Pride

It may have had something to do with the fact that at every Republic Day parade, every single year in school, I'd be the first to be thrown out in the screening process with my woefully un-coordinated marching while my sister would be chosen to lead the contingent for the parade resulting in intense sibling jealousy. That I assume would be the primary reason why I had very little regard (at least superficially) for formal ceremonies like hoisting the national flag and marching.

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I think this incident was before I turned a teen, a point in life upto which you take everything that your Parents (Notice the capitalization) teach you as the equivalent of the word of God without questioning it or arguing over it. So one day my dad read out to me a newspaper article about a guy who ran up to the roof of his burning office building and brought out the national flag hoisted up there before escaping the building. "Ha! What a donkey!" I guffawed out cheerfully. 

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Wrong answer, it seemed, a very wrong answer. I knew instantly because my Mom and Dad rarely agree on anything, back then or even today, yet in sync with a surprised stare at me from my old man, I heard Mom's voice address me from the adjoining kitchen "What? What did you say?" I went "Uh! I mean... you know... like I thought..." and trailed off. Dad isn't the lecturing type so he came up with a short "It's OUR national flag, after all. He's a great guy for doing what he did." and promptly went back to scanning his newspaper. That's all the conversation we had over this topic and I was left pondering.

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I know that our flag is grossly misused, by those criminal politicians who mock salute it at every parade; by fundamentalist pseudo-patriotic, religious and regional forces to spread hatred amongst brothers and by those thieving businessmen who build the world's most expensive home out of stolen taxpayer's money, then sell products which harp on the patriotic strings of their customers. But I refuse to link it with them despite their desperate urge to somehow project themselves as extensions of that inspiring image of a tri-coloured cloth fluttering in the wind. 

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Would I run into a burning building to 'rescue' our national flag? I probably would not find the courage to. Would I stand still at the side of the road if I were running a very important errand and the national anthem starts playing? I would not. That would feel ridiculous as I am an incurable cynic. Yet what I would also not do is laugh at people who do those things. For the flag and the anthem are potent symbols, of glorious ideals that may be never be fully met yet must always be aspired to.

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We owe the respect to the hundreds of millions of peaceful, self-respecting, hard working, honest men and women out there who end the day with a happy conscience and of whose ranks we are hopefully part of. We owe the respect to a land which has shared its beauty, its craziness, its people, its memories, its knowledge, its resources, its history, its cultures and its influences to bring us to where we stand in life today no matter how much we choose to refute it. We owe it to ourselves if we have the slightest bit of pride in who we are and what defines us as the flag is the common representative of all of us and each individual at the same time. 

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There was this ill-fated field hockey league which ran for about two years before shutting shop, India being the unhealthily cricket-obsessed nation that it is, called the PHL [http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Premier_Hockey_League]. The League may be gone but their TV promotional slogan stuck like glue in my head and I tend it to overuse it on every appropriate and inappropriate occasion because I feel that it is always so relevant in life. "Garv nahin toh kuchh nahin..." (roughly translates to "What's worth living for but pride...")

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[http://virtual-inksanity.blogspot.com/2011/08/pride.html]

It's complicated

I have a good friend but she just won't talk to me. That's almost sad. Because we understand each other perfectly, communicate with a fairly high level of accuracy, agree on certain matters of importance yet her steadfast refusal to speak in English, Hindi, Bengali or Gujarati disappoints. As for me, I don't speak Dog.

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Yes, Chloe is my landlord's pet she-dog (See how I smoothly avoided stepping on those ultra sensitive feminist toes by avoiding the B-word) and we frequently spend quality time together. Mainly because she spends a lot of time flouncing around in the garden of the house I am a renter in and I happen to cross her path many times a day. A Basset hound can bark real loud and she does a great job of waking up the entire neighbourhood if by freak chance, I forget to stop by and say "Hello", ignoring her initial whines for attention.

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Not that I mind. Dogs are very simplistic and straightforward creatures. If they like you, they'll respond by an enthusiastic wagging of the tail & happiness writ on their faces and if they don't, beware the ultra slow tail wag & deep seated growl. They are pretty clear about their 'Likes' and 'Dislikes', which makes them the kind of folk I prefer hanging around with. And they are quite simply the best companions for quiet introspection.

