Reflections...

Last time, first time...

2011-12-19T17:10:00.000+05:30

When was the last time I did something for the first time? Day before yesterday. Shed a long stream of tears (a really long stream that I had to remove my glasses) watching a movie. Shadowlands. After all, am 90% Lewis and 10% Gresham. No wonder 90% cries for the missing 10%.

C.S.Lewis. Richard Attenborough. Anthony Hopkins.

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My eyes only...

2011-11-29T21:57:00.001+05:30

Looking at the stats, am doubly sure that my blog is for my eyes only!

If not anything, this, my blog is just what it is called. Reflections. Me reflecting on my thoughts. Recording the reflections, for reflecting upon later. Things I want to remember but might forget.

Last post - August 2011. And this is end of November 2011. No posts in between. Once in at least two days, something or other captures my attention and I'd want to write about it. All those reflections remain converged in a highly sophisticated cloud-computing platform. My mental blog (or should I call it - block, huh?)

So, this post is to remember that I am consistently inconsistent.For my eyes only, absolutely.

Break the monotony...

2011-08-10T14:27:00.010+05:30

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For thy acceptance...

2011-06-30T17:02:00.006+05:30

Sometimes, I search for the verses of a vaguely-remembered poetry to go with one of the pictures I shot. And sometimes, its the other way round. Today, as I recalled some verses while gazing at the morning sky, I searched for a picture in my archives and found this eagle I shot, about a year ago, while driving to Rameswaram.

Here's the inspiration:
My desires are many and my cry is pitiful, but ever didst thou save me by hard refusals; and this strong mercy has been wrought into my life through and through.

Day by day thou art making me worthy of the simple, great gifts that thou gavest to me unasked---this sky and the light, this body and the life and the mind---saving me from perils of overmuch desire.

There are times when I languidly linger and times when I awaken and hurry in search of my goal; but cruelly thou hidest thyself from before me.

Day by day thou art making me worthy of thy full acceptance by refusing me ever and anon, saving me from perils of weak, uncertain desire.

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From the Gitanjali, Rabindranath Tagore

Who is D.N.Yadav...

2011-06-01T16:56:00.013+05:30

To keep the prankster in me entertained, I needed a good laugh as in R-O-T-F-L and of course, I desperately needed to conjure it myself. If 'what is your name' is the most frequently asked question to any kid, 'when are you getting married' or 'kab khilaogi' or various other versions of this same question can easily be the most frequent one posed to me, in the recent past. Having hit upon a topic which can never fail to evoke curiosity, I couldnt be more pleased when April 1st presented itself as a good opportunity to ROTFL. I sent an email to a select list of people; a mix of whose reactions I could predict and whose reactions I could not.

Here's the content of the mail..

Subject: Wedding Invitation

Hi...

I am sure this comes a pleasantly-shocking surprise to you; am surprised too. :)

I am getting married tomorrow evening, to Yadav D.N. I have known him all my life and fell irrevocably in love with him during our recent trip to Gujarat in September 2010. They say everything happens for a reason. So, I am just hoping that we will find out the reasons for this, in due course.

My father has taken all my friends' phone numbers; he will be inviting you over phone, as we dont have enough time to personally invite everybody. A formal invite mentioning the venue & timing, is attached.

I hope you will take a few hours off from watching the World Cup and grace the occasion of my wedding, to which only a very few close friends are invited.

Regards,
Subah G.

I had zipped the attachment to add an ounce of confusion, and named it 'DN_weds_SG' to make it look authentic. Here's the invite I sent:

Here are some of the reactions...

"Disappointed. I knew it from the subject line itself. Unga kittenrundhu innum konjam adhigamaa ethir paakkaren"

"aiyo aiyo, i guessed it
ha ha ha"

"Erumai maaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaadu...
do u know how excited and happy i was !!!!! Idiot !! sathiyama kolai dhaan unnai adutha tadavai pakkum podhu.. "
[This dear friend of mine, is in a far-off place and so he got really wild. I added some dialogues to my original invitation mail, saying "wish you were here" :D]

"Hearty congrats... i could view only one page of your zip mail.. when you get free mail me the wedding photos. (photography by another person?!!!)"
[This one bowled me over; double ROTFL]

"I know you are april fooling me! Asku busku! "

There are some more (sure-shot) promises of killing me the next time I'm sighted.:D

Here's the prelude to the prank...
I would have believed what my friends hinted at, to be true: I've transformed into a dunce from being brilliant once upon a time, into a dullard from being exuberant in the recent past. The hints sounded louder after I failed to make a decent score in some dumb games and refused to play some not-so-dumb games. I might have even agreed with them explicitly, if only they had stopped at that. After all, change is the only constant and transformation is mercilessly qualitative. But when they said I had severely damaged my humour-bone, succumbed to reticence and killed the prankster in me along the way, just because I needed a few extra seconds to digest their silly jokes and mutual leg-pulling, I saved me from condemning myself to moronity. Though I do not talk and laugh incessantly anymore, it does not necessarily mean I have totally lost my ability to laugh, joke or talk; alternatively, it could mean that I have better things to do or doing things in a better way.

And....who is D.N.Yadav? None other than Him, DwarkaNath Yadav!

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Yet another 365...

2011-05-19T15:40:00.007+05:30

Starting a fresh set of days
After gains which are much
And losses having left their touch.

Mulling over places visited
Projects confabulated
And results uncontrived.

Lessons willed and learnt
Travails drowned unwilled
And together they keep me grounded.

Age is just a number
But let 16 make me humbler
And anything but a grumbler.

Will I get better or worse
Performing my chores
And in performing my chores???

Last time, first time...

2011-05-12T12:21:00.000+05:30

Media or Medi(ocr)a...?

