Benchmarks

I had forgotten about an early meeting scheduled at office the other day and was running late. Had to take a cab intstead of the Mass Rapid Transit. While the traffic flow was mostly smooth throughout, there was a brief jam near a fly-over which acts as kinda bottleneck during the rush hour. Being from India and having lived in Bombay, this brief speed breaker to the 90kmph cruise hardly perturbed me. To my amusement however, the cab driver was visibly irritated. A tad angry even. He was cursing away to glory. The reckless drivers, the shoddy infrastructure and of course the Govt of Singapore. I never mock at my country. India is truly a great nation with remarkable diversity...you know the story. But as a benevolent human being it was my responsibility to spare my cab driver any further misery. When I told him that traffic jams in India actually force you to a complete halt at times and that the stretch we expected to cover in 30 mins in spite of the jam could take one close to 90 minutes in Bombay, he almost jumped on his seat. Even after my earnest efforts, I am not sure if he was convinced I was telling the truth. At least he did not sulk as much for the rest of the journey.

Different countries. Different benchmarks.

Rebirth

people often say that in spite of their failures, if given the chance, they would like to be reborn as themselves and live their life all over again. exactly the same way as they have. that's supposed to be a hep thing to say. but i find it drab. ok. so you have led a very exciting life so far. you have fallen and fallen again. but picked yourself up each time and walked even faster. not a moment of your life has been dull. but why do you want to have the same experience you have already had? why not try something new? life is short they say. too short for the innumerable permutations of fate that could potentially be sprung upon us. what is, is just a small sample of what could be. if given a chance to be born again wouldn't you like to soak in life a little more? experience what it is like to belong to another country, another race, another profession or even the other gender?

Lovers

We are still lovers and you know it. Everyday in our musings, in our silent contemplations, we meet and hold hands. Things have changed of course. Or have they? We talk on the phone without speaking a word. We chat endlessly without typing more than letter or two. The simmering passion, the silent desire just wont let us be. I know I have wronged you. I am everything you lost and you wont forgive me. We are still lovers and you wont forgive me.

picture abhi baaki hai dost. 'The End' accha hi hoga

singapore is a nice place to be in. very organized and systematic. one of the very few developed countries in asia. its asia's own land of dreams. our very own US of A. while this might augur well for my career in future, I would nevertheless miss india. in being too organized this place is also very predictable. it takes the charm out of life. different from a place like bombay. where each day brings with it newer challenges. from travelling in the local train to braving the july rains. to see people battle against all odds and live on, inspires even the laziest of persons to get moving. bombay is a city with a pulse. singapore, on the other hand, is plastic and staid. even the weather here remains the same throughout the year. imagine a place without seasons!! no summer or winter or spring! every thing has a flip side. so i ll take the package. but yes, ll always miss india. the familiar sights, sounds and smells. even the dirt and the filth. and of course ghar ka khana and street cuisine. miss the mutton stew and the tandoori kebab.
adjusting to the infrastructure and the system here is pretty easy. everything is user friendly and lucidly explained. there is even a website maintained by the government which provides you the exact location of any address you provide. GPS enables you to provide the exact route to any destination. internet is really fast. broadband is a norm. every place is air conditioned. home, office, taxis, metro, shopping centres. it's pretty comfortable. so that way adjusting is not dificult. of course i miss all of you. with time i ll develop a social circle. but still i ll miss you.

when i was a boy, still learning to be a man, I wished I could live the life of my dreams with the person I love, doing a job I covet in a place I like. I dont know if i have achieved any of these or ll ever achieve them all. I have gained so much and lost so much more in the past few years that i have stopped keeping count. but with my limited experience i know thats how life goes on. we have places, we have people, we have wonderful bondings, but everything has its time. its important to learn from them all and move on. thanks to my parents and some special friends, i have learnt to go through the labyrinthe of life and yet enjoy the 'artwork' on the walls.

things that were...

this is long overdue.

