What is the world coming to?

I'm sitting in the verandah at my grandmother's house, immersed in my laptop as I try to get some work done. Coffee on my right, music in my ears, smartphone on my left.

The neighbour's kids drop by, inquisitively checking me out as young kids are wont to do. The boy is ten, the girl five.

We share a shy hello, wide smiles and not much more, given the language barrier (they speak Kannada, I don't).

The ice broken, they clamber around me. I humour them as I continue to work.

And that's when they see my mobile phone.

The ten year old boy: Haiyya, Blackberry!

He picks it up.
The five year old girl: Touchscreen?
The boy: No, silly! Normal phone
She looks disappointed, as though she expected better of me.
The boy, turning to me: Does this have Facebook?

Bloody hell. I'm not yet thirty, and I'm already beginning to feel like a dinosaur.

Ek Main Aur Ek Tu

I was recently talking to a friend who was convinced she had found someone who was 'The One' for her.

[Enter lazy, cliched Matrix pun here]

I see this concept of 'The One' in popular culture as a highly Western concept. Made super-ironic by the fact that so many people there who remarry in the course of their lifetimes. I guess it's not so much 'The One' as 'The One at the Moment, until a better One comes along.'

Anyway, as she was going on about her One and their plan for a lifetime of happiness, love and general into-the-sunsetness, I couldn't help but think about my Ones.

To be honest, there have been very few women in my life I've genuinely believed had the potential to someday be considered as a candidate for being 'The One' in a janam-janam-ka-saathi sense. But each relationship, near-relationship, friendship or worship-from-afar carries its learnings and residual emotions, and it isn't hard to characterise some of them as one wallows in memories of happier times.

So, as I was thinking about some of my Ones, I realised it's actually a fairly long and distinct list of perceptions and memories.

The First One

The One That Got Away

The One I Really Really Liked But Realistically Knew I Never Had A Shot With; Then Got a Shot With Which I Cringe-inducingly Muffed

The One I Got Drunk And Freaky With, And Who Was Thankfully Cool About It

The One That Was An Experiment

The One That I Never Dreamed Would Happen

The One I Should Never Ever Have Let Go Of (You Bloody Idiot You)

The One I Wish I Had Handled Better

The One My Closest Friends Thought Was Psycho (she wasn't)

The One Who Was Just a Little Psycho (Yes, I know that's rich coming from me)

The One That Still Causes Me Emotional Turmoil Although She Has No Idea She Does

The One Whose Sunlit Perfection I Basked In But Never Had The Guts To Woo

The Thunderbolt One

The One Who Will Always Be The One

Next hop, skip, jump thought in my stream of consciousness: will I ever find my One? Ha. Ha ha. No. Largely because I believe in neither the concept at a fundamental level, nor the likelihood of my being that deeply emotionally committed for long enough without my inherent cynicism about the human race and the nature of human relationships kicking in and making a complete mess of everything, casting me into the usual cyclical black hole of anger, distrust, self-destruction and isolational misanthropy. Lather, rinse, repeat.

Death - more musings

I have written earlier about death, where I stated that I'd like to die now rather than of old age at the end of the natural life cycle.

Recently, I had occasion to think once again about death as a concept and dying as an act, whether by accident or premeditated.

Given that I have to die someday, I felt it would an instructive, interesting and fun exercise to run through some of the different ways I could die and rank them in order of preference.

A few considerations

No suicide. Simply because my family wouldn't get the insurance payout in such a case

The more instantaneous the death, the better. I have a low threshold for pain inspite of my high desire for death

In compiling this list, I'm accounting for the possibility that the methods below may not necessarily result in death. I'm factoring this into the preference rating

Obviously, these are purely my views on the subject. You probably have a completely different set of criteria when picking how to die. If so, do share

I'll start from the least preferred route to death.

10. Car accident

Good: Extremely high likelihood of happening, given the amount of time I spend on the road and the general insanity of every Indian driver. Including me.

Bad: Cars provide a fairly decent level of protection nowadays. Airbags, and all that. Plus I am inherently a reasonably careful driver. Still, no match for a drunken truck driver.

Ugly: High chance of life-altering and crippling injury, but no death. Not how I want to spend the rest of my life.

Bottom line: Highly risky, from the point of view of the kind of death I'm looking for

9. Fire

Good: Can't really think of any. Except that your family could claim both life and property insurance. Oh, and that you might just choke to death before you burn to death.

Bad: Most fires that are likely to break out in the course of my normal life are in places that claim to have good fire systems. And unless it's a really big blaze and one is absolutely trapped, chances of death are minimal

Ugly: Third degree burns, no balm of death, painful disfigurement, social horror and a ruined life

Bottom line: Too ugly. The mind and soul quail at the thought of this route

8. Drowning

Good: Almost definite to kill you, if you're under long enough. If this occurs in a river, there's the added possibility you'll be crushed by rocks. Just to make sure

Bad: Unlikely to occur naturally, in the course of my everyday life. While I do visit rivers and waterfalls and seashores and such, they are usually not dangerous enough to drown me. There is the possibility of someone trying to kill me through drowning though - a silver lining

Ugly: A terribly painful way to go. Having briefly tried it to see what it feels like, I never want to do it again

