Spellbound

Your words remain
Well-spent at
Twenty rupees a letter

Shining on the board
In an unknown font
By an unknown artist

Don't blame the painter
He doesn't know enough
To know what is lost
In the games letters play

Don’t fret, we’ll understand
We are used to the quirks
As your shop proudly proclaims
‘India is Grate’

Dinner

They met each night
In honor of
Etiquette

Elbows off the table
Silverware in its right place
The food treated
With frosty reverence

Dysfunction was no excuse
To sacrifice
Civility

Mere Paas CineMaa Hai

Please find a link to my article on the online magazine Spark. Their June issue was dedicated to the theme of cinema, so I wrote up this short essay on the influence of cinema on India. A thousand words is a small limit to work against, but I gave it an honest shot. Glad to have found this resource for online publication - they seem to be doing a very fine and sincere job with Spark.

http://www.sparkthemagazine.com/?p=1847

Resume. Reload.

And because the sun has finally shone
And the dark under the sky’s eyes
Has been obliterated by the
Golden energy of the yellow globe

It is time for the warriors to appear
To march on, to the posts of battle
Meeting head-on, the challenge of modernity
Without a shield till the sun retreats again

A Bit Too Much

Computer programs
Can generate
Poetry now

I doubt if they ever will
Do well at puns
After all, binary is too absolute
For double meaning

Heaven And Earth

The wind was gentle but persuasive. The curls of her hair gave up their obstinacy within moments of the breeze touching her face. They fluttered ever so slightly, parting away the gentle clouds covering her ears. The face in the window that the city now beheld was holding a smile beneath. From the second floor of her building, from a narrow window that overlooked a busy street, she surveyed a throbbing slice of the metropolis. The world was playing out its own agenda. Vendors were busy trying to sell their wares with a mind cast back to their hungry families. Kids were playing a game of cricket with a chair as a make shift stump, and with little license to hit on anywhere other than a straight line. The honking of cars was less indicative of an urge to move on, but more suggestive of carrying on a mild conversation in blaring tones.

She saw all this and smiled. She scanned the street with her eyes but took care not to tilt her head to the left. She did not want to let him know that she had seen him. He, of the wiry frame, the thick glasses, and the intense expression, was present as usual. The sun could have set its clock looking at him. Never once did he pick another place. Always seated at the base of the old tree that people did not allow to be cut due to quasi-religious sentiments, always sipping a cup of steaming tea from the chai-wallah he so thoroughly patronized, always sketching away furiously on a piece of paper, always the observer of life’s little accidents. He, on the other hand, did not shy away from a tryst. He knew that fifty feet away, his muse had shown her face. She, off the delicate expression and the large rounded ear-rings. For months now, this wordless exchange had continued. She would come and silently observe the world beneath her, ignoring her co-observer of worlds. He would ignore the rest of her world and set his sights on her. His hands would furiously animate his expression of admiration on paper. The collection of portraits he made of her were enough to publish a book.

He made no attempt to hide his love, but kept a respectful distance. An artist’s hardest quest is that for a muse, and nothing would be worse than handing over the reality back to an illusion. The delicate balance could not be disturbed. And so the fifty feet were never bridged by him, though he harbored a fleeting hope that some day she would turn around and see him, that some day she would descend from her private heaven and meet him.

She spent her routine thirty minutes at the window. She knew his rhythms, knew how much time he needed to draw a new version of her, and she gave him that time. She wondered what it would take for him to venture forth, to walk those fifty steps, to leave the world for a while and join her in her isolation. She dared to dream the dream and castigated herself immediately. Nothing would be worse than handing over the illusion to a reality. She turned back, scanned around her heaven, and with gentle arms, pushed her wheelchair back into the house.

