Friday Fun(k)

My Friday Funk story: We were stalled at the traffic light. The car and I. I had one hand firmly placed on the steering wheel and the other on my forehead, covering the frowns as I was going through the list of things I needed to do at work today. The music rang on unaffected and unaffecting. Then, from the music system seeped out the song 'Main Pareshaan' (loose translation: 'I am worried'). The irony broke the reverie and cracked me up. Sometimes the uenxpected is required to turn funk into fun.

Migrated Decade

It has been ten years to the day since I made my move from the Orient to the Occident. The day I would board my first international flight with one of my closest friends as we headed to the land of Uncle Sam under the guise of getting higher education. The day I would acquire my FOB (Fresh off the boat) status. (It never made sense to me, unless boat is a metaphorical representation for an airplane.) The day I would journey in the footsteps of other immigrants who left a known world to pursue an unknown dream. Leaving behind family and friends (yes, yes, a girlfriend too), my city, my country, my identity in pursuit of an unknown adventure, with a nebulous idea of what lay ahead. Ten years is perhaps a short time to call the adventure complete. Ten years is perhaps a long enough time to judge how the adventure is going.

From finishing my studies that I thought would be hard to finding a job that I thought would be easy, from getting married to the aforementioned girlfriend to being a father of a lovely little boy, from possessing unbridled curiosity to maturing – in age, looks and hopefully wisdom too, from sharing a love-hate relationship with my country to sharing a love-hate relationship with this country, from vacillating between the need to go back to the need to stay here, from the successful exploration of one’s abilities to the lonesome discovery of one’s inadequacies, from pursuing old passions to exploring new ones, from slowly shying away from people I was close to only to discover some others that I might never part away from, from finding a comfort point in life only to determine that you can never really get comfortable, the last decade has been a lifetime within a lifetime.

The tale of immigrants is so similar to others and in its minutiae, so different as well. We fly out of our homes with two bags of belongings, and two decades of experiences. The destiny we shape is often uncontrollable even though we may think we are our own masters, but we forge a new sense of identity each day of our passing lives in a foreign land. Perhaps the new identity entails always treating yourself as a displaced entity in a foreign world, or perhaps it sees itself as expanding our horizons in a global village. Decade after decade goes, and just like the start of the previous one, I wouldn’t hazard an accurate guess on how the next one will go. For the moment though, I will celebrate ten years gone by, a life not derailed, an adventure developing as we speak, a story not yet complete.

Tourist

I was in New York City in the recent past. Walking on foot like a dutiful tourist, to places I was told are the heart of the place. I walked around looking not at the sights with which I was already familiar. I walked around looking at the hands and feet and visages inhabiting the place. Walking around in seemingly Brownian motion, each one of those pairs of hands and feet were guided by a pair of eyes to a fixed location. It struck me then that I like cities with histories. Not recent settlements like Seattle, which are a century old, but places where generations have trodden and made the place their own. A city is a new shiny firmament built on ruins. A city is a ruin waiting to give way to a new path. The rubble is lost, but the myths are never buried. They are carried through across generations. The stones and pathways and the buildings each guide its latest inhabitant to live within this newly created environment. Without the knowledge of its denizens, it creeps into their language and lifestyle and accidents and successes and instills a sense of pride as a long lasting scar. I did not see New York City the way the brochures intended me to. I saw it spread thin and luminous and lonely, on those faces, carried by a pair of hands and feet to their destinations.

Burn After Reading

Four little flickers were seen in a distance. They were the embers of a dying night. They were like the first sparks of fire that would turn on the cauldron that was the sun. They were four little glimmers suspended in mid-air, forming an arc, as they travelled in a parabolic motion. The flickers weren’t without company. They had owners. The banished gathered around in the dying cold waving those flickers. Was that a sign of protest or a sign of surrender? Were they mourning their loss of right to burn away where they wanted, when they wanted or was that a sign of defiance? The faceless vigilantes were burning their lungs and lighting up the universe. Smoke hung around them with muted admiration. Then, as suddenly as it had started, the congregation came to an end. The lights went out, one after another. Dawn engulfed them, and robbed them of their masks. Heads hung in shame (or thought), a wry grin to boot, and a throaty cough to enunciate, the newspaper men headed back to their truck. The world was going up in flames. At least their fire has been put out.