Bottom line: The destination is great, the journey not so much

7. Terrorist attack: bomb blast

Good: If it's a powerful bomb, it can pretty much blow you to smithereens. Clean and complete

Bad: Bomb blasts are, mercifully (for the population at large), few. Relatively speaking, of course. I wouldn't want my selfish desire for death to claim other lives, at least not through a means as base as terrorism

Ugly: Extremely high likelihood of losing just a limb if I'm not within a few metres of the bomb. And the terrorists are unlikely to feed me inside info on the bomb's location, even if they read this blog

Bottom line: Terrorism is heinous, period. Given this point of view and the likely collateral damage through this method, my conscience can't support this

6. Falling off a building

Good: If the building is high enough, one is more or less guaranteed death

Bad: "High enough" is difficult to guage. My office building only runs to five floors. My apartment complex runs to ten. Will ten guarantee death? Will five? Also, most tall buildings are protected nowadays, with sealed windows and closed terraces. And it would be difficult to prove it wasn't a suicide. People hate me, but not so much as to push me off a building

Ugly: Anything short of death through this method. Exactly the same downside as a car accident, just more severe

Bottom line: Seems impractical and unlikely

5. Knife wound

Good: Reasonable chance of this happening somewhere, especially if I roam about in dark alleyways at night. I could lose a reasonable amount of blood and thereby die

Bad: The society around me is more of gun-oriented one, I think. Plus I don't spend much time in dark alleyways in the normal course of things - the most I get about in the dark is the drive from office to home

Ugly: An incision that isn't deep enough will leave me in terrible pain, bleeding very very slowly (or terribly scarred) but not dead. Which kind of defeats the whole point of the thing for me

Bottom line: This could go either way

4. Electrocution

Good: Given the general state of construction in many of the places I go in and out of (not the mention that my life is ruled by electrical and electronic gadgets), this is a very plausible way to die

Bad: It would have to be a very decisive bit of electrocution to kill me immediately, not just fry my skin or internal body parts

Ugly: One word - vegetable

Bottom line: This, too could go either way

3. Falling construction material

Good: In Delhi/Gurgaon, this is always a very real possibility. Maybe a roof will come crashing down when I attend the Commonwealth Games later this year

Bad: The Metro construction in Gurgaon is coming to an end. And there are no major buildings being built around the areas I visit - the CWG is my only hope

Ugly: Unless it's a really large and heavy piece of material - such as a multi-ton cement section that can crush my car like a pretty girl crushing a young man's hope - this could go the car accident way. And I'd be out a car.

Bottom line: Worth a shot, it could very well happen

2. Gunshot wound (mugger, police cross fire, encounter)

Good: More blood loss likely than a gun wound. Also more likely to result in near immediate death if aimed right (brain, heart). Plus gun-raj is reasonably prevalent in this neck of the woods, from what I hear and see. And death by gunfire is kind of cool, in a filmy tragic-romantic sense

Bad: I don't frequent too many places of ill repute and high crime rates (relatively speaking, of course. Gurgaon city's is pretty high as it is.) So while I've seen many gun-toting drivers and such, I don't know if I'll actually be faced with the desired situation in the course of my normal life. If I was, though, I'd probably ask the guy to kill me

Ugly: There's always the possibility of a slow, agonizing, death. Or just slow agony, if someone finds you before you die

Bottom line: I like this, but it needs to be done right. I might have to be asked to be killed, but who's the killer going to complain to?

1. Airplane accident

Good: Perfect. Near 100% chance of death, especially if mid air or involving two aircraft. In a warped way, a cool, worry-free way to go. And I fly a fair bit on work

Bad: The probability of dying in an accident if flying one of the world's top 25 airlines is just 1 in 9.2 million, and only 8% of fatal accidents happen mid-flight (Source). The majority of accidents are on the ground with no major casualties.
Ugly: The other lives that may be lost. Hopefully very very few, ideally none except mine.

Bottom line: I'm fairly sure this is the way I'd like to go.

In summary,

10. Car accident

9. Fire

8. Drowning

7. Terrorist attack

6. Falling off a building

5. Knife wound

4. Falling construction material

3. Electrocution

2. Gunshot wound

1. Airplane accident

Well, there it is. The problem is that this is all wishful thinking. There's little I can do to hasten one or more of these methods of death without it bordering on suicide, so I just have to continue (a) flying, and (b) living in Haryana and hope that one of the top two on my list, respectively, happens.

(To my parents and a few others who care: No, I am not going to kill myself. So there's no need to worry, for now.)

If Only...

If only you’d kept your head about you when
Everything collapsed and the fault was yours;
If you had trusted her above yourself,
Addressed her doubts instead of closing doors;
If only you’d waited for her to explain
And not dismissed all she said as lies;
Thought hateful thoughts each night you’d lain
Apart, forced silence and averted eyes;

If only you’d cared for her dreams, shared her pride;
Put aside thoughts of ego and shame;
If, through Triumph and Disaster, been by her side
And, through it all, loved her just the same;
If only you’d borne the hard truths she spoke,
Not lied, not taken her for a fool;
Worked to save the marriage as it broke,
Bowed on occasion, not been a mule;

If only you’d not been so intent on “winning”
And tried risking it all to win her back,
Forseen the aching loss when all was spinning
out of control; kept quiet, changed tack;
If only you’d forced your heart, your every nerve,
To pause, rethink, before things were too far gone,
Held on dearly to memories of earlier love
When nothing else was left to which to hold on;

If only you’d ignored crowds gossiping of virtue
And reached out for a personal, honest touch;
Not let assumptions and falsities hurt you,
Counted reason with you as a worthy crutch;
If only you’d held unforgiving words spoken in heat,
And listened to her for a minute, just one;
Your world and all in it would’ve been complete
And, perhaps, you would’ve been a real Man, my son!



