Musings of a muse

I am a man of several skills but telling stories isn't one
I have no ballads to speak of, no tales of war or guns
though if I were, I'd speak of a girl, she's from a distant land
her pearly eyes, and heavy sighs are forever on my mind

Sometimes I wish the baby-grand, were a slave of my fingers five
I could tap the keys, the As and Gs, and make it come alive
And then I'd sing with all my heart, a song that's meant for her
and no one else; as summer bells, conch and shell bring up the overture

If I could hold my steps, with her I'd dance the night away
tell truth I must, I cant dance for nuts, no matter what I say
I'd rather watch this creature of rhythm, as she moves to the tune
And so was I smitten, bitten by the bug of love, and I thought I was immune

I wish I were a painter, a master of sketches and hue and dye
I'd capture her beauty on canvas and wood, keep it from the world's eyes
But I couldn't, her beauty is infinite, untouched by tide or time
Cant paint, cant play, but I must say, I'm lucky she is all mine

Dreamshare

Come away with me and I will show you a land
where the sun kisses the waters and lights up the sand
where simple joys are undaunted by celebrations grand
where blades don't rule neither do bullets command
where no one knows but they all understand

A place of a color and brilliant hues
This is my dream, let me show it to you

A world that promises to leave little unto doubts
where the heart and the mind have equal clout
A town of wishful whisper and rapturous shouts
where no one can find you; your are your own scout
Its not what they taught you but what you feel about

A stretch of paradise; she lies in my head
Could go at it alone I'd rather share with you instead

A place with no grouse, life takes you in its stride
on a memorable journey, an unforgettable ride
Casting our doubts, all our worries aside
We set sail by dawn, riding the early tide
Won't you come away with me by your side

This place, she has your mystery, your intrigue, your guile
Come away with me; I promise to make it worth your while

and thus she was drowned

It's been a while since I heard the voice of reason. It's been so long that I've even forgotten how it sounds... I remember it as a mix of a sober Amy Winehouse and the baritone of the Asian girl from Glee. Now you know why i decided to drown it out by pumping up the other voices in my head or an overdose of Beatlemania.

This voice is like when your grandmother tried to rub oil into your hair when you were a kid. You know its good for you. She knew its good for you. But you were too caught up in running from it, almost enjoying the cat and mouse chase. Well, sooner or later it does catch up with you and when it does you have some serious answering to do.

Last week, amid few tens of rounds of kingfisher and a couple of packs of lites, she finally caught up with me. Maybe i was too tired in the head from running; and boy, was she a pain in the backside.

Don't mistake me, I pride myself on cold reasoning and logic. But there are times, when i too have knelt before all that tends to make us human. At times, even i have thrown reason away into the winds to indulge in the lust of irrationality, albeit fleetingly.

As an instrument of my own ambition, i want it ALL and more but also as a constellation rooted in logic, i realize i can not have everything. Therein, in this two-way tug of war, my mental fabric is stretched, at times to its breaking point. Even as i beg for the tugging to stop, a part of me wants to see how far it can go? how far i could take it? what lays beyond my being snapped? Drum roll please.

And then she speaks, in a deep baritone, giving you exactly what you fear. Reason. telling you that you can have it all. or maybe you can but now is not the time. giving you first hand lessons in virtues of patience and perseverance, that and plain ole good luck.

A compass of logic that cuts into your skin each time it realigns. You have no choice but to hear her out. Like being stuck with a crying baby in a stuck lift. You have to absorb it in. She gives you the variables, you have to form the equation and solve your own shit. She doles out the cards, you have to play the round. that's where the buck stops.

Now, having heard her out, you have but two options. Listen and absorb reason and act accordingly. treading with caution.... or like Metallica puts it "...remember what she said" or drown it out and wait for the blow to come again next time. harder. swifter. deadlier. so what would you choose?

I dont know. All i know is that i threw my head back, plugged into some blues and ordered myself another round and promised to keep my date with the voice that would soon be drowned in a glug of lager.


A mind all logic is like a knife all blade - Rabindra Tagore

Apocalypse, Now?

