Chhote mann se koi bada nahi hota....

It was a regular summer vacation day in 1996.

My Thatha (grandfather) was glued to the television that day. This was unusual for the only time he saw TV was the English news on Doordarshan in the night. Apparently, it was not a regular day for India.

As an Indian in my early teens, I was just about taking interest in observing politics.

The BJP had emerged as the single largest party and they did not have a majority in the parliament.

My grandfather was glued to the parliamentary proceedings of  the day and he was urging me to watch the television when Vajpayee was speaking. Knowing how proficient my grandfather was in Hindi (He could count from 1 to 10 in Hindi and knew the word "Achcha". He was a scholar in Sanskrit, so, he knew many words in Hindi when they were spoken) , I doubt he understood much of the speech.

So, it was unusual when my grandfather intermittently started saying, "Good", "That's correct" etc. during that speech. I was taken in too by the remarkable oratory I witnessed that day.

And when Vajpayee announced that he would be submitting his resignation to the president of India, my grandfather clapped- I remember, exactly two claps  (a rare occasion when he displayed that level of excitement)- Not because Vajpayee could not prove his majority, but for a remarkable speech and for making some extremely relevant points in that speech and for the grace...

This appreciation, coming from a person who was a follower of Mahatma Gandhi and a fan of Jawaharlal Nehru and his kin, was a surprise. And Vajpayee had managed to communicate to people who were not very proficient in Hindi.

I am sure many a households would have experienced this emotion in 1996.

I will remember that day as the day on which my interest in Indian politics was kindled. An interest that remains alive and kicking  till this day.

The next remarkable moment I can remember was in May 1998. Those nuclear tests at Pokhran would have been possibly only under an extremely courageous leader and Vajpayee was exactly that.

A recent movie Parmanu captures beautifully the days preceding the nuclear tests. Do watch the movie if you have the time.

My reading of Indian political history tells me that we have never had a more courageous Prime Minister. I think Indira Gandhi would be a close second. Many scholars I know place Prime Minister Shastri in that list too. Unfortunately, Shastri's tenure was too short and my own knowledge on his tenure a bit too inadequate.

I think Vajpayee's greatest achievements after the tests were in the way he handled the sanctions from practically every western or eastern power on the planet. Those dialogues between Jaswant Singh and Strobe Talbott were extremely critical in normalizing relations.

As I look at his career from 1996 onwards, there are many moments that I remember vividly. That speech as Prime Minister in 1996 (especially the last 5 minutes of that speech), or the Lahore trip of 1999. That speech on friendship with Pakistan (Remember, "Itihaas badla jaa sakta hai, bhoogol nahi. Dost badle jaa sakte hain, padosi nahi.") and the Lahore trip or the remarkable grit during Kargil. For my generation that period during the Kargil war was a period which saw spontaneous outpouring of patriotism. He was the perfect person to lead the country during that period.

I remember the focus he had on the development of infrastructure during his tenure. On foreign policy, his efforts on building relationships with Myanmar and Bangladesh, I feel, somehow have not received due recognition. Or on the efforts to take India away from the policy of Non alignment. I think no Prime Minister has done more for Indo-US relations than Vajpayee.

I admired the grace with which he took the 2004 loss. That loss was unexpected for many and his concession speech that was telecast on Doordarshan on the night the election results came out is perhaps the most beautiful example of sportsman spirit and of grace and of complete belief in the democratic process.

The title of this blog entry is from his own poetry- Chhote mann se koi bada nahi hota, toote mann se koi khada nahi hota.

His poetry is great. Greater is the way he recited his poetry. It is a pity that his health has robbed today's teenagers of his oratory. Thanks to youtube, we still have access to some of his great speeches and poetry.

I have never admired any politician as much as I have admired Vajpayee. This is notwithstanding his failings and fallacies as a leader. 

In a political system where political opponents treat each others as enemies, he remains an exception. I remember his words, "Mat-bhed ho, mann-bhed na ho" (Differences of opinion is okay. That translating into distances between hearts is not okay). He remains a role model on the use of humour to diffuse tensions or difficult questions. I remember an interview with Rajat Sharma where he was asked about the Advani camp and Vajpayee camp, he said "Maen kisee dal-dal mein nahi hun. Maen auron ke daldal mein apna kamal khilaata hun". People who understand Hindi would understand the pun here.

Or when before a parliamentary session was to begin and a controversial issue was being discussed, he told the media, "Hum khule mann se charcha karenge". The session was over in no time and when the media taunted him, he said something to the tune of, "Maine ye nahi kaha thha ki hum khaali mann se charcha karenge".

Whenever I have felt low in life, his poem "Geet naya gaata hoon" has provided a healing touch. If you have not heard it, you can listen to it on this link here.

He symbolizes the Indian who was not born with a silver spoon, worked his way up by working hard and leveraging his talent, dealt with his strengths and insecurities,  won over friends and opponents with his personal maturity and grace, earned respect with his courage and genuineness and  earned the love of his countrymen and women with his dedication to the service of the nation.

As news came in of his admission to AIIMS yesterday, he is back in the news. I join crores of fellow Indians in praying for his recovery.

A book unputdownable- An unreal review

Well, this is the first time I am attempting a book review. But Karthik Laxman's Unreal Aliens is compelling enough to call for one. 

Without revealing much of the story, let me just say that a group of aliens land in India for a certain purpose and as we read on further we meet some of our favourite celebrities (mostly from the space of politics) in situations that are overtly reminiscent of different movies we have seen. Now, if you are familiar with the website www.theunrealtimes.com , you would be familiar with the genre.

In the book, you meet Modi, Rahul, Kejri and my favourite, Dr. Swamy. Even Deve Gowda makes an appearance in the book in a pivotal role. 

And if this were a movie, then there are those blink-and-thou-shall-miss appearances of many a people you know. Each of them makes you laugh. 

And it is not just the politicians. There are 2 whole chapters dedicated to a cricket match. While the passionate cricket fans can enjoy the sequence of Ishant yorkers and the alien batsman talking of rotating the strike in the post-innings conversation, the not-so-passionate cricket fans will still enjoy the commentary of Rajdeep and Gavaskar. 

