Hues of Insanity

Heaven on earth

2011-08-15T13:59:00.000+05:30

Need for Speed

2011-07-27T23:50:00.000+05:30

The Lament

2011-07-19T23:36:00.001+05:30

The monsoon rain fell in thick sheets, the cruel drops impinging upon fragile bodies, sending them scampering for cover. The clouds gurgled with laughter, watching the futile efforts of drenched mortals trying to shelter under a tree.

I reminisced about the happy times he and I had spent together at Marine Drive. He. The one who my heart beat for. Strong and virile. And I was then beautiful and comely. In my arrogant youth, when I believed I’d stay young and lovely for ever. If he had been around, he’d still have loved me. Like before. Despite my scars and ugliness.

I remember the time when I was his soul and he was mine. When our identities blended with each other so well that no one knew where one ended and the other began.

No matter how clichéd it sounds, in his case and mine, it had been love at first sight. No one else had ever evoked the same feelings, the now familiar rush of emotion in my heart. I reciprocated his feelings, and we became inseparable companions. For a while, at least. We believed that we were meant to be together. He and I. I and him. We

But, that was only till they came. Those cruel men, with cold steel in their hearts, veneered under thin smiles made of plastic. I shrieked and struggled, but to no avail. Vain were my cries of help, and he could do nothing but watch in anguish, as I was defiled by those monsters.

I remember my appeals to you, to you who stood there in mute stupefaction, gaping at the dastardly dervish dance that went on in front of your very eyes. You never came to my aid. You shrugged your shoulders mournfully, and went away.

The rain fell in thick sheets, trying to wash off their filth from me, trying to cleanse my soul with its sheer impact. And he writhed in agony from the blows that they had landed on him. I took him under my fold, and we wept.

But you never noticed.

He was a tough character. He wouldn’t die on me just yet. He managed to drag himself around, just to lend me strength and help me live.

You rejoiced in your cowardice, rejoiced at the fact that he still lived. That’s when I learnt to hate you. That’s when I realised that your life revolved only around yourself. You only stopped to capture a vicarious thrill, an adrenaline rush of being in the thick of things. You never even cared.

You were not there when they had come again. One night, when all was quiet, those men with faces cloaked in darkness came. The evil glint of their weapons still gives me sleepless nights. I cower in fear, dreading that they may return yet another day.

The rain fell, washing away the blood from his mortal wounds as he lay there. You never came.

He died that night.

On those monsoon nights, when the clouds rumble in anger at your cowardice, and the sea threatens to breach its shores in its angst, the wind carries my whispered longings away to where I think he can still hear me.

I’m a broken shell, an old woman pitted ugly sores, brought low by my own hubris and your cowardice.

I am Mumbai.

Coffee and Conversation

2011-07-17T12:09:00.000+05:30

State of Fear

2011-07-13T20:57:00.002+05:30

History is a little like the most boring professor we used to have in school - always repeating herself, only for her words to fall on deaf ears. But, she'd always have the last laugh, when we came up short in every test that she threw at us.

Everytime, we resolved anew that we would heed her words carefully. Of course, by the time her tests caught us by surprise, we had forgotten what she taught us last.We clenched our fists, gnashed our teeth, orated about her cruelty in our closed rooms, and went on with life hoping we'd get rid of her soon.

Hearing a news channel airing a 'breaking news' program, as soon as I stepped into my house, I realised that there we were again. Mumbai - the business capital of India. THE Metropolis. The City of Dreams. Blasts. Flashes. Shrapnel. Screams. Death. Destruction. Sympathy. Concern. Apathy.

Frantic calls to loved ones. Concern giving way to annoyance on finding jammed phone networks. Texts, emails, twitter updates, FB updates, and now Google+ updates too.

It doesn't take much to throw our nation into a frenzy. All it takes is a bunch of lunatics to target a busy area in a major city, and wreak havoc. News channels have a field day, waving their microphones in the faces of the dying, the injured and the bereaved. Our respected leaders leave no stone unturned to illuminate themselves from the burning pyres of the dead. Our security agencies go into a tizzy and blame 'foreign hands' trying to destabilise our country.

We oscillate between incredulity, anger, outrage and despair, sending our blood pressure to alarming levels. Absent-mindedly, we stir our bitterness into our coffee cups and drink them down.

13/12. 26/11. 13/7. 10 dead. Thousands feared killed. Hundreds injured. Mere dates, mere statistics to be relegated to some file gathering dust in the corner of a government office, piled up for 'compensating' the relatives of the dead. Numbers to be quoted by politicians spewing vitriol. People who were neglected in life, finally getting some 'value' ascribed to them post-death.

We'll hold candle-lit vigils at India Gate, watching the ficklely flickering flames. We'll organize prayer meetings at the Gateway of India, letting our tears be one with the salty sea. We'll attempt to drown out terrorism by flooding social networks with our rants.

Of course, we'll tighten our security. We'll install CCTVs at busy markets, allowing pot-bellied policemen to ogle at nubile girls. We'll hand metal detectors to security guards, hoping their loud beeps scare away miscreants. We'll double the security of our leaders, to keep their revered souls safe from the madness.

Then, a few months later, that cruel professor called History will throw us another test, and laugh as we miserably fail again. We'll clench our fists, gnash our teeth, orate about her cruelty in our closed rooms, and go on with life hoping we'd get rid of her soon.

The Boss is Not Your Friend

2011-06-11T11:13:00.001+05:30

Described as ‘A Handbook for Indian Managers to Survive All Things Organizational’ – Vijay Nair’s book manages to take a dig at organizations, bosses, subordinates, the work culture, and nearly everything that occupies space in an organization.

Drawing richly from management jargon and various organizational models drawn from business knowledge, Mr. Nair provides a read that is irreverent at some times, and hilarious at all times, but manages to capture your attention all the same.

There are many books by management ‘gurus’ and experts proclaiming modern organizations as fine examples of excellence, integrity, and what not. But, there are very few books that would take the dangerous stand of ‘Organizations are evil’. Moreover, who better than a person with a post-graduate diploma in HR and several years of experience as a consultant to tell us about organizations?

The author keeps in mind the long line of latest ‘incidents’ in corporate history – the Radia tapes, Enron, the Satyam fiasco and the Union Carbide disaster. He then builds on these to talk about what the motives of your organization are. What is your boss thinking? What does ‘it’ want from you?

Mr. Nair manages to modify management models and frameworks like Six Sigma and Maslow’s needs hierarchy (along with many others) and weave them into wildly funny and interesting ones. (Incidentally, you can’t help but relate to them as well.)

He lampoons organizational cultures and demands to know if organizations think of employees as plants and themselves as gardeners – ‘nurturing’ and ‘growing’ employees. In addition, he identifies some people who are at the core of evil – the HR managers and external consultants.

The six types of bosses that he has you identify using his Boss Labeling and Fixing Instrument make you wonder – about which type you fall under, and about which one your boss falls under. Comparing the HR managers to ‘dementors’ from the Harry Potter series is fairly apt too. After all, they often suck away happy feelings and leave just an empty shell of a person behind.

Probably, the idea behind the book is not to get too worked up about its contents (in case you are a ~~dementor~~ HR person or any other animal species described in the book). However, maybe the sarcastic tone of the book is a reminder to all of us who work in corporates, about how easy it is to go wrong, and become ‘it’ to our subordinates. At a deeper level, perhaps, it is a warning to the reader to not become an Oily Oyster or a Horny Harry.

The Boss is Not Your Friend is a book sprinkled lavishly with wit and humour. The current crop of corporate employees should be able to relate to this one, and have quite a few laughs reading it.

This review is a part of the Book Reviews Program at BlogAdda.com. Participate now to get free books!

Rain...

2011-05-10T21:06:00.002+05:30

The sun was a molten ball of malevolence, dipping beyond the horizon. Like the burning fingers of a demon escaped from hell, the wind raked my face, leaving behind its wet footprints. The empty road glistened like a river of burnished silver.

Devoid of activity, devoid of life - the city streets were as deserted as a modern city in a post-Apocalyptic movie.

The furious skies darkened their brow, outraged at being ignored, blotting out the arrogance of the sun. The trees began to sway to the tunes of an invisible fiddler, enthralled by her music.

The drops leapt from the pavement, scalded by its touch. I stretched out my arms to embrace them, like a long-lost lover, returned to a loved one's fold.

Coffee? Toffee?

2011-04-30T12:53:00.000+05:30

There are people who think they are the cat's whiskers simply because they can stir up a controversy that leads to much gnashing of teeth, shaking of fists, stamping of feet, and clatter of keyboards. I imagine it must be immensely satisfying for these individuals to sit back, prop up their feet, and sip their shaken (or stirred) martinis as they watch the world slug it out.

One debate that is probably older than the 'Coffee? Toffee?' debate is the Delhi vs. Mumbai debate. Opinions spread faster than raging forest fires, and do much more damage. (After all, forest fires don't retweet themselves, or share themselves on other forests' walls.) What I don't understand is that why does everything have to be a 'versus' game for us? Why can't you simply enjoy a blissful walk along Marine Drive without complaining about Delhi's weather? And why can't you zip around in the Delhi Metro without using the choicest epithets for Mumbai's traffic?

I was rather appalled to read an old blog (http://www.manujoseph.com/City%20of%20Sperms.html) that someone had pasted on my wall. Normally, I treat trashy comments put on my wall with the same regard that I reserve for Ravi Shastri's comments. However, the author's name rang a bell. Manu Joseph? THE Manu Joseph? Seriously?

Well, I don't understand the need to browbeat Delhi and its people, to glorify Mumbai. I've stayed in both cities and I don't mind settling down in either of them. I love their respective cultures, things to do, places to visit, and some of the quirks of people.

As a 'Delhi male', I resent the insinuation that all that Delhi males do is be fixated by women's breasts. Oh come on, Mr. Joseph, get over your Freudian fundas! Have you ever been here long enough to see male commuters on the Delhi Metro give their seats to the fairer sex or the elederly? Have you seen a schoolkid helping an old lady cross the road? Have you seen a bus driver waiting that extra second so that the family of four can safely get off the bus?

And yes, 'phallic cars' eh? Whatever gives you the idea that a man would want a fast car to mate with women? I thought the idea was simply getting a high from speed. (I'm tempted to take a potshot at you and comment that in your city, you woudn't know much about speed.)

Undeserved privileges? Like traffic being stopped every second hour to accommodate a VIP passing by? Or unsavoury labels from pseudo-intellectuals?

As far as the onion goes, the very act of peeling it is the one that brings the reward. If you expect some further returns after having peeled the onion, well... your fault, not the onions. (Oh, and did you realise that no matter how much you crib and rave and rant, onions are rather indispensable in food - and sometimes, even in Parliament.)

I think you have a point about JNU. People chanting slogans and welcoming a man who would have possibly have had an IMDB rating of 5.5, if he had been a movie. In his own country, he is reviled by some and revered by others. So? Why should that prevent the anti-capitalists from agreeing with him? Free speech and all, innit? (Moreover, you make it sound like the entire population of Delhi was there. It wasn't.)

My opinion of Open magazine as a responsible, mature magazine has taken a major beating after reading your article, Mr. Joseph. And let's not even begin to discuss my opinion of you.

P.S. I didn't really know 'sperm' was supposed to be a bad word.

P.P.S. Assuming you're not equating yourself to being generated from a 'lowly sperm', how exactly did you originate?

2011-04-03T00:56:00.000+05:30

Cricket - a game wrongly described as gentlemanly, lorded over by boards with deep pockets and infested with bookies, fixers and other assorted shady characters.
Cricket 'World' Cup - A one-and-a-half month long frenzy that grips the 6 nations in the world, who have debatable levels of competence in the game, every once in 4 years.

Football is the beautiful game. In all its savagery, with all its pace and skill and guile, it is the real team game. It is played by over 130 nations in the world. Cricket, on the other hand, is barely played by a handful of nations. And some of them are so dismal at it, that a bunch of blindfolded neighborhood youths could probably give them a run for their money.

O Football, I love you. I worship you.

But today, I have a confession to make.

I am an adulterer. In public, I have denounced cricket, subscribing to the above mentioned definitions and many others. However, behind closed doors, I have had secret flings with my mistress. I've enjoyed brief sojourns in her company and savoured moments that are different from anything you have been able to provide. During Sachin's Sharjah blitzkrieg against the Aussies, during Sourav Ganguly's epic removing-the-jersey-and-waving at Lords, during Laxman's epic innings in 2001, and lots more, I've been there. Kumble, spinning out 10 Pakistanis. Sachin Tendulkar reaching 200 runs in a match. All these are moments, I've been proud to witness.

I cried with Kambli in 1996. I cried for what could have been. I was shattered when Cronje died. I feel the emotion of each legend of the game, as he hangs up his boots. Perhaps, if not for Sachin Ramesh Tendulkar, cricketers like Ponting, Murali, Lara and Warne would be ranked as cricket immortals of this era. But, the stature of the man is so great that he makes them look merely mortal, as he gazes down from his elevated pedestal.

I'm still crying as I type this out. The images of an emotional Yuvraj saying he wanted to win it for Sachin are images I will carry to my grave. Sachin Tendulkar, befittingly wrapped in the Indian tricolour given a lap of honour around the Wankhede Stadium, by his proud team mates. The great man, as humble as ever, lauding his team mates for sticking together and winning it.

I don't care if the cup doesn't come India's way in the next 28 years or even after that. I think it's a stage of nirvana that I have attained.

In fact, I'm so delighted right now, that I could possibly listen to a full hour of Ravi Shastri's commentary without grimacing even once.

Thank you, Team India.

Updated definitions:
Cricket - One Religion to rule them all, One Religion to find them, One Religion to bring them all and with its brilliance bind them.

Cricket World Cup - The Cup of Life. A ruby in the crown of THE greatest cricketer in contemporary cricket. Sachin. Ramesh. Tendulkar.

P.S. I was kidding about the Ravi Shastri bit.

.

Such a Long Journey

2011-02-03T08:03:00.002+05:30

Sent for publication :)

Slavery

2011-01-07T07:09:00.002+05:30

Oscar Wilde once said:

The fact is, that civilisation requires slaves. The Greeks were quite right there. Unless there are slaves to do the ugly, horrible, uninteresting work, culture and contemplation become almost impossible.

One might consider that the days of slavery, with slaves being whipped, hanged or tortured are begone with the Dark Ages. However, a new form of slavery is on the rise - corporate slavery. No matter how fancy your designation is, the world can be divided into two clear-cut 'classes'. Like we had 'the haves' and the 'have-nots', we now can divide society into 'the slaves' and 'the slave-nots'.

The urban dictionary defines 'corporate slavery' as:

The people who make the business world go round and round, without them executives might actually have to do something besides make rules to make it more difficult for the slaves under them to do their job. Corporate slaves are easily identifiable by the vacant look in their eyes as they are always overworked, underpaid and underappreciated.

That actually sounds a lot like my job description. What do you think; does this seem like what you do all the time?

Racists!

2011-01-04T13:52:00.002+05:30

Black vs White. Good vs Evil. Master vs Slave. Evolution vs Divine Creation. Civilization vs Primitive Instincts.

These are some of the themes touched upon by Kunal Basu's novel - Racists. The book narrates the tale of an outrageous experiment - an endeavour to settle the debate of whether the European whites are superior to the African blacks. Set in the year 1855, the novel charts the paths of the English scientist - Bates, and his French rival, Belavoix. The two scientists decide to leave two children - a black boy and a white girl on the deserted island of Arlinda for 12 years, to decide who will emerge the master, and who will be the slave.

The children are to be raised by a mute nurse, Norah, whose sole prerogative is to keep them alive for the duration of the experiment. The scientists constantly pit their theories against each other, with Bates focusing on proving his hypothesis by using the 'science' of craniometry - periodically measuring the dimensions of the skulls, and postulating that the larger dimensions would belong to the more intelligent. Belavoix, on the other hand, takes out time from his feigned illnesses to predict the insanity of the nurse, and that one of the children will kill the other at some point of time.

Norah, and Bates' assistant, Quarterly begin to see the children as humans, as opposed to the scientists who only view them as test specimens. Do they watch from the sidelines, as their masters plot a dance of death and destruction? Do they interfere and stop what could possibly be an experiment that has never taken place before?

Kunal Basu's characters have strong dimensions to them, and the reader begins to understand how each one's mind works. One can even draw parallels with contemporary characters, and how racism manifests itself in modern times.

However, what begins promisingly enough, ends with a damp squib as Mr. Basu takes the easy way out and finishes his book without answering the all-important question. The narrative slows down and peters out towards the end into predictable mediocrity.

Still, a fairly good read and I'd give it around 3/5.

Happy Reading!

Such a Long Journey!

2011-01-02T08:14:00.002+05:30

Dear Shiv Sainiks, please do not print copies of this blog and burn them because the title has nothing to do with Rohinton Mistry's novel of the same name. (I don't give two hoots about what you think of the blog - just that printing and burning, you know - causes pollution) However, if you wish to send the link across to your brethren across the globe, do so - I don't mind the extra publicity. (I'd love to see a headline like "Shiv Sena left red-faced after blog faux pas" or comments like "No wonder there are so few tigers left. They must be killing themselves on seeing their picture so grossly misused.")

Anyway, onwards with the story!

So, the journey began on a fairly innocuous note. All I had to do was accompany a set of 55 factory workers to Bangalore from Ahmadabad (or Amdavad, if you're Gujju) - by train. No issues there, except that the journey was to be undertaken by what former minister Mr. Shashi Tharoor calls 'cattle class'. This part was uneventful enough, except that there was some confusion over the train that we were supposed to board. With half the junta on board, the train started pulling out of the station, and so, yours truly had to sprint along half the platform, jump on to the train and pull the chain. (Yes, I CAN sprint! That was a discovery that I made that day, though I concede that after 100 yards, I was huffing and puffing like a steam engine of yore.)

The rest was all mundane. So, a few days spent in good ol' Bengaluru, with a trip to Church Street and MG Road, some shopping for books at Blossom's and a Chinese dinner (with litchi-flavoured chicken, yuck!!) with a friend.

Now comes the interesting part. Somehow, I had this notion in my head that I was scheduled to leave at 2207 hours from Yesvantpura Junction on Dec 31. However, at about 1800 hours, on the way back to the guest house from office, I happened to glance at the ticket in my hand, and saw the time of departure as 1745 hours. A frantic call to 139 gave me the bad news - Indian Railways, with uncustomary efficiency had ensured that the train was on time and had pulled out of the station. (Damn you, Mamatadi!)

Well, back at the guest house, I figured that I could still catch the train at 2025 hours. A mad scramble to pack all stuff, almost abduct an autowallah, asking him to speed up (and getting him challaned in the process :P) ensured that we reached the station. At 2023 hours. To be told that the train no longer stops at the station. (This is what the twitterati call a #facepalm moment.)

In one of the rare moments of lucidity, the option of taking a bus presented itself, and I latched on to it. Another mad dash to 'Majestic' meant that I made it to the bus. Whew! Without realising that I was being conned into being seated on the last seat (That's called a 'sofa' seat, a euphemism for a highly uncomfortable seat that is bumpy, non-reclinable, and possibly shared with 6-8 other members of humanity.)

