Thursday, December 30, 2010

Down-marketing ‘30’ ???

As millions of young men and women around the world approach the ominous age of thirty each year, they suddenly find themselves being surrounded by companies claiming strange things. While one claims that you need an age miracle another says it can reverse the seven signs of ageing for you, so you’ll be ready to rule the world again!

With hundreds of such products flooding our lives, the marketing world has certainly tapped into one of the most dreaded insecurities of mankind, i.e. ‘losing their youth’. Given a chance we all would definitely like to stay young forever. But root of the matter is that even before those fine lines become visible on your face, these ‘miracle producing’ companies are ready to declare you ‘old’ under the microscope.

Anti-ageing, which is a big market in the western world, is catching up in India at a growth rate of 40 per cent. We didn’t even realize when we began to take 30 as the start of ageing. And such has been the effect created by the marketing geniuses of the world that people now actually dread to cross the age mark of 30.

Given a chance, many would not even celebrate their thirtieth birthday. Birthday’s become a day of existential crisis. Many will do anything, pay any amount, to stop it or at least slow it down. An internal study conducted by the Hindustan Unilevers had revealed that, on an average, the Indian urban consumer spends Rs 900 a month on skin care. No wonder the number of salons is on a rise and even India is now considering ‘Salon
tourism’ seriously.

Another bunch benefiting out of it are the psychiatrists. Age related depression is on a rise as more and more people are finding themselves unable to cope with it. Some say men handle it the worst, while others say it’s the women.

But what is it with 30 that causes depression? As per the ‘psychiatrists’, 30 seems to be an age where people have set specific goals to be achieved, and having not achieved those goals can cause an individual to stress or panic and feel an overwhelming sense of uselessness. At the sub-conscious level, it is this feeling that is actually triggered every time we see those advertisements.

I came across a query on a leading website ‘I'll be turning 30 in two years and the thought of it really depresses me. I feel I haven’t achieved much in my life. Is that normal?’

I was kind of shocked to read this. As children we couldn’t wait to grow up but as grown ups we don’t want to grow older. And that’s hardly the quarter of our life. Look what marketing has done to us! They want us to feel pathetic about ourselves so that we start using their products. I am not debunking the concept of marketing but such kind of marketing is definitely not healthy.

From 29 to 30, it is only another day- c’mon! we're NOT going to suddenly be unable to play or dance or go out like we did in our 20s- we can and will still do everything we did before, but with more wisdom and experience than we did when we started out on our previous decade of life.

Age, I believe, is as much a mental phenomenon as physical. It is the enthusiasm and the zest for life that you possess that matters. We all know Boman Irani the famous principal, Dr J. Asthana in Munnabhai MBBS and then Viru Sahassrabuddhi 3 Idiots. He began his film career at the age of 44 long after the age of 30 and he is definitely enjoying it. We can have thousands of such examples.

For age, at the end of the day is just a number. The world is not just run by under 30s. You don’t stop dreaming after 30. Neither do you stop going after them post 30. Miracles can happen at any age, with or with out the seven signs of aging. So go ahead and celebrate ‘turning 30’ in your own way.

Thursday, December 23, 2010

idee fixe

I sit on the corner of a long wooden bench
in a dimly lit corridor, washed of its stench

As I try to chart my life against yearly index
Am gagged by a lull, pulling down its vortex

An unplugged vending machine stares at me
Ridiculing at the stillness growing inside me

 couldn’t remember my present but certainly
I could see a girl in my past, full of vivacity

There was hope and also belief, to achieve
the big-small ideas my mind had connived

They now appear lost so with notions mixed
I close my 2010 diary; dreams appendixed!!

Few locks of future knotted with anticipation
rise before my eyes with slurred acceleration

Like each year, I'd carry them to year next
term as Resolution on New Year’s pretext

‘Hope you get through’, my diary implores
& eleven brings success that world adores

So get ready, Dear 2011, I'll load unfazed
With idée fixes that even sets me amazed!!

Monday, December 20, 2010

lights .. silence ... camerassss .. action !!

We had trekked some 13 kilometres down the village of Rajmachi. A good 6-7 kms still remained, but what remained little was the energy. Like nomads, we looked at the sun for support, when Abhishek declared, ‘ the sun is up there for at least an hour and half. We must try to hit the civilization (read Lonavala) by that time. From there we can get some means of transport. ’ Hardly any consolation for the weary souls.

