Oblivion

The banalities of life overpowered him for a fleeting moment. Bills, loan, work. He smiled, amused at his thoughts. So irrelevant, he mumbled. His eyes followed as the car screeched away from the street. Some bodies stepped in to block that view. And then faded. Slowly. A curious voice from the dispersing masses queried. “Accident?”

This was in response to being tagged for a 55-word story by Geetanjali. I thought this was a very interesting tag to have and have given it a shot (no matter what the result). Let me know what you think. In the tradition of tagging, I am going to have the following people try the same

Curbside Prophet
Shantanu
Ragini
Ramya

Frequently Questioned Answers

Ever been advised by an adult on the right things to do in life? The common wisdom passed down to us by generations? I have decide to challenge that. If these pearls of wisdom were so effective, wouldn't our problems be solved for good? Wouldn't we be paragons of perfection? I guess we aren't. Its time to question the wisdom of the ages.

1. Grass is always greener on the other side
Hmm. It implies that when we get to the other side, we are always going to be dissapointed. Hence, we should never try anything else, because we know that we will find that we are doing is better than what we will be doing. By the same token, we should not be doing what we are doing because not doing it was a better option in the first place. Oh, I am already lost.

2. Hard work always pays
Yes, it does. It pays towards my company's profits.

3. We are constantly evolving
Into what? The more I see around me, we are evolving to sufficiently drive us on the path of destruction. Would we be completely evolved when we would have burned up massive holes in the ozone layer and left nothing to consume on the surface of the planet?

4. Sab Moh-Maaya hai (everything is an illusion)
That's wrong. Sab Maaya ka moh hai (don't expect to translate this, the charm is lost)

5. Contribute. Do something.
Disagree. Doing nothing is definitely doing something. I am not damaging the fragile fabric of the universe that way.

6. Practice makes man perfect
Tell is to the guy who took the car on the road the first time and ran over two pedestrians, a beggar, a dog and a lamppost. Life is not a dress rehearsal! Ask cricketers who were dropped after their first test match, or guys who must have stuttered to ask Aishwarya Rai out in school.

7. All you need is love
... and a car, a house, a TV, French Fries, Gulab Jamun, Tendulkar's straight drive, coffee ... don't get me started

8. Slow and steady wins the race
I'll remember to mention this to the 100 meter sprinters and Inzamam Ul Haq and all the tragic movie heroes who sacrificed their love for their best friends of brothers.

9. Looks don't matter
Aishwarya for President. Beauty versus brains. What would you choose if you have to choose it for someone else? Oh, this is a hollow materialistic society. You have to pay for two seats in an aircraft if you are too fat. Even Indians have stopped relating paunches to prosperous times. Most people are not normal. They are either too fat or too thin or too tall or too short. Show me one person who isn't measured that way.

10. Each generation is doing better than the previous one
Yes, we have more devices to complicate our lives. We have more luxuries and die sooner. We spend half of our lives staring at a screen or trapped inside metal coffins we call cars. We love and have heartache, and love and break our hearts again and decide that cynicism will prolong our lives. We are so uncomfortable with our inferiority to nature that we trample it, and become urban warriors. Oh yes, we are getting better each day!

Surviving Water Induced Morbidity

Here's my current standing joke. I was late for swim class ..... by 20 years. Yes, me of the ocean lover yuvak sangh, resident of Washington state which is ripe with water bodies, me of the glorious visions of rains and water and mist and dew, the quintessential lover of two parts hydrogen and one part oxygen … never learnt how to swim. I couldn’t swim to save my life. Somehow in the multitudinous extra-curricular activities that I indulged in, swimming never featured. No rational explanation. None is required. It doesn’t matter. Or does it. People say that once you learn basic skills like swimming and cycling, you never forget them. On the other end of the spectrum is also the theory that the older you get, the tougher it is to pick these skills up. Some of it makes sense. I guess you are become more aware of your own fear as you become older. In that sense, swimming does sit in a different categories of skills. There is definitely something to worry about. I mean, its not tennis. I won’t wither away and sink into the ground if I miss a couple of shots. But swimming, that’s a different ball game.

I started lessons last week. It is a group of six people in a basic beginner’s course. The lessons are 30 minutes in duration and I have had three so far. They taught us some basics like how to breath out through the mouth inside water, how to propel yourself with kicking (can’t do anything without floaters, or noodles, as they are called), how to float on your back and move yourself with kicks. Now, I have a general belief that I am good at picking sports. It is true upto an extent. I have seen that in the past with table tennis, badminton etc. I can pick up the basics well, improve rapidly and then plateau out. This one seems a tougher nut to crack. Perhaps it’s the fear factor. My instructor has told me that my body is too stiff, that I should relax a little more. I also find doing multiple things: kicking, breathing out inside the water, doing strokes with the arms, and then breathing in by taking my head up and looking sideways quite a handful. More often than not, my feet find the bottom of the pool quickly (it is a four feet deep). The funniest and the most frustrating part is that I just can’t seem to move in water. I keep kicking all the while, whether it is on my back or trying to push myself forward, I barely move anywhere. More often than not, I am carried by someone else’s wake. Aah, it is frustrating. I think it’s a mixture of slight phobia and a lot of technique deficiencies that is making it tough to pick this up. But I am not going to give up without a fight. It will be an epic battle with these forces. And then shall follow a post titled S.W.I.M. (Surviving Water Induced Morbidity) recounting that.

