Ruminations of a 3-day tourist in Paris

(written in Oct 2011)

Why people would want to sit on tiny tables three feet away from roaring traffic and poisonous fumes, consume copious amounts of food and drink at a leisurely pace, and believe that they are absorbing the feel of being in gay Paree, is beyond me. While I am familiar with the Indian culinary obsession with street food garnished with dirt and other unmentionables, I doubt if that is what’s on the mind of these well-heeled guests. Maybe the answer lies across the road, in those little book-shacks (for want of a better word, or the right French term).

Benevolent dictatorships and autocracies around the world could take some tips from these shacks on how to sell idealism and romance and make people believe in (and shell out good money for) a reality that doesn’t exist. Three out of every five shacks have a couple of hundred drawings, watercolors and sometimes oil paintings of Paris’ most scenic aspects captured on paper. What’s interesting to note is that none of these include even a hint of anything that resembles automobiles, mobile phones, dispirited trees or any of other symbols of current urban sadness. And if there are people, they are usually dressed in clothes right off designer racks, or carry large umbrellas that can act as alternative homes to the homeless (who also never appear in any of the scenes depicting Seine’s walkways). And all the shacks contain some form of literature – novels by French authors, or French translations of books from all over the world (thus perpetuating the assumption of this being the center of the literary world), old and new comics, covers of vintage magazines, old philosophical and educational tomes and so on. If an alien were to land right there, it could be forgiven for thinking it had found Utopia. Not that you need to be from another planet to believe that. Hordes of tourists collectively fall under the influence of this opium and spend pleasurable days browsing these shacks, walking along the river and eating their onion soup three feet away from the friendly neighborhood cars & scooters. Yours truly included.

Absinthe and assorted drugs may have been responsible for the creation of some great art, including poetry, novels and paintings in Paris in the eighteenth and nineteenth century. But it is these shacks and museums, and the tourists in them, which will probably trigger a similar explosion of material for the subsequent generations. Except that instead of novels and poetry, what they will be subjected to are endless galleries chronicling every frame of the city through photographs. Every picturesque (or even the not-so-picturesque) surface of the city will be recorded for posterity; whether it be the gothic arches and cobbled streets, or the underbelly of bridges and chain supermarket fronts, all are fair game. And the custodians and unwitting historians of this priceless archiving will be the Chinese, who faithfully click away at everything pointed out by flag-waving tour guides, all the while delicately balancing their Louis Vuitton bags on their arms. Despite all these changes, the assorted life forms carved and embellished on most Parisian buildings continue to look down disdainfully at us mere mortals clicking away or gazing at them in awe. It’s as if these centuries-old symbols of Parisian culture and aesthetics have seen plenty come and go, secure that they present a splendid vista difficult to replicate at such scale and density in any other place. Even in China.

However, other than LV, another thing that the Chinese and Europeans have in common is their love for queues (which of course is directly opposite to Indians who wouldn’t know a queue if it bit them). As a tourist hot spot, Paris has prepared itself well. At most information or ticket counters, the clerks try to respond in English (never mind the exasperated raised eyebrows and unintelligible accents, at least they try!) and most tourist attractions are equipped with automated ticket machines. But if there’s someone doing a return-on-investment study on these machines, they would produce a disappointing report as nearly all of them remain woefully underutilized while thousands (okay, hundreds) of sheep (okay, people) stand patiently in line to buy tickets from the aforementioned clerks staring vacantly into space. I can just see our middle class grandfathers rubbing their hands in glee as they look on these fine examples of people who work hard for what they get. Or maybe they just enjoy the social interaction.

Not that social interaction is in short supply. For a society that regularly dishes out movies about lonely, dysfunctional people, most people on the streets look surprisingly chirpy, thus proving that movies reflect an alternate reality. Even the staff in service roles (and I use the word service in the most loose form imaginable) talk amiably to each other, whereas in most other cities they usually just grunt and growl. But then most other cities are not as beautiful; not that the Parisians would let you believe that they think their city’s beautiful, their magnificent shrugs could fool you into thinking they take their city for granted. After all, it’s just not done to show pleasure at such compliments, even if they are expected. That would be quite American, and that’s one thing they are certainly not. No…they belong to the land that’s given the world some of the finest art and architecture over the last few centuries, not to mention the fries, cheese, wine, kisses, beards and windows the modern world knows them for.

But is that excuse enough for the famous unflappable shrug in response to every question, even logical ones like “why is this counter closed when it’s not closing time yet”? Or for staring at you like you are a demented stranger, instead of a respectable successful man who’s just trying to tie his scarf against the wind? Or for the shockingly slow service at the cafes, even if the waiters are impossibly chic and cute? Artistic gestures of the hand are not a substitute for the soup I ordered, I felt like telling them sometimes. But then they would have looked at me as if I am retarded and shrugged. You can’t win. Once the soup does arrive, followed by other delicacies, the magic begins to work and you calm down and look upon the world with kindly eyes, and even the eye-popping amount in the bill is paid with the careless indulgence that billionaires might display towards their most recently purchased yacht.

