tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-63124560014703045592024-03-05T11:16:31.007-08:00model no. 6/5somhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07944031299859973925noreply@blogger.comBlogger47125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6312456001470304559.post-25417014958416478582015-05-14T14:01:00.002-07:002015-05-14T14:01:28.970-07:00The Sathyam Obsession<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
After a long time I finally got down to watching a movie that brought back some of my fast depleting faith in Indian cinema. Piku, not only exemplified the virtues of a simple story with strong characters, but also proved that there is not only hope but definite freedom in the minds of our story tellers and it shows in the lines they write, the characters they build and the stories they tell. A big hug to the entire team to have created something so simply brilliant.<br />
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But more on the movie later. This post is reserved for an obsession that refuses to leave me...<br />
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I moved to Bangalore a little more than a year ago from Chennai. While the move and all that followed has been well documented in other posts and Facebook updates, a majority of my mind has inevitably begun to find a soft spot for Bangalore. I walk to work, so I see lesser of the traffic and I feel all is fine. I live in Indiranagar which by far is the capital of the civilised world and in that pride my chest does swell a tad bit more than required. I like my coffee places, I adore the breakfast joints, I never stop meeting interesting people and there is just never a dearth of stuff happening in town, just a dearth of time to do anything about it. But even then, there is that one thing, that will just never be the same again. My movie watching experience!<br />
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Chennai will always define me as a person like no other city ever has or will, but even though I can confidently say that I wear that more as a badge of honour than a scar that I like showing off, the experience of watching a movie in Sathyam (And Escape) will never completely leave me. Ever! Every time I walk into a theater in Bangalore, no matter how good, I am reminded of the enveloping warmth and brilliance that is Sathyam (And Escape). When I walked into Sathyam (And Escape) watching a movie was never about the ticket and the movie, it involved so much more.<br />
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There was always this palpable sense of excitement when I knew I was going for a movie there. It never mattered if the movie was good or not, the excitement was just there. The excitement would begin to build hours before even getting there. Emails would get typed faster at work, the Activa would chug along a tad bit smoother through the traffic and the traffic lights just never seemed to turn red. Dinners before the movie (Chinese or Frankies) would always be a fun and hurried affair, because we just couldn't wait to get into Sathyam (And Escape). Once in, the general buzz of the place, the collective coming together of so many kindred souls in one place was always electrifying. Chennai took its movies very seriously. We cheered together, laughed, cried and groaned together. We even sometimes put popcorn in our mouths at the exact same moments during the movie. The popcorn too undoubtedly played a pivotal role in guaranteeing you were always transported to a different universe while in there. You always will want more butter stuffed in to the popcorn and more cheese poured into it. The autonomy that Sathyam (And Escape) gave you to create your own popcorn concoctions was just unbelievable. We would come together on so many nights irrespective of the movie to create combinations of food and beverage that we would talk about the next day. We would talk about the chocolate donuts at breakfast next morning, the cold coffee at tea time and invariably we would be back in Sathyam (And Escape) the next night discussing how we want our popcorn.<br />
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Sathyam (And Escape) was never about the movie alone but about all the elements that just magically came together to make each of those nights. You would drive back with this quiet admiration every time because even if the movie disappointed you, Sathyam (And Escape) would have made the night special for you. Because watching a movie in a cinema hall is meant to be special. It is meant to invigorate you and place you in a room with a large number of strangers to bring you together. There are fewer experiences that consistently produce this feeling of togetherness. Cinema halls across the country are doing this every day...<br />
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Sathyam (And Escape) just do it heartbreakingly better than the rest. </div>
somhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07944031299859973925noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6312456001470304559.post-53675922318489208882015-01-08T10:44:00.002-08:002015-01-08T10:44:49.357-08:00Welcome 2015, but before that..<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Keeping in line with the year 2014 was, I just haven't had the time to get this post out earlier so I finally decided to get my act together after a rather fertile evening of thinking and conversations and get this post out. For the past couple of years I have been writing a review of the year gone by, the things that mattered to me, that defined me and the world around me. 2014 was a little different that way. It didn't contain the roller coaster rides that were 2012 and 2013 but it was by far, and history should stand testament to it, the most pivotal year of my life.<br />
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I began my year with the rather uncomfortable thought of leaving Chennai. It also spurred what many abusive commentators to my blog posts that popped up around that time, would call, my obsessive love with the city of Chennai. If given a chance I would have written a blog post dedicated to every inch of Chennai in those last few weeks. I sometimes still wish I had, even at the expense of losing relationships forged the day I was born. The weeks that followed were possibly the most complete and soul stirring that I have ever experienced. Saying goodbye to a city has never been a task for me. For the most I used to be convinced that I would never return to them or know that they were an inextricable part of me and therefore never concerned myself with the banalities of extended farewells. But there was a sense of foreboding upon leaving Chennai and it felt that the city would never be the same again once I left. Working past those emotions I decided to take a short holiday between my segue from Chennai to Bangalore and that was possibly the best decision of 2014.<br />
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Hidden between snow capped peaks in the bed of paradise is the little town of Macleodganj. It's the place where the word quaint was discovered and the feeling of inner peace, only mirrored by Po at the end of Kung Fu Panda 2, could be experienced. The weekend spent there in between the snow, the warmth of the best travel mates I could ask for and the distinct sense of abandon that I felt there was momentous. There was a moment, one I will never forget, as I lay on the snow halfway up a hill. The sun crept from behind a mountain and stared me in the face but was weakened by the intense cold and the combination was a warm fuzzy feeling. The ice was melting behind me and freezing again. the cold was gentle but the gusts of wind were furious but there wasn't a soul for miles, not a thought on my mind, not a single concern. For the first time in years I lay vacant. Nothing processing and all systems on standby. It by far, as much as I enjoy a constant tension, was the greatest single moment of clarity for me. Since that moment on, nothing and I mean nothing would ever be greater or impose a greater force on me. There in that moment I had found my peace. The drive back to Chandigarh, the food eaten, the Tibetan martyrs remembered, the trek into the darkness with us endangering our lives, all of it, every bit of it was brilliant but secondary to that timeless moment of immense sanity. It has guided me fearlessly through the year.<br />
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Thank you to that wind, that harsh sun and that warm snow.<br />
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With very little time to recover from that glorious trip I was already in a new office, in a new city which was well really a city I knew too well and in a new home that was way to big for me. I had to overcome it all in no time so that I could catch up with the pace at which work was moving. In Chumbak, I have joined a company that is pretty close to being a soulmate. From Day 1 there was no doubt in my mind that I had to make this work. There was absolutely no doubt I had in my self but there was this lingering fear of something new getting the better of me. That the variables for success were stacked against me and conquering them would challenge all that I had. As I kept reminding myself of my day in the snow, I held on and at times, just about. Like that moment when your parent or sibling let's go off your cycle to allow you to pedal it yourself, I never realised when that force stopped holding on to me and I cycled away. Work didn't become a breeze, far from it, it became a struggle that I just couldn't get enough of. I need it and savour every moment of it, even the lows. There is this sense of history about it all for me, like how you read chapters from history without ever questioning how those set of circumstances came to be. The sense here is the same. I forget, every once in a while, as to what triggered this moment and give up, only to realise that this was just right. There have been very few moments in the last year where I haven't been thinking of work and like that day nestled in the snow, I would not want it any different. Discovering something that motivates, frustrates and fulfills you every day is a tough ask and when you get it out of the one thing where you spend your longest hours, there could be little else one could ask for.<br />
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Thank you to that unknown moment when the decision to be here was made. Thank you to the people at work who have made the year unquestionably crazy and fulfilling.<br />
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I also began the year convinced that I was running away from something. Something that I needed to get away from and that it was the only way to get a toehold back on life. A large part of me was moving on with life only for the right reasons, a lot of which has been validated over the past couple of months. But what I failed to see back then was that there was a subtle but significant difference between running away from something and unknowingly discovering something. So what began as a year on the run, ended in finding gravity to life. Something that pulled me back, firmly to the ground and promises to hold on to me tight and comfy. I'm certain now that your world doesn't need to be defined by you, you don't need to be in control. Sometimes, and for every once in a while, focussing on your shit while allowing the universe to get your shit together is just the best way to lead life.<br />
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Thank you to me, for realising that allowing life to make a few decisions for you could just be the best way ahead. Watch out for this space.<br />
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Thank you 2014 for allowing me to watch up close the journey of the most adorable, enchanting and bewildering girl I know, my darling niece. Being this close to her, my sister and brother in law has been the most comforting bonus of the year. Thank you for ensuring that I ended up living with not just one of the most awesome room mates but also in a part of the city that from a very young age I have always wanted to find a home in. Thank you in helping me rediscover running, even if it finally took you nearly the end of the year. Thank you for each of the people that found their way into my life at work who i'm sure came right out of my wish list of people I always wanted to work with. Thank you for not making Bangalore easily likable because in every day that I struggle to love this city I discover something about it that will surely make the bond stronger. Thank you for challenging me like never before, for the sleepless nights of which there were many, for letting me witness the two greatest love stories of my life turn into something magical in a matter of two days, for teaching me that love is beautiful but not necessarily for me right now and for trying so hard to help me just move on with this new beautiful life I have been given. I promise to make a lot more of it in 2015 as this will be the year I begin to enjoy what I have found and stop running away from it.<br />
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In essence, i will spend this year lying in the snow, looking up at the sun, closing my eyes and with a quiet smile on my face, I will lap up every moment given to me. Bring it on 2015! </div>
somhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07944031299859973925noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6312456001470304559.post-71846017230536591512014-11-25T10:37:00.000-08:002014-11-25T10:37:46.678-08:00Rediscovering a crush<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
My first crush was at the age of 8. It was the daughter of my English teacher, she was my classmate and she was every dream that could come true. I worshipped her, quietly from a corner in the class and would slip or stumble or just make an ass of myself whenever she was around. I also remember having some pretty Bollywood moments with her with those typical 'hair flying' in to my face moments and also one of those 'I can see her but she isn't here' times too. All in all there is something completely special about having a crush or crush'ing' as many in today's generation like to put it. I am a man of the times after all.<br />
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There is undoubtedly something special about a crush. It isn't exactly falling in love, it generally is a little before that but it still is a lot more defined in intent as compared to love. Crushes are also often silly and ambiguous for one to explain and confess but at the same time they are one helluva rollercoaster ride, albeit travelled all alone. Crushes are the trailers before a movie, the lit candle on the cake, the complete and unadulterated joy of the world. And in all these years I have had so few. I may have fallen in love more than a couple of times but the charm of a crush is rather unique. It is unnerving, disarming and fantastic in every manner possible. The thought of your crush possibly taking note of your existence and giving you your due of importance and attention can be the most gratifying few moments of your life and many a man, mostly boy, has spent many hidden corners in school and shy glances across corridors understanding this universal truth.<br />
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And just when I thought that only my younger self would allow itself to fall prey to this rather crazy and curious feeling, I find myself right back there after ages. Possibly for the first time since I was 17. The thing about me and a crush is that it is always borne out of an innocent moment of realisation of a woman's beauty, not always physical, but of her presence. Her presence needs to light up my day and she could do that in just about so many ways. Yesterday I was treated to an exquisite performance on stage by a woman who I can only consider, magical. Her grace, articulation, those eyes, everything was a coming together of all that is perfect in a woman. There were moments during her 90 minute performance where I would often wonder if I had ever encountered perfection of this kind. Her words gripped me, her ability to tell a story through dance and her expressions followed by a change in pace in her narration to an abrupt pause. I was gathering the pieces of my broken heart every time she seemed to be hurt or moved to a point of sadness. I know she was a character in a play but she had moved me beyond a point of reality because in those minutes before she decided to leave the stage there wasn't a part of me that wanted this to end. She told a story of great conviction and courage and I may not be objective in my analysis of her performance but she had graced that stage like none has ever before in front of my eyes. No human, living or fictitious has grabbed me by the soul like that. This was a crush that had transcended all known boundaries of innocence, blind eyed love or emotion like ever before. This was how a crush was meant to be. She had walked on to that stage, grabbed me by my skin and never let go even after she walked off the stage.<br />
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This was a performance of power, vigour and fortitude but most importantly for the little boy in me, this was a reminder of the power of a crush in all its disproportionate magnitude. I would advice you to never stop having crushes, its what reminds you of what it feels like to be in pure and absolute awe of another living being. And in that emotion, sometimes, lies a feeling far greater than love or lust or attachment could ever envisage of giving you.<br />
