In India, any trip to a government establishment is guaranteed to be an unique experience. Yesterday, I had the good fortune to enter the hallowed halls of the Regional Passport Office in Bangalore.
The office opens at 9:30 a.m, but as I'd heard about the popularity of this place, I decided to be there by 7:45 a.m. A few straggling touts at the entrance offered me random forms I didn't need. Inside, expecting a huge mass of fellow citizens, I was surprised to see only a few dozen people ahead of me. Temporary notices on the walls explained that fresh passport applicants need to go to Counter #1 and Miscellenaous Services to Counter #2.
There's really no activity in the decrepit interiors and one wonders if they will ever open. Finally, around 9:27 a.m, a car drives into the gates and a sour looking man and woman, both well into middle age, get off with barely concealed disdain for the long queue of hopeful passport service customers.
At 9:31 a.m, the metal gates to the inner abode open. People are let in two at a time. Suddenly, another notice catches my eye. It says in block capitals that all photographs should have only light colored backgrounds and should absolutely not be red or blue. As luck would have it, my photograph has a vivid red background. With much trepidation, I approach the security guard to await my partner for entry. There's a small counter inside where a guy looks over the documents you have and puts a sticker with a token number on your application. He then vaguely points to his right. Afraid to ask more questions than essential, I walk straight according to the hand pointing. I end up in a small room with a name "Tatkal". I ask another bewildered looking fellow customer if this is the right place to be in to get an additional booklet. He replies to me succintly "Tatkal". I return to the token gentleman and ask him if I need to go upstairs. "Yes", he says like it was obvious all along.
Upstairs, things look to be more organized. A digital display shows the token number being serviced along with the counter number. A Orwellian voice calls out each number by digits only. Again, the counter numbers being called have no bearing on the outside notice which talks specifically about Counter #1 and Counter #2.
Surprisingly, the numbers are moving quickly and soon #31 is summoned. I get to counter #2 and the guy says that he stopped calling at #24. Befuddled, I approach counter #6 where six hands are trying to squeeze into a small opening that a cat might fit in. A guy is shouting "I am #33 and #34 and they were each called at a different counter!" #17 is glowering at him and brief hand match occurs in the small animal opening. The passport officially studiously ignores all the goings on and sips his tea with much relish.
I finally get my hand in. The official (resembled Illayaraja to some extent), returns my forms with alacrity saying I need to get the documents verified by some other guy sitting in a corner of the waiting area. I rush back to this hitertho unseen person. A long queue is already parked in front of him. Good natured ribaldry and wise-cracks ensue from the waiting customers as I proceed to the verifier. I give him my forms. He looks over all the documents and asks the one thing I don't have-passport copies. The instructions online very clearly say that passport copies are not required. I should have known better.
I now run back downstairs and outside to get copies of my passport. I dash back in and ask the verifier if I need to stand in the lengthening queue again. Since I speak in Kannada, I am shown some bias and he bids me to give him the papers. This time, luckily, everything is in order and there is no comment on the red background of my photograph.
I go back to counter #6. Mysteriously, the crowd has disappeared except for one guy. He is told that he needs to wait for 2 hours right there. The guy protests saying that he hadn't informed his office that he would be taking off on a mission of this nature. The passport officer grimly reprimands him "You should not take off from work without informing. It is very bad! You should always tell your boss". As this doesn't solve the immediate problem, the truant office worker resignedly stands by.
A lady beside me is asked to fill out a PP form. As this is mumbled with some speed, she has no idea what the officer just said. He finally clarifies and tells her the verifier will have this form. The verifier sends her back to the counter and she complains, and rightly so, that she is being given the run-around. The counter official, probably taking pity on her, produces the PP form from a stack of other PP forms lying a few feet from his reach.
I finally submit all my paper work and he has no objections. He tells me everything is fine and I will get my additional booklet soon. I try to probe on what 'soon' would be in terms of days but he just smiles sweetly and stretches his hand out to take the papers from the next customer.
Saturday, February 17, 2007
Tuesday, February 13, 2007
A Family Secret
Parapu pudi! The name does roll off the tongue! A spine tingling, mouth watering family recipe passed down from generations, this seductive powder is a mandatory kitchen item in every household of every relative I know.
Dissecting the name, Parapu is dhal or a lentil, Pudi is powder. So, as the name suggests, it loosely translates as Dhal/Lentil Powder. But what a disservice we would do to this grandiose offering to the palate with a mere translation to the English Language. This is one food item that is more than the sum of the parts.
I don’t want to go into the making of this flamboyant symphony of dhal, chillies, horse gram and salt. Doing so, would demean the word of mouth tradition of passing this recipe. What I do want to do is talk about how to eat it, which is indeed the culmination of all things that are good in life.
So, how do you eat it, you might as well ask. Well, I am going to tell you!
We’ll start by looking at the various schools of consumption of this ‘powder’-ous nectar of the gods.
You can go the ghee way or the oil way. This is completely in your hands as there are equally strong proponents of both and there is no wrong choice. After due trial and error, you have now picked one lubricant.
Next, you need rice that is not prepared fresh as that tends to be a tad sticky. Basmati rice is a strict no-no, by the way. The ideal rice is one that has been made at least 5 hours earlier. The closer towards the 8 hour mark, the better.