Despite all this seeming indifference, the French do get roused to emotion sometimes. It could be while passionately arguing the merits of a book or denouncing the Americans. How they reconcile that with their eager sampling of American food chains and designer brands is something I wonder at. Like the French lady who told me that all current economic, social and political ills of the world are caused by America, all the while sipping on a Coke glass as large as her handbag. Politeness (and my fear of being greeted by that shrug) forbade me from asking her if current economic woes could have been lessened if the French were to work just a little bit more. Paris probably rivals (and outdoes) Calcutta in the number of strikes its workforce goes on during the year. They get their training in school with never being made to study for more than 2 days in a row.

On the other hand, this attitude to work is precisely what allows them to look after themselves with the luxury and intensityaffordable only by rich socialites elsewhere in the world. When one speaks or thinks of the beauty of Paris, it is not just the architecture and the river and the museum that comes to mind, but the people themselves. With their carelessly draped scarves and the carefully tousled hair, they makes us tourists bow our head in shame and quickly fork out more euros for more wine.

Having arrived here from London, it was natural for me to make some immediate comparisons. The difference in language and style aside (why do the Londoners need to try so hard to look good?), I would choose the British sense of humor and courtesy (even if most of it is bathed in sarcasm) over the cool, inscrutable gaze and stealthy smiles of the French. London is much greener too and seems to have less traffic. Though the French cafes and bars have cleaner toilets. It’s a close call.

But what even a Londoner would appreciate is the sheer richness of craft and detail in the city. Every imaginable surface is embellished and painted and gilded with a level of detail that would challenge Thackeray’s talent for descriptive narratives. As for the corners, the architects and artisans seemed to have participated in competitions for the most exotic and dramatic ones, resulting in a set of sights that drain the cameras and the souls both, sending us to the nearest bar in need of urgent refreshments.

You could also head to the Moulin Rouge which, aside from sporting the trendiest windmill this side of the world, is helpfully near to a series of sex shops of such scale, variety and size that would put some of the notorious Asian cities to shame. But then, this is Paris. Turn a corner, and you would find yourself walking up steep alleys, filled with cafes and bars where pretty young things are earnestly discussing what could be the works of Voltaire but could easily be the features of the latest Apple products. It could very well be the former. In those book shacks along the river, as I greedily browse through the authors and titles and wonder how long it will take me to learn French, I am not rubbing shoulders with people of my age or older as in other cities, but instead with a younger crowd who interact with the owners, who in turn resume their reading in between chats, another difference from other places.

Before I know it, this round of coffees, drinks, walks, books, eavesdropping, observing and photography comes to an end and I am back to the French version of the Mumbai local rail station, the Charles De Gaulle airport. After a couple of hours of standing in queues, disdainful staff and expensive coffees, I am on the plane to London, sighing with relief.

But as the aircraft rises, my irritation level falls and I spy the river beneath. And I am taken back in time. The light falls on the water and reflects back on the arched stone bridges. The gentle wind, with a hint of chill, ruffling the surface. The friends and lovers sit with their picnic lunches along the bank. The glimpse of the intricate buildings on the road, the sound of traffic in the background. And a solitary figure takes this all in and resolves to return. Soon.

God bless

(written in Oct 2011, on my trip)

I sit at the café looking out of the windows that give me a clear view of the square, in all its windy and cobbled glory. Empty chairs belonging to this café and the others around it are placed around the edges of the square, waiting for customers that they know will not come. A moss-covered statue stands tall in the middle, completing the look. There’s the town hall, trying to look dignified and imposing, in vain. There’s the usual assortment of self-important buildings strewn around the square, and even a large clock. A few people wander on the streets, braving the chill, possibly for early shopping. But my eye is caught by a woman.

A lady, I should say. She sits upright in one of the chairs of the café, right outside the window, taking occasional sips from a cup of steaming coffee placed on her table. She is clad in a long, well-cut trench coat and dark colored books that are not muddy despite the weather. Her eyes are clear and her face unlined, though her advanced age is obvious by her grey hair, clearly swept back from her face and arranged in neat frames around it. Her ears sport pearl earrings, but she’s not wearing any other jewellery, except for a silver, delicate watch. There’s a relaxed expression on her face as she smokes a cigarette, though I can’t see the packet in sight.
That, and the grey hair, suddenly makes me think of Nanima. I wonder what she would have to say. Would she balk at the smoking, deeming it unfit for a person who should be setting examples for the others? Or would she instead comment on the whole ensemble – the clothes, the hair, the attitude? I actually suspect that she would be a little admiring. Not of the cigarette, but the fact that an elderly lady is sitting in a café on her own, having coffee, unencumbered by people around her and obviously quite relaxed about it. A rare sight in India. And if there’s one person who could understand the dignity and independence of this scene, it would be Nanima.
Not that she didn’t like to be around people.Far from it. She looked forward to social occasions and had a strong sense of family, first bringing up three children with undivided attention and then pretty much rearing me, my sister and my cousin in our early years, giving us so much love that it acted as our foundation of confidence for most of our adult lives. But she also had a sense of self that set her apart from all her peers who got defined only in relation to their husbands and children.

