Monday, December 22, 2008


India will have to wait, because a little someone had some other plans in mind. In all his wiggling, crying glory, my offspring has made his appearance in this world. My wife and I were blessed with a beautiful boy with a mind and schedule of his own. Parenthood is here, and I am thrilled, excited, and awed. I'll probably be off the radar for a while, or maybe you'll just see some posts on my new experiences in parenting. Who knows?

Here's introducing Aarush Parth Pandya; whose name means the 'First Ray of the Sun' (you can see the optimism of the parents reflected here: may he sleep until dawn). Both mother and son are doing fine, and father, well, he is surviving too :-) The blogger has turned father, and requests the blessings of his readers for his son and patience while he adjusts to his new role. In retrospect, there was one post left for 2008 after all. As it turns out, it was the most important one of them all!

Friday, December 12, 2008

Ready Steady Go!

India beckons. Mumbai calls out. My shortest trip in all these years (all of nine days including travel). So short that you wouldn't have noticed the difference in the frequency of posts. So short that I doubt I'll be crossing over the borders of Andheri and Parle while I am there (other than a day to the Central side). Wonder if the scarred city of Mumbai is going to be any different given that I am just going to touch the surface. Brabourne was one of my scheduled destinations this trip before the world turned upside down a little while back, and now, that long cherished dream of watching a test match live seems irrelevant in its incompletion. But happier occassions beckon in this sojourn and I expect to make the most out of it. Yes, the trip is on and this then, will be my last post of the year. I'll be back with my annual song listing come January (a public commitment might hopefully stir me out of inaction). Enjoy your holidays and wishes in advance for a great new year!

Friday, December 05, 2008


He looked at the sheet of paper in his hand. Blow-out sale on Herbal supplements, it said. “Cleanse your system, improve your memory, wipe away those wrinkles”, it claimed. He read the sheet without absorbing its contents. The words and colors were not relevant. The shape was. He goaded his hands into remembering. The paper was showing strains of his effort. Folds appeared all over the pages, criss-crossing the surface like wakes left by boats criss-crossing near a lake shore. Near his hand sat his adjudicators, two children of three and five respectively. Beads of sweat formed on his brow and a tear welled in the corner of his eye. His hands wrung in despair, flailed in violent desperation and the paper lent itself as a canvas to his struggling imagination. Rapturous applause followed from his captive audience, as they took his creation and ran away to the rain on the porch. The victor cried. He had beaten his enemy again; just. His life was afloat, fragile, like the paper boat he put together. An impassionate comment rang out from the television set in the other room,” Currently, there's no cure for Alzheimer's”.