A Putney Christmas

was spent with men I've grown up with. A few pints of ale at the local pub set the tone for the day. Amol's pork roast ensured we didn't go hungry. The rest is not history but made for a good time.
I'm not Christian but I can enjoy a good christmas.

Hangover thoughts

Xmas parties are serious business, a realisation over a hangover. Especially in a day with 18 hours awake, 8 at the office and the rest in a few bars around town. Rankin, Josie, Richie...good souls and all too human....just like the rest of us.
Note to self : Pick up Nons from Paddington, train arrives at 1520.

District 9

The must-watch this year, blows you away with its multiple layers. Excellent!
Village voice does a better job reviewing it. Read it.

Moving on

Everything's changing again. The post-LSE honeymoon began to unravel from June with Papps and 4 moving base. Bell and Adroit still remain the wide-eyed wanderers, un-jaded and carefee. And as for the devil, he wears pants with gold zips along with past baggage, ideals, grand dreams and cynicism. Sefton gets ready to pack up.
Everything's changing.
Nathen broke into a smile the minute he saw me, maybe he knows his dad and I are great mates. Shinjini was wary, maybe she didn't like the sight of this strange bearded man wrestling her dad, but she'll know her dad and the strange man are great mates too, having done many of life's journeys together. Ved looks out from the corner of his eye sheepishly when his Ammaman admonishes him, but comes running into his arms with a smile when his uncle wants a hug, maybe he knows his mum, dad and I are one team. Chengez, Chinaal, El Presidante and Indira Pillai's son.....still struggling with the thought of settling down, but maybe we'll get into the last coach of the train heading to the world of crying babies, nagging wives, and yet.........junior falling asleep on your shoulder and the Mrs. staying up to have dinner with you alone after a long day will make it all worthwhile.
Everything's changing.
But change, that's not something new. Sometimes the turn towards something better went awry along the way.. and the sudden turn towards darkness led us into light later. But change came along, resisting it led to stagnation.
Everything's changing...again, and its not what happens that matters............its what we make of it that truly does.

Dubai 2014

A post after a long while seated at the Dubai airport (excessively opulent as ever). Mum has meandered into the duty free by herself, women and shopping - they can never get enough!! The last trip home was a hurried one, but very fulfilling - can hopefully achieve more this time around.
I continue to pen thoughts at random times, but privately. These days the urge to write occurs most strongly when I make attempts to solve life's puzzzles, in trying to understand and address the emotions of oneself and people in my life. And these are matters better left out of the public space. Opinions, on the other hand, are something I prefer to be vocal about and I exhaust myself trying to explain and further inform my point-of-view.
I will be swarmed by children this time around, none my own, all the progeny of friends and family. I like kids until they decide to bring the roof down; and car keys, funny faces and you're assumed I'm-cool-with-kids attitude doesn't seem to be of any help. A bail-out from parents or grandparents is my resort.
Boarding in an hour. An old pair of headphones I owned finally broke. Time to get a new one.

Reflekt

Love is a feeling

Winter sailing

The snowflakes continue to fall in the twilight,
Softly, and in no hurry,
As the earth and all its wounds are covered in a blanket of white
We tried to discover the sea of tranquility in waters unknown,
Little did we realise that it would form on land,
No waves, and ripples none,
just an endless swathe of quietude,
stretching over tree branches, roof tops and...
....almost seamlessly into the mind of a weary traveler
bringing calm to both earth and man.
The sea of tranquility won't last forever,
it will melt and the waters will vanish forcing us to confront what had lay hidden,
but the first blade of green grass, the tender leaves breaking out on the maple trees,
will be a reminder of hope, of growth that cannot be stifled
and the promise of a fresh start.

Dream On

Sometimes we reach junctures when following our hearts seems impossible and the world pushes us down paths we wouldn't have consciously tread upon. But walk we must further on, along paths unknown. Our fantastical dreams of the future, our companions for the journey.

To you 4, for introducing me to this song. Get well soon.

Recession in real terms

I walked down to the local GP's surgery this morning to register myself. An unusually bright sun lit up the sky. It wasn't a busy day at the surgery and probably was the reason why the nurse was quite chatty. As she took down my details, she got to the point of employment and I unashamedly had to admit that I wasn't in any form of employment.
So well, it's official now, the NHS records have me listed as an unemployed 28 year old Indian man.

The balance of emotion

When hearts break, do they break even?

And the story goes on

The last day at Lilian Knowles, in a symbolic sense the last day at LSE. A certain kind of life or rather a lifestyle that I had known for the past year comes to its sweet end.
I was at uni earlier in the day, picked up the FT for 25p as usual. Induction benches were beginning to pop up at St. Clements. A group of Indian students were hanging around outside the Tuns, excited. Would they realise the opportunities for intellectual growth, accepting and understanding diversity (of people and views), and for creating long lasting friendships? I hope they do.
After helping Adu and Shreya move out of the hall, this last night at Knowles left me with Tiny at the wrestler's place. We had a feast, and one of the men at the counter threw in some extra food for us for free. Kind! I kidded myself sitting there like an out-of-business mafia boss with my loyal henchman and friend Tiny. We stayed for a little longer than usual.
Tomorrow, a few of us return to unknown waters, and the story goes on.

I am the storm

It was me on that road
But you couldn't see me
Too many lights on, but nowhere near here

It was me on that road
Still you couldn't see me
And then flashlights and explosions

Roads are getting nearer
We cover distance but not together
I am the storm and I am the wonder
And the flashlights, nightmares
And sudden explosions

I don't know what more to ask for
I was given just one wish

It's about you and the sun
A morning run
The story of my maker
What I have and what I ache for

I've got a golden ear
I cut and I spear
And what else is there
Roads are getting nearer
We cover distance still not together

If I am the storm if I am the wonder
Will I have flashlights, nightmares
And sudden explosions

I don't know what more to ask for
I was given just one wish
.
.
.
There's no room where I can go and
You've got secrets too

Birthdays

The 28th was ushered in effortlessly and with no artificial displays of pomp, thanks to a few close friends. The evening before began with a walk by the Thames and then a dance, courtesy the Thames festival. Food was had by the Tower Bridge and a band playing some good music served as dessert. A pleasant walk to Brick Lane and we found ourselves in a bar which had the ambience of a student house party. The bar counter and the dj's turntable seemed to have been stuck into the basement in a hasty fashion. A few drinks and we stepped out onto the street where the bar's ambience spilt over. And as the clock struck 12, I found myself on the couch of a sheesha bar with company I love and who let me be the freak I am. I couldn't have asked for anything more.
I am 28, unemployed and the road ahead looks very good.

Enchained melody

The beast strains at the irons wrapped around its legs, its been at it for a while. Blood stains metal as it bites into flesh, but the beast seems unaware of the pain. It never rests, the times it lays still serve a mere purpose of physical recuperation, its spirit is tireless.As it bares its fangs and gnarls, its agitation could be easily mistaken as harmful intent. But I think it has more to do with captivity and less with malice.The chains are strong and won't break, wrought iron forged and welded to serve a purpose, a leash for beast or man, whoever has to be reined in. Does the beast realise this? I move closer to the beast, I stand merely an inch away from the farthest the chains would permit its fangs to reach. There is undying rage in its eyes, it glows. It stares back with all its fierceness, every muscle straining, every claw drawn out. I look deeper.....

The beast......I recognise him.

Wimbledon 2008

The game epic.....and Nadal is king!

Epilogue – Euro 2008

My first trip across Europe was fulfilling to say the very least, and these days when I find myself back in my country in perfect bliss amongst family and old friends, my restless mind chooses to enquire the reasons why I had a great time travelling across Europe. It doesn’t take me too long to figure it out. Wherever I went, I experienced the sights and sounds of places not through the senses of a detached tourist, but rather through the understanding of an insider. Friends, in Paris, in Athens made sure I felt at home and that made all the difference. Their exuberance when describing their countries, their cultures, their cuisines….helped one understand and appreciate what one saw a whole lot better.
My dear friends, I could travel around the world and see the most marvellous sights, but without you they would just remain pictures on a digital camera.
You turn them into memories.

The day we conquered Paros

The 6th of June 2008, a description of this day in my life deserves a separate post. Most days we wake up and go through the motions of life without wondering what the day would bring, without wondering about the new experiences that would befall us. Some days are great and some days not so. And on rare occasions you get a perfect day, the 6th of June was one such day.

We didn’t have a plan, the plan was not to have one. And yet the day involved experiences that could have been planned, but the joy lay in the day’s events unfolding itself without a guiding action, each moment as good as the previous. I won’t delve into details, but the day involved a car and five individuals, each one willing to travel down the unknown road armed with nothing but a good spirit, great camaraderie and an infectious enthusiasm to explore. We drove all around the island…. there were beaches, there were coves, there was a traditional Greek church, there was a small bar on top of a cliff, there was a sunset at the port, there was a Sicilian house…..and there was us.

