Dippy Blogs

We are the Future

Sat, 07 Nov 2009 06:15:33 GMT

So many times so many of us have compared our lives to the images SciFi writers had in the 80's. And we fell miserably short.

Where are the flying cars? The teleportation? The space travel? The Future is not here, we wail.

But then, I realised this is the Age of Data.

Information is everywhere. We are bridging the world, creating an enviable mass of information, available to anyone who cares to look. The internet has grown beyond any imaginable proportion. It is almost comparable to the Universe. No one knows its limits, it is forever expanding, and there are unlimited avenues on it.
Whatever the human mind knows today is available there. So much so, that now it is stated
"If it doesn't exist on the internet, it doesn't exist."
And the best part? It can be searched. Searched in anyway that we want.

Imagine someone who comes out into the world after 10 years of seclusion. The houses are the same, food is the same, cars are the same, flights are the same. People, mannerisms, clothes - everything same! (OK so fashion changed. But not drastically)
But, the computer is OMG different. There are cell phones which can do everything except probably wash your clothes. Music players that can blow your mind and television that perceives more colours than your eyes.
Are they in the future? Yes. Definitely.

We are in the future. In the small part of it leading to the big revolution. The Sci Fi writers leapt ahead too fast. But we are going to catch up with them.

First, let us finsh the first draft of catalogue of the human mind.

A step over a puddle

Sat, 31 Oct 2009 19:52:24 GMT

Its like stepping over a puddle.

Like walking through a a mass of tall dry weeds
           Thinking its just a small (though dark) park
                    Only to find
           It was an acre-long park and I walked all the way

And then seeing the tranquil pond in front,
         Think of a long cool refreshing dip.
And then the hope that on the other side of that pond
         Will be green grass and trees
                   A meadow to enjoy
         A farm with a view.

But then I walk nearer
         Only to find its a small puddle
                reflected from far to look like a pond.
         A mirage.

All it takes now to cross a chasm
           Is to walk over a puddle
A small splash
           Not even that.

Like a space-time warp
          Moving from One World
                      to the Next
          In one small step.

The flowers on the other side already
        look old
But the trees look real
       They are still far
One splash away.

To walk forth is the
       Only way now
To inspect the flowers
      And the trees
To see if there is a farm
     where there may be some rest
                if not a pond

Is it a mirage too?

Not a back glance
      Not a moments hesitation
The farm may be old
      The flowers fake
But its not tall dry weeds
      At least its green.

------------------------------------
Today I ended the last day in the third organization of my career. Though its been two and a half years here, it is as if the chord was cut before it formed. I feel not a thing, I leave behind no memories - perhaps some sad ones. No associations I will treasure, no work I will treasure - perhaps the little I show on my CV. And day after tomorrow I will join my next organization. Today was D-day and it is already D-1 day. The rest, the vacation I thought I would get is not there. There is no time.
How will my next assignment go? I don't know. I'm jaded, yet I'm expectant. I have no hopes yet I hope. Nothing is perfect, but wouldn't it be great if it is? But I'm realistic.
Perhaps the first job is unique in that respect - there are no hopes or aspirations. No standards to improve or deteriorate.

For the moment I will open a bottle of wine, celebrate an end and a new beginning, all at once. And savour the moment.

The Choice & Feminism

Tue, 27 Oct 2009 10:13:39 GMT

It is so often that I hear of women living in good circumstances who throw it all away to marry the driver/ servant/ poor tutor. It has surprised me. Not because it is a class difference but because it is so dumb!

There are enough and more pretty girls out there, and out of them there are enough and more who belog to well to do households and are taken care of and fed and educated. However, these girls are smitten by B grade movies where the Rich Spoilt Girl of an unloving family goes and runs away with a Poor but Good boy who gives her a Wholesome Family.

Now I have nothing against Romance. If you want to fall in love with someone who does not match an iota of your present life, who am I to stop you? However, unless it is a move up in career or personal and social life, the decision should be made with choice - carefully.

Let me take the general case of 18 year old daughters of middle class Indian families who have fallen in love with and then run away from home to marry the Driver. More common that you would imagine. And the fate more horrible than they ever imagined. Sometimes they go back to the parents and get a divorce or settlement, many times they suffer their pride and live their ugly lives. Why would anyone choose such a life?

Firstly, I refuse that anyone who loves someone would want the other person to live a hard life. If the driver truly loved the girl, he would not want her to move from her comfortable house to his shanty to be beaten and abused.
Secondly, if the driver had monetary aspirations, he would do much better by pointing out the daughters folly to the parents and earning a recommendation to a new job as well as money to keep shut about it in the bargain. Why then does he do it? For the novelty of having a pampered 'rich girl' fall for a poor man like him. Remember the song

"Uptown girl!
She's been living in her uptown world
I bet she's never had a backstreet guy
I bet her momma never told her why
I'm gonna try for an uptown girl "

Thirdly, the girl is a fool who has used her knowledge of the Alphabet to read and memorise Trashy novels without thinking. Hence, she deserved it.

This more than anything else shows how limited the thought of some women are. What can Feminism do if women themselves subject their own selves to subjugation? These women have the freedom of choice. They have the freedom to fall in love and enjoy it. And not suffer for it. Mentally suffer, socially suffer (she will nto have any friends after this marriage, I guarantee) and monetarily suffer (no more new clothes, or heck even a maid to wash dishes! And what about the MBA and better jobs? None coming up!)

In today's day and age you can enjoy love without marrying. When you can have an affair, why jeopardise your life by marrying when you are not sure of the consequences? Remember, these are girls who have not started working, and probably if they mention to their parents that they dont want to work, wont be forced to. They may sit at home in luxury, with a servant cleaning up after them while they 'do a Masters Degree' in some college and attend fashion shows on the side. The driver will be at their disposal, and a roaring affair to satisfy both parties can be then ensued.

An affair with the driver cannot last too long (in most cases). Where the mind is not matched, there cannot be much conversation. The average car driver in India is an uneducated person who wouldnt know English and would be a Masochist to boot. The girl whatever her romanticised notions make her believe, is usually educated in English all her life and would like to read the same famous novels in English, which will cause no small resentment in the driver. Fights are but natural.

However, if the girl continues to stay at home and have an affair with him, her charm of 'rich girl' continues and he will continue to pamper her and indulge her instead of beating her to submission. The girl in such a scenario would still have an upper hand. If the man insists on marriage without thinking of her conveniences, then there is definitely something wrong in his ideals.