Slowly put a few drops of ghee (or oil) on the rice. Mix the rice thoroughly so it takes on a slightly oily feel. Not too much mind you. Your fingers should have a subtle sheen to them, that’s all. Then, add a small teaspoon of the holy grail of powders. You need to see the whiteness of the rice, yet the brown-ness of the pudi should be all pervading. Don’t worry, this takes some practice, but in time, you will be a Jedi Master. The pudi is best if made slightly coarse and not too smooth so as you mix the rice gently, you can feel the roughness of the powder in your fingers. The aromas at this point is over-powering and if you haven’t already created a drool pool around where you are standing, get your nasal passages checked.
Now, very gingerly, make a small ball with the rice. Again, there is an optimal dimension for this but typically it’s about the size of a small egg. If you have the abyss portion of the dhaal from rasam, that is an unbeatable combination for you to dip the ball of rice ever so slightly in the rasam dhaal before putting it in your mouth. If not, don’t worry. You still are way up in food heaven already. The success indicator of your work so far is when no rice sticks to your hand when the first ball of the volcanic mix has entered your mouth. Savor the richness of the powder as it brings out the evocative and heady mix of spices in your tongue, your mouth, until it finally disappears down your throat leaving a lingering after-taste and an addiction for life. Short of swooning, you will now experience every possible pleasure combined with the anticipation of the next ball of supernova.
If you would ever like a demo of the consumption process, I will be more than happy to oblige.
Dissecting the name, Parapu is dhal or a lentil, Pudi is powder. So, as the name suggests, it loosely translates as Dhal/Lentil Powder. But what a disservice we would do to this grandiose offering to the palate with a mere translation to the English Language. This is one food item that is more than the sum of the parts.
I don’t want to go into the making of this flamboyant symphony of dhal, chillies, horse gram and salt. Doing so, would demean the word of mouth tradition of passing this recipe. What I do want to do is talk about how to eat it, which is indeed the culmination of all things that are good in life.
So, how do you eat it, you might as well ask. Well, I am going to tell you!
We’ll start by looking at the various schools of consumption of this ‘powder’-ous nectar of the gods.
You can go the ghee way or the oil way. This is completely in your hands as there are equally strong proponents of both and there is no wrong choice. After due trial and error, you have now picked one lubricant.
Next, you need rice that is not prepared fresh as that tends to be a tad sticky. Basmati rice is a strict no-no, by the way. The ideal rice is one that has been made at least 5 hours earlier. The closer towards the 8 hour mark, the better.
Slowly put a few drops of ghee (or oil) on the rice. Mix the rice thoroughly so it takes on a slightly oily feel. Not too much mind you. Your fingers should have a subtle sheen to them, that’s all. Then, add a small teaspoon of the holy grail of powders. You need to see the whiteness of the rice, yet the brown-ness of the pudi should be all pervading. Don’t worry, this takes some practice, but in time, you will be a Jedi Master. The pudi is best if made slightly coarse and not too smooth so as you mix the rice gently, you can feel the roughness of the powder in your fingers. The aromas at this point is over-powering and if you haven’t already created a drool pool around where you are standing, get your nasal passages checked.
Now, very gingerly, make a small ball with the rice. Again, there is an optimal dimension for this but typically it’s about the size of a small egg. If you have the abyss portion of the dhaal from rasam, that is an unbeatable combination for you to dip the ball of rice ever so slightly in the rasam dhaal before putting it in your mouth. If not, don’t worry. You still are way up in food heaven already. The success indicator of your work so far is when no rice sticks to your hand when the first ball of the volcanic mix has entered your mouth. Savor the richness of the powder as it brings out the evocative and heady mix of spices in your tongue, your mouth, until it finally disappears down your throat leaving a lingering after-taste and an addiction for life. Short of swooning, you will now experience every possible pleasure combined with the anticipation of the next ball of supernova.
If you would ever like a demo of the consumption process, I will be more than happy to oblige.
Thursday, February 08, 2007
Chronicles of Chang: Auto Merchant
Some things happen to some people, some things happen to all people but all things happen only to Chang. We continue to follow our hero of yore as this time, he embarks on an epic adventure of car selling.
A little background is in order as we go back a few years to chronicle the first entrance of our protagonist into this intricate art. Circa 2002, Chang was of the frame of mind to sell his 4-door car. He gets this itch every few years or so where he sells a perfectly good automobile and then will drive to Los Angeles to buy an identical vehicle. The whole cycle then re-starts. Let us not delve into the inner workings of the complex mind of Chang but limit ourselves to the exploits in question.
Anyway, first, a senior citizen called him to visit her place so she could see the car. She mentioned that she was not able to get around much so could he come by and show the car? As we all know by now, Chang’s heart of gold melted and he promptly drove 40 miles or so to demonstrate the proficiency of the car. The lady went over the car with a fine tooth comb and essentially trashed every aspect of the said vehicle in no uncertain terms making Chang feel like a school-boy being reprimanded by the headmistress.
Suitably chastised but with an ever indomitable spirit, Chang journeyed back to his home. In a couple of hours, the phone rang. The voice on the other line said something about trying out a new system and Chang, not the most attentive of listeners, said fine, I’ll try it out. The voice continued saying that, a person on the other line would type something, the voice’s owner would speak it to Chang, who would have to reply to the voice, which would type it back to the person. For someone who is easily confused justifying the drinking of Diet Pepsi, you can imagine the chaos all this must have created in Chang’s mind.
The voice on the phone continued “The person would like to know how much you are selling your car for”. Chang gave his reply. A momentary pause; the voice came back “The person says it’s too much. Can you go lower?” Chang, in most instances, a man of infinite patience was slowly starting to lose his iron control, especially with the drubbing from the senior citizen fresh in his mind. In a barely controlled voice he said “Why doesn’t the person talk to me directly?” A second’s delay. The voice replied “The person on the other line is deaf sir” Now, Chang felt more miserable as he realized what the system was all about.
