8:45 a.m.
I'm starting a new case today, a new industry. A Private Equity case, and a highly analytical one from what I know of it. A typically challenging and steep-learning-curve day stretches ahead, one that I know will give me the opportunity to step up to new challenges and new levels of responsibility as I grow into my job.
Yet, as I sit in my car waiting for the lights to change, my thoughts are less on the office and more on the way the overnight rain has given way to a wonderfully light drizzle... how the surprisingly stiff breeze does not carry the now-wet sand as it normally does, instead bringing me a whiff of spice, perfume and wet earth. The trees on the once-dusty roadside, newly planted, sway as though celebrating their clean, washed greenery.
The lights change, I put my car into gear and pull ahead.
A radio station is playing old Hindi songs. A fine spray of rain kisses my face, moistening and teasing my right earlobe. Little droplets crowd my windshield, clinging onto the glass in a brief declaration of independence before gravity pulls them downwards, joining their bulbous brothers and coalescing as they fall below my line of sight.
To the left, the road leading to my office. Straight ahead, merely one hundred metres away, the highway.
Somedays, I wish one could just bunk work like one bunked classes in college.
Showing posts with label rain. Show all posts
Showing posts with label rain. Show all posts
Wednesday, May 21, 2008
Wednesday, October 31, 2007
Ever wish you were a giraffe? I do.
If there's one great life-lesson I would pass on to future generations, it would be this:
When travelling, always pack an extra pair of socks in your hand baggage.
Let me put this pearl of wisdom in context.
Three days ago, I was in New York. I had a flight to catch in the afternoon, and had decided to spend the morning and early afternoon walking around the city, doing some shopping and meeting friends. What made the plan all the more acceptable was the weather. Mild rain and light winds came together to make it very pleasant and extremely romantic weather for a walk about New York. Sure, there were puddles every now and then, but splashing about in puddles is precisely what the child in every one of us loves.
I was having such a good afternoon that I lost track of time, and only just made it to the airport in time to check in. I sent my bag through, picked up my boarding pass and ambled off towards the boarding gate. I pulled out my laptop (yes, I was working!) and sat down, when a sudden loud squelch and a strong pungent smell assailed my senses.
I looked left. Nothing.
I looked right. Nothing.
I looked up. Nothing.
I looked down. Ah.
A morning romp through the puddled streets of New York in the rain might bring glorious joy to the mind and spirit, but wreaks havoc on one's footwear. My shoes and socks were wet through, and increasingly smelly. I eased my feet out of my shoes to allow them a little air, and nearly gagged. An old man three seats away went into a paroxysm of coughing, and a woman two rows behind me said in a voice that could be heard across the Atlantic, "What in God's name is that smell?!"
Said woman did not, however, have the time to launch a detailed investigation into the phenomenon as boarding was announced. I sighed, shoved my wet-sock-covered wet foot into my wet shoes and squelched my way through the queue onto the aerobridge into the plane and squeezed into my seat. Relieved at having a relative stretch of peace, quiet and sock-drying ahead of me, I proceeded to take off my shoes. I let out a satisfied sigh. I even went so far as to wiggle my toes in comfort.
One thing I really miss about London is the British sense of subtlety and politeness. Tell them an earthquake has wiped out Dover and they'll respond with a "By Jove, you don't say! How frightful!" Inform them that they have just won a million pound lottery and they'll react with a "Oh, jolly good show!" Block them on an escalator in the Underground, and they'd cough under their breath and say, "If you don't mind awfully, young man, could you please shift to your left just a bit so I could pass? Thank you so much, awfully kind of you. Good day." Order an English breakfast in a pub and the waitress'll serve you your plate with a warm smile and an "Enjoy your meal, love!"
My impression of Americans is, however, just the opposite. Not that it's wrong to be like that. It's just very in-your-face. Look at Donald Trump. Look at Las Vegas. Look at the Big Mac.
Anyway, so there I was wiggling my toes in comfort. Approximately 1.4 seconds later, I felt someone poking me in the shoulder. I turned around to face a very big, very red American woman. "Yes?" I asked. "Put on your shoes, boy, you're stinking up the whole damn plane!" she roared.
Perfectly true, but I'm sure there are better ways of putting it. Hard to argue with her logic though. I sighed (yup, I have quite a lot of practice in that line) squished my wet shoes back on, and settled in for what I was sure was going to be a very podiatrically uncomfortable 8 hour long flight. To add to my misery, one of the inflight movies was 300, which featured Spartans happy and content in their open-toed sandals.
I arrived at Amsterdam, and headed straight for the most remote seating area I could find. I ripped off my shoes and my socks, and threw up into the conveniently placed bin near my seat.
Someone walked up and noticed the empty seats stretched on either side of me. He sat down three seats away from me. He sniffed. He cast an evil looked in my direction. He sniffed again. He got up and left.
This happened to me seven more times over the next hour, even though I had chosen a seat as far away from the rest as humanity as possible (insofar as one can be far away from humanity at a major international airport).
As the area started filling up, and the sniffs became more pronounced and laden with menacing intent, I let decency take over from comfort, and put my shoes back on. They were reasonably dry, and considerably less smelly, so that made the 8 hour flight back to Delhi relatively more tolerable.
The End.
Moral of the story (Just to drive home the point): Keep a supply of fresh socks handy at all times. Or be a giraffe so your nose is far far away from your feet.
Smelly socks, smelly socks your smell is preceding you
Smelly socks, smelly socks it's not your fault...
It's because of me that you're drenched wet
You're causing discomfort to others, I'll bet
You stink like a dead animal that decomposes
Yeah you're no friend to those with noses.
Smelly socks, smelly socks your smell is preceding you
Smelly socks, smelly socks it's not your fault!
Let me put this pearl of wisdom in context.
Three days ago, I was in New York. I had a flight to catch in the afternoon, and had decided to spend the morning and early afternoon walking around the city, doing some shopping and meeting friends. What made the plan all the more acceptable was the weather. Mild rain and light winds came together to make it very pleasant and extremely romantic weather for a walk about New York. Sure, there were puddles every now and then, but splashing about in puddles is precisely what the child in every one of us loves.
I was having such a good afternoon that I lost track of time, and only just made it to the airport in time to check in. I sent my bag through, picked up my boarding pass and ambled off towards the boarding gate. I pulled out my laptop (yes, I was working!) and sat down, when a sudden loud squelch and a strong pungent smell assailed my senses.
I looked left. Nothing.
I looked right. Nothing.
I looked up. Nothing.
I looked down. Ah.