When I see so many girls not thinking through their actions, and indulging in romanticised notions, it makes me sad. Emancipation of Woman is still far from true when for the sake of company and adventure, a girl ruins her life by following the Middle Class Values of Marriage in the wrong circumstances. There is nothing wrong in marriage, but when the circumstances are not natural, Judgement is more important than Romance. The girls who have run away from home to marry their elder and poor Subject Tutors have ended up living difficult and harsh lives doing work while trying to support the house with the man while witnessing his other affairs with young pretty girls he continues to tutor. These girls can no longer afford to study for the sake of a higher career - the men wouldnt allow it. And neither can they live their previous lived indulged and cared for by parents.

Freedom comes from recognising choice, it is the freedom to choose the best for your life. To run away from a father to a tyrannical husband is not freedom. The Feminists need to educate the girls on the need to depend on themselves, to be clever, to live their lives, but on their own terms.

The fall in love is their choice. To have an affair their discretion. But to marry at that young an age is stupidity. If the affair lasts and they really realise their love is endless, then whats to stop one to help the other in developing to a better career? Love, whatever poets may say, cannot last through poverty and hardships, and my dear women should understand that only a man who is going to provide them with at least half the comforts their fathers did will be able to do 'grow the love'. As adults who fall in love with men below their social status, it is even more important to think and judge and decide on the path chosen. To marry the Love who is a menial labourer is OK as long as that menial labourer does not mind when she decides to be a painter, or a high-flying lawer or whatever, and she too, should be OK with it. Such cases exist. But are few and far between, and really really unusual. I know of only one.

Feminism is not about burning bras. It is about understanding the small things in life that mark one's attitude towards life. Women are not free till the time they think of freedom in terms of running from their fraternal homes to the arms of another man. Freedom is having your cake, and eating it too. Or chosing to give it away.

-------------------------------
Of course, these are my views, and that too written at the spur of a moment without thinking through the so many avenues I can actually think of and relate.
How did this come up? When I heard of another such case in the recent past. I then thought of writing something on the lines and procastrinated for a while. No doubt if I wouldve written it immediately my point wouldve been clearer :)

The Visit

Tue, 20 Oct 2009 07:34:55 GMT

She resigned herself to the seat, and lay back with trepidation. She combated a feeling of helplessness which she could do nothing about. It was a necessary evil. She only hoped the person was experienced. This excursion was on the basis of her friends recommendation, because the last one had bungled up rather badly, removing the little faith she had in her 'regular'.

'Relax, wait let me adjust the head rest' said the voice and she found her neck going further back. All she could see was the ceiling. She sat up and looked in the mirror in front of her, anxiously searching for the alien face. Finally she caught her eye and gave her pointers and directions again, with care. It would not do to vex or irritate her. Her this excursion depended upon it. One deft flick of that persons wrist and ... she shuddered and lay back again.

'Feeling cold?' The sympathetic evil voice asked in her ear, almost making her jump out of her skin.

'No, no, just...' and she gave the most brilliant smile of camaraderie she could, in the circumstances. And then she gave herself up.

She cried a few silent tears as well, surreptitously wiping her eye corner while acting like she was removing dirt. But the tears were few and the pain little.

Finally, a light dusting, and a little astringent and massage later she was ready.

She looked into the mirror and her fears vanished. She was happy. The eyebrows were perfect, exactly as she wanted them. The previous persons mistake had been covered up well. This new eyebrow threader was indeed good.

Her face was now ready for all the world to see.

A Memory

Sat, 03 Oct 2009 22:04:03 GMT

im not tired or hungry. im not walking on roads, least of all with suitcases trailing behind me, in an unknown, cold country in the dead of the night. looking for my hotel, looking for the correct street. figuring out a new language. looking at open cafes and wondering whether to find the hotel or eat first.

its not like that at all.

it is not as if that evening or the next we had partaken of wine to make us feel the way I feel now. It is not like I had music playing when I got off the airport bus.

so what is it that has been nagging my mind to remember the evening I alighted in Paris?

I am sitting in parallel realities. one where I sit and listen to music, a glass of wine in my hand, and another where I am wandering the Rue Oberkampf at one a.m,wondering which is the correct end of the street to go to. Encountering very civil, very helpful and slightly tipsy people who would lead the way, and we would walk, a google map printout in hand.

nothing at all to remind me, of all places, of Paris, now.

except having watched La Double Vie et Veronique. Which doesn't really show paris, and very little of France. Only French (and Polish to which I can boast no connection in recent past whatsoever).

and I dont remember the French from Paris. I guess to me one of the best part of Paris was the late evening when the night was lit up with laughter of happy people sitting in "cafe"-s finishing off the night with drinks (since food had closed ages ago - i was informed very helpfully by a couple of restauranteers. and i was welcome the next day, and was to be guided by the multiple copies of their visiting cards they gave me, almost walking me back to the hotel). some of them cycling away, some sitting around, some walking off into the morning. Living their lives and enjoying it. but the night to myself. empty and nice.

so maybe the feel of that Paris coincided with dear Krzyztof's creation. who knows.

All i know is I remember walking in Paris and drinking wine in Florence.
Well past midnight, at home, listening to Hindi music, and the consistent patter of the rain outside, with nothing Italian or French around me.
I remember the languid nice feel of a vacation, and let myself submerge into it.

To Bengali

Thu, 01 Oct 2009 09:30:49 GMT

Sometimes when I read Bengali, it brings a smile to my face. After reading English everywhere, and hindi occasionally, surrounded by Gujarati and Marathi and splattering of Tamil and Telegu, Bengali suddenly brings to me the sweetness of the language, and the inherent poeticness of it.

The few times when I talk pure Bengali with my family, some words come up for which I cannot find a substitute in another language. Some others come up that seem archaic in Hindi, yet so commonplace in Bengali. The best part of course, is when I go to read something online in a Bengali newspaper. Sure the English version is what I read, but the reporting style still remains different. A slice of reporting from an era gone by where headlines were important and somehow, lyrical.

As I browsed and happened upon a Bengali site, I took the unusual step and opened it in office. Somehow Bengalis are unable to separate the poets out of them, and that in itself brings out a beauty in the language, something I have not noticed on others. Melodrama is part of the Bengali life, and everything has to be more serious and have higher emphasis than ever. And what better way to convey that than by grandiose language?

