Tuesday, April 29, 2008

Keeping Mum

Warning: This post contains a picture that might be slightly nauseating to some. I mean it, so read on at your own risk. For you witty wags who insist nothing can be more nauseating than my picture in the sidebar... well, you've been warned!

My mother dropped in on me last weekend. She had the option to come to Delhi on some work, and grabbed the opportunity to check in on her errant son, who does not eat meals regularly and doesn't call home often enough :)

I was, naturally, very happy to have her here. It's nice to catch up with family stories and have awesome home cooked food (that said, my culinary skills have vastly improved as compared to the last time I mentioned them on this blog. Maybe I'll write about that later.) And its good fun to show her my office, take her through my routine and lifestyle, and drive her around Delhi/Gurgaon to show her that drivers here really are as crazy as I make them out to be. And scare her by driving at three times the speed I drive at in Chennai. And of, course, to come home from work to find the house sparkling clean and a week's worth of cooked food in the fridge :)

Having a parent over, however, does put a lot of pressure on one. Especially if one is a bachelor. And especially if one is a bachelor living with two other bachelors, making for one hell of a bachelor-style home.

As information regarding a visit (from a relative or the landlord) filters through to the group, a mild sense of panic sets in owing to the need to clean the house and make it somewhat respectable. And so the manic cleaning starts.

1. Out go the four week old newspapers lying around on the floor, atop the chairs and under the sofa.
2. Ditto for the empty juice cartons and cigarette packs (I don't smoke, but my flatmate does. I would, of course, smoke if I was set on fire but as that is not a regular occurrence, I feel comfortable stating that I do not smoke.)
3. In a bachelor household, "99 Bottles of Beer on the Wall" is not just a song. It's a real life logistical difficulty, an issue of storage space. For variety, there's whisky lying around as well. All need to be deposited in a safe place.
4. Most of the furniture (and the floor, and the walls, and the electrical appliances...) has a layer of dust thicker than normally considered healthy. None of us has dust allergies, but if one of us was... well, let's just say there'd be a room to spare at home. Out come the dust cloths (yes, we actually have them!)
5. The sour milk/curd in the fridge and the rotting vegetables we passed on in favour of Maggi need to be disposed off.
6. The packets of Maggi and MTR Ready-to-eat meals are discreetly puched to the background, and the spices, pastes, purees, pulses and veggies are emphasized to indicate self-reliance in terms of cooking.
7. It's time to clean the vessels in the kitchen as well. It is at moments like his that one discovers weird string-like microbial growth in a container that once contained something edible but hasn't been touched for weeks on end. I'm serious, I'm not just saying this for effect. See for yourself.

Yes, it is disgusting. I know.


This was not a dish of noodles. Detailed investigations later revealed that this was, at some point in time, a serving of daal, as evidenced by the glimpses of yellow below the stringy stuff in the picture above.

And all this is just the common areas (living room, kitchen, etc) in the house. My room is normally quite an ungodly mess by itself. I tackled the issue quite well, I think. I'm feeling rather proud of myself, actually.

1. Three weeks worth of sweeping done in three minutes
2. Two weeks of dirty (and, in some cases, smelly) clothes dumped into the washing machine and later hung to dry. This also helps spread a nice, clean, detergent-ish smell about the room
3. All potentially objectionable content (I shall not go into details here) disposed off in a retrievable fashion at a secure location
4. Books falling off shelves and strewn on the bed/floor collected and arranged in a neat pile on a table imported into the room for this purpose
5. The extra bed in my room (usually covered with aforementioned clothes and books apart from old newspapers, biscuit wrappers and credit card statements) emptied, wiped clean and covered with a new bedsheet that smells only mildly nauseatingly starchy
6. All dusty items stacked in one corner of the room to give the impression that it is only that corner of the room that I barely touch while the rest of the room is cleaned twice a day with disinfectant
7. The cupboard containing my clothes straightened out to give a sense of being organized
8. Air freshener liberally used and the door to the balcony opened to let in fresh air. (The latter, unfortunately, resulted in a lot of sand being blown in necessitating step 1 above being repeated.)

The end result was surprisingly good. I had no idea my flat and my room could look so nice and welcoming. It just goes to show what one can do if one forces oneself to puts one's mind to it.

And, here's the most important step, the best piece of advice I can give you, one that could come in very handy if you find yourself in a similar situation. Hope you've got a notebook to take this down.

Leave the door to your flatmate's room strategically ajar, so that you can smugly tell your parent(s), "Look, this is how bad my room could be. Now, aren't you proud of how clean I am?"

Wednesday, April 16, 2008

This guy cracks me up

In a world full of inane music videos that are so outrageously silly they're funny, this guy takes the cake.

Presenting Ishq Bector, an Indo-Canadian hip hop artist.

After the kinky craziness of the surprisingly successful Aye Hip Hopper came the mindblowing ROFL Dakku Daddy. Interesting videos and corny-fun lyrics... a very catchy mix.

Enjoy!



Aye Hip Hopper




Dakku Daddy

Monday, April 07, 2008

It's a good thing I have a brother to continue the family line...

...because my reproductive capabilities might just have been compromised a little.

OK, drastic statement, that. Don't want to scare off any potential brides. Let me put this in context... I'll start by beginning this post from scratch, including a new title.

