The Variegated Sky™

The Ground Floor

2011-11-29T16:49:00.000-08:00

Couple of days ago I saw a story (watch video) on CBS 5 news where children go to school unplugged. The first graders shuck corn and build a garden, while fourth graders explore the philosophy behind Celtic knot drawing. Personally, I feel that you can not protect something you feel disconnected from, so the first lesson in every school should not be just A-B-C or 1-2-3 but also the bond we share with our environment.

I was reminded of a conversation with my mother-in-law where she lamented that technology has made us lose touch with nature. She opined that youth today are so engrossed in their iPods, their music and their world that they forget the world around them. They miss out the chirping of a bird or the beauty of a day. I remembered the first day I stopped paying attention to people- the day I got excited about having Internet in our home for the first time. She had a point there.

I agree that technology can be put to good use- to gather information, to dissipate new ideas, like this Google ad asserts:

But I too, like many others, spend most of the day making love to my laptop. Of course, some of my best friends are the ones I video-chat with over Internet because they live far away, and I miss having face time with them.

A song from arguably the first Bengali rock band - Moheener Ghoraguli(est 1975) plays in my mind:

পৃথিবীটা নাকি ছোট হতে হতে

Satellite আর Cable-এর হাতে

Drawing Room এ রাখা বোকা বাক্স তে বন্দী

...

ভেবে দেখেছ কি ?

তারা রাও যত আলোকবর্ষ দূরে

তার ও দূরে

তুমি আর আমি যাই ক্রমে সরে সরে

(Has the world shrunk and been held captive by satellite and cable in the drawing room idiot box? Have you thought about it? Slowly, we drift apart from each other further light-years than the stars.)

I also understand the importance of isolation for creators- how crucial it is to incubate ideas and live in your own world for days till you complete the composition.

Most days, I choose to get out from my third floor apartment, get into the elevator only a few steps away, and switch on the ‘P’ for Parking Garage; blissfully ignoring the ‘G’ for ground floor. And of course, my destination is air-conditioned and so is my mode of transport. On days that I am feeling extremely adventurous, I go out for a walk in the park in front of my house. I marvel at the vignette of the mountains drenched in fading red rays of a setting sun and take pleasure in watching several activities: owners bring out their pets to play, new mothers take out their babies in strollers, visiting parents or families walk together sluggishly, a few men and women play soccer, and a determined, athletic person does his daily rounds of jogging.

I watch them while I sit on a bench or stretch –depending on the time of the evening. Then I go to the gym, promise myself to go to park more often, and forget all about it afterwards. Technology is a beautiful thing. It has done wonders to the way we communicate. But like our daily requirements of dietary fiber, we need our basic daily dose of ground floor trips where we step out of our comfortable corners and walk on the face of the earth, albeit on a paved footpath. Weather permitting.

If I had to marry my rapist

2011-11-23T01:34:00.000-08:00

I read this article on CNN about the difficult choice a woman made when she had to choose between marrying her rapist and serving a sentence in jail. Several outraged women suggested that she should marry him and exact vengeance by poisoning him etc. It is all very good from an idealist’s point of view. A film maker of moderate talent might even make a heart-wrenching tale out of her plight. But my rage is towards the options she has or doesn’t have.

Media influence
My first impression about rape was extracted from the Bollywood movies of the 80s and the 90s, some of which depicted rape as a visual treat for the audience. I often wondered why such scenes were allowed for public viewing while something as natural as love-making was considered taboo. In a certain sub-genre of horror films, a female gang-rape victim killed after the assault turned into a white saree-clad ghost who seduced men and killed them on the mere pretext of their ogling at her.

Growing up
When I was growing up, I heard from my close friends or cousins – how they were made to discover their developing sexuality by a stranger groping them at an unguarded moment or a close acquaintance of the family making a remark about their growing assets privately. Growing up was a shame. There was no one to condition the mind and prepare it for the developments of the body. The well-intended Moral Science classes at school were not enough.

Intoxication
After my much protected childhood, I started living away from my family for my undergrads in NCR. I was told that there are certain things you should take care of if you don’t want to be violated against your will. Most newspapers and hostel seniors forewarned girls against accepting drinks from strangers. Of course, there are enough predators wishing they could take advantage of you while you are sober to let intoxicated senses pose no difficulty of access for unwanted elements.

Crime prone areas: NCR
As an undergraduate student, I often read in the newspapers: “North East girl gang raped in Delhi’. She was on her way from work, was a BPO employee or a student taking a morning walk with her friend in the early hours of the morning. Then the report of a similar incident at a nearby place followed. The most sex-crime prone areas would be listed yet another time.

Years later, nothing has changed, it has only worsened: the National Crime Records Bureau (NCRB) of home ministry revealed that the rape cases in the capital increased from 459 in 2009 to 489 in 2010, in spite of the fact that only 1 in every 69 rape case is ever reported in India.

Demographic of the most-effected victims in NCR
NGOs report that about half of the sexually assaulted women belong to North East. Women with distinct physical features like small eyes are more prone to attacks because the attacker knows that the person is not from around the region, and more often the victim decides to leave NCR and go back home than face taunts on the street and go through the whole ordeal of a quadriplegic justice system.

The CM of Delhi, Sheila Dixit promised the community to set up a hostel for working women from North-East but few have moved to the one that has come up in Jasola because it is located in a remote area and has poor security.

War rapes
We know that rape is not always a means of sexual gratification; it is an attempt at psychological dominance by humiliating the victim. The offender often feels the need to control the situation and uses aggression to hurt and control.

Advice
Whatever the psychodynamics of the assault are, what every woman needs to know is that you can protect yourself from certain situations. But if an accident happens, you don’t need to let it define you or your relations. There is no reason to feel less worthy as a human being.

Our social institutions might not always help us deal with difficult situations like this, but self-suggestion can help us reduce the damaging effect of the assault. I can’t speak for the woman who had to leave her job or the woman who has to marry her rapist, but for some of us, who have the right to choose, can choose to live with dignity. An animal blinded by lust can’t be the biggest thing that happened to us or the most important parameter of measuring our lives.

Read the title of this post again, if you don't have to make such a difficult choice, you are already on your way to recovery.

Once upon a time...

2011-11-11T12:04:00.000-08:00

If I lived in a fairy tale, I would have looked exactly like this.

(Un)faithful

2011-11-01T11:34:00.000-07:00

I had an interesting conversation with my friends about why people choose to cheat. In this case, the Nash equilibrium would be when both partners choose to be loyal to each other (1,1)and the pay-offs are great. But sometimes, the fear is the possibility of being fooled by the other (1,-1) (-1,1) and be let down. An extreme outcome (and prevalent social scenario)would be when both choose to betray the other (0,0) Maybe the betrayal doesn't feel so bad then.

Also, think of the relation between a corporation (A) and an employee (B). The employee chooses to be faithful to his/her firm- gives his/her best shot at work and do more than asked. The firm in return provides ample scope for growth, gives incentives for hard work and so on and so forth and the relation is a long, strong one. The employee doesn't feel he has wasted his efforts and the firm is confident of its most essential resource : its employees. But if the employee is lazy, or not giving his best- wary that it will be unacknowledged, he/she will not be loyal to work and attrition will follow (1,-1). The firm might downsize or let go of people to cut down operations costs. Even a hard-working employee will feel cheated then (-1,1). In times of economic affluence, a firm might not care what quality of work is produced, and the employee may take no care of improving performance (0,0). Both lose.

Mirror, Mirror on the Wall

2011-10-24T07:31:00.000-07:00

"The happiest man on earth would look into the mirror and see only himself, exactly how he is."

How often we do stand in front of a mirror and feel fascinated with our looks: the soulful eyes, the locks on the temple, the sweet mouth, the narcotic tongue, the fullness of contours, and the grace of form and movement?

Or wish we were slimmer, taller, had longer hair, or whiter teeth? Some of us consider cosmetic surgery and indulge in a keyword search that we think will improve our self-perception if followed. We presume,’ Oh! I will be happier if I look more perfect.’ Nothing could be farther from truth.

It is true, we need to be physically fit to live life- have a threshold amount of health to be able to enjoy what life has to offer, but the bilateral symmetry which we obsess over is over-rated. Why is that some women who are the epitome of pulchritude have the messiest perceptions about themselves, are very difficult to be with and often suffer bouts of depressions? On the other hand, the-not-so-perfect looking individuals are happy, living life with a good sense of humor and focusing on what is really important.

What is it that they know? What is the secret mantra to success and happiness? I can’t speak for everyone, but I strongly believe it is the knowledge of the self- as it is. And an incredible thirst to know further. Everything we learn helps us expand our thinking into another dimension. Every experience and talent we earn is making us a more complete human being. And the thirst to know our inner selves through different forms of expressions should at least be equal to, if not greater than, our desire to be perfect in our physical appearance.

Are there directives about how we should go on that quest to find our completeness?

In Bhagwat Gita, Krishna says:
'Among women, I am fame (kirti), prosperity(sri), speech (vak), memory (smriti), intelligence (medha), endurance (dhriti) and forgiveness (kshama).'

I find it relevant even today and it gives me a good sense of what qualities I could work on to be more accomplished. And make that image in the mirror more like what I want it to be.

Chader pahar podcast

2011-10-23T05:11:00.000-07:00

This site includes no advertising and generates no revenue. This podcast is under fair use of copyright (US law, Section 1.2.9 ).

Chader Pahar (Mountain of Moon) by Bibhutibhushan Bandopadhyay.
CHAPTER 1

Expressions

2011-10-18T05:34:00.000-07:00

Recently, I have noticed -a few have the misconception that it is very trendy to trash others without having any real authority to do so. They think it is lame to read, write, draw, take pictures, sing, cook, dance, walk, learn a language, and volunteer to work for a cause. In fact, anything that does not include pointing fingers towards other human beings and then scanning them under a microscope for flaws- is a complete waste of time.

Personally, I have never faced such issues, because I am surrounded by very positive people who encourage any form of creativity. But for the unfortunate few who are often told that they are not good enough or their work is not worthy of attention- my advice is -keep an open mind for constructive criticism (very few will invest the energy, really), but don't give up on your passion(s).

Also, it is alright to feel frustrated or disappointed with your composition sometimes. But the important thing is not to quit. It may take months or years before you can create a masterpiece- maybe never (the worst possible scenario), but it is a lot better than not having tried.

Brush strokes 2

2011-10-15T19:26:00.000-07:00

My first acrylic Buddha. Made while watching, 'Idle hands' :D

Disturbia

2011-10-13T05:24:00.000-07:00

Last week, I was very upset by the news of Steve Jobs’s death, now confirmed as respiratory arrest owing to complications from pancreatic cancer he was long battling. I had not known him personally or even as an employer, but his 2005 Stanford commencement speech had inspired me at a time when I most needed it, and for that I felt a certain kind of gratitude towards him.

I was also disturbed by the events at a cement factory in Cupertino where a man shot dead three of his colleagues and wounded several others when he opened fire in a staff meeting. He was a single parent with two kids. Someone who had authored a self-help book, reported for local news, and worked at the cement factory for 15 years. After widespread panic and one of Silicon Valley's most massive manhunts, he succumbed to his own shot in the head.

Two very different deaths. But the obsession of a certain segment of media with the gory details of the later event, instead of a healthy discussion on what is a social tragedy, was disturbing. Not as globally known or mourned as the death of a tech pioneer, but indicative of a disease that lurks in the society to spring on good,god-fearing (from interviews) people on a Wednesday morning at 4 am. Why did he lose his temper to such an extreme?

Recently I read somewhere about how poets and artists fear their passing would be 'quite unnoticed'. The Fall of Icarus by Brueghel, and Musee des Beaux Arts by Auden have spoken well of human indifference. The first time I saw the painting, I wondered why the perspective of the painting is such that the fall and the consequent death of Icarus is an insignificant aspect in it. Now, I understand and see the beauty of it.

The Fall of Icarus by Pieter Brueghel the Elder

Marriage

2011-10-07T06:16:00.000-07:00

This picture has done quite some rounds with the punchline: A wife is a wife...no matter who the hell u are

So I decided to retaliate with the other aspect of marriage:

P.S. I can joke abt it because I have no such issues.. yet :P

Brush strokes

2011-09-30T16:04:00.000-07:00

I have been having some fun with watercolor lately.

Geisha, Sept 30

Bamboo, Sept 21

An unusual friend

2011-09-29T23:19:00.000-07:00

I was talking to my brother when he reminded of one of the most unusual friends I had as a kid.

It was a crow with a broken upper beak.

One day, it stood on a brick wall separating our home from our neighbors on the west. I was in a good mood and so I sang a song to it I composed simultaneously , something about a faraway princess and his being her messenger. (How I knew it was a 'he'- I don't know, I just assumed).

He eyed me dubiously at first, and relaxed at the realization that I was a bit cacophonous but innocuous. I thought I should reward such an enduring audience and borrowed cookies from my mother and placed them on the wall. He performed a sort of war dance around it stepping side-wise to and fro, then suddenly picked it with his broken beak and rushed to the quieter end of the wall where he munched on it. He flew away without saying thanks.

The next day, however, I heard a knock on my bedroom window, south of the house. I don't know how he realized it was my room, but he got me a half eaten fish-bone and cawed, coaxing me delicately to eat it. I was surprised at this gallantry. He probably sacrificed his lunch for me. I begged some more cookies from my mother.' It is that wretched crow again!' I told her he got me something too. She couldn't believe her eyes when she saw it.

I often shared scraps of food with him. One day, he even got his girlfriend along. I wondered if she was the reason he broke his beak. Was she worth fighting over? I guess she was. I looked at them like a mother regards her grown-up children. She fussed with him and they fed each other bits of food. He wasn't as lonely as I had imagined him to. It was good to know.

*

I had almost forgotten about him, and then Dada mentioned him in a conversation today. Crows live a good many years - over a score. I wonder if I will still see him if I visit our old house.

You know about my pet dog, did I tell you I had a cat too?

Crime City on Google+

2011-09-22T05:08:00.000-07:00

Vote for your favorite game avatar:)

My favorite is the last one- looks more professional and dressed for combat. Sometimes, I put a FBI vest or a tank top on her, and change her pants to military monochrome.

That's my gang attacking my mobster boss- Natty Blunts.

Raksha Bandhan

2011-08-13T07:01:00.000-07:00

Raksha Bandhan or the bond of protection is primarily observed to celebrate the bond between brothers and sisters where the sister ties a rakhi or sacred knot around the wrist of the brother and he vows to protect her through life. The brother could be related by blood or be a muh bolah one. My post is about the later.

There are several historical mentions of the rakhi-bond; as a kid, I read about Krishna-Draupadi, Karnavati, the queen of Chitor and Humayun, the Mughal emperor. There was a time when it meant something. But I have become a cynic over the years.

A psychoanalysis session might yield the following as a causal event of my attitude:

A boy (A) in my class had a crush on a girl(B), everyone knew about it - including the
girl. On Rakhi, the greatest fear of a boy was to get a rakhi from someone for whom he had a romantic predisposition. Many skipped school on that day for the same. However,A was not so fortunate. When classes got over, B got hold of A and tied a rakhi round his wrist. I saw his face. He waited until she turned her back, took it off, threw it in the ground and stomped on it like a maniac, with anger so real that it hurt me to watch it.

Many girls have resorted to this technique. When a certain undesirable wooer tried to seek affection, the girl waited till rakhi to crush all his dreams. I am a woman but I feel it is foul play. I can understand the fear can be real for some who know the havoc unrequited love can create, but trying to extinguish feelings by spray painting a pseudo-relation? You can't force anyone to love or unlove. This age old ceremony became an arrangement for emotional castration. Worse still, I saw a rakhi brother and sister date- something equivalent to incest.

I am not a syngenesophobic, but I hardly ever call anyone my 'brother' until I really mean it. I have tried calling one of my very old friends,'Dada'( elder brother in Bangla) on several occasions, because I see him that way. But I have noticed he feels offended by it. I will never know if he dislikes it because of the age connotation or because he thinks it makes him feel like a asexual being. It is the tragedy of a generation that has seen sex appeal being overrated in media and probably thinks sex is the only way to connect.

Whatever the reason- my only supplication is - girls don't use a rakhi as a protection from the one you are tying it to- it disrespects the sentiments associated with it. And boys (not men- they know)- don't try too hard to capitalize on your sex appeal- there are a lot of relations worth more than that.

Aarakshan

2011-08-13T05:41:00.000-07:00

It is a misnomer. The later half deals with commercialization of education, the first half is equivocal about reservation.

Prakash Jha tried to create a cinematic sonnet by stating a problem in the octave and proposing a solution in the sestet. The ninth line might be where Mrs. Anand (Tanvi Azmi) suggested scholarships for meritorious but financially backward students and remedial classes to cope with the weaker students from disadvantageous sections of the society.

It had great potential, but the pseudo-intellectual attempt ruined it. And they banned the screening in Andhra Pradesh, Punjab and Uttar Pradesh? What a laugh.

But it is good to see contemporary Indian film-makers make an attempt at least.

Las Vegas

2011-07-24T22:49:00.000-07:00

Each place you visit teaches something about yourself- something you never knew or something you had long forgotten. Las Vegas, which means ‘The Meadows’ in Spanish, has something to offer to everyone. Whether you will remember it as the ‘The Entertainment Capital of the World, or ‘Sin City’ or by some other name depends on what you are looking for in your trip, and what you find really.

He said he wanted to spend his birthday with me- just me, and that he wanted to take me to Vegas. Soon enough, we made reservations for our hotel, rented a Jeep Liberty (we usually don't use our own vehicle on road trips) for what could be a 9-10 hrs drive- depending on the pits stops and the traffic. We knew it would be a gas guzzler, but we found comfort on the road and were happy with the choice of our car. Initially, we wanted to see Death Valley on our way, but later gave up on the idea to save some time.

We started early morning on his birthday- July 8th, Friday. On our way, we stopped by San Luis Reservoir, and at Bakersfield for lunch. Windmills always remind me of Don Quixote - the canonical ideologist disenchanted by society.

We saw Boron, named after the element, which inhabits the largest deposits of borax in the world. A dead river at Mojave made me sad. There were interesting posts that said :
'Water=jobs, Keep water flowing into farms'
'Congress created the dust bowl'

We always stop to buy some farm fresh fruits on our trips. The spiced pistachios we picked from a fruit stall made delectable munching material. He drove, I DJ-ed on our ipods & the satellite radio, and we sang old favorites together. When the first road sign mentioning Las Vegas appeared, we were still a couple of hours away. But the appetite to get acquainted with the city increased.

A couple of billboards said,’ Going to Vegas? Go where Vegas began. Flamingo.’

One of the most celebrated early resorts; Flamingo Hotel was built by the mobster Benjamin’Bugsy’ Siegel, a member of the Meyer Lansky crime syndicate. Lansky and Siegel were lifelong friends and the former is said to have convinced the Mafia to place Siegel in Vegas. Lansky had heavily invested in the Flamingo, like many other syndicate bosses in the 1930s who invested their illegal profits in a smorgasbord of ventures.

After long delays and cost overruns, the hotel was still losing Mafia money. Most of the bosses wanted Siegel dead. It is said that Lansky bargained twice to save Siegel and give him some time. But in 1947, Siegel was shot and killed in Beverly Hills, California. The crime went unpunished. Only his brother and a priest attended the funeral. Much of Siegel’s life is the subject of the 1991 movie,’Bugsy.’

The Ten Commandments and another billboard stating,' Not everything stays in Vegas freeSTDcheck.org' prepared the wayfarer morally for what lay ahead.

Just for fun

2011-05-02T16:49:00.001-07:00

Motion sequence with a very obliging model :)

My brother says that with frizzy hair I look like a lion :D

To catch a thief

2011-04-29T22:01:00.000-07:00

First year of hostel life had its charm- the first time I was away from home- and the only birthday when my seniors and classmates stood me up against a wall and threw eggs at me to celebrate it. It was a year of discovery- of the beauty of some people and the ugliness in the hearts of some. It was a year that made me realize that everything wasn’t black and white. Sometimes, my heart aches to think of the naiveté with which I viewed the world back then, and the fearlessness I fostered in my heart. I believed I could do anything. I still do… somehow…

I heard rumors from my batchmates about this girl who lived a couple of floors above me in my hostel room. We made jokes about her stealing sanitary napkins- she was so indiscreet in her choice of ‘resource allocation’. I suggested with all the goodness of my young heart- that maybe she was a ’kleptomaniac’, who submitted to impulses and needed clinical help. My argument was refuted by the fact that she often stole money and other valuables. But a tube of half-used apricot scrub? Evidently, when anything went missing – even your favorite red bra- we assumed it was MP. (Hope she has a better career now)

Half of the hostel had begun to boycott her for her stealing habits (many people vouched for it), and the rest avoided her for dressing like an attention whore and grinding seniors on DJ nights. (It was quite scary at that time, and unless you were doing it too- it could be quite a taboo)

10 things a man should know

2011-04-28T18:48:00.000-07:00

The idea of a perfect man changes with age. The prurient teenage fantasies about the physique of Fabio give way to the hope of finding a caring man like Roberto Benigni in Life is Beautiful, who will call you his princess and believe so too. Soon we learn that a good sense of humor is the most important thing needed to live life. So, that would be numero uno in my list. The rest are enumerated in no specific order.

1. A man should know how to laugh at himself and occasionally, at you so that you don't take yourself too seriously.

2. A man should know how to make a meal. Even fixing sandwiches is a good quality.

3. He should know how to talk to children, to elders, to waiters- in fact, to anyone. He shouldn't be verbally challenged, shouldn't be garrulous either. Everyone will have their own fulcrum on which they balance the extremes.

4. He should love to travel, to explore new things. Novelty should excite him.

5. He should own a vehicle and know how to change its tires.

6. He should know to play at least one musical instrument. Better if he can sing along too. You can thank your stars when he serenades you or begins to hum your old favorite. Writing poetry can be a supplementary trait, or dancing, or painting -actually, anything in fine arts- you get the drift.

7. He should know his threshold of alcohol intake. Nothing is more embarrassing than a man who drinks beyond reason and makes a complete fool of himself socially.

8. He should know how to challenge you. Shouldn't agree with everything you say. You can't be right always. And if you needed a feet-licking pooch, you'd have gotten one. A man looks a man when he can give compelling, rational arguments to prove you wrong. You probably wouldn't like to admit it, but you'll be glad to see things from a different perspective.

9. A man should know how to take care of himself. He should follow a healthy exercise regime, try to eat right and nudge you to do so if you feel lazy at times.

10. He should know how to love and how to make love. I don't have to explain that.

Grandma

2011-04-23T01:01:00.000-07:00

12:51 AM PST
A little while ago Dad called to say that she passed away around 12 noon, IST on 4/23/2011, Saturday. I knew it when I saw Dad's number on the caller id. 1- He never calls up so late at night. 2- We talked about her often, and he never sounded so disconsolate about her gradually deteriorating condition before like he has been recently. So, I knew before I heard it, and had cried through evening wondering how it would be to never see her again- if Dad's fear were true.

It seems so unjust that just when I have begun a new life, someone so dear to me should end her earthly existence. I can't say it was abrupt- we had been expecting it for months now. But bereavement is never easy- apprehended or not.
...

Riddle me this

2011-04-22T00:37:00.000-07:00

Riddle me this- which saree was I actually wearing? 1, 2, 3 or 4

Bleed Blue

2011-04-01T17:13:00.000-07:00

As a very young kid, I walked into the TV room and saw my family getting excited over a match. I asked my elder brother- ‘How many goals have been scored?’ He laughed and said, ‘Stupid, it isn’t football (soccer), it is cricket! You don’t score goals; you score runs or take wickets. I would have probably forgotten the incident, but he makes it sure to remind me once in a while my naiveté about a game that defines a country, unites its diversity and rekindles passion in many a passive existence surrendered to the daily grind of day-to-dayness of life.

Over the years, my education on the game continued with my family participating actively in my grasping of new terms -onside/off-side, pacers/spinners, no ball/wide ball, lbw (leg before wickets) – I learned the nuances of the game as I got acquainted with the basic cricket vocabulary.