Barely 5 minutes had passed, when someone called from behind ‘ Look back, it’s a lorry coming our 
way !’

And then there was a sudden spate of uncontrollable excitement.
Woo hoo!  ………Will they give us a lift? ……… Of course, why not! ……… Let’s ask them. ………They agreed ……… oh wow………amazing man………nothing could have completed our trip so brilliantly……… how do we get in ………use the wheels……… jump in ………this is crazy ………hang on tight ……!!
.
.
After having scanned the Google map of Maharashtra for over ten days, I thought I was ready to write my own book of weekend getaways, a plagiarized concoction of the content on numerous such sites. But at the end of it I was a little more than flummoxed by the choices put forward by the third largest state of India. It was then that a casual chat resulted in a trek we all would remember for long.

What made the trip interesting was the group of six, in which only two knew each other. We all met at Karjat station early in the morning with the smell of fresh vada pavs & dew for the backdrop and soon forgot the names rattled off during introduction, as we began by exploring the by lanes of Karjat, in search of an auto.

The sleepy town was only a precursor to what lay ahead. Quietly welcoming the sun was the mist covered lake beholding the reflection of the splendor above. We crossed the school, houses and community centers to reach the make-shift auto-stand next to the bridge. From there we reached the village at the base of the hill. The ride was marked with rustic views as if freshly painted on a canvas.

These village homes doubled as base camps and ‘hotels’ for wanderers like us, feeding us with hot poha, ‘extra nimboo’  and tea for a nominal amount, as scores of chickens wandered about; just what we required to get us going for the trek ahead.

The path unfolded slowly and steadily with varying flora all around us. It was Pooja and my first experience with photographers cum trekkers. Very soon we added words like aperture, shutter speed, macros etc to our vocabulary with renewed respect as they discussed various perspectives and other jargons! So while they clicked we would trek a little ahead to rest a little more waiting for them to join. In fact after every fifteen minutes of trek we would come across a micro stream or a water fall, with a different set of flora & fauna inviting us to take a break.

Had it not been for our ancestors who had painted the directions on the rocks and the locals who frequented the dense forest to get firewood, we would have most optimistically ended up on some other hilltop.

Our next major stop was ''Kondane caves''. Carved out of the igneous Deccan rocks, these Buddhist caves dating back to 5 th  or 6 th  century are also perfect for waterfall rappelling. While the guys enjoyed the waterfall sans rappelling, we sat back for some photo session. We looked at our watches. It was still 11 30am. Gosh! And it seemed as if we were trekking since ages.

Beyond this point the path surprised us. Steep slopes, strong roots erupting out of ground together with the rocks, just what I had imagined and may be what Pooja had not imagined! I had heard Rajmachi is meant for experienced trekkers and now I could feel it myself. The thrill was palpable. Nikhil (thin as the cigarette he smoked after every two hours) lead us all through out with the same gusto, while Abhishek, Arghya and Nil trudged back clicking pictures & keeping the spirit of the trek alive. With the bag growing heavier with every step, and no network to reach out to some guide for directions they pulled it through well!

After covering around three fourth of the distance, we sat down for brunch. Cake, snickers, cheese cubes and water. While we searched for something to cut the cake (for some reason the guys decided that girls can do it better), Arghya and Abhishek recounted distasteful stories of how to survive in the wild eating earthworms and other stuff. Finally a broken set square (revise your geometry!) emerged from my bag to our rescue.

On the way ahead, we realized the importance of a pocket local language dictionary to ask and understand directions on a trek, after losing our way thrice. We even tried to follow a village milkman but he proved way too nimble for our overworked lungs. The silence of the woods allowed us to use our own voice for overhead communication

Nikhil still leading had the same solemn look on his face, no sign of exhaustion. Abhishek, Nil and Arghya were happily clicking their way up, the strain could not dampen their spirits. Pooja, with a pulled nerve had already disowned me and set herself to a comfortable pace, careful not to overwork the ligaments. The end was nowhere in sight and I had almost begun to lose hope, when Nikhil and Arghya spotted the village.