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As for the lady on that stage, I will try my best to follow you to all the stages you grace. I wish to remain enchanted..</div>
somhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07944031299859973925noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6312456001470304559.post-89893111663452656932014-09-16T10:20:00.004-07:002014-09-16T10:20:59.205-07:00Becoming a writer..<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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At the age of 10, my uncle and aunt gifted me a notebook. It was spiral bound, semi-hard bound and had a couple of stickers with quotes from famous authors about the art of writing on it. On the first page was a little note from my uncle and aunt talking about how they thought I would someday make a great writer. Along with that they had given me ten ideas to write a story on. The book instantly became a source of wonder for me. I wouldn't ever care sharpening my pencil in class for anything, but when I would open this notebook and look at the ten ideas, I would be instantly gushing with excitement and tirelessly begin to sharpen a couple of pencils and embark upon a story. Some of my classics included, 'The autobiography of a 50 ps coin', critics (my aunt, mom and sister) rated it as an important 20th century piece of literature. There was the rather mature story of an American pilot caught behind enemy lines and sympathising with the people of Iraq to one day fly for the Iraqi Air Force. This one scared the critics a bit, but much praise was heaped upon my little mind. All in all the notebook was a great success because in me it kindled a sense of pride, to write and express myself and for it to count.</div>
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A few years later as I would dip my Chinese pen in a bottle of ink before an English exam, I would lick my lips at the prospect of an English essay. It was always the most special moment of all my exams. And whenever the faculty thought it was good enough to be read out in class, I would know that that little notebook back then had done its magic. It had created a writer. It seemed like I was destined for only one thing in life. The critics, (a few more English teachers and friends got added to the list) agreed wholeheartedly.</div>
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As the years went by, my writing always found a way to find itself on some paper, a document on MS Word or on some blackboard in an empty classroom. I began blogging when I was 18, on this very blog and then moved on to another two blogs. Throughout this journey, I started and stopped many ideas for a novel, changed many laptops, shifted back to writing in a spiral bound notebook, wrote exclusively on a white-board in my hostel room. Well, to say the least, I tried everything. And I don't even know why. Writing has always been a great release for me, it's how I feel after a long run. There is this pleasure in the pain and exhaustion you feel after and also a pleasure in the pain and exhaustion during. But after I get back from that run, settle down, take a couple of sips of water and untie my laces, I'm just back where I started. Going for that run didn't mean I was getting anywhere specific, I wasn't changing anything forever. It was just an incremental change to my current state of being which in the larger scheme of things is too minuscule to count for anything. If my Running App tells me I have completed 50 miles a month, those 50 miles haven't taken me 50 miles away from where I am. In the same way with close to 100 blog posts over the last few years, I haven't really moved anywhere, I haven't gotten to any place new. Now how does that make 10 year old me feel about all that effort put in creating a compelling story about a 50 ps coin?</div>
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Well, I guess the answer lies in this little moment right now. Yes, this very moment, these very words I am typing. How right now my eyes are wide open, my heart is beating a little faster than usual. Just a slight bit faster. About how every worry in the world seems to have been buried somewhere, somewhere I won't be able to even search till i'm done with this post. It is in those few seconds when I will post this and I will see that moving circle of Google Chrome loading my blog post, and then seeing it live on my blog. The joy isn't in ten thousand people reading it (how I would love that) but in ten people reading it and with two coming back relating with that feeling or asking me why I don't feel differently. The adrenaline is in that sleep induced moment at 5 AM when I wake up to see a few messages on my phone of people who loved the post, who want to understand more. Nothing wakes me up like that, nothing, and I mean nothing compares. And then the heart slows down, the racing stops and I read it again. I scroll through it slowly and I begin to relive the exact stream of thoughts that went through my mind while I wrote it, the other ideas that were swirling while I was checking it for grammar. All those thoughts, that heartbeat, the wide eyes, the excitement to see someone's comment, the messages early in the mornings, the Likes on my Facebook page and that one off person who decides to follow my blog just because this one post inspired them or lit up their day..</div>
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That is why I wrote that story back then, the story of the 50 ps coin. That was all I wanted and felt back then. That is all it takes to become a writer.</div>
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I'm going to love reading this tomorrow morning.</div>
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somhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07944031299859973925noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6312456001470304559.post-11843531413769036662014-03-30T12:43:00.000-07:002014-03-30T12:43:34.312-07:00Making the move<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
A month ago when I moved to Bangalore, I thought I was making the easiest and most logical move ever. It all made sense; the job was perfect, the city was already acquainted with me and all the other variables involved in a move were well under control. Not much could have gone wrong, except for one rather obvious oversight. It was all too easy.<br />
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Ok, yes you must be thinking that i'm a slave to hardship and misery. I have been accused of it before but let me explain. All my life, all I have ever known is change. Moving from one place to another, a new place, falling in love with that place at my own pace and then creating a deep bond with it. That's how I have always operated the best, at my greatest potential. With Bangalore, I was robbed of that opportunity. I have come into a city I know rather well, with a mind made up on what I think of it and with an outlook that could destroy an opportunity to find love for another city. I sometimes feel that I have exhausted my quota for loving new places, its like it is alien to me now. Or maybe I am resisting it. It's like meeting a girl and being quite obviously attracted but working on every instinct in you to not give in. Bangalore is that girl today.<br />
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In the last month, I have discovered much I did not know about a city I thought I knew yet I have allowed very little to pass through and enter into my conscious. Allowing a city to make an impression on you is so important. Giving it the freedom to create that space in you to which it can latch on and enrich you is key in developing a meaningful relationship. Complete resistance could only be detrimental in the long run. Something had to give or something has to change..<br />
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So in a rather poetic way, it was a weekend that came to my rescue as did back in Chennai when I first fell in love with the city. With some of my best mates in town, I managed to find a fuller and much more happier definition for the city. We roamed the streets, we sang loudly in a pub with fellow lovers of the color Red, we ate rolls on the roadside, we watched a terrible play in a lovely place, a beer challenge was followed by a cold coffee challenge and then we sat quietly observing the travesties life has committed on us, all within a space of 48 hours. Somewhere in between all that, in a moment of clarity, I saw what I was missing. In Bangalore, I have been presented with a unique challenge, to create a real legacy. Of finally becoming a man of my own in a city that resists you creating your own identity and offers you many templates to fall into. I will have to hold through it all and build from the start like I have done always but this time it will be easier because inbuilt in this city are so many versions of myself that I can be, just a matter of finding the version which can most fulfill me.<br />
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It's time I finally complete the move..<br />
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somhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07944031299859973925noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6312456001470304559.post-15620772978470458182014-01-06T22:12:00.001-08:002014-01-06T22:12:36.101-08:002013, Come Gone!<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div class="MsoNormal">
So when I was much younger. Let’s give that a number. When I
was 3. I would stand at the door of my uncle’s house and look at the guests
leave and announce to the entire house, ‘PEOPLE COME GONE’. It was my simple
way of saying, ‘Wow that was quick’ and it sounded really adorable from the
mouth of a three year old me. Now, most of 2013 felt that way, especially the
second half.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<div class="MsoNormal">
The first half of 2013 revealed a side of me that I have
come to detest in me and in any person now. It is rather easy for me to feel
that way and it is unfair to other people but then again I come from a vantage
point on this and feel rather justified in my feelings. The first half was
sluggish, emotionally annoying and was filled with very little optimism. The
crappy part was that I had only myself to blame for this rather terrible
downswing but in hindsight, it was only good because the months that followed
played out like a high paced movie which married Hollywood’s slickness and Bollywood’s
masala like never before. Well atleast that is what I tell myself.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
June, saw me spending many days in front of mirrors and
under showers wondering how I had allowed everything become so miserable and
dreary. I used to love work but I was labouring through it now. I wasn’t
connecting socially, I was barely social and I was content in this emotional
quicksand. The strange part now is, I am not even sure if I decided to get my
act together or my act decided to get itself together, if you know what I mean.
Because suddenly from ‘crawl like a turtle’ I went to ‘fly like the wind’. The
month of July took me to Mumbai, Meerut and Singapore and all of them included
a personal debut. My first time compering a corporate event, my first North
Indian wedding and my first time outside India. After those three weeks, I was
a changed man. I just wasn’t going to allow me to ruin myself and since that
moment on it feels like the old ‘me’ had COME GONE. Poof it was over.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
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<div class="MsoNormal">
Now, I just needed to do everything. Everything seemed
exciting, everything seemed to symbolise the end of what it meant to be me and
I liked that. Do you know the feeling when you feel yourself change? You don’t
know if it is good for you or if you will lose the things people loved about
you, but you don’t stop to care? It is a very liberating feeling. I did pause
to think of how it would affect me in the long run but there was just no time.
I decided to run again after a failed attempt to get my mind and body in sync
back in March. This time I spent a lot of time reading, researching and
structuring the rest of my life around the need to be fit. The food I ate, the
amount I ate, my resistance to waking up in the morning, temptation to eat junk
food, all of it had to change. This wasn’t going to be a half assed effort. And
to infuse some seriousness into it, I threw in the small matter of a 10km run
at the Wipro Chennai Marathon. I can quite easily submit that preparing for the
run was one of the most satisfying two months of my life. I learned that there
was another gear in me, both physically and mentally. I joined a gym, started
eating untouchables like beetroot again and the discipline was actually
addictive. The few days without it still make me nauseatic. Funny how the
nausea of the first six months didn’t push me to change it all, shows there is
much to be understood about the human psyche. The 1<sup>st</sup> of December
brought me a lovely overcast morning and 7000 other enthusiasts who had decided
to change something about themselves. This truly was already a victory for me,
to be running in the happiest place in Chennai that day. I surprised myself and
many who were following and supporting me closely in the last two months by
posting a rather decent time, but more than anything a part of me had changed
forever when I crossed that finish line. Being a pathetic version of myself,
allowing my circumstances to get the better of me and deciding not to change had
all COME GONE now. I had outrun it all.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
In the process of all this change I suddenly woke up with a
rather weird feeling in the stomach, one morning late October. I woke up,
washed my face and sat on my bed wondering what was on my mind. I had changed
the way I processed the thoughts in my head. There weren’t large spaces of
introspection, just a quick realisation and then action. This was one of those
moments. It started a chain of events that some thought was quick and rash,
some saw it as well considered and some are yet to completely comprehend. In
the weeks that followed that day concluding on the 18<sup>th</sup> of December,
I had interviewed at a company that sells some of the funnest things in the
country and hires about 60 people, I had quit my job and been offered what I
can easily sum up as a dream job and I had decided to leave the city I loved to
make the move across the border to Bangalore. Yes 2013 also signalled the end
of my short but lovely time in Chennai with a move scheduled in mid-February. Till
this day I am fascinated by the reactions I get from people when I tell them I’m
moving. These reactions revolve around me leaving Chennai, the speed with which
it happened and the company I am joining but what truly leaves me incredulous
is at the conviction with which I concluded a thought that began that morning.
It surely stemmed from a part of me that was fighting to be heard from long but
the conviction surely arose from this new belief in me. Belief that has surely COME but ain’t be GONE
for some time now.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
2013 will always remain a monumental year in my life. It
involved travel, running, brilliant movies, (special mentions to Kai Po Che,
Bhaag Milkha Bhaag, Ship of Theseus, Raanjhana and Lootera) realizing the
meaning of true friendship and finding in me - a spirit. This spirit does not
know what exact moment revived it but I sure do know that the resurrection has
been strong, the long term impact is unknown but there is a part of me that is
ready to overlook the consequences in pursuit of the result. From this have
emanated some resolutions for the year, simple ones that I’m very excited about
and have already begun to gently put in practice. I can rather happily report,
that they are working but more on that later in the year.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
But for my biggest fans however little in number you may be,
my friends and family, I have completed the process of re-engineering myself
(as my Whatsapp status has been declaring for rather long now) and I am in a
zone of progression. I hope to see more of you this year, I hope to change
perceptions everyday mostly for the better and hope to continue evolving and
improving my version of myself. I can actually see ‘three year old me’
saying, ‘Som you sure COME GONE eh’.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
2014, anyone?<o:p></o:p></div>
</div>
somhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07944031299859973925noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6312456001470304559.post-42998890298957268132013-10-29T23:53:00.003-07:002013-10-29T23:54:36.192-07:00What’s your 'entry song'?<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Remember the good old days of WWF. The Rock and ‘Stone Cold’
Steve Austin kind, not the cute panda kind. That is still there. Right? Moving on..</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
While the WWF I loved has been replaced by WWE which is
quite obviously fake unlike the good ol days when they actually fought,
genuinely got angry and meant to do those stunts with all that anger and vigour.
