Death

2 days back when I heard the words “My father’s passed away” for a moment I did not know how to react, what do you tell a person apart from “Don’t worry, It will be ok.” Will it be? Will it ever be the same when someone who gave birth to you dies in front of your eyes? Someone who has taught to walk is not walking in front of you. Do we mourn death? Or Do we mourn the memories, times we have spent together? Or Do we mourn the time we could not spend & words we could not say?

You were lucky I thought – you could hear him breathe his last, say his prayers, keep his body preserved, nicely in a casket for people to pay respect. You did not have to identify the body amongst sacks of dead bodies kept in the morgue, stinking as most of them were rotting & then carry the body for 30 minutes. Nobody could pay respect because they could not stand the smell.

I was in my 3^rd round of the morning walk when I found the body of the pigeon. It was bruised, must be a case of dangerous flying – I thought. It was lying right in the centre of the running track – I ignored for the first time but could not take the image out of my ahead. In my next round I picked it up & placed it near a flower bed. So that it’s not crumpled by a passing car.

Later, I took bath, changed & came down to drive to office. Curious me, I took a peek around the flower bed & could find only feathers of the bird scattered all around & a house cat lazing in the sun.

As I write the blog, struggling with my thoughts / images of death from my past I get a call saying “the baby is on it’s away – am rushing to airport to be with my wife”. “Good luck – Take care” is all I can say.

Inside Llewyn Davis (ILD)

How far will you go to chase your passion? We are often asked this question maybe over a drink or in an interview or when you have to make a real tough choice? Mostly rational choices win – better money over job satisfaction (who has defined it anyway), New York over Mumbai maybe…

ILD is a week in a life of a budding folk rock singer on a snowy New York, who has no money and is managing by sleeping in couches of family n friends; his first album is not selling & reaches a point where he is planning to join back merchant marine union. You can read all about it at http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Inside_Llewyn_Davis & see the official trailer https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LFphYRyH7wc .   It picked up the Grand Prix at 2013 Cannes & was nominated for quite a few awards including 2 Oscar.

What I loved most was the lovely background score. It took me back to one of my favorite genre of folk rock, the days of Bob Dylan / Joan Baez. When singers thought songs can bring change in society & when lyrics were poetry, when people valued the journey more than the billboard charts, when a performance was sharing of ideas & passion.

Although it did not get nominated for screenplay, I loved the hue & tinge of the film which defined in a kind of era which has gone by. The movie is loosely based on Dave Van Rock http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Dave_Van_Ronk . What I found nice was if one looks at the instrument listed on the panel – it says guitar & it says it all.

You can sample the haunting music & looks of Joan Baez here https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GGMHSbcd_qI&list=RDHCpbBxCEvjh9Q.

Puja Musings 2014

Joyee n me - Last yrs Puja

Most of my school days were spent in Air Force Campus where the venue was the same – only the idols changed. Cut away from a large part of city, any kind of Puja was a large celebration for the well knit community whether it was Onam or Ganesh Chaturthi. 

In my Junior school days, being the creative sort I was dragged into – Tagore dance to Disco dance. While Goswami Kakima lovingly taught me the various postures of Tagore dance, Mithunda stepped into my life & became a hero/guru for a long-long time till I saw Grease / Staying Alive & then of course MJ happened. But it was so much fun – practicing for hours for so many days, nights actually & then dress rehearsal when everything was perfect but on the day of performance something or the other will never work – leading to usual screaming & chaos at the last minute. But what I looked forward to was the food, playing with friends, and being away from Ma- Baaba’s eyes – so I could do what I want to do.

Senior school was about eye balling the crowd & and if luck smiles getting to know few girls whom we boys wanted to know but no coincidences will put both of us together. But our group was confident that all bangali parents will drag their daughters for the puja – all (ethnically) decked up to boot so it is one occasion we wouldn’t want to miss. Since large part of the school was also present – it was something to brag about & have fun by daring your friends & make them look like idiots.

