Two With Nature

2011-11-15T19:10:00.000+01:00

Lazy blogging, take 2. Here's the second article that got published in indiatimes.

http://timesofindia.indiatimes.com/nri/contributors/contributions/arti-buxi/A-time-line-in-Kiev/articleshow/10726559.cms

Eins, zwei, drei, quatre... welcome to continental Europe

2011-11-15T19:08:00.000+01:00

Lazy blogging, take 1. Here's an article that got published in indiatimes a while ago.

http://timesofindia.indiatimes.com/nri/contributors/contributions/arti-buxi/Eins-zwei-drei-quatre--welcome-to-continental-Europe/articleshow/8948221.cms

I don't do iPhones

2010-07-17T22:13:00.006+02:00

There is nothing better than a moment of inspiration.This bursting desire to be creatively bulimic by hurling out the frustrations of your day.

So today, it is my turn.

My day wasn't exactly what could be described as perfect. Alleged happiness (of other people), rose tinted glasses (worn, again, by other people), and realisation that the honeymoon might be over (that would be yours truly), may have something to do with it.

So where does one focus the bile?

On iPhones, of course. Le plat du jour.

I love my MacBook. I will buy me the MacBook Pro, when i save me the money.

But iPhones? 58 years old, Internet phobic, email printing, blinders wearing grey men have been seen sliding the unlock bar, using the touch screen scroll, and pudgy fingering their way to make a call. Or drop one.

That, does not make an aspirational picture.

Platinum blondes with fake nails have been seen glazing on the iPhone screens with bored expressions.

Again, with the fake nails, not a club I want to be a member of.

People who will never get their heads wrapped around using OSX, now feel one with the "I'm a PC/I'm a Mac" commercials. What irks me most is all those PowerPoint presentations on "innovation" with at least one slide on the iPhone - beaming like they've had an epic thought. Makes me iPhobic.

Then I chanced upon a lady who nonchalantly waved her arm and proclaimed - I don't do iPhones - and strutted away.

It was a sign.

Here's to being a no-iPhone snob. And here's to not democratising iconicity.

a momentary glance of eternity

2010-03-14T17:32:00.001+01:00

The summer sun graciously gives way to the night blue sky. There’s a fair riot of colours far away on the horizon as they get on with their greetings and good byes.

Burly waves splash on to the shore in a calming cadence. There’s beer on every table. The bride and the groom have just had their pictures taken for posterity. If it were not for the baggage you came with, you'd be forgiven for assuming there's tranquility in the offing.

And then suddenly from nowhere, like a military coup, everything changes. The breeze hints it is not going to be so gentle for long. Lightning strikes the navy blue sky; momentarily cracking the stratosphere, letting a tantalizing glimpse into what might be the world beyond. There’s the sound of thunder rolling, much like a percussionist testing bass drums.

Palm trees stand steady on their trunks, but their leaves open out, swaying in the rhythm of the wind first and then opening their arms to embrace the rain. The earth sighs, and the parched mud thirstily sponges the first thick drops of water.

It is a little bit raw. It is completely pure.

It is mesmerizingly beautiful.

One Saturday evening by the ocean in Colombo.

I cannot hear my own thoughts. I’m soaking wet. To have witnessed time stand still for a fraction of a second and then walk by, I can't but ask for anything more.

still running

2010-03-01T22:23:00.001+01:00

the delicate imbalance of the trail

running towards the perfect rainbow

in step with unchained thoughts

searching for an an echo

the hesitant thrill

of letting tomorrow explore

i can feel the scars heal

all that you want can be yours

yes, i'm still running

For those in the know

2010-02-01T23:06:00.009+01:00

on a blank moleskin I write
there’s a beer in the museum
while the potatoes fight

little shadows play with the tigers

and old friends meet in muddy waters

to tell you a short story before it begun

perhaps the third time, says the Portuguese nun

a refuge here, C&W maintain

with them in a wink, I would do it again

Do it in the morning

2010-01-19T17:07:00.003+01:00

Oscar Wilde, in his life of written genius, once said and I quote “all good things in life are illegal, immoral, or fattening”. Let’s get it up to speed with 21st century freedom of expression and append it. All good things in life are illegal, immoral, fattening or gay.

It hurts, I know ladies but it is true. Now we can either deny it, ignore it, or we can suck it up and find a way to well, have our cake, and it eat too. In a manner of speaking. No, cross that. In a lip smacking, for real, twinkle in your eye kind of way.

Let’s take a look at the view. It’s a rough world out there, and we all deserve an occasional break. It’s not a sin if you’re able to figure out an easy penance for it. The wise folks at any diet wellness shop will tell you if you can not get that piece of death by chocolate out of your mind, well, then go ahead and do it. But make it small. And make it early in the day. Science will tell you that the remaining day helps you digest the sin better, and there’s lesser chance of it resting for good on your hip.

Very well then. Here’s my corollary:

The forbidden fruit is forever tempting. The wee bit of devil inside us does push us to the wanton, slightly wicked verbs here and there. To want to steal a kiss from the one who already has a ring on the finger? To covet your neighbour? To, just once, not wait for the slow pedestrian to cross the road (a bit o’ Swiss humour here, my friend) and drive on? To concede the half truth only perhaps?

Is it always so abominable?

Maybe not if you do it early in the day. A little bit of, even if ostensibly so, undeserved pleasure, just for your selfish self, can go a long way if you let the rest of the day digest it. Like the man himself said, the only way to get rid of temptation is to yield to it.

Do what you desire. Just make sure you do it in the morning.

Of novels and politicians

2010-01-12T12:11:00.005+01:00

A blog piece by Jug Suraiya (Shashi Tharoor and the Nehru-Gandhi family) sparked a piquant feeling. Here’s the original article. And I quote some bits from it:

“…However, way back in 1989 - long before he entered politics - Shashi took India's First Family to task in his The Great Indian Novel, in which he retold the story of the Mahabharat in the idiom of modern India's political history…”

…

“…Did you really write that, Shashi? Or are you again being misquoted by the media?”

It is easy to fault public figures, ones who dabble in politics even more so, for their past, their present, for them speaking their minds and more.

And it is paltry to pick up their past work and vilify them with it in the present context. For the lack of exclusive news, this is a trifle target for lazy co-relations.

It is not for me to judge whether Mr Tharoor was misquoted. I would like to mention, though, the bit about freedom of expression, literary or otherwise. What Mr Tharoor penned down a couple of decades ago, was his prerogative, irrespective of his current occupation. The Great Indian Novel still qualifies as a piece of fictional work, irrespective of it mirroring the Indian independence movement and the years thereafter. Last time I looked, as Indians, we are still allowed creative licensing. You probably earn a small chunk of change yourself from it, I’m sure.

Because one is in service of an organisation, be it even the state, does not mean one needs to be servile to all advocacies. Is evolution of thoughts and ideas somehow not expected from our leaders? Or do we prefer stagnancy of opinions?

After all, debate was one of the basic foundations of Nehru’s democracy, was it not Mr Suraiya?

the shred head strikes

2009-11-13T12:06:00.005+01:00

It might be hard for many Europeans to swallow this, but it is true. Last evening, during a mad bout of winter cleaning, for the first time in my life, I used the shredder.

I’m a shredder virgin. Was, actually. Now I’m a shredder addict.

The raw power, the hunger, the instant attraction, a pressing gravitation. Then the snatching and ripping away of hundreds of bullet points and thousands of excel simulations. I was stunned. Speechless. Close your mouth, Arti; M. Poppins would’ve smacked at me. We are not a codfish.

But such was my unabashed response and desire. I need more. I definitely need more.

Like the industrial shredder with superior cutting torque. Indelible technology that annihilates CDs, DVDs, credit cards, floppy disks and metal springs into the nothingness. This arbitrary power is heady; shut up and pray, ‘cuz there is blood everywhere.

Not to be confused with the commercial chess program, I allude to the one that shreds. Invented originally by Abbot Low in New York, it was eventually the German Adolf Ehinger who made better use of a pasta machine and went ahead & shredded, successfully, his anti-Nazi propaganda. Notice how there exists romance behind this raw potency. From pasta machine to the despoiler of the Third Reich – a small step for nourriture, giant leap for a fancy-retro-thingamomb.

But I need to run now. There’s some official for my eyes only documents lying on my desk. And down the corridor, a 4 horsepower shredder with my name on it.

iPod Swapping

2009-08-19T18:34:00.002+02:00

A week of quarantine can make you start to despise your playlist.