There are a few more stories that we won’t delve into for the sake of people who want the latest story. The stories are a bit hazy but there was one buyer who seemed to be a gangster or a drug lord and wanted to take the car off Chang for a steal..literally… To make a long story short, the car did get sold finally but that is another tale.
Let us now move to present day. The itch was back and Chang was afire with the desire to once more sell his 4-door automobile. This time his adversary was an Indian. Chang, the admirer of India and Indians, looked upon this person favorably as a potential buyer. A small obstacle here was that the Indian would leave messages on Chang’s phone saying that if Chang called back, the phone would not be answered as there may not be a signal. 174 missed calls and voice mails later, Chang struck upon a brilliant plan. He would go to the mountain himself! With strong past practice in driving his car to show prospective customers, he decided to do it again. Not finding a common place to meet, flexible Chang said he would take the car to the Indian’s work-place.
It was déjà-vu all over again! This time, the Indian went over the car with a microscope. He found paint peeled off an unseen part of the front door and made a big deal of it. I have seen this purported damage. You need to look at the door with a 1500X magnification to find this peeled off paint. Next, the Indian, with Chang perched on the passenger side, took the auto for a spin. Indian guy asked if Chang could hear some noise when the brakes were applied. Chang couldn’t hear a thing and not for the lack of trying. After this, the Indian claimed that the alignment was off as the car moved off a straight line about 0.00085 degrees for every 20 miles. He enquired politely of Chang if the car had ever been in an accident as his friend once saw a car which had an issue with the axle as it had been in an accident. Chang retorted with barely concealed rage that if his car had been in an accident it would be in the records. Finally, Chang’s disciplined power over his emotions gave way and he let the Indian have a piece of his mind and came away with a dismal view of the re-seller trade.
To date, the car has not been sold, but we shall follow the progress of our hero as he goes through his trials and tribulations, for we all know in our hearts, that when Chang tries, Chang succeeds. Maybe there’s a lesson in it for all us somewhere, but for the life of me, I don’t know what it is.
A little background is in order as we go back a few years to chronicle the first entrance of our protagonist into this intricate art. Circa 2002, Chang was of the frame of mind to sell his 4-door car. He gets this itch every few years or so where he sells a perfectly good automobile and then will drive to Los Angeles to buy an identical vehicle. The whole cycle then re-starts. Let us not delve into the inner workings of the complex mind of Chang but limit ourselves to the exploits in question.
Anyway, first, a senior citizen called him to visit her place so she could see the car. She mentioned that she was not able to get around much so could he come by and show the car? As we all know by now, Chang’s heart of gold melted and he promptly drove 40 miles or so to demonstrate the proficiency of the car. The lady went over the car with a fine tooth comb and essentially trashed every aspect of the said vehicle in no uncertain terms making Chang feel like a school-boy being reprimanded by the headmistress.
Suitably chastised but with an ever indomitable spirit, Chang journeyed back to his home. In a couple of hours, the phone rang. The voice on the other line said something about trying out a new system and Chang, not the most attentive of listeners, said fine, I’ll try it out. The voice continued saying that, a person on the other line would type something, the voice’s owner would speak it to Chang, who would have to reply to the voice, which would type it back to the person. For someone who is easily confused justifying the drinking of Diet Pepsi, you can imagine the chaos all this must have created in Chang’s mind.
The voice on the phone continued “The person would like to know how much you are selling your car for”. Chang gave his reply. A momentary pause; the voice came back “The person says it’s too much. Can you go lower?” Chang, in most instances, a man of infinite patience was slowly starting to lose his iron control, especially with the drubbing from the senior citizen fresh in his mind. In a barely controlled voice he said “Why doesn’t the person talk to me directly?” A second’s delay. The voice replied “The person on the other line is deaf sir” Now, Chang felt more miserable as he realized what the system was all about.
There are a few more stories that we won’t delve into for the sake of people who want the latest story. The stories are a bit hazy but there was one buyer who seemed to be a gangster or a drug lord and wanted to take the car off Chang for a steal..literally… To make a long story short, the car did get sold finally but that is another tale.
Let us now move to present day. The itch was back and Chang was afire with the desire to once more sell his 4-door automobile. This time his adversary was an Indian. Chang, the admirer of India and Indians, looked upon this person favorably as a potential buyer. A small obstacle here was that the Indian would leave messages on Chang’s phone saying that if Chang called back, the phone would not be answered as there may not be a signal. 174 missed calls and voice mails later, Chang struck upon a brilliant plan. He would go to the mountain himself! With strong past practice in driving his car to show prospective customers, he decided to do it again. Not finding a common place to meet, flexible Chang said he would take the car to the Indian’s work-place.
It was déjà-vu all over again! This time, the Indian went over the car with a microscope. He found paint peeled off an unseen part of the front door and made a big deal of it. I have seen this purported damage. You need to look at the door with a 1500X magnification to find this peeled off paint. Next, the Indian, with Chang perched on the passenger side, took the auto for a spin. Indian guy asked if Chang could hear some noise when the brakes were applied. Chang couldn’t hear a thing and not for the lack of trying. After this, the Indian claimed that the alignment was off as the car moved off a straight line about 0.00085 degrees for every 20 miles. He enquired politely of Chang if the car had ever been in an accident as his friend once saw a car which had an issue with the axle as it had been in an accident. Chang retorted with barely concealed rage that if his car had been in an accident it would be in the records. Finally, Chang’s disciplined power over his emotions gave way and he let the Indian have a piece of his mind and came away with a dismal view of the re-seller trade.
