Aditya's Cacophony

Sugarcane Juice

2011-05-16T05:04:00.001+05:30

I had passed it many times before. A nondescript little store, selling nothing but sugarcane juice. Small glass, Rs. 6. Big glass, Rs, 8. Big glass without ice, Rs. 10. I hadn't been inside for about ten years. I used to be a regular when I was a kid. Drinking two, three glasses. It was heaven after three hours of cricket under the hot summer sun. But once I left for the States, the cricket stopped. Once the cricket stopped, the sugarcane juice stopped as well.

I don't know what it was that day, that attracted me towards the store. I was passing by; and somehow I stopped on impulse, and just walked in. It was still the same. Nothing had changed. The posters on the wall, the tables and chairs, the glasses. The so-called waiter tiled his head towards me. “Ek thanda bina baraf!”, I yelled at him, trying to make sure he heard me over the ruckus the cane-squeezing machine was creating. He nodded in disapproval, catching red-handed yet another customer who wanted it cold without compromising any volume in the glass on the ice. He filled a tall glass with the sugarcane nectar and plopped it down perfectly on the off-white sun mica covered table without spilling a drop.

I spent a moment taking the simple pleasure of the a glassful of freshly squeezed sugarcane juice in, and lifted the glass to my parched lips to take in a massive gulp. Some people like to sprinkle masala on the juice and sip it bit-by-bit, but not me. I like to take in as much as I can in the first gulp. I just feel that something so delicious should be enjoyed in abundance, and not in a measured manner.

I finished my glass of ganna juice in two quick gulps, then took a look around. This little place where I had been coming for the last sixteen-odd years, hadn't changed a bit. Buildings around it had been torn down and converted in to 50-storey skyscrapers, but Rajhans Juice Center remained as it was. Homely. It was like a place stuck in time in the midst of this ever-changing megalopolis that is Mumbai.

The waiter beckoned to me to vacate my seat for the next paying customer. I got up and proceeded to the counter where the owner sat. He said, “Dus.” As I paid him with an old ten-rupee note, he smiled. It seemed like he recognized the kid who used to come to his shop after a tiring afternoon of cricket. He asked, “Kasa kai?” I replied with a broad smile, “Majet.” I left the store, nostalgic of my childhood, smiling.

Cities are defined by their ability to keep re-inventing themselves. They are also defined by the un-changed neighbourhoods that keep the original flavour of a city alive. A sliver of my childhood nostalgia had just been brought back to me. I smiled all the way to my apartment seventeen stories above Rajhans Juice Center.

Listening to the Obvious

2011-01-19T01:57:00.000+05:30

Seeing the Obvious

There's no shortage of advice in the world. It can be from a parent, coworker, friend or even a fortune cookie. Most of it is uninvited, unappreciated and easily forgotten. Nevertheless, I believe that the most effective advice is that which is most obvious, and comes from a source most unexpected. An example:

The legendary Management guru Peter F. Drucker's teachings are nothing but clear and simple advice. They are sound, and very obvious. When you read one of his notes, you're like, "Wow, why didn't I think of that?" The note will probably say something very basic and obvious like "Listen first, speak later" or "Do right things, not just things right". But just the fact that it is put so simply, it is now in your cognizance. It compels you to think, implement and benefit from it.

I've been through a similar experience in the last few months, which have probably been the toughest of my life. A broken engagement, malaria, deaths in the family, obscene pressure at work, the commute, college apps, and what not. I was spiraling into a life of burning myself out, staying awake all night, shutting myself out from loved ones, and being mopey in general. Then a certain someone told me just five words that forced me to get out of my miserable stupor and get on with life. Hell, not just get on with life, but start enjoying it once again. Those words were: "Shit happens. Deal with it." I'm partying, working hard, exercising, reading, writing, smiling...living...once again.

So next time someone gives you unwanted, uninvited or unappreciated advice, take a moment and think about it. It might just tell you the one obvious thing that you really needed to be told. And bring you back on track.

The Violin

2010-10-01T00:27:00.001+05:30

There's something about working hard to make a living that really excites me. Some people have their life cut out for them. They get everything on a silver platter, only having to take the effort to enjoy it. Some have to struggle on a daily basis to make ends meet. I have a lot of respect for those who struggle, work hard and come up in life. They might even have to do work that is beneath their dignity and education just to make a living. I recently came across one such example which touched my heart.

It was a peaceful evening in Christchurch, New Zealand. There was a slight chill in the air, and I was returning to my hotel with my parents after a fun-filled day of sightseeing. Happy thoughts filled my mind as I ambled lazily along the pavement, longing for my comfortable hotel bed. The streets were nearly empty as storekeepers wound down for the day. The sheer sense of calm was addictive.

I heard the soft sounds of a violin playing in the distance. It felt like the sounds were playing in my head, and I smiled to myself, thinking that the evening could not get any more perfect. As I walked on, the sounds became louder until I saw a sight that stabbed me like a knife through my heart. Sheltered between two pillars of a downtown skyscraper stood a young girl playing a beautiful violin. She must not have been older than fourteen. She looked beautiful in a black velvet coat with a white shirt and black trousers, her tiny feet dressed in cute black and white shoes with little bows on them. Her clothes were fit for a performance at a prestigious venue. At her feet lay an open violin case, with loose change and small bills scattered about inside.

Every now and then, a stranger would slow down to throw a coin or two into the case. She would give a faint smile to acknowledge the benevolent soul, and continue playing. All the while, she looked straight ahead, her eyes glistening with a steely resolve. I could tell she was not entirely comfortable with having to play on a pavement for money, but was doing it with sheer grit and willpower to help her family earn some extra money and make ends meet. She would swallow hard every now and then. It almost seemed like she was swallowing her pride.

There is no doubt in my mind that she was great at the violin. What should have been a teenage hobby had turned into a difficult lesson in life. It pained my heart that a genuine talent had been reduced to mildly interesting entertainment for passerby. Where I come from, it is not unusual to see people begging for money with pity as their weapon. But this, this was just painful. An innocent girl , and a talented one at that, should never ever have to face the indignity of having to use her wonderful talent to earn small change.

I looked away and continued walking, brutally reminded of how lucky I am.

Moments of Reflection

2010-10-01T00:22:00.000+05:30

June 2 12:10pm
Tavistock Square Park, London

After a lot of rain yesterday, the sun is finally out this afternoon. I'm waiting for my dear friend Niyantha to reach the hotel, and there's no better way to spend it than with a book in my hand and the warm sunshine on my skin. I amble over to the park next to my hotel. It's a beautiful patch of land in the midst of the bustling city: massive trees wave gently with the wind, shedding their leaves ever so often. A cobblestone path crosses through the park, lined with quait benches. I plop down on the grass, my tummy tickled every now an then by a wayward blade and start reading...soon oblivious to the world around me.

After a while, I get bored of the book...after all it's one of those heavy management ones. I take to my other favoite activity: people watching. A couple of gardeners toil away, whistling at every pretty lady that walks by. A serious man in a business suit hurries to eat his lunch while typing away on his blackberry. A middle-aged woman patienty helps her spastic friend take sips of a Starbucks frappé. A group of college kids sit nearby in a circle on the grass, chattering and giggling.

It's amazing how this little park insulates me from the outside world. I can barely hear the traffic on the streets bordering the park. I lazily turn over and lie on my back on the warm grass. The sunshine soothes my skin as I close my eyes and smile to myself. I can't think of any place back home where I can do this, especially in the middle of a big city. I feel at peace, convinced that there's no better way to start off my Eurotrip.

FY0910 Highlights

2010-03-05T21:23:00.000+05:30

Keeping in line with what I did last year, I wish to bring forth some exceptional memories from the last eleven months. Here goes, in no particular order:

BROad trip with Deval and Maulik to Chandigarh, Amritsar and Delhi with
A car accident
A hotel reservation gone wrong
Luxurious hotels
Angry Sardar cops
Awesome food
Patriotism
Heartbreak
Peace
Aahu Aahu Aahu!!
New year's party at my place
My 23rd birthday: with two beer baths thrown in for good measure
Awesome nights at Blue Frog with Rhuteyu
Saying bye to Urmi. Again.
Losing touch with friends, which made me value them more
Rediscovering Electronic music
Downloaded shows
Passing CFA Level 1
Not getting into a single university that I applied to
Finally becoming productive at work
Travelling on work assignments to Delhi, Kolkata, Chennai, Hyderabad, Nagpur, Lucknow, Ahmedabad, Baroda, Surat, Rajkot and Bangalore
Building my team from 22 people to 245 people, on the way to 700 people
Going from managing one location to 87
Learning about operations, running a call centre, people management, team building, and being a boss
Firing an employee on unpleasant terms
Watching close friends get heartbroken
Watching close friends get engaged
Watching close friends get married
Tweeting
Getting addicted to, and giving up, Farmville
Watching Texas lose the National Championship Game
Hearing the only approval I have ever gotten from a boss...my Mom said, “You're doing good.”
A whole lot of punchlines with the bro gang...too many to list here
Another Diwali at Umargam
Making Richa laugh with my song translations
Random nonsensical talks with my bro Aakash
Lots of nights spent alone at Andheri
Working till 1:00 am regularly
Finally taking the Blackberry plunge
Thinking seriously about marriage
Finding my new aggressive side
Being able to shout and scream at employees that I never could before
Being nicknamed 'Hitler' at my workplace
Being given the most roses on Rose Day at my workplace too
Taking my team out for lunches and dinners
Fun times out with Janice, Sambhav and the gang
Making grown men cry
Developing a tiny bald patch
Giving up my french beard after God knows how long, and
Meeting the love of my life

If you have any memories with me that aren't mentioned here,entioned here, leave them as a comment below!

An emotional day in Amritsar

2009-12-05T18:47:00.003+05:30

Recently I spent a day in Amritsar with two of my best friends, and it turned out to be one of the most emotional ones I have had in a long time. I never thought I could go through such a range of emotions in the span of one day, and I left the city with mixed feelings: joy, sorrow, peace, patriotism, faith and wonder.

We started the day by going to Jallianwala Baug. It was a short drive from our hotel, and we didn't know much about it except what we recalled vaguely from school textbooks. It was fairly crowded, and looked more like a public park than anything else. But as we walked around, a sense of soberness enveloped us. We read about the various people involved with the massacre: their stories, their actions and the consequences of their actions. We peered down the well where several women jumped to their death. We gazed at the hundreds of bullet holes in the walls. A feeling of disgust came over us, at how any human could inflict such pain on another. We were all quiet by the time we left the place, saddened by the first-hand account of what had happened there on Baisakhi Day, 1919.

At sundown, we went to Wagah to witness the daily lowering of the flags at the India-Pakistan border. The sheer realization that we were sitting only metres away from this country that you had been told was the enemy since you were born was overwhelming. It didn't look any different from India, except that the men and women were sitting separately. The five thousand-odd people screaming patriotic slogans got us charged up, and the raw aggression of the jawans got us charged up some more. We left feeling pumped up with adrenalin, our chests swelling with national pride.

As darkness descended, we arrived at the Golden Temple. Very few times in my life have I been to such a pure, serene and holy place. We were enveloped by a sense of calm as we sat by the water, unable to take our eyes off the majestic Temple in the moonlight. The soft prayers that were being sung inside the temple echoed throughout the complex, making us feel at peace at our very core. We took a walk around the complex, and then after praying inside the Temple, sat back down by the water. None of us wanted to leave. The simple beauty in submitting oneself to a higher being, enjoying His presence, feeling Him wean our troubles away, had become evident to us.

It was the perfect end to a wonderful day.

Sunday at the Willingdon

2009-10-03T19:15:00.000+05:30

It was a Sunday like any other, except for one minor difference. I was up at eleven in the morning, quite early given my habit of sleeping in on the only holiday of the week. The reason for this exceptional event was that I had a luncheon to attend. My friend Richa had invited me out to lunch at The Willingdon Club. Now Willingdon isn't just any club. It is where Mumbai's elite go to relax, play a game of golf, swim or play cards. It is quite possibly the most elite gymkhana in the city, if not the country. I was partly curious, and partly excited to go check out this exclusive club. I had vague memories of having gone there as a child, but recalled nothing to write a blog about. As the clock struck one in the afternoon, I got into my car and drove to Richa's place, immersed in thoughts of what this oasis of glamour would be like.

I was shaken from my thoughts as Richa opened the door and got into my car. She was dressed well, and I wondered what the occaision was that warranted it. Maybe people dressed up to go have lunch at The Willingdon. At the Radio Club, where I was a member, shorts and an old t-shirt would have sufficed. Maybe they were strict about these things where we were going. We drove to the club, making small talk and discussing the happenings of our respective lives. There was much traffic along the way, and Thrillseekers' Nightmusic Volume 2 playing softly in the background kept me from getting annoyed at it.

We pulled into the driveway of the club, which looked every bit like something the British left behind. The green picket fence, the cobblestone dividers, the uniformed gatekeeper...all lent a touch of serenity to the place. The guest parking lot brought me back to reality. It was one big muddy ditch. It seemed more like a place where the horses from the Mahalakshmi Race Course across the street should've been kept. I grumbled to myself at having to risk getting my beloved Civic Hybrid stuck in the mud, and carefully backed into what could be called a parking slot.

When we stepped into the entrace foyer, one of Richa's friends was already waiting there. They hugged, and she said to Richa, “Happy Birthday!” Birthday? Birthday! It was Richa's birthday? How did I not know this? Had she mentioned a birthday party? Was I expected to know? I felt like a dunce. I admitted to Richa about not knowing the date she graced the planet on, and to my relief she didn't seem to mind. We walked from one restaurant to another, looking for a place to sit. One was full, and they hadn't held our reservation because we were a few minutes late. Another one had a dress code, and none of us were looking spiffy enough to be allowed inside. We finally settled on the verandah, and I soon realized that I was thankful the other places didn't let us in.

It was a breezy rectangular area overlooking the golf course. The ceiling was gorgeous, almost fifteen feet from the floor. Fans with really long stalks hung from it, dispering air at a height low enough to comfort the pampered cheeks of the guests. Some fans creaked under the weight of their own breeze, whimpering in an annoying squeaky tone. They were the same color as the cieling and the walls, a crisp glimmering white that looked like it had just been painted. Large black lanterns with bulbs inside them adorned the walls. The seemed to bask in the sunlight that flooded through the massive french windows that made up an entire side of the room. In one corner lay a massive thermometer, too heavy for one man to carry. The mercury was still accurate, and I wondered of the days, people and events this outdated antique must have witnessed during its lifetime. The sleek marble floor was covered with white cane chairs arranged neatly at spacious intervals. Privacy seemed to be the theme of the verandah, with tables too far apart to allow a conversation to be overheard by anyone. The chairs had lime green cushions, with little yellow flowers embroidered on them. People spoke to each other in a dignified, hushed sort of way, glancing and occasionally smiling at those who passed by. All in all, it was a quiet room with an aura of peace engulfing it.

We hailed the waiters, who all seemed to be smiling almost unnaturaly, with their hands folded neatly behind their backs. They joined a few tables to form one long table. By now, Richa's other friends had started arriving, and we all plopped down wherever we found a familiar face. As for me, I sunk into a chair from where I could see the ongoing cricket match without someone blocking my view. I had a feeling that I would need the cricket to keep me engrossed while everyone talked about unfamiliar people and situations. I had mentally prepared myself to hear a lot of lawyer talk, given that most of Richa's friends would be from the law fraternity.

People started arriving. By themselves, and in groups. Dressed for chilling, clubbing or showing off their bodies. I realized soon that watching everyone was a lot more fun than watching the cricket match. Heck, India wasn't even playing! There was a girl who looked like she was dressed for a tanning session on the beach. She chattered on and on about movies, her home town, and everything else in between. A couple of the guys seemed more interested in the contstant stream of chinese food bring brought to our table. Some looked at me and smiled politely. Some made small talk on where I worked, where I lived and what my thoughts on the stock markets were. Some complained to me about the losses they had made recently, as if I was responsible. But soon their talk switched to work and goings-on at their own offices. It turns out that I know a fair number of people that they know. It isn't uncommon for that to happen when you work or live in South Bombay. Everyone tends to know the same people, and plenty of shared acquaintances surface during first meetings.

I shifted my gaze to the golf course that this spectacular room overlooked. The neatly manicured lawns shimmered in the bright sunshine. There were large honeysuckle bushes lined along the edge of the building, and they stuck their buds out in the welcome breeze. There were a lot of people outside, glad to be able to play a round of golf after the monsoon. Most of the people playing were men, their visors lined with the sweat from their brows, and their fat tummies bulging against their polo t-shirts. The women stood by disinterested, gossiping among themselves. Occasionally, they lifted up their massive sunglasses to take a look at someone handsome walking by. The whole time, they were fanning themselves with large hand-fans. They were only too eager to get back onto the golf carts and move to the next hole when their husbands were done. Tall buildings made up the backdrop of this golf course, and it seemed unnatural to witness such a large open space in the middle of this chaotic city.

I heard my name being called out, and I focused my eyes back to the scene near me. Richa was asking me if I was getting bored. I smiled, nodded lazily to answer in the negative, and took another look at those in front of me. Smiling, laughing, eating, drinking, chattering, teasing...oblivious to the world and the problems that lay beyond the greens. The peacefulness of this place engulfed me. The world seemed a happy place.

*Names have been omitted to protect the author's right to forget them.

The simple (and noisy) pleasures of life

2009-09-04T00:21:00.000+05:30

It was 3.30 pm. I was grumbling to myself about having to leave work early. I was being dragged out of office by my mom, since it is Ganpati Visarjan today. I told myself, why must a whole city suffer because one section wants to celebrate this festival? I could have gotten so much work done if I had stayed a few hours more! I got home, seemingly at a loss as to what to do for the rest of the day. I hung out with my brother, wandered aimlessly on the internet, all the while complaining in my head about the non-stop cacophony of drums that was underway seventeen stories below.

The day passed nevertheless, and soon it was time to sleep. I shut all the windows tight, hoping that they would keep the noise out. The same noise which was like a hammer to my skull, which had gotten steadily louder as high tide approached and the larger idols were brought to be immersed. I live in a part of town which serves as a passage for a large number of idols as they make their way to Chowpatty Beach. The sound is amplified as it reaches me up here and comes loud and clear to my window. I wondered when I would be able to sleep, and how I would pull off a productive day at work tomorrow without proper rest.

As I pulled my curtains to a close, I took what I thought would be one last fleeting glance at the commotion below. What I saw left me mesmerized. It was raining, no, pouring down. The sky was lit up brilliantly by flashes of lightning. Water had started to collect near the drains, and the street has begun to flood up to one's ankles. There was a long line of cars, held back by a large procession slowly making its way towards Chowpatty. By slowly, I mean it was moving a metre a minute. There were people dancing in front and at the back of the procession, at the centre of which was a truck with a beautiful idol of Lord Ganesha on it. The idol seemed to be smiling down at the crowd, which looked even happier. There were children, adults, men, women, even a dog or two. They were completely engrossed in the dancing, there was not a trace of worry on their faces. They didn't seem to care about anything around them; neither the water fast filling the street, the cars honking behind them, nor the rain pouring down on their already drenched bodies. Their lives were probably full of problems, but for this one day and night everything was forgotten in the magical experience that was the Visarjan.

In that one moment, it struck me that this was the happiest Bombay could ever be. The combined joy that the people of this city get when they immerse their favorite idol in the mirky waters of the Arabian Sea is far more than the inconvenience caused to those who choose not to participate in this festival. No doubt, life will go back to normal tomorrow, except for the eerie body parts of the clay Ganesha idols that will wash up on shore all along the city's coastline. But it will be a happier life, one filled with memories of the last few days gone by. The dancing, the modaks, the drums, the idols...the beautiful, beautiful idols. This festival unites the masses. It weaves back together the social fabric of a city whose patience is tested every single day of the year, of a city, which seems to be at its wit's end at every traffic jam, power cut and late train.

Thank you Lord Ganesha, you unite this city in a way no political leader ever will.

Short stories on Bombay: Part 1

2009-08-31T00:55:00.000+05:30

It was a day like any other. Arvind Singh sat on the parapet wall, watching the waves crash below. The waters swelled and receded in an unending cycle. He kept an eye out for the big wave, that would come rolling along every so often. It would break the mighty stone barrier and drench some unsuspecting soul. Arvind couldn't afford to get drenched, his camera was too precious. One mistake and his livelihood would be in jeopardy. Things were already bad enough for him to deal with the expense of buying a new camera. His last camera, the beautiful black Nikon had been stolen last December. He hadn't even finished paying off the loan for it. Oh, how shiny and pretty it was! Kids would squeal with excitement when they saw him approaching, tugging at their parents' sleeves, begging them to let him take a picture. He could ask for as much money as he wanted, the parents couldn't refuse for long. The fathers would try to bargain, while the mothers quickly fixed their hair. But he wouldn't budge. 100 rupees it was, take it or leave it. Of course they would take it, their children wouldn't have it any other way. He would sure that someone's evil eye had fallen upon it. A camera that was envied by all the photographers wouldn't last long until someone cursed him for owning it. Arvind's other eye kept a lookout for prospective customers. Even after all these years, he was quick enough on his toes to beat the other photographers to an awe-struck tourist staring with gaping eyes at the Gateway of India. But no matter how quick he was, none of the photographers were any match for these new digital cameras. These wretched inventions had ruined his business. So small yet so powerful, any idiot could take reasonable photographs. As if that wasn't bad enough, the rest of them had cameras in their cellphones! How was a man supposed to make a living when such dastardly inventions could be bought by anyone with a couple of thousand-rupee notes to spare? People didn't value the steady hand and keen eye of a professional photographer anymore. Nor did they care for the thrill of seeing the photo appear out of nowhere when he skillfully waved the polaroid paper in the salty breeze. People seemed to prefer the grainy, shaky image taken with an amateur camera to his masterpieces.