There is that small sequence of a conversation between Tharoor and Tiwari. Now, for a reader who does not follow political leaders closely (their style, mannerisms etc.), that sequence could well be, hmm... nulliparous. If not, you will see an antipodal effect and thou shalt laugh.

I laughed out loud many a times while reading the book. Some episodes I distinctly remember. The conversation between our western and northern neighbours was hilarious. And yes, Baba Ramdev's Aasanas during the match will keep you in splits. Arnab playing with his son's toys, sequences with references to Modi's wardrobe and the dream structure in the chapter dedicated to Desh ki janta ka dream (towards the end) are absolute gems.

I think I have given you just about enough from the book to arouse your curiosity about the book in case you haven't read it yet.

The book does tend to drag just a little bit during the middle overs, but then there are those sequences that keep coming up to ensure that you just do not put down the book. And yes, Rahul has been treated rather harshly (You won't be surprised though if you have been following Unreal Times regularly) ...

Also, people who have not seen Nolan's Inception  may not really understand ...hmm...well... inception. 

But then, that does not really count for much for not many people who watched Inception understood inception in any case.

Let me tell you what I liked, nay, loved about the book. The writer's astute observation of contemporary events and weaving these observations into a spoof of ridiculous proportions and creating an entire novel is certainly commendable. For those of us who are familiar with Unreal Times, we are familiar with the author's style of how singular events are converted into short spoofs. 

It is yet another skill to actually compile an entire book of spoofs- all intertwined in the same storyline. So, take a bow, Karthik.

CS Krishna and Karthik Laxman gave us an unputdownable Unreal Elections in 2014. 

This year again, Unreal Aliens is an unputdownable book. 

Karthik Laxman can be booked for a riot- a laughter riot :-)

Some disclosures and views from the Reviewer:

1. I have great respect for PM Modi and Dr. Swamy. 

2. I did not understand Inception

3. I enjoy humour across ideological lines. I admire people who have an ability to create humour out of thin air and have been a big fan of Faking News and The Unreal Times for quite sometime now. As a nation, I think we should be a lot less serious and any form of satire should be encouraged. I do hope more such books come up.

The Sine Curve- Losing & Redemption

I think almost every language in this world has a proverb or an equivalent for, “You don’t value something till you lose it”. This post deals with some of my emotional churns when I lost my job recently.

Some of these emotions are similar to going through a break up. Amongst other things, it is almost as if your esteem has been stolen away from you.

The company where I was working was closing its India office and all of us, the employees, had to leave. I was fortunate to get a significantly long time to search for a new job.

The day I got to know of my situation on the job front, I informed some of my key well-wishers. My parents and my wife were disappointed with the news, but were relieved that I had enough time to scout for a new job. My friends and mentors were confident that getting something of my choice would be a cakewalk for me.

I was convinced too that there was no reason for worry. I knew at least 2 firms that had given me an “open offer”- this essentially meant that all I had to do was to tell them that I wanted to join them and I would have a job with them. And I was quite keen on both the organizations as well as the role I would play in either of them- so I portrayed a relaxed demeanour.

But then, there is something called gut feeling. I felt I was going to be in for a struggle.

I had activated some networks of mine on my situation and 45 days before my scheduled last day at work, besides the 2 open offers, I was on the cusp of closing 2 more offers. One of those organizations had even sent me the flight options that I could take from Delhi on the proposed joining date.

And then, inexplicably, each of those offers began to evaporate in front of me. Going with the trend, the 2 open offers also suddenly ceased to exist. More on these episodes in my professional memoirs (If I am still around when I am 50, I will probably share them with you. I will probably also share with you in those memoirs what it felt like to be the HR Manager of an organization that was shutting shop in the country.).

There was a desperation within me to “just get something” before the last working day. I applied to places I would never have ever applied into. Some of the responses were good enough to shatter my ego that had bloated into what it had become.

Well, I did not get anything that was even remotely good enough by the evening of 31^st March, my last working day. For years, I have heard friends and acquaintances sharing good words about my relationship skills (some call it networking). The naked truth of the moment on the evening of 31^st March was that when I bid adieu to my organization, I was going home without a job.

I was reminded of AdiSankara’s words- Maa kuru dhana jana yauvana garvam, harati nimeshaat kaalahsarvam... Let me attempt a translation here- Do not take pride in your wealth, networks or your youth. These can be taken away from you in no time.

The good thing was that at least 1 battle was over- the ego battle to land something before I was jobless.

When I woke up on the morning of 1^st April, the first feeling I felt was that the now familiar feeling of desperation had vanished. It was as if some butterfly inside had suddenly stopped flapping her wings.

I had the good fortune of having an old mentor and friend (a project manager from yesteryears) who took great interest in ensuring that I do not feel low and that I be engaged in some work. I got on to a consulting project with him and his team by the 2^nd week of April.

What a lovely feeling it was to get back into consulting.

One project led to another as I spoke to more friends and mentors and suddenly it seemed as if life was so much better as a freelancer- great money, flexibility and the freedom to choose what work to do and what not to do and being one’s own boss. Not all was rosy though- when I was ill and could not work, there was no inflow of money. (So it is a bit like a daily labourer- you work, and you earn. No work, no pay. No luxury of a medical leave.)

Many an instances during this period touched me though. I shall quote some of them to you here.

Mentors, friends and senior colleagues went out of their way to send me leads and fix interviews. I was fortunate to have people who would call regularly to check how I am doing and also follow up with the leads they gave me. The alumni of my PG course in my institute were of utmost help- leads, interviews and some of them even gave me projects to do (I had done some work with them in my yesteryear avatar as a management consultant and I guess that helped as well). 

The most touching moments were when some of my friends from batches 6-7 years junior to me sent me leads. Some of my team members from my past organizations sent me such leads too. It was quite nice when relatives who knew they couldn’t directly help me in the job search put me in touch with people who were better suited to help. It was touching when my parents and my wife never once showed a sign of worry- not even there were times when I reached the nadir of my self-esteem (To give you an analogy the feeling you have is very similar to when one has been dumped by one's beloved- the difference only is that in the case of the job, you have to bother about monetary sustenance as well).

It was touching when friends would call to ask how am I without asking me that in as many words-each call was a statement of moral support and I could hear “I'll be there for you” without being told that. Some of them would call every single day of the last 3 months-just randomly- just like that. I feel a lump in my throat as I write this.