Cricket means family and friends to me. Cricket means what almost every kid plays in the gullies of India, believes in the superiority of his skills and brags about it to his GF when he grows up. Cricket means seeing people get pissed off because the team you support is misfielding in a stadium, miles away from where you are watching the match. It means a new leash on life, a chance to forget mediocrity and bask in the excellence of a few. It is a reason to reach home early in the blaring traffic or to stay up all night. Cricket also means when a star player can sell you anything from shoes to cold drinks. But most of all – cricket means a religion – something you believe in, something that drives you- even if it is just for a few days.

My mother is one of the bigger cricket fanatics I know, who watches any match that is broadcasted, but her frenzy reaches its crescendo in World Cup every four years. I know, even today she will get back from work just in time to watch the final.

Here’s my recollection of some matches:

Colors

2011-03-10T09:31:00.000-08:00

RED

2011-02-16T23:36:00.000-08:00

The color of passion, blood, courage. The color of the living. I have often wondered what happens when we reach a state we have long coveted. Is it the end? The mental equilibrium - does it tame us? Do we give up on passions and merely satisfy ourselves in living the day-to-dayness of our lives? Or do we wish, more than ever, to catapult ourselves into the next higher datum plane of existence?

I crave for the adrenaline rush that comes from setting a distinct goal and focusing all my energy into achieving it. For a long time, I feel I have been disconnected from things that should really matter to me, things that should never stop mattering. Not anymore. I am going to give myself a push to make that leap.

A card

2011-02-13T16:11:00.000-08:00

I made this card for him impromptu today.

Commencement 2010

2010-06-16T11:18:00.000-07:00

Day 2

At 7 AM, Dad called me up to make sure I got up, even before my alarm set off. It is good to know that you can always count on some people. I buried my face in the pillow, trying to pull myself up, lying to my body clock about the confusion. A cold shower woke me completely and I dabbed some sunscreen on my face and other exposed areas, worked on my eyes with a liner and spread some light gloss on my lips.

I wore a brown, cotton, tube dress and black leggings, but I forgot the shoes. I had to come back for the brown pumps and toss the flip flops just in time to reach the ice rink at 8 AM. I met some graduate students already dressed in robes, but since I had the wrong one, I kept it neatly in the packet. Once I changed the hood from blue (College of Education) to brown (College of Management), I wore it inside the restroom. Every other girl was fussing or was getting fussed about with the cap and gown. I walked into the denoted area and met some former classmates and professors.

I was beginning to feel it in first person already. I was glad I had come over. It was worth it - every bit of it. We greeted each other and queued up behind the flag bearers of CM. The university took care to provide fresh water bottles to the students, and I felt it was very important not to get dehydrated. Last year, I had attended the graduation of a friend and it had rained. I was hoping it wouldn’t during the main ceremony as it took place in the open lawn, by the sea. But it was very warm and the hot sun dried up the insides of us. We kept taking as many pictures as we could.

Chancellor Motley introduced the commencement speaker- Victoria Reggie Kennedy, wife of late Senator Ted Kennedy. She is an attorney and the cofounder and trustee of the Edward M. Kennedy Institute for the United States Senate at UMB. She delivered the principal address to 3,366 graduates at the University of Massachusetts Boston's 42nd commencement ceremony, near the site where the institute will break ground this fall.

The John F Kennedy Presidential Library & Museum is right across the campus. The public wake of Edward Kennedy had taken place from 10 a.m. to 4 p.m. on Friday, August 28, 2009 at the library's Smith Center, a maple-paneled room with a striking view of the Boston skyline. I remember watching the live broadcast of the eulogy delivered by President Obama on Saturday at The Basilica of Our Lady of Perpetual Help in Boston's Mission Hill section, while working out at the HP fitness center.

Senator John McCain shared his thoughts on his late colleague. I particularly remember the incident he recalled about two freshmen Senators getting personal over a political debate. The heat of the argument attracted the attention of senior members like Ted and John. ‘ A fight not joined was a fight not enjoyed’ had me in splits. It was enlightening to see politicians gathering at the funeral by putting aside their ideological differences. I recognized Senator John Kerry from Massachusetts, who had delivered the inaugural speech at Commencement 2009, UMB and 'Governator' Arnold Schwarzenegger of California, where I was planning to head soon.

Chancellor Motley acknowledged the contribution of the Kennedys to UMB, and Victoria insisted that the institute was not going to be a shrine to Ted or to the senate, but a seat of learning, a living, breathing, constantly growing and evolving center.

The 2010 John F. Kennedy Award for Academic Excellence recipient, the university’s highest honor for an undergraduate, was Thao Do, a Vietnamese immigrant whose goal is to devote her life to fight against the HIV/AIDS epidemic. The content of her speech drove me to tears as I envisioned her struggle and the scope education offered to many like her. ‘My name can be mispronounced but as people call my name, they have to acknowledge and accept me as who I am’ struck a chord.

Divorce in India

2010-06-11T08:55:00.000-07:00

Irretrievable breakdown of marriage made ground for divorce

NEW DELHI: The cabinet Thursday approved an amendment to the Hindu Marriage Act to make irretrievable breakdown of marriage an additional ground for divorce.

"This would provide safeguards to parties who file petitions for grant of divorce by mutual consent but who wilfully avoid coming to court thus causing harassment to the other party," Information and Broadcasting Minister Ambika Soni told reporters after a cabinet meeting chaired by Prime Minister Manmohan Singh.

She said the amendment would be effected through the Marriage Laws (Amendment) Bill, 2010 which would be tabled in parliament.

-The Economic Times

Historic data suggests that India had the lowest divorce rates in the world 1.1% (11 in every 1,000), significantly lower than countries with 50% divorce rates. (Sadly, the CIA Worldbook also cited the infant mortality rate of India as 64.9 deaths/1,000 live births as opposed to 6.76 deaths/1,000 live births in US.)

Years ago, I saw two donkeys tied at their feet. I couldn't imagine how they grazed and how the waywardness of one couldn't effect the other. I was young, but resolute enough to pledge that I'll never let myself be in a relation like that.

Commencement 2010

2010-06-09T18:17:00.000-07:00

Day 1, Thurs, June 3, 2010, Boston, Massachusetts
The cab driver was very enthusiastic to learn that I had flown from CA for my Graduation, and wished me luck with my life ahead. “You are young, you are smart. You might be a VP in 5 years.” ‘I hope so’ I said fondly. A professional degree is not the end; it is the beginning of a life-long commitment to learn. There will be things that I couldn’t have learned in a classroom. My teachers will not always be kind to me like my professors, but I hope I never stop. I long to stay hungry. Always.

It was around 5: 30 AM when I rang the bell of my former apartment, hoping my friends remembered my estimated time of arrival. A very sleepy DJ opened the doors for me and stood straight long enough for me to give him a bear hug. The apartment looked pretty much the same, a little messier, but I knew I had left it in good hands.

I hardly had any sleep on my red-eye flight, so I took out my snooze kit with eye mask and ear plugs, stuffed them on and went to bed in the warm, humid morning. Couple of hours later, I woke up and had some fruit salad for breakfast. One of my seniors was staying home to study for CFA Level 2 exam on Saturday. He offered to lend the apartment keys if I needed to go out.

Commencement 2010

2010-06-07T07:12:00.000-07:00

I was not sure I'd take the walk this year for a number of reasons. But then Shweta lent me some of her enthusiasm and I saw the email for my nomination to the valedictorian speech, albeit past the deadline to apply. I called up the Graduate Studies and emailed the Dean, but to no avail. The student was already selected and they couldn't possibly accommodate two speakers. Later, I discovered that by the time the College of Management sub-ceremony started, every one was so hungry and tired, no one really cared what the student speaker was delivering. Yet, I believe I could have done a better job, and it was the best platform I could have voiced my acknowledgments. However, it is only fair, people who don't know what they want shouldn't get it.

Day 0, Wed, June 2, 2010, San Jose, California

SG came over to drop me to San Jose airport. My land lord was at home, so he couldn't say an elaborate goodbye like he had planned. My flight was at 9 PM PT. We started early to avoid the outgoing traffic from offices. When I picked my boarding pass from the kiosk, it was 7 :15 PM. We had some time to kill before I walked through the check-in counter, so we hung around in front of the queuing space. He wanted a coffee, and I wanted something to munch on. Unfortunately, Terminal A, where my Jet Blue was stationed, did not have any options. We kept hugging and kissing each other. He was sad that he wouldn't be there for the ceremony. Suddenly, I didn't feel like leaving him behind. Oh, how I wished I had decided earlier to travel to Boston ! We could have made our plans. His parents are visiting, I could have RSVPed with some guests. It was cheerless to write '0' guests on the invite. But like I believe, uncertainty shouldn't go unpunished.

Road Trip: California route 1

2010-05-14T18:36:00.000-07:00

'Big Sur is the California that men dreamed of years ago ... this is the face of the earth as the Creator intended it to look'

-Henry Miller

It is very hard to resist the lure of open roads once you have tasted the joy in marveling at Nature's creation and felt like a child again- wanting to live only for the present- when no promise, no land, no reward seems more alluring than what you have right in your hand. What a beautiful state of mind!

I had fallen in love with the glorious Pacific coastline the first time I flew over California. I could see the blue ocean juxtaposed with mountains from my flight window and I heard myself think: Someday, I will see it up close.

Our weekend trip to Yosemite National Park

2010-05-03T09:13:00.000-07:00

'The world is a lot more than it appears from an open window.'

- A friend

On Wed, April 21, SG got his California State driving license, and last weekend he suggested: 'Let's go to Yosemite.' We checked Google maps, it showed 3 hrs 33 mins drive from our starting point. By Thursday, we confirmed the hotel bookings. It was at short notice. 'The Ahwahnee', 'Yosemite View Lodge' had no rooms available in Expedia. We finally narrowed it to 'Wawona Hotel'. It promised us the relaxing experience of a bygone era, with no Internet and telephone (or cellphone signal as we later discovered).

Early morning, on Sat, May 1, we set out with our 'Navigon: And the world is yours.' She can be a little silly at times, but helpful for a journey like this. I wondered aloud -' How did people travel before GPS was invented?' referring to the ease it provides. SG reminded, 'They had maps' and opined that GPS kills the joy of driving if you just blindly follow the directions.

We drove north towards the verdant mountains we can see from home. In an hour, we caught sight of some gigantic windmills along I-680 N. I thought of Don Quixote de la Mancha.

The exit onto I-580 E towards Stockton brought us to the valley of San Joaquin, greeting us with green orchards and farms. We made a mental note of getting some farm fresh strawberries on our way back. We clicked some pictures in an almond orchard and the friendly farmers waved and smiled at us every time we moved. Moving along CA-120 E/Yosemite Ave, we came across a vintage car rally.

Before long, we discovered the pleasant indulgence of several vista points offering amnesia-rendering scenic views. You know when nothing before or after the moment seems important, and your whole existence is sucked into the beauty of the surrounding elements, and you cease to be yourself, a separate entity and blend in with what you are sensing.. or something like that.

We entered the Yosemite National Park from the west gate. They charge $20 for private family autos for a 7 day permit. You can obtain a Yosemite pass for 12 months for $40. Soon, we saw snow on the ground, with bursts of sunshine between giant Sequoia trees. We stopped at a gas station to fill and stretch our legs when a mama bear with her two cubs decided to come out for a stroll.

I had never seen uncaged wild bears so close, so all I could do was scream : 'Sangy.. dekho bhalook' repeatedly to my companion. Some nearby tourists noticed my animation and pointed towards the woods where my gaze and camera lens were fixed. A lady told me that it was very unusual for them to walk down so low. I wondered if they had difficulty finding food above. There are very strict rules about feeding the wildlife.. and for a reason.

Each year bears are killed in Yosemite as a direct result of human carelessness and improper food storage. Driven by their powerful sense of smell, bears are drawn by odors of human food. Once they eat this food, they continue to seek it out from backpacks, picnic tables, ice chests and cars. Bears recognize grocery bags and scented articles such as soap, sunscreen, hair spray, perfume, even toothpaste.

You are required by federal regulations to store all your "food" properly throughout Yosemite National Park. You must have your food stored unless it's within arm's reach (so, don't go for a swim or take a nap while leaving food out).(nps.gov)Bear canisters and food lockers are available for use.

The vignette changed into a large area of forest fire remnants with some sad beauty. A very scary, winding Old Priest Grade tests the skills of a driver with sign boards cautioning against falling rocks. A couple of tunnels, a dancing brook with ice cold water and waterfalls punctuated our journey.

The first view of the majestic El Capitan and the Yosemite falls charmed us. The road led us to the valley where campers were cycling and rock climbers were practicing. The vertical granite monolith is a mecca for rock climbers all over the world. With over 800 trails, the mountains offer numerous opportunities for hikers. We pledged to backpack the next time we visit.

The Housekeeping camp with showers and laundromat facilities appeared on our left and we decided to visit The Village Store. Parking was more than impossible, I got down and browsed through the aisles for some dry food and a souvenir fridge magnet. Starving, I took a bite of a bear claw I had bought and made a delectable discovery. We had our lunch at Curry Village where squirrels and birds abound.

We hit the road again towards Wawona to reach our hotel -a picturesque assembly of white cottages. We checked in and the receptionist reminded us to take our food out of the car. I had hardly slept the night before, and the cozy bed of Moore's cottage seemed very inviting. The last thought on my mind was- I should be wearing a Victorian bustle dress to match the decor.

I woke up around 8 pm, took a shower and headed for dinner. The chef's special soup of the day was a savory melange of broccoli and cheese. I ordered a medium-rare flat iron steak with mashed potatoes and vegetables. SG ordered Turkey ravioli. The fresh baked bread and homemade butter made me close my eyes in palatable delight. I shut all other senses and focused on my taste buds, while the gustatory cells titillated my brain with gratifying impulses.

Satisfied, we walked out on to the lawn. I couldn't remember the last time I had seen so many stars all at once. I saw a shooting star, and the cool air of the night flirted with my hair while I lounged on a garden chair.

Emosanal Attyachaar

2010-04-16T10:04:00.000-07:00

I have always been a very 'attached' person. This has caused me more unhappiness than I should have allowed.

Guess there is a reason why life happens in phases. You need to molt your past life like a snake skin and make room for new experiences. I should be grateful that I have what matters to me the most. It is time to grow up and beyond.

P.S. Thank God, there is more beauty in this world to heal you, than there is injury to infect you.

Where is the catch?

2010-03-10T17:22:00.000-08:00

Imagine yourself lounging in a spa pool at night with a clear sky above and the stars shining bright. You are supposed to relax, right? But all you can think of is a hidden sniper somewhere. That maybe the outcome of watching too many CSI episodes too, but my point is - we are turning bankrupt when it comes to the capacity of experiencing pure bliss.

We have let others and ourselves let us down too many times to trust in our own happiness anymore. 'Where is the catch?' we seem too busy asking ourselves, instead of assuring ourselves 'There is no catch.'

Ever chased butterflies as a kid? Not so much to catch them, as to run around those beautiful creatures. We didn't worry much about stepping in a puddle while chasing one, did we? The joy is in the process. We have had too many goals, too many deadlines, too many destinations to reach to know it is not the same when the journey is over. It is in the pursuit.

I don't ask you to idle away in useless pursuits, but pause for a while, look around and breath easy. Find joy in whatever you are chasing and say to yourself - this is the best time of my life.

For Amiga

2010-02-10T11:02:00.006-08:00

I absolutely needed to make some major progress in my 'To-do' list today, but the snowstorm alert shelved my plans. Now, I am staying indoors and doing my laundry one last time, before I leave Boston on Friday.

I met Clara, the Puerto Rican housekeeping lady, who has a very sweet disposition and uses the endearing 'amiga' every time she sees me. I think the first time I really noticed her was when I had an argument with my brother and I walked out in the snow in my flip flops. She shouted after me: ' Amiga, you will catch a cold. ' Inadvertently, I came back with frostnip feet and with immense gratitude towards Clara for trying to warn me.

Over the years, during my stay in Boston, Clara always gave me weather alerts ( Though I checked it online before I left the house.) She usually said: 'It is cold today' or 'It is not so cold today.' Sometimes, she would tell me how much she longed to be in Puerto Rico with her family but there were not enough jobs there. At the end of every conversation, she opined: 'You is a good woman amiga. Not many good people here.' It made me feel happy and helped me believe in my inherent goodness.

Today, when I hugged her goodbye, she started to weep, saying : 'You is a good friend. I miss you amiga. I will remember you always' I felt sad. It is not every day when someone cries because they think they will never see you again. It had happened before when I was about to leave Noida but that is another story. I prayed: 'Have a good life, Clara.' and gently patted her shoulder.

I wish I were there

2010-01-27T07:42:00.026-08:00

Dad receiving President's Police Medal for Distinguished Service from Dr DY Patil, the Governor of Tripura on 26th Jan '10

I remembered the last time Dad received a medal. The whole family was present, including uncles, aunts and cousins. Most accomplishments are considered individual efforts, but my father always acknowledged his family, specially his wife, on occasions such as these. This time even Mom couldn't be around. She is a headmistress now and had to hoist the flag in her school on Republic Day. After that, she tried to make it to the Assam Rifles grounds for the ceremony, but missed it.

There are a lot of families who wish their kids to move to greener pastures but progress comes with a price. I have missed weddings in the family owing to academic commitments. And I am sure they have missed me.

We might have as basic amenities what some people would consider luxuries, but I miss the warmth of affection only a mother can give, the moments in conversations I can have only with my father, and the secrets I can whisper only to my favorite cousin.

Indulging in these fond memories is in vain though. Home, as I knew it as a child, isn't there anymore. We have moved to a bigger house. Most of the younger ones have moved out and have settled down in different places scattered all over the globe. An occasional green icon on a chat window or a phone call reminding me that we share something in common.

There is nothing much I can do, except choose to be with someone who can be family to me. I wish I had the emotional range of a teaspoon or never had the spare time to miss my family. It is true no one spends the entire life with us except ourselves. Thank God for my friends.

IMI Kritva 2006 video

2010-01-09T09:13:00.005-08:00

Thanks to Saiki, I got the video again. The accompanying story is here.

Mind your language

2010-01-08T07:49:00.036-08:00

Years ago, I had to write an essay for my Bengali class: 'Aami Ingreji bhasha keno pochndo kori na' (Why don't I like the English language) The teacher, Mr. Kapil Bhattacharjee, had even asked us to compare it with Bengali and conclude why we loved it over English.

It was tough. At that age, probably the toughest thing I was confronted with. Can you ever say whether you love your mother more than your father? How can you compare two languages- both of which have taught you to think and speak your mind? I looked upon it as a challenge. SKD had once opined that the purpose of a composition is to bluff convincingly. The trouble was - where to start?

I was taught in an English medium school, my best friend in Kindergarten spoke Hindi off class hours, and I had the toughest time spelling 'chair' in Bengali for my mother in Standard II. However, in Standard V, I borrowed 'Dhaatri Devata', one of the prescribed textbooks for ICSE exams, from my elder brother who was in Standard X. The fact did some rounds in my family, courtesy : my eldest maternal aunt, and I was hailed as some language prodigy. The plain truth was that I simply got curious about the story on seeing the cover page illustration showing a man behind bars and a woman visiting him.

I own a copy of Geetanjali I bought at a Bangladeshi grocery store in Somerville. I'm crazy about those Uttam- Suchitra starrer romantic classics, where the protagonists merely stare at each other and everything is conveyed. I love Bengali food and I don't think I can ever give up my 'maccher jhol' (Fish curry and rice -stereotype favorite of all Bengalis. I know Bengalis who don't eat fish.)

But does that make me a true Bengali? Any Indophile, thuri Banglaphile can do that, and yet retain his/ her identity. Then, why if someone who does not do it will not be a Bengali in the true sense?

I will always be a Bengali. It is the identity I was born with. I love my mother tongue. It is one of the sweetest signals my auditory nerves transmit to my brain. But if I'm confused or excited or upset I will blurt out in English, because that is what I do. Take it or leave it. Don't judge it.

P.S. About the essay
I finished writing it with some help from my paternal grandfather, who was an authoritarian on languages. (I regret not learning Sanskrit from him.) He usually checked my essays when I finished writing them, but this time around I managed to squeeze a few pointer- about Michael Madhusudan Dutta, about the inconsistent phonetics of English and so on and so forth. It was one of the toughest essays I wrote at school.

How well do you know me?

2009-12-27T08:21:00.018-08:00

Don't worry, this is not another survey for a Marketing class. :D
Just some fun stuff if you really want to kill time.'All of the above' is an option too. You can reply with unlisted choices if you think they are viable enough. Enjoy !

A. What was my nickname(s) growing up?

Hitler
Lara
Captain
Mayataru

B. Where did I first meet SG in person?

At a house party
At a restaurant
In an airport
At the back of my yard

C. What did I want to become when I grew up?

An author
A doctor
A danseuse
Sherlock Holmes

D. Which movie made me want to become a nun?

The Sound of Music
Nun's Story
Black Narcissus
Come to the Stable

E. What is the longest crush I had on a guy

6 years
2 years
5 months
30 secs

F. What is my best feature ?

My eyes
My smile
My hair
Can't be listed publicly

G. What really grosses me out when someone does it in public ?

Farting
Picking nose
Scratching groin
Jacking off

H. Which places would I really love to visit?

Salzburg, Austria
Backwaters of Kerala
Monasteries in Ladakh
Wildlife parks in Montana

I. Which color clothes was I forbidden to buy anymore, with a threat from my mother to stop my wardbrobe allowance if I didn't comply?

Black
Blue
Pink
Green

J. What is one thing I wish to change about myself?

3 idiots

2009-12-25T22:28:00.017-08:00

Booking the tickets online for the 6:30 pm show in the afternoon was a wise things to do 'cause by the time we( Rahul, Pu, Soma and I) reached Alewife to watch '3 Idiots' at Entertainment Cinemas, the tickets were sold out. The show started considerably late -incessant elbowing, maddening crowd, mismanagement of demand, a medium popcorn and a large soda later -around 7 pm. A pity that it was not playing in one of the AMCs.

Desi junta queuing up before the show

A satire of the Indian education system. 'Aal izz well' might as well become a buzzword with Hindi movie goers like 'Jadoo ki Jhappi' and 'Gandhigiri'.

I will leave it to the film critics to analyze the rest. My personal opinion - 3i is good, clean entertainment with few pretenses. 'Philosophy in colloquiality'. Have a dekho, it will be refreshing, even with its excesses.

My infinite wish list

2009-12-16T10:40:00.001-08:00

I think I am alive because I have a wish list.

The last day of school

2009-12-14T19:42:00.009-08:00

I'm pretty emosanal today. Officially, it was my last day to school. Exactly two years, 3 months and 1 day ago on 2007, Sept 13, I had attended my 650 class(first semester requirement), Organizational Analysis and Behavior.

After we practiced our final team presentations for our capstone course (final semester) 689, Strategic Management class today, my teammates AJ, Vlada, and Karan (right to left) posed for a picture.

Below, Professor Theodora Welch (Strategic Management) and Angel, one of my classmates from a previous Services Marketing class.

Just when I was walking down the corridors of Wheatley for the last time, I heard Professor Novak's voice. I couldn't believe my luck. It all tied back together -ending where it started. It seemed like yesterday when I had walked into a new country and a new life, for my MBA program. The then Director of the College of Management had introduced me to my 650 class Professor and Associate Dean of Graduate Programs, Prof Novak.

I waited patiently outside his classroom for about half an hour while he was giving feedback to a student of The Front End of Innovation class. It was worth it. He was almost as happy to see me as excited as I was to see him on my last day of school. He asked about my future plans which I readily shared. When you are happy, you want the world to know you are happy, and want them to be happy with you.

A graduate student probably expects some kind of salvation at the end of a rigorous coursework. My redemption is in the knowledge that in an odd sort of way -it all makes sense.

Second Life

2009-12-11T10:38:00.023-08:00

As a requirement for my Internet Marketing course, we have to create avatars in Second Life. Yesterday, we had a virtual classroom meeting at the University Island. For the first time, one of my professors taught me how to fly. :D

The sailboats at Fox Point resembled my actual university campus, and was pretty neat and basic. Unfortunately, there weren't many people around except for the students.