A morning romp through the puddled streets of New York in the rain might bring glorious joy to the mind and spirit, but wreaks havoc on one's footwear. My shoes and socks were wet through, and increasingly smelly. I eased my feet out of my shoes to allow them a little air, and nearly gagged. An old man three seats away went into a paroxysm of coughing, and a woman two rows behind me said in a voice that could be heard across the Atlantic, "What in God's name is that smell?!"
Said woman did not, however, have the time to launch a detailed investigation into the phenomenon as boarding was announced. I sighed, shoved my wet-sock-covered wet foot into my wet shoes and squelched my way through the queue onto the aerobridge into the plane and squeezed into my seat. Relieved at having a relative stretch of peace, quiet and sock-drying ahead of me, I proceeded to take off my shoes. I let out a satisfied sigh. I even went so far as to wiggle my toes in comfort.
One thing I really miss about London is the British sense of subtlety and politeness. Tell them an earthquake has wiped out Dover and they'll respond with a "By Jove, you don't say! How frightful!" Inform them that they have just won a million pound lottery and they'll react with a "Oh, jolly good show!" Block them on an escalator in the Underground, and they'd cough under their breath and say, "If you don't mind awfully, young man, could you please shift to your left just a bit so I could pass? Thank you so much, awfully kind of you. Good day." Order an English breakfast in a pub and the waitress'll serve you your plate with a warm smile and an "Enjoy your meal, love!"
My impression of Americans is, however, just the opposite. Not that it's wrong to be like that. It's just very in-your-face. Look at Donald Trump. Look at Las Vegas. Look at the Big Mac.
Anyway, so there I was wiggling my toes in comfort. Approximately 1.4 seconds later, I felt someone poking me in the shoulder. I turned around to face a very big, very red American woman. "Yes?" I asked. "Put on your shoes, boy, you're stinking up the whole damn plane!" she roared.
Perfectly true, but I'm sure there are better ways of putting it. Hard to argue with her logic though. I sighed (yup, I have quite a lot of practice in that line) squished my wet shoes back on, and settled in for what I was sure was going to be a very podiatrically uncomfortable 8 hour long flight. To add to my misery, one of the inflight movies was 300, which featured Spartans happy and content in their open-toed sandals.
I arrived at Amsterdam, and headed straight for the most remote seating area I could find. I ripped off my shoes and my socks, and threw up into the conveniently placed bin near my seat.
Someone walked up and noticed the empty seats stretched on either side of me. He sat down three seats away from me. He sniffed. He cast an evil looked in my direction. He sniffed again. He got up and left.
This happened to me seven more times over the next hour, even though I had chosen a seat as far away from the rest as humanity as possible (insofar as one can be far away from humanity at a major international airport).
As the area started filling up, and the sniffs became more pronounced and laden with menacing intent, I let decency take over from comfort, and put my shoes back on. They were reasonably dry, and considerably less smelly, so that made the 8 hour flight back to Delhi relatively more tolerable.
The End.
Moral of the story (Just to drive home the point): Keep a supply of fresh socks handy at all times. Or be a giraffe so your nose is far far away from your feet.
Smelly socks, smelly socks your smell is preceding you
Smelly socks, smelly socks it's not your fault...
It's because of me that you're drenched wet
You're causing discomfort to others, I'll bet
You stink like a dead animal that decomposes
Yeah you're no friend to those with noses.
Smelly socks, smelly socks your smell is preceding you
Smelly socks, smelly socks it's not your fault!
Sunday, June 24, 2007
Raindrops keep falling on my head...
... because I don't wear a raincoat or carry an umbrella. Much against my parents' wishes, I might add. I guess they have a point - I could catch a cold and, possibly, die. Not the best thing to happen two weeks before one is shifting to a new city and a new job. But I think it's simply criminal to go out into such awesomely beautifully wonderfully lovely weather - a light breeze, light rainfall that occasionally fizzles into a gentle drizzle before perking up and upgrading to light rainfall again - buried in protective clothing and sequestered from the weather. (Aside: That was one hell of a long sentence. 46 words!)
So I stepped out into the soft afternoon rain, walking along the city roads as I took in the sheer beauty of the weather. The tall roadside trees wept in delight at the rains, shedding theirs tears on my hair as I ambled by. Little drops splattered on my skin and rolled off, leaving a trail of gooseflesh. The tantalising smell of fresh wet earth filled the air. Nearby, a little bird trilled in the sheer ecstasy of the moment, and a watery rainbow shone across the sky. Perfect.
There are those who choose this season to make a splash. Quite literally. Yes, I'm talking of those who drive heavy vehicles - trucks, buses and the like. It becomes a competition among them to see who can splash more pedestrians. If they see a puddle with pedestrians beside it, they charge at it like an aroused bull at a cow in heat, or a RSS worker at a nude painting of a Hindu goddess. "Ha, so the 47G rascal splashed seven people, did he?" thinks the driver on route 10A, and vrooms in and out of the widest puddle he can find, drenching nine people. "Take that, nameless faceless long-suffering pedestrians! Guahahaha..." As a result of the sporting instincts of these drivers, I was drenched down my entire right side within 15 minutes of stepping on the road. Outraged at the unfairness and inequity of the situation, I crossed to the other side of the road so as to give the left half of my body a chance at being drenched.
The Chennai Corporation, of course, had its own unique way of contributing to the ambience of the monsoon. Open potholes, filled with water and spewing mud, played 'Guess How Deep I Am!' - a popular game in this season - with motorists. Open-air sewers (one of which is, I believe, officially a river!) overflowed their banks, spreading bacterial cheer and sending an ungodly stink rising free through the air. The occasional electric pole or tree crashed to the ground, inducing pedestrians to practice impromptu high jumps as they went about their business. And, as usual, blocked or non-existant storm drains made paying for a swimming pool membership redundant.
However distressing the infrastructure might be, however, the true character of a city in the rains is represented by its people. Motorists, leaning forward to peer through the windshield wipers, drove with their windows open and their ACs off for the first time in months. Street urchins, some more naked than others, screamed in joy and jumped in and out of the puddles. Professionals in formal clothes held their pant legs up gingerly as they tiptoed along, the water invariably sloshing into their shoes. Riders on two wheelers drove at full speed, experiencing the brilliant feeling of rain on their faces (helmet law be damned!) A lone athlete rowed manfully along the Adyar river. Couples, both young and old, came out under shared umbrellas to savour the most romantic weather imaginable. Some were probably aroused to greater passions - I saw a girl on the pillion of a bike nibbling her partner's ear. Schoolchildren, their bags on their heads, sloshed along happily. A roadside tea vendor grinned in sheer pleasure as he made roaring business. A group of nuns sang as they walked down the street hand-in-hand. Policemen garbed in impressively large head-to-toe mackintoshes and galoshes and floppy oilskin hats stood at their posts smiling at the passing populace. And I watched the city go by, and soaked it all in.