In my mother tongue, Tamizh, there is a saying, “Iduvum kadandu pogum”- it just means, this too shall pass.

My period of being “unemployed” ends this Monday morning as I get ready to fly that new feeling of having again an office, a designation, colleagues and a “role”. And the stability of the monthly pay.

Some reflections from the experiences of the last few months-

1. If you do not have the insecurity of not having a stable monthly pay, and are convinced of your expertise in any domain of management, engineering or just about anything, and have some appetite for risk, then try freelancing. Or better still, entrepreneurship.
2. Remember that couplet when you feel down and out- “Guzar jaayega ye daur bhi Ghalib, Zara itminaan toh rakh. Jab khushi hee na thehri, toh gham ki kya aukaat hai…”. A feeble translation would be- This too shall pass, Ghalib. Be satisfied/ content. When happiness itself is fleeting, how can sorrow dare to be not transient.
3. If you are a believer, then chant. It helps like nothing else- especially during those low days.
4. If you are as emotionally immature and spiritually un-evolved as I am, you will go through a sine curve of emotions- days when you are gung-ho and days when you feel like the biggest piece of sh** in the world. Go through these churns and remember point no. 3.
5. Stand up for what believe in. Do not let a short term gain overpower what you believe in. During my worst days in the last 3 months, I was able to say no to a role in a company that sells alcohol and an organization which I felt (feel) does unethical stuff. When I look back at these last 3 months, I feel very very good about these decisions.
6. There is many a slip between the cup and the lip. Never ever, ever , ever jump the gun when it comes to matters that, well, can slip between the cup and the lip. I do not know how else to describe this.
7. You never know when you will get such a long break again (trust me, you don't want this kind of a break). Make the most of it while it lasts. I have read more in the last 3 months than I have in the last 5 years. 
8. In the long run, I guess such jolts will appear minor. While going through it, of course, it is a different matter altogether. My brother told me during this period that I will emerge from this period of retrenchment as a stronger individual. I hope he is right.

I dedicate this blog entry to Sonal Khare, my friend, who woke me up from my slumber from the blog world.

I am grateful to God for the presence of so many friends and well-wishers in my life (Not withstanding Maa kuru dhana jana yauvana garvam). This entry I shall dedicate to some of these awesome people- Avinash Kohli, Anshuman Rath, Anshumal, Nishith Upadhyaya, Sandeep Chatterjee, Nilay, Akshay Berry, Anushree Thapliyal, Lokesh Nigam, Nandan Pandit, Alok Shrivastava, Shwetabh Jha and Chandan Shamnani. 

And... to some of my friends who know I am writing this blog and do not wish to be named J

Nostalgia, En Passant...

I was remembering Thatha (my Grandfather) a lot yesterday. The trigger was this biopic on the Chess great Bobby Fischer- the movie is called Pawn Sacrifice.

Thatha took great interest in Chess (among so many other things) and taught me the game when I was 3-4 years old.

Long years back when we were still staying in Valanchery (a village in Malabar) and then in Thiruvananthapuram, Thatha and I would regularly engage with each other in the ritual of analysing the chess games which The Hindu (these days that newspaper has become rotten and is more The Anti-Hindu) would publish through the week on the sports page whenever any match of significance was on.

He would, with great excitement, quiz me on what I thought was the turning point of each of those games. On those very rare occasions when I would get the answer right, he would have a look of pride on his face. He would even say, "Good" on such occasions.

Those moments still give me goosebumps.

There would also be these puzzles on closing the game in three moves. As I grew in age through those years, I started getting the answers right more often and slowly started losing interest in our ritual.

By the time I was in my teens, he would still seek to continue our ritual, and I would find excuses to evade the ritual. I never was rude to him or showed disrespect, but my typical response was "apram paakkalaamae" (a rough translation would be, we can do this later). That "later" became very rare in the later years- maybe once a quarter or once every six months.

Every time Thatha would come back to Delhi from the south after the winters, I would resolve to take that time out for what was once our favourite time together. I would live up to the resolution for the first week of his stay in Delhi and then I would look for ways to evade it.

And then the winter would set in and he would go back to the south.

And when the winter would get over, my resolution would be alive again.

Over the years we did discuss chess once in a while. His interest in the game and our discussion was as alive as it was when I was a kid. He would still say "Good" when he thought I said something intelligent.

He still took great pride in the fact that he was witness to that match when Vishy Anand was crowned a Grandmaster in Coimbatore (I think my brother and he were both witness to that match).

He still had the same great affection for his pocket chessboard which Periappa, his most favourite nephew, has gifted him from Europe. I remember the spark in his eye when he would open that chessboard. It was always reserved for special occasions and he carried the set with him wherever he traveled. Perhaps the only other worldly asset I saw him being so careful about was the set of (Panchayatana) Puja deities that has been handed over to the head of the family from one generation to another since God-only-knows-when.

Many a times after he passed away, I have experienced that feeling of not having done justice as a grandson. Today, as I write this, that feeling is stronger than ever before.

I remember his excitement when there was a rematch between Fischer and Spassky in 1992. I think the Nehruvian in him wanted the Soviet Spassky to win.

He spoke with great passion about the mutual respect between Spassky and Fischer.

Yesterday while watching the movie, that scene played out on screen- of Spassky applauding Fischer on stage after the 6th game in the famous 1972 match. That was perhaps the best moment of the movie- well directed with superlative performances by both the actors- Toby Maguire playing Fischer and Liev Schreiber playing Spassky .

That moment is also perhaps when I missed Thatha the most in these 13 years. I think he would have loved the movie.

When we were driving back after the movie yesterday, the way R was holding my hands made it apparent to me that my emotions had overwhelmed me.

Afterglow:

I took out that pocket chess board of his today- it has been long locked inside a pouch for many many years. The 32 pieces took their positions on the board and breathed fresh air... perhaps for the first time since Thatha traveled on...

The game stands adjourned for now.
  

Lunchbox...

No, this blog entry has nothing to do with that beautiful movie with the same title.

This weekend, R & I were  dining in one of my favourite restaurants in Vasant Vihar that serves amazing North Indian food. I was visiting this place after almost 4 years. R was obviously eating here for the first time.