Okay maybe I am getting carried away and that’s why growing up sucks. Let’s
leave that for another post. But either way, the one thing that hasn’t changed
is the ‘entry song’. Remember that? Remember Triple H’s mean ‘I-will-beat-the-crap-out-of-you-and-then-spit-water-coz-its-cool’
entry song? Remember ‘Big Show’ coming on with the swagger of an elephant on
dope. Ya well that was the shit. Those songs would electrify the crowds in the
arena and get me super excited too especially when ‘Rock’ would come
unexpectedly during a match and beat the crap outta some poor guy and get the
hell out of there to the crazy adulation of his fans with me air ‘choke
slamming’ my pillow to death. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Now that’s the power of an entry song. And I think we all
need one.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
An entry song is an announcement of your arrival. It could
be at the beginning of your day, it could be when you walk into office or when
you sit to take a dump or it could even be when you walk into gym. It’s that
song that sets you free and makes you look at everyone around you and go, ‘Look
at me bitches, I’m the real shit’ (Side note : That line translated in Tamil –
damn funny!!). It is the song that reminds you of the part of you that you want
yourself to be all day. It may not play on loud speakers in a stadium filled
with people but it sure plays in your head waking up every bone in you and
reminding you that getting your act together is the best orgasm you can give
yourself. Ok, make that second best. Either way, an entry song that you play on
your Ipod or phone which only you hear on your earphones allows you distinct
anonymity especially for the ones who choose to have ‘Justborn’ Bieber or ‘Dicey’
Cyrus as their artist of choice. You see no one will ever know what you are
hearing and you will just have that smug smile of a person ready to kill it. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
We all aren’t built to motivate ourselves all day, we need
props. We need the power of music or powerful imagery. Technology makes it
freaking easy yet cumbersome to figure out that one perfect aid that will help
you rev up those engines. So choose wisely and if it is embarrassing, don’t worry
because the music, the artist or the words don’t matter, it is only the feeling
that it gives you which gets you ready to kick ass every day that counts. The
rest can stick to their motivational quotes for all I care.<br />
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
And just for the record, this is my <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PkCDRm_YRFg" target="_blank">entry song</a>. </div>
</div>
somhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07944031299859973925noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6312456001470304559.post-54324921484421506472013-10-20T23:57:00.001-07:002013-10-25T04:11:08.372-07:00My Social Quotient<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div class="MsoNormal">
Recently I have been hearing a lot of people comment on
social awkwardness, people’s (and sometimes ‘my own’) inability to socially
relate and for some reason instantly equate that to a reducing ability to
connect with the world. Here are some of the things I have been hearing about
myself and comments directed at others:</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i>You need to apply
yourself more in a social gathering or you stick out like a sore thumb.<o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i><br /></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i>Embrace the hashtag. It
is the only way to evolve (#ihatehashtags)<o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i><br /></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i>Till when can you
continue ignoring the presence of people in your life?<o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i><br /></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i>Solitude makes you
unhappy – Well it wasn’t framed exactly this way but after about 12 lines of
gibberish it was all I could gather.<o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Now let me ensure you at the outset, I am no social outcast
nor do I intend to be. I enjoy the company of people but yes I have become
increasingly selective of who these people are and am constantly assessing the
value they add to my life. Now some people would very quickly dismiss me as a
snob and close the tab of my blog and decide to hate me a tad bit more from
this day. But I pray you continue to read, maybe, just maybe there is something
here for you too. I have begun to embrace the power of anonymity, not the kind
that spews famous quotes with an ‘Anonymous’ at the end to heighten the mystery
of the original contributor, but the kind that fulfills me. I believe that life
is a sum of the conversations you have, the experiences you live and the
moments that inspire you. The richer the three, the longer your life. Sounds
good, right?</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Well unfortunately in the quest for these I have to answer
some pretty sticky questions. Like the ones above and others concerning my
devotion and affiliation to people. The people who feel the need to question
that instantly enter a self-defeating game where they are constantly reducing
their value in my life themselves. I choose to stay away from those conversations
as having to prove your value to someone in any terms other than time spent,
meaningful conversations and subtle gestures is pointless. My argument being:
is the person going out of his/her way to prove value to you, being selfless?
Is that who you want in your life? The answer technically doesn’t matter. The
value of a person should always be in your eyes, the moment it diminishes in
the way you define it, you disconnect but to expect others to see the same
definition too is tantamount to all the many beliefs forced upon people over
the years.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Over the past half year I have seen an incredible growth in
these beliefs of mine. And believe it or not, they haven’t happened by locking
myself in a room as per popular perception but by choosing to limit my interactions
and ensuring they are fruitful. Travel has been an amazing companion, so has my
new Nexus Tab <span style="font-family: Wingdings; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-char-type: symbol; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-symbol-font-family: Wingdings;">J</span>
but most importantly it has been a few friends who have had the maturity and
innate ability to redefine the way I think, act and support me through these
changes when I most needed them. They have accepted my flaws and embraced my
quirks and allowed me to breathe. The last one year has taught me many lessons,
some very cruel ones but all intended to ensure I reach this point in time and
I can’t complain anymore. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
There have
been more first this year than in all my life and also more lessons than ever
before which has helped me define my idea of a ‘social quotient’.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
At no point am I prescribing to alienate the people around
you or in any way consider yourself different but to only embrace the idea of ‘you’.
It is the person you live the longest with and the more battles you fight with
yourself the more the wounds and the lesser the growth. Choosing what makes you
a better person and more engaged in your relationships is a path I surely vouch
for. I do realize that this post is bordering on the ‘self help’ dribble that
is doled out every now and then but honestly how often do you get to change the
way you perceive the life you are living and actually do something about it? We
are living in exponentially non-personal times with the space you create for
yourself constantly being broken by the social demands you bow down to. Cut
through that because it is possible and then see if you really enjoy life that
way and if you do then have the will to stand by it.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I constantly question myself everyday to understand what I’m
doing better and this obsession drives me. From more digital and paperback
pages to more miles on the road and treadmill to heavier weights in the
weight room to even heavier emotions around me, everything is just a matter of
defining your social boundaries. Once that is done suddenly everything begins
to become so easy, just so freaking easy!</div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
Now all of you stop imagining me in scary ‘self help guru’
avatar but just look around your life and see what can be changed. And if it’s
fun and fulfilling, I’m ready to help and support you through it. </div>
</div>
somhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07944031299859973925noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6312456001470304559.post-62520178987711161522013-09-04T12:37:00.001-07:002013-09-04T12:39:20.747-07:00Where the heart is..<p dir="ltr">In a conversation with a friend recently we were planning her trip to Bangalore. We spoke of lovely places to eat, gorgeous <u>places</u> to read and well, just places. At the end I reminded her that she must remember to come back to Chennai and she said, very nonchalantly, that well,  'that's where the heart is'.</p>
<p dir="ltr">A simple yet profound statement with so much weight in it I thought. Made me ponder as to where really is the heart. Is it in the place where your dreams begin? If yes then my heart is beating wildly in a lovely little town in Madhya Pradesh called Jabalpur. This was where it all began, my birth and many years later my first experiences with growing up and the delusions that come with age and time. This was the stage where a fifteen year old me was convinced that irrespective of how life treats me, I will beat it. I would kill for that optimism today but then again I always remember that it is the same me, or is it? Is that where my heart is?</p>
<p dir="ltr">Then again is your heart in the place where you first lost your heart? Well proverbially at least. Mangalore will always be my spiritual home. The place I became me or at least the ideal of me. It was also the stage of my first love for a woman, a city and also the idea of a 'home'. From creating a world of my own to treating any relationship with that place as an inheritance, I constantly find myself drawn to that place and it makes me wonder if in search for a bond, something tangible that I can call my own, have I left my heart there? Is that where my heart is?</p>
<p dir="ltr">Could my heart be beating for a dream? Nestled deep down in me is a dream, one that simmers but unfortunately doesn't burn yet. It consumes me every now and then but let's go so quickly without notice and without the inclination to push me to be what I truly want to be. I begin to feel that I'm cheating myself like all of us who refuse to live or even contemplate the realization of our dreams. In me lives a soul desperate to write, to capture every thought in my head, to discuss it with an audience, even an audience of one and create some thing special, some thing that will define me and the world I live in because I know that's where my true peace begins and ends. <u>So</u> then, is that where my heart is?</p>
<p dir="ltr">Is it with a relationship that could never be? Is it with a job that challenges yet doesn't fulfill me? Is it with an idea of loneliness and wonder that knocks on my door everyday? Or for like my friend above is it actually in this city, waiting for me to find my way?</p>
somhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07944031299859973925noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6312456001470304559.post-50178029174292374602013-08-18T03:47:00.001-07:002013-08-18T03:50:16.363-07:00A new idea of patriotism<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;"><b><i>Disclaimer : This idea isn't formed. I am not preaching and I am
not hoping that anyone changes any existing opinion of their country or the
people who fought for it's independence. Consider this as a troubled mind,
thinking out aloud. Also do forgive my digressions and runaway thinking at
times. It after all is patriotism that we are talking of here.</i></b><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">Rishi Kapoor, the acclaimed Indian actor in a recent interview
promoting his movie ‘D-Day’ spoke about the changing idea of patriotism in this
country and as depicted by Indian cinema. He spoke about many movies talking of
the freedom struggle in the years around 1947 and the decade that followed.
Gradually with the economy and development taking centre stage, the Green
Revolution and its proponents (the farmers) became the hero and as Hindi cinema
discovered color and more verve we also began to unite behind the one constant
enemy, Pakistan, and saw many movies made about the wars fought against them.
Some have adhered to the principles of exaggeration to the point of indigestion
of the real facts but in totality managed to create the required patriotism in the
hearts and minds of today's India. By summing up these eras he very succinctly
ends it with how today’s India needs to stir up its patriotic concoction with
ingredients like cross border terrorism, the likes of Dawood Ibrahim and Hafeez
Saeed who finance and incite hate against India and the idea of fundamentalism
in Pakistan that doesn’t allow peace and safety in India. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">I must say I was sold. There really isn’t much we can say in the
opposite. Yes, there is a proxy war being waged by Pakistan and well, there
really isn’t a different way for them to play it. With the US and its allies
pulling out of Afghanistan, the emphasis of the Pakistan Army has shifted
considerably to their northern border, with an incensed and fast regenerating
Taliban looking to avenge what they see as treason by Pakistan who joined US in
their pointless war in Afghanistan. Their government is also grappling with a
sticky situation in the border towns in the Xinjiang province in China with the
firmly rooted Uighurs (Muslims) now being overcrowded and out thought by the
Hans (of Chinese origin) for the sake of development of China (More <span style="color: black; text-decoration: none; text-underline: none;"><a href="http://www.qurtuba.edu.pk/thedialogue/The%20Dialogue/7_3/Dialogue_July_September2012_235-254.pdf" target="_blank">here</a></span>).
And finally the battle with India for Kashmir which sometimes doesn’t even seem
to be in the hands of the Pakistan government, with the ISI and groups like the
LeT and the fast growing Tehreek-i-Taliban calling the shots. To top it off we
have men like Dawood Ibrahim who conduct business in the name of chaos in
India, all this with clear knowledge on both sides of the border of the exact
address and whereabouts of Dawood in the city of Karachi. If you need to Google
it, just type ‘Café Flo’. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">We live in this world. We live with these apparent solutions to
our problems and a trigger ready to be squeezed a moment away from each other.
A lot of it is in the name of economic development, what with pipelines becoming
political and elections becoming the motivation for peace. We actually have
surrendered our ambitions and opinions to very little fact. Why do I say that?
What is the connection between ambition and opinion with our geo-political
situation, you ask? I wish I could say it is simple but it isn’t, but I shall
anyhow endeavour to have you see it through my eyes.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">Our ambition as a nation is limitless, but it isn’t necessarily
congruent with our reality. Yes we boast of some of the largest businesses,
entrepreneurs by the hordes, a supremely fast growing middle class and a
tedious tendency to boast about our youth (more on that later). We have the
ingredients, we just have to many recipes and more importantly we have no clue
of the conditions required to attain the perfect broth. It’s a great concern when
many of us wake up every morning, read the news about skirmishes on the border
and resort to dialogue on peace and war and then go about our daily work with
these opinions intact. That is where opinion meets our ambition. Our ambition
is not independent of our opinion. We have been taught by free thinking Bengali
poets and JNU mavericks that thinking and opinions are our birth right. Yes,
they are but ignorance has no place here. We are in too precarious a place to
be caught unawares, to not know the real picture. When we rejoice at the idea
of economic reform in this country, do we ever question if this growth is
inclusive? When poverty declined due to a redefinition of daily incomes of the
people below the poverty line recently, did we for once look at the other
factors that contributed to this remarkable decline? (Read more <span style="color: black; text-decoration: none; text-underline: none;"><a href="http://www.livemint.com/Politics/1QvbdGnGySHo7WRq1NBFNL/Poverty-rate-down-to-22-Plan-panel.html" target="_blank">here</a></span>). We
balked at what seemed like a conspiracy and continued with our vacant opinions.
We are cynical, yes we are cynical. We have every reason to be cynical. Cynicism
can just be the solution for a country drowning in hate politics and relentless
violence against the mind. But our cynicism seems to be stemming from
ignorance. We seem to believe that nothing can happen in this country like
there is a tested case study for it. Like the formula has been prescribed and
that we have already got the variables wrong and it is opposed to any reversal.
We are far from complete anarchy, we are also far from a solution. And the
solution for geo-political, economic, social and political harmony of a nation
with the most diverse population in the world, cannot possibly be easy right?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">But what surely can be a step in that direction is matching that
ambition, of a harmony between entities, with opinion that is steeped in fact.
It needs to be enriched with facts, it needs to reek of knowledge of this
country. It needs to become a bloody obsession! Not all of us are going to
become ‘doers’ or ‘changers’, but we sure can all be ‘influencers’. We all wake
up in different beds, some are just sheets on the floor, some are just
mattresses on the floor and some are large comfortable beds. Yes, we then have
different breakfasts, go to different jobs or institutions of education and
have varied interactions in a day. These interactions range from the lack of
money to survive a month to your next electronic purchase. We are the youth (I
did say I will get back to this) and we have a duty to this nation. That duty
may not be to join the Army or IAS or the Police Service all the time, many of
us will continue to do that and continue to excel and disrupt this system of
ours we often curse yet hold dear, but we have a larger duty than that. We owe
this country a resolute idea of patriotism that doesn’t limit itself to hating
Pakistan or waxing lyrical about how ‘guss ke un Chinese chinki ko udha dena
chahiye’, we owe this country sense and a definite idea of what is its reality.