When I was three, the 90’s had just arrived, checkered shirts were in vogue, gold-spot was the present-day ‘diet-coke’ and the artist formerly known as ‘Prince’ was then currently known as Prince. I don’t remember much from around that time but for the fact that I hated school (or tiny-tots to be more specific) as well as children who always cried. Yes, I was that kid. What I do remember is being shepherded home each day by my grandmother. Poor woman went through hell dealing with the ‘three year old’ me; you think I’m obnoxious now – you should have seen me twenty years ago! Without a care in the world, I used to hold onto her arm and swung it back and forth. The walk back home from school was simply magic, unless of course there was homework to be done – then there’d be no swinging. Just to be clear I hated homework more than I hated noisy children; I could at least hit the latter.
I remember this one day, as the skies opened up, we rounded up against the large windows to see the heavy rain lashing against the glass. When you are just about two feet high; life comes to you in 70mm and everything looks super-sized. The raindrops that evening surely did. Sure enough, one of the boys let slip that someone told him that the world is about to end. Soon half the girls and all the (other) boys started crying; worse they were making a lot of noise while at it.
When I told you I was manically obnoxious, I also meant I was clinically paranoid about things like… I don’t know… forgetting the alphabet, not getting my tiffin-box and the end of the world. One of the boys told us that his dad knew (sic) Superman so he and his family were safe. Now I was even more worried. I had never discussed my dad’s superhero acquaintances nor did I personally know any saving-the-day types. My paranoia went up a couple of notches. Looking back, I don’t really know what our teachers did all that while. For all we cared, they could have been as well sitting on the desk smoking a joint.
Soon enough, the bell rang and I saw my grandmother waiting to receive me. Still pouring, she held out a large umbrella as me and my paranoia both were relieved to be relatively dry. I remember asking her – why does it rain? (incorrectly) Believing that I wouldn’t understand the theory of evaporation, she gave me a simplistic answer. She told me, it rains when God cries. Putting two and two together, I asked her if he too was worried that the world will end. She burst out laughing and told me not to worry about that. Albeit slightly relieved, I decided to wait and see for myself. All I can tell you is that I wasn’t a happy chappy. There was no ‘hand-swinging’ that day.
I remember thinking to myself – how bad it would suck if the world ended that day. I hadn’t seen or spoken to my friends in a while, I’d miss Saturday morning He-man episodes, I hadn’t eaten the dahi-puri at Suvidha for a whole week and I hadn’t seen my parents that day (talk about misplaced priorities!). My grandmum cleaned me up and made me a snack. However, seeing that I was still tense about the impending apocalypse, the end of days, she sat me down and told me in no uncertain terms that the world WILL not end that day. I asked her why, and she said “because it’s not time yet!” I was relieved to hear that there was time more a few more dahi-puris and Saturday He-man reruns. Although, I still made a mental note of telling my dad to catch up with Super/ spiderman – whoever was up for the gig.
Today, I was reminded of this incident, twenty years later, as the rains once again lashed against the windows. Although, I am reasonably certain that the world will not end tonight, it does make me a wee bit depressed. Probably, that has something to do with my mental image of the almighty, wailing intermittently between June and September each year. That said, the lashing rain-drops do give me food for thought.
IF today actually was the end of the world, would you be satisfied with your life thus far? Have you done all that you’ve always wanted to? I for one have certainly not. While there are fewer he-man re runs to be caught now, there are more dahi-puris to be had, more girls to be loved, more money to be made, more places to see and people to meet, more things to learn and teach, parents to be supported and friends to be made; there was much more to live and apocalypse would be such a bummer! Till I’ve made peace with apocalypse, junk-food and myself, I guess all I can do is to draw hope from the words “…because it’s not time yet!”
It is common knowledge amid my mates that I hate rains. Probably stems from the fact that I have come to associate rains with flooded roads, clogged tracks, overflowing sewers and crying gods over the years. Given the amount of rain Mumbai has had over the past, you can easily surmise that I’m not jumping with joy. But that is because, I don’t farm for a living and water for me has been something that has been available on command – at the turn of a tap/spout. I have never really seen how water- or lack thereof, could throw one’s life out of gear. I’m willing to put my disillusions with rains aside for the greater good – that’s my version of the great sacrifice, take it or leave it. On a more serious note, I hope the municipal officials are well prepared to channel and harvest rain water this year after two consecutive years of drought so that Mumbai does not go thirsty. And GOD, mate, if you are listening please don’t cry! And if you really want to, then listen to Mitali Bapat and cry exclusively over catchment areas? Comprende?

The vase and I

What destiny holds for us - no one knows
Alike - for the believers and the ones who don't
But like clay, spinning atop a potter's wheel
We shape our lives - by touch and feel

A handful of earth, some water, some love
under the blue summer skies above
We aren't too different, that vase and I
Though I don't crack and she don't cry

Around and around, she turns and spins
as an object, a function of the potter's whim
With fire in our hearts and dreams in our eyes
On the road to self-discovery, some tread, others fly

And when her master's hands have made their peace
with the moist lump of earth- that'll now hold lillies
He chucks her into the oven, a coal-heated pyre
Readying it for the world; in a trial by fire

From ash we rise and to ash we resign
A life full of living - both sweet and brine
Many questions to ask, many answers to find
While she will hold lillies, what will you leave behind?

An open letter to Mayor Shraddha Jadhav

Dear Madam,
Fuck that...
Madam,

Firstly, at the outset let me congratulate you. You have done what no other woman has done before; well maybe only a couple other women have done before. You have made me cry today - Out of sheer physical exhaustion from marauding my way through an incessant maze of dug up roads.

Let me give you some background to this episode. You see, ingrained in my thinking, is a sense of living in denial. I have been brought up to believe that I love my city and that it can do no wrong. That the land of misal pav and marine lines is the best it can get and there is nothing wrong with the city. And if you criticized this city, then you must be from Pune.

The tears of today have washed away that facade and i have come to terms, albeit painfully, that this city is dying; in fact its dead - infrastructurally speaking. I work fourteen hours a day, i pay my taxes, i speak in marathi when im spoken to in marathi, i do not litter and i think there is nothing more prettier than the view of the Mumbai High Sea. So why am i being subject to this torture.