2011-05-03T11:25:00.013+05:30

Spelling mistakes are granted absolution, by default. Ambiguity in reporting is tolerable, though wih a pinch of salt. Both these follies can be disguised as opportunities, to learn the correct spellings for sure and not to forget them ever, and in the second case, to derive our own opinion of the news being reported, instead of being fed in by the inevitable bias of current-day media. But the levels of mediocrity which have surpassed spelling errors and typos, want us to take a serious decision: either to cry or laugh, over the time and money spent on newspapers these days.

Even though I had long-ago made the decision to not spend time on newspapers, I do browse through them now and then. Having recently read a book on the sainthood process in Christianity, this news item (TOI dated 02/05/2011) attracted my attention, only to confirm my belief that I should not spend time on reading newspapers.

I wonder what the editor was thinking of when this piece of news went into print; either of these?
1) Nobody's going to read the article, or the whole of it; so anything can be printed.
2) The tiny bit of sleaze should be printed twice to get noticed.

If this size of an article requires TOI to print the same sentences twice at different places, what is the status of those half-paged and full-paged articles? And with this kind of mediocrity present in the basic function of disseminating news, what is the degree of sincerity and seriousness in the much-hyped "social initiatives" of the media...

Half of what I say...

2011-04-19T23:11:00.008+05:30

The flight lands ahead of its schedule, only to be leaving in less than six hours. So be it. Though am late to reach the airport, I am just as gleeful as a child because it's me picking you up and not some of your uniforms.

There is the cheerful welcome, with my mind already sensing the farewell which lingers so closer by in time. And then there are the white lies about how we look just the same having not changed a bit since we saw each other. I cannot find another person with whom I would exchange such lies and be so happy and unguilty about it.

Neither is there a person to whom I can say "No, I dont like the tee you are wearing". Then, strange as it may sound, we talk about all the tshirts & kurtas each other wore whenever we met, during the past. The closet sentimentalists we both are, it is no surprise that we remember the details. The surprise lies in realising that I miss you more than I knew. Suddenly, the few thousand miles between us seem longer than they usually are.

We take a ride home, the route rickety and still unfamiliar to me. I miss a turn or two, but I really dont mind - I just get to ride a little longer with you. I'm sure my bike would not complain, you being the only person who remembers to ask about it every now and then.

The visit is unplanned and so I have no time to prepare for cooking lunch at home. Am upset about being not able to stuff you with home-food, but at the same time, unabashedly glad that just the two of us can have an elaborate lunch elsewhere. I am mighty pleased that you like the restaurant I chose.

We eat and eat, updating each other about life, all its nitty-gritties, and about our worries. Laughing over so many things even as we brood over the times we had missed to spend together. Ah... those movies I wanted to watch with you but never got to; I still hope that we will catch them on DVD someday.

There are moments I fall silent thinking of numerous tiny things we've shared and enjoyed, all those shayaris over the innumerable cups of tea and all the times I was teased about my dryfruit diet and my being a sleepyhead. Too bad that we never get to exchange a shayari today. I think of all the moments when I had to send you off at many airports and many railway stations. My mind is clouded with thoughts of Kashmir, of rains, of long conversations, of babies, of Psalms, of summers, of sonnets, of swims, of prayers, of flamingoes. But when you ask, I answer vaguely, that am out of my mind.

Three hours pass off, across the table for two, and its time for getting back to the airport, but not before we drown ourselves in black coffee. I get to laugh out loud about this and that, all through the ride to the airport, at the parking lot and at the cloak room and upto the departure terminal.

Then you disappear quickly after the briefest of goodbye-hugs, leaving me to start waiting again, not knowing when I would meet you again. I start waiting again, just as I waited for you to board the train, years ago, even before we had met.

Half of what I say is meaningless; but I say it so that the other half may reach you...

Nothing funny about Sonnet 44...

2011-03-25T16:50:00.010+05:30

Funny is how the human brain works, if that is what I have inside my head. My brain cannot remember what I ate this morning and it cannot recall when I changed my bike's oil-filter. No, it cannot even blurt my sister's mobile number. And when I have to make a total of 3 different two-digit numbers, my brain forces me to click Start->Run and type "calc" for the simple reason that it cannot add more than two numbers. But, how does it untiringly manage to relate daily life and day-to-day activities to a Tagore's poem or to a complicated philosophical expression from Gibran or to a Shakespeare's sonnet....read, enjoyed and believed to be forgotten, long time ago??

Was winnowing few storable shots from thousands, so that I could create some precious space in my overloaded hard-disk. This is probably the best-framed, out of 15 odd photographs of take-offs shot by me & Sankar, near St Thomas Mount, on a rainy day in August 2010.

For me, airplanes never mean speed, but always, denote the long distances, the excruciating pain of separation...and my brain relates this picture to these verses picked out from its mossy folds...

If the dull substance of my flesh were thought,
Injurious distance should not stop my way.
For then, despite of space, I would be brought
From limits far remote where thou dost stay.
No matter then although my foot did stand
Upon the farthest earth removed from thee.
For nimble thought can jump both sea and land
As soon as think the place where he would be.
But, ah, thought kills me, that I am not thought,
To leap large length of miles when thou art gone,
But that, so much of earth and water wrought,
I must attend times leisure with my moan,
Receiving naught by elements so slow
But heavy tears, badges of either's woe.

[Sonnet 44 of William Shakespeare.]

Feeding my Ego...

2011-02-15T14:46:00.003+05:30

Found a bug in Google. Someone please verify...

Google Image Search for 'mylapore mrts' returns about 1600 results, the top of which is a shot from my photostream... This is NOT the bug...okay? This is actually the most perfect part of the search algorithm which happens to return my shot.

Here's the bug: on clicking the result the adjacent picture in my stream is shown instead of the picture shown on the Image Search result....by coincidence the other also happens to be a shot of MRTS train...