I

i still vividly remember my first day at ximb. had moved in the night prior. woke up to a lovely morning the next day. the premonition of a new experience. the promise of a new future. an exhilerating chapter of my life was about to begin. i knew my room neighbours were already there. as i was standing on the corridor outside my room soaking in the morning, just about to light a cigarette. i saw this queer looking person. still not fully awake. expressionless face. " hey good...so you smoke. lend me a light". the first words spoken between two persons who would have a world to talk about in the next two years. this was Saby.

i returned from lunch to find the-guy-i-shared-a-smoke-with unpacking and getting his room in order. i had a cursory glance at another person who clearly did not belong to our block. i had no inkling of the meaning these two people would bring about in my life in the months to come.

october brought with it the first long holidays at ximb. the north east trip in the winter of 2006 was short but seducing. i didnt miss home during the seven days i spent at Saby's place at guwahati. the infatuation with the quaint mountains, the sparkling streams and the mighty brahmaputra was instantaneous. i knew i had to return. foreplay was not enough. i needed to go all the way.

II

time went by and the romance of the north east became a distant memory. meanwhile life went on. personal turmoil brought along with it some degree of self realization. the freshmen were welcomed with aplomb the next year. new relationships were forged and some old bridges broken. workload increased. second year was serious business. but then Xpressions came along and brought with it a wave of euphoria. the JLTs of course were unforgettable. soon enough placement season beckoned and the preoccupation with our career took precedence over everything. we slogged and we celebrated.
everyday brought joys. everyday brought tears. an eventful fortnight later everyone was placed. some were happy and some were not. but the relief was palpable. after five terms of struggles and trials sixth term was a breeze.

the ordeal over, we geared up for maxinations. spirits ran high. tempers flew. fierce competition ensued with events culminating in a poetic justice. C Block won. no tangible reward. no resume value. just a shield. and the experinece of a lifetime.

the convocation ceremony came and went. we were officially proclaimed MBAs. confirmed mercenaries. finally it all ended. end of a journey. end of a chapter. a few great tunes. a few discordant notes. but a symphony nevertheless.

III

north east was beckoning. i had to be back. the promise had to be kept.

the trip was planned long back. we had waited. hearts pregnant with expectation. as we saw group after group go for trip after trip. in retrospect, it was worth the wait. down to every second. the twelve days i spent there were without parallel. we trekked through unknown paths, got drenched in cherrapunji, sang hymns in the tranquil rumtek, rode on yaks, walked on frozen lakes and went 14000 feet up into the lap of himalayas. it was freezing to the bones. senews revolted. each breath was a struggle as we climbed hills and ran through the snow. But there was pervading peace. like i had never felt before. for a few moments i sensed liberation. in the true sense. a perfect sunrise at tiger hills, spectacular sights of tea gardens and the breathtaking kaziranga completed the dream. elephants and rhinos are always a spectacular sight. seeing them at the zoos, calm and stately, is one thing. watching a rhino charge at you from close quarters or hundreds of wild elephants frolicking in gay abandon is quite another. i have not been to kashmir. this was heaven for me.

IV

it was time to say goodbye. to a great support and trusted confidant. as i was riding the autorickshaw to the airport, the memories of the last two years came rushing back. in a sweeping tide. the first beer. the night long assignments. the cricket tournaments. getting drunk and getting stoned. the philosophies and the bitching. the four of us and the unforgettable moments. bike rides. sleeping on the highways. midnight escapades. standing by each other. through thick and through thin. blood, soil, tears and sweat.

V

i had fallen out with Saby. we had not spoken a word to each other the last day. yet there were no apologies. just an embrace. we both knew everything was forgiven. that is why we are best friends.

VI

i wonder now. will these days ever return? it is perhaps better to remember the things that were than brood over things that aren't.

metals

once upon a time there were two pieces of metal - A and B. stuck to each other. they had been in this state for quite some time. over time they manged to attract a few more pieces of metal which came and stuck to them. until one day, when due to some unkown force, they were torn apart from one other. of course a little later they again came back together. but there was a twist this time. B had stayed back a little longer. when it was coming back, expecting a happy reunion, it had a detour to make due to some urgent matter that needed its attention. it was then, due to this quirk of fate that B had a sudden realization. when it approched A and the others, it expected the others to come forward and welcome it back to the pack. but alas! they just remained clinging to A like willing stooges. feeling awkward, B retraced its steps and thought about this strange phenomenon. then, in a flash, like the one in which newton had discovered gravity, it realized what it hadn't all this while. A was a magnet and B was just an ordinary piece of scrap metal. it had its strength and charisma only when it was with A. but A and the others had no real use of B.

