Abs' Aberrations

Getting there...

noreply@blogger.com (Abs) — Thu, 05 Nov 2009 04:51:00 +0000

Tickets: check.
Invite letter: check.
Travel Insurance: check.
Vaccine. check.
Visa: pending.

Cricket...as I never knew it

noreply@blogger.com (Abs) — Fri, 09 Oct 2009 09:13:00 +0000

After a (too) long hiatus, I have resolved (again) to write more frequently. As most great revolutions started with one single act of injustice against one individual or a group (Gandhi, Rosa Parks etc) thus a single act of incomprehensible savagery has triggered my return here. Not that I am laying any claim to triggering a revolution or anything even remotely momentous.

This event I talk about is my 2nd real T 20 cricket experience "live" in 2 years. Or rather the first time really in a T20 cricket match that I tried to watch the 3 hours as a purely cricketing event. It is hard to express what I felt then and what still lingers strongly. I walked into a stadium which had screaming, kicking fans...all 50 thousand of them. But something was wrong...where there should have been teams warming up and fans eagerly looking through binoculars seeking out their heroes or where little kids were encouraged to shout out players' names hence attracting time for a quick photo op, there was Jamelia, Shaggy and Chaka Khan along with a few shaolin monks and dancers all doing their bit with much gusto. Even for a cricketing opening ceremony saying this was unprecedented is an understatement.

But that's not what got my attention...I was at IPL 1 and saw the opening and appreciated the efforts to bring some glamour to the game. This time as I looked around my enclosure and neighbouring spectator stands what slowly but surely dawned on me was that it was in fact THIS, the singers, dancers pyrotechnics, laser shows, shaolin monks, scantily clad cheerleaders, pulsating music and (if you were rich enough or had the right connections) the free flowing Scotch and food that were the actual reasons for most people to be present here. There were no children wandering the boundary in search of that autograph, there were no big screens with player stats, win loss records, clips from previous games being shown, no player profiles whatsoever, there was not one and I mean one single pair of binoculars in the entire section where I sat. That was astounding to me! Was this the same enclosure, the same cricket stadium that I had sat in a few years ago and seen the birth of one of Cricket's greatest sons when Michael Clarke scored a flawless hundred on debut? Was this the same ground where I had witnessed what is easily my most intense sporting experience when India beat Pakistan in a world cup quarter final? Were these the same people with whom I had discussed so many aspects of the game with although we were perfect strangers a few hours before? And that was where the answer lay...they weren't the same people. Cricket had moved on...as I looked around me again with more understanding I realised the change in the demographic that had happened almost overnight:

There were no boys sitting next to their parents where Dad was exhorting the talents of this or that player...there were no groups of youngish kids huddled together pointing "look that's Duminy! What a shot he hit that day!" or "There's Steyn warming up...shit what speed!"...there were no cricket girls! When I mean cricket girls I mean the spunky, flag waving, face painted laughing knowledgeable or semi knowledgeable girl who tolerated cricket, had at least 1 major cricket crush (usually the most unusual of players like Dan Vettori) and would never miss a live cricket match in Bangalore...screaming her lungs out everytime she got a glimpse of Dan. Gone. Poof...just like that. Replaced instead by sleek things who'd stepped of the escalator that churns out sleek mink things everywhere. No shouting and cheering and face painting for these girls. Hmph.

No future Sachins in the crowd...no cricket girls either.

As I sat there and the opening ceremony finished...a most bizarre thing happened. I had walked in late and just about managed to find a seat in my enclosure...not a very good seat too. I thought to myself damn...now I'm stuck here because its T20 and there isn't a break either when people will wander away for beers or lunch or dinner. But yet again I overestimated the reasons for which people now come to cricket matches: as soon as Shaggy completed his traipsing on the Chinnaswamy turf and the monks somersaulted their way out and the umpires slowly, tentatively began walking towards the pitch...the people in my stand started walking out! Admittedly I was in a fairly posh-ish stand but surely didn't people see that these were the best seats in the house? And that they were soon going to see the likes of Dale Steyn and JP Duminy and LRPL Taylor slug it out? Nope. The stand was half empty and remained like that for the rest of the match.

By the time the umpires got onto the field, I began to notice other incredulous goings on: there were WWE style strobe lights around the stadium which began flashing and an M C of sorts who was wired up to speakers right around the ground began with a reverberating "LET US WELCOME THE UMPIRES"...I was bemused...when did we start welcoming umpires? But this was just the start of the most recent corrosive influence...the M C continued this insanity by naming each player on either side. That's when another folly occurred...each time the name of the opposing team from South Africa was called out there was a loud round of boos that resounded around the stadium...I was appalled. What had happened to my mild mannered, appreciative Bangalore cricket fan? The M C made it a point to completely ruin any viewing experience by even making announcements IN BETWEEN THE OVER! Now if you have ever watched cricket you will know that there's a lot of things that go on between overs but while those 6 balls are being bowled the music stays off, there are no announcements and the crowd is glued to the action or is getting themselves beer outside. But the brains behind t 20 feel this is not enough. The MC announced every boundary and six that was hit with "OH WHAT A FOUR!...CAN WE CLAP FOR THAT?!" and so on and so forth...I was deflated.

Adding to this sacking of the game, everytime a wicket fell or a boundary was hit, the speakers were put on full blast...you could barely get yourself to think let alone discuss the four or share views on the wicket with your neighbour. Alas that's when I realised fully that this sport was either for those who didn't think too much anyway or the administrators are now trying to get you to think less with the beer and scantily clad cheerleaders and bombastic M Cs.

Owing to all these factors, I could barely follow and enjoy the sheer beauty of JP Duminy's 99 not out that took his team home. It was a savage assault on bowlers but still a thing of terrible beauty not to be ignored by purists and commoners alike.

