Reality check

The first thing that I did when I got my laptop was to open up MS Paint. The evidence above strongly suggests that my drawing skills haven't progressed much since I was 5 years old! That however is beside the point. I was overcome with an insatiable wish to put the bright new LCD to an auspicious first use. So in was plugged an optical mouse and my favourite creature from the tales that I loved in my childhood found its way into my hard drive as the first file in my documents. I found that I was thrilled at the fact that once upon a time I was such an undemanding fool that doing a simple thing like this brought me unmitigated and unjustifiable happiness. To think that now I want money and fame and power and all that every man so fervently desires. I first laughed at my naivety, at this long lost ability to gain pleasure out of nothing more than a pen and a paper and the able support of my curiosity charged imagination. Then I thought deep and hard if I had really changed that much along the way. The answer to my utter relief turned out to be a resounding 'No'. There is no greater joy than the ability to do something that has no on-the-face value but is priceless in the way it gives vent to my whims. There is nothing that I enjoy more than to pick a random thought that goes trapezing through my mind and give it an expression however immature and raw it's final form it may be. My happiness lies in breathing life into my thoughts and I hope I can make it stay that way to the end of my days.

It is time...

18 blasts ripped through the city of Ahmedabad yesterday, killing 30 people (the last toll that I saw). I switch to a "Live WebCast" of the breaking news on NDTV.com and I have a reporter who is insistent that the terrorists have failed in their objectives. The city he says is completely at peace and the hopes of communal incitement by the terrorists a lost cause. We even get a shot of a few people on the street talking about a variety of things, everything except what the reporter rounds up the reports with. The reporter winds up saying something to the effect of the 'spirit' of the city (Oh! How I hate that word) being indomitable and the general feeling of 'bhaichaara' amongst the citizens of Ahmedabad of which his recent interviewees had given no trace of. So you see everything is just perfect. Tomorrow everyone will get back to their jobs and we'll get back to the great nation that India was, is and will continue to be. So darn perfect!

You've got to be kidding me! This is Gujarat, where I've spent 20 formative years of my life. I know that here the Hindu and Muslim communities here are about as well-mixed as oil and water. It's like sitting on a barrels of petrol and smoking. There's only time till the butt is stubbed. Incessant rumours and whispers fester and breed in the two different cocoons, and have of late assumed violent incarnations. There seems to a sort of glee in news channels all around reporting and re-reporting that it is BJP ruled states that this group called the Indian Mujahideen is targeting. Well, they were the party with a indirect but prominent anti-Muslim stand, so it's only fair that they should bear the brunt, right?

What I can't figure out for the life of me is that how does it matter. Why should people have to bear the brunt of having to choose between a communal and a corrupt government? Is there no one who has the courage to say that there is an urgent need to accept the existence of a problem and get together to work towards a solution. Where is all this hatred coming from? One half of our politicians is firmly engaged in rampant hate mongering while the other fattens itself on dedicated vote-banks too yellow livered to bring its support base to task. Who are these people anyway, the Indian Mujahideen? They create perfect conditions for "I told you so" and "We didn't start it but we're going to end it!" types of discussions in neighbourhood chat sessions feeding the slavering mad dogs of violent fundamentalism. They claim they are here to fight oppression, to wreak vengeance for past deeds and such gobbledegook while all they do is cause brutal and meaningless damage to the essence of India.

Which brings us to a more important question - What is the essence of India? It's not about singing Vande Mataram, shunning all foreign 'moral corruption' and hating Pakistan as the right would want us to believe. It's not about quoting every dialogue and scene from RDB and then coolly submitting that false medical bill to your company ("It's the only way of life here in India" is a much too easily offered excuse) and a few minutes later whining about the 'insane' levels of corruption in India!