To date, the car has not been sold, but we shall follow the progress of our hero as he goes through his trials and tribulations, for we all know in our hearts, that when Chang tries, Chang succeeds. Maybe there’s a lesson in it for all us somewhere, but for the life of me, I don’t know what it is.
Monday, December 18, 2006
Beezier Caper
An interesting day at the wife's office party in a farm-house in Bangalore. The day started innocuously enough with a trip to the Butterfly park where the kids frolicked and flitted with a lepidopterist’s zeal.
Then, the office party. One moment, we were enjoying the great outdoors; the next moment, a mad scramble to the safety of the indoors. We had obviously pissed off a hive of stingers and probably pretty badly too. To my family’s credit, neither the wife nor I let go of the all important drinks but still managed to rescue the twins to safety, each with one half of the twins safely ensconced in the arms during the mad dash.
These were undoubtedly racist bees as the one who got stung the most was the only white woman of the group, also the wife’s boss aka 'El Director'. A very traumatic experience for this lady as she disappeared into the house howling, and in tears. One would think that this would have been a daunting event for any soul. But one does not become a director from being weak in the heart. The crying stopped; a few minutes silence and this remarkable lady reappeared with a black ‘Knight of Ivanhoe’ netted bee mask. The ensemble did not end here. A thin but massive white mosquito net draped the director from head to toe, and some! She wanted to go out again; I couldn’t fathom why. She kept insisting that she needed to take control of the situation. Weirdly enough, I seemed to be the only one who thought it strange that someone who had been soundly bitten by bees and had bawled like a baby with a bad diaper rash should now be dressed like Frankenstein’s bride and wanted to duel the bees in their own backyard. Very Quixote, I thought to myself.
After a few frantic, but failed dashes at the different exit points from the house, she did finally give up and everyone settled down for beer and snacks.
Though a Twilight Zone like occasion for me, for others, who I’m sure were privileged to encounter more entertaining experiences at work, the sequence of events hardly raised an eyebrow. Now, that’s what I call an office party!!
Then, the office party. One moment, we were enjoying the great outdoors; the next moment, a mad scramble to the safety of the indoors. We had obviously pissed off a hive of stingers and probably pretty badly too. To my family’s credit, neither the wife nor I let go of the all important drinks but still managed to rescue the twins to safety, each with one half of the twins safely ensconced in the arms during the mad dash.
These were undoubtedly racist bees as the one who got stung the most was the only white woman of the group, also the wife’s boss aka 'El Director'. A very traumatic experience for this lady as she disappeared into the house howling, and in tears. One would think that this would have been a daunting event for any soul. But one does not become a director from being weak in the heart. The crying stopped; a few minutes silence and this remarkable lady reappeared with a black ‘Knight of Ivanhoe’ netted bee mask. The ensemble did not end here. A thin but massive white mosquito net draped the director from head to toe, and some! She wanted to go out again; I couldn’t fathom why. She kept insisting that she needed to take control of the situation. Weirdly enough, I seemed to be the only one who thought it strange that someone who had been soundly bitten by bees and had bawled like a baby with a bad diaper rash should now be dressed like Frankenstein’s bride and wanted to duel the bees in their own backyard. Very Quixote, I thought to myself.
After a few frantic, but failed dashes at the different exit points from the house, she did finally give up and everyone settled down for beer and snacks.
Though a Twilight Zone like occasion for me, for others, who I’m sure were privileged to encounter more entertaining experiences at work, the sequence of events hardly raised an eyebrow. Now, that’s what I call an office party!!
Friday, December 08, 2006
A land that time forgot
Wide roads, deserted streets
Is this really rush hour, peak traffic time?
Sleepy eyes, friendly waves
Park in the middle of the road
Have a cup of tea, coconut milk or sugar cane juice
Rustic buildings, ancient temples, and the trees, oh the trees!
Cobbler from ages past with a warming familiarity smiles
My grand father's tailor acknowledges me with a nod
There's nostalgia in the air, a song in the heart
The Home stands in silent elegance
Watching life go by at its own frenetic slowness
This is my hometown, my retreat, Mysore!
Is this really rush hour, peak traffic time?
Sleepy eyes, friendly waves
Park in the middle of the road
Have a cup of tea, coconut milk or sugar cane juice
Rustic buildings, ancient temples, and the trees, oh the trees!
Cobbler from ages past with a warming familiarity smiles
My grand father's tailor acknowledges me with a nod
There's nostalgia in the air, a song in the heart
The Home stands in silent elegance
Watching life go by at its own frenetic slowness
This is my hometown, my retreat, Mysore!
Saturday, November 25, 2006
Drainage and Other Escapedes
Can't say I wasn't the teeniest bit terrified when I entered my kids' school yesterday. The thought of having to interact with a regulation size battalion of 2-4 years old can shake the steeliest of hearts. I was imagining Arnold in Kindergarden Cop.
A few days back, the owner of our kids' school requested for numismatist parents to appear at school to talk about and display their collections. Being proud of my 173 countries' coin collection, I volunteered. Doing this was the most fun filled and invigorating 30 minutes of my life. Kind of shows how exciting my life is otherwise I guess!