While on the subject, here’s some excellent advice from someone I should have learnt from when I had the chance at TAMU. A man tailored for the teaching profession if there was one.

“Parth, Having read your description of your attempts at swimming it seems u are trying to punish the water. :-) Don’t do that. Stretch out your foot and leg fully behind your body and try to think that the flat portion behind your leg fingers is a paddle. Kick so that u splash water AS LESS as possible, ie. smoothly. As a general rule, the more splashy u are the more the water will resist u instead of helping u. U will tire quicker. Plus remember that this motion only allows u to stay afloat. to move u have to use your hands. As u progress try and keep your head under water. This makes your profile in the water more spearlike than the flat board of your shoulders and chest. It reduces drag no end.”

Sunsitive

Some people reflect the weather outside. Their moods swing up with rays of sun hitting them in the face, and gloom sets in when gray clouds gather. We have had some moody weather in Seattle off late (as they say, if you don't like the weather, just wait five minutes). The sun had been beaming 0n us for a while and now wet and cooler weather has begun its onset. I was thinking where I fit in the reactionary scheme of things. Sunsitive, I guess. But in the opposite sense. I like the sun, don't get me wrong. But I wouldn't give an arm and a leg to be in California. I like the sun in sporadic bursts, but what I am concerned about most is the heat. Cooler temperatures are much to my liking. I like gentle cold breezes or zephyr's (if I remember my last word list in Barron's GRE book correctly). I like greyish skies, with moisture hinting at a potential downpour. A drop almost condenses and falls on your hand. I like the sun partially hidden behind the clouds, providing just enough lighting for the show to begin. Alright, I am a monsoon lover. I love the rains, and flooding notwithstanding, that is one of the reasons I loved Bombay. Some great memories and feelings are associated with it, and that I guess is matter for another post.

Rains in the US however are different. Cold, wet showers, which one cannot enjoy drenching in. Temperatures drop sharply when the rain comes and one prefers being indoors. That said, there is a small pocket of weeks (well, like the current period) where the mist is predominant, the clouds are grey but the temperature is bearable. I love the thought of sitting outside on my patio furniture (yup, four months into my house, what do you expect?) and sipping coffee. Of course, in my parallel universe, when the clouds gather and the temperature drops, I'd love to be on the terrace of an old house in a village, with a hint of cool breeze, with clouds warning of impending rain, with a cup of coffee in my hand while I stare at the vast expanse of land in front of me with the sky lighting up at the edges in varied colours and the trees fluttering in the breeze.

A post to nowhere, about nothing in particular, just reflecting what I want right now. Nonentheless, its out here now. So, why don't you share what kind of a person are you? Sunsitive? Rainman? Hot and happening? Chime in.

Double EnTender

Two pieces of art, worlds apart, that impacted me over the course of a weekend.

Rarely has someone thoughtfully conveyed something to me that relates to me and directly affects me. Thank you. For understanding, and for finding the right words.

Sit, drink your coffee here; your work can waitawhile.
You're twenty-six, and still have some life ahead.
No need for wit; just talk vacuities, and I'll
Reciprocate in kind, or laugh at you instead.

The world is too opaque, distressing and profound.
This twenty minutes' rendezvous will make my day:
To sit here in the sun, with grackles all around,
Staring with beady eyes, and you two feet away.

-Vikram Seth

This ghazal owns me at the first line itself. I have a version sung by Noor Jehan of this excellent lyric by Faiz Ahmed Faiz. What starts off as a romantic poem speaking off desirable love turns into a brilliant social commentary. There is more to this world than love and that the poet would see his view of the world corrected before he sees his love go through till the end. Don't miss the transition from the first stanza to the second. The lyrics and the meaning have been sourced over a few places on the net (I knew most of the words, but not all).

Mujh se pehli si mohabbat mere mehboob na mang
Mujh se pehli si mohabbat mere mehboob na mang

Maine samajhaa thaa ke tuu hai to daraKhshaaN hai hayaat
Tera Gam hai to Gam-e-dahar kaa jhagaDaa kyaa hai
Teri surat se hai aalam mein bahaaron ko sabaat
Teri aaNkhon ke sivaa duniyaa men rakhaa kyaa hai
Tu jo mil jaae to taqadiir niguuN ho jaae
YuN na tha, maine faqat chaahaa tha yuuN ho jaae

Aur bhii dukh hain zamaane men mohabbat ke sivaa
Raahaten aur bhii hain vasl kii raahat ke sivaa
Anginat sadiyon ke taariik bahimaanaa tilism
Reshm-o-atalas-o-kamaKhwaab mei­n bunawaae hue
Jaa-ba-jaa bikate hue kuuchaa-o-baazaar men jism
Khaak men lithre hue Khuun men nahalaae hue
Jism nikale hue amaraaz ke tannuuron se
Piip bahatii huii galate hue naasuuron se

LauT jaatii hai udhar ko bhii nazar kyaa kije
Ab bhii dilakash hai teraa husn, magar kyaa kije
Aur bhii duKh hain zamaane men mohabbat ke sivaa
Raahaten aur bhii hain vasl kii raahat ke sivaa