As Dr APJ Abdul Kalam has a habit of saying, FANTASTIC.
So I stepped out into the soft afternoon rain, walking along the city roads as I took in the sheer beauty of the weather. The tall roadside trees wept in delight at the rains, shedding theirs tears on my hair as I ambled by. Little drops splattered on my skin and rolled off, leaving a trail of gooseflesh. The tantalising smell of fresh wet earth filled the air. Nearby, a little bird trilled in the sheer ecstasy of the moment, and a watery rainbow shone across the sky. Perfect.
There are those who choose this season to make a splash. Quite literally. Yes, I'm talking of those who drive heavy vehicles - trucks, buses and the like. It becomes a competition among them to see who can splash more pedestrians. If they see a puddle with pedestrians beside it, they charge at it like an aroused bull at a cow in heat, or a RSS worker at a nude painting of a Hindu goddess. "Ha, so the 47G rascal splashed seven people, did he?" thinks the driver on route 10A, and vrooms in and out of the widest puddle he can find, drenching nine people. "Take that, nameless faceless long-suffering pedestrians! Guahahaha..." As a result of the sporting instincts of these drivers, I was drenched down my entire right side within 15 minutes of stepping on the road. Outraged at the unfairness and inequity of the situation, I crossed to the other side of the road so as to give the left half of my body a chance at being drenched.
The Chennai Corporation, of course, had its own unique way of contributing to the ambience of the monsoon. Open potholes, filled with water and spewing mud, played 'Guess How Deep I Am!' - a popular game in this season - with motorists. Open-air sewers (one of which is, I believe, officially a river!) overflowed their banks, spreading bacterial cheer and sending an ungodly stink rising free through the air. The occasional electric pole or tree crashed to the ground, inducing pedestrians to practice impromptu high jumps as they went about their business. And, as usual, blocked or non-existant storm drains made paying for a swimming pool membership redundant.
However distressing the infrastructure might be, however, the true character of a city in the rains is represented by its people. Motorists, leaning forward to peer through the windshield wipers, drove with their windows open and their ACs off for the first time in months. Street urchins, some more naked than others, screamed in joy and jumped in and out of the puddles. Professionals in formal clothes held their pant legs up gingerly as they tiptoed along, the water invariably sloshing into their shoes. Riders on two wheelers drove at full speed, experiencing the brilliant feeling of rain on their faces (helmet law be damned!) A lone athlete rowed manfully along the Adyar river. Couples, both young and old, came out under shared umbrellas to savour the most romantic weather imaginable. Some were probably aroused to greater passions - I saw a girl on the pillion of a bike nibbling her partner's ear. Schoolchildren, their bags on their heads, sloshed along happily. A roadside tea vendor grinned in sheer pleasure as he made roaring business. A group of nuns sang as they walked down the street hand-in-hand. Policemen garbed in impressively large head-to-toe mackintoshes and galoshes and floppy oilskin hats stood at their posts smiling at the passing populace. And I watched the city go by, and soaked it all in.
As Dr APJ Abdul Kalam has a habit of saying, FANTASTIC.
Sunday, June 17, 2007
Back from a break!
"Hey, let's go to Wayanad!"
"Sure, why-a-not?"
That was a sad attempt at a sadder joke. Now that that's been got out of the way, I'll get down to the post itself.
A few of my friends - Archana, Murali and Sharmila(Mul), to be precise - and I decided recently that we decided a break. Murali had been slogging away at work and clearly needed a few days off. Archana was enjoying her last few days of rest before leaving for IIM Calcutta, and felt she owed herself a treat. Mul had just graduated and richly deserved to enjoy her very short holiday before joining work. And I was, quite simply, bored. A week long bout of discussion and argument later, we decided onGoa Kanyakumari Andaman RoadTrip Wayanad.
For the uninformed, Wayand is a district in the North East of God's Own Country. No, not my room; I mean Kerala. (Connoisseurs of my blog, if any, would remember my having cracked this sad joke earlier.) It boasts beautiful forests and tea estates, multiple water bodies and a several days of stress-free relaxation. (More useful info available on Wiki and the official website.) So that's where we headed for three whole days - Wayanad.
As we drove into Kerala from Karnataka on NH212, the landscape changed from ho-hum plains/towns to stunning greenery with only a few smatterings of civilization along the way. It felt good to be far away from the heat and grime of Chennai, with the cool mountain breeze welcoming me as I hung out of the car window, not unlike a dog. Those who know me well would insist the similarities don't end there, but let's not discuss that now.
We checked into a very nice hotel in Kalpetta, the capital of the district. It wasn't exactly a budget hotel but hey, we wanted to pamper ourselves a bit. So we went the whole hog and booked a duplex for ourselves - two rooms and a living room, to allow us our madness and celebration of life in complete privacy from the rest of the patrons.
We hit all the recommended tourist spots... Pookote Lake, phenomenally beautiful as the mists descended over it in the early morning (pic below). A major tea plantation, which afforded plenty of scope for photography. The breathtaking walk - and I mean this literally, we just about managed to huff and puff our way through it - to the Soochipara falls. Also on our must-view hitlist were a couple of dams (truth be told, they were rather boring) and the best viewing points.
The four of us also took a leisurely drive through Muthanga wildlife sanctuary, and got a glimpse of several deer, wild boars, exotic birds, two herds of elephants (the baby elephants are sooo cute!) and even a tiger! Another interesting place was the Kuruva Dweep (Kuruva Island), a protected ecosystem on the Kabini River. We went on a two hour trek through the evergreen forest, much of it to the accompaniment of eerie noises and twittering birds, not to mention the steady yet upliftingly light rainfall.
Some distance from Kalpetta, we came across the curiously named tourist hotspot, the Chain Tree. It is, quite literally, a tree with a chain on it. The tale behind this is quite interesting... As the legend goes, a prominent British Engineer was building roads through the mountainous terrain of Wayanad, and decided to hire a local lad for help. An young Adivasi man named Karinthandan volunteered, and was instrumental in guiding the engineer through the region. His mission accomplished, the engineer brutally killed the guide so he could take full credit for the work done. Karinthandan's soul, it is said, lived on the tree where he was killed and subsequently haunted travellers for years. A local priest controlled the troublesome spirit by chaining it to the tree... hence the Chain Tree. Quite a good yarn.