As I look again at the well cut coat and expensive shoes of the lady at the cafe, I recollect the white and blue printed silk sarees that Nanimawas fond of, wearing them crisply tucked in, a cream shawl on her shoulders, a small handbag on her arms, setting out for “work”. Never mind that the work was sometimes to go and help out at her brother in law’s office, or sometimes to change two crowded buses and travel a couple of hours to reach a village, where she would talk to the women about education and smokeless chulhas. She would often stop by at our place, ringing our bell from below and smiling broadly as I peeped over the terrace ledge and told her how nice she was looking. Sometimes it would be to ask us if we needed anything, sometimes it would be just to drop some goodies she had brought. In the evening, at her little one room apartment, she would cook a simple but hearty meal of paranthas, which she would have sitting in front of her tiny TV. If the next day were a weekend, she would stock up on mangoes or other fruits, knowing that my sister or I would pay her a visit. We would spend our afternoon or evening there, often forsaking our air conditioned room to spend time with her; share our school stories as she listened eagerly, listen to her experiences and advise her sagely, eat up all the fruits and whatever else was available, sometimes just in silence and take a nap on the warmest of beds, and usually go for a walk in the evening, with an ice cream or peanuts at the end of it.
The thought of the peanuts suddenly makes me remember the yogurt covered peanuts I have in my bag, one of my many gluttonous weaknesses. But peanuts make me thirsty and I need to ask for some water. My friends say I must have been a camel in my earlier life, so rarely do I have water. I guess I got it from my mother, who’s the same. Was Nanima like that too?
As with everything else, she was fastidious about eating habits. Not that she insisted on elaborate traditional regiments, but she liked to have her three meals at predictable times, with a predictable level of nutrition involved. She could never understand, or appreciate, people who took food lightly. Not one to sermonize, she would instead take things into her own hands and drum up something simple, nutritious and usually delicious. Not that the kitchen was the center of her active life. She would wash clothes, make breakfast for the family, personally clean her own room, supervise the maids and generally look after wherever she would live. And find time for watching some tv and reading till she slept off with the glasses on her face and the light on. And if you asked her to come out for a movie or shopping, she would be ready in a matter of minutes. How she found that energy that would shame people half her age (and did), I never knew. A couple of times when I asked her, she just said “Jo karnahai so karna hai; aur kuch cheezen pasand hai”.

That simple response is a lesson to all of us armchair philosophers. These kids cycling on the square, do they know what that means? Or are they too dissolved in existential angst and endless debates about what they want versus what they need versus what’s the right thing to do? Nanima discovered early on that sometimes there’s no choice, you just need to deal with what life gives you and make the best of it. Whether it be moving at an early age from Pakistan to India, or living most of her life in stringent financial conditions or the self-absorbed unwitting neglect of her adult children and grandchildren. Or living in a disturbed household for seven years. When she finally left, determinedly shutting her ears to the crying voice of the child she loved the most, she maintained a calm that broke only when she sobbed her heart out for many days, alone. The same calm that she displayed as her siblings and children were struck by tragedy time after time, she alone standing like a pillar of strength, offering both love and a fortitude that tested the vagaries of destiny. You have no choice as you look on the faces of the dead, your loved ones, and retreat into a silence of fatalistic acceptance, yet invincible dignity.
But as I myself struggle to recover from an over exhausted mind and body, and see similar faces around me, I know that the secret to carrying on is not to accept that there’s no choice, but to believe that our choice is about us, and how we react to the world around.

In one of my last conversations with her, she spoke in her usual practical tone about whether it’s worth spending money on her neighborhood kitty considering that each round takes more than a year and she is not certain if she will survive the next one. As I responded vehemently that she is in good health and such statements only attract negative energy, she changed the subject and asked me about my upcoming vacation plans and then signed off with her customary “god bless”. A few weeks later, I returned from the vacation and spent a night with restless dreams about her, waking up with a resolve to speak with her. But she was gone, passed away the way she wanted to, quickly, painlessly and without fuss, next to her daughter.

The square is deserted by now, the chilly wind having dispersed the last of the brave souls. The sky is grey, the street lamps dispel weak light. And the lady at the table is gone. In the faint distance, someone calls out “Nanima, Nanima”, in an urgent, emphatic voice assured of the attention and affection of her response.

The voice is mine, so are the tears.

My fav topic - again!!!

(written in early Jan 2011)

Once again, like a child who refuses to learn his lesson, I am thinking about chemistry...or maybe obsessing is the right word!!

WTF WTF WTF.......that's all the reaction I have right now. How in the hell does the universe create this space and plan where two planets that had no absolutely no connection with each other suddenly end up colliding and creating this circle of positive energy that blows your mind away???!!! I repeat - wtf wtf wtf

Thoughts on the US...

We celebrate our diversity and the fact that we are a contrary of multiple realities, often contradictory to one another. And that we live across those realities and the ambiguity that comes with the territory. And it's easy to paint the Western world in one hue of grey, particularly the US, viewing it as a whole, forming opinions and delivering judgements as a single entity. Listen to a few conversations, specially over dinner or pub tables, and its easy to see this pattern emerge.

