Loass, Feeling Excessive Hot!

 

 

Could be because of the

Thyroid dysfunctoion SRL Ranbaxy is organizing

 

Thyroid Detection Camp.

29th-31st December 2005

ISB versus others

I got a jolt when Shanky pointed out that placements at Queens was just a shade better than 60 % even after 3 months of graduation. ISB boasts of cent percent placement. And, to think that Queens was the top-ranked MBA college outside of US in BusinessWeek 2004 rankings!
http://www.businessweek.com/bschools/04/#nonus

INSEAD has a similar story. What I got from one of the contacts "Placements are not like that in India .No day zero, day one placements... It is usually through networking and finding the best fit for self."

Where does this leave my hi-fly dreams? IMD is still tops. Aah, if only I had worked a little longer in States or any goddamn place outside India. International exposure seems a big ticket thing at IMD apps. So, should the order be IMD, INSEAD, ISB, Queens? Or IMD, ISB, INSEAD, Queens?

Kavi - jeevit ab bhi

I don't write stuff in hindi much nowadays, but came up with these - the second one under the effect of the hijr hormones, and the first when challenged to fit lyrics to an existing tune in Raag Desh.

-----------------------------

साँस जमीं थी, चहूँ ओर शिशिर था फूटत नाहीं राग,
C                                                 Dm

आस लगी थी, मास गये घन, आयो आखिर ताज। आयो आखिर ताज।
C                                          Dm                                                C

आयो डार डार बसंत आज

C

काहे फूल फूल जन ना हँसे

Dm
सब शीत मीत खुल ना रचें

Dm
नए प्राण भये भगवान राज।। आयो ।।
      C | G  Dm      C        

साँवरे सजे थे बदरा, के थे श्वेत हिम सघन
C                                           Dm

आज लागे नव धरा को, साफ सुंदर नव गगन
C                                                 Dm

नहीं ऊन धून, के बहार सुन, कर आकुलाए छेड साज आयो
Dm                     G                    G    Dm  C

हरित मास में, त्वरित साँस से, जपता जा ओ कवि,
C                    G                      G                      C

मेघ है नहीं, हेम जा कहीं लापता, आओ रवि
Dm            C                  G                    C

फिर जाग आग बरसा भूमी पर,
Dm

भंग रंग युगल चखें होरी, तर
Dm

वसन मगन तन मन निलाज।। आयो ।।
G          Dm       C

-----------------------------------

जा चला जा बदरा मेघा मोरे के काम का
जाने ना मोरा करजवा जिया,
माने ना मोरा अरजवा जिया,
बिरहा मोरे के काम का
इस बार जो तन के मैं आया देखन
उस पार दर्पण के था कोइ पर जन
मुरदार जड तन पे छिडके है जल घन
आषाढ़ बादल, बेकार सावन
ढ़ाई बरस आराम बीते,
आखर ढ़ाइ भये नाम के

आ नहीं रहे वो हियाँ,
जा नहीं सकूँ हूँ तियाँ
छन बीते दिन बीतत नाहीं,
कौन उन्हें समझाये

Wasn't easy, but I did it!

2 weeks of self-denial. Not a single drop! I think I am rehabilitated. Am I? Naah... come next weekend, and Husher! Husher! all would fall down.

Freakonomics

Started to read the book by Steven D. Levitt and Stephen J. Dubner. Claims to be a book that peels off a layer or two from everyday facets of modern life, and with plain data assessment, no morality, reveal stark new perspectives.

 

"Morality, it could be argued, represents the way that people would like the world to work - whereas economics represents how it actually does work"

Two lives

If all goes well, very soon I may need to create another blog. This blog is too laden with the blood of my heart to make sense as a heartless MBA blog. Reading the previous post with other posts, I wonder if it is the same person writing.

Right-ho, once there was a hiyapods and then there was a sumeetme. My good old story book diary... Find your fire, hiyapods, and go char yourself.

But will I break if I get through none of the colleges? Of course, but I can take them in my stride. My company needs me. It will earn me bread, butter and butter kulchas if all goes into the well.

Bigger than ISB

I started dreaming bigger than ISB. Quite possible that the ISB dream itself fizzles out... when I try to recall a moment during the interview when I shone and impressed, all I see is Mr. Kannan going 'Fair. Quite Fair.' to my (over)estimate of INR 80 mn per month starting revenue for Vodafone in Bangalore.

Anyways, sapne sanjone mein harz nahi. So the dream is IMD, Switzerland. The best of the best according to most websites. And a class strength of juts 90 taken from 45 different Countries! Whoa. That's where I wanna be. But, how? Going through the helpful advices of the guys who're going to be there, doing that next January.

http://forums.businessweek.com/n/pfx/forum.aspx?nav=messages&tsn=171&tid=58198&webtag=bw-bschools

Plan to app to IMD, INSEAD and Queen's. I know, it's a mixed bag. But then, let's give it a shot. Kya pata, kya likha hai!

Cisco Newsletter

Came up with these few lines for the 1st Cisco Newsletter to new campus recruits... for Ashwini. And she said 'Do you think the fresh grads will get this kind of humor?'. A nice way to say 'You're overboard.'

 

"Hark Gladiators! To get through to the Ciscolosseum was a dream harboured by all, but you fought hard, and fought well. Welcome to the mecca of networking. Things happen quick at Cisco, quicker sometimes than it would take an IP packet to go around the planet on our routers. This newsletter would keep you abreast of the latest at Cisco - technology, culture, triva and people. Go ahead, devour the first edition!"

The Forty-two mall

There was a day at the Forum mall, long long ago in my previous life, when after walking, yes walking, up and down the escalators impatiently and then gazing passively for long in random directions on each floor, I reached the top floor and stood by the rail at one of the circles. What I liked here was the loud roar of a thousand quiet voices, which afforded me the chance to speak. And I spoke for a good few minutes to the jolly air-conditioned air and then then I loooked down. The floor, four floors below, seemed inviting, yes inviting.

That was it... that was it. I found the answer to my wrenching question 'how do I live now?' when contemplating how not to. The mall gave me my answer. There was life to live around me, and I willed myself otherwise? 'Oh! Fie, Fie, Fie!' as Isabella dramatically says several times in the 'Measure for Measure' I saw. If nothing, to live was a challenge. I love challenges. Live I did.