The Blade Of God

The fiend runs in
Thunderbolt in hand
Legs pumping
Arms extended

He hurls it at the
Stationary figure
Serene among the chaos
In a zone of his own

A billion hearts skipping
A collective beat
As the ball hurtles down
At lightning speed

When victory is de facto
And defeat is unacceptable
When a game ceases to be
“Just a game”
When matter of “life and death”
Isn’t just a phrase

In that fraction of a second
When all I said was true
The brute released
A torrent of questions

Then the feet moved
The toes went off the ground
The arms lifted the heavy bat
The cut unleashed on an
Unsuspecting ball

As it sailed into
A jubilant crowd
The ball carried with it
A message clear as day

Mortals won’t win today
For God has taken guard
Batting at number one
For India

P.S> In case it is not obvious, this is an ode to THAT upper cut that Tendulkar hit off Shoaib in the World Cup game in 2003

Chained

Was Houdini the greatest,
Or do we all surpass him,
as escape artists?

Is a five lever lock
any tougher to break
Than the vice-like grip
of tedium?

At Your Service

Madam, utterly respected
If you are even mildly discontented

And believe we roll in excess bureaucracy
Let me assure I mean no hypocrisy

To hear you, this grievance form I thus demarcate
Just make sure you do fill it up in triplicate

Hum Jawaab De Chuke Sanam

The quiz is done and dusted and it has gone rather well. Not as huge a turnout as last year, but from the feedback we received, everyone who came enjoyed it. I wonder if I can add QuizMaster to my skillset in a resume. Does that add to much? I definitely do enjoy being one, despite the time and energy that is required to set a quiz up. This year's highlight was a Kaun Banega Crorepati styled round, with theme music, revolving logo, lifelines et al. To add to the drama, it all came down to the last team needing to get all the questions right to win the quiz.

I have put up the files here for anyone wishing to attempt the quiz: http://cid-c3fa92574d313fc4.office.live.com/browse.aspx/Bollywood%20Quiz%202011?Bsrc=EMSHYH&Bpub=SN.Notifications

Jawaab Bhi Do Yaaron

In case you thought where I was - well, it is that time of the year. I am busy preparing a sequel to last year's Bollywood Quiz that I conducted.

This year again, our quiz club is collaborating with Ekal Vidyalaya, an NGO, to host this quiz in Seattle on the 13th of March. I get to set the quiz (which is something I love) and the NGO benefits from it (which is something they'll love). Last year was a big success and a lot of people enjoyed the event. We are hoping to do better this year.

If you are in and around Seattle, please do attend (and please register on this site before that). If you are not from Seattle, but know someone who is, please encourage them to participate.

Come support a good cause.

Come support the QuizMaster :)

In Absentia

He brought out a perfectly clean handkerchief out of his pocket and ran it gently over the image, hoping that fine linen could do the trick that his bare hands could not. But the picture did not get any clearer. The face in the picture did not reveal any new secrets to him. It remained as inscrutable as before. Time had done its trick on the photograph – the sepia tint was uneven, the dog ears were predominant and someone had really done a good job of inducing creases on the photograph by crushing it. The cold stern visage was unrevealing. No particular emotion, no particular trait, no particular bias leapt out from it. He had spent the first forty years of his life wondering what his father looked like, what he was like, why he had abandoned him, what life would have been growing up with one. After the serendipitous discovery of his photograph, his quest remained unsolved.

Paperback

Someone has your number
And I don't mean it
As a metaphorical
Smart-ass comment

Someone really does have it.

I suppose I should have
Torn your letter
Before I tossed it out

It must be hard to pass up
On an expectant love story
Neatly crafted in
Cursive handwriting

Across Universes

She hated the sound
Of her own voice
The way she spoke
In raspy whispers
Like a snake sliding
Over a rusty pipe

He loved the sound
Of her written word
She liberated him
By her fluent prose
From the clawing solitude
Of his prison cell

Prisoners both
One with a tube in her neck
One with his freedom confined
Meeting in that free universe
Of ideas

Win it for Sachin!!