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So I hop over to the garden, pat her on the back with the usual "Good girl [It'd be 'boy' if it were a he-dog]" compliments that every dog takes to be his/her birthright. Then I watch for a few minutes as she chomps on the occasional blade of grass, sniffs around the area as if it is her first day out [it is not, she knows this garden for more than 8 years now], barks after strangers in the neighbourhood, tries to chase a hare or pick a fight with another dog till the limits of her extra long leash allow her to and then look at me with me with those deep, brown soulful eyes. Generally speaking, be a dog and do dog things.

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Then when it's time for me to leave, the downcast eyes clearly say "It was nice to have your company. Hope to see you again." without speaking the words. That's how it is between friends. That you don't have to jabber all the time to enjoy each other's company, becomes even more apparent in a friendship where talking isn't even a possibility. I know what some of you are thinking. "Come on! It's just a dog. Quit the over-analysis."

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But the most human of human qualities is to seek a satisfactory answer. And there is none. What keeps a friend a friend or a makes a non-friend a friend or chucks a friend into a non-friend category are irresoluble questions. No one can define for sure what that intangible connection is which defines a friendship or the where, when and how of it. Revel in it like soaking in a cool breeze on a summer day or the luxury a warm blanket affords on a winter morning and appreciate it for its presence. As for the reasons, rest easy in this one theory. It's complicated.

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P.S: Happy Friendship day to all readers/non-readers, dog-lovers/dog-haters alike.
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[http://virtual-inksanity.blogspot.com/2011/08/its-complicated.html]

Anniversary

A very long running association came to a somewhat less than glamorous end in August 2006. I was 22 then and after 18 odd years finally done with the circus of formal studies. A graduate engineer to boot I thought to myself, "Never again!" No more dreadfully drowsy afternoon classes, no more "Oh, I should've started this one month ago... Now I am doomed!" pre-examination night terror and most importantly no more calling up home (or my elder brother in the case of 'secret' expenses) for financial resources. I was ready for a bigger commitment now, something that would keep me engaged from age 22 to 64, or possibly longer. 

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It was the beginning of my first (and till date only) full time job and I was loving it. It's been 5 eventful years since then and it's time for a re-evaluation. Am I still loving it? The fact that any kind of compulsory work chafes at the most pain sensitive regions of my lazy soul and that I was never going to be much of a career man given that my interests always pursue the opposite direction of what might even be remotely important leaves me rather surprised at my resilience. Not that everything is picture perfect but hey, I am still here; standing on the edge, admiring the view; not hanging on for dear life as I would have imagined myself to be 5 years ago.

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My arrangement with work was plain and simple for all to see. I told work "Look. I pay attention to you for about 55 hours a week (adding hours taken up by stress and to-and-fro travel). Then you quietly pay the bills and stay out of the way." This was something that work took some while to understand, through about the first 2 years of my relationship I'd say and now it has settled down to its assigned role in the arrangement. True, it once laughed cruelly in my face when I was checking out the price of Porsches on a website but apart from that it has behaved pretty nicely.

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The world of media all around me is flooded with the "Do what you love. Love what you do." philosophy. If you are not totally in passionate love with what brings the bacon home, you need to get a life, they say. I am happy, freakin' elated for those who make their living from working on what they love most. Good for them, because I couldn't. 

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At the very moment, a price-tag and a deadline is plugged onto a project I am doing out of interest, it loses its sheen. The inherent criminal thrill of "I should not be doing this. I should be doing my taxes instead." disappears. In the wise words of a 6 year old who lives somewhere in Ohio with his parents and pet tiger "It's only work when someone makes you do it." For me, my regular bring-in-the-dough work is like the sober shade of blue paint on the walls of this room I am writing from. I don't love it, I don't hate it but I sure as hell can't contest the importance of it being there and for it not being a bright shade of pink.
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[http://virtual-inksanity.blogspot.com/2011/08/anniversary.html]

Jungle in the Bronx

I blame the Discovery Channel. And National Geographic. For the thoroughly successful brainwashing racket that they jointly run. Leading their viewers to believe that animals are cool. After hours of systemically targeted programming through my formative years, I am a convert and a slave to the concept of 'animal coolness'.