Imprints

I like the notion of photographs on film. The days when one would buy a roll of 24 or 36 photographs, depending upon the size of your ambition and the generosity of your pocket. There was none of the cowboy attitude to photography, none of the profligacy in taking pictures, none of the devil-may-care attitude to clicking incessantly. You had to wait for the moment; prime yourself for that exact location and the exact expression that would summarize your visit to the sunset point. You couldn’t afford to blink to the flash, couldn’t afford to let the hair fly in front of your face, couldn’t afford to let passers-by intrude the sanctity of the frame. Each photograph was a precious occasion and it had to be treated honorably. There was then the charm of how many photographs would turn out good. Maybe 21, maybe 23. The day long wait would seem interminable and the suspense would be heightened when picking up the photographs from your neighborhood studio. There was poetic justice, if you had such a bent of heart. What does it mean to have an over-exposed photo? Or a blank? Should I seek metaphors in the results of clumsy technology? There is something to holding an actual print in the hand, and poring over the minutiae on it. Something to lie down on your bed and look at the face of the one you love; which for narcissists could be themselves. There is something to insert the pictures into a big album, and sit with the tome on your lap as your friends and family gather together to reminisce the old times. Yes, the old times. Unlike Dorian Gray, you get old, and the old faithful print gets old with you, torn at the edges with the colors fading away.

Notes From A Graveyard

One wonders if he chose to live his life that way. Selecting brevity over loquaciousness, precision over vagueness, certainty over ambiguity. I wonder if he knew that your life in all its glory will be summarized in a few words written over your dead body. I wonder if he had envisioned his epitaph written over his tombstone. I wonder if he thought that the elegance of the carving on that piece of rock should be matched with the elegance of a few words that would capture his essence. I wonder if he knew that long after he was gone, he would be introduced and summarized to anyone visiting him as a man of few words. I wonder if he had chosen those words: “He lived”.

Marked

She bends the edges of the day to leave it dog-eared. The act of marking a memory. She has no option but to continue the story. Written more quickly than can be read. There is no time to pause and ponder, to make the tock after the tick wait a little longer.

All she has is this book, bent in places, torn in others; that she closes tightly, lest it fall apart. On days when the story inches through the hours, with nary a tragedy or success, she revisits those pages. Bent at the edges. Left dog-eared.

Color Me Grey

One man’s nectar is another man’s poison. Water drowns some but is the lifeline for others. The air we breathe slowly saps the life out of us. We live, in a slow march towards death. In life, everything is good and the same is bad. Good can be evil as much as evil can be good. If it’s all about context in which things exist, why is life painted in simplistic tones of black and white? Color me grey. It’s the color of the clouds on the horizon. It’s the harbinger of the night and the limpid pools of refreshment that splash on the thirsty earth. Color me grey. It is wisdom and decay, youth and old age, a little bit of my past and a sampling of my future. Color me grey. Black and white find sanctuary in it.

Decadent

Sometime in the midst of this month’s bedlam is wrapped a day that would purportedly mark a significant milestone in my life as well as a whole bunch of others who journeyed the same time as me. I am not sure it really is significant enough, but I am raising the bar on it. In some ways, it is as important as a 30th birthday or a five year anniversary at a job: it means something if you want it to. The event I am talking about: completion of ten years since graduation; since I bade goodbye to my alma mater that mattered: SPCE (Sardar Patel College of Engineering). This post won’t be an exercise in reminiscing. There’s just so much history in the days gone by and the place that was that it would be patently unfair to try and summarize that in a few paragraphs. I see flashes of that era littered around me: photographs on Facebook, the college magazines stocked and piled in my house, a quiz club that is still active since its inception when I was in my second year, friends who are a click away, among others. Those hard evidences abound and most likely still will be there for a while to come. There’s enough ammunition to make one misty-eyed and smile into empty spaces when the mind wanders or a song jogs up old memories.