the story however, doesn't end here. B was obviously shaken by the experience. so it thought and thought hard until an idea came up. it had heard of these strange fellows called 'coil and 'electricity'. queer characters both. one was so convoluted that it could see its own ass in front of it nd the other was invisible. in any case B knew what it wanted. it slid itself inside the coil and asked electricity to flow through the coil. they were both puzzled but followed B's directions. bingo! soon enough they attracted more scraps of metal than A ever could. however none could do this without the others. everyone was important in the scheme of things. B was happy now. so were the others.

insights out of boredom

i know its been a long time since i last wrote something here and you have been dying to read the next post. so before it gets too late and you decide to bother your neighbourhood chemist for an extra large strip of sleeping pills let me scribble something.

the last few months have been eventful. would love to write about that. but that will have to wait. for the moment let's move on to more pressing matters.

of late life has become too idyllic. its not your regular mini break from a hectic schedule. its the quintessence of laziness. the kind when you sleep, watch a movie, sleep some more and then watch another movie. when you masturbate even if your girlfriend lives next door. just because the phone is out the reach of your outstreched hand.

lying on your bed the whole day can be really boring. so i decided do something to make the laziness interesting and productive. following that flash of inspiration i attempted a few experiments, read a few books and watched a few movies. here are a few random observations/impirical results born out of this novel experience.

- an atrocious haircut is the safest way to get universal attention.

- it is possible to survive for at least 4 days on just fruit juice without feelin hunger
pangs.

- it is risky to consume more than 4 pegs of vodka with an empty stomach.

- people have remarkably varying degrees of patience.

- vikram chandra's 'sacred games' is a boring read. cliched themes and amateurish writing disastrously consumate to produce an autistic child of a book which impresses only with its huge cast.

- 'as good as it gets' is a movie you can watch over and over again. its like a fresh cup of tea in the morning. never ceasing to be refreshing. the romance is subtle and understated. like the pinch of sugar in that cup of tea. adding to the taste without offending your taste buds.

- 'charlie wilson's war' is one clever satire. entertains you. doesn't preach. yet gets the message through. potently at that. on top of that the shapely (to put it mildly) women in the movie add to the 'uplifting' experience.

- 'juno' is a cute movie, but a clear misfit in the oscar nominees list. the background score is cool though.

- the lastest season of 'lost' is a ludicrous attempt at stretching an already overstrecthed concept. 'prison break' continues to impress though.

so much for now. cheers. have a nice day.

well...hmm...ahh...errr

Women Enpowerment? Duh!

The twitching of my eye is invariably a premontion of an impending shock. Hence my queer eyelids in the morning the other day told me something is amiss. Soon enough I got a call from one of my closest friends. I didnt know someone could be terrified and angry until I heard her that day. She was terrified because she was struggling to save her marriage after her husband apparently discovered that she had an 'affair' before tying the knot; and angry because she felt she was a victim of 'gender dscrimination'. "Hello! Did you say gender discrimination?" I didn't quite get her. "Yes puzzle-head", pat came her reply. "Do you think I would have been in such a predicament if I were not of the fairer sex? The few innocuous dates that are now termed as an 'affair' would probably have been magnified and glorified as a medallion of male verility. The person who coined the phrase M-C-P was a prophet I guess."

We have seen the issue of gender bias and gender discrimination both extensively debated and glossed over. Is it really an issue or just a convenient topic for coffee table discussions? Though things are changing fast problems still remain. Glass ceilings still exist. Albeit at a subtler level. May it be in the form of the indiscreet innuendoes passed at the girl who 'switched' boyfriends at college or the corporate star performer who was passed over because a pretty face seemed incongruous in a board room - gender discrimination can have several manifestations.


The discrimation starts right from her childhood when she is expected to play wth a doll while her brother shoots away to glory with a mock machine gun. As she enters her teens the curfew is a little more stringent for her and her friends are a little more scrutinized. Further along the timeline her demeanour is monitored and so are her clothes. Eventually she is expected to marry 'into' the groom's house and practise chastity if her husband passes away before she does. All this might seem a little blown up. It probably is to some extent. But just to push the idea through. The fight against gender discrimination and several other maladies makes imperative the fight against our prejudices and a change in the way impressionable minds are taught.