4 guys. 3 days. One car. 2000 km.

The weekend of Good Friday and Holi was a three day weekend. Having had quite enough of Gurgaon and its environs, four of us decided to pack our bags and set off on a good old fashioned road trip. Our destination: Jaisalmer, in the midst of the Rajasthani desert in the extreme west of the country. We plotted a Delhi -> Jaipur -> Ajmer -> Jodhpur -> Jaisalmer itinerary, a total one-way distance of about 900 kilometres.




Apart from eating some very simple yet amazingly tasty food at a whole lot of random dhabas along the way, we hit some very interesting spots, and had some pretty cool experiences. Here's a brief description of the highlights of the trip; maybe this will be helpful if you plan a trip to these parts someday!

1. Vroom!

I love driving. It's one of the things that gives me the most pleasure in my life as it stands now. And the roads of Rajasthan are be-yoo-tiful. Smooth roads all the way, even in the middle of nowhere en route to tiny hamlets and villages. There's something very uplifting about being able to zoom down a fantastic road at a consistent speed of 140 kmph... It makes the blood rush and makes one feel glad to be alive. The roads were waiting for us, daring us to rip them up... and we were more than happy to take up the challenge. Looooong drives + lovely roads + awesome music + good company = a fantastic experience.



The road ahead...

2. Khwajaji...

Ajmer is synonymous with the dargah of Khwaja Moinuddin Chisti. We visited the holy site, prayed and made the customary offerings of flowers and a shroud for the grave. The early morning, birds twittering all around, cool marble flooring and the soft strains of beautiful Sufi music... heavenly. One could have sat there for hours just watching the throng of fervent devotees and enjoying the soulful renditions of the singers.



A band prepares for a procession outside the dargah

FYI, this is not the Khwajaji in the kickass song from Jodhaa Akbar. If I've got my facts right, that song was for Salim Chisti who Akbar (and AR Rahman) are devotees of.


3. The Royal heritage

The Rajasthani royals of yore ruled their empires from their fortresses, large sprawling complexes built atop hilltops to afford a clear view of invaders. We visited the forts at Jaipur and Jaisalmer.

The Jaipur Fort is maintained by a private trust and not the Government, which explains why it is so much more tourist friendly and well-maintained than most other historical locations. It features a very very extensive museum and gallery showcasing the history of the ruling family and their exploits. It also features an extensive armoury featuring beautiful swords, daggers, guns, shields and spears (of the Rajasthani and not the Britney variety). A very beautiful structure, indeed.


Also worth checking out at Jaipur is the palace of the current Raja, Umaid Bhavan. It's now part tourist attraction, part heritage resort and part marriage/event venue, I think. It's a really magnificent building, but we couldn't give it much time because we had to hit the road.


The Jaisalmer Fort is not so much a fort as a complete living township. It's still very well populated today with shops, restaurants and whatnot all over the place to cater to the considerable number of tourists. I would recommend setting aside atleast 4 hours to explore it... there are several tiny roads and points of interest within the complex that will take time, patience and lots of sunblock to cover completely.

The forts also offer, as expected, fantastic views of their respective cities.


Jodhpur, the Blue City

4. Hello Pakistan!

On a whim, we drove to a small temple town and army outpost called Tanot, 120 km from Jaisalmer and 16 km from India's border with Pakistan. This area was a key battle zone during the war of 1971, and came under heavy shelling. The troops believe the local deity - Maa Tanot Devi, a form of Durga - protected the soldiers then and continues to do so to this day.

We chatted with the jawans and officers posted there and were told that to get army permission to visit the actual border, one had to go all the way back to Jaisalmer or an intermediate mini-town called Ramgarh. Much to our surprise, however, the General in charge of the base allowed us to visit the army post on the border.

So there we were, 16 km later, chatting with the soldiers posted at the border and taking turns looking through their binoculars at the Pakistani outpost on the other side of the no mans' land between the countries. They shared their army experiences (one of them had served at every major border area of the last decade), and told us how life was on a daily basis, looking out for smugglers and soldiers from across the border. They were ecstatic to see us (especially since two of us were from their hometowns), their only grouse being that we hadn't brought any Holi colours for them.

I visited Tawang near the border with China last year, and both these experiences gave me a renewed appreciation of how much these brave men and women have sacrificed in order to ensure our safety and sovereignity. Battling through harsh weather conditions, staying away from home for months on end... it's a difficult life and takes guts, passion and courage to do it... Somehow, a lot of what the rest of us do and crib about in life seems to pale in comparison.



The long, often dangerous international border with Pakistan

5. After the main course, the desert!

One thing every single visitor to Jaisalmer does - and must do - is take a nightime camel safari into the desert. There are innumerable tour operators who can arrange one for you. A typical package would include a couple of hours of camel riding, dinner at a campsite (with Swiss tents that have all amenities you could want) with performances by local gypsy troupes, a bonfire, possibly some drunkenness and a good night's sleep.

For a super experience, however, convince your tour guy to take you into the desert so you can sleep under the open sky in the middle of nowhere. Trust me, it's well worth it. The camel guy takes you out into the desert, cooks you a simple meal for dinner and leaves you to sleep with the stars. In the morning, he makes you tea and breakfast, and leads you back to the real world.