What makes the ten year anniversary significant is that it serves as a good assessment point: step back, look at yourself, look and appraise the universe around you, look back at what you had wanted and where you are with it. Perhaps you could call it the early-mid-life crisis, or an impending reality check. I suppose its a little less pressure when you weren’t marked for greatness, and I say that in the utmost bitter less manner possible. For us, the bar is a fluctuating line that varies from discovering your potential, to fulfilling it; from realizing that some dreams were out of reach, but others are within the grasp of effort and reality; that there’s joy in reveling and marveling at the success of your peers and satisfaction at realizing that you are making a decent impact too. There’s joy in marveling at how you couldn’t have predicted where you’d be in ten years, who you’d be with, and that your best creation till date will be a study in flailing arms and unintelligible warbles. Ultimately, this is an occasion to smile at the glorious uncertainties of life: if you couldn’t predict accurately how the last ten years were going to be, chances are your image of what happens ten years hence will also be imperfect. So, here’s to the class of 1999: toast to yourself and the joy that is life; You’ve done well!

Less Face Book, more Face Time!

I understand this blog is fast slipping into oblivion. Not the place I intend it to go, so I am renewing my commitment to post more regularly. They say you need talent to write. I say you need discipline (and for some people, a spell-checker). This first paragraph is to assure the few loyal readers left that I will try and locate the necessary self-persuasion.

We lead extremely distracted lives, especially if you are of my ilk who sit in front of a computer close to ten hours a day. I am not even going to talk about the movie watching and the TV watching I do, but pure and simple, the time that the digital world is consuming. There was always the internet and instant messaging, and it would actually need some extra focus to block everything out and stay on the job. But at least that was limited to the time spent at work after which I would go home and like a good boy, slouch in a couch and watch the idiot box. Nothing precedes the explosion in the past year or two for me. First came the blogs, then youtube, orkut, then came my smartphone and then came Facebook, and there I was, completely submerged into the digital realm.

There’s always something happening on Facebook in someone’s lives, and the deeper you get into this social quicksand, the harder it is to extract yourself. And it doesn’t leave you when you leave it sitting alone locked behind the screen of your crusty computer. There’s the smartphone, that doesn’t let me disconnect from the internet. It is waiting, silently calling me out to log on and check scores on cricinfo, or when an e-mail at work has arrived at 9.34 pm in the night and the glow of the screen draws me into knowing if one of these three important things have conspired: 1. Did I get fired? 2. Have I done anything that will get me fired? 3. Did someone send an invite for a morale event? Then of course, I have to check my yahoo account for the odd chance that some e-mail is waiting for me. Not to overlook my hotmail account, where there ARE e-mails sitting to tell me that something has happened on Facebook that I should know about. It reminds me of an organizer at a dandia event I once went, telling people: ‘please assemble in concentric circles, one inside the other!’

Internet itself has mushroomed. I follow more blogs, I read more news, I see more videos and I hear more music. In essence, an entire day can be spent doing nothing else but keeping ‘in sync’ and it would still be a drop in the ocean. The more I try to optimize what I see and hear, the more there seems to be out there that needs to be seen and heard.

How ironic that the very same tools that should empower and enrich end up distracting me in the process! In an effort to make my life simpler, I have made my life more complex. It requires a special kind of discipline, an almost ascetic bent of mind to resist the temptation to devote endless hours to this smorgasbord of options out there to spend time on. But wait: now I have the perfect excuse to explain my absence from blogging. Everytime I am on a PC or my smartphone, highlights from yesterday’s cricket match to the latest articles on New York Times (and the endless comments) call out to me among other things. There you have it; I finally found someone to blame for my absence from this blog. I’d go on, but I think a friend of mine just updated his status to let everyone know that he is having lunch!

P.S> BTW, I am still not on Twitter. My last stance against digital drowning is still on.

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!

De Mentor is here

This is De Mentor, the French reply to the British cultural offensive, or offensive cultural offense, or their 'offend culture' offensive .... never mind ... Britain's attack on French sensibilities, Harry Potter!!! I am here to teach you all the real meaning of Harry Potter, the real origin, the real story!!