What we have been doing all these years - through reservations for women, waves of feminism and greivance forums for women - is providing symptomatic treatment to the problem. It is like trying to straigten a crumpled piece of paper. However well we might be able to do it the scars will still remain. What we need to do is recycle the paper into a fresh one. The process will take time. But we are not facing any apocalypse. We don't need shortcuts. Let the change be gradual. But lasting.

To be or Not to be

Whether to lead a quiet, contended life of solitude or to take a plunge into the mysterious flux of relationships...
Even a life of solitude has its share of 'being on the edge' thrills, but being in a relationship might just force you onto a razor's edge. No safe ground you can run to when you are fatigued and can take no more.

You decide to take the plunge.

Left with the single piece of cloth of your relationship,you desperately hope the threads would hold on, potecting your pride. The vest of your secrets, the underpants of your independence have dissolved in the solvent of overflowing emotions. But you dont care.

Feeling safe inside the fashionbale veneer you venture into the public plaza showing off your new attire. You revel under the admiration and fall into a trance. Too stoned to notice the admiring smiles turn into disparaging sneers.
How did the fabric loosen? Is that your skin showing through? You run. The jeering crowd follows. There is nowhere to hide. No safehouses left. What happened to the bunch of keys you are carrying. They won't open the locks they were supposed to. They are old..those darned locks. Rusted, clogged. Due to lack of attention. You forgot to oil them. Didn't you? So obsessed were you with your new dress. You find yourself naked; the crowd is closing in on you. You make up your mind and prepare yourself. To be molested, skinned and tortured.

Your eyes twitch and close involuntarily.

Just when the noises draw close you find yourself crarried away..by an invisible man. Onto a higher plane. To comfort and safety. The ol'faithful. He came. Didn't he? The forgotten one though he is, you are his progeny.

Back in the safety of solitude you shrug it off as just another nightmare. And start shopping again. For yet another fashion statement...

Of Guitar Lessons and Urban Ghettos

A friend of mine wanted to learn guitar. He comes from a fairly 'respectable' and 'well-educated' family. There were two options before him. He could learn it from a very talented maverick residing in a shady red light district for 5 grands or from a popular teacher in an affluent neighborhood for 10 grands. He chose, as most of us probably would have, the second option. No one overtly influenced him. But did he take the decision himself? Or was it, in some way, taken for him? Does a certain collective entity - faceless, nameless & memetic - often serve as the proxy for individualism?

Some weeks back I was chatting with an aquaintance in Bombay. I told him that I was living near Crawford Market. Pat came the response - "Oh! The inner Fort area..isn't it? That's a veritable mini Pakistan...lol."
There is another friend who stays near Bombay Central. The other night we were having dinner together and it was getting a little late. She told me she had to return fast..."I have to pass through a predominantly Muslim area before reaching my place. You know...it's so unsafe.."
Racial discrimination, Religious segregation, Urban ghettos....seem to be chapters from the history book. Do they have a place in the 21st century? Apparently not. Are they only the fanatics - a miniscule minority- who fan such chauvanistic emotions? That's one of the biggest myths of our times. Beneath the swanky buildings and fancy cars of the modern cities, camouflaged by the guard of cosmopolitanism, there is an unsavoury underbelly. Urban ghettos all over the world testify to the fact that even the educated elite house archaic stereotypes in their minds about other religions, castes or races. It has just become unfashionable to openly speak about them. But as they say...fashion has an odd way of turning itself around...

longing

the voice, the touch, the fights, the passion, the misunderstandings, the explanations...
the walks in moonlit nights...the moments of silent intimacy, the world through the eyes of each other
the cute little drawings we made, the songs we sang....i miss everything about you... everything that we did together
i still hope you'll come back....all the dreams we saw would come true....i'm willing to be everything that you wanted me to be..and more
it may remain just a hope after all...your hand on mine...but it's at least something to live for
my trust in our love...and in you...may it spark forever

rumblings of a bored soul...