I had't been to Forum alone for more than an hour since then. Today I did. Did an encore of acts from that day. I could. It did come back in small doses, but I could! You fought well, boy. Spent some time reading the new management book arrivals at Landmark, and some more time buying stuff for tomorrow's trip to Kabini with Shanky. It's going to be a great weekend! Thanks to the mindless shoppers at Forum.

Mush - left, right, center

Two lovebirds sit on the either side of my office cubicle, cooing away to their dearest's (not each other). It certainly harms my productivity... I don't and don't want to hear all the words, but I do catch the giggles, the elongated helloo's and byeee's, and see-ya-at-so-and-so promises. I put on my headphones sometimes, and then search for the right kind of song... not Beatles, not Elvis, not Bobby Darin, definitely not Sinatra! I generally pick either Dylan or Knopfler (but not Romeo & Juliet), or Indian Ocean (who are more gorillas than orangutans in matters of romance).

 

Love se bachne ke liye saala kuchh bhi karega!

Eighteen Yellow Roses

Heard this mushy song by Bobby Darin. All through, it feels as if it's about a girl cheating on her guy, who is okay with her leaving with someone else. The last line brings in the real meaning, and you go 'Oh shucks, what was I thinking?'. Wonder if Bobby did this little lyric trick on purpose. Most of his other songs are sure about romantic love...

Eighteen yellow roses came today

Eighteen yellow roses in a pretty bouquet

When the boy came to the door, I didn't know what to say

But, Eighteen yellow roses came today

I opened up the card to see what it said

I couldn't believe my eyes when I had read

Though you belong to another, I love you anyway

Yes, Eighteen yellow roses came today

I never doubted your love for a minute

I always thought that you would be true

But now this box and the flowers in it

I guess there's nothing left for me to do.

But ask to meet the boy that's done this thing

And find out if he's got plans to buy you a ring

Cause Eighteen yellow roses will wilt and die one day

But a father's love will never fade away.

Stay away Gray!

I spotted the first grey hair on my chest today. It was all very fine when them roots were merrily losing their melanin up there, but a hairy grey chest is a tell tale sign of senescence. Of course, I am not old. "ये बाल शायद मैनें धूप में ही सफेद किये हैं" What next would these silver strands conquer? Arms? Legs? ... ? I see myself, not long after today, peacefully dressed in white when not dressed at all. Maybe I'll take to dyeing my chest hair. Painstakingly holding each strand and giving it back the artificial youth. Or maybe, I'll shave all of it off... maybe that's why SRK did so too. He's 40. He must've spotted his first grey on his Fauji hairy chest long ago.

Come gray, stay with me. Give me good company, while I say good bye follicle-by-follicle to the fickle black!

Will prayers help?

Being an agnostic is the worst that can happen to someone in a fix. Will ISB happen? I have a Shiva murti at my home I've been carrying with me since I left Baroda back in 1997 for RECT. I do look at it everyday; sometimes i try to close my eyes and pray, but it doesn't feel solemn enough. Sometimes I light an incense to make it better, but it hasn't the same punch as, say, when Mom stands in front of the sandalwood mandir at home. Faith is God and vice versa... and agnostics like me have neither to hold on to. Ok, then I'll find my own way.

Hausla-e-Buland Khuda Razamand

Khudi ko kar buland itna ki har taqdeer se pahle
khuda bande se khud poochhe bata teri raza kya hai

Have the ISB interview today at 12:30 PM. I am not too sure if there is a God up there. Most of my friends who believe have sent in the confirmation that they have prayed for me. Most of my friends who don't have wished me luck. A few important ones have totally forgotten about it. But I know that God, Chance or Friends are not going to help me out there. I am going to be on my own in front of that panel. And going by the single past experience of an interview I have had - Cisco at Campus, I know I can make a mark just by being myself. There's confidence within me to take on individuals and come out as someone who knows what he's talking about. Only when people know me enough do they find out that many a times I just blabber so coherently that it 'seems' good!

The only thing lacking now is a good tie. I had forgotten that most interviews happen in formals. I was banking on the Park Avenue shirt I got on the 22nd. Shanky asked if I have the right tie. I said I don't need one. But turns out everyone wears one. So I rummaged through my jumbo suitcase of old knick knacks and found the cheap ancient tie I used to get through to Cisco. It's not great, but believe it or not, it still fits me! So, I am going to wear it. Goes well with neither the shirt nor the pant, but goes well with me. I had some trouble tying it, and missed dad, the only family member and among the select few Poddars I daresay, who know it well! Got some tips on the net about how to get the dimple at the centre of the knot, and Lo (not Lolita) I am dressed up.

Anyhow, I am on my way. I have to win this one. It's a personal challenge now... Hey, if you're there reading this, don't let me down this time, will you?

Square root of misery

Most pain is self-inflicted and self-healing too says Vaishali. To ask is the beginning of to be denied. Quite possible, but where does the journey end? And where did it begin?
A Beatles song comes to mind "The world's treating me bad, Misery!". And then comes Savage Garden's "Lemon Tree"... Isolation is not good for me. I don't want to sit on a lemon tree.

If Misery gathers interest compounded every second, it should soon be enough to fill my 12x11 room, like the foam Amita sprayed on me, only muddy in color, and smelling downright pungent instead of soapy. What's more, I have my windows closed cause it's cold and raining outside, so none of it shall escape. I picture myself wallowing in the roomful of soft, dull brown Misery, playing with multicoloured balls of memories, flailing my arms around and shouting out like kids in the McDonald's Ball Pit... only thing, the kids are generally happy.

I start to doubt what Vaishali said. Expectations, yes, but there are ideas which one comes to believe in with every ounce of conviction that oozes out of deep emotional recesses. That faith is the square root of Misery.

Shetty. Birthday. Oeufs

Mr. Shetty, my Landlord, was a seemingly sweet chap to begin with when I gave him the booking amount of 3k. Didn't even care to count, and agreed to reduce the deposit to 25k. Now, this may be a racial remark, but it's said of the gultis in general and Shetty's in particular that money is something they can't help obtain by crook. Had I known this then, I'd have been careful. The glibslither has finally shown his fangs. Not willing to sign the lease agreement as is, with an interest clause for holding up the deposit amount after lease-expiry. And contending that the rental started from the date of our meeting and not the date of my moving in! Ridiculous, but I'll grit my teeth and agree. The place is so perfect. I am not going to trust this guy again, though.