Teenage – Initial Working days were the days away from home, where you came in as a special guest were more interested in catching up on your sleep (those days there were no internet & no mobile) & books rather than attending the puja.  Ayn Rand, Krishnamurthy (& many others but these were the game changers) stepped in heavy & made me objective & question – all our rituals – because everything looked so hypocritical, steeped in tradition which had no logic & reason. Visit to the pandaal, was going to please Ma–Baaba & to get introduced to unfamiliar uncles & aunties – because I gave the bragging rights (rightfully deserved & no pun intended) to my parents in introducing me as someone who studied away, then working away & so on and so forth.

Marriage changed everything – suddenly it became a BIG family event with families from both sides wanting to showcase the match made in heaven (actually Sunday Times matrimonial) so it was all about introductions & background – our job was to deck up in the cloths given by our parents & of course jewelry & plonk ourselves on the rented plastic chairs (they haven’t changed in 15 years – I am sitting on one right now) & the drama would unfold. Depending on where you are – your embarrassment & “when will this end period” differed.

Kids took the focus away from puja to operations & managing kids – from diapers to selecting the dress & accessories (both of them being girls) to go in time for Anjali & answer their queries as to why not to eat before Anjali to carrying steel plates + spoons to standing in the queue & literally elbowing people so that they can eat to trying out rolls, egg devil, paturi & taking selfie – Phew!! it has been one rollicking journey till they WENT AWAY.

Today, as I sit on a plastic chair not wanting to stand in a queue of 200 + people waiting to give Anjali with 2 Bhog coupons in my pocket & looking at people milling around, gossiping, enjoying the most oiliest & unhygienicaly made food & dancing to an invited Bengali artist, tattoos of various types unknowingly or knowingly exhibited – I know I will be here again next year & year after next probably till I breath my last not questioning or finding a logic for being here.

Just being here is like letting go – from the mundane, objective, disciplined life that occupies most of our days to a chaotic, aimless & take it as it comes bonhomie for few days in a yr. 

Readers Prejudice(s)

I just finished “The Oleander Girl” – Chitra Banerjee Divakaruni. She had become one of my favorite authors after I read “Palace of Illusions”. I followed it up with “Arranged Marriage” & “The lives of strangers”. While in Palace of Illusions the concept itself was so innovative / different that it gives you a different perspective of a tale which has been retold generations after generations. The other two books were more real life and beautifully depicted the up’s & down’s of a relationship & choices we make in our life. What stood out for me was how she could bring out a small & insignificant moment so graphically that I could visualize it, feel the hurt or joy in the deep recess of my heart. Both her books had the background of immigrants & the Bengali milieu – which I love, but after some time it does get repetitive & boring. So I gave her a break & moved on to some other books waiting in my shelf.

The Oleander Girl came recommended to me from a dear friend & I started reading it in earnest, but after a few chapters – everything became so predictable that I kept losing interest. Many elements like the Godhra riots & the Hindu Muslim divide looked force fit & the trappings of a spoilt girl were so clichéd that I was getting bugged as I read. But for my sheer respect & love for the author I finished it last evening.

Looking back, I remembered I had the similar feeling when I read Lowland by Jhumpa Lahiri earlier this year & Amitav Ghosh’s 2nd part of the Ibis trilogy – River of Smoke last year. I have read all their books ever published & hero worship them as those rare authors who can spin such human tales so beautifully. Then why do I feel let down? Literally, hurt & angry when the books are not of my expectation. Is it too much of the same thing? Is it that I can peek into the writer’s mind & know what to expect in the next few pages? Have they become jaded in their story telling?

Honestly, I don’t know, but yes I will definitely hesitate before I spend a large amount of money in buying the 3^rd part of Ibis trilogy (for reason unknown – it’s comes in hard bound & is very expensive) or pre-book my copy. I would rather wait for it to come to my reading library or a friend to buy it or maybe I will just try the e-book if it’s cheaper – If I get used to reading books on my pad.

Is it just a reader’s prejudice or Is it simply a devoted reader’s love for his author….If I meet Amitavda’ in his Goa house I will probably ask him over a fenny. Cheers!!

The lives of strangers

We live our life in a blur, most of us. School gives on to college, love, marriage & then suddenly you hit a stage when you know you are reaching the end of the road when you want to look back.