The second top result is from Sudhamshu's stream and am seeing the Auroville Globe in his stream, on clicking Sudhamshu's MRTS pic.

Thats one good post-lunch browsing exercise, which also fed some fodder to my ego. And an excellent example I can remember to use when somebody points out a silly bug, albeit a rare occurrence, in one of my own software apps!!

Dream school...

2010-07-09T09:52:00.005+05:30

It's been a persistent thought. It's so inviting that I can even call it a fantasy. To be running a creche a.k.a day-care a.k.a playschool, on my own; of course with efficient staff to do all the work, and I would do nothing other than playing with the kids!!

[Shot during the Chennai Photowalk #31]

Adverts like this, across the city, apart from helping me keep the idea alive, also kindles the curiosity in me to question the naming convention followed so ardently by all the playschools:

Roots to Wings
Blooming Buds
Little Angels
Tiny Tots
Birds' Nest
Apple Tree
Butterflies
Tender Feet

Why stick to the aesthetic & poetic & downright indicative names? How about moving on to the more pragmatic -
Smiles & Wails

Jolly Brats
Crawl and Drool
Funky Monkeys
Prankster's Garden
Brawl & Crawl
Naughty Tykes
Merry & Cranky

Or a little more provoking:
Pay to Play
Pay-Care (Point-blank at working mothers: Pay to care and take care of your pay)
Wean & Dine :D
Bum Chums

Should keep adding to the list, so that I can pick the best name for my school where all I would do is play!

Divine Moments...700..!

2010-05-21T16:22:00.009+05:30

Puri. November 2009.

My daily dose of the Holy Gita came from Chapter 5 - Karma Sannyasa Yoga yesterday, May 20 2010. The chapter which talks about Action & Renunciation, with a generous sprinkling of tongue-twisters, is pure honey to chant.

Verse 18 puts forth the qualities of a Pandit - a learned person or a person filled with wisdom - who qualifies to attain Eternity or Moksha. Roughly translated, it means "One who has the equality of vision to see the existence of the Supreme Lord in everything and everyone - in a brahmin who is well versed in the Vedas, in a cow, in an elephant, in a dog and in the animal-eating humans".

This verse took me to Puri instantly. During one of my official trips to Orisssa, I was fortunate to have a day at Puri. The moment I heard the schedule, I was all excited about having a darshan of Lord Jagannath. I also had a grim reminder of my previous visit to the Puri Jagannath temple a few years ago in the peak summer of 2002.

During the 2002 trip, I was not grown up enough to be appreciate the vibes of a holy place, even if it was horribly crowded and as a result noticeably unclean. And, Puri - I remembered - was very unclean, what with the path to the sanctum being slippery because of all the prasadam rice spilled generously. I do not remember anything about the beauty of the idol, but only the tricky walk to the sanctum sanctorum.

So, I programmed myself to fix my mind on the Lord's manifestation this time and not to bother about anything else at the temple. I was also contemplating if I could find enough time and peace to chant the Bhagvad Gita at the temple. Considering that a sampoorna paaraayan of the Gita takes a minimum of 3 and a half hours, if done at a decent pace of chanting, the idea in my head seemed to be a tall order. But I let it linger on.

I reached the temple early in the morning and it made me think if I had gone to a different temple in 2002. The temple is very well-kept and being a lean period of tourism, the crowd was so less. I had a wonderful Darshan, unable to take my eyes off the magnificent idols, with no one to shoo me away from standing right in front of the final steps leading into the innermost part of the sanctum sanctorum. But, I had to attend to office work too. Krishna was looking at me with His BIG eyes: 700 verses...mmmm?

A replica of the idols of Puri, ISKCON - Hyderabad.

I resolved to return back to the temple in the evening. But, by the time I finished all the work with a bit of touring, and made it to the temple, it was 8 pm. The temple closes by 10:30 and I had 2.30 hours for 700 verses. Another 30 minutes went by in finishing the circumambulation of all the deities. Finally, I reached the place (an open patio) outside the main sanctum sanctorum, specially marked for paaraayan, at 8:30 having made up my mind to chant as much as possible and as fast-paced as possible.

Though it was cold, not wanting to bundle up in my woollen scarf which lied on my lap, I had my silky duppatta over my head. There were a few others sitting nearby and doing various chants. A kitten was loitering around. Yes, kitten. I was not even 20 verses into His 700, this kitten found me. Trying to concentrate on chanting, my efforts in shooing the kitten away went in vain. The kitten kept climbing in out of my lap, making me wonder if its claws were ripping threads out of my silk-soft dress.

It was getting colder and the crowd inside the temple grew thinner. So, I decided to go inside and sit right in front of Him to continue the chants, free from the distraction offered by the kitten. There were about 50-60 people scattered inside and I sat near a huge pillar. Within a few minutes, the kitten found me among all those people, and continued to play around as before.

No, the kitten wouldnt settle for the woollen scarf I laid out for its sake, on the floor beside me. The smart kitten and me thus reached the 18th verse of the 5th Chapter. The moment I chanted verse 18, divinity dawned on me to appreciate His presence. I stopped chanting for a good long minute. The kitten is His manifestation too and will I be shooing Him away? By the time I finished Chapter 5, the kitten having done its alloted job of teaching me a lesson, pulled my scarf to the floor and settled down into a nap, nuzzling in my feet. Throughout Chapters 6 - 18, it kept shifting its position floor-lap-knee-lap-floor-lap..., but never moved away. The kitten was not distracting anymore but aided my concentration.

The temple doors started closing. It was 10.40pm when I finished Chapter 18. By the time I started my final prayers thanking Him for the day and for the 700 verses, THE KITTEN stretched its luxurious stretch in all glory, and moved away when I finished thanking my Teacher - Shree Gurubhyo Namaha. Harih OM !