“I feel like a child”, said one. It couldn’t be truer. The trouble with adulthood is responsibility, courses of action demanded by our environment, and the worries that ride with it. If for a short time span we are able to disconnect and enjoy life for what it is we become children….and childhood is sweet.

Greece

Jun 2, the four of us at the Milan airport, where 4, Pappu and I found ourselves cursing Guanxi for the umpteenth time for missing out on the Greek leg of this trip. Number 4 began his obsession with Sparta the minute he heard the air hostess greet us in Greek, the next one week we would be travelling with an Indian mistaking himself for a Spartan from the era of Leonidas, a case of dual identity one could say.

We landed in Alexander’s country fairly late in the afternoon… the weather and the people showed a lot of promise. In some time we met up with our friend Xara at Kifisia who took us to the first authentic Greek restaurant I’d ever been to. It didn’t take us long to decide to have a souvlaki and upon running a quick cost-benefit analysis in our heads, it took us even lesser time to figure that the souvlaki would figure predominantly in our diets for the next 7 days. We met Aliki later in the day , who took us to a pleasant café where we had our first taste of Raki. No. 4 did get a little carried away and played holi with it, toppling it all over Aliki’s bag. We did beat him up later. That the Greeks are a very hospitable people became evident that very night itself, when Aliki’s mum laid out beds in the living room for us to crash. In the wee hours of the next morning, with a charming smile Mrs. Velliou made us some Greek coffee and we were off to Paros. The next 5 days would be a journey through tranquillity.

All we did at Paros can be summed in the following steps
• Wake up late
• Have a light breakfast
• Head to a beach, each day a different one
• Swim
• Return in the evening and take a shower
• Head into town for some great food
• Hit the clubs
• Hit the sack just before sunrise

When I look at these bullet points I know it does no justice to Paros or to the time we spent there. But that is the truth, we did nothing more and nothing less. And maybe there lies the beauty of the time we spent at Paros and the state of mind all of us were in, it is next to impossible to describe in words.

Milan

The flight to Milan was uneventful, compared to the one to Paris where we stood for a while in a queue to board the flight, only to be told by the flight attendant checking our tickets that the flight we were about to board was headed to Amsterdam and not Paris. Our landing at Milan was not completely uneventful though. We arrived quite late and it being a Saturday night, it was only expected that our chances of getting the right direction to our hotel would be fairly diminished. Hence, the drunkards that very gladly did give us directions, had us hopping onto a bus which took us to a very shady part of town. The minute we stepped of the bus, we knew we were in unsafe territory. There were crooks and pimps hanging by the corner, waiting for the unsuspecting tourist to land their way. The four of us looked like a prize catch for them. I could see it in their eyes. However before any of them could move in for the kill, we hailed the first taxi we saw, threw in our luggage and made our way to Lorenteggio. A bottle of Champagne was popped around 3 in the morning in our hotel, celebrating our safe arrival. Champagne done and with nothing better left to do, the three of us ganged up on Number 4 and gave him a beating he’d probably left long behind in his childhood.
We walked around Milan the next day, the highlight in tourist attractions being the Duomo di Milano, the second largest Gothic cathedral in the world. However the better part of the day was spent lazily at a road side café, where we enjoyed our beers and watched happy women shopping and their not-so-happy men tagging along. A long while later Number 4 began crying for ice-cream, so we bought him his ice-cream (a few blows that he didn’t bargain for came for free) and headed back to Lorenteggio. Milan was short and sweet.

Paris

The previous day had been spent cycling around Cambridge and punting along the River Cam. Through all the study group discussions that had occurred over the past 2 months a subject which arose constantly between brainstorming sessions and between the 4 of us (No. 4, Pappu, Guanxi and me) was the Euro trip. The time was finally here, Cambridge was the trailer.
We landed in Charles de Gaulle late at night. Number 4 wasted no time in flipping things, this time he inserted his tube ticket in the wrong slot and the machine displayed no inclination to return it. 2 hours and a few rides on the tube later, we found ourselves in the beautiful flat of Agnes overlooking a busy junction at Voltaire. We had our first view of the Eiffel tower in the distance from her balcony, its revolving beacon indicating a presence that was not completely lifeless……..we would see it burst into life the next night. Considering it was late in the night, and not wishing to trouble Terry and Agnes, we had resigned ourselves to having a quiet night and begin taking in the sights of Paris from the next morning. But to our pleasant surprise, our wonderful hosts and friends (as they would prove to be in the next 2 days) took us to the streets of Paris within the hour which saw us visiting more than a few bars, including my first visit to a gay bar, albeit an almost empty one. The 2 week Euro party kicked off that night!
The next day, 30 May 2008, started at 5 am for me. I got into bed then. More than a few hours later, we set off to see Paris in all her grandeur, the sun supporting our endeavour. The Notre Dame, the river Seine and the Eiffel tower greeted us in the warm sunlight and the running stream of information provided by Agnes helped us understand the history of the city better. The day progressed, we picked Agnes’ son Sousou from school and proceeded to the centrepompidou. At a nice restaurant at the topmost floor, I had my first taste of foie gras and I must say I did enjoy it. After a round of free hugs with some random strangers we moved to the Louvre and then to the gardens around the Champs-Elysées. We had run out of daylight by then, but the most spectacular sight of Paris still awaited us. Soon we were on a cab headed towards the Eiffel tower. As we were driving, I could see the tower rising in the distance well lit, however all of a sudden an array of flashing lights started sparkling like diamonds all over the structure. The Eiffel tower, she glittered!
The next day, we woke up late, had a nice brunch at a pleasant café and before we realised we were bidding adieu to our friends Agnes and Terry. By late noon we were on a bus headed to Beauvais, to catch our next flight to Milan.

The student

After a span of 6 years I found myself returning to an examination hall. The experience was not daunting however. The only trouble was since I had never spent 2-3 hours writing with a pen and paper during this span, after every paper I left the exam halls feeling like my right hand had a workout. 4 exams later, life shows no sign of ceasing its hectic pace. The past day was spent at Cambridge punting on the River Cam and later attending a conference of the honeybee network. Continental Europe opens her doors to us today, the next 13 days will take us across France, Italy and Greece. While the embassies of France and Greece did put us through some bureaucratic annoyances, with the help of some of our Greek friends we were able to manage a Schengen just in time.
So now its off to Europa!

Ready, Steady, Go!

Paul Oakenfold plays in room 270, have been hooked on to this song today. "Today" comes to an end now, while the greater majority of London has already slipped into tomorrow. Howells innovation at 1800, dumbcharades by the Thames at 0200. Nomads waltz through the streets hoping to slow down time.............but the wheel keeps rolling.

You

You wake up every day in a cold city,
a city too busy to notice your loneliness,
a city too busy to hear your story
You seek the warmth,
but even the change of seasons isn't warm enough
.
.
.
And I scan a million faces every day on these busy streets,
Isn't it time to come home?

Evil eye

This is hilarious!


Baby Gives The Evil Eye - Watch more free videos

The abuse of black sexuality

Last night's debate was about the stereotyped image of the black woman that continues to beam through TV screens, hollywood movies and, with the advent of streaming media, youtube. The argument at hand had to do with the real lack of opportunity that female black artists face, forcing them to stick to the brand of music (and it's portayal) as dictated by corporate America. What seemed to me to be an open and shut case, was not evidently so.

Hip-hop culture, as we know it today, didn't start off with skimpily clad black women swinging to songs laced with profanity specifically targetted at the women themselves. Hip-hop had it's origins as a social movement, a form of cultural expression used by the black community to give vent to their fears, their frustrations, their political opinions ...an expression of the emotions a community of people. But in it's current popular form, this history is buried. As Dr. Jared
puts it in an article expressing his views...
"Given the societal need and function of mass media and popular culture, all that is popular is fraudulent. Popularity is in almost every case an intentionally constructed fabrication of what it claims to represent. Too few who comment on the lamentable condition of today’s popular hip-hop seem to grasp this, the political nature of the nation’s media system, nor the political function that system serves. Hip-hop is often taken out of the existing context of political struggle, repression, or the primacy of a domestic/neo-colonialism in the service of which mass media play a (the?) leading role."
Further reading - Selling the Political Soul of Hip Hop

The accepted profanity in hip-hop/rap music has an interesting story behind it. When music labels began promoting hip-hop music, they discovered that the largest section of consumers for this style of music was in the age-group of 11-13. The abusive language, that is mostly disrepectful of the opposite sex, that was infused in to the music was a clever ploy to connect with an audience coming to terms with sexuality through the means of agression. More reading can be done here.