Was rather disturbed by a conversation I had with a friend whose eleven year relationship has just crumbled to nothingness. And all he had to offer himself when trying to come to terms with it in the cold light of hindsight was a litany of pitiful 'If Only I Had's. Depressing, and an unwelcome reminder of my own long list of 'What If's and 'I Wish I Had's in this context.

(Due apologies to Kipling. A man who, it is probably safe to assume, was never lost for the right words to rescue any situation, however dire.)

Wanderlust

My friend FiFo is one of the most interesting guys I know. He's extremely well read and informed, has immense personal drive and ambition, displays an inspiring capacity for hard work, faces the world with admirably stoic calm and humours all the madness and insanity the rest of us throw at him.

One of the things I've come to admire about him is his willingness to travel, often by himself, to places on his life wishlist. He selects a destination, does the required research, and strikes out. A new destination, a new adventure, every six months or so.

Some time ago, he put up a list on his blog, here, his ten year travel plan.

I have long had a wishlist as well, one that I have often read through wistfully but never really taken the initiative to act on. And everytime I see this list, I sigh to myself and go through a series of seven thoughts in the following sequence

1. Aargh, I hate myself for not being more planned and making a serious move on this list
2. I'm so glad I got the opportunity to cover at least Australia and New Zealand - perenially near the top of my list - so thoroughly
3. I'll definitely get cracking on this once I get to India. Definitely
4. I hope I don't do what I always do - let work, mental inertia and my habitual procrastinaation and indecisiveness kill my plans
5. Oh hell, marriage - if/when it happens - is probably going to tie me down and limit my current carefree world-be-damned-I-love-to-explore travel. Dammit, I'd better hurry up and get all this travel under my belt asap
6. I'll start as soon as I'm back. I promise. No more delays. This time I mean it. I think
7. Aargh, I hate myself for not being more planned and making a serious move on this list

Following in FiFo's footsteps, I have now decided to commit this to blog-form, moving it from the dusty archives of an Excel sheet lost on my chaotic computer to public domain. How will this be any different, how will it matter, you may be tempted to ask. And quite rightly so.

The answer is that I'm not quite sure. But admitting to a little more openly, setting it in writing, so to speak, may help make me more accountable to myself. I would also hope (though not expect) that others who stumble across this list will offer their suggestions, and friends will periodically prod me about my progress on this list. And give me the pressure/support required to make my dreams reality (didn't mean for it to sound so dramatic, but that's exactly how I feel about it now).



A good representation of me and my desire to travel. Except for the ridiculous moustache and world-domination megalomania.
Anyway, here goes. Most of them are the usual suspects, to begin with. And I haven't yet planned the specific cities in each country. I'd like to do the major cities, and then a couple of smaller ones (for example, Athens and then a couple of the small islands in Greece).

I plan to update this as the months roll by, but here's my initial list, in alphabetical order. Also, just to push myself to action, I've marked out what I am committing myself to do in the next 18 months (*) and the next 36 months(**).

India, beautiful India
Andaman & Nicobar
Dharamshala*
Kerala (in slow, unhurried detail)
Ladakh and Leh*
Lakshadweep
Pushkar (the mela)*
Rishikesh*
Sikkim**

The world
Antarctica**
Austria and Hungary
Bhutan
China
Cyprus
Everest Base camp*
Greece
Ireland
Japan
Jordan
Mexico
Mongolia
Morocco
Namibia
Nepal**
Pakistan
Poland
Russia
Scandanavia
South America - Peru, Brazil, Argentina, Colombia**
South East Asia - Vietnam, Laos, Cambodia
South Korea
Spain and Portugal
Syria
Turkey

It's something of a laundry list, but I am confident I can cover these in the next 15 years. That will allow me to die a little more satisfied with my life.

Ah, the Aussie way

Recently, a small incident brought home to me just how interesting the Aussie view of life is.

I was visiting a doctor for a medical exam (required for certain activities I was planning), and we got to chatting about what I was doing in Sydney. I explained to him that I had transferred from India for a while, and was thoroughly enjoying myself. He, in turn, told me his story of how he cam to Australia from Europe in the eighties as a student, and went on to make a life for himself here. He now considers himself fully immersed in the local society, and as Aussie as the next man.

In the course of the examination, we came to the entry on alcohol consumption.

The question read: On average, how many glasses of alcohol do you consume each week?

I had, after brief consideration, put down: 2-3

The doctor looked at the entry, and then looked up at me. His eyes went back to the sheet.

"Two to three glasses of alcohol a week?" he said, his brows furrowing.