Along with the main course, the folks at the restaurant also kept in front of us two varieties of pickles. The pickle connoisseur that I think I am, I picked up one of chillies from the hari mirch pickle.

It was perhaps the best pickle I had had in years- more importantly, the taste actually took me back a few years; a couple of decades to be precise.

I was new in Delhi and had no friends and was just about getting acquainted with my new classmates in the school. Two of them, in particular, were becoming close. One of them, a South Indian like me and the other, a Delhiite. The peculiar bit about the latter one was that he did not laugh at my accent while speaking in Hindi. He did not ridicule me by calling me Angrez  like my other classmates did. We traveled by the same bus together ( I was staying in Janakpuri those days and so was he). He would get aboard the bus two stops after mine. His being there was reassuring. I had somebody to speak with and he would go out of his way to ensure that I was comfortable, or at the very least, less uncomfortable. Those days, I was a butt of jokes in the bus as well as in the class for my Hindi, rather, the non-Hindi. I remember the sense of solitude that I would feel each time he would get off the bus on our way back from school.

As the months went by, we became close- in the bus, in the classroom and over lunch. Those days as a kid who had just become a teenager, I was terribly bored with South Indian food- a far cry from these days when I find most South Indian food irresistible. It was most convenient for my friend and me to exchange our lunch boxes. He loved the Idli-Dosas and I loved the Paratha-Subzi and the Achaar (Pickle). The green chilly pickle that he would bring was most special- the tastiest I had and have ever had.

Over the next 3 years, our friendship grew stronger. We had a nice time even during our class X board exams. He had hinted he may take up Biology in class XI and I was clear about my proclivity to study Commerce (that I ended up studying Science without Biology is a different story).

As we moved into new sections in class XI, I started engaging myself with new friends as well. My days of being a joke were long since gone and I was as "local" as anybody else. These were also new lunch partners. Some of them refused to believe I was a "Madrasi" after listening to my Hindi.

As I was enjoying my comfort with Delhi, the time I spent with this old friend of mine reduced drastically. The other South Indian friend (his name is Gautam- one of the closest friends I have- there are some references to him in my previous blogs) that I have mentioned above was perhaps the only one who kept regularly in touch with him. We would still meet during lunch time once in a while  and we also had that occasional exchange of lunch boxes.

I met him last sometime during the board exams of class XII. He was as pleasant as ever and his presence always brought a sense of "reassuredness" into my being. I do not remember my last conversation with him.

A few months into college, I came to know he had gone to study Medicine/ Dentistry somewhere in Uttar Pradesh.

The next thing I heard about him a few months later was of his death. Gautam had called to tell me this. We knew that he had a heart problem since he was a child, never perhaps knew that it was this serious. Gautam and I had visited his house and spent some time with his Grandmum. I remember the cycle ride back- Gautam and me doubling on the cycle- we did not speak a word to each other on the way back.

I realised I was choking when I had finished that chilly on my plate in the restaurant.

I guess nostalgia has a habit of striking me when I least expect it. A smell, a name, a song, and now even a piece of chilly pickle.  I was feeling small that it took a piece of chilly pickle to remind me of one of my dearest friends.

This one is to you Manas, my friend.

Father of the bride...

The smell of green tea filled that small pantry. The sachet had just been taken out of the hot water in the cup. The sachet was then wound around the spoon, just so that the last drop of green tea essence could be wrenched out.

I took a sip from the cup and looked at him. He was more sad than usual today, his wrinkles more pronounced.

His name was.... hmm... does it really matter? He was just another illegal immigrant from our subcontinent, working in the middle east- the only bread earner for his family- back in the subcontinent.

Today was a hot day. Yesterday was hotter.

"Kal raat ko soye nahi kya?" ("Did you not sleep last night?"), I asked him.

He shook his head- his eyes blank and fixated on the floor.

I took another sip and started moving towards the door.

As I held the handle that opened the door, I heard his feeble voice-

"Kal meri beti ki shaadi hai..." ("It is my daughter's wedding tomorrow").

I walked towards him with a smile.

"Arey waah! Aaj nikal rahe ho aap fir...." ("That's nice. So, are you leaving today?")

His eyes still fixed on the ground, he pushed his chair back and walked away, shaking his head.

"Kya umr hai uski?" ("How old is she?"), I asked him.

"15". A tear drop appearing in his eye.

"Kab mile us-se last?" ("When did you last meet her?")

"Jab wo ek baras ki thhi" ("When she was a year old").

That tear drop now led a series of other tear drops down his cheek.

"Toh...jaana nahi hai kya?" ("So.. would you not like to go?")

"Jaaoonga, toh waapas nahi aa paaoonga." ("If I go, I cannot return.")

He rubbed his eyes, brushed away the trail of tear drops, tugged at the handle and walked out of the room.

In my mind, I thanked him for a lesson he had taught me. I was living a great life and had a reason every second to thank God for- for the life I lived.

I muttered a prayer to the same God... for the girl's happiness.

The pantry was pregnant with smell of green tea. I pulled at the handle and walked out of the room.

Purbo Bangal Diaries- Part 2- The Sitakund Hills

Part 1 of the diaries is available here.

Yesterday was Renjini's B'day. And I was not in Delhi. I have resolved that these are occasions that I most certainly will not miss in the times ahead.

Ever since I knew I was coming to Chittagong, I have nursed this desire to go to the temples of Sitakund, including the Shakti Peetha. And yesterday was the day.

Friday is an off-day here and we set out, late in the morning to the hills. As we were foreigners, we were being charged a huge amount of money to take the easier route via the eco-park. We chose to take the more difficult path and decided to trek up the hills.

So, we set out in a group of 6 and 2 of them, seeing the height at which the temple was located, backed out.

The four of us began our trek- it was much more difficult than we thought. The slopes were steep, very steep in places (one is forced to bend down and take the support of the rock in front and then climb up).

The winds were strong and I thought I could actually hear the sound of the waves of the sea which was visible on the horizon. There was hardly anybody in the hills and in the entire journey up and down, we would have seen/ met not more than 10 pilgrims.

We staggered up the hill- our trek punctuated with plenty of breaks. I have shot some videos of the trek- you will hear no voice over though as none of us had the energy to speak.