No doubt that am going to remember THE KITTEN through out my life, for revealing the profoundness of Verse 5.18. And also the moment of revelation !

Divine Moments #2.

Divine Moments...

2010-05-19T10:28:00.002+05:30

Mumbai. Tuesday.

Long day at work and epic traffic of evening rush-hours. Wrong time to expect a peaceful drive and added to it are the numerous phone calls from office,office,offices, friends and home - some pleasant and some not so pleasant. Made it to THE Siddhi Vinayak Temple, somehow.

Had to park the car a good furlong away from the temple, after making the good driver that he would not move too far away from the car. Top security arrangement at the entrance wouldnt allow my handbag (which is more a backpack than a handbag) inside. No - no cameras. Hafta run back to the car and again to the temple so that I would not be blocked out of the queue at the time of the evening aarthi.

Was pushed into the jam-packed crowd of devotees and finally found a place to stand. Bang on front of a big pillar completely hiding the beautiful diety of Lord Vinayak which I was seeing on all the three 42 inches LCD Screens around.

Work, traffic, security, sprint to car & back, messy queue and a big crowd. After all that, I dont get to stand in front of the Holy Idol? Disappointment must have been written in capital letters all over my face, even I was clapping my hands to the mighty tune of the aarthi song. A child on the shoulders of its father, looked at me for a minute or two unblinkingly and smiled its angelic smile. And touched my cheeks. And my held my clapping hands with its two cherubic palms.

There....I had the Lord's Darshan, up-close and absolutely personal.

Divine Moments #1.

Trying out writing a book review...

2010-04-05T17:59:00.003+05:30

Everything Has A Purpose, by Sudhamshu Hebbar.
(Suggested) Tagline: ...even a misfired cracker!

Been a fan of Sudhamshu's creations, as long as I can remember. Photographs, blog-posts and poems, especially haikus. The reason is simple - I relate to his works easily, and totally. And most his works had made me feel that I would have executed the same idea in the same way, if only it had occurred to me! :) When I have managed to compose a few photographs exactly as he would, I can only dream about writing as good as he does.

Sudhamshu's novel is novel; especially, the efforts he has put in. It's an e-book, but now available in print too. Novel again! And, Sudhamshu is the only person I know personally, who has written a novel. That's again novel !

Considering the fact that this is his first book, the author deserves a lot of praise. The way he introduces the characters, takes the cake. The description of the locality and the building-plans of the apartment blocks are so lucid that I feel like I've been to the apartment complex, more than once. And, there is no dearth of cliches, albeit enjoyable, when he explains the geographical diversity to which the residents belong. (Sudhamshu, tell me if you are a Northie or a Madraasi?)

Halfway through the book, I was asking Sudhamshu whether he used some formula of presentation when he wrote it. A formula which prescribes the timings or plot-positions for introduction of characters, description of locations, bringing in the crux of the story, etc. etc....writing techniques and blah blah. The answer from him was negative, but he mentioned discussing the progress and getting encouragement from the participants of the NaNoWriMo. Whatever formula he applied or not applied, the presentation is perfect.

The short and crisp poems which prelude each chapter are very interesting and appropriate. And, there are so much of analytical descriptions about the psychological effects of each event on each character and their reactions. I so loved the part on Prashant's reactions to seeing the full moon. The next best favorites are all those lengthy paragraphs about how quickly kids think before they react equally quickly, and their pranks.

The core plot of the story is so "in". And I am not writing anything on it, as it should be read straight from the book and enjoyed.

Not to be too favourably partial and to show that I can write a good (not judgemental) review, I should point out some points in the book which I did not like much. Number one, there are a few portions of the book which I found to be too prosaic - the football match and the data on the endangered animal. But am sure there is a different set of audience who would be eager for the same stuff. And I should ask the author whether the little-too-large elaborations were written to achieve the target number of words. Number two, its an e-book after all and doesnt the layout contribute a lot to the readability? Why are all the pages left-aligned and the paragraphs are not evenly-spaced?

On the whole, the book is a good, interesting read. I would have finished it in one go, if I had started reading it during an evening. It was late in the night and so I completed it the next day, after work.

Sudhamshu was saying that the best thing out of this book was its proof-print. I can only imagine the pleasure of the author holding it in his hands...Sudhamshu, got it yet, from the US of A?

Here is the book: Everything Has A Purpose

Rahmanesque? Naah....Nooo...

2010-03-16T10:08:00.003+05:30

Finally, I heard Rahman's latest. Vinnaithaandi Varuvaya. Why would Rahman pick up a few choicest notes n beats from a typical reggae and get them sprinkled with tamizh lyrics? And then make some more potpourri of all western genres. Oscar influence? Even the lyrics sound disjointed. But the album's a big hit and that is all the makers would want.

The music definitely sounds good. Groovy. Aaromale sounds exactly like how Bryan Adams would render a malayalam number. And yes, Omana penne & Hosanna refuse to stop playing in my cranial jukebox.But, that's about it. If I manage to stop it playing, am sure it wouldn't start again. Unlike the original Rahman scores which tingle the senses, years after you've actually heard them play. To name a very few albums - Roja, Iruvar, Tiruda tiruda, Kadalar Dinam, Kadalan, Mudalvan, Bombay, Uyire/Dil Se, Rhythm, Kandu Kondein, Jodha Akbar...

Hoping that Rahman will recover from the Oscar-induced-western-stupor and give us more of his original compositions, which will satiate the cerebral-jukeboxes and linger on for decades...

Board exams, virtue of crows and More...

2010-03-02T12:42:00.004+05:30

With most of the states in India pushing their 10th & 12th standard students to the ultimate torture called Board Exams beginning this week and with my own little Kishore drudging for his Class X Board, I could not escape thinking about my exams...