"Uh... yes," I replied, worried thoughts running through my mind like particularly fleet-footed gazelles as I wondered if this would disqualify me from my planned activities.

"Three glasses, huh?" he said again, further compounding my worry.

I preemptively wiped a bead of sweat off my forehead.

And then, with a broad smile, he said, "You're an Aussie now, mate. That number should be at least 7 or 8 glasses a week!"

The creeping desensitisation

I like The Amazing Race. It's a great show that combines everything one could possibly want in a TV hour - action, adventure, color, travel, competition, occasional comedy and the triumph of human spirit.

I just watched a rerun of an episode where the teams travelled to Jaipur. I smiled at the teams coping with the frustration of immobile cows, disappearing taxi drivers, frisky monkeys and logjammed traffic (Ah, India. Incredible India, indeed. No place like it.) And then...

As the teams drove towards their destination, they passed through a part of the highway adjoined by slums. Cows, dogs and goats roamed freely, the filth was palpable and children were pottering around naked. At one point, some were shown eating leftovers from a pile of garbage. This caused a couple of contestants to break down somewhat inconsolably, and the tone of the show turned very somber for a bit. As the contestants struggled to check their tears, the whole thing gave me food for thought.

I, and possibly many other Indians like me, have become used to such scenes. We take it at face value, and the sheer horror-revulsion-pity-sorrow that a foreigner might feel might make less of an impact on us. We have internalised, accepted the stark in-your-face poverty that India confronts us with everywhere and maybe it ceases to move us as much now.

OK, I'm probably cloaking myself a bit by use of the term 'we'. I won't presume anything about the emotions and viewpoints of my friends or others at my station in life. It ceases to move me as much. After all these years, the poverty and squalor is just another part of the India I call home, and it doesn't hit me as hard any more. And as I thought about it, I found myself understanding why that was the case, but also deeply and unexpectedly uncomfortable about it.

Every year, reports tracking social indicators call out how important it is for concerted action to lift India and ensure every Indian has a decent, human way of life. As per the 2009 Human Development Index stats released by the UNDP (Source) in October 2009, India ranks 134th (of 182) in the world on the Human Development Index and 88th (of 135) on the Human Poverty Index. There's much chest beating (not thumping) and learned discussions on news channels and electronic notice boards at Indian premier educational institutions. The nation is united in its agreement that something must be done at the absolute earliest... until the next big news story comes along.

I feel I have become (relatively) desensitised. I remember when I first came back to India for good over 12 years ago, my reactions were much stronger. I remember feeling deeply sorry about the state of affairs, and trying to do little bits to help. It wasn't much, and largely extended only so far as to give reasonably generously to beggars. And I remember feeling happy in the thought that I was doing some good, in my own childish way.

Now... I don't know. I don't think about it that much. Signs of poverty register in some recess of my brain, but fail to shock me. Although every such experience gives me a renewed realisation of how lucky I am and how I have been able to move forward in life, it isn't as gut-wrenching as it used to be years ago.

I'm sure we all give to charities, for multiple reasons:
- Some because we genuinely care and want to do anything possible to alleviate the suffering of others
- Some because we can afford it and because it is convenient
- Some simply because we have spare change to meet the tax-exempt INR 100000 limit

I spent some time thinking back to my donations over the years, and realise I fall in the second category. Not only is it convenient in terms of my being able to contribute with a reasonable hope that a fair proportion of the money will be used as intended, but it offers me the option of not putting in physical time. The longer I think about it, though, the more I realise it actually helps me assuage my guilt about not putting in sufficient physical time.

Where is this headed, what comes next, how will I take this forward? I don't know. All I know is that at this point in time I'm feeling a little angry, confused, sad, ashamed.

Rail Gaadi Chuk Chuk Chuk Chuk

I love train travel. There's a certain... earthiness, for lack of a better word, to it that no other mode of transport can capture (only driving comes close). I remember my trips to Bangalore, Delhi, Mumbai with friends, standing at the door as the world rushed past, my head stretched outwards and tongue lolling out like a happy dog.

There's the comfortable rumble of the train beneath one, the always-interesting mix of people and personalities to observe, the excitement and wonder of every station one stops at. The smells, the sounds, the whole damn experience is a lot of fun. In India, that is.

Recently, I took a train to Canberra. While the views of the landscape were beautiful, the train ride itself was a little disappointing because

1. Like trains in 'developed' countries tend to be, it was all closed in. No windows that could be opened to catch a whiff of the lovely morning smell, no open doors to hang merrily off, not even access to the outside world through the lavatory (as is so readily and efficiently provided by Indian Railways)
2. The stations were small, sanitised (for lack of a better word) and terribly boring
3. I slept for about half the journey

But this post isn't about the train ride. It's about what came before that.

Friday
1200: I book my tickets. The train is scheduled to depart at 0658 on Saturday morning. Easy, I tell myself. I'll have no trouble waking up and getting to this train. 7am is as civilised a time as it gets. Plus the station is only about 8 minutes' walk from my house.

1900: I head out for a night of the usual drunkenness and wild debauchery sedate tea parties and walks by the moonlit shore.

Saturday

0130: I return home dead tired but wide, wide awake. I potter around cleaning up the house (Seriously. And yes, I am absolutely sober.)