In an excellent piece of gonzo journalism, Matt Taibbi lambasts the establishment for the continual hypocrisy of the music industry. Written about the time that the Don Imus affair erupted (Imus referred to black members of a female basket ball team as nappy headed hos'), Matt says that there is no difference between Imus and Snoop Dogg, both make ethnic slurs against the black community, only that one gets punished for announcing it out aloud and the other gets rewarded. Even worse, Snoop doesn't realise that the joke is on him. ( Read here)
Further Reading - A ‘Ho’ By Any Other Color: The History and Economics of Black Female Sexual Exploitation

The issue facing black artists, both male and female, is about choice. The way that the popular commercial music industry sees black artists and how they can most effectively be used to feed the profit engine, almost always implies that the artists have to work under the dictates of the powerful music labels. Choices in this industry are existent only if they have the blessings of the power houses. Artists choosing to walk a different path, walk along a path of obscurity. As Dr. Edward, when speaking for the black community, says,
"It is a painful reality that the lack of real opportunities can sometimes tempt us to be co-facilitators in our own cultural demise, as we engage in endeavors that aid in the buttressing and reinforcement of pernicious and racist stereotypes."

Holi, London 2008!

The previous night, I had a sudden urge to step out of the hall and what set out to be just a quick visit to an ice-cream parlour had me returning back to my room the next morning at 8. Denied of sleep I fell into bed, waking up 8 hours later pondering over whether I should have breakfast, lunch or dinner. As I was slowly beginning to face the day, albeit quite late, there was a knock on my door. Unsuspectingly I opened the door to bring myself face to face with three menacing looking people with war paint smeared all across their faces having wicked grins. Not only did I jump out of my skin, I jumped back to the farthest corner of my room witha yell almost ready to go down on my knees to beg God's forgiveness for ever having doubted in him. But then my ears picked up two words that brought a sense of relief, 'Happy holiiiiiiiiiiiiii!!!!!!!!!!!!'. These weren't minions from hell, these were good friends of mine armed with nothing but colours and cheer.
So Tanvi, Ashmi and Aparna had started the holi procession from Holborn and then to Northumberland which was quite tame until they reached Rosebery. At Rosebery they set off an uncontrollable chain reaction of holi frenzy which prety soon saw the hall come alive on a winter evening. Folks oblivious to the armed colour warriors standing outside their doors, opened them to be swathed in colours of red, green, yellow. orange............Once baptised, they joined the crowd to assault and enrol more warriors. Soon the walls of Rosebery couldn't contain the burgeoning numbers of holi revellers, and the spillout on to the streets happened and the holi war was taken to Holborn and Grosvenor. Onlookers, passers-by and passengers on the buses looked on with shock, awe and amusement. This cold London evening, with the grey houses and the lifeless trees, we were a riot of colours on the street, painting the city where we went not with colours alone but with songs and laughter and cheer. And it was just not the janata celebrating alone, we pulled in our friends from Germany, Britain, France, America.....some happy to have just a tilak on their foreheads and others zealous enough to be washed by the colours. This was the best Holi I've played in a long long time.
To everyone back in India, and all our friends around the world, Happy Holi!

Doing the dishes

I hate washing vessels, cos' just when you think you're done there's something left behind!

Old Theatre, 1830

The man's arm reaches out over her frail shoulders and pulls her closer towards him. In a moment of warmth that sweeps over her, she cuddles in closer and whispers into his ear. Her long fingers draw patterns on his face, all the while staring into his eyes, the man she so dearly loves. He reciprocates by planting a gentle kiss on her face.
Imbeciles! How does nature produce such retards!!!! Now before you get me wrong, I wouldn't be complaining if the couple carried out their expressions of love in a park, in the tube or over the dining table. But they were engaging in their expressions of love(for over more than an hour), while Joseph Stiglitz , the renowned economist, was delivering a public speech on stage. And unluckily for me the knuckleheaded couple happened to be in my immediate line of sight.

As for the talk, it marked the launch of a book by Stiglitz, The $3 Trillion war in Iraq. In trying to make sense of the figure he said, among many other observations, 1/6th of the amount was all that was needed to secure the social security system in the USA for the next 40-50 years or $200 billion was a rough amount to make the entire human population literate. He continued to talk about the privatization of the war and how contractors were paid 10 times the salary of a soldier to accomplish similar tasks($400,000 vis-a-vis $40,000). Prof. Mary Kaldor(LSE) went on to make a comment on how the troop upsurge in Iraq had reduced the violence, which is where I was forced to intervene. I made a point on how the upsurge was only one of the factors which contributed to the reduction in violence. The other factors include:

• Moqtada's Mahdi army laying down it's arms while Moqtada heads to the seminary to become an ayatollah.
• Strategies employed to use Sunni tribal militias against Al-Qaeda
• And more disturbingly that the ethno-sectarian cleansing in Baghdad and Central Iraq is more or less complete.

Viewed in this light, the upsurge by itself could not contribute to the reduction in violence in Iraq. And more dangerously, the Bush administration is already selling this very viewpoint to the American public.

Now you tell me, when I was engaging in some intellectual questioning of the comment that Prof. Mary made and then you have this couple coochicooing right in front of you oblivious to the world. Wouldn't that drive you mad? Imbeciles!

The Indian

A word of advice to those intent on reading the words that follow. If you don’t have a sense of humour then jump off your window. If you live on the ground floor go to the nearest main road and jump in front of a bus (I would have said car, but buses ensure a higher mortality on the roads). My advice is genuine, as without a sense of humour you won’t get too far in life anyway.
Also if you take these words at face value then the faculty of your mind that is supposed to sieve the exaggeration out of these words (and grasp its truth) is not developed enough. If Eddie Murphy or Chris Rock ever start a school, enrol immediately.
The last thing that I would like to mention, I know how much everyone at LSE loves being political, be it nation-politics, gender-politics, political_for_the_heck_of_it –politics. My Indian brothers and sisters, if you wish to get political please head back home, the country could do better with you. Dear women, when describing the subject in question I have only referred to it as “he/him”. It is only because the situations in which I describe the subject are better picturised when viewed as a male. You are far too sophisticated to be caught in such situations. So do not mistake me for being a misogynist, I love you too dearly to even harbour such a thought.

Now that I have cleared the air, let’s proceed with my categorisation of the Indian at LSE or rather (more broadly) the Indian living in the west.

The Organic Indian
He is from the motherland, he carries with him bits of the diversity of 1.1 billion people…..sorry, 1.2 billion (we produced another 100 million over the new year). He is most probably on his first trip outside the motherland. He is conventional and carries certain archaic views without questioning them, for one reason alone….that they are archaic. Pasta, Shiraz and Bolognese are things he would never try as he imagines them to be kinds of grass fed to cows in the west (he is absolutely sure of his knowledge and never ventures to cross-check). He is unaffected by the politics involved in sensitive issues such as white superiority and racism and if ever is a victim of one of these, usually brushes it off his back with relative ease and moves on with his life, which is mostly revolved around his dal (curry), chawal (rice) and Bollywood. He is the one you will notice blowing his nose loudly in a bus, talking loudly to his mama (uncle) in Hindi and staring at the couple making out in the corner of the bus. If at all someone farts in the bus, and you see him looking very serious (trying to give the public the impression that he is thinking of a solution to the Kashmir crisis) then have no doubts, it is him. It is an obvious give-away, he would only think about Kashmir when he farts.

The Anti-Indian
This Indian has most probably run away from India in search of heaven, he probably used all his savings or probably stole his fathers’ to buy his ticket. He would have been told as a child that London and New York were other names for heaven. Even worse, realisation doesn’t dawn immediately upon his arrival. He is polytheistic; God for him is Ram, Krishna and the immigration officer. He wakes up in the night with nightmares of Indian family events where distant relatives rival each other in giving advice. He believes that in a foreign country he needs to make foreign friends. And you will classify as a foreign friend not based on your nationality but rather on your skin colour. So you could be a descendant of an exotic tribe from the Amazonian rainforests but if your skin colour matches his, you wouldn’t classify as a candidate for a foreign friend. If you were blonde, blue eyes, perfect. You fit the bill. On the bus he’d be the one seated next to a pretty white lady giving a passionate talk on India and everything that he ran away from. His exposition would most definitely be in an accent that is anything but Indian, it would be a unique mix of the American drawl of words and the British tune at the end of a sentence. If you see him trying to jump out of the bus through the emergency exit, he’s probably seen the Organic Indian.