Arvind was shaken out of his loathing when he saw a jackpot: A large Muslim family emerged out of an Omni van. The yellow-and-black number plate suggested that it was a tourist vehicle, which meant that the family was probably out of town. His hunch was confirmed by the awe-struck expressions on their faces when they saw the Gateway. “First time in Bombay, sir?”, Arvind said loudly to the patriarch, while walking at a brisk pace towards him. The head of the family was a harrowed man of about fifty, with a flowing white beard. His kurta flapped about in the wind as he fumbled around his pocket for loose change to pay the taxi driver with. Meanwhile, the five children had already started running about the promenade, startling the pigeons out of their peaceful cooing-and-eating grains routine. There were two women in black burkhas lined with beautiful patterns in gold-embroidery. They seemed more concerned with covering their faces than with making sure that the children didn't get too close to the parapet wall. The father finished paying the taxi-wallah, and bellowed first at the children for running around like that, and then at his wives for letting them. He shoed Arvind away with a flick of his wrist, and lazily walked towards the sea wall. Arvind was no newcomer to this wave, he hadn't been working as a photographer for sixteen years for nothing. He shifted his attention to the children, shouting “Smile, beta! I'm going to take a picture of you! My, you look like a little Abhishek Bachchan in that outfit!” It didn't take long for the children to lose interest in the pigeons. They were screaming at the top of their shrill voices, “Abbajaan! Humey photo leni hai! We want to have a picture taken!” The old man looked grudgingly at Arvind, as if to admit that Arvind knew where to strike a blow. He asked with a gruff, “Kitna?” Arvind smiled, showcasing all his paan-stained teeth, and said, “One hundred rupees only, sir! Don't take if you don't like.” The old man raised his eyebrows and replied, “Pagal samjha hai kya? Dus rupiya doonga.” Arvind simply continued grinning, and said, “Oh sir, if I started taking pictures for ten rupees each, I'll have to take one of myself and print it in the obituary section of the newspaper. I'll starve at that price.” The old man didn't seem to care. He held two of his children firmly by the wrists and started walking away, ignoring their tantrums. Arvind quickly followed him. “Okay, special offer for you sir, specially for your special children. Praise Allah that they are so beautiful. My camera will be blessed to take pictures of these little angels. Give me fifty rupees and we'll call it a deal.” The old man let go of his children, who darted towards the pigeons, making them fly away in panic once again. He said, “For fifty rupees, you will take one of the whole family, and one of myself with my pretty wives. Chalega?” Arvind nodded in resignation, while thinking to himself, “Pretty wives my ass. Good thing they're not sightseeing in Ranibaug, people might think the baby elephants have escaped.” He lined up the old man and his wives, then got the childre to kneel in front. He hoped they would stay still, so that he wouldn't have to waste his precious polaroid paper on imprefect photographs. With the Gateway in the background, he pressed the button. With a whirring sound, the paper rolled out of the camera, to which the children yelped in delight. He shook the photo expertly, and then smiled as the children went “Oooh!” as the picture magically appeared. The whole family crowded around to see the photograph, and the old man smiled with a 'I can't believe I still look so handsome' look in his eyes. Arvind rolled his eyes and said, “Now just you and the pretty ladies, sir.” The old man replied, “It's okay, I like how you have made me seem so good-looking in this picture. Take the full fifty.” He thrust a crumpled note into Arvind's hand, grabbed the photograph and put it carefully in the pocket of his kurta. As he started walking towards the Gateway, more vendors approached him, selling everything from boiled peanuts to postcards of the Taj Mahal Hotel. Arvind looked up towards the towering hotel, smiled, touched the note to his forehead, and muttered to himself, “Boni.”

Aditya Mehta: Dukhi Investor ki Atmakatha-2 (Adapted to current market scenario!)

2009-08-16T02:27:00.002+05:30

Aban laga tha 2500 mein bahut achha,
Ab who bhaav aayega jab hoga mera bachcha.

Subscribe karunga, NHPC ka IPO hai sahi
Par debit in your account, sab brokers kehta hai yahi

Real estate tha markets ki new success story,
Par DLF lene so to achha hote mere paise chori.

Equities chodo, commodities mein hi paise hai boss!
Gold aur silver liya, ho gaya usme bhi loss.

Milne Gaya broker ko, answer mile market ki thand ka
Par broker tha gul, branch taley se band tha

Jisne daale paise jab market twenty one tha
who ab soche saala FD ka dus taka kya kam tha?

Meri mehnat ki kamai sirf ho gayi aadhi,
F&O vaalo ki to ho gayi barbaadi!

Ab to main piggy bank mein paise bharta hoon
Par swine flu ki wajar se usme bhi darta hoon!

Here's me reciting it at Blue Frog:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ngjZzepLhRU

The Umargam Diaries

2009-05-14T11:49:00.001+05:30

The Verandah

It is a bright afternoon. I sit at the verandah, protected from the scorching heat by the shade of the balcony above, and the cool breeze flowing in from the coast. Every now and then, I glance up from my CFA notes and look around lazily. It is impossible to concentrate on something as drab as a textbook when the view is as beautiful as this one.

The coconut trees wave with the breeze not far away. All that stands in between me and that wonderful green canopy is the swimming pool. The water's shade of blue contrasts perfectly with the earthy tone of the tiles around the pool. The tiny ripples created by the breeze continuously deposit small quantities of water at the edges of the pool, which soon evaporate in the summer heat. Every so often, a bird skims the surface, scooping up just enough water in its tiny beak to quench its thirst.

I look to my left. The laborers toil away in this heat. I wonder how they do it. I find myself breaking into a sweat just sitting on my cozy swing, reading notes. There's an old man carrying soil in a large metal bowl. He looks over sixty, and is dressed in nothing but a loincloth and bright blue rubber sandals. Not for a moment does he falter while carrying all that soil, which I imagine must not be a light load. His upper body is naked and gleaming with sweat, rippling with muscles that only hard labor can develop. A girl, no older than eighteen, is waiting for him to bring the bowl full of soil. Once he passes the bowl to her, she carries it the rest of the way to the end of the field. Her facial features and her walk show off an untainted grace, especially when she walks while perfectly balancing the heavy bowl on her head. Every now and then, someone cracks a joke. They all laugh aloud, their toothy grins shining more than the sweat on their brows. They talk in a tribal language that sounds somewhat like Marathi, but one I don't understand a word of nonetheless. Sometimes, they break into a song. One that sounds so sweet and pure, I find myself wanting nothing more than to know what it says.

I am transfixed on watching them go about their routine jobs. Soon, my attention is diverted by the dog stretching lazily next to me. I don't know how he came to call our farm his own, but we just can't seem to get him to leave. I look into his droopy eyes, and he looks back.

I grin, at nothing in particular. Then I take another sip of my Sprite and go back to reading my notes.

The Moon

It's a full moon. I sit at the verandah, absorbing the soft glow that the moon radiates. Its reflection in the still pool makes it seem like there are two of them. A reflection still as a photograph, only moving when the calm surface is disturbed by a bat skimming it to lap up some water. The trees aren't waving about. It is almost as if they are sleeping. It is awkward to see so many stars, most people from a big city aren't used to seeing them at all.

A soothing calm descends over me. I can hear the sounds of a radio playing old Hindi songs. It belongs to the laborers who live on our farm. Their huts are a hundred yards away, but the quiet night allows the songs to pierce the night sky and reach my ears as if they are being played in front of me.

Though there is no breeze, it is unnaturally cool for a summer night. I feel at peace, and wonder whether I am really only sixty miles away from the outskirts of my bustling home town. I know I must get to sleep soon, I have to be up early to study tomorrow. But something about the moon has me hooked, maybe even addicted. I want to continue to just sit there and look at it. Not move an inch.

I finally muster the strength to get on to my feet. Almost as if the night knows I am leaving, it throws a cool breeze my way, weakening my knees. I am held powerless to resist the allure of this beautiful night. I drop back into the swing. I say to the moon, “You win.” It makes me wish I had someone there with me, at that very moment, to share it with.

But for the time being, I am content being moon-struck.

The Beach

It's a perfect evening. Instead of going to the part of the beach I usually visit, I decide to try something new today. I park about a mile before the parking lot, on the side of the secluded coastal road. I climb down the embankment onto a part of the beach that few visit. The sun is a few minutes away from calling it a day, and is celebrating its departure by painting the sky in violent shades of orange and pink.

I take off my slippers and carry them in my hand. The sand is still wet from the waves that have now started to recede. I can feel the sand sinking just a little bit under my weight as I take small lazy steps. The cool sand on my soles, combined with the warm sea water that occasionally laps up my ankles, make for an eclectic experience. It is so hard to let anything worry you when you are enveloped in such beauty.

I always imagined, that if God is indeed with me at all times, I would see His footsteps besides mine on a beach. Simply because it is the purest place for one to walk barefoot. As a kid, I would be disappointed when I'd look back, searching for two sets of footprints. I would only see my own. One day I told myself, that the single set of footprints is actually that of God's own feet. He is actually carrying me on his shoulders. Ever since, I always look back at my footprints and smile at that comforting thought.

I ponder whether the sea has any dangerous creatures inhabiting it. Just then, something brushes against my foot. I squeal like a little girl and run a good twenty feet before I realize that the dangerous creature attacking me is just a harmless piece of seaweed. I pretend to be cool and ignore the kids swimming in the sea who are laughing their little butts off at me.

I can taste the salt in the breeze. The sun is almost gone, and the pink and orange hues have turned purple. Much as I want to continue walking, I turn back. I've walked over a mile down the beach, and my tummy is craving a dabeli (bread stuffed with a spicy paste, a Gujarati specialty). I have been eating them every day, served hot and fresh at the Mewad Special Dabeli-walla's stall. I see a tiny crab scuttle across my path, and hurriedly put my slippers back on. Experiencing nature in its unadulterated form can wait until the crabs are done running around and the killer seaweed has receded back into the depths of the sea. I walk back a little faster, imagining the delicious dabeli. Dayabhai, the stall-owner, sees me coming from a distance and shouts in Gujarati, “Aaje ek ke be?” (One of two today?). I scream back, “Aaje ekaj!” (Just one today!). My dabeli awaits me when I reach the stall. I sit on a plastic chair next to the stall and enjoy every delicious bite.

I pay Dayabhai the princely sum of five rupees, and promise him that I will return the next evening as well. I switch on my iPhone and put on my headphones. As the heavenly lyrics of the song 'Arziyan' from the soundtrack of Delhi-6 fill my thoughts, I walk back to my car. My slippers are back in my hand. The feeling of cool, wet sand on my naked feet is worth the risk of a crab-bite.

If only I could do this every day, for the rest of my life.

Why South Mumbai didn't vote in the general elections

2009-05-06T16:47:00.000+05:30

(The first seven are from a Rediff article. The rest are mine)

1. Clashed with Salsa class
2. Election whites not drycleaned
3. No candidate was a hottie
4. No valet parking at the booth
5. Spotted servant in queue ahead of me
6. The driver didn't show up at work
7. No party tackled real issues e.g Reducing Gold Gym's membership rates
8. The Meru cab showed up late
9. There was an international food festival on at the Taj President
10. I couldn't find my glares. You expect me to stand in the sun without glares?
11. Miss Man U vs. Chelsea so that I can vote? You gotta be kidding me!
12. My bungalow in Alibag was missing me
13. I partied so hard at Shiro the previous night that I woke up at 5pm. The booths were closed by then
14. Peddar Road is dug up. I would have to go all the way around Walkeshwar just to cast my vote
15. Hard Rock has IPL drink specials
16. I couldn't register myself as a voter because I was in Dubai for the shopping festival
17. I voted during Indian Idol. Does that count?
18. How can I be expected to enter the booth alone? Without my bodyguard?
19. There was no one representing the diamond merchants community

And lastly:

20. The cop at the election booth didn't let me skip the line. Even after I asked him, "Pata hai mera BAAP kaun hai?"

Ramblings of a confused soul

2009-04-27T01:40:00.000+05:30

Ever had the feeling you were stuck in the wrong place? Don't get me wrong...I love Bombay. But I think there's a right time for everything...and every place. I miss Austin. I really do. The view of downtown from Mt. Bonnell. Sitting under the 360 bridge on a moonlit fall night, with the moon reflecting in the river. The sound of cars zipping past on the bridge above. Trudy's, Waffle House and Chipotle. Walking past West Mall on a bright spring morning, grinning back at the carefree smiles of the people manning the tables. Those drives to nowhere and back. Those Saturday afternoons spent doing nothing at all. Those smiles, those days, those memories. I miss all of that.

Of course, these memories mean nothing without the people who are part of them. Once they are all gone from Austin, it won't be so much fun going back. But there's a part of me that just wants to go back. What will I do if I ever get to move back? I don't know. Maybe I'll work, or study or do nothing at all. I just want to go to an exciting, vibrant and global place. I think I was too young when I went. I could have done so much more. I spent almost the first two years just missing Bombay. Now that I look back, I wish someone had told me on day one itself, to make the most of every moment. I don't regret anything I did or didn't do, but I always wonder how it would have been otherwise.

I'm a restless soul. I want to do everything at once. I want to continue studying, work, have fun, meet people, see the world, read, write and capture all of it with my camera lens. All at the same time. As much as I love Bombay, I get tired of the routine life. Commuting. Having to study after the commute. The pollution. Every time I do something I love, I feel guilty about not studying. Even if I am done studying for the day. Even if I am ahead of schedule. Why do I feel guilty? I just don't get it. I want my soul back from the CFA. I want to go on a photo-walk on a Sunday morning. I want to spend Saturday night painting the town red. I want to enjoy a quiet evening reading the Economist, over a big cup of Costa Coffee. Without feeling guilty about it. I think I'm growing up too fast, maybe a side-effect of always being the youngest among older peers. Most people in Bombay aged 22 aren't juggling a super-hectic work schedule with a post-MBA degree. Heck...even if they do, they don't have as many hobbies they want to pursue all at once as I do.

My interests are all out of sync for India. The artists I like don't perform here. The wine I like doesn't get sold here. The jokes I like aren't understood here. I want to go to a place where I can be myself. A place where young, single people work hard and party harder. New York City. Singapore. Tokyo. I don't want to commute three hours a day! It saps the enthusiasm out of you.

I know I should be happy with what I have, and not be sad about what I don't have. But I think I'm a pretty ambitious kid. I feel that this is the time to see the world. Live in different places. Once I finish studying and settle down in life, I won't be able to do all this.

Ah, the restlessness. I guess all I can do is wait. Maybe the way my life is planned out, this isn't the time. Maybe I'm meant to be here, yearning for that life in the Big Apple. Because if I crave it so much, I'll make the most of it when I do live it. Not spend the first half missing what I left behind. I'll cherish every moment. Learn every day.

It will all come when the time is right.

Corruption in the RTO

2009-04-09T16:14:00.002+05:30

It was the 26th of May, 2004. I got out of the car, overwhelmed by the heat. I wiped my sweaty brow with one of the handkerchiefs I was carrying (yes, it is that hot), and looked around. The vast Road Transport Office (RTO) head office campus stood before me. I was finally old enough to get a driver's license! I walked around for about twenty minutes from one end of the campus to the other, trying to figure out where I could take my driving test. I kept being deflected like a hockey puck from one counter to the other.

I finally found the right counter, and waited another thirty minutes in line for my turn. I finally had the pleasure of standing before one Mr. Ghorpade from the RTO. He looked up at me, and grunted something that sounded like the word 'name'. I told him my name. He wrote it in Marathi on a slip of paper. He then asked me, “Standard or express?” I asked him to elaborate. He was clearly annoyed that I was not down with the RTO lingo, and he bellowed at a timid clerk sitting nearby. The clerk quickly hobbled over, and took me aside. He told me in a hushed tone, “Standard means you take the driving test, and the license will be mailed to you in a month. Express means you attach three hundred bucks with the application, and your driving license will be given to you right away, without a driving test.”

I was appalled at this suggestion, and I told him I would not pay a bribe. In fact, I said it so loud that everyone stopped momentarily to look at me. The meek clerk almost pulled me out of the office by my arm and asked me in Marathi with a bewildered face, “Are you trying to get us into trouble? This is the way things work here.” I gave him a disgusted look and walked back inside. I went up to Mr. Ghorpade, and told him I wanted to get my license the 'Standard' way. He looked up at me again, and smirked, “You are the first one to say that in weeks!” I said to him, “Deal with it. Can I take my test now?” He said he would send someone out right away.

Apparently, 'right away' means about an hour or so in RTO lingo. I sat in my car in the searing heat, listening to songs on the radio. I wished the world would end, and I would go to hell. I'm sure it would be cooler there. Anyways, the driving test supervisor ambled to my car eventually, picking his nose the whole way from the office building to my car. He got into the back seat of the car, as my friend was sitting in the front passenger's seat. He grunted, "Ration card". I said I had brought my passport. To which he replied, "Nahi chalega" (Won't do). I asked him why. He said that the RTO did not recognize the passport as a valid form of ID. I didn't know whether to feel pity at his ignorance, or angry at his incompetence. I told him, "This is the apex identification issued by the Government of India, and if you don't accept this, it means that you are a moron." He frowned at me, and took my passport in his hand. He asked me to start the car, and started flicking through the pages. He read out aloud the names of the countries whose visas were in my passport. "Amrika, Englund, Singapoor, Indo..Indo...nesia, Ostreliya...seems like you have traveled all over. I'm sure you know how to drive. You pass." That was it. He passed me based on the countries I had visited!

I began to protest his lack of seriousness towards confirming whether I can actually drive or not. He said, "Look. It's bad enough you want to make us go through all this paperwork to give you a license, when you could just pay us and get it done in a day's time. On top of all this, you actually want me to take your test? What is wrong with you!" He spat his paan outside my car, and simply walked off. I stood there exasperated, not knowing what to think of it. A full two months later, I got my license. It was my first encounter with RTO corruption. And thanks to the twenty-five year validity of my driver license, probably my last encounter for a long time to come.

I have thought on an off about that incident since. I have wondered, whether my encounter with RTO corruption really ended when I walked out of that campus. I have come to a conclusion that this encounter never stops. By requesting for a driving test, I was an exception. Even then, by not taking my test seriously, the RTO gave a license to one more person who it wasn't sure could drive or not. Thousands of people get driving licenses every day, and I'm pretty sure most of them have no idea how to drive. I don't mean how to operate a car, I'm talking about road etiquette, traffic rules and safety rules. The RTO is not considered to be one of the departments whose corruption affects daily life. But given that it unleashes bad drivers by the dozen every single day, the pathetic traffic situation is as much the fault of the RTO as it is the fault of bad planning. A lot of the traffic jams are caused by indiscipline on the part of motorists. Drivers don't follow lanes, they run stoplights, they park where they want, even if the car end up blocking other people's way. It gets scarier when these illiterate drivers take their cars out on the highway. I have seen people overtaking trucks from the wrong side, and even coming the wrong way on a freeway because they don't want to drive the extra mile to take the u-turn. It's no surprise that India has one of the highest numbers in the world of deaths by road accident. It took forever for the RTO to make the use of helmets and seatbelts compulsory. The law is unsatisfactorily enforced in the big cities, and ignored in other places.

The corruption in the RTO is not limited to the issuance of driving licenses. It also extends to giving vehicles a Pollution Under Control (PUC) certificate. Most truckers, taxi drivers and transport vehicle drivers bribe the RTO left, right and centre to get PUCs for their vehicles, even though the vehicles would not have passed the test. Look at the sky on a usual day, and compare it to how it looks on the day taxis are on strike. The difference will tell you how much pollution is released by cars driving on fake PUC certificates. The pollution levels in most Indian cities are very high, and I firmly believe that the corruption of the RTO is to blame for the vehicular pollution in the country. The pollution has a ripple effect on one's quality of life, and on the incidence of diseases like asthma and bronchitis.

The only way to solve the problems related to automobile pollution and road safety is to take a look at the decay in the RTO first. If efforts are made to ensure that only people with all requisite skills pass driving tests, Traffic discipline would improve manifold. I would even go so far as to say that every driver in the country should be re-tested. I'm not sure how many would pass. The systems and processes should be strengthened to make sure that polluting vehicles are not given PUC certificates. An improvement in air quality across urban areas in India can only do good to the quality of people's lives.