Have been doing lots of different things at work, but finding it impossible to get time to prepare for the ISB. How does one prepare for an MBA interview anyways, I ask friends. Jitne moonh utni baatein. Shankar's gifted me a Jack Welch - Winning. It says "you won't need another Management book" on the cover. I doubt it.

The birthday went great. Daga and Mota came with our customary midnight cake. Calls from all who matter came in the morning, except Bhaiya who decided to stick to his TZ instead of mine. A surprise party with Blackforest and Sula Brut after a fake cold welcome by the Jaipur gang. A quick omelette done to a charry death in breakfast, lunch at Something Fishy, coffee at Java City with Shankar and dinner at Little Italy with Bosh and Rekha, who gifted me Kurtas.

Omelette reminds me. The french for egg, I read in a novel recently is oeuf. Now I generally don't care much for pronunciations but oeuf? 3 vowels in a row. How the hell do I even read the word, forget about the right French guttural that scares English speakers. I turned to the Internet and turns out it's easy to pronounce. Sounds like the pleasured grunt of someone enjoying good sex. "I had coddled 'urghs' while my honey coddled me. "

The word, coddle, by the way, is like 'splice'. Strange that it can mean 'treat with indulgence' when it also means 'cook in boiling water'? And while on eggs...



There, a post that speaks of 3 really unrelated things.

Nuts in may

Reading this nice little book by Richard Gordon, the Wodehouse-like author of the Doctors series - a hilarious story with the brit wit and wry humor. Picked it up for 15 bucks on the way back from the Hyderabad. Yes, May is a perfect month to go nuts. Try it.

Am through to the ISB interview round. 26th is the D-day. another one... Got to make it. Just have to make it. I have to win everything I can control. The case interviews fly past feet clear above my head. The 5 yr/10 yr aims are a blur. Have a meeting with the Bangalore interviewees the day after. And... tomorrow I'll be 27. It's a nice number, says Ashwini, but is it a nice age?

Well, 14th Jan is not far away... so,
What did God say to Gujjus?
"Let there be kites!"

I first

There seems a substantial change of mindset required to cut over to being a successful leader or entrepreneur from being a brilliant engineer. Graduating from 'smart' & 'intelligent' to also 'aware' & 'creative', reading a good variety by the tonne, considering sleep a requirement rather than a hobby... these are things that I understood well.

But today, I read this quote from Rajat Gupta, former MD, McKinsey. "You have to live with yourself longer than you have to live with others." Straightforward yet striking. Some of us, including me, can take the good samaritan in us to extremes where self-denial seems natural. Of course, a theory says 'If an act of sacrifice gives pleasure, then it's more a selfish act than a selfless one'. But let's not get philosophical. The sentence has practical implications in the professional life, and it has got me well. Time to learn something new, what?

Sapne se sapna

A dream of mine, before shrouding itself in white, has spawned a substitute which seems more manageable. This same change-of-guard has happened before, when the substitute seemed more achievable, but soon both the old and new dreams were incapacitated. This time, though, the old has left behind a blue spectre that will live on while the new is an orange ball of fire. It's fun to keep thoughts behind the bushes of circumlocuted words, and peek at them later reading your diary!

So, the new dream is to do an MBA, to break out of the software engineer's mould, to rise above the average. If there is comfort of anonymity and security within the masses, there is also the angst of mediocrity and aimlessness. I wonder if I can aim higher. I've cracked the GMAT well, 770 (V: 45 M: 50) and have app'ed to the ISB, Hyderabad. Should make me reach the interview at least. I was quite confident about the interview too until yesterday, when I read some sample interview questions that unsettled me. An engineer knows how to answer direct questions like "What is entropy?" or "What is polymorphism?". But how does one deal with market size estimation of pencils and Titan watches? Lateral thinking, huh? Will need to run to de Bono books soon. Then there are questions on individual comapnies in the industry-of-choice. I fumble in recalling companys' CEOs, and I need to remember their revenues! And yes, I need to have some visibility into my future, my industry's future, my country's future... MBA needs barrels of globe and gyaan, says Mota, our eternal unassuming philosopher from IIML.

I've given a thought to INSEAD and IMD. Still not sure if I should try my luck there. Will decide when I get back to Bangalore. Meanwhile, while in Baroda, let's dream... "If you can dream it, you can do it. Remember, this whole thing was started by a mouse." - Walt Disney

Reja-vu

Some things that you see around you give you a spooky feeling of them having happened before too. But what if an event brings back a queer deja vu you've had earlier? Reja vu? That's already taken (when it feels it'll happen again). Then maybe re-deja vu? Anyway, it happened to me today. When I looked at Aanchal today morning, it reminded me of the deja vu I had on seeing a kid earlier. Wanted to write about it here, but now decided against it.

I just love how Aanchal stares attentively when someone is talking to her, as if she is getting every word. She will be a month old this 27th. Keep blabbering with enough interesting tone changes and she keeps her eyes focussed on you. Of course, even otherwise, she won't look away (can't move her neck much yet) but will maybe shut one of or both her eyes and eventually doze off. Mom says it's a good idea to keep talking to infants.

And well, it seems bhaiya's office people find it easier to pronounce Aanchal as ankle. I got it from somebody that there's some website somewhere that lists desi names that are 'safe' to use in US. For instance, people with dikshit, parikshit and other rhyming names are in for some friendly jabs. I think Aanchal is safe so long as her parents can keep reminding firangis that it's not fancy in India to name kids after body parts.

So long, going to Dallas tomorrow.

September's over and I'm still young

It's such a hotch-potch. I have so much going on around me right now; someone could actually consider making a movie out of it all. Of course, it won't be as big a hit as The Truman Show, but I guess there would be enough masala to make the khichdi seem quite appetising.

The best thing that has happened to me is that my niece Aanchal is here. Bhabhi says she is a cute little with bhaiya's cheek and lots of hair. Dad and mom are with them and are going to have a great time. A baby brings with it such a big bundle of joy for everyone related. I'm sure I am not going to have enough of just staring at little Aanchal. I remember Chhoti when she was, well... chhoti. I used to lift her and hold her outstretched like an airplane, swaying her side by side and up and down and making funny sounds that by no means resembled those of a flight engine! Now it's quite impossible even to lift her!