Thus began 16 hours of sheer torture. Apart from the seats, the other torture was an assault on the senses, by a bunch of insanely stupid movies being played on the screen. I had to go through the pain of watching Tees Maar Khan (No, even Sheila ki Jawani does not redeem it), Toonpur ka Superhero, and No Problem. Back-to-back.

Anyway, at 2 pm on January 1, I found myself in my favourite city. Maximum City. The City of Dreams. Mumbai! Making my way to one of my dearest friends' house. She was suitably thrilled to see me ~~(who wouldn't be?)~~. Spending the next few hours chit-chatting, and catching up on the latest in life was great. In keeping with tradition, I introduced her to a super-insane 'SPAXI' song that was a part of one of those movies that I had to see.

Then, we decided to step out and eat something. Before that, we stopped to get some 'food for the soul' - books, duh! After running amok and spending nearly 3K between the two of us, we made our way to a restaurant called 'La Kebabiya' - after entering the lounge first, and finding it too loud and smoky, we decided to hang out in the non-smoking section (even though it did not have screens telecasting Liverpool-Bolton)

Nice food. Good ambience. Great conversation. A wonderful time. Totalled up to more fun than I've had in a long, long time. (The only dampener was Liverpool trailing Bolton by 1 goal to nil, at half-time.)

By the time we reached back home to pick up my stuff, the match was in its dying stages. And the icing on the cake was the winning goal that came in dramatic fashion in the 92nd minute. I think I might have done a bit of a jig right there.

Then, began another 8 hour bus journey (in a more comfortable seat this time) to Baroda. And here I sit, clattering away at my keyboard and smiling at the adventure that began with a missed train and ended in truckloads of fun.

P.S. On second thoughts, I could've titled this note as 'There and Back Again' too. :P

P.P.S. I hope all of you have a brilliant year. Wishing you loads of success and joy. :)

Traffic

2010-12-27T21:03:00.000+05:30

They look down upon the myriad boxes, rolling along on feet made from rubber from their lofty perches, with curious detachment. Aware that with a tiny flicker of their coquettish eyes, they can cause brakes to squeal like pigs being slaughtered. At their command, internal combustion engines hunch together - heaving, purring and clutching at each other, like participants in a depraved Roman orgy. On their whims, they send commuters running helter-skelter like insects scurrying in search of food.

They look at the mangled pieces of metal and the shards of glass that were once vehicles, but now lie like lovers spent, having just consummated their togetherness.

Like little children revelling in mischief, they wink in merriment.

And the chaos goes on.

The Void

2010-12-23T18:07:00.000+05:30

The demons return. Every night. To feast on my soul. Fighting to grab the tiny slivers that now remain - little shards of humanity soaked in blood.

The deities stay unmoved as their temple is desecrated. Dead deities. With hearts of stone.

I feel the darkness closing in, pulsing like a living organism.

I am one with the darkness; the point of fear is past. And I open my arms to embrace my freedom.

The Void beckons.

Baroda-ly speaking

2010-12-15T23:54:00.001+05:30

With completely innocent and reader-friendly intentions, I had planned on calling this post “Broadly speaking” because you will find many of my ~~prejudices/biases/opinions/~~brilliant observations about some recent experiences listed here. However, when I realised that some of those oh-so-ignorant meanderers who chance across my super-awesome blog might make a connection with a certain English fast bowler who was clobbered by a certain batsman from Punjab (when he could bat, field and be seen without a beer belly), I decided to ditch the idea and be my usual punny self.

So, dear reader, please do not read any further if:

a) You belong to Gujarat.

b) You are one of Narendra Modi’s cronies.

c) You are one those prudish folks with upturned noses, who look down upon opinionated folks.

d) You have no appreciation for brilliant writing. ~~(Ha, still reading eh?)~~

Ok then, it’s been over 2 months in this strange land called ‘Gujarat’. It’s a land of anachronisms – a land of strange paradoxes. On one hand, you see expressways drastically shrinking the distances between places, and factories mushrooming overnight. (That’s when you say, “Wow, the development in this state is fantastic,” and rattle of growth rates and comparative charts and statistics, if you are from that much maligned breed of ~~capitalists~~ MBAs/MBA students.)

On the other hand, you see farmlands being acquired for building factories, with no sustainable income sources for farmers and companies making a beeline to set up shop in Gujarat, to take advantage of the cheap labour and government freebies. (That’s when you lean back on your recliner, take a swig of imported malt whiskey, run a hand through your lush hair slicked with gel, adjust your Aviator glasses, adjust the temperature of the AC and say, “Sheesh, what exploitation! Stop destroying our planet! Down with capitalism! Long live imperialism.” Then, you fish out your latest Blackberry, and with your nicely manicured finger, dial the number of your press contact, giving him/her the details of your next protest march/candle-lit vigil/rath yatra to mobilise support (and funds!) against all this.)

Anyway, I digress from the main point here. So yes, Gujarat is a land of diversity and the average newcomer is likely to be lost or even bewildered for the first few weeks. Hence, a brief guide is being published here to help such newbies. (I thought “Gujarat for dummies” was too lame a title, and moreover even dummies don’t like to admit that they are what they are.)

1) Do not offer a Gujarati any medicines for cold/cough, by way of misplaced concern. When you think they are sneezing, they might simply be talking of arriving soon. (Aaoon Chhoon = Atchoo!)

2) Gujaratis seem to be fond of painting, especially spray painting. In fact, many of them practise this fine art all day long. The Gujarati technique of spray painting involves chewing a mix of different shades and colours, till it attains consistency, and then using the ‘point-and-shoot’ interface. You may stop to admire this artwork on walls and even on road surfaces. If lucky, you might even catch a master artist at work. However, do not touch the paintings for it may spoil them.

3) I’m not quite sure of this one, but it seems that this state lacks some of the basic camaraderie that we experience in the North. For example, there is no back-thumping, effusive greeting with references being made to your (female side of the) family among friends. So much so, no expletives are exchanged among friends to express warmth. Weird! (This trend completely negates Sumit’s law of friendship: The strength of a friendship bond between two persons is directly proportional to the frequency and intensity of the swear words used, per unit conversation.)

4) Non-vegetarians, please bring along a basket of eggs and an incubator to hatch them in. This state is extremely unfriendly to all of you. Apparently, Gujarat is supposed to have the highest number of vegetarians in India. Bah!! (Ahmedabad’s claim to fame: The first city to have an all-veg Pizza Hut in India. POOH!!)

5) Either the people, or the cops in this state are extremely lazy. Reportedly, the crime rate in Gujarat is the lowest in India. For the record, Gujarat is a dry state but I have seen people carrying liquor bottles being waved through a police check post at 5 am. (Don’t ask me what I was doing at that unearthly hour!)

6) The capital of Gujarat is Gandhinagar. Officially, yes. Unofficially, Ahmedabad is THE capital for all practical and business purposes. Gandhinagar is green and clean, and has wide roads. But, for buying books, watching a movie, hanging out, visiting a market, Ahmedabad is the best place.

7) All men are ‘bhai’ and all women are ‘ben’. (‘Ben’ is pronounced as ‘bane’. For example, Shantaben would be pronounced as ‘Shantabane’. I wonder, why ‘bane’? ) Please do not be astonished by names like ‘Rameshbhai Bhailalbhai Parmar’ or ‘Nathiben Nathabhai Raval’. (These are actual examples, not concocted ones.)

8) Prof. Kakani, who teaches Finance (and the art of walking around like an undead zombie without bumping into things/people) was right about the Gujju bhais. Apparently, 35% of our stock market wealth in India is owned by Gujjus. (Theory: Khakra sharpens the brain and stimulates neurons. Note to self: Buy 1 kg of khakra tomorrow.)

I guess all those pointers should get you started. The rest, you will either figure out or will be spoonfed to you through this blog. So, don’t worry. There is no Dantesque inscription at the Gates of Gujarat: “Abandon hope all ye who enter here”. (That inscription has been copyrighted by my employers, for use on their gates.)

Eat. Pray. Love. But most of all, P.R.A.Y. (No reference to any individual with a similar sounding name)

P.S. No references to Baroda, you say. Well, only because no other puns with city names struck me.

P.P.S. I did warn you to stop reading. If after reading, you dislike my views, your problem. HMPH!!

Life…

2010-12-12T00:17:00.000+05:30

Scenes from a life that I lived eons ago, flash before my eyes. My laptop’s luminous display glows like the eye of a Cyclops in the darkness, and its fan purrs like a feline pet, puncturing the silence with its soothing hum.

There is silence all around. And darkness. Nothing stirs, nothing moves. Except the collapsing remains of dreams that once were. Each layer crashes, shattering into myriad pieces, each filled with moments of joy and moments of agony, moments of ecstasy and moments of pain. I can do nothing but stare, trying to preserve the fleeting images that speed by, to be lost forever.

In commiseration, or in mockery, the luminous eye of the laptop glows brighter for a second, and then winks out, silencing the fan in the process.

The dust settles, and there’s silence once more.

Life.

2010-12-04T16:40:00.002+05:30

The last vestiges of daylight slip away like grains of sand from my aching fingers. I smile at the night, as it engulfs me in its warm embrace, covering my wounds with its blanket. And I lie oblivious, till a dagger of sunlight creeps up on me, and stabs me like a vengeful, jilted lover.

Liverpool for Life!

2010-08-26T17:47:00.001+05:30

I think my Photoshop skills are improving. :D What say?

A new found hobby…

2010-07-23T18:29:00.001+05:30

I’m in the process of learning Photoshop, so had done this up for an office project. I’m not entirely satisfied with the results, but fairly happy at making some progress at least. :)

What do you think?

Ghosts…

2010-07-19T13:55:00.001+05:30

I sat in front of the glowing LCD display, staring at its blankness as it winked slyly at me. My fingers tapped out patterns of nothingness on the keys, repeating a cycle of type-select-delete. It was depressing. I wanted to write, but the words wouldn’t obey me. They danced a macabre dance in my head, whirling faster and faster like dervishes caught in the clutches of mad ecstasy, till my head threatened to explode.

What good is a writer who can’t write? Movies seem to idolize the concept of an unkempt character with long locks, sitting by the window and throwing crumpled up pieces of blank paper on the ground, with metronomic regularity – till a lovely muse arrives, bringing a wave of inspiration in her wake. Bah! Unfortunately, a landlord whose rent has not been paid doesn’t understand ‘writers’ block’. Neither does the grocer, the milkman, or the electricity company.

There were times when I had those flashes of inspiration that led to a ‘great’ piece being written, fetching me a few hundred bucks from the local newspapers. And then there were the wannabes – rich, bratty kids who wanted some ‘original’ poems or beautiful verses for their sucker girlfriends. Fine with me, as long as my bills got paid!

But, it was a rough ride, nevertheless. I even tried the Samuel Taylor Coleridge way of working myself into a drunken stupor, hoping to be visited by my Muse. But, a disastrous hangover later, I gave up.

And so, apart from the occasional paragraph, which would be abandoned like an illegitimate child shortly after birth, I never made much headway.

And then, it began. The people in my head started talking to me. Their voices were faint wisps of sound somewhat like an autumn wind rustling through the trees. The sound was alien, but strangely familiar at the same time – as if they had been talking inside my head for years.

I plugged in my iPod, turning the dial to full volume in an attempt to drown out those feeble, other-worldly whispers. Why? Why did they want to talk to me? Why didn’t they stay in their netherworld, why did they have to deny the decree of fate, and seek out my world?

Everytime, when one of those creatures spoke, my stomach would knot itself into a cold ball of fear and my insides would turn to ice. I tried to shut them out, but the fearful clamour of light whispers was deafening. Slowly, but inexorably they grew stronger. I forgot where my world ended and theirs began. Fascinated, I listened to the old man who had been a serial killer, the chit of a girl who had led a life of wretched debauchery, the middle-aged man who had sacrificed his own happiness for that of his family, and the young man who spent insomniac nights, listening to the travails of tortured souls. Which one of these was I? I no longer knew.

I began to feverishly write the tales that the ghosts in my mind spun out. Pages upon pages filled up with stories of lust, love, hatred and revenge. I loved some of my narrators for their incredible tales of passion. Others, I hated for the mundane, everyday stories that they had to tell.

By now, there was an incessant chatter of voices in my head, as more and more unfamiliar ghosts joined in. I took to writing with a vengeance. Reams upon reams of paper passed through my hands, as I wrote like a man possessed. (But then, I was possessed, wasn’t I?)

The voices were strongest at night, craving my attention. But, even during the day, they kept up a plaintive hiss, somewhat like a lonesome tide washing up on a gray, dank shore.

Thin wraiths of children abandoned at birth, pale ghosts with hearts of ice, angelic souls weeping for their loved ones, demonic beings consumed with vengeance – they were all there.

One day, the doorbell rang – a whining screechy sound like that of a banshee in distress. It was her. Another ghost. From the distant past. Not like the ones in my head. A ghost that I had once loved. A ghost that had once loved me. And now, there were only the fragments of broken dreams that held us together.

I slapped her. Hard. She recoiled, more from the shock than the pain. Then, rage took over her and she clawed at my face. That’s when the knife flashed. Again and again. Its blue steel was painted red, and then there was silence. And peace.

A figure sitting in a padded cell with no windows, and a tiny door – looking around with suspicion, fearing an unseen enemy. She hears my voice in her head and cowers, trying to shut it out, as I throw back my head and laugh…

Maximum City!

2010-06-07T22:14:00.001+05:30

I was thinking of calling this post ‘Leaving on a jet plane’ but then, you people already know that I don’t believe in using clichés, right? I mean, one does need to use some imagination, sometimes!

Anyhow, after another prolonged absence, I’d like to tell you guys that I’m leaving to Mumbai tomorrow, for my first post-MBA job at RPG Enterprises, and well I’m EXCITED!!:D

It will be first trip to Mumbai in nearly 15 years, and this time it will be a trip that lasts many months. The Mumbai wishlist goes like:

a) Do well at work

b) Visit some/all of the awesome places in and around the city

c) Explore a bit of Madh Island. (That might be scary though, coz most of the dead bodies found in C.I.D. by ACP Pradyuman and Co. are found there. )

Of course, if anyone can make me waterproof so that I can bear the Mumbai monsoon, I’ll be glad. And yes, a jetpack to commute, instead of the Mumbai locals would be much appreciated.

Santa, are you listening? All my 831 FB friends, are you? All the zillions of bloggy admirers, are you?

P.S. For the uninitiated, ‘Maximum City’ is the title of a superbly fantastic book about Mumbai by Suketu Mehta. If you haven’t done so already, I strongly suggest reading it.

Up in the Air

2010-05-05T13:14:00.001+05:30

Finally, I got a chance to see this movie yesterday. And well, I had heard a lot about it for the right reasons. However, this is not a review. It’s just a collection of some thoughts that entered my head on watching it.

First, I’ve been in a situation where I’ve had to tell people that they were being let go of. As a trainer, I’ve had to tell some trainees that due to poor academic performance, they would have to seek ‘re-fitment’, or ‘re-deployment’. I tried to use the Clooney-esque method of being polite, firm and giving the person options on what to do in life, rather than stripping people of their dignity.

Not many people understand this, but layoffs/retrenchments don’t always make the axe fall on the poor performers. Sometimes, it is the ‘cream of the crop’ who may have to be ‘right-sized’. But, at such a tough time, it is easy for any employee to be bitter and devastated, and have issues with self-belief.

Moreover, someone who handles the situation has to ensure that he/she is empathetic, and not condescending or patronizing. That’s a tough one.

In fact, the first time I had to tell someone that he would have to leave, I couldn’t even walk into the room and had to ask a senior colleague to take charge. However, the colleague was sensible enough and encouraged me to handle what was surely my responsibility. Also, I owed this much to the people who had spent nearly 2 months with me in training, hanging on to most of what I had to say.

I never liked asking anyone to leave, though I had to. And now, as an MBA in HR, I might be faced with scenarios where I have to ask people to leave. Frankly, it’s a morbid thought. But, after watching the movie, I wouldn’t really look upon myself as a butcher, if I have to do the same job.

I guess the only thing I might hate is the living out of suitcases bit. :)

P.S. If you haven’t seen the movie, do so! It’s worth a watch.

How to Train Your Dragon

2010-05-04T12:08:00.001+05:30

For the uninitiated, this is not an actual manual on training dragons. (Yes, I have considerable experience in the training industry, but well, I’ve never offered training in handling mythical creatures so far. Such programs are best left to Mr. Hagrid, Mr. Dumbledore, and co.)

Ok, let’s get on with thoughts about the movie - ‘How to Train your Dragon’

There’s this total loser chap, who manages to mess up everything, and craves for the adulation of his peers and his father. No one trusts him with anything, but he is determined to make it big. And make it big he does! Much to the admiration of his peers, his father, and oh the girl he has a crush on.

Sounds familiar, you say? (You bet!! It sounds just like my story. Except that umm, I haven’t made it big yet, and umm…. there is no girl at present, that I have a crush on. Everything else is picked from my life. Hey, hey, hey!!)

On a serious note, how many movies have we watched with the same plot? I’ve lost count.

So, you know that the scrawny loser, imaginatively named ‘Hiccup’ is born in the mighty Viking clan, destined to battle fearsome dragons who attack the clan and carry away their livestock, and burn down their huts. But, Hiccup manages to mess up every single thing that he meddles in. So much so, that his father ‘Stoick the Vast’ (voiced by Gerard Butler of ‘300’ fame) is ashamed of his son.

Meanwhile, during a dragon raid, Hiccup manages to sneak out and shoot down an unseen dragon of the most fearsome kind – the Nightfury. But, no one believes him, and he almost gets himself killed.

What next for a teen who doesn’t obey his parents? He’s grounded, of course.

It is with great scepticism that Stoick allows him to undergo dragon training. But, the kid is more interested in looking for the dragon he thinks he shot down. He locates the dragon in a forest clearing and is unable to kill it, seeing the same fear in its eyes that he himself feels.

And from then on, it’s a lovely relationship between ‘Toothless’ the dragon, and boy-hero Hiccup, who beats all odds to become the saviour of the Vikings.

I don’t think the film is too different from many of its peers. I don’t think the CGI is exceptional, or brilliant. I don’t think there’s anything pathbreaking about the movie. But somehow, the overall package is endearing and guaranteed to make you smile. I am fairly critical of movies, and I did enjoy the movie, so I guess that’s saying something.

Suggestion: Don’t look for messages or interpretations. (There are lessons that can be learnt from the movie, but in my opinion it is best to steer clear of those for now and just have fun.) Don’t compare the movie with others because it would be unfair. Just lean back, relax and be transported to a land where ‘it snows for 9 months, and hails for the other 3.’

Verdict: 3.5 stars out of 5

LOTR

2010-05-01T19:23:00.001+05:30

Statutory Warning: This post is (even more) pointless than some of the earlier ones. So, read at your own risk.

An online conversation with a friend led me to generate the following gem:

Q. What if Sauron from LOTR had been a mechanic repairing car suspensions?

Ans: Why, he’d be the “Lord of the Springs!”