As we live our life day after day, month after month we also go through gut wrenching moments you want to forget – like the day I saw my mom’s body in a gunny back in a room full of such gunny bags stuffed with dead bodies & I was supposed to identify her face, I did not puke but what I have swallowed makes me sick even now as I write about it or the beautiful moment when I took my new born daughter in my hands after she was born & I broke down – These are moments which remain crystal clear in your mind even after 40 yrs - images which come in a rush like you are living it again.

Then there are times when you want to say something but maybe at that moment you did not have the conviction to say those words & they remained in your mind & the sorrow / joy / expectation. The feelings which ran through you gets hidden in some crevices / layers of your heart, maybe mind (I don’t know). 

These hidden feeling, unspoken conversations – creates at times unknown angst, aspirations shapes our view on life, our relationships, our behavior & our whole outlook towards life. And we live your life mostly basis the experiences & its effect it would have had in you at that moment but in the past. Yes in a way at that moment we move on, let it go but in a deeper sense you don’t.  Good, bad, ugly, delightful – these are the images which get stitched in your mind when you look back.

As I read, Chitra Divakurani I relived many of these moments. It was so real & so beautifully written that I could almost touch, feel & live with these characters (being a bong helped) & by doing relive their (mostly) angst & hurt. Short story writing is a difficult art, you have to build the character, the layers of the individual’s character in those 5-6 pages & close the story in a way that the reader keeps thinking about it, toys with the idea / feelings evoked by the stories till he or she moves on to the next book.

She does that with panache’. The fact that the book made me write the blog so that I could turn around my thoughts into a piece of paper is proof enough.

Footnote: I got introduced to Chitra by her BEST - The palace of illusions & went on to read most of her books. This particular piece was written after reading "The lives of strangers" few months back.

Mother's Day

Mother & Daughter's pose at Ellora (April 2014)

I have not wished my mother for last 2 years because she is not around. She passed away almost 2 yrs back but yes my wife is a mother of 2 and I wished her after seeing a Dettol & P & G ad in the morning newspaper – so did both my daughter’s. We went to dine in Nando’s & the smart manager wanted to take a pic of the family to celebrate mother’s day & send across the photo – They are running a promotion & end of the day we will be counted as successful conversion. On Facebook I see a 6 month old girl angry n confused at being forced to participate in a ceremony and pose for photographs by her mother. I am sure the mother would have wished her mother thru Skype – connecting Dubai to Siliguri.

The maid who cleans our utensils had no clue on mother’s day – but she was happy that we shared the cake with her which otherwise would have got wasted. I also recollected my visit to a sprawling mall – yesterday middle aged ladies who were busy roaming around the store with Collins & scrub to clean the racks / shelves from where people like us would have billed products worth twice their salary. I am sure they will go back home after changing few buses to reach a home which has bulbs but no electricity, taps but no water – and children who have no idea of mother’s day.

As the day comes to a close my daughter’s come to say Good Night to me, I wonder at the contradictions of life & the belief that they will see a better world when their turn comes to get wished on a mother’s day.

Americanah & The reluctant Fundamentalist.

Maybe it was a sheer coincidence that I experienced both Americanah written by Chidanand Ngozi & the movie version of The reluctant Fundamentalist by Mira Nair simultaneously. I had read the slim book by Mohsin Ahmed a yr back & was stuck by its realism and the style.

Both had the underlying theme of Americanization of this world. As I write this post – my 10 yr old sees OREO ad and I know that will be on top of our shopping list because she loves the cream & chocolate cookie, She just recently declared that she wants to be a singer & settle down in Singapore –innocently declaring that this her most recent aspiration. Her inspiration – Taylor Swift, she is in love with her lovelorn voice & sings them along with the music playing in her room as she studies for her IMO.

Ifemelu of Americanah did not have such upbringing & neither did I. We did not have a TV till 10^th & getting a pen from Russia was the only phoren experience I had that too because my uncle went to Russia for a fighter pilot training course. I had preserved that postcard for a long time – I think from Moscow or Kiev. Americanah (part of it) deals with the entire race issue in America & difference between Negro / African American & American African & beautifully depicts how racism exists NOW not 100 years back. How small-small things can add up to a humiliating experience.

In The Reluctant Fundamentalist as Changez returns from Mexico – he is stripped & searched, while his white colleagues are let off. Similarly he is picked by the police & interrogated although he is the partner for a high flying financial consulting firm. His name & beard was the trigger. So your position does not matter but your race does.