All in all, I am staggered by what a few people, big companies and lots of TV money have managed to make of cricket. How do I describe the feeling, as a 15 year old, of seeing Steve Waugh practice in the nets, of seeing Azhar playing those trade mark flicks, of Michael Clarke and Mark Waugh...of Sachin Sachin and more Sachin. All in whites...sometimes in coloured clothing. But always it was about the cricket. And only the cricket. From almost the first day that I began watching and playing this game there was a saying that was bandied about "no one is greater than the game"...it seems now that a few people have figured out how to finally defeat the game itself. Simply stop playing it and it will go away. I was always undecided on whether t 20 and all that goes with it would be positive or negative. Now I believe that if this is the road then I will probably walk backwards...keeping this new entity in sight until I can but always moving farther away from it. Cricket has been one of the purest things I've ever known and I won't let a bunch of corporations, agents, brands and hustlers make me buy, in it's place, something which really is a vial of processed, genetically modified, chemically enhanced sludge just because it has a bright label with instructions on how I can mainline it easily.

Goodnight and God bless.

Back and off

noreply@blogger.com (Abs) — Fri, 21 Aug 2009 04:31:00 +0000

OK it is definitely time to resume the catharsis. Right now, the mind is as usual proving harder to master than even the mighty winds. How easily I quote from the Gita. A sign of the frivolity of us young people some might say but I may turn back and say I am not so young anymore either!

I digress.

Driving to work this morning, listening to the Phish Camden recording for the nth time, I was thinking how Phish is once again becoming central to my musical leanings. I come to office and the first thing I see on my Facebook update is a message about Radiohead's latest song which they are giving away for free download. And now as I listen to "These are my twisted words", the Universe seems whole again. Reason and meaning is gushing like a cheerful gurgling spring back into life.

What's more I am off to Ladakh tonight. Until then keep on keepin' on.

I am...

noreply@blogger.com (Abs) — Fri, 03 Jul 2009 07:27:00 +0000

A description of me so apt I had to put it up here:

"YOU...you, my friend, you're a standard liberal. A nice, center-left leaning, unoffending, politically correct internationalist silly liberal"

No prizes for guessing who came up with this description.

26 years on...

noreply@blogger.com (Abs) — Fri, 12 Jun 2009 11:04:00 +0000

Confession time: I don't cry often. Not much moves me to cry. But I've come close a few times. And I've cried a few times. One I clearly remember till this day is when I was not selected for my state Under- 13's cricket team. Another time was Rock Werchter 2008 ...certainly a time when my eyes were moist...when Neil Young walked on stage. I will remember that till the day I die.

Strangely enough, the Phish show that didn't happen...Camden N.J 2009/06/07 for which VJ had me a ticket...I downloaded the whole show and I have been listening to it over the last 2 days. Phish came together in 1983...I was 2 years old then. And now in 2009, they are still as fresh and sweet and incredible as they have ever been. This is something that I am a part of, a journey I have been on for the last 5 odd years and its something I cherish in a way I cannot describe. I've come close to having moist eyes several times as I listen to these 4 guys do their thing. I feel privileged. When they play "Silent in the morning" on this show...I came close to just letting go.

Lotus Born

noreply@blogger.com (Abs) — Thu, 04 Jun 2009 09:05:00 +0000

I am not sure whether it is my excitement regarding my trip to Ladakh in August or me reading two books which trace Tibetan buddhism and its richness or...something else. But I feel more and more drawn to the Dalai Lama lately...more so than I have ever felt. Is there a more complex explanation to this? Why do some things begin to pique your curiousity when they do? Hmmm...

What I do know is I must read more of the Dalai Lama's writings.

Tweet tweet twee...oops.

noreply@blogger.com (Abs) — Wed, 03 Jun 2009 05:56:00 +0000

I find it truly absurd that censorship in its form continues in China. Ahead of the Tiananmen Square protest anniversary, the last Commie outpost seems to have pulled out all the stops to curb discussion, conversation and dissent. We truly live in an absurd world where the power of money has resulted in the free world pretending to be friends and sleeping with a regime which is as bad, if not worse than those in Burma, North Korea and some of those despicable regimes in Africa that China patronizes. 4 years ago living in Shanghai I was increasingly frustrated at the lack of any stimuli or news from the outside world other than meaningless American baseball reports and a few side clips on tennis. Politics was mostly rubbish and business news was propoganda about how the Chinese behemoth was advancing.

4 years hence things seem to have gotten worse. Tibet has been crushed in a systematic way...cultural genocide at it's best. Free speech is almost impossible and money and a better standard of life is being offered with one hand and liberty, freedom and self-discovery has been brutally snatched with the other. Nothing suggests that this trend will change soon, if ever. But then no one imagined the collapse of Communism in Europe in the spectacular fashion it did happen so one can only hope that sooner rather than later, the Chinese people will take matters into their own hands. But nothing right now suggests that to be so. Till then, I will continue reading about Tibetan culture and spirituality and hope one day I can discuss these things with Tibetans in Tibet. In my lifetime...? Perhaps...perhaps not.

Belief

noreply@blogger.com (Abs) — Wed, 03 Jun 2009 04:20:00 +0000

I was thinking to myself after the 10 K run on Sunday...well thinking is the wrong word. I think the word is reflecting. Yes as I was reflecting in a very unstructured manner, all kinds of past events flitted through my mind. I was again told by someone close that I have self discipline and that's what got me reflecting. I've always seen myself as somewhat lazy, unwilling to go the extra mile and I've always felt I am content too easily. Having said that, over the last 6 years I've lived in 2 different countries, reinvented myself completely, changed career tracks...twice, ran a marathon. So maybe I am not that much of a wimp after all. I will immediately add also that I harbour no pride or even a sense of accomplishment...I keep telling people some of the things I've done anyone can do. But the key really lies in believing. I think if you really believe you can and really want it bad, it comes together. Events conspire to make things happen in your favour. I am not enlightened enough to articulate this further, besides it's already been spoken about by countless people in the past. If you want something, really believe and try to make it happen, most times it really will happen.