I was in Sarnath a few months ago and happened to go to the museum (You know the old dusty places where they keep boring bits of history) there. The central exhibit quite naturally was that of the Sarnath lion capital emblem. I initially thought that it was a replica of the original, in such a good state of polish the tremendously old stone carving was! When I walked around it to see the effects of time on the other side of the emblem only then could I believe it was the real thing. What seemed even more apt in it surviving the ravages of time was that the values that the symbol represented (though much denigrated by its current owners) are as eternal as the man who had created it. There is no alternative to truth and peace and that is what we as Indians knew well enough as far as 200 odd B.C to be able to create an edict out of it. There were wise men before that too and have continued in an incessant stream who have continued to preach these values of truth, assimilation and acceptance. That is what I believe to be the soul of our country.

The last embodiment of that spirit that has survived through the ages was in the form of a simple but highly intelligent man from Porbandar. He knew that all revolutions of the past had eventually became nothing more than sorry sagas of blood lust, rape and revenge. So he forged this nation out of a million regionalities using the searing light of non-violence and awakening the guilt in his oppressors. Some fools persist in calling him a coward but what he had done was to show us an evolution, a revolution where the wheel does not end up back in the same dark place. He had shown how beautiful the future might be if we realized the fact that honesty and tolerance are not optional, they are the only absolutes.

India was supposed to the bright new future of humanity from then on. A nation that has consistently defied its' critics who predicted its' inevitable collapse yet never maximised on its' potential. But then, that is the secret of our history. Conquerors came but were conquered themselves being unable to turn their back to her delectable variety of lifestyles and chose to call her home. We will never burn out because we have always believed in the principles of a slow flame and constant stirring of whichever new flavour was added to our cooking pots. The sun did eventually set on the supposedly perfect British Empire and China can build a million snazzy flyovers and host 10,000 Olympics before it has what India was born with. The power to assimilate and to move forward ever so gracefully, like a wise old elephant. The basic understanding that people need not be carbon copies of each other to be able to live together and that too without the fear of an omnipresent iron hand above them.

Incidents like the Babri Masjid demolition, the Godhra train incident and yesterday's events eat away like cancer into that magnificent vision of India. Isn't it time that someone stepped up to the mantle and reminded everybody of what being an Indian means? We may have forgotten and as is most likely may not have known at all how to define a voluminous concept as India. Maybe we should stop trying to encapsulate India into a phrase and appreciate its randomness. It is important to understand that being an Indian is more about subscribing to a philosophy than to a nationality. India is a unfulfilled hope, an incomplete promise, a vision of how all human beings will eventually live. Can we just watch it passively being ripped into shreds by economic, social or religious strife? Isn't it high time that we squared up for this incredible adventure?

Tough as nails

My maternal grandfather - "Dadubhai" as we grandchildren used to call him and as he used to call us grandsons had a certain aura about him. Images pulled from as far as my conscious memory goes always seem to project that one single image of him. He was not a very large man, no, not at all. In fact, if I can retain such a lithe figure when I reach his age, I would consider it to be a major achievement. But in his diminutive figure, he seemed to carry so much weight, every pound of his worth 5 of ordinary men. The fact that he spoke so little added to the intensity of his eyes which would register a spark of surprise only when a goal was scored in any football match he would be watching on TV. Even his final days when he had become old and infirm could not snatch the power he could exercise merely through his eyes!

His legend was built even more around the stories we had heard of his younger days, none of which - in a most self-effacing manner came from him. Stories about how he had to leave his home village in Bangladesh for Kolkata on an extremely short notice with the local police looking to arrest him for being an active revolutionary for India's freedom. Stories about his genius at playing bridge and mathematics, about how he was a magical football player didn't do him harm either. You'd need just one look at the man, and then you wouldn't doubt the truth in any of these stories. The clinching proof if any was required is the fact that my dad, like most married men not the greatest fan of his in-laws still has that awe in his voice when he speaks of Dadubhai's carrom and mathematical skills.