We are living in an age when real opinions are available because the facts that
will equip those opinions are available and I am not talking about that
deranged Arnab Goswami losing the plot on TV every night. I am talking about
independent blogs like that of a Pakistani journalist exposing the truth about
his own country, about reading newspapers that don’t align with anyone but the
truth and of opinions amongst our friends that are rooted in reality and fact.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">We owe our nation a chance for change and that will only come when
we decide that there is no place for empty opinions and that patriotism will
only find a form and wield power if it is defined - and most importantly,
informed! <o:p></o:p></span></div>
</div>
somhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07944031299859973925noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6312456001470304559.post-43229720320122562722012-12-31T03:21:00.004-08:002012-12-31T03:21:45.558-08:00A Toast to 2012<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
Good bye! Thanks a ton! Good riddens!</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
But wait! Was it really that bad? Introspection, deep
reflection and countless glasses of rum later, I begin to wonder if 2012 really
was that bad a year? Let me look back at my year, my year of reckoning,
discovery, loss, renewal and flickers of hope here and there.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The year began on a somber note for me when my aunt, who I
have loved and admired all my life decided she needed a better place, then this
world, to live in. She was always a true inspiration in just the way she
conducted herself and her tenacity for many things in life. She doted on me and
it was and still is tough to see her contact on my phone and not be able to
dial her number. Makes me realize that you just can never have enough
conversations with the people you love and I cringe at the thought that I didn’t
call her more. She is surely in a better place now and she is quite probably
tuning into her favorite TV show or cursing the plight of our society while she
keeps a keen eye on me and hopes for the best for my life. You will always be
missed.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
For a year that started on such a low note, it did find it
very tough to give me any highs. But seeing my beautiful niece go from being a
couple of months old to a year old, will surely be the crowning glory of this
year. Incredibly intelligent, naughty and cruelly cute, she has brought out a
protective, quasi-fatherly side to me that I did not know existed. Now I
understand when close family are so shocked every year to see me all grown up.
I used to laugh at their incredulity but I’m very sure my niece will be doing
the same when I look at her and tear up every time I see her. She is truly the
apple of my eye and seeing her grow will undoubtedly be my favorite moments of
2013. That’s already guaranteed!</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
My love and appreciation for one of my most celebrated
interests only strengthened this year. It began with Agneepath and was wrapped
up quite tautly by Talaash. It wasn’t my favorite year of Bollywood but it
surely was the year when I took it most seriously. I betted heavily on good
content and I must say, I was let down a bit. But a few movies did sure warm
the heart. Kahaani stunned me, Barfi wowed me but by far the movie of the year
would, without a single iota of doubt be, Gangs of Wasseypur. A true classic and
I fail to understand how that wasn’t our Oscar entry. The five hour, two part
revenge saga was pretty much how I would like to define my life from this
point. Watch it and you will know what I mean. This was also the year I
discovered ‘The Secret in their eyes’, an Argentine thriller which is just
beyond comparison. A movie that I urge you to watch just to understand how powerful
cinema can truly be. Let Bollywood aspire for such heights this year and with
possibly the most exciting February of movies lined up in my movie watching
history, I cannot wait for 2013.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
This also was the year of understanding love. It was
warming, it was comforting, it was tiring, it gave me hope and encouragement,
it made me feel all conquering, helped me realize what’s important and also was
disappointing and outright shocking at times. I have seen my greatest lows and
hit my most intoxicating highs this year and it’s all because of a few
relationships that involved people very close to me. I’m ending the year with
possibly my belief in love shaken, but not stirred. I have won some and
possibly lost the most important one but I vow to continue fighting in 2013.
Top of my list is to regain my love for the city of Chennai which has been an
unsuspecting bystander in all my tribulations this year and has been blamed for
most of it. In rediscovering my love for this city I believe lies the key to my
renewal. As for relationships that seem to have gone out of my hand now, they
need to know they will remain in the heart but my desire to fight back is at it’s
strongest. So this is me hoping to be a better man who will be accepted better
by people around him and this is me submitting myself to the greater
conspiracies of the universe.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Finally, this was also the year of independence. My first
full year standing on my own feet. My first year with my own transport
independence – my first bike and car. This was also the year I took care of
myself. This was the year my writing came into its own as for the first time I
actually seem to have a plan for it and I hope 2013 will give me the right
direction for my writing exploits. This was the year I decided to take control
of my life and never let anyone or anything bring me to my knees. This was the
year my career began to take serious shape and I truly believe I have a lot to
prove and I have everything in place to do just that. 2012 will always be the
year I decided to take control..</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
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A huge thanks to everyone and everything who made this year
brilliant. A special mention to killer roommates, my cozy family, all my
friends –rich, fat, thin and the ones holding on tight. My cubicle mates, my
zippy Activa, my smooth Indica, Old Monk and Bafat Pork, Flat 3A, Swedish House
Mafia and Mumford & Sons, Manchester United, money in the bank, biryanis
across Chennai and of course, the girl with the lovely voice. There were many
others but I promise to add you in my Welcome to 2013 post <span style="font-family: Wingdings; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-char-type: symbol; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-symbol-font-family: Wingdings;">J</span></div>
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Take care 2012 and yes, before I start drinking, Cheers!! </div>
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somhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07944031299859973925noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6312456001470304559.post-12551368590124313702012-11-30T05:41:00.000-08:002012-11-30T05:41:59.921-08:00Ranting over a Filter Kaapi<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="font-size: 13pt; line-height: 115%;">Welcome back to my world of rants. After I lost my cool over
a Chicken Fried rice and blew my top over a Chicken Dindigul Biryani, I was
hoping the world would allow me to kick back and enjoy my Filter Kaapi. But no…
Oh no. All the usual suspects: Bollywood, politics, idiots on the road, the
Republicans and the Brady Bunch. Ok the last one just helped complete that
sentence in some sort of a conclusive way. But you are getting the drift and my
Kaapi is going cold!!</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">Let’s begin with my favorite. Bollywood! I have immense
respect for the late Mr. Yash Chopra and irrespective of him being alive or
dead I can never get myself to speak a word against him because, simply, we owe
a huge debt to the man for all that he has created. His latest Jab Tak Hain Jaan
was surely flawed beyond repair but my angst isn’t against him. I’m not even
angry at Shahrukh coz if you were disappointed with him, then I’m disappointed
at you for expecting more from him. My angst, and at the risk of getting shot
at a street corner in Triplicane, is at AR Rahman. I mean really man, have you
given up? Did that Oscar kill ‘the bollywood’ in you? If we wanted Jatin-Lalit,
we would have just gotten Jatin-Lalit, right? Please don’t torture us with your
Hollywood and Tollywood rejects. We expect more from you, for crying out loud
we have begun to expect more from Pritam too. Pritam!! They key word being, ‘expect’,
let’s not take that and stamp it below that JBL headphones gifted to you by
Mani Ratnam and some change from Danny Boyle.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">Arrests because of posts on Facebook!! Have you guys even
been following other posts on Facebook? Long before Thackeray decided to kick
the living daylights out of that bucket being used to fill water for that
toilet in Dharawi, there was enough and more shit on it. Have you seen a post
that says, ‘ ZZZZZZ’!!?? That’s it, that’s what it says. ‘ZZZZZ!!’ Arrest that guy!!
Couple of slaps and jail food will do his sleep some good. Two girls getting
flustered about their own city in a state of Bandh because a man just died a
death that was due to old age and possibly a lot of pent up rage, and that
becomes wrong now!! Friends, Mumbaikars and you silly cops/party workers/AR
Rahman, lend me your beers, coz you guys sure need some sense to be knocked
into you. Get Facebook accounts and start poking each other and you will soon realize,
that the only thing that needs arresting is your senses!! And before I close on
this, I just have to salute Shreya Singhal, you are one brave girl. Google
her!!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">Slurrrpp. Now that’s how a Kaapi should roll.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">I generally like to keep things domestic, but I just can’t
resist this coz it really has irked me like none else. The Republicans. Yes yes
I know, our politicians ain’t any better but we got freedom a little over 60
years ago. That in human years is maybe 12 or 13 at best, so we are still
hitting puberty. So we can be granted the excited bursts of energy and the
confusion over that facial hair and cracking voice but no excuses in the USA
and their political party system. They easily are equivalent to a 50 year old
grown up man who is ready for his second divorce and third affair. Basically,
he has seen it all. Isn’t it time they act their age? To see a constantly
bungling Mitt Romney was beyond hilarious. Always backtracking, never
consistent and with smugness written all over his backside, or his face,
whatever, it’s all the same. Obama too wasn’t really Gerard Butler in 300 but
then again he spent an entire term cleaning up close to a trillion dollar
deficit legacy left behind by the President Sesame Street elected, George Bush.
So Romney had the burden of expectation on him, and man, did he deliver on the
stand-up comedy with his international policy, especially the tickler on the
West Bank issue. Republicans, wake up! Smell the Kaapi and please stop spending
your free calling cards speaking to your counterparts at the BJP in India, they
are 13 year old puberty stricken kids who are still wondering why everything
goes weird down there when they see Didi or Amma walk by.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">Now for some quickies, not the sexual kind.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">Katrina, my love. I forgot you earlier. We know you have
legs, we all have legs. Agreed ours may not be as watchable as yours but
remember this, your legs can’t do the acting for you. That starts way up there.
And we can figure that out over a cup of Kaapi sometime.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">Who the hell gave Pervez Musharraf the permission to even
enter India? Forget that, why are we paying him Indian Rupees to open his mouth
and talk nonsense about us and the Indian Army. I’m sorry but this man waged an
ISI backed war against our country while we were arranging the rose petals on
our honeymoon night with Pakistan. I say we dump him in the backseat of a Tata
Nano and ditch him over the Wagah border or maybe Siachen and allow those
fundamentalists out there to have their share of Musharraf Sheek Kabab. Wake up
Indian Government, broker peace with the guys who care for it.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">Now to a favorite. Rahul Gandhi!! Why are you already mute?
Haan. Ok let me repharse that, why are you already Manmohan Singh? Who is
filling you with shit that ‘silence maketh the man’. No it ain’t, it just maketh
you a dumb ass and yes ‘dumb’ has been used to make a point. We are waiting
here, out of breath now, for your supposed youth to shine through. You make Romney
seem smart, hell you make Rahman’s latest music sound good coz atleast it’s not
mute. SPEAK UP!!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">And finally I bought the following guys tickets to Jab Tak
Hain Jaan with the following seating arrangement:</span></div>
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<ul style="text-align: left;">
<li><span style="font-size: 13pt; line-height: 115%;">Guy who made the movie ‘Innocence of Muslims’ right alongside
a couple of guys I found on the streets of Beirut. </span><span style="font-size: 13pt; line-height: 115%;"> </span></li>
<li><span style="font-size: 13pt; line-height: 115%;">Rahul Gandhi just a seat away from Kareena Kapoor from Jab We
Met</span></li>
<li><span style="font-size: 13pt; line-height: 115%;">Mitt Romney next to a rabid dog. Apparently they hit it off
quite well!</span></li>
<li><span style="font-size: 13pt; line-height: 115%;">AR Rahman found a seat next to the 6 year old kid I saw at my
guitar class the other day. He can really play the guitar now!</span></li>
<li><span style="font-size: 13pt; line-height: 115%;">And finally, last and surely not the least Pervez Musharraf
next to a hungry Richard Parker.</span></li>
<li><span style="font-size: 13pt; line-height: 115%;">If you didn’t get the last one, you have to watch Life of
Pi!! Back to Kaapi now..dammit its gone cold. Screw you Shahrukh Khan and don’t
ask me why.</span></li>
</ul>
</div>
somhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07944031299859973925noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6312456001470304559.post-25036950625232772722012-11-08T04:04:00.004-08:002012-11-08T04:04:41.884-08:00Arz karte hain<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<b><i><span style="font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">Hum sadak ke is paar the aur who sadak ki us par thi.<o:p></o:p></span></i></b></div>
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<b><i><span style="font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">Hum sadak ke is paar the aur who sadak ki us par thi.<o:p></o:p></span></i></b></div>
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<span style="font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">The coffee looked strangely like tea and the people in the
coffee shop, strangely, all seemed sugary. That bright smile, that overdone
bubbliness. I cringed at the various forms of dripping praise that was being
showered around at couples holding hands and platitudes of love and hope. I
sipped my coffee and it was, indeed, tea. ‘WAITER!!!!’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">I think I
unintentionally disturbed the cuteness around me. And thank god for that but
everyone just shot me a look and I’m sure all the men went, ‘what a jerk, can’t
he behave himself?’ And the girls gave them understanding looks filled with
this great discovery of dignity in their Prince Charming. Before I threw up in
one of their cups, the waiter returned with what was just a whiff of coffee and
a lot of milk. I cursed the coffee shop and the fact that as a native of Coorg,
the land of coffee, I was being treated to this absurdity they insisted on
calling coffee. And then she smiled..<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<b><i><span style="font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;"><br /></span></i></b></div>
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<b><i><span style="font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">Hum kuch aage badhe aur who kuch aage badhi<o:p></o:p></span></i></b></div>
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<b><i><span style="font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">Hum kuch aur age badhe aur who kuch aura aage badhi..<o:p></o:p></span></i></b></div>
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<span style="font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">She had been observing me for sometime or that’s what my
masculine gut insisted on impressing upon me. She looked back into her book
which I tried hard to squint and see which one it was. It couldn’t have been ‘chick
flick’ inspired literature. It better not be that shallow! I kept shooting her
the most unsubtle of glances until she turned the cover of the book a bit to
reveal a Tom Clancy!! Tom Clancy, the special ops expert who wrote about elite
soldiers being dropped in the middle of nowhere, wiping out the enemy with
silencers and automatics and flying back to base in a rundown transporter plane
in the guise of Cambodian immigrants with only their army bayonet sticking out
of their pant pockets. This chick liked ‘dick flicks’ and all of a sudden I was
attracted. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">She shot me a glance and I lost it and began my round of
Mastermind India. (Read this as one fluid thought)<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">Was she attracted to me? Wait, is she really looking at me.
Quickly turn around and check. Ha there is no one around. Maybe she digs the
whole ‘all alone with my book and thoughts’ thing. I should have worn my kurta. Start looking
aloof, stop staring. But she is so cute. No she is hot. She is both. Damn!! She
is both. The kind I can take home to Mom and take home to you know..AArghh don’t
be like other men. This one has real verve. Man I just want to talk to her.