what the heck im doin? writing blogs when i should be studying the weiner processes and a recovery rate model. sounds like some esoteric disease and its treatment. i feel like such a nerd...studying finance - something i have as much aptitude for as paris hilton has for rocket science. still i come to office everyday...study the documents dilligently..and eventually may even manage to churn out a decent report. but doesnt it suck? doing something you dont want to...and having to pretend how you love it more than your first orgasmic experience. but who am i complaining to? is that not what i have always done? trying to fix blame on someone else whenever i have f****d up my own life? now why do i have to blank out the four letters from that word? dats what one does to avoid censorship from the venerable moderators who often use smart little software tools to scan for 'bad' words but whose smartness is defied by the armour of asteriks. doesn't really make sense. does it? what purpose does it solve? as if people wouldnt know what word is that. if they wouldnt why the f**k should i mention the word at all? but it is a practice, a custom. customs are like that. you follow them even if they dont make sense. in fact thats why they are made...to save you the effort of makin sense of a whole lot of things so that perhaps you can put your sense to some more lofted cause. im staring at the screen so intently my guide thinks im deep in work. all im thinking about is which movie to watch after returning back from here...i have exhausted all the 60 movies i had brought along on my hard disk. wondering what new place to explore in bombay. last evening was great. the sound of jazz is still ringing in my ears. soul fry casa is heaven on earth. this city never ceases to amaze. the hairscape of the department head is intriguing too. there is this broad superhighway running along his scalp. but a few strands have been spared right in front. like a lone tree in the midst of the saharan desert. freak of nature. there is this another person in the department whose biggest frustration is probably that he is tucked away in a corner cubicle while even his junior collegues are smarting inside cosy cabins. he lets that out by shouting his way to glory all day long. if all people in the department start following his lead, auditors may just have to sit in the lobby and monitor the entire proceedings through the day. such queer characters. not that im any less queer. looking absorbed in work...but writing meaningless stuff hardly anyone would care to read. but its fun. meaningless stuff are like that. fun..more often than not. like dancing the night through at a disc. the other night i was at this hip and happening place - voted the best nightclub in bombay (as we were constantly reminded by dj akeel); the place is called poison. what a name! good heavens. for a moment i thought akeel was actually a snake lurking in the dark corridors which would spring on you if you happen to gawk at a girl a little too often. had to be a cool place though. packed like the local train on monday morning. even as the protruding parts of your body are under permanent encroachment, you are head over heels to get to the bar counter to order a drink that is likely to cost you a grand. being hep is like that. either put up with it and conquer the style frontiers or be perpetually labled a fashion-retard. its another matter that the diffence between the two is the same as that between a kingfisher and a peroni. all beers taste practically the same. dont they? the label decides the price. and the price decides the class. the class of course decides the customer. the purpose is to differentiate - the rich from the middle class, the fashionable from the nerds...This need to differentiate is key to human nature. almost intrinsic. we work harder to earn a better salary to be able to dine at a better restaurant, own a better car, sport a better address and wear smarter clothes which would impress a better girl and eventually lead to a life that appears more gilted than most others. all to invite better reviews from the faceless millions around us we call the society. so much for individualism. im of course not sayin that discs are bad. hell no....its close to 4.30 and i have been at my desk for some 3 hours now. i ll cut the ordeal short for you if at all you have managed to read though the post...time to catch a fag (dont raise ur eyebrows...i just mean a cig)...adios

Yeh Hai Bombay Meri Jaan

As the plane touched down, I went into a small reverie....couldn't help thinking that I was about to join my first paying job...albeit for two months. I had of course expected Bombay to be a busy city. So I lighted a cigarette and nested myself in the taxi seat expecting a long journey. After spending more time in the cab than I had done in the plane...I arrived near a shabby row of shops selling leather goods and assorted utensils. This, I was told, was the Crawford Market...and I had thought it would be the CP of Bombay! The hotel looked unassuming to say the least; but the rooms were pretty decent for the price tag they sported.