My Board exams happened quite a while ago and I was fortunate enough not to be tortured like the kids these days. But I remember how uneasy, troubled and tortured I was, the last time I sat for an exam - for my Diploma in Sanskrit. I did score a decent 89%. But whatever prose, poetry and grammar were so difficult at that time, are so relishable and easy to understand now, three years later.

Even the toung-twisting subhashitam (proverbial verse) like the one below, flows on in my mind with absolutely no stutters, every time I go to the terrace to feed the crows before food-time...
काक आहव्यतॆ काकान् याचकस्तु ना याचकान्
काक याचकयॊर् मध्यॆ वरम् काकॊ न याचकान्
Kaaka aahavyate kaakaan Yaachakastu na yaachakaan
Kaaka yaachakayor madhye Varam kaako na yaachakaan
Meaning - a crow beckons other crows [to share whatever little food it found], whereas a beggar does not beckon other beggars; in a comparison between crows and beggars(humans), crows are the better and not beggars!

The point of reflection here is not the crows, beggars or exams but the cause of unease before an exam or in a similar situation? Dawns on me - if I can recite the verses now, I must have known it three years ago also. Then why was I cracking up before the exams? And this applies to the daily exam of life.

What is the invisible pressure that makes life so difficult? IGNORANCE (will I pass, how much I'd score)? FEAR ABOUT THE UNKNOWN (what if I score poorly and fail)?

Ignorance and fear are inseparable and hence happen to be the precise reasons for ANY trouble. Now I understand what this means.."Only the fearless achieve freedom." After all, Swami Viv would not bluff.

Let me remember this at the next "exam" time...

Saluting Sachin...

2010-02-25T14:13:00.003+05:30

As a sixth standard student, I used all the available tactics to make my dad agree to buy a subscription for The Sportstar.

"I dont think you would read any of the write-ups or articles".
"But, Appa, if it is about sports, I WILL read and improve my language skills"
"Reading about sports? That's got nothing to do with your studies".
"But, Appa, I need it for imporving my general knowledge. I need to be thorough with stats. There are so many quiz programmes I've to compete in".
What I actually meant was that I HAVE to brag about the photos, posters and, of course about the statistics that could flow from the so-called finger-tips.

This spar went on, even when I had started reading all the articles or whatever remained intact after I had clipped all my favorite pix! The subscription continued for another 8-9 years. I retained all those clippings of innumberable sizes and shapes, till a few months ago, when I finally decided to discard most of them.

A handful of posters and clippings still remain in my Madurai residence, out of which one is of Sachin Tendulkar as a 15 year old, raising his bat with his trademark smile. I remember showing The Sportstar issue which wrote about Sachin's century on his debut first-class match, to ammi and discussing about how soon he'd be playing for India.

My addiction to sports-pix and statistics, has long disappeared. But the admiration for Sachin Tendulkar is another different story. We've all heard him dedicate his 100s and bigger scores to his teacher, his father and so on. But it was so touching that he dedicated his 200 to all of us, the people of India.

When he crossed his own record-score yesterday, I was wondering what could keep Sachin going... after all his innumberable achievements in the game, and the wealth & fame his game has brought in, what more could motivate him...It must be just his amazing spirit that keeps him going.

Proud to salute Sachin, not just for his 200, but for being Sachin ! Take a bow...!!

Yet another starting point...

2010-02-24T17:46:00.002+05:30

To get myself out of a terribly dour work-routine and to break a long spell of being unbeatably non-creative, thought of organising all those photographs lying uncared-for after I had dumped them into the hard-disk from my cam.

All I did was browse through the umpteen folders again and again, without any progress towards the objective of organising them. Not just browsing absent-mindedly, but reliving those moments - happy, funny, interesting, relaxed, inspiring, relaxed, tired, boring - which I lived during the past six and odd months. Above all, I remember all those hurry-up-with-your-shoot moments created by my frenemy, just too well, and the combats and battles that followed up... :)

Apart from the moments reminded by the photographs, there has been interesting happenings at home too - like getting a call from a friend after 17 years. Thats a long story which I should write a separate post about.

My imaginary time-machine flew back 17 years to when I was 17...some details I could recall clearly and some were vague...some memories seemed to be etched and some just floating on air....some I tried to recall but could not, some I tried to forget but could not....

The famous quote goes - present moment is like a thin sword's edge, wedged between the past and the future. As tiny as they may be, such moments happen to define life...what we learn from those moments define a person. To be aware of each moment, to contemplate on it and to grow.....

And along flowed so many other thoughts...the high point being the realisation of the distressing fact that I dont spend enough time reliving, reflecting and contemplating on any part of my life or any part of the universe. Not even during all those thousands of miles I cross by trains.

This took me to thinking if I would remember any of the moments that define me. Not that remembering them would help me grow; but reflecting upon them would....Thats when I decided that I should keep filling up this blog, like mad, so that I can remember some moments to reflect upon, later.

Independence Day....

2009-08-14T15:58:00.007+05:30

Shot this picture long time back...How many ever times I visit, this place never fails to raise goosebumps...

Here's a touching write-up I received in my mailbox on the eve of Independence Day. This is something I always think about; and talk about whenever I get a chance to...

The average age of the army man when he joins the force is 20 years. He is a short haired, tight-muscled kid who, under normal circumstances is considered by society as half man, half boy. Not yet dry behind the ears, not old enough to buy a beer, but old enough to die for his country. He never really cared much for work and he would rather wax his bicycle than wash his father's, but he has never collected unemployment help either.

He's a recent college graduate; he was probably an average student from one of the Kendriya Vidyalayas, pursued some form of sport activities, drives an old two wheeler, and has a steady girlfriend that either broke up with him when he left, or swears to be waiting when he returns from active duty. He listens to rock and roll or hip-hop or gazals or swings a 155mm howitzer.