OST

noreply@blogger.com (Abs) — Tue, 26 May 2009 20:52:00 +0000

On a Kingfisher flight to Delhi and now in my room at the guest house here, I’ve been watching the first part of the Tom Petty & the Heartbreakers’ documentary called Runnin down a dream. What is amazing as I continue to watch their story is how deeply they have touched my life. One of my dreams has been to watch Tom Petty live in concert and while I probably think I won’t now, considering how little they tour, despite that I don’t think any musician or band has influenced me and reached out to me as much as they have. Even more incredible is the way they connect with who I am and my hopes and dreams. Here’s a band that came together in 1974 in Gainseville, Florida. Tom Petty was born in 1950. And here’s an Indian boy from Bangalore who feels closer to Tom Petty’s songwriting than with almost any other expression of art, music, books or popular culture, in his own country or otherwise. Surely there is a cosmic explanation to this which I cannot fathom at this point in time.

I began hearing Tom Petty at almost the perfect time in life…when you are unsure of the world, when you feel at your most vulnerable, when you experiment with life, when there only seem to be questions and a cloudy horizon.

The story behind Tom Petty’s rise as a musical genius only adds to the feeling of comfort I feel when listening to his lyrics. His music has become such a comfortable companion to me over the last 10 years that I hardly even stop to really listen anymore. Its like those friends you meet at the local café or bar: they’re always there and all they require in acknowledgement is a friendly nod, smile and you sit down at the table. The warmth and camaraderie needn’t be reinforced. It’s simply there, ever present but never overwhelming.

Right from “American Girl” to Damn the Torpedoes, Southern Accents, Into the great wide open to Wildflowers…I’ve never really stopped to consider the breadth of his music and how I resonate with those songs: from Pecos to Starters, from Vikhroli to Rotterdam, lonely, lost nights in Shunde, train rides and plane rides, bus rides and long waits, long drives and now that feeling when “learning to fly” kicks in when I’m on the 18th Km, no single person has kept me company, made me laugh, found me smiling in understanding or nodding in hope than Tom Petty. Its taken me a long time to realize this but listening to him talk, seeing the method behind the music has suddenly thrown into stark relief what I always knew. Its eerie at some level to think that a lot of the soundtrack to your life was written before you were born and since then has kept pace with how you grew up. Sure there’s no element of rage or angst here but that’s why this music is so great. You don’t have to be in a certain mood to feel close to it, I can just be me and still feel like this is an OST to the life I’m living now.

Thank you.

Tas!

noreply@blogger.com (Abs) — Thu, 21 May 2009 09:12:00 +0000

I danced till 2 AM last night. If you live in Bangalore, this is an almost inconceivable possibility! However, us Bangaloreans are resilient, in a tenuous and convoluted way I guess. When we get an opportunity to rebel against moral policing, we do it with much fervour provided we are not offending any strident right wing group or the cops. We're softies that way. Wait...did I just contradict myself...? I told you we were tenuous....moving on.

Anyway I danced till 2 AM last night. Because Tas got married. And if that in itself wasn't another unimaginable possibility (only because I still think of Tas walking around campus in SJCC abusing lecturers), there were also Van, Akhila, Ash and yours truly present at the wedding! 5 of the original 9 members of AIESEC Blore EB 2000-2001 still happy to meet, drink and party together after 10 years. Again, another rare but wholly satisfying occurrence. (Kala, Bob, Ronald, Kunal I'd be lying if I said we missed you....ha ha just kidding!)

I guess this is one of those reminiscent rambling posts...10 years have gone by but we are still the same. The same reasons I loved these guys 10 years ago are still what brings me back and keeps me laughing and joking with them. They haven't changed despite the changes in their lives. Friendship is a fairly ambigious term but this surely is one manifestation of that term. It was almost like being back at June National Conference in the year 2000 (only Ron was missing from the bushes). I'll stop. Congrats Tas & Rahul. Tas: we love you. And I'm so happy we were able to share this day with you. I'm also happy Ron wasn't around to fall into the bushes.

Mostly sweet & a bit bitter

noreply@blogger.com (Abs) — Sun, 17 May 2009 13:06:00 +0000

Now that the dust has settled and the picture clearer, I feel vindicated following my earlier post a day before I cast my vote in Bangalore. The only party who could morally lay claim to govern India has been chosen by an incredible & unexpected majority of voters right across the country. My delight is obvious and I can only hope now that the likes of Milind Deora, Sachin Pilot, Shashi Tharoor & P. Chidambaram provide strong leadership and accellerate reforms in this country. I am especially excited at seeing the likes of these gentlemen representing India at home & abroad. Like our cricket team, our politics too seems to be approaching a period of renaissance and I can only feel optimistic about the future.

An unsurprising outcome though which has left a bitter aftertaste for me are the results in my state of Karnataka and especially in my city of Bangalore. All 3 seats contested in Urban Bangalore have been won by the BJP and Karnataka saw the BJP record its best performance among any states in the country! When did my home become saffron? I have no idea. Despite recent events where Hindu fascist groups were on the rampage, the people in Bangalore felt it better to side with a militant ideology. Of course, the Congress did no favours to itself here by putting together a shockingly shoddy and disorganised campaign. However, I am still disappointed and feel some of the more liberal reforms this city needs (longer hours for bars, restaurants etc, abolishing ridiculous bans on creative expression, lowering atrociously high excise duties on foreign products etc etc) will not now happen. It seems like the citizens of Bangalore are leaning increasingly to the Right and that more than anything is the worrying bit. For now, I'll comfort myself with the numerous images of our Prime Minister waving the V sign with "Singh is King" playing in the background! :-)

Music

noreply@blogger.com (Abs) — Sat, 09 May 2009 12:56:00 +0000

Thanks to ADB for sharing this:

Music,all said and done,was among the best friends - and among the few real confidants - I'd ever known in my life. Whereas you could talk to and confide and hope and trust in a lover, that lover may still leave or betray you. A great song, by contrast, would talk TO YOU-and its truths would NEVER betray you.At 3 A.M.,there was nothing that could mean as much as a song that told you secrets about your own fucked-up and yearning heart.
- Mikal Gilmore

A voice from the valley

noreply@blogger.com (Abs) — Thu, 07 May 2009 11:07:00 +0000

My good friend VJ sent me a link of Omar Abdullah being interviewed by Dawn, the Pakistani media group. Apropos of my below post on Kashmir and the Hurriyat, I am posting the link to the first part of the five part interview. It is a must watch. This man has conviction, no double standards, plain speaking and clearly a man with if not a vision, then at least a good sense of what needs to be done to bring change to Kashmir and I think India too. And most importantly he seems like a guy who can get things done.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rFDpQsVme2M

I would suggest that you watch all 5 parts. Very rarely does a politician elicit this level of respect. Especially watch out for his comments on nuclear weapons, on dear General Musharraf and best of all, his reaction when prodded about dynastic rule in politics. This was pre-Mumbai so the world has changed again since this interview but a lot of what he believes in would remain constant despite Mumbai. If India had a system of direct, individual election to the highest office, mine would go to this fellow without a moment's hesitation.