We were there on the night of a full moon, and the scene was breathtakingly beautiful. Rolling sand dunes, billions and billions of stars in a wonderfully clear sky and the gentle desert breeze. Extremely inspiring. (Also extremely romantic, which made things a little depressing because I had no one with me to be romantic with.) The sheer beauty of the landscape, stretching out across the silent desert, made the trip worth it. We were an hour's camel ride way from any road or form of civilization... sheer bliss. To give you a brief (but very inadequate) idea, here's a picture. And the light you see, folks, is the moon.



The beautiful moonlit desert night


Camping in the middle of nowhere...

Most overnight desert packages start about 3pm in the afternoon and will bring you back to your hotel about 11am the next morning. Charges can range from Rs 1500 to Rs 10000 per head depending on how much of a mug you are, how many foreigners are in the group, and how many camels you intend to use. So don't be afraid to bargain hard. If you have the time, shop around among a number of tourist agencies to ensure you get as good a deal as possible. But under no circumstance whatsoever should you miss out on this - this was easily the single most brilliant memory of our road trip.


So that's that... 3 days VERY well spent. When we initially told people about our plans, they were dismissed as being crazy, impractical and pointlessly tiring. Well, we proved the naysayers wrong :)

Next up: a Punjab road trip, up to the Indo-Pak border at Wagah.

Update:
I read through the post and realised I had completely forgotten to put my original statement in context. I'll try to put it as plainly as possible. The camel is a nice animal and fun to ride, but ensure you're mounted on it correctly or its lurching motion will hurt you in places you'd rather not be hurt in.

Sunday, March 30, 2008

Fitna

The controversial anti-Islamist movie by far-right wing Dutch politician Geert Wilders. I downloaded (the torrent is widely available) and watched it today.

Wilder's views are somewhat extremist in nature. He pieces together specific (potentially inflammatory) Sura'as from the Quran and speeches by Imams from around the world to raise the alarm about the growing Islamisation (and radical Islamisation, at that) of the world in general and the Netherlands in particular.

I don't agree with his extremist views at all. In fact, I very strongly disagree with them. They're quite one- sided and xenophobic in nature. The tag of being a 'radical' can just as easily be applied to people from other religions (like the VHP in Hinduism). The holy books of all religions are potential sources of controversy (creationism in the Bible versus Darwin). So this movie clearly presents only one side of the story, and very strongly. Michael Moore would be proud.

I have several Muslim friends and am strongly against the branding of Islam as a violent and terrorist religion. A few misguided radicals are giving the religion a bad name around the world... every religion and ideology has its nutcases (relatively speaking). I guess the world probably needs a little more reassurance (such as this) that the actions of these people are clearly viewed as unacceptable by the larger Muslim community...

Do watch the movie, though. It's worth a watch, if only to provide one context on the issue in Northern and Western Europe.

Details: Wikipedia: Fitna (the film)
The movie: Youtube: Geert Wilders - Fitna the movie (Official English)

Thursday, March 27, 2008

Morituri Te Salutamus

(Flow of random thoughts, again.)

Recently, I discussed death with a few of my friends. More specifically, the question "How would you like to die?"

It might seem like a very morbid topic for discussion, and it is. I can be a morbid sort of guy at times.

Anyways, almost all said that they'd like to die peacefully in their sleep. Just float away in the night, dying several years from now of old age. Me, I wouldn't like that. I would rather die suddenly and instantaneously. Like, say, a massive instantly fatal car crash. Or a earthquake that crushes me in my sleep. Or a well-aimed bullet to my head. Something like that.

I don't mean to be dramatic. My reasons are exactly the same as those of people who'd like to die in their sleep; like everyone else, I'd like to die cleanly and quickly with little or no pain. Not for me the extended, "Main jaa raha hoon maa" type of deaths so loved by Bollywood.

The next question is, of course, when exactly. Some of my friends said they'd like to be grandparents or great grandparents before they die, so that they have achieved everything personally and professionally that they could have hoped to achieve.

Me, I'm ready to go now. Quickly, cleanly, immediately. Today's as good a day to die as any, and I'm ready. Not ready in that I've tied up all my paperwork and have my will in place, but ready in that if I was to die right now, I wouldn't regret it. Not that I'd have the capacity to regret it once I'm dead, of course. (I do not believe in the afterlife or in reincarnation.)

Again, I'm not trying to be dramatic, or a hero. It's just that I'd much rather die early than hang around for years and years until people can't wait for me to die. And I'd much rather die at a time and in a manner that people think, "Oh, why did he have to die so soon?" rather than "Oh well, he was expected to die anytime now anyways..."

I have certain ambitions, certain plans for the future, certain things I'm looking forward to. But if I was to die right now (the ceiling, unfortunately, looks fairly solid and unlikely to fall anytime soon) I would be perfectly alright with it. One needs an extremely strong reason to want to live to be (rationally) against death. Death is a great liberator. The end of all worries, insecurities and unhappiness. And it's tax-free, as well. (For me, I mean, not for those who inherit whatever meagre savings I leave behind.)