So, while I really liked the angst of Changez & Ifemelu but I think the choice is with us. For the younger generation (for me it’s my daughters) to decide whether that is what they want to do. Only thing is there is a twist to the entire theory & practicality of it. The way American culture has pervaded our house – I think they will be wearing “I love America” batch in the heart & formative minds. 90% of what they consume is from America – books, movies, music, food, QSR (Mc d / KFC …).

As a father at times, this worries me because I think they will be color blind when they have to make the choice. But I also feel secure that they will not be unaware, yes they will be spoilt of choice but after few rights & wrong turns they will choose the right path. 

I know I cannot change the world around them; my only job is to try & prepare them for their journey.

Pause...

It’s been 2 month’s since I wrote a line no let me correct it, crafted a line, no let me better that, put my thoughts on paper. Why do I write, rather why cannot I write (regularly)? Why is it so difficult to create those words which form in my mind early in the morning as I sip my morning tea in my balcony but gets lost on the roads to my office between phone calls, e-mails, meetings, reminders…and so on so forth?

Is it a question of priority or is it a question of discipline. Priority – What is priority? Can writing be another item in your check list which you can tick? An important task in your daily / weekly to do’s because it’s a job to be done just like you make a presentation or create a campaign. Can you prioritize between reading a great book or write about that thought which has been wriggling inside your mind like a worm for last few days or Can you prioritize between a swim and a lazy afternoon with friends vs an intellectually stimulating piece on tribal life in Nagaland which you want to write…
Can u write as a discipline, Can u open the laptop and except the words to come pouring out. Words which came to your mind as you were sitting through a boring presentation, words which choked you when you saw an emotional movie or experienced a touching moment with your loved one, words which filled up your mind, body and soul when you read something inspiring & felt “Gosh this is something I need to write…!!!!” Words which keep knocking at your head, day in day out because they do not have an answer and you know you do not have any hope to get an answer in this lifetime…

Honestly, I do not know.

I read a lot of new authors especially in the subcontinent and really like the way they express the turmoil, growth pangs, relationships, life changing events like partition, Afghanistan war and it touches a chord because I also go through the same & I like the way every story is interweaved to the current mileu, politics, leaders so much so that you can almost touch & feel the characters. Reading them tugs my writing side which becomes dormant or hibernates when “work & home to do’s” pushes me to scratch off “writing” from my to do list as I switch off the light for the day.

I do know that an end goal and discipline is critical for any writer – from Murakami to Amitava Ghosh to Orhan Pramuk that’s the only thing which makes them write such complex masterpieces. It amazes me how can they hold on to so much in their mind especially over such long period of time.

I started blogging to build the discipline of writing and till date that has been the reason and not who reads and comments. But somewhere I wanted to differentiate between blogging and real writing (short story, poems or a novel) and that struggle is still on. There are very few things which you can say “only you have created” which you do for a purely selfish reason of your creative satisfaction. For me writing is the only lasting thing which I do only for me, a close second probably is cooking but I do that for my little masterchefs and bring an element of surprise in our mundane life.

As I opened my laptop to write after 2 months, I had various things in my mind I wanted to write from the numerous books I read to the few stunning movies I saw to some unbelievable facts of history and politics which moved me.

But as I caught the first glimpse of the first monsoon clouds I thought let me just pause …just like the first monsoon clouds which like my thoughts keep hovering in the sky but seldom rains.

Urban Shots

From a gigantic canvas to small shots of love, relationship, longing, friendsip & angst. I also got this book as a gift (Santa had loads of books for me, even the next book I am reading is a gift – Thx Santa :- )) It is a collection of 28 stories written by 13 budding authors / new writers.

I started reading with apprehension and as filler between River of Smoke & Steve Jobs which I guess will be a heavy read looking at the size and the weight of the book. It was a mixed bag collection. Some of them were too short at least for me to comprehend but many of them were nice and brought out the life style and the related situations which all of us are going through very nicely.

But I guess it was too close to reality in which we live in and hence brought back conversations, articles, news which we read day in and day out and hence didn't excite my senses like some other books did.