Dadubhai was never the most emotionally expressive person around. His affection for his grandchildren would at its most extreme assume the form of his knobbly, tough hands stroking our tiny palms. But his presence in the room was like a giant umbrella under which we would play unfettered. A sporadic guffaw would bring to our attention that he was indeed keeping an observant eye on all our activities. I remember being especially fascinated by the little box of smooth wax matchsticks and the packet of Navy Cuts that were always by his bedside. He was a regular smoker and when he was not in the room I would pick up the packet of cigarettes and revel in the strange odour of unburnt tobacco that I love to this day. I frequently wondered to myself whether this was the secret to his iron-clad mystique.

It's been years since Dadubhai and a few years later Dimma passed away but we've still got some furniture from my grandparents' Salt Lake flat. The chief attraction for me among these is the folding camp bed which would be opened out in our honour whenever we stayed at the Salt Lake flat. Mom and grandmother would tell us exciting instantly made-up stories about being in a jungle as we lay in darkness on the squeaking 'folding khaat' as we kids called it. But now when I see the bed gather dust in the corner, the first image that it brings up is of this simply dressed man who would without a word open it out for us, smile a sly smile and go on with his routine ways. If there was ever a man whose idealistic, dependable character spoke through his behaviour, words being superfluous, that was my Dadubhai.

New York

No, I haven't been there yet. 4 long weeks of inhabiting the US of A, and I still haven't found the willpower to propel me there. But I am so tired of incessantly writing about my apartment that I've decided to stop doing it. All I've managed to do is one measly trip of about half an hour to Boston and that's about it. Cape Cod for three continuous weekends was beautiful but Sandy Neck beach is hardly the place to feel the pulse of urban America.
The fragment that I've seen of Boston is alluring. Sitting outside the Walmart superstore of our one-horse town Taunton waiting for our cab to show up, I was beginning to form the opinion that the USA has only obese, ugly ladies. But a subway ride through Boston caused a rapid and most welcome change of opinion!
I am curious about what New York will be like. Images of Times Square, Brooklyn Bridge and the windy tunnels in between the squabbling skyscrapers of Manhattan spring to mind. And also a very unlikely image of its sewers because of the memories of my favourite cartoon show. The Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles cartoon show was probably only as intelligent as it sounds, but I absolutely loved the show as a kid. It was a weird mix of American cool with pizzas, skateboards and teenagers and Japanese style complete with senseis, ninjas and pop philosophy to boot. These 4 fellows (the Turtles) were the quintessential urban New Yorkers and it's not hard to imagine them coolly saunter the mean streets of the Big Apple, with special Ninja skills at their disposal. Thanks to their adventures, New York has an active, bustling presence in my imagination even before I set foot there. I don't expect meet Leo, Mike, Don and Raph (That's them, the 4 Turtles) on arrival but if their pretty reporter friend April'O'Neil wants to interview me, I'm all game. It is time for me to stop daydreaming and get back to real life planning, you think? Well, I am on my way albeit slowly. At least it's been an consistent effort for all of my 23 years. I am still trying...

Freaky as they come

This is really freaking me out. Just a couple of days after my own bucket list post, I watch the movie "The Bucket List". For the uninitiated, a bucket list is a condemned man's last wishes, the things you wanna do before you figuratively kick the bucket! I watch the movie to find my list creepily similar to Morgan Freeman's character. Ride a fast car! Check! Do an African Safari on a Land Rover! Check! Spend a day at the Taj Mahal! Check! Gaze at the Pyramids from the Sahara! Check! Sky dive! Check!

It's even more ominous when I consider that I wrote that list casually, without even wondering whether I really wanted them to come true. These thoughts were like flotsam on the sewage canal of my thoughts that I picked up and I find them in resonance with a Hollywood scriptwriter's. Coincidences like these that are too shady to considered co-incidences tend to give me the goosebumps, and not exactly of the pleasant kind. It is not a perfect method by any means, but it does keep the suspense in my life alive.

Home Alone

Now that the 4 week transition period that I had with my colleague whom I replace here at on-site is over, he's back home in Calcutta. Leaving me to fend for myself in the vastness of America. Not that I'm hating it too much. The thrill of an unscripted adventure tingles my senses. Then I look across the devastation that is also known as my studio apartment and rest my eyes on the place I love to hate. That place is the kitchen.