He is 5 or 7 kilos lighter now than when he was at home because he is working or fighting the insurgents or standing guard on the icy Himalayas from before dawn to well after dusk or he is at Mumbai engaging the terrorists. He has trouble spelling, thus letter writing is a pain for him, but he can strip a rifle in 30 seconds and reassemble it in less time in the dark. He can recite to you the nomenclature of a machine gun or grenade or any weapon and use it effectively if he must.

He digs foxholes and latrines and can apply first aid like a professional.
He can march until he is told to stop, or stop until he is told to march.
He obeys orders instantly and without hesitation, but he is not without spirit or individual dignity.
His pride and self-respect, he does not lack.
He is self-sufficient.
He has two sets of combat dress: he washes one and wears the other.
He keeps his water bottle full and his feet dry.
He sometimes forgets to brush his teeth, but never to clean his rifle. He can cook his own meals, mend his own clothes, and fix his own hurts.
If you're thirsty, he'll share his water with you; if you are hungry, his food. He'll even split his ammunition with you in the midst of battle when you run low.

He has learned to use his hands like weapons and weapons like they were his hands.
He can save your life - or take it, because that is his job.
He will often do twice the work of a civilian, draw half the pay, and still find ironic humour in it all.
He has seen more suffering and death than he should have in his short lifetime.
He has wept in public and in private, for friends who have fallen in combat and is unashamed.

He feels every note of the Jana Gana Mana vibrate through his body while at rigid attention, while tempering the burning desire to 'square-away' those around him who haven't bothered to stand, remove their hands from their pockets, or even stop talking. In an odd twist, day in and day out, far from home, he defends their right to be secure. Just as did his Father, Grandfather, and Great-grandfather, he is paying the price for our freedom.

Beardless or not, he is not a boy.

He is our nation's Fighting Man who has kept this country free and defended our right to Freedom. He has experienced deprivation and adversity, and has seen his buddies falling to bullets and maimed and blown.

But, he has asked nothing in return, except our acknowledgement of his existence and understanding of his human needs.

Remember him, always, for he has earned our respect and admiration with his blood. And now we even have women over there in danger, doing their part in this tradition of going to War when our nation calls us to do so.

As you go to bed every night, remember this shot…..A short lull, a little shade and a picture of loved ones in their helmets.

When you read this, please stop for a moment and say a prayer for our soldier, sailors, and airmen , in all frontiers. Of all the gifts you could give a Soldier, Sailor, or Airman, prayer is the very best one. HE will always do you proud!!!

जय हिंद!

I Love Tagore...

2009-07-15T17:51:00.012+05:30

My most favorite words out of Tagore's billions..

It decks me only to mock me, this jewelled chain of mine. It bruises me when on my neck, it strangles me when I struggle to tear it off. It grips my throat, it chokes my singing. Could I but offer it to your hand, my Lord, I would be saved. Take it from me, and in exchange bind me to you with a garland, for I am ashamed to stand before you with this jewelled chain on my neck.

- No. XI of Fruit Gathering by Rabindranath Tagore, 1916.

Visualisation shot on 12/07/2009.

A little more of Tagore's is in my photostream.

Indian Lady...

2009-07-07T18:27:00.008+05:30

My big boss does not like loud music. Which mother does, anyway?

The past weekend had in itself one of those rare evenings which I get for myself। On my own and no chare that can't wait. Rarer is my mood to check on the volume controls of my home theatre.

So, given the time and mood for some blaring music (that's an oxymoron?), I played an old collection of foot-tapping numbers. In fact, I did more than tapping my foot. My heels ached till next afternoon from my dancing-to-glory.

Long after the music and dance and ahces are over, my cranial jukebox is still playing Remo Fernandez's song...

Indian lady, you've come a long way baby...
भारतीय नारी अंडे से बहार तू निकली..
இந்தியப்பெண்மணி இமயம் தொட்டுவிட்ட ராணி நீ...

This song is almost a decade old.

Much ancient is the Lord's Song:

कीर्ती: श्रीर्वाक च नारीणां स्मृतिर्मेधा धृतिः क्षमा

(Bhagvad Gita 10:34)

Keerti - fame, Shree - wealth/beauty, Vak-perfect speech, Smriti-memory, Medha-intellect, Dhriti-patience, Kshama-compassion.

The 10th Chapter as such contains loads of proclamations by Krishna declaring His presence in the best of each thing in this universe - for example - of the rivers He is the Ganges, of the animals He is the lion and so on. In this verse, Krishna lists 7 of the best qualities of womankind.

Women are indeed special. And, Indian lady...let's look at this list:

Pratiba Patil - President of India

Meira Kumar - Speaker of the Lok Sabha

Nirupama Rao - Foreign Secretary

Mamta Banerjee - Minister of Railways

Tessy Thomas - Director of Missile Project

Indira Jaising - Additional Solicitor General

Not bad...At all. But why 20,000 rapes? What is the logic behind the tilt? And that is only the number of reported cases of circa 2008...Why women are looked upon as consumable substance? Why not as women of substance?

Economics and astrology...

2009-06-22T18:14:00.004+05:30

Economics has beeen my favourite subject. I have dreamt of taking up economics as a subject for higher studies, i.e., doctorate level. But now that I have not done any studies at all, there is no question of higher studies. At some vague point of my life, I have slanted towards computers & sofware and still marinating.

The fascination with economics is still alive, but not to the extent of working on a doctorate. It's now restricted to watching the market factors, working out indexes and sometimes lecturing on inflation, MSPs, WPI, CPI and the likes, to whoever makes the mistake of asking me what is it all about.

More than anything, I indulge on economic analysis, not making any, but reading them from various sources. Newspapers, magazines, web.... Economic analysis is not all about percentages and graphs and piecharts. There are some very interesting articles, like the ones by Swaminathan S Anklesaria Aiyar. He writes some of his pieces in the form of a letter, like the one he wrote in his column dated 21/06/09, addressed to the Finance Minister. I remember writing articles for my school magazine in the form of letters to none other than God Himself. Some of them were published, too! So Swaminathan is an easy favourite.