0200: I play a mixed playlist of Elvis and Sinatra. Humming along, I go through my basic workout regimen in an effort to burn energy and make myself feel sleepy.

0300: I fall asleep on the sofa watching an episode of Boston Legal (one of my favourite shows ever - but more on that later. In life I mean; not in this post.)

0600: Somewhere, in the vast wilderness of my subconscious mind, a little beeping sound is heard. It is promptly silenced - my subconscious doesn't inform me whether this was achieved by sheer force of mind or a violent movement of my hand.

0631: J calls me, and a brief conversation ensues

J: "Hey"
Me: "Bluggh?"
J: "We're just passing by your house on the way to the station."
Me: "Huh?"
J: "It's me, J. Are you at the station already? Or shall we wait downstairs for you?"

Suddenly, I'm wide awake. My eyes snap open. I glance at the clock and leap off my sofa. I have 27 minutes to make the train, and am struck by three immediate realisations

1. I have, as usual, put the alarm on snooze when it made a futile attempt to wake me
2. I haven't packed, having earlier scheduled that activity for 0615-0625 hrs
3. I am reeking of sweat and alcohol

You, dear reader, will appreciate that this was not a time for eloquence. If anything was to be said, it didn't call for Cicero/King/Kamaraj levels of oratory.

With remarkable clarity of thought and economy of vocabulary, I say: #$%^

0632: Rush, rush, rush. I brush my teeth fast but carefully (If there are any children reading this blog - and if there are, I apologize for any scarring I may have inadvertently caused - know this: never compromise on dental hygiene), almost taking my enamel off.

I rush into the shower, scrub vigorously (how the hell did wine get in my hair?) and bound out. Shake myself like a dog, towel hard until my skin begins to smoke. No time to shave, can't afford any further morning activities. Just a quick comb of my unruly wet hair.

0638: Mild panic. I rummage through the clothes thrown about on my bed, applying the two time-honoured bachelors'-code criteria

1. Does it have any visible stains?
2. Does it smell weird? If so, is said smell too strong to be masked by copious quantities of deo?

This helps whittle down the selection to 3 shirts and one pair of trousers. I cram them into the nearest bag I find. I also pack my laptop, 'cause I'll have to put in a few hours of work over the weekend.

I spray myself liberally with deo (sorry, ozone layer) and dump the can in the bag. Zip up, zip out.

0643: Cutting it close, very very close. I realise I've rushed out barefoot, and step back in to wear my shoes. Pop a mint into my mouth, and rush back out.

0646: The lift, infuriatingly, stops on three floors on the way down to pick up an assortment of people who all look like they are nursing hangovers and have just been thrown out of their respective partners' homes.

0649: I dash out of my building, laptop bag in one hand and a tote bag in the other.

0650: I call J as I jog towards the station, letting him know I'm on my way and telling him not to worry. To my chagrin, he doesn't sound particularly worried at the thought of my missing the train. This is what happens when you tell too many jokes, I admonish myself while trying to prevent the strap of the laptop case slipping off my shoulders and onto the path of an oncoming taxi that appears to have no intention of slowing down. I realise I am also in the path of said taxi and skittle across the road like a frightened horse.

0652: I reach the station, but realise I've never taken an intercity train and so have no idea if the platform is anywhere near the suburban train platforms I'm used to. Another quick conference with J, and with the aid of some helpful signage, I have line of sight of the trains. But there's still the small matter of getting through the gate.

0654:I don't have an electronic ticket. And the manual gate is blocked by an old lady who I'm sure I would find lovely and endearing at any other point in life except this one. She chats with the railway official about mince pies (what is it with Australians and pies?) while making her way slowly through the gate. I don't want to be impatient or pushy, so I choose not to hustle her aside or tap my feet in an aggravated manner but just see this through. It also gives me time to catch my breath.

0655:I shoot a beseeching look at the railway official and gasp the words, "Canberra. Train. Now. Five. Thanks." The last because he lets me through another gate and I'm on the final leg. As I pass the station clock, I notice it shows 06:55:53. Another quick call to J to identify the coach.

0656:I'm tired and panting but relieved as I sink into my seat. Run a quick mental checklist, and realised I haven't packed any toiletries. In a moment of deep philosphical understanding about life and the big cosmic picture, I say, "Screw it," and settle in as the train eases its way off the platform.


Now, I'm not a guy used to doing 200m sprints early in the morning. But I'm damn proud (and surprised) I made this train packed and clean. I have a history of close calls, most notably a couple of occasions where I have had to run after the departing train and haul myself onto it as it picked up steam. It's always good fun, gives one a great adrenalin rush and helps one starts the journey on a positive note (Ha ha! I made it! I'm the king of the world!).

Unless one doesn't make it, of course. But that's a whole other story altogether.

It appears all hope is not lost

[Warning: Longish post. Read at your own peril.]

There I was, on a flight from Bombay to Madras. Minding my own business. Energetically nodding off and lolling all over the place. Charmingly abusing the stewardess under my breath as she attempted to interest me in whatever pile of questionable edible matter they were passing off as a 'South Indian meal.' Politely jamming my elbow towards my neighbour to the right to assert my right over the armrest turf. And languidly shoving back the passenger in front of me who had made it his life mission to recline his suspiciously over-reclining seat all the way into my lap. A normal flight in every way.