Come hither, my pupils, iris, retina, cornea ... and the rest of you ... I shall teach you Hogwarts is nothing but Hogwash!!!! Harry Potter is not British. He is Indian. Harry Potter is the Anglicized version of Hari Kumbhar, the poor uneducated soul, whose ancestors were exiled to Elba coz they too were Able, along with Napoleon. A century or two later, his poor four fathers, with their poor English, read the wrong ship name and got on to the Yeast India Company ship!! The ship developed a lick(or was it a wine slick), and they had to stick their heads into the holes to keep the ship afloat. His four fathers' two sons floated ashore to the Middle East, chopped off the heads of their ancestors, and opened the Madame Tu Saudi's wax museum in their memory. ...... that's enough for the preview for ye, my pupils, eyelids, eyebrows and teardrops!! More to follow in the 'Sachai - The truth, by De Mentor'

P.S> Random blast from the past. There was another group blog I was contributing to where the rest of the posts were more ridiculous than this. Brain's not working much today, hence the recycle.

Windless in Chicago

Winding down after winding up a weekend in the Windy City! I made my first trip to Chicago this weekend with the missus. Aided by fabulous weather and absolutely no wind (thus the title), I spent a couple of days in the downtown area on what was a low-key relaxing tourist sojourn. We stayed at the Westin River North which was very close to the Magnificent Mile area and it turned out to be a very good thing. Being so close to the riverwalk and other spots in the downtown made our job easier.

Art Dekho

We ruled out the museums in the interests of time (I know they are a big highlight), but without doubt, walking around the city gave me more than my fill of art that I needed to see. Sprawled around the river, the buildings in the downtown, constructed after the great fire are a testament to great architecture. Numerous instances of buildings styled in art deco as well as postmodernism abound. To the untrained eye (mine) too, the subtleties aren't obvious to grasp. What helped though was an architecture cruise that we took that snaked through the river highlighting in great detail, excessive at times, the history behind the different buildings and the varied styles in which they were constructed. Walking around the downtown in the evenings was also a rewarding experience, especially along the RiverWalk. The buildings however weren’t the only art highlights. The Millennium Park was a treat as well. From the “Cloud Gate” to the “Jay Pritzker Pavilion”, it was great to see a public space with such emphasis on art and architecture.

Khana Khazana

While in Chicago, eat the deep dish pizza. At least that is what I had been told. So we headed off to Giordano’s, known for its world famous stuffed pizzas. We ordered a small, which claimed to fill in 1-2 people. I am not sure what appetites they had in mind while prescribing that. Between the two of us, we made it around 80% of the supposedly small pizza. That a human being can single-handedly eat that delicious offering beats me. While on the food, I also liked some of the offerings at India House.

Touristas

Besides the tour and the Millennium Park, I did due diligence to my duties as a tourist and made a trip to Hancock Tower. The only difference is that instead of going all the way to the observatory, I hopped over to the Lounge on the 95th floor per a friend’s recommendation and enjoyed the view sipping an impossibly expensive cup of coffee (alcohol might have been cheaper). The view of the shoreline was amazing. Walking along the Magnificent Mile was fun; what with the expensive shops all along and us skipping by for want of time. Navy Pier was another hop along the way and having been to the Santa Monica Pier in California, this one definitely came across as a place with more substance. Finally, we also caught the play Wicked at the Oriental Theater in The Loop.

Photographs

Yes, shouldn’t the post actually have some on here? The momentous event on the trip was not getting a great picture atop the architecture cruise. The momentous event was getting none, especially with my digital camera. My Canon s-50 finally died. After 5 ½ years of diligent service through thick and thin, it finally coughed its way to a tragic end. The shutter was stuck halfway, like Trishanku; unable to go in or fully come out. While I have photos from some part of my trip, I am going to have make arrangements to offload them, so this will have to wait. For the architecture cruise, I had to go low-tech and buy a disposable camera. I have no idea if and how those pictures will turn out. I guess I should look for a new camera now. With technology having developed so much since the time I last bought a camera, lots of research and a better product await me.

That’s about it. Enjoyable trip and I’d definitely recommended it. If some good pictures are salvaged, I shall share them with you. Final tip: Do stay in the downtown. That’s where all the action is.The train service from the O’Hare airport is well set for anyone to just get off and get there.