Guys, we are there…… That’s the village …… We can see it …… Finally we have reached …… Yu huuu’

Soon, we were on the top of a plateau, where the Rajmachi village with a little over fifteen huts, thrived. A walk through the fields warmed up the sagging souls. Abhishek, the only one in our group who knew a little Marathi, got us to the right place. Small clean huts plastered with cement and mud with all basic amenities. No superfluous piece of furniture or showpiece. Lunch time folks!! Bhakri, dal, minced cabbage and rice vanished quickly from our plates.

The rural development corporation had constructed two pukka huts for trekkers. Surrounded by a blooming garden, it had raised platform for seating in the front courtyard. We spread mats and the bed sheets over them and settled down to tend the aching nerves. But not our photographers! With the sun about to set they had work ready for them all around.

‘Abhishek, h ow do we ask for washroom, can you ask someone’
‘Bhau sulabh kuthe aahe’, he tried.
The villager bore a blank expression as if we just read a few lines from Shakespeare.
Try some other word for washroom na’. After few trials, we asked, ‘ Bathroom?’
He smiled ..  ‘oo bathroom!’. We smiled too … now bathroom is a marathi word.  
Some more conversation transpired in Marathi. ‘ He is asking what you want for evening snacks. ’ Abhishek offered. Not wanting to trouble them any more we settled for onion bhajiyaas and masala tea.

An hour of nap or rather simply lying down in peace had a calming effect. In some time our coordinator arrived with snacks and firewood! ‘ Wow, we are going to have a bon fire! Great!’  

Quickly the woods were lit up using cow dung cakes and kerosene. The hot tea stirred the cells inside.
After dinner (we had non-veg option), we lazed around the fire again till late night! The clouds had hidden the starlit sky. So while our photographers waited for the moon to materialize, Arghya posed... Sitting, standing and even flat on the ground, with and without cigarette and sometimes glowing logs of woods to all of which Abhishek obliged.

Sitting on the platform under the tree around the bonfire discussing the trek that lay before us tomorrow reminded me of the travelers of the early. With our eyes adjusted to the fire, the surrounding area was at best a silhouetted sketch. But with former and present IT engineers around, the conversation about keeping the fire on with a newspaper fan soon had jargons like schedule slippage, deadlines, managers, QA, outsourcing, knowledge transition, team effort etc courtesy Indranil.

Only after the last straw was reduced to ashes, we wound our conversations, iphones and limbs and hit the mats. We had thoroughly enjoyed one of the longest days of our lives. In a single day we had done so much,
when sitting in our cubicles time just flies by. Living for a year on these hills would get you the feeling of living for at least five years. You have all the time in the world to enjoy yourself, your presence on this planet, without being influenced by others.  

The night was chilly. And the only piece of shawl Pooja and I had each for ourselves did little to save us. I have no idea how the guys managed! But next morning, while I struggled with my shawl, I could see Abhishek all set to get the rising sun through his lenses.

Next morning, after another breakfast of poha and tea, we started our photography cum trek mission. On the way we saw semi-natural caves filled with water. The Shiv temple was half way on the trek. A mix of present endeavor and ancient remains against the rocky background seemed straight from the page of a wanderer’s diary. It even had a small orchard. The Rajmachi fort and peak were right up there, and the climb seemed too challenging.

Pooja rightly decided to return back as a pulled nerve had made her trek very uncomfortable. The rest of us marched ahead. In fifteen minutes we reached the fort periphery or rather the remains of it. Stone water tanks were present around it for purposes left to our imagination. Nikhil gave out a call which echoed in the mountains and in no time, other groups at various heights joined him. As for Arghya and Indranil, they posed!

What seemed to be a treacherous trek was completed without much pangs and in around forty minutes we were at the Rajmachi peak. One of my life’s first. Feelings, beyond words. Only yesterday, it looked so difficult, but today we were there. The village looked so small and we could actually count the huts there. Nikhil managed to spot a lake across two mountains.  

But the whole feeling was marred for some time by a stray incident. Minutes after we had settled to the top, a group of young boys joined us. And in the duration same as that for headlines in any news channel, they climbed up the flagpole and tied their flag higher up, bursted crackers and opened few pet bottles of Thumbsup and Coke to mark their victory.

When they left, the peak was left with bits of paper, plastic and of course the sound of crackers echoing in the valley. I had seen a live example of how callous man could be towards environment and still raise voice against others for spoiling it. If Rajmachi peak could be soiled so easily, I shuddered to think what must be left out of Mt Everest.

