Leap of faith, or jumping to a conclusion

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

Starter for Ten

I'm reading a really nice book at the moment. (Well, OK, not at the moment, you nitpicking doof. At the moment, I'm typing out this blogpost. But you know what I mean.)

It's Starter for Ten, by David Nicholls. I picked this up at a bargain from a roadside second-hand pushcart, for the sole reason that the story is set around a guy who wants to qualify for University Challenge. I have very fond memories of my times on the show, and hence the book.

I haven't finished reading the book yet, but it's very funny and very well written. It manages to grab the reader and drag him through the tumultuous, chaotic, confused life of the protagonist. All with very sharp wit and crackling humour. Definitely a purchase I'm glad I made.

The reason I'm putting up this post is not really to review the book, but to call out two passages from it that I really liked. 

The first talks about the protagonist's expectations from University life - how he hopes it will help him grow as a person and a man, opening his mind, eyes and soul to a world of new experiences, fresh knowledge and elevated culture. And although this is in a very British context (and in the context of someone completing his A-levels and off do study Literature), it took me back to my thoughts and hopes when I stepped into the world of higher education (particularly IIMA). Here it is:

...on this clear late summer night, looking up at the stars, with my best mates either side of me, it feels as if real life is beginning at last, and that absolutely everything is possible. I want to be able to listen to recordings of piano sonatas and know who's playing. I want to go to classical concerts and know when you're meant to clap. I want to be able to 'get' modern jazz without it sounding like this terrible mistake, and I want to know who the Velvet Underground are exactly. I want to be fully engaged in the World of Ideas, I want to understand complex economics, and what people see in Bob Dylan. I want to possess radical but humane and well-informed political ideals, and I want to hold passionate but reasoned debates round wooden kitchen tables, saying things like 'define your terms!' and 'your premise is patently specious!' and then suddenly to discover that the sun's come up and we've been talking all night. I want to use words like 'eponymous' and 'solipsistic' and 'utilitarian' with confidence. I want to learn to appreciate fine wines, and exotic liqueurs, and fine single malts, and learn how to drink them without turning into a complete div, and to eat strange and exotic foods, plovers' eggs and lobster thermidor, things that sound barely edible, or that I can't pronounce. I want to make love to beautiful, sophisticated, intimidating women, during daylight or with the light on even, and sober, and without fear, and I want to be able to speak many languages fluently, and maybe even a dead language or two, and to carry a small leather-bound notebook in which I jot incisive thoughts and observations, and the occasional line of verse. Most of all I want to read books; books as thick as a brick, leather-bound books with incredibly thin paper and those purple ribbons to mark where you left off; cheap, dusty, second-hand books of collected verse, incredibly expensive, imported books of incomprehensible essays from foreign universities.

At some point, I'd like to have an original idea. And I'd like to be fancied, or maybe loved even, but I'll wait and see. And as for a job, I'm not sure exactly what I want yet, but something I don't despise, and that doesn't make me ill, and that means I don't have to worry about money all the time. And all of these are the things that a university education's going to give me.

The second passage deals with the author's impressions of the participants on University Challenge, when he watched the show as a child with his father. Not all of this is relevant to the Indian seasons of UC (because of the essential Britishness of it all and the timeframe), but there are pieces of it that remind me why I love quizzing, and how I've often been called upon to defend the awesomeness, the thrill, the sheer life-affirming beauty of trivia and arcane knowledge that seems so pointless (and, truth be told, hopelessly geeky) to some but worth so much for us quizzers. Here's a passage (I particularly like the latter half):

The thing that used to strike me most was their hair; great, improbable waves of brittle hair like parched wheat; swooping curtains of silky fringe; Sunday tea-time costume-drama mutton-chop sideburns... if you'd made it on to University Challenge, you'd earned the right to any damned hair-do you wanted. It was almost as if they couldn't help it, as if the crazy hair was just an outlet for all that incredible, uncontrollable excess mental energy. Like a mad scientist, you couldn't be that clever and still expect to have manageable hair, or decent eyesight, or the ability to wash and dress yourself.