The Confused-Indian
This Indian is mostly second or third generation Indian, born away from the motherland. His memory of India is the heat, all his un-cool relatives, the lack of air-conditioning in his parents’ ancestral house, the dust, the mosquitoes who always seemed to like the taste of his blood over the others. He probably had a very troubled vacation whenever it was spent in India. But more importantly, his confusion is in not being able to marry his social background with his cultural background. His bling would be the symbol Om and his Sub would have more peppers than his British mates. So he grows up in a foreign country learning foreign social customs but at the same time carries upon his frail shoulders the burden of his culture, which at times is at odds with each other. Thereby in regular life his approach to his Indianness is like an ostrich. If he sees the Organic Indian or the Anti Indian he would immediately bury his head in the ground. He would be very comfortable in the company of fellow ostriches, the head burying practice is perfected as a group behaviour. On the bus he’d be watching the Organic Indian sneeze with a frown, worried that the anti-sneeze police would arrest him on grounds of suspicion.

The Born-Again Indian
This Indian is also second or third generation, similar in that sense to the confused Indian. But his approach to his Indianness is further up in the evolutionary ladder. He takes conscious pride in his Indian roots and more often than not ends up reading a lot more about specific aspects or customs in Indian culture. In an argument with the organic Indian he could put the organic Indian off , just by being more knowledgeable about certain Indian subjects. He was probably bitten by Indian mosquitoes too during his vacations, but wouldn’t kill the mosquito like the rest of the Indians would. He would let the mosquito continue to suck his blood because he wouldn’t want to miss out on any learning which involves cultural roots even if the teacher is a mosquito. On the bus he would be reading India: A wounded civilization by V.S.Naipaul, and at times he would catch himself thinking that he is just like Naipaul. The Organic Indian would be looking at the book with detached interest as he digs his nose, the born-again Indian would catch him in the act and look on with amusement.

The Cosmo Indian
He is the sociologist’s dread, he doesn’t fit conventional categorisation. He is a mix of all and at times none of the above. He could be the most boring one on the bus, or the most lively one. If he farted on the bus, he’d ape the organic Indian but think of the Palestine conflict instead. When he’s around the Organic Indians he’s screaming Bharat Mata Ki Jay (Victory to India), when he’s with the Confused Indians at a pub he’s rooting for Beckham. At times he’s caught in between them, and mostly screams gibberish, like Arsenal Ki Jay. He’s Gyanendra Gajamurthi to the Anti-Indian and just Gudge to the born-again Indian. He thinks he’s the coolest as he believes he’s keeping every group happy, but gets his rump kicked once in awhile as his rope runs short. He’s the Anti-Indian when running behind a white girl, he’s the Organic Indian when he’s drunk in Edinburgh, he’s the confused Indian when his Indian girlfriend dumps him and he’s the born-again Indian at ISKCON chanting Hare Rama Hare Krishna.

That describes the Indian community quite broadly, with a good dose of the usual bickerings and quibbles that are characteristic of families generally. The interactions between these groups are not ideal, but on that occasional day when the sun comes up in the British sky and Paris Hilton doesn’t release a sex-tape, if you are lucky enough you could see a moment when life forces them to build bridges to understand each other better.

Regular Day

1300 - Masa Tayama lunch time concert with Aliki
1400 - Lunch at Brunch Bowl with Aliki and Utham
1500 - Techno-legal lecture with ADMIS geeks
1730 - KCLSU bar with ADMIS geeks and beer lovers
1900 - UN society film screening with general LSE crowd
2130 - Bus 341 with regular public
2230 - Movie Forest with Rosebery bhai log
0200 - Blogging with Ajax
0300 - Crashing into bed

Definition of cool

One of the many that exist.

The Michaelmas term ends

As I sat at the library reception, waiting to swipe in after finishing my coffee, occasionally interrupted by the greetings of familiar faces, I was mostly burying myself in my own thoughts. For better or worse, I would be associated with this institution for the rest of my life. If the years ahead brought success, LSE would lay a partial claim to it. If they brought discredit, onlookers would greet the association with surprise. And if I followed the path of most of its alumni, it would just remain a line on my resume, an observation brought up over coffee and a reminder of marvellous days as a student.
The years ahead, I wonder, what do they bring?

Tsubaki Sanjuro

After wrapping up the IS strategy presentation for a case study we were working upon, Utham and I were off to watch our first Kurosawa film, Sanjuro. The plot was simple and, without the current day computer-graphic and sound-effects excesses, Kurosawa was able to effectively carry a not-so-extraordinary story forward. Nine naive and inexperienced samurais have to bring corrupt and powerful village officials to book. Their gullibility leads to the kidnapping of one of their uncles, the Chamberlain of the village. Without an inivitation a scraggly samurai called Sanjuro steps in to help them and the rest of the movie is how Sanjuro leads the young warriors to eventual victory. Sanjuro's cynical yet reasoned approach to the enemy's moves constantly contrasts with the idealist and impulsive actions of the young warriors, and in the process rescues them always. However, Sanjuro is also the recipient of words of wisdom, when a lady tells him "Killing people is a bad habit . . . You're like a drawn sword . . . but good swords are kept in their sheaths."
Good swords are kept in their sheaths, food for thought.

Till death do us part

Krishna Panicker was born in 1912 in a small village in Kerala, India. He grew up in a time when a foreign empire had altered the way the country had been ruled over. He wouldn't have the same upbringing that previous generations of his family had. The economic conditions prevalent in the country by the time he became a young man did not provide him the opportunities to find a job, which he needed to take care of a family whose responsibility had fallen upon his shoulders. There was no time for self-pity, and the man understood sacrifice for a cause. So he set sail across the Indian Ocean to a country called Yemen where he had found work in a shipping company. Thus began an extended period of his life away from his country, away from his family. In a few years he realised the need for a companion and began to consider marriage.

In a small town in Kerala, a lady from a family called Pandyat was causing concern for her family. She had reached a marriageable age and despite the many proposals that came her way she refused to consider any. Her parents were unable to understand her decisions. But it was probably fated that she wait until the proposal of a certain Mr. Panicker came her way. She met the man, and without much fanfare a wedding was arranged. A few days later she made her first trip outside the country, on a ship to Yemen. Krishna and Sharada were to begin their life together in a land unknown to them. Life routines were slowly set that would remain unchanged forever.

It wasn't long before they had a child, Mrs. Panicker gave birth to a beautiful baby girl in a hospital at Aden. India won it's independence around the same time. Their lives began to revolve around their only daughter. Self-sacrificing parents that they were, they continued living in a foreign land to ensure that they could provide their daughter with all that she needed.
Time flew by, their daughter grew up into a beautiful young lady, it was time to arrange her marriage. The daughter displayed the same traits that her mother had, so they waited patiently until the right man came along. A marriage was conducted, with a little more fanfare than their own, the apple of their eye was finally going to start her own life.

After having handled their resposibilities so well, Mr and Mrs. Panicker finally decided it was time to return to their country and start a new chapter in their lives. They bid adieu to Yemen. They built a home for themselves in Mrs. Sharada's town, they were finally home.The years continued to race by. They had a grand-daughter in 1978 and a grandson in 1980. As their grandchildren grew up, it was mandatory that 2 months in a year they spend it with with their grandparents. Every year they looked forward to those two months. The grandson especially kept them on their toes, at a period when they should have been relaxing, he had them running after him as he ruined their garden and climbed up mango trees.

Time rolled ahead, their grandchildren turned into adults, inheriting a country with more opportunities than they ever had. Their grandaughter's wedding was the next big event in their lives, and they watched with pride as their grand-daughter wed a man of her choice. In a few years they had even more pride and even greater joy when their grand-daughter gave birth to a baby boy. Tears rolled down their cheeks as they held their great grand-son close to their hearts. But as time had raced by, they had begun to realise that their time was running....

On Nov 21, 2007 Krishna Panicker breathed his last. He was 95. In a show of solidarity, Sharada Panicker followed suit 10 days later. The only thing they asked for in their last few days, was to be in the company of their daughter. 63 years of life together, it was only fair that they leave this world together. I have no doubt, that the decisions that they made together, keeping in mind the futures of the generations that would follow, has eventually led their grandson to where he is today.

I will miss you all my life.

Winter concert

Jeroo, Chirag and I went for a concert last evening. It was the Rosamunde Trio, formed of Martino Tirimo on the piano, Ben Sayevich on the violin and Daniel Veis on the cello.The location was the Shaw Library at LSE, which is a classic British library, the kind you read in the classics. Wooden cupboards with glass casings line the walls. Thick, heavy curtains of the colour burgundy drape the windows. The Steinway piano lies at one corner of the room and upholstered armchairs invite visitors at the other end. A chandelier hangs from the center of the room. I haven't seen a more beautiful library. Well, I allowed myself to be carried away by it's ambience. The concert was a pleasing one and I had no doubt that they were accomplished musicians. Jeroo and Chirag, both being players of instruments, were probably able to appreciate their skills better. 2 of the compositions were Beethoven and Brahms. The third one was called 'Softly in the dusk' composed by a certain composer called Peter Fribbins. It was supposed to based on a poem by D.H.Lawrence called Piano, though the 3 of us were left guessing, because the inspiration that he seemd to have derived from the poem seemed to have been quite different from the ways in which we would have been inspired. The concert went on for close to 90 minutes.
Not very far however , music of a different kind was being played in one of the kitchens of Northumberland. Utham and Tanvi were orchestrating a feast, their instruments an oven, 2 hobs and a few pans. Post-concert I satisfied a hunger that longs for good home-made food. If Rosamunde was music to the ears, U&Twere music to my appetite. My friends, you made the evening perfect.