Which brings back the question on "Why we read, What we read ?". Too big a question to cover in this post, maybe some other time......but yes few answers can be found in Orhan Pramuks Other Colors.

It was also a nice introduction to the craft of writing. For someone who wants to write it gave a representation of what to write and what not.

I can't end this post to congratulate all 13 writers on their journey from thought t0 blog to publishing to being read to being written, spoken and maybe seen (in a movie/serial) very soon.

Lage Raho bhai log....More on Urban Shots at http://www.greyoak.in/urbanshots.htm

River of smoke

Why do people do not release paperback? This was/is my biggest grouse with the publishers of River of Smoke by Amitava Ghosh (the same with Murakami’s new book IQ84). If I am not wrong the book got launched almost a yr back but although he is one of my favorite author & I could very well afford it. Somehow at time my socialistic side perhaps takes over. And I can’t make myself spend 600+ on a book like I cannot spend 10 k on a running show. Anyway that’s me.

So when my mom gifted the same on my birthday I could not wait to start & finish, when I start these books I read cover to last page over 2 or 3 nights. I cannot read anything else even magazines or newspapers.

But this time I was a bit disappointed with the length of the book and especially many detours it takes on botanical lessons n history plus the Chinese words and language usage which is integral part of the book. The real raison d’être of the book is actually covered in last 2 sections on how the opium wars started in China. I actually realized the importance of the book and got a better understanding when I read about the opium wars 1 & 2 in Wikipedia. I am unable to provide the link because as I write the site has blacked out.

It had the usual large canvas of Indo-Chin-brit historical relationship in the centre of which was opium which linked them and actually started a change process whose impact can be felt even now. As a coincidence I was in Hong Kong & Macau in March and I was pouring through the maps in 1800’s to understand how it looks.

Other thing which sort of bugged me is this new fascination of writing 3 book series. I mean I am all for it and I am sure the canvas he has chosen justifies the same and maybe it makes lot of marketing sense as well. But the gap between the first & second book was too large at least in my case and most of the characters in the previous books were wiped out of my mind completely and I really did not see a strong link between the two.

All in all, a bit disappointed Amit da : - (

PS: If you are Amitda's fan log on at http://www.amitavghosh.com/

London is dirty

Well, the buildings apart, if I were to just look at city streets, walking paths etc I found London very dirty. You can find cigarette butts everywhere and you can also find cans, empty Mcdonald packets, or remains of food. I found it a bit disturbing but also a bit solace because I read and heard so much that we (meaning India )has the most dirtiest city in the world etc etc.

Thames is beautiful.
The correct word would be poetic. The cruise which I took on Thames was one of the most memorable 45 minutes. There was a person who was giving an informative and funny commentary – which was a mix of history & present. So, he not only told us about the oldest church, biggest fire but also about the IBM building which was rated as the ugliest. As I rode on the cruise I felt like Thames was holding two parts of London together like spine holds the papers of a notebook together.

As I wrote in the OP inspired moments, I realized writing is probably the only way of reaching out to these moments and toying with them reliving them just you and the thought and the moment. It is not about sharing an experience with your friend and family – as you generally do whenever you co me back from your trip or when you connect after a long time. It’s not so much of how many people read your blog and wrote a comment but it’s about putting on paper what you felt the way you felt.

As long as budding writers like me enjoy those few moments I think we will continue to write inspite of the fact that we get published in our life time or not.

The weather

In our mind, we all have a picture of any new place which we visit especially if it is geographically different from where you are. So, if it’s Kerala – you would visualize the backwaters in a way or if it is zero point in Bhutan – you will visualize the ice in a fashion. This is based on your talks with your friends who have been there, or pictures you hurriedly saw on the net when you were doing your packing, or it could be a ficton / story (so whenever I visit Tokyo or Kiyoto in Japan Murakami and all his books will come to my mind)…….But all of us do carry a picture in our mind.

The picture of London what one has is the typical “picture post card” - nice and sunny parks with people jogging etc. When I reached Paddington and started walking on the streets (3 hours after I have touched down at Heathrow at 6pm– all the while I was walking only on concrete or tube), I could still see the see the yellow leaves trampled on the road side and with the kind of forecast which has been predicted, I thought the picture of London which I had in mind will remain just that a picture, but thankfully the sun showed up on Sunday and we had a lovely picturesque view of London.