Walking up to the room, I suggested to the school owner that, maybe, he should show the coins and I can just kind of fade into the woodwork. He would have none of that and insisted I do the deed. Entering the room, I was met by the most beautiful faces I've ever seen. There were probably about 15 youngsters who were sizing me up to see how much they go shatter my already fragile nerves.
Not knowing where to start, I just opened up my coin album. Immediately, I realized that how wrong that was! This wasn't a work meeting!! I quickly closed the book and began anew by getting everyone's names. I tried to do this systematically, but you know how that would go. One kiddo, who insisted on saying "Dollar" every few minutes, responded with "Dollar" even when I asked him his name. There was also a trio with an above average hyperactivitiy level persistently climbing atop any furniture over 3 feet tall.
The formal introductions completed, we got down to business. I was amazed by some of the questions these little ones had. One wanted to know how long I was collecting these coins, another informed me that a serrated looking coin was shaped like a flower. One coin which had a hole in the center was promptly called a drainage (kind of ironic thinking of the adage of money down the drain!). Russian currency was regularly referred to as "Rupa". One little girl wondered why I had so many (same) coins and was partially appeased when I told her that each coin was from a different country and they were not all the same. Man! We just don't get these refreshing and unbiased thoughts as we grow up.
The energy in the room was great! My inviter showed the relevant country on a large wall map for each coin that I showed and the interest was immense. A kid inquired as to when I had started collecting coins and hearing my reply that it was at the age of 10, looked crestfallen. I hastened to assure him that he needn't wait for that long but can start right away! One never thinks of the impact of statements and made me aware how much like sponges little kids are. Everything you say is gospel and they hang onto every word. You really need to be a role model!!
The next batch consisted of younger kids, probably the 2-3 years age group as my girls walked in demurely. I was even more lost as I had no idea how to talk to so many of them. These were people who did not believe in sitting quietly on chairs and waiting for me to say something intelligent. They swarmed on me like bees, turning the pages of my coin books; unsuccessful in their attempts as no two little people wanted to turn the page the same direction. Momentary panic as being only grown-up in the room for about 2 minutes , I was rendered powerless by the onslaught till the owner came back and restored order.
A great great experience. For the umpteenth time, I envied people who run these types of facilities as a career. It's such joyous, energetic and entertaining work! I know I learnt a lot more from the children than they did from me. It was such a wonderful feeling to leave work early and get an opportunity to do something so enthralling. Moreover, I still can't get over what darlings kids are and how uninhibited we all once were. All in all, a moment to cherish in my life for such instances are rare and priceless.
A few days back, the owner of our kids' school requested for numismatist parents to appear at school to talk about and display their collections. Being proud of my 173 countries' coin collection, I volunteered. Doing this was the most fun filled and invigorating 30 minutes of my life. Kind of shows how exciting my life is otherwise I guess!
Walking up to the room, I suggested to the school owner that, maybe, he should show the coins and I can just kind of fade into the woodwork. He would have none of that and insisted I do the deed. Entering the room, I was met by the most beautiful faces I've ever seen. There were probably about 15 youngsters who were sizing me up to see how much they go shatter my already fragile nerves.
Not knowing where to start, I just opened up my coin album. Immediately, I realized that how wrong that was! This wasn't a work meeting!! I quickly closed the book and began anew by getting everyone's names. I tried to do this systematically, but you know how that would go. One kiddo, who insisted on saying "Dollar" every few minutes, responded with "Dollar" even when I asked him his name. There was also a trio with an above average hyperactivitiy level persistently climbing atop any furniture over 3 feet tall.
The formal introductions completed, we got down to business. I was amazed by some of the questions these little ones had. One wanted to know how long I was collecting these coins, another informed me that a serrated looking coin was shaped like a flower. One coin which had a hole in the center was promptly called a drainage (kind of ironic thinking of the adage of money down the drain!). Russian currency was regularly referred to as "Rupa". One little girl wondered why I had so many (same) coins and was partially appeased when I told her that each coin was from a different country and they were not all the same. Man! We just don't get these refreshing and unbiased thoughts as we grow up.
The energy in the room was great! My inviter showed the relevant country on a large wall map for each coin that I showed and the interest was immense. A kid inquired as to when I had started collecting coins and hearing my reply that it was at the age of 10, looked crestfallen. I hastened to assure him that he needn't wait for that long but can start right away! One never thinks of the impact of statements and made me aware how much like sponges little kids are. Everything you say is gospel and they hang onto every word. You really need to be a role model!!
The next batch consisted of younger kids, probably the 2-3 years age group as my girls walked in demurely. I was even more lost as I had no idea how to talk to so many of them. These were people who did not believe in sitting quietly on chairs and waiting for me to say something intelligent. They swarmed on me like bees, turning the pages of my coin books; unsuccessful in their attempts as no two little people wanted to turn the page the same direction. Momentary panic as being only grown-up in the room for about 2 minutes , I was rendered powerless by the onslaught till the owner came back and restored order.
A great great experience. For the umpteenth time, I envied people who run these types of facilities as a career. It's such joyous, energetic and entertaining work! I know I learnt a lot more from the children than they did from me. It was such a wonderful feeling to leave work early and get an opportunity to do something so enthralling. Moreover, I still can't get over what darlings kids are and how uninhibited we all once were. All in all, a moment to cherish in my life for such instances are rare and priceless.
Friday, September 01, 2006
The Walk (Random Thoughts)
Yesterday evening, I took a long walk in my neighborhood for no apparent reason. J.P. Nagar, in Bangalore, is primarily an upper middle class residential area, at least the area I live in.