A special mention must be made of the Edakkal caves, which feature petroglyphs several thousands of years old. It was awesome, mind-bogglingly brilliant. The experience was rendered all the richer because we hiked up a painfully steep slope to get to the caves, and then battled the pouring rain and slippery mud, clinging onto rocks and rickety ladders for dear life as we pulled our way to the caves. Sweet triumph, sweet victory. And it was a special feeling, all of us wet from the rain and the sweat, gathered together under a overhanging rock, drinking in the sweet smell of wet mud in the tropical monsoon rain. The leaves glistening, the flowers blooming bright, laughing an enjoying the moment with my friends, and the promise of a hot chai to follow. Beautiful.
At night, we relaxed to a hot meal and card games, the Simpsons and the news, swapping stories and memories of our school days. We also treated our feet to a hot water massage and cleansing session, which gave me almost orgasmic pleasure, as the picture clearly shows.
All in all, a VERY welcome break for all of us. Sadly, as we go our different ways in a few weeks from now, we don't know when we'll meet next. When we will once again have a chance to relive the good old days and discuss our futures. When we'll get the time to, quite simply, chill out and bask in the comfortable warmth of each others' friendship and company.
"Sure, why-a-not?"
That was a sad attempt at a sadder joke. Now that that's been got out of the way, I'll get down to the post itself.
A few of my friends - Archana, Murali and Sharmila(Mul), to be precise - and I decided recently that we decided a break. Murali had been slogging away at work and clearly needed a few days off. Archana was enjoying her last few days of rest before leaving for IIM Calcutta, and felt she owed herself a treat. Mul had just graduated and richly deserved to enjoy her very short holiday before joining work. And I was, quite simply, bored. A week long bout of discussion and argument later, we decided on
For the uninformed, Wayand is a district in the North East of God's Own Country. No, not my room; I mean Kerala. (Connoisseurs of my blog, if any, would remember my having cracked this sad joke earlier.) It boasts beautiful forests and tea estates, multiple water bodies and a several days of stress-free relaxation. (More useful info available on Wiki and the official website.) So that's where we headed for three whole days - Wayanad.
As we drove into Kerala from Karnataka on NH212, the landscape changed from ho-hum plains/towns to stunning greenery with only a few smatterings of civilization along the way. It felt good to be far away from the heat and grime of Chennai, with the cool mountain breeze welcoming me as I hung out of the car window, not unlike a dog. Those who know me well would insist the similarities don't end there, but let's not discuss that now.
We checked into a very nice hotel in Kalpetta, the capital of the district. It wasn't exactly a budget hotel but hey, we wanted to pamper ourselves a bit. So we went the whole hog and booked a duplex for ourselves - two rooms and a living room, to allow us our madness and celebration of life in complete privacy from the rest of the patrons.
We hit all the recommended tourist spots... Pookote Lake, phenomenally beautiful as the mists descended over it in the early morning (pic below). A major tea plantation, which afforded plenty of scope for photography. The breathtaking walk - and I mean this literally, we just about managed to huff and puff our way through it - to the Soochipara falls. Also on our must-view hitlist were a couple of dams (truth be told, they were rather boring) and the best viewing points.
The four of us also took a leisurely drive through Muthanga wildlife sanctuary, and got a glimpse of several deer, wild boars, exotic birds, two herds of elephants (the baby elephants are sooo cute!) and even a tiger! Another interesting place was the Kuruva Dweep (Kuruva Island), a protected ecosystem on the Kabini River. We went on a two hour trek through the evergreen forest, much of it to the accompaniment of eerie noises and twittering birds, not to mention the steady yet upliftingly light rainfall.
Some distance from Kalpetta, we came across the curiously named tourist hotspot, the Chain Tree. It is, quite literally, a tree with a chain on it. The tale behind this is quite interesting... As the legend goes, a prominent British Engineer was building roads through the mountainous terrain of Wayanad, and decided to hire a local lad for help. An young Adivasi man named Karinthandan volunteered, and was instrumental in guiding the engineer through the region. His mission accomplished, the engineer brutally killed the guide so he could take full credit for the work done. Karinthandan's soul, it is said, lived on the tree where he was killed and subsequently haunted travellers for years. A local priest controlled the troublesome spirit by chaining it to the tree... hence the Chain Tree. Quite a good yarn.
A special mention must be made of the Edakkal caves, which feature petroglyphs several thousands of years old. It was awesome, mind-bogglingly brilliant. The experience was rendered all the richer because we hiked up a painfully steep slope to get to the caves, and then battled the pouring rain and slippery mud, clinging onto rocks and rickety ladders for dear life as we pulled our way to the caves. Sweet triumph, sweet victory. And it was a special feeling, all of us wet from the rain and the sweat, gathered together under a overhanging rock, drinking in the sweet smell of wet mud in the tropical monsoon rain. The leaves glistening, the flowers blooming bright, laughing an enjoying the moment with my friends, and the promise of a hot chai to follow. Beautiful.
At night, we relaxed to a hot meal and card games, the Simpsons and the news, swapping stories and memories of our school days. We also treated our feet to a hot water massage and cleansing session, which gave me almost orgasmic pleasure, as the picture clearly shows.
All in all, a VERY welcome break for all of us. Sadly, as we go our different ways in a few weeks from now, we don't know when we'll meet next. When we will once again have a chance to relive the good old days and discuss our futures. When we'll get the time to, quite simply, chill out and bask in the comfortable warmth of each others' friendship and company.
Thursday, May 17, 2007
What are you looking for today?
When I starting blogging in November 2004, one of the first tools I added to my blog was a hit counter. And no, this isn't leading to a bad joke about how many people have hit me for my posts, or a worse one about females hitting on me. Which, if my recent life is evidence, really is a joke.
Anyways, this hit counter thingy has proved to be one of the wisest decisions in my brief online life, and has helped me answer some very fundamental questions:
How many people are actually reading my crap?
Nearly 31000 to date!
Where are all these wierdos coming from?
60 countries worldwide, from Brunei to Guam; if you prefer it alphabetically, Australia to Venezuela.
How do they get here?
About 30% through referrals from friends' blogs, and a further 40% through online searches
What are the poor Googlers (86%) or Yahooers (10%) looking for?
That, dear reader, is the subject of this post.
A casual perusal of the search strings unsuspecting victims have used to arrive at my blog reveals that my blog is a veritable hotspot when it comes to certain topics. These search strings / keywords can broadly be classified as below
1. Things to do with IIM. And not just Ahmedabad.
2. Rain and, more importantly, Zeenat Aman (note to self: buy a bowl to catch drool)
3. All things Keralite (OK, I'm exaggerating a little... but it's true!)
4. The Bangash brothers. And their love lifes.
5. Off-beat things that I have mentioned once in a while
6. Weird things I have NEVER mentioned (the most varied and interesting category!)
I know that's a rather large set of classifications, but what the heck... I've got time on my hands and if you're actually reading this blog, you obviously do as well. So let's take a look at them in just a little more detail... and, as a disclaimer, every search string I've mentioned below really, truly has been used to get to my blog!