But still it was very unpredictable – although we had sunshine in the mornings the night would be chilly and cold. One thing surprised me was even in this cold weather everybody had chilled water and of course all the tavern which sold fresh beer were overflowing….In India, Rum (and in recent years vodka) is a must have during the Delhi winter.

English Architecture

St Pauls Cathedral, Big Ben, London Tower, Trafalgar Sqaure etc has an aristrocatic, old world touch. But these were only few names – there were many other buildings which were built in similar lines and they gelled well with the entire background – roads, trees, even the small restaurants which had chairs outside where you could just sit and absorb the atmosphere. There are very similar buildings in parts of Mumbai & Delhi – I am sure there is a term for that but the difference were the things around the building.

In Mumbai & Delhi so much crowding has happened around the building that the building is just another building you see near VT, but here there lot of space around, trees , weather – all together it created nice scenic beauty.

Tube Travel

Tube in London is apparently more than 100 yrs old and I was told it has a mention in Sherlock Holmes adventure (A trivia told to me by Prajesh when we crossed the Baker Street station). It’s not very different from the Mumbai trains in terms of the rush and speed and efficiency and I guess similar to the Delhi Metro but much more clean, extremely well laid out and explained.
You will find a chart on every station so that before you board the train you are sure that you boarded the train. Very low on staff unlike India – so tickets are dispensed by machines. The Oyster Card (7 day pass) was a boon and made life so simple. Whether you go by bus or train as many times as you want you just need to carry the card.

When I saw the multiple line and hundreds of stations in the tube map which I downloaded in India, I was shit scared that I will not make it to the venue in time. But after hopping on and hopping off a few times on Sunday I could easily get the drift and travelled all the days alone. In fact on the last 2 days it was almost mechanical – like a video game which you play. I can visualize all the scenes piece by piece in my mind as I sit here now and write it.

Army of Black
Every day I took the Bakerloo Line from Paddington, got down at Oxford Circus and changed over to the Central Line, took the tube to St Pauls and then walked till the venue of conference. All of this in 20 mnts max. I did this for 4 days and every day was like a replay of previous day. I do not it is because of the weather but 90% of people were in blacks or grey with black shoes. When I would get up into the escalator or walk in the tunnels which connect one line to the other it was almost like I was part of an army.
You could literally hear the click of the boots as you walk. And it is almost like the march past, after some days the efficiency irked me. It was like – no smile, no talk, just people walking, walking, walking and then turning left, waiting for the train, hopping on, getting down, again walking….(reminded me of the Brick on the wall Video by Floyd)….

I almost felt like I was surrounded by an army of Black wherever I went

Bidesh...

When I told Dad, I was going to London, he said – Jao bidesh ghoore aasho (go visit the foreign land and come). It’s a typical bangla word but you will rarely hear it now a day. For me it sounded like the 40’s and 50’s when a native Indian goes to a foreign land – typically meaning a white men’s land. At least in my mind it evoked that kind of feeling / visual picture.

As I start back from Heathrow, I realize there was hardly a moment in all these 5 days when there was not an Asian (Indian / Pakistan) around. Right from the immigration counter to the ticket collector in the Heathrow express, the receptionist in Hilton where I stayed for a night, Paddington hotel where I stayed for rest of the days and the Grange hotel where the conference was – most of the staff were Asians. Even walking down Oxford street, or on the cruise on Thames or the Underground or the Starbucks coffee in front of me (as I write this on the airport) I was always surrounded by Asians.

It was comforting for someone who has never visited London and I almost felt like home but having said that most of them were only Asian in their looks. When I tried to speak to them in Hindi or start a conversation, except for a young guy who was manning the store part time and studying on week days all of them had no interest or shared the feeling which I had when I saw an Indian. They are as much a Londoner as anybody else – except for their color of skin.

When I reach home I am going to tell dad – Bidesh ta aakhoon amader desh hoi gache (the foreign land has been converted into our land)*.

*As per a survey, the non island population will be more than the native population in 2020 or sometime around that.

Inspired by Orhan Pramuk….London Musings

There are authors who scare the hell out of people like me who want to write like Amitav Ghosh. I am half way through “River of Smoke”, and I know it will take a lifetime and more to do the research, visualize and write something on those lines.