What struck me, and not for the first time, was the easy co-existence of diverse environments and lifestyles that are so much a part of living in India. The smell of urine mixed with the aromas of incense sticks, the smell of wood-fired smoke with that of metal working, the smell of cooking and fresh paint, the contrasts are never ending. I peer into a tiny home and find a lady sitting on a decent looking sofa and watching TV. I would never have imagined a TV would have fit into that house, let alone a sofa. Walking a bit more, I happen upon a large Ganesha temple, next to a new apartment complex. Distinctly North Indian looking women and children chat and play outside the complex; the temple itself is a traditional South Indian Ganesha temple on a surprisingly large land area. There is no one in the temple save for the priest who warmly does the Aarthi of the god and pours holy water into my hand.
Further ahead, I hear a loud Hindi movie song playing and opposite to this open air audio room, is another temple. Here, the priest is standing outside and the look on his face is one of peace and tranquility. Blissfully ignoring the blaring music, he is lost in his own thoughts.
I continue my walk and stumble on a motor mechanic shop with two grease laden men maneuvering their hands in the bowels of a moped which had probably last been roadworthy five years ago. Next to this establishment is a carpentry shop and I cannot help but admire the intricate wooden chairs and tables being worked on.
I then pass by four healthy cows enjoying a gourmet meal of fresh garbage. A man walks by, caressing one absent mindedly. Where else would we see this!
Hardly anyone looks up to enquire on curious onlookers. People without much to do stand and gawk at the industrious individuals trying to make a living in the way they know best. It's all accepted and nothing's out of the ordinary here.
I suddenly come to a familiar park and the landscape changes; new houses, big houses and automobiles become prevalent now. Road-side vendors disperse delicious ware to hungry professionals and students alike. I kick myself for not carrying any money with me, for, though I am not hungry, it's difficult to avoid the temptations of the mobile vendors whose office space is the green grass and the open sky.
I've been living in this area for over two years and I am amazed at the teeming industry and holy shrines less than a fifteen minute walk from where I live. The high population density and the crowded houses do nothing to lessen the amicability of the various societies in coexistence. Everyone seems to get along just fine and there is efficiency and optimization all around. The smallest of spaces are optimally used and businesses thrive on sparse real estate, judiciously using any available space.
I feel so alive after a brief thirty minute walk. I can somehow relate to the struggles here even though I am not part of that life. I am grounded in reality once more. There’s a personal connection that pervades my senses; monotony and routine are just not words that apply here. India throbs with this life in its highways and byways, in its villages and its cities. I start to think as to why I would ever want to leave all this for a life I had got used to for thirteen years in the United States and reasons fail me. Not everything here has a logical explanation, and many times that's okay. Ambiguity and abstraction reign supreme and that's what makes it fun. Life in this country cannot be staged or choreographed and each aspect of the amalgamation marches to its own ceaseless energetic beat.
I love this land of contradictions, its varied hues, its diversity and most of all its willingness to fight out of the muck and be a force to reckon with. My walk in the microcosm of my country rejuventated me like nothing else can. A good friend recently gave a statement that will resonate with me forever. "In India, everything is difficult, nothing is impossible". That in a nutshell, sums up my motherland.
What struck me, and not for the first time, was the easy co-existence of diverse environments and lifestyles that are so much a part of living in India. The smell of urine mixed with the aromas of incense sticks, the smell of wood-fired smoke with that of metal working, the smell of cooking and fresh paint, the contrasts are never ending. I peer into a tiny home and find a lady sitting on a decent looking sofa and watching TV. I would never have imagined a TV would have fit into that house, let alone a sofa. Walking a bit more, I happen upon a large Ganesha temple, next to a new apartment complex. Distinctly North Indian looking women and children chat and play outside the complex; the temple itself is a traditional South Indian Ganesha temple on a surprisingly large land area. There is no one in the temple save for the priest who warmly does the Aarthi of the god and pours holy water into my hand.
Further ahead, I hear a loud Hindi movie song playing and opposite to this open air audio room, is another temple. Here, the priest is standing outside and the look on his face is one of peace and tranquility. Blissfully ignoring the blaring music, he is lost in his own thoughts.
I continue my walk and stumble on a motor mechanic shop with two grease laden men maneuvering their hands in the bowels of a moped which had probably last been roadworthy five years ago. Next to this establishment is a carpentry shop and I cannot help but admire the intricate wooden chairs and tables being worked on.
I then pass by four healthy cows enjoying a gourmet meal of fresh garbage. A man walks by, caressing one absent mindedly. Where else would we see this!
Hardly anyone looks up to enquire on curious onlookers. People without much to do stand and gawk at the industrious individuals trying to make a living in the way they know best. It's all accepted and nothing's out of the ordinary here.
I suddenly come to a familiar park and the landscape changes; new houses, big houses and automobiles become prevalent now. Road-side vendors disperse delicious ware to hungry professionals and students alike. I kick myself for not carrying any money with me, for, though I am not hungry, it's difficult to avoid the temptations of the mobile vendors whose office space is the green grass and the open sky.
I've been living in this area for over two years and I am amazed at the teeming industry and holy shrines less than a fifteen minute walk from where I live. The high population density and the crowded houses do nothing to lessen the amicability of the various societies in coexistence. Everyone seems to get along just fine and there is efficiency and optimization all around. The smallest of spaces are optimally used and businesses thrive on sparse real estate, judiciously using any available space.