And then, there were many spinoffs. Some of the less injurious ones are listed below:

Q. What if Sauron had been born as Joe Satriani?

Ans: Simple, he'd be the "Lord of the Strings"

If Sauron had been the CEO of Tehelka, would he be the "Lord of the Stings"?

Q. What if Sauron ruled over Punjab instead of Mordor?

Ans. He'd be the "Lord of the Singhs"

Q. What if Chandler got a chance to be Sauron?

Ans. He'd be the "Lord of the Bings"

Q. What if Sauron were Tiger Woods?

Ans: He'd be the “Lord of the Flings” (This one is credited to Ramaa Ramesh)

What I miss!

2010-04-26T22:16:00.001+05:30

There and Back Again

2010-04-23T19:52:00.001+05:30

Sorry, Bilbo Baggins. The title of this post seems the same as that of your immortal book, but then you’re a fictional character, and hence your book or its title doesn’t have any copyright protection. Haha. Gotcha, right?

Well, I make this post from my home city of Chandigarh, having returned from an arduous train journey aboard the Jan Shatabdi that plies from Delhi to Chandigarh. Arduous, eh? Yes, in more ways than one.

I think I can be the brand ambassador for Toyota’s JIT (just-in-time) methodology. Never ever have I boarded a train more than 5 minutes before its departure from the New Delhi Railway Station. (Sumit’s law of errr….. train boarding??? No matter how early you start, traffic on the roads conspires to make you miss your train.)

Sometimes, after stuff like this happens to me, I throw my head back, point to myself, say “You loser” and laugh loudly. (This is normally done when no one’s watching.) At other times, I shake my head sadly, look up towards the sky and sigh, “Why me?”

Anyway, so I boarded one of those cabs that ply illegally from Gurgaon to Delhi, stuffing people like birds in a coop, with the driver hell-bent on practicing for Formula I. As luck would have it, the man sitting just behind me couldn’t stay quiet for even a minute. He was rambling, and rambling, and rambling, and…. (get the picture, right?)

Then, the seat was such that we’d all be thrown forward as the driver braked, and then thrown backward as he accelerated. So, the entire journey was spent with the driver cursing other road users, none of whom seemed to have any sense whatsoever, the man in the back seat cursing/talking/shouting in some language I was unable to identify. The journey was punctuated with traffic jams caused by doting parents who tried parking as close to school gates as possible, to avoid their wards any inconvenience.

So what, if they were blocking the way for a few hundred road users waiting behind? I mean, people these days, SHEESH!! They can’t even wait 10-12 minutes, before honking. At least have some respect for family ties.

After the interminable journey, the next part was the much more comfortable Metro ride from Karol Bagh to Connaught Place (Yes, I refuse to call it Rajiv Chowk. Bah!!) and then to the New Delhi Railway Station. I rushed to the platform and found that the train hadn’t left me behind. Whew!! I waded through waves of humanity of all shapes and sizes, before reaching my seat (which incidentally was occupied by a South Indian uncleji accompanied by a motormouth teen.)

I sat there for a few minutes, willing the train to move. The gods heard me! (But, they exploited the loopholes in my wish, and the train ‘moved’ but only just.) Since the number of words the teen was speaking per minute was more than the number of metres being covered by the train in the same duration, I decided to shift to a place much more alluring.

I shifted to the middle of the chair car compartment, where the best possible company for a solitary man travelling alone was present. Having eyed the fortuitously vacant neighbouring seat, I made a lunge for it and made it. I turned to my right and smiled at the object of my affection. (Argh, you useless people! I was ogling the power socket to plug in my laptop. Duh!!)

Then, I pulled out my laptop and plugged it in, but the power socket was out. With a sigh, I settled back into my seat, and began to read ‘The Kite Runner’ by Khaled Hosseini. (Cry out in disbelief if you want, but yes I am a voracious reader who had not read the book till yesterday.)

Eventually, the book turned out to be the only positive of the evening. The TTE came, saw that I was not carrying a copy of my ticket, and rudely asked me to quote the PNR number, all the while muttering under his breath. I mimicked the muttering-under-the-breath bit, and gave him all the details in as surly a manner as possible. He fined me 50/- and issued me a duplicate ticket. Bah!!

I settled lower and lower into my chair, and became totally engrossed in the book. And so I stayed till the train stopped at Ambala. We reached Ambala at 1825 hours and stayed there till 1915 hours. (The 35 km track to Chandigarh is a single line, so we had to accommodate more important trains.) I made some deeply disgruntled noises and went back to reading.

“Trains! Never on time!!” said a voice, breaking into my reverie.

I looked up to see an elderly uncleji looking at me, in anticipation of a reply. I nodded at him and smiled, turning back to my book. I think he took that as a signal to continue. (Little did I realise that I had unleashed an avalanche of words upon myself.)

So, within the next 20 minutes, I got to know that the man was a Diploma holder in Mech. Engg, had been working with BRO for 30 years, had two sons, the elder one being an MBA student at some Hyderabad-based college offering MBA in agriculture and the younger one being an engineering student.

Meanwhile, the train whistled mournfully, and reluctantly moved on. Now, suddenly uncleji asked me about my background and credentials. I mentioned in passing that I just completed my MBA. His face remained blank when I mentioned my alma mater – XLRI. Then, he smiled sympathetically at me and told me that college brand is important and that’s why he only sent his sons to the ‘best’ colleges. When he asked me my specialization and I told him ‘HR’, he wanted to know what MBAs in ‘HRA’ did, and whether they were responsible for managing the HRA of employees in companies. (ARGH!!)

I tried explaining for a few minutes, but then the man had given up on me by then. Or perhaps, his attention was diverted by the train that had stopped again. (For the first time, I thanked Indian Railways for being inefficient, and Ms. Mamata Banerjee for being a nincompoop and a clod.)

I finished reading the last few pages of the book, as the train pulled into the station, and made a beeline for the exit, looking around to make sure that no uncles or any such menacing figures were chasing me. And so, having met my father who’d been abusing Ms. Mamatadi for over an hour, we got into the car and drove back home.

P.S. The book is fantastic! In fact, you shouldn’t wait till an uncle pushes you towards it on a boring train journey.

Sometimes, you just know…

2010-04-21T17:11:00.001+05:30

… that it’s not going to be your day.

Well, the day began brightly enough. As usual, I grumpily pulled myself off the bed, and began to deconstruct the happenings of last night as I wiped the drool off the laptop’s keyboard. Well, at around midnight, I had been watching ‘Ek Chaalis ki Last Local’ – having heard that it was worth a watch and had apparently dozed off somewhere in between.

(Btw, you evil mind! The drool was not because of the presence of an ‘oomphy’ Ms. Dhupia in the movie. For the record, I don’t even like her.)

Anyhow, I digress. So, I turned my gaze towards my wrist to look at the time and then realised that I have not worn a watch in ages. (No, I don’t have chronometrophobia – the fear of watches/clocks. It’s just that I keep losing them.)

So, I looked at the luminous display of my mobile phone, and my eyes nearly popped out of sockets (ala Jim Carrey in The Mask). It was 8.26 am. There was no way I could shave, bathe, get my dreadlocks in some kind of order, have breakfast, and reach office before 9 am. On second thoughts, I could do all the things 3-4 times, in the time that it would need me to reach office. (That’s your cue, regular reader, to recall the last post written berating the traffic in Gurgaon. As for the non-regular readers, HMPH!!)

Then began one of the biggest exercises in optimization. I had never tried brushing teeth and shaving simultaneously. (Note: It doesn’t save much time, and should only be attempted if you use a good razor.) After performing other morning ablutions that should not be detailed on a blog, I was ready. Almost.

I literally ‘washed down’ my toast with a tall glass of cold coffee, and made my way to the parking lot. After revving the engine, I took off with all the urgency of ~~Narain Karthikeyan~~ Michael Schumacher, leaving a few startled early morning walkers in my wake.

And lo and behold! It seemed that I had beaten the traffic after all. It was 8.50 am, and looked like the morning crowd was still a few minutes away. I pumped my fist in exhilaration, and stepped down on the accelerator, determined to make my podium finish. A few minutes later, having nearly run over a woman who seemed to be training to be the next Usain Bolt (Either that, or maybe she was just running to board one of the infrequent buses to Delhi. Or maybe, Big Bazaar had announced an ‘early bird’ sale and you know… ), I reached office.

I made my way up to the 7th floor with remarkable agility and speed. (Oh, believe me it takes sincere effort to hold open a closing lift door, and step in.)

I entered the office to find it deserted. Huh? Just because the MD is away, these people are chilling out, eh? (Sumit’s law of punctuality: The day you reach office early, there’s no one to see you.) Muttering furiously at the tardiness of others, I plugged in my laptop and opened its lid, to see that the time was 8.01 am.

Yes, somehow my new-fangled, Samsung Corby had auto-adjusted the time and set it one hour ahead. (Blast you, Samsung! We don’t have daylight-saving time here.)

And so, instead of 9 am, I was in office at 8 am. AAARGHHHHHH.

P.S. No, I’m not ‘employed’. The office being mentioned is that of my Uncle’s company. Till I join my job, I am just helping him a bit in setting up some HR processes. So, I’m not even supposed to have fixed office hours. Double AAAARGGHHHH.

Honk honk! Move, you moron!!

2010-04-20T13:38:00.001+05:30

I’ve spent the last couple of days in Millennium City, Gurgaon. And well, my hitherto dull life has taken a much more happening turn in the last 48 hours. I had been fuming at the emptiness of it all, sitting idle and twiddling my thumbs in boring old Chandigarh. (For the record, even though the IPL might have you believe otherwise, twiddling one’s thumbs is an expression that is not to be equated with ‘oongli cricket’.)

Anyway, in just two days, I realised that life in Gurgaon can be anything but ‘emply’ – especially if you’re referring to the streets. If you’re someone who’s used to living in the ‘fast lane’, avoid Gurgaon at all costs. Because, the fast lane doesn’t exist in Gurgaon traffic. Come to think of it, the concept of lane also doesn’t exist. :|

The entire scene at each crossing resembles one at a battlefield. Every inch of space is fought for, and armies emerge from various directions, determined to stall the progress of those marching on from other directions.

I do think India must be among the countries with the least safe driving practices. You find lanes being switched at will, pedestrians walking across the road with utter disdain for their own safety, people with one hand on the wheel and the other firmly clasping the phone to their ear for that urgent-call-that-just-can’t-be-taken-later. It makes you want to scream, kick, punch, abuse, and then kick some more. (Talk about road rage, eh? That’s where it probably comes from.)

Traffic cops stand by the side, leisurely chewing tobacco and checking out girls. Of course, once in a while these guys realise that their incomes are not sufficient to fund their ‘extra curricular activities’ and stop an erring motorist or two. After a few rounds of negotiation and much of the motorists cash-on-hand consumed, these gentlemen resume their vigil.

Praised be the ones who honk, lest we fall asleep due to the ‘speed’ of the traffic.

Spicing up life, eh?

2010-04-18T00:34:00.001+05:30

Just wanted you guys to know that one of my posts has been selected by Blogadda for their ‘Spicy Saturday’ picks – a collection of what they deem as good writing.

I did think I was the cat’s whiskers for managing such a feat till I read some of the other selected posts. Krish Ashok’s tribute to his grandmother is a wonderful, wonderful read. Poignant, touching, and makes you salute that brave woman.

The Restless Quill expresses her views on ~~eve-teasing~~ molestation. And one can’t help but agree that the despicable incidents that women are subjected to everyday need to stop. And no one better than the womenfolk themselves to take charge.

And then, there’s Anuja aka The Princess, who has listed down some very commonsensical things that women expect from us guys, but never get. A real eye-opener, and a must-read for guys. (For girls too, so that they can appreciate guys like me much more. :P )

Youngistaan ka WOW!

2010-04-14T02:34:00.001+05:30

Ah well, Pepsi makes an appearance on this blog courtesy a contest launched by Indiblogger.

Now, the deal is that one is supposed to submit four funny posts and write a fifth one (this one, in case you’re counting) and answer a simple question, “If you were the game master, what challenge would you like to throw to Ranbir?”

I seriously hope you have seen the ad, with a certain Mr. Sanjay Dutt wearing an outlandishly designed, oversized costume (ostensibly to hide his beer belly) throwing challenges at Ranbir. And the challenges happen to be so ludicrous that one feels like telling Ranbir to take a month’s supply of Pepsi from oneself, and get the hell off the screen. (One can hear the girls saying “Boo” and asking one to shut up. :| )

Anyhow, one seems to digress. So, the point being to find a challenge for Ranbir. I guess the biggest challenge in one’s life these days is the fact that one’s favourite football club – Liverpool is performing even more abysmally than the Kolkata Knight Riders (no kidding!). So, the challenge would be, to kidnap the match official for the next 4 matches, take his place and ensure that the matches go Liverpool’s way, resulting in Champions League qualification.

Doing so will get Ranbir the key to the hidden stash of Pepsi that he can consume for a lifetime.

And commenting on this post will entitle you to a party from me, if I win the contest. So, as the game master, I challenge you to win a party for yourself from me! Comment now, it takes only 27.5 seconds.

Crimson Moon

2010-04-01T22:00:00.001+05:30

They made a lovely couple, huddled together in the cold winter night on the last seat in the old decrepit bus, as it hurtled towards their destination. Like them, there were only a few passengers courageous enough to take on the challenge of the inclement weather and travelling by the rickety old bus. The bitter wind crept in through the battered windows, and toyed with their hair, throwing it into disarray. She remembered how Aakash loved the wind in her hair, and how she used to enjoy his fingers playing with her long, lush hair…

But today, Aakash seemed lost, distracted… He had that faraway expression in his eyes that he would always have when thinking of something. He stared out of the window, his eyes narrow slits against the cold, and his brow furrowed in concentration. She thought it was because she was going away. Only for a few weeks, but still… She was flying to Bangalore from Delhi to meet her parents. And if the thought of parting hurt him half as much as it hurt her, she could understand his quietness.

He hadn’t talked much during the entire bus journey from Jaipur to Delhi. He’d been staring right ahead, looking worried, with a inscrutable expression on his face. How much he really loved her!! It was amazing… In such a short time, they had become so fond of each other. She smiled to herself in the semi-darkness and put her hand on Aakash’s. He flinched and took it away. She was confounded. Hot tears of hurt welled up in her eyes, but she brushed them away. She justified his reaction to herself, “He must’ve been startled by the cold.”

Finally, he turned his gaze to her. She felt the same warm, cosy feeling when his dark-brown eyes pervaded her being. The cold wind kept up its relentless attack, trying to claw its way into the warmth in her heart. She looked at him, smiling, expecting a warm hug, but he just looked at her vacantly, as if she didn’t even exist. Bitter waves of disappointment washed over her as she realized that he was somehow preoccupied and not quite with her.

“Rachita, I….,” he suddenly said.
“..really love you,” she completed his sentence in her mind. It had been so long since he had said those magic words. She craved to hear them again.

“Uh….,” Aakash hesitated.

She recalled the day that Aakash had proposed to her, and she had accepted. This was the same hesitant Aakash. That day also, if it hadn’t been for her encouraging smile, she doubted if he’d have been able to utter ever a word. But he had said the words, and walked arm-in-arm, gazing at the full moon, which was blushing with a shade of soft crimson. She smiled to herself and blushed lightly.

“Let’s….let’s…,” Rachita closed her eyes in sweet anticipation of his next few words.
“…..stop seeing each other,” Aakash mouthed, barely audibly. He was sweating even in the December chill. But, a huge tidal wave of relief seemed to wash over him as he got these words out of his mind.

If he had been bothered enough to watch, he would have seen, the wilting of the rosy face. But he was oblivious to the slump of her shoulders, to the great tears of disbelief that welled up in her hazel eyes. Nor did he hear the huge, racking sobs that shook Rachita’s petite frame. She struggled to look for one last bit of compassion and love in his face, but found only indifference. It was not the face of the Aakash she had loved. It was a stone face.

Emotionless. Feelingless.

The din from the bus’s engine bit into her bleeding thoughts. The cauldron of her sadness brewed up a concoction of tears, bitterness and hatred. Her uncontrollable sobbing left damp spots on the seat of the bus. The bleak, cold wind whistled around her, mocking her for her naivety. Other passengers swayed with the motion of the bus, either asleep or ignoring the drama that was playing out around them. The haven the darkness provided was snatched away by the overhead lamps that had just been switched on. The crisp night air kept attacking her, disregarding her attempts to numb herself. It was a conspiracy. Against her. To strip her of dignity, her beliefs, her love, and sanity, and to inject her with tortuous betrayal.

Aakash started for the exit as the bus stopped at the airport. He walked without guilt, with his head held high. No remorse, unperturbed. Her eyes still sought him, as she moved towards the departure terminal. He walked away, and she felt something break inside her. One part of her wanted to run to him, to hug him and just cry. The other wanted to hate him for leaving her.

The plane took off, leaving Aakash behind, leaving behind all her memories, and dreams. Leaving behind the naïve, little girl she had once been. She looked out of the airplane’s window at the full moon with tear-filled eyes. It did not have its usual pallor. It had a crimson hue. As if it had been bleeding with some hurt been caused to it….

Her parents waved to her as she descended the steps at Bangalore airport. “Happy Birthday, Rachita,” her mother hugged her and said, “So, what did Aakash give you as a present?”

He gave me a crimson moon Mom. A gift to keep and cherish for life. A crimson moon.

Farewell!

2010-03-01T02:50:00.001+05:30

Forrest Gump said, "I don't know if we each have a destiny, or if we're all just floating around accidental - like on a breeze, but I, I think maybe it's both."

I don't think he was much off the mark, as he said this. Like leaves in an autumn wind, we are blown in and out of each other's lives. Some of course, manage to stay longer than the others, whereas others make but a fleeting appearance.

Still, irrespective of whether we were destined to come to XLRI and be part of the batch of 2010 or whether we landed here by sheer accident, it has been a rocking ride - the last two years. From the initial excitement of getting to know each other over a batch lunch to the wistfulness associated with a final collective lunch before we leave to where our calling is, we've surely come a long way.

We've explored the highs brought about by sheer joy, and plumbed the depths of desperation. At some times, we've been livewires at parties, while at other times, we've belied John Donne's assertion, "No man is an island." From sleeping 14 hours a day to sleeping only on a day out of 14, we've done it all.

For many of us, it has been the best of times, while also being the worst of times. But now, that time draws to a close, and it is nary impossible to keep the eyes from misting over, and from the world becoming a blur. A blur - that's what the last few days have been. Spent in the nervous anticipation of a cataclysmic event, we've tried to smile through it all - mealtimes at the Sonnet, evening conversations on the green benches, long walks across a sylvan campus, or sprawled across each other's rooms.

Already, locks with sightless eyes stare at me, unable to feel my melancholy with their hearts made of cold metal. But, they stand firm and unmoving. Between my world and me. Cutting me off from a world that you and I shared together. Making me wish we could have stolen a few more seconds to bid each other goodbye.