I visited Copenhagen where the UN Climate Change Conference is taking place. I had a crazy critter dance there before and after class. My professor asked me to be careful, since there can be pretty weird stuff going around. I experienced peeps, unsolicited gifts from strangers and nudity, though I stayed away from adult content. The guy running around naked was probably still trying to figure out how to get clothes back on his avatar.

For a while, I lost my hair, and went bald. SG (whose avatar paid me a visit after class ) thought I looked cool bald headed. I thought of getting a Persis Khambatta style butterfly tattoo on my avatar's head but then realized it would be a bit too much.

I changed my polka dot pink dress to a black, more formal wear and had some fun teleporting. I'll be glad if you can mention some fun spots to visit in SL.

Trivia: Scion's had released a xB for the SL residents that they could drive around the 3D world. Share some SL fun facts if you find time.

Has anyone used Smarter Planet yet?

And oh, like most others, I am waiting for the release of James Cameron's 'Avatar' next week :)

No plan B. Period

2009-12-07T08:41:00.002-08:00

The greatest contentment of my life was when my brother said to me: I am proud of you sis. You have taken all the right decisions in your life.

I am saying this to myself when I make the next BIG decision of my cosmologically insignificant life. If I can't be happy with my decision, I can't make others happy.

So here's to my quest for happiness, which gets defined by how I view it, and what elements I want to include in my happiness realm. There has never been a plan B. There won't be one this time.

Everyday I see a story

2009-12-02T22:00:00.009-08:00

I was walking to some place, for something- don't remember when or why. But I remember what I saw on my way and I want to write it down. Sometimes, I see complete strangers on the road and I see snapshots of their lives. I like to imagine the whole story from mere snippets. I tell no one but today, I'd like to share.

The gracious old man always greeted me with a smile and I smiled back in acknowledgment. I didn't know what language he spoke, where he was from. It was the human connection that transcended all boundaries. I assumed he was living with his kids, 'cause I often saw his wife with an infant in a perambulator, but I never saw the baby's parents. One day, I saw the couple waiting outside the building. His wife seemed upset. I wondered what worried them. Didn't their kids treat them well? I wish I could help, but I knew I couldn't.

At the subway station, I saw a very pretty girl with the prettiest smile. She was looking at someone and smiling. But I guess he couldn't see it. He had a white cane and dark glasses. I wonder if he could feel it. Her happiness when she saw him.

At the airport, there are a thousand more fragments you can gather. There was a very angelic looking child who ran to greet his father. The father kissed the kid generously. I marveled at the pristine beauty of the child, then he turned his head and I saw the other half of his face, which was burned. For one unguarded moment, I felt repelled in horror. I think the father saw me then.

I could tell you some more stories, but I guess I have somewhere to go.

Service Encounters #1

2009-11-13T17:24:00.003-08:00

This is something I shared with my Database and Internet Marketing class, but I'd like to share it with you guys too.

Customer Relationship Management has become critical to the success of firms that provide either product or service offerings. Many firms have large numbers of customers and several touch points at multiple geographic locations and it is highly unlikely that a customer will be served by the same front-line staff on two consecutive visits, yet the consistency of the service has to be ensured for healthy CRM.

Traditionally, banking services have taken care of high-net worth clients. In private banking, for example, Bessemer Trust Company targets families with a minimum of $5 million in investable assets who want capital preservation combined with wealth accumulation. However, most retail bankers might find it difficult to differentiate themselves, and this is where a sound CRM can help. Financial services may end up having incorrect cross-sell opportunities and potential regulatory compliance issues if they are not well aware of their customer needs and preferences.

When my elder brother got his admit for his Masters in Carnegie Mellon, I was surprised by the efficiency of say, Bank A, in calling him up to discuss a suitable offering of a student loan. He did not need it at that time.

My experience with another Bank B was however, completely different. My friend needed to transfer online some money she owed me, and could not figure out how to do it, even though the account details and other essential information were provided. I called up the customer service to help her out, and since it was a considerable sum, paying back in cash would have been impractical for both of us. The first executive I talked to was extremely rude and couldn’t provide any solution. I considered changing my bank account for a moment, even though I considered she might just be having a bad day.

I decided to call again, hoping another executive would be more helpful. This time, she tried her best to help me and though I got the solution from another friend while I was on call, the attitude of the second executive changed my perception about the banking organization.

Another experience with Bank C was almost equally confounding. When I took leave without pay from my job to prepare for an exam, Bank C refused to let me use my account to transact money. My boss wouldn’t let me resign but I couldn’t use my corporate bank account either, though there was a considerable sum in the savings account. At that time, I had only one credit card with that bank and to say the least, I was in a fix. I talked to a service executive but she said she could not help owing to the nature of my account and I had to visit another state to resolve the issue. I got bailed out of the situation soon and decided to cancel my account with Bank C. A couple of months later, they emailed me offering me great savings for opening a NRI account, claiming they knew exactly what I needed!

While I have been not very conscious of my consumer rights (maybe it is a cultural thing), and I have learned to ask for my rights only after I landed in US, I have always taken my banking services seriously- obviously because that is where my money is.

Both the experiences showed inconsistent service encounters and bad CRM implementation- one I’d attribute to bad training, the other pure difference in interest. It is ironical because banks are the institutions that customers ought to feel most loyal to, and most secure about.

FarmVille: for beginners (& late adopters)

2009-11-08T08:18:00.012-08:00

I have started waking up early again, to harvest my crops before they wither.. well.. in my little farm in FarmVille (beta version) on Facebook. I tried to stay away as long as I could. I have been hooked on to enough games and applications (from Lara Croft to Bonsai Blast) to know it is bad for you, unless taken control of. But like I mentioned it to one of my friends who finally got rid of FarmVille updates from his news feed, 'it is like crack, you know shouldn't and that is what tempts you.' (Though I never have and never will do drugs)

So, after what was supposed to be the last mid-term week of my life, I decided to see why everyone is so hooked on to it.(There are currently 63,543,438 monthly active users worldwide.)

It all started with my real-life neighbor, giving away a lost, black kitten on Facebook. It reminded me of the kitten I had adopted as a kid. (Aww, isn't she cute?) But now, it wasn't enough, if you took it, you have to give it a home right? Jump in. And suddenly, you are in the league of the jobless people you thought have no better/more productive work to do.

You can raise trees, plow and plant seeds of fruits & vegetable, watch them grow (don't stare too long) and harvest them when they are ready. Ask your FarmVille friends to help you, while you help your neighbors and earn experience points (xp) and coins in the process. You can also gift your neighbors and hope they will be kind enough to return the favor. (My cousin gave me my first horse which I really treasure)

There is a market you can buy stuff from - right from seeds, trees, animals to decorations. Some have limited editions- I own two green BOV1NE-09 cows, which look like they are from outer space. The app also had crop circles for a while. Some farm elements can only be gifted.

You can develop your own strategies to expand your farm; different crops have different profit margins per harvest. You can make your own portfolio of crops, animals, & trees. Investing in decoration in the initial levels is not wise, but I so wanted a small pond, I ended up spending 5000 coins for it.

The trick is to know your real-time log-in times and plan accordingly, 'cause the crops wither if you do not harvest them after full bloom. Fertilized crops yield more xp and look fuller when reap. But you can't fertilize your own crops, so use the goodwill currency. Do unto others what you want to be done to you.

I have visited a couple of farms which have withered crops, but that probably means you are busy somewhere else, which is good. Someone mentioned that it is a stress-buster. I agree, as long as it is not eating away into your work hours.

I wish Zynga would make FarmVille Android-friendly so that I could play it from my G1. Do they have an iPhone version yet?

Feel free to share your own tricks. Happy farming !

FarmVille Fact: Sweet Seeds for Haiti (Sweet Potatoes) was a success and over $583,000 was donated to impoverished children and their families in Haiti.

A stranger to love

2009-10-28T18:02:00.029-07:00

"...We are not criminals. We are not disillusioned. We are not drug addicts. We are not naive children... We are one massive, global, tribal village that transcends man-made law, physical geography, and time itself. We are The Massive. One Massive. We were first drawn by the sound. From far away, the thunderous, muffled, echoing beat was comparable to a mother's heart soothing a child in her womb of concrete, steel, and electrical wiring. We were drawn back into this womb, and there, in the heat, dampness, and darkness of it, We came to accept that we are all equal. Not only to the darkness, and to ourselves, but to the very music slamming into us and passing through our souls: we are all equal...."

- Unknown

It is highly implausible but true, I have learned more about love from a stranger than most people I have known for years.

It was one of those days again, when Murphy's Law is the only adage that holds true. The perversity of the universe nauseates you and you want to break free of every possible norm. A thousand desires and a thousand more. And yet, I saw myself standing alone.

When DJ asked me if I wanted to join the gang to go clubbing, I didn't say 'no', I wanted a break. I wanted to dance like no one was watching. Dance and release all the demons that were gnawing into me. I wanted to feel free.

There were seven of us, four guys and three girls. DJ got me a drink and we hit the floor. Initially, the group was closed and we danced in a circle, the guys nudging away anyone who wanted to dance with the girls. But soon, they lost interest in their roles as protectors. And when I saw DJ dancing with some babe who seemed to appear out of nowhere, I smiled at him and winked, glad that he was having fun.

And then I saw that guy again. He didn't seem to have budged from where he was standing some twenty minutes ago. Right behind me. I wasn't intimidated. Far from it. He amused me with little eyes and a ready smile. He held out his hand for a dance.

DJ looked at me but I couldn't read his expressions. Maybe he just wanted me to be careful. The little guy whispered into my ears: You dance like a Bollywood heroine. Indian? I laughed at the outrageous comparison and nodded. We had fun dancing together and I even showed him some Big B dance moves when the Disc Jockey played some desi music. He seemed to enjoy it thoroughly.

He asked me if he could buy me a drink, and I thought another Long Island Iced Tea wouldn't do me any harm. The bar was too crowded and I was feeling suffocated. We decided to go out for a walk.

The open air was refreshing. There were couples sprawled on the park in front of the club, most of them in intimate embrace. It was little embarrassing for me to walk down there with a complete stranger. We sat down at a bench, and he looked at me the same, warm way. Suddenly I asked: What color are your eyes?

I don't know what made me ask that of all things. He laughed aloud: What is that? My eyes? Brown, I think. What do you think?.

I peered hard, it was too dark to discern. They look green to me. Can't really say. Maybe I am high.

Oh no! You are not. You are doing fine.

I gave out a snort. The truth was - I didn't feel fine. And it had nothing to do with my being tipsy. I was feeling lonely. I wanted some kind of assurance. And I was not going to say that to this strange guy whose name I didn't hear well in the glaring music on the dance floor.

I said to him: My friends might be looking for me, why don't we go back?

He said: If you want to.

I would like to.

The crowd at the counter had cleared by now. I had a tab open, but he insisted on paying for my drink. We hit the floor again and I felt I was really enjoying dancing after a long time. He held me by my waist while I bent backwards in abandonment. He was strong. Ruby whispered into my ears: He is so decent with you and so gentle. She almost coveted it. I asked her if she wanted to dance with him. Oh no ! You guys make such a cute couple. I laughed at the thought.

I went to the restroom once and asked him to wait. One my way back, a hunk stood in my way, asking me for a dance. I said: Someone is waiting for me.
Are you sure? he asked, with a incredulous look on his face.
Yes. Not sure if he was still waiting for me. But there he was, looking like a lost puppy.

I thought you'd never come back

Why did you think that? ( And I thought, you wouldn't wait)

Soon, it was time to close. I didn't realize it was 2 AM already. He asked me if I'd need a ride home. I said I'd rather go back with my friends. He said: As you wish. And then, he asked me: When can we meet again?

I teased. Tomorrow. The day after. Maybe next week. Maybe never. I will call.

The following day he smsed me. It was a great night. Waiting to see you again.

I felt like a teenager again. There was so little excitement left in my life. Everything seemed predictable and dull. But his eagerness was so fresh, I felt enlivened by it. I told my guy the story. He seemed entertained, asking me if it was a French kiss. I was shocked and humored at the same time.

Debating whether we should meet, I replied to his sms the day after. He wanted to show me the pedestrian bridge at Harvard. We met up at Tavern on the Square on Massachusetts Avenue, where he told me about a Hindi song he had heard as a kid: Jaane tu ya jaane na.

I translated the lyrics for him. Then we walked by the bridge and took some pictures. And we talked. He cracked some delightful jokes about his workplace - how one of his colleagues exaggerated his French accent and copied him, while it was usually him who would imitate others. I had a pleasant evening and promising to meet again, I left for my home.

Back in my apartment, it was the same tense environment between my roommates. I hated coming back. I felt I should have stayed out longer. Soon, I found myself seeing him more often. He'd make me eat like my mother does, always insisting I could eat some more. Now, where would you find a guy like that ! He'd tell me tales of his ex girlfriend, his colleagues, about a young girl battling with cancer.It was around that time I had met someone getting treated for cancer, whose positive attitude has changed my perspective towards life.

In a lot of ways, we were different. But in a lot of other ways, we were very similar. We were foreigners in a country that we had chosen to live in. We both wanted to give back something, but were not sure how much our roots would hold us back.

One day, he emailed me saying:

..I might go back to France by summer, not sure yet, but possible. I know you are a wonderful girl and you are full of love and life and a very smart girl too. We both have a great time when we meet, but I don't want to be selfish and continue doing so if you are seeing a relationship and I don't.

I hope to hear from you,

D"

I assured that there was no such danger. He seemed relieved. And I was relieved too. We were like two ships meeting at a harbor on a dark, stormy night. The following morning, we had to set out on our own journeys. There was no 'together forever' for us.

Sure enough, it was time for him to leave. I knew I was going to miss an amazing friend. He advised me on matters of my family, my love life, and teased me about getting a 100/100 even if I did not study for a test. He taught me a few of his recipes, got me to develop a taste for White Zinfandel and French cheese, most notably the creamy Saint Marcellin. It was he who reminded me that : If he doesn't love you the way you want, it doesn't necessarily mean that he doesn't love you.

* Dear D, the last day we had met, you said that SG is a very lucky man. And the best thing about me is that it is not hard to make me happy - 'cause I can cherish the little things someone does for me. I said that I will write about you. It has been a while, but I have kept my word. Bisou*

A desert rose. A parting gift from D.

The Hayden Affair

2009-10-27T19:43:00.013-07:00

Lara's account

I can feel the devilish snake raise its ugly head again, a venom fills me from within. I need my pleasure drug to boost my dopamine levels. J will not hear of it. He will probably take me to another quack or a rehabilitation center, or worse still -refuse to give me a divorce.

J's account

Ever since I returned from my trip to LA, I have noticed Lara's carelessness about her personal grooming- dirty fingernails, unkempt hair, a flaky face, coupled with bouts of euphoric planning about our future together and then depressions and long stretches of sleep. Many a times, I have come home to find her snoozing with the patio door open and the cold breeze freezing the room. How much I miss the warmth of the home we had and the smell of a freshly brewed broth when I came home for dinner after a long day at work. I hope she is not on crack again. If she is, I will kill the bastard who is giving it to her.

Andy's account

The Haydens lived at Emrose Avenue, just a few blocks away from the new Carribean cuisine restaurant. Jimmy Hayden was a well known comedian and made terrific impersonations of some of our former presidents. Popular for his good humor both on and off screen; his loyalty to his friends was legendary. He was the last man on earth you'd think of seeing the name of in the lurid headlines of your morning newspaper. Maybe there is a dark, morbid humor in all of it, if only I could see it.

When Lara came home late at night, I could hardly believe what she said with her convulsive efforts to breathe. She said she had killed her husband. She showed me the gun she was carrying. I wrapped it up in a plastic bag, not sure what to do next. I asked her to rest for a while and hoped it was all a bad dream or she was on crack again and hallucinating.

It seemed like yesterday when J met Lara, an aspiring actress then. She had the face of Madonna, but her talent at acting was weak. All these years, I haven't seen more than two expressions on her face. J had great faith in her.He said she just needed her lucky break. It never came. I was the best man at their wedding and the godfather of their elder son.

I saw her sleep, but couldn't rest peacefully. I decided to visit J. I entered the front garden, the garden gnome still held its lantern. There was a huge stoneware mushroom near the vestibule. The main door was open. I had an uncomfortable feeling and entered his bedroom on the second floor almost immediately,instinctively.

J was lying on his bed, in his night pajamas, drenched in blood. He would have hated to have been seen this way. Always dressed for a dance he was. When one of the major networks cut down his airtime, thinking it was not bringing enough revenue, he stood his ground and didn't care to call back the headhunters who were wooing him for their Network TV. Soon, the channel owners saw their mistake and gave him exclusive one- hour prime time airtime. They say the least number of viewers J ever had was 4.5 million. He had dignity, that guy.

He must have been sleeping when he was shot, and still wearing his Mickey Mouse watch which he loved so much. I often teased him about it. But he said it was his first gift from his grandfather. I often asked him which time zone it displayed, and he would laugh and say, he didn't wear it to track time. I understood. But I loved to see him defend it. This and many of his idiosyncrasies made J so lovable. He was not perfect, far from it. But his imperfections drew people to him. He could crack a mean joke and he would still be loved. His practical jokes almost cost me a fortune once, but it was a good laugh.

I dialed 911 from my cellphone which seemed to be the only thing I could do. I was sitting on the stairs when the police arrived. There was a barrage of questions. I replied to what I could, wishing I could faint. When I reported Lara's narrative, I had uneasy feeling that I have made a mistake somewhere. Accompanied by some officers on the way to my house, I was at the last traffic light when I realized it was too late.

Sprawled on my Persian rug (it was a gift from the Haydens) was Lara's listless body. She had shot herself through the mouth. They found traces of alcohol, cocaine and antidepressants in her blood. She had shot him thrice- on his forehead, his chest and his forearm. Strangely enough, it was the shot in the arm that killed him. It had reentered his heart through it.

The verdict was murder/suicide.

I am upset

2009-10-22T08:42:00.002-07:00

Recently, I viewed the works of a press photographer who had sent me an invite on an online community.Some of the visuals were very disturbing. They were of realities I will never know, I should never know. Of malnutrition and hunger, of a woman injured in a bomb blast, blood drenched dead bodies of soldiers, a farmer dragging a wooden plank on his shoulders to level his field. Made me wonder how superfluous my life is and how superficial my needs are.

I am upset.

I try not to waste food

2009-10-12T08:36:00.002-07:00

.. but things need to be organized more large-scale, like United Nations World Food Programme. Now, I know which charitable events we should focus on this year, and why.

The Eyewitness

2009-10-05T07:57:00.044-07:00

Manas Uncle, Dad and me form a mutual admiration society. He writes very effortlessly and his articles in The Times of India have always worked up a voracious appetite, making me want to read some more.

Recently, Lancer Publishers (www.lancerpublishers.com) published his book The Eyewitness - Tales from Tripura's Ethnic Conflict; ISBN 1-935501-15-1.

Here is an excerpt from one of the two incidents that feature Dad.( Second excerpt on popular demand):

Out of the jaws of death

“For God’s sake, let us sit upon the ground
And tell sad stories of the death of kings.”

-Shakespeare

On July 5, 1984 the sun had risen burning bright and the mood was happy. Despite the summer heat that was already in the air and would evidently set in with searing fury as the Thursday morning would proceed to noon, Sub Divisional Police Officer (SDPO) of Amarpur Amitabha Kar needed to travel to Ompi to verify information about movements of militants in Ompi-Amarpur area and plan his operations. There were reports of TNV militants’ movements and the 26 kilometer stretch between Ompi and Amarpur was indeed dangerously replete with ambush points, but then, the duty calls. Besides, the SDPO posted here for the last two years had himself driven from Amarpur to Ompi several times and he knew the road with all its treacherous ups and down, bends and turns well enough -like his own palm. Today however he would not be alone. His new found friend Vinod Kumar Khullar, Assistant Commandant of 13th battalion of CRPF wanted to accompany him to Ompi where he would visit his own camps.

The visit to Ompi was important as only on June 28, 1984 TNV militants had set aflame Laxmicherra market under Baikhora police station and waited to trap the advancing police. The militants were successful as they way laid and killed a Sub Inspector Dinesh Ghosh - the first casualty of an SI ranking officer in the militancy related incidents in Tripura. Two days later reports of militants’ movement poured in from Sarbong area under Amarpur police station where they had killed a non tribal and waited for advancing police to ambush. This time, however, police did not fall into the trap.

Kar and Khullar set off with two jeeps. Kar was in the lead followed by Khullar. In those days shortage of vehicles was a serious problem for counter insurgency operations. Almost all the police jeeps were diesel run and old that would roll down the road with too much of sounds but virtually with no speed. However, only recently the then SP South Tripura AC Rama Rao had given Kar his own jeep as the SDPO was almost always on the move hunting the militants in remote areas. But Khullar was traveling on an old diesel jeep that was evidently finding it difficult to keep the pace of SDPO’s vehicle.

Kar said:

At 9.10 am we crossed Tetuibari and saw some tribal women were working in a patch of paddy field on the western side of the main road. The road ran straight through paddy fields and then steadily went to upland. As our vehicles passed the women in the field they looked up and smiled to us. I felt something amiss in their smile and had an uncanny feeling. I took out my 9 mm pistol and kept it ready in firing position. I did not know why as I never, in my life, had such an uncanny feeling. We hit the hills and moved. We were near the 21 kilometers point and only five kilometers were left to reach Ompi. And then there were hail of bullets from road side raining down on us. My first reaction was –‘so, the nightmare has come true. I ultimately got trapped and ambushed facing the death’. Instinctively I kept on firing on my left though I could not see anyone there.

My two personal guards were instantly hit by flying bullets before they could retaliate. But by this time my driver Manoranjan Debnath despite being caught in the storms of bullets flying from every side did not lose his nerve and just pressed the accelerator with all might. Later I found that my jeep was damaged in the front beyond recognition but as the luck would have it the engine was on. We whizzed past the ambush site and took a turn taking us out of ambush coverage. My guards were injured but none killed.

But unfortunately Khullar’s jeep which was already showing problems could not pass. His one body guard was instantly killed. Khullar – later we found- tried to fire back from his pistol but it seemed his pistol got stuck and as he was trying to clear the pistol lock by taking out the magazine he received brush fire from LMG and the magazine fell on the jeep floor. He was also killed on the spot. He, in fact, took all the LMG burst in his stomach and right arm.

His driver also armed could not fire back. He however tried to zoom past but was hit. Khullar’s jeep in terrific speed skidded off the road and banged down on the road side milestone. In fact, later we found that the jeep had almost tumbled head on over the militant who was firing from the LMG. The LMG tripod mark was only about a foot away from the jeep.

What was intriguing was that the militants ambushed from under the deep cover of deep and dense roadside bushes. They were lying almost parallel to the road. It was not at all a conventional ambush point but in guerilla warfare you are to expect the unexpected only. The militants succeeded in killing a senior CRPF officer for the first time. Meantime, two of the Khullar’s body guards did something spectacular which can only be dreamt of in films. Trapped in the hailstorm of bullets they reacted in a manner that even stunned the militants. The ran straight through the several meters of ambush stretch dodging automatic gunfire, now directed at them, and jumped on to a ditch at the other side of the road. From there they opened up their SLRs and fired back to the militants. One CRPF jawan was hit and died. The other jawan did not loss courage and continued firing. He emptied his own magazines and then picked up the slain jawan’s magazines and kept on firing.

By this time, Kar reached Ompi and regrouped security forces so fast that when they returned to the ambush site the militants were still there. Kar came back to the site with CRPF personnel posted in Ompi police station. Reinforcement from another CRPF camp at Tehshil Kachhari also rushed to the spot. Officer In charge of Ompi police station Haripada Bhattacharjee also ran to the spot with one jeep and one 3-tonner vehicle with his policemen.