You will notice I haven't mentioned the neighbour to my left. If you hadn't noticed, I'm sure you have now.

Let's jump back a bit. There's a little known fact about me that I will now throw at you under the assumption that you are at least mildly interested in learning more about me. I am an aisle man. In an airplane sense, not a wedding one. I prefer aisle seats because

1. They give me room to stretch my legs
   
2. They give me room to stretch my hands
   
3. They give me easy access to passing trolleys, allowing me to pick up more than my fair share of chocolates, mints, nuts and alcohol
   
4. They give me easy access to the stewardesses who, for the most part, are quite pretty (so I can ask for my share of stuff in point 3, of course; don't read this point in conjunction with point 2 above)

So, ordinarily, I would have only one immediate neighbour, given my preference for aisle seats. But that day was no ordinary day, as I was soon to find out. For starters, I was a little late for my flight (not, by itself, an extraordinary happening) and got stuck in a middle seat. I hate middle seats because of the sense of claustrophobia they induce. And all the general space-hogging on multiple fronts that makes you feel like a German in 1945 with the allies closing in on three fronts. Except that I'm the good guy here.

As is my wont, I digress. Let me list out the reasons I was in a less than sunny mood.

1. I had just had a tiring and busy day of work, and was therefore rather grumpy to begin with.
   
2. The middle seat (the only available seating at the time I checked in) did nothing to enhance my mood.
   
3. Add to that the fact that the aircraft was miles away (at the International terminal) which meant a tiring and boring 20 minute bus ride to the plane, with two noisy kids jumping around me all the time (not mine, as far as I know).
   
4. On the flight, the neighbour to my right was the aforementioned armrest hogger. A big burly man who spilled over the 25 inches or so of seat width that Airbus engineers had budgeted per passenger.
   
5. The flight was one whole hour late on the ground, and the air conditioning seemed moody and wilful.

The one thing to be thankful for in all this was the neighbour to my left. Not so much the neighbour herself, but her level of interaction with me. Which was none at all. Perfect.

And, to begin with, she seemed content to keep it that way. We meddled with our respective in-flight entertainment systems. We gagged on our respective meals. We read our respective magazines. We slept in our respective seats. All in complete, blissful silence.

Is there's one lesson I have learned in life (and there are many, which I shall some day bore my grandchildren with a detailed exposition on), it is that good things seldom last. Consider vacations. Consider roadside chaat. Consider relationships. Consider stick-kulfi. Consider the ozone layer.

About 20 minutes from the end, just as I was beginning to hope we would make it through without conversation, she piped up.

"So, you live in Bombay?"

I turned to take a better look at her. She was, in many ways, the epitome of a Madras maami. Almost.

• Neatly oiled, parted and plaited hair, partly silvered with a few strands beginning to rebel: check
  
• Kumkumam and vibhuti in place: check
  
• Spectacles and kindly yet shrewd eyes: check
  
• Unmistakably maami-type saari: check
  
• Welcoming and soft, "Kanna, tell me more about yourself" smile: check
  
• Annoying stream of intensely personal questions: surprisingly, no
  

She seemed, on the whole, a fairly sweet and nice person. It appears all hope is not lost for maamidom.

Wait, that's not the end of the story.

"So, you live in Bombay?" she had asked.

Not particularly in the mood for conversation, I replied in as businesslike a voice as I could muster.

"No, I don't." Straight, simple, to the point. A clear-message-conveying kind of response, one would think.

"Oh, you live in Madras is it?"

"No, actually. I live in Delhi," I offered before she started listing cities.

"Oh, so nice. I also used to live there many years ago. Where do you stay in Delhi?"

"Actually, I stay in Gurgaon."

That stumped her. Delhi and its geography, the disappointed look on her face seemed to indicate, was a topic she was well acquainted with and well qualified to prattle on endlessly about. Gurgaon was a completely different kettle of fish vethai kozhambu altogether. She pressed on gamely.

"Nowadays I live in Madras, I shifted back some years ago. But my daughter is living in Bombay with her husband. He's working in a bank. She just had a baby, so I had gone there to help. My first grandchild! I spent a few months with her, and now am coming back home."

I was rather taken aback by the sudden flow of information.

"Errr... that's very nice. Congratulations." I went back to studiously examining an advertisement for some random product.

She realised I wasn't very forthcoming, and masterfully chose a different tack. And, to ensure that she would gain information, she switched to multiple-choice instead of Yes-No questions.

"So are you here on business or is your family here?"

I sighed, and resigned myself to the inquisition. Over the next ten minutes, I disclosed that I was indeed visiting family, that it had been three months since I last met them and that I lived in T. Nagar ("Oh, that's nice. I live in Saidapet"). Also that I was a consultant, and an MBA.

I could tell she was impressed. She looked me up and down, and her eyebrows rose a couple of millimeters in appreciation. Let me mention here that I was not, as is my customary practice, travelling shirtless to flaunt my sixpack. I was in full business suit, tie and all. I must have seemed to her a dotting figure (even I wouldn't go so far as to consider myself dashing).