Not that 4 weeks spent in the US over 3 years makes me any kind of expert, but I am beginning to realise how wrong we are. It's an incredibly vast country, literally, and with more ethnic diversity that we can imagine. Both the geography and the ethnic inflow of people segments the entire country into so many tiny pieces that to even try and stitch them up together is a task of immense and complex proportions. Unlike India, at least they speak a common language (at least, most of them do) but the feeling that you move into a different country as you visit different parts is pretty similar to what we feel here. At a surface level, you see it being reflected in mannerisms, accents, clothes, expressions. Behaviors too change, especially the warmth factor towards immigrants and foreigners. Opinions and knowledge base also vary vastly, evident in the quality of conversations I heard in Chicago vs Atlanta vs San Francisco on the latest topic of the Bin Laden killing.

It's also extremely interesting to think about how this country was truly "built" and the enormous wealth generated, considering the size, complexity and the multiple moving parts. The ongoing debate on immigration reform and the current floods crisis, while very different topics, both give us a glimpse into some of that journey....the heavy inflow of immigration and the various uses it was put to as well as the conscious, deliberate planning that has gone into each town and all farmland.

And what did that journey imply for the individual today? Relatively higher freedom at a social level (which itself varies depending on whether you are in a small town in the mid west or a city on the east coast) is coupled with an array of rules and guidelines governing behavior on a day to day basis. Not everyone conforms to this obviously and that's where the interesting stories lie too.

The colors are more muted, the drama a little lesser, the development much more, the wealth much much more. But the tragi-comedy of the vibrant, expressive, mostly ambitious society of the US is more similar to India than we, or at least I, have thought so far.

Pause. Sink. Rewind. Move. Up.

Thats the routine, isn't it. After the whirlwind of the past few weeks, I get some time to myself. An unwelcome sms switches me off. I have made some attempts recently to re-invigorate myself, get some new blood into my life. Didn't really work. Now the past comes back. As its wont to do when the body is weary and the mind is weird. And I wonder whether it's really that sensible to stay at home, relax and watch a movie. Or shall I just go to some place that has people, lights, music; inject some alcohol, push the thoughts way and come back and collapse into bed. For yet another tomorrow. When I shall be drag myself up and move on. With a smile.

Anti social

I resisted Orkut for 2 years. Finally gave it just when it started to decline. Liked it reasonably well, used it to an extent. Started getting bored. Then they said "move to fb", you are so passe. I said no, I cant keep moving, I am not that interested in making so many "friend" anyway. Finally moved. The spectre of PR kept haunting me for several years. Many, including DB, insisted I should join, just for having fun. I mistook the word "fun". I joined two weeks and am hooked for now, it's like a bizarre twilight zone. I wonder when I will get bored...maybe in a couple of months. Sigh. What next guys?

Deja vu or full circle?

Having just sobbed my heart out, I wonder if this is a repeat of what happened 3 years ago or has life come round to where it started, a sort of cosmic joke on me.

All I know is that I have to make a way of living with this pain for some time until it ebbs into an occasional ache. I just have to keep reminding myself that this is temporary....when I have suffered much, much more and managed to survive well, this is ok, manageable. I think.

I guess part of it is just ambiguity.

Sigh. Cant even go out and enjoy a good meal or get drunk. Have to eat papaya, remain alert and go through this.

Where am I?

Its been more than 7 months since I last wrote here, the longest gap ever. Where am I??? It's not as if there hasn't been plenty to write about...if nothing else, the constant presence of change in my life provides many amusing, heart wrenching and irritating moments! So why not??

I dont know, to be honest. And instead of trying to figure out, I would rather devote my energy to re-starting this practice soon. As I figure that out, this is just a placeholder :) a reminder that I am going to be here soon, doing what most good bloggers do - hyperventilating and pontificating.

In continuation - Bobo at 18 months...

As I sit in my bedroom, I can hear the “mewing-like" noises Aarav is making outside. I can actually picture him doing so, crinkling up his button nose a bit and shutting half his eyes. The mewing noise is used for a variety of purposes, from animal sounds to car horns. Immediately after this, the expected “hoo” takes over, usually delivered with wide eyes and a finger pointing at either an object he seeks more explanation for or evidence of mischief he’s just conducted. In fact, though he’s mastered a smattering of words, communication between him and the world largely consists of such primitive sounds delivered with a wide range of tones and accompanied by an even-wider range of expressions. This communication is restricted to his “insider” gang though…for most of the world outside, he attempts to strike a more enigmatic figure – steadily walking (or pushing his toy car along) with a quiet determination to get somewhere, occasionally pausing to observe or pick up an object of interest, and greeting unsolicited companions with a cool stare and sometimes a shy smile before turning away and proceeding on his way. The contrast in personality with the baby we see giggling away at home is quite stark, especially when the giggles turn into fits of laughter at his mother’s antics , and he finally tumbles off the bed.