On my way to London I finished one part of “Others Colors”. It was amazing to read the chronicles. It was almost like you were reading his mind, moments he cherished or which he did not, thoughts on abstract things like chair. You could almost, glimpse – peek into a writers mind and I almost feel that someone ripped off few of thoughts / expressions from my mind and put it there. These were essays and thoughts / views – on just about anything.

For lot of us writing becomes a stumbling block – first you need to find time out of you paying hectic schedule and get the right thoughts when you sit down to write and then you need to have enough time to finish the thought (the below notes took 2 months), and then when you put it up you hope few encouraging bloggers will put up a few comments….and after few blogs you do not know why do we need to ferret out those few hours & go through the hardship when you can discover a new book, a new place, a new movie…..and so on so forth. All these are equally intellectually stimulating. So writing in our purposive world actually serves no purpose (objective is more for work place so..)

Reading OP was a revelation because it in a way showed why he wrote what he wrote and maybe he became what he became. So, here goes once again…and this time I hope the journey goes much longer than earlier ones.

As long as budding writers like me enjoy those few moments I think we will continue to write inspite of the fact that we get published in our life time or not.

Children need inspiration…& everything is possible

Thanks to some inspired moments my daughters turned into artists, so that used fabric printing and gifted their grandparents – lovely pillow covers. They also made different types of flowers even lotus which looked too complicated for me. As I saw them draw, paint create stuff on their own I realize how pathetic our education system. Do we teach them anything beyond increasing their ability to memorize? In few days these kids created something which they will remember for their life time, create things, share ideas and most importantly enjoy the process in a fun way & not as if it is a punishment.

Bongs & Food

We are obsessed with food. Period. This time was no different. We had a cook who was cooking in our backyard. He got the usual “dekchi’s (big utensils)”, the raw materials and set up his stuff in the outhouse. The morning started with a great deal of discussion on breakfast, lunch and dinner. All types of possible variety which could be made, was made. And of course we packed 4 jars of sweets which I am still enjoying (Started the series in mid Oct……then work caught up.)

My space

I ducked out of many family sessions and spent some time simply walking on the terrace, watching birds fly….basically doing nothing. There was no yesterday and there was no tomorrow, all spiritual masters will tell you to live for the moment. But for once and for a while there was no present as well. It’s difficult to explain nothingness…for some time I experienced it and it was bliss.

Here's hoping this lasts till the next vacation..

Olive Oil, A/C – Video coach

Times have really changed. I saw a notice in one of the pandal’s in C R Park in Delhi. Bhog (khichdi) cooked in “olive oil”. I did not know whether to smile or laugh out loud, Bhog used to be a way of celebrating togetherness it was a means to sit together and have fun, the oil was really immaterial and now the same is showcased almost like an inviting rather courting notice.

Same story when my daughter went for “bhashan (immersion of durga idol)”. She went in a A/C coach which had video screens to boot. The whole fun of going to bhashan was to dance, make a mess, sing in a very indecent language – u can become a rowdy for a day and get away with it. And your parents will forgive u. But I guess video coach is better & safe for kids. Dad speak : -)

Shit happens….all the time
I loved the line in Z N Milegi Dobara by Farhan “Shit happens…”. Some lines stuck in your mind for reason unknown to you, this was one of them. When mother and daughter went to see bhashan (immersion of durga idol which happens outside the city and takes up almost ½ a day) and clicked lot of photos and videos it was a treasure trove which was to be seen, cherished, shared and talked about at a later date, because going to bhashan in an unknown city like Bangalore where we stay is a strict no – no and this was once in last 10 years of marriage…So, you get the point.

So, next day when by mistake I deleted all the photos & videos, I had to cut a sorry face in front of mother-daughter duo….As I apologized and begged mercy it was a challenge to keep a poker face because the line “Shit happens” kept playing back to me like a stuck record player.

But seriously, the statement is quite philosophical. No point to keep on thinking of what happened which will ultimately lead to an emotional breakdown or an unstable relationship.