There's the band that we've to revive. We picked so nicely and then suddenly stagnated for lack of instruments. And have the exam coming up; am quite confident that I'll cross 700. And that's all ISB needs. Have also to finish app'ing before leaving.

Have shifted to my new little 'penthouse' in koramangala, which is in effect a 12x11 room with a 5x5 kitchen and a 5x5 bath. But it's quite cosy. The landlord is such a soft man, Mr. Shetty. And I now know what Saurabh gained when he moved out of of Tawakkal's to stay alone. I had never liked staying alone. But I see the benefits now. I haven't changed enough to call myself a loner but I definitely see some good in it. I have to do some gift shopping this weekend for all the people I will be visiting, have to check what happened to Vaishali's parcel that aunty was supposed to send, and maybe help Priya in house hunting. Have to go to yelahanka country club too.

The Nandi hills trip of mine couple of weeks ago was eventfully uneventful. Couldn't catch the sunrise for which I started at 5. That fickle ball showed up at 8 high up in the sky when finally the fog and the clouds gave way. Spent a small fortune talking ISD to Smita and then got a flat tyre on the way back, and then the crazy mechanic fitted the wheel out of alignment. Came back to Bangalore wobbling all the way!



















But where's the movie material? Hmm, let's just say sumeetme has all his shares underwater, has lost all options before they could vest, but is banking on the money market and his PF.

Woody moods

He's a funny guy, this Woody Allen. I picked up his 'The complete prose' and am relishing it page by page like I would a delicious dessert. Such a book can't and shouldn't be devoured in a day. The chapters are whacky, nonsensical and quite often pointless, but they are witty. Sample some:

A fine example of demonstration was the Boston tea party, where outraged Americans disguised as Indians dumped British tea into the harbor. later, Indians disguised as outraged Americans dumped actual British into the harbor. following that, the British disguised as tea, dumped each other into the harbor. finally, the German mercenaries clad only in costumes from the Trojan women leapt into the harbor for no apparent reason.

Is it better to be the lover or the loved one ? Neither, if your cholesterol is over six hundred. By love, of course, I refer to romantic love- the love between man and woman, rather than between mother and child, or a boy and his dog, or two headwaiters.
The marvelous thing is that when one is in love there is an impulse to sing. This must be resisted at all costs, and care must also be taken to see that ardent male doesn't "talk" the lyrics of songs. To be loved, certainly, is different from being admired, as one can be admired from afar but to really love someone it is essential to be in the same room with the person, crouching behind the drapes.
To be a really good lover, then, one must be strong and yet tender. How strong? I suppose being able to lift fifty pounds should do it. Bear in mind also that to the lover the loved one is always the most beautiful thing imaginable even though to a stranger she may be indistinguishable from an order of smelts. Beauty is in the eye of the beholder,. Should the beholder have poor eyesight, he can ask the nearest person which girls look good. (Actually, the prettiest ones are almost always the most boring, and that is why some people feel there is no God.)
"The joys of love are but a moment long," sang the troubadour, "but the pain of love endures forever." This was almost a hit song, but the melody was too close to "I'm a Yankee Doodle Dandy."

Going again to the US in the coming month. This time it's a personal trip to meet Aanchal, my niece, who is going to come to this world anyday now. Dad and mom are already there. I'll meet Vaishali and Smita too. On the way back, I do a quick stopover at Delhi just after Didi's birthday and then Diwali with Dad in Baroda. And yes, just before leaving for this frenzied trip of 5 places in 2 weeks, I give the GMAT and finish apping to the ISB too. Life's an adventure for the next 3 weeks. Why did I pack so much in? I always do that. But this time there was a reason. Idle mind, cupid's workshop... :-).

Daal Baati, Dhol Kartaal, Dhola Maaru

An eventful and fun trip to Jaipur, Jodhpur, Jaisalmer. My first ever visit to Rajasthan and I am wowed by its food, forts and music.

We do have daal baati churma in bangalore... Roomali. But the real thing was what I had in that roadside rundown restaurant called Agarwal Hotel or something. The baati's were almost charcoals, burnt nice and brown. और दाल ऐसी मिरच कि हर कही से पानी टपक रहे! And the jodhpuri thaal in the ghanta ghar haweli! And by far the best, the dinner at Chokhi Dhaani (Clean Village) in Jaipur, a theme viallge setup with camel rides, puppet show, kalbeliya, luhaar, jaadu, teer-kaman, nat (nut... tight-rope walker), and an hour and a half of eating... Makai, bejar, bajra, gehun rotis. Gatta, khichdi, baingan, maalpua, ghee... They serve ghee there not with spoon but with a ladle! All 4 of us had a running tummy or a clogged one by the next day. And the LMB, Lakshmi Mithai Bhandar, the hallmark of Jaipur Sweets! I must've put on a couple kilos by now.



We started off with the Hawamal; then the Amer Fort (with a sheesh mahal like in mughal-e-azam but derelict), Jalmahal, Jaigarh (has the world's biggest cannon of those times) in Jaipur. Umaid Bhawan, which is now a 5 start ITC hotel too, Ghanta Ghar haweli (standing grand in a seedy market) and Mehrangarh Fort in Jodhpur. And the Jaisalmer Fort with jain temples some 600 year old. And Jaisalmer being the edge of the Thar... Did a long camel ride to the sunset. Quiet nice, except that the sun set behind the clouds, instead of the horizon! Kela, but we had a good time running through the expanses of sand.


I saved the best for the last. Everywhere we went there was good folk music. Chokhi Dhani had a family with baapu on the ektaara, amma singing and the two kids dancing a little abruptly out-of-beat but quite cutely. Mehrangarh fort had another such miya-biwi pair. There also was a dadaji sitting under an arch gate, captivating people with evening ragas on a sombre-toned big flute that would've drained the breath of Shankar Mahadevan. And such humbleness, that he asks when done "ठीक है?" Got talking to him about his family. Said his grandson liked to watch WWF rather than learn any music. And it was a surprise for him, when we said WWF is all playacting! The best music we had was at Jaisalmer's desert resort. We had a group playing exclusively for us. Anwar Khan, Putul Khan and party. I have three of their songs recorded. Can upload if interested. And there was alcohol available. Although I would have liked to focus on the music, I got drinking and before I knew it, I was happy. Up and dancing with the young kid. This kid, by the way, sang wonderfully too. And the guy on the kartaal (two flat wooden pieces in a hand, one held firmly between thumb and forefinger, the other losely on the palm) was as flashy as our Chinky (bikram kumoi) on stage, while the dholaki was as silent and rigid as me on stage. The girls told me later that I danced cute to begin with, but later I started moving my hips. Guess I was quite drunk by then cause for the life of me I can't figure out the muscle in my body that controls my hips. Anyways, I had a good time!