So going to a Durga Puja site, the captions are not something as simplistic as ‘Devi ka Visarjan’ or ‘Immersion of the Goddess’, but a phrase: Shoonya se Shoonya: puja ke kolahal mein mila hua hai nishabd, ekaki’. And the beauty of the caption is not just the caption, not the short one-liner, not the ‘antel pana’ as a Bengali would call it, but the normalcy of it all. That this is acceptable normal behavior. To write anything less would be pitiful, an unusual occurrence and of course, a sad lack of communication talent in the people who handle the page.

Is it a wonder then, that so many Bengalis have emerged as authors known for their descriptive proses? Not to me. The Bengali language itself apart from being sweet to hear, is sweetly handled. The directness of English or the technicality of Hindi may be missing from it, but it is a delight to read and hear and I feel bad for those who cannot savour its sweetness.

*antlami (आँत्लामी)/ antel-pana is the over-zealous behavior as witnessed by scholars or teachers or even, say, geeks. But then antels are ‘poets’ of a sort. If you can imagine the behavior of a kurta pajama clad man with a jhola for a bag, and thick glasses and plastered hair, talking lyrically or talking extremely seriously on economics/ world crisis/ politics/ global warming/ etc., you have identified an antel (आँतेल).

The Dandy, the Metrosexual; the Dressed up Man

Wed, 16 Sep 2009 12:47:52 GMT

Through ages, countries and cultures, dressing up has been important for not only women, but also men. If women aspire to look pretty, men are no less, being humans afterall.

So we observe Kings spend gazillions on innovative clothing styles and jewellery. We see the successful businessmen decked out in the best that money can buy.

So where did this rift of ‘metrosexual’ and ‘rugged’ men come from? Why the divide? Why the negative connotation and the need for media to make it positive?

It is quite certain that women as a whole prefer men who are clean, neat and yes, well-dressed.

In Olde England, there was always a class of men called “dandies’ who would dress up in the most flamboyant manner possible. However, they had their set groups and did not combat with the well dressed, understated men. Mr. Brummel, also called Beau Brummel was someone who emerged a clear winner in this divide, and built the everlasting bridge. However, he was not a dandy, but a very well dressed man, who had many admirers.

Kings in India have spent any amounts of money on their clothes, be them flashy, dressy, or just practical. In pre-independence days there were ways of wearing a Dhoti* which declared your intention. A party dhoti would be tied differently as compared to a normal daily workwear one. And if anyone thought that was only personal choice, well, they are wrong. Dhotis could be starched, crimped (like crepe), worn like a dandy, like a practical wear, worn to show off some leg, or to cover every part, like a pantaloon. And of course, the shirt/ kurta/ coat/ sherwani etc were of a multitude that perhaps doesn’t exist anymore today.

Hairstyles too, were important and showed the interest of men in their attire. Long hair, curled hair (yes, men curled their hair with curlers) and straightened hair (with iron) were pretty common.

Then we ‘evolved’. Gone were the leg-showing tight half-leg tights that men wore in England. Came instead the long, loose and totally drab pantaloons – the modern trousers.

Gone were the artistic and sexual dhotis of yesteryears. Men in India wear either trousers, or if pushed, churidars, which though tight, are never tight enough to show off any leg.

Hairstyles soon after became dull, the same old parted hair and anything more considered ‘unmanly’.

Why? I wonder. Where did this abhorrence to looking presentable rise from? Sure, it may be argued that it arose from a need for ‘comfort’. However, I argue, there is no need to look ugly to be comfortable. Clothes don’t have to be loose and shapeless all the time, neither do they have to be perfect 100% of the time. But it is indeed nice to see a well-dressed person.

The power suit today is a reflection of what Beau Brummel patronized, and isn’t it surprising that though fashion changed so many times before him, after him there has been barely any change?! People still wear ties – bow ties, whereas the cravat (which formed the tie) barely mkes an appearance – though it is much more elegant. In fact, tying of a tie has come down to the simple single know and double knots. Anyone who has looked inside a premium tie brand shop knows that’s just the tip of the iceberg. Ties alone come in so many knot types. However, no one seems to use them – too much effort I guess.

So when did men actually give up in the face of dressing up effort and go behind the closed doors of a closet for all their indulgence? When did indulgence become a bad word? I don’t know. But I do know that suddenly, it was way cooler to act like the ‘real men’ didn’t close shave, didn’t wear fitting clothes and did not care about what they wore.

That changed, and men started exploring their better side. And the metro sexual man was born. No longer de rigueur to be well dressed, this species who were just answering their instinct to look nice, were ridiculed or placed at a high esteem by media – thereby again placing them beneath the touch of a normal man. Soon they surpassed themselves and went overboard in their dressing. The dandy set was back with a vengeance.

Today, the importance of looking good seems to be returning. And I am sure women all over will embrace it. It is important that the man looks good. He dresses well, acts well, eats with manners and yes, is chivalrous. It is all a combined packet. And it is needed. Jeans may be good, but they eventually don’t cut it. The wardrobe of an average Indian male woefully consists of nothing but jeans, a few pairs of formal trousers and a shirts and two shoes. None of them help their figure or looks in any manner whatsoever. There is a need for abundance of linen, cargoes (yes even if they are loose), good shorts (not the loose bags men wear usually) and some better variations.

As for me? I would love the day the long tails and knee length breeches are back, maybe I will give the top hat a miss, but seriously what is the use of lycra if men are not forced to tone their legs and show them off in the best way possible? Why should men alone have the luxury to see women dressed up while women wonder about them. I would even embrace the dhoti. In fact, there are few clothes that need customized tailoring that look as elegant as a well tied dhoti.

As more and more men increasingly feel the importance of looking good. As more women have say in the matter of choosing men, I foresee men returning to dressing well, and if possible, a little more elegantly. And I shall not lose hope of seeing a few good legs firmly encased in cloth/lycra **without being gay. As for the high heeled shoes favoured be 17^th century men? Naah, some things need to evolve over time. Though men would love the thought og legitimately adding inches to their height, I hope they give them a firm pass.

*By Dhoti, I mean dhoti not Veshti, ugh!

** need of legs being covered lies in the simple fact that hairless legs on men looks gay, and hairy legs look bad.

Simplicity of Life

Thu, 20 Aug 2009 12:26:53 GMT

If life were simple, there would be just two parameters governing it - you and your choices. However, Life as we live it, has innumerable parameters. In fact, some people believe that an arbitrary butterfly in some unknown deserted island doing its own business aka flapping wings to fly (which is what butterfly's do) can result in a hurricane in another part of the world which can then proceed to disrupt, nay annihilate not just one, but a number of lives! How about that!