During my time in Calcutta, I religiously avoided any kitchen activities by buying cooked stuff off the street. But Taunton, Massachusetts is hardly the place to search if I were looking for good ol' 'tarka dal' and 'roti'. So the dull pain of having to cook my own food lingers on like a reluctant rain cloud. If there is one activity that makes every lazy bone of my body groan in disgust, it is cooking. So much effort is put into that one single act and cursed with my culinary skill set, the effort just is not justified. I did manage to stir up a semi-palatable dish of cauliflowers and potatoes but the thought of having it to do it every day for the rest of my stay here gives me the shivers. The aesthetic nightmare that my flat is right now is a side issue, considering the criticality of whether I'll be able to perform the basic survival act of cooking myself food. Walmart is always there like an old friend with its kilometres of stacked packaged foods, but also like an old friend doesn't really care how good or disgusting what is being served is.



All factors taken into account, I am still elated with the idea of being alone. Being able to drop off to sleep whenever I feel like it without offering lame justifications to raised eyebrows has to be at the top at the list of the guilty pleasures I intend to indulge in. Leonardo Di Caprio needed the keel of a gigantic ship and the exhilarating company of Kate Winslet to say this. I say this in the comfort of a little flat in the anonymity of suburban America with a laptop on my lap. The sentiments in the words ring true in both cases. "I am the king of the world!"

The Day of Reckoning

It's official. Deathclock.com - a website that I had heard of a long time ago and found time to browse only yesterday has chosen the day for me. It offered a variety of combinations to evaluate a day of demise and the two combinations that I tried with an honest heart conjured up the same date. Scary, huh? And then I tried various other false combinations of smoker/non-smoker ('coz I am somewhere in between) and sadist/optimist (somewhere in between again), just to check and the dates were came up different. But the original date was what stuck in my mind.

July 8th, 2021.

My last day on earth, and then maybe onto a happier, prettier place. That leaves me about 13 years to do what I came to do, or at least to figure out that I was intended to serve no purpose at all. So many things to do, places to visit, people to meet and so little time. My impending demise leaves me with at least one less worry. That worry is the need to worry or be sad because frankly speaking I haven't got time enough. If that fateful Thursday (Yes, Deathclock.com told me that too) is really to be my last and I were to pick a really self-centred list (as a condemned man ought to have the freedom to) of 13 aims to be accomplished off the top of my head, they would be the following:

(In no particular order)
1. Drive a Porsche 911 down a sun-baked Mediterranean coast.
2. Go on a majestic cruise across the width of the Atlantic from England to America.
3. To visit the remote islands of Easter in the lap of the majestic blue Pacific.
4. Hike up the Andes to the haunting ruins of Machu Pichu in Peru.
5. Spend a day on the cool marble of the Taj Mahal, on a baking Agra summer day (That's the only thing on this list that I've accomplished yet but I don't mind doing it all over again)
6. Do an African safari in a Land Rover, where else but in the Serengeti!
7. Get astride a KTM Super Duke and let it rip through desolate night-time city streets.
8. Visit one of those mysterious paper palaces up in the mist covered mountains that frequently make an appearance in Japanese paintings.
9. Live for a month in an old seaside mansion complete with its own grounds bordering the sea, its own guard dogs and a family ghost too.
10. Work a job that pays me for being lazy, i.e the lazier I am, the higher I am paid. Something like a model for the comforts of Kurl-On Pillow.
11. Sit on a desert dune and just gaze at the Pyramids from a distance.
12. Sky-dive from the highest altitudes humanly possible to feel the incomparable thrill that must come with free-falling and gliding through the air.
13. Put all of the above and every incident that occurred in between into a book that everybody'd would love to read (Now that's wishful thinkng, if there was ever any)!

Life isn't such a pain if you find that you don't have to deal with it for too long. For such a wonderful sense of transience, I owe a very grim website my heart-felt gratitude.