As for my next encounter with the corruption in the RTO, I hope there won't be one.

The elusive internet connection

2009-04-03T20:54:00.001+05:30

Oh Internet...you come and go
Why do you make it so?

I think I'm going insane
Why must i go thru this pain?

When will you come back to me
And i will be able to see

The wealth of information
I'm resigned to offline damnation

Please come back fast
So my love affair may last

With facebook and gmail
And occaisionally a female

lol

FY09 Highlights

2009-03-31T15:58:00.001+05:30

I know, it's not December. But the stock broker that I am, my year ends on 31st March. I would like to reflect on the financial year gone by, and highlight some of the more memorable incidents and experiences:

Roaming around Surat and Goa with Deval and Rhuteyu in the April heat
A week in Tokyo
Two amazing weeks in Austin with my buddies
Learning sessions with my boss, Bharat bhai
JATC and Gelato with Urmi
Saturday lunches with the Institutional team
Learning how to work the trading screen
Umargam trips with Deval, Maulik, Harshil and other assorted characters
Lang Lang in concert
The great Lonavala adventure with Deval, Harshil and Maulik
Leo's nights
Russell Peters in Bombay
Studying my ass off for the CFA
Failing nevertheless
Awesome times in Bombay with Mohit and Sid
Movies at Sterling
Random nonsensical talks with Aakash
Hookah at Mocha with Namrata, with Chocolate Avalanche for company
Dublin and Wink
Worli sea face with Pooja
The Armin concert
Celebrating Aakash's independence at Hard Rock
Chirag's wedding in Kolkata
My house parties, with a laser and cathodes thrown in for good measure
Singing 'Mad World' out loud with Aakash backing me up on the piano

If you have any involving me, feel free to add them as a comment below!!

Life's little moments

2009-03-24T21:58:00.000+05:30

A loud bus horn woke me up with a start. I sleepily rubbed my eyes, wondering where I was. A quick look around was enough to tell me that I was stuck in the traffic at the infamous Haji Ali intersection.

I grumbled to myself about the traffic, thinking what the situation would be like once the Tata Nano floods the streets. I was in a mood to complain to someone on how my life sucks because I spend three hours a day stuck in traffic.

As I was scrolling through my phone book deciding whom to call and complain to, I glanced upwards out my window. An overcrowded bus was stuck in traffic next to me. A young child no older than six was sitting on his mother's lap, his tiny fingers tightly gripping the window grill. He looked thirstily into my car, staring at the bottle of Pepsi sitting cozily in the cupholder next to me. A young woman stood in the aisle of the bus, her one hand holding the strap hanging from the cieling of the bus. In her other arm was her crying baby, obviously unhappy at being jostled about a crowded bus.

What was a simple glance into the bus hit me like a train. I sheepishly turned to looking out the window on the other side of the car and switched on the cd player. The Haji Ali shrine gleamed in the evening sun, the peaceful ocean waves enhancing its grandeur.

I closed my eyes, and the sounds of the violin from Suite for Orchestra No.2 in D Major filled my subconscious mind. Feeling the warmth of the soft sunshine on my face; I realized how beautiful life is in all its little ways. A small smile escaped my lips. Sometimes it takes a traffic jam to remind you how lucky you are.

Stock broker ka prem patra

2009-03-23T09:07:00.000+05:30

Tu turnover Reliance ka priye
Main Satyam ka bhaav,

Tujhe dekhu main jab bhi,
Dil bole..maal lao!

Tu A-group ki blue chip
Main pita hua z-group share,

Tu 5 saal ka bull run
Main to bas hoon ek bear.

Main intezaar karu tere dividend ka
Jab aata hai year ending,

Tu jab kahey kar du
Mere saare share ka tujhe lending.

Agar tu meri ho jaye
To upper circuit lagegi aaj,

Zindagi saath bitayenge
Aur karenge arbitrage!

Of random musings and nice guys

2009-03-23T09:01:00.000+05:30

I want to write. But I can't think of anything to write about. So I'm just rambling about nothing in particular. Sometimes I think I can't write on demand. It has to flow by itself. Like the last few lines have.

I also think you have to believe in what you write. When you have passion for the topic, it shows in the words that flow out of your pen.

I have already rambled on for a bit now. So I will go on what my dear friend Riya calls a random tangent. Do you think nice guys finish last? I think nice guys my age do. Maybe it's because girls don't want nice guys, at least until it is time for marriage. No doubt, there are exceptions. But in general, I find that most girls like bad guys. Either they just want to have some fun, or they want to mould the bad guy into their perfect guy. After a while, they realize that it is a futile effort, that the guy isn't likely to change. So in the end, they settle down with a nice guy.

That is why I said that at MY age, nice guys do finish last. When it's time to marry, they're prize catches. So does that mean they are to wait around until girls get tired of the bad guys?

I consider myself to possess more of the nice guy traits. I often think about the predicament faced by our kind. Sometimes I consider acting like a bad guy to improve my chances with girls my age. But I know inside that I'm not built to act like a bad guy. Besides, even if I pull it off and manage to interest a girl, eventually I will get tired of pretending to be someone I'm not and go back to being my usual self. This will most likely result in the girl thinking that I have changed, followed by her leaving me.

So the jist of it is that nice guys are doomed to wait until girls get tired of the bad guys, or realize that it is time to settle down with someone who is husband material. Unless, of course, they are open to putting in substantial effort and pretend to be a bad guy.

Why do girls like bad guys? I don't know. I'm not a girl. If I did know, I would not be here pondering about it to myself.

What defines a bad guy? He is more likely to treat the girl as less than equal. He may not take any effort in pampering the girl. He may ask the girl to change the things he doesn't like in her. He may not respect her, her choices or her tastes. The nice guy is more likely to do be the opposite. But he is also more likely to prefer diplomany over confrontation. He probably wouldn't pick a fight with a guy who felt up his girl in a club, like a bad guy might. The nice guy also prefers practicality over impulsiveness.

As I write this, I think I realize why girls don't like nice guys...they're not crazy enough!

A Walk to Remember

2009-03-17T17:21:00.000+05:30

A few weeks ago I took part in the company cricket tournament. To suit our staff, most of whom stay in the western suburbs, the matches were held in the Poisar Gymkhana which is in Northwest Bombay. Since it is very far from where I stay and is very close to where my maternal grandparents stay, I decided to go stay with them the night before so that I would be spared of an early morning commute to the cricket ground.

My grandparents live in Borivali West. I lived in Borivali East until I was six, and spent a substantial amount of time at their home when I was a kid, mostly during the hours between when school got over and my parents came home from work. I haven't gone back to Borivali too often since we moved town-side in 1992, but I still have vivid memories of the place.

I pulled up my car into the tiny building compound. The watchman woke up with a startled look on his face. He asked me who I was and where I wanted to go, and also said that outside cars were not allowed. He was adamant even after I explained why I should be allowed to park my car inside Apparently growing up somewhere does not mean one can park one's car there fifteen years later. Too tired to argue with him, I parked on the street outside and dragged my suitcase up one floor to my grandparents' flat. I was coming to their place after more than six months and pretty much nothing had changed. I thought for a moment whether to tell my fiery grandmother that the watchman had not let me park my car inside the building compound. But I took pity on the poor soul's life and chose not to mention it.

After the customary cup of tea, I looked around for something to do for the rest of the evening. Borivali isn't exactly the most happening place in Bombay. Besides, my grandparents live smack on SV Road, which is undergoing a radical transformation from a quiet suburban street to the retail hub of a suburb of half a million people. The noise and dust overwhelmed me pretty quickly. I figured, maybe I should go visit one of my relatives in Borivali East. I decided to go to my dad's aunt's place. She was, and continues to be, one of my favorite people. I vaguely recall how she would tell me stories from the Ramayana while putting me to sleep on Saturday afternoons.

I began the walk to her place. I tried my best to soak up the surroundings, and notice the changes they had gone through in the last fifteen years or so. I couldn't recognize any of the buildings on SV Road. The old three story apartment buildings with names like 'Kamal Chhaya' (Lotus Shade) had given way to glitzy malls with massive signboards advertising some sale or some brand of perfume. I thought of taking a short-cut I knew from the back side of the building through a back-alley that went straight to the railroad crossing. When I reached the back side of the building, the alley no longer existed. What I saw instead was a construction site. I grumbled to myself on how the only thing constant is change, and walked back the long way to the railroad crossing. The railroad crossing didn't exist either. It had been walled up, and a pedestrian subway stood glumly.

I remember the excitement I would experience while waiting for the faatak (railroad crossing) to open. I would watch all the vegetable sellers shouting away, trying to sell their wares to the people waiting for the train to pass. In the meantime, hawkers selling everything from stationery to trinkets to handkerchiefs would walk among the crowd. There would always be some smart-alecs who jumped over the faatak and crossed the tracks right before the train would come through.

But they were all gone, and all I could see was the entrance to the subway. It seemed dark inside. It had paan stains all over the walls. It looked like the entrance to hell, with the red stains looking like little flames. I made a face describing disgust and went inside. Crossing from west to east through a subway was no fun compared to running across a railroad crossing pretending the train was about to come.

I reached the east side and heaved a sigh of relief. Nothing seemed to have changed. Maybe it was just me, but even the air seemed cleaner. There was a peacefulness about the place which seemed a distant world away from the hustle and bustle of SV Road. I walked towards Carter Road #1, which is where my grand-aunt lives. She actually lives in the same building where I used to live. I recognized a lot of places along the way. Crystal Classes, where Joan miss would smack me with a ruler when I spelled a word wrong in English tuitions. Bharat Gas Service, where I would come with my nanny to order a new cylinder of gas. Chimanlal and Sons, where to this day I don't know what they actually do. The tiny grocer's store into which a BEST bus had rammed into. The whole neighborhood couldn't stoop talking about it for days. They had a clipping of the news article about the accident stuck on the storefront window. The buildings were the same, the streets were the same. It seemed a lot of them hadn't been painted since I had left. I recalled a well at the intersection near my building. One summer, I had engraved my nickname 'Ada' on one of the cornerstones of the well. I remember throwing stones in the well along with my friends before being chased down the street by the building watchman. My eyes hungrily searched for the spot where the well stood.

A big grin appeared on my face as I found the well. It was no longer an open well; it had been sealed off and on top of it was a pigeon-feeding enclosure. However, the cornerstones of the well that once existed were still in place. I crouched down near the spot where I had engraved my name over seventeen years ago. I found the very stone, and I started rubbing the dust away with my handkerchief. A couple of people stopped and looked, wondering what the hell I was doing. A few seconds of dusting later, I saw it.

The letters engraved into the stone had endured seventeen years of dust, pollution and construction activity to be found once again by the very kid who wrote them. I smiled from ear to ear. Unfortunately, it was too dark to take a picture. I took a moment to absorb the memory, to etch it in my head for ever.

I entered the building compound. I saw the watchman's cabin, inside which five of us kids would hide while playing cops and robbers. I saw the boundary wall with the license plate numbers of the residents' cars painted above each parking spot. I saw the cricket stumps drawn with chalk on the building wall, which kids used as the batting end. They all looked much smaller. The watchman's cabin was barely big enough to fit me now. The building looked tired and in need of renovation. The tiny printing press which operated out of a small office on the ground floor was now a tailor's store. As I climbed up the stairs, thoughts filled my mind about how some things had changed beyond recognition, some had fallen into decay, and some bore remnants of the time that was my childhood. As my grand-aunt opened the door, I gave her a big hug.

Everything was the same once again.

Today

2009-03-17T17:08:00.000+05:30

Today

What's today? It's just another day. Or is it? It's the first day to the rest of your life! Today can be whatever you want it to be. It can be a complete waste, or it can be very productive. Choose the best part of the day gone by, and make it the reason you got up today.

A day is a long time. Ask a cancer patient. There's so much to accomplish. So much to be happy and thankful about. So much to learn. Sure, some days are bad. Either one can spend another day thinking about how bad the previous day was, or one can learn from it and move on.

Each day brings fresh possibilities, fresh hopes, fresh opportunities and fresh experiences. Make sure they are not missed, for a day that is lost will not come again. Take the effort to absorb everything that the day brings, and cherish the memories it leaves behind. You'll be glad you did.

My big book of limericks

2009-02-27T00:05:00.001+05:30

I'll keep adding to this list.

When I joined twitter:

There once was a guy on twitter
He felt like being very bitter
But he found twitter sweet
So all he did was tweet
And in the end he felt a lot fitter

When I played my first competitive cricket match since graduation:

There once was a guy who went to UT
He played cricket like it was his duty
He laid off it for a year
And now he's back in gear
He's gonna win the cup and the booty

When I was sleepy at work:

There once was a guy who was tired
He slept at his job and got fired
But he did not get sore
He went to a bed store
To test beds he got hired

when I was feeling very happy

There once was a guy who was on cloud nine
Nothing could bug him, he felt very fine
No matter what happened
His spirit wasn't dampened
Whose story is this? It's mine!

Attitudes towards dating and marriages in Indian society

2009-02-23T14:17:00.000+05:30

This article is part three of my series on how one's birth year plays a part in shaping one's attitudes towards various things. So far, I have talked about consumerism and government. In this article, I elaborate on dating and marriage. To recap, the four groups according to birth year are: pre-independence, between 1947 and 1965, between 1965 and 1988, and post-1988. Each groups thinks of dating and marriage differently.

The first group has never understood the concept of dating. The members of this group often think of dating as something that 'good children don't do'. According to them, a guy and a girl meeting alone before marriage in not exactly acceptable. Let alone dating and then eventually choosing their spouse, they didn't even get to see their faces before they married them. The parents made the decision, and they simply accepted it. The marriage was not of two people, it was of two families. Once married, they couldn't even think of the possibility of a divorce. The fear of what family and society will think is just too great. Just like dating, the engagement and the honeymoon were non-existent too. Showing affection for the spouse in front of anyone, in public or at home, is not common either.

The members of the second group had considerably more freedom than their parents in choosing spouses. It was not considered inappropriate for them to 'have their eyes on' a prospective match. When the appropriate time to get married came along, the families would be brought into the picture, and the parents would do the talking on behalf of their children. A commonly used term for such a marriage is 'love-cum-arranged' marriage. The approval of the family was an important, but not the only factor in deciding who to marry. Though inter-caste marriages were not common, they weren't frowned upon either. Dating while in college was becoming normal, but it usually meant going out in a big group of guys and girls, with every member having someone special in the group.

The third group embraced the concept of dating and being in a relationship before marriage. Inter-case marriages are common, and so are the so-called 'love marriages'. The members of this group find nothing wrong in finding their own spouse, but also appreciate the benefits of arranged marriages. The last of this group will be married in the next three to five years, and a lot of them are marrying someone they've dated for a few years. With the obvious exceptions, it is uncommon to see members of this group having had multiple girlfriends before marriage. They figure that it is okay to date and see if things work out, otherwise there is always the option of having parents find someone nice for them. They look at the arranged marriage as a backup option.

The last group probably thinks life should be like the way it is in the sitcom 'Friends'. Members of this group will get married much later, and have their first boyfriend/girlfriend much earlier in their lives than those in the third group. They are comfortable with the concept of a live-in relationship and with dating in high school. They look at marriage as a tool to get society's approval for two people living together, something which they do not care much about in the first place. They are also much more accepting of homosexuals then the members of the previous groups. Just like their attitudes with consumerism, they find themselves to be closer to the western world. A lot of energy is spent by the other groups discussing the loosening morals of and lack of a value system in this group.

As of now it seems as if each generation marries later, is more liberal and more accepting of alternative lifestyle choices than the one preceding it. Each generation takes some amount of pleasure in the fact that its value systems are better than the 'kids of today', but worries that its own children would grow up just like those kids of today. Though inter-cast marriages have become very common, so have divorces and broken engagements. One thing that hasn't changed, however, is that very few people marry outside their own religion. Indian society has traditionally been highly segregated and no amount of liberalism has changed that in a substantial manner.

The one for me

2009-02-21T11:03:00.000+05:30

She's always on my mind
I've left all thoughts behind

I think of her all day
I don't know what to say

Will she ever be all mine?
Whatever happens is fine

I think I'm falling in love
With the girl from up above

Yup, she 's an angel from heaven
One life? I want her for all seven!

Until she feels like I do
I'll look for something new

But much as hard as I try
To forget, I'd rather die

So I can do nothing but wait
In her hands lies my fate...

25 Random things about me

2009-02-16T10:51:00.000+05:30

1. I smell glasses before pouring water into them.
2. I always believe that everything happens for the best.
3. Intelligent women turn me on.
4. I'm always satisfied with what I have in my personal life, never satisfied with what I have in my professional life.
5. I love my friends.
6. I think the Indian political system should be cleansed by brutal methods.
7. You don't respect women, I don't respect you.
8. I have no regrets in life.
9. MY favorite colours are burnt orange and black.
10. My brother is like my best friend even though he is seven years younger.
11. I can shop till girls drop. But I can't window-shop.
12. My favorite things to eat: Chipotle burrito, pav bhaji. Drink: Mexican martinis, coke, starbucks frappuchinos.
13. I think too much.
14. I love my personal space.
15. Electronic music keeps me alive.
16. I love travel. I am always planning my next trip. So far: 13 countries, 29 states in the USA seen and cherished.
17. I give a terrible first impression.
18. I'm pretty nascissistic. That's because I love myself. If you don't love yourself, who will?
19. I love my job. I'm so meant to be a stock broker.
20. I can do pretty much anything to be there for my friends.
21. I love hookah, cricket and urban landscape photography.
22. I love to read, write and have intelligent conversations.
23. Gossip, hypocracy and people who aren't frank with me piss me off.
24. I like to think I'm a good dresser.
25. I believe in living like I'll die today, and dreaming like I'll live forever.

Political sentiments and the Indian populace

2009-02-11T23:24:00.000+05:30

Continuing from my article ‘Consumerism in India’ in the last issue, on how one’s birth year affects one’s consumer habits, I feel the same also affects one’s perceptions towards the government and the political system of India. To recap, the four groups, according to birth year, are: pre-independence, between 1947 and 1965, between 1965 and 1988, and post-1988. Each group has a different attitude towards the duties and rights of the government, and what they think of the political class, both of which I refer to as the system henceforth.

The first group has witnessed politicians who were closer in nature to freedom fighters. They have seen a political class that genuinely cared about the progress of the nation, and made use of the government machinery to achieve it. They remember a government that worked tirelessly in the years after independence to create a foundation from which the nation could progress. They still believe in the system, and are willing to wait for it to work, even if it means suffering in the process. They are too scared to try to demand change. They accept the system the way it is, almost as if the prevailing scenario is a part of their fate. The word for the government, ‘Sarkar’ is used extensively by this generation. Just the fact that it actually means ‘master’ tells us that this group looks at the government not as a public servant, but as an entity that is above the common man.

The second group remembers an era of Indira Gandhi’s abuse of the system. They recall a license Raj, corruption, the Emergency, artificial shortages, and abuse of power. Nothing positive comes to mind when they talk about politicians and the government. They are skeptical of the system and always try to work their way around it. They firmly believe that following the law is equal to being left behind. If one has to succeed in India, one must have the government and the various components of the system, such as the bureaucracy, the police, the judiciary, etc. in one’s pocket. Bribing is considered the first step, not the last option. They think of politicians as scum which has to be tolerated. They do not believe in suffering while waiting for the system to work, or in trying to change the system. They simply bribe their way around it.

The third group does not have the patience to deal with an incompetent and ineffective system. As mentioned in the previous article, it is the first group to have had first-hand experience of the developed world in a major way. The members of this group have seen how governments function in other countries. They realize that a country must have an effective and accountable system in order to keep up with the rest of the world. They don’t accept the system as it, nor do they believe in simply working around it. I’m sure there are many who do, but there are a sizeable number of people who are willing to take a stand, ask questions, make some noise and hold the government accountable. They are starting to believe that to clean the gutter; one must climb down into it. They believe that the system is constantly improving and the time will come when efficient governance will be the rule, not an exception. Their efforts have brought about changes the previous two groups never thought possible: a transparent passport issuance system, efficient railway bookings…the list goes on.

The last group is apathetic when it comes to the system. The members of this group are pretty young and have not had to deal with systemic inefficiencies so far. They are used to someone older taking care of everything. They probably don’t consider it important to vote, read a political party’s election manifesto, or even know who the Governor of their state is. Life is fine without having to worry about political issues of the country, and they would like to keep it that way. They feel closer to the developed world than they do to India, and often turn a blind eye to the problems of their motherland. They will bear the gutter’s stench for a few seconds as they pass by, and then forget about it. They will not even consider the fact that cleaning it up is as much their problem as it is someone else’s. What remains to be seen is whether the attitudes of this group will change as it grows up and becomes part of the workforce and mainstream society. Will it become more apathetic towards the system, or will it further the demand for accountability of the third group?