But then, I don't really believe in goodbyes, and being a fan of Richard Bach, I can't help but quote his lines, "Don't be dismayed by good-byes. A farewell is necessary before you can meet again. And meeting again, after moments or lifetimes, is certain for those who are friends."
So, till the time another autumn breeze blows us back into each other's lives.

Farewell! Rock on, batch of 2010!

Musings on a morning…

2010-02-25T17:38:00.001+05:30

It was 5 am. The moon, after a night-long vigil, had decided to veil herself behind some passing clouds and give herself some rest. Some enthusiastic stars were still twinkling as merrily as ever. The stragglers had all collected their snacks from Bishuda and moved on. The early morning walkers were still about an hour away from waking up, he guessed.

The world outside was dark. And unfriendly.

He sat at his window, with a frown on his brow, thinking or rather brooding... on how life had unfolded over the last two years. He thought about how some pieces had fallen into place neatly, and others had morphed into something else... something alien. He thought of the journey through the last two years - with more ups and downs than a Disneyland roller coaster. Charles Dickens' immortal quote floated into his mind, "It was the best of times, it was the worst of times..."

The letter confirming his application to XLRI had turned his world on its head. From a complacent, 'settled' life, it seemed as if he had been thrown into a violent maelstrom. There was a constant rush to finish one thing or another. Sisyphus must have had it easier, he thought one day, musing about the futility of it all.

But to be fair, there were oases of solace in a desert devoid of emotion. There were friends always there to rally around him, when life landed some hard punches. Huffing and puffing under the workload, he did manage to maintain a poker face and hide his emotions away. Life was a bittersweet symphony for him - with sprinklings of happy and sad moments in equal measure.

Somewhere down the line, he fell out of love and then fell in love again - with people, life, and XLRI itself. Slowly, he reconciled to being mired in academic mediocrity. He reconciled to the sleepless nights, the dreary days. He looked forward to long walks and heart-to-heart talks with friends. He enjoyed the late night meetings and the constant striving to improve.

He learnt to not fly off the handle at the slightest of reasons. He learnt to value people. He learnt that it was not a show of strength to be implacable and steadfast to an opinion, but of weakness.

It was 6 am, and the moon was back, though the stars had decided to play truant and disappeared. However, the moon had a new companion - the sun, who shone his first soft rays on the world, caressing it into wakefulness like a doting father.

He awoke and smiled, for he realised that in two years, he had learnt to be an XLer.

The world outside was bright. And friendly.

Joker in the Pack

2010-02-23T15:14:00.001+05:30

Cry, Cry, Cry… till you succeed.

This ought to be the tag line of a bunch of students from one of the premier management institutes located in the eastern part of India. The reason why I say so is because I had the (mis)fortune of interacting with them, when they visited XLRI to participate in the bipartite sports meet. (It’s a little inconvenient to keep calling them students-from-an-esteemed-institute-in-eastern-India again and again, so let’s just call them ~~jokars~~ jokers, to make life simpler.)

They did win the trophy, no doubt. But, in doing so they lost all respect and dignity with some of their representatives plumbing to new-found depths of disgusting behaviour and idiocy. (Of course, one can level charges of being unsportsmanlike conduct on them too, but those would only be the tip of the iceberg.)

And well, one could go on for hours about the various kinds of ahem… ‘illicit familial relationships’ that the jokers were aware of. One wonders, how some of them were so well-versed and knowledgeable… ~~experience, perhaps?~~

Much has already been said and discussed about their conduct here. So, let’s not accuse the poor jokers who are already deluged-with-hate-comments-posted-by-relatives-and-well-wishers-of-XLers of further misdemeanours.

Still, the meet was a learning experience. A few of the takeaways I’d like to list down for handy reference in the future are:

a) The city is called Kolkata. But, I guess they decided to retain the ‘C’ in the name of the jokers’ institute because it could be used to describe so many things – a ‘C’ry-baby attitude, a ‘C’ribbing mentality, being un’C’outh, or perhaps some expletives in a certain North Indian language that seem to describe the jokers all too well.

b) Some jokers are weak at verbal reasoning and pictorial reasoning – They probably didn’t figure out the meaning of ‘Keep off the grass’ or that garbage belongs in the trash can, not on the road. (Coaching institutes, please take note!)

c) In terms of OB concepts, some jokers seemed to have a high ‘need for affiliation’. They attempted to ‘affiliate’ with some of our players by grabbing their collars (does a basketball jersey have a collar?) or by playfully tripping them on the football field.

d) Collective intelligence is a myth. The total level of intelligence in a group containing more than 10 people is a constant. However, collective stupidity seems to assume gargantuan proportions, as the jokers demonstrated.

e) It does feel bad to lose a trophy. And it feels worse to lose it to someone who has behaved despicably.

f) It is a very warm feeling to politely offer to detach someone’s reproductive apparatus and feed it to him, if he uses foul language off the sports field.

However, all said and done – the above is not a reflection on the repute of the esteemed-institute-in-eastern-India. It would be unfair to dull the sheen associated with it, based on such a small sample set. Also, it is not a reflection on the students of the institute, just on the group that comprises the jokers.

P.S. No jokers were harmed during the creation of this post, though one would feel bad for any of them who suffer apoplectic fits after reading the content.

P.P.S. To any joker reading this, this form of writing is called ‘sarcasm’. Look it up. In case you still manage to miss it, leave a comment and I shall get back at my earliest convenience.

P.P.P.S. Whew! One feels relieved to have not joined an IIM, and joined XLRI instead.

My name is…

2010-02-14T03:58:00.001+05:30

After a long time, I finally managed to leave a theatre smiling, after watching a Hindi movie. (Usually, my reactions range between frustration, irritation, despair, or plain old rage.) But, after watching SRK’s histrionics on the silver screen at a rather decrepit hall in Jamshedpur, I was nothing but numb – numbed by mediocrity, and the typical Karan Johar – SRK type movie.

One of the Bollywood wannabes had once commented, “Only sex and Shahrukh sell’. I’d like to correct her and say that, “Only sex, Shahrukh and controversy sell.” There was much hullabaloo about the movie after the Shiv Sainiks (once again) ran riot, screaming their guts out. Ironically enough, the movie released on the day of ‘MahaSHIVaratri’ – SRK must’ve been thumbing his nose at Messrs. Thackeray and Co. at that.

Today, an impromptu brainwave by a friend led 30 of us poor, unsuspecting souls to cram into autos and rush to the nearby shady hall – Payal, in the hope of catching a good movie for once. (Ah, how I wish I’d not nurtured that naive notion!)

Ok, so in a nutshell, Mr. Khan suffers from autism aka Asperger’s syndrome – he fears crowds, loud noises, and the colour yellow. His mom seems to alienate her younger son (played by Jimmy Shergill) through her over-caring attitude for the elder Khan. (Our dear Mr. Khan is inventive, as he shows by draining the front yard of his tutor’s flooded house, using a bicycle-run pump. Inspired by Aamir’s 3 Idiots? :| )

So, the intelligent younger son flies off to the US, and gets married to a Muslim girl there. After the demise of the mother, Mr. Khan goes to the US too, in the hope of fulfilling his mother’s wish of a happy life. He picks up a job at his brother’s firm, selling beauty products to beauticians and hair saloons.

(In an apparent dig at his Lux commercial, the Khan is seen trying out the products he sells, in a scene where he has a green facepack on himself.)

He meets Kajol (aka Mandira), who works at a saloon and the two hit it off. Kajol has a young son, Sam, who hits it off with Khan too. Like in a typical story, a whirlwind romance later, the two are happily married. (Btw, the name is Khan, with the ‘kh’ being pronounced ‘from the epiglottis’ – does this remind you of Achmed, anyone? Or was it just me? :| )

Since this takes only about one hour, the director now decides to take us on a rougher ride, to give us our money’s worth. 9/11 happens, and the world changes for the Khans. In a school brawl with racist undertones, the young Sam is beaten up and succumbs to his injuries.

A bawling, screaming Kajol throws out Khan and asks him to return only when he tells the US President, “Mr. President, my name is Khan and I’m not a terrorist.” (This is the turning point. This is where you ought to turn and flee the hall, lest you lose your sanity through the rest of the movie.)

Well, on the way our man has many adventures, the most notable one being wading through flood waters with ease to reach the state of Georgia – devastated by Hurricane Katrina. (I wish George Bush had called Khan over to help, instead of calling in the US Army for help, when the actual hurricane happened. Gah! We always knew Bush was no good, didn’t we?)

So, whether Khan gets to meet the President or not is something you ought to watch and find out. (Honestly, it doesn’t even matter.)

Some of the salient points from this movie:

Kajol – grow up! You’re past the age when you could essay screaming, yelling teen girl characters with aplomb. (Maybe, my 29-year old eardrums have just become more sensitive.)
I have never been so irritated on listening to ‘We shall overcome’ or ‘Hum honge kaamyaab’. AARRGGHHH!!
SRK is a pale shadow of Forrest Gump. Yes, he attempts to maintain the simplicity of the character and try to display the wit and sarcasm, but largely fails. (Not his fault, it’s just that the director wanted to have too many subplots.)
The film is SLOW. I could play it at 1.5 times the normal rate and still find it slow.
There are good moments – ones that make you laugh or ones that just leave you with tears. But too few and far between.
Jimmy Shergill and the others were overpaid for this movie. They didn’t have to do much except twiddling their thumbs and watching SRK hog the screen.
I don’t understand movies. I didn’t get why SRK went off into a group mourning those who perished in the attacks, wearing a white ‘chikankari’ cap and chanted verses from the Koran, even though he did neither of these on a daily basis. (Maybe, the director was just trying to find a convenient reason to add an extra twist.)

Overall, I thought the number of films giving social messages is increasing a little too fast. Come on guys, I’d rather watch Crash or Forrest Grump instead.

P.S. I think the poor Shiv Sainiks were doing us a huge favour by stopping us from seeing the movie. I almost wish they had succeeded.Go, Sena! Go, Thackeray!

:|

2010-01-10T03:06:00.001+05:30

What does one say to a girl one loves but is not sure whether she loves him back?

More so, if the girl happens to be a very good friend, and one fears losing her friendship. :|

:)

2010-01-06T19:35:00.001+05:30

I got a job!

Happy New Year

2009-12-31T17:54:00.001+05:30

Dear Bloggy Friends

Wish you a very happy new year. Thank you for sharing your thoughts, opinions, ideas, and feedback. :)

Sumit

Autumn

2009-12-31T00:05:00.001+05:30

The grimy twilight fades into dusk,
and I see them wither and fall,
those drifting leaves of memories,
and I struggle to gather them all.

The Fourth Idiot

2009-12-30T15:28:00.001+05:30

Raju, the chronic worry-wart – Is always frantic about situations, and prays, wears rings of various kinds, and stresses himself out.

Farhan, the dreamer – Wants to be something else, and doesn’t express his choice to his parents for fear of his stern father

Rancho, the maverick – Always questioning tradition, possessed with a probing and inquisitive mind, and willing to invent – be it gadgets, or even excuses

These are not just characters in a movie that goes by the uninspiring name of ‘3 idiots’. Aren’t these characters alive in all of us? Don’t you think each one of is part Raju, part Farhan, and part Rancho? Don’t many/most of us dream of going against the grain to accomplish something different, something non-stereotypical?

Does that give us the role of a fourth idiot, or is it pragmatic to be like that?

What do you think?

All is well…

2009-12-25T22:50:00.001+05:30

I’ve always resolutely maintained that Chetan Bhagat’s books are not worth the paper that they are printed on. However, I got the chance to watch ‘3 Idiots’ – a movie allegedly based on his book ‘5-point someone’. I went in with bated breath, with a gaggle of friends, fearing the worst was about to hit me.

Thankfully, I can still maintain that Mr. Bhagat is only marginally better than a monkey let loose with a typewriter. According to the film-maker, the movie has only 5 percent in common with the book. (Perhaps, that’s why I felt that the movie was only about 90-95 percent ‘there’ in terms of quality.)

The tale of a maverick, madcap student who gets admission to one of the most prestigious engineering colleges in India – the Imperial College of Engineering (ICE) and proceeds to question every norm, every tradition and everything else mired in ‘tradition’ is well-told by Rajkumar Hirani. Of course, almost every institute has some stereotypes:

a) A tyrant of a director/principal who is a reincarnation of Hitler

b) The most studious chap in the class who wants to win, win, and WIN all the time

c) Some funny chaps who don’t believe in studying, but are game enough for fun

d) A crazy chap who doesn’t believe in blind authority

At face value, none of these is unique. But, the way Aamir Khan portrays the role of the maverick, Rannchhod Chachar (Rancho), Sharman Joshi and Madhavan – his madcap friends, and Boman Irani the tyrant is fresh. And funny. In parts.

Almost every character – be it the chaiwallah or the principal’s lissome daughter is well-written and contributes something to the story. I did think that this was one of Boman Irani’s less likeable performances, with an affected lisp ostensibly inspired by Shahid Kapoor in Kaminey, and a perpetually grumpy expression that is reminiscent of Wile E. Coyote from the Road Runner cartoons.

But Rancho is an endearing character throughout. Right from the moment he electrocutes a senior wanting to rag him, to when he makes a point to the principal in his inimitable style, to when he uses his innovation to help out with a classmate’s project – a toy helicopter, he displays various sides of his personality. He can be cocky, witty, blasphemous, and practical – all at the same time. One gets to learn the phrase ‘Aaal eej wellll’ (All is well) that makes an appearance throughout the movie, from one of Rancho’s anecdotes.

The second half takes us on a journey with his friends and his love-interest, Pia (Kareena) who are trying to trace him down after 10 years of his disappearance, right after college. The movie has its set of highs, lows, emotional moments, laughs, and a few scenes that can be best described as ‘hammy’. Still, without revealing any further, I must say that the movie is a must-watch.

Yes, if you are a prude, you will find some jokes slightly offensive or below-the-belt. If you need to watch ‘realistic’ movies, this movie will give you a few of those rolling-your-eyes-in-exasperation kind of moments. If you are a college student or were a college student ever, you should be able to relate to the happenings.

The movie is shot in a variety of locations, that are all pleasing to the eye. From the college hostels of IIM-Bangalore, to Connaught Place in Delhi, and the scenic locales of Ladakh – everything is awesome. The music is eminently hummable (even in my eminently horrendous voice).

The bottomline is that you are being the 4th idiot, if you don’t go out and watch this movie. I’m not saying that it doesn’t have flaws. All I’m saying is that despite some very obvious flaws, it’s fun! (I say that after pushing my way through a horde of spectators stampeding through the entrance, sitting on seats with lots of leg room only if you had been born a midget, listening to wolf-whistles and catcalls from the elite crowd every few minutes, and watching some people actually dancing when a song appeared.)

Rating: 3.5 stars out of 5

Media demons…

2009-12-23T03:59:00.001+05:30

Sometimes, I really detest the media for the role it plays in shaping public perception. After the 3rd one-day international against Sri Lanka on Dec 21, 2009, the picture above was clicked. The description of the picture on a reputed cricket news website said, “Sachin Tendulkar makes a point to Dinesh Karthik after wrapping up the match…”

The facts of the case were that Tendulkar was batting on 96. With only a few runs remaining to be made, Mr. Karthik decided to have the heave-ho and promptly hit the ball over the boundary to score 6, and end the match. Hence, his partner was left high and dry on the other end at a score of 96, 4 runs short of another milestone, another century.

The picture, with its caption seems to suggest that the legendary man – Tendulkar, was remonstrating with his partner for denying him yet another feather in his cap – another one-day hundred.

Somehow, I refuse to believe that. A man who has served India at the highest level for 20 years, a man who has left a trail of broken records, and has found a place in the hearts of even his most ardent critics can surely not be guilty of such pettiness.

An anecdote about Tendulkar from India’s tour of Australia in 1991 says that he was batting on 99, when he was bowled by the fast bowler, Mike Whitney. However, the umpire ruled it to be a no-ball, thus rendering Tendulkar not out. Off the very next ball, the great man reached his century and walked up to Whitney, saying, “I’m terribly sorry, Mr. Whitney.”

Whitney recounted this incident later, during a discussion on Tendulkar’s greatness. Bitter rivals like Shane Warne suffered nightmares of Sachin Tendulkar whacking them to all corners of the park. Captains like Steve Waugh shuddered at the thought of setting a field to contain a rampaging Tendulkar. And while the great man is always at his uncharitable best in the middle, he does spare a thought and a lot of help for the economically weaker sections, in need of support.

Of course, with the media trying to grab eyeballs, they have no qualms about trying to tarnish the image of a demi-god, just to generate a bit of controversy.

a) I don’t give a rat’s ass if Sachin actually made a point to Karthik. But, without adequate videographic evidence to support, you can’t interpret a still photo to mean that.

b) Even if he did scold Karthik, it wouldn’t lessen his stature in any way.

The bottom line is that I am not trying to agree/disagree with anyone here. But, my only point is that the media ought to be more responsible before carrying such reports.

A Journey to Remember…

2009-12-18T22:22:00.001+05:30

Term 6 at a bschool - a time for chilling out, having fun, and travelling a lot. Well, considering it is the last term, one ought to do any or all of these. But, one has recently discovered a new definition to the travelling bit. One realises that some people have been 'travelling' throughout the last few terms. Ah, they've been 'passengers' who have been gracious enough to smile at one politely, despite the bumpy ride.

One thinks it is much more pleasurable to be in a group with a few such passengers, so that they can take a look at the life that whizzes by, while one puts one's sore shoulder to the grindstone and slogs it out. After all, one needs to get some external intervention to realise that there's still life out there somewhere. So what, if one is missing out on it? These nice folks make sure that they watch enough sitcoms, sing enough songs, go on umpteen walks with 'close' companions, and do enough social 'butterflying' (or caterpillaring) to be able to share their experiences, and ensure that one gets to enjoy these pleasures, so what if only vicariously? They also ensure that they sleep for a good 8-10 hours a day, so that they're fresh enough to regale one with their exploits, and make life better.

Of course, there are other losers like oneself, who burn midnight oil and work feverishly, to ensure that deadlines are met, if only by fractions of seconds. Thankfully, one has the passengers who occasionally peer over one's shoulder to point out a few defects or errors, or make their contribution by suggesting ways to con those poor, unsuspecting profs who were born yesterday and know nothing about the 'corrupted pdf' technique or the 'Outlook date format' scam.