How not to matter

noreply@blogger.com (Abs) — Thu, 07 May 2009 04:45:00 +0000

I was waiting for my daily dose of Asia business news this morning on the BBC and right after, there came a story on the elections in India. This news clip's focus was on interviewing the Hurriyat conference leader Mirwaiz Omar Farooq. From previous debates and discussions on Kashmir that I have seen, I remembered the Hurriyat as an incendiary, unreasonable and mostly illogical group, given to chest beating and nay saying more than anything else. And this short interview with this Mirwaiz fellow was no different.

His spectacular demands and opinions included:

- Discussion on independence of Kashmir with India Kashmir and Pakistan.
- Debate and decision on independence of Kashmir to be decided by Kashmir and Pakistan (quickly corrected to Kashmiris)
- Allegation that elections in Kashmir are rigged since according to this chap the "Indian army counts votes". ( Hmmm...maybe he hasn't heard of electronic voting machines the poor fellow.)

Initially, this misguided chap mouthing his party's stance angered and puzzled me. But as I thought about it on my drive into work, I realised that he was also not completely dumb. The Hurriyat was formed on the basis of seeking independence for Kashmir. However, "independence"really means integration with Pakistan. I don't know now how many Kashmiris and indeed separatists want to integrate with Pakistan! So now Mirwaiz and his ilk are drumming for self determination and choose not to test their own standing in India's general election, instead choosing to use the almost comical reason that elections are rigged. The entire free world looks at the Indian election process as free and fair but of course its not good enough for our dear secessionists, separatists or whatever it is they call themselves today.

This of course comes back to the old problem of how this all started in the first place. After much reading and cross referencing I have arrived at a few simple conclusions. I may not know all the facts but basically:

- Jinnah and his cronies wanted Kashmir to be part of Pakistan. Why? Because they were a muslim majority state. Someone should have tapped him on the shoulder then and told him that creating a nation based on such an idiotic ideology would only lead to disaster. I believe Gandhi tried but obviously failed (but he failed because creating Pakistan wasn't at all about a separate homeland for Muslims. It is clear for anyone who cares to look closely now that it was more about a slighted Jinnah wanting to leave his legacy on the world. Why else would a pork eating, whiskey loving atheist demand a separate homeland for Muslims?)
- When the Hindu King of Kashmir wasn't sure about joining forces with the newly formed Islamic state, the Islamic state sent in about 40,000 irregular pathan goons into Kashmir to foment trouble and to try and annexe Kashmir
- When this tactic was seen, the King went to among other folks Nehru and requested Indian assistance to repel these goons. The condition put forward (and conveyed by Krishna Menon) was to sign the accession document to India and India would then be able to intervene
- The King signed, Indian troops went in, the goons were thwarted and the Indian army was reclaiming the land occupied by the goons. However, this is when Nehru made one of his legendary mistakes: he went to the UN to seek mediation instead of allowing the army to do its job. The UN came, decided on a plebiscite but troop withdrawals on both sides were not adhered to and hence the plebiscite was never held
- Status quo seemed to hold for a while with even elections happening in Kashmir and then in 1965 came Operation Gibraltar.

Of course post 1965, things really go to hell and breakfast. There are massacres, vote rigging by India, more massacres of muslims and hindus, incursions and then in 1989, militancy is born, funded by Pakistan and this continues to go on despite all of Pakistan's platitudes. The Lashkar e Toiba has as recently as last month issued a "warning" to all people in Kashmir that suicide bombings would be conducted if Kashmiris voted in Indian elections.

All this is grist for the mill. The bottom line is this: there is no point revisiting 1947, 1965 or 1778 or whatever date when whatever atrocity or injustice occurred. This Mirwaiz wallah and his minions are living about 2 decades back and are unable to realise how the world has changed since, especially post 9/11. While there may have been sympathy for Islamic secessionist movements before, it is fast drying up today. The solution for these guys to be heard is to participate in whatever available democratic processes there are and then raise issues about injustices. However, it is far easier to sit in a house in Kashmir or Srinagar, fuming and fulminating about injustices to the BBC than it is to actually draw up an election manifesto, fight elections and win the trust of people by creating jobs, developing the local economy through sound public policy initiatives. Instead, what our dear ewe lamb Mirwaiz is insisting upon is "talks with India and Pakistan" to resolve the "Kashmir issue". Yes, yes let us sit on the same table with Osama's minions and the greasy Zardari and talk about how all girls' schools in Kashmir can be destroyed. The BBC reporter interviewing this gent was at his sardonic British best, resulting in much squirming on the part of Mirwaiz. Such fun.

To conclude this post at least, sadly there is no doubt that Pakistan must be involved in reaching some consensus about Kashmir. But that possibility has been put back by years after Mumbai. Even if Mumbai didn't happen, I think India and the world have many more things (nukes, Taliban, more insurgents etc) to be concerned about first with regards to Pakistan than the plight of the poor Kashmiris who have become nothing but victims of a cruel circumstance, almost exclusively not of their own making. So long as the Mirwaizs of this world are given importance and Kashmir looked at through the lens of being an Islamic society, things will never be resolved. Only if religion is taken out of this equation can Kashmir truly be solved but sadly a state that is founded (by an atheist!) on this very basis cannot well set that aside and more importantly, the guardians of Kashmiri people who believe Kashmiris are Muslims first and Kashmiris second have only doomed themselves and their people to a lifetime of hardship and uncertainty.