Consumerism in India

2009-01-26T14:04:00.001+05:30

There is a lot being said and written on the consumerism boom that has been witnessed in India since the economy was opened up in 1991. I would like to add my two cents (or paise, in this case) to the Indian consumerism debate.

I have classified the Indian consumer into four broad categories, based on age. The people of each category have been shaped by the time they grew up in. Their experiences in life up to the point they become young adults explain a lot about their behavior, their attitude to society and even their spending habits. It goes without saying that the attitudes overlap to some extent over the group, and that there will be exceptions depending on the exact environment one is raised in. This is also my opinionated subjective classification based on my observation and I can only offer personal experience as a validation to my arguments. Here goes:

The first group is those born before independence. The members of this group have seen a lot of pain, struggle and scarcity. In their childhood, they remember India going through the pains of partition, and struggling to find its feet as a young nation. They struggle to accept consumerism as being something that is ‘okay’ to do. For example, my grandfather always tries to appear as if he never ‘wants’ anything. He loves ice cream, but he will never accept the fact. He would be more likely to say, “If there is any ice cream left over, give me some. Don’t go downstairs to buy some just for me.” Sometimes I think he probably feels guilty in regularly consuming something that was considered a luxury when he was growing up.

The second group is those born between 1947 and 1965. The members of this group would have seen India coming to terms with its independence. The days of the green revolution, the corruption of Indira’s term, the artificial scarcities and hoarding mentality brought in by the license Raj are all part of the memories of this group’s young days. One will never see them wasting anything. Everything is saved or recycled. These habits are reflected in almost every Indian home. People my age (early twenties) who have parents in this demographic are used to seeing jam jars being used to store pickles, newspapers being used to line bottoms of desk drawers. This group has seen times when it took ten years to get a telephone line, so when they get something; they take it even though they may not have immediate need for it, thinking they will use it later. On numerous occasions I have seen people on flights who take a soda even if they don’t want one and put it right into their bag or purse for later consumption.

The third group is people born from 1965 to 1988. They form the bulk of India’s working population. When India opened up its economy in 1991, they were old enough to see the rapid change in the social and economic environment of the country. However, they also remember the days of scarcity and are ideally placed to appreciate the striking contrasts of pre- and post-1991 India. This group was the first to start migrating to other countries on a large scale for work and education. Unlike the two groups preceding them, they have had significant first-hand experience of the way the developed world lives. They generally believe in working hard and spending hard, and are responsible for the current boom in consumerism. They have no qualms about borrowing and spending money, showing it off or bring materialistic. For instance, people from the first or second group would not be as comfortable driving an expensive car. They might feel guilty about showing off their wealth, feel scared that the government might come after them, or simply believe that one should save and not spend. But someone from the third group will have no problems buying one, showing it off and working harder to buy another one. You can stand on a sidewalk at Malabar Hill (one of Mumbai’s most exclusive neighborhoods) for five minutes on any given evening, and the number of BMWs, Audis, Bentleys, Range Rovers and Porsches you will see will prove my point.

The last group is those born after 1988. This group has always lived in a time of relative prosperity and consumerism. They can’t imagine waiting for than a day for a phone connection, or when an entire nation had nothing to do but listen to Binaca Geetmala on the radio for entertainment. They are confident of themselves and their capacity to earn money, and they spend a lot of it. They will soon outpace the third group in spending power, and take to credit on a much larger scale as well. On the contrary, the first two groups are still not comfortable using taking loans from people other than family and friends or having outstanding credit balances on their credit card accounts. They consider themselves culturally closer to the developed world and unfortunately will spend like them too once they start earning money in the next three to five years. For instance, most urban kids play less cricket and more video games then the third group. They have tremendous choice in what they want to eat, wear, play with and study. They have add-on credit cards that their parents give them. One regularly sees high-school kids spend a thousand rupees on “a night out” in expensive nightclubs in Mumbai.

This broad classification provides clarity on why people spend money they way to do and what one can expect in the next few years as far as consumer spending in India is concerned. I see a boom in organized retail, consumer lending and luxury goods sales. These groups also tell a lot about people’s attitudes towards society, relationships and the government. But that is another article for another day.

Candles in the wind

2008-12-01T00:07:00.001+05:30

I went to the Taj today.

I sat on the sea wall and cried.

I lit seven candles. One for each of the six friends I lost. One for the government.

May God bless the souls of those who perished.

Bombay on its knees

2008-11-28T13:14:00.000+05:30

On November 26th, at approximately 9.40pm IST, an event unfolded that has left Bombay reeling in shock. This may not be the attack with the highest death toll, but it is certainly the best-planned and most gruesome attempt to bring Bombay to its knees. This is the most recent in a series of terrorist attacks that have taken place in India this year. The series of events so far is as follows:

A person armed with an automatic weapon started firing indiscriminately at people on the street near Café Leopold in the popular Colaba area. A few minutes later, shots and explosions were heard at the nearby Chattrapati Shivaji Terminus, which is one of the city’s busiest train stations. As the police scrambled to reach the sites where the attacks took place, taxis were blown up at Mazgaon, a crowded Muslim-dominated area in South Bombay, and Vile Parle, a predominantly Gujarati suburb.

More gunshots were heard at the Taj Mahal Hotel at Apollo Bunder, and at the Trident at Nariman Point These are two of the biggest and most famous landmarks of the city. As the media tried to make sense out of all these events, gunshots were heard at the Cama Hospital as well. In the early hours of the morning, Nariman House was also understood to be under siege.

The first reaction was that a gang-war had erupted on the streets. Indiscriminate firing in public was an event usually associated with an encounter or a gang-war, events that were common in Bombay during the 1990s, when the police force went on a mission to reduce organized crime. But it quickly became evident that the firings and the taxi explosions were nothing but a distraction created by the terrorists to reach their ultimate goal: The Taj and the Trident were under siege.

The Army, the Rapid Action Force (RAF) and the National Security Guard (NSG) were called in. Schools and colleges remained closed on Thursday. However, businesses in other parts of the city were open. Most of South Bombay’s commercial district, which is enclosed by Nariman Point on one side an Apollo Bunder on the other, has been locked down. There is a curfew in place in those parts as well.

On any given day during this time of the year, there are hundreds, if not thousands, of people inside each of these hotels. They are where the celebrities, the businesspeople and the wealthy tourists go to or live in while in Bombay. The terrorists quickly took over the hotels, and a gun battle ensued. As of now, over fifteen policemen have been killed, and the total death toll stands at 101. The policemen who have lost their lives include three of the top officers from the anti-terrorism squad of Bombay.

As of this moment, more than 26 hours have passed since the first firing at Colaba. So far, the terrorists have hijacked police cars, thrown grenades at innocent people, set fire to parts of the Trident and the Historic Wing of the Taj Mahal Hotel, and killed over a hundred people. However, there has been some positive news. Two terrorists who tried to escape were gunned down near Girgaum Chowpatty in the wee hours of the morning. Seven of the hostages at the Nariman House have been released. Most recently, thirty-nine hostages were released from the Trident. It has not been confirmed as of now whether the situation is completely out of control or not, as the buildings in questions are very large and combing operations take time. One terrorist has been caught alive. A satellite phone has been retrieved from a terrorist who was killed in the gun battle. Five calls were made to Karachi through that phone right after the hotels were taken over.

These terrorists have been the cause of a lot of panic, for various reasons. First, they snuck in by boat and walked in right through the Gateway of India without being noticed. What was the Coast Guard doing? Second, they created a successful distraction, which made it easy for them to gain control of the hotels. This signals meticulous planning on their part. Third, they systematically killed the top cops of the anti-terrorist squad who were leading the retaliatory campaign. These cops were also part of the investigation team for the Mumbai train blasts and the recent Malegaon blasts. Fourth, they specifically targeted foreigners. Colaba, and the two hotels are very popular with tourists coming from abroad. Reports given by hostages who were freed state that the terrorists specifically rounded up people with American, British and Israeli passports.

These factors signify the arrival of international terrorist organizations in India. These attacks were far more sophisticated in the way they were planned, the tactics used, the weapons used and the groups involved. A little-known organization called the Deccan Mujahedeen has claimed responsibility, but experts believe that this name is another tool used to distract everyone from the real people involved. A consensus among the media is that this event could possibly be traced to the Al Qaeda.

The blame game

I stand behind the government at a difficult time like this. But once this horrendous situation has subsided, a lot of tough questions need to be asked. What has the Government been doing? It is distressing that neither the Coast Guard nor the Navy detected a boat laden with several pounds of RDX sailed to the Gateway of India unchecked. The plethora of Indian Intelligence agencies didn’t have a clue. The police and the RAF seem ill-trained and ill-equipped to deal with the hostage situation. The NSG unit had to be flown in from Delhi. Why isn’t there a unit in Bombay?

As usual, politicians have come out with statements praising the spirit of Bombay. Floods. Bombs. Terrorists. It’s the same thing over and over again. The spirit of Bombay. It’s not the spirit; it’s the possibility of losing a day’s salary that makes the average man go to work the next day, even if it means risking his life for it. Time and again, the administration has failed to provide a safe environment for its citizens. Think of what this incident means for India’s business climate, its tourism industry, and its self-confidence.

I understand that such an event is unprecedented. But what really scares me is that I don’t think the administration is going to learn anything from all this. They didn’t learn anything the last time around. The Congress-led United Progressive Alliance is too soft on terror. This is reflected by the alarming rise in terrorist attacks in the years the Congress has been in power. It is also shown from the fact that the Congress was only too eager to repeal the Prevention of Terrorism Activities (POTA) Act, which, when enacted by the BJP, gave sweeping powers to the Government to swiftly try cases related to terrorism and levy heavy penalties on those proven guilty. Now that POTA has been repealed, it takes ages for terrorism cases to go through the regular courts.

India needs to be more proactive in the war on terror immediately. It means flexing its muscles to warn Pakistan and Bangladesh to stop aiding terrorist activities. It means punishing those found guilty in a swift and consistent manner. It means having an administration which does not shy away from aggressive behavior. When the security of a nation is at stake, proactiveness is the order of the day. The Congress needs to man up to the challenge, or resign from power.

What does this mean for the average citizen of Bombay? He can’t really do anything about it. As I watched the plume of smoke rise from the Trident, a feeling of helplessness took over me. My first reaction was to call people I know and make sure that they were okay. A friend of mine was caught in the gunfire at Colaba. Another one was fifty feet away when the taxi blew up at Vile Parle. Luckily, both escaped unhurt. As the news unfolded, the whole city was glued to its television sets into the wee hours of the morning. A combination of angst, fear, confusion, distress, helplessness, sorrow and rage engulfed me. The beautiful view of Nariman Point in the distance, affectionately called the Queen’s Necklace, had been tainted. As the sound of gunfire and explosions pierced the air into the night, I cried my heart out. I’m sure Bombay was crying too.

Sources:

Eyewitness accounts by the author
www.ibnlive.com
www.timesofindia.com
Live news on CNN-IBN and NDTV 24x7

Of weddings and thinking sprees

2008-11-26T22:37:00.001+05:30

So it’s wedding season again. I hate wedding seasons. The traffic on Marine Drive is terrible. You go to the wedding of a person who you barely know, just because your family was invited by the groom’s or the bride’s family. You eat oily wedding food. You come back. You repeat the cycle a few more times before the New Year comes.

But I went to a wedding last weekend which I will cherish for many reasons. For one, it was my best bud Chirag’s wedding. Two, it was the first time I went to the wedding of a person I really care about. Three, I got to go to Kolkata for the big day, which meant some time away from my CFA studying.

As I got out the car at Mumbai’s swank new airport, I felt queasy. Mostly due to the generous quantity of beer I had consumed the previous night. But the beautiful airport never fails to light up my spirit. As I looked up at the vast expanse of the check-in area like a big-eyed child looking at the entrance to Disneyland, I couldn’t help but think of how different this place was from India’s ‘other side’. The terminal building was relatively empty, quiet, air-conditioned and sparkling clean. The architecture was modern and it looked world-class. I nodded to myself as I thought of the crowded slums outside the airport. It was another one of those examples where the two Indias co-exist side-by-side. I was prevented from slipping into another lengthy thinking spree by the sight of a Costa Coffee store. The excitement of succumbing to a cup of gourmet coffee to rid me of my early morning blues was overwhelming. I looked at the menu, and noticed that they had a paneer sandwich in ‘mint mayonnaise’. Is that what they’re calling chutney these days, I asked myself. It wasn’t chutney, and the sandwich was surprisingly delicious.

The surprises continued as I began my journey to Kolkata. Check-in took less than a minute, security was smooth and the flight left on time. I flew Indigo and the professionalism of the airline was very obvious. I am a sucker for a sleek product and Indigo was one such product.

I arrived in Kolkata, not knowing what to expect. I had not heard anything positive about the city from people in Bombay, but then Bombayites are prone to do that about any place outside the toll naka. Words I heard repeatedly included smelly, filthy, communist, strikes, and the like. I feared the criticism would come true as the plane pulled into its parking bay. Sure enough, the airport was ugly and reeked of a 1980s communist ideology. It was in the sort of disrepair that could be associated with the old airport of Bombay. I found the car that had been sent for me by the benevolent groom-to-be, and we set off towards my hotel.

Out of nowhere, the bad roads and pedal-rickshaws suddenly gave way to a sleek six-lane road that went straight through the fields on either side. Occasionally, one would have the opportunity to admire a sleek glass-faced office building with a huge logo of some IT company on it. I was glad that what I had heard was being proven wrong. It seems that Kolkata had jumped on to the development bandwagon after all. But sadly, as the trip wore on, that was all I saw of the new face of Kolkata. This city seemed like Bombay in many ways; bustling, crowded, albeit a lot dirtier and a lot poorer. Bombay gives you a showcase of the staggering difference in the lives of the haves and the have-nots, whereas Kolkata seemed to have a lot more of the have-nots and very few haves. It seemed like the city was trapped in time, 1980s I’d say. The effects of liberalization and the IT boom were not very obvious.

After a short stop at my hotel, I went to the groom’s house. It was good to see Chirag after about six months. He was beaming, as any groom would. He seemed to be more interested in the ongoing India-England cricket match than in getting ready for the wedding! Once he did get ready, we left for the wedding hall. About two hundred meters away from the hall, the groom’s guests assembled, and Chirag climbed onto a white mare and the band started playing. I couldn’t help smiling non-stop as I video-taped the procession on my phone. Our ceremony caused a traffic jam, as cars squeezed by. People, both in the cars and on the road, were taking great interest in the procession. The women passing by took time to see what the groom looked like. I’m sure they weren’t disappointed.

The wedding area was beautifully lit up. There was no loud music playing, and the service was prompt to the point of the waiters badgering the guests. Chirag looked smashing, and Richa looked very pretty in her red sari.

The wedding lasted forever. When I left at 1030 pm, the bride and the groom had just gotten started on dinner. I guess it’s just one of those things that have to be done. All through the various ceremonies, Chirag had this particular look on his face. I have seen that look before, in the ending overs of the game when we are fielding first, and it’s almost time for our turn to bat. You know what I mean in this context. I met some interesting people, as well as some old friends. My mind kept wandering to thoughts of how it would be when my other friends would start getting married. Weddings are a lot more fun when the one getting married is close to you. Amid the depressing last few days that I had left behind in Bombay, these few hours gave me an immense sense of happiness. It felt wonderful to see someone so happy, and see everyone around so happy for them. The whole place seemed completely devoid of any negative vibes.

I found myself slipping into many different thought, of marriage, of friendship, of love, of happiness and of life itself. Needless to say, this marriage was a lot of fun to attend.

I wish Chirag and Richa the happiest of married lives, and I thank him for giving me a chance to be present at one of the most important events of his life.

I wish...

2008-11-16T16:19:00.000+05:30

When I hear of the cricket matches
On those Sunday mornings

I wish I could be there.

When I hear of the martini sessions
On those top-shelf Tuesdays

I wish I could be there.

When I hear of cramming for finals
On those nights in the FAC

I wish I could be there.

When my friends are angry at me
On those issues of yesteryear

I wish I could be there.

When my brothers miss me so much
And I miss them so much more

I wish I could be there.

When my heart aches to think
Of those memories good and bad

I wish I could be there.

When I call and hear the voices
Of those who helped me find myself

I wish I could be there.

When I don't miss my second home
When I'd rather be all alone

I...still wish I could be there.

Raj turns Mumbai into a playground for his goons

2008-11-07T23:45:00.000+05:30

At the risk of repeating myself, Raj is at it again. This is part three in a series of articles that tracks the antics of Raj Thackeray and his ‘party members’ of the Maharashtra Navnirman Sena (MNS).

The MNS has acquired a reputation for hooliganism. MNS party members went on a rampage and beat up railway entrance examination candidates at 13 exam centers in suburban Mumbai. They justified their actions by stating that the candidates were from North India and that they should have given the exam from their own states. Furthermore, they insisted that only Maharashtrians should be allowed to take the exams held in Mumbai and Maharashtra.

This latest act of violence has drawn fresh criticism from almost every political party of the Maharashtra Government’s inability to rein in Thackeray and his goons.

With the Maharashtra Government finally waking up from its slumber and making known its decision to arrest Raj Thackeray for the second time in eight months, MNS activists unleashed a fresh wave of violence in the wee hours of the morning on October 21. Taxis, buses and rickshaws were damaged and burned across the city. As morning came, MNS activists forced shops and businesses to remain closed in Marathi-dominated areas like Dadar, Parel, Kalyan and Dombivali. As a precautionary measure, most schools and colleges also remained shut.

The police seemed to be fully prepared to handle violence by making almost 2,000 preventive arrest of MNS activists, but in the end they could do little to prevent the city from coming to a standstill. Thackeray was to be presented in the Bandra court before a magistrate who would decide whether to grant him bail for his offences or not. Even before Thackeray was presented in court, a mob of almost 2,000 MNS activists gathered outside the courthouse, damaged public property, pelted stones at passing vehicles and set fire to public vehicles like buses and police vans.

Thackeray has been booked under a variety of sections under the Indian penal code for offenses such as rioting and inciting people to damage public property. While the Bandra court granted him bail, Thackeray still had to get bail for other offenses filed against him in the Kalyan court. This meant that Raj would spend the night of October 21st in jail.

Since then, Raj has been released from jail and is following the gag order issued against him by the Mumbai high court. Though it has been quiet in Mumbai for two weeks, people are still wary of any new trouble that MNS activists might cause. There is a troubled calm across the city as people get back to their daily lives.

This latest act of hooliganism by Thackeray’s goons, masquerading as a political party, provides another sorry example of how India is turning into a mobocracy. A fringe political leader is being allowed to hold the country’s financial capital to ransom and cause millions of dollars of direct and indirect damage to private and public property, and to the economy.

At a time like this, the Government must give priority to the swift execution of the law towards the guilty. Instead, it is wasting precious days and weeks in trying to analyze the event and how it will impact its own chances of getting re-elected in the upcoming elections.

At the end of it all, it is the common man who suffers. It is the man on the street who is beaten up by unruly ‘political workers’ for no fault of his own. It is the man on the street who loses a day’s pay because he is not able to get to work due to a rampaging mob. And it is the man on the street who has to shut down his business because the Congress Government does not have the guts to stand up to a maverick politician with mindless violence on his agenda.

With the state machinery having failed at maintaining law and order, only when this man on the street rises up and ensures that goons like Raj Thackeray do not win elections with such damaging agendas, and that spineless politicians like Vilasrao Deskhmukh (the Chief Minister of Maharashtra) do not get re-elected after such pathetic attempts at protecting common citizens, will the system have worked.

Lastly, what seems to have slipped everyone’s mind is how damaging this violence is for Mumbai and India’s image as a safe investment destination. It won’t be surprising if companies from the rest of the country and the rest of the world think twice before investing in a place where frivolous issues like the size and location of the Marathi font on signboards bring a city of almost 20 million people to a standstill.

If selfish politicians like Deshmukh and Thackeray have their way, Mumbai will go from being a proud, tolerant and cosmopolitan city where people of varied communities live and work, to an intolerant, unsafe and hostile place which will be resigned to basking in its past glory as the has-been apex city of India.

This latest incident was Raj Thackeray’s Diwali gift to the city. This article is mine. I wish everyone a Happy Diwali.

Dukhi investor ki aatmakatha

2008-10-17T09:42:00.000+05:30

Aban laga tha 2500 mein bahut achha,
Ab who bhaav aayega jab hoga mera bachcha.

Socha tha rights mein daloonga main Hindalco,
Par usne sirf badhaya mere sar pe aayi taal ko

Rpower bola 'Power on India on',
Par what about my IPO money that's gone?

DLF tha big daddy of Indian realty story,
Par ise lene so to achha hote mere paise chori.

JP Associates ko dala tha Sensex mein boss!
Tees mein se hua sabse jyada isi scrip mein loss.

Moti ka share do hazaar ek sau pe very nice,
Do nikaal do, sau hai uski current price.