I like his analysis not just for the simplicity & lucidity nor just because he includes his wife's maiden name (Anklesaria) in his name nor just because he is a global-tamilian nor just for the subtle humour quotient but also for the awesome predictions he makes. For example, the time-period he worked out for the oil prices to fall below $100. (http://www.swaminomics.org) Sometimes I wish he were an astrologer instead of being an economist, just for the simple reason that he could analyse some horoscopes and make accurate predictions. Duh?

I have always wondered if astrology is too arbitrary, owing to the fact that it possesses simply too much scope for varying and inconsistent interpretations. If only an efficient economist can double up as an astrologist, may be I can get a glimpse at the veracity of astrology as a science, just as economics is.

What's he thinking...

2009-06-19T15:16:00.004+05:30

A picture speaks a thousand words. Ashwin's varying expressions during his Upanayanam.

:)

Chennai's summer and slang...

2009-06-19T12:10:00.007+05:30

I dont remember being a pig. If I did, I would also remember that pigs dont sweat and I wont be saying I sweat like a pig. It's late June and still no signs of the mercury coming down. Well, I am in Chennai after all and I should not be complaining. This place is second only to beloved Calcutta in humidity. Though the evenings - aided by the coastal breeze, are better than those of Calcutta, mornings are ungodly....when you have to tackle the kitchen & laundry and get ready for a long workday.

Once I finally manage to cool off some sweat sitting under the fan for a quick breakfast, I gear up for the 9.5 kilometre ride to my workplace, putting on oversized sunglasses and tying a bandana matching my outfit, as closely as possible. Now comes the fun part of summer.

I must have done something really right in my previous janma (birth) to earn this ride - 4.5 kilometres of completely shaded avenues, with a generous helping of trees in full bloom. 200 metres of hot sun from my house, I enter this avenue and feel greatly blessed. Not a single day passes by without me wondering how people could so heartlessly cut down trees...

For the first 4.5 kilometres I do not mind the bad mad traffic, thanks to the shade of Indian lauburnum, flame of the forest, bougainville....but mostly albizia saman aka thoongu moonji or raintree...and the breeze no airconditioner in this world can simulate. But the next 5 or so kilometres...ooof...hotter than a furnace (if you had been inside one!)

But the end-of-summer-sky presents its own splendour - clouds, clouds, clouds....amazing blue and white and of course, grey. Fabulous patterns, some shining, some not too glossy. Wow ! What I would not give in return, if only I could just roll on a hillside meadow and look at the morning sky, instead of riding to work sandwiched between stupid cars with airconditioners!

And the evening sky, if only am lucky to start from work just in time to see the dusk settling down, is equally, or may be more enchanting than the cloud-filled mornings. What a riot of colours! What is that technical spec of 256 million colours you get on mobile displays and monitors. It wont be nowhere near the number of colours in Nature's palette. Once upon a time, I believed that all the fancy colours like Mauve, Fuschia, Magenta are all some chemical combinations invented experimentally or accidentally by paint factories. I got shocked out of that notion when I went snorkelling in the Andamans. Oh, what splendid colors of fish and corals!

Coming back to Chennai bike ride, how I wish I had one of my friends or my mom riding with me to enjoy the beauty of God Nature...I even look around for a friendly-looking fellow-rider if I could point a finger to the sky and say with a smile - hey look - and get a smile in return. Mmmmm...everybody's tired at the twilight and just about everybody (except a few) is so keen on breaking traffic rules to reach home early. No time for a peek at the skies and its colours.

It's just me looking at the summer skies and yearning for a meadow to roll upon. 5 summers ago, I did exactly that. Roll on a meadow, somewhere in Himachal Pradesh near the Dhauladhar range of the Himalayas. So, everyday - morning and evening - I look at the skies and imagine that I am not riding to work in Chennai but rolling on a meadow in Himachal.

What will you do when you see someone looking at the skies and riding a bike, albeit looking at the road ahead now and then? Oh yes, you are right. Bang on target. That's what the auto-drivers do. Use the choicest of Chennai slang at me for my lousy riding. Thankfully, am good at selective hearing. Or you can even call me half deaf.

Being half deaf I dont know much of Madras Tamizh. Now tell me, what's the very common cuss word in Madras Tamizh? :) 'Kasmaalam'? Mind you, its a Sanskrit word, morphed though. 'Kashmalam' meaning impurity or faintheartedness or illusion or confusion. Interestingly, Lord Krishna utters this word in His very first verse to Arjuna. (Ignoring the one line of indirect speech in the First Chapter of The Holy Gita, wherein He said 'Look at the Kauravas who are lined up for battle').

Here are the first two verses of Lord Krishna (Chapter 2. Verses 2 & 3)...
श्रीभगवानुवाच
कुतस्त्वा कश्मलं इदं विषमे समुपस्थितम
अनार्य जुष्टं अस्वर्ग्यम अकीर्तिकरम अर्जुन (२.२)
क्लैब्यं मा स्म गम: पार्थ नैतत्त्वय्युपपद्यते
क्षुद्रं ह्रदयदौर्बल्यं त्याक्त्वोत्तिष्ट परन्तप (२.३)

Kutastvaa kashmalam idam vishame samupasthitam. Anaarya jushtam aswargyam akeertikaram arjuna. Lord Krishna said, O Arjuna, where has this illusion of yours appeared in this moment of crisis? This is not befitting an Aryan, nor conducive to attaining heavenly spheres and is a cause of infamy। (2.2)
Klaibyam maa smagama paartha naitatvayyupapadyate. Kshudram hrdaya daurbalyam tyaktvottishta parantapa. O Partha, do not yield to unmanliness. This is not worthy of you. O scorcher of foes, giving up this weakness of heart, rise up! (2.3)

Spoken like a true teacher! Clearly, some of the choicest words of Sanskrit which are indeed harsh, if looked at, literally. For example 'klaibyam' also means impotence. Was Lord Krishna a little too harsh on Arjuna? Just as harsh as the Chennai summer?