I have often been told that all babies are alike (and by implication, I shouldn’t get so excited by this little one’s antics). But there are times when we question that, and actually reject it – when he sees a baby or a dog, gets overcome by emotion and hugs you; when he starts dancing every time he hears music he likes, whether it be in a restaurant or the drawing room or a crowded engagement party; when he clearly observes what you are wearing and beams his appreciation sometimes; when he rejects everything sweet you give him and relishes onions and similar food items; when he resists any attempt at medical examinations and reacts with a ferocity that stuns the most experienced of doctors…

At such times, one wonders at the beauty of nature that created a full, unique specimen amongst billions of others. A specimen with his own specific looks and personality and behaviors and likes and dislikes. A specimen that easily gets used to being adored by every eye that lays eyes on it and yet in a way remains uncorrupted by it until a much-later stage. A 3 feet tall, one-and-a-half year old, 12 kilo heavy dynamo of a person who has the power to control all activity and emotion around him by just a flick of his finger or a lift of the eyebrow. Love, anger, irritation, humor, protectiveness, frustration, anxiety, calm – in a space of a day, Bobo’s companionship can take acquaint you with all these and more.

How will us willing slaves be treated in the future, I wonder? That remains to be seen. Right now, he’s tapping on the door, demanding the attention that’s rightfully is, along with the antics and the giggles.

Inner tension

Suddenly, there's this tight knot in my stomach.

Not entirely unexpected though...there was several indications over the last few months that this was coming. Silences/arguments with DB; irritation with friends; discussions over Anjan's predicament; searching for houses and being price sensitive; repeated calculations on excel on how to squeeze the max out of my salary; Dolly's face, pinched and white due to pain...yes, there were many indications that this time was coming.

Now that it's here, it's here. I am not that unused to it anyway. And this time, the secret weapon in my arsenal is Aarav...declogs my arteries and reduces the speed of blood! Work has also gone into hectic mode. So as I deal with the terrible trio of health, finances, relationships, I keep myself busy and occupied. The impact shows on the hair on my pillow each morning, but that's ok, I can live with that.

2009 objectives

Having encouraged all and sundry in my business to create goal sheets, I thought it was high time I went past "focus areas..." and "resolutions" and created a clear set of goals for myself too. This is not a strategy document but a time-bound objectives sheet. It is also dynamic though I hope to only add, not delete. These are the explicit objectives and imply many implicit ones.

Work -Move into a new role that's more "happening" and hands on OR move into a new job that's high paying in preferably a different industry - during Sep to Dec

Growth - Continue teaching AND/OR start doing some freelance training - Jan onw

Finances -

• Reduce quarterly average spending on shopping by at least 20% - Jan onw
• Make one more substantial investment amounting to at least Rs. 15000/month, either in property or MFs - by March 09

Health - Get myself in shape. Weight to be kept maintained at 72 kg and at least 12 visits of 30-40 min each to gym per month. - Jan onw

People -

• Focus on Unni, L, D. Regular interactions and take ownership for meeting at least once/fortnight (not being reactive) - Jan onw
• Take responsibility for Bobo pre-school arrangements etc. - Aug
• Complete clarity on direction w/DB. Be on the same page - Feb onw.

Ending the year...

60 kms away from Bangalore, next to an abandoned water reservoir, we pitched our camp at midnight. The night was lit only by the stars above and a torch we carried with us. We set up a tent, lay down the rug and our supplies. A few minutes later, we cut the birthday cake for DB and poured out our drinks. Surrounded by silence and peace, we laughed at silly jokes, sipped our drinks, listened to "jhanak jhanak payal baaje" on the laptop, ate chips-with-dip over candles and exclaimed at the 'surreality' of the experience. It was chilly but not unpleasantly so; it was quiet but not eerily so; it was dark but not scarily so. The company was friendly, but not overly so. It was far, but not too much; we spent quite some time there, but didn't overstay. We laughed, we thought, we felt, we expressed.

Perfect? It came close. Very close.

The haves and have-nots and the final negation of the arguments

I dont have an expensive branded watch, a heavy-duty phone or iPhone, a snazzy TV or music system, a collection of art prints or a series of exotic holidays to my credit.
I have a good collection of clothes, though none from the top-league. I have a collection of jackets that I am happy with and I have a good set of books and movies which reflect my passion.
I dont have an apartment/house to my name and I continue to live in rented premises. I do have a plot of land which I am paying EMI on, but that's not tax friendly as it's a site loan.
I have done up my house well, even when it was small. I always get genuine compliments on my taste from people I trust.
I have not been in IT, where I could make money through onsite projects, or in Sales, where I could make money on commissions and incentives.
I do have a lovely job that I like and my career graph has been to my liking. I am also paid a fair amount as per the field I am in and work with a respected organization. I am also cognizant of where I came from - the kind of salaries we had earlier and how this was a dream. It's real now.
I have led an enjoyable life and never scrimped on going out - spending time with a series of many, lovely friends over several years in good eating and drinking holes.
I continue to have a couple of personal loans on my head but am able to manage expenses reasonably well on a month to month basis. On the basis of the reality a few years ago, I know this is progress.
I don't have a double-income family and probably wont either. That's a constraint on finance.
I do know that if I work harder (visiting faculty, trainer) and smarter (MF investments etc.), I can overcome that constraint to an extent.