Really, I mean H-A-T-E the bloody playlist.

It dawns upon you; for eons your music taste is stagnating. That you might be tripping through life with no inkling of what else might lie beyond the 8 gigs of your tiny black iPod.

So it got me wondering, is there anybody out there…?

…willing to swap iPods?

Think about it, we swap books, DVDs, recipes, travel stories all the time. Some of us even swap wives, or partners as it were, the more avant-garde European way of life, (heck, who am I to judge. Try everything once at least, I say).

That being so, why not iPods, replete avec playlist? Borrow it for a week, 2 weeks, maybe. Ask a friend to begin with. Be more adventurous, ask a cute stranger. Can you think of a more original way to break ice? There you go.

Every number you hear is unexpected. Almost like stepping into someone else’s shoes; like role playing even.

If music be the food of life, who knows how this totally unexpected, fresh diet will smack on you? A different swing in your step? New music, new feelings, a new cup of wine?

The world, here, can truly be your oyster. Or iPod for that matter.

Any takers?

missing conversations

2009-08-02T20:54:00.001+02:00

forgotten memories

sunsets in villages and starry nights

that is new doesn't tally

the preciousness of the past

yet

a crying radio

dark rooms and spectrometers

magic of the woods

the terrace, the fields, the midnight walks

dreams and fortunes

they come alive, they are spent

i run, laugh, cry, jump

but where can i find my missing conversations

here & now

2009-07-12T01:44:00.008+02:00

summer sunshine, blue skies
little girls in pink frocks
pink candy smudged everywhere

between the wet stones
and slippery surfaces
we fall
as we try to drift

slide
away into the deep waters
surrender
to music from who and where

forget what yesterday was
it matters not the breeze whispers

laugh with me today
and tomorrow will be yours

It smells like cookies

2009-06-09T20:21:00.003+02:00

It smells like cookies.

What does? Other than cookies themselves, of course.

For starters, poo.

Yup. Six month old babies, their poo smells like cookies.

Don’t believe me? Well, you don’t have to; after all I’ve no proof, other than my meandering experience of hosting moms with six-month-old babies. They say so. And no, they’re not smoking anything they shouldn’t be while they’re breast-feeding. In fact the only one indulging in any form of intoxication was the glass bottle. It had been marinating in wine way too long. Need to take the wine out of the bottle.

By the way, did I tell you about the time when my penne had more alcohol than my glass of red wine. I know I’m digressing, but it’s a story worth telling. As soon as I can recall more details about that night. Eventually, I guess. But it did involve a lot of trampoline related activity at about 2 AM at the Lausanne Carnival.

So, coming back to my original announcement relating to aromas of the unmentionable necessities. A fair number of young moms swear by it – since young babies only consume milk, their poo smells like, yes, you know now, cookies. But as kids grow up, their daily aliment extends beyond this rich white fluid, and from then on, poo starts to smell like crap.

That for some reason sounds like the beginning of the end.

But I’d like this to be a more blithe-ish post. After a very long time, is the keyboard talking to me. Teasing me, even. Words come in cascades but thoughts don’t seem to add up. In the last four months, my stabs at populating my blog resulted in – nada. Rien. Nothing that was remotely close to smelling like a six-month-old baby’s poo.

Consequently I banter comme ça today. Parce que je peux. I need to break this clot.

I need, ever so much, food for thought.

a summer wedding

2008-09-07T18:06:00.002+02:00

Heck Mirko, I could hate you. Well, almost. You made me cry twice at your wedding. And that is when everything was in Deustche & I didn’t understand a word being spoken.

But I guess that’s what it is about. There are some moments that have no language barriers and this was a wedding to prove it. Beautiful, simple and warm. It was, by far, one of my most memorable evenings in Berlin.

The church on a cliff by the lake. Sigh. Drinking Proseco in the garden in the church on a cliff by the lake. Double sigh.

Of course, Mirko, honey, you were so pretty - that made it even more beautiful!

Carnations with your name on it, soap bubbles, strawberries & cream, dancing with your girlfriends to retro music (fantastic by the way, compliments to the DJ please) at a summer wedding. This is stuff that Hollywood movies are made of ~ such was the evening of 26 July, 2008.

To quote Emily Dickinson:

It’s such a little thing to weep,
So short a thing to sigh; 
And yet by trades the size of these 
We men and women die!

To Jana & Mirko ~ Herzlichen Glückwunsch und viel Glück!

bacchanalian life

2008-05-28T10:35:00.001+02:00

There’re ironies about doing an MBA in a city that was once at the heart of socialist communist pride.

Yeah, no one will tell you that you led a dull life, at least.

You wake up in the morning, you gulp a coffee down & manage to reach a 9 AM class, even though you don’t really feel alive till after the first break. But even this terribly exciting life, replete with cracking case analysis by 6 PM the previous eve needs some food for thought.

If it’s 1 Mai in Berlin, there’s enough to go around.

In Kreuzberg, especially. Where Beck is the official sponsor of Mayday. Or so it seems. You roam around Kotbusser Tor, in search of a revolution. But unlike this good fella, you are on the wrong side of the left side.

Anarchists, punks, rebels – where are they? Down the streets of Kreuzberg – there men making bar-be-que, pretty young girls selling Mojitos & folks are swinging to deutsche hip-hop.

Despite everything though, you know there’s hope. Because there’s a sense of humor.

In the unconscious capitalistic soul of the revolutionary.

Our intuition is not Rational!

2008-02-21T16:27:00.005+01:00

6 weeks ago, I read this piece by Robert Rubin – an optional reading for the beginning for the Decision Making class.

“…the intellectual framework through which I viewed everything that came my way, including the decision-making that has been the critical core of my professional life, both on Wall Street and in government. … I believe that decision-making will be at the core of your lives, too, no matter what you do. The only question will be how well you make those decisions.”

Just for these words, this reading should be made mandatory. Not just for a course in Decision Making, not just for an MBA degree, but for life itself.

12 years ago, as an undergraduate student of Physics, I learnt that logic and philosophy are two sides of the same coin. Over time, I forgot about it.

Cut to 2008. Berlin. ESMT. A 2-credit course in Decision Making. Exam day. Last class with Francis De Vericout.

Six minutes after the test, I was pissed off. If I had only 20 more minutes, I could’ve cracked it. Heck, I wanted to crack it and I hate myself when I know I could’ve but never did so. And I didn't want to disappoint the professor.

13 minutes post the test, I read Robert Rubin again. I was wise once more (at least for a while).

Ah hindsight.

Like with most special things in life (and thus so with Decision Making, our point being very obvious here!), it is the journey that is the destination. When I told my brother about the class, he cheekily retorted, “ I hope you can now be trusted not to take the stupid decisions like you used to”. Ouch. Well, we’ll see.

Well, it was a steep learning curve. But I think and hope, a relatively permanent one. I hate to admit it, but over the last few years I’ve seen complacency creep over like moss. There was comfort and inertia.

But,

Empirical studies indicate that training in decision analysis is correlated positively with general aptitude to make sound decisions and can prevent common decision traps.

So, I’m hoping to be a part of the sample that continues to prove the above!

Some philosophies can give us the means of determining and understanding choices, responsibility, and consequences to behavior – it is up to us take what we can. And so long as the net pay off is positive, and there’s happiness associated with it, it was a journey that was well worth it.

The module on decision making gets firmly classified here.

Christ, this cold!

2008-01-22T22:10:00.000+01:00

Layers. For legs, body, arms and head.

The trick to keep yourself toasted. I need to figure out how to do so, without looking like a ball of wool on legs.

I walk around on the cold streets of Berlin and it’s all I can do to stop staring at women. Tall, svelte, immaculately dressed – though completely covered from head to toe – look simply stunning.

Darn this poor student life. I need a personal shopper and a stylist.

Warmly Welcome to the Delegation of ESMT

2008-01-21T12:49:00.000+01:00

We meet. We talk. We’re all dressed in business suits. We all look nice.

31 of us. 15 different nationalities. Average age of 30.5 years. Average work experience of 6.5 years.

There. We’re done with the statistics of it. We’ve even gone through the fun and formality of introducing ourselves. But as the Dean gives his opening speech and raises a toast to the class of 2008, we look ahead and afar – some searching, some in anticipation, all wondering in some way or the other – how this year will turn out. A few of us will find friends where we never expected do, while some, even in a small group like ours, may remain strangers.