I had a much needed sound sleep through the night and woke up fresh on Sunday morning. After trudging the streets of the Victorian Fort Area...I and my roommate decided to try out the posh neighbourhood of Colaba and locate our office too. Tall residential apartments and office buildings characterized the business district of Bombay. But a rustic touch was omnipresent. The buildings were far from being the architectural wonders one would find in Nuevo-Modern third world cities like Shanghai. We found our office in a sky scraper in Cuffe parade at the tip of the peninsula. Together with Nariman Point this area is our very own Manhattan...but as a photo-essayist mentioned...with a fishing village attached. The coastline here is at the mercy of the Colaba fishermen. The slums dotting the sea front against the backdrop of the sky risers are a blunt rejoinder to the realities of the developing India. It is hard to say which one of these dwarfs the other.

A week of luxurious stay later, we moved to a modest hostel near Byculla. Of all things, we had least expected deafening traffic noise and irritating bed bugs would top the list of our problems through the month. Eventually we managed to shift to the hostel of St Xavier College. In spite of the late night curfew, it is a peaceful place to be in.

Having stayed at different locations and looked for accommodations almost everywhere around south Bombay, we were a little more privy to the idiosyncrasies of the place than your average back packer would be. The down-market eating joints found in almost every street are so similar in architecture, decor and taste of food, they could teach a lesson or two in standardization to the KFCs n SUBWAYs of the world. It was amazing to see how buildings were put to multiple uses - all during the span of a single day. For example, the extreme end of Crawford market is a stinking broiler wholesale house in the morning, a fragrant flower market in the evening and a repository of leather goods later in the night. Pavements in Bombay, of course, are not just mere walkways. Fashion Street near Colaba and the linking road footpath market in Bandra are sprawling enterprises on pavements. The double-decker buses and the horse driven carts are some of the relics of the yore.
Thanks to Harvard, the Dabbawallas of course are legends.

Amidst all the filth and the smoke, the Marine Drive brings in a whiff of fresh air, literally. The cool ocean breeze and the beautiful Queen’s Necklace would force even the stone-hearted into romantic contemplation.

In Bombay, beauty often comes with flaws. On the pavements and railway platforms, it isn't shocking to see a homeless person lying collapsed from drunkenness or hunger. Amidst spank structures, it is not uncommon to see a dilapidated apartment worth well over Rs 50,000 in rent.

After traveling in cabs for a couple of days and realizing how painfully slow and prohibitively expensive they were, we had to take the recourse of that ubiquitous symbol of the Bombay bourgeoisie - the local train. It is the cheapest, the fastest and the most reliable form of transport in this overcrowded sardine-box of a city. At first sight, one would be almost offended by the veritable sea of people near VT and Churchgate. The mad rush during the peak hours is unbelievable. But getting used to it is the only option for the majority of the teeming millions here.

Bombay lives on with the proverbial heartbeat of its stressed-out workers. Life is difficult here. But it is exciting too. One can't help noticing the contrasts, the contradictions - the old and the new, the high rises and the slums, the stink and the fragrance, the gilt surface and the rotting underbelly. But people still come into the city in alarming numbers; perhaps because it is one of the few places in the country where individualism gets rewarded. The common thread that runs through all in the city is the quest for survival and success. The poor desperately trying to make both ends meet, the common man haplessly going about his daily routine, the multimillionaire looking for his next venture, the stock broker following every crest and trough of the Sensex curve, the aspiring actor looking for his lucky break or even the page 3ite crane-eyed for the obliging scribe - no one rests in this city. Bombay is a great leveler. It has some poignant words written on its walls - No matter how rich or privileged you are, put your feet firmly on the ground. It puts you on a balloon but keeps the pin.

In spite of its flaws, it is impossible to write off Bombay. The highest shrine of enterprise in the country, it gives everyone a chance. It forces you to work hard but also allows you to party harder. It grows on you. Your wallet may well become light enough so it could fly but the smile is seldom robbed off your face.

Here, nothing is simple. Every story has two facets. It is hard to not overanalyze such a complex environment. It is hard not to see Bombay in a national and global perspective. It is hard, especially with politics on the mind, not to see every image in light of economic and social policy, to eye its complexities at face value. For a young intern and aspiring manager, a pilgrimage to Bombay offers a chance to - pardon the platitude - grow.