Mujh se pehli si mohabbat mere mehboob na mang
Mujh se pehli si mohabbat mere mehboob na mang

[daraKhshaaN = shining, brilliant; hayaat = life; dahar = time, world;sabaat = stability, permanence; niguuN = bow;taariik = dark; bahimaana = dreadful, terrible; tilism = spell, magic; atalas= satin; kamaKhwaab = brocade; silk woven with gold and silver flowers;jaa-ba-jaa = hither-thither; lithaDe = imbrued; amaraaz = diseases; tannuuron = ovens; piip = pus; galate hue = festering; naasuur = ulcer;vasl=meeting]

The n+5 theorem

This post was due on the 27th of July. I wrote about Allan Border instead. You know, birthday boys and girls are special. However, the day marked another significant little personal milestone for me. An anniversary of significance. Five long years ago on that day, Avinash and I boarded a Delta Airlines airplane wearing a ridiculous suit, with loads of relatives happy to see us off and a Brief History of Time as reading material (We were sad, sad people then. I’ll reserve my comments on the situation now). The trip abroad for a Masters is a strange little journey. It is a shift of the magnitude of the movement of tectonic plates. The breaking up of world into continents. Literally. It is a fabulous experience, a coming-of-age for home-grown boys like me, a step into a life which is tangentially opposite to the one you know (today’s generation is much more informed than us, you know the one’s the pronounce the J in Jansport with a Y), a rite of passage that will shadow you for the rest of your life.

Therein lies the dilemma. How influential is the shadow? How long will the effects linger? How long are you bound to stay in this country? Graduate students often fail to clearly answer the one question that they should have answered foremost: why exactly are they here? For the love of God, money, education, partying, freedom, women, men, rental cars, Walmart, rental apartments, unlimited refills of soda, Taco Bell, long weekend deals, rolling R’s: one of these, all, or none? They get to the US, get through their Masters, get their first paycheck, their first car, first serious attempts at arranged nuptials, actually getting married, getting their H1B visa stamped, applying for the green card, buying the first house, fussing about their lawn, buy bulk groceries from Costco and if productive, have a couple of babies too. The seemingly unbreakable sequence of events stated above is punctuated with trips to India where a few tears are shed with the parents, comments made about how India is progressing, observations made about how the country has changed beyond recognition, pleasant nods made when told that kids are best brought up in India, US’s role in world affairs is tch-tched, and a general doomsday prediction is made about how your life will go down the drain if you decided to stay on forever in the US.

Sum of all fears, expectations and conversations is a common refrain: I’ll come back to India in five years. Somehow, the magical number of five has stuck. Perhaps it has do with the arithmetic around finishing your degree in two-three years, getting a job and recovering or accumulating some money, depending upon how graduate life has treated you. Somehow, five seems the talismanic number that people agree upon is a good time to have enjoyed the good life before they head back to their roots. Somehow, five seems to be the acceptable threshold at which you haven’t done too much to break all ties with your family and friends, where you and your American passport-holding kids will have least trouble adjusting back to the reformed India.

Which is what makes the five year anniversary a significant date. I have gone through the above mentioned steps but find myself firmly entrenched in a life that I have built out of choice. There are still the trips to India, still the talks about how it is better than ever before to go back, to blend in. There are still beliefs that one so attuned to the comforts of the west will not have to cut back heavily on the benefits as India is fast catching up. There are still talks about how life is empty without having family close by.

However, if it were all so easy to pack up and start all over again, why isn’t it so? It’s a vicious cycle of voluntary entrenchment. You dig your heels in, enjoy the stability and yearn to be swept off by the ocean waters you see from your stakeout place on the top of the trees. There is still always the hope, always the desire, for you know you don't belong here. The plan to return is always existent, just difficult to implement. So, here, ladies and gentlemen is my most realistic assessment on the situation. My theorem about returning back to India. I’ll go back to India in five years time … from today.

Halla Bol!

That, for the unintiated is Mangal Pandey a.k.a. Aamir Khan in flowing hair and puffy eyes and striking moustache's call. Yes, I saw 'The Rising: Ballad of Mangal Pandey' first day first show on Friday at the most disgustingly maintained theater in the whole world: Roxy Cinema in Kirkland. The fact that this is the only theater that shows Hindi films in the Seattle area, they charge $10 for a movie experience like none other. The sound stinks, the movie roll might just slide up such that you see the head below the feet (it happened in Hum Tum), the floor is sticky and I don't want to know what caused it to be that way, the restrooms are terrible, and the service is appaling (they wait a good half hour after the movie's scheduled time to fill in more seats). That said, I have seen more movies in this theatre than any other in my life :-( Why do I like Hindi films so much??

What can one say about the Rising? The first Aamir Khan release in 4 years, first after Lagaan, this movie had great curiosity value from the moment it went on the floors. So what is the movie about? Mangal Pandey is the man purported to have started the first freedom struggle of India (called the Sepoy Mutiny by the Brits). The story goes that the British made bullet cartridges made off cow and pig fat which was unacceptable to both Hindus and Muslims. Mangal Pandey protested against this, led a small revolt where he injured some English officers and was ultimately hanged.