If things continue like this, you will lose people and investments. But you will lose investments anyways and you will blame the impending floods/ bomb-blasts/ raj thackerey (not in that order) for fucking the FDI up for you.. What will hurt Mumbai more is losing people. Im only back here a week and it seems like the world comes crashing around me between 8PM and 10 PM each weeknight.Like lubing up in prison before heading of to the showers. And i think its about time i stop masquerading my rage at this city's traffic by the beaten down "i love my mumbai" theme song.

I dont say that if you lose me its your loss, hell... i didnt even say that to my ex when we broke up. What i will say though is if things continue the way they are, you will lose people. Some very good people who'd rather live up in the hills or by the sea and rather walk to work and pay 10% tax rather than put themselves through the ordeal that most of us have become numbed to.

I am pissed, Shraddha. I am pissed that my city is dying and there is nothing i can do about it. I am pissed that I'm wasting 520 hrs a year sitting behind the wheel when i could spend that doing something meaningful. I am pissed that i came home pissed and lost my cool with my parents. I am pretty pissed for being so pissed and i cant help but feel that its your fault Ms. Jadhav. In many ways, you are responsible for making me want to leave this city today, and for making my mum sad tonight.

This is not done and a sorry just wont cut it. I speak on behalf of 12mn other frustrated blokes.
Do not make us cry or we will yell.

yours honestly,
srini

Vi Veri Veniversum Vivus Vici

Vi Veri Veniversum Vivus Vici (By the power of Truth, I, while living , have conquered the Universe)

While those that know me would concur, I am not a person moved easily. Distracted yes, but not moved. But the other day something stirred deep within me whilst watching a movie, something that prompted me to put fingers to keyboard on this page yet again after a self-imposed hiatus. After all cinema is the rooted in art and art is only most inspiring when it mirrors reality.

" ...Beneath this mask there is more than flesh. Beneath this mask there is an idea, Mr. Creedy, and ideas are bulletproof. "

These words, albeit more verbose than succinct, struck a chord somewhere. Punching furiously on the keyboard at work made me forget that words are all we have to identify ourselves with. They are reflections of our cognizance, mirrors of our minds, forms and functions of our feelings. Words are words that give meaning to meaning. To leap out of a page and confront the reader - to convey, confuse, complement, commiserate or corrupt. Words give you the power to communicate, a power that is almost always short sold in the age of information overload.

Freedom, fairness, justice and faith are more than mere words - they are perspectives. They let you sit on both sides of the fence, sometimes even on it - but force you to see and acknowledge that there is a fence. Such is its beauty . Words are but mere symbols garbing the notion hidden behind. Perhaps, the greatest power of words stems from their being vehicles to ideas, imagination and intuition. And ideas are all that we can call truly our own. Ideas do not budge. They are not frightened, people are. Ideas are not corrupted, the society is. Ideas do not discriminate, individuals do. Ideas do not stop or tire, laugh or cry. They can not be touched by hand nor felt on your skin. They do not fear and do not warrant fear. They do not feel love or hate. They do not heal nor do they bleed. Ideas are ideas - a timeless, limitless epitome of liberation and the liberated. Ideas are bulletproof.

Capable of spawning genesis and apocalypse in equal measure, ideas are fundamentally the legacy of humanity. And the ability to learn, inspire and build upon these ideas is what makes us truly human, or so I was raised to believe.

A society bereft of ideas to stimulate its own evolution is a society best left bereft. And ours is inching towards one that threatens to stagnate- rot in its own bile of prejudice and preconceptions. Freedom of speech and expression is rationed to you at the cost of being constantly monitored. For fear that the world will accept truth at its face value. So when a google search on Tianamen square throws up nothing within China or when a whistle-blower is shot in eastern Uttar Pradesh - it is an assault not on democracy but on human ingenuity itself. When every new idea is assumed guilty until proven innocent - fear manifests itself and manifolds; colouring ideas and words with its own hues of right and wrong.

Which brings me back to words and the ideas they represent. While you may feel that I might have used too much of the former and have no clue of the latter, I am only trying to reason why our ideas and words must be guided by perspective and not by perception. And with enough time, the rights and wrongs, like stock markets, tend to sort themselves out.

History reminds humanity that it must act on ideas and not impulses. That said I'd like to leave you with this thought ...

"We're oft to blame, and this is too much proved, that with devotion's visage and pious action we do sugar on the devil himself. "

The inglorious basterds

To pinch a line from Dickens 'Those were the best of times and the worst of times'

Its been a while since we stepped out the gates at VESIT for good. Some of us excited to explore the world outside while the other reflected on the memories-past. VESIT had taught us singularity and psychophancy in equal measure. While I'm not sure if we ever did leave behind a legacy but we sure as hell did leave behind unaccounted expenses. I should know. But that was that... School was out

For four months we worked, or at least pretended to. Signing letters, addressing teams, motivating juniors, restraining Jeenal. We did it all. And boy was it hard! But none of us needed any motivation to get up in the morning, wear your praxis hats and run with the ball. It was all hardwired into the VESIT fabric. For four months, the little corner room on the first floor was our classroom. That is where we learnt. That is where we taught.