For me, this year might just make me push my limits more than I ordinarily do. Low temperatures, open spaces and no crowds I am not used to. A whole year away from friends, family, ostensible work responsibilities, people I love, people who love me – it is inevitably a year of freedom. A year to experience and live. May be learn some.

Maybe I will learn to cook me a meal, or maybe I will just learn to survive on really cold fresh air (any love? uh oh) and 3.5% fett Vollmilch. Eitherways – I think this year will make an impact on our lives. On 31 lives, if you will.

Stammtisch

2008-01-21T12:46:00.000+01:00

Stammtisch. Has a nice ring to it. Exactly the kind of thing I’d like to casually mention – Sunday’s no good for me, I’ve a Stammtisch to go to.

A tradition started by a couple of batch-mates, way back in August, it’s a lovely way to meet fellow students and alumni before the formal classes begin. Almost like getting a head start – a prive into knowing who and what you’re up against.

There were about ten of us tonight and a couple of folks from the previous batch. A pleasant evening, coke light and bier were nursed, as we asked questions and gave answers. I do hope at least some of us continue to be this nice to each other!

It is the Germans, the Berliners who continue to surprise me. All of them, very friendly, genuinely so and most decisively, have an awesome sense of humour. One of them went on to sagely advice us on not becoming ‘Germanized’, especially when things go wrong & are stressful – try to be like Indians and South Americans – learn to let go and find another solution.

It’s relieving to see people laugh at themselves. Especially the Germans! And I have to say – corny as it may sound – the warmth of the Berliners takes the edge of the cold in Berlin!

local & lousy banking

2008-01-01T09:24:00.000+01:00

It would be apt to start with wishes and greetings and all the luck for the New Year.

Instead, I’ll leave that for the world to figure it out for itself.

Right now, I’d like to talk about the world’s local bank. That in reality treats its customers in a ‘local’ manner. Here goes:

A month ago HSBC assured me that if I put in one lakh with their bank, they’d invest it further for me, assuring awesome returns. In return, I get a ZERO balance account, which I can use as I please.

So I obliged. Two weeks later, I’m happy – I see my money invested, I get regular junk communication from them, I open an online account and I feel so powerful and clever at having put my money in professional hands.

Alas, we fall victim to ‘lousy internal/external communications, lack of clarity on management policies’. And as usual, it is the small investor, which in this case, moi, who is left in anguish.

Two days before I am supposed to leave the country for a year, there are frantic calls from HSBC informing me that I’m too lowly to have a ZERO balance, Power Vantage account. Nope, I’m not rich enough. Either I put in another one lakh, or I forfeit all the advantages that accompany the powerful banking product.

Let’s not forget here, that the bank knows that I’ve taken a break, I’m a student now and I invested my savings with them for the period that I’ll be studying. But they don’t cut any slack to the customer, even if it is their fault at not having their policies communicated to me right at the very beginning. Forget that, internally they prefer to keep their front line employees in the dark about their products & services.

The premise of a good investment lies in acting on reliable information – in this case, the bank lacks this crucial information flow. So, should I trust them with my hard earned money?

Unfortunately, I don’t have anytime. I fly out tomorrow, so I’m obliged to hurriedly cut a cheque of 25000/- and the bank demotes me to a ‘MASS MARKET’ bank account. Ouch!

One thing’s for sure, once I get my MBA and earn an obscene pay packet – this bank gets no share of my pie.

lousy usability

2007-12-16T19:37:00.000+01:00

It’s been a sufficiently long time since something was written. But I’m now pissed enough to pen down vexations to get world view.

Here goes:

*** Why are the cab drivers in Mumbai getting debased by the day? I’m so wary of getting taking a cab from the airport – because they will invariably over-charge you. I keep a copy of the tariff card – and over the last 3 rides from the airport to home, they’ve asked me to pay DOUBLE! The slimy thing is – they’ll start the meter honestly enough, when they’re near a cop at the airport, but by the time they drive you to the destination, it is assumed that since you’ve taken a flight into the city, you’re rich and gullible enough to pay whatever they demand.

No thank you sir. Each time I have refused, and tendered exact fare. Last night, the cabbie told me that since I can’t pay what he wants, I should start traveling by autorikshaws.

God, I want to take them to the police station.

*** The lowest IQ-ed people – are employed by large retailers. Walk into any mall, any shop – from Pantaloons to Shoppers Stop, Lifestyle to Spencers – they all employ idiots.

Forget courteous service, these folks don’t know their brands, their products and their systems. So you get to the cash counter, and there’s no barcode on your shirt. It takes 20 minutes for them to figure this challenging task. By that time, I decide that I don’t really want that shirt.

At the lingerie section – do they have a particular size of brassiere? No ma’am, but try this other size. Lady – it is all about the right size – my size – so you either have it or you don’t. But ma’am we don’t make this size at Etam. Right – this luxurious, expensive French company is still making products for European women and selling them India. Or I think, soon, not selling in India.

*** A box of jute bags selling at a large grocery store opposite Churchgate. The bag says ‘Use recyclable bags, avoid plastic’. Great idea. Except that each of these jute bags is safely ensconced inside a transparent plastic bag.

*** The indicator says 12 coach train. The announcement through the loudspeaker says 12 coach train. Even as the train pulls in, neither the indicator nor the loudspeaker announcement changes its stance. I miss it - it is a 9 coach train, the ladies first class coach stops else where, the platform is too crowded to make a 100 meter dash. The train pulls out. The announcement continues – 12 coach train.

I'm not done yet. There's more to come. Unfortunately.

jump!

2007-11-05T16:42:00.000+01:00

i wish i could do this. all i can do is 500 regular skips. and not in a row - about 100 at a time.

why aren't there more folks in india doing this? why are we such a lazy country?

i hate to ask rhetorical questions - but we are. walk down on marine drive - and you'll see children walking, 30 year olds sitting and everybody's eating. there'll be one odd soul running, you'll hardly see any one cycling. just lots of big cars and bigger arses hogging the tiny strip of island. looks like SRK would end up being an idol here too. sigh...

people - get moving!

where does the time go?

2007-11-02T20:32:00.000+01:00

oooooooh the pleasure of writing after 7 beers. It has been so long. Since there was a blank canvas, a will to write and no pressure to write.

Some one observed a while ago that my life must be well, now that I’ve been writing more as a result of observations around (reactionary even if it were or influenced by given media surrounding us) and not about personal angst.

Ah well, I would like not to disappoint them, but this post I think will end up being more about myself than about anything else.

Why?

Blame it on the beer. There was a song that said blame it on the rain. Never caught on, I think.

So now is the point – what is it about? It can be about a seemingly racy novel I read a week ago. The Road to Gandalfo. For a long time I couldn’t figure out what Gandalfo was – by the time I did, I figured the 30 bucks I spent on it wasn’t worth it.

It could be about the November issue of Wired magazine. But I haven’t yet bought it.

It could be about love that is found, not lost but neither fulfilled. Or is it the journey that is the destination in this case too. They should tell that to us in the beginning. We’d be wiser. And perhaps less greedy?

Like the deadheads say…

It's the same story the crow told me;
It's the only one he knows.
Like the morning sun you come and like the wind you go.
Ain't no time to hate, barely time to wait,
Woh - oh, what I want to know, where does the time go?

no smell, no taste

2007-10-30T11:20:00.000+01:00

I spend my day hunching over my PowerBook, suddenly, pop, my ears open, one side of my nose decides to let be, and I can hear the humming of the air conditioner and the smell the ripe guava on my table. But only for a second. It all goes blank soon.

I think I'll never be able to partake in a wine appreciation workshop. Even without the snobs, the subtle taste of musty leather and oak tannins will be wasted on me. I'll just get used to ordering a bottle of red wine at 7% above the median price range and pretend I'm so chic that i happily experiment with my food & w.

slimmer kilo

2007-09-11T19:29:00.001+02:00

Yup. That's the way it goes. The official kilo (118 year old ball of metal secured at the International Bureau of Weights and Measures) has slimmed down by 50 micrograms.