The gloom was lost when Nikhil scrambled the same pole and we lend him a hanky to tie up there. Soon all of us except Abhishek took turns to try out the same. One part of our journey was now complete. The other half awaited us. Till now I hadn’t told Pooja that her ‘Rajmaland’ trek (that is what was left of the name after I had first called her up to tell the last minute change in plan) is meant for experienced trekkers. We trekked down to the village from a slightly different route, and landed just before the small ‘hotel’ run by a local woman selling toffees, biscuits and serving ‘ nimboo pani’, ‘kokam sherbet’ etc . 

In the hut we met Pooja, looking invigorated apparently by the rest and sleep she caught upon. After lunch we went towards the end of the village hoping to find the lake we had spotted form the top. But we had to abandon our search after Nil’s reconnaissance, and Pooja’s SWOT analysis showed us no hope!

It was now time to pack our bags and say good bye to the hospitality we had enjoyed since yesterday. The route taken to trek down was easier but longer one and so it proved itself to be. Two of the cameras had run out of battery, but Abhishek continued with his run! A break of bourbons, banana chips, Chiclets and water got us going. But we really thought we needed glucose at this point of time.

From somewhere, Nil and I had the extra energy to go off track & explore what seemed to be an old rock water reservoir while Pooja stared at the implausible! The Sahayadri Range was before us in full view. The mountains imposing around us like some fort wall seemed to shield itself from the gatecrashers like us. The dam which the villagers had mentioned as a landmark was now in sight.

But where is the transport they had referred to ? ‘, I despaired.
‘Let me go a little ahead and check’ , Nil offered.

We had trekked some 13 kilometres down the village of Rajmachi. A good 6-7 kms still remained, but what remained little was the energy. .. :) ... continued from the top ...

Tuesday, December 7, 2010

The other side of digital divide



On my birthday, I thought to gift myself a kindle. For the uninitiated (a lot of whom 
I met during last week), a kindle is a book reading device from amazon.com, which
can store thousands of books for you. So you have a nearly 300gm library with your
favorite books with you all the time. Since I am the kind of person who finds books 
simply irresistible, I knew I had to have it.

I had to get it from US since it was costlier to buy in India with shipping
charges n all. So I jogged my memory real hard to get all the possible
contacts in U.S. Through one good friend I finally ordered kindle and in
around two weeks I had my kindle in my hand. (Thanks Shreyans! :))

Gosh, it was one of the most memorable moments. The moment I held it my
mind swirled with the endless alternatives I was suddenly empowered with.
Now all I needed was to find a peaceful corner for myself and off I would
sail in my own world with my kindle for company. I didn’t have to depend on
TCS library or the local bookshops to get the latest books or any of my
favorite books.

Immediately as I got home, I switched it on, glanced through the user guide &
had my first book in it in less than a minute. With amazon.com the biggest online 
bookstore, at my disposal, I could have any book, whenever I wanted it. My joy 
knew no bounds.  The best part about kindle is that it doesn’t have the usual screen 
of a laptop or your monitor. It's electronic paper display makes reading absolutely 
natural. The eyes would never get strained.

Wooo ..and my mind started off on a journey again. Imagine kids going to
school with just a 300gm device in stead of 3 -4 kgs of books. So
liberating for those young shoulders! And why only school kids. Now I can
hit any of my favorite hangouts, treks or beaches without having to worry
about the extra load of books. And since I would buy original copies now, I
would finally be doing my bit towards discouraging piracy!
.
.
.

Almost a week later I called up my brother to share my experiences. I
didn’t have to tell him what was good about it, since he is a gadget freak.
But I had something to confess. And so I began …

'You know what bro. Every time I read from this kindle. I feel as if
something is missing. It’s great but it’s not the same as it was with
books. It’s like substituting a fruit with a capsule having the same
vitamins. I miss flipping the pages. May be they could have a touch-screen
to give that effect. And I can’t even see the previous page when I am
reading the next one as it is with the books. Ok I might be unreasonable
with this demand but it’s a device at the end of the day. And I got this
rude realization the day it choked & hanged up! C’mon! Real books never
hang!!!!!'

'May be I expected too much. But I don’t want to understand why I can’t read
from kindle in the dark. It shouldn’t have been a big deal to incorporate.
All my dreams of getting stranded on an island with my favorite books got
trashed.'