One last thing, I had gone to Rajasthan with an image in mind of Rajputs with long twirling moustaches walking through city markets overflowing with bandhni dresses and chaddars. The only twirling moustache I saw was on a guard at Clark's Amer, and he may as well have been a non-Rajput. Anyhow, he was much better a sight than the tamizh John Kennedy (w/o Fitzgerald) , the guard at Jenny's, Trichy.

It was good fun and made me forget my troubles for a couple of days. And eventful? It's a blog, not a diary.

This ones for me

I want to look back at this one and remember what I feel right now. This is not a journal entry or a view or a recap. It's a placeholder, a dog tag for my thoughts. Now, would I be so lost that I fail to recall what made me write this? Let me just throw in a couple of helpful useless lines...
Some blandnes soured, while some pleasantness sweetened. Wished against wish and discovered that the bright light wasn't there to blind me but to guide me, to it and to heaven. Joy is distant, hope is near. Tenterhooks.

Blog vs. diary

Back in bangalore now. An interesting point Smita brought up for not using a blog for her journal while I did, was of privacy. What all, that happened to me in these 3 weeks, can I put down in my blog? I find there's a sizeable chunk of memories of bland, sweet, bitter, tangy, spicy and other tastes that are not going to go in here. Is a blog, then, just a mode for outward expression for extroverts? What about others who actually feel for and about many people and things, want to write about them, but not show but a few close people. Maybe blogs should have a "share" feature so that articles can be read by only particular people.

A diary is something quite personal to you. Back in school when I did maintain one, mostly to jot down my second face experiences, I sometimes narrated for someone else reading it, and sometimes recounted for me reminiscing. But I knew if someone does read my diary, it will be with my consent. So, in went the details of every experience without refinement or reservations. Can't do that here, can I?

I actually liked my way of mixing up hindi and english seamlessly, and consciously avoided writing the hindi portions in Roman script. I can't do that in the blog. Well, actually I can... ऐसे, पर जहमत बहुत करनी पडेगी! And well, no one can take away the old-world charm of the diary. Leafing through well-thumbed yellowing pages to relive your life...

In favor of the blog is the maintainability, ease-of-use and most importantly the throughput. Everyone types faster than writes nowadays. And when a thought strikes a software engineer, he can start typing them after a couple of mouse clicks or hotkey-strokes, depending on his nerdity. Not so with diaries.

I guess I'll maintain them both, the balanced middle-path guy that I am.

Bet you I'll lose

We three went to Foxwoods this weekend. It's primarily an indian (red) Casino and an all-in-one thing with food, drinks, entertainment. There was live jazz and there was also a dance club called B.B. King. Quite a pleasing coincidence for all these 2 weeks I've been listening to BB when in my car. It was closed though... not that I'd have rocked the dance floor if it were open. The people dancing with the live jazz were all above 50, and a real portly old man moving just his belly and hands, and intermittently a leg looked cute. A short old lady was not at all graceful but could move her shoulders quite nice, so her dance was mostly well timed shirks. Sat there wathcing and listening a few songs, then on bhaiya's behest left in the middle of a song. I said, impolite. Bhaiya said, chalta hai.

So at the casino, we didn't know how to play any game. What we knew to play or rather operate was the slot machine. So we got $40 worth of quarters and I squandered away my $20 in 10 minutes on 3 machines. Got back redemption tickets worth some 6-7 bucks. But bhabhi, true to her lucky-lady acclaim that bhaiya had talked about won us back what we had started with, just a quarter shy of $40. Baniyon ki aabru rakh li. I've decided to be back the next time with the knowledge of craps and blackjack, and win some good bucks. Already gathered some basics at the lunch table today from a colleague. Only once before have I won something I didn't toil to earn. Almost everyone curses his luck in chance games, and still people manage to find time and money to indulge. And they say, house always wins in Casinos. Odds are always against the players. Gambling is big money. I wonder why gujjus here haven't entered this line of business yet. Is it prohibited? Maybe there's a federal law. It certainly makes sense not to allow gujjus, else we'll soon see dollar rains in Gujarat.

I also clicked away furiously with my new Canon SD500. In the car, at the shopping mall and at foxwoods. Almost exhausted the 32 MB card and then when trying to figure out the free space, formatted the card. Then re-exhausted the card and acted smarter this time by not checking the free space and changing to the mammoth 1 Gig card. It's sure to last me the week provided I don't go trigger happy like yesterday night. I've to capture the 4 cisco buildings, and the hotel and the team here if possible. And this weekend is sure going to need all the memory I have in that card.

Rain on the highways

In my car, headed to bhaiya's place, and parked at the Charlton Plaza on the I-90. Want to spend some ten fifteen minutes here, cause i started too early and by the time I reach there, I want bhaiya to be there too. Plus it's raining... aah the rains.

Now this is one thing I just have to write about. I love rain even when it brings slush, water logs, traffic jams, and even national calamities. If I can opt between death in an arid desert suffering a draught and in Cherrapunji hit by lightning under the pouring skies, I'd pick the latter. And not just because it'll be quicker. So, when it rains in Bangalore I like to look outside the glass windows of my office. I like riding my bike in the rain. Papa would say it's not safe and others say i'll catch a cold. But they don't see the point. Rain lifts my spirits up! Driving in the rain isn't bad too; its got that fuzzy feeling of cosy comfort you get when in a balcony with a cup of tea looking out into a cats-and-dogs rain . I had to strain some to focus my eyes on the road ahead and not on the dancing wiper in front. It almost had me in a trance!

It's raining right now in Masachussetts and Connecticut. It has rained before too during my stay, but always in the nights. So when today morning it rained and then it rained again, I knew I was in for my first drive in the rain! My window in Holiday Inn faces wilderness - a field of green grass and woods beyond. And it doesn't open! *$%@#. Pushing one pane to a side I managed a thin opening thru which I looked out into the greenery, felt the drizzle, smelt the freshness... witnessed monsoon making love to spring! And then got back to work. Remember the ladder?