As one who's in search for the perfect weight loss solution...this one goes a long way...

clipped from www.wired.com

Has the kilogram gone on a diet? Maybe. For some reason, the official kilo — a 118-year-old lump of metal stored in a vault at the International Bureau of Weights and Measures outside Paris — has slimmed down by as much as 50 micrograms in the past century. The solution? Build a better kilogram. Researchers at the Australian Commonwealth Scientific and Industrial Research Organization are cutting, grinding, and polishing a boule — a big crystal — of ultrapure silicon 28 into two baseball-sized spheres (one is for double-checking). Materials scientists are able to measure precisely how many atoms of that silicon isotope are in any given hunk (the completed orb should contain 215 x 10²³ atoms). Creating "the roundest object in the world," says CSIRO engineer Katie Green, means technicians have to worry about only one dimension: diameter. Once finished, it will weigh a perfect kilogram. Give or take an atom.

Play!

2007-08-18T22:39:00.000+02:00

It’s nice.

It’s fairly true to itself.

It’s about girls playing a sport.

And, it’s not about SRK stealing the show.

Chak De. I enjoyed the movie, honestly. The characters are very well etched; the cast is brilliant and honest to their personas. The group of girls – young, fit and real. SRK – mellow, understated and umm…likable.

In my mind, the movie scores over Iqbal. One - because it is not about cricket, it is about hockey. And two - because it is about a team. A team playing together. Cricket, even though there are 11 guys in the team, is still phenomenally individual led – my opinion of course. Especially so in India. Iqbal, was about Iqbal the player. It is always a Tendulkar, or a Dravid, or a Kumble or a Ganguli. Where did we loose the team?

Very often it hits a chord you’re familiar with. India Pakistan matches. Muslim players – playing for us or them? Girls, Women in sports – in India – why bother? The grimy politics of sports, the essential thing that works against sportsmanship. Individual glory versus the team’s goal. But none of these issues are overpowering and work in tandem towards narrating the story. And the winner is, of course, the game. Which is how it always should be.

My favourite part is the girls. Girls playing hockey. It is a pleasure to see Indian women/girls play. There are not enough of us out there – running, skipping, cycling, playing, sweating – fighting, falling, hurting, running again – losing, coming back to play and winning.

We need more of this. We need more of sports.

Long time ago, Nike came out with this commercial. It is so true, and we need it so much here in India. Press Play.

Technorati tags: Chak De India, Cricket, India, Hockey, Shah Rukh Khan, Sports, Indian Women

Bollywood & Business

2007-08-11T08:35:00.000+02:00

Today’s Economic Times has Ms Chopra as the guest editor for a section titled ‘Business of Bollywood’, and as the point that’s been hammered across, at 25 years she’s the youngest guest editor yet.

Two. Are the issues I have here. The first is ‘youngest’. But that’s understandable. At any age post 30, one ceases to be young, at least by various measurement standards. There’s all this talk about you’re as young as you think– but that’s a pure feel good hogwash. Because in any classical counting deliberation, you’ll be not categorized with the young. The below 25 year olds who seemingly hold the key to the future of the country. Nope, at even a single year more that 30 you cease to belong to that future.

Unless of course you’re keen on joining the political theatre in India. There, at even 54 years, you’re undeniably part of the youth wing. It is only the septuagenarian plus who make it to the cabinet level. This however, is a digression and justifies an entire post to its own.

My second issue is Ms Chopra. To be precise it is more to do with her being the guest editor at the aforementioned paper. At first glance I was almost dismissive, but then decided to read it just to prove myself right.

As it happens, I may have to retract my thoughts.

The two pages on Business of Bollywood – nicely done. It certainly has more to with who & what was featured there – and if Ms Chopra had a genuine part to play there – then seriously – nicely done.

The two most usual suspects of Bollywood were interviewed – Mr. SR Khan & Mr. Johar. And I’m the first to admit, while I am hardly a fan of their cinema – the messrs are good. They’re sharp, intelligent & very, very savvy towards the media. Both SRK & KJ are charmingly honest & disarmingly dismissive about themselves. In what I believe to be an extremely well planned manner.

Their views about ‘corporatization of Bollywood’ are candid and well thought out. KJ muses:

______

…corporates — UTV or Adlabs, Percept or Eros, Reliance or Reliance Adlabs — have to eventually get their act together creatively. They have to employ the right kind of people who can choose the right screenplays…
______

Pretty much true I’d say. Signing a Hrithik Roshan for uncountable crores of rupees sounds like a manufacturing conveyer belt. And art, while definitely a form of business, is fundamentally a creative process. Templatize it and you lose it.

Yet, for all their creative impunity, as it were, they are rooted in reality. SRK shoots straight from the shoulder:

______

…I would like to keep making films with my own money if I can afford to. I have made six films so far, three flops, two were average and one is still to be released. I have just about survived…But till my next flop I will be independent as a producer. If I flop, I will go to one of those Reliance shiliance.
______

Oooh I love the Reliance Shiliance! I’d root for him over ADA any day!

KJ plainspeakingly dismisses Bollywood ever making it big in North America.

______

...Let’s have no illusion. We can never dominate the North American market. Let’s not expect that the non-Asian audiences will watch our films. UK does to a point, as the association goes back a long way. If we think our movies are going to get 6,000 screen releases in North America, it ain’t happening...
______

I agree. We don’t need to. For all its millions of dollars, we have our own audiences & they’re growing. In taste, in niches, in experiences.

I’m increasingly becoming a fan of KJ’s easy charm and self deprecating humor. You don’t come across such people often, those who can laugh at themselves. My favourite one was when in the first episode of the second season of Koffee with Karan, KJ takes a break while chatting with pals Rani Mukherjee, Kajol & SRK and signs off saying they’re in conversation with the king & queens of Bollywood, and he’s not talking about himself!

Oh he’s such a princess!

Puns aside, the final product inside the ET pages is pretty worthy. Though as an individual I initially resented (harsh word, but I'm trying to disarmingly honest!) Priyanka Chopra being there, I guess it was a job well done. Come to think of it, if KJ has already been a guest editor for BoB, SRK has done the honours with TOI, that doesn't leave the newspaper with too many options from Bollywood for the job, does it?

Technorati tags: Bollywood, Business, India, Economic Times, Shah Rukh Khan, Karan Johar, Priyanka Chopra

companies, brands, promises, internet

2007-07-26T11:36:00.000+02:00

Two interesting, though seemingly different, links were sent to me in a period of 24 hours.

The first one - Digitally Deficient CMOs

We are moving toward a marketing world that is driven by a direct-marketing opt-in, predictive modeling and tracking approach. Marketing in the future will not be about the masses but about understanding micro-segments of customers and using tools that enable marketing to get more granular and take campaigns to a one-to-one level.

While it is true, and becoming Digitally Savvy to seamlessly understand and market to the ‘Digital Natives’ is of prime importance, these CMOs & their companies continue to remain untrue to the basic promise of the brand or the product. There is a yawning gap between what is promised and what is finally delivered.

Take UniWorldCityGGaon and his video that has been doing the rounds of the Internet for the last 3 weeks, and recently CNBC picked it up & broadcasted it.

The video’s been viewed almost 3000 times on YouTube - It is not a movement yet, but a revolution doesn’t take time. And this is not a stray case. There are enough examples of customer dissatisfaction, poor product quality, non-existent services, all the while we’re pretty much bullied into paying exorbitantly for ‘brand premium’ or for the experience & not just for just the brand. Very often, the experience only turns you off.

Sometimes people come through, sometimes they don’t. I’d like to keep a track of this and see if this changes anything for the building society and its people.

More power to you, people.

PS – I took permission from UniWorldCityGGaon to post the video on my blog. He agreed and I must add that his intentions are not to raise a scandal, but to be able to make a real difference. He mailed me and I quote - Please go ahead. Do keep it polite and factual please. Lets not shout at the darkness, but be a light unto yourself and others. Jai Gandhigiri during the Bapu's birthday year. God bless.

the beast & the beauty

2007-07-19T11:15:00.000+02:00

There’s something heartening to write about, and then another one – is simply outré.

The latter first.

It is Ms Shetty again. I know, I know – I shouldn’t be doing this. I should ignore it. But I’m amused. And very cynically so – if it is possible to have such a curry of emotions. Pun very much intended.

An honorary doctorate Leeds Metropolitan University.

For participating in a second rate, commercial, spiced up, ratings crazy, appealing to the lowest-iq-denominator audience television show?

Outstanding contribution to cultural diversity and good relations between the peoples of United Kingdom and India.

Excuse me, while I choke.

Erm…Dr Shetty, honoris causa ad gradum.