Our first milestone was a Shiva temple. Located on one of the hill tips, this place was conspicuous by the silence and peace that pervaded not just the temple interiors, but the immediate area around. When I reached the Shivalinga in the temple, I fell in front of the lord and the few seconds of prostration took away the tiredness of the last 2.5 hours of the trek.

It is in this temple that I ended up having a long conversation with a Baba who was taking care of the temple. He spoke in Bengali, interspersed with English words. I spoke in English and Hindi, interspersed with Bengali words.

I think we both understood what the other said.

After about what I think was 30 minutes, I touched the feet of the Baba and sought his permission to move to the Chandranath hills, the site of the ShaktiPeetha. He blessed me and wished me a safe journey ahead.

My friends were waiting patienly for me, perhaps enjoying their own moments of silence and peace in the area. With renewed energy we walked towards the Shakti Peetha.

There is a magnificient view of the countryside from atop the Chandranath hills. The Bay of Bengal lies on the west and one sees the green of the hills and the villages on the other sides.

The Pujari of the temple greeted us warmly and we spent sometime praying in the temple. He spoke fondly of his trip to Chennai and the temples around.

We received news here that one of our friends who could not climb up the hills was feeling unwell.

There was no more time to enjoy the hills. We had to rush down and we did .

The temple of Swayambunath/ Shambhunath was open and we had a quick darshan here. The temple of Bhavani (right at the base of the hills) was closed and outside, I prayed to her for permission for me to visit her on this trip again.

We set out towards the city and had our food on the way- the most delicious food I have had on this trip in a vegetarian restaurant, perhaps the only one I have seen so far in my brief stay here.

This blog entry is dedicated to my friends Sumit and Satpal. Also to our guide on the trip, Mr. Radhakrishnan.

Purbo Bangal diaries- Part 1- The Legend of Masterda

I am here in the land of Master Da, a.k.a., Surya Sen.

Baba Alauddin was here... Sarat Chandra was born here.

When I landed in Chittagong last week, I saw, from up above, the Jalalabad hills that dotted the landscape. Those young revolutionaries of 1930 would have gone into the forests in these hills to hide. Some of them were killed by the Brits.

When I stepped on this land, I could feel the presence of these great lovers of the land here.

Ah, well, the romanticism died soon after- the presence of some touts at the airport did the job.

This really huge Toyota vehicle was waiting for me at the airport. Probably one more of the seconds from Japan, I thought- and right, I was.

This is a huge market for second hand vehicles from Japan. And, perhaps the biggest market for ship breaking.

The week has been largely uneventful, except that I have had the chance to work with some wonderful people from back home, and here.

Today I met this gentleman whose father knew Surya Sen- they were from the same village. When I told him that I am keen on visiting the memorial of Surya Sen and the other greats who were a part of that legendary chapter in Indian history, he was more than keen to tell me about places and also, stories.

While I share below some excerpts from the stories he narrated, I will never be able to deliver justice to the emotion in his voice. Here is the story of the aftermath of the the revolution, as he told me..

"The British came to look for him in our village. He was staying with his Mama, Netra Sen at that time. The first time they came to look for him, he was dressed in a Sari, they did not recognise him and went away. The next time they came, he was a fisherman and the next time a farmer. Then the British announced a reward of 50 taka. Netra Sen was tempted and he informed the British of Masterda's location. When Masterda was being arrested and taken away, the entire village, almost 1500 of them assembled...some were crying... Masterda told them not to cry and promised them- "before my neck goes into the noose, we will have the traitor Netra Sen's head"... And so it was to be.

Netra Sen bought a big fish with 2 taka of his reward and was about to eat it when his mother taunted him for having betrayed his own nephew. It was at this time that one of Masterda's friends came, hacked him and took away his head.

Later on, Masterda was hanged in Andamans."

And then he proceeds to ask me about the Andamans...

I was reading this site later and chanced upon the last letter written by Masterda (link given at the bottom of the page on the website). I have a deep desire to go to this park in the Jalalabad area where they have the busts of the revolutionaries as a memorial (the same gentleman who narrated the story tells me that the park is still there).

Tomorrow I have an off... My friends and I are being taken on a local tour- to the temples in Sitakunda... More on that once I come back.

For today I leave you with an incident that gave me a deja vu of the time i landed in Dubai (read this if you have the time and inclination) -  I was standing in the immigration queue at the Dhaka airport last Saturday. I was chatting with my Dad on the phone when the man behind me in the queue asked me, "Malayali aanalle?" ("you are a Malayali?"). I was thrilled to bits to hear this language, here in Dhaka.

And more thrilled that the gentleman who is taking us out tomorrow... is from Kerala too...

Long live NRKs (Non Resident Keralites)...

Kumbhaabhishekam 2013 @ Tirunelveli

This is the place where the family deity has stood for hundreds of years, if not thousands of years. This is the place where my ancestors prayed. This is the place where my children and grandchildren shall pray. Naysayers may have their views, but I choose to believe.

The Madhyaaranayeswara Saastha temple or the Nadukkavudaiyaar Saastha Kovil has been the guardian deity of my family for generations. Amongst the many photos of Gods and Goddesses that adorn our Pooja room at home, I have been familiar with the painting of Dharmasaastha at home, flanked by Poornaambal and Pushkalaambal on either side. As I grew up I realized that this painting and the temple were special- almost like the poster of that one hero who is more special than the rest.

I recall distinctly that it was only post my teens that I first realized my “connect” with the place. Whenever I visit the place, I am filled with some positive energy which I cannot quite describe. It was here in this temple that we celebrated my Grandfather’s 80^th birthday and Dad’s 60^th birthday. It was here that I was administered the Moola Mantra of the deity- an initiation that was special, for I was initiated by my Periappa (Dad’s elder brother). Every special occasion in our lives has been followed by a visit to this temple- the day of my Upanayanam (sacred thread initiation ceremony)... the first visit after marriage…

My first memory of this temple dates back to the late 80’s. I was there for a Kumbhaabhishekam- a temple festival that happens typically once every 12 years. In the words of an erudite uncle of mine, it is a method in which the temple gets recharged, just as a battery is recharged.

I belong to a sect that believes in a formless God and one may smile at the thought that even we believe in having to “recharge a temple”.

Well, that debate is for a separate day. Perhaps, I am not the one best equipped to dialogue on this issue.