My brother had enough. He was like, ‘Sis I think you are still on the other
side of digital divide. I can’t say much except that you need time to grow
up on that and you need to give time to the poor kindle to grow up on you!
It’s the same with every technology, remember how awkward computers were in
the beginning’.

Well may be’ I persisted, to have the last word before he hung up, ‘but
do you think it would be the same feeling ... dozing off reading a book or
dozing off with a kindle! At least, I didn’t feel the same.’


(May be i should have titled it 'Confessions of a book lover!')





Wednesday, October 6, 2010

Each one, employ one!




Last week, I had an overdose of motivational, inspirational and other ‘…ational’ books. And the result was a whirring, stirring and other ‘…irring ‘cerebral concoction, topped with ifs, buts and may beees.

     Something so elementary that the working class, at present focusing on IT/MBA, has constantly refrained from turning their thoughts towards it.

This class is brought up to earn not only an income but also a set of dependents. And so the life is spent ‘managing’ the income around the periphery. Whatever is left is ‘saved’. Saved to acquire bigger liabilities in the form of an EMI backed house, car, vacations etc

     Going about their routine, impervious to the lives on their fringes, they have only added to the swelling gap between them and their domestic helper, or so we like to accuse.

But is it actually so?

     Take a closer look; this is the class that was made to mug the whole of science/commerce/arts when their minds wanted to look elsewhere.

Result, they kept chasing numbers throughout school. Reeling under the same inertia they chased entrance exams and went on to chase numbers again in colleges. By the end of it no one had the time or guts to ask  here this chase was ending. Their peer group was their world and they thrived in it. They peered over each others’ careers only to better them. Thus the ‘peer bubble’ grew.

The focus was always on building better two page glossy summary of their lives that we call a resume which could land them within 1.6m * 1.6m ‘private’ spaces in ivory towers.

All through school never was the idea of setting out on your own and employing others discussed. No one talked about profit and loss, cost and sales, production and service.

All, their teachers/parents knew about was, working for others. How could we expect them to discuss money generation, when they only knew about earning a living through pay checks? Resumes were worshipped. Business plans hushed about in the corridors.

In short, as the middle class moves ahead under inertia, satisfied with statistics showing rising percentage of literacy and employment, the ground realities remain grim.

With such situation, we cannot expect magic to happen with our unemployment and migration numbers. We advocated each one teach one because we believed education to be the solution for all evils. But while education happens (with abysmal teacher absenteeism, delusional teacher student ratios et cetera) we need another movement.

‘Each one Employ one ‘

Schools need raconteurs to include stories of entrepreneurship beyond Dhirubhai Ambani. Business basics must be taught along with the periodic table and Quit India movement. With children observing business all around them, right from the milkmen to the malls, it would be unfair to underestimate the capabilities of young minds to appreciate the fundamentals.

Students deserve to know what it takes to start a business, what are the reliable sources of information, the laws and the ‘jugaad’ (why, we were told about it by a Singaporean faculty, who had had its unbeaten hands on in India) by the time they graduate. Entrepreneurship is not a prerogative of the MBAs alone. It has to seep down for the better.

In India, the biggest immediate motivation to start a business is another entrepreneur (27% of those surveyed). In China, the biggest motivation (23%) is what was taught in school or college. Clearly, Chinese schools and colleges do a better job in this respect. (Ref - http://swaminomics.org/?p=1875)

The advantages of entrepreneurship are well documented. India, with a working average age of 25.3 years, would be delusional to forgo the present. We need to ensure that this generation earns enough to fend for itself as it grays so that the future doesn’t have to cough up for their sustenance.

But this generation has to take the buck for itself. Every person standing up to the challenge will not only employ but also inspire others for the same. With every success we will certainly see more households encouraging it thus making it an innate part of the developing India’s way of life.


Sunday, September 5, 2010

Seat 12E

Traveling in a plane had always been an experience that was looked forward to, until, of course the budget airlines came and obliterated the novelty of it. But a few things still remain the same. Like the feeling when the airplane wheels leave or hit the ground; looking out at the sky and clouds (or even the moon if you are lucky) through the capsule windows; getting to see the city map in motion etc.

At thousands of feet above the ground, there's not much you can do if you haven't penned your flight hours in your 'to-do list' already or are bored checking out the flight attendants (being your nth flight) unless you belong to the clan for whom sleeping is a 'favorite hobby'!!