The Tempest

Its so calm outside...the storm brewing inside me seems incongruous...the entire span of my life is dwarfed by the goings on in the past one year. It's quite an experience to face snow and scorching sand at the same place. Almost organsmic pleasure to emotionally shattering moments....I hve seen them all... At times the boundaries in time became so fudgy that it was almost like living a dichotomous roller coster. At XIMB, I have gained friendships to last a lifetime, fallen in love (literally!) and recovered. Above all, I have altered the course of my life.

After nurturing the dream of persuing Masters in soild state physics for the better part pf my engineering, my joining an MBA course was more of a travesty than a choice. It took me quite some time to come to terms with something which I believed I was not cut out for. MBA seemed to be a delightful distraction...a sinful indulgence....I felt like having an extended holiday....until the rigours of the course finally put me firmly on the ground.

The striking new addition to my life after coming to XIMB was the almost unlimited freedom....and with it the urge to try everything at least once. The subjects were demanding....but the temptations were stronger. Midnight escapades became common, intoxication came in different forms and cupid became an eager teacher. With time, however, the gilt faded from the scheme of things...mellowed thoughts set in and I realised the need for moderation.

To echo Amundsen, nobody has probably stood at a spot so diametrically opposite to his original ambitions....But had Amundsen been to the North Pole, he wouldn't probably have been any more famous.

At the end of the day I would thank the cosmic conspiracy that made it all possible....'coz in the midst of this tempest I have at least read myself better...emerged stronger and better armoured....

The City of Joy

I had been to Calcutta to take the GRE. This was my second visit to the place. My stay was a short one. I decided to spend whatever time time i had in the streets of calcutta.

I have been to several big cities. But Cal is different. It shocking and even repelling..but intriguing too. The stinking dumps of waste in the heart of the city, the roads overflowing with traffic, the air polluted with vehicular pollution almost make you cringe. But I couldn't help but marvel at the sheer range of activities taking place around me. I found all kind of vehicles plying on the roads...luxury sedans, vintage models, buses, trucks, garbage carts, a sea of cabs and the veritable trademarks of the grand old city...the rickety trams and the hand-pulled rickshaws. Each square inch of the busy thoroughfares was utilised.

The footpaths, apparently, were home to myriad vocations. Make-shift ateries serving meals to people seated facing the walls present a unique sight. Assorted items are sold - starting from hairpins to electronic gadgets. I was walking down one such footpath, on my way to college street, with a hung head (you have to look down lest you fall pray to one of the countless knolls and dells). When I looked up, I was stratled to see a man flashing a wide grin at me. But as I found out to my fascination, he was having his teeth polished. The enterprising individuals offering the service were also skilled at cleaning ears and picking lice, as I discovered a few yards ahead.

As most people know, College Street is a treasure trove of books - particularly used ones. I stopped at one shop and strated browsing the books assuming that the shopkeeper wouldn't know about the ones I was looking for. But as I was clearly not making any headway, the guy smiled and asked me what was I looking for. I mentioned a few authors and titles, almost expecting a frown from him. But to my utter surprise he got me a dozen books in a jiffy. Seraching for Kafka, Camus, Vonnegut, Marquez, Keneally, Steinbeck...? Looking for obscure titles? You mention them and chances are they will get you the books.
As I prepared to board a cab to the station, I couldn't help have more than just a fleeting glace at the Indian Coffee House - supposedly the cradle of intellect that the city's congoscenti frequent.

I still don't know whether I love or hate calcutta, but the city of contradictions certainly put me under a spell.

How Kavya got charmed, got wooly and got the boos

Kavya Viswanathan's seems to be a plain case of a plagiarist trying to strike it big. But there is more than meets a wary eye.

Book writing and publishing, apart from being an exercise in creativity and intellect, is also a lucrative business proposition. Like any other business proposition in America, it has been put through the scanner by scores of entrepreneurs to look for hidden udders that can deliver the ever elusive extra moolah. As an innovative result of these efforts, a third layer (apart from writers and publishers) has taken birth, got organized and mature. This layer is the interface (read middlemen) between the writers and publishers. These agents get the material mostly from relatively unknown, first-time writers. If they find some promising stuff (read potential money-spinner) they turn it over to the publishers. All for a fee of course.