Boredom

2009-06-10T11:59:00.005+05:30

Boredom is omnipresent and so is monotony. The availability of innumerable options do not alleviate monotony or bring down the gestation of boredom. In fact, it is starting to look like the multiplicity of choices and monotony are directly proportional. The more the choices, the easier you get bogged down by monotony. In my opinion, being spoilt for choice is no fun.

True to the subject, I have used four different sentences to convey the same meaning. But am still not satisfied of making my point effectively. This is exactly today's world.

For everything you need, be it a product or a service, you bump into a motley of choices. Like a child entering a room full of playthings, you experience a glee. GLEE. But that's only the initial reaction. Once you start pondering over the choices, the confusion you encounter is overwhelming and you are full of......the title of this post !

We had a Voltas refrigerator, which was bought in 1989! It was working perfectly well, except for the noise the compressor would make during the on-off-on moments spurred by the thermostat. Not to mention the rust-dust it was shedding everyday....
Being a little over-conscious about energy conservation and keen about bringing a shiny thingy home, I convinced Ammi that it was time to replace this antique refrigerator with a new one. When I started looking which one to buy, what happened to me was exactly what I explained in the previous paragraph!

In today's world of new-for-old exchange offers, only the advertiesments are attractive. The exchange price was a whopping Rs.500 for my old fridge and the new one costed a mere Rs.10000! Giving away a perfectly working appliance for Rs.500, just for the excitement of bringing a new one, which you dont know if it will work as well as your old one and which you dont know if it will save energy? Rs.500? Oh.... How would I convince Appa, who's never enthusiastic about discarding anything old and has a remote possibility of working....? Fortunately, he found someone in his sub-staff who could do with a used fridge. Suddenly, my old fridge was ready to go (free of cost, of course) and I was yet to find a new one.

Pressed by the urgent need to find a replacement and faced with the BOREDOM & CONFUSION borught in by so many models, about 40, which were close to my specs and I shortlisted 4 for Ammi to choose from. I wanted to buy an Indian brand, but ended up buying a Korean brand. The only reason being the float-glass shelves instead of the wire shelves and Ammi-my boss, preferred glass shelves so that she dont have to worry about accidentally placing her tiny containers between the gaps and spilling the contents.

The new fridge is sure a shiny thing, silent-well, almost, energy-saving - 5 star rating, and am still looking for my old electricity bills to compare with. One other thing am not sure about is, if Ammi has stopped missing our old refridgerator.

I was plainly happy that the task of choosing a new fridge, was finally over. This was in January 2009. The same story was about to repeat itself in May 2009, when my 8 year old TV flunked. Once bitten, I quickly settled for the cheapest available model, not wanting to succumb to boredom, again so easily, by getting tempted by the multiplicity of choices. Looks like it will be a constant and untiring effort to avoid boredom....what with a 12 year old washing machine. Whew...!

A number called age...

2009-06-05T14:43:00.006+05:30

I am not too excited about birthdays, but one comes my way every year, just as it did today.

Getting older? Nah.... no way!

I always feel as old as I was in my 11th standard. I was called a 'paati' (granny) even then... :D

Jokes apart, age is always just a number. And this number just adds experiences to itself and multiplies into wisdom; sometimes it multiplies laughter among friends and their merciless leg-pulling about getting older or younger; sometimes it brings in some vague amusement, like this incident....

I volunteered to be a volunteer this year at the annual Gita Competition held by The Egmore Sanskrit School. The volunteers are put in groups and each group has a co-ordinator. This competition is so well-organised (I'll write a separate post on it) and goes off like clockwork for two days on the final weekend of every January. My group coordinator (young girl, may be just out of college) called me on my mobile before the competition - twice to confirm that I'll be reporting to duty and once to pass on some instructions. She addressed me using my full name always and no prefixes / suffixes as Miss, Mrs or Madam. Am not complaining - I insist that even my friends' / cousins' kids should call me by name; no 'aunty'ing business. I met this girl for the first time on the day of the competition, listened to her instructions and worked along....like an obedient student! Full name, all through the day. Then came the formality of filling up bio-data forms for the volunteers' database. I filled up mine, passed it on to my coordinator and went home.

Here comes the fun part - next day, when I reported for duty, she had a different set of instructions, alright - but know what, I had a hard time suppressing my smile/laughter/grin as she punctuated the instructions with a generous sprinkling of 'aunty'.... :D :D :D

This number called age.....is Something!

Daily dose of The Holy Gita...

2009-06-04T14:36:00.004+05:30

Duty is to vote...... Sometimes, some of the verses keep hammering inside the so-called brain and manifest in all possible ways, even in simple and silly ways. Here's one such verse and a visual manifestation. The index finger that voted in E-2009, pointing at the rising market index.

कर्मण्येवाधिकारास्ते मा फलेषु कदाचन
मा कर्मफल्हेतूर्भूर्मा ते संगोस्त्वकर्मणि
(गीता २:४७)

உன்னுடைய உரிமை செய்யும் காரியம் மட்டுமே. காரியத்தின் முடிவும் பயனும் உன்னுடைய உரிமையல்லவே அல்ல. பயனில் ஆசை செலுத்தி எதையும் செய்யாதே. இதை சொன்னேன் என்று செய்ய வேண்டியன செய்யாமல் சும்மா இருப்பதில் கவனம் செலுத்தாதே. (கீதை 2:47)