I feel so alive after a brief thirty minute walk. I can somehow relate to the struggles here even though I am not part of that life. I am grounded in reality once more. There’s a personal connection that pervades my senses; monotony and routine are just not words that apply here. India throbs with this life in its highways and byways, in its villages and its cities. I start to think as to why I would ever want to leave all this for a life I had got used to for thirteen years in the United States and reasons fail me. Not everything here has a logical explanation, and many times that's okay. Ambiguity and abstraction reign supreme and that's what makes it fun. Life in this country cannot be staged or choreographed and each aspect of the amalgamation marches to its own ceaseless energetic beat.
I love this land of contradictions, its varied hues, its diversity and most of all its willingness to fight out of the muck and be a force to reckon with. My walk in the microcosm of my country rejuventated me like nothing else can. A good friend recently gave a statement that will resonate with me forever. "In India, everything is difficult, nothing is impossible". That in a nutshell, sums up my motherland.
Tuesday, August 22, 2006
Saturday, August 19, 2006
Three little pigs (As narrated by Niyathi Prasad, age 3)
Daas three little pigs built a house. No, only one pig built a house.
Then wolf has come. Then blow the house. Ooof! Ooof! Ooof!
Pig tell "Mummy, mummy, wolf broke it my house"
Other pig come and build a house. Wolf is come.
Wolf is tell "Blow the house?". Pig said "NO!!". Wolf blow house. Is broke house.
Third pig no build a house!
Then wolf has come. Then blow the house. Ooof! Ooof! Ooof!
Pig tell "Mummy, mummy, wolf broke it my house"
Other pig come and build a house. Wolf is come.
Wolf is tell "Blow the house?". Pig said "NO!!". Wolf blow house. Is broke house.
Third pig no build a house!
The Blue Elephant (By Niyathi Prasad)
Daas blue Elephant go to daas blue bird. "Bird, Bird, can you play with me?". Bird is tell "Can you fly with me?". Elephant tell "No, I can't fly with you". Then elephant sad.
All of them is not come
Then elephant is tell blue ocean "Blue ocean, can you play with me?". Is tell "No, I can't play with you". Elephant start cry.
Is come children. "Children, children, can you play with me?". "Yeah, I play with you"
Elephant very very happy!
Story over!!
All of them is not come
Then elephant is tell blue ocean "Blue ocean, can you play with me?". Is tell "No, I can't play with you". Elephant start cry.
Is come children. "Children, children, can you play with me?". "Yeah, I play with you"
Elephant very very happy!
Story over!!
Thursday, August 03, 2006
A morning in the life of Chang
"This whole thing sucks" he said morosely and softly, not realizing that all his managers were listening intently to him and the microphone was attached to 5 300W speakers. 'Why does this always happen to me?' he exclaimed exasperatedly throwing his hands in the air and shaking his heads like only Chang can.
As he neared his desk, he spied the hairy Indian guy approaching. Chang had only two alternatives; either make a break for it or wait for the inevitable bear hug from the hairy Indian with the stale coffee breath smell and hands you were never sure of what they would do next or where they had been before. Resignedly, he awaited the loving hug and after extricating himself deftly, decided to do some productive work.
A few seconds later, his ex-boss walked in and was about to say something when Chang fixed him with a cold stare and stated in a cold and sinister voice "Gary, before you say anything, I'd like to ask YOU tell me How Come'. Lost for words, his ex-boss meekly exited his cube. With a sense of accomplishment, Chang turned once more towards the revered Changorama when the phone rang. This time it was a call from home. After a few 'Nghas' Chang again escaped and hung up the phone. Now, more determined than ever he faced his screen but had promptly forgotten what his code did.
By now, coffee time had appeared and lacking his soul mate who had wandered off to India, Chang strolled aimlessly around the cubes like a lost lamb looking for its mother. Due to his carelessness, he walked directly in the path of the human Tsunami Ajay. "Chang, let's wrap up databroker by this week. Its ok if its a little bit broken, let's just implement it and release it to all sites, even AMD is ok..is that right so let's maintain it so we can do it this way and we are covered if not we can make the call’
Chang stared in bewilderment and an acute observer of the situation would have noticed that he did try to say a few words amidst the torrent. These words sounded like 'But Ajay...', 'I cant’ , 'umm....’, 'err.. .’, 'haanh???'
However this was lost in the deluge and Ajay swished by leaving Chang very perturbed at the sudden turn of events and was left with a strange sense of unease. Had he agreed to something? Had he nodded his head? He was filled with dread now.
Still lost in thought he entered the restroom only to realize he didn’t have any and was actually originally planning for a coffee. Here he encountered an old Autoplan cronie by the name of Victor Chang. Victor is one of those guys who never talks or says much but can be counted upon to pinch your nipples when you least expect it. However, Chang, being a past master in avoiding male body contact (except in the case of the hairy Indian guy whom he still had not figured how to escape from), kept his respectful distance, mumbled a few words in Mandarin which Victor apparently understood 100% and both exited the restroom promising each other to meet for lunch later that day. ‘Kwangnam Cho’ said Chang in his not so soft tenor. Victor giggled and said nothing as the real Kwangnam Cho treated Chang to an icy stare and walked by in anger. Chang turned to Victor and in a moment of revelation explained that ‘Kwangam Cho’ meant Naked Guy. Kwangnam, who had not yet moved out of earshot turned round and said ‘I know’. ‘Dammit’ said Chang, turning red, purple and pink all at once.