So, that's the story. However, there isn't enough matter to fill in a two and a half hours. So, what do we do? We throw in the story of a friendship with a British officer (this was still ok with me), throw in a romance with a nautch girl, throw in three unnecessary songs (barring the title song and the mujra, none were justified), throw in yet another romance with the British officer and a sati, and brief references to other key players in the uprising (Tatya Tope, Rani Laxmibai, Bahadu Shah Zafar etc.).

There are a lot of good talents involved in the movie. Ketan Mehta handles quite a few scenes with flourish, Aamir Khan is superb in portraying the firebrand sepoy, Toby Stephens impresses with his performance and the technical team is in fine form. But the obvious mistakes are too much to overlook. I had hoped that Aamir Khan would have good 'script sense', but he errs in picking the right script here. The music from Rehman is appallingly bad (if someone disagrees, be my guest) for a big production like this, and the women are completely wasted.

I see a great future for indian cinema in the coming years. I have a firm belief that the presence of songs in the story is our USP, and that we should not bend to the diktats of a western audience or an impatient generation. The key to making a quality product is the presence of a good script where the songs flow with the narrative. There are instances of perfect movies (Sholay, Mughal-E-Azam) on that account so there is no reason it can't be done again.

I would definitely recommend The Rising to be seen at least once. I probably succumbed from the pressure of my expectations and came away a litle dissapointed.

No issues. Its Halla Bol, definitely not Dabba Gol!!

Panoramania

Generally, when it comes to photography, I have developed a strong liking to be in front of the camera than behind it. At about 24 years, 5 months and 13 days, I realised I was photogenic. Or so I have been told.

Nonetheless, a couple of years after that, I purchased my first digital camera. A Canon Powershot S50. It is a utility camera which is at the higher end of the point and shoot family. The standard features notwithstanding, it does very well in daylight photographs. Additionally, the freedom that a digital camera gives in taking a large number of photographs, dismissing those that aren't upto the mark and seeing your results instantaneously is priceless.

One of the things that fascinate me is the 'stitch' mode photos. You can take a series of photos, that can be stitched together to get a panomaric effect. Be warned that I am pretty ordinary photographer (I have seen the work of fellow bloggers like Aparna and Deepak and it is really good), but the photos might interest you.

1. Whistler mountain, Canada
This was my first attempt at using the stich mode and the result is an undirected mess. There is no specific feature of the area I am looking at besides it being part of the mountain range.


2. Lake Chelan - Columbia River
This one is much better and is a striking view of a river flowing on the left and a an independent lake on the right. This would not have been possible with an ordinary camera. The shame is that the 360 degree view from where this photograph was taken was so breathtaking that this area of capture is but a small part of the story


3. Mount Rainier
Fresh from the press. Two days old. Drove to Rainier on a picture perfect day and got a perfect picture. Notice the solitary cloud right in the centre. Produces a terrific effect. This mountain is one of the reasons I like the Northwest so much.

Soli - Lowkey no more

"Finally. After months of procrastination based on my inability to agree upon a title for the blog, here it is. The blog, that is. There is a title too, but it isn't witty by any means. How long could I have continued without doing this? The "Shoot for the moon" theory wasn't working for me. This is much better. I have decided not to fly to the moon. I will jump off the table and land on my two feet on my carpetted floor. Lets see where the baby steps lead."

Thus began my blogging journey exactly a year back. What started as an experiment has blossomed into a full-fledged engagement. I have got to know some truly interesting and smart people over the year, inspired some to start their own blogs, discovered periodically how much I enjoy writing, struggled with the medium like everyone else, and all in all, had a lot of fun. I also met a few long lost friends through the blog, had about 10,000 visits to my site, and was suitably humbled by the sheer magnitude and ability of fellow bloggers. I have also enjoyed the creation of a space and a world that is entirely my own. I spent some time revisiting my blogs from day 1 (you can do it too if you have the time and inclination), and I can see the evolution of a better writing style and clarity of thought. I also enjoyed seeing at what point the 'regulars' to this blog joined in. The first year is probably the toughest. That is of course till you start the second :-)

Stay tuned for more updates as the journey continues. Solilowkey is low key no more! Happy Birthday, dear blog.

P.S> I am on work-inflicted break right now, hence the posts are far and few in between

O Captain! My Captain!

(with due apologies to Walt Whitman). This post is dedicated to one of my sporting heroes on his birthday (it must be July 27th in Australia already). Allan Border, may you live long! Australian's captain courageous, the wall much before Dravid came around, gutsy fighter, determined, aggressive with a ruthless spirit and a never say die spirit.


Border in full flow


Border is one of the true greats of the game. I don't know when I became a fan, but it was enough to convert me from a right-handed bat to a left-handed batsman. Those who look in awe at the invincible Australian team today might be well-served to remember that in 1984, West Indies had wiped out Australia 5-0 in a test series. After a tearful departure by the then captain Kim Hughes, Border took over. The team went from defeat to defeat with the captain playing several lone hands. He persisted with the team and built a winning combination that captured the Reliance World Cup in 1987. Those who talk about the fact that England hasn't won the Ashes in a while should look back to 1989 where he led the Aussies to a 4-0 win over Gower's team. The foundation was laid and Australia has never looked back. He groomed Taylor, who in turn gave way to Waugh and Ponting now rests easy with the best possible team in the world. His combination with the first super-coach of one day cricket, Bob Simpson yielded great results.