So yes, I go back to the first memory. I recollect seeing those eagles that arrive during the actual moment of the Abhishekam. I recollect the joy in people’s faces when they saw this sight. For the believers, the sight of the eagles at the end of the Kumbhaabhishekam is an auspicious sign.

For the rationalists, you may be surprised at this that in a place that sees no eagles, almost without fail, at the end of each Kumbhaabhishekam, these eagles fly over the Gopuram of the temple.

It was Déjà vu’ for me this Friday when I saw those eagles again- three of them.

Spiritual connect aside, this day was also a chance to reconnect with relatives, meeting new relatives and new friends.

A day very well spent…

reflecting on 2012

Another year goes by.

As with every other year that passed  by and shall pass by, some significant and insignificant happenings in my life too... Some that impacted me and some that did not...

Let me try and narrate to you some of the most significant ones this year.

The year began with Gautam getting married. So, in my set of closest friends from school, he was the first to bite the bullet. So, this year we welcomed Radhika into the family.

It was my turn next. It was time to welcome Renjini into the family. I coughed my way into the marriage mandapam and had the 2 most tiring days of my life during my marriage in April. As with probably every man, I am seeing newer facets of me every single day ever since. I will always remember the days of my engagement and marriage with great joy (notwithstanding the stress) for almost everybody who matters to me turned up and meeting them all under one roof was blissful.

With the honeymoon to the Andamans, I kept a 10 year promise to the place that has a very very special place in my heart.

Pankaj got married too this year and it was time to welcome Neha into the family.

This year also reminded me that I have not lost my eccentricities yet. My decision to resign from my job with no concrete offer in hand could be termed brave or foolhardy- only time will tell. As we speak today, it is 57 days since I resigned. I have another 34-35 days to formalize my next move.

I entered the triple X club when I celebrated my XXX birthday the week before last. Maybe its the age, but I like to consider the Indian Tithi as my birthday these days rather than the English DoB.

I went to Tirupati for only the 2nd time in my life and the first time as an adult. I went to South Africa for the first time...

New friends entered my life and I lost touch with old ones- hopefully, I shall reconnect with some tomorrow.

The last week has been difficult. Sachin Tendulkar retired from the one-day format. While it was a known fact that this may happen anytime, the feeling of being robbed of a last chance to watch him in the limited overs format is a very difficult feeling to overcome.

A lady who was gang-raped by 6 people in a moving bus in Delhi dropped her body last week. I do not know her- I do not even know her name. Yet I feel a sense of loss too, just as many other Indians feel at her death.

And like many other Indians, I too feel like I am in the dock at her death, nay murder. Anyways....

The beginning of next year looks promising- Scientist got engaged and is getting married in February. In the same month, I will have a new job, maybe even a new career.

I wish we all have great times ahead in 2013 and beyond. My prayer for you, me and everybody this new year is from the RigVeda-

Aano Bhadra Kritavo Yantu Vishwataha ( Let noble thoughts come to us from all sides)

King Viv & The Fire

I was about 3 years old when I remember first having heard "West Indies" and "Viv Richards". These names became familiar as I grew up.

I grew up in a village where one of the most exciting changes in routine was to listen to commentary or even watching some matches live of India playing other countries. Days of absolute unpolluted joy.

When my friend E told me about a documentary on the West Indian cricket of the 70's and 80's I was excited- more excited that this was releasing in Indian theatres.

"Fire in Babylon" is an absolute must watch for different categories of people.

For lovers of cricket this feature is a beautiful trip back into the past-the days of transition in the 70's; the days when the pace battery from the Caribbean islands ruled the game. It provides you snippets from different matches and views of some of the members of the team of those years. It also gives you snapshots of how the regular West Indian feels about those years. It leaves you, though, yearning for more- some snap shots of what others felt about this team would have given it a more wholesome feel- their opponents, their future generations (e.g., Walsh, Ambrose, Lara, even Gayle) and others.

For students of sociology, culture and history, this feature speaks of how one small aspect of life can impact the mood of a nation, or nations as the case is- here. Those of us who have read about apartheid will understand the gravity of this that supremacy in this sport gave the West Indians at least one solid reason to tell the others that they are equals. For the kids who have not read about this or have no idea about this, just look around you when a Sachin scores well some day- a century maybe. All else is forgotten on such days.

For those of us who belong to the generation of the 80's born, the desert storm series in '98 of Sachin routing the Australians or again when a Laxman and a Dravid defied the Aussies some years later  at Calcutta would be moments that are un-erasable from our collective memories. Go back to those days, relive the mood ... Remember what these did to the national mood.

For all the kids and teens out there, Fire in Babylon is something you should definitely see. You will learn about the strength of character...and of courage. When a Vivian Richards says that he was given a blank cheque to play in South Africa and he refused (he also tells you why), you know that here you are looking at a man or at men who rise beyond being mortals- these are legends. Those last few clippings of Richards and Botham hugging each other and walking alongside after a hard day of cricket also tells you of how one should treat your opponents- these are not enemies. You also learn about vulnerabilities when you have a Colin Croft speaking to you about how cricket was his livelihood and what made him decide to play in South Africa. These are stories you must know- you must hear.

Personally for me, I always had a great deal of respect for Richards. There are many others who I now hold in very high esteem- I never knew about the story of Greenidge or of Lloyd's background. I am glad I know now- at least a bit.

This week you have an option of watching other movies in the hall- an over-hyped burfy and a boring Heroine. If you have the time, go visit the nearest hall that screens Fire in Babylon. I saw it yesterday and there were about 15 people in the hall.

This is one story that should not go unseen...

Happy Birthday, Advik

You have heard this cliche before, "time & tide wait for none".

There are those occasions in life which, like milestones on a road, tell you that you have entered from one phase of your life to another, or that you are growing old. Some of these reminders are loud and clear (graduating from college, joining a new job, getting married) and some, hmm, some would say are more subtle (the silver coloured hair on your head and on the beard).

Those of who who have been following this blog for the last few years may remember this post.

E & Vibha had a baby boy last year- Advik. It is Advik's birthday today. Here's wishing Advik a very happy birthday and a prayer that he has a long, meaningful and happy life :-)

When I planned to write this blog today, I remembered the earlier blog-post (mentioned above) on E's roka.That post is just over half a decade old.