Turns out that if you are a potential insomniac, there couldn't be a better place than this flying gadget to unclutter your mind, heart and soul. Well, I decided to try the same.

I had just managed to get through the final calls at check in and boarding so as I settled in my seat, my mind was still reeling under its effect. Being the last one to board in, I had two gentlemen between me and the window. In some time it was evident that they were fresh graduates, on their way to start their career in some IT company.

Closing my eyes, I decided to decant myself of the thoughts, picking out the insoluble ones who were adamant on ruining my air-borne meditation. It felt great, to be present in the present without any thoughts. I could sense my senses and my cells settling into a neutral state.

I knew nobody in there who could nudge me from my state unlike at home or office (even had my seat belts fastened throughout). Even as I was warming up to the stillness of my thoughts, Shakira appeared. “Waka waka e e ..Tsamina mina eh eh .. this time for Africa'. What was that? Had I slept attempting meditation and was dreaming now?

Amused, I opened my eyes to know the origin of the music only to find that Seat 12E had decided to reveal his penchant for English songs to seat 12F and the absence of headphones could not stand in his way. What is it with guys and songs?

In the numerous air-trips I have had, I had always wondered why people longed to get aisle seats to get better view of the air-hostesses, why people hurried to be the first in line when boarding is announced (as if they could grab or reserve a better seat for themselves), why airlines expected us to wear our seat belts even when the engine stops (as if the wind would blow it away any time) or why do they serve sandwiches meant for astronauts and ignore your requests for additional glass of water (as if you have committed a capital crime). But this one beat my imagination.

The Delhi Metro's announcement echoed in my ears, “Kripya metro me sangeet na bajayein. Please do not play music inside the metro”.

Some fifteen minutes later the pilot decided to land the plane. Only as it slowed down, we relaxed our spinal cords. “Ladies and gentle men, boys and girls, we have landed at the IGIA in Delhi. The outside temperature is 37 degree celsius. Please do not switch on your mobile phones until the plane completely stops as it hampers the communication systems … “

But even before it could be completed … “Hello, hello, yes, Mr Gupta speaking. Actually I have just landed at the airport. I will call you back in ten minutes”.

Whatever happened to the safety and communication systems!


Tuesday, August 17, 2010

detour

I adjusted the strap of my backpack, now lighter, as I had emptied the bottle to make my trek up the rock a little easier. It was no ordinary rock. Unlike the ubiquitous rock of Gibraltar, it was a residence to almost a hundred families with their homes scattered along both the edges of the rock, leaving a path in between. A few shops along the alley sold bijou souvenirs apart from the paraphernalia for the far and between travelers.
I took a detour from this narrow yet nitid passage to see and smell more of their daily chores. Looking for the next best stone to jump on, I trotted off.
Small homes with smaller windows let out family conversations as morsels, but enough to suggest that dinner was a pretty early affair here. Soon, as their ovens were heated, the smell of sautéed garlic and parsleys whetted up the rocky terrain. A bagpipe was being played on the roof where few men seemed to have gathered to have a good time.
I stopped in between to catch some breath as the gradient was increasing with each step. The moist wind gained thrust too, making me toil. Above me, the clouds were getting in a fantod, but I trudged on in anticipation of what lay ahead. Having set my sight on it during a walk along the city esplanade, I knew I just had to be there. So without wasting any time I picked up my back pack (ready as always for any escapade) on the nearest weekend and set off.
Bracing for the impending downpour, I quickened my pace a little. The light from the light house indicated that the crest was not very far. Dodging the window panes lightly, I trekked my way up. In about ten or fifteen minutes, I emerged onto what was a different world altogether.
Cruising closer to the cliff around the light house I reached the end … or maybe, the beginning. For some hundred and fifty feet below, the ocean began into an endless expanse. The strong waves together with the dark clouds created a rhapsody in which every other sound got submerged.
Thoughtless yet enchanted, I stood there as if under a spell. In one breath I took in the panorama encircling the rock while my heart resonated with joy. It ceased to matter where I was; I felt as if I had become a part of it. Standing there, that moment turned into forever.  

Saturday, June 19, 2010

I dream of ladakh ...