Jo Dikhta Hai Woh Bikta Hai?

I’d like to start off with thanking those who wrote in asking me to post a post soon. To my great satisfaction, this was one absence from the blog that wasn’t caused because I ran out of ideas. It wasn’t the case of a Writer’s Block … simply a Blocked Writer. I was reading an article online where they commented on how a good blog is one that is updated daily. Which makes mine occasionally good I suppose. I see some logic in that argument. Blogging is good practice for an aspiring writer. Blogging daily would require rigor and discipline and a commitment that is hard to estimate upfront. My blog is the longest writing exercise I have certainly indulged in. If I keep at this, some day there would be enough material to cram into a book (notice how I avoid mentioning that the book actually needs to sell). Not a radical idea though. Others have done it. I saw a debate on NDTV; a program called ‘We the people’ where Barkha Dutt moderates discussion on a topic which on most occasions involve raucous adults in serious need of being taught manners in letting others talk. The topic of the debate was the state of blogging in India. One of the participants was a young girl who has a personal blog called The Compulsive Confessor. She’s single and writes on topics ranging from drinking to dating to sex and offers what can has been termed as a mild (or heavy, depending on what other blogs you have seen do this) dose of voyeuristic pleasure into the life of an urban Indian woman. There’s more to her blog but there’s a reason nothing else catches the eye. A lot of discussion went on about whether the blog was read because of the nature of the content or the quality of it. In the absence of other blogs in the same genre from the same gender and nationality, her blog definitely is its own USP. I looked up her blog online and thought it was alright. I have read several other blogs that are much higher quality in their choice of topics and execution. But the reason I bring this up here is that recently I read about her in Outlook India. She has her own book coming through. My first reaction is cynical. Would she have gotten the offer were commenting on non-controversial things? I am not so sure. I haven’t read the book obviously and I don’t think I’ll get my hands on it either. I am not shooting for a book contract so I can avoid from pouring out details of my personal life on this blog to entertain and titillate. But if that's a short cut for going onto greener pastures, isn't something amiss somewhere? It makes me wonder if Rakhi Sawant’s famous dictum: “Jo dikhta hai who bikta hai” is true. Is modern India so wrapped up with things that are bright and shallow that quality is a function of visibility? How many girls from ‘Chak De India’ went on to bigger better movies? To my knowledge, only the ones who had the glamour quotient. My commentary might be a tad too caustic and judgmental based on limited examples and I’d love to be proven otherwise. Let me know what you think.

Chakraview: India Quiz 2008

My quiz club, the Microsoft Redmond Quiz club is organizing Chakraview: India Quiz 2008 for AID (Association for India's Development) on August 23rd at 2 pm on Microsoft campus. I have been involved with the club from the start and this is by far our biggest event, hopefully exceeding the 70+ people who showed up on a weekday for the Bollywood Quiz I conducted. I thought I might use this forum to garner support from locals (Sridhar, that's you) and slightly remote (RTD2, that's you) for this event. We are doing a fairly good job at making sure that if you are in Seattle, you are most likely to hear about it, but it can't hurt to spread the word and extol the virtues of an event like this. Most people get intimidated by the concept of quizzing and I submit that good quizzes are where you already know the answer to the question and it isn't a test of trivia. We have strived to do that in our club and this event will be no different. Plus, it is for a good cause.

Here's the text of an e-mail I had sent out about the event: feel free to pass it around to anyone you know who might be interested in this.

What links common English words like catamaran, shampoo, bungalow, juggernaut and pajamas?
Which Indian cricketer’s restaurant serves ‘Multan Ke Sultan Ki Tikdi’, a dish priced at Rs. 309?
What Indian organization beats Chinese People's Liberation Army, Britain's National Health Service and Wal-Mart as the world's largest employer?

The answers (English words derived from Indian languages eg. catamaran from the Tamil word kattumaram, Virendra Sehwag and Indian Railways) all relate to our great country, a place Mark Twain called the ‘cradle of the human race’.

Come join us for Chakraview as we embark on a journey of rediscovery of India. From Tendulkar to Tagore, from Panipat to Pushkar, from Amitabh to Ashwathama, come test your India Quotient. This will be a fun event for one and all where you answer questions on Indian history, culture, sports, rulers, entertainment, mythology and much more.