July ki pehli baarish

Pseudo poetry is the only way in which I can express an angst. I am no longer the student who could arrange for/ lead protests. Don't look for metre or rhyme here- this is just an angst expressed.

Poora June nikal gaya,

Ek boond baarish ki nahi tapki.

Rui jaise baadal aasmaan pe dikh jaate hain kabhi,

Magar aisa lagta hai ki jaise

Baarish ke dhaage bune nahi hain abhi.

Aisa lagta hai baarish hartaal pe hai abhi!

Kal raat Gurgaon mein jamke baarish hui.

Sadak pe parivahan ruk sa gaya.

Tapakti boondon ki awaaz reh gayi ansuni,

Ek kolaahal sa mach gaya.

Aisa nahi laga ki boondein dharti ko choom rahi hain.

Aisa laga ki jaise boondein dharti ko chubb si rahi hain.

Na jaane kyun aisa laga ki,

Is baar ye baarish dharti ki pyaas ko dekhkar,

Us pyaas ko bujhaane nahi aayi hai.

Na paed hai yahaan, na paudhe.

Aankhen hariyaali ki ek jhalak ke liye taras si jaati hain.

Jahaan talak nazar jaati hai,

Sirf eent-cement ke imaarat dikhte hain,

Aur diesel se janitr dhuaan.

Aisa laga ki jaise,

Dharti ki tadap ko samajhkar,

Aasman bhaavuk sa ho gaya.

Uske palak jo abhi tak baandh se bane huey the,

Woh  toot se gaye.

Aankhon se kuch aansoo ke boond gire zameen par,

Yahaan Gurgaon ke log khushi manaa rahe hain.

My Himalayan Days...

I stood on the steps that lead up to Swayambhunath, took one long breath in and smiled. This was the land of Akkosotto & Unnikuttan.

For all of us Keralites who belong to the generations of 70’s or 80’s born, the film Yoddha introduced us to the wonderful place called Nepal. Exotic, beautiful and virgin… that was Nepal in the movie. We saw it through the eyes of Akkosotto & Unnikuttan, the Rimpoche.

My friend Nishith had warned me not to expect Kathmandu to be exotic.

I landed and drove straight to the room. Some bit of completing-pending-work later, I set out to explore the town. My first stop was a restaurant that served authentic Nepali cuisine. For a vegetarian, the choices are limited, but the steamed saag and the fried potato made the dal-rice dinner a memorable one.  A word of caution to the Tam-Brahms, if you are the sorts who cannot tolerate garlic in your food, Nepali ain’t the right cuisine for your vegetarian meal. And for the more conservative sorts, do not get scandalized when women sing and dance as you eat your food.

Thamel, the tourist hub, is not too far from Radisson where I stayed. I walked around Thamel- my friend Arvind had called it a combo of Delhi’s famed Paharganj & the Hauz Khas village. The feel was Paharganj and the food was Hauz Khas, I felt. There are some very nice pubs and restaurants, shops that sell mementos and ornaments and for a young adult male, there are possibly more options.

A nice sleep later, I had a workshop to facilitate. With the grace of God, I think it went off well.

I set out in the evening to explore the city further. If you are in Nepal, it will be a sin to miss the Chiya (tea). For those who like their tea without much sugar, be sure to supervise the input of sugar into the tea at the time of preparation J

Not much is open to public viewing in the night. I set off again to Thamel- this time another pub- I am told here that this belongs to a Hippie… aah, now Kathmandu was getting exotic. The exteriors of the pubs on this street make these joints appear very small- they are very spacious though.

And yes, if you tell them you are a vegetarian and you are a teetotaler, they give you the WAFL (What a F****** Loser) look. I guess, the WAFL look when one hears this is universal.

I set out early next morning to visit the Pasupatinath temple. I was visiting this place as a pilgrim. I was not a tourist here.

Thanks to the day being a Saturday, the queue was really long. I am told Tuesday and Saturday are special. Today I guess, he had decided not to allow me a darshan. I prayed at some of the temples in the complex and came back to explore the rest of the town.

Before one steps into the temple complex, there is a small temple which has idols of Adi Sankara and his 4 disciples. I felt at home as I prostrated before the idols.

I drove down to the Hanuman Dhoka, a square with some old temples and the palace museum. These are extremely beautiful structures and it is a very peaceful place. I had a superb meal of buttered bun, dried channa and fried potatoes here. The chiya was getting even better.

The next stop was Swayambhunath. As I began climbing up the stairs, I saw the two statues of Buddha…these statues were not new to me. I had seen them before- in Yoddha. I walked up the steps with great joy and nostalgia.

One can see the entire town of Kathmandu from up there. I believe, in the peak winter months, the haze is lesser and the view is clearer. The rhythmic chants of Om-Mani-Padme-Hum can heard in the complex.

I climbed down via the more exotic routes, lots of trees and monkeys on them adorned the route.

The next stop was Bhaktapur. Bhaktapur is a heaven for lovers of temple architecture. One sees temples built in the Pagoda style, the Shikhara style and the Stupa style here. I hired a guide named Kabeen here.

Kabeen gets his name from an ancient Malla king who wrote with this pseudonym. Kabeen tells me interesting stories of the three royal states of Bhaktapur, Kathmandu and Patan. For those of you who love shopping, this is the place to purchase Thangka paintings (in the painting school) and Pashmina stuff. One may also visit the potters village for more stuff…

I drive up further to the village of Nagarkot. The sunrise and sunset here, they say, are mesmerizing. One can see the Everest from here on a clearer day. The sunset is amazing. With cold winds blowing on to me, and me dressed in summer casuals, only the masala tea and the chowmein could act as a saving grace.

As the sun set, I drove further into the village. As with any mountainous area, it gets dark rather quickly after the sun sets.

The hotel had minimal comforts and it was cold. There was no electricity. I wrapped around the bed sheet, using it as a shawl walked through the village. A Nepali meal and tea later, I lay down on the terrace gazing at the stars and sang a few songs… And repeatedly the song, Dil dhoondta hai found its way to my lips…

The early morning sunrise was a disappointment, thanks to the haze and the clouds. I drove back to Kathmandu and spent some superb moments at the BuddhaNilkantha temple and then again in the Pasupatinath temple complex and also at the Guhyeswari temple. Spending the 3 hours inside the Pasupatinath temple, the walk to Guhyeswari temple and the breakfast of Poori-tarkari, malpua and sael would be the highlights of the day.