If the above is a difficult concept for many people to fathom, I really do not care to force it upon you. However, I do care about certain small things. Like the understanding that everyone needs to work. When they choose not to, they have their own personal reasons to do so, or perhaps it is a choice of profession not seen as 'work' by very many people. For example, being a housekeeper. It is a full time job. But, some (many) people see it as a normal 'activity done by a woman'. This does not detract from its seriousness, but believe me, it is a personal choice to do it full-time as opposed to doing something else and making your partner share the housework.

Now, if life were simple, things would be something like following:
Feel like working? Take up a job. Earn money. Have fun!
Dont feel like working? Quit job. Sit at home. Have fun!

But life is not that simple now, is it? It has all these other parameters skewing every decision and choice taken.
However, while the rest of the world marches on, in India a stupendous population of women do not to work. The term 'Work' here is used to denote an activity which includes an employer from whom payment is exacted, at least once a month, in exchange of pledging ones life.
OK I exaggerated there. But being the intelligent human you are, I presume you understand what I mean. So basically, it does not include yon homemakers slaving away for a pittance pocket money.

As a result, men are expected to stick it out at Work (to support home y'see), and go on ranting about bosses or believe that life is 'just like that' and they have to live it as it is. However, woe be to any women who mentions the atrocity of such life. She is then expected to do as so many of her kin do in India. Quit, go home, and ? yeah. "Have fun!"
It does not strike these people that unlike them, who take work as a part of life, we, the women who are changing the landscape of the country at the moment, are working not because we HAVE to, but because we WANT to. You see? There is a difference? Let me elucidate.

When you HAVE to do something, its a part and parcel of life. Breaking away from it is not a question, hence it does not arise. However, it is a drudgery they have to live with. Like the king who has to bear the drudgery of court life. Hence, the directive becomes money and more money. Money earning as soon as possible, so the King can retire soon, or at least be the richest King amongst the neighbouring Kingdoms. (But remember a King nevertheless)

When you WANT to do something, you do it because you can. You do it because you like it. Usually, I would take an example of an artist or something here, but that would defeat my morale (already low with shitty work). So I will stick with the facts. Like mention the women in India who work. They work because they want to. Because they like to. Because they want to pay for their own living and not wait for any pocket money for slave labour like running a home. Becuase they want a status and recognition apart from being someones child or partner or parent. Is it really that difficult to fathom? Granted, it is not yet a necessity to be out there earning your bread else be classified as a loser or something. But thats what makes it even more complicated. They WANT to be out there, working.
If work is so bad, they will crib, but get a new job, boss, profile, whatever.
If they were the type that wanted a rich man to get married to and then stop working, they wouldnt be working seriously in the first place!
If they were the type who worked for some pocket money to splurge with, they would restrain themselves to being receptionists or open a Kurti shop in their garage or something!
If they were the type who only want to do housekeeping, they will.
They would not sit in office till wee hours trying to get a promotion and a raise and worry about their boss to prove that they can work. Heck! They would live the way they wanted to. Unless their house needed the cash. I make that exception.

But life is not so simple. It does not boil down to a simple thing like - when women dont like their work, they quit and sit at home and enjoy life with their savings!
It is complicated. And it goes something like - When women dont like their work, they, just like other human beings, crib, groan and look for a way to make their lives better. Going home, quitting without an option, and living off your partner/ parents is not a choice they consider.

As for taking sabbaticals? Well, I eagerly await the day when a sabbatical on my CV will be positively accepted.

Now, dont you wish Life were Simple?

Another year for Dippyblogs!

Wed, 12 Aug 2009 11:41:05 GMT

I created this blog on 8th July 2004, at 10:20pm. Five years ago. I have six hundred and sixty five posts, including some inane ones, and many many introspective ones, about the world, universe, people, myself. I have in fact tried every thing possible on this blog - written stories, poems and even reviews. I have written in every method I wanted to, and my wonderful handful of readers have been faithful to me.

My first post, as most posts are want to be, was just a filler about blogging, with an error while posting it so it came out twice. Though I must say, it did set the tone for my blog, because even then in its artless way, it was hardly completely inane. I started writing rahter consitently then, and not about trifling matters either. Soon after I wrote my first real post.

When I started off, this was a private medium, and no one had access to my posts except the close friends who were in on this secret journal. Slowly, I gained confidence (on myself and the Net) enough to leave it open to the spiders and bots, but even that was only a couple of years ago. Till date I'd rather not share all its contents with everyone I know. For this blog has stood by me through thick and thin. As I ranted about my office, my life, exuberated about the small things that impact my life, this blog has seen it all for 18% of my life. And I have been faithful to it.

Recently due to many factors, my writings on it have reduced in number, perhaps improved in quality (depending on what you call quality) and become less personal. With higher number of people reading, my writing has been influenced to be more extraverted and rather than focus on my own troubles, the focus is more towards the interesting incidents and thoughts that occur to me. Then again, my faithful desktop publishing tool has been disabled by the admin in office severely limiting my jotting down of every thought and whim.

But I hope I continue on Dippyblogs for some time to come. If I can blog consistently through five years and more than six hundred and fifty posts, I should be able to do so for double the time. Especially since I won myself a lifetime paid account here, I should do myself this favour.

So, Dippyblogs, heres a Belated birthday Wish - that you become fatter and your pages continue growing. That ten years from now I can go back and still read my initial posts and remember the highs, lows and wonders that my life held - from the time I entered the corporate world and from the time I started living truly by myself. This blog has sentimental value and though having a permanent accoutn gives me flexibility to lay it bare to the Internet World, I have found I cannot bear to go back and make changes to my posts for the sake of unknown people.
Dippyblogs shall always remain a blog dear to me, my window to the world, and not really a public attraction.

Ps - the links I have added here are of my earliest posts. I have written so many better ones, but I feel like getting a little nostalgic and pointing out my earliest writings.

Evolution Timeline

Tue, 11 Aug 2009 12:36:37 GMT

A general rule in the universe entails that things are born, they grow and then mature, only to give birth to more new things.
In MBA jargon its called Product Life Cycle. In Biology its called Evolution.

Overall, it is the instance where something new is launched, it is nurtured for a while and ultimately it becomes independent. Till not so long ago, the time span for this activity was measured if not in years, then in months. Any product took at least 11 months to reach the maturity phase, and then be phased out.
Medicines took years to make, they were launched, they finally caught on and then doctors reviewed them. If negative, the results would be observed only after months or even years and then they would be removed (sometimes forever) from the market. Classic example - thalidomide.
FMCG products took ages to launch, the latest shampoo retained the "New" title for years, only to lose market share and vanish from the horizon. Cold drinks retained their flavors for years, even with consumer reactions.