With a core committee like ours, things were bound to be difficult. Ten driven kids. Ten bloated egos. Ten people who could have run the show themselves. at least they believed they could. Those ten and a unbeknown bespectacled elder statesman too tall for the plastic chairs and too unVESIT for the inane core meetings outside the library.

Yes we did have fights and yes we'd bleed each other dry at times but look at the bright side. We didnt screw up! We may all reveled in our collective hatred for the management, our penchant for signing meaningless letters and cheap thrills from walking into the Vice-Principal's room and making straight-faced jokes without her not getting it. But our lowest common denominator was Praxis. That and schezwan fried rice. Praxis is why we wrote those letters, printed those brochures, set up those desks and ran those contests. Praxis was ubiquitous.

We may not have had the best of starts. No funding, no attendance (there I said it... ATTENDANCE!), no guidance, no support and no motivation. We could've had it easier. But we could've had it worse too. I remember the time we had gathered around and almost quit. Somewhere deep inside we loved it all too much to even reconsider stepping away from it. But we all liked to bluff, didn't we? I know I did.

We all had a legacy to protect. An ex-core member, a former GS or past pass out to make proud of our achievements. And when the day finally came most of us were too exhausted to react. Though i recall most of the pre Praxis innuendo, i remember nothing from Praxis. We had nothing to do. No papers to sign. No forms to fill. And the registrations were full, so we couldn't do shit.

What I do remember is standing atop that creaking bench in the quad delivering the CORE address to a tired yet excited bunch of people, who hopefully wanted our jobs as badly as we wanted them exactly a year ago. People cheering us on. Shouting out our names. Expecting us to say something smart or funny or controversial as the senior management looked on uncomfortably. That's why we put up with all those issues and hassles. Everything about the fest was bigger and better than they had left it to us. Save for the bank account and the Praxis T shirt.

Two years down, we have all moved on in our separate ways. But Praxis still remains our lowest common denominator. For a person like myself, who went from doing nothing in my first year to over engaging in my next three years, Praxis was a big watershed. Nothing excited me anymore. I was done with VESIT and the management for good as we all idled in the last few months of our college life. Praxis gave me closure.

Now comes the reason why i decided to wake up in the middle of a mid-winters night in Taiwan and type this out. No, I don't miss Praxis/VESIT and no I'm not suicidal and reaching out for attention. Earlier today I was sitting in a bar explaining to a drunk English colleague about what i remember from college days. This is what I remembered. This is what i wanted to share with you folks.

Its been well over two years. VESIT may have shifted. Societies may have died. Praxis may have mutated. Frankly, I dont give a damn. For me the idea of Praxis lived and died in those four months only. I guess as a team we did OK. But I'm sure we'd all have our two cents on this topic. So I guess we should save it for the next time we meet. If fate has that in store for us.
Like someone said, its never about how you start but always about how you finish. And did we finish well or what?
Give me a V... Give me an E... Common I'm getting to old for this shit.
Godbless and good night. Here's a toast to four months that will never come back.

Taipei times: It hits the fans...

The thing about arguing with idiots is that they drag you down to their level... and then beat you with experience. Something I realized very quickly on my 630 am sojourns from home to office. I don't claim to posses a sailor's sense of direction but after after living in a city for over two months and taking a cab to work everyday, you kind of figure out the routes. More so, if it were as simple as straight, second left, third right and into the roundabout. The rides got to be a breeze right. Wrong. Each day, a different cab driver takes me to work on different routes. More pertinently, the routes seem to get progressively longer and the cab costs rising ever so slightly each week. If you point it out to the cab driver,in your broken Chinese, that he could have taken the plain vanilla route, most likely he will say one of two things :
a) " Sorry ( or solly) sorry sorry sorry... next time OK?"
b) " This route better sir... more better
I don't know much about much... but hey the cabbies are taking me for a ride... while...er.. taking me for a ride.
Two months down in Taiwan. Feels good to dig my heels and grind it out. Feels good to be working hard... or long. In Taiwan, much to my surprise, both working hard and working long are synonymous. I am physically exhausted by lunchtime on Wednesdays and start counting down to the weekend. I eat enough cold dinners to show that i am working hard... or long.

Friday evenings are spent at 'Carnegies'... much to my disappointment. I am not a big fan of the bar. Given that crazed white-guys looking for coogers and easy pick ups and reckless parents getting their screaming 6yr olds into the bar doesn't make it any endearing either. But hey, after 4 glasses of whiskey and coke and the pints of vodka-soda for the rest of the night, you stop caring about frivolous details like underage admissions into the bar or even potential fire hazards for that matter. If it is a quiet night, then we drink till midnight and head home... if not then we move to a club and hit it hard till the acid in your stomach tells you 'enough's enough mate'...