The big event is almost upon us. After years of talking and years of waiting, the World Cup is so close you could almost smell it and touch it. Well, only metaphorically. Actually, teams will have to climb over other competitors, conditions, injuries, bad luck, bad karma and sentiment to touch it and hold it. World Cup no. 6 beckons for the best batsman of all time, certainly in the ODI arena. Although it might be too premature to say anything about a man whose longevity surprises everyone, this very well might be his last outing in colored clothing in a World Cup. He holds all the key records in World Cup history - all except having the World Cup itself. He has done everything one man can do to get his team close to the goal. However, it is a team event and this time round, the rest of the team will have to step up to win this. The team is not completely stable, and I feel unsure about our bowling and middle order batting. Once more, the onus will be on Tendulkar to give good starts to India and guide the middle order through the innings; letting them show their aggression as he holds one end. The competition is tough, with a resurgent England and South Africa, not to count out the dangerous Sri Lanka. Australia for once is not the favorite, and that might work in their favour as well. I see India making it to the semis, but beyond that, it just depends upon the day. Although traditionally home teams have never done at the World Cup, I am hoping that the home supports helps. Dhoni though, gets a good share of luck as a captain and hopefully, he can extract good performances from the resources he has. I for one, am looking forward to watching the games live (or as much as is possible) and watch history being made. For years, the maxim has been: Sachin, win it for India. Now, it should really be: India, win it for Sachin. After years of tireless service to the game and the nation, we owe him that.

Friction

The little merry-go-round was in its tenth revolution. Around him, the kaleidoscope of images whirled in rapid succession, yet in a paradoxical instance, he could see his heartbeat and the world slow down around him. It is in this moment that he noticed the details he would normally have skipped. Four pine trees, all arranged in increasing height, like a stairway to heaven. Three women in the distance, one with her mouth covered with her hands and eyes staring in disbelief. Two mountains, snow-capped, disinterested and grand, watching down with authority. One man in his car, hands on the steering wheel, with an expression of abject helplessness, serene in the mild realization of what he was witnessing, trying hard to conjure a lifetime of memories as the swish of snow obeyed the laws of physics and promptly gave way. The driver’s dumbstruck, soulless eyes stared back at him through the collapsed rearview mirror. The slight disappointment in his look was hard to miss. He had been duped into believing that the moment of reckoning would be a grand revisiting of his life before. It was anything but that. His parting thought was about deceptions, as he thought about the icy road he was on, and the ravine he would fly into.

A Tale Of Four Cities

At this time of the year, my traditional post is one of the year’s round up of music. There will be a gap in that pattern this time. Last year, I was extremely disappointed with the quality of music being dished out. While this year has been marginally better, I haven’t been able to motivate myself to go through the painstaking exercise of chalking out my favourites.

I did, however, make a second trip to India in two years. Do give me my bravery award, for making the jump across the ocean with a toddler with such frequency. While last year was all about the one year old getting to see everyone and enjoy his share of religious ceremonies, this year was all about weddings. When weddings happen in close family, there is work, there is pressure along with any enjoyment that comes along.

Two of the three weddings were in Mumbai, while the third was in Baroda, which entailed going in a baraat from Surat. For one of the Mumbai weddings, the reception was in Sriharikota (yes, the place they launch rockets from) and we traveled – packing bag, baggage and baby. Here are some impressions from the cities this India trip covered

Mumbai
How transformed can a city be within a year? The answer is – clearly a lot when it is Mumbai. Andheri, my home for as long as I can remember, again bears no resemblance to the place I have grown up in. The Metro construction has picked up pace in the past year. The extent is such that it is impossible to know when a particular street is coming up, for taking a turn. From Lokhandwala to Juhu, traffic has deteriorated furthermore, however improbable it may have seemed last year. Cool cabs were extremely hard to find this time, and so the intake of fumes was constant. Double-decker buses were hard to spot, and I have been told that is a deliberate move. We also completed what we did not manage last year – made a touristy visit to the Bandra-Worli sealink. Given that we did it one way gave us a good perspective on how much time it actually saves by going over the sea. Very impressive work.