And so the argument continues.

At the end of the day....I am happy when my boss tells me I have added value to him; I am sad when I feel I haven't provided enough for Mummy; I am happy when I spend time with Bobo; I am sad when I think about Dolly and what she is going to go through; I am happy when I receive a genuine smile from a loved one; I am sad when I think about the fact that I am balding.

This is what it boils down to.

"hi, long time, how have u been?"

As I look back, I realise that amongst the many many many words on the subject of personal relationships that I have expressed myself on - the connect, the pain, the madness, the love, the comfort, the companionship - the favorite topic is- chemistry! A useful, versatile, nice-sounding word.

Does its versatility extend to the long-distance, online connections? For me, someone who's not a veteran "onliner" but sufficiently networked, yes. The slightly electric feel of the first connection; the unconscious smile on seeing that name appear; the ears of the mind perking up at getting a message, clear or subliminal; the re-digestion and absorption of long conversations; the wondering and the wondering....it's all been there. In many forms...the had-fun-while-it-lasted types like Ankit or Rohan, the mad-online-damp-offline types like Vik, the partly-online-partly-offline types like Sri and sometimes, appropriately rarely, the can-this-be-something types like Am or Gar...

How many people feel this like I do? Are people of certain zodiac signs more sensitive to chemistry, or is it purely individual personality? Is chemistry an end by itself, or rather, can it be? If not followed by deeper physical or emotional interaction, does it keep taut like a wire or start fizzling? Is chemistry the ultimate altar, before which all kneel, including rooted prejudices and so-called moral barriers?

I dont know. I guess I will either think about and discover my thoughts on these questions over a period of time (I don't think the word "answers" can be applied here) or just let this topic lie in my subconscious, taken out and given a dusting for a once-over when someone like an Am comes back and says "hi, long time, where have u been?"

Prague first...

I would have liked to really record my thoughts and impressions as I spent time in these two cities; there was so much to see, absorb, think about, feel, sense in both the places, and mostly positive too! I don't know what stops me from doing so. It's partly the same ol' laziness that has prevented me from doing so much else....and partly, it's also the thought of the wannabe writers springing up behind every door nowdays! I am so apprehensive at being part of this "sea of mediocrity" (as Mr. Mundol used to often say!) that I now shy away from it.

Anyway, this post is about Prague and NY and what I did (in the tradition started by Ms. Katy) -

In Prague...

• Bundled in cafe-owned blankets, or at least clothed in my own jackets, I spent a lot of time sitting in open-air cafes at various times in the evenings (never in the afternoons, I hate the sun), sipping tea or coffee (very good coffee!), the ever-faithful and loving book lying in my lap unread, looking at the stream of gorgeousness passing by (which I 'get' as compared to the consciousness).
• I did the best forearm exercise - take a metal object weighing approx. 150g in your right hand, lift the arm up, hold it there for a few minutes as you steady the hand, press a button with your forefinger and then bring your hand slowly down, bend your head to look at the output, repeat the raise-steady-click-lower routine a few more times until you are satisfied. Do this approximately 20 times a day with objects that provide you aesthetic pleasure (incredible range of architecture in the buildings) and you get the best of both worlds.
• I drank the best beer I have ever had (not that I am an expert or anything), mostly of the dark variety, in all the brands available. My favorite is the one I had with Rajan in the old town square - KRUŠOVICE (I googled it just now!). I also realised the legend is true - water IS more expensive than beer.
• I indulged my fat cells in food too. Ghoulash soup, huge chunks of sausage, unpronouncable-but-delicious dishes, huge soft sandwiches, bowls of yogurt with berries.
• I attended a couple of western classical concerts in old, beautiful churches. The lovely cliche was spoilt by the click-n-flash explosion generated by the tourists around me. I, in a very non-touristy fashion, did not carry a camera or a bag, sat alone and pretended not to notice anything. My imitation would have been spoilt if anyone had actually started a conversation with me about the music. All I could have said was that some of it sounded nice and some of it sounded familiar, and the conductor was very well dressed.
• I walked and walked and tested whether those expensive Geoxx shoes were really worth it. They were. I explored cobbled pathways (to find out that they lead to yet another shop selling "genuine Bohemian crystal"), retraced steps to look at building facades that struck me, revisited cafes and bars that I grew to like, went to multiple shops to find the "mera wala picture" for the bedroom wall, I climbed all the way up (and naturally all the way down) to the Prague castle grounds and basically went out walking whenever I was free.
• I visited a couple of old-fashioned g bars. I didnt know they existed. They had wooden walls, plastic tablecloths (right word?) and served food with drinks (a strict no-no in other bars). They also had friendlier people than the usual sada-hua variety. I guess age mellows them. I fit right in.
• I also had kadai chicken and naan on my first evening in Prague with a middle-aged, boring business lead who had nothing to say except office politics and who I don't particularly like. I put it down as a "work obligation" and will forever count it as one of my sacrifices.
• I also had a reasonably good time with Sid (though he's very very choon and a vegetarian and doesn't drink much and refused to be photographed even once). We visited a Brit g pub and gave polite smiles; we walked around at midnight looking for veg food that wasn't McD (I refused, period.); we ate Haagen Daaz ice cream on the pretty pretty St Charles bridge at a freezing midnight hour; we baited, caught and released a drunk German at 3 am; we exchanged numerous insults on our respective dressing sense; we climbed the Prague TV tower and looked out at views of the city.