The rains on the highways here doesn't slow down the cars a bit. People trust their governments to not have chasm-sized cracks on the highways, they trust their anti-accident cars with anti-skid wheels, anti-lock brakes, anti-fogging AC's, they trust each other to drive at least sanely if not safely besides trusting in God. Good thing. I pretty much started off shuddering at the thought of skidding off the road turning at 60 mph or missing in my misty rearview some oncoming car in the left lane, and getting my car royally banged. But soon I was myself in the left lane coasting at 75. People tell me it's officially safe to add 10 to the speed limits here. I wonder why then the officers didn't keep the limits hard at +10 of the curent ones.

The sky is overcast right now at Charlton. Rain's reduced to a drizzle. There are two girls going jumping holding one each of their daddy's hands. They must think about me, "what a geek! playing with his laptop when he could be playing in the rain! Learn from us..." And several couples walking by my car. Let me go fill some petrol in the car, and then head to bhaiya's place. They and my SD500 are waiting for me there! I just have to be careful not to let the wiper hypnotise me.

Topless ladder, makes me madder

To begin with I was a happy software engineer who had a life of his own, who valued his lazy weekends, who fiercely guarded his right to fun, who worked on things that excited him, whose dream was 2 promotions, double of the then salary... and like many stable headed guys - eventually, home, wife and kids. It'll all be settled then. "Life mein settle ho jaane ko mangta".

I had good fun and I got 2 promotions and the salary doubled too. But every heartening letter handed over to me by my changing managers has had a barcoded price tag attached. Every subsequent grade takes my engineering and people-skill requirements to the 'next' level. And I desperately grope for a hand rail while going up rung by rung on my professoinal ladder. There doesn't seem to be an end to this climbing. I've reached a crossroad. Funny, how every down-in-the-dump moment in life seems a crossroad of decisions, while the up-on-cloud-nine moments never have any horns of dilemma attached to them. You never ask yourself, "What a wonderful evening! Should I go biking, or should i go binging?" Yes, so the crossroad... decide priorities like my dad decided. Gave up a plumb job to stick with family. Do I want my personal life or my work to be the bigger marble in the jar of my life?

I was not made for slogging. I never wished to slog. I wanted to do good work and not lots of work. With an 8 hour minimum sleep requirement, I could never have dreamt doing what I have seen Mohan and Cynthia do. But see what the ladder is doing to me. It's practically driving me crazy. I am here in the U.S., so close to my bhaiya and bhabhi, and all I am doing is code away? That too on a Friday night? When I could be shopping with them, when I could be seeing places, when I could be enjoying a good drive on the I-90 on my way to Connecticut. Shucks! Bring me down, I don't like it up here.

The Journey here - II

Day 2… Reached Frankfurt airport at about 7 in the morning. I had heard about it being the biggest airport in the world/Europe depending on how big the narrator wanted to make it seem. But because I could’ve compared it only with airports in the 4 indian metros and Bangalore, I found it incomparably big. As we started walking towards B24, we realized that we were a bit hungry and Sri pleasantly floated the idea of a round of Heinekens at the Goethe bar. I had actually been a little shy to ask the flight attendants for another glass of wine, or something stronger, and hence was more sober than I’d have wanted to. Therefore I agreed. And so we retraced our steps back to central shopping/eating place at the airport. Sri went away to the loo, and I used the time to buy a couple of chocolate gifts. Looking at all the different alcohols made me chide myself all the more for not being myself with the flight attendants. Gods sake, they were not more than ultra-refined sagar waiters, and I deserved all the drinks I could've asked for.

Anyways, so after that I roamed around a little in the other shops in their, including the gift/curio shop which was selling t-shirts and swarowsky. It reminded me of shweta’s rocking chair and smita’s wine bottle. I looked if I could find them there, and see how costlier they were here than in Bangalore, maybe to find how much I saved than if Dadaji were in Hitler’s army… The baniya brain. Then the beer at Goethe Bar, and breakfast of breads, fruits and orange juice. Made myself look foolish once more. After ordering the beer, which was Palmer and not Heineken, I said “And two vegetarian breakfasts please”. The good waiter asked “that’d be with coffee or tea?” Guessing he was trying to thrust another item from the menu at us, I said with a joke’y grin, “With the beer we just ordered!” And he informed us cordially pointing to the menu that the beverage comes with the breakfast. Sheesh!!! Backed off the joke’y grin and put on a sheepish smile. Well, actually beer with that breakfast was an odd combo, cause it brought together beer, tea and orange juice together in my tummy for the first time in my life. And they didn’t like it in there with each other too much. Then we went off to catch the flight.

Then another social hara-kiri… While sitting at the waiting lounge, the 3 drinks reached their final destination in me after running thru the system. Plus I had also to brush my teeth. I realized there were no rest rooms around, and I had to come out of the lounge. So, I handed over the boarding pass back to the girl at the counter and took a quick look at the two doors. One had a woman with ‘Damen’ drawn on it, so I entered the other one, only to realize once in there, that was neither a urinal nor a pot. There was a wash basin though, and I actually thought let me go ahead and brush my teeth. But then something inside me thankfully shouted out, and I came out to find a couple of glances thrown my way. I realized it was a baby loo! I hope I had come out quick enough for people to conjecture my using the wash basin! Went red-faced to another one some distance away with a man ( I double-checked) and ‘Herren’ drawn on it. So, on this flight I made good friends with one of the flight attendants. He was called Mark I guess. Nice pleasant face and cropped hair. Looked cool, and he served me couple of good drinks. Got drunk, finished Peter Colaco and then watched a little of ocean’s twelve and dozed off. Woke up and it was just few more hours to landing. Sri was engrossed in Naipaul’s India – a wounded civilization. Later he said he didn’t like the book much. The thoughts of u-know-what kept me company.