Back again in his cube, Chang opened his cabinet doors to ensure no one had slyly kidnapped his treasured Unix user guides which undoubtedly are in high demand somewhere (not sure where though). He glanced surreptitiously at ‘Spin the Chang’, an ancient game developed in his honor. Seeing no one around, he quickly gave it a go. The head stopped upside down. Muttering ‘Dammit’ under his breath, he once more regained his posture in front of his monitor. This time, he remembered exactly what he was working on and joyously opened the code only to realize he had recollected what he had to implement but could not now remember the programming language he was using.
Amidst these deep thoughts, he got a call from Oregon. Not waiting for the usual pleasantries, the voice on the other end screamed ‘Hey Chang, how come you still don’t have a Masters? Normal people get it in 2 years you know?’ Chang, ever the serene one was unaffected by these comments. ‘What the hell do you want Vik?’ he said softly but firmly leaving no doubt in anyone’s mind that he meant business. This of course, was completely lost on the abnormally tall Indian guy who continued his banter for a minute or so finally ending his tirade with ‘Hey Chang, why do you call me up and waste my time? I missed a meeting because of you. Anyway, I need to go now. Next time you want to waste my time, please let me know in advance. Hey, how do you say Jaadugar in Chinese?’ Leaving Chang sputtering and fuming, the tall Indian guy hung up the phone.
‘This whole thing sucks’ said Chang once again. His Director, who had just walked in, clicked his voice in disapproval and walked out.
As he neared his desk, he spied the hairy Indian guy approaching. Chang had only two alternatives; either make a break for it or wait for the inevitable bear hug from the hairy Indian with the stale coffee breath smell and hands you were never sure of what they would do next or where they had been before. Resignedly, he awaited the loving hug and after extricating himself deftly, decided to do some productive work.
A few seconds later, his ex-boss walked in and was about to say something when Chang fixed him with a cold stare and stated in a cold and sinister voice "Gary, before you say anything, I'd like to ask YOU tell me How Come'. Lost for words, his ex-boss meekly exited his cube. With a sense of accomplishment, Chang turned once more towards the revered Changorama when the phone rang. This time it was a call from home. After a few 'Nghas' Chang again escaped and hung up the phone. Now, more determined than ever he faced his screen but had promptly forgotten what his code did.
By now, coffee time had appeared and lacking his soul mate who had wandered off to India, Chang strolled aimlessly around the cubes like a lost lamb looking for its mother. Due to his carelessness, he walked directly in the path of the human Tsunami Ajay. "Chang, let's wrap up databroker by this week. Its ok if its a little bit broken, let's just implement it and release it to all sites, even AMD is ok..is that right so let's maintain it so we can do it this way and we are covered if not we can make the call’
Chang stared in bewilderment and an acute observer of the situation would have noticed that he did try to say a few words amidst the torrent. These words sounded like 'But Ajay...', 'I cant’ , 'umm....’, 'err.. .’, 'haanh???'
However this was lost in the deluge and Ajay swished by leaving Chang very perturbed at the sudden turn of events and was left with a strange sense of unease. Had he agreed to something? Had he nodded his head? He was filled with dread now.
Still lost in thought he entered the restroom only to realize he didn’t have any and was actually originally planning for a coffee. Here he encountered an old Autoplan cronie by the name of Victor Chang. Victor is one of those guys who never talks or says much but can be counted upon to pinch your nipples when you least expect it. However, Chang, being a past master in avoiding male body contact (except in the case of the hairy Indian guy whom he still had not figured how to escape from), kept his respectful distance, mumbled a few words in Mandarin which Victor apparently understood 100% and both exited the restroom promising each other to meet for lunch later that day. ‘Kwangnam Cho’ said Chang in his not so soft tenor. Victor giggled and said nothing as the real Kwangnam Cho treated Chang to an icy stare and walked by in anger. Chang turned to Victor and in a moment of revelation explained that ‘Kwangam Cho’ meant Naked Guy. Kwangnam, who had not yet moved out of earshot turned round and said ‘I know’. ‘Dammit’ said Chang, turning red, purple and pink all at once.
Back again in his cube, Chang opened his cabinet doors to ensure no one had slyly kidnapped his treasured Unix user guides which undoubtedly are in high demand somewhere (not sure where though). He glanced surreptitiously at ‘Spin the Chang’, an ancient game developed in his honor. Seeing no one around, he quickly gave it a go. The head stopped upside down. Muttering ‘Dammit’ under his breath, he once more regained his posture in front of his monitor. This time, he remembered exactly what he was working on and joyously opened the code only to realize he had recollected what he had to implement but could not now remember the programming language he was using.
Amidst these deep thoughts, he got a call from Oregon. Not waiting for the usual pleasantries, the voice on the other end screamed ‘Hey Chang, how come you still don’t have a Masters? Normal people get it in 2 years you know?’ Chang, ever the serene one was unaffected by these comments. ‘What the hell do you want Vik?’ he said softly but firmly leaving no doubt in anyone’s mind that he meant business. This of course, was completely lost on the abnormally tall Indian guy who continued his banter for a minute or so finally ending his tirade with ‘Hey Chang, why do you call me up and waste my time? I missed a meeting because of you. Anyway, I need to go now. Next time you want to waste my time, please let me know in advance. Hey, how do you say Jaadugar in Chinese?’ Leaving Chang sputtering and fuming, the tall Indian guy hung up the phone.
‘This whole thing sucks’ said Chang once again. His Director, who had just walked in, clicked his voice in disapproval and walked out.
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