I flew back to India carrying with me some nice memories of the place. I hope I will be blessed enough to make more trips to Nepal in the times ahead…

This entry is dedicated to my friend Nishith and his cousin Monika and to all those wonderful people with origins in Nepal who make India a much more beautiful place to live in….

To Sangeeth Sivan who made me fall in love with Nepal 2 decades back…

Words of William Blake

Thatha regularly referred to these lines. I heard these lines again from a mentor last week. Read, Reflect and Rejoice...

" To see a World in a Grain of Sand
And a Heaven in a Wild Flower,
Hold Infinity in the palm of your hand
And Eternity in an hour."


"If the doors of perception were cleansed 
Everything would appear to man as it is, infinite."

a year without Periappa

The jokes- that's what comes to my mind first. There were always a few jokes. Most of them were new. That is the first image I have of him and that is the last.

Exactly a year back, my Periappa (Dad's elder brother) was killed in an industrial blast. Boom!! and it was all over. A consolation, they say, is that the death would have happened within a second of the blast. He would have known no pain. "Kapaalamoksham", some said, for the skull lay shattered. The newspapers next day had a picture of the blast site- thank God, it was not in colour.

For years he had reiterated to me that just as breathing comes naturally to you, the name of Rama should always be there in your mind and lips- with every breath you take. I have a strange feeling that the picture of his body that I saw in blast site photograph had one of his fingers pointed up- strange feeling... I feel he would have definitely been chanting the lord's name when he dropped his body.

Periappa was always special to me. I vividly remember how thrilled I would be, as a kid, when I would meet him. That thrill remained with me each time I visited him in Coimbatore, or when we met elsewhere. There was some energy about him... He was always eternal to me and will remain so...

We had our special moments- ever since I started working, I used to call him and chat at least once or twice every month. His favourite starting question to me was, "ippo enda kovil-la irukkai?" (which temple are you in now?). We shared a common interest in visiting old ancient temples. He was/is one of my foremost spiritual masters. Many a special moments that I cannot cover in a blog- lunching with him on the occasion of Anna's (his son) marriage, sitting outside the marriage hall at Hemanth's wedding and chatting about the Indian calendar and the Chinmudra... a five minute dialogue at our place on the occasion of Dad's 60th birthday... him initiating me into the Moolamantra of our family deity... that concert of Shubha Mudgal at Nehru park... his eyes filled with tears when the bestest singer in this world, my friend Doceee, sang him a few songs...him buying me raw mango with chilli powder at Gandhi park in Coimbatore...the visit to Haridwar and the visit to Delhi when I last met him... those so many phone calls... Going through one of my worst lows in life, I was brooding when he sensed something and called in "Whenever in any confusion call me"... me smiling at the end of it....

For a man who was largely unemotional, his closing words during our phone calls in his last few months/ years were "aye, koopdu- kaettayaa..." (Listen, keep calling in).

As I was driving to office today, I realised I was crying... Had he been there, he would have been the first to say "Geethai-la chollirukku.." (In the Gita, it is said...)...

As a firm believer in re-incarnation... I am convinced that wherever he would have gone, he would have gone to a better plane.... There will be plenty in that better plane who are happy that he is with them...

Many have asked me about my non-sense of humour. I have often told them that I have inherited it from him. The difference is that people laughed at the jokes he cracked :-)

When I think of him now, I remember parts of a Ghazal, surprising the one genre he never really appreciated-

"Ek aah bhari hogi, humne na suni hogi,
Jaate jaate tumne, awaaz toh di hogi...
Har waqt yahi hai gham, us waqt kahaan thhe hum,
Kahaan tum chale gaye..."

There will always be a regret- that he could not meet my fiancee or that my kid(s) would not get a chance to meet him.... Sometimes I ask this to God, "why"...or "what if".... It was a Shivaratri when the blast occurred... He had completed his special Poojas only a few minutes back... His bag lay packed in his room for his next trip...

And then one feels small that all this is orchestrated by somebody up above the world so high who knows what is best. One can only keep one's faith strong- I think that is the most significant message he ever gave me...

Arthur Osborne's poem...

Here is another of those poems that humbles me. I am again not qualified to give a commentary on this... Read, reflect and Enjoy....

I am a pipe the wind blows through,
Be still, it is the wind that sings.
The course of my life and the things that I do
And the seeming false and the seeming true
Are the tune of the wind that neither knows
Good and ill, nor joys and woes.
But the ultimate awe is deeper yet
Than song or pipe or storm;
For pipe and tune are the formless wind
That seemed for a while to take form.
And words are good to escape from words
And strife to escape from strife,
But silence drinks in all the waves
Of song and death and life...

David Wagoner's Lost

The previous entry had a pseudo-poem I attempted to write. I present here a poem by Wagoner that has touched me beyond what I can describe with words.  I feel so inadequate that I can't even write a commentary on it. I hope it touches you too...

Stand still. The trees ahead and bushes beside you
Are not lost. Wherever you are is called Here,
And you must treat it as a powerful stranger,
Must ask permission to know it and be known.
The forest breathes. Listen. It answers,
I have made this place around you.
If you leave it, you may come back again, saying Here.
No two trees are the same to Raven.
No two branches are the same to Wren.
If what a tree or a bush does is lost on you,
You are surely lost. Stand still. The forest knows
Where you are. You must let it find you.

Winter Shaayri

Dekho in waadiyon ne
Ghane kohre ka naqaab pehna hua hai,
Jab dhund ka parda hata,
Toh maaloom hua,
Dilli ke koochon ne
Waadiyon ka mukhauta pehna hua hai…

Translation (not word to word)

Look, the valley
Is engulfed in the veil of thick fog,
And when this curtain of fog was lifted,
One realized that,
The lanes of Delhi,
Had worn the mask of a valley...


 (c) Chala Denominator, Numerator Ban-ne

Delhi Trivia again

Overheard by a cousin during Navaratra time in Delhi- A very pious Delhiite giving instructions to the thelawala- "Oye, navratre chal rahe hain. Omlette mein pyaaz mat daaliyo!!"