World Cup champions circa 1987


Border was never as talented as Mark Waugh or David Gower, but had the grit and the determination to grind it out. He was fanatical about not giving his wicket away. Kapil Dev once rated him as one of his most prize wickets (and he did get him on 8-9 occassions I believe). His orthodox left spinners were very effective, none more useful than the spell where he got Gatting's wicket in the world cup finals. One of the most cherished cricketing moments for me was when I got to see him play live, at Brabourne stadium in the 1989 Nehru Cup against Pakistan. When he rode onto the field, the crowd was chanting 'Border Border'. The fan following was very evident. To see him get out cheaply that day did dampen my spirits, but not my awe for the man. As a kid, all I wanted to do was to go to Australia and meet him :-) I would also cherish cutouts from Sportstar that I had off Border and the then Australian team. I remember the match where he whipped England for 83 of 42 balls so vividly.


Bowlers beware, I ain't going anywere!!

Here is a short summary of some of the great feats he performed in his career.
Most tests : 156
Most test runs : 11,174
Most Test catches : 156 (I think this record is broken currently)
Most Consecutive tests : 153!!!!
Most Tests as captain : 93
First player to score 150 in each innings of a match
27 centuries with a test average over 50
32 test wins as a captain

The Australian Cricket Board have also paid him the ultimate tribute by naming a medal after him. The Allan Border medal today is the top accolade in Australian cricket and players try and perform at their best to win it after the end of every cricketing season in Australia

Stats don't do him enough justice. In Australia, Border was God because he converted his team from sore losers to world beaters. Another left-handed captain with more talents but lesser grit was on his way to do the same with the Indian team. Now we know what seperates the greats from the legends.

Hell no!

I am sorry for the miscommunication. I don't intend to stop blogging at the moment. If I do, it will be because I am bored of it, not because it I the words deserted me. I am too thick-skinned for that. Plus, I think I am not done with everything I had to say. All I wanted to convey was that one of my motivational factors to continue writing is the constant presence of 'friends' (I know some of my fellow bloggers well enough to call them that) on my blog. Your concerns in the previous post just emphasised that point.

Moving away from that subject matter. Here are some uninteresting facts about what happened on July 19th over the years

1553: Fifteen-year-old Lady Jane Grey is deposed after a nine-day reign as queen of England. She is executed for treason the following year.

1799: French troops in Egypt discover the Rosetta Stone, a basalt slab inscribed with three ancient languages that allows researchers over 20 years later to translate the heiroglyphics of ancient Egypt.

1848: In Seneca Falls, New York, women's rights advocates Lucretia Mott and Elizabeth Cady Stanton open the Seneca Falls Convention, which demands full citizenship rights for women.

1870: France declares war on Prussia to begin the Franco-Prussian War, which will result in the unification of Germany and the end of the reign of French emperor Napoleon III.

(Parth's own contribution: No Ashes test match was played on this day in the entire 20th century)

Born on This Day
Herbert Marcuse, philosopher (1898)
Rosalyn Yalow, medical physicist (1921)
George McGovern, politician (1922)
Samuel Colt, gun inventor and manufacturer (1814)
Lizzie Borden, accused murderer (1860)
Ilie Nastase, tennis player (1946)
Parth Pandya, boy blunder (1970 something: edited as per Sagar's comment)

Hoarse Whisperer

That's how I sound this morning. Throat has gone for a toss right now. I get a feeling somehow that people around me are a more relieved lot. Maybe my mind is playing games with me.

Married people envy single people. Single people don't know what the fuss is about, but look forward to marriage anyway. Smart single people figure out that they can rub it in by just talking about their simple life.

I have new respect for Seattle rain. Given that summer is supposed to be here, and the heat really renders the lawn/plants dry, the intermediate bursts of rain help save me a lot of effort and water bill.

My respect for National Awards is going down. I don't agree that Page 3 was the best movie of the year and Saif definitely didn't give the best performance of the year.

I saw 'GoodFellas' finally. Not bad, but the mafiosi genre is disinteresting me now. Too many of them, I think. Thankfully, not too many of those are made nowadays. Of course, Godfather is so so so brilliant that nothing will ever come close to it.

Haven't see Sarkar or Paheli or Dus or a bunch of new Hindi movies. I saw 'Wedding Crashers' instead. C'est la vie.

I am reading up on a passion that I have always pursued half-heartedly. I have given myself a year to try this seriously. If it works out and the blog is still around, you'll hear about it.

If you are among the bunch of people who have been following this blog regularly, thanks for your loyalty and support.

Birth of a poem

That fleeting thought, that ephemeral brainwave,
is all it takes to spur a revolt,
in the ever so dormant psyche.
That out-of-reach pen,
those never to be found blank sheets,
that increasing race against time,
to retain that moment of inspiration,
that has run dry for the savant.
Oh-so-perfunctory in his thought process,
so sectarian in his view of things,
leads a new genesis of life,
with a cursory attack of delirium,
like an evanescent lightning strike,
empties the ink onto the paper,
then treats his work like an after-thought,
like the message in a bottle,
left to wobble in the sea

P.S. I have been diagnosed with writer's block. This has happened before. Circa 1999. I wrote the above lines seeking that inspiration, struggling for it and finding it all along the way. I am hoping for a repeat. Pray for an encore.