Jisne daale paise jab market twenty one tha
who ab soche saala FD ka dus taka kya kam tha?

Meri mehnat ki kamai sirf ho gayi aadhi,
F&O vaalo ki to ho gayi barbaadi!

The Team

2008-10-08T15:58:00.000+05:30

The Team

Baat karte hai humare team ki,
Institutional equities hamara naam hai,
We talk to the biggest clients,
But LIC lagana hamara asli kaam hai,

Bharat bhai ka kya kehna hai?
Sabka dhyaan rakhte hai poora,
Jab client order na de,
To use kahe jhamura!

Kirti miss aggressive,
Makes me Earl Grey tea,
Comes with me for meetings,
To State Bank and GIC,

Apna Himanshu Bhai,
Mere CFA ka guru,
Choti si baat pe,
Jor se bolna shuru!

Mukund from Keral,
Sutta marne neeche jaata hai,
Bhaag ke aata hai jab,
Catholic Syrian se phone aata hai!

Sab ki maa Uma,
New India phone lagaye,
Bohot acha lage,
Jab pav bhaji lekar aaye!

Aur Santosh Gaikar,
Din bhar confirmation bhejta hai,
Ganpati ke agle din,
Par daandi marta hai!

Last mein bacha main,
Taurus ko phone lagata hoon,
Baki time to sirf,
Fun @ Work mein jaata hoon!

I've had a lot of fun here,
But now it's time to go,
I just feel like saying,
Mujhe yaha pade rehne do!

But I need to move on
Learn every corner and nook
And keep on adding names,
To my little black book!

Raj is at it again

2008-10-08T15:56:00.000+05:30

So Raj’s at it again. After attacking North Indian taxi drivers and shop owners a few months ago in Mumbai, he has revived his agitations. Raj Thackeray and his party supporters (read: goons) have launched a campaign against shop sign boards that don’t feature Marathi, threatened to boycott movies starring members of the Bachchan family, and challenged the joint police commissioner of Mumbai to a street fight. But it seems that Mr. Thackeray has played his cards wrong this time around.

The Maharashtra Navnirman Sena (MNS) went on a threatening spree to shops around the city of Mumbai demanding shop owners to display their signs in Marathi as well. They claimed that the Marathi font had tobe larger than the English or Hindi fonts and displayed more prominently. The Bombay Shop & Establishment Act only states that Marathi has to be displayed along with Hindi or English on the signboard 1. Now, I do not have an issue with Raj Thackeray wanting this law to be enforced. What I find worrisome is the way he has gone about it. He chose to threaten people when he could have simply appealed to the concerned government department to enforce the law. Last time his men beat up helpless taxi drivers who couldn’t do much to retaliate. This time around, he has picked a fight with shop owners from various backgrounds; rich and poor, Marathi and non-Marathi. Small businesses traditionally fund a sizeable percentage of the election budgets of political parties. His campaign might have a negative effect on how much money and support he will be able to garner from this section. He only backed off from his self-enforced deadline later, when the high court came down heavily on the Maharashtra government for sitting idle and letting the MNS take the law into its own hands, and issued a strong statement saying that “nobody could hold the people to ransom” 2
I also think that issues like signs in Marathi must be left to economic needs. If a shop’s customer base includes enough Marathis, the owner will automatically find it necessary to have his shop name displayed in Marathi as well. For example, sign boards in Marathi-dominated areas like Parel and Dadar have always been primarily in Marathi, sometimes English is not even featured on the sign.

This done with, Raj Thackeray picked a fight with the Bachchan family. Over-reacting to a joke in a public function by Jaya Bachchan wherein she said that she would speak only in Hindi as she was from Uttar Pradesh. Thackeray threatened to ensure that all of the Bachchan family’s upcoming releases, including The Last Lear and Drona, would be boycotted. Glass panes were smashed at the theatr where the premiere of the Last Lear was supposed to take place, forcing the cancellation of the event. 3 After Amitabh Bachchan apologized publicly for his wife’s comments, Thackeray withdrew his agitation. What stands out from this incident is that Amitabh Bachchan proved to be the bigger man by apologizing when he didn’t need to, and Thackeray comes out as the politician with frivolous items on his political agenda.
With this out of the way, Raj Thackeray found something else to raise a storm about. His party challenged KL Prasad, the Joint Police Commissioner (Law & Order), Mumbai, to what can pretty much be termed as a street fight. He took offense to a statement made by the Commissioner “Mumbai konacha baapachi nahi” (Mumbai is not anyone’s father’s property), while reacting to Thackeray’s anti-Bachchan agitations. As a response, Thackeray publicly announced that KL Prasad should “come out without his badge and uniform and he will know who Maharashtra and Mumbai belong to,” 4

This list of recent incidents involving the MNS has clearly thrown into the limelight that Raj Thackeray’s agenda is to ignite the anti-outsider hatred in the minds of the average lower-middle class Marathi people of Mumbai. I feel that none of his activities, even if successful, will improve the life of the common Marathi man in any way. Just because a sign is in Marathi or a movie isn’t released doesn’t mean that the standard of living is better for anyone. He may be doing these activities with the vote bank in mind, but it is important to note that some of the very activities he has undertaken, like the Marathi signboard agitations, can actually be counterproductive when it comes to increasing his electoral popularity.

What is left to be seen is how the common voter will react in the upcoming elections to these antics. Hopefully, the resilience of the Indian voter in giving justice to politicians (as seen in the removal of Indira Gandhi after the Emergency) will come out on top, and Raj Thackeray will be resigned to the role of the insignificant angry young man of Maharashtra politics.

Footnotes:
1 http://www.maharashtra.gov.in
2 http://www.deccanherald.com/CONTENT/Aug292008/national2008082887197.asp
3 http://www.mumbaimirror.com/net/mmpaper.aspx?page=article&sectid=35&contentid=2008091220080912032239430f3093acb&pageno=1
4 http://www.ndtv.com/convergence/ndtv/story.aspx?id=NEWEN20080064984

A Week in Bombay

2008-10-08T15:54:00.000+05:30

After writing about a week on Tokyo, I figured…why wait for another +1 trip to write another travel article? I’ll write one about my favorite city in the world, Bombay!

First off, you must be a gutsy traveler who is willing to go off the beaten path and do things that are unique to Bombay. I know that the name is now Mumbai, as some politically correct reader might point out; I would advise the reader to deal with it.

Bombay is the largest city in India, with a metropolitan population exceeding 17 million. Although the city appears to stretch endlessly, it is safe to say that most of what I recommend is in or around South Bombay. Hence, upon arrival, one should look for a hotel in South Bombay. It is advisable that one book in advance during the peak months of September-March, when hotel rooms can be very hard to find.

Recommended hotel choices are the Taj Mahal Hotel at Apollo Bunder (~$500/night) for the financially well-endowed to the YMCA hostel at Mumbai Central (~$20/night) for the shoestring globetrotter.

Bombay is the country’s premier air hub and it is well connected to Europe, South-East Asia and the US of A. If you are flying in from the East Coast or Europe, I recommend flying Emirates. There might be an extra stop in Dubai, but it is worth it. For those coming in from the West Coast, Jet Airways flies San Francisco-Shanghai-Bombay. It is accessible by all forms of transport from the rest of India as well.

If you fly in, you will probably arrive in Bombay late in the night. So day one begins when you wake up the next morning. A few tips to keep in mind:

Always insist that the taxi drivers go by the meter. Do not bargain for a fare.
Carry a bottle of water. Bombay can get very humid.
Avoid traveling by the local trains. They are very crowded and the trip can be very stressful for the unaccustomed.

Day One:
Any trip to Bombay must start with the Gateway of India. Arrive at around ten in the morning. The Gateway is a Bombay landmark and taxis are the best way to reach there. It was built in 1924 to welcome King George V and Queen Mary to Bombay. The last British troops to leave India left through the Gateway of India. I recommend taking a short ferry ride that gives you a panoramic view of South Bombay. The rides last under an hour and cost less than $3 per person.
Once done with Gateway, one can walk to nearby Prince of Wales museum, which is now called Chattrapati Shivaji Maharaj Vastusangrahalaya (A result of an indiscretionary renaming spree which swept through Bombay in the late 90s. There are some interesting artifacts dating from the last three millenia. Right across the intersection is Regal movie theater, one of Bombay’s most famous theaters. It is noted for its art deco style of architecture and is worth a look. The Kala Ghoda Art District is also nearby, with many art galleries showcasing the best in Indian art. Lunch at Kala Ghoda in Chetana restaurant is a good way to experience a tradional Indian Thali. The food is good, and the prices are cheap. Think of it as an Indian buffet with service.
The evening can be spent shopping around Colaba, which is Bombay’s watering hole for foreigners. Most legal (and some illegal) pleasures can be experienced here. Colaba boasts some of Bombay’s most celebrated pubs. A lot of cheap hotels are also located in this area. One can buy shoes, clothes, antiques and music at throwaway prices (post-bargaining, of course). Beware of touts who will claim to hook you up with the best drugs and girls. If ignored, these touts are mostly harmless except for their nuisance value.

A perfect way to end the day is by having a drink or two at Cafe Leopold. This iconic eatery is the centerpiece of the novel ‘Shantaram’ by Gregory David Roberts.The food and ambiance are similar to any busy eatery in Bombay, but foreigners outnumber Indians three to one on most nights. Buy a Leo’s t-shirt or a copy of Shantaram with the official Cafe Leopold seal on it as a souvenir. If you still have any energy left at the end of it all, walk over to Koyla for a hookah. This rooftop restaurant creates a beautiful ambiance with pebble-stones on the ground, individual tents for tables and a view of downtown. Although the food is good here, the hookahs are the main attraction.

Day Two:
Start off the day with a visit to the Haji Ali shrine. The area is known by the shrine and almost everyone knows the way there. Its uniqueness stems from the fact that it is a 500-year old shrine in a city that is 400 years old. It is in the middle of a small bay and is connected to the mainland by a causeway. Note that you must wear appropriate clothing for a Muslim shrine. The view of the mosque from the promenade is great, but the view of the city from the shrine is better.

From Haji Ali, you can take a short taxi ride to Phoenix Mills, central Bombay’s hotbed of shopping activity. This neighborhood has been characteristic of central Bombay for a long time. Abandoned textile mills, which were remnants of Bombay’s past as the premier cotton trading city in the world are now being converted to swank shopping, residential and office complexes. Phoenix Mills is the first and largest of such redevelopments. You can spend half a day strolling through about 500,000 square feet of shopping space. There are lots of choices if you are looking to buy clothes, electronics or eat. I recommend having lunch at Spaghetti Kitchen. This upscale restaurant is located in the main courtyard and has some of the best Italian cuisine in town. If you get bored of the place, there isalso a brand new PVR* multiplex to catch the latest flicks (It should be open by the time this article is published).

A day spent here is sure to get you hungry by dinner time. For dinner, I suggest going back to Haji Ali to eat at Copper Chimney. Although the restaurant has a branch at Phoenix Mills, I recommend going to the original one. You can watch your tandoori dishes being prepared in front of you. This restaurant has been a Bombay favorite for many years and serves some of the most delicious North Indian food south of Delhi.

Post dinner, head over to the Bombay Dyeing mills for a couple of drinks at the Hard Rock Cafe. The first branch of this world-famous chain in India, the Cafe opened in 2006 and covers an area of 8,000 square feet. It has two live music areas and hosts local bands every Tuesdays and Thursdays. It is world-class in terms of memorabilia, food and music. A tough competitor to Hard Rock Cafe is Shiro, which is right next door. Shiro is famous for its Asian theme (the centerpiece of which is an imposing 25 feet tall Buddha statue in front of the entrance) and South East Asian/House music list. If rock is not your genre, an evening in Shiro is just as fun.

Day Three:
You might be in the mood for something more sober after Hard Rock Cafe and Shiro. You can start off in the morning with a visit to Mani Bhavan, which was Mahatma Gandhi’s residence while he was in Bombay. It is now a museum on his life and the Indian freedom struggle. It is in a locality called Gowalia Tank, which is the birthplace of the 1942 Quit India movement. Less importantly, it is also the neighborhood in which I live. Mani Bhavan is pretty compact and shouldn’t take you more than an hour to tour. A short walk away is Girgaum Chowpatty, the most popular beach in the city. Chowpatty means ‘beach’ in Marathi. There are many chowpattys in Bombay, including Juhu and Dadar Chowpattys. Don’t expect a Copa Cabana-esqe atmosphere, given Bombay’s heat it will most likely be empty. What you can expect is a brilliant view of Nariman Point, the downtown of Bombay. Since there’s not much to do in the mornings at the beach, I suggest taking a short taxi ride to Hanging Gardens. The gardens are perched on top of Malabar Hill, which is one of the most exclusive neighborhoods in the country. An apartment in an old building can cost you as much as $2,500 a square foot! The Hanging Gardens are on top of a 10 million gallon water tank that supplies water to South Bombay. If you go all the way to the end of the park, you will see a viewing point. In my mind, this point gives you the single best view of downtown that one can get. The gardens are usually crowded in the evenings, where kids come to play around the famous two story shoe-house.

After having admired Nariman Point from multiple locations, it is time to actually visit it. Lunch can be enjoyed at New Yorker’s, which is right across Chowpatty. This vegetarian restaurant is very popular with the Gujarati community and serves delicious Italian and Mexican food specially suited for Indian tastes. I recommend the Cheese Nachos and the Bombay Masala Pizza. Alternatively, one can eat lunch at the Pizzeria, a breezy eatery at the other end of Marine Drive (The promenade that connects Chowpatty to Nariman Point). They also have a pizza named the Bombay Masala, which is equally good. The evening can be spent sitting on the promenade at Nariman Point and admiring the view of Malabar Hill to the North and Cuffe Parade to the South.

Head back to Chowpatty in the evening to enjoy some Bombay street food by walking down Marine Drive. This promenade embodies the identity of Bombay and was built as part of a reclamation project in the 60s. It has the second largest collection of seafront art deco buildings in the world after Miami, FL. On reaching Chowpatty, sample the Bhelpuris, Pani Puris, Dahi Wadas and Sevpuris at the Bhel plaza at the North end of Chowpatty. If you are going during monsoon, I would avoid this trip. Even at other times, insist that the stall vendors used packaged water to make the dishes. Note that you might have to insist on it, as using packaged water is an exception and not the rule. You can fill yourself up with four or five plates of the various snacks and cross the road to Cafe Ideal for a couple of beers. This eatery has been in business since the 1980s and serves beer and vegetarian food with friendly service. You will get to hear an extensive collection of old Hindi songs, and with the beach breeze blowing you are sure to get nostalgic. Make sure you try the Chili cheese toast and select a couple of songs on their famous jukebox.

Day Four:
It’s time to go to the suburbs! For this trip, I will only include Bandra, the southernmost suburb on the Western line. It is commonly known as the Queen of the Suburbs and has a strong Catholic flavor to it. There are many pretty churches and prettier girls to be seen in Bandra. It is also the hotspot for numerous restaurants, pubs and nightclubs. You can head out to Bandra in the morning. I suggest a trip down Linking Road for lots of cheap shopping opportunities in the morning, followed by lunch at any of the numerous restaurants in the area. The evening can be spent eating Pani Puris at Elco, or shopping for electronics at Alfa. One can also take a walk down Bandstand or Carter Road. The iconic Bandra Worli Sea Link is visible from Bandstand. To get a closer view of the Sea Link, one can also go to Reclamation. The photo opportunity is completed by the numerous skyscrapers under construction in the Lower Parel-Worli belt, which can be seen from Reclamation as well. If time permits, and if you enjoy looking at cool buildings, take a rickshaw ride to Bandra Kurla Complex, which the the second downtown of Bombay. Being a planned area, many large Indian companies have chosen to locate their head quarters in this neighborhood. Swanky glass-faced buildings of companies like ICICI Bank, the National Stock Exchange, the Bharat Diamond bourses (The largest office building in India with 10,000 offices) can all be seen here.

Having seen the glitz of the Bandra Kurla Complex, head over to India’s biggest slum, Dharavi. With a population of over 2 million people, has an annual GDP of $550 million. Many tour companies give tours of Dharavi. I recommend Mumbai Magic, whose tours last a couple of hours.

The late evening can be spent having dinner at the two-storeyed China House at the Hyatt in Kalina, followed by a couple of drinks at the lower level. Note that this restaurant is uber expensive, with drinks that cost as much as $20 each. A meal for two can easily set you back over $200.

Day Five:
The last day should be the most fun. Walk around Bombay’s historic old downtown called Fort. The name comes from an old Fort built here by the Birtish to protect the Bombay harbour. No traces can be found of this fort, but the name has stuck. One can see many buildings from the colonial era which have been beautifully restored. This neighborhood along with Kala Ghoda is one of the few tourist-friendly parts of town. You can find maps at most intersections. Make sure you don’t miss the HSBC building, the Standard Chartered building, the Asiatic Society, Horniman Circle garden and Flora Fountain. You can’t miss the towering Bombay Stock Exchange building, the faceplate of the Indian financial markets. Also make sure to visit the RBI Monetary museum, which provides for an interesting account of notes and other financial papers, as well as coins dating back several hundred years.

Lunch can be enjoyed at any of the numerous street stalls or tiny office eating joints. They serve delicious foods at extremely cheap prices. A meal for two can be easily managed in under $5. Stroll around Oval Maidan, which resembles Central Park but is much smaller, and watch kids play cricket in the afternoon sun. The Churchgate neighborhood is full of art deco buildings as well. Fashion street is a short walk away, and one can buy “original” branded clothes that are strikingly close to the real thing. Don’t forget to bargain, it is possible to strike down the price by as much at 80%, although one can’t expect the clothes to last beyond a couple of months.
Around 6.30 pm, go visit VT Station. This is the southern hub of the Central and Harbour lines, and serves approximately two million passengers a day. Originally called Victoria Terminus, it has now been renamed Chattrapati Shivaji Terminus and is a UNESCO World Heritage site. At this time in the evening, it will seem as if all two million people are in the station at the same time. The sheer volume of people catching the trains (called ‘locals’ by commuters) that leave every minute and a half on average is a sight to see. It is funny and awe-inspiring at the same time when one watches a train get filled up before it even comes to a complete stop at the station.

To end the Bombay trip, I can’t think of anything better than a dinner at Bhagat Tarachand. Tucked away in the narrow bylanes of Kalbadevi, the only way to get here without getting lost is to take a taxi to Cotton Exchange and then walk the remaining short distance. The crowd will overwhelm you and sometimes one doesn’t need to try to move; the crowd pushes you around anyways. This restaurant is a famous brand name with branches all around the Bombay Metropolitan Region, but this particular outlet is the original one. They serve staple Punjabi and Sindhi fare. Don’t forget to sample the Papad churi and the buttermilk that is served in recycled beer bottles. A meal for two shouldn’t cost you more than $5.

If you haven’t fallen sick after eating my recommended street food and loitering about in the heat, stay on a couple of days and give me a call…I’ll be happy to take you to some more hidden places that bring out the real Bombay!

References:
* http://www.pvrcinemas.com/site/PVRStory.aspx
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Mumbai_metropolitan_area
http://www.hardrock.com/locations/cafes3/cafe.aspx?LocationID=455&MIBenumID=3
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Dharavi
http://www.mumbaimagic.com/dharavi.htm

An eye for an eye

2008-09-16T21:08:00.000+05:30

Woke up Sunday morning
In the paper I read,
Bomb blasts in New Delhi
Thirty are dead.

I got all depressed
And thought...why again?
All this bloodshed..
It's going insane!!

Sometimes it's the Sena,
Sometimes it's SIMI,
Soon everyone will be dead,
Even you and me.

Read Gandhi's writings,
And you'll be sure to find,
That an eye for an eye,
Makes the world blind.

Austin

2008-09-10T22:15:00.000+05:30

Sorority ki pyari pyari ladkiyan
Graduation pe Tower ki khidkiyan

Match ke baad cricket ki baatein
6th street pe action bhari raatein

Jester me ghante ke aanth dollar kamana
Phir Chipotle jaake burrito bol dabana

Mt. Bonnell pe bitana shanivaar ki shaam
Sunday ko rona...yaar kitna hai kaam!

Khelna har friday cricket at Spanish Oaks
Bahut achi lage unlimited refills vaali cokes!

Friday poori raat peena grape vaala hookah
Saturday lage martini ke beena gala sookha

Har class mein baithkar so jaana
Phir exam mein pakka fail ho jaana

Kaisi hai zindagi in sab ke bin
aana padega phir agle saal Austin!!!

A week in Tokyo

2008-09-06T19:39:00.000+05:30

Tokyo streches as far as the eye can see

I love visiting places that are off the map as far as desi tourists go. Until this summer, I had been to twelve countries on five continents, the last being Canada in 2005. I decided that it was time to add one more to the list.