Woman

Every so often I am asked a question,
whose answer will always remain a mystery.
But this cold winter evening I dare to attempt,
to explain a creation called woman.
Just like a river that gurgles and giggles on it's way from the mountains,
and attains a poised elegance as she flows through the plains,
a woman is the same embodiment of that grace.
She has the capacity to lift the spirits of wearied hearts,
as she steps into a bus or as she walks with abandon on the streets.
If a smile escapes her face, it lights the faces of many.
When alone, she is the dainty rose that adorns the vase,
In the garden of people, she is the daisy, the lily, the orchid, the tulip
She can turn men with hearts of stone,
into poets they never thought they could be.
She is humanity's everlasting symbol of hope, beauty, love.....
I could ramble on, and winter would be past us,
And the birds of spring would soon be chirping for her at her window
The world outside beckons me and as I bring an end to the words I write,
I can only hope I have done justice to the woman in this poem,
The woman in this poem that is you.

Musique

As Agalloch plays in the background and slowly uncovers the layers of memories that lie buried in my mind, I am forced to give an account of my ideas about musicianship. The greatest musicians, I believe, are those that evoke emotion within the listener. The deeper and more thoughtful musicians have the powers to force a revisit to your past. The memories that lie buried deep under times bygone are unearthed by their music, forcing the listener into retrospection, and correspondingly bringing either a smile to the lip or......a tear to the eye. Their capacities are however not limited to releasing the past, they are equally capable of taking the listener into journeys into the future. They can unlock the forces of imagination in the mind, giving one brief glimpses of the limitless possibilities that lie ahead, if only one displayed the courage to venture into the unknown.

Home away from home

I met a young man from India. I said, "I'm a patriot".
He replied, "I'm a jingoist."
A friendship is forged.

End of a week

Last night officially brought to an end the first week of active LSE life. the only things that continue over the weekend are parties and the library. Otherwise, there aren't any public debates, lectures, classes or society meetings. The initial part of last evening was spent with friends from Bangalore, the later part (which went on until early this morning) was cross national, Pan-European. LSE is defined by interaction, abounded by the opportunities to meet people from all walks of life. The lack of a sprawling campus is sometimes seen as a disadvantage, but the lack of it helps in integrating the 50 odd departments. You are bound to bump into students from different departments everyday. The sharing of lecture halls between the various departments itself creates an idea of unity, students of different departments connect with each other under the LSE umbrella.For an active student, there is a constant dearth of time. For all the activities that a student can engage herself/himself in, there is not enough time. The philosophy of teaching at LSE stresses on students searching for information and being prepared for classes, the concept of "spoon-feeding" is virtually absent. Contact classes are few, and the library is maybe the most important institution of learning. The most wonderful aspect of LSE is that learning happens everywhere, right from the library to the Quad(the students cafe).

A busy day

It started with an hour of anti war activism at Trafalgar square. Leaders of the Stop the War Coalition (http://www.stopwar.org.uk/) gave fiery speeches demanding the British government to bring the troops back home. Later there was a march to the parliament where the agenda was to catch MPs on their way parliament for answers. A quick lunch later I was in a lecture hall listening to a professor discussing the perils of technology. Another 2 hours later I found myself at the Old theatre in LSE attending a public debate on the topic of freedom of the press in Russia. Soon afterwards I attended the first meet of the debate society held at Hong Kong theatre, which then moved to to the more relaxed surroundings of a pub, where the rest of the evening was spent discussing imperial colonisation and the classical Roman civilisation among many other subjects with a beautiful American lady and an Irish man. The night ended with a very informal gathering of Indian brethren outside my hall of residence.
The day couldn't have been more satisfying.

Falls to pieces

"...cos you're born again, until you're worn again."

End of a journey.....the start of another

After more than 3 weeks of touring across India, my beautiful country, it is quite ironic that I finally get the time to blog in London. It seems like a sunny day, but I have learnt to never trust British weather. The sunlight peeps through the window, and sets the mood to post a few thoughts.
The Bharat yatra was a great experience. I have done a lot of meaningless things in my life, but this one is definitely going down as one with a fair deal of meaning to it. Across 3 weeks I walked through the thick forests of the Western Ghats, the black soil of the Deccan plateau , the towering Himalayas and the fertile Indo-Gangetic plains. In the final leg I drove 1500 kms over 3 days across South India. Everywhere I went I was greeted with the kindness of many people, eager to hear about my experiences( and almost always inviting me to have a cup of tea with them).
And now I find myself in London, an aspiring and eager-to-learn scholar. By the middle of next week I will be in the classrooms of the London School of Economics, interacting with possible leaders of the future, listening to popular and controversial leaders of the present, and learning about the travails of heroes of the past. The year ahead is filled with the promise of exciting opportunities for learning.

Slob days

I've been playing the classic American slob the past few days. I've spent more time with my playstation than with people, nights usually extend into the wee hours of the next day. The only thing that drags me away from it is wanting to meet Ved, putting him to sleep is sometimes equally challenging as certain chapters in Resident Evil, definitely more satisfying I should say. Not having a lady in the house takes its toll on orderliness. The slob's days are numbered though, I'm throwing him out of the window soon. In a few days, I become a traveller. They say the best traveller is one who has no plans, the next 3 weeks should see a lot of journeying.

End of a chapter

It happened silently, the severance of the relationship, the end of my association with one of India's largest software service providers. As of 10 Aug 2007, 1700 hours, my employment with the organisation stood terminated. The network adminstrator effortlessly deactivated my ID with a single click of the mouse, it symbolised the end of a 5 year association. I have been asked quite often whether it was hard. I wouldn't call it hard, but I may miss a few things solely because the daily functions of swiping in, meals/coffees at the foodcourts, browsing the intranet, ...etc had become a part of life. What is hard instead is leaving behind the friends who had come to mean so much to me in this span of time. I was touched by the gifts and emails, I couldn't fathom that I meant so much to a few people. That was my greatest honour as I left the gates of the sprawling campus.
Hi I'm Suneel, I'm 27 and unemployed..... and the world has never looked better.

Rise!

He couldn't hurt a fly, he was a lady's best friend, he would go out of his way to help people. He epitomised respect, for he had it for all. He was intoxicated neither by power, wealth or wine. If one had to spell a bad quality of his there would be none. His ego is virtually absent......................I despise him.
Given a chance I would crush him, I would send him to the depths of the netherworld to rot, for he is a disgrace to the spirit of man. As Ayn Rand has implied, it is man's ego that is the fountain head of human progress. I would respect an honourable enemy more than a spineless friend. A man unable to stand up for himself, can never be entrusted with leadership.
So rise my men, strike out, the strongest and the most righteous amongst us shall survive.

Towards the light

It was dark, very dark, and I never knew whether I had gone blind or whether the sun had abandoned this world. The perpetual darkness brought along with it a perpetual state of anxiety as well. I drifted in and out of sleep, I couldn't know whether it was day or night. Almost always I was awakened by the loud flapping of wings. Some great winged creature roamed the skies, and I could never be sure whether there were more than one. It's presence was ominous, and I remained as still as I could whenever I heard those wings. At times, for a fleeting instance I could see a flicker of light. However it would almost immediately be obliterated by this blanket of darkness. I gave up trying to figure if my vision was being restored, or whether the clouds had parted to give me a glimpse of the sun. Some beast howled in the distance, was he as lonely as I was?
I was constantly driven by the desire to run, but my fears prevented me from venturing too far. It didn't take long before I finally overcame them. I knew not why I ran, but I just did with all my strength. I only stopped when I ran out of breath, or when I heard the wings. They were everywhere and I couldn't escape them. Maybe they were as blind as I was, because no matter how close they seemed to be at times, when I remained motionless I went undetected.
There were days I fell and injured myself. I could never know how bad the injury was. The only indicator was the pain, when it dissipated I assumed I had healed. The silence as well as the cacophony of the darkness competed with each other to capture my mind with the grip of insanity. I resisted.
Then one day, my feet lifted off the ground. I stretched my toes as much as I could to feel the earth . But they couldn't. I didn't feel like I was falling, and I couldn't imagine I could fly. The flapping sound returned louder than ever and I couldn't hide. But unlike previous times, this time it did not subside. Then it dawned, the wings that displaced the air around them were mine. I soared into the darkness that the skies had become. When I looked down I could see silhouettes of my kind, I didn't know where they would fly to. I looked up and saw the same flicker of light again, it seemed a little closer this time.
The journey thus began, a flight in search of the light....