I realize also that people may have varying opinions on what I have written, some may be enraged, some may differ in their view. I just want to make it explicit that this is not about Muslims in Kashmir nor is it about Pakistan - baiting. Faults if we want to apportion them will I am sure be apportioned across the board. I am all for finding a solution and I sadly do not see a solution materialising when there are the likes of the Hurriyat who claim to represent aspirations of a people without in any way, earning legitimacy to that claim.

Into the Wild

noreply@blogger.com (Abs) — Thu, 23 Apr 2009 05:57:00 +0000

I just finished reading John Krakauer's non-fiction book "Into the Wild". I have read a few books already this year that have held me in thrall and made me refresh my outlook about life. This is surely one of them. An excerpt from the book:

I think you really should make a radical change in your lifestyle and begin to boldly do things which you may previously never have thought of doing, or been too hesitant to attempt. So many people live within unhappy circumstances and yet will not take the initiative to change their situation because they are conditioned to a life of security, conformity and conservatism, all of which may appear to give one peace of mind but in reality nothing is more damaging to the adventurous spirit within a man than a secure future. The very basic core of a man's living spirit is his passion for adventure. The joy of life comes from our encounters with new experiences and hence there is no greater joy than to have an endlessly changing horizon, for each day to have a new and different sun. If you want to get more out of life, you must lose your inclination for monotonous security and adopt a helter skelter style of life that will at first appear to be crazy. But once you become accustomed to such a life you will see its full meaning and its incredible beauty.

Inked!

noreply@blogger.com (Abs) — Thu, 23 Apr 2009 04:51:00 +0000

It felt quite exciting to walk into the polling booth this morning. Being Malleswaram West constituency, it's among the most upper middle class neighbourhoods inBangalore. There were no sycophants hanging around, no hangers on, no sign even that an election was on! I just strolled to the polling booth, walked in to find no one there but the election officials, displayed my card. They found my name in under 10 seconds on the list, handed me 2 slips of paper, I first had to sign against a register, hand over the slips of paper to another desk in the room, get my left index finger inked and then proceed to another desk covered with make shift cardboard where there were 2 electronic voting machines clearly displaying the names and party symbols of candidates. One simple press of the button next to the "hand" symbol, the machine chirped in acknowledgement and that was it. No lines, no waiting, no nothing. After that the feeling of freedom and some sort of empowerment came rushing back: yes my candidate may not win nor may my party of choice but at least my opinion will be counted. Jai Hind!

Jai hind!

noreply@blogger.com (Abs) — Wed, 22 Apr 2009 05:00:00 +0000

My blog is finally functional again (thanks Dody!) and there seems to be so many things that I'd made note of which required copious amounts of expostulation and reflections on absurdities: Varun Gandhi, IPL in South Africa, N. Modi's disgusting speeches and fascist character, the dangerous resemblance between N. Modi and the other better known gent from Germany in the '30's and 40's, L. Modi and how a combination of short sighted administrators are destroying Cricket, Delhi oh Delhi...Lodhi Road the tombs the parks friends old & new...Rajpath...Delhi, more weddings, great books, a nostalgia trip to Pecos and so much more. Ah well...

For now, on my drive into work this morning my mind wandered to Nehru and how despite all his flaws and despite the shackles he chained India with for many years, how the ideals and values cherished by him continue to be respected in this country almost 7 decades after. And how unless something drastically changes, I will continue to support the political party which seeks to propogate those values. It would be easy to laugh as most cynics are likely to do, candy floss you might say but the truth also is that the Indian constitution was a consequence of people like Nehru and their ideals. Our founding fathers may not have been perfect but visionaries they certainly were. I vote tomorrow in the belief that I will be supporting Nehru's dream of a free, just, secular and liberal society. A society which is not riven by which God you pray to or what your Father did for a living, a society (to borrow a phrase) where all men are born equal and all have the right to life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness.

But most importantly, I also vote because I can, because it is the direct manifestation of the most highly evolved & mature idea yet stumbled upon by humankind and because I harbour a quiet pride that I live in a country where this idea is the centre of its existence.

Tick

noreply@blogger.com (Abs) — Sun, 29 Mar 2009 16:27:00 +0000

As I ready myself for the great wheel of Time to tick over and click, signaling the end of a year and the start of a new one, I turned back to this time 5 years ago. Why 5 years? It seems like a good number...a solid, unarguable amount of time for any reason or situation: getting over someone, planning a country's future or taking stock of your life even. So 5 years.

As far as memories go, this one has defied the wheel of Time fairly well, has stood the test of changing countries not once but twice. It has weathered storms of snow and emotions, of upheavals both mental and physical. The memory is simple as it is pure. Picture this: a sun bathed central square in Maastricht. 3 chairs around one of the quintessential little tables in a quintessential Dutch town, the omnipresent Grolsch on the table. Complete tranquility and calm...watching people criss cross the square...chuckling at a few who walked into the church joking amongst us if it was a parking lot or a supermarket. And 2 other familiar and notorious faces equally busy quaffing mead and exchanging talk with me. That was the 30th of March in 2004. It was an absolutely gorgeous early spring day in the Netherlands. That entire day was one of the best of my life: simple, pure and it also happened to be my birthday. What a birthday present it was.

2004 was also a year of immense change. When I stepped out of the comfortable classroom of AIESEC into an unexpected, confusing, chaotic and often incomprehensible real world. 5 years hence, here I am back where the exploring started.