In fact, classifying one's group mates can be an interesting experience. Let us look at some priceless 'exhibits' to understand them better. (This listing includes both passengers and non-passengers, so that their distinctive features are brought about clearly to you, O discerning reader.)

a) Exhibit A - The Workaholic - He/she is always driven by the sight of that deadline zooming in closer and closer. This person will have reminders, post-its, alarms et al, set to make sure that work is divided, milestones are decided, and the entire process is completed on time, with the necessary quality. An invaluable person to have in your group, though one must concede that one does tend to get a little frustrated when Exhibit A does not allow one to behave passenger-ically.

b) Exhibit B - The Righteous One - He/she has a holier-than-thou attitude, a fiery temper, and the inability to tolerate shoddy work. This person detests passengers. Of course, that could possibly be because he/she is one, and there's only room for so many, on a ride. Right? So, beware! If one's work does not match up to his/her standards (which are presumably copied from some website or another) one is in trouble! However, to set you on the right road, this person will claim to have hoarded tons of data, and information that you can use when you eventually stop being useless and decide to work.

c) Exhibit C - The Spanner-in-the-works - In football, there are some players who accidentally put the ball in their own goal, thereby causing more loss than gain. These people fall in such a category, and one finds oneself wishing that one had steered clear of these folks in the first place! One would rather burn more midnight oil and do this person's share of work, rather than let him/her loose and risk spending even more time, undoing the damage he/she causes.

d) Exhibit D - The Who-me? - Aww, the innocent one!! He/she wonders why YOU, the useless freak didn't ask for work to be done? Why didn't you send out a mail dividing work, outlining what is to be done, and set timelines? Sheesh, this poor babe-in-the-woods type was up till 3 am, wondering why no one has been doing anything. YOU evil one, to have caused so much hurt to this poor thing. Awww....

e) Exhibit E - The Creative One - A brilliant asset to have. He/she can think logically and differently, is prepared to work well, and generates lots of quality work. The only possible limitation - his/her batteries die out at 11 pm, so you have to wait for the next morning for creativity to happen. Still, worth every ounce of his/her weight.

f) Exhibit F - The well-oiled cog - A total group player - this person may debate with you, argue, prove to be a tough nut to crack, but will contribute meaningfully to the group. When one is burning midnight oil, this person will be sitting beside you and helping out. Apart from reducing one's workload, this person also reduces one's carbon footprint. How, you ask? Well, midnight oil is divided by two now, innit?

g) Exhibit G - The push-me-pull-you - The name is derived from a fictional animal that had two divergent personalities, in some story that I read as a kid. This person has two personalities - somewhat like Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde. Still, he/she can be useful, provided you only have a moderate sprinkling of other Exhibits in the group. He/she reacts violently to some of them, and is perfectly at peace with the others. If you are sensible enough, you'll value his/her presence.
Of course, there are many other categories too. But, we shall delve into their intricacies later. The list is barely inclusive, and hardly exhaustive. Moreover, some people cut across categories and display various traits. So use your discretion, dear reader when you try to identify these people who are all around you. (Remember, the use of he/she is intentional, so do not make unfair assumptions, relating to gender.)

P.S. I have worked with some of you in groups, and haven't with others. Hence, kindly take this purely in jest, and do not attempt to map any of the Exhibits to your respective personalities. :P

Nostalgia bites…

2009-12-11T14:56:00.001+05:30

I walked down the lofty corridor of The Saint Thomas Men’s Residence, with a wistful look on my face. Walking slowly, I absorbed all the sights – the notice board that congratulated the receivers of recent placement offers and had details of some competition or the other in garish colours, the whitewashed walls, and the lack of all human activity.

I smiled as I recalled all those futile trips I had made to the board to check if my name was on the shortlist for some company or the other. I could almost taste the feeling of defeat that had encompassed me on not seeing my name there, and feel the encouraging pats of friends on my shoulder.

I walked to the lift and smiled as I remembered the number of times that it had broken down, and I’d had to trudge up to the fourth floor using the stairs, huffing and puffing and cursing using all the expletives he knew in various languages. I decided to take the stairs this time, just to relive those memories.

Perhaps the current crop of students were on their term break. Perhaps, they were attending the class of a prof who’d have flunked them if they missed. Perhaps, they were sleeping after submitting an assignment due at 9.00 am.

Room no. 414 – the place that had seen fleeting moments of frustration, grief, delight and boredom. Sadly, it was locked. Idly, I wondered about the person who lived there now. Did he also make the room look like a tornado-struck zone? Did he take a minute out of his routine to admire the view from my window? Did his alarm ring incessantly in the morning till an irate neighbour pounded on his door in irritation? Did he belt out his brand of ‘music’ much to the consternation of nearby folks? Did his room also overflow with books of all kinds, shapes and sizes? And most importantly, had he inherited my love for LFC over the years?

If looks could kill, mine would have shattered that lock into a million pieces, giving me access to a flood of memories from the years gone by. But, nothing of the sort happened.

I took the lift this time.

On reaching the ground floor, I decided to go over to Rooms 15 and 16, where more laughs than an entire season of ‘F.R.I.E.N.D.S.’ were created and shared. Room 16 was unlocked. I couldn’t resist knocking, almost expecting a familiar voice to say, “Yeahhhh, come in!” and opening the door to be greeted by some of the awesomest people on this planet.

A stranger opened the door, a questioning look in her lovely, hazel eyes. “Yes?” she asked. I snapped my gaping jaw shut, with an audible snap that made her jump. “Oh, nothing! I’m just an alumnus, who graduated in 2010. I was visiting someone in the city today, and decided to come over to my alma mater. Sorry, if I disturbed you.”

She invited me in with a warm smile, but the room felt cold. Gone were the decorations, the charts scrawled with funny one-liners, and the book-rack with the coffee-maker on top of it. Gone were those people, I’d half-expected would be lounging around the place. I didn’t see any of them there, but I still heard the faint echo of their voices and their laughter.

“Are you ok?” she asked, with some concern.

“Yes, I’m fine. Actually, I think I ought to go,” I said, looking at my watch.

I stopped by at the pond with the fountain. Multi-hued fish swam about, frolicking in the clear water. A moss-covered waterbody, with ugly catfish was what it had been, until a friend had come up with the idea to clean it up and maintain it better. We’d all pitched in – some had donated money to the cause, some had helped in selecting the right varieties of fish to keep, and others had rolled up their sleeves to do the ‘dirty’ work. (Of course, some had stood and snickered at the futility of it all, but then looking at the brightly coloured fish today, made me snicker back at them.)

The benches outside the Mother Teresa hostel were unoccupied. A strange phenomenon- made possible only by the fact that the students were not on campus. Otherwise, there would always be a bevy of folks – some reading, some engaged in long, intimate conversations with faraway loved ones, and others simply hanging out.

Ah, a familiar soul at last! Dadu – the proprietor of the campus eatery, warmly greeted me with a cup of coffee and chattered away, trying to bring me up to speed with all the changes on campus lately. I was too lost to respond, and made do with randomly sprinkled ‘hmm’s and ‘haa’s. The old rascal didn’t forget to charge me 12/- for that measly cup of weak, sugary coffee. When I pointed out that one thing that hadn’t changed on campus, was his propensity to fleece his customers, he just grinned and made the age-old excuse, “Kya karen Sumit, har cheez ka rate badhta hi rehta hai?”

Deciding to take a look at the classrooms of yore, I felt a twinge of sadness at seeing that they had been revamped completely, with state of the art infrastructure and advanced gadgetry. Having never been especially attached to the classrooms, (since a large component of my learning had taken place not inside but outside them) I moved on to take a look at yet another place that was special – the Placecomm office. For, it was there that the 16 of us had spent long, sleepless nights slogging towards ensuring the best of placements at XLRI. And what a brilliant job we had done too!

I strolled over to the GMP area, the location for many heart-to-heart talks with friends. The silence there threatened to choke me, so I had to beat a hasty retreat and take refuge in the huge common room of The Father Enright Men’s Residence. The old TV where we had watched countless Premier League matches, cheering on our favourite teams was still there. The memory of bunking two important classes and a quiz just to watch Liverpool trounce the Red Devils 4-1, and revelling in the gains from the ‘tradeoff’ I had made was special.

The TT table, a little battered because of the rough handling it had undergone over the ages still stood, a relic of the times when there had been epic tournaments, having played best-of-5, best-of-10, and even last-man-standing games played amongst us.

The last stop was the iconic JLT – which had been the forbidden place early on, but had turned into a regular haunt in the final term. Funnily enough, the XL journey had begun with a dunking for ‘trespassing’ on JLT and ended with a dunking to celebrate getting placed, and the corresponding DJ nite, where all of us had exchanged hugs and fond farewells.

I walked out of the campus slowly, as a lone tear made its way down my cheek. I turned up the volume of my iPod to drown out the silence, and those haunting words pervaded my being:

“Socha tha MBA kar le, hum tum bhi thoda sa padh len, lo aa gaye hum XLR….”

Alive and kicking

2009-10-26T08:14:00.001+05:30

Yes, that’s what I am – alive though getting a little kicked. These days are superbusy with the summer internship process of juniors going on. Hence, a major shortage of time for us seniors. Therefore, I will not be around too often for another few days, after which I will begin spamming this blog and your comments sections all too often.

Till then, hold your horses! :D

P.S. Apologies for not replying to all those lovely comments. That’s an item still parked on my list and I will do it (eventually).

...

2009-10-24T12:59:00.000+05:30

I stare at the limitless sea,
that mass of never-ending blue,
and listen to the crashing waves,
singing to me of you.

Some cribs in life…

2009-10-21T12:00:00.001+05:30

A tough 10 days are coming up, involving baptism by fire. 10 days that will push me to the limit, test my very resolve and be a hell of a learning experience too. I’m ~~nervous~~ terrified, but excited too. However, there are some things that I so ~~want~~ need to do but am unable to find time. Some of these pet peeves are:

a) Wanting to sleep more than 2 hours a day

b) Wanting to write an article on role of HR in mergers and acquisitions

c) Wanting to read, read, read and read…

d) Wanting to blog more often

e) Wanting to land the job sometime soon

f) Wanting to do a bit of research on some HR topics

Let there be light…

2009-10-17T22:42:00.001+05:30

Today’s the festival of lights – the entire world is out there laughing, bursting crackers, lighting candles and oil lamps, decorating their surroundings and having fun. And here I am, cooped up in my dreary room, clattering away on the keys of my laptop with a vengeance.

Why? I wonder, do such moments of joy leave me devoid of happiness? Why does the light outside seem to cast even longer shadows deep inside me? Why do I feel incapable of enjoying the occasion?

I don’t think I have the answer to these questions. I don’t even know what brings me joy any more – if anything does. I don’t know if anyone realises the battles that go on deep within, between my warring selves.

Somehow, one of Longfellow’s poems, ‘The Day is Done’ seems just right for today. Sorry to be raining on your parade, but here it is:

The day is done, and the darkness
Falls from the wings of night,
As a feather is wafted downward
From an eagle in his flight.
I see the lights of the village
Gleam through the rain and the mist,
And a feeling of sadness comes o'er me
That my soul cannot resist:
A feeling of sadness and longing,
That is not akin to pain,
And resembles sorrow only
As the mist resembles the rain.
Come, read to me some poem,
Some simple and heartfelt lay,
That shall soothe this restless feeling,
And banish the thoughts of day.
Not from the grand old masters,
Not from the bards sublime,
Whose distant footsteps echo
Through the corridors of Time.
For, like strains of martial music,
Their mighty thoughts suggest
Life's endless toil and endeavor;
And to-night I long for rest.
Read from some humbler poet,
Whose songs gushed from his heart,
As showers from the clouds of summer,
Or tears from the eyelids start;
Who, through long days of labor,
And nights devoid of ease,
Still heard in his soul the music
Of wonderful melodies.
Such songs have power to quiet.
The restless pulse of care,
And come like the benediction
That follows after prayer.
Then read from the treasured volume
The poem of thy choice,
And lend to the rhyme of the poet
The beauty of thy voice.
And the night shall be filled with music
And the cares, that infest the day,
Shall fold their tents, like the Arabs,
And as silently steal away.

The Lost Symbol

2009-10-10T18:24:00.000+05:30

Intrigue. Mystery. History. Deceit. Name it and the book has it. The moment you turn the first page, Dan Brown leads you on into a journey that’s fast, spell-binding and fast-paced. Mr. Brown weaves together history, legend, science and fiction into a heady mix that keeps you enthralled throughout the book.

Robert Langdon reprises himself as the scholarly professor, yet again caught in a tale of mystery and intrigue – held under the power of an unknown, dangerous man.

5 years of research weaves effortlessly into a 12-hour timeframe, as Dan Brown leads you on into a frightening world of conspiracy and murkiness. Steeped in a deep history of secrecy, the Freemason traditions and customs are brought to light in this book.

Perhaps it is not as controversial as ‘The da Vinci Code’ – which rubbed the Vatican the wrong way, but the book does evoke powerful emotions, and Freemasons will probably not be thrilled with the plot.

But overall, without divulging the story, it can be said that it is worth a read, and one of Mr. Brown’s better works. It does tend to sound like a religious sermon at places, but I guess one can skip over those portions without taking them too seriously.

Happy Reading!!

Snapshots from my life…

2009-10-10T00:24:00.001+05:30

Strolling around campus with a gang of friends, right after a spell of rain…

Spending long, sleepless nights in committee meetings…

Stealing quick moments to go out with friends for dinner…

Dozing off in class, right under the nose of the prof…

Putting up Post-It notes on the bathroom mirror, requesting others to wake me up in time for class…

Answering numerous queries that juniors have…

Not answering numerous queries that arise deep within…

Snatching bits of time to read a few pages of ebooks now and then…

Frenetically working against deadlines, trying to beat them back temporarily, at least…

Getting used to returning to my room, when the world’s quietly sleeping…

Trying to work out the functioning of the human mind…

These are some of the threads that currently form a major chunk of my life. Quite disconnected, but yet so connected. Anyway, coherent thought eludes me at this moment, with sleep-deprivation being the cause. Hence, I shall ramble on no more, and leave you to connect the dots.

The Good Mood Gig

2009-10-08T13:24:00.000+05:30

Dear Readers,

A blogger friend of mine is applying for this freelance blogging position. Kindly vote for her. No registration, no form to fill out, just a simple click of a mouse will do. (Once she lands the job, we'll rope her in for a proper party!!)

So, get trigger-happy at:

Good Mood Gig from SAM-e

Cheerio
Sumit

Happier…

2009-10-06T12:52:00.001+05:30

Naah, this is not a reflection of my current state of mind. Or may be it is. Though, the broad idea here is to talk about a variety of recent happenings in life. (After all, as your bloggy friend, it is my duty to bore you to death with sordid tales of what has been happening in the last month.)

a) Some of the courses in this term are fantastic. We have a course on managing creativity (the reason for my last post), one on strategic HR management (my favourite subject) and another one on personal effectiveness and leadership. The last one throws up some interesting ideas, though I must admit that I find self-help books rather insufferable.

b) I’ve been doing some reading (and not just the academic kind). There’s this compilation of tales from Kerala, called ‘Where the rain is born’. It’s a nice compilation by Anita Nair, with stories by the likes of Dr. Shashi Tharoor.

c) I actually managed to watch a few movies too! Transformers: Revenge of the Fallen was the only one of note though. Despite critics panning the movie big time, the fact that it had killer special-effects and a Linkin Park single at the end, made it worthwhile. (Perhaps, the presence of a certain Ms. Megan Fox also had something to do with it.)

d) I want to stamp on my phone and break it. It rings far too often!

e) Surprisingly, by prioritizing my tasks better, I’ve been able to spend more time with friends, even though my overall schedule has become much busier. (The next couple of months are going to be tough, with me almost underground, so I’m doing all the catching up I possibly can.)

f) I think I’ll be docked grade points in at least 2-3 subjects. Gah, 9 am classes – I hate them!! I’ll never make the attendance requirement, at this rate.

g) I’ll possibly be the first person in Jamshedpur to own a licensed version of Windows 7. The DVD is in the mail. Yippee!!

h) I had my Microsoft job interview – the first round, last week. I think I did a decent job, though some questions could/should have been handled better, and not like a moronic half-wit on LSD. (*fingers crossed, and toes too*)

i) I’m supposed to read this self-help book called ‘Happier’ as a course requirement. I absolutely detest the book, and somehow it seems to be mocking me for this, as it lies in its resplendent yellow colour on my book rack.

j) I have 102 followers. Wow! I’m glad so many people have good taste in what they read. ;)

In case you expected some common thread, some line of thought in this post, too bad! The only thing common to all the above points is that there is nothing common. I hope you enjoyed reading. Tee hee!! :D

Creativity – Can one learn it?

2009-10-05T10:48:00.000+05:30

It’s an interesting debate. Could one teach a dork like me to paint like Picasso or sculpt like Rodin? With some training for hours, days, weeks, or years, could I be made capable of inventing something even remotely as revolutionary as an iPod?

Some would agree and some would disagree. I wouldn’t do either. That’s not because I’m a fence sitter, but because I don’t think I even know the definition of creativity. Something that’s creative and new for me, could simply be routine, mundane work for another person. Also, something that’s supposedly creative to another person may appear to be totally useless to me. For example, we have had cases of numerous people who have had to eat their words about the uselessness of ‘creative’ objects.

Television, cars, airplanes, and even overnight delivery suggested by the originator of Fedex met with universal scorn to begin with. So, do I have the right to deride a ‘creative’ pursuit today, when it may become the next big thing tomorrow? I don’t think so.

In fact, I guess I’d define creativity simply as a new idea that strikes me – irrespective of its utility or monetary worth. It’s probably a personal definition, if you ask me. Not an organizational or dictionary definition at all. Call it a creative definition, if you will. :P

What say you folks? What exactly is creativity to you? Do you think one can teach it in classrooms?

Every team needs a powerhouse…

2009-10-04T15:43:00.001+05:30

One set of professionals I admire a lot is the folks who create ad campaigns. I often wonder, if they just sit at desks, churning out creative pieces like cars at an assembly line, or take long walks in sylvan surroundings to stimulate creativity. It might be a bit weird on my part to imagine, but do they resort to hallucinogens like LSD to amplify their creative capabilities? (Yes, I’m drawing a parallel with Mr. Samuel T. Coleridge’s opium-induced state that led to masterpieces like ‘Kubla Khan’ and ‘The Rime of the Ancient Mariner’)

Of course, the idea is not to cast aspersions at the habits of creative professionals. I merely intend to confer my admiration for them, courtesy a recent ad that I saw for Adidas’s new shoe – the F50i. (Perhaps the admiration also stems from the fact that two legends I worship – the great Zinedine Zidane and the iconic Steven Gerrard are featured in the ad.)

Do see the ad below and decide for yourselves. And of course, pour in or at least trickle in your thoughts.

Guess who’s back!

2009-10-03T21:07:00.001+05:30

Yes yes, I’ve been missing for almost a month now and not responding to emails, blog comments and messages. It wasn’t intentional though. Just that the maddening pace of life tore my attempts at getting a life to shreds.

Since the end of the MBA that I’m pursuing is in sight, these are busy times indeed. The last month has been particularly excruciating. And the next one month promises to be the same, if not worse.

Still, I’ll keep trying to pour in some banality here, like always. More than writing, I’ll be happier if I can do a bit more of reading because these days, whatever I write sounds choppy and unconnected to reality – much like my own life.

The last few days have been incredibly tough, personally. However, now that they’re past, I’m hoping things will look up again.

Anyway, hopefully I’ll be back here more often. Till next time…

Ta!

Epiphany.

2009-09-09T00:32:00.001+05:30

Some of you, dear readers would recall a certain Greek scholar, who was struck by a great realisation, as he dipped into a warm bath, that he ran around the streets naked, yelling, “Eureka, eureka.”