A school of thought fears that the number of non-academic Phd holders may surpass academic Phd holders. Imagine – a world where there are more Shilpa Shetties than Amartya Sens. *Shiver*

On a more encouraging observation…

While on a suburban train last evening, I saw a young pretty girl, dressed simply in jeans and a shirt, carrying a large red box that said ‘Kingfisher Cabin Crew Training Manual’. The girl alighted at Kandivli, along with another lady who was probably her mother and they walked away towards home I guess.

Nothing spectacularly unusual, but it was an agreeable sight. This simple girl would soon be flying the skies, confidently addressing people, dressed well, earning good money, firmly and surely on her way towards independence.

It is nice to see middle India become independent, confident and pursuing new and bold careers, creating better lives for themselves.

Like Jacques says, the young (youth) in India today are a good lot. Cheerful, ambitious, positive and assured folks.

This is why it is a great time to be here.

Networking Issues

2007-06-22T12:08:00.000+02:00

Once upon a time…

…a headhunter/placement agent called me and asked me if I’m interested in working for one of the largest and fastest growing companies in the country.

Sure, why not. Is what any regular, reasonably ambitious individual would say.

I don’t know about being regular or ambitious – but I thought to myself, this don’t sound bad, so let’s give it a try.

So phone calls are made, resumes are emailed, and finally an interview is set up. No ordinary interview, this is video conferencing, if you please. I’m in Delhi, the job’s in Bombay – but work needs to get done and since we’re in the business of communications in an era where broadband is the buzz word – a video conference-d interview is as easy as saying, say…, Reliance Web World.

Ah, while technology doesn’t fail you always, companies & people often do.

I arrived that the agreed cyber café, 15 minutes before time and waited in the conference room. 15 minutes, 30 minutes, 45 minutes went by but our esteemed and fast growing company did not call. Video, phone or text. No communication. No noise. Nothing. Nada.

So, that’s 2 hours of my life over. Time I will never get back. I’d like this company to apologise for wasting my time. It’s going to be 24 hours now, not a peep from them. Did I mention they’re the largest, fastest growing media entertainment communications company in the country today?

C’mon folks – your website says – ‘…we have no greater asset than the quality of our intellectual capital…we recognise the critical role that our people play in the success and growth of each of our businesses’

‘Our transparent HR policies and robust processes are driven by a single overarching objective: To attract, nurture, grow and retain the best leadership talent in every sector and industry is which we operate.’

Sounds pretty much hollow to me. The company can’t even be bothered to ensure that an interview gets conducted, and if for some reason if it doesn’t, no one communicates that to the candidate. We’re one of the largest companies in India. We don’t care two hoots about being professional. So what if an inconsequential middle management being spent a couple of hours waiting for us to call her.

And this will continue to be the problem with Indian family grown businesses. No respect for other people.

Anyways, life goes on. But like I told the headhunter (who I must add was very apologetic and understanding) to tell these big folks, I’m not interested in taking this interview ever again. And by the way, I’m done buying any of Reliance ADAG products & services. Thoda communication problem hai.

eat the menu

2007-06-18T08:52:00.000+02:00

It all started with Blueberries.

He meant blackberry. Except that he can never get it right. Every time he has to say blackberry – as in the telecom service – he says blueberry. He’s always thinking of the blueberry muffin. Which is obviously more delicious & haunting than emails on your cell phone.

While the evening progresses towards a spot or three pegs of a preferred liquor, with diet mixers of course, the highlight essentially is Seekh Kebabs with Rumali Roti. Succulent kebabs that melted in my mouth. Accompanied with kachha pyaaz that have chaat masala sprinkled on. What a lip smacking idea, indigenous only to the food devoted Punjabi kinsfolk. At the corner end of the room, three strapping young Punjabi men order their chicken, kaali daal and lots of it. To be washed down with ThumsUp. Ah. A reviving sight, if there ever was.
It took me 6 seconds to take the picture. And it took the hearty young men 3 seconds to empty their TU bottles to 3/4th. Why don’t we see more of ThumsUp?

And then to the reason we’re there. It’s 11.30 in the night and there’s a queue. It’s not a hip lounge we’re trying to enter. Right at the corner below a well-known restaurant, street vendor Sonu sells the most amazing kulfi ever. Kulfi. With Falooda. And a dash Khewda. But there’s only a couple more left & we beg him – all the way from Bombay – please – just one plate. Luckily we manage to get 2 plates, I was loathe to sharing my kulfi. Sonu sells about 250 plates of kulfi a day. At 40 bucks a piece, that’s 10,000 bucks a night. I think I’d like to become his franchisee – opposed as I am to chains, this one I’d like to be a part of.

And now for some paan. Delicious, meetha paan, that can bring colour to a rotten day and make a first class evening perfect. Tonight was an encore to wrap up a memorable concert.

Nothing comes close to a great meal with an old friend. That’s another tally mark for the good times.

burning eyes

2007-06-13T11:02:00.000+02:00

what you feel
if it is not perceived
does it mean it is not true

your folly

to feel a lone connection to something

special

unknown it is for today
morrow may not be born
all you know is what you feel

and to whom do you talk?

is there anyone you will believe?

the power of one. does it exist?

an epiphany. or just a juxtaposition of words after an adulterated altered consciousness.

limited as it may be, but defines you
the truth

Snatches

2007-05-30T20:37:00.000+02:00

Sometimes you go to a party because it’s an official invite. You may think it will be interesting to meet the current flavour of Bollywood, but you basically agree to go because there may be an open bar.

Even though the wine is cheap and the weather sultry (there’s no sign of the flavour till the end of the do), the evening becomes worth it because of a few snatches of conversations that you overhear.

While waiting for your turn at the bar – a generously rotund man tells the gentleman who’s handing him an overfilled glass of red wine, “Yeh nakko, humko daaru peena hai”.

Mind you folks, this is no regular junta – but the truth it is. The Indian male will drink an occasional glass of wine if you insist plenty, but the bulk of his kicks will come from daaru, especially if the booze is free & flowing and in a 5-Star lawn.

At 11 PM on Kandivli station overhead bridge – a boy in his late teens talking on his cell phone, “…arre, Pirates ka picture hai, ekdum accha hai. Johnny Depp hai.”

(The response from the other end, you’re not privy too)

“Johnny Depp yaar, best actor hai woh. Tu Shah Rukh to jaanta hai na? Shah Rukh accha hai, lekin Johnny Depp sabse best actor hai.”

“Woh bilkul alag alag role karta hai. Uske picture ka CD hai mere paas, main deta hai tereko. Libertine hai, Charlie and the Chocolate Factory hai – yeh comedy hai. Finding Neverland hai, lekin shayad uska CD kharab hai – waise yeh serious movie hai tujhe accha nahi lagega. Pirates ka bhi CD hai – haan tu woh dekhle…”

If you happen to cross this guy on the road, you’d never guess his movie preferences. The young folks have access to a width of choices – the long tail is here, slowly but surely.

In a local train at peak morning hour from Borivli to Churchate – a girl in a bright green salwar kameez to her friend, “…theek lag raha hai na? ajeeb to nahi?”

The friend nods in approval.

While alighting at Churchgate, the girl gathers her bags and asks another friend, “…sach bol na, yeh dress theek hai na?”

You continue to wonder what the big deal about the salwar kameez is. Then you snatch the last part of the conversation – “…yeh green colour Muslim type to nahi lag raha na?”

You don’t wait to hear the response. Sadly, this is one hangover middle class India still hasn’t gotten over – shining, emerging or whatever else it may be…

Pranjali - Pop Art-ed!

2007-05-01T20:28:00.000+02:00

Surf's Up!

2007-05-01T20:11:00.000+02:00

Last May, I met some people over some surf, a lovely dinner and a crazy evening of Buckfast & beer. And it would not be overstating if I said that I had the best time ever after a long, long time.

Though I’d never met David, I attended his 2^nd death anniversary in Blacksod.

His friends & family get together every year and have a surfing competition on this day – David loved to surf. So his friends, wherever they are, whichever part of the world, come home to Blacksod to surf, pray & party – to celebrate David & his love for life. There is no better way to remember some one. I was amazed at the thought. It is a remarkable way to live & love life.

I knew only P & O - they’d invited me and introduced me to the lovely ways of the Irish. But by the end of the weekend, I felt I’d known everyone for years & drinking Buckfast was second nature! Not a good idea, that Buckfast one though!