I was in the process of planning my yearly pilgrimage to Austin when my Dad mentioned that he was going to Tokyo for a week as part of an IT companies’ delegation. He could take one person with him as a +1. My slow mind churned into action and I hatched the idea of going as part of the delegation. Since I was the +1 person with my Dad, I wouldn’t be required to attend the conferences, nor would I have to pay full price on hotel and accommodation. So with my princely sum of 35,000 Yen (~US$ 350), I set off to the largest city in the world, Tokyo!

The thing with Tokyo is that if you’re the average Indian tourist who goes to Bangkok and Malaysia and Singapore, this trip comes as a huge culture shock. Most countries on the Indian tourist path these days have some trace of India…restaurants, movies, Indian people even. But Tokyo had none of those.

For one, very few people speak English. Most of the signs are in Japanese (except, and thankfully so, transportation signs, which are n English as well). Two, the food is nothing like what one is used to back home. Three, you’re going to have a tough time if you are vegetarian. And four, everything is quite expensive, from shopping to travel to food.

But Tokyo more than makes up for these small travel-related hardships. I have been to a lot of great cities worldwide, and I have never seen anything like this place. It is as dense as New York City, as spread out as Los Angeles, as clean and safe as Singapore and as crowded as Mumbai at the same time. Tokyo is more like a collection of many urban centers. There are many downtowns and many suburbs, and they are all linked by an enormous system of over- and under-ground trains, buses and highways. It seems like Tokyo is simply the largest of these many urban centers and so they just decided to call the whole thing Tokyo.

I spent five days there, and here’s an ideal itinerary on what to do:

You will probably reach Tokyo in the late afternoon/evening when flying from South Asia. I recommend living near the Tokyo train station, or near one of its neighboring stations like Shimbashi, which are close yet relatively cheap to stay in. The evening can be spent relaxing and taking a walk to the nearby Tokyo Tower. It’s Tokyo’s answer to the Eiffel Tower. Though it doesn’t come close in the grandeur of the latter, the view from the top is simply breathtaking. Skyscrapers shoot up into the sky as far as the eye can see. It is more fun to go at night, as everything is lit up all the way to the horizon.

Day two can be spent walking around downtown Tokyo. There are two main attractions to see here. One is the Imperial Palace, which has beautiful palace grounds and an imposing view of downtown Tokyo. The other is the Ginza district, which is one of the most expensive office locations in the world. Huge showrooms of every conceivable luxury brand like Cartier, Gucci, Prada and YSL can be seen here. There is also a four storied Apple store with a training auditorium and a floor devoted to iPod accessories. The world headquarters of Sony are next to the Apple store, and a museum on Sony’s past, present and future products is accessible from street level.

If your feet still have some energy left after walking around Ginza all day, a visit to Roppongi is the best way to cool off. Roppongi is where the foreigners, or gaijins, find themselves most at ease. Roppongi can be accessed by metro. The Roppongi hills shopping center is an added incentive to visit this neighborhood. There are numerous local and international chains of watering holes. One of Tokyo’s Hard Rock Cafes is located here. Gas Panic and Propaganda are popular nightspots. Watch out for touts standing al along the street who may try to convince you to enter a ‘hostess club’, a Japanese version of a strip club. You might end up unwillingly spending ridiculous amounts of money (read:$150+) as their rules for entry; drinks prices and acceptable behavior with the women inside are often unclear. I suggest going to Roppongi every evening and visiting a different pub every time. Each of the tiny watering holes in this area has its own identity and each new one I went to had a new surprise in store.

Day three can be spent in western Tokyo. One can take a morning trip to Shinjuku, which is the Tokyo metropolitan area’s largest downtown. All the city government buildings are located here. One can take the JR East line to Shinjuku station and walk down to the Tokyo City Government Building, which is the tallest in Tokyo. It is a vast complex with the twin towers at its center. Each tower has an observatory at the top which is free for visitors. One gets an astonishing view of the city, which stretches in every direction as far as the eye can see. Once done with Shinjuku, Shibuya is a short train ride away. Shibuya is the youth culture center of Tokyo. The incredible variety of hairstyles and clothing styles are worth noting. A lot of anime influence is also visible. Shibuya is home to the largest concentration of LED screens in the world, almost every building seems to have one that is constantly blaring a J-pop video or an advertisement for some cosmetic product. It is also the location of the world’s busiest pedestrian crossing, called the Hachiko crossing. Some places to visit in Shibuya include the seven-storey Tower Records store, the Disney store and one of the numerous pigeonhole eating joints.

Bright lights at the Hachiko junction in Shibuya

Day four is shopping time! Visit the electronics superstores in Akhihabra, which is a short train ride away from Tokyo station. The largest store here is the eleven-storey Yodobashi Camera store, right outside Akhihabra station. It sells every product you can imagine and some products you can’t imagine! If you’re the tech-savvy type, it is easy to spend three hours in this store. A short taxi ride away is the shopping district of Ueno, where one can find cheap everything: clothes, shoes, accessories and more. A day of shopping followed by a few drinks at Roppongi can make for a very satisfying day.

The last day can be spent visiting the Japanese temples in Tokyo. I suggest taking a train to Asakusa, which is home to the largest temple, the Sensoji shrine. A street full of stalls leads up to the temple, where one can buy souvenirs, clothes and cupcakes which are made in archaic-looking machines in front of the customer. As you near the temple, you will see an ice-cream store that sells ice-cream of some of the weirdest flavors you may have seen: unpolished rice, sweet potato, green tea and peanut! Asakusa also houses the world headquarters of Asahi beer, which are in a building that looks like a giant beer mug! You can come back via a river taxi which leaves you in the skyscraper district of Shiodome close to the Tokyo downtown. Some of the buildings are very imposing and provide the urban traveler with a great photo opportunity. If time permits, a visit to the artificial island of Odaiba is advised. Odaiba contains some weird buildings, like the Fuji TV headquarters some very large shopping malls. An unanticipated tourist attraction in Odaiba is a scaled-down replica of the Statue of Liberty. The train ride to Odaiba on the Yurikamome private railway is an attraction by itself. The driverless train leaves from its own station adjacent to the Shimbashi station and crosses over to Odaiba via a massive suspension bridge, providing some great views throughout.

If your schedule permits an extra day or two, I recommend a visit to the neighbouring city of Yokohama or to Tokyo Disneyland. Both provide for a full day’s worth of entertainment. I am sure that a trip to Tokyo will be unlike anything you have ever experienced. The best part about this great metropolis is that if you don’t like what you see, hop onto a train. The next station is sure to bring you something different to experience.

Some useful links:

Tokyo tourism information:
www.tourism.metro.tokyo.jp/english

WikiTravel:
http://wikitravel.org/en/Tokyo

I dunno

2008-09-04T11:38:00.000+05:30

Altough I wrote this for a particular person, in retrospect it applies to all my friends who are far away from me...

I dunno where you came from
But I'm glad you're around

I dunno how to explain it
But I'm glad its you i found

I dunno how long we'll be friends
Now that you're in a foreign land

I dunno how much i matter to you
But you're always there to lend a hand

I dunno how much you miss me
But i think of you every day

I dunno when we'll see each other next
But when we do, it'll be like we met yesterday

I dunno if you'll like what i wrote
Let's see what you have to say

If it does bring a tiny tear in your eye
I'll just be like...throw a smile my way!

What do you do?

2008-09-03T21:19:00.001+05:30

When you're working as hard as you can

When you're giving all that you got

When your head says, 'I need a break man!'

What do you do?

When you feel like running away

When you feel like just giving up

When you can't take it for one more day!

What do you do?

When it becomes too much to take

When it becomes a pain in the neck

When you do it just for the sake

What do you do?

When it turns out to be fine after all

When the effort is not in vain

When you can be proud and stand really tall

What do you do?

When the day comes for me to be done

When I don't have to complain any more

When it's my turn to shine like the sun

What will I do?

I'll smile...and say it was all worth it

In Search of Sunrise

2008-09-02T13:35:00.001+05:30

I am...

In search of sunrise...

I see it

When i look into her eyes...

Her eyes

Are all i can see...

I wonder

Where could she be?

When

Will i find her?

Tell her

that i love her...

Hold her

In my arms so...

I never

Have to let her go...

Always

Be by her side...

From her

I'll never have to hide...

I want

to spend with her all my lives...

I am...

In search of sunrise...

Shraddhanjali

2008-08-06T21:57:00.000+05:30

Apologies in advance to those I haven't included int his tribute!

Baat karte hain ek paltan ki,
Cricket khelna hamare kaam hai,
Kehte hai sab humey Longhorn Cricket Club,
Magar Haldirams hamara asli naam hai!!

Sabse Pehle Dhruv bhai,
Opening karna kaam hai is batley ka,
Par sab bhool jaata hai,
Jab dikhe burrito chipotle ka!

Phir hai Pranav Khandkar,
Balla chalata hai jaise lathi,
Jab koi baat iski kare,
To ek hi shabd yaad aaye: ghaati!

Humare doctor saheb Mohit,
Field par har sankat ki hai inke paas chabhi,
Baaki time to ye sirf,
Yaad karte hai hamari Aishwarya bhabhi!

Phir Keten Joshi,
Haldirams ke naye kaptaan,
Agar field pe phir se talli hokar aaye,
To bachaye humey sirf bhagwan!

Vice captain Niyantha,
Dravid ki yaad dilayenge,
Yeh kavita unhe samaj mein aayegi,
Jab hindi seekh ke aayenge!

Rohan bhai urf Paki,
Inke baare mein kya bataye?
Itni tagdi angrezi bole,
Ke aadhi baat Rohanism kehlaye!

Aamcha Sudeep bhau,
Gully cricket ka Tendulkar,
Agar ek advice de saku to yahi,
Ke tu Rohan se hi shaadi kar!

Jinesh bhai from Rajkot,
Bowler ke naam se hai inki shaan,
Par gym jaana shuru karo,
Kyonki aap ko haddi ki dukaan!

Naam ka hai yeh Doctor,
Kaam na bat ya ball hai,
One down jaata hai batting,
Aur awaaz iski fuckall hai!

Mister Chirag Gupta,
Keeper batsman and bowler,
Lagte hai Federer jaise,
Banenge richa ke order-follower!

Phir hai Dinesh Devkar,
Humare all rounder,
Kabhi kabhi lagta hai,
Yehi hai Shiv Sena ke founder!

Aur last mein bacha main,
Batting me gyara number,
Par koi shak nahi ke hoon main,
Haldirams ka lifetime member!

Yeh hai hamara parivar,
UT ke sab se badey bandar,
Par jaha bhi jaaenge rahega,
Haldirams hamesha dil ke andar!!!

My day

2008-08-04T11:27:00.000+05:30

The alarm rings at 6.30,

And twice I hit the snooze.

Eventually I'm up with a headache,

The kind when you have too much booze.

But it's not due to alcohol,

It's from lack of sleep.

An unfortunate side effect,

Of the schedule I must keep.

I trudge through the morning routine,

And drag myself to my workplace.

I'm sick of the look of pity I get,

When my colleagues see my tired face.

I spend the day learning,

And absorbing information.

When it's time to commute home,

I'd rather take damnation.

I reach home exhausted,

Both my body and my mind.

But wait, there's studying that needs to be done,

Oh, if only life were a little kind!

With CFA out of the way for the night,

It's time to go to bed.

I've learned so much today!

But do I recall anything I've read?

There are all sort of ironies,

The irony of the rat race is that,

Even if you win,

You're still a rat.

I go to bed tired,

Hoping I'll have my way.

Get eight hours of blissful sleep.

And live...to die another day.....

Old vs. New: The Ant and the Grasshopper

2008-07-08T16:25:00.000+05:30

OLD VERSION:

The Ant works hard in the withering heat all summer building its house and laying up supplies for the winter.

The Grasshopper thinks the Ant is a fool and laughs & dances & plays thesummer away.

Come winter, the Ant is warm and well fed. The Grasshopper has no food or shelter so he dies out in the cold.

NEW VERSION:

The Ant works hard in the withering heat all summer building its house and laying up supplies for the winter.

The Grasshopper thinks the Ant's a fool and laughs & dances & plays the summer away.

Come winter, the shivering Grasshopper calls a press conference and demands to know why the Ant should be allowed to be warm and well fed while othersare cold and starving.

NDTV, BBC, CNN show up to provide pictures of the shivering Grasshopper next to a video of the Ant in his comfortable home with a table filled with food.

The World is stunned by the sharp contrast.

How can this be that this poor Grasshopper is allowed to suffer so?

Arundhati Roy stages a demonstration in front of the Ant's house.Medha Patkar and Tan Shyamoli goes on a fast along with other Grasshoppers demanding that Grasshoppers be relocated to warmer climates during winter.

Amnesty International and Koffi Annan criticizes the Indian Government fornot upholding the fundamental rights of the Grasshopper.

The Internet is flooded with online petitions seeking support to the Grasshopper (many promising Heaven and Everlasting Peace for prompt support as against the wrath of God for non-compliance).

Opposition MPs stage a walkout. Left parties call for "Bharat Bandh" in West Bengal and Kerala demanding a Judicial Enquiry.

CPM in Kerala immediately passes a law preventing Ants from working hard in the heat so as to bring about equality of poverty among Ants and Grasshoppers.

Lalu Prasad allocates one free coach to Grasshoppers on all Indian Railway Trains, aptly named as the 'Grasshopper Rath'.

Finally, the Judicial Committee drafts the ' Prevention of Terrorism Against Grasshoppers Act ' [POTAGA], with effect from the beginning of the winter.

Arjun Singh makes 'Special Reservation' for Grasshoppers in Educational Institutions & in Government Services.

The Ant; fined for failing to comply with POTAGA and having nothing left to pay his retroactive taxes; its home is confiscated by the Government andhanded over to the Grasshopper in a ceremony covered by NDTV.

Arundhati Roy calls it ' A Triumph of Justice '. calls it 'Socialistic Justice'. CPM calls it the 'Revolutionary Resurgence of the Downtrodden'. Koffi Annan invites the Grasshopper to address the UN General Assembly.

MANY YEARS LATER:

The Ant has since migrated to the US and set up a multi-billion dollar company in Silicon Valley.

100s of Grasshoppers still die of starvation despite reservation somewhere in India ....because of losing lot of hard working Ants and feeding the Grasshoppers, India is still a developing country!!!

My website

2008-04-16T22:18:00.000+05:30

In its current state it isn't even qualified to be a website, but its symbolic that one doesn't see a 'page not found' anymore..

www.synergyventures.in

I also have a blog which is under development:

www.synergyliving.blogspot.com

Please keep checking back on this page to view update to the website.
Feedback is welcome at aditya@synergyventures.in

:-D

My rundown of Budget 08-09

2008-03-25T22:02:00.000+05:30

It went just as expected. In the last budget before the national elections which are to be held next year, Finance Minister P. Chidambaram presented in parliament a budget aimed solely at making the masses happy. It was a budget every bit as populist as predicted by industry and media.

Income tax slabs were altered to allow more people to avoid paying tax. No tax will be charged on an income of INR 150,000 for men, 180,000 for women and 225,000 for senior citizens. This has allowed approximately 8 million people to fall out of the taxable category.

There are also a host of small tax waivers, such as those on certain parts of set-top boxes, crude sulphur and naphtha. These are very random in selection and are suspect to be the result of lobbying from certain interest groups.

The big story about the budget was the tax waiver for farmers. An approximate amount of INR 600 billion (USD 15 billion) will be spent to waive farmers’ loans which have been taken from co-operative banks. It is not a surprise that at the time of this announcement, where the money will come from has not been accounted for. Banking stocks crashed by approximately 5% within seconds of this announcement. This waiver overlooks the loans taken by farmers from other sources, such as private banks and moneylenders.

No real sops for corporates have been announced, with the tax slabs remaining the same. Although this might seem a budget which will help the masses and make life a little bit easier for them, Mr. Chidambaram has introduced many measures which have slipped below the radar. For instance, the Securities Transaction Tax (STT), which is paid when one buys or sells stocks, is now to be treated as an expense instead of a tax. This means that it is taxed twice! This move could also potentially drive many stock brokers out of business. India Inc. does not seem to be happy with this budget.

There are no doubt a lot of very good schemes that have been announced. AIDS drugs are cheaper, millions of rupees have been allotted to child and women welfare initiatives, duties have been slashed across a range of products. Finally, something for tiger conservation as well. A lot of grand projects like the loan waiver, mega power projects, a nationwide urban renewal project are also in the pipeline.

I’m sure all these new schemes that have been announced are with the best interests of the Indian populace. But I pose three questions.

Are these schemes enough to fulfill our growing needs as a developing economy?

Why is the source of funding not known when the scheme is announced?

If these grand projects have been announced without much hindrance from the opposition, the population or the legislature, why did the Congress Government wait until the last budget before the elections to do so?

Scarlett's Tale

2008-03-25T22:01:00.000+05:30

On February 18 2008, 15 year old Scarlett Eden Keeling was drugged, raped and murdered on Goa’s Anjuna beach.

What are Goa’s people saying? They are offering their condolences to Scarlett’s mother Fiona. Some are saying that this is what happens when “white girls in bikinis” don’t respect local culture and do as they please. Some are even saying that Scarlett was at fault for being provocative through her dressing and one can’t entirely blame the murderer for doing what he did.

Simply disgusting. There is absolutely no excuse in the world to justify such a crime.

What is the press saying? While offering condolences and blaming India’s government, they are also questioning Fiona’s parenting skills. A lot of people have demanded to know why Fiona left her fifteen year old daughter alone with people she barely knew herself. Fiona has faced uncomfortable questions from the media about her parenting in India as well.

The TV reporters will go to any length to get their thirty seconds of fame. Even if it means asking questions such as “How do you feel about being a bad parent? That your immaturity as a parent has resulted in your daughter’s death?”

A good parent or a good one, she’s just lost her daughter. Give her a break.

What is the police saying? They initially tried to cover up the whole incident, stating that it was a case of accidental drowning. The forensic reports have confirmed that Scarlett was indeed drugged and raped before bring murdered by forcible drowning. This brings to light another incident that is part of a plethora of examples of police incompetence. It is common knowledge that the police go hand-in-hand with the drug mafia in Goa.

What is the government saying? The home ministry is yet to even offer condolences and has threatened to lobby the central government not to extend Fiona’s visa. When quizzed by the media on its bungling of the case, the government, in defense of its actions, has issued various statements, such as:

1. Don’t blame only the government for the drugs. The people are buying them and are to blame as well.

2. The drug trade exists in the UK and other western nations as well.

3. The police in the UK was just as ineffective at solving the case of a Goan boy who was murdered in the UK. (That such a murder happened was not verified by any government agency in the UK or in India.)

4. Girls should not wear revealing clothes if they want to avoid being raped.

5. The Goan police are no worse than the police in other states in India.

6. Fiona should have been a good parent. Then this would have never happened.

This is what bugged me the most. Whenever these politicians are held accountable for their failures, they point fingers at others. Maybe police are corrupted in other countries as well. Maybe Fiona is a bad parent. Maybe girls’ clothes are too revealing. But that does not mean that the government and the police abdicate their responsibilities time and again. It does not mean that their incompetence is justified. It does not mean that corruption is okay.

I have a nasty feeling that this case will be buried somewhere in a file in a dusty cabinet in a government office in Panjim for years, like thousands of other cases. People will forget about it in a few months. The Government and the police will get away with another crime that is no less than the one committed by Scarlett’s murderer: the denial of justice to those who deserve it.

Existing vs. Living

2008-02-20T23:15:00.000+05:30

This note is inspired by what my friend Urmi wrote about..

It is said that one should concentrate on living instead of simply existing...

I think I'm a very positive person

But I find it so easy to fall into the monotony of life

To start existing instead of living

Without even realizing it

One moment you're so happy...on top of the world!

The next moment...you ask yourself....what the f*** am I doing wth my life?

Is this what I signed up for?

Is this what I thought I would be doing six months later?

It bugs you. It irritates you...

But sooner or later, you resign to the fact

That whether anything can be done about it or not,

You're just going to accept...that your life is like this

And leave it at that.

It kinda sucks, doesnt it?

That this is what your life has become?

But you need to wake up and realize your dreams

It's the first day to the rest of your life!

And it's never coming back!

But sadly, every day just becomes a battle

To get out of the damn rat race

And start existing instead of living......

And thats where I find myself right now

I need some help....soon

Raj and his goons

2008-02-18T23:55:00.000+05:30

Over the past two weeks, workers of the Maharashtra Navnirman Sena (MNS) have gone on a rampage in Mumbai attacking anyone who is from North India. Under the leadership of Raj Thackeray (Shiv Sena chief Bal Thackeray’s nephew who separated from that party to form his own), MNS workers have systematically tried to instill communalism and regionalism in the minds of Maharashtrians by attacking the ‘Bhaiyas (a derogatory word for North Indians) who have come from the north’.

It all started with Raj Thackeray’s allegation of Amitabh Bachchan (portrayed as an ungrateful North Indian) not giving anything back to Bombay in spite of the city being the source of his fame and his success in life. People in the political sphere quickly took sides. Abu Azmi from the Samajwadi Party, a party based out of Uttar Pradesh, was the first one to lash back by acting as the savior of the North Indian community.