When: 2pm, August 23, 2008
Where: Microsoft Bldg 99 (14280 NE 36th St, Redmond, WA 98052)
Open Registration -- there is no entry fee!


Visit http://seattle.aidindia.org/chakraview to register and try out some fun questions. Write to chakraview2008@gmail.com if you have any questions.

Daily Dose

We live in the age of information overload. Knowledge is power but there is a fine line that you tread in terms of the time you can invest to get the data you need. What does one consume? How much does one consume? How much is relevant? How much is accurate? What do you need to retain? What can you discard? In the democratized world of the internet, knowledge is democratized too and spread far and wide. There isn't a single source of good relevant information and one needs to hunt. I wrote to a friend of mine today morning asking him suggestions on sites he visits and blogs he reads in order to stay abreast of the latest in technology news. Its a necessary skill to have. If you need to be sufficiently aware, then you need to troll in an adroit fashion as well.

My mind went back to a post I had written in August of 2004. This listed my daily quota of browsing: sites that I would unerringly spend time on each morning to gather my daily dose of data. I am reproducing the list verbatim here:
-- TimesOfIndia (Yes, yes, it is a tabloid, but I have read their newspaper since I could read one)
-- Google News
-- New York Times
-- Mid-day (I need my dose of Mumbai-specific happenings)
-- Rediff (for news, movies, cricket)
-- Indiafm (my daily dose of Bollywood happenings)
-- Dilbert (daily dose of humor)
-- Slashdot (a brief glance into the geek world)
-- Cricinfo (there is always some cricket happening all around the world)

Here's the big surprise: four years hence, I still revisit the entire list still without any new additions (the only deletion is TimesOfIndia. It has sunk beyond redemption). Clearly this net I cast has withstood the test of time. The two sectors I think the above list doesn't cover too well are business and technology. I read the Economist, Newsweek, OutlookIndia off and on, and also have the Time magazine delivered to my place each week, but that is clearly not sufficient. The radio serves me well too, as I follow the NPR on a regular basis. The list of sites has served me well thus far and my obsessive need for knowing things is largely satisfied (it also stands me in good stead in my quiz club :-))However, I'd be interested in knowing how the rest of the world copes. Drop in a line. Tell me about your morning quota of browsing. Suggestions to add to my list are also welcome.

Neitherland

I am back from my fourth trip of the third world. It is heartening to see that the bridge between the third and the first world seem to have reduced, yet the distance needs to be traversed. It is as if there is a narrow suspension bridge one has to cross, and until the traversal is complete, life itself remains in suspension. It is as if one is in no man’s land. The body is neither here, nor there. I wake at three in the morning and threaten to collapse on my office desk after lunch. There is the strange experience of food not being presented to you, and the temperatures in Fahrenheit over here are remarkably close to the temperatures in Celsius in India. The sounds of silence around make me yearn for the mindless honking I had begun to anticipate. My brain is probably missing the place more than my heart is. Neither here nor there.

My mind is torn between the myriad tasks to be done. I have around eight hundred photographs to download, process, and stick to my customary routine of uploading with captions to the awaiting audience of family and friends. I am hounded by what should be a delight: multiple topics on which to post on my blog. My annual Hindi film song list, my experiences of India, photographs and stories from London. All that need to be done today, yet can’t be, since time has still continued at its usual pace. Then there’s the allegiance to the paycheck and responsibilities of the house. The state of suspension needs time to resolve. Thank you for the messages in my absence. I had the unique experiences of celebrating several new years as I flew west on the night of the 31st. Hence, I’ll accept unique wishes from you for the unique new year’s I passed. I am hoping to resume normal services soon. Till then, I’ll wait for the surreal to pass me by.

Haal Kaisa Hai Janaab Ka?

The blog alarm went off. I have been off blogs, both mine and others, for a while. As I sit down with my trusted cup of coffee at seven in the morning feverishly typing a few words to construct something other than poetry, some highlights come to mind worth sharing.