Another angle of the thought of death is: does my death matter? I don't have any dependents as of now, and my brother is a superstar and fairly capable of meeting all familial obligations. (On second thoughts, maybe I'd like to hang around for a few more years until he's settled.) Apart from the financial aspect of it, there's also the emotional one. Would anyone mourn my death? The answer to that is, reassuringly, yes. I am confident there will be some non-family members (Family, especially in India, will always love you even if you are a cannibalistic murderer) who will genuinely miss me when I'm gone. And that is a source of great strength in a cruel and very matlabi and selfish world. There aren't very many (actually, very very few in my estimation), but a non-zero number is infinitely better than none. Very welcome, indeed.

There are people I know whose death will affect me very very deeply, people whose passing I will very genuinely mourn and feel emptier for. Many of these people don't even know how much a part of my life they have been in the past or are now, and how much I value their presence in my life and their contributions to making me who I am today. I don't suppose I'll ever tell them, but it's nice to know one is capable of caring about and respecting others to such a depth.

Death is inevitable. Birth is, in a way, just the beginning of death. And it comes with a lot of baggage.

Tuesday, March 11, 2008

Damn you, Mr Murphy.

I wrote this piece sometime in January, but forgot all about it. Until now. And so, I shall inflict it on you.

Last week, I flew from Ahmedabad to Delhi. A very pleasant flight (Kingfisher Airlines - thought I'd try it out just to see if it was worth the hype. Verdict: It is!)

I got to Delhi airport in a reasonably good mood. My baggage didn't take inordinately long to arrive, and only one person banged his trolley painfully into my shins, as opposed to the usual three or four.

Yes, it seemed like a nice day.

Three seconds later, I realised it wasn't going to be all that nice a day - the queue for the prepaid taxi services stretched for atleast 45 people. Two queues of 45 people each. I sighed, got out a book (A Short History of Nearly Everything, Bill Bryson) and settled down for a long wait.

As I inched closer to the ticket window, I was able to observe the activities on the other side of the glass window. It seemed immediately obvious to me that the person meant to manage the prepaid taxi booths had no clue about
a. Service time,
b. Resource optimization, or
c. Efficient man management.

There were six windows. These were manned by four men, and a surprisingly agile bit of mathematical calculation told me that meant atleast two windows were closed for service. Of the four men, two were actually taking money and disbursing the prepaid tickets. One was counting huge stacks of cash (and yet refused to offer change to the customers) and the fourth was, almost unbelievably, sipping on tea and working the Sudoku in that morning's newspaper! And it wasn't as if he was taking a quick break. He was doing that (tea + Sudoku) for the full period of 45 minutes that I waiting in the queue. And this, when there was a flight landing every 5 minutes and an increasingly irate line of tired grumpy customers waiting for some service.

I parked myself at the end of Queue 1, and steeled myself for a long wait. As expected, it was moving at an annoyingly sluggish pace. Soon, the sluggish movement slowed to a crawl. And then a complete halt. No one seemed to know what was happening, and the head of the queue was too far away to allow a detailed investigation. All of us just stood about, resignation writ large on our faces. And then, like a bull that has had a hot iron placed against its rump, Queue 2 began moving at breakneck speed. Before the disbelieving eyes of us poor chaps in Queue 1, the folk in Queue 2 were served twice as fast as we were (before we came to a standstill, of course. I know two times zero is zero.) It was at this point that a helpful official cut into our line about 15 people ahead of me and recommended we move to Queue 2 for faster service. Letting a collective whoop of joy and victory, we swarmed towards the second line.

Four minutes later, it came to a screeching halt. A complete standstill. All due to two people at the head of the queue arguing over the fares and the change. We stood in position for about 5 minutes, muttering and cursing under our breaths. The man behind me said something that sounded like 'Monkey', but was decidedly in Punjabi. And then, suddenly, the line began to move at a phenomenal speed. Except that this wasn't Queue 2 moving, it was Queue 1.

Cue (heh, heh) for everyone in Queue 2 to run helter skelter to Queue 1. And there we were back where we started. The queue moved fairly quickly, and I finally got myself a ticket. I strode out of the airport triumphantly, only to deflate when I saw the long line for the taxis themselves. It was at that that I decided to stop being a nice guy and become a Delhiite. I resolved to kick, punch, scratch, bite and claw as necessary to ensure I did not lose out. Life became a big red blur...

Anyways, I somehow wrestled my way into a taxi and gave the driver my address. And that's when Act 2 - the thriller - started. My driver weaved in and out of the morning rush hour traffic, tyres squealing and chassis creaking (and I am NOT exaggerating!) as he swung wildly across the lanes in the general direction of Gurgaon. He very nearly hit about 12 cars in a 5 kilometre stretch. I counted. At one point, he drove over a divider on the expressway - I kid you not - just to get to a relatively free lane. I thought it prudent, after that harrowing incident, to ask how long he'd been driving. It turned out he was a 19 year old kid who'd got this driving license only 4 months ago. And through means that were not strictly legal. Just my luck. The death ride somehow came to a satisfactory end, with neither the car nor its occupants much the worse for it. I paid the driver and trudged upstairs to my flat.

Life wasn't done throwing me sucker punches yet. I had locked the keys to my house in my pants (my other pants, I was wearing a pair at the time), which were in my suitcase. There followed a five minute session (liberally punctuated with the choicest expletives) as I unpacked the tight-to-the-seam box at my doorstep to get at the keys.