Saturday mornings are spent recovering from the Friday brutality and catching up on lost sleep in the week. Saturday also means laundry day and grocery shopping day. for those who know me, please do not be alarmed. i am not domesticated, yet. Grocery shopping as per my definition is biscuits, beer, shaving blades and deodorant. None of those is 'grocery' is it? Should call it justshopping then.

Sunday mornings are another lazy affair. Afternoon brunches or left over pizza are the only variables in otherwise what is a pretty boring and mundane Sunday itinerary. You can catch a couple of movies on the telly though. Did i tell you all movies on show here are action movies. And then they keep re-running the same movie over and over. Much like they keep running CSI over and over on AXN. Steven Segal is the Tom Cruise of Taiwan. They love him here. He has a cult following with teenagers wearingwigs and American Indian signage to try and be as cool as him. Did I happen to mention, Taiwan is a weird place? I rest my case.

Taipei tmes- month# 1

When I found myself googling 'Taiwan' four months ago, i could picture myself writing this blog. Honestly I am yet to read this place well but this post was long due. So here it goes...

I moved to Taipei a month ago and my take on this city has been erratic and opinionated. In a city where English is alien, getting around can be irritating/exhausting/perplexing/amusing all in the space of Taipei minute. As a brown guy, I seem to confuse the locals. To their defense, they have seen very few of 'us'. The only brown person I had met was this guy wearing fake Ray-bans at the airport who happened to ask me if I was Bangladeshi. I have nothing against Bangladeshis. I think they have remarkable fashion sense in waterproof clothing given all that rain and constant floods. I took that in my stride like the many other things over the course of my stay here.

So how is Taipei?

It is clean, the roads are big, the cabbies are nuts, every street has a 7-11 and everyone seems to carry an i-pod around. So essentially, its like any other big city right? Wrong. Taipei, at first glance, seems to be a city stuck in an identity crisis. However, we will keep this topic for another day and another post...

Back to Taipei SWOT analysis. As i look at the city through the window, I do not see a city that i would like to spend my life in. Its not the Chinese,(zhongohua) that can be learnt. Its not the vegetarian food, that can be bought. Its not the shrill girls, not surprisingly they can be bought too. I do not see a 'go-get-it' spirit in this city. I see garish night clubs, fever pitched-rush hours and malls full of window shoppers but no feel pulse in Taipei. I don't know much about much, but hey... even though this looks and feels (and even smells) like New York... this ain't New York.

But to its credit, Taipei has its own 'charm' be it the quaint Chinese breakfast places or its sit out cafes among trees. Its got a healthy arboreal cover and pollution levels are among the lowest in Asia. This in a country that manufactures more semicon-chips in a day than there are people in this country.

As i look back at Taipei, quite literally as the window is right behind me, i can see good beer-but bad bars, loose women-but independent all the same, vegetarian fried rice-but stir fried in pork fat, helpful cabbies- but playing annoying music in the cabs, no nonsense colleagues in the day- best drinking buddies at night...smoking,tai-chi, hookers, soccer moms, rickshaws, skyscrapers, glitzy clubs, neon lights,Taipei 101, pool parties, hills, mountain bikers, bbqs, temples, brothels...
Taipei has got it all... My times here will oscillate between the good and the bad but I'm sure it will settle somewhere in middle.
The more I think about Taiwan, the more it intrigues and even frustrates me. But like they say, This is Asia.. so either you're in or you're out . And by the looks of it, I think I want it!
-Best,
Srini

blah

Stormy winds mark the end of the season
they all look up to the lightning to find a reason
and she walks through the door
your patient no... no more

you think about it once; your mind says wait
but then again the heart says don't hesitate
She sits besides; the world around races by
blurring out all but her eyes

Look into my eyes and there will be
a picture of us, which I believe
painted in color; on glass
we must have met in the past

Wake up from this dream and then she's gone
rubbing out your eyes, you look around
should've gone up to her by then
but you wait for lightning to strike a-gain...

Dance of democracy

India’s democracy at the ripe old age of 69 has finally come of age as a ‘matured polity’ with a new electorate and the largest number of first time voters in history. These elections were different from the earlier ones in many ways. Firstly, there was no burning issue to stir up the masses. There was no effigies being burnt and no party riding the ‘sympathy’ wave. Though Jagdish Tytler, Varun Gandhi and a shoe-tossing Sikh Delhi journalist did try their best to correct this. Alas! Not everyone is successful in inciting strong emotions/reactions in other. Not everyone can do a ‘Sreesanth’ shall we say. (What was his new nickname again?)

That being said, these general elections were also different in the sense that never before have psephologists and amateur political ‘analysts’ (like yours truly) been so utterly wrong in tapping the pulse of the public. During my travels across Indian hinterland prior to the elections there were signs that a surprise was on the cards. But we only realised it when the numbers jumped out of the television screen and slapped us right across the face. This was probably because these ‘experts’ like most stock-market analysts looked to past instead of looking at the present. Trend-lines, historical data, statistical relevance, standard deviation, mean movement and what not? A case was made (and which was more than evident from previous election data) that this was the watershed of two-party politics. Regionalist politics was peaking and now, more than ever, will be when India goes from a Federal union to a union of feudal federations. Reams of paper were spent on analysing how will coalition politics work out? Who will win the race to 272? India had braced herself for a socio-politico-economic khichdi of sorts with confused agendas and perplexing CMPs.