InQuizItive

I am sure I must have mentioned this at some point in my blogging career, but back at Texas A&M, I had started, nurtured and grown a literary club called Literati to fill the void I felt having been actively involved in lit events including quizzing, back in India. For over two years, that became an important part of my life and others who were part of it remember it fondly till date. For the past four years, no such activity had taken place here. But a seed has been planted. We have started a small quizzing club here on Redmond campus which meets biweekly. As part of that effort, I conducted a cricket quiz yesterday. That pretty much explains my absence. Setting a quality quiz takes time, setting it while you are employed (my first such experience :-)) takes a lot more out of your daily schedule. However, it was all worth it in the end. The response was terrific and it was good to see others relative amounts of craziness for the game in others as well. Hopefully this endeavor will last long.

While my guitar urgently creeps?

I am good with percussion and a sense of rhythm. My tabla learning helps me with that. However, when it comes to such concepts as pitch and notes, I fall short. I can pick things by ear up to an extent, but that extent is limited. I have always wanted to do something unto that end. I wasn't keen on learning how to sing, so an instrument always felt like a good way to go. This best laid plan was waylaid for many years. Until now. My wife gifted me a guitar for my birthday, and my lessons start next week. That should be exciting. As a side note, I have always wondered why guitarists are considered cool, especially when you are in college. Poor old tabla players have no visibility if you can't match Zakir's flowing locks. I can't remember the admiration factor being high because one played the tabla instead of the guitar. So, I suppose I am on the coolness route now, about twelve years late.

Six-pack _______

There are two distinct categories of men: one who complete the above phrase with abs and the other with beer. More likely, the twain shall never meet. SRK has defected to the former group for his new movie release OSO (Om Shanti Om for the uninitiated). Which beats me: why would an actor known for his romantic roles work so hard to reinvent himself having crossed 40? The look is alright and I am sure he had to work on getting there, so perhaps he has earned himself the witty "re-introducing Shah Rukh Khan" caption that comes on the screen in the trailor of "Dard-E-Disco". Worth the crunch? You tell me!

Parth has left the building

After working almost four and a half years in a single little building, I have now moved to another newer, nicer place on campus. It is amazing how familiarity and attachment builds up even though it is your work place, not your home. In many ways, my old building was the focal point of the campus for me. All roads led in and out of that place and everything was relative to it. Now, the co-ordinates have shifted. I am on the fourth floor with a window office that overlooks a bridge over a freeway. It is a terrific view while I can watch pedestrians cross over, traffic weaving in and out of the freeway, and the rapidity of movement on the freeway itself. To top it all, even the sunsets are great to watch. The place is nice and bright and inviting. The only thing I miss is access to a table tennis table close by. I was meaning to put some photos up, but the resolution that the camera on my phone produces is pretty ordinary. The pictures I took did not show up so well.

20/20 vision?

The madness is underway with the 20/20 world cup. It is a new form of cricket and hence will always be interesting. Peppered with interesting events like Yuvraj's six sixes and the tie between India and Pakistan (what's with the ridiculous bowl-out to settle that? ), this will satisfy the slog-hungry viewer. Someone dispute this, but isn't the big hitting numbing after a while. I feel like someone is playing out the slogout game on cricinfo. Why not just get a bowling machine and ask it to pitch deliveries? Spare the bowlers. I don't think I am bought off, but I guess people's attention spans and ability to appreciate a good game of cricket have gone down anyway. So 20/20 is here to stay.

HP, HR, Rajni - The Deathly Halos?

I am done with my Harry Potter book, finally. I have to admit I am a moderate level fan unlike my dear colleagues Avinash and RTD2, whose passion was evident in the way they attacked the book. I am thrilled to bits to have finished the book, not because I wanted to know the denouement of the battle between the boy with spectacles and the man without them, but because I can now surf the Internet safely, without someone screaming the outcome of the book to me. Boy O Boy, its been a struggle to keep it secret. I can resume my normal life now.