I stepped into my house, and collapsed on the nearest sofa, worn out by the morning's experiences. The simplest of tasks can be so phenomenally tiring at times. Sigh.

But wait, dear reader. Act 3 unfolds.

I had not had a bath for quite a few days, and decided it was only fair to my coworkers (I was planning to go to office later in the day) that I cleanse myself with liberal use of soap and hot water. I am all for not having a bath, so long as one does not stink. But there's only so far that deodorants can work. So a quick bath was chalked into the agenda of the day's activities.

I went into the bathroom, peeled off my clothes (I see you swooning, ladies, and not because of the smell!) and turned on the shower. I stood there for 5 minutes, oblivious to all in the world except the lovely feeling of water running down my face and body. I reached out to the soap, and proceeded to lather myself well and truly. I even sang a cheerful little ditty as I did so. Midway through this operation, the power died. As the comforting hum of the geyser died down, an eerie silence descended upon my house. Not that I minded - at 10 a.m., this kind of stuff isn't really scary. I continued singing the aforementioned ditty. Just as I finished lathering myself all over and placed the soap back in its tray, the water stopped. Without warning. The shower, pleasantly gushing mere moments ago, gurgled and made a sound like it was clearing its throat. It slowed to a trickle and then stopped.

A rather shitty situation to be in, this. Buck naked, wearing nothing but a 3-day stubble. Covered in soap lather and with no idea of what to do next.

The tap at the wash basin wasn't working, and I didn't fancy washing in the commode. After 5 indecisive minutes, inspiration struck. I trudged to the kitchen (dropping little soap suds all along the way) and washed myself with mineral water and beer. (Seriously, I'm not making this up.)

And there, dear readers who have survived to the end of this post, ended my ordeal. The rest of the day went pretty smoothly, thankfully. Even though my beer-sticky legs did cause me occasional discomfort.

Saturday, March 01, 2008

Advertising change...

There's an ad campaign on air nowadays that I like a lot.

Actually, it's been on air for almost two months now, and I've been meaning to blog about them but I've been quite a lazy bum busy and overworked over the last few weeks.

It's an ad campaign for Canara Bank, a 100 year old national bank. It's part of its attempt to change its look and feel, and reposition itself as a reliable provider of hi-technology banking products and services, one that is relevant to the young customers of today.

The transformation encompasses several areas - technology, products and services, internal HR initiatives and a new corpoate identity (Link 1 and Link 2. The purpose of the ad campaign is to convey that this change has a human heart. Hence the tagline - "We all change for the ones we love."

Some are cynical, and say that this is just a cosmetic change - to expect a public sector bank to improve its service levels is laughable. Others, however, believe that with time, the naysayers will be proved wrong. I think it's a little bit of both. Perhaps there will be some change, necessitated by the increasing competition in the industry and the looming entry of foreign players once deregulation kicks in in 2009.

Before you read ahead, watch the two ads and form your own opinions.


AD 1 & AD 2


I like the first one a lot. It's very cute, and funny. And I love the bit where she asks for pink! But, emotional sap that I am, I like the second ad even more. There's something very... indescribably awwww about the mother's efforts in the ad, something that makes me soften and smile whatever mood I might be when the ad is on.

I wonder how my mother will react when I introduce her to my Punjabi girlfriend :)

Friday, February 15, 2008

Happy Walletines' Day

So another Valentines' Day has come and gone. And the attendant hysteria is finally beginning to die down just a little.


I'm sorry, but I just don't get it. I don't understand Valentines' Day.


Saint Valentine, after whom the Day is named, is apparently the patron saint of affianced couples. He is also, my sources inform me, the patron saint of bee keepers, epileptics and travellers. (So if you're an apiarist in love, are bitten by wanderlust and are prone to the occasional fit, you've hit the jackpot.)


Saint Valentine may as well also be the patron saint of overpriced flowers, candy, cloyingly mushy love songs, the colours red and pink and marketing/advertisement agencies.


Love has never been so commoditized, dragged down from its deservedly ethereal heights and crammed into the greedy mould of mass commercialization. An emotion that is something relatively simple and (potentially, should you choose to make it so) uncomplicated is repackaged to morph into a confusing mix of expectation, guilt, tension, disappointment and anxiety culminating in a big fat credit card bill.


I don't see why there has to be ONE day to make the person you love feel special. I don't see why there has to be ONE day to tell them how much they mean to you. I don't see why there has to be ONE day to convey your emotions. From my experience, an unexpected rose on any random day is a greater sign that someone loves you than a rose (or several) right on cue on Valentines' Day. Predictability and a sense of expectation will be the death of spontaneous expression of love.


Anybody and everybody jumps onto the Valentines' Day bandwagon nowadays. Here are a few examples.


- Florists have a field day as the price of roses shoots up 500%. And giving one's Valentine day-old flowers is simply considered too tacky and cheap for words. (Try explaining the 50% cost arbitrage advantage to a miffed girlfriend.)

- One has apparently not celebrated Valentines' Day in its true spirit if one has not been to the most eye-poppingly expensive restaurant in town. For a steep price (special Valentine offer, of course), one gets to experience fantastic ambience, soft romantic music and often tasteless food.