But that did not happen. We did not need Superman to save the day for us. We just relied on our right to franchise. And it was all there; summed up in a couple of hours. Faster than a game of IPL T20, we had the results in front of us before noon on that Saturday morning. I realised something that day. There are only two jobs of the ‘thankless variety’ in India. That of a teacher and of an election volunteers. The EC pulled off elections with an continental-size electorate and did it mostly without incident. Thousands of election volunteers running up and down dusty roads under the blazing noon-sun trying to answer questions of the new ‘Jaago re’ brand of voter who generally would have little regard for the process had it not been made to look cool to vote by the MTV, VH1s and Levis’ of our times.

Such voters (me included) do not realise that one must at least appreciate if not have to earn one’s right to vote. Few millions had died so that you could have your finger inked and escape those judgmental eyes at your workplace the next day. The ‘Jaago Re’ voter sometimes fails to appreciate the work put in by these guys who volunteer at the booths. They could have as well switched on the AC and tuned into ‘ We the people’ and cursed the fate of this country. ‘ This country has gone to the dogs’ would be an oft quoted line in that monologue. Wake up and smell the rotting lack of faith. We are those dogs.

Like I said, these elections would go down in the annals of history as one heralding the (at least as of now) death of regional powers. Though there is no turning back from coalition politics but a non-fractured mandate is something that was an unexpected yet pleasant surprise. Do not get me wrong. I am not a Congress man. Hell, I did not even vote for them. Like any party they have their flaws and their fortes. In an increasingly old north and south blocks, it was refreshing to see young, seemingly intelligent, articulate and mostly likeable faces of Rahul and Priyanka.

Rahul for me is more hype than substance. Though well spoken and well mannered, I believe he is a victim of the quintessential romanticizing of the Indian media’s notorious hero worshipping. No man can win a ‘state’ alone. Yet the media cant help itself from catapulting RG to super-stardom. Just like his reluctant father was once pushed into national limelight. Sure, Rahul, like Rajiv might be a very likeable and sharp guy. But he is not THE and is only ONE OF THE messiahs the Congress should turn to at least till he has enough political acumen to warrant credence to his view. Not because he is a Gandhi… but in spite of it.

Priyanka, on the other hand, has been the Congress trump card in these elections. A young(-ish) confident woman who knows (and mostly) believes what she is talking. Her biggest strength is her ability to connect to the common rural voter in a way that her mother never could. The more I see her speak, the more she seems to have the mettle of her grandmother. Quaint mannerisms, measured articulation and tempered vigour make her seem approachable and larger than life almost simultaneously. And it is not that she is living a lie. She is like any other Delhi mom jogging down the street to buy fresh brown bread and stressing about her kids’ exams the next day. Now that is refreshing. We will need more women (and even some men) like Priyanka. People who can call it as they see it. People who can connect with others and do so with dignity and fervour. People who are not afraid to ruffle a few feathers. Perhaps, she was Congress’ most successful candidate and she did not even contest!

These elections were more than just a decision. It was a decisive verdict. Though I believe that it was not for the Congress but against the forces that held it back from doing what it had set out to do in 2004. The voter seems to have thought ‘The PM is a decent man and knows what he is doing. And Moditva is not something that turns me on. Hey, what the heck? Dr Singh… take another shot.’

The Indian voter seems to have put an end to the countless emerging fronts. The left front, the secular front, third front, the fourth front, the fifth front. No wonder my grandfather asked me once “ If there were so many fronts, then who is the ‘behind’ (read ass).” India has cut the opportunists to size. We must all be proud. Godspeed.

Jay Hind!

Inside India

I write today, with no agendas, no ideas, no 'aha' moments. I write today not for you, but for me. It has been quite a while since I have typed into this mundane pastel-colored dialog box. Even my browser no longer stores this page in its cache. I guess 'out of sight is out of mind' is true for our friends at Mozilla too.

A lot many things have happened since I last put pen to paper; or in this case put fingers to keyboard. Barrack became President, Satyam went kaput, 08-became-09, six colleagues got the boot, whispers of a bull-run... the list is endless.
But the last two months of my life have been the most eventful. or the most hectic. depends on how one wishes to see it. So I get this mail one day, asking me if i was interested in this research report that had to be written up. 'It is about middle-India and requires EXTENSIVE travel (on weekends)' was the simple brief.
Now as much as I love my work and am thankful to god and the wonderful people at CLSA ( we all gotta do it man !) for keeping me from being just another statistical addition to Unemployment numbers, I HATE working/travelling for work on weekends. So I thought long and hard about this. And given my diligent adherence to the tenets of motion sickness, I had to think longer and harder.

But I thought, what the hell... lets do it. And two months, 35 cities, 200-odd meetings and 21,500kms later, I fell in love with my country all over again. What this report gave me an opportunity to see was the India most people shun. It was an educating experience for me personally, i realised being a Mumbai boy, i was more Americanised than i thought. i had become the very same bunch who i have vowed to ridicule for their fake accents and love for...er Bryan Adams' Summer of 69.
I lamented at the irony of me carrying bottles of mineral water with me in villages that never had enough since independence; mineral or otherwise. But this is India, and we are Indians.