And the Internet was not there.

Today, medicines still take years to make. But withdrawing them is a matter of months! Look at Cerivastatin and now, Rimonabant.

FMCG products are launched on a monthly basis - be it hair colours, soaps, gels, shampoos, oils. Cold drinks are modified every month (almost) so that the flavour suits the palate of the most important consumer segment. Tweaking a product was never so dynamic as it is now.

As for the Internet? Well! If there is something that can make a product 'old' in three years, it is the Internet. While Gmail stayed beta for a few years, the world was in outrage at the ludicrosity of it. While Twitter defends itself with 'only three years old' the world demands a working business model from this 'old' service.
Things mature rather quickly. A website is launched and if, within a few weeks there arent enough takers, it vanishes out of site, which makes it even less likely to be ever retrieved from the 'lost and forgotten' list. For how often, afterall does anyone go to the third page of Google Search?

It is like watching the birth and death of so many ventures, on a constant basis. As they build, thrash around, become successful or die.

When I started this blog, blogging was by no means uncommon. It just wasnt as common as it is now - almost a social harakiri if yu dont have a blog. When I started my first blog, well, I guess four people of my batch knew what blogging was (and its died as well).

When facebook launched and took off in India, no one knew it. It was considered weird to prefer it over Orkut. and yet, today Orkut is flailing to stay afloat while everyone makes 'friends' on FBs forums and take common quizzes and fight as the Mafia.
LinkedIn, Twitter, ICHC - al lhave seen the same wonderful fate. Four years ago no one would know any of them. LinkedIn was just starting and still not understood. Today they are so common that people converse in ICHC language. Afterall, "I can has new post" is now a valid sentence in English.

And today, the time spans on the internet has also become so short. With the launch of popular forum-discussion-sites like MLIA, FML, MLIG, people all over now make their existence known to a wider spectrum of people than just their 'followers'. Over the past few months I have seen these websites emerge and become mainstream. Their owners developing better methods of managing all the data coming in, and improving their turnaround times. And the quality of information in them changing and becoming more polished. Indeed, even three weeks ago MLIA was quite different in flavour from what it is now. Within three weeks MLIA has shed its baby fat and matured.
Hunch, an unknown tool till recently is now almost mainstream. And everyone knows of Wolfram Alpha. Heck! Even Google took longer to be known and accepted than Google Latitude did!

Now the question remains, will they 'mature' and evolve and give rise to new websites? ICHC has spread its tentacles and now there are Lol presidents, lol Celebs, Lol - everything, even GraphJam to take care of all that is not covered by LOL. FML spread out and made MLIA and MLIG.

What next? As more and more people spend even more time surfing on the interwebs, will the maturity life cycle become shorter? Will it some day reach a stage where there is enough participation by readers on the Net, that through worldwide collaborative efforts, a website or new tool reaches maturity in a day! Or will it be that we will all jade of Google Rankings and there will be a website for every possible conceivable situation and people will just go there.

Whatever it is, the evolution life cycle on inanimate things seems to be decreasing at geometric progression. Will this then, pass on the animate objects, like humans, as well? how soon before we sport bigger eyes and extra digits to read more and type easily. Thankfully that still seems a few centuries away!

A years summary

Tue, 04 Aug 2009 05:42:16 GMT

A year older, maybe a little wiser and things dont seem to have changed much. Or maybe they have. Over the past year I have been the most jaded (and frustrated?) that I have ever been in my life, and I seriously hope that does not happen again. Maybe it will, but there is no harm at all in hoping it wont.

Meanwhile things seem to have not moved anywhere on any front at all. Which is a rarity. Or maybe they have - I got a new boss. And as sashdude says, he really is a BBH. And that has been a major cause of discontent. I hope things change soon. A change of this kind is never good, and a change of this kind, not tampered with, can develop a gangrene! ugh!

However, on the brighter side, this year I took a couple of good vacations. Goa for one, and Europe for another. Real progress. In fact, the latter was just a week ago and the glow of contentment from the vacation is yet to leave me. Its nice and yet it makes real, everyday life rather dreary. Makes one almost give everything up and become a Barista who roams around working in cafes all over the world. Ok, maybe not a Barista.
Also, I went home (to Calcutta) at least twice, and both my parents came over to visit me. So its definitely been a traveling year!

So here I am, stepping onto another year of my life, looking back at the two paras above and wondering if it was afterall all that bad. Things happening like travel and fun are much better than just a good boss. Though of course, when one spends 10-12 hours in office, a good boss helps!

I hope the coming year will be fun too, and not just in vacations, in office and all the other times in between as well! :) I promise to work towards that goal!

The Europe Vacation

Thu, 30 Jul 2009 13:15:13 GMT

I am back from my Euro-trip, and though the trip spanned four countries, five cities and two more fleetingly, lots of experience and fun, what I'm writing here are just headlines (probably) about the few incidents that have stuck in my head. There were a lot many more incidents, but here are some that particularly stood out, which probably deserve whole phone conversations, or posts on their own, and still be incomplete - because it was the moment that made them. The only person who would really appreciate them would be S, because she was with me at the time. Some are funny and make us laugh, some make us shake our head in wonder - we did that?, and some - well, some just nice memories.

The incidents are not necessarily in order of importance, or in fact in chronological order. They are as I remember them now, which is totally, completely random.
1. The Smelly Man on the train back to Interlaken Ost
2. Vito and his charming brother's (whom we didnt meet) poster in the hotel loos (I'll try to hunt it out on the Net)
3. Green Wine (don't ask!) in Florence
4. Swiss Pen Drive and DVD, Made in India
5. The Lockers (!) in Geneva
6. The Notre Dame ticket counter man's question on number of tickets
7. Running towards - trains/ boats/ buses/ metros/ flights/ name it!
8. Pisa Airport
9. Grappa
10. Spritz and sandwiches and The Bridge
11. Battery and Memory of Camera
12. The Japanese receptionist touring the World who loves Shah Rukh Khan & Dil to Pagal Hai
13. The Shoe Shop in Firenze
14. The Glass Blowers and the Lace shop - and the unrequited discount
15. Being mistaken for Italians and Parisians and Italo-Swiss
16. Abdullah - pronounced Aybdalah
17. The men at Moulin Rouge - inside and outside
18. Food at Bern
19. Beer Festival
20. Being called 'Bella' and 'Mademoiselle'

... I just realised I could go on and on so I will jsut stop here. Needless to say, There Are Many Things I could Talk About, but Ill get tired of listing them all out. Maybe I will just remember them in snippets.