- Or, one of the many plush multiplexes in town where if one buys couple tickets, one will get popcorn free! Romantic as it may be, I'd much rather watch the movie I paid up to 300 frickin' bucks per head for, and not be distracted by my girlfriend nibbling on my ear.

- We consumers are reassured that this is the ideal occasion on which to buy your loved one lingerie. (Yeah right. Given the traffic snarls to and from that expensive restaurant so diligently recommended by all known media, I doubt one would have the time or energy for much action.)

- Jewellery, of course, is the perfect gift for the occasion, ads plead. (What occasion? Me loving my girlfriend/wife is an occasion?!) Other perfect occasions in the future will include Diwali, New Year, Akshaya Tritiya, Holi, Pongal, Eid, Christmas, Krishna Jayanti, the various regional New Years, Independence Day...

- "Love is a matter of taste," urges a consumer electronics company in an ad (that they doubtless consider clever) in today's paper as it positions a microwave oven as the best present for one's beloved. (Oh screw the swanky restaurant, honey. Let's just stay home and try out our new microwave!)

- "If you cant say those three words today, say two," is the sage recommendation from another. The two words? "iPod Nano." An informative little callout on the ad tells us to buy the iPod in pink, as that is the colour of love. (If anyone were to get me a pink iPod, I'd kill them. And use their blood to colour my iPod a sporty red.)

- Do you know how to show your loved one how much you really love them? "Gift your Valentine something special... Buy them a car! Now available at a special 10% discount, repayable through low EMIs over the next 7 years." (But which time one would have got a new car, and probably a new girlfriend/wife as well.)

- Everybody with the equipment and time to churn out a music CD comes out with a 'Love Collection' or something of the sort, featuring exactly the same songs in every single CD, with perhaps a change in the sequence or the addition of remixed tracks being the only difference.

- "Love at first ride!" screams a wildly original ad from a bike manufacturer.

- How about this, from a popular beauty parlour chain: "This Valentines' Day, gift your loved one a special slimming package." Right, nothing quite like telling her how much you love her and sending across a subtle message at the same time.

- "This Valentine, charm a million hearts with your new look... avail of special discounts on our non surgical treatment for baldness!" Quite a turn-on, I'm sure.



And there are many many more. Everyone's out to make a quick buck on this most profitable of days. And you can't blame them, they're just doing what makes good business sense. It's all of us, the society at large, that has been brainwashed into feeling the need to 'celebrate' it. In my view, it's nothing more than an excuse to get off work early. (No manager can deny you time with your beloved on Valentines' Day. She/he probably has to rush home herself to deal with a spouse brimming with fancy notions and high expectations of an evening's expensive affirmation of love.)


Bal Thackeray, the head of the political party the Shiv Sena has long crusaded against Valentines' Day being celebrated in India, deeming it a western influence that spreads immorality amongst the youth. He considers it an attack upon Indian values and culture. (The land with the second largest population in the world does not understand love and/or lust, apparently.) In a front page editorial in the party newsletter, he wrote, "What is this Valentine Day? In what way it is related to Indian culture? It is a rotten imported culture thriving on the neo-rich with easy money to squander."


Now I have a deep, long-standing loathing for him and his party, given their highly divisive politics and hate mongering. But you have to admit, in the context of the statement above, he kind of has a point.


Valentines' Day is no longer about love. It's all about the money, honey.



Friday, February 01, 2008

"Where is human nature so weak as in the bookstore?"

Location: Strand Book Fair, Mumbai

Time In: 1230 hrs

Time Out: 1330 hrs

The spoils, all in mint condition:
Classics:
The Great Gatsby, by F. Scott Fitzgerald
A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man, by James Joyce
Sons and Lovers, by D.H. Lawrence
Of Human Bondage, by William Somerset Maugham

Intellectual stimulation:
The Koran (translated to English)
The Dialogues of Plato

Pulp fiction for long flights:
A Puzzle For Fools, by Patrick Quentin
The Last of Philip Banter, by John Franklin Bardin

Miscellaneous:
Magic, by Isaac Asimov
The History of White People in America, by Martin Mull and Allen Rucker
The Litle Pun Book, from Peter Pauper Press

Expense: Rs. 834. What a steal.


Note: The quote in the title is attributed to Henry Ward Beecher.

Monday, December 31, 2007

Road Rage

Warning: This is a long post. A very long post. I started typing it out and didn't seem to be able to stop. If you are reading this at work, as I strongly suspect you are, this could seriously impact your productivity. As it has mine.

Driving in Gurgaon can be an incredibly frustrating experience. The sheer lawlessness, chaos and the perpetual sense of death and destruction makes for a very emotionally draining experience. There are two ways one could look at it.
1. Positive view: It gives you a renewed appreciation of how good it is to be alive. It makes you feel like a man again (engaging in all those testosterone-driven duels). And when you begin to celebrate reaching home safely each night, you know you've learnt to value life's small victories.
2. Negative view: It's a pain in the ass. It's life threatening and rage-inducing. The world appears to be full of maniacs and idiots with no concern for either their own lives or that of others.
As can be expected from a naturally cynical and angry guy like me, this post deals exclusively with the latter. So here's a guide to some of the phenomena you are likely to encounter on the roads of Gurgaon.