Tools

Isn't it strange that over the years one gains so much capability in practically everything in life. but the basics - how do u deal with love/pain/depression/grief - still elude us. Not the most sparkling of original thoughts, I know, but relevant to what I am thinking/feeling right now.

I am getting into a low phase. The trigger was a 2 minute chat with a not-so-close friend, the (unintentional?) sharpness of whom took my breath away. But the overall "lowness" is probably a combination of many things. Physical downturn, general "cycle of life", Dolly's news, other worries about events coming up (people moving in/out).

I couldn't immerse myself in work. Nothing that interesting to immerse myself in, anyway. I ignored work and sank into a PG Wodehouse, armed with a chocolate. Didn't work. Chatted with a couple of close friends, felt slightly better but not much. Will now go to gym. Dont think that will help much, but will try. I think an evening out on movies is the best option. Will try and organize that. It will take the edge off.

Musings on an airplane

An elderly gentleman with his wife just passed my seat. He could barely walk, stooped and supported by his wife. I offered to help and she declined with a quiet smile. Another passenger in front of me was more sensible, he didn’t ask, he just took hold of the elderly man’s hand and guided him forward. The reason why this affects me more than normal is that I can picture daddy and mummy going through the same just a decade ago.

Coincidentally I happen to be watching a movie about a man who, at the age of 42, suddenly realizes his life is “boring”, that he’s not alive and proceeds to be brutally frank with his family and friends, brutal being the operative word. As of this moment, he’s gone to meet his father with whom he seems to have had a dysfunctional relationship.

I am not sure how the two are connected and don’t really care to articulate it either; I am not writing something to be published. What I do know is that both make me feel. A sense of regret, sadness…or maybe just pensiveness.

There’s so much pain in each of one of us. There’s so much pain in our loved ones. What’s “being alive” as opposed to be being just “tragic”? Why are we passive in our relationship with people? What’s this man thinking, that he’s left his wife and children in confusion and sadness, as he figures out his own self? What was I thinking, paying more attention to my own issues with daddy than to his excruciating physical (and, in hindsight, emotional) pain?

I have just returned from a 2 week trip to Prague and a week’s vacation in New York. At this moment, I am tired and a little unwell (not to mention bankrupt), but overall happy and cool. Tomorrow I could be, let’s change that to “will not be”, not. There will be pain. And confusion. And craziness. Physical discomfort. Embarrassments. To use an old-fashioned term, adversity.

Sometimes, even in the middle of a good time, it’s important to remember that. It’s the intellectual equivalent of making sure that you say your bedtime prayers regularly.

Time passes by...fast!

I spend a fair amount of time online so I wonder why I don't blog more...I guess writing requires dedicated, clear thought and I have a feeling that I have been less than adequately equipped with both dedication and clarity recently :) Anyway, the past few weeks have just flown by in a fuzzy sense of madness, emotion, celebration and exhaustion.

I started teaching in Aug (did I post about this yet?) and it's been an interesting experience so far. Like most much-anticipated activities, this hasn't turned out the way I expected it to be, but that's not to say it's any lesser....I am teaching a pre-determined university syllabus (filled with archaic topics!) of a subject I am not very fond of (compensation!) to a 40-strong group of not-very-strong-or-skilled students in an environment that can be described as strictly average. BUT I am making a difference, and that's what was the driver behind this anyway. My classes are on Friday and Saturday and necessitate me taking some hours off from work...but I make up for it in other ways. It will probably get a bit too hectic sometimes, esp. if there are weekend trip plans...but I know I will need to work around it, because this is something I want to do or at least try fully.

I also moved into the new place...seven days of pre and post-shifting activity that was exhausting and irritating, but necessary. I made long to-do lists and taped them on my wardrobe door, checking them off as they got done (some still lie unticked, like the bean bag that never came back!!). I made and re-made and re-made some more the budgets for the coming months...trying to balance the inflow and outflow (that seemed gigantic by comparison, oh lord, why do i earn so less!!). I displayed nothing short of superlative irritable/crotchety behavior towards everyone in general, but mostly towards DB, that has made impressions that will not wear off in a hurry. I also didn't indulge in much physical hard work and yet stopped exercising thanks to the hectic schedule, leading to more accumulation of inches and providing me with the belly of (alleged) prosperity. At the end of it all, I now reside in an apartment that's big, airy, clean, convenient, tastefully done up but doesn't have the coolness n character quotient of my previous one. Whatever. I am now sitting on a roomy balcony and typing away to glory in an atmosphere of near-silence, something that wasn't possible there. Of course, neither do I have leafy green trees to look at or a cool breeze to enjoy. So typical of life.