I dug 0ut a blog post from my first few days in China: testimony to the values of keeping a journal and to the efficacy of blogs being almost perpetual in nature. I quote directly from that blog post:

Thursday, September 16, 2004, Shanghai

The Old life...& the new

It never ceases to amaze me how easily we manage to slip into a routine regardless of where we are or what we are doing. It is the nature of man, one can only assume. What is also startling is how so many traits from our old life insidiously seep into the new ones we think we have fled to. When I say fled it wouldn't entirely be a lie. I did indeed want to go away to a place where I could begin my life with a clean sheet. We never can run away from our ghosts, ghosts are meant to be slain not to flee away from. I hope that coming to Shanghai has brought me closer to the lairs of these ghosts. The life or routine I have already established in close to 4 weeks here in Shanghai seems almost a copy of Rotterdam, at least in terms of the after work hours. Going back home, cooking a good meal, putting on some Ben Harper, watching a DVD. The question that is posed before me is should I be doing anything different? I can say that I have been working pretty hard ever since I got here. But the life beyond the cubicle: should that be any different than millions of others? Why not? Some of the decisions that I took before I got here was that I would try to learn how to play the guitar (I am doing that right now), that I would shed several pounds (I will start doing that very soon), that I would try to be a better human being (I think I am). So if these things are on track, then I don't have any reason to be unhappy. Or thas that's theory. But despite this, the mind is restless yet again"

It's a little hard for me to digest this post from 5 years ago...I stumbled upon it only a few minutes back and while I have more answers than I did then, the questions haven't stopped asking themselves or multiplying either.

At the same time, I have found meaning in things I would never have imagined 5 years ago. I have grown somewhat more mature (notice I said somewhat), the aesthetic has evolved in a positive way, the generosity of spirit, the wanderlust, the sense of hope and empowerment have remained intact.

I've changed 3 jobs since, traveled to 5 new countries, made incredible new friends and found old ones who were there but whom I didn't have the wisdom to notice, found and lost relationships, been present at weddings which turned to be among my happiest moments, puedo escribir en español si tu quieres, wrote a Spanish equivalency exam which I never thought I would be up to and actually cleared it, followed my heart and not my head in almost every step and I've tried hard and at times unsuccessfully to be true to the ideals and values I feel constitute who I am and finally what I believe to be by far my own, prized memory among the few things I can say I did since that day in Maastricht: finishing a marathon. To me, doing this has given me the hope and strenghth to take on challenges I would otherwise have quailed in front of. But not to turn this into another running post! (You'll agree there are plenty of those!)

Time has done a good job chiseling away at the rough edges.

But as I had asked myself 5 years ago, the questions still abound, awaiting to be confronted. I feel things I can't fully explain but I have increasingly come to trust my instinct...to believe that although the path is never clear, the signs almost certainly are, awaiting to be felt, to be spotted, to be followed.

It's 3 months into 2009 and already there's a torrent of all my familiar friends: doubt, hesitation, uncertainty both real and perceived; but also hope, excitement, that familiar bitter sweet feeling, the music, the friends, the shoes, the family, the road. Truly, that which limits us is only our ability to dream and that which liberates us, the same.

Between the Walls

noreply@blogger.com (Abs) — Tue, 10 Mar 2009 11:29:00 +0000

I'm glad I made the time, braved the traffic and just about sneaked into PVR to watch "The Class" (Entre les Murs in French). I'd read a lot about this movie and it turned out to be a gripping showcase of laughter and menace. An incredibly well crafted movie on the trials of handling a multi racial, multi ethnic class within a low income school in Paris. Being on the fringes of the education sector, these movies are must-sees to all teachers and administrators.

But from a purist's perspective, this movie had many ingredients to become a winner: brilliant actors, tight scripting and editing and an almost-real feel throughout. The sedate pace of the movie intensifies the explosive, emotional moments like no amount of song, dance or blood ever could. The Class is not a movie most people would enjoy but if you're looking at an intense, intelligent and slightly disturbing film, this will hit the sweet spot. Oh and it's in French, with titles of course.

Salute!

noreply@blogger.com (Abs) — Tue, 27 Jan 2009 06:17:00 +0000

Republic Day is another one of the many Indian public holidays which hold no significance anymore...indeed if it ever did. Our constitution was unveiled and India became a republic....there was a big ad in the newspaper that quoted the Preamble to the Indian constitution...big words like liberty, freedom, equality & fraternity. So much nonsense when girls are being attacked for drinking a beer andNarendra Modi's Gujarat is corporate India's favourite destination (how could Ratan Tata share the same podium as Modi? It still rankles) but that isn't the half of it.

Remember this? : (from Amit Varma's India Uncut)

She allegedly protected her brother from murder charges, and mismanaged a cooperative bank she controlled by cancelling loans taken by her relatives.

Reading the above you'd think this is the story of R. Raju's close associate but you would be wrong. This is much bigger and better than any corporate scam. That above excerpt was about none other than our dearly beloved first ever woman President of India! The most disturbing image I have seen in recent times was not the Israeli massacres in Gaza nor of the Taliban whipping people in Pakistan nor even of young girls being roughed up in Mangalore but of Pratibha Patil saluting the armed parade on Republic Day. Can irony get any more bitter?

Read Amit Varma's commentary on our honourable President here

At least I still live in a country where I can publish such posts...if I was in Beijing or Peshawar I'd probably be fertilizer by now. Small mercies I guess...

The Finish!

noreply@blogger.com (Abs) — Fri, 23 Jan 2009 05:22:00 +0000

Epilogue

noreply@blogger.com (Abs) — Fri, 23 Jan 2009 04:43:00 +0000

Cross posted on Absruns

I was asked several times by several people in the lead up to my first marathon, "Isn't the weather going to be a factor?" or "Doesn't it get really hot in Bombay?". At these times, I would do what any pig headed, resolute idiot would have done which is to say that nah the weather matters only so much and that there's lots of water stations along the route so let's just focus on the distances I'm running now shall we? Little did I know...

But let's start from the top. I think I set some traditions in place (2 years counts as tradition doesn't it?) and accordingly, I went to the Marathon Expo on Saturday morning in Cuffe Parade, picked up my running bib (yes that's what it's called), my time chip (a quite cool time chip too this time) and my goody bag full of stuff I didn't need. After this I went to Pizzeria and had myself a good pasta lunch. Further carb loading happened with the Blahs soon after and I was all set.