COWS
All over the bloody place. And they aren't just the normal kind of cows one finds all over the country. These are very large cows and bulls. Huge bulls with massive humps and dangerously long and sharp horns. Much like the ones depicted on Harappan seals


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It's clear they have been terrorizing travellers in these parts for years but nothing whatsoever has been done about them. They lie around on the roads, protected by the irrational Indian belief in their touch-them-on-pain-of-your-life holiness. They stand in front of your car in the middle of the roads, gazing at you unflinchingly, daring you to use force against them. And, occasionally, their luck runs out and they die on the roads, their deep dark blood seeping across the asphalt as we shake our heads sagely and continue driving.


RASH DRIVERS
If there's one thing the Haryana police have learnt, it's that there is no point putting up speed limits on any roads. Simply because the limit is merely a number. Most drivers see it not as a restriction but as a challenge. Not just a 'Can you reach this speed?' challenge but a 'Can you reach twice this speed?' challenge. And, almost invariably, the drivers win. With the result that you have huge masses of people roaring down the roads of Gurgaon with scant control over their movements and scant respect for those of others.

The motorcyclists are worse; young blood pumping ill-advisedly in their hyperactive veins, they zoom in and out of traffic, executing death defying stunts, sharp swerves and risky cross-signal tactics. Thankfully, there aren't very many of them - Gurgaon seems to be extremely unsafe for anyone not protected by something with an airbag or, at the very least, a seat belt.

All these rash drivers (two, three and four wheelers) will cut across lanes, insist on overtaking you on the wrong side, believe it is their god given right to not have to stop at traffic signals, cut wildly into traffic travelling at 100 kmph, drive on the wrong side of the road, ram into the occasional cow and, in general, make life a living hell for everyone else on the roads.

They count among their brethren truck drivers, tanker drivers, motorcyclists, tractor drivers, half the car-owning population of the city and even the occasional daring bullock cart driver. But the king, the absolute baap of them all is...


CAB-MAN
Not to be confused with Spiderman, Superman, Batman and the like, even though he does perform death defying stunts. He would be a crime fighter, except that he's almost always on the wrong side of the law. And no, he's not an anti-hero, he's pure evil villain.

I refer to those who drive cabs, particularly those employed by BPO companies to ferry their hapless employees. These are all private operators (Gurgaon has little or no reliable and safe public transport) and are, I think, paid on the basis of how quickly they get from point A to point B. Which results in them zooming in and out of traffic, muscling in on the flow of traffic in any and every direction and generally making one hell of a nuisance of themselves. Apart from, of course, being a serious safety hazard on the roads. Not a week goes by without news of someone being mowed down by one of these cabs (or mooed down, if attacked by one of the aforementioned bulls).

They are not averse to giving you a little nudge from the back if they feel you're travelling too slowly. Or, what's worse, socialise from the side by bringing their cabs within a couple of nanometres of one's doors. This is, as you can expect, an extremely frightening and heartwrenching thing for someone with a relatively new car that he would like to see survive for as long as possible without scratches. But where there are mad cab drivers, there are scratches galore. The Viking raiders of old left smoking ruins after every plunder. The villainous robbers in Home Alone left the water running after every robbery. Gurgaon's cabmen leave a wide range of scratches after every interaction.

And nobody seems to be able to do anything to stop them.


LANE? WHAT'S THAT?
Have you, dear reader, driven on city roads? If you have, you might have noticed little white lines on the roads, usually dividing them into roughly equal fractions. These fractions of the road, referred to as lanes, are meant to facilitate orderly flow of traffic in neat lines. Queues, if you will.

Gurgaon, apparently, finds lane driving an alien concept. No one EVER EVER follows them. Which is extremely frustrating for someone who was brought up (in driving terms) in an environment which taught him to respect lane flow.

The Haryana Urban Development Authority (HUDA, which sounds surprisingly like Al Pacino in Scent of a Woman - and some believe is just as blind)... where was I? Oh yes. HUDA, in all earnestness, paints lines all over the roads, only to have them completely and utterly ignored by practically every single member of the driving populace.

Two lanes of traffic are often converted into three, with the ones in the middle not seeming the least bit remorseful about breaking driving etiquette (is it a law?). They merely nudge, cajole and threaten (ever had a tall bearded Jat brandish a heavy stick at you?) their way into any open space to create a lane of their own. The road I take to office morphs from 3 lanes to 5 (sometimes 6!) during rush hour. The National Highway to Delhi miraculously transforms from 8 to 14 lanes, all choc-a-bloc with irate drivers and peaceful cows.

What's more, they often do not stay in their lanes (imaginary or official). Everyone glides, slides and pirouettes across lanes, in and out of traffic with absolutely ZERO regard for the situation of traffic in the lanes they are cutting into. As one who has often been cut off by such insane lane-switchers, I have learnt to control my anger ("I'll kill you, b#$%&@*d!") and become more philosophical about it. ("The way you're driving, you're going to die sooner or later. B#$%&@*d.")

Lanes are a thing of the past, a needless imposition of order and discipline in an environment where order and discipline can get one abused, scratched, beaten up or killed.