Waiting to set foot on the lunar landscape
And meander around in a Buddhist drape

Splash the crystal blue water on my face
And watch the wild yaks while they graze

Set my sight on the ice capped mountains
Or come close to the hot spring fountains

Touch the moon shining clear in the lake
And taste the momos and tea they make

I dream …

Of making once to this mysterious terrain
Where in every speck, divine is ingrained!

sun senses and ceremony ..

                                I walked fast covering my forehead to escape the punishing sun of Dubai. As usual I had left my cap in a hurry. But this September heat simply bore through the clothes to scald your skin. I felt like a boiled egg on the breakfast table waiting to be served. And because I could never find those made for me kind of sun glasses, the roads, smooth like a cake icing, blinded me.

Praying for the heat to miraculously dip, I stepped out of the shade of the solitary tree (I am being too generous) braced for the impending onslaught. No sooner did it strike, some neurons in some part of my brains got working. I focused to feel it again; my neurons diving in deep to seek that moment in memory. I had certainly felt this heat before, at some point in my life. There have been words, sights or even scents which have reminded me of some point in the past. But it had never been the heat.

With a few more steps, I had my Eureka moment. Running across the fields along with my younger brother and cousins, I was praying the same. Place - Gaya, Bihar. Occasion – Uncle’s Marriage. Year – June 1995.
I could never understand why summers were chosen for such elaborate occasions. The bride and the groom of all the people ended up more harassed than ever.

Being on the grooms side we were all a part of the baraat comprising of some 80 odd people. Kids, youths, middle aged and olds but mostly men. Females were relegated to kids up to around 12 years of age. The marriage having its roots in the village had to follow the village norms. And therefore no girl above the age of 12 could accompany a baraat. What must have started as a means to save the womenfolk from the hassles of travelling long distances had now stuck as a part of rural dogma.

So kids and elders were grouped under the charge of few young men who enthusiastically went about stuffing us in jeeps. We were dressed up by our mothers in bright magentas, parrot greens and deep golden yellows, bought obviously by a part of the dowry amount. But there were a few of the so called lower castes who didn’t bother to or may be didn’t have anything new to wear.

Water bottles were carefully counted and handed over to the elders. Every object, be it a match box or a mud ‘kothari’, if it could hold something it had to be preserved. Gong by it, since plastic bottles were acquired once in a while, they were among the upper leagues of such objects. Three stuffed jeeps and a bus reached the bride’s village.

Where in every one got down to dance their way to the destination.  My cousin and I decided against dancing in the baraat, already overflowing with men. So we watched them from a distance, wishing we could be there too.The groom’s party was welcomed.

We were directed towards the terrace where the food was to be served. Had it been a buffet a melee would have ensued soon. Foreseeing that may be, the hosts themselves serve the guests. While we sat in lines akin to those in ‘Gurudwara’, nimble hands filled our plates with paneer, aloo parval, poori, raita, chicken and sweets. While others jumped on to it like flood victims, I couldn’t eat a single bite without wondering if the light worms have decided to lay their lives in our bite.

Post dinner, the groom, famished by then was carried to the stage in a ‘Palki’ held up by the relatives, a stark contrast to the movies we had grown watching, wherein the bride was carried in a ‘Palki’. Soon the ‘Jaimaal’ followed, wherein the bride and groom garland each other in the presence of hundreds of people clapping, showering flowers. We got a chance to stand besides our uncle. T’was a high point for the villagers who wished to be seen as ‘modern’, while the elderly looked down upon it as a poor influence of western culture. How could a respectable family brandish their daughter/daughter-in-law like this?

We were shown our tents to change and sleep. Six kids in a tent meant for three, topped with a relentless summer night. The only wind that blew was the ‘loo’. But I guess we were too tired to ask for another option. The marriage went on the whole night while we slept. We had planned to get up early to explore the nearby area.

Next morning, our eldest cousin, who had just passed out of IIT, and was then the most eligible bachelor joined us with his college friend. We went around the village alleys hoping for an adventure. One of the families called us in for breakfast, to which we happily agreed. Then we trotted off towards the orchards. Picked up a few stones and tried our luck but no results. And while we were contemplating climbing up the tree to get hold of some ripe mangoes, some shouted ‘Run!!, the owner of this orchard is  coming here to catch us.’ And we ran to save our lives not even once thinking, whether it was true or not. Adventure!!