Surat
Surat is a city close to my heart. My vacations were spent there, most of my family functions have happened there and vestiges of my childhood can be traced to the small bylanes crowded with two wheelers and cows. By some coincidence, me and my cousin were there minus wife and kids, and it almost felt like a blast from the past – before we had significant others and kids. Most of our dealings with Surat then were with the old city, before the expansions on the other side of the Tapi river had picked steam. In many ways, going back to the old city, and the waadi is like traveling back in time once you cross the bridge. The feeling was nice, nostalgic, and a distinct reminder on how much we have changed and moved away from it.

Chennai
I went there once in 1995, right after my twelfth standard exams, for a tour of the South. I remember it being really hot. That’s about it. No other pleasant memory came to mind. This time though, we were greeted with some gentle breeze from the ocean (I was told our hotel was pretty close to the beach) and rain. This was absolutely the best weather I got all trip long. The city was crowded, shop-keepers in several places had a penchant for spelling Biryani as Briyani (twice is coincidence, four times is a pattern), and I had to constantly remind myself to stop talking in Hindi, especially when the shop-keeper is trying to tell me how much I owe in Tamil.

Sriharikota
The groom’s parents (from a close family wedding) were employed in Sriharikota, hence the trip to the God-forsaken part of the country. I guess if you are to launch rockets and maintain high security, it makes sense to have it in a place that is God-forsaken. Interesting place – I got reminded of the IIT campus in Powai, which I had the opportunity to visit frequently, since one of my closest friends studied there. In fact, we stayed in a hostel reserved for visiting ISRO employees. The bare bones place was frequented by cockroaches and rats that ate through AC wiring. Clearly, mad-cap scientists do not expect much in terms of luxury J Aarush was mighty pleased at being able to see so many cows, sheep and monkeys. I don’t suppose I can simulate that environment for him in Sammamish.

This turned out to be the most un-Indian of India trips, with practically no home food, no TV, no friends and certainly no relaxation. You can eat only so much food at weddings, and if you are me, there is only so much hard core South Indian food that you can take J The wedding expenses are insane, and the money spent on clothes you are not likely to wear more than two three times is mind-boggling. With the Bollywoodisation of weddings, I also got to participate in the sangeet of my cousin’s wedding. A hired choreographer, who surely must justify his salary by teaching people like me with two left feet how to dance, had me and my wife and a couple of other married couples dancing to ‘Zor ka jhatka’. While the dance itself looked like a bunch of kindergarten kids doing uncoordinated steps, we have a fan in Aarush. He has clearly inherited his father’s wit, because he keeps asking me to play the video by saying ‘more sazaa’.

On the bright side, the trip was extremely beneficial for Aarush. He has fully internalized the value of an audience and maximized it by winning hearts and minds while there. By the end of the trip, he would not eat food unless there were a bunch of people around to cheer him while he did it. How I envy those couples in India who have so many helping hands when bringing up kids. The exposure to so many new things and new people meant good things for him. We have brought back a naughtier, fiestier, masti-er, talkative version of the toddler we took there. That being said, people in India, please stop getting married. I really would like to avoid making one more trip next year!

Seattle, Are You Ready?

“Seattle, are you ready?” is a question Mr. Palash Sen, the lead singer of the band Euphoria, asked all evening long. Ready for what, Mr. Sen? And if we are not ready yet, then what state were we in when you asked the same question three songs back? Aah, well. Such was the nature of the concert, entertaining and in part, mystifying. The venue was King Cat theater in Seattle, and I was positioned in an aisle seat all by myself in the balcony section. With a two year old, you either have the option of hiring a baby-sitter, a practice we are not yet bought into, or taking turns to either the same movie or picking entertainment events suited more to one person. The third option, which would involve taking the kid to the concert, is a no-go. The music can almost make you deaf, and if Aarush wants to avoid listening to us, I am not going to give him a handy excuse. He is more likely to end up attending classical concerts first, perhaps someone with an extended name like Madurai Thirumalai Nambi Seshagopalan. The only way he is getting out is he pronounces the name right, to our satisfaction.