And then, the question I had been expecting... and dreading.

"Are you married?"

I groaned inwardly. Her increasing interest in my life, education and work couldn't have had any other conclusion. Almost on cue, the plane landed with a loud bump and a prolonged rattling of all its moving parts.

"No, I'm not," I said. And, to drive the point home, added, "And I don't expect to marry for atleast a few more years."

It takes more than stern statements on disinclination to matrimony to daunt a seasoned maami, however agreeable she is as a person. She was silent for a few minutes as the routine welcome announcements were made. As the planed taxied towards the terminal, she pressed on.

"If you don't mind my asking, how old are you?"

I gritted my teeth. "Twenty five. So some time to go for marriage and all that."

Her face fell visibly. "Oh, you look like you are twenty seven or twenty eight..."

I grunted in a tone that was noncommital, but carried undertones of, "Huh, tough luck!"

The plane came to a halt.

"Actually, I have a niece. My brother's daughter. She lives here in Madras only. Very nice girl, well educated. We're looking for a match for her."

Passengers began to get up, unload their luggage and move towards the doors.

"You know, I was thinking..." she began.

I cut in, in a silky smooth manner. "Well, all the best... very nice to meet you. Bye!" And I strode out into the fresh air, savouring the taste of freedom.


In retrospect, the entire encounter had its moments of frustration, but was sprinkled with a fair bit of dark humour. She was a very nice, sweet lady, but the good old maami-ness just couldn't be held back beyond a point.

Nevertheless, it's comforting to know that unseen and unknown third party forces such as her are working in their mysterious ways towards actualizing my marriage. It appears all hope is not lost for me yet.

Sometimes, little things can make one happy...

...like watching a couple of really nice videos. Videos that are simple, beautiful, joyous, life-affirming. Here are a couple that have recently made me feel much better about life.

One

An old(ish) advertisement, one that warmed my heart and lifted my mood when I first watched it. I came across it again on Mercury's blog, and its effect was exactly the same. The catchy tune, the visuals, the sheer energy of the piece seeks to remind one that there is so much beauty in the world, so much to wonder and marvel at...



Two

This one brought an instant smile to my face. For almost the entire duration of the video, I watched, mesmerized, with a goofy grin on my face and thoughts of how beautiful life and happiness can be swirling through my mind. I wish life was filled with moments like these... or at least that I could be part of something so great, even if only as a spectator.

23rd March, 2009 began as a regular day at Antwerp Central Station. Trains came and went, people streamed in and out, and announcements droned on. Suddenly, as an announcement faded away, music began to play over the loudspeakers, taking all the commuters by surprise. Some were confused, some wondrous, some ignored it. And then...

Leap of faith, or jumping to a conclusion

Location: Phuket, Thailand
Height: 50m (165 feet)

The previously unimagined perils of being male, unattached and in one's mid-twenties

I have recently realised a certain truth about society. Or, at least, the immediate society that I come into contact with and interact with daily. My profile (the three attributes mentioned in the title, in combination) works against me. And here are just three reasons why.

1. People suspect you of being a security threat
In every mall or store I go to, the security guards spend a good extra 5-10 seconds on scanning and checking my car and body. Either they're all gay and think I'm hot, or they have some kind of subconcious profiling in mind. And this happens every time. The happy families, hand-in-hand couples and unattached ladies who are before me in these lines are given a cursory check, while I'm looked askance at and patted down thoroughly.

And, when I protest ("Hey, you let that person through!", "Is this really necessary?", "OK, now that's just an invasion of privacy") I'm met with icy no-nonsense securityman stares or terse denials of being treated unfairly.

These times of high distrust and low belief in the essential goodness of humankind are quite trying.

2. People assume you're a party animal
Colleagues and acquaintances frequently assume that every evening, I'm desperate to leave work early, change into funky clothes (that reveal my many tattoos) and cool hairstyle, get onto my superbike and hit a series of pubs and parties until the wee hours of morning, drinking, dancing, picking up women and expanding my social circle. And particularly so on weekends. In such a scenario, things can get a little awkward and embarassing when I admit I'm working late/weekends or don't really have any party plans but merely intend to head home, cook a simple dinner, read a nice book and turn in by eleven.

I'm not averse to parties, of course. Not in the least. I enjoy a rocking do as much as the next guy. And I do head out for a night of fun every so often. But my lifestyle is nowhere near as happening as people believe it is or wish it to be.

3. Parents are scared to let their daughters near you
This is another thing that happens when I out anywhere... as I pass by, parents instinctively grip their daughters' hands more tightly, or shift sides so they they are between me and their wards. I don't know if it's just me, or if all parents are hyper paranoid. I sincerely hope it's just the latter. Because I really don't want to go through life giving out these kind of 'I-am-going-to-molest-your-daughter-Guahahahahaha-I'm-a-baaaad-man!' vibes. Particularly since a lot of the prettier girls are accompanied by 6'6" wrestler type dudes whose biceps are thicker than my neck.

And this kind of thing has happened so many times, I'm scared to even look at the women around me. Not that I'm really looking, of course. But when some pretty young thing comes across your line of sight - quite by accident, or by the laws of linear motion - you can't help but notice. I mean, us blogger/quizzer types are reasonably observant people, who take a
healthy interest in the world around us. Especially if that world itself is quite healthy and... er... let's not go there.