I couldn't sleep very well and was quite anxious. Not that I didn't expect to be but it was still distantly troubling. However, I woke up without the alarm at 4:15, caught the train to Churchgate at 5:20 AM, had a friendly conversation with Glin, a British national who was attempting his first half marathon on the journey to Churchgate and found myself lining up to enter Azad Maidan for the start.

And that's when that feeling of tingling anxiety and nervousness and adrenaline pumping started...just jostling with the crowd to get in it hit me finally that here it is. 6 months of sweat and focus and pain and frustration and struggle all culminate now...right now. I hadn't felt like that since turning out for Joseph's or the state team in one of those cracker jack games but what I also felt this time around was a degree of calmness...I began to breathe easier.

The gun went off at 06:45 AM exactly and I made it to the start point a couple of minutes later...my timing chip ensuring a loud beep as I crossed the start point. I immediately slipped into my zone...just like that *snap*. The tunes playing loudly in my ears kept away all the noise and random bollywood numbers being played and a few people shouting...I blocked everything away and settled into a nice rythm almost from the start.

By the Oberoi turn (2 km into the race) I was already sweating profusely. To me that was a complete shock. I normally don't start sweating until the 5 K mark but I didn't dwell on that too much...as scary as it was. I didn't want to go down that path just yet and too damn right I didn't! The weather was simply brilliant and I glided along passing the 5 K mark, then 10 K and then the 15 K mark. I enjoyed passing all the familiar landmarks: Haji Ali, the juice centre, Kemp's Corner and Worli seaface. I ensured I kept drinking water regularly and broached my first gulp of Gatorade from the bottle I was carrying around the 12 K mark.

By the 20 K mark, I had clocked 2 hrs 15 mins which was almost bang on target. I felt a surge of confidence that all the training, all the preparation was paying off right here. That feeling of elation is incredible...really. Magical almost.

Then came Bandra Reclamation and with it the heat and hunger. I began to feel that very familiar creeping dread that if I didn't eat and eat very soon, this marathon would be over before I knew it. Almost bang on I found a family distributing lime juice and another family giving out bananas. Big thank yous and I gulped down both. I got to the turn which is also the 23 K mark with a surge of confidence. A lot of people there egging me on helped and my time chip beeped in agreement.

That's when the heat started to kick in.

I kept myself hydrated, ate biscuits again being handed out by a kind lady, kept drinking glucose but the heat just kept getting worse. However, I still felt in very good nick and saw no reason to slow down. Big mistake....huge mistake. I hit the 30 K mark again bang on target at 3 hrs 20 minutes and I really really believed at that moment that "Damn I am going to finish this marathon in under 4 hr 30". How wrong I was. To put it simply I hit the 32 K mark at about 10: 20 AM. The heat suddenly climbed to unbearable limits, my body couldn't absorb anymore sugar or I couldn't feel the difference, my calves more or less gave up and 42 seemed a world away.

Those last 10 kms took me 1 hr and 35 mins or so. It was by some distance, the most gruelling, difficult and doubt ridden 1 hour and 35 minutes of my entire life. This is what makes marathon running unique. It strips you bare. It brings you face to face with yourself, your character and there you are...it is so easy to stop...walk into the aid station, ask for an ice pack and say that I've had enough. Just say the word...the race volunteers are all over looking out for exactly my kind of runner...they don't want me to die and only want to help. I stop at one aid station to ask for anti-inflammatory spray...my left knee is twice the size of my right. I find this strange...in that dazed moment I can't comprehend what's going on so I just babble...spray please and start walking again. I hear the volunteer sharply shout at me to wait, to rest for 2 minutes and then resume. I continue...hoping they don't run after me. Am I in that bad a shape? This is when you are faced with yourself: there is really nothing at stake...no prize to lose, no promotion to let slip by, no good karma to bank away: it's only you looking at who you are and deciding what to do.

I can't be very articulate about this because that moment or that time stretches for ever or seems to anyway but still cannot be fully expressed. It has to be experienced.

Those 10 K split me open, left me bare and I came out...dragged myself on but I never stopped except to stretch my calves. I knew stopping meant death. There were some runners around me whom I kept company for those last 10. Sometimes I would fall way behind and suddenly they would fall behind me. We were all employing the same pace-change strategy ...the only strategy left to runners who've hit the wall hard. This means you jog, you then slow down almost to a walk, slowly pick up again...till you feel the world crashing in, slow down and start the process all over again, while all the time looking for those red KM markers. All kinds of thoughts went through my head then...images of all the people back in Bangalore who had patiently heard my endless babbling about this very run, all the support from those same people, thoughts of how I would face them when I didn't finish...when I saw the 40 K marker in front oh boy oh boy. That was something...not until then, not until THAT POINT did I feel I could finish. Upon seeing the 40 K marker I knew I was home. That sense of inevitability which I had at the start came flooding back and I was smiling as I slowly, painfully jogged down Marine Drive to take the turn towards Fountain. I knew I was home. That's also when I guess those unknown reserves of strength man finds in himself during times of adversity came to the fore too. I knew that a finish over 5 hours would mean a finish for nothing. I couldn't even then bare to think of telling anyone I ran the marathon in over 5 hours. The energy kicked in...I sprinted the last 500 metres ...how I don't know but damn I did.

I clocked 4 hrs 52 mins 52 seconds by the official chip timing.

The aftermath was another story. I stumbled into the medical tent, got hold of an ice pack and kept staring at my left knee which had become like an egg. Suddenly I saw my ankles too were like that but that's when I also realised I was laughing out loud. I couldn't believe it and I still can't. The feeling is unmatched, like nothing I've ever known. I am privileged to have experienced this and I think I will many times over in my life time.

As I read somewhere earlier...what can I say after this experience? Never again...until the next time!

Click

noreply@blogger.com (Abs) — Thu, 08 Jan 2009 03:33:00 +0000

Don't you just love technology. I got into my cab to get to the airport this morning at 07:45. As is now second nature, I immediately checked my email via my GPRS enabled phone. The first thing that caught my eye was an email from the organisers at the conference I was on my way to (in Jamshedpur) that my Calcutta - Jamshedpur flight was cancelled. They had instead in the email recommended I catch a flight to Ranchi (yeah..wtf) and then drive from Ranchi to Jamshedpur (wtf!!! again).