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The reason why I find myself driving back down to the city of cities, the metropolis of metropolises, to check out... not the Empire State building, the flocking of human tribes from around the world and Manhattan's touristy madness... but the Bronx zoo. "The zoo?" the question arises "What are you? A kid?" No. But my childhood influences have ruined me. I have seen that New York is amongst the greatest cities in the world through multiple personal experiences and outings but the first thing I still think of when I visualize it is the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles bursting out of a sewer in midtown closest to a pizza place saying "Cowabunga!!!".

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How is a chimpanzee cooler than an I-Pad? I don't know but I have been led to believe so by a certain Miss Jane Goodall [http://www.janegoodall.org/]. The African lion might be the king of the Serengeti and may have a tough sounding roar but does he exercise as much influence as the richest man in India? That's not even a logical question. Giant crocodiles lurking in the swampy waters more interesting than the latest Harry Potter movie? Sounds like something which should interest Steve Irwin (God bless his hyperactive soul. The crocs in heaven's rivers must be having a tough time now.) more than me. I seem to have my priorities of importance all messed up.

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So I will battle this weekend, against hundreds of pesky excited children to sneak a peek of the above mentioned celebrities. Not to mention the chest thumping mountain gorillas, lumbering grizzlies, the ultra elusive snow leopard, the stalking tigers, the psychedelically coloured birds (I tell you, God for sure must be trying some weird stuff once in a while), the crazy monkeys and everything else that our urban existence keeps us safely/unfortunately isolated from. I daresay every animal 'spotting' would be inducing a mental revision of that Discovery/NGC documentary on it that I had watched a very very long time ago but this would indeed be the kind of studies I like, 'cause it's voluntary. 

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There are those who say, quite rightly, that a zoo is not the best place for a wild animal. I agree, wholeheartedly. But what a zoo does, and does really well is to keep the wonder of being on this planet alive. That we do not own the earth even though we may be the primary lease holder by now. There are things of beauty, power, grace and terror that are not of our doing. Despite our best efforts to match up, they will always make our most complicated creations look like a 6 year old's science project. We may have taken the men out of the jungle but the way our heartbeat rates jump when we hear a tiger's growl even from inside a cage show that you can never take the jungle out of the men. It's a humbling experience. Given how easily stuff goes to our head, that's pretty freakin' important.
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[http://virtual-inksanity.blogspot.com/2011/07/jungle-in-bronx.html]

It's true

April 2nd 2011, 13:30 hours local time, Lynn, Massachusetts

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A little Indian flag, brought to the living room from my brother's office desk for the special occasion sits unnoticed on the drawing room table of a house. It may be feeling a little lost out here so far away from home but boy, it must feel proud! Four guys who had been dedicatedly watchng a somewhat important cricket match live since 5:00 AM local time (one of them opting to stand for about 4 hours in the end to 'ensure' the victory) are going ballistic with joy all around it and why not! We were finally World Champions again after 28 long years, admittedly in a sport which may not be the most popular in the world but is at the centre of a lot of Indians' very existence.

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We pause for a second and look outside the window to see if any of the neighbours has reported a group of four runaway madmen to 911 yet. Nope! The area is of course insanely quiet. Duh! Just another day in the couldn't-care-less-about-cricket country of America. Out on the streets of every town and city in India, thousands were already doing somersaults of elation and running around in crazy circles and so were we, like so many Indians separated and distributed across time zones and countries, tapping directly in the incomparable happiness feed that was beaming out of the Wankhede stadium in Mumbai.

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After the first couple of minutes of euphoria following Dhoni's winning shot, the magnitude of what had just happened began to sink in. The unabashed crying of Yuvraj Singh & Harbhajan; Sehwag's quick tear wipe; Sachin's lap of honour on the shoulders of his teammates flag in his hand; Mahendra Singh Dhoni with his ever cool smile, the weight of the tricolour draped on his shoulders which he had carried with such grace - were emotionally draining moments, leading to a somewhat embarassing sting in my eyes and a quiver in my voice. As I guess would have happened to all those Indian cricket fans who had stood by their team through thick and thin - not the ones who conveniently kicked them when they were down and would now rush to the forefront of the party to claim the victory as theirs. For those few patient souls, this was a moment of quiet vindication.