There was a Rajasthan Armed Constabulary camp –about one kilometer from the site. The RAC jawans did not come out but started blind firing from the camp

As we reached near the ambush spot we could hear the gunshot still reverberating from the ambush point. The militants were firing at the lone CRPF jawan who continued with his encounter. But when suddenly there were firing sound from the side of the RAC camp we were befuddled. We thought this could be another group. But soon as we understood it was the RAC we climbed a hillock overlooking the ambush point and sought to fire at the militants. In the mean time the CRPF reinforcement arrived and it fired a grenade from a grenade firing rifle. The brave CRPF jawan fighting from the ditch shouted for not firing grenades and there was eerie silence from the side of the militants. The militants by then started slipping out though we could not see any movement in the jungle. Our prompt reaction however prevented the militants to loot the two SLRs from the CRPF personnel. Though Khullar’s pistol was found missing.

By this time as the news of TNV ambush on us spread police forces fanned out from all directions. SP Rama Rao also proceeded to the spot and in fact saw the militants crossing a paddy field near Nagrai. But they were out of firing range, Kar said.

The ambush on the SDPO and the CRPF Assistant Commandant was led by Kripasadhan Jamatia. Later, it was found that the militants were actually way laid the Education department’s jeep that was expected to travel on the road with employees’ salaries. During this time it was always on the fifth day of the month that the education department salaries for Ompi were taken from Amarpur. It happened to be that the SDPO and CRPF officer appeared in the scene before the Education department vehicles.

Many years later Kripasadhan Jamatia came to Kar for a personal help. Jamatia after surrender got a vehicle which was rented out to the police. The former militant visited Kar –then Commandant Provisioning - for early payment of his bills.

Looking at him I was just thinking ‘you had almost killed me and now you are here asking my help’. But, well, this the way of life of a policeman” said Kar, now IGP.

He still feels it was for Rama Rao, the then SP he was saved.

“Had not the SP given me his new vehicle I would have been killed like a sitting duck in the ambush. He saved my life. When I thought of my friend Khullar a jolly good Punjabi with two angelic daughters I feel depressed till date. It feels like escaping the near death was guilt on my part when my close friend got killed. Khullar’s wife was later inducted in the CRPF as die in harness case.

Book review at tripurainfo.com

Seasons of Love

2009-09-28T08:09:00.009-07:00

Finally, here's the beginning of my second book. I am looking for publishers in the United States and India with aggressive marketing behavior. Please let me know if you have any suggestions for the same/feedback on the scrapped content.

Chapter 1: The Prequel

I have often wondered where this story began. It could have been the moment my mother conceived me after a cosmic thrust released all the potential 'me's into her but only one succeeded, and I came into existence. Or it could have been the first time she saw my father, resting on a sofa, with his right hand bent an angle on his forehead and his eyes closed. She knew she had been arranged to marry the eldest son of her English teacher. It was his first visit to his folks since the arrangement was made. The initial observation she had was, ‘He has such long eyelashes!’ She was 21, still in her undergrads. A girl of that age, at those coordinates of the universe, at that time, with no experience of the world, would have probably noticed only that.

It could, as well, have been the day my paternal grandfather was teaching a group of students and he suddenly fell ill. And while rest of the students sat still (probably wondering what to do), my mother rushed to his aid, trying her best to comfort him. That day my grandfather decided that she would be the wife of his first son, his eldest daughter-in-law. She often prides upon the fact that I got it from her- the willingness to serve.

Whatever the circumstances were that lead to my being born, I am here today. And this is my story...

Amor vincit Omnia

2009-09-17T07:36:00.033-07:00

It is 12 more days before SG moves to Northern California to assume his new position at NASA Ames. I know I will be too busy with four courses in my final semester to miss him too hard, but it won’t be easy. I have often wondered whether we stop coveting what we see very often. I don’t know, but we are definitely prone to growing used to having some people around, so much so that we take their presence for granted. In that case, a little distance would be good. The trouble is – I think I will never get used to having him around.

It is not the first time that we will be away from each other. The initial months of our courtship witnessed a long-distance relation spanning across two continents. Nothing deterred it. I think that if you put your mind to it, a temporary separation doesn’t matter. And when it is for a future together, we should embrace the circumstances.

My immediate task list would be to preserve my 4.0 GPA and get a job in the West Coast. People often talk how about difficult it has become to find something suitable nowadays. I can’t agree completely.

There are two ways to live:
1) Quitting
2) Starting with renewed vigor every time you feel a little low.
I am choosing the later.

It was a special week. I celebrated my birthday in 4 phases. SG took me out to The Blue Man Group show at the Charles Play House on Sunday afternoon on the eve of my birthday. He played the perfect date demonstrating old age chivalry that I value so much in a man. He fetched me drinks, held my bag while I took my seat, clasped his hand in mine when it got scary. Throughout the evening, two girls kept constantly staring at us; I saw them through my peripheral vision and asked SG later: Do you know why they were looking at us with such covetous glances? He opined: Because you looked so beautiful. I propounded: Because they thought I am so lucky. And I relished the aftertaste of those words in my mouth.

I had started the day at 6 am, trying to prepare some lessons, cooked and finished some domestic chores before we went out and I was really tired by the end of the night. I dozed off as soon as 10:30 pm, taking the last call wishing me Happy Birthday in advance.

Around 12:02 am I woke up hearing some familiar voices. I have this habit of identifying people by the way the talk when they walk on the sidewalk below and past my window. I checked my phone to see 9 missed calls and I called back. In the meantime, my roommate came over to wish me.

Shef and DJ entered with a strawberry cheesecake – my next favorite after Tiramisu. Last year, Sejuti had got me one. A birthday feels so incomplete without a cake. I missed her this year, and I am looking forward to spending some time with her when she is through with her Qualifier.

The following day, I had my first Strategic Management class and I thought I’d keep it low this year, but my roommate suggested: Who stays by herself on a birthday? So, I emailed a few friends to have dinner at Olive Garden at 9 pm and then to meet at my apartment around 11 pm for the birthday cake.

It was a Monday, late for most working folks and given the usual timings of our classes (6pm to 8:45 pm), I wondered how many would really turn up. But I saw more people than I had expected to see at my apartment. It felt really great to have those beautiful people around. Shweta requested me to sing a song. I obliged, though the cold sparkling wine had set my voice heavy. The crowd hung around for a while and then dispersed wishing me again. I don’t remember when I fell asleep – still smiling.

Attitude is attitude

2009-08-04T06:15:00.001-07:00

Say Hi to Nick Vujicic (pronounced Vooey-Cheech)

Link: Nicholas Vujicic

The meaning of life

2009-07-28T14:02:00.002-07:00

The meaning of life differs from man to man, from day to day and from hour to hour. What matters, therefore, is not the meaning of life in general but rather the specific meaning of a person's life at a given moment. To put the question in general terms would be comparable to the question posed to a chess champion: "Tell me, Master, what is the best move in the world?" There simply is no such thing as the best or even a good move apart from a particular situation in a game and the particular personality of one's opponent. The same holds for human existence. One should not search for an abstract meaning of life. Everyone has his own specific vocation or mission in life to carry out a concrete assignment which demands fulfillment. Therein he cannot be replaced, nor can his life be repeated. Thus, everyone's task is as unique as is his specific opportunity to implement it.

- Viktor Frankl, author of ‘Man’s Search for Meaning’.

The End

2009-07-07T06:53:00.015-07:00

Someone told me recently that the real story in the movies begin after 'The End.' But most of us try to hasten to a point where we can see it happening in our lives.

Am I in a rush too? Sometimes, yes. When you know you want something, you probably want to have it as soon as you can. But happiness is like an ever extending horizon, your range of perception expands to include other elements as soon as you reach your destination.

I want to live it, see myself transform as I am introduced to newer desires. And I am sure it is going to be beautiful. Till then and beyond it.

To Heaven and back

2009-06-23T09:08:00.045-07:00

I visited my aunt last week. The trip was planned at a short notice. SG was going to Montana for a week and when I had gone to register for my Summer courses, my Program Director had advised: You are going to be really busy from July 13, enjoy the Summer till then.

I was running a temperature and my internship as a Marketing Research Analyst had started from June 11. It was a tough call. But I knew I wouldn't have time later. I told my boss about my trip and knew I'd make it up for him.

Seeing my cousins was a joy. Anupam ( Mashi's elder son) had grown up quite a bit since I last saw him in Xmas 2007. He picked me up from Washington Ronald Reagan National (DCA) airport. We took the Washington Metropolitan Area Transit Yellow Line to Gallery Pi- Chinatown and then switched to the Red line to Silver Springs (The red line that smashed into another yesterday was on the way from Takoma to Fort Trotten. Takoma is the station before Silver Spring)

It was at Takoma where the man standing next to me said: Nice ring. I smiled and suggested: You can get it at Kay. He asked me if I was visiting or lived there. I looked at my cousin and mentioned that I was visiting my aunt. He asked a score of other questions like where I was from, whether I went to school etc. I scanned his dark business suit and wondered if he worked for the FBI. But I think he mentioned United States Department of Agriculture- quite innocuous. He said he was getting down at Silver Springs too. Before he could probe deeper, our station arrived and I got busy dragging my suitcase out in the crowd, and he shouted: 'Welcome to DC, have a great trip !!' I smiled at his affability and asked my cousin if it was common there to be so friendly. He said: I think he was trying to hit on you or something. And we both giggled. I saw the demographics was quite different from Boston. It was.. how shall I put it.. more diverse.

It was a vacation typical of my school days. I didn't have to cook. I had to sneak in to do my own dishes. I could drink tea without brushing and even had lunch once without having a bath first (very unlike me). No rules. Watched a couple of movies. Read : Stephen T. Kay's Boogeyman with homemade popcorn- oh yes, I did. Though, I don't think I can manage 'The Shining' all by myself yet. Boogeyman was not as scary as I thought it to be. It was all about confronting your fear. I liked the shots, well detailed and artistic. I usually like Sam Raimi's productions. My first kiss of fear was from Evil Dead. Ewww.
The 39 steps (1935) with homemade samosas and gulab jamuns. Hitchcock's depiction of a man and woman being tied in handcuffs together - now where have I seen this copied before? The 'Memory Man' concept was ingenious and hilarious. The following day, my aunt recommended that I watch Tales of the Kamasutra 2 :Monsoon. Helen Brodie looked good. Her father is Scottish I believe. Gulshan Grover was a convincing bad man. But the director could have done a better job. Later, we watched The Scorpion King 2: Rise of a Warrior and I think Michael Copon is cute.

I had picked The Kingfisher Illustrated Animal Encyclopedia by David Burnie and Anupam shirked : What are you reading? Personally, I found it interesting. The Argonauts for example. This unusual octopus spends most of its life in open water. The female is up to 20 times bigger than the male, and she has a paper- thin, spiral shell. Unlike other mollusks, the argonaut's shell is not attached to its body - the female holds it in place with her arms. She uses her shell to protect the eggs, and once they have hatched, she will often discard it.

I didn't know that Scorpions carried their young ones on their backs (or had forgotten the fact) and that some fishes have beauty consultants in Cleaner shrimps (a swimming decapod crustacean) who eat the parasites off their bodies and have a symbiotic relations with their hosts.

The overcast clouds spoiled most of our plans to go out, except when we attended a dinner invitation on Friday and went to Wheaton Mall on Saturday. I got the Transformers Blu-ray for Anupam and the Indiana Jones series for my collection. We tried to find four leafed clover, but in vain.

I saw something my father had said to me once.
Anupam showed me the Washington Monument while driving back to the airport on Sunday. Later, I recognized the obelisk in an Indiana Jones movie. Just like most movie makers show the Boston skyline with Prudential and the John Hancock towers to convince the audience.

Andy had recommended the Holocaust Museum but the rifle-wielding James von Brunn, an 88-year-old white supremacist from Maryland, fatally shooting a security guard marred our plans.( Apparently, he is a known Holocaust denier who created an anti-Semitic Web site called "The Holy Western Empire" and has repeatedly claimed that "The Diary of Anne Frank," is a hoax.)

I can't complain. I wanted some rest. Mashi and I bonded over some manicure. Anupam made a Transformers wallpaper and showed me the E3 2009 Batman Arkham Asylum demo.

I saw Anirban playing XBox online mostly. He has grown his hair and his back looks exactly like SG. We made a joke of it. Poor kid had fever when I left them. The Wasabi sauce with sushi cured me of my cold. I hope it helped him too. And the Jamaican Habanero sauce with shrimp and vegetables spaghetti was heavenly.

My flight on Sunday got delayed owing to inclement weather in Boston. It was a good break, but I was pining to be back. My roommate picked me from the airport after being chased twice by the traffic control. SG joined us for dinner at The Kebab Factory.

The following morning I had my weekly meeting. But I felt ready for it after a restful week. Last night, I made the Italian sausage recipe I had learned from my aunt. It was a hit.

Abanimohan Kar Smriti Puroskar

2009-06-20T09:09:00.011-07:00

Honorable Chief Minister of Tripura, Mr. Manik Sarkar is handing out the awards
Digging up the pics took a while, but I am glad I have them now.

Dadubhai always said : Kokhono bhulo na tumi kon baarir meye. (Never forget which family you belong to) I don't think I have ever forgotten that. And even if I had, the world would have reminded me.

Minnesota trip: Day 2: The wedding

2009-06-13T06:19:00.063-07:00

The next day, I woke up thinking, 'The day has arrived !' Needless to say, I had been looking forward to it for some time now - ever since we got to know about the wedding date; that would have been seven months now, at least.

The ceremony was scheduled at 3:30 pm on June 6, 2009 at the Trinity Lutheran Church, Medford, Minnesota. Sangram had to reach at 12:30 for signing the wedding license. Since we had nothing better to do, we decided to accompany him. That meant getting ready 3 hours before. Most girls would complain about that. But I didn't want to miss anything, though the thought of lazing about on a Saturday morning felt tempting.We helped the best man get ready, I tied the ponytail :D
It was pouring when we reached the church. A professional photographer was directing the poses for the bride and the groom. The couple looked beautiful and very much in love. I always thought that Mitch and Sushma complement each other very well. That is how a husband-wife pair should be- like a team, making up for the weaknesses of the other by one's strengths.Sushma and Mitch
I had already wept at the rehearsal, and John had offered to bring tissues on the day of the wedding. I felt choked with emotion again. It was like watching a very romantic movie. Most guys will never understand what is there to be sentimental about a wedding. Well, I don't blame them. They are emotionally less evolved than women. (Do I hear protests?)

In the afternoon, Arindam, John and I went out to fetch coffee for the groom and the best man. I had pancakes and apple juice in the morning. In fact, I liked the pancakes at our hotel so much that for three days I had nothing else for breakfast.

I had seen a Caribou coffee joint somewhere on our way the previous day, but it was on the highway and we did not want to drive into the traffic. We couldn't find coffee shops nearby so we checked a couple of gas stations. The first one had only cold frappucino from Starbucks' and I was dying for a hot, brewed coffee. The next one had a coffee maker but the coffee was cold in the pot and there was no way we could reheat it. John lost his appetite for coffee. I decided to settle for a cup of hot chocolate and took French vanilla toast for the others. Though, the guys insisted on paying, I rushed to pay in cash. That was the only thing I paid for the whole trip, except for the flight tickets. I kept track of my expenses, but Sangram wouldn't hear of it.

Before him, I had dated mostly losers who felt shy to take out their wallets. And since my father's first lesson was : 'There's no free lunch', I always ended up paying the bills. It feels good to have someone pay for you instead. After my father, I think it is him, who has me taken care of. Every little whim of mine. One more reason to feel special.

Fast forward to the ceremony. The ushers escorted the lady guests to their seats. The groomsmen walked first and laid down the white drape for the wedding party to walk on. I didn't see when the groom and the best man had appeared from the door beside the altar. The maid of honor and the flower girl walked in, followed by the bride.

We sang hymns in unison. One that particularly appealed to me was from ,' O Perfect Love'.
O perfect Life, be Thou their full assurance
Of tender charity and steadfast faith,
Of patient hope and quiet brave endurance,
With childlike trust that fears nor pain nor death.

The Pastor gave a humorous speech about love. He said that it started with Eros, 'Oh you are so hot', but it isn't enough to sustain a long-term commitment. The next stage is Philia, where you are more like companions, the husband is shouting : Where's my beer? But that isn't enough either. The ultimate stage is the love for God, with childlike innocence.

Neither Sangram nor I am very religious, but we have our own beliefs. And over the years, our relation wouldn't have sustained if we did not believe in each other. We were the oldest couple there, but I was the youngest in age. Naturally, there were questions about our wedding plans too. I told Mitch's Dad that we are just enjoying a long courtship.

Mark (Mitch's elder brother) asked Sangram if I were his sister. We have often been asked that. I wonder if we look like siblings. John negated that. Sangram told Mark that I was his girl and showed my picture on the wallpaper of his phone. I didn't realize it then why those two were looking at me and smiling. I believe that was the time he sent me that text message: 'I love you.'

Sushma had asked me to wear a saree for the ceremony. Indian clothes can be really gorgeous. They were about five of us wearing sarees: The bride, the maid of honor, Sushma's aunt, Mrs. Seelan ( the wife of Dr. Santosh Seelan from the University of North Dakota, Mitch's undergrad guide) Someone feared what if they came unwrapped. That didn't materialize. I changed for the reception into a dress I had got exclusively for the wedding.Sangram and me at the reception
Soon after dinner, and after quite a few number of audible requests from the guests for the couple to kiss (the traditional clanking of glasses with silverware), the speeches were made. Sangram mentioned him and Mitch living on Taco Bell's for a year until they discovered it was not healthy; strumming the guitar and jamming the piano on odd hours, and playing racquet ball and Mitch hitting him every time Mitch lost. George Barnard Shaw was quoted and the speech emphasized: To be happy with a man, you must understand a lot and love him a little. To be happy with a woman, you must love her a lot and not try to understand her at all.

I agree somewhat. A plausible explanation could be that most men need space to breathe, unless you understand him, you'd never respect his need to be on his own sometimes. And women need to be loved, they love getting pampered (at least I do) by the special person. But we have the most ephemeral emotions with a very dynamically changing internal environment, by the time our men get to understand us, we have hopped into some other mental state.

Mitch's eldest brother-in-law said that Mitch was a kid when he married into the family. He followed him around then asking all sorts of questions. He still does that he quipped. :D Matt and Mark welcomed Sushma to the family and said : It's great if you understand Mitch, because we don't. The audience was in splits.Mitch's parents dancing
The floor was prepared for dancing. Sushma had requested a couple of Hindi songs too. You should have seen everyone dance at that. But imagine my surprise to see Sangram dance to a song of Disco Dancer ! He hates to dance in public; I thought he feels too conscious. Though, I had tried teaching him Salsa before and he had picked the steps really fast.

John teased, 'I thought you said that your guy doesn't dance.' Me : 'I thought so too', with my mouth agape. Sometimes, I think he does all the nakhra before just to surprise me at the end. John went to Sangram and asked, 'You should teach me how to dance.' He snapped back, 'Are you kidding me?', his feet still tapping.

Soon, they played one of my favorite romantic numbers: Have I told you lately? I wrapped my arms around his neck while he held me by my waist. The floor cleared except for the couples and I looked into his eyes, like we were the only one in the whole universe. He joked what if some of the couples were talking about household expenses and their kids' school. I cracked up and thought that some day maybe we will too and enjoy it equally. But until then...

I closed my eyes, rested my head on his shoulders and found peace in a long, long time.

Minnesota trip : Day 1: The rehearsal

2009-06-09T17:11:00.032-07:00

Our flight from Boston Logan International (BOS) to Minneapolis St Paul Intl (MSP) was scheduled at 10:45 am (EDT). The expected arrival was at 12:52 PM (CDT), [that would be 1:52 pm Boston time.]

I met up with my fellow wayfarers, Sangram and Arindam at terminal A of Logan airport and made way to the check-in kiosks. I was really excited about seeing my first Christian marriage, and looking forward to the trip. I kept hopping around in the airport in anticipation , while the guys laughed at my childlike demeanor.

While Sangram and Arindam brooded about the 'Bahut kharcha ho gaya' factor at Au bon pain (French translation: At Good Bread), I sipped at my coffee and savored my apple croissant quite obliviously.

The flight was uneventful, except for the National Geographic magazine that I borrowed from Sangram and he showed me some vacation destinations including St. Moritz in the Engadine valley in Switzerland.

At Minneapolis we met two other people who would be attending the wedding : Balint Karosi- a friend and the organist at the wedding, and Karen- another of Mitch's friends.

We pooled a car from Minneapolis, dropped Karen at her Grandma's place, had lunch at a joint called Hamburgers. The freshly baked bread and the fresh ground meat made it a haven for steak lovers. And it was dirt cheap compared to Boston. While any high end steak house could charge you $ 30 + in Boston, I had a combo meal - of a swiss melt steak with mushrooms and onions, a vanilla shake and fries for just $12.49.

The state, also called "Land of 10,000 Lakes" , would be a perfect vacation spot for anglers too. I had seen quite a few water bodies when we were airborne. However, I imagined that our tight schedule wouldn't probably permit fishing, and I was content with feasting my eyes on the lush green meadows.

Someone mentioned ( I think it was Karen) that it was drier than usual. I looked at the tint of yellow in the grass. Anyways, it was a welcome break from a city like Boston. ( I love Boston, but a change is invigorating)The great stretches of land reminded me of my Colorado trip. Except, Minnesota appeared a lot greener. Colorado is more reddish.

We left the twin cities of Minneapolis and Saint Paul behind us and drove some 60 miles on Interstate 35 to reach Owatonna, our destination. For some impalpable reason, the traffic was moving at snail pace. Gawd ! It was as bad as I-93 South in Boston with two left lanes closed at rush hours.

We took exit 48 on Mitch's direction and met Mitch and Sushma - the to-be groom and bride at Preferred Outlets. Sush was still doing some last minute shopping for her wedding and told me about the really cheap clutches she saw there. From Calvin Klein to Nike, Bath and Body works to Levi's - there were stores of all kinds and I wanted to start shopping right away. But I knew I had to control my impulse. I voiced my desire anyways. Sangram mock copied me, 'I really should find time to shop here', but I knew he had made a mental note of it.

We just had time enough to check into our hotel. My chums were not helping and I was feeling a little weak. A quick shower pepped me up and a new brush of eye shadow took care of the rest. I discovered a disaster among my toiletries. I had forgotten my bronzer. Would have to go without make up on the wedding. I was glad though. My skin could breath. Trying to look glamorous can be a pain in the wrong place. I am the most comfortable in a pair of shorts, an old t shirt and my glasses.
We were at the Trinity Lutheran Church before 6: 30 PM CDT and I got a fair idea of how everything was going to be the the following day.

A pastor had flown from Boston and I was surprised to see his competence at remembering names from the guest list. The wedding ceremony participants included the Maid of Honor- Meenu, Sush's best friend (I am guessing),the Flower girl - Paridhi- Sush's kid cousin, Best Man- Sangram, and Groomsmen Mark and Matt Schull (Mitch's elder brother)

We had dinner at a place called ' Celebrations', where the reception would take place the following day. There I met the rest of the Schull family and also the youngest guest at the wedding.

Mitch and Balint with Mitch's niece
The bed looked very inviting by the time we went back to our hotel. It boasted of free wi-fi and free HBO on TV. None of us had got our laptops but we checked our mails from our phones. I remember seeing Stallone in Demolition Man; there was this funny scene about a Moral Statute Machine (in the future) charging for violation of Verbal Morality Statute. I guess that was exactly when I had fallen asleep.

The confessions of an ex- orkut junkie

2009-05-26T08:49:00.005-07:00

One of my friends often kidded about my addiction to social networking sites, suggesting that I should take up a job in orkut. Now, with the emergence of the social web as way to influence buying decisions and circumvention of marketing messages of traditional media, consumer behavior in the social media is the big thing on Web 2.0. And here to stay.

Honestly, I'd like a job in Social Media Marketing. That intern position for Social Media Director was droolworthy. Hope to hear from them soon. I have another interview today courtesy someone who was kind enough to refer me saying : You are one of those few incredible people we interviewed. Hope this works out for me. Wish me luck.

Quarter Life Crisis : Good Ol' Days

2009-05-19T06:36:00.011-07:00

An old friend caught me online. We were together in school and went to the same undergraduate college. He was an awesome dancer, in fact, one of the best dance partners I ever had. And one of those people who believed in my abilities even at times when I did not feel so sure of myself.