However, I digress. Euphoria’s strength has been their ability to do Hindi Rock well, if there is such a genre. Their songs are tinged with folk tunes and their lyrics are easy on the ear. No wonder, the crowd was able to sing along their hit songs. Which brings me to the mystical part of the evening. Where exactly were the Euphoria songs? Yes, they did their usual hits from Dhoom Pichak to Mehfuz, which I really liked, but a large part of their show was peppered with Hindi film numbers and other oddities ranging from ‘Dhagala laagli kala’ to ‘Another brick in the wall’. I would have imagined that they would not need to resort to these options if their repertoire was strong enough. Then maybe, it isn’t.

I guess the restorative point of the concert was the main man himself. I did not have much expectations from Palash Sen as a performer (you have to know that I HAVE seen Filhaal), but he was very good on stage. His energy levels through the concert, his interactions with the crowd, his on stage rock star moves (quite manufactured) and his unfailing ability to ask us if we are ready carried the concert. I don’t think anyone is under any misconceptions about his ability as a singer. He isn’t Sonu Nigam, but he doesn’t need to be. His insistence that everyone needs to be on the dance floor was irritating though. I had expensive tickets specifically because the cheaper tickets had dance on the title. Its alright. I maybe of the arthritic crowd, as Mr. Sen mentioned, but that didn't stop me from stomping my feet and clapping when it appealed to me. I found Mr. Sen's ability to jump up and down and still continue singing without a hiccup fairly impressive. The jumping was a criticial tool he used to engage the crowd. It would also have helped to overcome the limitations of the sound system, where the mixing and the volume left a lot to be desired.

Lastly though, mention must be made about the volunteers from AID who put this together. Or for that matter, volunteers of CRY or Ekal or other NGOs whose chapters I have interacted with. Planning this kind of event takes a lot of time and effort, and for the most part, the people who are doing this are salaried folks who have a family to attend to. You have to be fairly passionate about your charity to invest the kind of time that goes into it. If by chance, an AID volunteer reads this, pat yourself on the back for today’s work.

Terrific Twos

My son is fast approaching his second birthday. The one whose lifting of his little finger seemed like the high point of activity when he was born, is a tall lean force of nature who is incessant through the day and restive through the night. The first words that come out of his mouth every morning give great insight into what he was dreaming about. Like the pants that always seem to be getting shorter and a vocabulary that always seems to be extending, the past two years have been the perfect metaphor for change being constant. Here’s an attempt to arrest those thoughts and capture them.

Terrible twos?
I had not heard the expression terrible twos before children started appearing left, right and center in my social circle. My first instinct was that it must refer to the second year of the child’s existence. That surely must be a banshee that gets banished when the child blows the candles on his second birthday. Turns out I was a little off. Maybe by a year. Surely then, my child must be precocious, even if relates to being his own man at a little under two. If the terrible (oops, terrific) twos aren’t meant to end by the time they are two, there are contingencies that I must conjure up for the upcoming year.

Repetition
Ever heard the same song 25 times in a row or gone up and down the elevators 30 times and not complain about it? Well, then you must be a parent. You may love your spouse to death, but there is little chance you will put ‘Re mama re mama re’ on a loop and listen to it over and over again for their pleasure. What’s more, you’ll smile each time the child smiles at a particular phrase that he or she finds funny or beam at their attempt to sing along, as the seven notes ease their way out of the little bodies in a mellifluous voice.