Wayside Passion

I saw two really varied movies this week, after getting hands of them a little later than I had hoped. Here goes.

The Passion of the Christ
I like controversial movies. They catch my attention and pique my curiosity. I first read about this movie in a writeup in Time magazine while it was being shot. On the cover, it seemed like a good idea. A movie shot entirely in Aramaic (in which the word for father seems to be Abba, Urdu influence perhaps, or maybe even vice-versa) and directed by Gibson (I disliked his Patriot, but the Braveheart remains a movie I like immensely), this movie seemed to be the perfect fodder for controversy. You just got a Christian president while Jews were up protesting the Anti-Semitism that was potentially a feature of the movie. All the relevant groups had been engaged. Cut to the movie. The movie deals with the last 12 hours of Christ leading upto his crucifixion. Now, I am not a Christian and while I am familiar with the story, it wasn't so integral to me that I wouldn't be able to watch this movie objectively. So how is the movie? Well, it is filled with mind-numbing violence. Christ gets beaten up from the start to the end of the movie. Given the amount of bruises he suffers, I even wonder how he survives till the crucifixion. There is very little dialogue, music is ok and there is extra emphasis on the slo-mo shots. Is this a movie for our times? Is the director trying to tell us that given the exposure to violence that we have on TV and movies, his way of telling us that Christ's suffering surpasses all others is to show it in the most graphic manner possible? Perhaps. If the message is to emphasize Christ's sacrifice, it somehow got lost in the way. You do have the most famous quotes from Bible popping up all over the place, so you can identify in part with what's going on. I would recommmend this movie if you are an avid movie-watcher, else skip it.

Sideways
This was one of the most talked about movies last year. A low budget movie with no known stars, this movie got 5 nomimations at the Oscars. A movie about two friends spending a week in wine country as they go through their mid-life crisis, this movie is steeped in humor and skillful characterizations. Directed by Alexander Payne (About Schmidt), this movie takes you on an unexpected ride and has depth in its conetnt if you pay attention. A failed novelist Miles, is the best man for his friend Jack's wedding. He takes Jack, a former soap star, to a trip into the wine-country of California. The contrasting characters of the depressed and negative Miles and the horny Jack throw up a volatile cocktail when two women enter the mix. From there on, the movie is an amalgamation of witty, charming and insightful moments that lead to a satisfying climax. Of the performances, Paul Giammati's acting stands out. He sinks into the character neck deep and comes out triumphant. This is not a classic in my books, but is definitely a must-watch.

A recent post by Geetanjali about a blogger's meet in Bombay made me rue the missed opportunity there. Nonetheless, how about a Seattle based blogger's meet? Just a thought. Will have to see responses to consider that possibility

Because I am worth it too

A set of advertisements have started making the rounds of TV. L’Oreal, the provider and sustainer of beauty have now come up with a line of products for men. Anti-wrinkle, anti-dark eyes, anti-ageing, anti-social etc. Picture this ad

A 30-something guy is running on the treadmill. An attractive 30-something American blonde passes by. Guy gives female the look. Female looks away disapprovingly. Narrator: You think you are still in the game. She thinks your game is bingo. Ouch. Guy applies L’Oreal’s cream and voila, the next time he sees the female, the female turns around and gives him the approving smile. Aur yeh laga sixer!!

This got me thinking about how times are changing for us men. I mean, aren’t 30-something men supposed to grow pot-bellies, sit in front of the TV all day, leave the top two buttons of the shirt open and belch approvingly. Apparently not. The new generation of men (let’s put me in the middle of it and I am almost 27)is suave, smart, health-conscious and hold your breath, presentable. This ad represents the next level we have to reach. Is this the arrival of the metrosexual man? Is this the revenge of the female sex? The constant pressure to meet the bar that the opposite sex has set? The objectification of men? The centuries of scrutiny turned on its head? What else could it be? The character Elaine Bennis, from "Seinfeld," once said the male body was unattractive because it was strictly meant for utilitarian purposes, almost like a Jeep. True? Perhaps. I can only smell conspiracy here, and I hope to escape its clutches.

Unfortunately, I find myself already trapped in the middle. Narcissus has come to visit me later than usual. While all my growing years I did not notice my non-existent biceps and my coat-hanger body frame, I found myself in the middle of men my age facing what I’d called the mid-life crisis in terms of looks. 25/26 year olds worrying about their paunches affecting their matrimonial prospects. No dirth of girth here. Receding hairlines was another issue. While at Texas A&M, I watched my friends struggle with these issues with mild amusement. I actually felt comforted to have a lush mop of hair and an absolutely flat tummy and scoffed at these notions. I don’t remember actually worrying about how I looked or having spent more than a couple of milliseconds in front of a mirror. Then came the sedentary job and the Indian notion of prosperity. Couple this with hair flying away never to come back and I knew that Narcissus was here to stay. Imagine going to a barber and asking him not to cut the hair too much. How painful is that? I took to the gym for a bit to see if I could solve my 30/32 problem (copyrighted term: it means that you are too fat to wear a pant size 30 but a 32 will hang loosely on you). Then I realized. No sacrifice will make my hair come back. I can’t starve to suck my belly in. I cannot commit the sacrilege of skipping desserts at meal time or not eating fries when the craving comes. Isn’t the purpose of life altered beyond recognition? Let this be heard by one and all. Looks don’t matter, food does.