The past few months have shown the power of publicity and the evidence of hysteria. Three phenomenon in quick succession have left the world gasping. First came the movie Sivaji, and with stories of the madness that engulfed India and Indians around the world. I have resigned myself to the fact that I won't get it, but hey, each one to his own. Waiting for the movie to come on DVD to watch it and perhaps understand it. I have liked Rajni in his Hindi movie avatars, especially as the perfect second lead alongside Govinda in Hum, but attempting to watch his Muthu Maharaja (the dubbed version) with lyrics like 'Bhoomi par Atom Bomb kyon hai?' (indeed) left me strained. However, I have been informed by my Tamilian friends that his movies have a social context that is not evident to those not from that region. Point taken. Anyway, overall, it was thrilling to see an Indian movie star whip up this kind of hysteria.

Then came HP, and all the secrecy around the plot. People lining up outside the stores and buying radish earrings like Luna Lovegood. The movie coming just a week before the book definitely added to the feeling. I watched it in IMax 3D and enjoyed it for the action scenes. I like the dark, grim tones that the movie set in accordance with the books. Which makes me wonder: at what point did the Harry Potter series become a book for adults?

Finally came HR, Himesh Reshammiyya for the uninitiated. The man is unbelievable. From being a TV producer to a music director to a singing sensation to a movie star!!! In many ways, this phenomenon is also like Rajni: tough to get. Unlike Sivaji, I have actually seen his movie, which is ordinary in terms of production. But the man with the beard in the baseball cap managed to garner huge openings in India. He is the man of the masses, just like Sallu was for the most part. Popular amongst the youth. I am not completely against his music. Some of his compositions are pretty good, and most of his detractors also grudgingly accept that. I sat bemused throughout the movie wondering how this guy could be a movie star, but there you go.

Fourplay

As I watch in awe the rerun of the Sri Lanka-South Africa match, it becomes apparent that South Africa will always struggle to win the world cup. Perhaps every nation has a malady of choice that affects its teams. Pakistan has its internal troubles, India its star based system, South Africa it’s choking and Australia the winning habit. Malinga's four wickets in four balls only match the shock that his hair creates. Sri Lanka may have lost the match, but look good to go to the semis in my books. With Bangladesh and Ireland in the fray, the super 8’s have become the super 6’s. With England in the form it is, the question is: which other team will join them on the flight back home? The performance of West Indies in tomorrow’s match against New Zealand should give some inkling.

I completed reading Vikram Seth’s ‘An Equal Music’ and followed it up with Salman Rushdie’s ‘The ground beneath her feet’. I wanted to read them back to back because they were similarly themed, on music. Of course, they were set in completely different milieus, and Rushdie’s effort encompasses more than just the story of music. I’d recommend both books to be read. The painting on the cover of Seth’s book is Orpheus leading Eurydice out of the Underworld by Il Padovino. It is significant in that the Greek mythological story is the basis of the characters and their actions in both the books. Anocturne has a review posted here. Onto Obama’s ‘Audacity of Hope’ right now.

I finished watching Babel a little while back. I don’t think I was as impressed as I expected to be. Perhaps it is repetitive of this genre of movies, starting with Crash: multiple stories, multiple settings, all interwoven in some way. The settings invariably revolve around trumping up third world misery and celebrating their goodness. I liked the music and some of the shot compositions in the movie, but not much else. I started this little list on the left of the page churning out the movies I have recently watched. Does anyone have a better idea about doing that? I am currently modifying the template to list them, which is irritating. I’d like a more expansive space where I can put recommendations and short comments on the movies themselves.

The Indian store that I frequent constantly has some songs playing on the TV, mostly new work. I heard a song for the first time that stuck in my mind because of its tune and the use of the word ‘sutta’, which is the colloquial term for a smoke/cigarette. I came back and searched for the song and stumbled upon a socio-cultural phenomenon of sorts. Here goes the story. A Pakistani band (seems like one guy) called Zeest released a song called BC Sutta. I won’t expand BC for obvious reasons, the same reasons for which the song was deemed un-airable. It soon became an ‘underground’ hit, crossed the border by way of the internet and is apparently a cult classic in hostels and colleges across India. The song claims to use sutta as a metaphor for all dreams that have to be abandoned in life. The song I had heard in the store was a rip-off with a video starring Meghana Naidu and claimed to be anti-smoking in its message. Here’s the original sutta song and the copied remix that I heard . The furor is over the use of words that are commonly heard but never published. Judge for yourself.