I was pleasantly surprised to hear that he had been recently promoted to the department chair of Bioinformatics in my undergraduate school. I kidded about not being able to dance with him anymore. He said it was true, he felt wary that his students might see him. And he said that he felt old suddenly.

I reasoned that we are not old (just 25), but definitely mature. And life is a lot more in control now. I believe that.

I promised to give a guest lecture for the MBA students next time I visit India. And yeah, it would be great to see Noida and my campus again.

Just Like That

2009-05-01T05:47:00.000-07:00

What makes you happy?

The Mentalist

2009-04-28T03:59:00.012-07:00

Alain Nu was at the Campus Center ballroom yesterday, demonstrating his ESP(?) skills. I had missed a major chunk of the show owing to my class schedule and managed to watch only the last half an hour or so.

At one occasion, he jumped off the stage and stood on the seat right in front me, and asked a student to hold a stainless steel knife while he bent it. I am not a skeptic usually, but I like to know tricks when there are any. It was fun watching him perform and wonder- 'How does he do that?' I have heard of the usage of chemicals. And the two girls might have a psychological explanation. Any takers?

Long way home

2009-04-27T07:36:00.017-07:00

I said to Dj as we walked on Brighton Ave, 'Coming up on my blog, next'
He laughed, ‘Tu kahi meri le to nahi rahi?’ I protested, ‘Come on ! Nahi yaar.’

It is not the first time someone’s car got towed. But it is not about the chain of events. It is about assuming collective responsibility. It was his treat and his car. And I felt bad about that. I wanted to help when we went to pick cash from the ATM but he pushed me away saying ‘Don’t do that. It is my car, my responsibility’ I couldn’t help it, I tried to reason, ‘ …but we were all in it !!’

Given his old age chivalry, I should have known that he wouldn’t take money, not from a girl. A dude who is particular about how you dress when you are out with him, and fusses if someone cusses in front of you, wouldn’t.

Last evening, I was supposed to pick grocery with one of the few good friends I had made at the university. Good friend: someone who is there with you both on your good and bad times. And it is not just the campus life, a quarter century later, I have come across very few people who do that. Anyways, this is going to be long if I digress so much. More terms from my private dictionary later.

Dj asked me if I’d like to go to a temple before we went to Shaw’s to pick the groceries. I agreed. I haven’t been to a temple in a long while. I am not a very religious person, but it doesn’t mean that I don’t have faith. I have great belief in the ability of men to do both good and evil. Since I am a believer of actions, Swami Vivekananda’s discourses have great relevance in my spiritual domain. I didn’t read Gita for religious purposes. I read it when I was in school, before my ICSE exams because I wanted to understand the philosophy of action.

Having said that, I was a bit disappointed about how religion is conducted in most parts of my country. I lived near a Sanatan dharma (literal: the eternal religion) temple in Noida. The richness of the temple was not exemplary, but the priests seemed very obvious about their preference for people who could donate bigger bundles to the ‘bhet’ box. In the house of God, everyone should be equal. From the mendicant, to the filthy rich- that should be the purpose of religion- to preserve the humanness and love and respect for your fellow beings- even if you are a poor man with money. But that is just me. I pray sometimes. I want to feel connected to a source of power bigger than my comprehension. I just don't like mediums, with human flaws.

My mother doesn’t let me take a mid-term test without first offering sweets to the Gods. I have never seen my father enter a temple; he’d rather wait outside while we prayed. But he never imposed his views on any of us. And he let my mother believe whatever she wanted. We had all kinds of religious festivals at home- Laxmi Puja, Saraswati Puja, Durga Puja – I even looked forward to them as a kid. And I still miss being at home when the Autumn Goddesses arrive.

So, I went. It is a Laxmi temple at Framingham. And it is beautiful. There were five of us. We prayed, we got the tika and we had the prasad, before we drove back to Boston hollering out Hindi film songs. DJ requested me to sing first, but I warned: Don’t do that, you know I don’t stop when I start. And I asked one of the other friends to testify. However, he insisted and I dragged one of the other enthusiastic friends who had already started displaying his vocal skills , into a duet. I suggested, ‘Why don’t we all sing?’ There were many moments, but ‘Jaane Tu Ya Jaane Na’ beats them all. You never know how your voice sounds in a chorus. Right from the days of my singing in a choir of the school assembly I realized it. But there are certain songs that you love to shout out in unison. They let me sing a few myself when we started playing Rapid ( the one where you pick words from a previous song and sing another) It was funny because Devansh kept breaking the words into syllables and added another syllable to create a new word which he plugged into his songs, claiming it was a valid way to play. How we played it didn’t matter, the idea was to have fun.

We teased him about replacing ‘kehna’ with ‘karna’ in his songs, and I exclaimed: Tu hamesha karne pe kyu aa jata hai?’ Dj observed: ‘He is desperate’. To which he sang: ‘I am a despo dancer.’ All in a friendly banter. It seemed like good fun, something I hadn’t have since I last saw my cousins together- years ago.

Most of the junta wanted to go to Qdoba, the Mexican grill. We knew one near NEU. But it had just closed down at 10 pm when we arrived. So, we went to ‘Indian Dhaba’. The food was oily, spicy and goooood. Very much like what we get back at home. Dj offered: My treat. It was the occasion of his H1B being approved. If you are an immigrant trying to make a future in another country, your visa status is probably THE most important concern of your life for a long time. Until you decide to marry a citizen and get a green card. We met someone at the restaurant who had done just that. Apparently, he was a senior from my school who had graduated before I joined the program.

I wished my parents on their anniversary and told SG that I am having dinner out, ' Will call back when I reach home.' Another event was- we had banarasi pan when we were done with the dinner. We explained to some other people in the restaurant what it was. The leaves weren’t fresh, but the extra helping of sweet jelly made it lovable. I always asked my father to let me have a pan when we dined out in India. He always obliged. It is a secret indulgence of my own.

We were right across the street when I wondered aloud: Where’s Dj’s car? Someone remarked, ‘Must be behind the van’ I walked around fearing the worst: did someone steal it? When we walked to the parking lot, we saw the signs: 'Parking Limit 1 hour.' There was a contact number of the towing company. We wondered why we hadn’t seen the signs when we had walked out, and then we gathered that we had all walked out of the car and crossed the street while the posts were behind us. So that when we came back we could look like fools.

DJ said that all of us needn’t walk 1 mile. Fortunately, the GPS was still with him and the tow shop was open 24 hrs. One of us accompanied him, while the remaining three waited at a convenience store. Two of them picked ice creams and I picked a Leanin’ Tree card sans occasion.

They rescued the car and it was an hour later than I had expected to be at home. DJ apologized for wasting my study time. I laughed and said: It was quite an adventure.

I was too tired to study for my Marketing Communications test (on Tuesday) anymore. I just crashed on my bed after calling up SG. He said: At least it isn't as bad for your driving license as getting a speeding ticket. That guy always sees the best in things.

Thought for the day

2009-04-17T00:48:00.004-07:00

The best thing ever is: a cup of tea that you didn't have to make yourself.

Memories

2009-04-14T11:37:00.015-07:00

One of the greatest causes of intrigue in my childhood was my father's almirah. He had all sorts of curios stuck up in it- right from a Nepali khukri to his service pistol -to all kinds of neck ties you could possibly imagine. And there was an added attraction, we couldn't access it except on the days he cleaned it.

Once, he let me play with his pistol while he was cleaning it and my mom freaked out thinking it was loaded. Anyways, the point was - I loved the mystery associated with it. And while I could ask for the keys to the other cabinets, I could never ask for that one, and that kept the curiosity alive for a good number of years.

I'd often see him tearing bills and old files into bits before he threw them into a bin. (Now, he uses a paper shredder) I asked him why he did that. He said that you have to get rid of old things to make space for the new. Or else you can't find what is important for you. And he said, the human mind is such - you have to make space for new memories.

I confess - I have the habit of collecting junk. I keep a scrapbook and paste movie tickets, chocolate wrappers and innumerable other bagatelles in it - for purely emotional reasons. But there is a purpose: I had gifted it to SG on our first Valentine's Day and I am trying to fill it up at my own pace.

I often wonder, how strange our memory is. You remember something when you are least expecting it. And I am not sure if I want to delete them or keep them with me. And oh, I just paid to get an upgrade for my Picasa. Talk of the cost of memories. :D

My happy ending

2009-04-07T07:08:00.020-07:00

I was reading this article in NYTimes, and I was fascinated to think how similar it is to my story.

For three years now, I have kept quiet about it, because sometimes I was not sure. But for every moment of doubt, there always have been innumerable other moments of faith surging in.

Yesterday, I had an exam to take and had to leave for my class, but there was an UPS delivery expected, made as an exception after three failed attempts. My roommates weren't around either, so I asked SG to come over and receive the shipment for me.

When I came back, he had left but I found notes all over my place. One of the best feelings in the world is knowing that someone is so completely and utterly in love with you.

And it all started with his comments on my blog. Almost an year after he had first tried to chat with me (in Summer 2005) and I had rejected his invitation on an online community, we started chatting again (in June 2006).

It was a phase of my life artists call 'blue', when painters can't identify with any other color than the colors of melancholy. I wrote sad posts sometimes, though, trying hard to restrain my emotions. A public display of any kind would have been vulgar. I doubt the same now, but I want to write something about us. Preferably, the truth.

He was in Cambridge, I was in Noida. We talked to each other every day over the phone. We have been doing it ever since. Soccer, Cliff Richard, discourses of Swami Vivekananda, Existentialism and Camus, are a few keywords from our initial conversations. Though I tried hard to avoid talking to him, mostly on the pretext that I am at office and have work - I found myself drawn to him. It took me a while to realize and accept what it really meant to me.

The first day we met (on Dec 11th, 2006), he proposed to me with a ring, saying : 'I take you as my legally wedded wife.' I still tease about not marrying him until he proposes to me formally. (You know- where I have a chance to say ' No' and be a runaway bride)

Last Summer was the toughest. I was certain there could be no 'us'. I was angry and mad at him. But things change. Someone once told me that if he doesn't love you the way you want, it doesn't necessarily mean that he doesn't love you. I agree now. In fact, it is better to be laid back sometimes and let them surprise you pleasantly.

I don't know what the future holds for us. But I know one thing for sure - if I can't be happy with him, I can't be happy with anyone else either.

Happiness

2009-03-14T12:41:00.020-07:00

is not a state; it is a process. It is not in being; it is in becoming.

No wonder my blog has started reading like a Twitter feed. When you are juggling your studies and trying to improve a current GPA of 3.8/4.0. And you are doing your own groceries, cooking, cleaning, laundrying, squeezing some time to write the articles you have committed to, updating events, attending socials - you'll probably have very little time to do what you love doing the most in your free time. Because you hardly have any 'free time'.

I fear that I'll become an emotional Spartan, sensing a vacuosness inside me sometimes, not knowing anymore what makes me really happy. However, the feeling is temporal. In fact, I am learning to suck the marrow out of life now, and trying to live it to the greatest depth and breadth I possibly can.

Am I complaining? Hell, no ! There is something about this country. It gives you a chance to perform your best, and it expects nothing but the best from you. I often wonder how many like me have left behind their comfort zones and dared to start from scratch. And I don't mean just the international student population here. Even a guy from the east coast who has to relocate to the west coast or vice versa would face the same issues.

Making a fresh start. Where no one knows who you are. The accomplishments of my precedents burdened me as a kid. Here, no one asks me what my father or grandfather achieved in their lifetimes. Sometimes, I miss the recognition associated with my family name. Though, living away from home for a while before I left my country got me acquainted with that.

Someone said: I envy you. You manage things so well.
I thought to myself: It is all about priorities.

Dad says : 'The hero of every day mundane life is the ultimate hero.' I believe that. That is why I try to micromanage my task list. Shuffling and reshuffling. Trying to get the best possible combination of priorities and executing them as I go.

Sometimes, you are aggressive. Sometimes, you have to step back. But you have to go on. Everyday, I ask myself what did I learn today? Sometimes, the answer is not so evident. Most of the times, it astonishes me.

The language of love

2009-02-15T17:27:00.015-08:00

It took me a while to understand that love manifests itself in more forms than I can ever write about. The Eskimos have 52 words to describe snow. Nothing in the world would suffice to describe the complete array of human feelings. No spoken language ever can. But I try. And I try in vain. This post is for my readers like Omar, who have made blogging worthwhile through all these years.

I also thank Samie for sharing Pancho’s narrative with me.

***
I listened while the pastor spoke about the forms of love. Different people express their love in different ways. Some prefer exchanging gifts. Some think spending quality time best indicates affection. Some believe in physical contact like a warm hug or a light kiss. And others view affirmative statements like: 'Wow, you are awesome !' as a reinforcement of love.

I reflected on my experiences. What came to my mind first when I think of expressing love? I was reminded of the dumb and deaf gypsy girl I had met near Warangal on my tour to India.

I have a certain emotion attached to chocolates. When I was a kid, my mother would bring me and my brother a chocolate bar, and ask her to share it equally. Everytime, I broke it into two and gave one to him and kept the other half for myself. He was always amazed by my precision. He often wondered how I could make exactly equal halves. What he never found out was that I ate the bit that was extra before I gave him his share.

One day, I saw the gypsy girl carrying a handful of chocolates, I asked her, with our sign language, if she would share one with me. She gave me the whole handful. That brought tears to my eyes, and I believe that was one of those moments when I strongly felt the presence of love.

Thought for the day

2009-02-07T11:39:00.006-08:00

I don't necessarily want what is the best for me. I want something that makes me happy.

The autobiography of a peppermint candy

2008-12-30T16:16:00.026-08:00

I
I was born in a candy factory with a thousand others. Packed in a group of 60 and weighing approximately 9 oz (255 g) collectively with our plastic wraps, we waited at a candy store to be picked. The box above us was taken by a fussy grandmother, who cautioned the boy beside her that sweets ruined teeth, and he would need dentures like her. The boy said: It would look kind of cool Grandma ! She said: Ok! Ok! I will get them, but do not forget to brush everytime you eat one.

One day, a sad looking man came around to the aisle where we rested. He picked us, smelled us and caressed us. His eyes moistened and he sniffled slightly. I wondered what made him so sad. Then, I remembered seeing him before with a little girl with golden hair and blue ribbons. It had been a while since she did not come with him. Some of my brothers and sisters said that she had probably died. Some said that others had taken her away because he was a bad father. I contemplated whether a bad father would weep for his child.

It seemed like we had been waiting for ages. Even in the comfort of the store, we felt we would outlive our shelf life. Our neighbors changed. The decor of the store changed. First, it was a Halloween theme, then Thanksgiving, and soon it was time for Christmas. Chocolate reindeer and premium assortments filled up every stack. The gummy bears and worms grew increasingly thin in population. We still waited for our fate.

The day before Christmas, the store was about to close early when two girls came. A brown and a white one. The brown girl said to the white girl: It was so nice of you to get us that tree. But I am sorry, I don't have much decorations. Maybe we could pick up a few candy sticks and ribbons to make the tree look happy. They both smiled and the brown girl grabbed us while she walked fast.

'They look really neat' she said to her friend.
'They taste great too' her friend said. 'Peppermint candies always get me nostalgic.' She smiled. And they both looked at each other like they knew what the other was feeling. They soon ushered us to the counter where the lady said: $13 for the candy, $5.60 for the rolls each. Total $ 29.80. The girls paid hurriedly: 'I can't wait to see the surprise the guys are gonna get when they see the tree' and they both giggled their way out of the store.

II
I waited patiently while the girls tied knots with the ribbons and unwrapped a few of my siblings to hang on the branches of a Christmas tree. A few of us were still remaining in the box, when one of the girls declared : I am tired. Let's get some sleep now. Did we hang the stockings yet?

One of them confirmed and then they switched off the lights and went away. Only the tiny light bulbs danced and the fairy on the tree looked so real that I thought it would fly away. I looked at the star on the tree top and I believe that is exactly when I fell asleep.

The next morning, there was a lot of commotion. The girls kept cooking the whole day and by evening, the guests arrived in groups. Two guys particularly caught my attention. The girls seemed to pay more attention to them and giggle more often at their jokes. At night, I saw one of the guys kiss the brown girl under the mistletoe. And I realized that like us, brown or white, at heart they were all candies too.

I also learned the name of the two girls - the brown one was called Anouska or Anouk and the white one was called Lisa.

III
Two days after Christmas, Anouk packed her suitcase and bid Lisa goodbye. Lisa said: I wish you had stayed for New Year's.
Anouk: I know, I wanted to go to New York too. But my Grandma is ill. I will see you soon.
Lisa: Did you take everything?
Anouk: Yeah. All the documents. I have to come back to this country. My life is here. She laughed.
Lisa: Maybe you should take some candies too. Wait, I guess there are still some from XMas.

She collected us from the tea table and shoved us in Anouk's back pack. Anouk hugged her and went out in the snow.

I don't know how long we waited to see light again. Anouk unpacked us as soon as she reached her home. She said: Ma, is Hari Kaku still around?
Anouk's Mom: Yes, he comes once in a while to visit us, though he is too old to work now. And he has grown a bit weird since his daughter died. His grandkids live with him now. Even his wife is growing old. I don't know how long they will sustain. The kids are too young. Your father and a few of his friends give him a monthly allowance, but it must be difficult with that meager sum.
Anouk: How many of them?
Anouk's Mom: Three kids I believe. Two boys and one girl. And Hari Kaku and his wife.
Anouk: Will he be coming to see me?
Anouk's Mom: I guess so, when he knows - he sure will.
Anouk: What if I visit them tomorrow, the first thing in the morning?
Anouk's Mom: But a few people are invited for lunch, don't be late.
Anouk: Ok Ma.

IV
The following morning Anouk got up early. She had a tired face and I felt that she needed rest. She put on her jogging shoes and her gym attire and looked at us for a moment. She thought for a while and picked us before she jogged out into the foggy street.

After some time, I felt a stench fill me. I tried to imagine what horror or hell was that. But I realized that people lived in that fetor. It was filth everywhere. And the houses were so small and close together that you couldn't say one from the other. I even wondered if they really were houses at all. They had canvas walls and open latrines. I understood where the malodor came from. Soon the muddy roads gave way to a brick scattered path. Anouk calculated each step to reach the only concrete house I saw from her pocket.

She knocked at the open door twice and called : Hari Kaka, Hari Kaka.
The torn curtains waved a little and a tiny, dark man came out. His vision didn't seem very clear. He had cataract in his eyes. And yet, he recognized the voice instantly.

Anouska Mamoni ! Come inside !!

Did you have anything to eat?
Anouk nodded in negative
Would you like to have some ginger tea I used to make that you loved so much?
She nodded again. An affirmative.

Her eyes brushed around the room. It gave the impression of a curio shop. A nightmare for an interior designer with even the simplest taste. Anouk had seen elaborate designs and mansions, but she knew the love these frail walls harbored couldn't be found in a King's palace. Warm tears rolled down her cheeks while she stealthily took out a bunch of currency notes and hurriedly shoved it between the sheets of the small bed.

Soon Hari came round with his wife and his grandchildren. She sleeps in the kitchen now, with Jaya. You know my granddaughter?' Anouk remembered seeing her when she was a kid. Now, she had grown up a little. She had the long sad face of her mother and those big black eyes.
Anouk: How did it happen Kaka?
Hari: What to say Mamoni, it was my fate. I couldn't pay them enough dowry and so they burned her to death.
Anouk: What??? But she had been married for eighteen years now !!
Hari: I had been giving my son-in-law something or the other before. But now, I have grown old and incapable.
Anouk: Did you report it to the police?
Hari: Your father insisted that I should. But I begged him not to. At least, they let me have her kids.
Anouk: But I am sure they would be able to take better care.
Hari: It is a good thing to think but reality is different. He is getting married again. I don't want my Ratna's kids to grow up with a step mother.
Anouk: But then....?
Hari: Don't you worry sweet Didimoni. Your father has promised Tapan - the eldest a job if he passes school this year. And he has been working hard.

Anouk studied the teenager. Did he comprehend fully the weight of responsibilities he had on his shoulders? Of his old grandparents? Of his siblings? Anouk looked away. Kakima had got her the tea in a cup and some biscuits on a plate. She wondered if this was the only one in the house to serve guests. Anouk offered the biscuits to the kids who had hovered round her. They smiled and refused. She smiled knowingly. They were like Hari Kaka.

Suddenly, she remembered something and gathered us from her pocket. ' I got these.'
The kids shouted in unison. 'American chocolates !! '
Anouk: Yes. Only they are called peppermint candy sticks and sometimes they are used to decorate Christmas trees. She offered each one and she unwrapped one and took a bite herself.
I was given to the youngest kid. A boy about the age of six. He clutched at me and ran away. I could hear the others laugh.

V
We are destined to please, but temporally so. We die in the mouth of our devourer and that is our ultimate fate. Or so we are made to believe. But I have lived - way beyond my shelf-life - in a small box full of hidden treasures. I share my new house with a broken compass, a stringless yo-yo, a dry leaf from an unknown tree, and a spinning top. I survived the attack of an army of ants and oppressive heat when I almost melted, before I was shifted to this abode. Maybe this was my destiny.

* Note: For more short stories, click on the label 'short story'*

Day and Night

2008-12-28T07:10:00.016-08:00

All characters and incidents in this story are imaginary. Similarity to any person or situation is highly regretted.
I
'I love him and I hate him to the same degree. I have to let go of one emotion.
But no. It can not be. I seek indifference. That is letting go.'

An year ago, I didn't think I'd be saying this to myself. We were happy. A newly wedded couple, blissfully unaware of what the future might bring. It was on a fateful night we were walking down the street after a late night show when the muggers cornered us. They look his wallet and our belongings. But when they turned to leave, one of them saw his most precious possession- me.

He tried to make a faint effort to save me, but they were armed and dangerous. I saw them fist him to a bloody pulp before they came for me. And yet, I imagined that a miracle would give him the strength to save us both. But no help came. He lied beside me, with his limbs twisted ominously. I can't say who I was more scared for at that moment.

They ravished me one after the another, until my tired screams turned into stifled whimpers. The last thing I saw before I lost my senses was a vague outline of his body. I was hoping he is still alive.

The morning came, I opened my eyes in a white room. I wondered if it was all just a bad dream. But the pain in the body was real. And I saw scratches and teeth mark everywhere. My body disgusted me. I felt warm tears tickle down my face and onto my pillow. For a while, I lied on my wet pillow, forcing my eyes closed- imagining, like I did as a child, it wasn't true.

I saw a plump woman in uniform. I asked her about my husband, not sure what to expect. She said he still hadn't come round.

II
The harrowing details of our reporting the incident and our endless wait to help identify the culprits can be spared. When we came back home together, we felt like strangers to each other.

He wouldn't look at my face, the face that he once loved. I wondered if he despised me. Months passed, we lay beside each other without him turning once. I felt he is awake, but even in the darkest hours, he didn't make an effort to touch me or look towards me. I felt I wanted to cry. And I cried. I cried till my tears dried the inside of me. I couldn't feel the pain anymore. It was a void, empty feeling.

We went on about on our lives as usual, but something had changed. Something which I alone could not set right.

III
I looked at her when she was not aware- while she fixed breakfast for me, with her wet hair hanging loose on her back. Sometimes, when she was not at home, I'd take a whiff of her clothes to feel her presence. But I couldn't look into her eyes or touch her or make the slightest effort at a conversation. I felt my voice would give away my guilt. Yes, my guilt . Of not having tried enough to save her.

Sometimes, I wondered if she knew that I was still conscious when they devoured her. I heard her calling my name, trying hard to look at me amidst those dirty hungry fingers. Her mouth being torn apart, and bit by bit her whole body.

She kept crying and calling my name. But I lied like a coward. Afraid of more blows, of the knives, of being shot in the head. Afraid of ending my miserable life, instead of rushing to her and holding her hand and telling her that she was not abandoned. That I felt her pain. For a wretched moment, I even hoped she would just stop calling my name, lest they should think I was still alive. And for that I have not forgiven myself. I never will in my whole life.

* Note: For more short stories, click on the label 'short story'*

PaintJAM

2008-12-21T17:57:00.003-08:00

Watch it till the end and maybe, like me, you too will marvel at what a change of perspective can do.