I always thought the man must have been mad. Till today. When I experienced the feeling for myself.

No, don’t get me wrong please. I’m not Greek, much less a scholar, and well, I am not guilty of practising any form of nudism. However, I have been struck by a realisation with great force. I’ve just had what is known as an epiphany.

Well, after I had posted some thoughts born of deep despair and gloom in my last post, my blogger friend, Corinne wrote something that hit with the intensity of a thunderbolt. I was struck speechless and realised the mistake that I had been making.

Thanks Corinne! You’re a wonder! :) And you’re absolutely right. I can’t tell you how touched I am by your gesture.

P.S. Another quote from Richard Bach:

Can miles truly separate you from friends... If you want to be with someone you love, aren't you already there?

There’s no such place as far away…

2009-09-07T23:14:00.001+05:30

The last few days have been odd. Suddenly, from a hectic, bustling life, it seems as if I’ve been sentenced to solitary confinement. Seriously, it would be no exaggeration to say that I feel a little like ‘Linc the sink’ from Prison Break.

I was reading this old copy of ‘Illusions’ by Richard Bach – one of my favourite authors, and came across this line,

You're always free to change your mind and choose a different future, or a different past.

Is it really so? I know I would probably not want to choose a different past. Some of my major blunders in the past have taught me valuable lessons, that I wouldn’t want to part with. But, can I choose a different future? Can I take my life in the direction that I want to? Can I break away from the shackles of the present? Can I shake her out of her reverie, and make her realise that I love her? Can I choose a future of togetherness for us, Mr. Bach?

A soulmate is someone who has locks that fit our keys, and keys to fit our locks. When we feel safe enough to open the locks, our truest selves step out and we can be completely and honestly who we are; we can be loved for who we are and not for who we're pretending to be. Each unveils the best part of the other. No matter what else goes wrong around us, with that one person we're safe in our own paradise. Our soulmate is someone who shares our deepest longings, our sense of direction. When we're two balloons, and together our direction is up, chances are we've found the right person. Our soulmate is the one who makes life come to life.

Well, is that seriously true? If it is, then it means that she and I are soulmates. We care for each other, despite the distance between us. We pretend that there’s no chemistry, though the sparks fly each time we interact. Soulmates... is it really possible? I adore her, love everything about her. I could just spend a lifetime listening to her, or watching her smile at my clumsiness.

I feel uncomfortable and unclean, because there is some part of me that I’ve always kept hidden from her. She still thinks the world of me and it scares me.

She doesn't know that I keep pining for her, on those sleepless nights. She doesn't know I could do anything to be with her, even for a fleeting moment. She doesn't know that I replay each conversation we have, over and over again. Or does she?

Mr. Bach, you also said that ‘There’s no such place as far away.’

I wish that were true.

Delhi, O Delhi – An unplanned sequel

2009-09-06T13:46:00.001+05:30

The last post I made, with a similar title, was rather misinterpreted by certain sections of society (read some of the regulars here :P).

I had not intended to indulge in Delhi-bashing at all. On the contrary, I love the city and get defensive/offensive every time someone says something derogatory about it. I don’t subscribe to the negative connotations people ascribe to ‘Dilli ki ladkiyan’ or ‘Delhi males’ either.

What I had meant to convey was that despite the idiotic auto-wallahs, pollution, traffic, chaos, and overall madness, I still adore the city. I’ve lived nearly one-third of my life in Delhi and well, I can’t think of a city that feels more like home. Nope, not even my home city – Chandigarh.

Given a choice, I would love to settle down in Delhi – the land of culinary delights, the land deep-rooted in history and enigma, the land filled with nice and friendly people.

And of course, the amount of warmth and affection I have got in this city from various people is unparalleled.

If you, dear reader, are from Delhi, I’m sure you’ll understand what I’m talking about.

And if you, dear reader, are not from Delhi, then you really ought to come to Delhi and experience what I’m talking about.

Delhi, O Delhi…

2009-09-05T00:40:00.001+05:30

I stretched my tired limbs as I got off the train. But I couldn’t take too long to stretch like a lazy cat. I had to watch over my precious luggage. After all, this was Delhi.

After wading through rows upon rows of seedy, betel-chewing men, offering rides in autos and taxis, I made it outside. (The tone in which they spoke made them more likely to be pimps than auto-drivers, so I stayed clear of them. After all, this was Delhi.)

Eventually, once outside, I breathed in the fetid air, and caught hold of a somewhat non-shady auto-driver. After bidding goodbyes to all friends and peers, this friend of mine and I sat down in the auto, having negotiated the necessary fare. (The auto-wallah claimed that the meter didn’t work. After all, this was Delhi.)

Right next to the station, there was a massive traffic jam with people honking all around. The prompt and worldly-wise auto-wallah promptly mouthed a few obscenities aimed at someone’s mothers and sisters, looked at us for support, and proceeded to carve out a route by going against traffic in a one-way lane. After all, this was Delhi.

The next day, at the bus stop, I saw the usual urchins leering at the pretty girls, the crowd rushing to get on to the already overflowing bus, the conductor trying to fit everyone into the bus, and passengers shoving others in. After all, this was Delhi.

And now, at midnight, as the dust settles, I look at the city lights twinkling merrily at me. I hear the sounds of the city, as it whispers to me. I hear its heartbeat, I hear its plaintive cries asking for relief from what we are doing to it. I feel one with it, I feel as if I belong…for, I am its soul.

After all, this is … Delhi!

Guess who’s back!

2009-09-03T09:10:00.001+05:30

Thanks for all the exam wishes, people! I’m back, in my favourite city (Delhi) and at my favourite place (Bloggersville). The exams went by reasonably well – no surprises and no complaints. So, I guess I get to maintain my status as the class dimwit.

Anyway, it’s nice to be back and to be able to use the internet for non-academic purposes too.

Just because I haven’t been here for a while does not mean that my mind, which always harbours a maelstrom of thoughts has been quiet. If anything, it is more stirred up than ever.

I’m trying to figure out how it is possible for two people to love the same music, love the same music, love talking to each other, love the same hangout places, love spending time with each other, care enough to keep track of birthdays, exam dates, assignment dates and all sorts of random dates, but not be in love with each other.

In this context, there’s a wonderful quote that I came across a couple of days ago:

In the arithmetic of love, one plus one equals everything, and two minus one equals nothing.

P.S. Work on the template is still in progress. I kinda like this one for its simplicity and clarity. Will ensure that it is fixed soon.

W.I.P. in Peace

2009-08-28T09:59:00.001+05:30

Yes, the exams are still going on and our institute has not been flattened by an Iranian nuclear strike. The reason I’m back here is because I opened my blog yesterday, and didn’t like what I saw. All the images had been replaced with a photobucket message saying ‘bandwidth exceeded’. Consequently, I had to duck in here, and make a temporary fix at least.

So, here I am. Ostensibly not with the best of templates, but at least it works. Personally, I prefer something simpler and less jarring to the eyes. But, I’d love to have your opinions on this.

Kindly pour in your thoughts, and I shall make the necessary fixes once exams are over.

P.S. I think my comment about 3 months was misinterpreted. I don’t intend to disappear for 3 months. What I meant was that I’ll fight these exams and drive them away for 3 months, meaning after that, they will be back – more evil and more strong.

P.P.S. If you haven’t voted so far, kindly do so. I’m leading the contest, but just barely!! :)

Here today, gone tomorrow

2009-08-26T01:23:00.001+05:30

It is with the deepest regret that we inform you of a scourge having struck down the author of this blog, rendering him incapable of blogging till further notice.

The symptoms of the disease include sleeplessness, palpitations, hypertension, and small pieces of paranoia and schizophrenia. The patient suffers from delusions, loss of appetite, and an overall feeling of morbid depression.

No, the disease is not swine flu, it’s something worse.

What I will be facing tomorrow is the worst four-letter word I’ve ever heard. It’s called ‘EXAM’.

So, yours truly must march out to face this monster, and eradicate it, or at least beat it black and blue for 3 months.

Take care, people! As the Terminator said, “I’ll be BACH!!” (Till then, you can be Mozart or Beethoven, or whoever else!)

Games People Play – II

2009-08-24T02:36:00.001+05:30

I write this post with a smirk on my face. People who turn abusive or vitriolic for no reason at all amuse me, rather than irk me.

Let me quote one such example:

Your blog title is just right. It really matches you. You are INSANE if you think you can get away with all those fake accounts, comments and votes.
The Slideshare team has already been warned of your doing and you should see your account suspended in a few days. How does that sound to you? :)

That is a comment made on my last blog post by some really courageous person going by the name of ‘Anonymous’.

Well, Mr. or Ms. Anonymous, I think you’re just someone who wants to take my case. Go right ahead! Though, I’d probably take you much more seriously if you’d identify yourself.

Take care!

Games People Play

2009-08-20T17:18:00.001+05:30

All right, here’s another shamelessly self-praising post. Thanks to the support shown by people, my presentation is now ranked 9th worldwide, out of some 1150-odd contestants. With another 18 days of the contest to go, there’s a strong chance of making it big.

I’m embedding the presentation right here, for your folks to see it. In case you like it, please do vote for it.

Transactional Analysis

View more presentations from Sumit Singla.

Irrespective of whether you vote for me or not, do write back if you like it. Even if you don’t, please convey the improvement areas I could work towards.

Also, I’d appreciate if you share it on blogger, facebook, twitter or any other medium you like. (In case you’re tweeting about it, please use the tag #bestpreso).

Thanks!

Surge ahead, democracy!

2009-08-19T12:36:00.003+05:30

Yet again, the writer of this blog has resorted to a misleading title. Yet again, you will probably stop reading soon or curse him or both!

The scene is that slideshare.net has launched a ‘World’s Best Presentation’ contest. And yours truly, being reasonably adept at making presentations has decided to participate. Of course, in the hope that his friends and family will go all out to enlist support for him.

The contest is scheduled to run for another 15 days, and the leading presentation so far has 111 votes. My target is to get at least 200 votes, and lay my filthy paws on a shiny, new Mac.

Hence, I’m counting on you, dear reader to back me up and vote for me. Please visit http://www.slideshare.net/sumitrocks/transactional-analysis-1879796 and do the needful.

I assure you of a grand treat, in the event of my winning any of the listed prizes.

P.S. I don’t know if I should be advertising myself so blatantly, but what the heck! :)

The Great Deluge…

2009-08-18T22:10:00.001+05:30

The professors at XLRI seem to be inspired by the great flood. Like the gods angry with humanity for its sins sent the great flood as punishment, the professors here seem to have decided to do the same to us poor, hapless students.

Sadly enough, I don’t have a clue about how to handle this situation. After all, I’m not Noah. So, no Noah, no ark.

Overall, a summarization of the last few days goes like this:

a) Had a viva on ‘training and development’ – messed it up totally! Out of the 6-7 questions I was asked, I could not answer even one. (I was un~~der~~prepared.)

b) I am perpetually short of sleep. There is no teacher who has not had to wake me up in class. (~~YAWN~~)

c) I’m perpetually irritable too. In fact, anyone who has been looking at my facebook/gtalk status messages would know. (They range from “…”, “bored”, “frustrated” to “AAARGHHHHH”. Sometimes, in an intellectual frame of mind, I even go as far as “Who is John Galt?”)

d) I think I’m frustrated with the way things are. There are some milestones I want to reach soon, and I see myself nowhere close. In fact, I’m not even on the right road, I guess.

e) I’m probably turning into an individualist from being a strong team player. I don’t like that, but people have left me with no choice.

f) The world is selfish. There are people who pretend to be your bosom buddies, just because they need something from you. After they are done, they treat you worse than a used piece of toilet paper.

Kindly pardon me for ranting and venting some frustration here. However, I think I talk more to my blog than to real people these days.

Porcelain

2009-08-17T20:52:00.001+05:30

Today, I came across this song on someone else’s blog and simply loved it. (It’s by a techno artist called Moby. The track is titled ‘Porcelain’. Short, sad and lovely. Haunting too.

Here are the lyrics for your reference:

In my dreams I'm dying all the time
As I wake its kaleidoscopic mind
I never meant to hurt you
I never meant to lie
So this is goodbye
This is goodbye

Tell the truth you never wanted me
Tell me
In my dreams I'm jealous all the time
As I wake I'm going out of my mind
Going out of my mind

The Martyr

2009-08-16T12:05:00.001+05:30

I savoured my evening drink in my room,
as my bright fire shut out the gloomy twilight,
my wife and daughter peacefully slumbered,
and I smiled at the precious sight.

I was startled by a knock on the door,
there was someone out in the night,
I crept to the window to see who it was,
a lonesome figure stood, his face weary and tight.

“Come in and warm yourself,” I said to him,
“have a drink or two at the very least,”
replied he, “I have no need of your hospitality,
you don’t have to offer me a feast.”

He bent and lovingly unwrapped,
a piece of cloth from his tattered bag,
saying, “This shall always keep me warm,
the saffron, white and green of my flag.”

“I’ve been part of many a battle,
I’d fight against one and all,
I’d kill a man or more,
to ensure this flag doesn’t fall.”

“Tell your mind to be bereft of worry,
have no fear, harbour no fright,
go back to the fire in your hearth,
for you and your loved ones will be all right.”

I said, “But is there something I can do,
for you’re wet from the rain and sleet,
come, enter my warm home,
have your fill, and be replete.”

His eyes welled up with tears and he said,
“Mortal things are no comfort for the soul of the dead,
value thy freedom, respect my sacrifice, and remember,
you breathe this air because, I fought and I bled.”

Note: I wrote this one a couple of years ago, but never posted it to a blog.

Independence Day

2009-08-15T02:33:00.001+05:30

He felt tired, oh so tired. It had been a fair bit of time since he had been fighting along with his comrades to break through the bars of his cage, where they kept him. In vain of course, otherwise he wouldn’t still be there. Some of the others were still foolishly struggling and straining against what kept them from spreading their wings, from soaring to unchallenged heights like they used to. Before ‘they’ came and trapped him and his ilk.

It had been a struggle that had lasted far too long. Probably, because his brethren were not united amongst themselves. Some of them believed in constant struggle and violence towards their enemies, while others advocated a path of perseverance and non-violence.

He had been torn between the two options, his confused mind unable to process which one was better.

Now, he lay there bleeding, broken in spirit and body, all the fight knocked out of him. But somewhere, deep within him, a faint voice whispered to him. A voice, that was frail and weak, but a voice that stirred his very being. It asked him to stand up and fight just a wee bit longer, and success would come.

He reckoned that it couldn’t possibly do any harm. What if he got himself killed while struggling against his captors? It would only improve his lot, wouldn’t it?

With this thought in his mind, he resolved to launch one final onslaught and attempt a ‘do or die’ approach.

With hope in his heart, he issued a clarion call to all his peers asking them to throw himself against their bonds and break free. They were sceptical at first, but he managed to win them over. With a huge war cry, they broke through the barriers that had held them for so long.

It seemed unbelievable! To breathe the fresh air again, to flap his wings in the familiarity of his beautiful meadow. He uttered a shriek of delight as he flew past more of his friends enjoying themselves thus.

His cries of joy turned to those of outrage and pain. He felt a sharp beak pierce into his shoulder and turned in surprise to see someone who had been his friend trying to attack him with malevolent rage. He expressed his anguish and wondered why he was being attacked. His ‘friend’ told him that he was no longer welcome among the ‘different’ birds.

Bruised and battered, he made his way dejectedly to a distant corner of the meadow as he saw various groups of birds fighting it out with each other. Soon, he was joined by a bunch of his own kind. Angry at being shunned by the others, this group attacked whoever strayed into their territory.

It still hurt him to think about the irony of it all. When they had been slaves, they had toiled side by side and striven for freedom, and now when they were finally free, all they did was squabble amongst themselves.

But, he did not have the will to rebel against his fellows. So, he trudged on, keeping his feelings bottled just to keep his tribe happy.

Eventually, all the groups gained control over territories that they guarded fiercely. Any truant bird who strayed here or there was dealt with strictly. There was an element of mistrust in the air all the time.

Suddenly, he hit upon a fantastic idea. To protect himself and his tribe, he devised a mechanism to keep the other birds out. He would construct a barrier that prevented his tribespeople from straying out, and other tribespeople from straying in.

The others loved this idea and hailed him as their hero, their messiah. He assembled a motley gang of enthusiastic workers and set to work.

One day, the fruits of his labour were ripe. The barrier was ready. No longer would their children have to fear attacks from others, no longer would there be a chance of anyone straying. The barrier would ensure that everyone would be safe from marauders.

Exhausted but happy, he went back to his nest. After all, like every year, he had an Independence Day to celebrate.

Desolate Thoughts…

2009-08-15T00:32:00.001+05:30

Echoing laughter,

a voice that lingers on,

crying out in anguish,

at finding you gone.

Stumbling Blocks!

2009-08-14T12:04:00.001+05:30

I was thinking that there are so many people whose blogs I’ve simply stumbled upon through links, social networks, and god knows where all.

However, if I find a blog worth reading, I don’t currently have any way of promoting it except to advertise it on facebook/orkut/gtalk. Someone suggested using the site StumbleUpon, where if you like a site you can ‘’like’ it and if you don’t, you can choose to not like it.

I think that could be a great way of sharing the right kind of content with people. What say?

If you do have a StumbleUpon account, do add me at http://sumitrocks.stumbleupon.com/public/

If you don’t, get one before you’re considered as ancient as a dinosaur!

Pay it Forward

2009-08-13T19:25:00.001+05:30

My blogger friend Scriber, comes up with some really awesome concepts. She is super talented and has a rocking sense of humour too.

One of her ideas I loved is the idea of ’paying it forward’. In her own words, here are the rules:

I make a handmade gift for the first three interested people who leave a comment on this post.
I have 365 days in which to do it. What it will be and when it will arrive is a total surprise!
The catch is that you must participate as well: you must have a blog and continue to pay it forward. Write a post on your blog about paying it forward and invite your readers to participate. Keep the fun going.
Anyone who is interested in receiving a hand made gift from me must provide a shipping address to me in an email.

Now, I’ll not pretend to be extraordinarily creative and say that I’ll make you the moon and the stars. But I shall be diligent and sincere and do the best I can.

I had read Scriber’s post about paying it forward earlier too, but was not quite sure of whether I’d be able to do it or not. However, I’ll give it a shot.

Are you game? :)

Edit: I would recommend that you be circumspect with giving out your address to an absolute stranger. Thanks for the observation, Megha.

The Mockingbird

2009-08-12T17:31:00.001+05:30

He was a mockingbird, a little hatchling. He had newly learnt to fly, from his parents. He dreamt - of flying to faraway lands, meeting other birds, and talking to them. He dreamt of making a nest in a faraway land. He told his parents of his wish. They were sad, but told him to go and chase his dreams and fulfil them.
One morning, he flew away. He flew over mountains, and rivers, and dense forests. He flew as far as his wings allowed him to. Tired, he stopped to rest. He found a cool stream nearby to quench his thirst. There were trees laden with exotic fruits to satisfy his hunger. There were none of the predators that his worried parents had warned him about. So, he was happy and content. He decided to stop chasing dreams, and enjoy reality for a while.