My Luggage

Sat, 18 Jul 2009 07:41:24 GMT

On my way to a short vacation, finally! Details of the trip will be posted post return.
As I look at my bags I think of the personality they have acquired over time. You can say they are battered, but that won't be true. They are travel worn. Aged with being handled over many cities, people, trains, planes, dropped, pulled. Still strong & sturdy, they bear their travel marks proudly, as their identity. The stickers which refuse to leave them make them unusual.
Like a boxer who has won many fights, and hopes to win many more, who bears his scars with pride.
And though Rincewind's might be smart, my luggage has their own personality.

To secretaries & receptionists

Sat, 18 Jul 2009 07:40:12 GMT

I have, in my experience as a caller to people in companies, come across very many secretaries - some jolly, some cranky and some smart while others extremely dumb.
in my quest to connect with he desired person I have grown u big soft corner for the uninquisitive get-it-over-with varieties. these are the ladies who can't do enough to get rid of you in the most efficient method possible - connect you to the desired person. by the time one finishes pronouncin a name you can already hear the connecting ringtone or waiting music. and rather than answer you in the absence of the person, the phone gets redirected to their personal secretaries.
on the other end of the spectrum are those who ake their jobs very extremely seriously - the ladies who take it upon themselves to decide whether the caller is worthy of meeting their boss or not. Thanks to their limited understanding, they shield their bosses from nuisances as well as opportunities.

06/02/09

Sat, 18 Jul 2009 07:39:53 GMT

Mothers are the scariest of any lot. Human or animal. The moment you leave them alone, they grab what they can for personal selfish causes- in the name of their child. if it is so difficult to manage child & urself, I say, stay @ home or et someone to manage for you.
and pls. don't give me nonsense about'compulsion'. I could believe it for one out of 10 cases, not all 10.
of course, the worst are other ppl who watch the(usuzally) ill behaved/ hyperactive child with an indulgent smile & sympathizer with the 'helpless', tired, poor hardworkin, courageous mom who is travelin with bzby.
even if that travel has led her into a gourmet restaurant 30mins later than the baby's food time, without suitable water fpr the child. You see, such z situation gives her amplified rights to crib, roan and shout at the hotel staff for not servicibg her hard enough, especially since they might have been remiss about the pain of carrying shopping bags and a baby. and not helped her with either.
same holds true for preg ant women who assume the world knows their sorrow, conceived due to bad contraception.

06/02/09

Sat, 18 Jul 2009 07:39:47 GMT

What makes a person Believe in God? what develops Faith? Blind unwavering faith.
What is it that differentiated the one experience for Jules & Vincent. so much so that the character Jules (Samuel Jackson) turns into a srlf-proclaimed bum giving up everything in life for God and the miracle he witnessed, while Vincent (John Travolta), the one without Belief in miracles goes on with life unchanged.
Of course, in the movie Vincent dies while Jules, its preumed, exits the death scene by spreading the word of God. I would like to think that's not true for real life.

Monsoons

Thu, 02 Jul 2009 07:03:03 GMT

Its monsoon time once again in Mumbai. Finally I can actually declare that it is indeed Monsoons. For you see, the rains have been quite reticent this time round and no one could really classify whether the ocassional drizzles were pre-monsoons or the real deal.
Now having carried an umbrella around with me for a week, and having to use it almost everyday, I personally can declare that the rainy season has arrived.
Many other cities in India however are unable to boast of the same. While some are getting cloudy skies, others are simply stuck with an over-extended, unwelcome summer. Global Warming sure has caught up with us, and how! It is declared drought in many states now. Sad.

Till the rains started here, the intolerable heat and humidity day after day had an inverse effect not only on people, but their behaviour as well. More intolerant people, more impatience and more unrest in the world. And then it rained.

Monsoons seem to unleash something in the primal spirit of man. It mellows down their outlook and makes the world a better place. Getting wet in the rain touches something so basic inside us that no matter what, at some level we like it. Sure it is inconvenient. To think of going to office drenched, is horrible. To have wet shoes all day is unbearable, and to think of acutally cleaning up the now sullied clothes - ugh!
But abandoning all that, and just letting yourself think of the raindrops on your face, the feeling is indescribable. A feeling of joy, fun, abandon and freedom. And a feeling that something is really, 'washing you clean'. For that moment, all the practical problems can be laid aside, all the worries kept in a box and locked up. While walking towards the shelter without an umbrella, it is best to just give in and enjoy the freedom that a blast of raindrops give you, rather than worry about how your silk gown will probably never look the same again. Believe me, it is totally worth it. The silk gown cant be salvaged anyway, afterall.

In India, the monsoons come after peak summers. After months of harsh heat, combined with humidity in 3/4ths of the country, the monsoons are like the much needed glass of water after a hot hike. And the people love it. There are odes written to the monsoons in every language, praising it, pleading it, asking it to come as soon as possible. Some of the favourite names chosen by parents for their children has much to do with rains, monsoons, and rainy clouds. And so many blogs written by Indians have rains in some form or the other, as their blog name. All this is indicative of the importance and reverence given to rains. Even when some cities complain about it being an eleven month monsoon per year, the moment rains delay by even a week, no one cares about any inconvenience. It is the relief that negates anything else.

For that is what it comes down to. Relief. Rains bring in wet soils and blue skies and greenery everywhere. They bring in clouds to block out the harsh sun, temporarily make it bearable to venture out without squinting, and then, once the clouds losen their burden, leave you with a clean, washed look everywhere, including the sky. And the effect on Man is palpable. People mellow down, problems seem smaller, and tempers running high for so long, temper down.

In cities like Mumbai where winters are only a term, and not a reality, and peak winters provide only 10C as the minimum in three months, monsoons drop temperatures to a pleasant below-25C, and add strong winds laden with tiny droplets into the bargain - which of course, make it really much cooler. And this may go on for days. Of course, nothing beats the view of Marine Drive with the sea waves cresting over the high embankment onto the roads in peak monsoons.

In other cities, like Calcutta, monsoons are torrential outbursts, sometimes continuing for days on end, with large drops of water splashing, with thunder and lightening and gusty winds - a Big Drama Spectable. Rumble of thunder on the horizon, puddles of water, slanting rain pelting down, strong gusts of wind and drops in temperature! Going out on the streets one feels that they can be blown away, carried away by the winds and rains to the black thunder clouds, to another land. There are very few people who actually do not like it at all.