I got a mail from P today – they’re off this coming weekend for David’s anniversary. To P – I really want to be there. I’ll miss you & everybody else. I’d fallen so in love with Blacksod, although its summery breeze would chill my bones (despite the fact that I was ensconced in layers of clothing in the middle of May!).

***

It has been a year & much has happened, some joy, some sorrow. The grains in the hourglass flow quickly and create a blinding haze. And one forgets that one has to live, not just exist.

To quote Marcus Aurelius – Remember that no man loses any other life than this which he now lives, nor lives any other than this which he now loses.

But all you need to remember is that the ocean’s warm and beckoning and...Surf’s Up!

Warhol-ed!

2007-04-28T18:47:00.000+02:00

My grandfather's picture - Andy Warhol-ed!

We Do?

2007-04-26T17:38:00.000+02:00

Here's a thought. Lets get matrimonial sites to search for the perfect M-I-L instead of the right man.

Somethings we already know:

1. All men are mama's boys.
2. Mom's the final choice maker. She don't like, well, the chances are the lad won't like either.
3. Face it, Ekta Kapoor's got her finger on one pulse for a while - your M-I-L can really change your life.

Go to a wedding, and you'll see the groom's mum in her fancy best. And if she really approves of you, the rock on your finger will be almost as big as the bling on her.

The bride's sisters will always check the M-I-L out. Her saree, her jewelry, her high heels...the saree, the jewelry, the heels that she gets for her daughter-in-law. Is she okay with the daughter-in-law moving around at home in a spaghetti & shorts? Is she okay if her bahu sleeps till late on Sundays?

Matrimonial websites should get these factors upfront. Makes our decision so much easier & our life will be more like how we want it to be.

The perfect man is a myth. The perfect M-I-L can be a reality.

53 and going down

2007-04-22T15:18:00.000+02:00

It is one of those things that I must write down. Just to insure that I follow it.

Target – 48 kgs. Current – 53 kgs.

No alcohol for one month. Unless the company is exemplary and its red wine.

I’m attending a wedding this coming week. I will be very, very disciplined.

Eat sensibly. PLEASE!

- Giving up my morning coffee for a cup of Twinings Green Tea. The digestive biscuit stays.

Reward. 50.5 kgs by end of 3 weeks (May 12). A pair of bright coloured shoes from Lacoste.

Or perhaps a pair of wrap around shades?

Get by with a little help...

2007-04-11T14:20:00.000+02:00

Technology they say is the (?) facilitator.

They talk about Googlezon.

While some others talk about who’s afraid of Google.

I’ll tell you what I’d like. Sure it’s mostly because I’m lazy, messy and really well, lazy.

I’m not interested in having a social relationship with my refrigerator that sends me texts informing me that the milk is over. And about using my cell phone to program my home theatre system to record the next episode of Prison Break. So last season.

What I really need is a find function. Everything that I buy/borrow & bring into my house, I’d like Google to tag it and feed it into ‘my paraphernalia’ database. So the next time I’m unable to locate my black spaghetti T, all I need to do is ⌘ F – and type ‘spaghetti, black’. And behold, I have all I need for a memorable evening.

The citation from Wired I need for a presentation in office - ⌘ F – and the magazines and books I own get searched for the reference.

Needed most critically, the ⌘ Z function. In my life.

my grandfather at 91

2007-03-12T12:18:00.000+01:00

One wedding, parents and a holiday

2007-03-06T18:06:00.000+01:00

Ready, get, set...

...and go!

half way up!

almost there!

and this is how we pluck those coconuts!

a sunny afternoon well spent

coconut and bread & jam in the backwaters

moulded snake skin at tiger prawn farm

contemplating the Trivandrum beach (Indian Ocean is it?)

thru' the village backwaters near kollam

making of a boat

more of making of a boat

by the tiger prawn farm

fresh coconuts in exotic india

end of day's work

outside a temple

age is thy name

a girl falls down

girl in red, at the beach

school girls play around

3 men and an anchor

boys at alleppey beach

metal on the beach

pandit on the beach

all dressed up

my mom wants this picture deleted

pretty red boat

mom in morning light

mom reading Wired in a houseboat in kerala

sunset at vembanad lake

anchoring the houseboat

man, after his day's work

the sun's behind the palm trees

windows on the houseboat

and life goes on...

god's own country continues

off to work...

on a pretty red boat again...

sailor with an umberella - Vembanad lake

watching the world like a tv?

god's own country - part 1

could life get better?

some bit o' hard work

ghosts of dead trees at Periyar lake

sambhar bones!

tired of rowing

light & shadow at Periyar office

light & shadow at periyar office with a human element

contemplating the tuskar

bamboo rafts at periyar lake

periyar lake

monkey and the man

athirapally falls

school kids at the athirapally falls

monkey & the mango

my brother behind a jaali

my brother behind a jaali again

And we all fall down

2007-01-30T15:41:00.000+01:00

And I too fall victim to the mediocrity that the media is. They say you can run, but you can’t hide – it certainly be true with this post.

Of course, Ms Shetty was being paid a happy amount for this 4 weeks of ostensible imprisonment, nonetheless the entire nation’s heart went out her. The generous souls that we are.

Shilpa Poppadom! Personally I think it’s rather funny. What would you expect out of low IQ-ed, reality show scavenger for the tiniest bit of prominence? On a show that thrives on controversies? Nothing more and nothing less. Jade Goody delivered. The ratings flew through the roof. Endemol’s mission achieved.

Our indignance on racism? Aw please. We Indians are one of the most racist people in the world. It’s out there, disguised sometimes, blatant on other occasions – but we are and more so when we’re on our own turf. That gives us power. Or perhaps an opportunity to do unto others what was done to us for 200 years?

I’ve not been given a house on rent in Chennai because:
• I’m a girl.
• I’m single (Jesus Christ, a slut?)
• I’m not a Brahmin (me – scum of the scum left behind by an earthworm)

Yes, doors have been shut on my face and I’ve had tears in my eyes wondering if I should just pack my bags and run into the welcoming arms of my parents back in Bombay? Parents – ah yes – they’d like for me to get married. At this age – they’re willing to take any boy I bring home. Christian boy? Ummm, yeah if you insist. A Muslim boy – you must be out of your mind?!!

In restaurants, service suddenly improves when I’m accompanied by Caucasion looking friends. I’ve been told not to walk alone at night on Colaba Causeway because of the number of ‘blacks’ who hang around there.

Don’t even get me started on all those ads with scientific research backing the fact that success will come to those with fair skin and it’s only 6 weeks away. So Hurry before opportunity knocks on someone else’s epidermis.

She lives in a slum. How dare they! But Shipa’s neighbours actually agree to that statement. The condition of the roads outside her colony in Versova, Bombay is so awful, it is almost like living in the slums. “What is wrong if Jade Goody said that it looks like Shilpa hails from the slums? It’s true. We all hail from the slums. I cannot believe that I paid a bomb to stay in this so-called posh locality of Mumbai called Versova,” says Anu Mishra whose house is in Sardar Vallabhbhai Patel Nagar, which is considered a prime location in the western suburbs. On an average, flats in Versova command up to Rs 5,000 per square foot.
“But each time I step out of my building, it feels like I am staying in the slums.”

My favourite part is Ms Shetty’s reaction upon hearing the won the contest (is it what they are calling it?) - "Chicken curry rules! Thank you so much" Shilpa yelled as she was led out of the house by Davina. "I just want to thank the people of Great Britain for giving me the opportunity of making my country proud," Shilpa said.

Back up the bus here. Making my country proud? Right, now did she win a gold medal at the Olympics, save someone’s life, or closer to her field of work as it were, commended for some skilled piece of acting? Nothing so trivial, she won a few hundred thousand pounds, probably non-taxable. Now that certainly does make this poised India proud.

Birth of a new phrase: Doing a Shilpa Shetty – Taking up a left over job with not many takers out of desperation or well, lack of lucrative livelihood – and accidentally becoming famous (and successful) because of someone else’s stupidity and a whole lot media sympathy.

Technorati tags: Big Brother, Shilpa Shetty, India, Poppadom, Slums, Media, Racist

The one thing you hate about love

2007-01-27T17:12:00.000+01:00

After the first kiss when you wake up,
You swear you’ll never break up again.

A dulcet flavour that promises to be a salve for all fatigue that was, and will be. You nestle happily, eyes closed loving it all, as it is. In all its imperfections, you know you’ll swim always.