Over time, he forgot all about his dream. To him, his current surroundings seemed like paradise. He grew fat and lazy. Then, one day, he woke up to hear a new voice. The voice belonged to a beautiful sparrow. She asked him to tell her the story of his life. She made him dream once more. She made him believe in himself again.

He had his doubts, but he started readying himself for his long journey for he had begun to love the sparrow. But since he was busy regaining his strength for his journey, he was able to devote less and less time to the sparrow. Gradually, the two broke apart. One day, the sparrow flew away. He was heart-broken. He remembered all the happy times he had spent with her, and cried. He did not want to pursue his dreams alone. But, he forced himself to work hard, and prepare for his journey. He resolved to proceed on his journey alone.

He was almost ready to leave, when he heard a beautiful song. A little dove was singing a song - of sorrow and joy, of hope and despair. The song brought tears to his eyes. He requested the dove to sing to him everyday. And each day, the lovely dove would sing a special song for him. He began to look forward to listening to her each day. She became his isle in the middle of a desolate desert of emotion. Without even realizing it, he fell in love with her.

One day, when the dove sang a song that told a tale of love, he could stop himself no longer. With tears flowing from his eyes, he told her of his love for her. The dove smiled through her teary eyes, and told him that she loved him too, and wanted to be with him through his journey towards his dreams.

At the first light of dawn, they flew away together towards the horizon... towards their dreams...

Author’s Note: I wrote this close to two years ago. It’s not quite the best piece of writing I’ve done by a long shot, but it still is special to me in a unique way.

You rock my world!

2009-08-11T10:46:00.001+05:30

Ah well, I hope the post title did not lead you astray. I was simply referring to the late night earthquake that hit Andaman yesterday. Tremors were felt in my current dwelling place of Jamshedpur too.

Since we guys were on the fourth floor, we did experience a fair bit of shuddering as compared to some of the ground floor junta who slept through it and are disgruntled because they ‘missed the fun.’

I’m just thankful that no casualties from across the country have been reported though there are warnings of tsunamis on the coast.

No, this is not meant to be a newscast updating you on the latest bit about earthquakes in India.

I guess I’m just using an earthquake as a metaphor to refer to things that are rocking my boat these days. I won’t talk about them for now, but hopefully some day I will. :)

And here’s a happy thought from the late Michael Jackson to close:

You rocked my world, you know you did
And everything I own I give (You rocked my world)
There is love you'll need to find
The one that you call mine (You rocked my world)
You rocked my world, you know you did (Girl)
And everything I own I give (I want you, girl)
There is love you'll need to find
The one that you call mine (You rocked my world)

The Magnolias Still Bloom

2009-08-10T21:10:00.000+05:30

Some friends who were going through the story suggested that I include a post which links to all the chapters in the story together, to make for easier reading. So, here goes:

Once again, I must thank all you folks who read the story and kept me going throughout. Thank you!

I have miles to go to be a better writer, though this story was one of the more satisfying pieces I have written so far.

Gandhi!

2009-08-10T14:34:00.001+05:30

Yes, I know it’s been another trip away from Insanity Avenue for me. However, life has been pretty busy with poor me being carpet bombed with assignments, exams, deadlines, group projects and god knows what all!

One of the highlights of the week gone by was the submission of an assignment on Gandhi. One of the Hindu scriptures, the Mahanarayana Upanishad, lists down some 12 pillars of leadership excellence. We had to evaluate Gandhi according to those pillars and comment on him.

I do have my reasons (or biases if you want to call them that) against that half-naked fakir. However, for academic purposes, I decided to be as fair to him as possible.

I don’t really consider him the architect of our freedom. In fact, personally I think we won freedom not because of Gandhi, but despite him. However, I do appreciate the fact that he was a man with an iron will, and was truthful throughout his life.

Still, I don’t think sleeping with two naked girls embracing you just so that you can prove your chastity and show the world that you shun sexual pleasures is not noble, it is sick! (Especially if one of those girls happens to be your grand niece.)

Also, my research indicated that he was not really trying to do some good when he refused to disembark from a ‘white’ compartment in South Africa. Apparently, he was just trying to protect the rights of upper caste Indians. (In fact, he wrote many letters to the South African government referring to the blacks as ‘kaffirs’.)

Agreed that he did practice penance and self-denial. However, the Upanishad says that self-denial practiced to attain some goal or purpose is ‘asuri tapas’ – meaning it is somewhat devilish or satanic. (Not exactly though, but the English language has no suitable translation there.)

One positive about him was that he was frugal and a man of few needs. He didn’t mind touring abroad in just a flimsy loincloth.

The conclusion that I reached was that being a human, he did have his set of failings and weaknesses. However, there were many positive contributions also that he made. Still, I think that ‘Father of the Nation’ is a bit too much.

Your take?

Karma, eh?

2009-07-29T22:35:00.001+05:30

They say that a man’s ‘karma’ eventually catches up with him. It looks like mine just did.

After having ranted about Gandhi, Lord Rama, and Lord Krishna’s ahem… not so respectable activities, what happens next? We get an assignment – a 1000 words essay on Gandhi.

What’s worse is that another assignment on Lord Rama is expected to follow, sometime soon.

Hence, I think I shall reserve my comments on Krishna for the time being, lest he appears in some exam or test or maybe another assignment…

100 not out!

2009-07-28T22:01:00.001+05:30

All right, folks! This is a definitive moment for this blog. You see, this post is the 100th to mark its presence on this space. Heck! 100 posts of insanity? In less than 6 months, wow!

I would like to thank my mom, my dad, my brother, my ex-roommate, the washerman, the sweeper, the guard, my profs, all you wonderful folks at Bloggersville, the stray black cat downstairs, those folks who play blaring music around and yada yada yada… *wipes tear from cheek*

I think verbal diarrhoea just manifested itself here. Or maybe narcissism, or may be both.

Anyway, let me shed the ‘Mr. Mope’ tag that has been bestowed on me by my dear pal Ramaa and talk of happier things in life. Well, firstly a clarification. I do not mope! (Though I do concede that there are some occasions when I crib. So what, huh? Don’t you? HMPH!!)

This blog had taken birth as an aimless, directionless entity that began as a whimper, and stayed shut for many months. However, a chance trip to Simlipal and Chandipur-on-sea gave it a new lease of life nearly 5 months ago, and since then the insanity has only grown.

I’ve ranted about my miserable life, dumped some amateurish pieces of writing at people, tried being funny, and sometimes just blabbered on without reason. And well, Google Analytics tells me that nearly 2700 unique visitors from all across the world have been tearing their hair apart over the last few months, having made 6000+ visits to my blog.

Thanks to Google’s eye that spies on people much like Sauron’s, I know which area you’re from, which OS you use, the name of your browser, and yes, the colour of your family dog. (The last one’s a lame joke, eh! Don’t take it too seriously. But the rest are all facts. *evil laugh*)

I didn’t know if I’d be able to post as frequently as I do now, but it’s mainly thanks to you, the readers who keep egging me on. (Your fault, ha!)

It’s been fun, and I hope to write with regularity from now on. Thanks for reading, and appreciating.

Also, another thing that’s making me happy is the launch of my own website. It’s a site dedicated to HR and can be viewed at eleventHR. It’s in collaboration with some of my friends and we intend to run it like a business. A lot of sections are still under construction but we hope to launch in about a week.

Do subscribe to it please, and share the link on your blogs too. We can do with the free publicity. :)

Meanwhile, your bouquets and brickbats will be appreciated. Keep them coming.

What lies beneath…

2009-07-28T04:50:00.001+05:30

Beneath the confident exterior, there’s a world of insecurities.

Behind the veneer of calmness, there’s a hurricane of worries.

Beneath the rainbow of dreams, there’s a spectre of nightmares.

Behind the sardonic smile, there’s a world of sadness.

Beneath the beautiful fakeness, there’s an ugly reality.

Some random thoughts…

2009-07-27T21:15:00.001+05:30

I’m bored of this term. I wish I could take a long vacation where I could read lots of books, write a bit, watch loads of movies, and sleep blissfully with no alarm to wake me up.

It’s good to be back to prolific blogging. About a month ago, I though I’d hit a trough that I’d never get out of. Thankfully, that’s not the case.

Ghosts of the past do come back to haunt me. I have no clue about how to exorcise them.

I see my juniors at XLRI and think of how far I’ve come in the last one year. Wow!

I wonder if Richard Bach was mistaken when he said, “Every problem has a gift for you in its hands.”

I am beginning to think that this blog needs a facelift (much like my life). What say?

Life in Term IV…

2009-07-25T15:48:00.001+05:30

It was almost a year ago, that some starry-eyed juniors watched jealously as their seniors made merry, while they themselves slogged it out in the first year of their rigorous MBA course. They dreamt of living a blissful life with fewer classes, more chilled out profs, and loads of juniors flocking around them for those elusive bits of gyaan.

Today, those same starry-eyed folks are bleary-eyed seniors watching jealously as their juniors make merry, while they themselves slog it out in the second year of their rigorous MBA course. They dream of living a blissful life with fewer classes, more chilled out profs, and no juniors flocking around for scraps of gyaan.

Now, you might want to sagaciously add that ‘The grass is greener on the other side’ but I’d warn you against it. After all, we might be bleary-eyed seniors, but we’re not cows hankering after green grass. (On a personal note, I’m not a junkie who is looking for grass of the other kind either… ahem!)

If one had truckloads of work in previous terms, now it has got magnified to mountain loads. What with subjects like Managerial Ethics and Global Business Turnaround.

In fact, I still feel that we don’t need tutoring in ethics. If I’m already ethical, the course won’t be of much help, and if I’m willing to stretch my integrity like a rubber band, well, no prof who is advocating ‘the greater good of the greater number’ is going to be useful to me. (Unless of course, I’m the kind who will guffaw at the naivety of the poor, ethical morons.)

As far as Global Turnaround goes, I had walked into the class with visions of me stepping out of a black Mercedes, immaculately clad in an Armani suit, sporting Gucci glasses, and talking incessantly on my Vertu, into a board room. And there, some of my minions – all these senior vice-presidents and global heads of operations fellows would listen in rapt attention while I narrated my strategy to get companies like GM and Ford back on track and the world out of the recession.

Alas! That was to remain a fond dream as I slogged it out with reading lengthy articles on ‘urban blight’ and making assignments on ‘revitalizing Jamshedpur.’ Aargh!!

Perhaps, the administrators included a course on Indian Philosophy and Leadership Excellence (IPLE) just to counter the violent thoughts conjured by some of the other courses. Well, we’re studying the Holy Geeta, some parts of the ancient scriptures, and also how despite his promsicuity early on, Lord Krishna was a transformational leader. So what, if he resorted to a few underhanded tactics to win the Mahabharata war? After all, ‘Winning is not everything, it is the only thing!’ Also, we read about how Lord Ram refused to take his wife’s word on her chastity, but is still to be revered as a great leader of men (and monkeys? :O).

Another character that I rather object to is Mahatma Gandhi. I might be ruffling a few feathers by saying so, but I think we give too much credit to that one man for our independence. He may have been a major contributor, but ‘Father of the Nation’? Oh, please!! Of course, of course. He was leading the nation to victory over the Brits, and so what if he neglected his own family, right? After all, ‘the greater good of the greater number’… BAH!

Anyway, I think I shall leave you to read my ramblings and comment (hopefully) while I study the Geeta for a test tonight.

Three Things In Life…

2009-07-22T22:57:00.000+05:30

I opened an old mail dating back to 2004 and saw that my email signature had a quote that I totally loved.

There are three things in life: earning, learning, and yearning.

I think it’s a beautiful thought. What do you think?

The ABC tag…

2009-07-22T12:01:00.001+05:30

Dear readers, you can accuse me of narcissism for creating this post. But, how could I deny you the pleasure of reading ‘The ABC of me’? Of course, even if you do believe that I am narcissistic, you should write to Roshmi and accuse her of letting loose that streak in me (again).

Anyway, so let’s give my itchy fingers some rest, and without blabbering too much, I shall get going!

Here are the rules:

a) Link the person who tagged you. (Check one completed)

b) Post the rules on your blog. (That’s precisely what I’m doing!)

c) Share the ABCs of you. (In due course of time…)

d) Tag 3 people at the end of your post by linking to them. (NOOO! Don’t run away yet! Puh-lease…)

e) Let the 3 people know of the tag by leaving them comments.

f) Do not tag the original ‘tagger’. (After all, you wouldn’t want to read another set of ABCs about the same person, right?)

Here’s the ABC of me then…

A – Available/Single? Would it suffice to say that somewhere mid-way is where I am? :D
B – Best friend? Riya
C – Cake or Pie? Now that’s a real dilemma! Can’t I have both? Please…
D – Drink of choice? Thums Up
E – Essential item you use every day? Dell Inspiron 1525
F – Favorite colour? Red
G – Gummy Bears Or Worms? Yikes! What the hell is this? But if I had really wanted worms, I’d have been an early bird, which I’m not. Hence, the answer is Gummy bears.
H – Hometown? The City Beautiful - Chandigarh
I – Indulgence? Sleep (which I’m getting lesser and lesser of…. *yawn*)
J – January or February? Are you selling me calendars? Dumb question! Anyway, February it is.
K – Kids & their names? Not applicable
L – Life is incomplete without? K (Stringent privacy regulations prevent disclosure of name here.)
M – Marriage date? You mean what date I’d like to get married on, right? *sigh* Any day’s a good day!
N – Number of siblings? One
O – Oranges or Apples? Oranges
P – Phobias/Fears? No fear is the name of the game! Ha!
Q – Quote for today? Richard Bach’s “Can miles truly separate you from friends... If you want to be with someone you love, aren't you already there?”
R – Reason to smile? Do I need one?
S – Season? Autumn
T – Tag 3 People? Of course! I’ll make sure others also get to answer some dumb questions. :D
U – Unknown fact about me? I can’t sing to save my life. (Of course, if you ask my neighbour, he’ll vehemently protest and say that the fact is not unknown in the least.)
V – Vegetable you don't like? I am an animal lover… meat is the way to go!
W – Worst habit? Procastination – I never put off till tomorrow whatever I can put off till next week.
X – X-rays you've had? This question deserves the ‘WTF’ prize – by the author of this post, for being utterly dumb and irrelevant. (Btw, I have had too many X-rays to count.)
Y – Your favorite food? I could write volumes about favourite foods. But let’s say ‘Rajma Chawal’ and leave it at that.
Z – Zodiac sign? I am an Aquarian – the water bearer.

I Tag... in Alphabetical Order: Aparna, Choco and Nikita. Ladies, get going!!

The Great Escape…

2009-07-20T00:14:00.001+05:30

I know, I know! I’ve been missing for too long from this space. Well, if I hadn’t gone away, would you have missed me? Obviously not. (I’m making the gargantuan assumption that you did miss your favourite blogger*, so just play along puh-lease, ok?)

*This is another assumption, within an assumption. So, I presume that my programmer friends will call this a nested assumption. :D

On Roshmi’s demand, I’m posting a picture of the escaped convict look that I mentioned in an earlier post. I’m nowhere close to my handsomest best**, I guess, but presentable enough, right?

**Now now! You’re pushing things a bit too far. That is certainly not an assumption, for God’s sake!

I shall expect you to be ‘hearty in your approbation and lavish in your praise’. If not, then I shall rightfully presume that you’re still from the Jurassic era and have not had the chance to thumb through Dale Carnegie’s ‘How to win friends and influence people’.

P.S. This post is called ‘The Great Escape’ for two reasons:

a) The pic should give you some idea of what an escaped convict ought to look like. (Believe me, the chocolatey folks you see in Prison Break are not real. The ruggedness of the pic above has to be seen to be believed.)

b) I managed to escape the drudgery of daily chores to make this post. Yay!

Surreal Dreams…

2009-07-04T17:06:00.001+05:30

I sit beside the shore of the sea,

and hear the waves sigh.

I look at the stars shining so,

in the moon kissed sky.

I smile at the antics,

of the frivolous frolicking fawn.

And marvel at the coming,

of yet another beautiful dawn.

A teardrop escapes my eye,

as I hear the beautiful lark sing.

Thinking about you,

I let my dreams take wing.

I'm can’t enjoy the dreamy surreality,

and I don’t cease to wonder why.

There's so much life around,

and yet....deep inside I die....

Comfortably Numb

2009-07-04T10:24:00.001+05:30

I think I’ve mentioned before that sometimes songs get stuck in my head and keep replaying themselves like a broken record would do.

For the last couple of days, there’s been a song that just refuses to budge from my sleep-deprived, caffeine-kicked brain. I don’t know if I can really relate to it at this point of time, but it sure does seem so. Here’s the video link to it:

Linkin Park’s raw lyrics seem to capture everything I feel at this moment of time. Here are the words to the song:

I'm tired of being what you want me to be
Feeling so faithless, lost under the surface
I don't know what you're expecting of me
Put under the pressure of walking in your shoes

(Caught in the undertow just caught in the undertow)
Every step that I take is another mistake to you
(Caught in the undertow just caught in the undertow)

I've become so numb I can't feel you there
Become so tired so much more aware
I'm becoming this all I want to do
Is be more like me and be less like you

Can't you see that you're smothering me?
Holding too tightly, afraid to lose control
’Cause everything that you thought I would be
Has fallen apart right in front of you

(Caught in the undertow just caught in the undertow)
Every step that I take is another mistake to you
(Caught in the undertow just caught in the undertow)

And every second I waste is more than I can take

I've become so numb I can't feel you there
Become so tired so much more aware
I'm becoming this all I want to do

Is be more like me and be less like you

And I know I may end up failing too
But I know you were just like me
With someone disappointed in you

I've become so numb I can't feel you there

Become so tired so much more aware
I'm becoming this all I want to do
Is be more like me and be less like you

I've become so numb I can't feel you there
I'm tired of being what you want me to be
I've become so numb I can't feel you there
I'm tired of being what you want me to be

Lazybones…

2009-07-02T10:23:00.001+05:30

Call me a narcissist if you want to, but this post is dedicated to ME. Obviously, someone as talented, brilliant, and superb does deserve at least one post, right?

Well, the entire idea of this post is not just to praise myself to the high heavens. (Though of course, that will keep happening intermittently.)

I can’t believe it’s been just two weeks since I got back to the beautiful XLRI campus. For the first few days, it was tough getting used to the sultry heat of Jamshedpur, after the beautiful climes of Bangalore. (I appreciate ‘sultriness’ in certain other forms (wink wink) but surely not in the weather.)

However, what added to the excitement was the presence of 240 new juniors. It sure is a good feeling to attain the status of an all-knowing, wise, exalted senior. (Little do those poor newbies know that we seniors are not so wise and intelligent after all.)

And what has been killing me is the fact that I have zillions of classes each day, loads of assignments and projects, juniors to mentor, and of course my Placement Committee work. I totally enjoy the last bit – all the thrills, spills, and grills (you get the picture, right?). Of course, it keeps me occupied for long, but then as long as I enjoy it, that’s good enough, I guess.