And the clothes; the arcane, olde-English tradition of scarlet gowns combined with self-consciously wacky piano-keyboard-ties, the endless home-knitted scarves, the Afghan jerkins. Of course, when you're a kid watching telly, everyone seems old and retrospectively I suppose they must have been young, technically, in earth years, but if they really were twenty, then they were twenty going on sixty-two. Certainly there was nothing in the faces that suggested youth, or vigour, or good health. Instead they were tired, pasty, care-worn, as if struggling with the weight of all that information - the half-life of Tritium, the origins of the phrase 'eminence grise', the first twenty perfect numbers, the rhyme scheme of a Petrarchan sonnet - had taken a terrible physical toll.

Of course, Dad and I rarely got any of the answers right, but that wasn't really the point. This wasn't trivia - it wasn't about feeling smug and complacent about all the things you knew, it was about feeling humbled by the whole, vast universe of things about which you had absolutely no idea; the point was to watch in awe, because it really did seem to me and Dad as if these strange creatures knew everything. Ask any question: what's the weight of the sun? Why are we here? Is the universe infinite? What's the secret of true happiness? - and even if they didn't know the answer immediately, they could at least confer, muttering to each other in low, lisping voices, and come up with something that, if not quite correct, still sounded like a fairly good guess.

And it didn't matter that the contestants were clearly social misfits, or a little grubby or spotty, or ageing virgins, or in some cases frankly strange, the point was that somewhere was a place where people actually knew all these things, and loved knowing them, and cared about that knowledge passionately, and thought it was important and worthwhile...

Lovely book, by the way. Do get yourself a copy if you can.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


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

As a young man, my dream job always involved working with jaw-droppingly beautiful models...

Life, it appears, sometimes has an ironic sense of humour.

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

"Table for one"

The Tale of the Orphaned Carrot

Once upon a time, in a land not too far away, there was a farm where were grown several vegetables. In one section of the farm were grown a multitude of root crops - beetroot, radishes, onions, garlic, potatoes, carrots, leek and the like. These crops - neighbours, as it were - lived in peace, harmony and a spirit of friendship.

One night, however, tragedy struck. A blight struck the entire carrot crop, destroying all the carrots. All? Well, not quite. One tiny little baby carrot survived, the sole member of the carrot crop not to be obliterated.

All the neighbours came together to discuss the situation. It was clear the baby carrot could not survive on its own without parents, and would have to be adopted by one of the other crops.

Sadly, however, those who had been the carrots' friends till date turned their backs on the poor orphan. "I barely have enough eyes to keep on my own children," complained Mama Potato. "I haven't really been in the pink of health lately," said Aunty Beetroot. "We'll just make the poor kid cry," shrugged Daddy Onion.

Just when things were beginning to look ugly, in stepped the Garlic family. Castigating the others for not doing the right thing by the Carrots, they agreed to take in the poor child and rear him as one of their own.

Over time, he grew into a fine young carrot. He had been brought up with the finest of virtues and values, and dreamt of making his mark in the world. He hoped to find his way to a nice carrot juice at a gym, or a healthy salad at a fine restaurant. It was, therefore, with a great deal of excitement that he set off in the produce truck as it trundled its way to market, and onwards to its final destination.

As it came to a stop and the container in which he was being carried was pulled out, he peeked over the edge in anticipation. To his intense dismay, he found that his new home was Pizza Hut. He was depressed for a while but turning it over in his mind, he realised that, whatever his dreams and hopes, it was only appropriate that he ended up here.

After all, he was garlic bred.

The worm

I've bought a lot of books since I shifted to Gurgaon. At book fairs. At roadside pushcarts. At second hand shops. During sales periods at bookstores. During non-sales periods at bookstores.

And, until this weekend, I had no idea just how many I had. They were strewn all over the house. Within bags, under newspapers, behind sofas, inside drawers (not the clothing type). Several in their original packaging, unopened and (sacrilege, I know) unread.

But, with a little prodding from my flatmate, I spent several hours cleaning up my room... and the end result - bookwise - was supremely satisfying. My library, in all its diverse glory, was set. The books are a random selection of random genres. Some expensive, many ridiculously cheap. Some forbiddingly thick (big ones, small ones, some as big as your head (and bigger!)), most easily readable bites. And to be able to see my entire collection - meagre though it is in comparison to the one back home - in one place feels good :)

Life is, sometimes, about the little victories and the small joys.

Another day, another wedding

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

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

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

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

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


But then I leave work for home.

It's a long, lonely drive.

I come home to a forbiddingly dark, cold house.

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

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

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

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


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

Given the recent election fever...

Sometimes, even laundry holds lessons for us