Story Telling

All my vacations were full of story-telling – especially my DAD telling me “Ramayana – Mahabharata”. On a rain swept day in Assam, when we kids could not do anything outside we would gather around him and he would start narrating these epics. The very thought takes me back 30 yrs and tells me to relive the days even if it’s only in my memory and between me and me.

Cut to present.....Grandpa’s have to change and innovate with time so we had “Ulta Pulta Ramayan” being narrated by my Father in Law. It’s a hilarious take on Ramayan where Sita goes willingly with Ravan and Ram had to really plead with Sita to come back. I joined for a while but then moved out so they could have their own cozy session.

Role reversal…For once Dad(that’s me) had more questions. After seeing Harry Potter and Chamber of Secrets (Potter mania was intact even during vacation)I could not relate to a few facts which I picked up from part 3 and part 4 (all parts seem the same to me though) so Nikita recounted the journey of Harry from his childhood….it was a very similar to my story telling experience with my Dad except that it was a darkened room in Jaipur, while dust-storm played outside we (me and my daughters) switched off the light, put the fan in full speed and got into the world of magic…It was an afternoon I will remember for a long while.

As I took my customary walk in the evening on the terrace 2 thoughts struck me. One – Harry is on its way to be a part of folk lore, Two – Fathers and daughters will not be the same…This role reversal was unbelievable in my case.

Change

At one level – most of us are fascinated by change, change is life – work, children growing up, new phone (Apple ihone4s), technology (cloud), new dress(microbe free) etc etc. Everyone is running to cross the next frontier in everything they do and aspire for.

At another level – it seems life is constant.

The relationship which my kids share with their grandfathers is the same as the one I shared with my grandfather. Storytelling of epics used to be the best part of the trip – it still is. Although I am 40 and father of 2 daughters my parents still treat me like the 17 yr old kid who has come back from college for a few days and will again go back – so feed him and pack with much as you can so the same lasts for few months (it’s just that their granddaughters list have also got added to it), my parents still bicker at every single point of discussion (like they did 30 yrs back) and then cozy up…Nothing much has changed..

If I look at life outside my home in Delhi, the rickshaw wallahs who ferry us to the puja ground, the haggling with autowallahs, or the chit-chat with the chaat guys serving bhelpuri. Nothing has changed from the time I used come home during breaks in engineering then MBS then job in Mumbai. Even in Jaipur the big glass of lassi which I tasted from the original lassiwala the day I got engaged is still the best when I go back with my wife & two kids and of course I do not miss out on eating Rawat’s kachaudi and packing two bozes for my friends in Bangalore.

These moments have a illogical beauty & life of their own and they will never change at least from some of our mind. And when we live these moments there is a special feeling of coming back home, something which you do not want to change.

Living the day to day structured, logical corporate sanitized life drains you out so when you just walk around aimlessly going thru these moments without thinking, evaluating, debating, measuring – you start questioning change and the need for it.

Puja Musings

It’s been few years since we spent “puja” together with our families, 2008 to be precise. We went through the same rigmarole once again – shatabdi to Delhi, 3 puja days with my parents, 2 puja days with in-laws then flight back home. Few days of rest, before you get back to your desk with the familiar sounds of phone calls and cacophony of work all around you.

But, it’s always a nice feeling to step out of your cubicle (read desk) and into the wild wilderness for few days. This is when you really experience life in it’s true sense, in it’s fullness - blissful – emotional – carefree, compared to the sanitized life we lead. In a road trip (the road has become an added word post ZNM Dobara) you are living through the good and bad phase 24/7 – whether it’s the dirty loo of rajdhani which stinks and makes you feel like puking or you are standing in “badi chaupad” (market in Jaipur) searching for those tiny shops who used to sell ghungroo’s, artificial jewellery etc but now have become part of history ironically because of government’s beautification drive. In these moments you experience life which gives you the true feeling of abandon and the freedom, the way life should be - not canned up in a room or an office.

For me these trips are also very reflective, it’s one thing to think logically and plan things out in your room which is good but the real essence of life comes when you start living them and compare note what you were, what you wanted to be and what you are. These trips gives you snatches of time like an hr long taxi rides, afternoon siestas when you just cannot do anything but toy around with a few thoughts here and there like the floating clouds which come in create a few showers here and there and just drifts off….

This time I thought, let me capture a few of these before they crash out of my mind…