Another significant incident that took place this week was that I finally picked up enough courage to express my love to a girl. I’d been trying to say it for weeks. Sadly enough, she gave me the ‘Golden Boot’. But, she and I stay good friends, and that does matter. Significantly.

The coming week promises to be even tougher, and if you could just see the bleary-eyed, wild-haired, unshaven writer of this post, you’d probably be forgiven for thinking that he bears a rather striking resemblance to an escaped convict.

I’ve been meaning to join the gym to get rid of the camel-esque storage of resources that I’ve been carrying with me. However, time just seems to fly by each day, and by the time I pause in my busy schedule, most of the day is already gone.

I may soon start showing signs of narcolepsy, if the schedule doesn’t ease up…..zzzzzzzzzzzzz….

Books and Beyond…

2009-06-30T12:14:00.001+05:30

This is not a promotional campaign for the store. It’s a tag on some of my favourite books, passed on to me by Roshmi.

The rules are: "Don't take too long to think about it. Fifteen books you've read that will always stick with you. First fifteen you can recall in no more than 15 minutes. Tag up to 15 friends, including me because I'm interested in seeing what books my friends choose."

1. Macbeth – Shakespeare’s characters are horrifyingly real. The image of Lady Macbeth trying to wash blood off her hands is a powerful metaphor.

2. Winning – It’s a joy to read Jack Welch’s insights into business. He avoids too much of jargon, and writes stuff that is awesomely readable. For any aspiring manager, this book ought to be one of the top-reads.

3. The Bartimaeus trilogy - (comprising The Amulet of Samarkand, Golem’s Eye, and Ptolemy’s Gate) This chap called Bartimaeus (henceforth called Barty) has an awesome sense of humour. Jonathan Stroud wrote this book for teens, but I think Barty’s wisecracks would have anyone in splits.

4. HMS Ulysses – If there’s one author whose war novels are irresistible, it is Alistair Maclean. I love the way he writes about war because you learn to not take sides. You don’t subscribe to the conventional notion of the holier-than-thou Allies and the evil Axis powers. All the killing that happens in incidental, and is almost regretted by the author. I rate this book better than ‘The Guns of Navarone’.

5. The Lord of the Rings – If you hadn’t guessed it already, I’m a sucker for the fantasy genre. (I guess the real world is just too brutal and ‘unreal’ sometimes.) Tolkien’s masterpiece is one of my favourites in fantasy. The entire realm of dwarves, elves, hobbits, ents, orcs, men and what not is simply magical!

6. Illusions – Richard Bach’s book is like a bible. Whenever in doubt, one could just flip it open, read the few insights on the page, and draw an entirely new meaning out of the words, than one did last time. Simple, flowing and poetic…

7. Murder on the Orient Express – The queen of crime, Agatha Christie weaves a plot that leaves one gasping for breath till the tense finale. It has to be one of THE best murder mysteries that I’ve read.

8. Stay Hungry, Stay Foolish – A compilation of entrepreneurship stories, by Rashmi Bansal of JamMag fame, this is an inspiration for any budding entrepreneur.

9. Gerrard – The autobiography of one of the best footballers of our era, and my favourite player – Steven Gerrard of Liverpool. It is awesome to read about the 2005 Champions League final and see what was going through the minds of the players as they made one of the most historic turnarounds in the history of football to win the club. You’ll never walk alone!!

10. Atlas Shrugged – The masterfully crafted characters, the impeccably woven storyline, hold you spellbound as you are taken in by Ayn Rand and her theory of objectivism. Wonderful reading!

11. Brave New World – I wrote about this book earlier, and I find the satire created by Aldous Huxley both amusing and horrifying at the same time. It is terrifying to think of the lengths to which our society goes, in order to build conformity.

12. To Kill a Mockingbird – This has to be one of the best books ever written. Scout is a wonderful story-teller, and all characters like Atticus, Jem, and even Boo Radley are nicely fleshed out. Fluid and subtle, this is a wonderful book.

13. The Tale of Two Cities – The lines ‘It was the best of times, it was the worst of times…’ are immortal. I seriously salute Mr. Dickens for this book. I read David Copperfield, Oliver Twist, Hard Times, Pickwick Papers and Great Expectations, but this book is simply incomparable. Fabulous job, Mr. Dickens! Take a bow. :)

14. Heart of Darkness – Joseph Conrad writes about imperialism, the brutality heaped upon African ‘natives’, and how greed ruled the colonial powers. The horror of what man can do to another man for a few pieces of gold is shocking.

15. The Count of Monte Cristo – A tale of love, lust, betrayal and revenge is that this book is to me. Alexandre Dumas brings out the transformation of the innocent and naive Edmond Dante into the cold, calculating, suave Count beautifully. The best part is that he does not kill off the love Dante had for Mercedes. Even after coming back as the Count, Dante still dotes on the lovely Mercedes. In fact, Stephen King’s ‘The Shawshank Redemption’ also draws some loose parallels with this book.

Now, I get to decide who should be tagged for this. I choose to tag Carol, Floreta, Neha, Harshad, Himanshu, Ram, and Scriber for now. Of course, I’m supposed to tag Roshmi again. I’ll think of tagging more of you soon.

Love Fool…

2009-06-29T11:06:00.001+05:30

Into little pieces, with heart broken,

and eyes shedding tears, and red,

I prayed to God for you,

and told him how I bled.

He asked me to make a wish,

and he’d make it come true,

I’m a hopeless fool in love,

and told him I wished for you…

(Image courtesy: Topnews)

The Happiness of Pursuit?

2009-06-29T03:04:00.001+05:30

Due to some circumstances of a personal nature today, I was just wondering… Which gives more pleasure, the happiness of pursuit or the pursuit of happiness?

If it sounds too cryptic, just think about whether journeys are better and more fun than destinations or not.

(I’ll explain the chain of events leading to this later sometime…)

Where boys do cry…

2009-06-25T11:44:00.002+05:30

It has been a raging debate over the years – to rag or not to rag.

The evil of ragging juniors is something that seems to have seeped deep into the Indian educational system. And with each passing year, the levels of sadism exhibited seem to grow worse and worse.

Apparently, engineering colleges and army colleges are the worst of the lot. (I say this, not based on my perceptions, but after speaking to numerous folks out there.)

I guess the biggest question is – what exactly constitutes ragging? Some of the ‘events’ that constitute ragging at some colleges are:

a) Asking people to parade around as ‘Supermen’ – with their innerwear worn over the outerwear.

b) Making people perform obscene dances or gestures.

c) Talk about the anatomies of classmates of the opposite gender.

d) Making people burn themselves with cigarette butts.

I’m yet to understand how one can be sadistic enough to cause physical pain and/or mental anguish to other people for no reason at all. No one acknowledges that ragging happens in some of the best places to study at in India, but we all know that it’s there. Despite Supreme Court orders decreeing the strictest of action against offenders, people are just too scared to come out and speak, for fear of social ostracism and ‘bad consequences’.

Unfortunately, they don’t even tell family or friends and sometimes, suffer in silence till there’s nothing that can be done.

A friend of mine who joined a reputed institute recently narrated some such experiences to me, and I recalled a documentary called ‘Where Boys Do Cry” made by a friend who happens to be an amateur movie maker. At an army institute, a friend of his had killed himself after suffering humiliation through dastardly acts of ragging. I had voiced over for some sections of the documentary, and I was appalled when I read the script.

The sad part is that many of us pretend to be ‘custodians of society’ and wouldn’t rag anyone, but we wouldn’t stop our classmates/batchmates from doing it either. But, turning your face away doesn’t stop such incidents. By cranking up the volume on your iPod, you can’t drown out the pleas for help around you.

Yes, there are forms of ‘harmless’ ragging or ‘just routine fun’ ragging. But, harmless for whom? Fun for whom?

I wonder who makes this distinction, and how…

Simmering Summer…

2009-06-18T17:46:00.001+05:30

It’s been less than a week since I moved from the cool climes of Bangalore to hot, sweltering Jamshedpur. Yes, the weather is killing me. And I do miss the lilt in the Hindi accent of the people there, the numerous book shops, the awesome eateries, the brilliantly pleasant weather, and most of all – my erstwhile employers, Microsoft.

However, it has been an exciting time since I returned to campus. There’s a whole new crowd of new juniors, so we guys can enjoy being the ‘exalted’ seniors, who are fountainheads of knowledge. (hee hee)

Many facets on campus have undergone a facelift, and it’s nice to see freshly painted buildings, neatly trimmed lawns, better air-conditioning in classes, and lots of other changes (though the mess food is as bad as ever).

The best part is the junior ‘interaction’. There are 240 of them, and there’s just me with my limited processing power. How in the name of God shall I remember 240 names? And it can be doubly tough when almost all of the others know your name.

Anyhow, this term promises to be a mix of fun and learning, a mix of sweat and tears, and victories won and battles lost. (I’m just hoping that the wins exceed the losses.) Since we get to choose our own subjects this term, I’ve picked up some that I think I am interested in. They promise to be quite a mouthful.

In addition, the personal startup venture is still hanging fire, but hopefully, will take off by the end of the month. Once that happens, life should be suitably busier. Also, there are other responsibilities on campus that one needs to take care of, and they assure me of their time demands as well. :|

Overall, the summer seems to be a super-busy time but I am guessing that it will be satisfying and rewarding too.

Amen!

P.S. Sorry for the drabness of this post. And thanks for reading it. :)

XL Meri Jaan…

2009-06-11T20:55:00.001+05:30

It’s been two months away from a place that was described by our dean as the ‘home away from home’. That time, I had inwardly smirked at the terminology used each time the phrase was (ab)used. But over the last couple of months, during my internship stint, I’ve realised how much more the place means to me.

Make no mistake, the last two months have been fabulous – in terms of experiences, learning, and fun! With a highly supportive boss, and a good, impactful project problem, it was great working at Microsoft. In fact, it will be with a lump in my throat that I will leave those gates inscribed by the name of the inaugurator – Mr. Bill Gates. But, I will take away with me some great memories, lots of learning – both personal and professional, and more zeal and energy than I came here with.

Tomorrow is the day, when ‘I’m leaving on a jet plane’ towards those beckoning doors – to the place that is now seriously a home away from home. Interacting with juniors, I can’t help but succumb to a wave of nostalgia and a strong sense of déjà vu, as I see people who like me a year ago, are full of questions, excitement, apprehension, nervousness and lots more.

It has been a year of battles won, and some battles lost. It has been a year with its ups and downs. As Mr. Dickens would say, “It was the best of times, it was the worst of times… “.

Yes, I’ve learnt a lot, and unlearnt a lot more probably. I feel more confident about myself, more competent, and also proud of being an HR professional. I’ve learnt to deal with ambiguity and stress better, though I guess I still need to learn to prioritise things.

During my Microsoft days, I’ve learnt an important quality - resilience. Also, there’s a whole new sense of self-belief that I am basking in.

The last year has seen some new relationships develop, and regrettably, some old ones dissolve away. It has taught me to value people, and their contributions in one’s life. In that sense, I think it has also taught me to leave the past behind, and move on carrying some learning away from it.

Overall, the next one year promises to be crazy, hectic, fun, unpredictable, but yet promising. I look forward to it as the notes of the song that always sends chills down my spine ring in my ears.…

Socha tha MBA kar len, hum tum bhi thoda sa padh len, lo aa gaye hum XLR(I),

khwabon mein socha jo humne, aaye usse poora karne, lekin hui aankehn chaar,

karke humen bekaraar, meri jaan, meri jaan…..

Weekend woes

2009-06-06T09:34:00.001+05:30

This is proving to be a rather tough weekend, even though it’s only begun. The next week will be my last at Microsoft, as an intern. On Friday, I shall be ‘leaving on a jet plane.’ Of course, I don’t know when I’ll be back again.

Due to some issues with the data that I was supposed to analyse, much of what I had done over the last few weeks has gone to waste, and I need to fix things and get them back on track in about 2 days. Like I told my guide – tough but not impossible. I will always value what she told me then, “Sumit, resilience is an important virtue, and I’m glad you have it.”

If I’d been in an army and she’d been my commander, I’d have marched into battle, and wiped out the entire opposition on my own, after those words. (Luckily for any potential opposition, she’s an HR person and not an army commander.)

Still, yesterday was a rather frustrating day. After all, there was mountains of rework to be done. Also, most of my XLer friends have finished with their internship stints and have gone back home. Even my new friends from IIM Indore left yesterday. So, the next week promises to be boring, at the very least. (I hope I’m proved wrong.)

However, I am hoping that the avalanche of work that threatens to hit me, at least keeps me busy. Moreover, there’s also work to be done on the new startup venture front. My team mates and I are pretty excited about the whole thing, and a lot of time has gone into planning and strategising. Now, we execute. :D

Hopefully, you’ll hear more about that in the near future.

This is the last weekend in Bangalore, and I realise that I have missed out on visiting awesome places like Alleppey, Mysore, Coorg, Coimbatore and lots of others. I wonder what ate my time away, without me even realising it. Anyway, not much can be done about it now.

The worst part of the weekend will be PACKING! Heck, if there’s one thing I hate more than packing, it has to be unpacking. I have no clue how I’m going to fit these piles of junk into my bags, and then con the airlines representatives into believing that the bags are well within the weight limit.

I think I have cribbed enough, but if need be, dear reader, you shall be taken on another trip into a dreary life. So, watch out!

Bringing to Life…

2009-06-05T22:29:00.001+05:30

I just thought of getting clicked in front of this giant wall-to-wall poster at work today. I thought it came out pretty well. What say?

If God ‘was’ a Banker…

2009-06-04T03:27:00.001+05:30

No, I’m not discussing hypothetical possibilities here, at well past the midnight hour.

Dale Carnegie did say, “Be hearty in your approbation and lavish in your praise.” But, I think he forgot to mention what to do in case the object in question were to be completely unworthy of praise.

Well, I’m referring to the book ‘If God was a Banker’ by Ravi Subramanian, an alumnus of IIM-Bangalore. I picked up the book just out of curiousity at a bookstore a couple of days ago, and just finished reading it.

The first thing that struck me about the book was the incorrect title. Ideally, the title should have been ‘If God were a banker’ instead of ‘If God was a banker.’ Since the latter is correct under certain conditions, I decided to give Mr. Subramanian the benefit of doubt. Hence, burying the vociferous protests of my ‘editorial’ self, I bought the book.

Sadly, after an hour and a half of reading the book, I feel as if I have wasted my time, and hard(ly) earned money. Even if the back cover had not said that the novel is the author’s first, I’d probably have figured. In fact, there’s nothing ‘novel’ about the story really. It just consists of some half-baked characters, a rehashed, beaten-to-death story, and totally inane dialogue.

I’m confident that my 14 year-old cousin could come up with more engaging conversations that Mr. Subramanian.

Also, someone please tell him that the word is ‘ma’am’ and not ‘maam’. There are loads of examples of incorrect apostrophes, names not being capitalised, and convoluted sentences. In my opinion, the book could be given to budding editors to practice their craft. Perhaps, one could have a contest like ‘Spot the maximum errors within a minute’ or something.

What I fail to realise is why people believe that just because they are at a bschool, they are entitled to dish out lame-duck stories, which people will buy. And why can’t readers be discerning enough? Just because someone from a premier bschool has written a story, it doesn’t become eminently readable. (After reading books by a certain Mr. Bhagat, one ought to have realised that. )

But, all is not lost. Perhaps, the book could be made a mandatory read for amateur writers like me. After all, if this guy can write, I can write.

Just two points to finish, Mr. Subramanian:

a) You say this is your first novel. Please let it be your last too.

b) If God were a writer, I’m sure he wouldn’t do such a shoddy job.

On writing...

2009-06-02T11:20:00.004+05:30

Since I've recently finished writing the story 'The Magnolias Still Bloom' on this space, and have heard/seen a lot of online and offline comments, I've been thinking about the feedback I got.

I'm glad a lot of you liked reading the story, even though it has a sad ending. I'm just an amateur writer, trying to learn to write better, but I thought I'd just share what makes me tick. (Perhaps it is presumptuous of me, but I think I'll still do it.)

When I write, I like to 'live' the character, so that's why most of my main protagonists are simply 'I' or 'He' - with no names specified. That helps me blend into the character better, and assign him my thoughts and my emotions.

And since I actually imagine myself going through all the experiences that a character does, I think I tend to be more visual, more descriptive and more 'raw' in my emotion. (That's both a good and a bad sign, as far as I know.)

When I started writing 'The Magnolias Still Bloom', I wanted to write a story about how a boy has a chance meeting with a mysterious girl, and how his infatuation changes to love. I wanted to write about how she spurns him, and is not very comfortable with the idea of a relationship.

But between the time the story was conceptualised and written, the boy grew up. I discovered that I could no longer believe in a fairy tale romance - 'and they lived happily ever after'. (Make no mistake, it's not that I don't believe in love; it's just that with love one also has to accept disagreements, arguments and other 'negative' emotions.)

I didn't want the boy and the girl to end up as two bickering middle-aged people, bored and frustrated with life. I didn't want the love they had to fade.

Even though she died (and I did feel very sad when writing and editing that section) I would like to believe that their love lives on. She died in pain, but happy at having found true love.

He lived (for many more years, hopefully) with the knowledge that true love exists and he shared it with her. He will always be able to go back to memories of happy times spent with her, and smile, even though that smile may be tinged with a bit of sadness.

Nevertheless, the magnolias still bloom.

Soulful Melody

2009-06-01T22:45:00.001+05:30

Born in the recesses of my heart,
the sweetest song I’ll ever sing,
delicate notes crafted with Love,
taking flight on gilded wing.

The Magnolias Still Bloom – Chapter VIII

2009-05-30T13:29:00.001+05:30

I see trees of green, red roses too.
I see them bloom, for me and you.
And I think to myself... what a wonderful world.

I see skies of blue, and clouds of white.
The bright blessed day, the dark sacred night
And I think to myself, what a wonderful world...

The love of my life died… a week later.

And I love her still…

She made me promise that I’d stay happy, and find love again. That’s the only promise I’ve ever broken in my life.

I look at the silver ring on my little finger – the piggy that went “wee wee wee” – and stroke the warm metal, something that’s become a habit. It was her ring, the one that she gave me before she died.

“I want you to wear this to remember me by… “ she had said, gently placing the strip of silver onto my little finger (the only one that the ring would fit on).

On a day like this, the anniversary of the day she died, I tend to wander out of my house and think of long ago, when there was a boy. Long ago, when there was the girl who lived in a yellow house around the corner.

Long ago, when they were in love.

… but those days are gone.

On days like this, when the wind is cold and the sky is watery grey, and the world is quiet, I like to sit on the park bench with peeling red paint – her bench, our bench.

And then, all I can do is walk to the cemetery where she lies buried, along with a piece of my heart. A piece that was buried along with the love of my life, on that fateful day, twelve years ago. A piece that lies beneath the marble tombstone, carved in the shape of a magnolia.

The tombstone is inscribed with the a little verse that she wrote:

Shirley (1972 – 1997)

I might not be with you,

lying deep in nature’s womb,

but think of me and smile,

whenever the magnolias bloom.