1. Things to do with IIM. And not just Ahmedabad.
This makes sense, given the fact that a very large number of my posts (about 25% of them) are directly about the IIMs, or mention them in some way.
Some stumble onto this blog looking for advice ("decide iim kozhikode indore 2005", "why join iim kozhikode?", "which iim to join lucknow kozhikode interview"), some looking for information ("IIM Ahmedabad mess food", "life in IIM Ahmedabad dorm", "nice wildlife park near Ahmedabad") and some just have their own peculiar worries ("IIM Lucknow failure rate", "how to survive at IIM ahmedabad calcutta bangalore")
Most of these have landed on one of the following posts
- My fascinating experiences at the IIM interviews: I look at James Bond's boss Part 1 and Part 2
- My commentary on the mess at IIMA: Week 2 - whoooosh!
- My initial impressions, and the flora and fauna at IIMA: July 2005
2. Rain. And Zeenat Aman.
Now this is one thing I didn't expect at all. I have only written about Zeenat Aman in one post - this one - in the context of the rain, but any pervert or connoisseur (needless to say, I fall in the latter category) seems to drill straight to this.
Some of the subtle search strings used have been one variation or the other of "satyam sivam sundaram zeenat clips". But it's the one's that aren't quite as subtle that make for the most interesting reading such as the relatively acceptable "zeenat aman hot", the anatomically correct "satyam zeenat bosom" and the rather more passionate "satyam sivam zeenat aman wet dream". Here's hoping the generous mention of Zeenat Aman in this paragraph (6 times!) draws these Zeenatphiles evermore!
Zeenat Aman (number 7) apart, there are also a fair number of those who appear to share my love of rain (with search strings like "soft rain light drops" or "Zeenat in rain wet dance". Another massive draw is the title of the blog
Dum dum diga diga
Mausam bheega bheega which has brought loads of those searching for the lyrics to my blog. There is the occasional variation though, such as "wet smell of earth after rain Raj Kapoor" and "dum dum diga diga little girl kerala". Which brings us very smoothly (pat on back) to Classification #3.
3. All things Keralite
An astonishingly large number of people on the internet are running searches on strings that begin with the word 'mallu'. The search strings themselves range from the boring and cliched "mallu girls" to the mildly interesting "mallu beach party" and "gods own country parathas" to the confusing yet fascinatingly peotic "mallu pallu" What makes the whole thing even wierder is that I have barely mentioned anything mallu at all, much less about mallu pallus. All my blathering about anything remotely Keralite has been restricted to two posts
- An account of a fun trip to NIT Calicut: Omanakutty Chaikadapatti
- A very brief mention of a Malayalee interviewer from IIM Kozhikode: I look at James Bond's boss Part 1
4. The Bangash brothers
I have it on good authority that Amaan and Ayaan Ali Bangash are not single. I know it, you know it (now that I've told you), but there are loads of people out in Cyberspace who apparently do not know it. Which is why they end up at my post Sarod and Saarang begin with 'S' with hopeful pleas such as "Are the Bangash sarod brothers single?" and "ayaan ali bangash looking for girlfriend" Those who aren't necessary looking for a relationship have relatively staid search strings ("amaan ali bangash interview 2005", "bangash sarod iitm"), but there is a certain class of discerning blog visitors who are looking for the little extra something, as evidenced by those Googling "ayaan ali bangash banging girlfriend" or "bangash sarod player hot smooch". Oh well, it takes all types...
5. Off-beat things that I have mentioned once in a while
Apart from routine requests for "ranting swede" and "panchangam", some of the more interesting search strings that have led, quite understandably perhaps, to my blog are
- "iitians and girlfriends": Not something I can claim to be an expert on... but this is where it led to
- "sucked in paunch" : something I have a long history of experience with, and which made its blog debut here. Even as the days go by, I'm fighting a losing battle with my paunch, which is now firmly entrenched on a growth trajectory outwards and downwards. Sigh.
- "badly need to pee": Ah, a kindred soul! This leads unerringly to one of my more recent posts here. Nowadays, of course, I lose more fluids through incessant perspiration than either forced or natural excretion.
- "tuby heroine": I'm assuming this was meant to be tubby heroine... again, a term I've mentioned only once in 46 posts, here, in the context of Tamil film heroines. Come of think of it, tuby may not be too far off the mark, either... hmmm...
- "mosquito killing finland": Aah... this one's a personal favourite, only because it brings back pleasant memories of my early days in the blogosphere. I had discussed this fascinating contact sport in this post in November 2004.
6. Weird things I have NEVER mentioned
OK, now this beats comprehension. I have NO idea why the following search strings led to my blog... I've tried tracking them through Google but to no avail... try them yourselves if you have the time (which you do) and the inclination (which you probably don't), and do let me know if you can figure them out!
- "college guy jerking off"
- "maurice green weight statistics"
- "gay comic lord of the springs"
- "dream big and bedding and stars and blue"
- "joshi maths coaching lucknow"
- "winking giraffe video clip": This takes the cake for most wierd and arbit search string to hit me ever. Ever.
So there you have it, dear reader. I've spouted all the data and statistics I have, much like a consultant report. Not that it's really going to do either of us any good. Except, of course, for the fact that I might just get more Zeenat Aman hits from now on!
Anyways, this hit counter thingy has proved to be one of the wisest decisions in my brief online life, and has helped me answer some very fundamental questions:
How many people are actually reading my crap?
Nearly 31000 to date!
Where are all these wierdos coming from?
60 countries worldwide, from Brunei to Guam; if you prefer it alphabetically, Australia to Venezuela.
How do they get here?
About 30% through referrals from friends' blogs, and a further 40% through online searches
What are the poor Googlers (86%) or Yahooers (10%) looking for?
That, dear reader, is the subject of this post.
A casual perusal of the search strings unsuspecting victims have used to arrive at my blog reveals that my blog is a veritable hotspot when it comes to certain topics. These search strings / keywords can broadly be classified as below
1. Things to do with IIM. And not just Ahmedabad.
2. Rain and, more importantly, Zeenat Aman (note to self: buy a bowl to catch drool)
3. All things Keralite (OK, I'm exaggerating a little... but it's true!)
4. The Bangash brothers. And their love lifes.
5. Off-beat things that I have mentioned once in a while
6. Weird things I have NEVER mentioned (the most varied and interesting category!)
I know that's a rather large set of classifications, but what the heck... I've got time on my hands and if you're actually reading this blog, you obviously do as well. So let's take a look at them in just a little more detail... and, as a disclaimer, every search string I've mentioned below really, truly has been used to get to my blog!