So landed at boston finally at around 1:30, and stayed in the aircraft for another hour, before the ‘U.S. Authorities cleared the plane for disembarkment’. And then the queue at the immigration/customs took another hour! And they say ‘it happens only in India’! Went to hertz to collect our pre-booked car. Now, I was all fired up about driving a car and all, but good sense prevailed and I declined Sri’s suggestion that I drive. Boston to Boxboro is just around 30-40 miles. It took us 2 and half hours to get here. How? Like true software guys, we went with yahoo maps ignoring the common sense and the actual MA map that we got from hertz. And that showed the shortest route, which was also quite cryptic. So, we got lost twice. I did look around at the houses and the old buildings in boston and neaby cities. And they seemed much more appealing than the pictures of San Jose and the bay area with huge buildings. I so can live out my retirement years here. Maybe I will, who knows. So ‘Middle road’ was what we had to take to reach holiday inn, bxb. And it was supposed to be 3.7 miles from exit 43 on RT-2 West. But after 0.9 miles we met with a T junction, guessed one way, and met one more 2 miles later. Came back, took the other one, went straight to RT-2 west again, came back again, took the same one this time, now not in search of the middle road but some gas station with a helpful soul in it. One such chinky soul of a girl offered suggestions even after confirming that she knew nuts about the area by asking ‘Boxboro? Which city?’. But another wizened old man was helpful with good directions and good jokes so we bought a couple of dollars stuff from his station, and finally reached holiday inn.

Went straight to calling bhaiya and smita. Talked for long, then thought of taking a bath before bhaiya came to pick me up. Just thought. Went for a quick drink and dinner with bhaiya and bhabhi. And then on the way back to bhaiya’s home, and then also till 4 in the morning, was talking to bhaiya and bhabhi about the current goings on.

The journey here - I

So, the journey has begun finally. Should I say it’s been a long wait. Frankly I’ve never ‘waited’ to go to U.S of A. But I’ve definitely wanted to go places, in, around or far away from India. I’ve 3 weeks to live the few dreams I’ve stored away in a safe corner somewhere.

So, I started off to home from office quite late. Delayed attending a meeting with our director called to call upon us to bring the new hires to the ‘social fabric’ of our team. Shankar came over to drop me off at the airport. I called up Mota, Sunni, Dhingra while on the way. Mota, who is leaving our froggy paradise the next to find his identity, his purpose, his calling in a ½ BHK somewhere in the airport road. Sunni who is getting married on the 5th may to Ranjita, his love, and then leaving Tawakkal’s too. Dhingra who has left Bangalore for good, become the brand manager of Peter England for North India. Then met Pondi at the airport, who will be moving to Boston soon. Shankar by the way, is getting engaged on 24th to Roopa. I enjoyed her going mushy lovey-dovey for shanky over the PC phone, not realizing she was on speakers! And while on the way on the auto talked to Shanky about the problems at work, in life and in my sinuses. Once at the airport, talked to Papa, Sasurji, Sasu/Buku and Rekha. Called Shweta but seemingly she had forgotten her cell at home again.

Met Sri on the flight. I asked, so what book are you carrying for the long journey ahead. He says none. I say why. He says I was thinking we will do some talking. Now, I am socially quite active. But while traveling somehow I prefer to be incommunicado. Reason being this is the only time I get to do a little introspection. I remember in my last long delhi-bangalore train journey of 36 hours, I spoke for a sum total of 3 minutes. But Sri was going to attempt intelligent conversation with me in that mode. We began with cribbing about Bangalore as all software engineers, and I was in good luck, because I had been reading Peter Colaco’s Bangalore - a century of tales from cantonment and city. We then moved on to our professional futures, our marriages and Cisco managers. This guy can actually make me go on talking even when I don’t want to! Only one other person can lay claim to this asset. The flight from Bangalore to Chennai was otherwise uneventful.

Chennai was 30 degrees at 9 in the night! Quickly checked in, and then called up JC and Priya after begging for change from one and all. One good soul actually gave away the only 1 rupee coin he had! And another stopped short a phone call to help. Such wonderful people and we curse Indians for their heartlessness. Finally managed to gather some 6 bucks and split them 2:1 between JC and Priya.

Post the measly dinner of patties and my much needed medicines, the talks actually turned to debate with Sri! Well he started it. He broached my close-to-heart topic, communal discord. Most of our gods are just kings or great leaders or just heroes. How many people worship one of the trinity compared to innumerable people with affinity for Ram and Krishna. So one day, people of the Gandhi clan, Manmohan Singh (the liberator who got us over our foreign debt), Rajnikant, Khushboo, Tendulkar stand as much chance at Godhood as does Satya Sai Baba, who declares he is the next Visnu incarnate after Ram and Krishna. The unified code of law, do we need hindu/muslim personal laws. Aryans/Dravidians, were the Veda’s just plagiarized from Dravidian literature by the Aryans. India is in a bad state, it’s a chaos… Well, that’s when I got into the debate mode. And when Sri brought up Gujarat, I went on on a monologue about what I know from first person accounts of my friends and family in Baroda. The big divide is very much palpable now in most Gujju cities. Can we do anything about it? I said I try to reduce the acerbity in the hindus I meet back home, but that’s about it. Sri wants change and soon. He’s got a friend who gave up a Microsoft job to join Civil services here. Now that’s some India Today material. So the debate went on mostly centred around why the religions we have now are what they are. The laid back and assimilating hindu’s, the staunch and quite masculine muslims, the convert! Convert! proselytizing Christians. Blah blah blah… for over an hour and a half. By the end, as happens with most of my debates, I started blabbering about the flight, the free local calls from the waiting lounge, and how I spent good time hunting for change downstairs, will they serve food on flight … All this to end the debate and soothe frayed nerves, more mine than his! He is one cool headed guy. Listens good deal, and brings back the debates flying tangentially to the crux quite effectively.

Well, anyways, so boarded the flight… I was actually trying to be more suave than I am normally, which is next to gauche. I feigned an accent when asking for directions and wishing good evening to the german attendant. If u know me, u know how I said this ‘Fifty-three G, where would it be… Thank you, good evening’. I then reproached myself and found 53 G and Sri. Sri went off to sleep almost immediately, and read thru some chapters of Peter Colaco’s. I guess by the time it reaches its owner, the book would be all but in tatters. But then a gift is a gift, regardless of how used it is! Isn’t it? Then started writing this piece, interrupted pleasantly by the attendant for some good Red wine (Isle was the brand) and would you believe it, Lemon Rice!! Well well, guess the germans just wanted to make us all Indians feel at home. But will someone tell them, most non-tambs hate Lemon Rice! And that too with good wine! Well forgive them God, or Rajni. So I guess I am done with the piece, and with the wine and water in and with my laptop on my tummy, my bladder is complaining. So good bye till later…

An American Loo Story

Americans value their privacy more than any other race, so I was told. You can't call on someone without calling up first, you shouldn't knock on unknown doors, when lost in some town to ask for directions to I-90 or to a gas station. Even at the queues at Six Flags there was good breathing space between unacquainted people, although none between them cute cuddly couples who were busy saving each other's lips from the scorching sun above.