SUICIDAL PEDESTRIANS
I do not know which city/state reports the largest number of suicides (for non-agricultural reasons) and/or accidental deaths each year, but I would be very surprised if Gurgaon is not near the top of the list. The local people seem to be blessed with an innate propensity to take risks, some of which take the form of walking in the middle of a busy road or sprinting across a eight-lane highway, even as rash drivers (especially cabmen) bear down upon them with unflinching bloodlust.

Trust me, driving here is not an exercise for the faint-hearted, given the nature of these pedestrians. They jump onto the roads when you least expect them (you are, of course barrelling down a 80kmph highway at 120 kmph). They play peekaboo with you from behind telephone poles and/or cows, a now-you-see-them-now-you-don't cat-and-mouse game that usually goes "accelerate, turn up the volume, accelerate, press the pedal all the way down, glance up at the man doing a jig in the middle of the road, slam down hard on the brakes, skid on the road, screech to a halt". It wouldn't be out of place in a Jerry Bruckheimer movie.

What irks me is not so much the fact that they cross the road at all - they can't help it, even chickens have been known to do it - but that they
a. Seem to have no idea that walking at 0.2 kmph across a busy highway puts them at significant risk of dying a gory death; there is NO move on their path to hurry across, even with crazy drivers zooming down on them.
b. Seem to wait for a car to come on the horizon before stepping onto the road, almost flaunting the fact that they, being human, have greater right to be on the road than the machine thundering on it day and night; said machine must necessarily stop before the frail 90 year old, grinning in the middle of the road. It's a power game, I tell you.

The safest thing to do is to never drive on the innermost or outermost lanes. Stick to the middle. Or if there isn't a middle, create one (as described earlier). At least you'll have a little more time to react to your opponent/victim.


RICKSHAW DRIVERS
It's hard to crib about these guys. Unfair, almost. After all, they do have to make a living. But if there's one thing I pride myself on, it's my ability to rant about anything and everything without conscience.

Rickshaw drivers (RDs, in the interests of time, energy and my not getting Carpel Tunnel Syndrome) are a law unto themselves. They know they're onto a good thing. In the absence of credible public transport, they are the average person's best mode of transport. When the average person's car is at the mechanic's, of course - the average rickshaw-using person, as defined by Gurgaon standards, owns a car. Two, sometimes.

RDs think nothing of driving in exactly the opposite direction to the rest of traffic flow. Perhaps they feel the same sense of power pedestrians do. Perhaps they feel they're giving their customers their money's worth by taking them from Point A to Point B with death-defying thrills thrown in. The same applies to when they randomly cut across four lanes of traffic (officially two) just to get to a nearby U-turn or chat with a fellow RD on the other side of the road. Also, in what infuriates me more than anything else, they ALWAYS occupy the fastest lane. Which is fine in Gurgaon where no one gives a damn which side you overtake on, but it still affects what's left of my road sense.

The best way to avoid hitting a rickshaw is to stick to the National Highways. Or else ride in a rickshaw oneself.


UNANNOUNCED SPEEDBREAKERS
It's ironic that for a city that moves so insanely fast, there are speedbreakers all over the place, seemingly laid out at random. There are several stretches where one would encounter four or five of them within a kilometre. Which is all for the best, I guess - I'm sure they help save lives - but what gets my goat is that many of these are a. horribly formed, making a single hump a bloody roller coaster ride, and b. not marked or coloured in any way. Which means that I often get jolted horribly and have my insides shaken up irrecoverably, with absolutely no warning whatsoever. And this results in me being reduced to a nervous wreck whenever I'm driving in any remotely residential area...


BEAM ME UP...
What the HELL is wrong with everyone? WHYOWHYOWHY do people have to travel with headlights at full beam all the time? I have enough things to give me a headache without the random guy ehind me shining full force into my car and my rear view mirror. Does he not realise it is blindingly painful? How would he like it if I was to flash a bright light straight into his pupils, huh?

I can fully understand the use of high beam on the dark highways, but NOT within the city where you have enough glitz and neon to light one's way. Do you really need 500m worth of visibility when there's a car 2m in front of you? Huh? Huh? I spend a significant portion of my night-time driving making flashing symbols at the guys behind me, a desperate plea for him to dip his bloody lights.

Unfortunately, it hardly works. And what I hate most about idiots who drive on full beam all the time are those who drive on full beam all the time with...


HALOGEN LAMPS
This paragraph is addressed directly to the user of halogen lamps, not you, most dear and respected reader.

What the fish is wrong with you? Is the normal headlight that insufficient that you must get yourself this insanely bright, piercing, obscenely white light? If you were in a coastal city, you'd be mistaken for a bloody lighthouse. What madness possessed you to feel that the standard lights are not enough, especially when the car in front of you is never more than 10m ahead (and that's on a good night!)? Do you see the pure white light as some symbol of your purity, or a literal reflection of your mental brightness? Do you think people will be impressed and mentally say, "Damn, I wish I was him!". No, idiot, no. People will be pissed and say "Damn, I wish I could kill him!"

So there you go, ladies and gentlemen. Everything on the roads that irritates me. I've left out a few of the minor irritants - undercar lighting, slow tractors and somewhat incompetent policemen come to mind - but these are the biggies. Do keep a watch out for them. Steer clear of them, and you'll live longer.