Competition: The double-edged sword

After a long hiatus, I am back to my writing ways, at least to post a few thoughts and experiences in the recent past.

A few weeks back, the girls started their skating lessons. As is to be expected, there was the usual stumbling process, literally. They seemed to get a hang of it after a few sessions, no Katarina Witts, but at least looked comfortable walking around on wheels. In due course, it was evident that Manasi was the faster learner and this prompted the instructor to split up the stuck-like-glue girls. Of course, Manasi didn't see this as a reward, but as a punishment, being separated from her sister. She created quite the scene, crying and protesting the unfair divide.

The next class, my girl got really smart, but not in a way we wanted. She started skating slow and kept pace with her sister just so they won't be separated!

As a parent, it's a very tough situation. While we are obviously happy about the bond they share, it's sad to see our babies perform less than their best just so the other can keep up. That's what seems to happen a lot nowadays. When one cannot do well somewhere, the other slows down automatically. It's too early to tell them that each one needs to do their best in everything one does and not everyone can do well in everything.

I'm sure we will encounter more situations like this as they grow up and I only hope they learn to feed off each other's strengths and do the best they can in whatever they do. I don't want them to become less competitive so their achievements are always cumulative but individually mediocre. We'll see...

Word Exercise

Something the love of my life made me write down :

Passion - to do something with my life
Deep - my love for my girls
Lust - for you, all the time
Dark - thoughts when I am doing nothing
Light - How I want to feel
Exhilarating - having my girls walk and jump all over me
Lonely - when you are not at home with me
Strange - times that we are in
Boredom - Nowadays a lot of it
Crazy - our lives now
Sad - Orphans
Cold - Chicago
Routine - hate it
Paranoid - never am
Restless - after 2 years in any job

By the skin of my teeth

Niyathi and I driving merrily along. At a traffic intersection, I get a green and start moving. A humungus bus jumps the red light to my right and drives right through the intersection. I brake hard.

Reflexively, I blurt out "What the f**k!!". As I finish my expletive, I whip around in fear to my little girl. She gives me a sweet smile and say "Daddy. why did you say WONDERFUL to that bus?"

What a close shave!!

Now, both the girls chortle in chorus every time we see a bus "WONDERFUL!!"

Oh well, it could have been worse..a lot lot worse!!

Anger

krodhad bhavati sammohah
sammohat smrti-vibhramah
smrti-bhramsad buddhi-naso
buddhi-nasat pranasyati

From the Bhagavad Gita, this translates into something like this:

From anger arises delusion, from delusion arises loss of reason, from loss of reason arises destruction of the mind and the destruction of the mind leads to the self-destruction of the individual.

I was trying to find a way to connect this profound philosophy with something from Aristotle's writings on anger in his Nicomachean Ethics:

Anyone can become angry - that is easy. But to be angry at the right person, to the right degree, at the right time, for the right purpose and in the right way - this is not easy

Whew!! Whew!! Whew!! One for the Gita, one for Aristotle and one for the fact that these are timeless thoughts that illustrate the greatness of ancient philosophies.

For me, the verse from the Gita gives the process of how anger leads to ruin! Aristotle's ethics talks to the control or channeling anger for maximum personal gain. Aristotle is probably looking at it from a material gain perspective whereas the Gita is looking at spiritual gain. The Greek philosopher doesn't seem to say that you should not get angry, rather do so, but do it in a way that can provide benefit to oneself. So, does that mean that the right anger controlled the right way does not lead to ruin? Is controlling anger this way eventually lead to completing overcoming anger? What is the definition of anger? Why does it arise? My take is that suppressed desire leads to anger. Think of the various things that make you angry? Can you trace each of these things down to some desire of yours that was prevented? I think so.

The teachings of the Gita as well as Aristotle's words have given me much fodder for thought. I am starting to believe that if you start analyzing anger (each time you get angry) in the fashion of the words from the 'Nicomachean Ethics', you will in due course of time arrive to a state where it doesn't make sense to get angry at all! However, as Aristotle rightly says, that is not easy and to completely get rid of anger, near impossible. But, then an interesting question. Is a rationalized well-thought out expression of anger, anger at all, or something completely different? Is planned anger an oxymoron?

Am I way off? Please feel free to tear apart my thoughts. I'm just thinking out loud and would love to hear your opinions and ideas. I've not even touched the tip of the iceberg here but hope to some day understand at some minuscule level, the root of anger, and as a lofty goal, how we can make the world a less angry place for us and our future generations to live in.

Adventures in RPO

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.

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.

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.

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!!

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!

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.

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.