Language
This is a tricky one. You see, I am a Gujarati. My wife is Tamilian. We speak English and Hindi at home, but my son speaks American. In the midst of this Tower of Babel comes the thorny and tricky question of how and what languages to teach. Do you confuse the living daylights out of the child by teaching him what “spectacles“ are called in four different languages or do you secretly rejoice at the fact that he has caught on to words like “khallas”? Do you go against your intuition and trust the research that says that it is ok to expose children to multiple languages at a young age or do you trust that somewhere in those billion synapses, the right connections are being formed? In the midst of all this, as the words come by – first in a trickle and then in a rush, you will be filled with so much enjoyment at the ease of communication that comes with it. The sight of your child beaming with joy because he just uttered a new word and that you understood it is priceless. An additional thing is that their mis-pronounciations are way cooler than the correct words. I never want to say hippopotamus now that I have heard my son say “popopus” or “baak” for bike. Eight hours of the day at the daycare also ensure the emergence of an American accent; the one dreaded by the grandmothers!

Little man
Did I say I have a two year old child? I must have forgotten to mention that he is a little man. One capable of looking you in the eye with defiance and saying “No”. One growing into a phase where he realizes that he is an individual by himself; not attached to his parents. Independence comes with a streak of rebellion, a bag of opinions, and the will to test out what his limits are. Oh I get it, that’s why they say toddlers are hard to manage. It is also fascinating to see them want to do everything that others are doing. The new-found confidence in the use of their faculties makes them want to ride a car and jump from the sofa and generally do six things out of ten that the parents don’t want them to. If you thought David versus Goliath was a fable, come to my house. I should also add that David has more tricks up his sleeve, including such “astras” as tantrums, tears, puppy eyes and a sweet imploring voice. Goliath needs to be very resolute to survive the attack.

Fresh Perspective
I had heard a botanist once say that his best time in the trade was when he was one; where he would be on his all fours in the lawn, noticing everything from the minutest of leaves to the giant trees. The infinite curiosity rubs onto the parents. You start looking at world through fresh eyes - notice everything they notice. I should also note that the kids also notice everything you do, so watch out.

Teaching life's lessons
You suddenly have a captive audience and you are expected to deliver – trigger their curiosity, teach them good habits, inculcate good values. You are handed life’s biggest job without a driving license. You suddenly discover you have something to offer, and also realize that you don't have everything to offer either. Surely your child is a progidy, but you are not tapping into their potential. There is so much you may not be doing right and there is a chance that your child will turn out right despite you, not because of you.

The chauffer and the cleaner
This will be your job for life, especially if you are a parent in the US with no support system. As early as six months, the cycle of classes, birthday parties etc. starts. The car is your means to an end and good music a life saver. Life goes on a timetable like never before, but you’ll thank all the classes you are putting your child into, because you really need to find ways to redirect their boundless energies. It is also a projection of one’s inabilities – in my case, my inability to swim, which prompts the parents to make sure their children start early enough.

Parents of toddlers
I have to have a section on the parents of toddlers (actually, parents of young kids in general), a difficult breed to which I belong. Ever seen a conversation between two sets of parents? It is like watching a tennis match. Each statement is accompanied by a counter statement from the other parent. If one comments on their son’s sleeping habit, the other follows up with what’s going on with their daughter’s nighttime activity. It is a cross between insecurity and pride about kids that gets them to behave that way. Parents really have it both ways: they love the kid and nobelize the responsibility. They complain about not having the freedom and feel guilt when they do take it up. They are the sole entities that they child looks upto and yet they need to figure a way for the child to look and learn from beyond. Another role that these parents have to play is of translators. Children are cute, but they sure aren’t easy to understand when they are trying to learn new words. Without the parents translating, that “wolly” stands for Diwali, you are not getting anywhere. However, their biggest task is accepting compliments on the cuteness of their little one. What a hard job it is!

Tainted

And then we proved ourselves
Better than our hearts
Fie upon them!
Erecting walls
To keep the good away from the bad

We mixed them together
And eked out
A civil society
And enough unrest
To engage us
Millenium after millenium