Wholesome and pure?

The east wind blows in and whispers the Zen of old saying ‘ just when you think you’ve got it, its gone’.

snuggling up against his warm body under the quilt

and the lazy Sunday brunch of cornflakes and sliced apples

or those fingers pulling you to him so he can smell your hair

or those 3 hours you took to choose his birthday gift

and his kiss

and….his kiss

the number on the speed dial

random memories, yearning of bruised bodies…you wish them away. Ah and brilliant. The powers that be won’t let me play my music.

Technorati tags: love, hate, thoughts, jottings

nose job

2006-12-27T07:48:00.000+01:00

“Desi ghee ya phir rye ka tel laga lijeeyega. Pake ga nahi phir aapka naak”, advices the portly sonhar when he sees me wavering.

It really was my idea to get nose pierced. A lark, a whim, a fancy. But mostly for vanity, let me not deny that. Four thousand years ago somewhere in the Middle East, Rebekah was gifted a nose ring, a tribute to her ‘enchantingly beautiful’ nose. In ancient India, nose piercings were regarded as a mark of beauty and social standing.

Who am I to fight these strong winds of chronicled culture? Happy I am, to submit to them.

Amorous possibilities is what I had in mind. In reality, I had no clue what step one should be. It’s kind of easy to go to the beauty parlour and let the ladies sting you with a gun shot and some cheap metal. But that’s so pedestrian and I’m in a mood for some serious love song here. Besides, the only metal my precious skin can adopt as its own is 22 carats.

Some one suggested Zaveri Bazaar. It’s not far from office and my boss is not in. The planets have aligned.

Not so much actually. In the middle of the afternoon, I go from jewelry shop to jewelry shop – large showrooms to 5-foot shacks, and whilst they’ll sell you all sorts of ornaments to decorate your nose and ears, no one, absolutely no one does the job of piercing them. Backward integration to provide customized solutions – this market ain’t believers of that axiom.

Walking in the heat through narrow crowded by lanes, I’m hungry, thirsty and my 1 inch heel threatens to give up on me. Maybe today’s not the day? Maybe it’s a sign? I almost hail a cab when someone takes pity on me and tells me to try Mumba Devi Mandir.

Situated in the midst of one of Bombay’s most herded alleys, Mumba Devi temple is crowded with devotees, their prayers and offerings. The temple is alive, Mumba, commanding goddess of Mumbai, sits proudly dressed in aesthetic robes with nose studs. I figure I can at least pray to her to make it happen somehow.

As it happens, there are still some gods I may not have yet displeased. Around the temple there is sweet smell of jasmine and orange marigolds and worshipers sell copper bracelets, rings, rudraksha necklaces, incense, saffron, and more. Seated amidst this chaos are two portly men, one eating lunch and the other beating flat one piece of yellow metal.

I stop and hesitatingly ask them if they’ll be able to pierce my nose. Silence for 2 minutes.

Chaandi ki taar se?

Nahi, sone ki taar se. I venture hopefuly. Aap karenge, please?

They again measure me out. Samay lagega sone ki taar banana mein.

Theek hai, main wait kar sakti hoon. I’m not going to give up so easy.

Aisa keejeeye, aap apni taar leke aaiye. They dismiss me.

Lekin…hum kahan se taar laaenge. Aap bana dijeeye, hum wait kar sakte hain. I’m desperate now.

Nahi, aap taar leke aaiye. Hum phir ched kardenge. No more debate on this. I’m finally brushed aside.

Worn out but still hopeful, I take my case to the court of Zaaveri Bazaar again. Fruitlessly I wander around till a tiny shop Tara Chand (TC) Jewelers agree to sell me a 1 inch long, 22 carats gold wire. Bless them!

Yeh leejeeye. I pronounce triumphantly to the sonhar duo.

Again they measure me. Kitne paise diye iske liye.

300 rupay. Kyon zyada hain kya?

I’m not sure if they smirked at me, but one of them finally nodded. Hum aapse ek sau ek rupay lenge is kaam ke liye, apne labour ke liye.

Woh theek hai, lekin kya hume dard bahut hoga? Second thoughts in my mind. Am I crazy for doing this?

Arre nahi. Koi dard nahi hoga. Aap sab humpe chod dijeeye ab.

Only too happy to.

The wire is taken and sharpened. He gets up asks me – kaunsa side? Left? Right?

Ummm right side. I have really no clue.

Waise to log left side par karte hain.

Hang on. I quickly call a friend and she confirms. Left it is.

Theek hai bhai saab, left side par kijeeye.

My head is forced to the left, some one catches hold of my nose and OUCH! It hurts. There’s no blood but my eyes are watering like crazy. People gather around to view this spectacle. For almost 5 minutes he uses pliers to knot the wire. I’m balancing between wanting to shut my eyes because of the pain and wanting to keep a watch what this chaps doing to my nose

Then it gets done. A lovely piece of gold wire pierced through my nose.

Right now it’s enveloped in a weird concoction of soframycin and desi ghee, but it feels sexy as hell.

Maybe i will get my love song after all.

Technorati tags: nose piercing, mumba devi, body piercing, mumbai travel

Skin Deep

2006-12-11T17:27:00.000+01:00

Really that seems to be the point of frustration always. It’s a great package. It looks pretty darn sexy. Someone’s spent a whole lot of money and time marketing it.

But you take one bite – you reel back. It’s revolting. It’s a lie. There’s nothing underneath the pretty package.

Did anyone spend anytime on first principle? On looking up quality ingredients? On trying to build the original product and not just the covers?

Nope. Didn’t think so.

We love pretty exteriors so much it clouds our judgment on anything else. It’s like all of us are on psychedelic drugs and we’re grinning gleefully at the coloured rings merging into each other.

No one respects your intelligence any more. No, change that. They don’t think you’d have enough mental faculty to actually demand much, forget being offended.

The latest pissing off entity in the market – they made what they call a movie – Dhoom 2.

Popular news channels couldn’t stop gushing about how great the protagonists were looking. Ms Bips went on to say she worked really hard for the movie. Working out to look good. Everyone did work hard. Everyone but the script writers. And Mr. Chopra. They gave us a lemon. And it ain’t even freshly squeezed juice of Vitamin C.

The other morning one ostensibly intelligent gentleman sent me a text – Dhoom 2 rocks! A refusal to concur with this emotional effusion led him to gallantly remark – it’s the age of marketing and not content.

Well, that’s like saying the Indian cricket team is the best in the world since they endorse a whole host of brands, even though you can’t remember the last time they convincingly won a match.

I’m done with the low IQ-ed mainstream garbage in the name of entertainment, infotainment that they’re dishing out. You want my attention? You darn well work for it.

Technorati tags: Dhoom2, bollywood, skin deep

hello to say good bye

2006-12-11T02:43:00.000+01:00

I don’t think I can forget my wedding date. It’s the day my train pass expires.

It can be an extremely harrowing, hectic perhaps even fulfilling a day. For me, it was remarkably calm. I woke up early, didn’t really take a shower and even managed to tuck in a large cup of strawberries and cream, fresh from a popular mid-town juice centre.

There are inflection points in your life – you can either ignore them, let go, or you can stand to regret them. It’s too early to tell if I’m going to regret this. The problem begins when you start to expect it to change your life, to make a difference. Expectation is clearly, the mother of all fuck ups. If you could just learn to ignore it – the feeling of excessive elation or massive disappointment.

Why is that you need the endorsement of an event to feel fulfilled?

Why are you so scared of letting go?

Why is your presence more significant than anyone else’s?

Are you going to reach a milestone that no one else has?

Are you going to disappear and no one will ever remember you?

Maybe you’re making a rather large mountain here out of a non-existent mole hill. Maybe you need to pay a little less attention to the rock on the left hand and focus more on the road ahead.

Maybe I just want to commemorate my non wedding day.

Maybe if you throw me together with a few more folks, I’ll just bell-curve out.

Technorati tags: wedding, mariage, hope, uncertaintity

I'd like most right now

2006-10-25T21:32:00.000+02:00

sighh...

Technorati tags: some love, calvin hobbes

No pen, no ink, no table, no room, no time, no quiet, no inclination

2006-10-22T11:30:00.000+02:00

Technorati tags: Pictures, Ireland, Irish pictures, surfing, Guiness Beer, wedding

Dark Side of the Moon…

2006-10-16T12:45:00.000+02:00

I’ve not thought about it for a long time, in fact ever since I stepped out of the dark room in the physics lab, in 1996, leaving the spectrometer behind. The concept of the prism had been stored somewhere, probably forgotten and the only time any cognizance of the said object had been taken was perhaps while looking at the cover of Pink Floyd’s album.