Am I ready to move from the category of presentable men to the pretentious ones? Am I ready to sink to the depths of ugliness that the average male goes to once he realizes that good looks are out of the range? I am ready to do neither. The middle road works best for me. The Man in the middle, the aam aadmi, the average Joe, the progressive Neanderthal. Won’t you agree that the ‘hunk’y dory guy is worth it too?

Hazaron Khwahishen Aisi ki aisi filmein aur banein

Hazaron Khwahishen Aisi is one of those movies that comes straight at you like a thunderbolt. It is overwhelming, strong, intelligent and is anything but run-of-the-mill. It shakes you out of your stupor and brings you face to face with an era that was lost on people of my age. The story starts in the 60s with the riots in Meerut and spans several years including the Emergency period. It is a story of a generation filled of strife, of angst, of ideals, of political upheaval and how the lives of the three main protagonists are affected by it.

The three protagonists Siddharthh (Kay Kay), Geeta (Chitrangada Singh) and Vikram (Shiny Ahuja) are classmates in Delhi. The come from different strata of society and follow different paths. Siddharth follows the Naxalite movement in Bihar despite his love for Geeta. She goes on to marry an IAS officer. In the meanwhile Vikram, the son of a Gandhian, is a small town boy with big ambitions. He has unrequited love for Geeta, and becomes a networker, a fixer and climbs up the ladder of political contacts.

Geeta breaks her wedding and goes and joins Siddharth in the villages to participate in the revolution. The political upheavals and the challenges that tests the ideals the protagonists follow make the rest of the movie. The struggles of the protagonists mirror the growing up of a generation and the loss of innocence.

The beauty of the movie lies in the script and the extremely mature handling of a topic like this. Sudhir Mishra deserves full credit for making a movie for a time lost to everyone, a movie where none of the three characters is either a hero or a villain. The characters are brilliantly portrayed by the three actors. Watch out especially for a terrific debut by Chitrangada Singh. Yes, she will remind you of Smita Patil at times with her looks. Shiny Ahuja is excellent and Kay Kay follows close by.

The use of Ghalib's shaayari at different parts of the movie in Shubha Mudgal's haunting voice is apt. I don't typically recommend a lot of movies, but I will recommend this one. It is not for the faint-hearted, but is especially for those who have a fundamental problem with the lack of original ideas in the Hindi film industry (this a bilingual fim actually). If you have seen it, please let me know what you think of it.

Yesterday Once More

... while we wait for a repeat. June 25th is a red-letter day in Indian sport history. Probably the greatest. And I don't remember any moment of it. None at all. A month shy of my fifth birthday, what else was so critical to my life on that day that clouded my memory thus? What other momentous occurrence caused me to forget the exuberance that I have waited another twenty years to feel and haven’t felt yet? Kapil’s Devils had won the World Cup on this day circa 1983. Out of the blue, up against the odds, the underdogs had defeated the rampant West Indians. I have seen highlights of the match several times since. From Srikanth’s 38 to Kapil’s great catch of Richards to Amarnath’s match winning performance, the match was the making of a cricket team. The cricket mania took off for good in India ever since. In a way, it was this match that caused the downfall of other sports in India (I mean this is a relative sense, other sports weren’t phenomenally popular, but they just vanished after this).

The closest we got was the last World Cup finals. I wanted India to win because Tendulkar deserved it. The man has practically constructed India’s team since he joined in 1989. Your Sehwags and Dravids are direct products of the Tendulkar effect. He single-handedly shepherded India to the finals breaking the record of most runs scored in a single World Cup tournament as well as becoming the highest scorer of runs in World Cups. The finals were a great chance for the resurgent Indian team to show its mettle too. Alas, the finals were lost at the end of the first over from Zaheer. I don’t remember the pleasure of India’s success at the world cup, but I remember the agony. How I wish I get to see the joy of seeing India win next year. The World Cup is next year. Why am I writing this article right now? You are right. The timing is off. This article should have been written a year back. In this day and age, its all about preparation. You can’t start six months in advance and build a winning team. That’s how Australia won the last two world cups and may win the next one. That’s why we need to fire up our one-day team which is in the pits right now.

Am I just a die-hard optimist or can the Indian team bring me yesterday once more?


Running away with the match 


Kapil with the World Cup 

Tag along

I got tagged by a couple of people. I think a lot of people have stories similar to mine. Voracious reader eons ago, sporadic reader now, wanting to get back to normal.

