Go find that perfect Holiday. Courtesy Tribe 10 Holidays

Holiday, time and again!

Outside my window seat.

Outside my car window rushes by a world that I’m no stranger to, yet one that never fails to add something new. Every time.

My car rages ahead like a bull in a hurry. Beautiful towns and their people seem to race backward in tandem with my car’s acceleration.

There’s so much to see, feel and embrace. Nothing to converse about. Conversations kill the moment. Silence is sometimes the best friend.

A town wakes up to the morning sun.
The boatman pulls out his rowing boat and heads out of
the narrow canal. 
Fields glimmer as the cold breeze sweeps over the crop. 
Somewhere, mynahs call a conference.
A lazy doggy stands soaking up the rays of the sun. 
A blue train rattles down the track a little far away.
A hen and her little chicks are out for breakfast. 
A bull finishes up his meal before heading out to the vegetable market with his cart and owner.
I race alongside the blue train.  
Four village belles cross the railway track, aluminum pots of water steady on their heads, the sun gleaming behind them.
What a view!
Familiar smells and unfamiliar turns heave at the doors of your senses. 
Sign boards whiz by.
Highway tea stalls get life.
The morning newspapers wrestle with their handlers. 
I get my cuppa of hot steaming tea – double strong. Mmmm.
My day couldn’t open any better. 


Back in the car, back at the wheel, it’s time to look out for a fuel station. And then start all over again; to find something else.

Chasing rain. Welcomed by sun.

Last time when the rain gods went ahead and wetted my neighbouring street ignoring mine, I remember being mad as hell. That rain never visited the lane I live in. It turned the street corner, wetting the road as it passed in one lavish swipe, smattering against David’s sand-laden window panes leaving behind a more photo worthy mess. And off it went to wet the neighbouring lane – unwanted, unappreciated, unsolicited. As I child, me and my cousins playing outside my house would run to the roads where it rained. We could never wait for it to come upon us.

After all these years those nice memories of tiny running feet kicking up dust along with road, chin up in the air, all of us racing to see who among us would get to touch the rain drops first, I was surprised that a glowing summer sun should dust, polish and bring out those very memories of rain-drenched, joyful days.

As I walked home yesterday for lunch (ah, the joys of having an office close to home!), the sun played hide and seek behind the clouds. As I progressed, so did he, coming out of hide mode, slowly lighting up the path, bathing the other end of the street in golden yellow like a lavish flame, proceeding towards me, crossing houses, parked cars, sleeping dogs, lamp posts, a biker, the new foursome litter of playful pups… engulfing me in all his brightness and warmth once again.

The move

Signal

The road is one interesting place to be on. I like it and I hate it. It’s amazing, irritating, challenging, frustrating, amusing, offending and hilarious all at once. If getting to office is a challenge, going back home is an even tougher one.

So what is that I love about the roads? The people: driving, trying to drive, walking, talking, braking while talking, shuffling music, honking, overtaking, waiting, advising, eating, smiling, screaming, crossing, doing everything, doing nothing… And what do I hate? Well, most of it, most of the time. I enjoy the nonsense at times, ignore it as I please on others; but there are times when it really gets to me. Phew! those are the days that cloud my memory.  What do I do? Where do I go from here? So here's it: I come up with my own thesis. You could do the same. Pay a little more attention to the life around you. It's fun. Plus it is safe (hurts no one, you see). Here’s mine on the new founded rules of signaling. Ignore at your own peril.