Bottom line (must...avoid...pun...): I find myself in a position where I studiously avert my eyes when a lady with a chaperone walks into my field of vision. It's weird and disturbing and... well, unnatural. Ladies, trust me. I know I look creepy but I'm a more or less ok sort of guy. Really.


So there you go. Three reasons why being me isn't so hot at this point in my life. I'd give you more situations, but it's high time I got back to work. My models await me.

For all sad words on tongue or pen, the saddest are these:

"Table for one"

Another day, another wedding

More people around me are getting married. Colleagues, fellow IIMA alumni (seniors, batchmates, juniors), friends from Chennai.

And we make the usual jokes, poking fun at those sacrificing their independence and single status at the altar of marital bliss.

Pointing out that they will no longer be available for movies, a drink or a game, much less 3-day road trips.

Making snide comments about their transformation from marauding masters to simpering slaves.

Laughingly churning out the usual cliches - "one more wicket down", "crossing over to the dark side", "another one bites the dust"


But then I leave work for home.

It's a long, lonely drive.

I come home to a forbiddingly dark, cold house.

I wonder what to do with my Friday evening, unable to muster the enthusiasm or energy to hit one of the many parties I could be at.

I make myself some Maggi, the instant noodles a choice born out of tiredness and laziness rather than of taste.

I sit on my bed, watching random movies and reading random books until I'm bored asleep.

I half-write blog posts, a million thoughts, emotions, anecdotes in my head but no one to share them with.


And I think: Maybe this whole marriage thing isn't so bad after all.

Sometimes, even laundry holds lessons for us

Splurging

Round trip tickets to New York: Rs 48,000

Figurine of badass medieval warrior wielding a battleax: $ 6.00



Figurine of his breathing-pure-evil horse: $ 6.00



Figurine of white knight sporting an awesome lance: $6.00



Figurine of his noble steed: $ 6.00




Adding a supercool duel between good and evil to my desk at work: Priceless





There are some things money can't buy. For everything else, there's the Metropolitan Museum of Art store at the Duty Free at JFK.

Random working layover haikus

High humidity
Quiet airport night
My spreadsheets flow thick and fast

Blissful loneliness
The world swims by in
Verdana, Font Size Fourteen

Don't know what to do
Bored, but I plod on
Shaping clients' strategy

Nothing like dancing and partying with a bunch of 20 year olds...

...to make one realise how old and uncool one is.

I'm still, of course, very young. And I normally laugh at those who constantly worry about their age and crib about losing their youth. I've also always been a firm believer in the tenet that age is a factor of the mind, and not the body.

Yet, in a space of a few hours, I was forced to revisit my views. I was jolted out of my comfort zone of calm self-assurance and forced into a situation where I didn't how how to react. I can't believe I'm saying this, but - relatively speaking - I felt my age.

3 a.m. is not the best time for these ruminations... I know I'll pooh-pooh all this in the morning, but it feels rather strange and unsettling nonetheless.

If

A few days ago, a minor milestone in my life passed by almost unnoticed. I have just completed one whole year here at Gurgaon, and my first complete year at a permanent job. Time seems to have flown - it seems like only yesterday that I was embarking on my career, wide eyed and eager to show the world who's boss.

It's been one hell of a learning experience... and several small things - managing expectations at work, shopping for groceries, hanging out with friends, managing household and personal financials - have taught me so much, have helped me grow as a person; have helped me become - I'll say it - a Man.

Here's a little ode to the last year.


(With due apologies to Rudyard Kipling)

If you can drive your car when all about you
Are crashing theirs and blaming it on you;
If you can trust yourself not to hit the bulls and cows,
But make allowance for their movement too;
If you can wait in traffic and not be tired by waiting,
Or, being faced with cops, bribe them selectively,
Or, being honked at without reason, don't give way to hating,
And yet don't act too aggressive, nor drive too rashly;

If you can dream for your clients - and not make them your master;
If you can think complex strategy - and convey it with simplicity;
If you can meet with both triumph and disaster
And treat great client feedback and lousy reviews with equanimity;
If you can bear to work long slavish hours on occasion
Up to fifteen or twenty hours a day,
Yet find time for the occasional brief vacation
And satisfaction in adding value and earning your pay;

If you can make head or tail of all your earnings
And understand HRA and 80C calculations,
And deal with the landlord’s infrequent rantings
And pardon the help’s frequent excuses and explanations;
If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew
To subscribe to responsible expenditure and thrift
And so sniff out “Buy X get Y free” deals anew
Yet splurge when the occasion demands it;

If you can talk with crowds and use less than two swear words a sentence,
Or walk with kings – and avoid a pickpocket’s touch;
If you can tolerate local FM, irritatingly vacuous and dense;
If paneer, vodka and Subway count with you, but none too much;
If, in this unforgiving life, you submit
Yourself to incessant 24x7 Punjabification
You’ll have conquered Gurgaon and everything that's in it,
And - which is more - you'll be a Man my son!


(Original poem: If, by Rudyard Kipling. One of the most incredible poems ever.)

Slow day at work PLUS Free stationery EQUALS...