Like know why she is reading Clancy. How does a girl so unbelievably beautiful
and delicate and with those legs and look at her feet. Do I have a feet fetish?
That is just weird. Anyhow but how does she read such stuff with such relish.
She is like that girl I have always wanted but man she might be complicated.
But aren’t they all? But if she likes to sit alone in a coffee shop with a book
then she sure likes to talk and spend lazy Sunday afternoons and isn’t the
compulsive joy seeker. Ah perfection awaits you, lo and behold the one you have
always been looking for. Should I just speak to her? I have never done this
before but there is always a first time, right? Plus I do look the polished and
dignified kind. Atleast I look it. Wait I am it. Past girlfriends have
ratified. So she won’t take me as a jerk. Even if she does how can you not give
it a shot? Act aloof she is looking at you!!! Look down now, coffee coffee,
drink, drink. Aarggh this is horrible. ‘WAITER!!!’ Shit shit that was loud, she
is looking at you. Please god I want to disappear. Now now.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">We looked at each other and she smiled. I froze and melted at
the same time. The waiter walked towards me with a look very similar to what
most terrorists may have before they blow themselves up and took the coffee
away before conveniently dropping some on my book. I stared at him and then
returned my gaze on her. She was already packing up to leave. She tied her hair
in three graceful moves, picked her bag up with those lovely fingers of hers,
swished her ethnic Fabindia-esque skirt and walked out. I stood up and was
stuck mid motion as I saw her cross the road and walk away into the crowd with
her cute ponytail in view until the crowds took her away..<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<b><i><span style="font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;"><br /></span></i></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><i><span style="font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">Hum sadak ke iss paar the aur woh sadak ki uss par thi.<o:p></o:p></span></i></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><i><span style="font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">Hum sadak ke iss paar the aur woh sadak ki uss par thi.<o:p></o:p></span></i></b></div>
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<b><i><span style="font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">Hum kuch aage badhe aur woh kuch aage badhi<o:p></o:p></span></i></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><i><span style="font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">Hum kuch aur age badhe aur woh kuch aura aage badhi..<o:p></o:p></span></i></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><i><span style="font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">Kuch samay baad hum sadak ke us paar the aur woh sadak ki is paar thi...<o:p></o:p></span></i></b></div>
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<span style="font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;"> <o:p></o:p></span></div>
</div>
somhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07944031299859973925noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6312456001470304559.post-60814545794615467322012-10-05T07:40:00.000-07:002012-10-05T07:41:43.420-07:00A Crude Resurrection<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Barmer is a little town in Rajasthan that generally has escaped attention in every conceivable way. There isn’t much I could have done in introducing the town, until yesterday. I was reading the Open magazine (8th October) which is a magazine I recommend to everyone who wants to read some light yet insightful journalism at display. In that I was surprised to find a 4 page article dedicated to Barmer. I was instantly captivated. Barmer had changed; desperately and drastically.<br />
<br />
When I was 11, I went to Barmer for the first time. My dad was in the Army and we were stationed in Jodhpur. Visiting every nook of Rajasthan had become a mission in the family and we didn’t leave tiny Barmer too. Now every city we visited in Rajasthan was of immense interest to my Mom for the unbelievable shopping and to me for the history. Barmer, and this is with no offense to anyone, has neither. But the beauty of a shopaholic’s mind is that any market with a bunch of shopkeepers ready for a good bargain becomes a shopping festival. As I trudged from shop to shop and my mom skipped the same distance, I began to wonder what hope there is for this town. I began to questions its very existence as a destination for any traveler. Bordering the Thar desert, the heat was scorching and the apathy on people’s faces was painful. This was a town destined for ignominy. We later lunched at the District Collector’s house and I was surprised that a man so young and so sharp had landed himself in a place so backward and desperately hurtling towards nothingness. I hoped and prayed that this place would see a brighter light and I was told by my Dad to keep my opinions to myself.<br />
<br />
So it came as a huge surprise when I read that Barmer has now transformed itself into a potential Dubai. And please take the word ‘potential’ very seriously in the last sentence as this story can go very wrong too. But the desert sands engulfing Barmer on most days, has been found to have amazing reserves of crude oil below. Reserves of crude oil that can accommodate a tenth of India’s total demand in another couple of years and this will continue increasing. Oilmen from Cairn to Halliburton to ONGC have descended upon this piece of nothingness, as I had described it many years ago. There are Harleys, swanky SUVs, farm houses with wood finish and glass panels and parties with Red Labels. Oil has changed the town. It has ensured there is no ignominy anymore. There are many questions that Barmer still has to answer: Can they sustain the projects? Will the influx of expats influence local culture? Will the public infrastructure keep up with the growth of the city? Are there going to be 2 Barmers – the one I knew and the one where they discovered crude oil? These are questions the town will continue to grapple with. But my thoughts steer to something very different.<br />
<br />
I wonder if that is all it takes. It takes a little black liquid to change everything and every way we think of a town, a country and possibly our civilization many years later. Pardon the philosophical deep dive I am going to take here, but are we really hostages to fantasy? Because for me this is a fantasy. I cannot envisage Barmer to be what this article describes it. I suddenly want to go there again, not due to some material delinquency, but just because it seems so unreal. Here is a town that has existed for the same amount of years as me since the day I went there and has gone through such a dynamic or let’s make that, drastic change. Where have I gotten in that time? Am I competing with a town? No. I am thinking of evolution, of change and of rash judgments we make in our everyday lives. Barmer has turned the corner, announced its arrival and now it will deal with the consequences. In finding crude oil it has found a solution to its problems and possibly created some new ones too. But most importantly, it has resurrected itself, just that it’s a very crude resurrection. <br />
<br />
Now how do I go about my own resurrection?</div>
somhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07944031299859973925noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6312456001470304559.post-38169533377554457842012-09-16T07:31:00.000-07:002012-09-16T09:13:22.896-07:00Barfi and me<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
So I was wondering how to best to sum up my appreciation for the hours spent in a dark room, surrounded by equally astounded people and genius on the screen in front of us. I decided that I must do what I believe I can do best and here is my tribute to a movie that will rarely come again in form, class and subtelty.<br />
<br />
I have admired many Bollywood movies over the year : Swades, Lakshya, Wake Up Sid just forming a sprinkling but these have survived in my sub conscious for purely cinematic and story telling elements. They moved me and keep me thinking till this day. They always find relevance in my life. Everyday sometimes! But Barfi did something different. This was a movie that like many movies I had been following from production to the first trailer to boring everyone I know of how undeniably great the movie will be. But it surpassed that.<br />
<br />
It really wasn't about the characters or actors or cinematography for me. Each of those elements were spotless and so well strung together that it makes you wonder how will any movie ever match up. But that's how I felt about the movie above too. Barfi was about moments. Moments that will never leave me. I do understand that many of you still have to see the movie and I obviously do not want to spoil this for you so I shall tread carefully. There is no need to get into the story though, this isn't about that. This is just about my experience watching this movie. It felt like I had travelled, like I was being physically moved through the characters lives. I was there with them, I was mute and ecstatic, depressed and reluctant to let go. Most of all I felt the despair of loss and the loss of hope, yet it also showed me a way ahead. Painful as it must be, patient as I must be, a journey indeed. It felt like it was a lesson full of entertainment and humor and tears, but a lesson at the end of the day of all that I have done and possibly how I have to deal with it.<br />
<br />
Barfi doesn't stand for anything specific. He stands for what you want to and maybe, need to believe. For me he stood for resilience in the face of innocence. A virtue very few of us can boast of, but a virtue I surely need to carry with me. There are countless moments when you are caught with a stream of tears while you are laughing and he makes you realise that that is what life is about, but it all just happens so quickly here. Keeping up with him is a task, so just keep up with all that wonder, curiosity and hope within you. Coz in the end you can only hope you have an arm to lie on and see the love of all the world in those eyes lying right next to you.<br />
<br />
That is the essence and soul of Barfi. And you never need to go looking for those eyes, they are just always with you.. </div>
somhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07944031299859973925noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6312456001470304559.post-78816673217552882222012-08-22T15:08:00.000-07:002012-08-22T15:08:25.477-07:00I could really use a wish right now<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
I have recently been quite unhealthily obsessed with this one song called <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kn6-c223DUU" target="_blank">Airplanes</a>. I cannot seem to get it out of my mind and after further inspection I have realized that the words somehow, unerringly, manage to capture my current mindset. Listen to the song and read the lyrics and you shall know what I was talking about. Also, I feel I need to come clean and pour out what has been an extremely difficult time for me. I will break down the past couple of weeks into stages that will explain how it all unfolded.<br />
<br />
<b>Stage 1 - The screws come off</b><br />
<b><br /></b>
I'm not sure how it all began and I wish I did because I would never let it happen again. But it crept up on me, tiptoed and quietly brushed me but I paid no attention. I was so sure I was on my way to conquering the world. As usual it hit when everything around me was just fighting to get better than it already was. Within a few days it was all gone. I had become sullen, heading towards stoicism not so much out of choice but due to conditioning. I stopped waking up with a smile, I stopped wanting to wake up, I just stopped wanting. The routine became so terribly predictable that it began to take a toll on my psyche. Nothing and no one could offer me solace or an option to break away. I would ride back at night from work with the same music, the same route, the same potholes and the same mistakes. Constantly holding back emotions and wishes to just scream out and run. Questioning why I had become like this and falling short of any answer that could closely suffice.<br />
<br />
I had become my worst nightmare. Devoid of all things optimistic and cheerful. I had become the antithesis of myself. I could hear the creaking, alone in bed every night staring at the roof. The creaking got louder every night. It was the noise of the screws coming off..<br />
<br />
<b>Stage 2 -The 38th Parallel</b><br />
<br />
I began to consistently absent myself from myself. Reclusive, distant and cold. It became natural and then began a strange obsession. An obsession with the North Koreans. In them, their country and their very existence I found a sanctuary. A place where I would rest myself every night for a couple of hours understanding them and strangely relating. I told everyone else that this was just an educational pursuit but I guess they saw right through it but chose to let me handle it. I consistently began to drift away from reality. I would draw up maps and routes to get away. Make plans, laugh at them and then promise myself to go through with it. I felt I belonged on the other side of the 38th parallel, the line that divides Korea. I felt alone, a self imposed exile. I could not handle people, I did not want to handle noise and I surely was receding. I began to see that line and I continued to believe that I was in some terrible joke, stuck in Pyongyang in some desolate part of my mind. I could see the 38th Parallel and even though it was hazy it had begun to look real..<br />
<br />
<b>Stage 3 - Loss, pain and renewal</b><br />
<b><br /></b>
Then I started to lose it and in the process lost what I may never get back. Relationships, family, people and the belief that all will be okay had established themselves as myths in my mind. I started losing control on some and I just completely lost some. I forced my mind to open up and explain what was happening in there. I sprang up a couple of times only to be pushed back. I began to find my peace at work, I re-engaged but I couldn't do the same with life. I ploughed ahead and have now created a world where all roads lead to renewal. I still am constantly pulled down. I still can never get myself to believe that I can be the same guy again but then maybe I was meant to go through this to become the guy I have to become. Loss, pain and renewal bring with it lost dreams and hope. But unfortunately, the lost dreams will hurt the longest..<br />
<br />
I stand and stare every night at the airplanes in the night sky and begin to wish. Wish that what I lost and what i'm losing stops and that hope finds me again.</div>
somhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07944031299859973925noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6312456001470304559.post-19030108816582079912012-07-10T08:56:00.004-07:002012-07-10T09:27:26.392-07:00Ranting over a Dindigul Biryani<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
So they say the sequel never lives up to the original. I say
look at World War 2 or look at most second children. Always, way better. I,
thus, rest my case. Now the need for this rant. Life has become way too
predictable and the last rant was way too long ago. Monotony kills every 1 in 3
million ranters are the official stats from our government and that leads me
perfectly on to my first rant.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
So government of India. What up? Nice work on the petrol
prices man. You just are so good at being bad. For god’s sake I read the Mint
and I know you could have avoided that. But no you had to pick the night I ran
out of petrol to jack up the prices. You had to create some kind of artificial shortage
which ensured no petrol in Chennai for a couple of days. Was that your idea of
a ‘go green’ initiative? Some idiotic dhoti clad moron decided that let’s show
people what life will be without petrol. Ever wondered what life will be
without our votes, or even better, our taxes? I dare you to jack up the prices
again you 10<sup>th</sup> fail loser. I’m still deciding what I will do, but
trust me it won’t be fun. I surely aint sharing my Dindigul biryani with you.</div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Shahid Kapur you
continue to amaze me with your undying talent of being able to pick the worst
movies. I sincerely urge you to run the next script you get through your