1. Things to do with IIM. And not just Ahmedabad.
This makes sense, given the fact that a very large number of my posts (about 25% of them) are directly about the IIMs, or mention them in some way.
Some stumble onto this blog looking for advice ("decide iim kozhikode indore 2005", "why join iim kozhikode?", "which iim to join lucknow kozhikode interview"), some looking for information ("IIM Ahmedabad mess food", "life in IIM Ahmedabad dorm", "nice wildlife park near Ahmedabad") and some just have their own peculiar worries ("IIM Lucknow failure rate", "how to survive at IIM ahmedabad calcutta bangalore")
Most of these have landed on one of the following posts
- My fascinating experiences at the IIM interviews: I look at James Bond's boss Part 1 and Part 2
- My commentary on the mess at IIMA: Week 2 - whoooosh!
- My initial impressions, and the flora and fauna at IIMA: July 2005
2. Rain. And Zeenat Aman.
Now this is one thing I didn't expect at all. I have only written about Zeenat Aman in one post - this one - in the context of the rain, but any pervert or connoisseur (needless to say, I fall in the latter category) seems to drill straight to this.
Some of the subtle search strings used have been one variation or the other of "satyam sivam sundaram zeenat clips". But it's the one's that aren't quite as subtle that make for the most interesting reading such as the relatively acceptable "zeenat aman hot", the anatomically correct "satyam zeenat bosom" and the rather more passionate "satyam sivam zeenat aman wet dream". Here's hoping the generous mention of Zeenat Aman in this paragraph (6 times!) draws these Zeenatphiles evermore!
Zeenat Aman (number 7) apart, there are also a fair number of those who appear to share my love of rain (with search strings like "soft rain light drops" or "Zeenat in rain wet dance". Another massive draw is the title of the blog
Mausam bheega bheega
3. All things Keralite
An astonishingly large number of people on the internet are running searches on strings that begin with the word 'mallu'. The search strings themselves range from the boring and cliched "mallu girls" to the mildly interesting "mallu beach party" and "gods own country parathas" to the confusing yet fascinatingly peotic "mallu pallu" What makes the whole thing even wierder is that I have barely mentioned anything mallu at all, much less about mallu pallus. All my blathering about anything remotely Keralite has been restricted to two posts
- An account of a fun trip to NIT Calicut: Omanakutty Chaikadapatti
- A very brief mention of a Malayalee interviewer from IIM Kozhikode: I look at James Bond's boss Part 1
4. The Bangash brothers
I have it on good authority that Amaan and Ayaan Ali Bangash are not single. I know it, you know it (now that I've told you), but there are loads of people out in Cyberspace who apparently do not know it. Which is why they end up at my post Sarod and Saarang begin with 'S' with hopeful pleas such as "Are the Bangash sarod brothers single?" and "ayaan ali bangash looking for girlfriend" Those who aren't necessary looking for a relationship have relatively staid search strings ("amaan ali bangash interview 2005", "bangash sarod iitm"), but there is a certain class of discerning blog visitors who are looking for the little extra something, as evidenced by those Googling "ayaan ali bangash banging girlfriend" or "bangash sarod player hot smooch". Oh well, it takes all types...
5. Off-beat things that I have mentioned once in a while
Apart from routine requests for "ranting swede" and "panchangam", some of the more interesting search strings that have led, quite understandably perhaps, to my blog are
- "iitians and girlfriends": Not something I can claim to be an expert on... but this is where it led to
- "sucked in paunch" : something I have a long history of experience with, and which made its blog debut here. Even as the days go by, I'm fighting a losing battle with my paunch, which is now firmly entrenched on a growth trajectory outwards and downwards. Sigh.
- "badly need to pee": Ah, a kindred soul! This leads unerringly to one of my more recent posts here. Nowadays, of course, I lose more fluids through incessant perspiration than either forced or natural excretion.
- "tuby heroine": I'm assuming this was meant to be tubby heroine... again, a term I've mentioned only once in 46 posts, here, in the context of Tamil film heroines. Come of think of it, tuby may not be too far off the mark, either... hmmm...
- "mosquito killing finland": Aah... this one's a personal favourite, only because it brings back pleasant memories of my early days in the blogosphere. I had discussed this fascinating contact sport in this post in November 2004.
6. Weird things I have NEVER mentioned
OK, now this beats comprehension. I have NO idea why the following search strings led to my blog... I've tried tracking them through Google but to no avail... try them yourselves if you have the time (which you do) and the inclination (which you probably don't), and do let me know if you can figure them out!
- "college guy jerking off"
- "maurice green weight statistics"
- "gay comic lord of the springs"
- "dream big and bedding and stars and blue"
- "joshi maths coaching lucknow"
- "winking giraffe video clip": This takes the cake for most wierd and arbit search string to hit me ever. Ever.
So there you have it, dear reader. I've spouted all the data and statistics I have, much like a consultant report. Not that it's really going to do either of us any good. Except, of course, for the fact that I might just get more Zeenat Aman hits from now on!
Tuesday, July 26, 2005
D0604: National Park
He watched her through narrow eyes, judging when she would be close enough to be taken... She moved closer to him, then further, and then closer again, dancing to some unheard cosmic rhythm. She flirted and teased, flitting about just beyond his reach, taunting him to take her... He would wait. He knew his chance would come. When the trance-like movements ended, he knew he would have her. Only a slight shifting of his lithe body indicated his rising excitement... Blissfully unaware of his heightened senses and the small crowd watching the silent battle, she drew just a little closer. Too close. One quick snap of the jaws and two gulps later, he had had his fill...
I watched, fascinated, as a huge lizard ate an enormous moth just outside my room. I'm getting to watch a lot of this sort of live Discovery Channel stuff in my dorm over the last month or so. Even as I'm typing this, my eyes intermittently stray to a weird bug doing what appears to be a figure of eight on my Human Resources Management textbook (Which means it's touched it more in the past week than I have.) This insect seems to have a shiny black back speckled with bright green spots. It seems beetle-ish, though given the depth of my knowledge of natural history, you'd be well advised to bet against me on that one. Elsewhere, a grasshoppery crickety insect is performing a pirouette on my wallet. Yonder, a mini-cockroachish one is scrabbling up a wall in a desperate attempt to prove Newton wrong, watched interestedly by a dark brown spider.
There are so many more lifeforms... mosquitoes with weird stripes on their backs (anti-malarial tablets every week), brilliantly coloured birds, brightly hued butterflies, all manner and sorts of six-, eight-, twenty four- and one hundred-legged insects, a frog (that seemed even more surprised to find itself on my balcony than I was to find it there). Throw in the stray cats and dogs, with peacocks crying in the background, and the only things missing are a coupla big cats and a stall to collect entry fees.