1. If you are on the left of the road (because you want to turn left) with your indicator signaling left, pay all the attention you can to the drivers on your left. If the auto fellow / the uncle on the bike on your left is looking right, beware, he’ll cut right before you can yell your favourite expletive. Replace left with right if you are going right. 
2. If the driver on your left is looking straight ahead as though he has just developed a stiff-neck, he is going straight.
3. If an overtaking bike / auto driver looks sideways, the new signal theory states that he is heading in that direction. The indicators on his vehicle are for ornamental purpose only.
4. All metropolitan transport bus drivers are super self-trained to lunge the bus right before heading straight or even left. The more you remember this, the better for your multi-lakh fancy car.
5. I have a specific ‘DO NOT FOLLOW THIS VEHICLE / STEER CLEAR OF THIS VEHICLE’ chart for vehicles with a certain RTO registration and also for cars and bikes of a certain make. Works for me. Make one for yourself. 

The colour of advertising

Just another day in the ad world. Just another conversation, one among the many madnesses the poor devils in the agency encounter.

Patrick: Client | Linda: Client Servicing Executive

Hi Linda
Hi Patrick
Good morning.
Good morning.
The stuff we were looking at yesterday…?
Oh, the ad? Yes…
Can we have it in some other colour?
Any other colour? Why?
No… it is nice. But I was just wondering if we can have it in any other colour.
But Patrick, I think blood red will suit our purpose best. It will really stand out. And in any case, we’ve seen the other options and decided on this one.
May be we should try pale pink….?
(What!)

And elsewhere in the same office

Hi….
Hi..
I want to change that deep blue to may be light beige…?
Light beige? But.
I think that would be look nice.
But...
(Excitedly) Let’s do that.
The servicing guy promptly faints.

Cents & Ladie of Vellore

Restroom signages in a hotel in Vellore. Must see.

Between yesterday & today

Tribe 10 Foundation at SIP Prodigy Intl. Competition, Chennai, 14 Nov. 2009

Support a cause: Tribe 10 Foundation

AUTOGRAPH / TIME MACHINE

Yesterday I chanced upon my slam book from college yet again. My numerous excursions to this part of my world have always been short lived, basically for want of time. It would invariably be to find the exact date of a friend’s birthday. In my constant race against time, I could not afford a storage card dysfunction in my brain so I best left it to my slam book to keep the information intact. But this time I decided not to make it yet another excursion.

I read what every single girl had jotted down for me. Word by word. My best friends, my gang, the three I shared my front desk with, the girls in the row behind us, the last benchers… they were all there. Alive, fresh, charming. Just the way they have always been.

I had been nice to everyone but never the top contender for the best PR person award. But still, every single person, even those classmates I hardly knew, had had only good words to write. Reading their words was truly humbling. It takes a big heart to be so pleasant. My lesson for the day.

It was beautiful to travel all the way back, 9½ years since we all left college and went our separate ways. I met some of them on and off, phone some still, heard about some from the some I met, thought about some whenever I came upon a familiar smell or similar scene. But yesterday, I saw them all. The scenes played out in detail: I listened to the classes again, answered attendance call, laughed at the proxy, took notes, borrowed pen, ate lunch, watched Jo break the writing desk, filled the burette, dissected frogs and earthworms and cockroaches. I saw us rehearse dance, hunt costumes, get on stage, go on a picnic, laugh till Jo cried… I also saw Vidhu’s lab accident, the blood, the girls screaming, the rush to the hospital.

I have decided to find them. As many as I can. Meanwhile, if you chance upon this entry my dear friends, do drop in a line. Miss you all.

Madam, I’m not Adam

A couple of weeks ago I was sitting with the type-setter at the wedding card shop finalising the typography on my personal wedding card. Half-way through deciding on the type size, the computer operator stopped short, read the entire content back and forth and turned to me. Neither could she withhold her confused expression nor her tongue. I wondered what was so shocking. I read and re-read it. Did she find anything unprintable? Nah!

“Madam, personal card’aa?”, she interrupts my thought train.
“Aamam.” (Yes.)
“Ungaloda ?” (Yours ?)
“Aamam.”
“Appo, ponnu peru?” (Bride’s name?)
Oh! So she has figured out the groom’s name. Pankaj has started laughing already. When the joke is on me, it’s always convenient, isn’t it?