Running across the fields along with my younger brother and cousins, I was hoping to reach the marriage tent before turning into cinders. In between we saw a hand pump and everyone got pulled towards it. Two slim banana trees tried to be generous with their shade and we couldn’t be more grateful them. We splashed our faces with the cool ground water and splayed over our hands and feet. This was the only high point of our escapade.

We got back and joined the ceremony, giving each other furtive smiles to acknowledge our exploits. While we sat there my cousin point pointed towards the small colorful gifts which were hanging from the ‘Mandap’. After enough restraint, we started pulling them one by one and soon we were into a competition of who gets collects more. Even as the pandit tried to concentrate on the ceremony, we strained and bent over people to pull more. In no time the bamboo and thread mandap gave away and we were shown a ‘better’ place to sit. Sitting in another corner of the tent, in front of an old table fan, I wondered when would I get back and sleep in peace with my mom.

While I was thinking this I reached my class. In that journey of about a minute or two, I had revisited yet another of my colorful childhood days. I took out my laptop, opened a case study and got down to revise it, lest I be caught fumbling with the answer…..

Tuesday, March 23, 2010

moving on ...

She looked out of the glass one last time her neck craned
Eyes soaked witht he stillness of the desert after the rain

A year had slipped by like sugar crystals from a riveted fist
Only to pixellate quietly in a glass of water wrapped in mist

There wasn''t any twinge of parting with those left behind
Nor any delight in the hope of what lied ahead in her mind

Moments and incidences that brushed past her piquantly
Couldn't lead her any more onto a trip down the memory

She was now in harmony with her plans and peradventures
Playing on the frontfoot, adding more colors to her pictures

Sunday, February 14, 2010

Bonded to a passion ?

And as I was sitting in the second row of my class, I could hear those words for the nth time in my life “you must know what you are passionate about and follow it, then you will not have to work a single day”. Every time I hear this, I feel like asking the professor, whether it really was his passion to come here and talk to us about it or before that, to be a professor at all.
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So what is it about the most hyped word on earth? What does it have that drives millions on a journey inside their hearts only to find themselves lost, grappling with the facts or as they say reality?

Ever since we begin to feel the world around us, sooner or later, we develop a fancy for some things or may be the ‘ONE' thing depending on how our genes and our environment react. And life in that very moment acquires a different meaning.

But life by then already has so many meanings. Like it means to grow up and stand on your feet. It means to earn for yourself. It means to at least maintain the socio-economic level you have inherited. It means to make a career, and then make an investment plan and then a retirement plan. It means to make sense to the same world around you, who is too busy to be bothered by whatever you do. And at the end of the day, it means to be happy.

If only you try to add a little of the word passion to the above blend, the result is a concoction which not many can take it down their throat. It is not as difficult to prepare as it is to drink. You live day and night with it, most of the time not knowing what to do with it. In every sip your heart and mind are at a tug of war. There’s a protracted calculation of risk and return.

They say it requires a self belief measuring the sky, for the onslaught of ‘practical’ alternatives is heavy. But self belief minus opportunity is a bane (oh yes! they do say create your own opportunities!). Without it you are like a bonded labor. Imprisoned by your own belief; going on with the vagaries of life. You have committed deep inside to it and so you struggle with it each day. You face the world each day with suggestions. You face yourself each day with questions.

And sometimes the weird question “Why do I have this passion? Had I been freer without it? Are those around happy without it?
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Amidst all this, a faculty for leadership tells me one day to be realistic. And I being to wonder again … how real can a reality get? Is her reality different from mine? Whose reality is more conditioned by the world ??


Wednesday, January 6, 2010

capriccio !

A chequered olive table cloth, an apple tart with cream
And a mug full of Irish coffee, sneaking from the brim

Rays of new sunlight through a colored window glass
Above few long stemmed roses in a tall bamboo vase,

An oak tree nearby, stretching to reach the window sill
And a path down to the woods beyond the chalet's frill

The sky drew shades of caramel and gold in odd ratios
As a puff of air nudged few leaves dozing on the patio

She lifted the bow to draw across the strings of her violin
And bowed her head, eyes closed, fingers contemplating

Like a misty breeze it stirred every cell of her body
And gushed out through her form in pure rhapsody

In the capriccio were entwined her sense and her soul
Her wish to reach out and seek the world unexplored!!

For that moment she was nothing but the melody itself
With a resolve on the New Year day to just be herself!