Give us the news!

Who gives a damn if Paris Hilton goes to or gets out of jail?
Who gives a rat's ass about Bipasha's infidelity?
How on earth does it make a difference to my life if a certain Prince called William gets back with his girlfriend?

I'll tell you news that would make a difference to my life:

• Tell me about the possibility of terror cells in India, especially after the shattering of the myth of Indian muslims being immune to jihadi calls.
• Tell me what runs through Muqtada'smind when he sees American military bases in his country.
• Tell me about the plights of the farmers of Vidharbha, when nature puts them through drought and floods, both in the same year.
• Tell me about the changing face of Tibet, the continuing plunder of Africa's resources, the Latin American rise against USA

Many media houses, the diseminators of information, seem to forget that they bear upon themselves the responsibility of nurturing a well-informed public. Paris Hilton's immoral antics may amuse the public, but does nothing to improve's it's understanding of the world. Between an amused public and well-informed public, I think the latter holds a better chance at taking this world forward safely.

Shifting shades

The day until now has been one that has offered a lot of contrast.
I shared a general class compartment with poor labourers from Tamil Nadu crossing over the state borders to work at construction sites and mills in Kerala. That was at 4 in the morning. A few hours later I shared a flight with entrepreneurs from Kerala heading to Bangalore for business needs.
I left Kerala feeling slightly disheartened, having to come to terms with the senility of my forebears. But back home, as I saw Ved kicking and punching wildly after his feeding session, I was reminded of life's promise of hope and opportunity for a newborn.
The rainy skies of Kerala were replaced by a sunny morning in Bangalore.
Isn't this contrast essential for our appreciation of life's facets?

Ved

It was an impatient wait, despite the awareness that there was no perceivable risk involved. It was one of those rare moments when the mind displays it's innate ability to singly focus all it's attention on the point of concern. In our case the point of concern was my sister's delivery of her first child. After what seemed an eternity a nurse covered in his green overalls, broke out of the OT and announced the arrival of Ved(as in Veda).
So on a bright sunny June morning, Ved Menon was born in good health(with a stable weight of 3.2 kgs) amongst close family. The elders have waited 18 years for this moment, the first heir of the family has arrived. While it is indeed a loss that his Muthachan(a man of towering character that he was) is not around anymore, he will not grow unguarded. He will play, he will fall, he will learn under the shadow of his uncle.
Ved Menon, Born: 8 Jun 2007

Bangalore today!

After a 2 year hiatus, I am back living a life in Bangalore. A few notes:

• Definitely more crowded.
• Not that the pedestrian enjoyed great respect earlier, but his condition has gotten worse. You could be hanging your clothes on your terrace for all you cared; if it happened to provide a motorist with a shorter accessible route, he'd run you down on your terrace and curse you for coming in his way.
• If you take a new mobile connection, chances are high that it's a recycled number. Within a day of taking mine and sharing it with only family and close friends, I began receiving calls from unknown numbers by the dozen. Each one enquired for a certain Mr.Manjunath instead of me.
• ATM's no longer stand for Any Time Money, at peak hours you could stand upto half an hour to gain access to one.
• Getting into town to head to your favourite pub for a nice cold beer, is now an effort. The thought of the traffic, the search for parking space and the futile wait for a table at the pub makes mum's mint juice more refreshing.
• Cab/auto drivers are everywhere to offer you a ride. You could come out of the airport arrival lounge driving the latest Audi, I reckon they'd still stop you and ask "Sir, auto bekaa?"
• Many concerts this year, went for the Aerosmith show, only because we had free passes. The good thing about big concerts, you could leave in between and no one would notice. Steve Tyler, now is he a drag queen or a rock star???
  

End of a saga...the start of another

14 May 2007



I would be lying if I said I was completely fine as I drove to Enterprise that morning to return the rental car. This would be my last drive in Canada, at least for a while. In a few hours I would be boarding a flight to return to my country. I did feel a tinge of sorrow. Canada had been good to me, very good to me. It was here that I nursed a broken heart back to robust health, I made great friendships.....ones that will last a lifetime, her people have been kind and friendly. Over the past year, while I was discovering her, I was in a way re-discovering myself. In the quiet of her woods, I charted out a journey for myself, I spawned ideas that previously remained buried under the din of daily existence. Around the same time last year I was a man defeated, stripped of my flesh and blood I stood naked and vulnerable, exposed to the elements. From there I have built myself up, from ground up, methodically piecing myself together. Today I stand bigger, taller.........stronger. And for that I am thankful. Of all the places I have seen, Canada, you remain special.



16 May 2007

Touchdown! I could kiss the earth if I could. Bangalore sparkled like a golden necklace from the skies. In the middle of the night, when most of the denizens of this great city would be fast asleep, I slipped in. And it doesn't seem like I have been away, I take to this place almost immediately, like a fish to water. The kannada starts flowing, I tell cab/auto drivers I don't need one, I ask people the time......I am home.



29 May 2007

10 days later I am at grandma's place, in God's own country. The monsoons have set in, never before have they felt so romantic. The winds carry the smell of the earth, the greenery is lush. When the showers are light they make the most intricate patterns on the surface of the water. When they decide to change the mood to something more extreme, they lash the earth, and all that can be heard is the rain. Mangoes are in season, and it is without doubt the king of fruits. Alexander rode a few thousand miles for them, I flew a few thousand miles.

I have missed my country.

Battle preparations

The world we live in is very much like the seas, it is vast, it is at times kind and gentle and at others is cruel and over powering, it's mysteries are not obvious to the naked eye...they lie hidden underneath, it beckons to the brave to explore and discover it's farthest reaches.
The world, this world..... is mine to conquer.

Meri yaar ki shaadi

Another close friend of mine tied the knot last weekend, a cross-cultural wedding, an alliance between the fast-talking Malyalees and the calm Konkanis. A few months earlier another childhood friend got married to his love too, in pure Bengali tradition. My sister stands ready to become a mother in a month or less. And I cannot help but feel a sense of happiness wash over me, as I am for all these people. I grew up with them, we've played together, we've fought with each other, we've spent time pondering over our futures together. And today that future is upon us.
Each one stands at an important juncture of their lives.
But with increasing incidence among my friends near and dear, each one has chosen a life partner of their own choice. More importantly, they have done so while having hand-held their families through their decisions. Their choice to spend their lives with an individual of their choice has not been at the risk of abandoning their families, nor did they decide to abandon their companions of choice when faced with pressure. They have persisted and been able to rise above cross-communal differences while pacifying resistance from within their families. It speaks volumes about their character, and my friends I am proud of you. I am proud of your families too, for they have trusted your decision which indirectly is a firm trust on the way they have brought up their children, a belief that their children would make the right decisions when they decide on their own. My own family is a witness to this phenomenon, from resistance to acceptance, my brother-in-law (who became so solely by my sister's volition), today has become a pillar of support in the family. A life without him is unimaginable.
Marriage is a defining moment in our lives, and is less of a gamble when we choose our life partners. But the Indian marriage being as much a marriage of families as a union of two individuals, couples that ensure the bonding between their families, steer the ship of marriage towards calmer waters.

The music of the seasons

You know spring is here when you can walk out of your apartment in just a pair of shorts and a t-shirt to check whether you have a parking ticket. And in the happiness that ensues when you discover that you haven't been slapped with one, you realise what a marvellous day it is. The birds are back, chirping, picking twigs to build their nests, the kids are back playing football. But the moment doesn't last too long as I realise I need to drive to Kingston in an hour, our first spring getaway.

Coffee time

So a friend of mine while walking down the street desires for a coffee. Luckily enough he spots a Tim Hortons and off he heads in it's direction. Now lazy as he is, he wonders whether he can avoid opening a door for himself and get his coffee more easily. A brainwave strikes him, he walks to the drive through counter to get his coffee. Now the dear lady at Tim Horton's who'd probably been working there for a long time, didn't know what was coming. In all her years of service, her drive through customers drove up to her counter and were always a few feet away within the unthreatening confines of a vehicle. She was probably cleaning up the place and thus was bent over looking down. Imagine the shock she would have had when she looked up to see a face barely a few inches from hers, that was our friend trying to get his coffee. I am sure she would have jumped out of her skin, and later our friend did confirm the same. It took her a while to gather her jittery self, and she proceeded to explain to him that he could get his coffee inside. But then he poses a very valid question, does he need to have a car to get his coffee??? That single question evoked enough sympathy(or amusement) in her to make him his coffee.
He got his coffee, she got the much needed excitement in an otherwise boring job and all of us here got a story to laugh our asses off. We're all happy.