Right from day one, it was obvious that this was a political game that the parties were playing to earn some brownie points ahead of the polls. Bal Thackeray took Amitabh Bachchan’s side. The BJP tried to somehow blame it on the weak rule of the Congress.

The Congress leaders in Delhi put pressure on Maharashtra Chief Minister Vilasrao Deskhmukh to arrest Raj Thackeray for inciting negative feelings in the minds of people. In a high profile move, both Abu Azmi and Raj Thackeray were arrested. Hours later, they were let out on bail of not more than 15,000 rupees.

This series of events bugged me in several ways. Who is Raj Thackeray to decide who lives where in India? Do we not have freedom of movement as a fundamental right? If he did have to protest, was beating up helpless North Indian taxi drivers and pan-walas the way to go about it? Why doesn’t he attack Gujaratis, Marwadis, Bengalis and South Indians? Is it because these communities are well established in Bombay and can retaliate in some way or the other? Why were they let out on bail in less than three hours?

I find the MNS workers to be the some of the biggest cowards on the planet. First, they attacked helpless people who had no way to retaliate. They stayed away from the communities who had some political or economic clout. Second, it is easy to be brave when you are talking on a microphone to a thousand people of your community, that too from behind three layers or armed guards. Third, they forgot that there are more non-Maharashtrians in Bombay than Maharashtrians. I also find Raj Thackeray to be pretty dim-witted. If he thought he could garner votes by such a move, he is surely mistaken.

I felt ashamed that my city, the beacon of cosmopolitanism in the country, arguably one of the most diverse cities in the world after London and New York, had ignorant communalists running around beating up people. How do we expect to be an international financial center when we can’t tolerate people from outside the state, let alone people from outside the country, work here? Imagine what Raj Thackeray and his goons will try to do when we have half a million foreign professionals working here?

Raj Thackeray’s claim is that 70% of the jobs in the city should be reserved for Maharashtrians. Why? Has he ever read the Bombay census data? Are all of them educated enough to qualify for those jobs? He claims that the North Indians have taken the Maharashtrians’ jobs. I’m sorry, Mr. Thackeray, did you want to be my building watchman? Or my taxi driver?

Instead of being proud of the fact that we are the most cosmopolitan city in India, that people come here to work from all 29 states and numerous countries, that we’re a dynamic, enterprising, hard working city worthy of being a world city, Raj Thackeray chooses to go back to the 19th century and drive away ‘outsiders’. I would like to remind him that he doesn’t own the city or the will of its people. I hope that voters see through this gimmick and vote for the other guy in the upcoming elections.

I have nothing against the Marathi community or the North Indians. But we can’t expect to get anywhere unless we learn to respect each other and find unity in diversity. Only then we can dream of being a superpower. Amen.

Tiesto in concert!!!!!

2008-02-18T00:27:00.000+05:30

This was probably one of the best weekends of my life. When the music was raging, controlling my very being...I felt at peace with myself for the first time in months. Nothing seemed to bother me. Everything was....perfect.

Few people possess such genius. I am honored to have gotten a chance to experience the genius of one such person. Check out the two grainy videos I managed to take of...

TIESTO. IN CONCERT.

His last track:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EvFLbW8lLNI

An attempted closeup of the man himself:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ArQ6tdLaDzc

Its been so cold in Bombay this winter that...

2008-02-09T15:16:00.000+05:30

People are actually looking forward to the sticky summer heat

Aunties talk about weather more than they talk about soap operas

Cool cabs are warmer than the black-and-yellows.

The Nepalis who sell sweaters at Nana Chowk are mulling coming out with an IPO to raise capital and expand their business.

You can actually make small talk about weather without people thinking you are retarded

South Indians have another justification for calling Bombay a part of North India

People don't mind being packed into a crowded local train for once.

The new staple food of Bombay will soon be Vada-Popsicle.

Beggars come up to you and say, "Allah ke naam pe ek sweater de de."

All the watchmen and taxi drivers from UP and Bihar finally feel truly at home.

The Bombay Stock exchange will introduce 'The BSE Tempex' which will allow investors to speculate on the temperature in the city.

The Maharashtra Navnirman Sena is cooking up ways to attack the cold since it probably came from North India.

Contrasts I see in India

2008-01-19T20:32:00.000+05:30

Channel V has ads encouraging people to conserve power and reduce global warming by putting their switching off their devices when not needed.
A sizeable portion of India’s villages don’t have power.

Obesity among city kids is a growing concern and is attributed to junk food.
India has the largest number in the world of kids suffering from malnutrition.

The hometown of India’s President Prathibha Patil, Amravati, is getting a $100 million airport so that she may travel there with ease.
A couple of hundred kilometres away, about a thousand farmers commit suicide every year because the same government that is building the airport give them loan relief.

You can pay 50,000 rupees a square foot and still not be able to buy a flat at Walkeshwar.
Slum dwellers don’t want the free flats being given to the by the government.

Kids in the cities can’t get into a school even after a 200,000 rupee donation.
Dalit kids in villages aren’t allowed to go to free public schools because of their caste.

People run marathons and 7-kilometre ‘Dream Runs’ for the sake of an excuse to exercise.
Some people have to walk that much every day to get drinking water for their families.

India is advertising medical tourism abroad to entice foreigners to come here and have their bypass surgery at a first-world private hospital at third-world rates.
Two patients sometimes have to share one bed at public hospitals.

Movie stars campaign for the ethical treatment of animals.
Nobody seems to care that hundreds of people die from falling out of overcrowded trains.

I spend 600 rupees on a few beers on a Saturday night.
That’s how much the guy who washes our five cars every day for a month gets.

I’m not trying to take sides. The widening gap in India between the haves and the have-nots is alarming. The rich are getting richer, while the poor are where they were ten years ago, and in some cases, worse off. What do you think?

My rundown of the Tata Nano

2008-01-12T21:37:00.000+05:30

It has a 0.62 L engine with an output of 33 horse power. That’s a full TEN horses more than our Premier Padmini.

The aerodynamic shape ensures that when you hit pedestrians, they simply roll off the bumper to the roof to the rear of the car.

Tata claims it is 21% more spacious than the Maruti 800. This means that it can fit 12 people and one infant instead of just a paltry 10 that the Maruti 800 manages.

It will be a huge hit in Gujarat, since it has a Gujarati name.

It is said that the Nano will make traffic even worse as people who otherwise don’t own a car and take a train to work will now start driving. I say, that means the trains will be empty. So you can ditch your car and start taking the train to work.

The fuel tank can only hold 15 liters of fuel, which can last for a week’s use. That’s less than the amount of beer some of my friends drink in a weekend.

It comes without power steering. Chance to build some biceps.

No air conditioning. In the hottest place on earth. And we're hairy.

It might be a 100,000 car, but you forgot the taxes.

Its top speed is 120 km/hr. The car’s lightweight body is probably airborne by the time you hit that speed.

The engine is in the rear. That’s a lot of people looking at the open hood and scratching their heads wondering where the engine went when they fill up for the first time.

Some of the ways Tata saved money: Only one windshield wiper and side view mirror, no radio. So when it rains and there’s traffic, you drive blind and bored.

Every Tata Nano comes free with another bad driver.

I don’t know if I’m trying to be funny or sarcastic, but the Nano is going to change roads in India. Whether for better or worse, we can only wait and watch.

Things I did with the Longhorn Cricket Club and the business terms I learnt:

2007-12-20T09:51:00.000+05:30

Task: Playing on the league team
Term: Teamwork

Task: Bring tons of equipment from India in my bag
Term: Supply chain management

Task: Trying to buy 1 cricket tennis ball at a time from desisport.com
Term: Vendor relations

Task: Convincing Nimit to stay on the committee for another semester
Term: Staff retention

Task: Convincing Niraj Zaveri to join the team
Term: Recruiting

Task: Planning out who bowls each over of a twenty over game
Term: Workflow

Task: Taking the league team out for a buffet after a win
Term: Performance-linked incentives

Task: Finding an alternate venue for the Baylor game hours before the match
Term: Crisis management

Task: Distributing flyers all over campus
Term: Ambush marketing

Task: Sitting at the table for hours
Term: Wasting time (a very important business term!)

Task: Talking about LCC to every damn person and them actually recollecting the name from somewhere
Term: Brand recognition

Task: Giving equipment checkout as an extra benefit to members
Term: Value added services

Task: Dhruv not being able to sent the uniforms in time from India
Term: Misallocation of resources

Task: Organizing everything from match screenings for the lazy to league games for the diehard
Term: Covering the full spectrum of the customer base

Task: Convincing Curtis to join the LCC
Term: Encouraging workplace diversity

Task: Letting people bring three guests into a match screening
Term: Value proposition

Task: Making a profit nevertheless
Term: Superior net profit margins

Task: Starting off with a $100 loan and having a $1000 dollar balance in 2 years
Term: Debt management

Task: Organizing events with the ICA, ISA and PSA
Term: Cross-functional team building

Task: Having members tell me that the LCC is their favorite student organization
Term: CUSTOMER SATISFACTION!

Things I have learnt after visiting Kerala

2007-12-14T16:30:00.000+05:30

Everything smells like coconut oil…including the currency.

Cricket = Sreesanth. If he’s not playing, they go back to soccer.

Everything the far side of Kozhikode is considered North India.

Amitabh Bachchan and Shah Rukh Khan are junior artistes compared to Mamooty and Mohan Lal.

The women match up to the men in everything. This includes facial hair.

Call centers can never exist in Kerala, as the world is incapable of understanding Malayali English.

A sideways bob of the head can mean about three hundred different things.

It really is God’s own country.

Things that happened/I did at UT which I will never forget

2007-11-23T16:57:00.000+05:30

Freshman year:

All-night pool at the Jester lounge

Post-calculus lunches with Chiazor

3am dashes to Pita Pit with Nate

Laser Tag with Nimit, Nate, Ketan and Sahil (Die bitch!)

The great Vaibhav manhunt after finals of Spring ‘04

Saturday afternoon lunch buffets at Star of India

Thanksgiving San Antonio trip with Nimit, Booboo and Mota bhai

My first football game: K-State

The Texas Tech football game

Freshman year Mardi gras with Curtis and 22 pairs of you know whats

Friday night Cold stone with Curtis and Shreenath

Sophomore Year:

Being out of status because I dropped a class

Falling sick and losing 25 kilos in a semester

Trying to cook Indian food with Nimit and Mota Bhai

The time Nimit and I made omelettes and had 6 eggs each

Our condition the next day

Movies at home with Nimit

The 48-hour Air India marathon with Nimit

An eternity spent manning the LCC table

Our first match screening

Junior Year:

Breaking my ankle at Spanish Oaks cricket

Walking back to my car after visiting the hospital with Pranav and Rahul

200+ rounds of hookah

The ‘Aa su che’ diaries

Chipotle mania

The true rise of the Longhorn Cricket Club

Random thanksgiving road trip with Sid and Rahul

TX-NM-FL-TX with Pranav, Rahul, Maanit, a tire burst and a beach incident in between

New Mexico with Dhruv and Devanshi

Mt. Bonnell Sunday evenings

360 bridge Saturday nights

Sid, Frozen and Milkdrop

Taped ball tournaments

Spanish Oaks cricket with Rohan Gupta, Pranav, Sudeep, Jinesh, Dhruv and the rest of the LCC gang

Laughter Challenge fever

Senior Year:

Speed boating at Lake Travis

Losing my Galant to a drunk driver

Sunday morning cricket

The Excaliburs cricket match: our first as the LCC League Team

Going for my only OU game

Drives down 22-22 with Sid, Rohan Garg, Neon and Pranav

Dropping Nimit off at his interview at Sematech

Arvindbabu Chandrababu’s party

Trudys, Trudys and more Trudys

Downtown walks with Farwa and Dhawal

San Antonio with Farwa and Curtis

The only time I saw UT lose in our own football stadium (Texas A&M)

Parties at the Croix (with cops on the guest list)

The Thanksgiving shopping attempt with Sid, Dhawal, Farwa, Priyanka and Gunjan

The UT vs. Baylor cricket match: my last with the LCC

Graduation

My last evening in Austin…the Trudys marathon with a cat named Brutus thrown in for good measure

If you have one of these involving me that you will always remember, please feel free to post them. Cheers.

A small drop in an ocean

2007-11-21T14:44:00.000+05:30

You know I don’t just complain when I see something wrong with the world. I also point out when I see something good. I had one such experience this week, and it was with the Mumbai Traffic Police.

I got caught by a cop for running a red light at the Churchgate stoplight, where I thought the left turn was free. I was stopped, asked for my driving license and told that there would be a 200 rupee fine. I don’t think it is right for us to bribe, given that we complain about cops asking for bribes all the time. So I told him that I would pay the fine as long as he gives me a receipt. He said with a glint in his eye, that the fine couldn’t be paid there, and that I would have to turn in my license, collect it the next day from the central police station and pay the fine at that time. I said that was fine. His facial expression suggested displeasure at having lost a potential bribe. He said, “Okay, you look like a decent guy. How about you give me a hundred bucks and I let you go with your license?” I replied, “As long as you give me a receipt for the bribe, I am up for it.” With embarrassment etched all over his face, he said, “Fine then, collect your license from the police station tomorrow.”

The next day, I went to the police station. That’s when the party started. I was squinting in the afternoon sun trying to figure out which counter to stand in line at, when I heard the cop at the nearest counter say, in English, “May I help you, Sir?” I fought a nagging desire to pinch myself as I walked up to him. I gave him my fine receipt and paid the fine. While giving me back my license, he gave me a feedback form. He said, “I would greatly appreciate if you could fill this form, sir.” I filled it up, and as I handed it back to him, he asked me if the cop at the intersection had asked for a bribe. I told him that he had. He said, “Please give me his name, so I can file a complaint with the anti-corruption bureau.” I said that I didn’t know his name. He gave me a card with a telephone number on it, and said, “If you ever have trouble with a cop, especially as far as bribes are concerned, just call this number. We have roaming squads of anti-corruption bureau officers who will come and take care of it within 15 minutes.” I didn’t know what to say. I thanked him, to which he grinned broadly and replied, “Mention not!” As I walked back to my car, I could not help but think that the fine had been worth it.

This may seem like a small isolated instance of professionalism and honesty in an ocean of corruption, but it is a turning point. I said just a few days ago that the scary thing about our national attitude is that it isn’t going change anytime soon. Could I be proven wrong? I certainly hope so! I sincerely hope that one by one, these little nuggets of wonder called ‘pleasant experiences with the government’ add up until a day comes when they are the rule rather than the exception. After all, little drops fill up an ocean.

Way to go, Longhorns!!!

2007-11-19T15:16:00.000+05:30

Words will never be enough to fully express the joy and satisfaction I am feeling. Never have I wished so much that I could be on a cricket field on a cold Saturday morning with some very dear friends. Never have I felt happier for a success that directly wasn’t my own.

If only I was in Austin to share these moments with my team…my boys. From our humble beginnings, we have come a long way. From the four-people-match screenings to winning the CTCL Championship. In two and a half years flat. I’m truly proud of all you guys. Every single person; from those who gave even a minute to the LCC to those who played the final. All our hard work and tireless sweat has paid off. Today, my baby has grown up.

November 14, 2007: Why we aren't going to be a superpower anytime soon

2007-11-19T15:14:00.000+05:30

Because we don't follow lanes while driving. How are the two connected, you may ask. Because national attitude is reflected in the smallest of things.

I believe a country's true potential to become a superpower is reflected the most in how much its citizens value themselves and each other. We all know that in India, there is a discount on human life. An average of seven people die on Bombay's railway tracks each day. Does anyone make any noise about it? If the person crossing the tracks instead of taking the over bridge considers his own life to be of less value than the ten seconds he saves, what value will you as a complete stranger put on his life? We don't value the right of way someone has at an intersection, but we always show the finger to the guy who does the same thing to us.

What I am trying to say is, that as Indians, we don't have the will to become a superpower. Everyone is only interested in cutting corners to make their little profit, and then forget the rest. It doesn't matter if the country loses a billion dollars because of my actions, I shouldn't lose a single rupee. Look at Japan and Germany after World War II. They were completely destroyed. Look where they are now. It is only because of the will of the citizens of those countries to succeed and to bring their country to the forefront. And mind you, it is not the same as being patriotic. Drinking Kingfisher instead of Heiniken out of national pride doesn't make you country a superpower. Every action of yours must reflect a nagging and insatiable desire to bring your country up.

Why does one not give way to someone else on the road? It is because we Indians have always lived in times of scarcity. We feel that there is never enough of anything for everyone. Be it road space, sugar, train tickets or college seats. This scarcity mentality is embedded into our genes and that's why we try to grab everything. People don't stand in line for anything in this country because they have been raised to think that if you don't grab it, it will be over by the time your turn comes to get it.

And the government isn't doing anything to make the situation better. Take the reservations issue as an example. Why do we need reservations in the first place? Because there aren't enough seats. And instead of adding enough seats to ensure that there is no shortage, the government abdicates its responsibility and tries to further its vote bank by giving reservations to OBCs.

There is a common saying, that whatever India is today, is in spite of the government; not because of it. I want to add to this. Whatever India is today is in spite of the government AND ITS CITIZENS. If both started acting responsibly, who knows where we would be.

The current government has been a useless one in particular. First the office of profit scandal, then reservations, then the nuclear deal and then what not. Congress MP Kamal Nath said on BBC Hard Talk that we in the government are aware of the issues facing the country today, and we are talking about solving them. It seems that talking is all they're doing. They have probably forgotten that they are not above the citizens; and that they are, in fact, public SERVANTS. I agree that the BJP is no saint either, but at least when they were in power we had infrastructure projects being executed, and at least we weren't embarrassed on the world stage because of certain comrades who still carry the baggage of the Cold War in their red brains.

Another reason why I think we won't be a superpower anytime soon is because we love hyping everything up, and at the same time we can't take an ounce of criticism. We double the capacity of thirty kilometers of the Bombay train system and we feel mighty proud of it. Forget the fact it took us ten years to do it. In the same span of time, China has planned and executed the Three Gorges Dam project which generates no less than thirty thousand megawatts of power. Anyone says anything bad about India, and we start talking about our culture and traditions and why they make us great. Not to mention the fact that we are among the world's most hypocritical people. We don't want sex education in schools and we act like sex is a bad thing, yet we produce babies like China manufactures cheap electronics.

Lets talk about responsibility. We want all our rights as citizens, but want to undertake none of our responsibilities. We throw trash on the streets. We don't pay our taxes. We beat our women. We bribe left and right. We don't care about our environment. We don't vote. Even if we do, we complain about the quality of our politicians. I say we deserve it. If we vote the Laloos and the Thackereys of the world into power, we deserve to suffer due to bad governance the way we do.

What is scary is that this won't change anytime soon. Changes such as these take an entire generation to take effect. Only when an entire generation is born into relative affluence, changes are visible. Look at Punjab. They had the Green Revolution in the 70s. It took a generation, or about thirty years, but now they spend money and are further away from a scarcity mentality than anyone in India. Or look at phones. In the 60s there was a ten year wait list to get a land line installed. There was rampant corruption and bribing in the installation of landlines. Today, you can get a phone in ten minutes. With the scarcity gone, in ten short years our teledensity has gone from 1 to 27 per thousand people. And there is no corruption in the telecom industry for the common man. People have gotten used to phones being in plentiful supply and have stopped bribing a babu to acquire one. The same goes for railway tickets, rations and passports.

As for those who complain about the politicians; I feel that the the quality of leadership won't be much better than the general population. You and I may be educated people, but the average Indian is still demographically closer to your building watchman than to you. The south Bombay MP may be a Harvard MBA, but the MP from Bihar is not going to be anything but an illiterate farmer for years to come.

The one word which links these various factors together is accountability. Be it the government, the citizens, or the bureaucracy. If people are answerable for their inefficiencies and their goof ups, accountability will act as a catalyst for sweeping social change. Pull up the politicians who don't deliver on their promises. Pull up the babus who ask for bribes. Pull up the guy who takes a leak by the road. Think about it. Who the hell would like to visit a country whose cabbies try to loot tourists and whose male folk empty their bladders on city streets? Its about damn time everyone starts being held accountable for their actions, and the sooner we understand this the better.

Only when we as citizens say that enough is enough and start doing our duty, will we be on track to be a superpower. We need to climb down into the gutter to clean it. So start driving in your lane. Only then can we think of being a superpower.

An apt quote from the movie Rang De Basanti, 'Ek pair past mein hain aur ek pair future mein. Aur present pe moot rahe hain.' (With one foot in the past and one in the future, all we are doing is pissing on our present.)

October 22, 2007: Limits...

2007-11-19T15:08:00.000+05:30

What comes to mind when I say the word ‘limits’? Credit limit? The one used in math? Physical limit? Emotional limit? Let’s talk about emotional limit. What is one’s emotional limit? How does one measure it? How does one know it has been crossed? What happens if it is crossed? How should one react?