The system works fine unless some smartass editor employed by an interface company decides to over-exert herself, as happened in Kavya's case. The same interface firm that Kavya employed had also reprented the author who was the victim of the plagiarism effort. The coincidence doesn't stop here. The same person edited both the books. The rest can be read between the lines.

Can you blame a starry eyed youngster if her editor borrows some passage from the works of an obscure author that she happened to edit before? But it seems there aren't enough admirers of dusky beauties in the land of whites. Enquiries started, a media churning followed and Kavya got damned. Irrespective of the book's worth, as a result of this "unintentional internalisation" Kavya can at least be credited for one of the most creative euphemisms in the English language.

Rights Reserved

It is obscene for any student not to have an opinion on caste-based reservations. Here are my two cents. While it is very convinient to condemn reservations in any form, its apt, perhaps, to consider the issue in equanimity. The current system is flawed but the concept of providing some rational support to the disadvantaged sections of the society is not.

There are several communities in the country who have been buried in ignorance and diffidence owing to years of isolation or oppression or geographically skewed development or a combination of these factors. These people need to be supported to compete with their more privileged counterparts so that more hands will come forward to strengthen the force of progress. Having said that, I must add that this support must be in a proper form and must be well-directed. This is obviously the most important part of the scheme that our politicians gloss over. Hence the resentment and the protests.

A large chunk of the seats in the reserved catagory in educational institutions and in jobs remain unutilised. Decades after the reservations were introduced we still need them. While these factors point to thefailure of the present system of reservations, they also buttress the fact that these people are indeed disadvantaged. A more rational support model for these people needs to be developed.

One such model was suggested by two social scientists recently. They proposed, to put it in a nut-shell, to compute a competency figure for each candidate. It will have 80% contribution of merit and the rest 20% will comprise of various disadvantage factors like caste, gender, economic status etc. This will ensure implicit support for the needy while ensuring optimum utilisation of available seats or jobs. The implementaion of such a model appears difficult but the details can certainly be worked out if the best brains in the country deliberate on it. But since here the support is implicit, it will certainly be short of brownie points that act as the opiate for the political parties.

The reservation bill is ready for introduction. If the politicians succeed in their machinations, which the self-styled Nehruvian Samaritans most certainly will, the obituaries to meritocracy will officially be written. I believe the only people who can possibly provide the last ray of hope are the corporate India. Even as the anti-reservation protests keep on intensifying, if the bigwigs of indian industry come together and prepare a concrete plan for robust basic education throughout the country, complete with the budget estimate (of which they must be prepared to contribute a major chunk) and implementaion details, we would at least have the satisfaction of putting in our best effort.

Prahalad's B'Day

Prahalad had his birthday on 9th. He had slipped away to Berhampur (his hometown) a couple of days before. We decided to give him a surprise. Apurv, Raj, Chandan, Apul and I were in the scheme of things. We left early morning and landed at his place at around 8.30am. Prads was visibly moved by the gesture. We had a lot of fun. The trip to Vairabhi and then the one to Gopalpur were memorable ones. The beach at Gopalpur, though smaller, was a lot cleaner than the one at Puri. It was really amusing to see Chandan run scared of water...something that belied his frame.
How can I not mention the food we had at the bday boy's place. Some treat that was!! ...the best of Marwari cuisine. We were fed to the brim. I had to skip the breakfast and lunch the next day!!

Had a great time!

We, the class of '06 (Electronics n Telecom, KITS), had a picnic last Sunday. It was an event that had to be pushed through sec=veral procedural odds. There was limited participation. But it was undoubtedly the best outing that we had in the last four years. Even the weather changed, perhaps in silent approval of our plans. It was scorching hot the day before. Nobody had expected that it would rain the following day.
The picnic spot, Narayani, was nothing spectacular.It was just the ambience that made the event special. The ambience was due to the wonderful attitude, the enthusiasm and the camaderie of the students. It was quite a revealation too, at least for me. I never knew, for example, that Mr L P Mishra could be so sportive...or that Jeeta could look so stunning in jeans....that Mamta could be so sociable...that Snigdha could dance...that Abantika had a cool attitude...that Apul could be so effuively enthusiastic.....
New bonds were forged, old ones strengthened and at least one that stood corrected.