Oh! Brave voyager, godspeed!

Through all the pain and hurt that life puts us through, we continue to live for that one moment of satisfaction, that one moment of exhilarating joy. Be it the cry of a newborn held to the bosom of his mother, or a father's sense of contentedness on seeing his daughter at the marriage altar, or the mere sight of a clear rainbow after the rain, it is these moments that keep us moving. It is these brief moments of intense joy, that helps us endure the upsets of life and lead us to believe in tomorrow. And when I made that climb on the Canadian Shield, to reach a peak overlooking the Bellevue valley, the view from the summit gave me one of those moments.
We drove from Toronto, struggling through rush hour traffic, to be welcomed by open highways on our trip to the Algoma region in Central Ontario. 8 hours later we were driving through complete darkness, a lone set of headlights making its way through the night towards a chalet in the woods near Bellevue valley. As we began to near our destination the moon decided to give us a glimpse of what would be our home for the next 3 nights. As she came out of hiding from beneath the clouds a frozen lake revealed itself with a pine forest in the background, and in the stillness of that beautiful moment I was aware that our SUV was the only object that disrupted the quiet of the night. Soon we were all within the warmth of our beautiful chalet, and despite our tiring journey we couldn't help but celebrate our excitement before we called it a night.
The next 2 days the region opened to us, showcasing her beauty along every road we drove, every trail we hiked. Robin and Enn, our wonderful hosts, and residents in Bellevue valley for more than 20 years, helped us make the most of our short stay. Just thinking about the whole weekend brings back a flood of memories,..........hiking with Enn to the Bellevue valley, discovering a trail to Gros Cap, the spectacular views on the Trans-Canada highway, the rugged beauty of the mountains, the friendly people we met along the way......memories that will be etched on my mind forever. The Trans-Canada highway(between Sault St. Marie and Wawa) offers one of the most marvellous drives, the highway seems to neatly force it's way through mountain and st0ne as it offers a view of Lake Superior on one side and the Canadian Shield on the other.
This is the best trip I have made in a long time, and the reason is I wasn't waking up in a hotel room, I wasn't spending my time looking for parking spots, I wasn't faced with the mechanical and monotonous drawl of conducted tours. This time I was an explorer, I was finding my way on my own, talking to local people to chart our trip, driving along less travelled roads, walking along less traversed paths. And it makes me wonder, isn't it true in our own lives? We fear the uncommon, just like the conducted tour we follow our lives as dictated to us. But if we decide to end the monotony and follow our hearts where it takes us, despite the darkness that may surround us along our journey, when the sun shines upon you at your destination, you will realise that you have given meaning to your life.

Easter in the woods

The adventurer in me begins to get more restless, as the week comes to an early close. The next 3 days will be spent in the heart of Canada's wilderness, a region called Algoma. An 8 hour drive across the province of Ontario will take us into largely uninhabited territory known for it's pristine environment. It will be a good drive, and if one hasn't, I must tell you driving across Canada is a great experience, and a thoroughly pleasurable one. We have had some snow and the weather at Algoma will be cold this weekend, but am sure our chalet in the woods will keep us warm.
Far away from the din of daily life, it will be a good time for me to gather my thoughts.

3

Three words I said too much, ....and still wasn't enough.

The Anvil

I have come too far to turn back,
I know not what I seek, it is neither the light,...nor the dark,
though through each I have wandered.
A fire somewhere deep inside, burns with persistence,
fuelling me forward.
On certain dark nights, it erupts in a fury,
that threatens to set me ablaze, a hammer from the skies above does nothing to reduce the pain,
Every morning after, the flame subsides, but remains....still burning
And as I leap out of the burning forge to face a glorious new day,
blood rushes through my veins with renewed vigour, a heart beats with unbridled passion,
I know...........I am stronger than ever before.

A trophy for life

What is achievement? What qualifies as one..... A job? a promotion? marriage? Lucky for a few, we live in a world where we can define what "achievement" means to us. The world however decides in its own way what achievement means, and those who fool themselves are quietly dropped off the pages of history. Their existence remains as memories within their families for a generation or two, after which their own heirs bury their memories. The true achievers on the other hand attain immortality, earning themselves a rightful and dignified place in history.
Whilst having dinner at Madhu's place this Saturday, we had a revelation, he just happens to be the first Kannadiga to swim across the English Channel. It was only upon nudging further details out of him did I truly understand the magnitude of his accomplishment. The greatest challenge of the swim is not it's length, it is the cold water that bites into the muscle making the swim even harder. Then the shoals of jelly fish, the huge vessels that dwarf the swimmer,.... all factors that contribute to the fear and anxiety in the mind. And that is the biggest threat to the swimmer. The swim is a true test of strength, both physical and mental.

Even more awe-inspiring, was Madhu's calm and composed account of it, not a hint of arrogant pride as he gave an account of his feat. Modesty, a virtue that will capture everyone's heart. As I was skiing on Sunday, many a time I wondered what would have gone through his mind. Did he ever reach tipping point? Did he ever get close to giving up? I'm sure there were would have been times when he came close, but just pure will power would have helped to draw out energy from within him. And that is the essence of an achiever, his success does not come easy, there will be more than a few factors that will threaten to overpower him, to lead him down the path of failure, ....but his iron will supercedes them all.
Salutations to you Madhu, I am proud to be your countryman.

Mid-March frenzy

I am indeed glad to be around folks who share the same enthusiasm for life. Nothing disappoints me more than the realisation that a weekend has passed and my only achievement has been a few hours on Orkut. And which would have been my predicament if it weren't for the FCT boys. Always ready to rock-n-roll, get out and there and get high on life, so weekends have given me tennis, squash, trips exploring the eastern terrain of Canada, rock shows and most essentially great company.
So another eventful weekend rolls by, playing Lazer tag and Whirly ball at Rinx heralds it, skiing at Blue Mountain concludes it. The Barbarians, as myself and my flatmates are known in the FCT circuit, continue their savage run in sporting events. My love affair with skiing continues, the snow-covered slopes allowing me to glide across them with more control and speed. Weather played perfect host too with the sun dominating the skies. Every single time I eased myself off the ski lift and to the edge of the slope, I had a moment, just watching the frozen shores of Wasaga and the blue expanse of the deeper waters of lake Ontario, a spectacular view from the cliff.

Russell Peter

Those familiar with the North American comedy circuit would have definitely heard of Russell Peter. Those who haven't should check him out on youtube, he's quite funny. He has a great talent for bringing out racial differences in a satirical manner. So, I was quite surprised to know that my brother-in-law would be touring with him in India. The tour's over and they did Bangalore, Mumbai and Delhi....sell-out shows supposedly. I missed out, brother.

Little Wonders

.. is a track on the animation movie "Meet the Robinsons", heard it on 99.9 last week. Rob Thomas, continues to prove his skill at song-writing, simple yet poignant. Listen to it here.

Love Hurts

I am a warrior, worn and weary,
I have returned from the battlefields of love, defeated,
Shorn of all my armour,
I ponder on my travails.....
so why is love worth fighting for?



Maybe.....

Food

Jocelyn asked me today whether I enjoyed the food, she does know that I have a good appetite always. I told her I like it, and yes I honestly do. However, right now as I reflect upon all the food I've tasted ....from the mundane British and American to the more common Chinese and Italian and then the more exotic Lebanese and Persian, it has always been the Indian that has had me leaving wholly satisfied when I leave the dining table. While I risk being blamed of a prejudice, and such a claim could be partly right as well, my prejudice is not completely without reason.

For humans, food is more than just nourishment, it is more than proteins and carbs required for sustenance, it is about taste. Food has to be such that it challenges the taste buds, it has to be about aroma that teases the mind, it has to be such that it engraves memories like my grandmother's sambar, my mother's coconut chutney or even the samosa at Ramu's tea stall with his masala chai. If one had to judge food on all these factors, Indian food will score high. India being the land of spices, it is but natural that we be the masters of spice.

And which is why, while I will always experiment with cuisines of the world, and I am sure I will love it, but when I am in search of that wholesome meal the Indian cook will deliver. He needn't stand there prim and proper with his chef hat waiting on me, Ramu in his baniyan and towel flung across his shoulder will do just fine, no not just fine .......even better.

Be yourself

The song of the moment, Audioslave's "Be yourself", simple lyrics yet the words ring with truth...every single line

....You may win or lose..

But to be yourself is all that you can do..


This one's for the road ahead.