The toughest part about an emotional limit is accepting that it has been crossed. The mind may scream this fact for ever, but the heart never listens. It keeps going through emotional crap. This hardship may be self-inflicted, or it may be because of a loved one, or even a hated one.

What if it is a loved one causing you the hardship? When do you say enough? Do you say enough? How much do you bend yourself backward to help that loved one? Once you feel your limits have been crossed, do you say enough then and leave that loved one to fight his or her battles? Or do you keep trying to help until you find yourself getting pulled under the ice as well?

I am starting a new chapter of my life, and I am at a point where the things I do now will probably play a major part in setting the stage for the rest of my life. Do I want to start this chapter with my emotional limits at breaking point, or should I say enough is enough to the loved ones that I have bent over backwards for for the longest time and start afresh?

You tell me.

October 10, 2007: My wierdest job interview ever...

2007-11-19T15:07:00.000+05:30

So I was playing solitaire..er..working at my parent’s broking firm on a Monday evening, and my Dad walked in. He told me that he had met one Mr. Pranay Vakil who was the CEO of a company named Knight Frank. He had had a chat with Mr. Vakil who had asked me to come down to his office and meet him on Thursday. I didn’t think much of it and ambled over to his office after work on Thursday.

I was in for a pleasant surprise when I was not asked to wait and instead taken straight to meet the CEO, Mr. Vakil. I figured that he would ask me a few questions on my education, my future plans, etc. and then conclude that given my BBA in Marketing background, I would not be able to work in a real estate consulting firm where every single employee had a Master’s degree either in Architecture, Economics, Urban Planning or finance.

To my greater surprise, he asked me to go meet Mr. Gulam Zia, his Advisory Services National Head. The Advisory division at Knight Frank includes the Research, Consulting and Valuation departments. This is where the fun began. When I walked in to Mr. Zia’s office, he was shouting on the phone. As I learnt during the course of the conversation, he was shouting at someone from Standard Chartered Bank, a company which is a client of Knight Frank! I did not know whether to be aghast or amused at the fact that he was telling off a client for taking too long to reach a decision on whether to give Knight Frank business or not.

He kept the phone and said, “You can imagine how good business is for me to be able to shout at one of our biggest clients like that!” I just grinned nervously. Then he said, “Tell me, have you ever traveled by local train in your life?” I did not expect that to be my opening interview question. I was thinking up an answer to reply to “Tell me more about yourself” or something to that effect. I said that I had traveled by local train, as everyone in Bombay has. He then said, “The reason I ask is because every month Mr. Vakil sends spoilt brats of his big shot friends to work here. Are you a spoilt brat?” I said, “No, sir.” He continued. “They are all blue blooded princes who just come here to have a ball and not do any work. Are you a blue blooded prince?” I said again, “No, sir.” Then he said, “They go away in two months, and leave us the hassle of training a new person all over again. Are you going to run away in two months?” By now, I was losing my patience. I had not come here to be judged right off the bat. I kept my cool and replied, No, sir. I am looking to work with Knight Frank for a couple of years, maybe three.” He replied in a mocking tone, “How do I know you won’t stay for two years and instead run away in two months?” I lost it. I snapped back, “How do I know you won’t make me sweep the floor once I start working here?” He backed off and said, “Look, I don’t mean to be rude, but I am skeptical of you dedication because of the channel you come through. The kids who usually come through Mr. Vakil are usually the spoilt brats. But I must say I am not yet convinced of your dedication.” I replied, “I don’t know how I can prove my dedication, but some more information on the job profile would be helpful.” He asked me some questions on my background and my short- and long-term goals. Then he asked, “You said you have a BBA in Marketing and you want to do an MBA in Finance. Where does this real estate job fit in?” To which I replied, I did Marketing as a start to a full set of skills which will be completed with my MBA in Finance. But I don’t want to do a job in Marketing. I would love a Finance job, but I won’t get one because I am not qualified. So it doesn’t really matter what I do in the middle of the two degrees. Besides, real estate, like mutual funds or equities, is an asset. At the end of the day, I am learning asset management.” A small smile appeared on his face. Then he said, “I will ask you one last question, and it will decide whether I want to hire you or not. When can you start?” To which I impulsively replied, “It is 5.15pm. There are 45 minutes left in the day. I’ll work for those 45 minutes if you would like me to.”

He smiled and said, “You will start Monday. Welcome aboard.”

I started at Knight Frank this week. It is my first job outside my parents’ company. Mr. Zia is nothing like I thought him to be after the interview. The work atmosphere is chilled out, the people who work here are cool, my office is close to my home and they don’t work Saturdays. If only I could drink at work, life would be perfect. But then, man is never happy with what he gets, right?

September 22, 2007: An open letter...

2007-11-19T15:06:00.000+05:30

This letter is addressed to all the people who I have had the pleasure of knowing during my four years at Austin, and who I have had to honor of playing with as part of the Longhorn Cricket Club. It elaborates on my cricket experiences after becoming a UT Alum.

Today, I played my first match outside the Longhorn Cricket Club team, and I am confident I have done the team proud with my performance. It was certainly a difficult day to play cricket, with the late monsoon showers spraying the pitch every now and then. It seems that my reputation as a decent opening bowler has followed me to India, since when we lost the toss and were asked to bowl; I was given the ball to open our campaign. The rain led to the match being a quick affair, with each team having only eight overs.

The rustiness showed immediately as I started off with a wide. It seemed like bowling over arm was not my cup of tea anymore. But I bounced back pretty quickly. The second ball was my trademark short ball to welcome the batsman to the crease. Our team proved to be outstanding and with a concentrated effort we restricted the opposition to a paltry eleven runs all out. My performance was a respectable 2-0-6-2, with three runs and a wickets coming in each over. The best part was that both my wicket taking balls cleaned up the batsman’s middle stump.

Clearly we were not the only team to have a good bowling attack. I got a chance to bat with only four runs on the board. Since we needed eight runs in 5.5 overs, I wasn’t too worried. I just needed to protect my wicket and runs would come. The runs came, with me hitting a six over the long off boundary on my fifth ball. I got flashbacks of batting against the Hawks in my last game as part of the Longhorn Cricket Club team, and of hitting a six on the last ball during my last taped tennis ball tournament. We got two more runs off wides and the game had been won. I was 6* off 11 balls with no fours and a six.

You might say this was a great match to have as a come-back to playing cricket. But I wasn’t pleased with my performance. I bowled a fair number of wides and was not able to swing the ball. I guess that is what happens when you play with a rubber ball. All in all, a great day of gully cricket!!

September 9, 2007: Things I have learnt after moving back to Bombay..

2007-11-19T15:05:00.000+05:30

Having spiked hair and a French beard is not so cool in the office.

No amount of shouting at your computer will make the internet as fast as in the USA.

Trudy’s martinis, Chipotle burrito bols and homemade hookahs can never be replicated.

The UT ID does not give you free travel in a BEST bus.

Getting from one point to another in 45 minutes is an achievement.

Talking in Hindi when you want to make fun of people does not work; they know what you are saying.

Giving missed calls is not only accepted, it is expected.

My cricket skills are not as good as I thought.

When the temperature touches 90, it is one of the cooler days of the year.

Ask about the weather, and people think you are retarded.

Cars DO NOT wait for you to cross.

Sunday mornings are spent reading the newspaper instead of playing cricket.

A vada pav can be eaten for breakfast, lunch, dinner and anytime in between.

It is normal to prefer staying at home on a Saturday night to watch who gets eliminated on Indian Idol as opposed to partying.

Telling yo mama jokes can get you killed.

Even though I am back, I don’t meet my relatives any more than when I was in Austin.

And lastly: Marine drive, and not 6th street, is the place to be.

January 1, 2007: India vs. India

2007-11-19T14:58:00.002+05:30

There are two Indias in this country.

One India is straining at the leash, eager to spring forth and live up to all the adjectives that the world has been showering recently upon us.

The other India is the leash.

One India says, give me a chance and I'l prove myself. The other India says, prove yourself first and maybe then you'll have a chance.

One India lives in the optimism of our hearts. The other India lurks in the skepticism of our minds.

One India wants. The other India hopes.
One India leads. The other India follows.

But conversions are on the rise. With each passing day more and more prople from the other India have been coming over to this side. And quietly, while the world is not looking, a pulsating, dynamic, new India is emerging.

An India whose faith in success is far greater that its fear of failure. An India that no longer boycotts foreign-made goods but buys out the companies that make them instead.

History, they say, is a bad motorist. It rarely every signals its intentions when it is taking a turn.

This is that rarely-ever moment. History is turning a page.

For more than a century, our nation has sprung, stumbled, run, fallen, rolled over, got up, dusted herself and cantered, sometimes lurched on.

But today, as we begin our 60th year as a free nation, the ride has brought us to the edge of time's great precipice.

And one India-a tiny little voice at the back of the head-is looking down at the bottom of the ravine and hesitating.

The other India is looking up at the sky and saying, it's time to fly.

Times of India, first page. January 1, 2007. I wish India and the world a happy new year.

October 28, 2006: The end of an era...

2007-11-19T14:58:00.001+05:30

This weekend, I say goodbye to the Longhorn Cricket Club. It has been an amazing journey, from the days when the committee had more people than the club had members to the present when the LCC is known and recognized not just at UT but even in the cricketing community in Austin. I am proud of what we have achieved: the 200-people match screenings, the awesome tournaments, the carefree weekend informal sessions and the superb performance in the Central Texas Cricket League. I could not have even imagined it to be a possibility without my team and my committee backing me up. I hope with my every being that LCC grows bigger and better with each passing semester. I wish the new committee and whoever is on it the best of luck with running LCC…I’m handing over my amaanat to you.

July 11 2006: Eleven minutes

2007-11-19T14:57:00.001+05:30

Eleven minutes. Seven blasts. 46 dead. Then 85. Then 101. Then 142. Now 171. The Lashkar-e-Toiba and the Students’ Islamic Movement of India (SIMI) have been blamed. The first is a Kashmiri militant group, the second a banned students outfit.

Why did they do it? Some say it was in retaliation of the Shiv Sena-backed communal violence last week which happened because someone vandalized a statue of the leader’s late wife. Ask yourself this. Is it worth burning buses and blaming Muslims if a statue is vandalized? Then ask yourself this. If someone does do that, is it worth killing INNOCENT people who had nothing to do with all this?

I am not blaming only the Muslim terrorists. The Shiv Sena and other communal Hindus are equally to blame. This sequence of events reminds me of a line from the movie Syriana: A hundred years ago, we were chopping each other’s heads off. And that is what we will be doing a hundred years from now. We want to be a global superpower, but we can’t guarantee the people in our financial capital a safe commute to work.

The Sena say the Muslims should be kicked out of India. Who are they to claim their right on the nation? If you are born in India, you are an Indian. And that’s it. Your language, religion, caste or whatever comes later.

The Government says: We are confident that the spirit of Mumbai will come through and the people of Mumbai will resume their normal life. That’s all they want us to do. Floods on July 27, 2005: 1200 killed. Resume your lives. Blasts on July 11, 2006: 171 killed so far. Resume your lives. They don’t want to fix Mumbai’s drains. They don’t want to provide Indian citizens with basic security so that they can come out of an evening commute alive. They are simply abdicating their responsibilities; be it providing infrastructure or keeping their citizens safe. And when they are not abdicating responsibilities, they are renaming streets, museums, airports and cities or filling their own pockets.

This is depressing. As a kid, I had heard the Bombay Stock Exchange bomb blast while sitting in school in 1993. This is the same mindless shit all over again. I kill your people, you kill my people. Don’t they get it, we are the SAME people. When will people stop killing each other? When will they learn to co-exist? When will they focus on more productive things? When does this stop? That’s the only thing that comes to my mind. WHEN WILL THIS SHIT STOP?

‘An eye for an eye makes the world blind’ –Mohandas Karamchand Gandhi.

P.S You know Gandhiji would have been very disappointed with us Indians today.

April 21 2006: The game of life

2007-11-19T14:55:00.000+05:30

It is said that life is a game. If this is true, my life would be a game of cricket. My four years at college are like the first innings where we bowl. I’ve bowled my first few overs, and right now, the match is at a turning point. I remember saying recently, man I’m already in my fifth semester at UT. And before I know it, I’m at the end of my sixth.

This summer, I will be entering a new phase of my life. Call it the end of the powerplays if you may. It is time to settle down and concentrate. I will be on my own in the real world for the first time…interning in Washington, DC. I won’t have any more chances to mess up. A lot more rests on my shoulders now. No doubt, I will come back in August for another year of fun and frolic and being irresponsible. But I have a nasty feeling that this summer will bring about a drastic change in me.

The final year at this great institution will be like the last ten overs of the match. Cram in as much good bowling as you possibly can. Then once the job, just like the second innings starts, there’s not much you can do as a bowler. You are stuck in the pavilion watching the game unfold. Your life takes a set mould that you can’t change much, at least for the first few years after graduating.

There’s always another match of cricket if you do bad in this one. But it isn’t the same with life, right? As a Hindu, I would like to believe in reincarnation, but the evidence of that happening just isn’t very trustworthy.

So for now, I will just put my cap back on and go field at third man till the other guy bowls his over. Then, it’s the pitch, the batsman and me with my weapon in my hand.

January 18 2006: Leaving Bombay…again

2007-11-19T14:54:00.000+05:30

As I return to Austin to start another semester, a whirlwind of emotions runs through my mind. Happiness, since I am back on my own. Relief, from the heat and traffic of my hometown. Annoyance, at having to study again. Denial, since vacations go by so fast. Determination, to do better this time around. Anger, for my past blunders. Helplessness, since I will fall into monotony no matter how hard I try. Indifference, since I’m going to hell anyways.

But the bottom line is, that I am not in Bombay anymore, whether I like it or not. So, as a final tribute to home, here is a list of things I will miss about Bombay…

The usual:
My parents. My brother. My family. My friends. My house. My car. The weather. The food. The huge social net. The festivals. Blah. Blah. Blah.

The not so usual:
The view from my room. The dosawalla at August Kranti maidan. The shady bylanes of Laburnum Road. Chowpatty Barista. Insomnia at the Taj. Shopping at Colaba and Phoenix Mills. The multiplexes. Bhagat Tarachand. Kite flying from my terrace. New Yorker nachos. Cricket in the gully. The fact that everyone is the same race as you and speaks one of the languages that you do (besides English, of course). The sugarcane juice at Palva. Playing pool with Deval. The three thousand people standing on the platform going by in a whirr as the Churchgate Fast local train crosses Grant Road station without stopping. Moving without trying in Sikka Nagar. The eerie green lighting of the Air India building. The decorative lighting of government buildings on Republic Day. Desi music in clubs. Watching people play with their cell phones day in and day out. Running and catching a bus. Lunch at Garware with old friends. Sunset at Marine Drive. The drive to our farmhouse. Rickshaw rides in the suburbs. Talks with my kaki downstairs. Family dinners. The soft carpet in our living room. The huge sound system in my room. Watching the torrential rains from the window, 20 storeys down. Bunking college and going for movies. The view of downtown from Hanging Gardens. Koyla and Mocha. Going to Ayub’s with building friends. The list can go on for an eternity.

And most importantly, the order in the chaos. The very undying spirit which keeps this wonderful city going. I have been shaped by my hometown. There is a trace of it in my every vein, my every thought. It is the best hometown anyone could ever hope to have…

January 13 2006: Cafés and coffee days

2007-11-19T14:51:00.000+05:30

There’s a light smog in the warm winter air, I am sitting in one of the numerous coffee places in my beloved hometown sipping on an enormous cup of café mocha. I look outside at the blaring horns; the traffic; the order nested in the chaos…looks like a scene right out of a Hollywood movie’s attempted portrayal of India. This time, right before leaving Austin, I found the excitement missing. The same excitement that causes butterflies in your stomach because you get to go home. I wondered, have I finally become indifferent to going back home? Luckily, I left that question unanswered.

I say luckily because now that I’m here, I don’t want to go back. Nothing new about that, you would say. True, this happens to me every time. But the ‘I want to stay home’ feeling also gets stronger every time. More out of nostalgia than anything else, I keep saying that I want to come back for ever and if I had a chance, I would do it in a heartbeat. A lot of people ask me, ‘Beta, will you be able to adjust in India now?’ my answer is that I will without a doubt. I have only spent the last two and a half years of my life in Austin. No doubt, this period of time has been one of great change in attitudes, ideologies and perceptions. But I am essentially a Bombay boy at heart and I know from the bottom of my heart that I will always be.

I have only been here a week and I feel as if I never left. Though I try not to think about it, the fact that I will have to leave in a couple of weeks’ time is somewhere in the back of my mind, lingering around and refusing to leave. And it will linger till I actually get onto the damn plane and leave.

I have now been at this coffee place for well over two hours, and it feels damn good. 16 year olds who have bunked college are turning up by the dozens. They stare at me because no one in their right mind sits by themselves at Barista. After their hearts are content with staring, they go back to chattering about the newest movie or which guy is going out with which girl. I grin at the carefree chatter and remember the days I have spent in this very place doing absolutely nothing. The vacation after 12th grade was a good one. I spent my days soaking up as many memories of home as I could before I would have to leave it. The dosa wala at the corner, the view of the queen’s necklace from my room, the train ride back home from college, they are all forever etched into my head.

Sometimes I feel that I am more comfortable with the American way of life now than the Indian way. But every time I come back, my convictions are brutally thrown out of the window. I was, am and will always be a Bombay boy with excessive city (and college) pride….

December 15 2005: The drug

2007-11-19T14:50:00.000+05:30

PTSD...Post Traumatic Stress Disorder...ever heard of it? It's what war veterans go through after they return from the battlefield. A soldier suffering from PTSD gets very realistic nightmares..sort of a flashback of the traumatic conditions that he has experienced. His mind keeps going back to the horrific experiences that he has been through even though his world is now safe, secure and free from any life-threatening problems. He wants to be happy and move on with his life but he can't no matter how much he longs for it. He is stuck in a vortex of mental pain and suffering which he cannot get out of.

He wonders...that even though the worst is over, why can't his mind let go of it? He should and wants to be happy that he is out of the battlefield and that his life has changed for the better. But he finds his mind going back to the memories no matter what it is under the sun that he tries to thinks about. He slowly slips into depression and turns out wasting his life away because he cannot get the damn memories and pain out of his head...they are forever etched into his brain.

If this is what PTSD is, then I am sure I could have called myself a soldier....until about six hours ago. You have all but given up...you are ready to succumb to the disease. Then you find a life saving drug. Sometimes that drug is in the form of a human being...someone who comes into your life and shows you how truly lucky you are.

Your 'drug' takes effect...and you find yourself happy and smiling again...laughing even. You are optimistic about the future and see nothing but sunshine. You are cheerful when under the influence of this drug. You wonder where this drug has been...hell you could take it even if you didn't suffer from PTSD! You now look back and think. What nightmares? What stress? Seems like you have always been in this blissful happy state. You know that now you will never ever go back to that horrible state that you were in not so long ago. It seems left so far behind now. But you hope you don't become addicted to this drug. But with every passing day, you know you have.

This 'drug' has changed you forever. Call it genetic alteration if you may...your fundamental structure is no longer the same. You are a new person capable of fighting off any disease, enduring any struggle and weathering any storm. I thank you, my 'drug'. Really don't know what I would do without you...

December 13 2005: Questions, questions and more questions...

2007-11-19T12:19:00.000+05:30

Questions fill my mind...do you think you deserve a second chance if you make a mistake? Isn't everyone human? What if the mistake committed was regretted? What if you lose respect for yourself because of your mistake? Do you deserve a second chance?

What are friends for? To stand by your side in times of need...or to act as moral police and judge you at every step of your life? Do they accept you as you are, or do they make you look like you are responsible for someone else's mistakes? Do they trust you, or do they shun you? Do they reason with you and work things out in times of disagreement, or do they assume the worst of things and let go?

What are values for? To be proudly upheld, or shamelessly ignored? Your parents send you to a foreign place hoping that you will keep you values intact, or should they simply assume that you will ignore every single thing they have told you?

When it comes to values, friends and judgments, which one do you stand by? Would you stand by your best friend of many years when he or she makes a grave mistake, hoping you will be a force to change the situation for the better, or would you shun your best friend as if the friendship meant nothing?

Decisions, decisions, decisions...not small everyday kinds...like 2% or skim...life changing decisions that show your true character. That's what I'm talking about. Would you take a decision because it makes you look better in front of your peers, or because it is what you stand for? Would you stick by those decisions once you make them, or would you change them all the time like the direction of the wind does?

I have always believed that everything happens for the best, and I stick to this belief. My buddy up above gives everyone their just desserts. This leads to more questions. Does everyone really get what they deserve? I find it hard to believe right now, but my faith in Him is greater than my doubts in His decisions. So for now, I have no choice but to get back to my books and leave those questions for later. Questions, questions, and more questions....