About 5 years ago if this had happened to me, I would have been lost with no recourse but standing in airport counter lines, checking with airlines about connections or on the phone with my travel agent figuring next steps, possibly resulting in long delays to my destination of choice.

However, we are in 2009.

What I could in fact do, while still on my way to the airport (Bangalore airport that is) in the cab is take out my laptop, plug in my internet data card and log on to the internet. I then proceeded to check train options to Jamshedpur from Calcutta, identified the right train in under 2 minutes, took out my credit card and booked myself on the evening train to reach Jamshedpur well in time for the conference tomorrow. All this in under 10 minutes of knowing that my flight was cancelled.

The only thing I wasn't able to do was to take a print out of my train ticket. I do however have an SMS from the booking agency with my booking reference number and I dare say if I boarded the train with ID and this SMS, I'd be allowed to travel without too much hassle. However I AM heading to Commie country so better not take any risks. Getting a printout in Calcutta will be an adventure but hey at least I am not flying to Calcutta wondering what to do next.

I love technology.

On a side note, ever wondered why people crowd the boarding queue at departure gates like ants swarming toward sugar the moment a flight is announced? Hmmm.

En la cabeza

noreply@blogger.com (Abs) — Tue, 06 Jan 2009 17:47:00 +0000

It's probably like that symptom...a symptom of self destruction that exists in all of us...but often enough it's that same seed that helps one grow too. Paradoxical isn't it...like a lot of life.

I don't know what it is that draws one incessantly...with alarming regularity to bits of alternate culture that continually mock and ridicule normalcy, a sense of being stable...that stokes the feeling of not settling for what's accepted. Looking the status quo horse in the mouth and living life on terms if not of your own, then on those drawn from a melange of counter culture implosions brought about through films, music, conversations, talking with other counter culture junkies all tossed about in your head, whipping up this exotic and heady cocktail that's all consuming...

I sit here just returning from registering for my next French course, drinking in Spanish spoken in a Madrileño accent set in a movie filmed in Barcelona and now trying to make sense of these implosions listening to Julieta Venegas. I mean...what sense am I going to make? Who am I kidding? Is all this real and supposed to mean something or is one just living in a delusion, happy to ignore the immediate reality of life by surrounding oneself with abstract thoughts, aesthetic ideas and ridiculously unrealistic concepts of life?

Thought may liberate you but watch out she can also be hard to be with...hard to be without. Much like Maria Elena in Vicky Cristina Barcelona...pienso ....no...seguro que tengo que escribir desde hoy en español...un poquito...una vez la semana...cada semana. Sobre este blog. Sí.

2008 recount

noreply@blogger.com (Abs) — Mon, 05 Jan 2009 12:47:00 +0000

I had an interesting dinner conversation with a friend last evening where we recounted each quarter of 2008: the highs, the highlights, the lows. I found it a really fascinating thing to do: reflecting aloud had me stumbling and stuttering. Is that all I did in those 3 months? Can I be satisfied with it? Or am I viewing my achievements through the prism of society's notion of success? It was all, to repeat fascinating.

But there was definitely one theme so to say that came across from my reflections on 2008. It was a strange year in more ways than one.

What I mean is that what should have been tangible was actually intangible and vice versa. We can always attach metrics to our professional life but 2008 was that rare year where my gains were intangible but paradoxically extremely felt and experienced. My supposed intangibles such as travel, sights and sounds were more tangible than ever before in terms of what they have left me with. Usually our travel gives us a momentary high, when we are in the moment and then leaves us with a faint afterglow...a warmth revisited when we look at pictures but rarely do we experience an almost physical sense of ....something ...undefinable yet very whole ...that we take away from these experiences.

That was 2008 for me...a year of experiences, of elevating the aesthetic, of appreciating the as yet undiscovered, of finding more ways to define oneself...of accepting that despite 27 years there's more to know about myself.

2008 was:
Montmarte. Champs Elysée. Orry la ville! Hampi. Yogyakarta. Borobudur. Friends in Singapore. Radiohead. The Act! The Seine. Croissants. Learning French...well a little bit anyway. The Mairie. Neil Young. Hampi. My first half marathon! Dudok. Croissants. Lucky. Bitter...and Sweet. Remains of the Day. Ben Harper. Leidseplein. Charity fundraising...lots of it. :-) Kanua. Sacré Coeur. Aap ki Khaatir. Leffe. Running. Murakami. Learning. Venturing. Kipling's quote. R.E.M for the 2nd time. Lightening up. Cote du Rhones. Cousins. The Bulldog. New beginnings. The Louvre. Zakir. Shivkumar Sharma. Goodbyes. Reunions. Cricket. Weddings.

And before I end my post of 2008 from my blog...a hands down winner: :-) and how appropriate to begin 2009

Sunday, August 10, 2008

Apropos of nothing here is an excerpt from P.G W's " A D in Distress"

"Consider his position you faint hearted and self pitying young men who think you have a tough row to hoe just because, when you pay your evening visit with the pound box of candy under your arm you see the handsome sophomore from Yale sitting beside her on the porch, playing the ukulele. If ever the world has turned black to you in such a situation and the moon gone behind a cloud, think of George Bevan and what he was up against. You are at least on the spot. You can at least put up a fight. If there are ukuleles in the world, there are also guitars and tomorrow it may be you and not he who sits on the moonlit porch, it may be he and not you who arrives late. Tomorrow he may not show up until you have finished the Bedouin's Love Song and are annoying the local birds, roosting in the trees, with Poor Butterfly.

What I mean to say is, you are on the map, you have a sporting chance. Whereas George...well just go over to England and try wooing an earl's daughter whom you have only met once and that without introduction; whose brother's hat you have smashed beyond repair; whose family wishes her to marry some other man: who wants to marry some other man herself - and not the same other man, but another other man; who is closely immured in a medieval castle...Well all I say is - try it. And then go back to your porch with a chastened spirit and admit that you might be a whole lot worse off."