It's beyond me, therefore, why there are no separators between most urinals here. Of course not many men would be interested in taking a peek when taking a pee. But why not ensure the privacy of some vulnerably gifted men from prying eyes of others with right ear-rings? One granite slab of 3'x2' at the right height is all you need. Back home, we have them nice and big, the slabs that is. Sometimes taller than required...

So what's the reason then? Maybe it's the carefree open culture of men's locker rooms taken to men's lookar rooms. Maybe it's a byproduct of the have-it-flaunt-it ideology prevalent here. Maybe that’s one reason for gay abundance in the western part of the world. Regardless of reasons or ramifications, I did take time to adjust to the revelation. I can't look a little to the left or right as I am used to. Have to stare straight ahead at the flush knob, or up at the ceiling or down at...

And then there was this McDonald's restroom on I-95 where there was no flush handle and no auto-flush either. I moved away, swayed left right in front of what I thought looked like an infra-red sensor, but nothing happened. If you know me, picture me or else picture yourself doing that in there and you'll know how funny I looked. Being a reformed Indian citizen, I didn't want to leave it as is. That's when a good man noticed and said "No flush in there. that's a waterless urinal." Looked up the web and found: http://www.rotaloo.com/03urinal.html. U.S. - now a pioneer in bathroom technology too!

To go or not to go...

I am here in Boxborough, Masachussetts. A constant hassle for me till now has been getting my sandwiches or burgers or bagels made. Back in an the Bangalore Subway, the guy asks a minimum of questions, which one has to answer in a Yes/No. And not multiple choice, "American or Swiss or Poblano cheese" or even worse open ended ones, "What else would you like in your sandwich?" To begin with I used to baffle a guess, "Umm, Poblano" only to be looked at patronizingly as if "Poor new desi, doesn't know his ABCD!" And then my manager told me that I should ask for Swiss, Swiss is best. "What bread would you like?" I haven't yet found out all the choices for that one. But I should never have said, "Umm, wheat bread?". In another place I haughtily said "What've you got?". And with a very impressive and equally incomprehensible accent she rattled off the options which flew high above me, and said quite helpfully in the end "Or I could give you a wrap", which I understood cent percent. I ended up eating a veg wrap when I wanted a sandwich.

And I've heard quite a few styles of 'here, to go' variations. This actually sounds quite hip to me. Crisp, communcative and with as much politeness as the customer merits by adding 'sir', 'would u want it', 'you'd like it', etc at the right places. I liked the expression, and so also the people using them, esepecially of the right gender. I wonder if back in Baroda "rehvanu ke javanu?" would catch on as easily.

Anyways, so now I've learnt some and gained good confidence. So when presented with them complex choices, I still fumble around in my mind, but with a smart smile, an outward me speaks up "As you would like it, please!"

But frogs don't rock...

Yeah, I know. 'Rock' was something i wanted because i am not yet over my college days when few kind souls, not fans just kind souls, sent me swooping to cloud nine, by giving me 'guitar god' and other equally undeserved and unimaginative epithets. During the few tolerable performances of RECT Western Music Troupe, named 'The Duhs' by our most creative member Deepti Zachariah, we had actually managed to impress, while all we wanted was to salvage pride! There were also Chandrashekhar (Vicky), Arvind (Gandhi), Karthik (K) Vikash (did he have a nick name?) with me. From the Festember 2000 to Leap nite of 2001, we came a long way. And eventually could shake a bit if not rock. So rock...

And well, I have been a frog in the well. India is my home and is going to be so. But why haven't I ventured to the snow capped himalayas or the backwaters of kerala yet, let alone using my passport. And then there are people, of the wrong gender, who think I'm a Casanova, when actually I am that mythical frog waiting for the right kiss. And last and the least, my current residence in Bangalore is at a place called Tawakkal's, and I am told tawakkal in Tamil is a frog. So ribbid...

Travelogues and Travails

I've been around a little. Enough to find that go anywhere in our beautiful country, you always will have something to complain. The heat, the dust, the beggars, the traffic, the crowd, the stench, the hygiene, or lack of it... and thousand other things.

Should anyone try to hold such observations back? I guess not. Each to his own liking, and I like my journals to be smelling beautiful. Let's see...

Born in Bihar, brought up in Gujarat, graduated from Tamil Nadu, and one of the million software engineers in Bangalore... and having three good friends, from Maharashtra - Vaishali Pathak, Bengal - Smita Chakravorty and Karnataka - Shankar Jayaraman. That's given me some coverage. I remember, when I was a kid, we used go picnic'ing to the Maithon Dam near Dhanbad on the Barakar river. Or at least we went there once :-). That habit of exponentially increasing the frequency of good things spurred on by Mr. Nostos. Like "Aah, how we used to sing and dance in the rain on the water tank on our terrace!" or "You used to bring me such lovely flowers!" ...

Anyways, so all I remember of those (or the) picnic was that I felt I have to go places. This is one great place, so unlike the boxy Sindri. There'd certainly be nicer places in Bihar, or thinking bigger India. Mind you, I was a toddler then. So Venice, Vegas or Toronto didn't occur naturally to me. And that dad once killed a goat on the way back with our black sturdy Ambassador! The Big Ambassador! The 'Shaan Car'! The animal would've boasted in goatee heaven, most goats go there, atoning all sins by giving their lives for the nutritional betterment of the society, 'you lowly creatures, slain by rusted knives! Look at me, I was done for by India's pride!"

It was a dream alright to go places. But I find I have never once gone out of urban India, forget about going out of India. Have been to the metros, but never the mofussil towns like Pankaj Mishra, who is a fellow Bihari, and whose book Butter Chicken, I have a sweet and sour opinion about. But next month is going to be my first journey to the haven of s/w engineers. So I thought let me start a blog, and use it in stead of my old diary, which is now so full of emotions, I can sometimes hear it cry. And I started a blog... Ribbid.