driver. That’s all I’m asking for, just your driver. Not anyone else. That’s
easy right. You ask why? Well, he has kept you alive after having every
opportunity to hurt you beyond repair after the trash you have been putting
out. I’m sure he loves you a lot. So, Shahid, driver. Please. You are a great
actor and so sincere but after Mausam, Teri Meri Kahaani and others my mind refuses to process,
your sincerity makes me feel like you are Bhagat Singh fighting for
Independence in 2012. Just pointless. So ya driver it is. Run along now.</div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 91.5pt;">
What’s common between a target in a
firing range and the guy who’s cell rings really loud with the worst music in
office? That’s the right answer, they both are gonna get bloody shot!! It’s an
office for god’s sake. An IT company, the most sterile environment after a
cross species testing facility (and yes I saw the Amazing SpiderMan). Absolute
silence and suddenly<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: cyan;"> </span><a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KRj179QYKRc" target="_blank"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: cyan;">'nakka mukka nakka mukka'</span></a> .<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: cyan;"> </span>You demented cross between a shameless front seater in
a cheap theatre and the worst thing that’s happened since Bappi Lahiri, why in
the devil’s name do I need to hear that song every time someone remembers your
pathetic existence. I’m honestly not the biggest on ethics and all that blah
blah but I sure draw the line the day you change your ringtone to <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kpKOp7yuXWo&feature=related" target="_blank"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: cyan;">this.</span> </a>Really what are you thinking? This is a joke you crack in private with your
friends who already think very little of you. Imagine this going off every 20
minutes. You just took the joy away from my Biryani, moron.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 91.5pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 91.5pt;">
Now for a few quickies – the non
sexual kind</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 91.5pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 91.5pt;">
Justin Bieber’s latest song is
called ‘Boyfriend’. Finally!! The closet has been whammed open. I mean what a
way to come out. I’m glad you decided to finally do us this favor coz a lot of
people were taking special offense to jokes of you being called gay. Guess who
the joke is on now? Ya it’s on you, you dimwit but well just coz you came out
doesn’t mean you got any <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Pog14V1CP0c&feature=fvwrel" target="_blank"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: cyan;">smarter.</span></a> </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 91.5pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 91.5pt;">
Now all you people on Facebook who
put up those huge banners with quotable quotes and stuff. Really? You ever read
them yourselves? Don’t they have this unbelievable stench of ‘cheesy’ all over
it? Some of them I accept are clever or cute but the rest are just plain
depressing. Guys if that’s gonna get you more likes and comments then trust me,
things are looking bleak. Now put that on one of those banners of yours and
click ‘Share’.</div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 91.5pt;">
Finally who gave Sehwag the right to
abuse Dhoni. A demi God for most of us. You really saying that he didn’t do
much by becoming captain. The team was already mature I believe. How messed up
are you man? You just recently learnt what captaining a team really involves
and talking like you own this shit. Do not invoke the rage of the whole of
India and Chennai. Mind it!</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 91.5pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 91.5pt;">
Well phew! Time to get back to my
Dindigul biryani. The rest of you – rant away!!</div>
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<br /></div>
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<br /></div>
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<br /></div>
</div>somhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07944031299859973925noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6312456001470304559.post-7905459282392022212012-05-25T03:27:00.004-07:002012-05-25T03:27:29.397-07:00Cut the Cake<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
Riding through Chennai traffic while your running late can
be quite a spiritual experience. Powering through that traffic light just
before it goes red, overtaking that slow Mercedes – I mean you could have
bought a Nano if that was what you wanted to achieve on the road, loser! In
between all of this cutting and extreme over taking I’m reminded of a game we
used to play as kids. A game that involved a lot of running, chasing and most
importantly, selflessness. It was called, Cut the Cake.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Most games we played back in the day were very Darwinist in
their makeup. Hide n Seek involved you hiding until ‘you’ are caught; you
really didn’t care what the rest were doing as long as you were neatly hidden
away. Catch n Catch aka Chor Police would mean there are a bunch of chasers and
a bunch of chasees, if I may be given the liberty to coin my own word, and the
games would begin. There was Crocodile, there was Red Letter, Dark Room and the
list goes on. Now unless you really wanted to impress that girl with the cute
ponytail and delicious tiffin, you didn’t really care a damn about anyone else
as long as you were safe. But then all of a sudden in between this selfish
desire to never be caught, someone would suggest, ‘Cut the Cake’. Now this is
how it was played – You would have a chaser who would cease to become a chaser
the moment he catches any of the chasees (thus, this word has been patented by
me). Now the only way the chasees<sup>TM </sup>can pile on the misery for the
chaser is to cut the cake. This means, that a chasee<sup>TM</sup> needs to run
in between the chaser and the person he is chasing, the moment a chasee<sup>TM</sup>
does that the chaser has to change track and start chasing the chasee<sup>TM </sup><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>who just cut the cake. Its phenomenal because
you can quite easily just stay away from trouble and never cut the cake but
every once in a while is born a hero who will go and cut the cake and help his
fellow chasee<sup>TM </sup>out. This selflessness instantly spreads like an
infection and suddenly the band of chasees<sup>TM </sup>realize that the
ultimate joy is in making that one chaser regret ever mentioning the idea of
playing the game. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Now I’m not going to connect the above paras because there
is no connection. Just that cutting through the traffic reminded me of cutting
between the chaser and chasee<sup>TM </sup>back when i was young enough to play
this game. But this very inherent contradiction that was ingrained in us right
at that age has always fascinated me. It amazes me, the lessons we have learnt
when we were so young that subconsciously always will define us. I’m looking
for more ideas and thoughts on these. Looking at building more stories,
thoughts on humanity and the makeup of life through games we played when we
were young. So let me know and let me collect these thoughts and present this
better. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Until then, anyone for ‘Cut the Cake’?</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold; line-height: 18px;"><br /></span></o:p></div>
</div>somhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07944031299859973925noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6312456001470304559.post-14265921953952897282012-05-10T02:44:00.000-07:002012-05-10T02:44:02.421-07:00The Red Miracle<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;">‘Will I see a miracle this Sunday? Another story I can tell the world
over and over again. Or does it really even matter..</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I have been meaning to write this for a long time but have
always pushed it for another time, for another day, for another season. It was
always meant to define my love for one of the greatest affairs of my life. A 14
year long affair. An affair with the Red Devils.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
My tumultuous but mostly thrilling love affair with
Manchester United began in 1998. Since then they have won the league 8 times,
the FA Cup twice, the League Cup thrice and the holy grail – the Champions
League, twice. With all this success and incredible domination, a little
arrogance does set in. As a United fan you do kind of inherit it. The difference
being, you don’t necessarily flaunt it. You are expected to be stubborn about
your support for them but that stems from the kind of pride that very few fans
of other football clubs have the fortune to feel. This isn’t a commentary on
the overwhelming success of United, this is a pilgrimage into the true feeling
of being a United fan.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
From the day I started supporting United I have always told
people that they are the only entity in my life which always knows when I’m
down and manages to pick me up from the dumps. This special ability comes from
a belief that they will deliver for you. Eleven men on the pitch will always
rally, always fight and always win for you. From scoring a goal in the 94<sup>th</sup>
minute to seal a derby, to two goals in the last 3 minutes to win a Champions
League, to a wonderful save to win another – Manchester United have only
conquered. They have always taken the most unworkable moment in football and
turned it into something timeless, something more beautiful than anything
around you.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I have spent many nights well past midnight cheering them,
cried tears of disappointment and joy and the tears of joy were something I
never thought I could shed. In a way every moment of my life has an
accompanying United moment. I can trace back years of disappointment in life
with joy with United reviving me in those desperate times. If it’s the debut of
Ronaldo or the goals of Macheda or the hammering of Arsenal or the choking of
Chelsea or the way we have brushed aside Liverpool in the past few years, they
are a force unparalleled and united. Always fighting for the pride of the red
under a manager who has defied time and the odds. In Sir Alex we believe. I
have spent many days criticizing his tactics, his transfers and his general demeanor
only to eat my words and burst out in applause for the greatest manager of all
time. A man who many clubs, corporations and marriages should learn from
because of his ability to make time feel like a constant, as he changes teams
and tactics with such aplomb that he just never gets outdated.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
It’s always tough to accept defeat when you are United,
especially when defeat stares you in the face in the form of Manchester City –
the butt of many United fans jokes and all of a sudden the new force in English
football. This force has been built with 930 million pounds of Dubai money but
at no point am I going to take away their effort from them. I detest them and
have hated every win and every goal they have scored, yet I fade away in
respect as I hurl abuses at their claims of dethroning United. I seethe in fury
and go nauseous at the thought of them winning the league this year but I still
remain amazed at what United have conquered this year. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
In a year when they have
been accused of many things ranging from negative football to losing their grip
on Europe, none of the detractors seem to realize that this was a year of
transition like the past two years. When other clubs go into transition, they
fade away for a couple of years and seem to lose their spunk, case in point:
Chelsea. A team in transition and with a non- existent midfield is going to
finish level on points with a team assembled at a cost of 930 million pounds
and will finish above a Champions League finalist, a team with the league’s top
scorer and player of the year, a team with possibly the best midfield and the
best midfielders in Modric and Bale and a team that spent around 80 million
pounds just on midfielders and with a manager who was destined for success.
United have quietly gone about their business. They have stuttered immensely
but have paced themselves well. This wasn’t a vintage season, this wasn’t United
gold class, this was United ploughing and digging deep. This was honestly a
hallmark United side, a bunch of guys slightly weighed down by history and in
the shadows of the greats that have filled their boots in years gone by. This
wasn’t a team of the brilliance of Becham or the magic of Ronaldo or the
extravagance of Cantona. This was a team with the industry of Valencia, the
belief of De Gea, the maturity of Rooney. This was a United that exemplified
the values this club has always strived to achieve. This won’t be a team that
will go down in history as gladiators like the ones in the past, this will
mostly go unnoticed. But this team deserves more; it deserves its greatest
compliment, the support of the million United fans across the world. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
As United
take the field on Sunday for the last game of the season let’s not have our
eyes glued to the City game only hoping for them to slip up so that we may win
the league, take a little time off to watch our ‘boys’ fight it out at the
Stadium of Light. Watch them play their game, which may not be pretty all the
time but sure has given us enough highs this year. Remember that as a United
fan all you have ever known is the joy of supporting the best club in the world
and in that collective, resounding and loud belief lies your miracle..</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The miracle in red. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
</div>somhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07944031299859973925noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6312456001470304559.post-49821922245292032562012-04-24T05:28:00.000-07:002012-04-24T05:28:07.807-07:00My shortcut, discovered!<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
You do know the true essence of a shortcut, right? Or more
how that true essence can get eroded, suddenly and depressingly? It happens the
moment it is discovered! Now you have previously seen my ability to <a href="http://modelno65.blogspot.in/2012/03/ranting-over-chicken-fried-rice.html">rant</a>
and you also know about my new <a href="http://modelno65.blogspot.in/2012/02/12-km-burst.html">bike</a>, my
humble Activa. Well, now that I’m done with some shameless marketing for my
previous two posts, I can move on. But then you will hear a lot of the two in
the coming minutes so thought an introduction won’t hurt.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Well it all began on a dreary Monday morning. Got out of the
house with Chennai’s humidity sapping the thrill of life and making me sick. As
I locked the door and walked out I was greeted by bird shit on my scooter. As I
wiped the shit off I knew, the day would only get worse. But the thought that I
can get out of my house and reach office with 5 minutes left on the office
clock, always left me with a wry smile. Not because the thought of getting into
work on a Monday gave me a huge surge of the happies but just because I had a ‘shortcut’.
Ah I so love that word. Its short, its cut, its all you need. All it takes is a
turn off the main road, a 200 meter dash on smooth tar, a bumpy 60 meters on
Chennai’s latest fad, blocked and dug up roads, and bang, I cut off 20 minutes
on my travel time. I walked into my little breakfast shop to choose among the
gourmet options available. Pooris or Idli, the choice was immense, the decision
tough, pooris dipped in oil which will make me sick yet give me the will to
live another day or idlis which will keep me healthy but make me forget that
warm feeling of good food. I took the wise decision, I took the unheralded
pongal, the snack so good the Tamilians decided to name a festival after it or
it was the other way around. Ok moving on. I got back on my bike and sped off
only to be halted by traffic trying its best to fit itself through a road as
wide as a crisp dosa which I just remembered I could have ordered for. Damn.