All this is probably due to the heavy rains we had about two or three weeks back, which swamped large parts of the campus. Here's LKP before and after.
Anyways, I don't mind insects at all, they give me company during long nights spent cursing the chap who developed accounting standards. And when I'm not listening to arbit Tamil, Hindi, English and Telugu songs (in that order), their chirping and trilling and fluttering forms a very pleasant background score...
But my love for all insect forms nosedived last week because of a traumatic experience...
I gave my jeans, which were in desperate need of a good hard scrub, to the dhobi who serves my dorm. He usually does a reasonably decent job on my clothes, and I only thought twice before entrusting my beloved denims to his care.
"Kab milega?" I asked him, still clutching the jeans, unwilling to be parted from them.
"Sirf do din, saab," he said.
"Pukka?"
"Pukka milega saab."
"Theek hai, iska khayal rakhna...," I said, giving it a final farewell pat.
Somewhat buoyed by the thought that I would be jeansless for just two days, I returned to what turned out to be a rather productive session of Operations Management.
As expected, he brought back my clothes eight days later. I fell upon my jeans like a starving wolf of the steppes falling upon a plump villager who had been on a month-long holiday. A couple of loving caresses later, I placed it on my bed, ready to wear it to class the next morning...
My class starts at nine. I woke up at eight thirty cursing all and sundry, had a half-hearted bath, crammed my books into my bag, pulled on my jeans, locked my door and rushed off to the mess. Halfway there, however, I felt a strange sensation in my pants. A... scratchy sort of feeling. It made my skin crawl. What's worse, it literally felt like something was crawling on my skin! All thoughts of a refreshing and much-needed dosa abandoned, I rushed back to my dorm, barged into my room, slammed the door shut and ripped off my pants. (I wonder how many women are swooning as they read this...)
I adjusted my specs which had gone askew in all the excitement, and peered into my pants (a picture of this would make an awesome topic for an abstract GD!). And my breath caught in my throat as I beheld... ants! Not one, not ten, but a rough estimate indicated their population was somewhere in the region of 2.3 million (OK, give or take about 2.299 million...). It was an entire bloody colony there in my jeans. I had no doubt that the queen was churning out hordes of them even as I stared at the ant farm in mute shock.
Practical considerations saved the day. Fascinating as it was to contemplate spending four hours in class with ants in my pants, it was more fascinating to think of the ways in which my grades would suffer if I turned up late for class. I let out an expressive oath, grabbed a spare pant that had suffered use for the whole of the previous week and ran all the way to class...
As a result of this life-altering episode, I am firmly anti-ant at the moment, and until an ant saves my life or helps me pass an Economics paper or performs some such miracle, I am unlikely to feel any warmer towards the ant community at large.
Just a little something to end this post - if I had been bitten or harmed in any way by the ants, what medicine would I have taken? Antibiotics!
Tuesday, April 05, 2005
Dum dum diga diga
Mausam bheega bheega
The oppressively humid and sultry weather that Chennai has seen of late has been broken today by a few hours of good rain. Beautiful, wonderful rain.
I've just got back from a very peaceful and invigorating walk in the rain. I'm thoroughly drenched and thoroughly happy. I love rain. I share a very special relationship with it.
I have spent over 13 years of my life in Dubai. It's a mindblowingly awesome place, except for the fact that it rains only for a period of two months in a year, if at all. In addition, the rain is very ordered, soft and quiet, just like the traffic there. In fact, showers are mere sputterings of H2O from the clouds, and are barely worth being called rain. My first encounter with real rain came at the age of two when I visited Bombay (a notorious place for seasonal downpours). I was moved to tears. OK, to be frank, I was scared shitless. I had never known that rain could be so powerful, so angry, so evil (as it seemed to me at that age and size) and so LOUD. I burst out crying and ran to my mommy...
But over the years I've seen all types of rain, and have come to understand and appreciate its simple beauty. There's light, soft rain that caresses your skin. And the type of shower that feels like a million fairies planting soft kisses all over you. The 'shower' shower which is like, well, a shower in terms of force and droplet impact. Also the 'fat rain', as I call it, with big fat drops which is like a big fat auntyji planting a wet, sloppy kiss on your cheek. And the heavy types which pound into and onto you, similar to the manner in which my classmates attack me after a particularly unbearable pun. And, of course, the destructive and powerful big daddy type, which you can only stand aside and watch in sheer awe and curiously excited horror.
Rain always puts me in an exceedingly good mood. I tend to go about skipping and singing and dancing and generally losing all my inhibitions. There have been several ocassions when the old lady next door has given me a disapproving glance when I let out of whoop of joy on feeling the first few drops of rain...
Rain also puts me in an exceedingly romantic mood. But the dampener (pun intended!) is the fact that I generally don't have anyone to be romantic with... and no girl (next door or otherwise) gives me a glance (disapproving or otherwise) when I let out of whoop of joy on feeling the first few drops of rain...
It is undeniable that rain has been a very important part of my life. It forced me to stay indoors and study when I was younger. (I don't stay indoors now. Nor do I study, rain or otherwise) Monsoon duets exposed me to a whole new genre of love songs... and rain-drenched Hindi actresses sated my adolescent longings (Zeenat Aman in Satyam Sivam Sundaram : mmmm!). It's helped me make new friends (co-rain-lovers), and always cheers me up with either pass or compartment... er, without fail. It gives me a chance to curl up on the sofa with a hot cuppa and a good movie, and allows me to wash away my worries and grumpiness by going on long drives with the rain and wind in my face. It also eases the chronic water shortage that cripples the fine city of Chennai. (People say, "Save water; shower with your boy/girlfriend". For those without boy/girlfriends, I say, "Save water; don't bathe." You can save more than the mere two buckets you'd save with Surf. And don't worry, nobody will suspect a thing. I've managed a once-a-week-bath lifestyle for six years now.)
Rain also causes the city drains to clog up, leading to entire roads being submerged. It gives auto-drivers a ready excuse to hike fares 250%. Perhaps the most important effect is that a steady shower makes it damned difficult to get six copies of a 150 page project report printed and bound the day before the submission deadline. In the past, a downpour has resulted in my contracting leptospirosis. (If you would like the whole story - it's a long and entertaining one! - including graphic details of mid-thigh-high water levels and cockroaches climbing up my trouser leg, do leave a comment to that effect.) A sharp shower will result in stagnant pools that will breed mosquitoes which will keep me up until 3 a.m. killing them. And once the rain stops the general mugginess will be unbearable. Yup, rain can cause one hell of a lot of problems.