For Mark

2008-12-19T10:09:00.018-08:00

and Arko.

Priorities: When you are down to your eyeballs in your coursework, the only thing that matters to you is an A or A-. But I heard someone say - the most crucial thing in the morning for him was to make sure that his poop was alright.

For a moment, I was taken aback - you only consider it in mirth- the possibility of your fecal matter becoming your prime focus. In a passing comment- you might even say to a close friend, 'You look constipated today.' But to hear it in a serious undertone, even if said very matter-of-factly, something strikes you.

It was an unusual meeting resulting from an unusual request. I had just got back from my July 4th weekend in New York and my gtalk status read: Back to Boston. Prompt came a ping, from someone I had not spoken to since ages. And never met.

He told me, quite concerned, about one of his best friends getting treated for cancer in Massachusetts. He was living with his sister currently in Cambridge. Now Cambridge is just 15 -20 mins on the T from where I reside and is one of my frequent haunts. I didn't think it'd be too difficult to drop by and pay a visit to his friend. Arko furnished me with Mark's address, mobile number and a photograph so that I could identify him.

I wanted to make sure that I didn't appear like a salesgirl trying to sell laundry detergent at his doorstep,so , over a text message, I duly introduced myself, my intended purpose of visit, and mentioned the person on whose behalf I'd be visiting.

There was a certain discomfort, as you can understand, regarding the way I'd have to get around to ask Mark about his illness and treatment. I am grateful that Arko believed I had the delicacy.

When I took the bus to Dana Farber Cancer Institute, it was raining. And I seriously considered my sanity with suspicion. But when an hour later I walked down to Binney Street and met him, I felt it was worth it. He made the conversation easy to make and while we sat at the institute cafeteria, he offered to let me have something. I didn't mention that I had skipped lunch that day in fear that I'd miss the inbound bus, and be late for my appointment, immediately after which he had a treatment session scheduled. I wasn't really hungry anymore but I picked a box of fruits.

We clicked some pictures so that he could send them over to his friends. He told me about his cancer treatment, his stay with his sister, his house renovation, how much he missed playing basketball and California.

It was like talking to a person you have known for sometime. By the end of our meeting, I was praying that he got well soon. By September, he was much better and back in CA. Though he'll be visiting Boston next August again for some extended treatment, his cancer is almost untraceable now.

Lesson for me: Living someone else's life for a moment lets us make more allowance for the other person's predicament and infuses humility in what we otherwise take a vulgar pride in. Maybe even a certain amount of reverence in what we consider our mundane life.

If you can't find what you are looking for...

2008-12-14T06:18:00.004-08:00

... look again at what you have found.

I kicked a purse snatcher :D

2008-12-07T08:26:00.032-08:00

The Incident:
I was walking down at William Street, Cambridge and about to enter SG's house when a man approached me and asked :'What time is it?" I stopped to look at my watch. 6:25 PM. He tried to snatch my purse - once, twice, three jolts. But the loser didn't know I could scream so hard. Neither did I. I kicked him left and right- and when he got confused and stepped back- I looked at him, still holding it - breathing heavily and asking- "You want my purse? Come, get it." You should have seen him bolt like a rabbit.

He snapped the sling of my favorite purse though he couldn't take anything.

After math:
By the time my friends came out, he had run towards Auburn Street and vanished. SG was a shirtless rescuer when he was out on the street - still trying to figure what had transpired, and apparently went back to ironing clothes when I said : 'No point chasing him in the cold like this.' Finally, the neighbors peeped out to see if everything was all right. It had all happened in just a few minutes.

I reported it to the Cambridge Police an hour later. Taking some time to gain resilience- it was upsetting. The routine query and my describing the guy followed. The officer looked at my shoes when I told him that I had kicked him, and he remarked: 'That must have hurt him !' I said :'I hope so.'

He asked me if I could identify the culprit if I saw him again and said that a detective might get in touch with me later.

We duly thanked the officer and went to the potluck. They loved the baked chicken legs I made. It was a great party. I specially liked the making of "Feuerzangenbowle" (fire pliers punch)

Don't worry, we didn't have to drink it with the fire.

My analysis:
We had an ad shoot at Prudential, and I was dressed in formal and killer boots. Probably that incited him. Only if he knew I am a Poor Indian Graduate Student (PIGS), carrying everything in my purse- including my new phone and my camera for the party. And of course, my wallet with cards and cash in it, key rings, a perfume, comb, a DVD I had to return. I thought I was carrying my passport too. I wouldn't have given it away for anything.

I had the potluck to attend so I was carrying some food - that put me at a disadvantage. Usually they target women with infants or heavy loads.

He looked like a drug addict to me - in dire need of some cash.

One of my friends said : He was too slow, if it was your purse.
I said: I probably look less dangerous than I am.

Whatever...

Congo Crisis

2008-11-21T13:35:00.006-08:00

Thanks to Rutger
And I agree to his saying :'People worry about the wrong things in life... period.'

For more, read this.

Red Line Fight Sports

2008-11-16T14:03:00.024-08:00

I owe this one to Sangram (in blue and with head band below).

One of the girls exclaimed: 'You look excited !'
I checked my body language to see what gave out that message. Sitting on the edge of the sofa, leaning forward, fingers clasped up to my chin, intense vision, and my face squirming at every punch- you don't need to be Tonya Reiman to interpret that. I had to get up to have a closer view of the guys practicing in the ring after they had rehearsed some new techniques on the floor.

'You can't be tired and you can't be sorry' said the instructor, Lyle, when one of his students said 'Sorry', after hitting his opponent on the face in a practice session. He summoned the rest of the clan to 'be a good friend' and share the punishment of push-ups. He joined in too. They were already tired from hours of practice but admitting it meant added penalty. To top it, he had them stop mid-way, and while they tried hard to keep pace with him, he looked up at me, smiling complacently. I have to admit that he is a seasoned sportsman and physically more fit than kids half his age.

It is not just about venting your frustration when your boss is a pain in you-know-where, or your significant other misunderstands you or the economy is taking a nose dive. It is something you would probably like to join in when you have been a gym inhabitant for years and intend to take yourself to the next datum plane of existence. ( Darn, Jonathan keeps haunting me !) Less philosophically, and more practically - it is a good way to learn a few defense techniques even if your are not planning to enter the pro- league.

Just off the T-stop at Central Square, between Dunkin Donuts and the liquor store, the entrance is easy to miss if you are not paying attention. But once you are inside, you know what's going on.

I couldn't help mentioning this from a Marketer's point of view: they have rebranded themselves from 'Boston Sanda Kung Fu' and relocated to Cambridge from Downtown. Very strategic ! Now, that I have done my free WOM (Word-Of-Mouth) advertisement, I can get back to my public policy case study. See you there !

Link: Red Line Fight Sports

Offered training in : Kickboxing, Kung Fu, Wrestling, Brazilian Jujitsu.

The most romantic thing

2008-11-04T18:12:00.014-08:00

...I saw in a long time was while coming back from my Business and its Environment class in Wheatley today. The walls of the whole hallway in the first floor near classroom 0055 was filled with handwritten posters, saying the same thing in different languages:"Will You Marry Me?"I discerned English, Hindi and French among others. At the end, it was signed Daniel Louis Sullivan. I don't know what the girl is going to say, or if she's going to see it before the housekeeping staff decides to take these off from the walls. But I was amazed by the amount of effort it probably took him to do that, in spite of translation tools and helpful friends. Dan boy, you rock!

Only for gadget lovers: my new baby : G1

2008-11-03T17:24:00.003-08:00

And yeah, I think it's much cooler and more compact than the iPhone. Steve, no hard feelings. :D

Home

2008-10-24T05:53:00.007-07:00

I'm sure every culture has a code for that one (following up on my post on 'The Culture Code' :D)

It brings to my mind a mosaic of images- Mom and Dad cooking for me, Grandma's caresses, lying on the grass lawn with my parents and watching shooting stars in the sky, Beena Didi, Ashu Kaku, my pet dog which lives no more, the treasured suitcase full of Tintin and Asterix comics under my bed, the cupboard that has all my soft toys and Barbies, the book shelves and movie collection, pictures on the wall and a myriad of other things. People and possessions.

But most of all - it means 'security'. In my childhood, however, I detested the idea of being driven around everywhere I wanted to go or have a home guard trail me everytime I stepped out of my house. Probably, an aftermath of a kidnapping attempt on me and my elder bro when we were kids. I wanted to explore the world on my own. See the colors and sights, try to sense what's good or bad myself.

When my parents came to drop me off at my hostel for my undergrads, I was excited. But then my cousin brother (Misti Da), who was residing in Delhi at that time, said: 'Don't worry, we'll be there if you need us.' It was antithetical. I knew I wouldn't be seeing my parents for a while. I had not taken this into account ! It was a beginning and an end.

Sometimes, kids start living outside their homes earlier or later than I had. Nothing new. My point is - most of you know how it feels to be away from home and probably attach a different meaning to 'home' now. It might not mean what it meant before. For better or for worse.

Growing up the way I am, being 'homesick' is considered a repugnant weakness or the aftermath of illness or inability. My mother always told me success stories which inevitably ended : '...and then he went to live there* (variable) and is doing great professionally.' Fairy tales were my own vicious indulgence. I don't remember my parents ever buying me Cinderella or Snow-white. Little Red Riding Hood - maybe.

So, when your éclat is judged on the magnitude of your well-being away from your home, it becomes a little embarrassing to admit how much you miss 'home' at times. Or the home you had as a child (contrasted with the possibility of your owning one yourself )

Anyways, all that rambling spurred from the likelihood of my going home this December. A toast everyone, to home, sweet home.

There's no Plan B. This is it.

2008-10-17T17:40:00.001-07:00

If you have a plan B you are planning to fail in A and that's not an option. Agree?

In Pursuit of HappYness III

2008-10-10T08:54:00.017-07:00

IUnlike some sages of the old, I believe- you can't be happy by secluding yourself. You might not get hurt by being passive, but you won't be happy either. When you want happiness, you have to involve yourself in what you do. And since just one thing or one person can't give you all the happiness, you have to engage yourself in numerous creative activities that make you happy. Naah, more.. that get you ecstatic. Whether it is composing music or working for the less privileged- you have to give yourself a chance to bring out the best in you - in something which you probably didn't know existed as a potential.

And then you can channelize you energy into the selected few- to maximize your happiness- or state of well being. The criteria for choosing them might differ from individual to individual. In the end, everyone defines happiness for himself/herself.

IIIn a lot of ways, I find the Indian education system flawed in this regard(at least during the time I was a part of it). I don't think there is ample scope for a child to choose her area of expertise. Most parents often have preconceived notions about success and they direct their offspring to attain those standards of excellence which they deem to be correct- or are the fruition of their own failed aspirations.

'Let me be like a river. Let me have the right to choose my own path. ' - is what every child should say. I have been fortunate in this regard. My parents never imposed their biases on me. They just suggested alternatives. However, it pains me immensely to see some parents in my immediate family struggling with their kids to excel in domains which they have no talent at.

In Bengali they say - Gaadha pitiye ghoda kora jaay na ( You can't transform a donkey into a horse by beating it) But that is for a farmer who doesn't know the uses of a donkey. Fortunately, there are parents with better discretion.

I wonder what Leonardo Da Vinci's mother (*disregarding/taking into account the historical conjectures made about his personal life) would have had to say about this?

(* Leonardo was the illegitimate son of Messer Piero Fruosino di Antonio da Vinci, a Florentine notary, and Caterina, a peasant who might have been a slave from the Middle East. Source : Wikipedia)

My thoughts on Agartala blasts

2008-10-02T06:07:00.008-07:00

This is a word-for-word copy of a group mail I sent home.

@Amitabha
Thanks for the update. The media could have been more responsible in handling such news. But when the headlines along with 'Agartala Blasts', is "SRK watches Drona premiere', you can imagine how callous we have become towards such things.

Worst of all, we play the blame game. The government for not having more stringent anti-terrorist laws. The police for not being omniscient. And the mainland media for covering blasts in Mehrauli more than in Agartala during prime time because they don't have enough correspondents in the fringing states.

What we don't realize most of the times is the worst effected- the common man - me and you are the most responsible for it ourselves. I understand that during the frenzy of a festive season, it is difficult to be alert. I, personally, seem to be lost in my thoughts most of the times. For those to whom it doesn't come intrinsically- they can excuse themselves.

But the ones who can- specially the young - in body or mind - can volunteer to form core anti-terrorist groups - at least temporarily until the Pujas are over peacefully.

Last afternoon, I was having almost a heart attack (not exaggerating but I stopped breathing for a while) when I read the sms***: 'Hope your folks are all same, there were serial blasts in Agartala." No one ones to see their hometown being ripped apart. What we fail to see is - Mehrauli or Jaipur or Agartala - it is our home. Whether it is religious fanaticism or political agenda- it's equally inexcusable

Without sounding too pedagogic, I'd recommend you to take some time out of your busy schedules and watch , 'Mumbai Meri jaan', which seems to me a realistic depiction of the Mumbai blasts ands its aftermath.

Have a great week ahead. And enjoy the Pujas. My humble wishes.

*** Thanks to Shashi, who tried calling first. I was outdoors when I got the news

What is in a name?

2008-09-30T10:24:00.019-07:00

..or a post-name?

I am a member of a certain group in Google, which is pursuing a noble mission back home, and I resort to using first names when I reply to the group mails.

Most people in the discussions refer to each other as 'Da'. (short for Dada= elder brother) Though I do not know most of them personally, I know for sure that there are some people for whom the appropriate suffix would be 'Kaku' or 'Jethu' (Uncle)

When I first joined my B-school, my Program Director insisted that I use his first name (that too Bill, instead of William) and not 'Sir'. It took me some practice.

That reminds me of the time when I was in middle school and I used to dig this tv series called 'Blossom', where the daughter called her father by his name. I demanded that I be allowed to call Dad 'Amit' (short for Amitabha)

Mom was scandalized( who had once shocked her mother-in-law by calling Dad by his name after marriage.) Dad, as usual, indulged me saying: It's not what you call me that matters. I don't think you'll respect me any less if you call me by my first name. I didn't continue with it- partly to save Mom from concussions, and partly because the fad didn't influence me enough.

However, I have a severe aversion to the pronoun 'tui'. (Hindi: equivalent 'tu') I feel it is derogatory. Though I use it to address my elder brother and some of my really close friends, most of the times, it is ' Aap'. In fact, we still laugh about the time I called my roommate ' Aap' the first day I met her.

Tumi or Tum is relatively safe. What do you think?

Seasons of love

2008-09-27T23:34:00.030-07:00

Click on image to enlarge
A : Chori Chori jab...
You need a little background for this. At least, you need to watch the song Chori Chori from Kareeb in this video around 1:45-2:27.

Back in 1998, when the movie got released, I was in the eight or ninth grade. My elder brother, who was pursuing his undergrad from Allahabad, had come home for his vacations. Needless to say, this song was a hit among youngsters and my brother insisted : Sis, you gotta watch this ! one day when it was being played on the TV.

I made a weary face and demanded: What is there to watch? A girl and a boy are getting wet in the rain and are getting paid for doing it.

I probably loathed the unnatural depiction. But my maternal uncle who overheard the whole conversation, looked at me in great surprise : Rashmi, tui boro hoye gechis! (Rashmi, you have grown up!)

Didn't know about that. Don't feel so sure even now.

Love was commercialization by dream merchants.

B: Bawre se is jahan mein, bawra ek saath ho,
Is sayani bheed mein, bas, haathon mein tera haath ho
Then came the age of miracles, when the diet of romantic comedies that HBO and Star movies fed me with, finally began to take their toll. I did begin to believe in a Prince Charming. Not necessarily a knight in a shining armor on a white horse, even a rugged looking chap on a mule would have sufficed- but it didn't happened.

I probably made the mistake of giving into that nudge of looking for Mr.Right.

Listening to Annie's song transferred me to a world where I'd lie on dew kissed grass, with a starry night sky above me- imagining the face of a stranger, lying beside me and holding hands.

But I soon got disappointed. My imagination imposed unwarranted virtues on a person- raising him to the status of a demi-god, and I felt let down easily. Maybe I 'expected' to be disappointed.

Love was Annie's Song.

C: The melody stops here
Now, I feel that it is not possible for one person to be everything you want to be. In fact, you shouldn't expect perfection from anyone else except yourself. Focus on evolving yourself. When you pine your hopes on someone else, you are likely to get hurt easily and unnecessarily.

Sometimes, I wish I could go back to being the dreamy eyed creature in Phase B but I can't fool myself. Yet, I smile when I see old couples holding hands or kissing each other.

Love is something that stands the test of time.

Disclaimer: 'Love' has been used in the strictly romantic sense. It is not the emotion you experienced when your mother gave you an extra helping of your favorite rice pudding. Thank God, I believe in that.

The Culture Code

2008-09-23T17:59:00.022-07:00

The author, Clotaire Rapaille, an internationally acclaimed cultural anthropologist and marketing expert, shares some techniques he has employed in scores of Fortune 100 companies to effect the bottom line - profitability.

Freudian philosophy dictates that individual unconscious guides each of us in unique ways. Jungian philosophy professes that collective unconscious guide us as members of the human race. The book illuminates a third unconscious - the cultural unconscious.

He stresses that emotion is the energy required to learn anything. For example, when parents forbid a child to go near a hot pan, the child might not fully comprehend the magnitude of danger until he touches it- experiences the pain and learns actively. The combination of the experience and its accompanying emotion creates something widely known as an imprint. ( A term first applied by Konrad Lorenz )

The author was working with autistic children in Paris. The following is an excerpt from the book:

After one particular lecture at Geneva University, the father of a student approached me.
"Dr. Rapaille, I might have a client for you," he said.
Always intrigued at the possibilities offered by another case, I nodded with interest. "An autistic child?"
"No," he said, smiling. "Nestlé."

At the time, focused on clinical and scholarly work, I barely understood what the word "marketing" meant. I therefore couldn't possibly imagine what use I would be to a corporation. " Nestlé? What can I do for them?"

But he did when he went ahead with the assignment on a sabbatical. The Swiss company was trying to sell instant coffee in Japan without much success. During his sessions he discovered that most Japanese, in a tea drinking nation, didn't have any imprints of coffee.

Nestlé devised a new strategy and created desserts for children infused with the flavor of coffee but without the caffeine. The younger generation embraced these desserts. Their first imprint of coffee was a very positive one, one they would carry throughout their lives.

Similarly, when Chrysler wanted to launch a new vehicle, American consumer surveys mentioned gas mileage, handling, and cornering ability etc. None of which the author believed because he claimed the answers were driven by logic. However, after his discovery sessions, which inevitably include:

One hour of playing the alien or 'professional stranger' where he asks the participants to explain what a product is and for what purpose it is used. By the third hour , where participants lie on the floor with pillows and listen to soothing music - people separate themselves from their cortex or the 'logic brain' and finally begin to say what they mean.

The American code for cars is IDENTITY. And this gave birth to PT Cruiser, an aggressive car but with average gas mileage and safety ratings. When the Stuttgart based company Daimler-Benz acquired Chrysler (I'd say around 1998), PT Cruiser was under production and the new executives of Daimler Chrysler predicted it would fail, because the German code for cars is ENGINEERING. Believing it would be a marketing disaster, they relegated production to one plant in Mexico.

This turned out to be a huge (although understandable) mistake. German executives responded negatively to the modest quality of the car's engineering. American consumers responded positively to the car's high level of identity. The plant in Mexico was ill equipped to keep up with demand, and there were long waiting lists. If the new executives at Chrysler had understood the American Code for cars, and had relied on it rather their own Code, they would have avoided the many problems they had getting the desired number of PT Cruisers onto American Highways.

The pages are filled with many such wow moments and you are fascinated by the acknowledgment of differences in target markets based on cultures. A chapter in every basic Organizational Analysis class, but something we often overlook while formulating business strategies. This book makes an interesting read for both Marketing majors and non-business folks alike.

A birthday present for me

2008-09-14T05:47:00.020-07:00

I don't expect you to feel the way I felt while reading it, but maybe you'll know why it is such a special gift. Thank you Dad, I'll treasure this for years to come. And yes, I don't think anything else speaks of me so completely- including my greatest vice.:D

"She is like a multifaceted diamond, meaning many things to many people, but to me she is a daughter and good friend. Today, on her birthday, she is thousands of kilometers away from her mother and me and this testimonial is the only present I can offer her.

Do I know her from the first day in her life? No. When she had been born I was away and controlling a law and order problem created by an awful S. H. O. under me and my boss would not just allow me to leave my headquarters. Add to it, a flood which washed away all the bridges around my headquarters. I came to see my little new-born angel fourteen days after her birth. My wife was not, naturally, what you would call an idol of calmness to see my face. Little did she know that day - or for that matter- knows even today- that I had to drive my jeep, do more than some balancing acts twice across iron beams placed as improvised bridges over two turbulent rivers. My driver was hardly interested to drive the jeep across the rivers saying he did not want commit suicide so early in life.

And then, I saw my little darling slowly grow up and blossom into a lovely creature any father would be proud of. She is a great loyal friend to her friends; gorgeous and adorable goddess to some; has two solid shoulders to cry on and is a wonderful listener of sad tales to some people. She is conscientious from her childhood and did not have any confusion about gray areas in life – she knows whether an object is black or white.

A dreamy girl, she always had some dreams, dreams of different kinds and some of them may make her laugh now. After watching ‘The Sound of Music’ she decided that she would become a nun, someone like Mother Abbess. I am sure she has given up the idea now. After she has been to the USA for her MBA she has changed a lot and has become a more pragmatic woman. She has been pursuing a dream of a different kind now. I know that she is faithful to her dreams and will pursue them till she achieves them.

She is highly possessive of her near and dear ones. Only about ten years back, one day, she saw a little neighbor girl hugging me (I was not hugging her). She became livid and demanded to know the reason for showing so much affection to a neighbor's daughter. She was so angry that she misjudged her steps on the stairs and fell down. Imagine! If there is a word beyond ‘livid’ the word has not been invented yet. And this little story is only a warning to my future son-in-law – be prepared to be killed for infidelity.

When time demands she is ready to work 24/7 and at times she can be very relaxed and lazy, enjoying herself. Probably that’s how life is meant to be. When she got her book, ‘The day I was proven wrong’, published she really worked very hard to change the SMS lingo of her blog to proper book language. After reading her blog and then the blook a journalist friend of mine remarked, ‘She is our own Arundhati Ray’. I know she does not like such comparisons and wants to become only ‘Aparna Kar’, but there is a long way to go before she becomes ‘Aparna Kar’. She is a natural story teller but needs a good publisher with aggressive marketing, lots of which are in attendance behind all best-selling books.

Well, I can keep on writing with no end in sight but there has to be an end to everything. At the end I must say that she is a rare character in the present age because you don’t always find people who are ready to tell the truth even at the cost of harming themselves. Yes, that much of impracticality is there within her but the moment you know her you know that she is not a fake creature, she may be intelligent, smart but she is just natural herself, simple and reliable – and I am proud to be known as her father. I don’t believe in rebirth – otherwise it would have been easy for me to say that I want a daughter like her in every birth. "

When tomorrow comes: chapter 3

2008-09-08T08:50:00.010-07:00

This is the third installment of the series.

It was years ago, but it felt like it had happened yesterday. The smell, the sight, the colors were so well etched in her mind- she could almost live them again. Suddenly, she was glad to be going home. Even if it meant that a lot of things would have changed over the years, and the snapshots from her memory would have hardly any semblance to what she would see. She knew of the possibility- but it didn't disappoint her anymore.

Truly enough, a lot of things had changed. The airport of the small town had expanded and gnawed into the surrounding forest. She didn't remember seeing so many flights taking off or landing either. It was the mark of progress -or that is what some would have liked to believe.

She met her parents at the airport lounge. Her father brought her a bouquet of her favorite flowers and her mother smiled and hugged her quietly. She had always been a silent woman- appearing almost stoic. It took Pri years to realize that she was conditioned to be so. Expressing emotions openly was considered vulgar in the family her mother was wed to.

Pri loved the way her mother smelled. She had a unique fruity fragrance- her body esters. As a kid, she missed her when she went out to work and Pri would cling to her clothes and go to sleep in the afternoon.