Geographically diverse, linguistically confusing, culturally educating, religiously sensitizing and mostly tiring, this journey across India simply blew my mind. I would never have been to the magnificent hillocks of Leh in the bosom of the Himalayas(and 120kms from Kargil) or to the dusty hinterlands of Jaunpur or the colourful by lanes of Varanasi or met the devout of Madurai or seen the waves lashing in Kanyakumari or sipped tea in quaint chai-houses in Kolkata or played cards with truck-drivers in Karnal or seen the hopes in the eyes of each parent for the dreams of their kids or seen the wry smiles on people who believe in no more than their own fate.

This journey was in more ways than one, a pilgrimage of a patriot replete with sights and sounds forever etched in my memories. Me and my camera saw an India one would never see on tourists websites or travel catalogues or on wikipedia. This was the real India, with no flyovers, no metro-rails, no load shedding ( no load...even), no home delivery, no atms, no Aquafina... and yet with quaint sense of contentment and a restlessness to offer whatever one can for the guest's comfort.

This is a sojourn inside the very ethos of Bharat was a journey within myself, in many ways.
This is the beauty of going where few men have gone before. This is inside India.

Al-coholic

Its freezing outside but its burning within
as I sat and chugged my fifth tonic and gin
I look around the dance-floor and there she was
so I tried getting up but downed my glass
Then she disappears, she was gone in a blink
or uh-huh I may have had too much to drink


Now it'd been an hour and then I saw her again
she danced the night away as I drank my tenth
I caught her eye and thought she smiled at me
and then I knew where I'd rather be
I tapped her on the shoulder but she wasn't the one
I fear the night will end like it had begun

I sat around alone with Mr Jack-on-the-rocks
She sat besides and I heard her talk
Asked me if I would like to dance
though I was drunk I knew this was my chance
the lights came on, saw her wedding ring
so I wrote this song, that i seldom sing

Don't get me wrong I'm not melancholic
Hi, I'm Srini and I'm an a alcoholic !
yea...... yea......yea......yea......yea......

Game over ???

The end.

The epitome of finality. The endgame. Full stop. over.gone.goodye & god bless.
But what beyond the full stop?
Have you ever taken time out from your busy calendar that is synced with your blackberry and wondered what is above and beyond this finiteness?
Generally stories begin at the beginning. I believe it always begins, where the others end.
I wondered what lies ahead ( during a space-out-session pulling out equity stats from bloomberg ) of THIS.
What next?
As conformists in a nation glorifying conformity, we all will grow old, make some money, sleep around, lose some money, get married, sleep (just ! ), have kids, attend their kindergarten interviews, talk to them (awkwardly) about sex, watch them grow older while they watch you getting old, switch from bread-butter to muesli and watch them grow up to be conformists too...

Please don't get me wrong, my critique on conformism and not on conformists. Conformists, by definition, can not be blamed. We do what we are told to, read what we are supposed to read, and not ask questions that have difficult answers... They(we) do everything they(we) can to lead a non-invasive life in an stereotypical non-disruptive world. Much like the MATRIX.

My point is well, to point out the pointless pursuit of conformity. Are we to be conformists or not conform to tradition.... doest not conforming make us a conformist, by sheer definition of the term. I don't know... and Its six on a Saturday, so I don't care.

The question is what next? that is the question always... When your mind is stuck in the past and worried about the future. When you show utter disrespect to the moment that currently passes by. THIS MOMENT. right here. gone. never to come back. This is next. moment by moment. It passes. Like the sands of time, like the ocean blue. It slips right through or fingers...
So enjoy it while its alive. be alive in it... be alive with it.

What next huh?
Don't know, Don't care.
Peace out.

The beginning...



"We like someone because.
We love someone although."
- Henri de Montherlant

what the f***?

I would imagine at some juncture in their lives, every individual wonders 'What the fuckin' hell am I doing here?' or more on the lines of 'Why me?' These periods of dread, conundrum and confusion.
A purposeless tread into the unknown that paints out a hazy picture of your life to come, albiet in melancholic hues. A sudden anxiety attack, like a tourette's tick, recurrs each time you think about what you were sent out here to do, to acheive. A good question for all of us to ask ourselves is, What should your epithet read, while you lay six-feet under, rotting unto the earth. Ash to ash, dust to dust.
Here lies you,.... and what?
And does it really make a difference to anyone that you are gone ?
Well it should, ideally. But look around, if you don't see cars that park themselves and phones that ignore calls from call-centres, chances are that the world you live in, is not IDEAL.
So re-run that Goodwill Hunting scene in your head, and realise that "It's not your fault... it's not your fault".
So whose fault is it?
But then again, everything, or so i feel, has the tendency to sort itself out. why? when? how?
I don't know. Keep the faith. we must.