In Delhi, the dry heat saps away everything from the surface of the earth, and then the monsoons bring everything back. Bringing in cold winds instead of the Hot Loo(wind), the monsoons add to the beauty by bringing in water as well. Suddenly the landscape which had turned brown and dustry turns green. Things start to sparkle, the dust settles and there is a rainbow in every mind. All Air conditioners and coolers can finally be switched off, and the air becomes a little humid, providing relief to parched bodies.

With the monsoons also emerges another primal desire - the love of food. When its raining outside, and you are cool and sheltered inside, feeling the spray on your face carried with gusts of wind through the open windows, nothing completes the setting like a plate of hot bhajias and tea. Or corn on the cob (bhutta) - roasted with salt and lemon rubbed on it in your hand. Or piping hot Khichdi (not the North Indian one for ill people) with papad / fried potatoes and tangy mango pickle for lunch. Or hot buttered aalu parathas - yum! In fact, anything hot is fun to eat. And when its raining, we love to much. It prepares one for the forthcoming rain dance ;)
And then, to emphasis the cold chilled feeling, there are ice creams and kulfis and cold drinks. The other end of the monsoons spectrum.

Yes, its monsoon once again, my rain gear is out, and though the mush, the irritation of arriving disheveled and wet to office and the impossibility of keeping things dry increase, one thing is for sure. With the extende summer, I realised just how much I missed it. Im glad its back. As for asking the rain to go away? Not me!

Michael Jackson

Fri, 26 Jun 2009 18:47:40 GMT

There are two types of successful musicians. Those that enjoy their music and those that think about their music.
We have people like Queen. Every note was thought out and nothing was incidental. No guitar riff was there without premeditation. To them music was not just joy, it was important. Then we had people like GnR, to whom music was fun. It was more important to make it sound good and yet it was heartfelt because they loved what they did. They loved having fun with their instruments, their voice, the notes.

And then there were some musicians who fell somewhere in between. To them music was a medium - a way to show their true selves, their ideas, and so it was important. And then again, they experimented with their music and played with it. Into such category was Michael Jackson. Irrespective of when he came to lime light, irrespective of which era he was born in, he was one of the greatest singer/writer/dancer - in short, performers. If the Moonwalk had been showcased in 2009, it would still become the rage. Billie Jean, Beat It, Thriller, Bad, Blood on the Dance Floor, etc would have been hits even today. Perhaps the videos would have been more cutting edge. No. Make that definitely more cutting edge than what we see now. MJ was known to push boundaries while making his videos. Perhaps modern day music videos would be totally different were he not there in the picture.

Unlike many modern day pop artists, music by Jackson was not dismiss-able. Whether one liked it or not, it was undeniable that there was a catch to it, which made it irrepressible. You could not forget a song once you'd heard it. The energy with which he sang was infectious. It is apparent just how much time he must have spent fine tuning a song before turning out the record. Exactly where the creak of the door should be heard and exactly when he should give on of his famous shouts was very well thought out. It was not a whim. At least, I refuse to believe that - they were all too well timed for that. He cared about his every move.

And then his dancing. There simply cant be a parallel. And it is not just about the moves. When he danced, he had a palpable aura of repressed energy. Like a man who is straining against the leashes, waiting to just break free yet reigning himself in and doing a few very difficult but very elegant dance moves. His moves were not just graceful, they were, and are, a delight to watch. His feet barely touched the ground, and his hands and body were almost-shaking, always, but not shaking. In a world where stage shows are common and talent springs up on every TV channel, it is rare to come across anyone as talented as him, as true a performer as him.

That slight man, terribly screwed up in his head by a lifetime of strife and troubles, made a place for himself all over the world, in every village of distant countries, in a time when there was no internet, and barely any television. Now thats talent. I shall not call him a star or a superstar. When Paris Hilton is a star, MJ does not deserve to be called one. For all his personal problems, to me he was, and is, an unmissable part of History of Music. He has given a couple of full generations hope in music, addiction to music videos and high expectations from their artists. I guess many wannabe stars would have had it easy if Michael Jackson had not made his appearance. For a man who was pushed into his career by his father at a very very early age, he did remarkably well.

Show me one person from my generation who has not at some time sat open-mouthed, idolising the man dancing and singing away on-screen. A few months ago I went through as many music videos of his as I could find on youtube with a frnd. And we wondered where the man had vanished. How bad he had it that a complete part of the world had forgotten his undeniable contribution to Music and Dance and Performance and instead cared only about his looks, his estate, his lawyers. MJ was not a media man. He was good at what his job was - making music. Not exactly a sweet talker to a talk show host.

Upon the news of his death, I was surprised, yet in a way relieved. Michael Jackson did not deserve to live as thoughtless and respect-less life as he had been living. For all his hard work, his fights for causes, and his talent, he had to give everything up, one by one. I never thought Ill write a Eulogy for him (for anyone in fact) but here I am, dedicating a whole post to Michael Jackson. The hearthrob of so many girls my generation and older and younger, and as many men. May his music be remembered, his dancing be remembered, and not the latter 25% of his life. One thing however, is for sure. With Michael Jackson, there has never been moderation. Super success and a Super downfall. The downfall was personal, the success touched everybody who cared to be touched. May the success be remembered. A frnd of mine mentioned had he died while performing, he would have been more legendary. I however think the man deserved a quiet respectable death, and he got it.

Traveling back to Bombay

Thu, 25 Jun 2009 07:51:05 GMT

My trips back to Bombay have always been something of a jinx, resulting in some interesting incident or the other every time I have come back from a more than 3 day hiatus from the city - due to whatever reason. Sometimes it is work related, to sometimes mundane issues like plumbing, electricity, maid - anything in fact, anything at all which can consume ones time and energy.

Dont believe me? Let me retrace over some of the last few times. Once I was returning from Calcutta and there was a transport strike. Which meant I had no means of transporting myself home, except by bus - which was a little far from the station and I had heavy bags. Eventually I managed to rope in a frnd who picked and dropped me home.
Another time my boss quit while I was on leave. Which meant on my return, I had no real boss or understanding of my job responsibilities. Quite a worry I assure you.
As long as the Bombay airport was under renovation, the flights were always delayed by an hour or so - circling over the city. Which meant I was always late - late to reach home or late to reach work.
Once, I returned to see there was no water. No drinking water and no bathing water as the building had water supply under repair, and everyone had been notified a day earlier. However, I was unaware as I was not there. So, for a day, I had to live off a small amount of limited water I made the guards give me.