She walked out with her parents. The luggage was taken care of. She greeted Dinesh Kaku who had been driving for them since she could even remember. She sat in the back seat between her parents. The usual questions followed. Dad asked if the flight was ok and the food was good. Mom kept smiling and looking at her with a smile that only a mother knew how to flash.

They crossed their old school on the way and she promised herself to find some time to visit it and the teachers who had taught her. She saw a yellow bus with her school's name on it. She looked at her father questioningly. He said: It's a State Government regulation now- all school buses and other forms of public transport are to be painted yellow -has been almost years since they have implemented it.

She sighed and thought of the bright colors the buses had when she was in school. Each one was painted in a different color- red, green, yellow, fawn. And each one had a name- after the sisters of the missionary school. The standardization made them look all alike and soulless. They lost their individuality.

Individuality. Identity. Those had been the mantras of her life. Her parents had made it very clear to her as a child that the only way a middle-class family kid could make a mark was by excelling in something. She look the advice seriously, and all her life till then, she had tried to raise herself to the next datum plane of existence - in every possible way.

Her father had gifted her the book ,'Jonathan Livingston Seagull' on her 16th birthday. And she believed truly that Jonathan lives each one of us. Now, she looked back and felt maybe it wasn't enough. She had done everything possible to be a perfect woman- and yet she wasn't happy. Something was missing. Something she couldn't put her finger on.

And then she knew..

(to be continued)

When tomorrow comes: chapter 2

2008-08-29T11:01:00.027-07:00

This one is for DJ ("Part 2') and Kapil ("..take chances")
Starting from where I left it.

She closed her diary and shut her eyes. A thousand thoughts came rushing in. There would be some time before she wrapped up her work here and joined the new account office in Europe. Good enough to visit home in India. Why not?

Home. She often wondered where her home really was. It had been a while since she visited her parents in their hometown. She called them up almost everyday and had sponsored their visit to US twice in the last two and a half years, but she hadn't really been spending much time with them even when they were around. There was always too much work.

Honestly, she didn't feel much attached to the bungalow they now lived in. She had grown up elsewhere- in a small, cozy home which had windows facing the southern winds. The new house was in a posh locality, glamorous and decked up like a new bride - but it lacked the soul and the memories she had of her childhood in the older house. The guava tree that bore fruits all year long. The white, fragrant jasmine flowers she picked from the dew-clad grass on Autumn mornings. The Banyan tree that changed its color and form with seasons. It had a betel nut tree growing from inside it which she considered a wonder of nature. Pri asked her mother once how it was possible. Her mother surmised: 'I think a bird eating a nut might have sat on that tree and you know...' She didn't want to accept that something as beautiful could be born of pure shit. Now, she reconsidered a few things she disbelieved as a child.

She thought more of the green fields and the cows grazing in the meadows, and the narrow mud lanes that ran amuck. She heard herself laugh and giggle with the neighbor's kid as they sat on a brick wall with their legs dangling in sync. On Summer afternoons, they ate watermelons and spit out the black seeds to see whose went the farthest. She proudly claimed him to be her best friend until she joined middle school. And then, suddenly, his running nose, his loose pants and his inability to converse fluently in anything other than the vernacular seemed to matter. Her new friend was a classmate who had fancy clothes and the poorest grades.

She wouldn't have befriended her but Nita's mother had come over to Pri's house one day and asked her mother to help them with their ward. Pri had felt disgusted initially. She had sat next to her in an English class once. Nita wouldn't note down the homework the teacher marked for the following day. When Pri asked her the reason, Nita rolled her eyes and said: 'I don't want to!'

In the following years, when she got to know her more, she saw her do that often. Everytime Nita didn't want to do something, she would roll her eyes, make a tortured face and say: 'I don't want to !' Nita's mother was a very good friend of Pri's maternal aunt. That made things difficult. Maya aunty thought her daughter to be 'a little soft on the head'. But Pri knew that Nita wasn't stupid- she just didn't want to work hard. She had a severe aversion for studies. Maybe she had Attention Deficit Hyperactivity Disorder. Who knows? She didn't learn the name of the syndrome then.

With Pri's help, Nita's grades improved but it didn't last. Soon she moved to a different school, which Maya aunty considered to be 'more humane with the kids' in terms of homework and discipline.

(to be continued)

Odd couples

2008-08-13T14:04:00.004-07:00

A police dog carries a cat when ordered to, in a display of skill, during a show at the Russian OMON riot special police training base outside Moscow, May 10, 2007.
(Alexander Natruskin/Reuters)

Dema, a 26-day-old male endangered Sumatran tiger cub, cuddles up to 5-month-old female orangutan Irma at the Taman Safari Indonesia Animal Hospital, on Feb. 26, 2007 in Cisarua, Bogor Regency, West Java, Indonesia. Irma and another orangutan were rejected by their mothers while two Sumatran tiger cubs, including Dema, also born in the hospital, were also rejected by their mother, Cicis, and are being looked after by staff at the Animal Hospital.
(Dimas Ardian/Getty Images)

A little macaque nestles its head on a pigeon that responds peacefully on Neilingding Island, China. Three months ago, the macaque was born on the island, but strayed from its mother. Luckily, it was taken in by work staff in the protective station and made the acquaintance of the pigeon. More than 2,000 macaques live on the island.
(CNImaging)

Isabella, a yellow lab at the Safari Zoological Park east of Caney, Kan., has adopted three white tiger cubs that were abandoned by their mother in this July 30, 2008, photo.
(Rob Morgan/The Daily Reporter, via AP)

Courtesy: ABC News. More stories here.

When tomorrow comes

2008-08-12T09:02:00.075-07:00

This short story is dedicated to Candid Diary who asked: 'Do you know how some of your readers feel when they don't get a regular dose of your posts?' Like I said: '.. if there is even another reader like you, then I will feel that my blogging has not gone to waste.'

In some other cross-function of space and time, maybe this snapshot is the reality for someone. At least, I hope.

*****
I

'It is a great relation and all that but I miss the sex.' She thought to herself and looked around the subway compartment. A young, blond chap was smiling at her. She smiled back. He got up and sat next to her. The usually crowded red line was sparse today.

'You have a great smile.' He whispered into her ears. She smiled again, not sure what to say. 'You are gorgeous you know. I wonder what a guy has to do to please you.' She felt her whole body stiffen. He was definitely trying to pick her up. He looked good- healthy, clean. Good enough for a fling- but she wasn't ready for it. She was still trying to figure out what she wanted from life.

Siddarth appeared so distant recently. They hardly got time to see each other, though they were living in the same city. She had hinted at the option of living together. But he was not so enthusiastic about it, so she let it pass.

The guy next to her was still saying something- she looked blankly at him. He miscomprehended her expression: 'You speak English, don't you?' - he asked desperately. And she saw a way out. She smiled again- as expresiionlessly as she could. He was almost pleading now; 'You do understand what I am saying- don't you?' She kept a smiling Buddha face- like she had just attained Nirvana.

He got up flustered and went back to his companion : 'But I'm so sure that she understood me !' His friend reasoned: 'Oh it's nothing wrong with you, I think she is engaged. She is wearing a ring. ' He looked at her one more time. She looked away, the smile still lingering on her face.

II
Rajiv had called up. He was coming to US the following week for his project. She could never decide whether she loved or hated that man. You can't hate someone irrationally until you have loved irrationally. At one point of her life, she believed that Rajiv was 'the one'. They shared a comfort zone like the best of friends and they were passionate like honeymooners. But it didn't last.

The 'Why?' would have no definitive answer. Maybe it isn't a 'Who' but a ' When' that matters. Siddarth was a good man. He tries to make her happy. Though, sometimes, she wonders if it is enough. She was past that mental age where she felt she would die without someone. Now she knew- life finds a way.

'Pri, did you hear me?'
'Yes.'
'I am coming over next week.. and.. I'd like to meet you.'
'Hmm.'

What does he want? But most importantly, what does 'she' want? She had asked the same question when she had broken up with Rajiv.

There are two kind of lovers: one who overwhelms you the instant you meet - and the passion continues in every aspect- when you agree, disagree, fight or make love. And then - there is the other kind- the quieter, more subdued type, who think expressing emotions in unmanly and public displays of affection is for school kids. They support you silently in your endeavors, and resist you active passively. They half expect you to understand them even when they say nothing. She had known both.

She wondered if she really missed Rajiv's presence in her life. The question was redundant now. He had been married since the past three years. And yet, he wanted to meet her. Maybe he repented having let her go. But did it matter anymore?

III

She tried calling Siddarth but it was his voice mail instead. He was probably working - in a meeting or hitting the gym. She wished he did something crazy for her sometime - like dropping by at the dead of a night to say that he was missing her. Or send her a box of chocolates without telling her when to expect it. But everything they did was planned in advance. And love was a matter of convenience.

Rajiv, on the other hand, was full of surprises. He would pick her at odd hours to have an ice-cream together. Once, they had a fight and he had waited for hours outside her office until she agreed to meet him.

She was not ready for a relation after her break-up with him. She wanted a friend to confide in. Siddarth listened patiently and his innate goodness brought out the best in her. Maybe she wasn't in love, but she had accepted him as an integral part of her life. His calling up at the end of each day mattered, even if she couldn't say,'I love you' with the same conviction he could.

Life was good until Rajiv turned up again. Yet, she couldn't help thinking how it would be to meet him after all these days. She wanted to find out and told herself,' Thinking is such a waste of time', like she did everytime there was a conflict of interests.

IV

She saw him waiting at the station. He looked older since she last remembered him. There were patches of gray on his sideburns. He smiled when he looked at her. She thought to herself: 'What the hell am I doing here?'

They tried to talk about everything - from weather to sports, carefully skirting around what they really wanted to talk about. And then he said suddenly : 'I miss you.' She knew that he meant it. He touched her hand and she felt an instant blast of desire hit her.

She could read his face and she wished she couldn't. Driving down to his hotel was difficult. She tried not to look at him. When they reached, she excused herself to visit the restroom- one last attempt to resist what she knew was about to happen. She took a deep breath, unlocked the door and walked into the bedroom. It was dark. Her heart was pounding. She knew his style, but didn't know where to expect him coming from. He pounced on her, pinning her down to the bed, kissing her neck. She felt almost anesthetic and her senses went limp. It was inevitable. He whispered,' I love you.'

She opened her eyes and looked at him.'You are a tad late in saying that you know.' He nodded. She dragged herself up. Then they sat together side-by-side on the bed, not sure what to say. She looked at him and smiled affectionately, kissed his cheek and said:' It was great knowing you.'

Then she picked her purse and got out of the suite.

V

She walked into Siddharth's office, he was bent over his MacBook Pro, unaware of her presence. She sneaked behind him, and touched his shoulders. Startled, he turned,' Oh Hi !'

She held his head in her arms and ruffled his hair, 'I was missing you.' He smiled and asked -' Want some coffee?'

They walked to his favorite coffee shop across the street. He picked shots of bitter Italian roast coffee for himself and cappuccino for her. 'Sorry I was a bit cranky last night.' he said,'Some codes are giving garbage output.'

She smiled,'Hmm.It's ok. I'm sure they will turn out fine. Btw, I have to be in Europe for a few months, you think you can manage without me for a while?'
'I have my work and gym... and your memories to keep me warm in this long winter here.'
'Wow, that was romantic !' she said.
'I know' he grinned.

She hugged him and knew it was alright.

VI

That night she went back home and wrote something in her diary after a long time.

'It took me many kisses to realize that I wasn't looking for a frog to turn into a prince. I was waiting for someone who could transform me. But more than that I have realized - that person has to be me. I promise to love you next after I have learned to love myself first.'

* Note: For more short stories, click on the label 'short story'*

Auguries of Innocence

2008-07-27T13:05:00.020-07:00

I was walking down the street yesterday when a kid came running and hugged me before I could realize what was happening. Barely till my waist, that little charmer gave a shy smile when his mother managed to disentangle him from me. She apologized, probably thinking that I was offended. I wasn't. It was a pleasant surprise. (Other such incidents: here) And I was reminded of one of my favorite cousins.

When he was in Kindergarten, he liked one of my youngest paternal aunt's classmates (who had completed her Masters then), Kakali, so much so that he insisted he'd marry her.( Aami tomake biye korbo) What would Kakali say? She promised she'd when he grew up- he was a little young.( Tumi boro hoye nao- ekhono to tumi chhoto)

Another of my cousins had a record of chasing his best friend with vermilion (the mark of Hindu married women) in his hands. Precocious? Maybe. But endearing all the same. And innocent. To think so simply: you marry the one you like the most and then you live happily ever after. Sometimes, I wish I could still believe in endings like those.

Picture this: A couple is smooching in the subway when a toothless girl tells her mother,' Mom, look ! They are doing like birds do.'
Her mother tries to explain,'They love each other. They are kissing.'
'But you don't kiss me like that !'
Her mother tries to distract her by saying,'It's not polite to stare.'
'Why are they doing something in front of everyone which we are not supposed to look at?'

Now, answer that ! I wish I knew what her mother had to say, but my station had arrived.

Hierarchy of Needs

2008-07-16T11:09:00.006-07:00

In his paper, 'A Theory of Human Motivation.' (originally published in Psychological Review, 1943) A. H. Maslow says that, 'Man is a perpetually wanting animal.' and adds that '..no need or drive can be treated as if it were isolated or discrete; every drive is related to the state of satisfaction or dissatisfaction of other drives.'

It is interesting to note that he studied exemplary people such as Albert Einstein, Jane Addams, Eleanor Roosevelt, and Frederick Douglass rather than mentally ill or neurotic people, writing that "the study of crippled, stunted, immature, and unhealthy specimens can yield only a cripple psychology and a cripple philosophy." (Source: Wikipedia)

Maslow's theory, also known as the, 'Hierarchy of needs' describes at least five sets of goals, which we may call basic needs. These are briefly: physiological, safety, love, esteem, and self-actualization.
(Source :Wikipedia)

"These basic goals are related to each other, being arranged in a hierarchy of prepotency. This means that the most prepotent goal will monopolize consciousness and will tend of itself to organize the recruitment of the various capacities of the organism. The less prepotent needs are minimized, even forgotten or denied. But when a need is fairly well satisfied, the next prepotent ('higher') need emerges, in turn to dominate the conscious life and to serve as the center of organization of behavior, since gratified needs are not active motivators. "

So, when you are at the cross roads of life and wondering - 'Why does the address, which once meant a hallowed precinct to me, is just another milestone in my life now?' -you probably are waiting to rise to the next higher datum plane of existence. Find it and be it.

And the 100,000th visitor to my blog is...

2008-07-15T07:11:00.008-07:00

Hi,
Wow!!! I am the 100,000th visitor of your blog.
I was waiting for this moment for quite some time.
May your blog flourish everyday and may your writings reach
new people making them happy, jubilant, positive and most importantly
let your readers feel that you are speaking their minds.
Love,
TCOY

Oh btw, incidentally, he happens to be my Dad too :)

Niagara trip and NYC

2008-07-11T16:36:00.055-07:00

They say that we all need to separate ourselves from our comfort zone and go to new places and be open to influence, to change. It also helps us to see the world and the self in a different perspective. When I was leaving Boston and everything that I consider important to me, I was not aware that I'd see the trip in this light.

Four days filled with travel and fun - it was a kaleidoscope of activities which I can write a book on, if I mention just the highlights. I will try to shoehorn some snapshots here and I hope you feel a little of what and how I experienced.

Day 0, Wednesday, July 2nd, 2008; Destination New York City
My backpack was stuffed with random assortment of clothes- mostly casuals. It was a last minute confirmation from Sejuti that we were going to NYC this weekend for our Niagara trip. I would have chickened out thinking of the to-do list I had, but she got my tickets without arguing with me. (Good girl) When someone is so gung-ho about it, you tend to catch it too.

So, after my class in the evening, I met Sejuti and one of her friends at South Station, where we took the 9 pm bus to NYC. The journey was uneventful, except for a guy sitting right behind our seat, who kept singing through the whole journey and I suspect he had serious vocal problems and misconceptions about his singing skills. But then, we were quits. If you have sat next to three chirpy girls going out on a vacation- you'll know what I mean.

It was 1:30 am when we reached NYC and it took us a few minutes to reach RC's place at Battery Park in Lower Manhattan. We chatted till 3:30 in the morning and when Seju said : 'I'm not sleeping, I need to close my eyes- they are burning.' we decided to call it a day.

Day 1 Thursday July 3rd, 2008; Corning Glass Museum and Maid of the Mist
At 6 am, three alarm clocks buzzed one after the other. And RC was right, I heard the most irritating alarm clock of my life where the radio starts automatically. By the time we got ready, the others joined in. I had met ADB before, Adak and Gere were new acquaintances. When RC took a fancy for his iPod and decided to upload some songs, we (the girls ) started whining about how we would miss the bus at 8 am.

RC had told us that it takes an hour to reach Canal Street from Battery Place- which was of course a lie- to get us ready early. ADB tried to pacify us by saying that it takes only 5-10 minutes. When we screamed about RC being a liar, ADB added: '...if you have to wait for the subway- it might take an hour.' Lesson#1 Never trust a guy. Lesson#2 Never trust a guy who vouches for another guy.

It took us a while to get to Canal Street anyways, we kept messing up the subway trains and the platforms. Finally, when we reached, Seju's friends from her undergrad days- Kinjal and Arun had reached from Brooklyn(which was further) before us.

We occupied the seats in the following order: ADB-RC, Sayantan-Adak, Me-Sejuti, Arun-Kinjal. Not that it had any particular significance, now that everyone knows who put the sticker on Adak's hair before it ended up on RC's back. Unfortunately, when we were at Corning Glass Museum and I tried to put a sticker the tour guide had handed me- Seju freaked out thinking I was up to my nasty tricks again. :D

The Glass museum was beautiful for those who love work of art in.. well.. glass. At that moment, however, I was more interested in reaching Niagara. (Another of my faults- I think of the destination and forget to enjoy the journey)

But Niagara didn't disappoint me. The mist rising from the falling water could be seen from miles away. The still river suddenly gains momentum and runs like crazy. And you begin to feel the thrill in your veins, waiting to see how the plunge is. I don't know anything less than spectacular to describe what I saw.

We took the Maid of the Mist ferry ride to the falls, draped in Blue.

When we got back after our dinner at an Indian restaurant - the vision had changed. Niagara was an enigmatic woman by the night.

Day 2 Friday July 4th, 2008; Cave of the winds and 4th July Fireworks at NYCFrom here, I can stop using words and make it a photo blog instead, but if Maid of the Mist allured my sense of sight the previous day, Cave of the Winds touched me. We splashed in the waterfall and were drenched form head to toe.

Soon, we started our journey back to NYC, just in time to catch the 4th July fireworks, celebrating American Independence.

Day 3 Saturday July 5th, 2008; Century 21 , Central Park, Angon and Tonic
Try cooking egg curry with paanch-phoron. These guys need help, lot of help. When I asked: 'What spices do you have?' RC promptly replied : 'Jeera (cumin)' and handed me Paanch phoron. His argument probably was that cumin is one of the five ingredients of Paanch phoron. However, he challenged my culinary skills by stating: Radhuni bhalo hole - ghore ja aache ta diye e ranna korte paare ( A skilled cook can concoct something with what is available in the house.) Izzat ka sawal tha !

After lunch, and with a 'different' taste in mouth, we set out to shop at Century 21. The only thing remarkable about it was the fitting room alley- they saved tons of money with curtains that don't cover you. I guess it was exactly when I decided to start gymming.

We roamed about in Central Park then, before dining at Angon. The food was good. I specially liked the traditional kurtas worn by the guys serving us.

I was tired and reluctant to head for Tonic by the time we got back. But a quick shower woke me up and Times Square was a visual treat at night. But the crowd was a bit pushy that night. Seju slapped a chap who was being obnoxious. When we were about to leave, someone tried to pick me and I remember telling him: 'I'm sorry -I'm with my BF.' and hugging RC. You should have seen his face when he said : Oh I am sorry! I didn't know.' I have said weirder things actually. On Seju's birthday it was: 'Sorry, my girlfriend wouldn't like it.' :D

At 6 in the morning, when we were sitting by the Hudson bay, Adak was almost on the verge of tears, pleading: Aebaar bari chol, bhishon ghum pacche. (Let's go home now, I am feeling very sleepy.)

Day 4 Sunday, July 6th, 2008; Back to Boston
Sunday went by in a blur. Seju cooked aloo-posto. And we waited in the longest queue ever to get our bus tickets to Boston. While we waited, I showed Adak my book and let him read a few side notes I had written for myself in the author's copy. RC tried to peep in, but I didn't let him- lest he should make fun. His victim was Adak then: 'Can he read English???' We laughed aloud and soon it was time to bid them goodbye.

I am bad at saying it so I never try. When we were about to board the bus, the guy at the door asked me what if there was a seat available only for one? I smiled: 'I couldn't leave her (looking at Seju) behind, so I guess I'd wait for the next bus.'

I knew I'd be glad to be home- but I'd miss NYC. Strange, eh?

Photo courtesy extended to Sayantan(Gere) and Arun.

Mr. Right

2008-06-23T16:32:00.047-07:00

As usual, I had no clue what this short story was going to be all about until I scripted the last word. I wanted a Shakespearean comedy where everyone is happy at the end. Styled, of course, in my own little way. * snickers*

I
Ok. This was an emergency (again). My best friend, JQ, broke up with her bf, Neal for the nth time. Actually, I counted till 20 in the past eight months and then lost it. It is always the same thing. He needs space. She prefers breathing on his neck. Finally, when he can’t take it anymore- he asks for some room. And she inevitably breaks down into tears saying that he doesn’t love her anymore. She has given the best years of her life to an unfeeling man yada yada. So when it happened for the 25th (or was it the 26th time?) time on a Friday, she declared that she was not going to waste her weekend crying. Instead, she would attain freedom from emotional bondage by exercising her right to sexual liberty by sleeping with a random guy picked from a random pub.

Till here, it was fine. Until she asked me to aid her to find a suitable prospect, at a suitable pick–up point. We zeroed down to ‘The Caprice Lounge and Bar’, which promised ‘people watching’ as one of its specialties. ‘You have more probability of getting watched where you can watch others’- she argued.

We called up Bob and Pam – two of our other friends from Grad school, and set out for a wild night to party-to slosh out and puke until we felt we were at Hell’s door. I am usually not prejudiced about people, except when I am prejudiced. For some reason, I think Bob is gay. He shows little interest in girls and keeps talking about a fictitious ex, who incidentally, in his opinion, smells like Pam. I have the greatest urge at times to point out that it’s probably Chanel No.5, but something holds me back.

II
I was late at arriving for the evening, caught up with some last minute wrap-up of a project that was expected to be over eons ago. For some reason, my boss kept extending the deadline while I had this strange voice speaking inside my head: It’s better to finish things before they are expected. When no other team member felt like coordinating and the holiday mood of Christmas was still continuing in February, I decided to put my foot down and define the client requirements myself. I could have been kicked on my smart-ass for this, but Jeff (my boss) said very complacently: ‘We have done well.’ I hate it when he uses first person-plural without contributing a rat’s tail worth of efforts. But that’s why he’s the boss. And someday, I’m going to be ‘The Boss’ too. *sigh*

Bad week at office was reason enough to want to get stoned. But recently, my very Indian mother had been injecting other worries into my head. She suddenly had a vision that I was growing old and past the marriageable age of a well-bred Indian female. I wanted to say that she had different views when I wanted to date that hunk of a guy in high school. Then I was too young. Now, I am too old. And in between, I had been too busy preparing for a life that never happened.

I had lost my father at a very early age. Earlier than he could have had any influence on me. My family consisted of my mother, my well-settled elder sister, married to a Financial consultant in New York. A marriage arranged by the two families- consummated by horoscope matches and all. I had different ideas about love and marriage. It was the order I preferred them to occur.