Into the light

The sunlight streams into the living room, through the wide openings between the curtains. Arkestra One plays "Into the light", on the cd "Den of Thieves'. The melting snow begins to reveal tufts of grass on the grounds below, and I know winter has begun it's slow retreat. The world rolls by, little children running behind their mothers, a Siberian Husky chases a squirrel up a tree, people getting their bread from the Italian bakery....And I sit here with my legs raised one over the other, watching, this beautiful world outside, basking in this moment, nothing could be more apt.

A Malyalee goes skiing

It's a beautiful world we live in, the opportunities that we have today, as compared to our ancestors, abound. While most of my forefathers would have been limited to climbing coconut trees or rowing boats along the rivers of Kerala, little would they have imagined that one among their posterity would be skiing along the snow capped landscape of Canada. A beginner's slope, but skiing all the same. It's a great winter sport and I must say, I have taken a strong liking towards it. The initial falls were inevitable as one tried to grope the basics, in fact on at least two occasions, the safety nets saved me from serious injury. But once I grasped the trick of slowing down and stopping(courtesy Shishir and Jins), then there was no stopping the Mal, he was racing down the slope (occasionally mowing down unsuspecting fellow-skiers). A ski trip is on the cards again, this time extended, I look forward to it.

Archangel Winter

......
In stone waves and rock waters, far from day,
Amid the gloom, there, on the pole, stands black
Archangel Winter, darkness on his back
And trumpet at his lips; nor does he cast
One flash of eye, or blow one clarion-blast;
He never even dreams, being sheer snow;
The winged winds, captives of that age-old foe.

-Victor Hugo

Changes

...in my life, I won't leave you behind,
Changes in my life, you will see in time.

A song, I first heard at a club in Toronto, the "dirty south remix" by Chris Lake . Has been playing on the FM waves quite often these days, in fact heard it a couple of times on our drive back from Barrie tonight. Tweaked the volume every time it played, great beat.

Dosa and eggs

Thats what I had for breakfast this morning. Bal-Sagoth made the dosas for us, which is when I realized that I haven't had dosas for a long time. Dosas and gunpowder, boy! was good. Bal-Sagoth is long for "Balram", my flat-mate, "Bal-Sagoth" actually being the name of a metal band I used to listen to.

Metal rules!

Been listening to some great music this month, all along the lines of melodic metal -

• Mors Principium EST - brutally melodious, able to pack some slow songs while remaining heavy
  
• Quo Vadis - Excellent guitars, fast, gruesome
  
• Necrophobic - some great riffs
  
• I - the return of Immortal's Abbath, loved the debut album
  
• Hurt - These guys are good old rock, but have a very new sound

Guru

If you're going to watch the latest Maniratnam offering expecting to feel the call of patriotism, then cut that ambition short. Guru, is the story of an individual, and while the director clearly claims it is a work of fiction, I suppose it's a well-known fact that the movie is "loosely" based upon Dhirubhai Ambani. The essence of the movie is this:

• Middle-class individual attains fame, prosperity by using loopholes(legal and illegal) provided in an imperfect system
• Individual is held accountable for his methods

The question that Maniratnam would like to leave you with is "Can a man be held guilty for taking advantage of the system?" Not only in India, but nowhere in the world do we have omnipotent systems. Where humans are involved, there is always scope for back door entry. Let me cite an example, Britain is supposed to have paid huge kickbacks to Saudi officials to secure an arms deal. The investigation was controversially dropped. So is it fair to say "if bribes are a part of the system, then there is no harm in making use of it?" I think not.
Firstly, bribes are never part of a system, systems are unemotional and monotonous. It is the human element in any system that attracts practices such as bribes.
Second, bribes to secure deals, effectively cut-off fair players. An analogy would be an athlete taking steroids, it increases his chances of winning in an unfair manner. And surely the shrewd character "Guru" realizes that, but the director chooses not to dwell upon it.
I think the movie is worth a watch, looses focus in between but gets back on track. The performances are good, the main characters have really managed to hold their ground. Junior Bachchan does well in his portrayal. Rai looks beautiful as she maintains the simplicity of the Indian middle class woman. On a different note, I wonder whether the Bachchan-Rai engagement was carefully timed with the release of the movie...?

NY Moments

• Travelling in the boot of a minivan, along with 11 others who were seated a lot more conveniently!
• Views from Empire state building, Manhattan's a concrete jungle.
• NY traffic, a cab took us in reverse rom one signal to the previous, crazy but fun!!!!!
• Century 21, great store, set a personal record for shopping time.
• Dumb charades on our way back, Benny proves he's a star!!!!
• The discovery of Lakshmi, the silent lady was pulling our legs by the end of the trip
• Ihop, fabulous pancakes, had breakfast there twice, second time Benny and I parked ourselves there till they closed.
• Madame Tussauds, if the security cams over there ever get released to the public, Benny and I are in loads of trouble.
• Coffee at Starbucks, one rainy New York evening, with all the couples revealing their "how -we-met" stories. Boy-o-boy, some stories they were....
• The bull near NYSE, there's a myth that goes....stock brokers rub the balls of the bull for good luck. Think twice before you shake my hand!
• Lakshmi and the Japanese couple trying hard to take a snap without her in it.
• Having our NY old timer Gopi, take us around NY streets for 2 hours in search of an Indian restaurant(which he knows is in the vicinity for sure!!!), only to find it closed and finally land in Subway/McDonald's
• Walking down Times Square in the evening, the lights!!
• Dhoom's sub-titles, that had us laughing for a long time.
• The winds on our way to Liberty Island, the skylines, Brooklyn bridge....

Trip NY

NY is indeed a marvellous city, it is the brightest beacon of capitalist America. And I call it marvellous because of the spirit it embodies. The buildings of Manhattan, seem to aspire to touch the sky indicative of the nature of it's denizens. The city is constantly on the move and even the holiday season doesn't seem to slow it down.

Team NYC

The Christmas weekend that passed 12 of us headed from Toronto to NYC on an epic trip. Epic because there were a few events that occured, which while probably not a first in the history of mankind, was definitely a first in my life. This blog's going to be short, I'll profile each of our trip mates here. As for the trip, I'll reserve it's details for the next one. Well, here goes..
We'd rented 2 minivans, which seated 6 of us in each. The first one held..

• Roy, Jyothi - Our chief at work, and his wife. A great couple!
• Avinash, Aarthi, Aashi - The soft-spoken Tripathis from UP. I have never seen any of them in an excited/agitated state except for baby Aashi at times when she needs to announce her need for food.
• Antony - Aashi's godfather, babysitter, guardian......

The second and probably more noisy minivan held

• Benny - My partner in crime, right from God's own country
• Gopi - The most eloquent Tamizhan I have met, never shies from cracking a joke, either upon himself or the unsuspecting public.
• Jinesh - Our Gujju boy, his appetite and enthusiasm never cease.
• Sudhir, Lakshmi - Our trip manager(you could say) and his wife. Lakshmi, being our latest entry to the FCT family, I feel inclined to elaborate a little more upon her. Now she's one of those people who have a perennial smile on their faces. I'm sure when she was born , the doctor would have been quite surprised, cause unlike other babies she would have come into this world with a smile. Another great couple!
• Myself - The last of the 12, the antithesis of everything normal!

New York, New York

I remember reading this a long time back , a view expressed by someone who was writing about the Big Apple. He said if aliens were to arrive on planet Earth in peace and we had to take them to our greatest city, we would take them to New York. He was American. Well....

• Given the average American's limited knowledge of the world, I think I could classify as an alien
• About peace, I am definitely here in peace. The alien nation of which I am a proud citizen has throughout it's history welcomed invaders with open hands.
  

So I qualify. But here's where things change. No one's taking me, I'm heading to New York myself, in two days. So while I have never celebrated Christmas my whole life, I will definitely be spending it this year in NYC.
Couple of friends tell me I'll love it, but personally, I don't think NY will be a great tourist spot. NY lays it claims to being one of the greatest cities in the world today not because of it's natural beauty, neither because it is tourist paradise. But solely on the basis of its commercial buzz, its fashion vistas, its cosmopolitan culture and its corporate activity among many other things. And if I had to feel it's pulse, I'm sure I only could if I worked there for a while. And that will be some time.
So while I am sure it's an amazing city, I doubt I will be able to truly experience it this time.

The net is my writing pad

Blogs, now every smart-ass and dumb-ass has one. In fact as long as you have an OS that supports a language you're comfortable with, you can go publish your Chinese/French/Hindi/Malay/blank thoughts for free....for the whole world to read. Feel like Spinoza? Go blog. Or is Tennyson the flavour of the day? Go blog. Or do you want the whole world to know how marvellously you've wasted a day in your life, and still feel a grand pride? Go blog away. Egotism? Pardon my spite, but I end up reading a lot of blogs that are effectively just a plain waste of time.
So where are the good blogs? Technorati has a pretty list for starters, check it here, some political, some techie-talk, some for the gizmo-freaks, definitely a lot more worth your time.