Anyhow I wriggled my way past the mess in my supremely well balanced Activa and
guided myself into my little shortcut. Seeing the traffic disappear behind me
is by far the most spiritual feeling ever. A quick dash on the smooth tar, a
not so quick dash on bumps the kind they found on the moon and speed breakers
meant for monster trucks and I took the final turn with that wry ‘I found this
shortcut’ smile creeping up..and then it happened!</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
There was a traffic jam! On my shortcut! A traffic jam! How was
this possible? But it did not matter. I had been discovered. Now I know how
Columbus would have actually felt when he landed up on the wrong continent, how
Ricky Martin felt when the world realized he was gay, how Hitler felt when they
teased him in school for his moustache, how Ratan Tata feels whenever he sees a
Nano on the road, when Bill Gates uses an iPhone, when Manmohan Singh eats an
aloo parantha while Anna Hazare goes hungry.. Wait not sure what the connection
was meant to be. Something about feeling stupid and deceived basically. On the
whole, there were bikes, bullock carts, cars and a tractor for crying out loud.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I cursed, seethed and called upon the stench from Buckingham
(popular sewage canal in Chennai) to engulf this street and drown these people
in the rage welling up within me. They honked, they screamed, one of them spat
and a cow knocked into me. This was not how it was supposed to be. It was meant
to be quiet and calm and quick. I was fifteen minutes late and with no clue of
what to do. I had given up to the traffic gods when a man on a cycle next to me
had the gall to question the honking cars as to how they found his shortcut. I instantly
cut across him with all the power and might of my bike and sped on the side
roads treading upon sand, garbage and car tires to get past it all and reach
the front. It was over, I had triumphed, battle of the soul over the mind. The kind
of exhilaration Neil Armstrong felt, Gandhiji felt, for crying out loud the
kind of joy Mr. Bean felt on replacing the painting in that movie. I soared to
the front and there right at the front I had one last look at the perpetrators,
all of them who had taken away from me my five minutes of morning joy and just
before I took the turn to hit the main road, I could bet to all the gods up
there and around, they looked back at me with the same disgust and hate. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Mine, was not the only shortcut that had been discovered
that day!</div>
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<br /></div>
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<br /></div>
</div>somhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07944031299859973925noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6312456001470304559.post-65575869640735738992012-03-16T05:17:00.005-07:002012-03-16T05:17:49.418-07:00Ranting over a Chicken Fried Rice<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
Yes. I am not pleased with the world around me now. So I choose
to rant like every responsible citizen of this democracy. I will rant about
things afflicting me personally, connect that to something happening with the
nation and blame people who have no bearing upon my personal life. After all a
god almighty rant demands nothing less. So here goes:</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
First of all, what’s all the fuss about the new iPad? A lot
of us can’t afford it so stop rubbing it in. And anyhow all Apple did was
polish of the creases and wipe off the dust from the previous one, so stop
hanging that white shiny carrot in front of me, it disturbs me while I buy
chicken fried rice off the roadside. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Now Mr Sunil Mittal of Airtel, I swear on the aforementioned
chicken fried rice, I will go all Gordon Gekko on you (that is create havoc for
you in a smart, suave, investment banker avatar) if you don’t get your company’s
act together. When you offer Broadband, DTH and mobile service – ensure that
your employees know that they all belong to the same company. If one of your
DTH guys come and wrecks my Broadband wires once more, I will take that disgraceful
logo of yours and feed it to the first Vodafone looking pug I see. And don’t you
dare tell me they are different entities within the same company. Draupadi was
married to Arjuna but she belonged to the Pandavas, okay I don’t know how that
makes sense but considering you keep sending me messages for reduced call rates
to Europe when I have never called Europe, I’m sure you will find a connect.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Let’s now focus our attention on YouTube. Love the concept,
love how it makes auto tuned Dhanush sound like the best new thing out of Chetpet
but for God’s sake what is wrong with the comments section of this website. Why
are people spewing such venom out there? A simple song from a new movie which
has casted an extremely talented Pakistani actor, started of a war of words
between two people about Kashmir. You jobless losers! Wake up, smell the
chicken fried rice and shut up. We have our politicians to take care of all
these banal conversation. Grow up guys, but then that will only make you 12 so
what’s the point. And for all those people who say YouTube is so much fun
because of the ‘comment wars’, please do use Google’s other great invention,
Google Maps, to find your nearest shooting range and just take a walk around
the target area. Mighty fun that will be.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
How can I forget the powers to be in Tamil Nadu. On recent
trips to Pondicherry and Bangalore I had the pleasure of walking into a wine
shop without being shoved around, spat at or offered Old Monster instead of Old
Monk. I walked into air conditioned wine shops with people who were buying
their first drink of the night, not their 10<sup>th</sup> for the hour. I could
browse and walk across sections dedicated to beer. It felt surreal. TASMACs are
no fun, they are a small introduction to what life would have been for cavemen
when they went to the neighborhood barter store. I mean come on, everyone wins
if you make the alcohol easy for all to get. It would be a great complement to
my steaming chicken fried rice.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Some quickies. The non sexual kind. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Rahul Gandhi – growing up doesn’t involve growing a beard,
it’s all about growing some politician horns and getting those ballots in the
box. I will only believe your vision for this country when you manage to park
yourself in Manmohan’s currently idle seat.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Manmohan Singh!! Get pissed, jump, clap, scream, do
something man. You can’t possibly let a bunch of clowns ruin that Oxford head
of yours. You are going out and there is no doubt in hell that you are, so I
say go out with a bang. Tell the Congress and your allies how they got together
and wet the country’s pants and how they should have the spherical to take the
blame and maybe, maybe, you just might get my vote of sympathy.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Tendulkar score that century already. Stop the press!!! He just
did. Thank God. Time to let the floodgates open now.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Mamatha Banerjee and Mayawathi. You guys met before? No? Oh
my my, you must. You will kill each other with your obnoxiousness and what I would
give to see you both rip each other apart. Ah yes, I would give my plate of
chicken fried rice.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
KFC!! Improve that monostrosity of a Zinger of yours back to
how it used to be. Remember the days it used to be delicious and people used to
come to KFCs just to eat that. Oh wait you don’t remember that, because it was
when Rahul Gandhi started growing his beard, a long long time ago.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I dare you Sonam Kapoor, oh I just dare you to act in
another movie. I have spent around 1250 bucks on tickets and popcorn on you.
Don’t make me come to Mumbai and make you accountable for each rupee. We work
hard for our money, I mean previously my Dad used to but now I do too. It doesn’t
come easily so please when your choosing your next role, let it be for a silent
movie. It can win you an Oscar.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Phew. Time to get back to my chicken fried rice. To forget
all that is wrong and miserable. To remember what really is good. Nothing like
an almighty rant to get you going. Until the next rant… <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
</div>somhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07944031299859973925noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6312456001470304559.post-87980767699756084892012-02-22T00:46:00.003-08:002012-02-22T00:46:57.480-08:00The 12 km Burst<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
When I landed on the shores of Chennai much
like the British and the Portuguese, I too felt an all -conquering need to make
this place mine. After all this was going to be home for some time to come…These thoughts found their genesis to an extent with a 12 km dash I made on the ever so popular and road
much travelled, the East Coast Road, lovingly and conveniently known as ECR.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-IN">The journey doesn’t begin on a stretch of
road extending from Thriruvanmiyur but begins on a little lane in Perungudi.
This is a story of small yet important patches of my life here and how it all
nicely led up to this day. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span lang="EN-IN">My
first morning</span></b><span lang="EN-IN"> in Chennai was characterised not by jitters for
my first job, but greater fear of getting to work in a city where not knowing
the language can lead to instant alienation. After hitching a 60 buck ride for
a kilometre long stretch, I instantly knew life was going to be a bitch<a href="" name="_GoBack"></a>. An ability to bargain, crassness coupled with rudeness and
stoic apathy are a deadly triumvirate and a much needed one to tackle the
Chennai rickshaw driver. But I was to learn that gradually, until then, my
knight in shining armour (the black and yellow kind) was here. The shared auto.
A concept both unique and extremely gratifying, a big auto stuffed with people
to the brim, who share the cost of the ride. Simple and effective and in one
simple discovery I had managed to get rid of the scourge of the Chennai
rickshaw driver.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span lang="EN-IN">Thiruvanmiyur
</span></b><span lang="EN-IN">is for all practical purposes on the periphery of
Chennai, right at the edge of civilization. It’s at that precise distance where
friends begin to make excuses about not coming over to your place. You start
throwing beaches and proximity to Mahabalipuram to them as bait. but all in
vain. This reduces you to a very obvious reality. YOU HAVE TO GO WHERE YOUR
FRIENDS ARE AND THEY LIVE EQUALLY FAR!! So I began my first tryst with the city
buses. With strange numbers like 21Hct, PP19X and the ilk, it felt like I had
just walked into some secret military testing base. The buses honking, the
crowds of people and a 29C nearly driving over me brought me back to reality. 29C
is a bus route which spans Thiruvanmiyur to Perambur. It’s also the one bus
that connects all the bus stops of the major all girl colleges(Stellas, MOP and
WCC,.. beat that) which should be a great opportunity for most men to exercise
their charm and chivalry but is mostly an exhibition of just how terribly
stupid and cheap we can get. A story for another day and a more serious
occasion. For me, this route proved to be a lifesaver, connecting me with all
the places I needed to ever go to. The frequency is simply brilliant and with
Volvos doing the route too, I couldn’t have asked for more. From Alwarpet to
Egmore to Ispahani to walking distance from Sathyam to yummy eating joints in
Nungambakkam. Ganesha, had found his mouse.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span lang="EN-IN">Long
journeys, the summer and a lack of novelty </span></b><span lang="EN-IN">set in. Public
transport was still convenient, cheap and a boon to my wallet but was soon
becoming an arduous routine which my mind could not take anymore. The roads of Chennai
are wide and inviting, beckoning me to unleash myself on them. On my own terms.
I needed a 2 wheeler to really enjoy this city, a city I have been itching to
discover. I want to be able to wake up in the morning and ride to a quaint
Armenian church in Parrys when my mind demands. I wanted to ride to Sathyam at
10 in hope of getting tickets for the night show, only to be turned down and
enjoy the ride back. I wanted to get out of work and head to that lovely fish
stall for a plate of 40 buck prawns on Bessie. Ride to Saint Thomas Mount and
watch planes take off and disappear into the Chennai sky, fly like the wind on
Radhakrishna Salai over the flyover and admire Music Academy on an evening when
it’s lit in all its glory. Midnight coffees at the Hyatt, cheap beer from a
Tasmac, stay at Kottivakam beach till the cops chase me away, ride to Amethyst
(best coffee shop in town..Period) and read a book sipping a bitter Frappe.
Endless thoughts, spiralling in my head for months now. Bus windows, front
seats of share auto, non existent meters of rickshaws were all the motivation I
needed. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-IN">Back on that lovely ECR stretch on a
Tuesday evening after filling fuel in my new second hand Activa. I stood and
saw the road open up in front of me. It’s like all of Chennai was offering
itself to me, saying ‘Son, go, you deserve this. Let rip and she will hold you
good. Let this remind you of all the good days and the not so good ones spent
on my roads. Let this be the day you break free and finally unleash yourself on
this imperfect but addictive city’.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-IN">The rest is a whirl of speed (not too much
Mom, so cool it) and joy. A 12 km burst on ECR that shall be forever etched in
my memory of one of the better, make it best, day of my life on Chennai roads. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
</div>somhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07944031299859973925noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6312456001470304559.post-65089532302861555992012-02-16T22:35:00.002-08:002012-02-16T22:35:59.690-08:00A Wedding List<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
Two of my very good friends decided to get married on the
same day. That’s two weddings and not one. With it came a huge logistic dilemma
of running across Chennai for the various ceremonies and now as a bona fide
Chennaite, I along with a friend was expected to manage this coordination for
all the friends coming from out of town. Not that that amounted to excruciating
schedules and timelines being drawn up but sure allowed me the special benefit
of showing off a city I have come to truly love. But above all I got to experience
one of the Tamilian Brahmin (better known as Tam Bram) communities greatest
show, the wedding. Yes, I must agree that I had my reservations of the fact
that there will be no alcohol or meat. I mean aren’t everyone in the hall
allowed the luxury of forgetting the fate that awaits them or has already
befallen them. Ask me and that’s the reason alcohol should be allowed in a
wedding. But then these are just things I say to fit into the mould of a twenty
four year old guy who is tuned to believe that marriage is the end of the road.
My views are very different, my views are for another day. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Both my friends are girls and were getting married to guys
who besides being simply amazing were also the loves of their respective lives.
Our entire friends circle had been preparing for these wedding for sometime now
and all of us were united in our pure joy for this great occasion. A Tam Brahm
wedding is truly a very emotional experience. As I had friends explain every
nuance of every ceremony, I couldn’t help but begin to observe the various
characters in a wedding and their reactions to the proceedings, it sure does
make for some timeless entertainment. Here we go:</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">The Wedding Romantic<o:p></o:p></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
These people charge themselves on wedding adrenaline and go
all energizer bunny on us all lackluster spectators. They enthrall us with
stories of how their wedding will be, how the flower decorations will be
different, how the hall will have so many more people, how their partner will
wear exactly what they have in mind. All in all how they have the entire two
days playing like a stuck tape recorder in their head. Even though my first
reaction is to ridicule them, I sit back and think that your wedding day, truly
is your most special day, so what’s the harm having it planned perfectly. So
just as I begin empathizing, one of them begin with how they have had their
wedding planned from the age of 8. Alarm Bells!!!</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">The Dark Wedding Humor
Comedian<o:p></o:p></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The usual quips of this wedding spectator will revolve
around ‘gallows’, ‘undertakers’, ‘doomsday’, ‘Mayan calendar’ jokes and a few ‘end
of days’ jokes thrown in too. They always make for the best humor at a wedding
until you have one of those aunties who may as well have gift wrapped her ears
and given it to you, turn and glare at you like you are vermin. Yes, well these
are the guys and girls who just have to get these jokes out of their system.
The Wedding Romantic will look at them with disdain and will instantly become
the butt of all the jokes. So you keep laughing at these jokes and then look a
little harder at the’ life of every party’/’depressed alcoholic’ in the making
and wonder if they even know what they are talking about and tend to pity them
a little. That stops the moment you go on stage and they go upto the groom or
bride and point out how the garland around their neck can also become a noose
and they do an undertaker impression. Rolling on the Mandapam Laughing (ROML)!!</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">The Back to the
Mandapam Spectator<o:p></o:p></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Well this one is a character. Affable, intelligent and with
an acute case of ADD. At a wedding, they will have their backs to all that’s happening
to the couple that’s going to pay for their lunch and will have a comment for
all else in the wedding. They will check out all the hot singles in the room,
pass adequate ratings and predictions on how their lives will turn out. They
will also look at the oldies in the room and imagine the conversations they are
having which will mostly range from match making to ‘so when are you due’ questions,
utterly reducing the oldies <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>to a
collective incapable of any other intelligent interactions. They will start
finding faults and often times hilarious things with the stuff the camera guy
is capturing. On the whole they are the ones least bothered about the occasion
and most indulgent in creating their own. Hats off to them for being so
completely aloof and so unbelievably entertaining.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Disclaimer: Don’t be
around them if you have family at the wedding. Trust me!!</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">The ‘Coming soon to a
wedding hall near you’ Groom/Bride<o:p></o:p></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
These are the ones who know their chance is coming up. They
are universally the butt of jokes for everything. They watch the proceedings
silently, like they are memorizing the order of things. Tam Bram weddings have
the unique ability of starting everything before the sun is up, therefore the
early morning jokes laced with the subsequent lack of a late night after that
get thrown around mercilessly. They quietly take the jokes with ominous
warnings of ‘it will happen to you soon too’. They are intercepted by relatives
and people they have never met with questions of a wide ranging quality. Following
are the questions with answers I would love someone to give:</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
‘So when is the big day?’ – You talking about the day I lost
my virginity? I was 16 and it was sometime in June, it was raining that day
and..</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>‘You must be so
excited, no? – I don’t know about myself, but you sure seem to be excited. Now
that’s all matters.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Do you have butterflies in your stomach? – Oops how did you
get to know of my carnivore oddities. So the other day I saw this blue winged
one on my window and I got my fork out..</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
You know, just leave these guys alone. They really have
their own issues to deal with. But don’t miss a couple of jokes on them.