And then one day, right out of the blue, some one asked – Hey, do you know where I could get hold of a prism? Err…why? Oh for my 8-year-old son, he’s never seen one. Ah…okay, we’ll see what we can do.

Prism – 3 dimensional, triangular-shaped glass or other transparent material through which, when light is passed, its wavelengths refract into a rainbow of colors. A demonstration that light is composed of colours and indication of the arrangement of colors in the visible spectrum.

So where could I source one from? Not available in general stores, stationary shops. Chemists? Nah. I could go back to college, to the lab and ask for one – but where’s the romance? The challenge?

The World Wide Web acts as a panacea. Somewhere in its not so frequented alleys – is a phone number of a scientific instrument dealer – who as it happens doesn’t deal in the business anymore – but does direct me to Neptune Scientific Traders.

Now is that delicious or what!?

Snuggled away in the by-lanes of Princess Street, behind alleys you’d never have any reason to visit, on the mezzanine 2nd Floor of the last dilapidated building two lanes behind Edward Talkies (did not ever hear about it, but it’s playing Shiva right now) – is Neptune Scientific Traders.

It’s a treasure trove, it is.

Mild mannered Mr Pankaj Goradia, sits behind an old wooden table. The window at the extreme end of the room is the sole source of light, there’s a table fan sitting atop a metal chair. His table is cluttered with an old Remington typewriter, pens that my grandfather used to have on his study – those ball point ones with long conical gold plated bodies, a camel stamp pad and thick cardboard box files. Around the room is an inventory stock of vernier calipers, filt roll filter paper, test tubes, starch iodine, petri dishes, litmus paper (red & blue), fractional weights, copper plates, magnetic compass, pinch clips, measuring cylinders, large & wide wooden scales and so many more riches but my prying eyes are unable to read the sketch pen marks on the boxes – there’s not enough light.

I’m probably the only woman who’s entered the shop in a really long time and am the object of curiosity amongst the cat (literally standing on the hot tin roof) and some men loitering about. The 38mm x 38mm x 38mm (equilateral) prism was kept ready for me. I stand around, not wanting to leave, itching to explore this remarkable storehouse. So I make small conversation – do they have lab equipment for all subjects? Well, for physics, chemistry & biology labs, 8th – 12th standard. Do you manufacture all this? Oh no, we’re wholesalers, the equipment gets manufactured in Delhi, Haryana, Ferozabad.

Are you a schoolteacher? It’s my turn to be interrogated. No – I work for Times of India. I want to buy this for a friend. Ok, though we prefer to sell to dealers, you can come anytime you like to buy from here. I’m overjoyed.

Would you mind if I take some pictures of your shop? I ask tentatively, not wanting to offend and revoke my open invite. If you want to. Shrugs Mr Sampat.

I click a few shots and then halfheartedly I walk out, my lunch break will end soon and I have to be back in office.

Neptune Scientific Traders – a dusty, dimly lit old world store that keeps a slab of history & science alive in those swanky new age schools of these days.

Oh, to be back in the lab.

Technorati tags: Prism, Physics lab, Mumbai travel, Nostalgia

Not About U2

2006-10-10T08:42:00.000+02:00

One of the more interesting pieces that I read over this weekend.

Like it says, the odds are slim, but can this piece of knowledge ever hurt you. Well, yes – if it’s only little knowledge and we all know that it can be a dangerous thing! But our motto is - Animis opibusque parati.

It’s common knowledge that it is the easiest thing to learn how to make a bomb – atom, nuke or any other (the menu is up for grabs) in your backyard, but if you need to know the recipe of McDonald’s secret sauce recipe – well, they’ll tell you, but then they’ll have to kill you.

So all in all – I thought this is not just a good to know information – but need to know information.

This brings me to a really serious point. Today in the local train (first class, ladies compartment) – one woman fell and had an epileptic fit. In a crazily crowded train, the women began to panic. Some one screamed for a doctor/nurse (finally in desperation - any medical person?), another asked around for water to calm her down, while yet another rummaged around for a piece of sweet so the woman could bite on something other than her tongue. All through, really no one – and I mean no one really knew how to actually handle the situation. Because none of us, shamefully that included me, had even basic first aid training.

This needs to be made mandatory. With big plans of disaster management that the BMC has, and the Mumbai Police wants to make Mumbai Terror Free (Make Mumbai Unbreakable) – we need to start, perhaps, with baby steps. As citizens – it is our onus to take responsibility and charge when desperate situations arise upon us. It is only us who will be able to help ourselves.

Make a list & implement it:

Learn First Aid
Managing self & others during - Earthquakes, Fire (buildings/local trains), Bomb Blasts
Emergency contact numbers - Railways, Police, Hospitals, Newspapers, News Channels

Here's some links that may prove useful.

National Disaster Managment

Queries on Maharashtra State Disaster Management

First Aid

Loneliness

2006-10-04T10:46:00.000+02:00

I wrote this a long time ago. And it still rings true sometimes...

On a clear day, a pitcher and a half should do. Per person. A crowded room, or a tavern as the patrons might call it. Music those born after 1980 perhaps may well not recognize is a comforting environment. The smoke from Marlboro lights, Goldflake kings, Wills Navycut doesn't itch the throat much as the diesel being burnt on the highway. It could be simply a Friday night glee Or even just the relief of it. The music blares but you don't mind it. Perhaps it's the taste of the dwelling, or maybe you're just tending towards mellow bliss. Either ways you seemingly enjoy it. There's Floyd, Clapton, with a hint of Floyd and Tull thrown in; a dancing in the dark, and some college hangover!?

It's nonetheless the ratio I'm in favour of. On a not so rough estimate, it would be 52 to 6. Male to the fairer species. A school of thought would undoubtedly react to further divisibility issues, but for purposes of imagery I'd stature it suffices. The best part of course being the obscurity of it all. The song changes to 'Careless Whispers'. Around each corner you find someone mouthing the song, tragically. Conceivably, broken hearts aplenty. Though I look around when 'with our without you' plays after a while a few takers for a personal favourite. Lets not then again get predisposed to a theory. As the songs steal away time, the quotient becomes heavier further. When the drizzling outside encourages a refuge. Or a plea.

Desi Othello versus Watchamaycallit (better known as KANK?)

2006-08-16T15:12:00.000+02:00

Both movies last well over two and a half hours. But by the end of KANK, you’re pulling your hair out. Or if you’re like me – walk out of the movie mid way even though some one else paid for it.

SRK’s every twitch gets magnified and slo-mo-ed putting every saans-bahu soap worth it’s salt on national television to shame. And what’s with Rani? Why does one end up being frustrated by her instead of empathizing? And Karan, if this is what growing up does to you…sigh…please don’t attempt any more ‘bold’ movies?

KANK – insults your intelligence. Where’s the struggle? Where’s the conundrum of an extra-martial affair? The easiest thing in the world is to hate a relationship and look for some gratification external to it – subconsciously or otherwise. But to be torn between relationships, to be able to be honest to one (self) and admit loving candidly two people completely and be unable to leave or let go…well – try that as food for thought Mr Johar. And please…would some one respect my time? If not my money? Oh wait – that was a free ticket. Yet I couldn’t sit through all of it.

Omkara, on the other hand - ‘tanik lambi, magar badiya hai’. Shakespeare is never easy to do – there’s 400 years of history to compete with. But so far as adaptations go, this one is not a tragedy. Desdemona (Dolly – Kareena) & Cassio (Keso – Viveik) are admittedly wet blankets, but Iago (Langda Tyagi – Saif) carries the movie on his shoulders. His is a subtle, virtuoso performance – filled with refined, sinful acerbity. Omkara (Othello – Ajay), well, as it happens Saif steals his thunder.But what I enjoyed most about O – the rustic profanity – slipping out of people’s mouths like beer in Munich! And Konkona has some gems – ‘hansi badi mehengi ho gaye hai duniya mein’.

Two With Nature

2006-08-05T22:36:00.000+02:00

So I begin this today. How long will it be alive - I do not know.

Does it need a momentus ocassion to be able to do this? A mahurat? An agenda? A deep knowledge? A higher IQ? A sense of lonliness?