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We are trained as kids to believe that the world is a simple place with a simple equation: do what is right, give it your best shot, stay happy. The realities of life frequently drive us to significantly darker conclusions. On the day of India's victory though, it was difficult to fight back this feeling of foolishness. In "In the end, everything that happens, happens for good". In "Good things come to those who wait". In "There is no substitute for hard work". In a country whose unfulfilled potential is first written off by its own cynical people. In corny self-help books and moral science classes. In Santa Claus and in the tooth fairy. Believe.
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[http://virtual-inksanity.blogspot.com/2011/04/its-true.html]

Anew

Image by ViaMoi via Flickr

"A new beginning is due!" says the wise radio weatherman,

Yet for all I can see, the gloom of winter still does stand;

The wind is cold and breathless, each tree bare and wan

The sun for sure is not smiling, or helping anyone's tan.

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Dark clouds on the prowl I watch as the rain comes dripping down,

It's that kind of grey evening, that they write sad songs around;

If I were the worrying type, my face sure would wear a frown

A thousand morose thoughts would spring, at thunder's rumbling sound.

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What then is, you may ask, my way to beat the blues?

One of these days, I say, the old man's words will ring true;

Melancholy doesn't last forever, even the deepest possible hues

Wake up to brilliant green you will, no telling where winter flew.

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The season of hope, the season of promise, may be biding its time,

Once spring's here you'll see, sadness ain't worth a dime.

Dream

Image via Wikipedia

"That's it. I am done. Why should I care? This is just not worth the pain."

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On the evening of 13th March, 1996, that was exactly how I felt. I was a broken man (No... wait, I was only 11 then, so broken kid). I had bunked school afflicted by that mysterious fever that goes undetected on thermometers ("It's how I feel inside!!"); the Indian cricket team had been smothered by the Sri Lankans in the World Cup semi-final and the Eden Gardens was up in flames. I had watched the match first ball onwards on TV and was now in the process of making a vow.

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No more following Indian cricket. Not a chance. Cricket was still major fun to play so the long summer evening sessions with friends were very much on but the hours wasted on watching a heart-breaking defeat were a strict no-no. Was Azhar going to fly in and complete my assignments for tomorrow? Was Sachin going to sign my sick leave application now that my folks were convinced of my 'fever' being not so real? 

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It was perfectly logical. Why should 11 woefully fluctuating performers on a cricket field far far away dictate my state of mind? On the rare day, they did make it float up in a beautiful blue sky, across spectacular scenery; but on most days, they put my mood through the mental equivalent of a paper shredder. I was and still am a person who strives to keep things in balance, not investing too much of my emotions into someone or something. And then came those moments when all balance and caution were thrown to the winds! Indian cricket ranked high on this list of balance destroyers and I wished to cut myself free.

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Today happens to be April 1st, 2011. How did I do on my escape? Failed. Spectacularly. Many times over. 'Like' is something which is quite difficult to quantify or justify. Either you like it or you don't. Facebook had that bit well figured out and hence that magic button. I resent watching India mess up on the cricket field, but I like watching India soar; it's only the mix of pleasure and pain that makes me irresistibly want more. Indian cricket is so much like India, and India is so much like the Indian cricket team.

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I don't buy into the hype around the importance of winning the World Cup for India though. "The dream of a billion plus people?" - Really??? True, nothing brings us together as a country like cricket but nearly a billion of our 'billion plus' are dreaming of more important things like better education & careers, good roads, a plate full of food, functional hospitals, faster justice, even debating if they want to be called an Indian or not and such like, not M.S. Dhoni lifting the trophy. It's a hard fact but if cricketing glory is at the top of your mind, you are having it really good as compared to most of your countrymen.

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Inspite of everything that I said in the paragraph above, for me, at a personal level, this Saturday, the 2nd of April has the potential to be the most important Saturday of my life. Yes, the proverbial elephant in the room, quietly swishing its tail, that is the question of whether India will overcome Sri Lanka in the World Cup final, will leave only after the presentation ceremony is done. It may leave ears drooping and eyes downcast, or it may run out trumpeting joining me as I shout out and jump with joy in a place and country half the world away from where I wanted to be just for this day. For reasons beyond my control, Dhoni and his boys have a major stake in my happiness tomorrow & for a long time to come, and a flood of happiness like this may just be a once-in-a-lifetime event. So please please please...