Last book I bought - Maximum City by Suketu Mehta, Alchemist by Pauolo Coehlo and The Monk who sold his Ferrari by Robin Sharma

Last book I read
1. Rubaiyat by Omar Khayyam
2. Namesake by Jhumpa Lahiri

Books currently reading - Actually, there are a couple I am reading simultaneously
1. Crime and Punishment by Fyodor Dostoevsky
2. The Alchemist by Paulo Coehlo

Total # of books I own - Close to 50 non-computer books

Books that mean(t) a lot to me - I can't think of books influencing me too much (I feel jealous that it happens to others), so I am just going to list some favorite books that come to my mind
1. The Hardy Boys & Famous Five series: I read 30 of them in 30 days in one of my summer vacations when the circulating library would allow me one a day.
2. The adventures of Huckleberry Finn : I won two competitions in a day at school and gave the same prize. Gave one to my cousin Vyom and kept one to myself. The book rocks, but its what I did with it that made it special
3. Yes Minister and Yes Prime Minister : The best satire written. Period.
4. Madhushala : This explained why Amitabh had special genes
5. Freedom at Midnight : Thrilling read for anyone interested in the period related to India's independence
6. Catch22 : Because life is like that
7. Clockwork Orange : Loved it as soon as I read it
8. Lord of the flies : Brilliant basis for the story and execution

The following bloggers have been tagged
Avinash
Sachin
Aparna
Archana

The choice is yours

 
This is a real road sign, en route to Mt. Rainier, 100 miles from Seattle. Paradise is the name of a visitor centre on Mt. Rainier. This also represents my best chance of winning a smart photo contest :-)

Horn*OK*Please

I have been staying away from India for the past five years. Distance provides a rare opportunity: objectivity. The opportunity to view your old surroundings with new eyes, an opportunity to feel shock & awe, amusement & enlightenment, epiphany & redemption. It would even make Heisenberg uncertain about his Uncertainty Principle. I grabbed the opportunity with both hands and came away richer.

There’s road travel in India and then there’s the rest of the world. My entire stay in India before going abroad was punctuated with padayatras, BEST (bus service in Bombay), trains, auto-rickshaws and the rare taxi ride. My parents didn’t have a car, I never felt the need to drive one, and consequently, I never quite understood and absorbed the mechanics of driving in India. Now, I am a convert, a compulsive driver who finds great comfort inside his Volkswagen Passat. In fact, this trip I was almost inclined to sit behind the steering wheel of any brave owner’s car in India to exercise the license that I got by learning the Maruti 800 at the Chauhan Motor Driving School. Three years of driving have given me a sixth sense I didn’t know existed.

Suddenly, I felt myself being aware of the way people drove in India. The maneuvers, the skills, the blasé attitude, the space utilization, the common sense, the lack of it. Expressways notwithstanding, the real roads in India crawl at a maximum speed of 20 km/hr, it is difficult to decide whether the brake is abused more than the clutch and lanes are a figment of someone alien’s imagination. Don’t get me wrong. I think this is what makes us unique. Our non-adherence to conformity, with a trace of respect. After all, people do still follow green/red lights (this is of course Mumbai, I can write a book on how people drive in Surat). Why fit one car in a lane, when two rickshaws, a bike, a bicycle and a beggar can fit in? Why restrict our imagination and ability when we can overtake from both left and right?

The greatest epiphany I had in this India trip was the Great Indian Horn. It is a phenomenon that hasn’t been given due attention. All these years I felt that people were just honking away in frustration at all times. How wrong was I? Of course, motorists honk away at signals anyway to fill up the time till the green light comes. Oh, the insecurity of it all. Sound fills up the time and space around the four corners. However, I am digressing. The horn serves a grander purpose. Let me explain.

People don’t follow lanes in India. You can enter on the left and exit on the right. You can glide gracefully from one corner to another like a 60’s Hindi film heroine. Of course, there is no such thing as looking into side and rear view mirrors. The entire side view is a blind spot, so that is not a concern either. The future holds surprises and so does the guy in front of you who may suddenly decide that he has rightist leanings and prefers the right edge of the road. How in that event can you let him know that you are going faster than him and will go past him in the next three seconds. Do you rely on him to check on you before he turns his steering wheel? Would you trust your life on a person who may be watching London, talking Tokyo? Of course not. This is India. It is obvious that you won’t survive by your wits alone. That is why you have the all-powerful weapon: the horn. Honk it hard and continuous and you will catch the driver’s attention. You have announced war. You have announced intent to overtake and he must bow before you. You are in the right lane, and it shall remain unoccupied for you to pass through like a victorious soldier. The horn, my friends is the shankha of Arjun, it is what Gimli blew in Helm’s deep, it is the trumpet with the sweetest of voices.

There’s more to the horn than meets the ear. Over the years, the horn has evolved so much. From the plain old monotone to the sounds of backing up (‘Jai Jagadeesh Hare’, ‘This car is backing up’) to the latest remixes that I came across, there is a while spectrum of melodies(?) one gets to hear on the road.

On a side note, I was paying attention to the labels people on the back of their rickshaws and taxis. Messages, kids’ names, source location of the vehicle are there for you to read. Horn*OK*Please, Amit and Naina, Jay Mata Di, Andheri, Ghatkopar etc. The corniest that I came across though was “Agar aap hamare aur kareeb aaenge to hum aapki puppy le lenge”. Eeeesh!!

One last point. The best drivers are the ones who honk the least. Try and observe that and let me know what you feel. Ok? Please?