But, for now, as I see the tree branches bending gracefully under the force of the rain and take in the beautiful smell of fresh, wet earth, I can't help but praise Nature
Surat aapki subhan Allah, hai Allah,
Surat aapki subhan Allah.
Saturday, January 22, 2005
Sarod and Saarang begin with 'S'
Sarod - a classical stringed instrument. Also a five letter word that is an anagram of 'roads'. That's all I knew about a sarod until last night. And the second point is not really of any use, knowledge-wise. Now I know that Amaan and Ayaan Ali Bangash (sons of maestro Ustad Amjad Ali Khan) play the sarod, and damn well at that.
Yup, I attended their concert at IIT last night. And it was mindblowing. The sheer beauty of the music and awesome skill of the performers held me enthralled for well over two hours. Two hours may not seem like a lot, but you can count the number of Hindustani concerts I've attended on the fingers of one hand where three fingers have been lost in a smelting accident.
The sarod itself looked pretty cool. Lots of tuning knobs and all that. (I'm sorry, I don't know any technical terms). And it shone at me from the distance of the stage, winking, as if to say, "Ha! You never knew I could create such music! Just watch! Or hear, to be more precise."
The concert started a little slowly. The first few pieces based on raag Kaanada (is that right?) were kinda mournfully slow. Not the sort of stuff that would fire up a listless crowd. In the first twenty minutes, I heard and saw several people 'packing' - a term which means 'giving up and leaving'. And just when it was beginning to get interesting, with a very nice piece involving the Ghatam, it began to rain. And in case you didn't know, it's an Open Air Theatre (OAT).
'Damn damn damn damn damn' is what I thought. Those were the precise words that flashed through my mind. Luckily the rain let up in about ten minutes, and the crowds surged back with loud roars and cheering. They came back on stage to massive applause and ear-splitting whistles, got settled, and gave me an experience of a lifetime.
The sarod itself is like a guitar in design and the way it's played, atleast from a layman's point of view. What really elevated the concert to heavenly heights were the accompaniments - Tabla and Ghatam. The performers (Sunder Das on Tabla and Umashankar on Ghatam) wove a stunning mesh of percussion delight. And both seemed to be having great fun on stage. A small note on each of them individually is in order, I think.
The Tabla guy was very good, especially in a piece where Amaan led him and he was supposed to copy Amaan's rhythm in a split second. Again, I don't now the term for that, but it was very very good. He was all concentration, and one could see he was completely immersed in his music. And when he successfully completed the piece, he gave a shy smile of pure pleasure and happiness that made me smile too.
The Ghatam guy was quite a character. I asked a friend why most Ghatam players are shaped like Ghatams themselves - big and round (though probably not hollow), and was told that's because they need to have meaty fingers to drum on the instrument, and a hell of a lot of stamina to last the concert. Well, the guy here was very round and funny. He kept shaking his head from side to side like a Chettiar Bommai. In addition, he kept dancing to the music (although he was seated) wriggling his arms, neck, shoulders and head in frenzied motions. He had a permanent pleased smile on his face (that said 'Look at me! I'm playing! Yay!), and seemed like a little kid playing with his favourite toy. And he played very very well. Especially a couple of solo pieces - very fast, with awesome variety of rhythm and pitch. He got the loudest applause at the end of the concert.
And when all four of them played together - heaven. Sheer listening pleasure. All in all a beautiful evening. A few hiccups - a delayed start (but hey, it's IIT), the rain delay and a fire in one of the stage lights. But a very very good beginning to Saarang 2005.
I'll be camping there atleast 10 hours a day over the next 5 days. Except for Monday, when our @$$^& college will conduct our $%&^ exams. Like every year.
Oh well, off to the Main Quiz prelims. See you there!
Yup, I attended their concert at IIT last night. And it was mindblowing. The sheer beauty of the music and awesome skill of the performers held me enthralled for well over two hours. Two hours may not seem like a lot, but you can count the number of Hindustani concerts I've attended on the fingers of one hand where three fingers have been lost in a smelting accident.
The sarod itself looked pretty cool. Lots of tuning knobs and all that. (I'm sorry, I don't know any technical terms). And it shone at me from the distance of the stage, winking, as if to say, "Ha! You never knew I could create such music! Just watch! Or hear, to be more precise."
The concert started a little slowly. The first few pieces based on raag Kaanada (is that right?) were kinda mournfully slow. Not the sort of stuff that would fire up a listless crowd. In the first twenty minutes, I heard and saw several people 'packing' - a term which means 'giving up and leaving'. And just when it was beginning to get interesting, with a very nice piece involving the Ghatam, it began to rain. And in case you didn't know, it's an Open Air Theatre (OAT).
'Damn damn damn damn damn' is what I thought. Those were the precise words that flashed through my mind. Luckily the rain let up in about ten minutes, and the crowds surged back with loud roars and cheering. They came back on stage to massive applause and ear-splitting whistles, got settled, and gave me an experience of a lifetime.
The sarod itself is like a guitar in design and the way it's played, atleast from a layman's point of view. What really elevated the concert to heavenly heights were the accompaniments - Tabla and Ghatam. The performers (Sunder Das on Tabla and Umashankar on Ghatam) wove a stunning mesh of percussion delight. And both seemed to be having great fun on stage. A small note on each of them individually is in order, I think.
The Tabla guy was very good, especially in a piece where Amaan led him and he was supposed to copy Amaan's rhythm in a split second. Again, I don't now the term for that, but it was very very good. He was all concentration, and one could see he was completely immersed in his music. And when he successfully completed the piece, he gave a shy smile of pure pleasure and happiness that made me smile too.
The Ghatam guy was quite a character. I asked a friend why most Ghatam players are shaped like Ghatams themselves - big and round (though probably not hollow), and was told that's because they need to have meaty fingers to drum on the instrument, and a hell of a lot of stamina to last the concert. Well, the guy here was very round and funny. He kept shaking his head from side to side like a Chettiar Bommai. In addition, he kept dancing to the music (although he was seated) wriggling his arms, neck, shoulders and head in frenzied motions. He had a permanent pleased smile on his face (that said 'Look at me! I'm playing! Yay!), and seemed like a little kid playing with his favourite toy. And he played very very well. Especially a couple of solo pieces - very fast, with awesome variety of rhythm and pitch. He got the loudest applause at the end of the concert.
And when all four of them played together - heaven. Sheer listening pleasure. All in all a beautiful evening. A few hiccups - a delayed start (but hey, it's IIT), the rain delay and a fire in one of the stage lights. But a very very good beginning to Saarang 2005.
I'll be camping there atleast 10 hours a day over the next 5 days. Except for Monday, when our @$$^& college will conduct our $%&^ exams. Like every year.
Oh well, off to the Main Quiz prelims. See you there!
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