Growing up fatherless gave me a very blurry vision about the many perfections and imperfections of the male sub-species. And I often found that I imposed virtues on men I dated and was soon disappointed. The Mills and Boons men don’t exist in real life. And I could settle for nothing less. So, I contented myself with watching and weeping at the romantic classics from the 60’s with a bucket full of my favorite chocolate chip cookie ice-cream and Fluffy ( my cocker spaniel) licking my face off. Whether it was ‘cause he wanted to lick my tears or chocolate chip cookie was his favorite too, was difficult to say. I settled for the former and I believed that at least one male living thing loves me.

JQ says I have ‘Fuck Off’ written all over my face. Somehow dating men at my office was never even an option. I like to maintain a professional distance from my colleagues. I can’t think of sleeping with a man, waking up next to him to grab a coffee and drive down to the same place to work. It took the charm away from romance. I wanted time to miss my guy.

III
I shrugged to see the long queue outside Caprice. There was no way I could wait that long to get inside. I called up JQ and asked her if she could sneak me in. The bouncer at the door was extra nice and let me in saying, ‘Have fun ladies!’
I thought, ‘You bet’ and got ushered by JQ inside the semi-dark lounge with shadowy figures hovering around. The music downstairs was too loud so I asked her if we could go upstairs to find a quieter spot. Bob and Pam were conspicuous by their absence. 'I dunno, they had come with me but I guess they have gone to fetch a drink or two.’ JQ winked.

I wondered if she was wearing the new lingerie she had bought at VS with me the other day- her bosom looked so puffed up. I asked : That padded stuff? She hushed me: 'Ssh.' I often wondered how most people fussed about their secondary sexual characteristics; more than the opposite gender really cared about.

When we waded past the ocean of human bodies tangled with one another and got some oxygen left in the room to breathe in, I felt it was time to get drunk. There was no way I was going to enjoy the horrible noise and the crowd while sober. JQ opined that I was a lot more fun when high. I opined: Then you should keep me high all the time. She snapped back: Oh you are high all the time anyways. On your work. I have never seen such a good piece of ass wasting her life at her desk the way you do. Get some banging done babe!’ I figured she was drunk already. She is usually very conservative with her speech. I smirked and took three tequila shots with the customary lemon and the salt. ‘Aah! Now, I am ready.’ I declared to no one in particular.

We hit the dance floor and JQ tried to squeeze to the center where a couple of gorgeous guys were trying to move their limbs. I almost laughed at them but then I thought it might spoil JQ’s chances and swallowed my guffaw half way through. They looked younger than her- but who bothered. I closed my eyes and wondered if I should have couple of more shots.

I realized I didn’t have my wallet about me. I must have left it at the counter when I tipped that kid. The thought of having to drag myself through that crowd again nauseated me. I looked around to find JQ. But she seemed busy. Suddenly, I heard a whisper, or it might have been pretty loud at another place–in this clamber it was difficult to know what I was saying to myself.

I turned and saw a tall, brown guy with a shy smile- holding out my wallet: Is this yours? I fancied he had pinched it just to be able to talk to me. But I let go of that notion and thanked him appropriately. I offered to buy him a drink as an acknowledgment. He said that he was a teetotaler and was in the pub on a friend’s insistence. Then he waved to a couple of guys sitting at the edge of the dance floor. They smiled at him. I am sure I looked stupid.

IV
I put my finger inside my stiff collar and unbuttoned the first two buttons of my shirt. I coughed: It is smoky and suffocating in here. Would you fancy a walk? He seemed uncertain. The voice in my mind said: Come On **** I am not a homicidal maniac !

He smiled shyly again and acquiesced. We went out on the streets and a gush of fresh air blew my hair away. Nothing pisses me off more than unkempt hair. I rummaged through my bag for a comb and hastily tried to fix it. But the wind grew stronger and wilder and I thought aloud: There must be a storm brewing somewhere. But there wasn’t any weather alert. Was there?

He said very philosophically. Not all things can be predicted. I proposed: We should go inside. He asked if I’d like to wait till it rains. I thought: Wait a second. Guys don’t like to wait for rain. Or he’s straight out of a novel or trying to act too nice. I was on my guard again. That little voice kept nagging me: Don’t trust a stranger. I shooed it away saying: Go back where you were when I asked him out for a walk! He said: I beg your pardon? ‘Oh nothing’ and I smiled at him.

‘You look beautiful when you smile. You should do that more often.’ Now, I blushed. I knew he was flirting but I was enjoying it. The tequila had burnt down my defenses. I thanked the blue agave and the Mexicans.

Soon I found myself talking to him- about books, movies, and my favorite genre of music. It was pleasantly surprising to find that we had so much in common. I almost squealed with delight when I discovered that ‘An Affair to Remember ‘, ‘Casablanca’, ‘The Pianist’, and 'La vita è bella' (Life is beautiful) were his favorites too. He opined that if I wanted to experience neorealism I should watch 'Ladri di biciclette' (The Bicycle Thief) by Vittorio De Sica. He told me it was a landmark film, like Rashomon for Akira Kurosawa or Pather Panchali for Satyajit Ray. I listened spellbound and I thought: Where had you been all my life?

The cloud gurgled and said something to the thunder and it started pouring. I felt like standing there as long as I could. I spread my hands wide, looked up to face the sky and let raindrops on my face. I felt so liberated at that moment and so unlike my usual self. He watched me and smiled again and suggested we race back to the pub. I nodded with a wink: ‘Only, I’ll race you to that tree the other way. Go!’ And I rushed. Suddenly I stopped, opened my high-heel sandals and started splashing on puddles that were collecting momentarily in the heavy rain. They’d soon dry out- and like this moment, would vanish too. I had a sudden urge to hold onto this second forever. Whoever my companion was, I stopped trying to judge him and was being myself. And I felt I had never been so happy in a long time.

V
The storm stopped and we decided to walk back. Then I said, I’d rather be going home. I called up JQ to say the same. She sniggered when she picked the call: You got lucky first, huh? I hushed her up and said it was nothing remotely like that. He was still beside me, and I didn’t want him to know what we were talking about. It was an awkward moment. I didn’t want to leave- yet I had to. The longer I stayed, the harder it would be to let go. I smiled awkwardly. ‘I had a long week- I guess I will go home and get some sleep.’ ‘Oh ok.’ He said. The voice in my head was back again: ‘Told you- he is an idiot!’ I snapped at it: ‘Shut up!’

Huh?

Umm.. nothing

Btw, if you plan to fall ill- why not give those germs a better diet?

Hmm?

I was thinking of an ice cream.

There was an ice cream parlor near by. He ordered two chocolate chip cookie ice-cream cones. I hoped the ice cream lasted for eternity. But those kiddie cones had grown smaller since the last time I had them. I asked: What next?

How about breaking some rules?

I looked at him. And he said : Let’s jaywalk on the road.

I reminded him: They can penalize you for that.

He laughed: I know. "What is life but a series of inspired follies? The difficulty is to find them to do. Never lose a chance: it doesn't come every day."

George Bernard Shaw ! Pygmalion ! He was too good to be true.

We walked criss-cross for a while and then marched: Left-right, Left-right. But there wasn’t any car around so we soon got bored. We sat by the pavement and looked up. The sky was clear and a little star or two peeped from behind the dark blanket of sky.

He said: I wish this night would never end.

I whispered: So do I.

He continued: I am afraid that I might not live to see tomorrow.

I looked at him with a blank face and he said: I was getting treated for an advanced terminal disease. When the doctors gave up, I decided I don’t want to die in a hospital. I want to live as much as I can.

My shock was evident on my face: But you look perfectly healthy!

Some ailments are not so evident on the outside.

You are kidding!

He said very seriously: Of course I am.

I felt angry and hit him on his back.

Now, now- see I told you I am afraid that I might not live to see tomorrow. He gaggled.

It’s not funny.

Really? I thought it was. At least, for me.

My furor was renewed and I wanted to hit him again but I did not. I clammed up like an oyster.

He laughed and teased me- imitating my expressions when I frowned. I laughed till my stomach hurt and when he headed towards the direction of the pub, I wished he would look back once. He did not.

I drove back home thinking if I still had ‘Fuck Off” written on my face. I stood in front of the mirror for a while but I couldn’t figure it. So, I finally broke down and cried.

The door bell rang and I thought it must be JQ with her catch of the evening. It was her all right, but he stood right behind her. JQ said: Ok guys, Neal had called up and I have to hurry.

He scratched his head when she was gone: I thought I could watch “An Affair to Remember” with you again. You said you had the DVD.

I giggled: Crash on the sofa.

With all these wet clothes on? He smiled.

VI
I woke in the morning and saw him sitting on the bed, watching me. I said: Good morning. He smiled ‘Good Morning’. I realized my hair must be looking unkempt and I tried to scramble out of the bed to go the bathroom. But he held me by my waist and kept clinging on to me. I said: Let me go .

No I won’t.

Let me…

Make me…

I tried to tickle him but he kept a straight face saying he doesn’t feel tickled.
Not anywhere?

Uh-huh- not anywhere.

Let me find out.

He said: Ok ! That’s enough! He laughed.

The doorbell rang again. I was alarmed: That must be mom ! I was supposed to pick her from the airport today. Quick ! Hide into the closet.

What?!!

Into the closet !

I picked his clothes from the floor and shoved them with his shoes beneath the bed. And then I broke a record sprinting from my bedroom to the door.

Mom looked at me: What’s wrong with you?

Me? What?

You look horrible. What’s wrong with your hair?

I breathed heavily. Oh, I must have slept too long. What time is it?

Past noon. I thought Neena had asked you to pick me.

‘She did. She did.’ I repeated myself unnecessarily. ‘But I completely forgot.’

I don’t have enough change on me. Can you pay the cab downstairs?

I tipped the cab heavily for no reason. Probably hoping that this act would redeem me from the sound explosion I was going to experience in a while. I got upstairs reluctantly and opened the door. But she was in the bathroom. He was sitting in the living room sofa with a smile.

I gulped: How did you manage to dress up so fast?

He smiled again.

Mom came out in a while and said: Hemant was telling how much he adores your paintings.

You know him?' Now, it was my turn to feel surprised.

Of course I do. He’s Neena’s brother-in-law. Nishant’s cousin. He wasn’t here for the wedding. But I had met him last time I had gone to New York to visit your sister- didn’t I tell you?

You did. But I didn’t realize..

Now, the voice was back again. ‘They are all in it.’ It said spitefully.

I looked at him unbelievingly, my words came out in installments: Did.. you... know... this?

Yes, well –I had seen you in Nishant’s wedding album and I had recognized you at the very first instant but..

I sat down on the sofa and tried to put my thoughts together. The whole night was a sham then? He had known all about my likes and dislikes from my sister and pretended to be Mr. Right and had swept me off my feet away like no one had. It was all an act! I felt cheated.

He asked permission from my mother to leave. She insisted that he should stay for lunch. But he reminded; I’m going to come over with my parents in the evening anyways.

When he was gone, I asked her what he was talking about.

Mom said very nonchalantly: You have a strange idée fixe about falling in love first and marrying later. When I got married to your father…

I know. I know. The third day you met was your wedding. The second day was your engagement. And the first day you had met only for an hour with a houseful of people.

And yet, we were happy together. She sighed.

Then she reasoned: Marriage is a gamble. You bet on a person to keep you happy, forever, or as long as it lasts. You have to take a few risks. You have to believe. And this guy isn’t a stranger- he belongs to a good family, has a good job, and has been in love with you ever since I have known him.

I looked at her: You sound like you just watched "What Happens in Vegas".

'This isn't a movie. This is real life. You have to script your happy ending yourself. At least, give it a try.' She pleaded.

I decided to give it a try. It hasn’t been perfect always. But I have realized that the perfect relation is not ready-made. You have to make efforts to keep it working. At times, I feel what should I do with him? But most of the times, I feel- what would I do without him!

My mistake has been that I have sought perfection all my life, and subconsciously imposed virtues or vices on people. But these biased opinions took me away from reality. And the closest thing to reality is : We are all humans with our flaws and idiosyncrasies.

Spending a few hours or a few days together doesn't acquaint us with the real person. I believe that when you have seen someone hot and sweaty and cooking a meal for you, throwing stuff at you because he has a sudden urge to clean the house; he is flexing muscles in front of a mirror and you are thinking, "He's more self-obsessed than I am ! ", ; when you feel that "He's a complete pain in the ass"- the next moment he calls up and you feel "OMG I missed him so much ! ",- it's then you begin to truly love someone. Or are on your way to it. If I can’t find happiness with him, there is no way I can find happiness with anyone else.

Btw, JQ told me that Bob isn’t gay and Pam can vouch for it.

* Note: For more short stories, click on the label 'short story'*

A lesson learnt -II

2008-06-03T15:39:00.009-07:00

It was a hot afternoon, and I was walking down my university lane when I heard someone playing a saxophone. Curious, I took a detour to my left and discovered the source. A man was sweating profusely in the summer sun and in his heavy uniform, sitting and practicing inside an empty university shuttle.

He stopped when he saw me and struck a conversation; said that he plays the alto in choirs (probably as a second job). He played for me for a while before I hurried to be on my way again. He bade me goodbye saying : I'm so glad to meet you. I smiled: So am I.

When you want to do something, you have to create time for it.

I repeat myself: life's lessons are learned in the most unlikely places.

Raising her

2008-06-02T07:41:00.061-07:00

Another of my whims with the label "short story". Dedicated to my readers. Scripted long back; posted recently.
I
Raising a kid in US with a demanding job and an even more demanding husband has not been easy. Last time I had gone to India, Prateek was seven years old. He got rashes all over his body and developed stomach flu and I decided not to go back for a while, at least until he was grown up enough. Now, he is twelve. With the holidays in his school and my need for a break, one Sunday morning,at the breakfast table, I confided to my husband Amit that I'd like to visit my parents in Delhi.

He nodded his head in his characteristic style without raising his head from the newspaper and grunted an inconclusive "Hmm". When we had been first married, I'd snatch the paper away and demand that he paid attention to me instead. Over the years I have realized that it was of no avail. He'd be as lost without his matinal dose of news scraps as he was with it. It is curious though, how a man who is so inquisitive about the affairs of the world is so disinterested about the events of his own house. But when I ask him the same question, he replies nonchalantly "But you are there to take good care of everything." And then he goes on to say, "Wish there were more world leaders like you. The world would have been a better place"

It is difficult to judge from his impassive countenance then whether he is kidding or is serious. Initially, I'd hold a grudge against this half-baked attempt to pacify me. But then I started believing in what he said and breakfast on weekends became a peaceful, bloodless episode. I could have retaliated by saying that if all the people had learned to yield like me, the newspapers would have ran out of business. But I have wisened up to the fact that dead walls respond better than reading husbands, hence, I channelize my energy into slicing apples instead.

II
I have been in India since the past two weeks and Prateek has not complained for once about anything. Though, why the houses here don't have central heating is still an enigma for him. We were at a shopping mall that had recently opened in the NCR. A lot had changed since I had last remembered. But change was the only certainty.

I sat in the food court outside Funky Orbits with my mother, while my father and Prateek teamed up to have a look at some "guys' stuff", or at least that's what they said to us when they winked at each other and bade us goodbye. I asked Dad not to buy him another Playstation , as he already had one and had been urging me to buy him the new version. When I asked him: What's the difference? He said Mom it's so uncool to be playing an old thing ! When I thought I'd ask him how can one summer session of playing network games can make it old, Dad bailed him out by asking me if I had forgotten my gaming days and those DOS based games I used to drool over. Prateek almost shrieked with delight : Mom, you played Doom??? The thought of his mother playing as a first-person shooter probably amused him. I said: "Oh it was a long, long, long time ago." Prateek: 'But it came out in 1993. Not that long ago. Of course, it was before I was born, but not that loooong as you put it." I gave up and let him have his way, and with a defeated smile I watched as Granddad and Grandson walked together- Prateek almost hopping with anticipation.

Mom put her hand on my shoulder and brought me back to the cup of coffee I was trying to sip. It was too sugary for my taste. I had a sweet tooth before, but my calorie-conscious husband had changed my habit of putting half a mug sugar with a full mug coffee and had visibly changed other aspects too. I sighed at the thought of Amit and Mom probably guessed it, 'cause she asked, "When did you say, Amit would arrive again?"

"On 24th, the day before Christmas. He has a guest lecture in a university in New England, will need to wrap up some of his work then, attend a conference in Brussels and should be on his way after that."

She asked me if I had contacts with any of the older friends from my undergraduate days and I nodded in negative, almost with a feeling of guilt. I knew that some of them were probably still in Delhi- working and settled in life, but somehow it never crossed my mind to think about them. The greetings in the online communities were perfunctory and a busy schedule at work kept me from reaching out to them. Then my Masters in US, then my wedding, and job again. And then Prateek happened. I often wondered if my concern about only my immediate task list was out of choice or imposed. There was little time, if any, for social interactions other than your immediate circle of acquaintances. Weekends and weekdays seemed one long stretch of to-do lists. Recently, even our vacations seemed like a critically planned thing. Executed till the last full stop. Leisure was a serious business.

I looked at Mom across the table and beyond and suddenly a head full of wavy hair came into my view. The face looked similar and when I tried to remember where I had seen it before, the figure walked towards our table and gleamed a smile at us. She said: I'd not have recognized you , if I had not seen aunty too. Her melodious voice and green eyes brought back memories and I realized it was Aditi from my undergrad days. How long it had been? Twelve years? I really don't remember seeing her in person after the farewell except at a wedding we had attended. And then she had inevitably become just another profile on my friend list on my online communities.
III
I smiled with a genuine sense of surprise and welcomed her at our table. It seemed a bit odd that she was still very warm and I was trying to be formally polite. She smiled and said, Oh Ari, come on ! You still not are Miss Nice, are you? I blushed at her words. She was the maverick in our college. She rode a bike in the campus and hit the guy she borrowed it from and giggled. She stole into the hostel at late hours through the open window in the kitchen where she had made acquaintance with a kitchen boy. She smoked bidi with the cleaning lady in the basement and offered me one once to get rid of exam jitters. And yet she topped class. I shuttled from home to hostel and preferred to stay at home and study during exams. She hailed from another state in the east of India and stayed perpetually at the hostel. She hardly went back home for even vacation like Holi or Diwali. When I asked her why she never visited her folks, she said very mysteriously that she had learned not to care for those who didn't care for each other. It was not a mystery when she had told me later that her parents were living separately in the same house and she hated to go back to see a family which didn't exist anymore.

My mother had serious concerns about a girl like her being my roommate in the hostel and asked why I needed to be in the hostel in the first place. I reasoned: But Ma! College is two hours from here; it doesn't make sense to be a day scholar. And anyways, she isn't as bad as she seems- she tops the class you know. I knew my mother. According to her, anybody who tops the class can't have vices. And even if he/she had any, it were nothing compared to the dedication displayed to his/her education- the primary duty, the worship of Goddess Saraswati - the deity of knowledge, etc etc. I didn't think it was necessary to mention that Aditi had the least reverence for her text books. She threw them aside and read mostly novels everytime I saw her. Even when the professors gave lecture, she would sit in the last bench and make caricatures of them. Later, she would tell me "Did you notice that Sharma was wearing a golden frame today?" or "Chaki seems to have forgotten his blue pen somewhere " and things like that which I never noticed. She had an eye for details.

How it worked for her I 'd never know, but I couldn't afford to spend a whole lecture dreaming about the fate of my professor's favorite blue pen like she could. I slogged hard and I never had enough time for anything. And I can say without guilt that I was a little jealous of her ability to take things so casually. Specially her exams. I got the exam phobia from my mother, I believe the X chromosomes were the carriers. 'Cause dad would always say to mother: "Spare the kid!" when she sat next to me while I studied for my exams. She would reply "Spare the rod, and spoil the child" for no apparent reason and as one of the very rare instances when she spoke English. I'd smirk and Dad would wink at me and I would get back to studying until Mom dozed off and started snoring and I'd have to ward her off to her own room.

Sometimes, looking back at the differences I had with my mother, makes me understand the relationship I have with my son. He is not exactly the way Amit wanted him to be but I believe that he has turned out fine. I don't mind if he plays the soccer or joins music classes. But Amit is particular about his grades. I don't give a damn. Honestly. My books never taught me the things I needed to know. I learned them much later. But Prateek understands his father's expectations, and though he's still a kid, he knows how to differentiate his playtime from his work. And I , unlike my mom, never resort to sitting next to him while he prepares his lessons. The most I’d know about his course is if he were to do an assignment that needed me to provide the resources; and that too if it is a physical model, visible when he takes it to school. Otherwise, I am blissfully unaware about the progress of my ward. Except that I really appreciate his talent at the piano and I hope that he never gives up his passion, like I had to.

IV
Mom had let go off all her past ill feelings and had joined Aditi in a conversation when I heard her ask about Sunil. As far as I recollected, Sunil was the name of the guy she had got married to. I heard her say he’s in Bangalore. Mom concluded knowingly: Oh business trip! She said: No, we don’t live together anymore. We separated before Shana was born. Mom valiantly tried to hide her disgust, but her feelings contorted her features. In a frantic effort, she said to me: Let me have a look where your father has gone with Prateek.

I nodded and acceded but I sat listlessly on my chair. Of the very few people I shared a vulgar curiosity about, Aditi was number two in a list of three. It probably was born of my secret wish to be like her. To have freedom. To do what I felt like. To say what I wanted to. Wouldn’t it be great, to be myself. For once? I looked at her inquiringly and she flashed her thunderbolt smile and said: Oh you can ask.
Encouraged, I queried: What happened?
She said very matter of factly : We fell out of love.
I stammered: I…I don’t understand.
She said honestly: I didn’t either in the beginning. But now it all makes sense. I never thought I would marry until I met Sunil. And then I never thought I would have to leave him until I did. I was pregnant when we separated. He didn’t know. He got to know much later, after Shana was born.
-You have a daughter?
-Oh yes, she is five now. Fortunately, she has brown eyes. They called me cat eyes at college, didn’t they?
-I thought you never cared.
-I did. More than you'd ever know. But I pretended not to. The world is not kind to the one who’s different.
-But I always liked you.
-It’s not about you Ari. You always see what the best in others. I am talking of the majority of the population. If you have a visible tumor, they will stare at it and point at it and sigh and heave and make you wish you were dead, even if the tumor weren’t malignant and it didn’t kill you.
But you can always get operated- I suggested
It isn’t about tumors – malignant or not.
I saw what she meant and kept quiet. Then, I wondered aloud if it was difficult being a single mother in India. She said: Not really. But there are disturbing elements everywhere. Single definitely doesn’t make someone available or desperate to go to bed with just anyone" she finished almost angrily.

I tried to imagine a recent incident that might have triggered these emotions but I preferred to listen. She continued: I have lived my life in a house full of strangers. I didn’t want my daughter to be brought up the same way.

I was jealous of her more than I was ever before. I was married to a man I was never in love with. I was in a job which gave me no time to pursue my passion. And though, I had grown up being the perfect daughter for my parents and an ideal wife for my husband, I had lost myself somewhere in between. Someday, Prateek would grow up and leave for Grad school. Then, I’d have almost nothing to look forward to at the end of the day. Nothing to come back home to. My husband, virtuous as he was, lacked the passion I had dreamed of in my days of youth. A prince charming was not necessary. Only if it didn’t felt like I was going to bed with a stranger every night. It was not the physical aspect that was missing in our relation. It was the connection. We made love like routine. I took care of him because it was my duty. I really don’t know if I had ever been in love. We were just habits for each other. I felt a sting of pain somewhere.

I suddenly wished I hadn’t met Aditi after all these years. The shallowness of my existence, the meaningless pursuit of nothing seemed to hurt me more than ever. And yet, unlike her, I had not given up. I was ready to hope that eventually I would love my life, love the person I was . Even if I were molded by the desires of others. Even if I asked myself often- 'Where is the freedom I seek?' I wanted the liberty to paint the sky red again and to fill in the earth with purple color. Everything has been dictated unto me. And I had obeyed. But now I was feeling the desperate need to break away.

My mother came in with Dad and Prateek was holding a wrapped box with a triumphant smile. I instantly knew what was inside. I looked at Aditi again. But she didn’t appear to be the demi-goddess I had imagined her a moment ago. I respected her opinion and her strength to live life her way. But what was best for her child couldn’t have been directed by her private demons. Could it be? Or maybe convention had taught me to think only in black and white.