Priceless reactions in return.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Amused. Bemused. Stuffed<o:p></o:p></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
This category is where I usually find myself. Wedding food
is always exceptional. Linked to the thought that the more stuffed you are at a
wedding, the happier the marriage, families leave no stone or gulab jamun
unturned in their quest to stuff your guts out. I always choose shamelessness
over dignity at such occasions and pig out like its 2012 ( Oh wait, it is) You
will have a very unsavory label attached to you, but savory reminds me of all
the sweets available. Even though Tam Brahm weddings are veg buffets, they are
veg buffets eaten by the Gods. Every dish has a touch from heaven and for a guy
who is known to have eaten his first masala dosa at the age of 2, this was just
an out of body experience – quite literally. After all the hogging at constant
intervals I tend to remain generally bemused with the occasion and amused with
all the characters described above. I’m the silent spectator at these weddings
except for when I’m chomping all that food down. I am the one who mixes a bit
of all the above because I myself am quite undecided on who of the above I am.
I am the one who is the butt of the jokes and I am the one cracking them (music
builds up superhero movie style). I am.. Wedding Man.. Well couldn’t resist
that one but at a wedding where every one is a character straight out of all
those wedding movies you have grown up on, you best belong to this one. It’s where
all the fun is!!</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I’m sure you can add many more to the above not-at-all
exhaustive list. So do let me know and do enthrall us. Till then I just want to
wish the best to my two good friends whose marriages I had the fortune of
attending and also to a very special friend in Mangalore who got married the
same day too. You were always in my thoughts and I’m sure that all the three
couples are going to be immensely happy and blessed. But for the rest of us..
On your marks.. Get set.. Go/No!! </div>
<div class="MsoListParagraph">
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
</div>somhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07944031299859973925noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6312456001470304559.post-34897267114523073252011-11-07T03:12:00.000-08:002011-11-07T03:12:34.573-08:00When Chennai wets itself..<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
So when I landed in Chennai, they warned me of the summer.
‘It will burn your pants off’, ‘You will lose the desire to live’, ‘Legend has
it that no outsider has survived’, ‘Hope you have an AC dude’. Yup so I heard
it all and in between my consternations on how to wrap my mind around getting
past this hellish summer, some kind soul remembered to warn me about the
monsoon too…</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i><br /></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i>‘It begins to rain and
then it doesn’t stop. Every inch of what you previously were introduced to as
the road, will lose all its identity and just become one huge puddle of water
waiting to be splashed on your newly polished shoes/ironed pant/snazzy party
shirt/face (true story).’<o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I used to wake in horror at the thought of this all
depressing season. Never been the greatest fan. And yes they write many a prose
and poetry of this wonderful season but to me it’s just a messed up coming
together of all that is terrible.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Wet muddy slush<span> </span>Check</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Slush on your clothes<span> </span>Check</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Nowhere to walk<span> </span>Check</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Cancel plans coz of rain<span> </span>Double
check</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Did I Mention, slush?<span> </span>Check</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
So to all the romantics out there who wait for the rains to
profess your love, don’t do it in Chennai. Now when it all began I had the
fortune of being out of town. Like how Switzerland must be feeling every time
some part of the world breaks out into war, I sat comfortably numb to the fact
that I was going to be thrown right into the battlefield very soon. Upon
landing in Chennai I was greeted with wet roads, remains of a shower, scattered
umbrellas, women in wet silk sarees..Ok back to reality. Basically, a colossal
mess. But no rain, none at all. Could it be over?</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I quietly sauntered into my house as not to disturb the rain
gods/devils and tucked myself into bed with ‘Here comes the sun’ slowly playing
in the background. And that’s when that eerie voice returned in my head, ‘<i>it begins to rain and then it doesn’t stop’ </i>.
True to his words and apparently the ruling party’s manifesto, the rains
returned the next day. Now I would like to use the words’ with the vengeance’
or ‘like its going out of fashion’ but it was much worse. I mean I was looking
at the dictionary for the right words when it got blown away with the wind.
Instantly there were flash floods on the little street outside my house. The
victims being every pair of shoes/chappals in a 5km radius, lowest office
turnout rates in a year (since the last Rajnikant movie release) and a floating
Egg Bodimaas stall that had the name ‘Mobile Egg Cuisine’, couldn’t be more
apt. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I stared at the roads ala John Cusack in 2012 or even Jack
Black checking out an inflated Gwyneth Paltrow in ‘Shallow Hal’ and there was
nothing shallow about this. It was pure chaos except that nobody else seemed to
feel that way. It was like another day for every other mortal/superhero on the
road. I mean these guys were just waking up to another day. I, was waking up in
a nightmare or wait, a wet dream (PG rating mentioned<sup>*</sup>). So I waded
to my office, jumped on a few bricks and crossed the rivers of Chennai’s
monsoon. Then I turned back and looked at the mess and was amazed at how we
adapt, like we were born with these abilities. Come the summer we curse and get
through with all that we can remove off our bodies, come the monsoon and we wet
ourselves (ha ha ha) with thoughts of getting wet everyday. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Then when we least expect it, the sun creeps out from behind
and goes all ‘Peek a Boo’ for a couple of days, teasing and tantalizing, and
with me wanting to give it one solid slap. Finally it appears in all its glory
and across town people start running up to their terraces with bucket loads of
clothes to put it to dry. Panting and relieved at the same time, they put up
their clothes and smile in relief and like naïve kids return to their daily
lives only to be greeted in the evenings with a downpour and clothes thrown all
over the terrace and your sense of belief in all that is good taking a major
beating.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
But we still wake up the next morning, wear our Sunday best
and get down and dirty back in that all conquering mess. We roll up our pants
and flip out our umbrellas and raincoats, make a silent prayer hoping for the
winter (story for another day) and make the dip in the unholy waters of the
Chennai monsoon. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
At the end we prevail.. But the monsoon kindly begs to
differ. </div>
</div>somhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07944031299859973925noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6312456001470304559.post-19487660599713941312011-09-28T23:19:00.000-07:002011-09-28T23:30:31.392-07:00Writing my way out of trouble<p style="line-height:14.25pt"></p><p style="line-height: 14.25pt; "><span class="Apple-style-span"></span></p><p style="line-height: 14.25pt; "></p><p style="line-height:115%"></p><p><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 14px;"></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-size:10.0pt;line-height:115%;mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri;mso-ascii-theme-font:minor-latin;mso-fareast-font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-hansi-font-family:Calibri;mso-hansi-theme-font:minor-latin;color:black">The greatest act in any drama is the act of committing. That is the one thing I managed to get my head around a very long while ago. But the act of execution has always been my Waterloo. I have always known and felt that surge deep down, primarily in my head, so not that deep down, that I want to be a writer. And besides the previous ill constructed sentence, there have been many reasons limiting my yet to be explored/exploited talents. This entire post can be summed up with one reason and that is laziness but then how does the audience waiting with baited breath – make that a paltry number of people who really love me – know how this story reached this not so conclusive present. Be prepared to be regaled with the greatest excuse(s) ever…and a grand stand end!<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><span class="Apple-style-span"> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:10.0pt;line-height:115%;mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri;mso-ascii-theme-font:minor-latin;mso-fareast-font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-hansi-font-family:Calibri;mso-hansi-theme-font:minor-latin;color:black">It all began with a notebook given by my uncle and aunt where I was told to pen down any story that came to my mind. At the tender age of 8 and I still wonder what is so tender about a boy who wants to break pencils for tea, I began to write my first few short stories. Tales of 5 rupee coins and trucks, Iraqi born American Air Force pilots and an ode to the west wind ( I still believe I own the rights to the original, mine being more entertaining). I managed all this and so much more at that terribly labeled ‘tender age’. The tenderness surely vanished after that because all I could think of was how to get the guys at our evening cricket game to allow me to bat and not always be the runner for some lazy player. So when life was playing these unfair tricks on me, I began to let my one lone talent slip away while cultivating another; complete disregard for my writing skills.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:10.0pt;line-height:115%;mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri;mso-ascii-theme-font:minor-latin;mso-fareast-font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-hansi-font-family:Calibri;mso-hansi-theme-font:minor-latin;color:black">I returned to writing only in college after a 9 year hiatus in which time I could have become the youngest novelist in the world, the first 10 year old self-made millionaire, pin up boy for Chandamama, Tinkle, Cartoon Network and the ilk. But the constant learner in me decided to wait a couple more years to hone my talent.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p style="line-height:115%"><span style="font-size:10.0pt;line-height:115%; font-family:"Calibri","sans-serif";mso-ascii-theme-font:minor-latin;mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;color:black">The 8 year old in me is asking me right now, ‘what bloody talent?’<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p style="line-height:115%"><span style="font-size:10.0pt;line-height:115%; font-family:"Calibri","sans-serif";mso-ascii-theme-font:minor-latin;mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;color:black">Pah look at the language on that. Kids these days. Sorry. Kids those days.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:10.0pt;line-height:115%;mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri;mso-ascii-theme-font:minor-latin;mso-fareast-font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-hansi-font-family:Calibri;mso-hansi-theme-font:minor-latin;color:black">By then the world had moved on from the pen and paper approach to the all conquering 'blog'. A medium I have greatly admired for its ability to do the job of showing itself around. No more of those 'please have a look at what I have written' routines anymore. Typing on a keyboard I realised helped me recover from the nightmares of having to spellcheck my handwriting which by no means deserved to see the light of day. From here began my journey across the blogverse (blog + universe - better spin than the outdated blogospehere) which in true Starship Enterprise style was beyond the thrills of any earthly adventure. From setting up a blog to taking my following from a paltry 1 (that being my room mate who was tricked into following) to a loyal following of 7, I had done it all. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:10.0pt;line-height:115%;mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri;mso-ascii-theme-font:minor-latin;mso-fareast-font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-hansi-font-family:Calibri;mso-hansi-theme-font:minor-latin;color:black">I managed to maintain blog decorum by posting frequently, keeping it short and crisp, minding my Ps and Q s and overall keeping it real. Yet deep down like the termites in your kitchen shelf, something was eating away. A sense of non accomplishment coupled with a feeling of no real direction to it all. I needed to be bigger and better, reach out to more people and with something more substantial. Thus began my pursuit of happiness, my yet to be completed (4 years on) novel.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:10.0pt;line-height:115%;mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri;mso-ascii-theme-font:minor-latin;mso-fareast-font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-hansi-font-family:Calibri;mso-hansi-theme-font:minor-latin;color:black">The novel has been the one true enigma in my life. Very much in my hands to complete, yet so distant because of the pure will required to pull it off, which I lack in abundance. I have been laboring through those 50 pages I have written for the past so many years, yet don’t quite see where I’m going with it. I put this down to my inability to keep an audience entertained over the duration of a novel. Somehow blogging has shown me the joy of quick returns on low investments, a positioning unfortunately my novel writing cells are happily lapping up. So is blogging really killing the novelist in me? A question I have pondered on many lonely and alcohol filled nights and I have finally reached a suitable answer.. Who cares?<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:10.0pt;line-height:115%;mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri;mso-ascii-theme-font:minor-latin;mso-fareast-font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-hansi-font-family:Calibri;mso-hansi-theme-font:minor-latin;color:black">So from where I see the literary world unfold in front of me I see a very well defined path ahead littered with my fast evolving writing ambitions. As long as I can keep the junta I have accumulated entertained and wanting more, I guess it really doesn’t matter in what form I churn the goodies out as long as I don’t reach a day that I stop wanting to do it anymore. So like many a rockstar has said in the past, ‘let’s keep it real’ and keep it coming.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:10.0pt;line-height:115%;mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri;mso-ascii-theme-font:minor-latin;mso-fareast-font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-hansi-font-family:Calibri;mso-hansi-theme-font:minor-latin;color:black">May they write on my epitaph – <i>He was born, he cried a bit, he woke the hell up, he lived it up, he made them all happy, he made the money and the money didn’t make him, he waited but never wasted, he always loved never hated and whenever it all went pear shaped..he wrote his way out of trouble. </i><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:10.0pt;line-height:115%;mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri;mso-ascii-theme-font:minor-latin;mso-fareast-font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-hansi-font-family:Calibri;mso-hansi-theme-font:minor-latin;color:black"><o:p> </o:p></span></p></span><p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:10.0pt;line-height:115%;mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri;mso-ascii-theme-font:minor-latin;mso-fareast-font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-hansi-font-family:Calibri;mso-hansi-theme-font:minor-latin;color:black"><o:p><span class="Apple-style-span"> </span></o:p></span></p><p></p><span class="Apple-style-span"> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p><p></p></span><p></p><p></p>somhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07944031299859973925noreply@blogger.com1