Being the self indulgent sonofagunn that I am, my epithat would read,
Here lies Srini... Lived and Died... and made some people happy in the interim... ( or so he died thinking! )

Bottomline : Don't be afraid of the future, it's equally afraid of you...(yes like that stray dog)
Do the things that you make you feel alive.... and then die...

That Song

Tell me the words
and I'll write you a song
give me some time
and it won't take that long
Don't be scared, darling... now don't run away
I'll tell you my story and be on my way

Show me the colors
Ill paint you a piece
guide me through their shades
of which some i can't see
Don't be scared, darling... don't tear it apart
This picture, your picture, i hold dear to my heart

Tell me your fears
Ill tell you my sins
some of which are by-gone
some yet to begin
Don't be scared, darling... and now don't be blue
And thus went that song, from me unto you.

hmmm

I sit and I write, with nothing to bare
of pointless talks and purposeless dares
I now write of things, both good and bad
of memories, of people, some happy, some sad
Never the money, not the things that you gain
You cherish your peace when you live through the pain

I speak of my deeds, of unspeakable sins
of fires that burn-up the pyres within
I write of stories, known, and some still untold
Of starless nights, some lonely, some cold
I speak of this moment, some still stuck in past
some rushing through life,some racing too fast

Of beauty, that beauty, that words even fail
I speak of a ballad, a lover's tale
Questions, that silence may ask of you
Of answers that lie,and some which are true
My own convictions, now breaking my fall
I speak of everything, yet nothing at all.

Dazed and confused : Confessions of an inebriated mind.

The human mind is perpetually wrestling its own mirage in the melee to make sense of its senses. To sweep shards of painful memories under the carpet of 'bygones', to hold on to hope, to comprehend the incomprehensible, to question and to reason.It is wrestled between the turbulence of your past and the uncertainity of your future.
Like somebody smarter than me once said," Yesterday is history, Tomorrow is a mystery. But you have been given the gift of today, and hence it is called the present."
The subconscious is blissfuly ignorant of its own subconscious effects on our psyche. Manifested as dream; both nightmares and fantasies juxtaposed to create a collage of our hopes and fears, ambitions and anxieties, faith and doubts. It never does directly impact on the way you perceive things around you. But it ticks, slowly yet surely, moulding your mind to see what it wants you to see, feel what it wants you to feel. You become a function of your sub-conscious. Like a shark, it lurks under the ocean of you memories.
Never let the fear of the unknown scare you. Never let your apprehensions dare you.
They want you to be a product of your environment, I say have your environment be a product of you.
And therein lies our ascension; from means to end;from clueless to aware; from doubt to faith. From questions to answers...Completing our journey from the ignorant sub-conscious to the blissful super conscious.

"When we remember we are all mad, the mysteries of life disappear and life stands explained."-Mark Twain,1898.

Distinguish betwee : india n yankeeland

1. Tipping in America, unlike India is mandatory. Here you quietly sneak out of the hotel with not tipping before the waiter finds out you haven't left him anything and gives you a " I'm so disappointed in you" look that you are accustomed to from your father , but in Yankee land be prepared to dodge some sneering snarls if you don't tip a prescribed 5 % gratuity

2. Coffee doesn't not mean filtered rich kaapi brewed in your grand moms small filter drip by drip till it fills the kitchen with aroma. In America, Coffee is a dark liquid served to you in Starbucks at the end of a long queue, often characterised by a Hispanic voice whose entire English vocabulary is ' That's a dollar fifty sir, thank you, have a nice day'

3. Sticking with coffee, in India, well, coffee is 'Coffee' colour. In the states, its black unless you want latte. Latte may not be sweetened. Do that yourself from counter at the side.
So, if you go to a store in the US, and ask ' Can i get that in a coffee shade ? '. Chances are he will come back with Black.

4. In India, neighbors are people with whom you are supposed to interact with, someone who comes to your place asking for a spoon-ful of sugar but leaves with a bowl-ful with the words " D I A B E T E S" flashing in your head, some one you exchange pleasantries with in the lift.
The American Gospel says love your neighbor, but just don't talk to him. Only serial killers and deranged pedophiles interact with neighbors. They even let them borrow sugar sometimes.
In America, the neighbor is defined as a guy who dials 911 if you end up raising a stink when lying dead, undiscovered for weeks in your apartment.

5. In America, the switch is pushed up to turn it on, the screws go in counter-clockwise and there is no such thing as manual transmission when it comes to cars

6. "Sodun dyaa na saaheb, parat nai honaar, he ghya 100 baksheesh, usheera hot aahe " will almost definitely not work when a cop pulls you over for a speeding ticket.

7. You cannot bargain on a pair of jeans, when yanks say its the final price, they tend to mean its the final price. No dene-ka-bhaav-bolo business here

8. In the states, Rubber almost always means contraceptive. So don't have your ten year old throwing a tantrum in the middle of the street for a new rubber.

9. Indian Parents scare their kids with stories of the boy who was attacked by the bogey monster. American children scare their parents with stories of the couple who were arrested by American Child Services for yelling at their kids.

10. All the fuss about Americans being advanced in their way of life. I have just one point to make America uses paper, India uses Water. I rest my case