How difficult is it to follow that the other name on the card has to be of the girl? Gotcha! Rajani cannot be a girl! That’s her problem. Does she think this is a gay marriage? I hope not. For her own benefit. I don’t think this religious-looking, deep-in-tradition woman would have the stomach for it.

But I’m learning to enjoy these @#$%^& ideas. I used to get irritated. But of late, I’m highly amused as to how people are religiously bent to making me male. I refuse to give up.

PS: As per Citibank credit cards department, I’m “Madam Mr. Rajani Nair”.

You can’t SNOOZE mom.

5.15 am
Beep…. Beep…. Beep….. beep….
[Snooze]

5.25 am
Beep…. Beep…. Beep….. beep….
Tsch. [Snooze]

5.35 am
Beep…. Beep…. Beep….. beep….
Goes the unrelenting alarm.
Mmmmm [Snooze]

5.45 am
Beep…. Beep….
Yawn! [Snooze]

5.55 am
Beep…. Beep….
Oh, Shut up! [Snooze]

6.05 am Beep [Snooze]
6.15 am Beep [Snooze]
6.25 am Bee.. [Snooze]
6.35 am B.. [Snooze]
6.37 am “Shankar will you just get out of bed?”

7.00 am
Shankar is out the door fully dressed for his gym session.
You can’t snooze mom after all.

What’s with me?

I have not been here in a while. Sure, there’s a lot I’ve been 
wanting to put down. I have been wandering from place to place, from one thought process to another to another, thinking up as many as 12 different things at any given moment, creating problems, solving problems, pitching, arguing, fighting, laughing, laughing so hard I cry... It’s been so much fun, so much learning and a great deal of inspiration.

So, what’s with me? Too busy? Too lazy? Writer’s block? Yes? No? I don’t know. But write I will. It’s my means and end. And yeah,
I’M BACK.

A new beginning on Janmashtami

Muslim women carry their children dressed up as
Lord Krishna to participate in Janmashtami celebrations
in Pune. Looks like someone's taken the first steps to
understanding another religion. Hail the spirit! Way to go ladies.

As published in Deccan Chronicle, Chennai (23 August, 2008).

And now!

Orkut says "I'm a person of culture". Phee, Phee! But only today :(

Lead by example, will you?

Mr. Bal Thackeray thinks we should have Hindu suicide bombers to counter the threat posed by Islam extremists.

Least expected from a person in such a responsible position like him! Least expected from a person who has been part of the political mainstream and someone who knows the pulse of his people. It is shocking, disappointing, irresponsible.

How could he say that? Does he realise how damaging that statement could be, among the party cadres who are waiting for a gesture to turn absolutely violent. I sometimes wonder what leads to the kind of mass hysteria and violence the Shiv Sena indulges in. Leadership, no doubt. The problem with mob mentality is that there is no thinking, no individual responsibility, and of course, no reasoning or rather, there is no need for it. But once out of the mob, an individual is an individual. 99% won’t have the same aggression, won't set vehicles on fire, throw stones or go on a rampage. That’s the human side.

Now while dozens die on either side, hundreds of families are destroyed, lives are ruined, minds scarred and the world community stands shell-shocked, where is the leadership?

And one question over your comment Mr. Thackeray, will you lead by example please? On the suicide bomber front? Well?

Res-ERR-vation

Here’s it again. And this may not be the last time we are hearing about this.

Rajasthan just joined the list of states with maximum percentage in caste based reservation. From 49% to now 68%. Wow. And we are talking equality. And also democracy.

What are we aiming, for those under this system now? Better education? Better jobs? Better lives? What kind of a society are we working towards? A society that is knowledgeable and common sense rich or just “quota rich”?

What do we want our future to be?
What do we want for our kids?
What do we want to pass on to the generations that follow?
Is this all that we can do?
Is this what it should be?
What?

God

What causes faith? What destroys it?