I had a wonderful short vacation, thanks to the symbolically significant first birthday of Bobo and my 30th birthday. That I consider the former to be a cause for celebration and the latter a cause for depression is a separate matter, but we all (Dhaka, Delhi n Mau) converged in Vedic Village for 3.5 days of revelry (as much of it as one can have with two toddlers!) on Aug 21. The start was rocky (bad rooms got allotted initially, Bobo was upset with our intrusive behavior) but things got sorted out and we actually managed to have a very decent amount of fun for the next few days (except Dolly n Mummy to an extent, as they had to contend with an ill-Bobo). Lavish rooms (villas actually, and I forgot to the take a snap of the bedroom-sized bathroom with a sunken bath and an open-air shower!), well appointed resort, loads n loads of greenery (with snakes provided with compliments of Mother Nature), cake from Flurys (the monetary cost of which, combined with the cost of Dolly's effort in getting in there, probably made one of the most expensive cakes ever consumed), champagne (drunk in normal water glasses, since the resort mgmt reneged at the last moment, bloody creeps!), constant flow of good food n drinks (and if the villas took 3 months off Anjan's annual salary, this took the bonus!), lazyboy/massage chairs (don't know what they are actually called) in each room, reasonable amount of independence to spend the days as you wished (faced with a grand total of 5 choices - sleep/ eat-drink/ swim/ spend-time-with-baby/ vegetate) and a heterogeneous group that managed to get along pretty well....all of it added up to pretty much the type of celebratory holiday we were aiming for! (marred by a highly uncomfortable and painful return trip for Dolly/Anjan/Mummy though)

So, well...that was the last big activity...came back and resumed life...a bit hectic (and a little frustrating) at work but have just completed a typical full weekend composed of classes (tiring, but nice), dentist (painful), shopping (a phone that's stylish - nice - and expensive - not nice), lunch (good but ended up giving me loosies), movie (wall e - very very cute n nice n thought provoking), another movie (rock on - really good) and a sunday that was lazy and beautiful :)

Another week is about to start...but there's stuff to look forward to and agonise about in the coming few weeks - my performance mgmt process....my possible prague trip (for which the visa still hasn't come!!)...dolly/mummy's arrival...so I have a feeling there's going to be another post probably around mid-Oct. Unless of course, I am struck by something provoking enough to make me log on and write again :)

To-do list for the next 4 months

> Move house (already in progress, to be done in Aug)
> Start going as guest/visiting faculty for BBA/MBA classes somewhere (effort started....fingers crossed)
> Instal an SIP (I actually know what this means. I also know the rates/sq feet for flats in different parts of the city. God help me....soon I will be talking about engines of cars and tax deduction policies. Sigh)
> Get sanity back into my life

Less than myself

I have been meaning to sit down and blog for several days now. The trigger each day is different.

A few days ago I returned from my Hyd trip, and what an amazing break it was. D and I did exactly what we love to do - a road trip and many movies (on separate days of course!). I do so want to record the details of those days...the long drives on mostly good roads, the monuments and ruins with interesting histories, the villages and the intermingling of cultures and the eager children who would run after us and show us around, the usually bad food punctuated by surprising authentic Punjabi and Rajasthani meals, the movie marathon, the laziness...all of it.

And then, in direct contrast, there's L. A sudden absence in my life, future unknown. I want to explore my reaction to this - the thoughts and the emotions and the roots of that emotion. I want to explore the issue as well as the trigger and figure out if I can make sense.

The thought of the near future occupies my days - the prospective travel, the shifting, the purchases, the expenses, the possibilities, the risks, the settling down....how am I going to pull this all together?? I want to think that through.

If my future occupies my day thoughts, the sub conscious is most certainly reserved for family. I know the pressure and near-depression that Dolly's going through; I know the sense of pressure & frustration that Anjan would be feeling; I know how helpless and sad Mummy would be. All of us want the same thing; we also know that the right things happen at the right time and so we should not get down...yet it still rankles, the uncertainty irritates and upsets and in the meanwhile, you keep calculating the days/weeks until your next meeting.

In the meanwhile, work goes from 0 to 0.5 in the indifference index. Things hang in limbo...there's a little more clarity but not much action. I am not getting what I wanted from this role...yet am unable to give it up because of what it has given. How silly is that...and how contradictory to my normal style of functioning.

And that, of course, brings me to that eternal question - have I compromised on myself? Have I traded in for someone lesser? Or have I just been fooling others all this while? This me - the irritable, snappy me - is it really me???

What's cause, what's effect? What role does DB play here? Is he the victim of my troubled soul or a contributor to it or probably both? Even if both, is it his fault? Unintentionally, yes. Intentionally, no. So, by the logic of my usually just and controllable mind, he shouldn't be at the receiving end. But he is. And that hurts me as much as it does him.

So well...these are the things that flow through the mind as I eat, sleep, gym, work, drive etc. etc. The only time I am a little at peace is when I am absorbed in a good book or movie - what a blessing they are!

Ideally this blog should have been a full fledged exploration...this listing is something I do daily in my mind, so it's not really helpful. But maybe someday later, it will remind me of myself in a weak moment, a mirror to a point in time when I felt less than myself.