This time, however, I saw a lot of interesting activity around my travel both sides of the journey. I have been in Ahmedabad for a few days, for work. On the day I left, the flush (at home) broke just at the last moment - so theres work for a plumber in the house. My luggage had to be sent by Rush Baggage on another flight and then someone fell ill in the flight and it left 30 mins late. Elaboration? OK. Though I left home on a non-traffic time, fairly early on a saturday afternoon, I faced a LOT of traffic. Though I had already checked in, my luggage was not. And so, though I was allowed to board the flight, my heavy baggage with my office stuff and loads of reports, was not allowed to board it. Hence, the ppl at Jet Airways sent it by the next flight - 2 hours+ later. I would have to collect it sometime the next day/ late night.
If that was not enough, the lady beside me in the flight stank. The flight was full, not a seat to spare and here I was pre checked-in on a nice seat right in front, with a lady who fidgeted a lot. Every time she fidgeted, I had to stop breathing. I guess it was her hair. An African lady with hair permanently braided onto her scalp. Or whatever its called - you know what I mean.
Then, just as the wheels started rolling, the stewards showing off the safety features stopped mid-sentence, and had all kinds of interesting expressions on their faces. Further investigation of the direction of their gaze showed me nothing. Because there was a group of some more flight attendants. Apparently someone had fallen ill 23 rows behind me. S/he was then escorted out of the plane by a doctor from the airport, under emergency procedure. It was interesting (we taxied back to parking, there was a lot of communication with ground staff using airline style sign language, a medical van and a practitioner were called along with oxygen n stuff, and then a huddle was seen to depart by the rear door and finally all doors were closed again. Oh! and we got to hear a lot from our Dutch pilot attempting English), but well, it meant the flight left late. However, credit to the airlines, we reached only 10 mins late than the original arrival time. We took some shortcut over the sea and the view was awesome. That also meant a lot of turbulence as monsoon was approaching Bombay, and we moved through cumulo-nimbus clouds. This was one occassion when if the flight wouldve been late, I wouldnt have cared - it wouldve made my baggage collection easier!

My return journey was another ballgame. This time I ensured that not only was I checked in, I was early enough to have my baggage checked in as well. And then I made my way and waited to board the flight. Finally our call came, and we sat down. It was late and I thought I would have dinner - some sandwich which turned out worse than I expected. My advice? Never try the Chicken Tikka s/w of Jet.Usually their food is decent but this was - well the bread was yellow (dont ask me why) and the chicken was tasteless. Then, just as we were arriving our kind captain told us there was not landing room. No landing room for a scheduled flight?!! After the airport has finished its renovation work over a year ago?! Ah hell. After a lot of dipping and circling around raining clouds, we eventually landed a whole 40 mins later than the scheduled time.
And then we waited at the luggage belt. Everyone got their stuff, except me. It turned out, they sent my bag over to transition for International Flights. God knows what country that poor used bag full of office documents would have arrived in, had I not demanded it brought back to me immediately.

Finally, I was back home. Today morning my newspaper man and my maid assumed I will be out of town for some reason and didnt turn up. And then, the rains resumed. I have to now go and get rain footwear, and check on the raincoat I carried, but didnt use today. Oh! and get a plumber.

Like I say, my trips back to the city of Mumbai have yet to be peaceful transitions.

Friday evening at Work

Fri, 05 Jun 2009 13:05:59 GMT

Its 5:59pm on a Friday afternoon, eve of a much deserved, expected to be lazy weekend. Ive been waiting since 5:25pm for it turn 6:30pm. But the clock does.not.move.

The AC in office is on full blast. And all I want to do is curl up in bed with a book and music, while the AC at home is on full blast. However, I will probably head out for drinks and dinner.

A little like the famous Miss Marple, I find people can be categorised. Like the super-efficient, sentence repeating, genuinely fake people, especially women, who remind one of a pre-occupied Aunty with three well-behaved kids -the type in whose presence one didnt know what to do as a kid. They nod at every sentence, have a small smile on almost all the time and their faces mirror your expression to the 'T'. Problem is, with them you dont know when they are genuine, and when they are fake. So I have concluded that they are so fake, they dont know what genuine is. Their life is one long tryst of political-correctness.

It helps to write down a few lines than just pretend to work, I can see my frndly neighbourhood clock telling me six minutes have ticked by. But the time means nothing anymore. Six-thirty may be the time on paper to leave work, but nothing here moves as per whats written on some paper. The advent and departure of one in this place is independant of logical work hours. It is dependant upon the Holy Being also known as Boss. So though the clock may tick by, unless The Man leaves at the alleged time, it holds no meaning to the life of a mere mortal like me.

However, what does give comfort is the knowledge that the next few minutes may give him reason to move away from his beloved desk, for the weekend.
Considering that the aforementioned being doesnt have anything of much value to achieve in office, except an ability to brag to his wife about the work load he manages, it is to be hoped that he will bow to the time rule today.

For lack of exciting things happening in my personal life, I await news from frnds.

With time having passed in between writing a post and getting entertained by colleagues wrestling with the printer, I give up on office politics and just head for the door. Weekend, here I come.

Hum chahte hain yeh dosti rishtedari mein badal jaye

Fri, 29 May 2009 06:54:13 GMT

Ji?
Haan, hum chahte hain ki aapke beti ka haath aap mere bete ko dein.
Kya baat kahi aapne S-ji. Agar humari beti aapke ghar aa jaye to isse badi khushi hume nahi hogi.
To yeh lijiye, muh meetha kijiye!*

And so the boy and the girl met.
Thankfully this time, in real life, the sweets were not procured that fast and the couple were allowed to meet and choose each other.

Yes, this truly happened, though the dialogue above is conjecture, but allow me some writers freedom to make it Filmy. This happened in Bangalore, Karnataka between an Andhra Pradesh family and another Rajasthani one.

This interesting brand of marital alliance between one of my closest and oldest frnds and the mystery girl was quite hush hush till the last moment, at least to rexzilla and me. Surprisingly put together by two families with nothing more than freindship in common, this rather filmy get-together worked romantically. Bangalore seems to be a city seeping with love ;)

Within a month of moving to a new city, a new job and a new house, alone, this man has found himself a few steps away from the altar. The same man who till months ago quaked at the serious thought of being wed.

Till the year 2005 there was a spate of weddings within my friend circle. A break was seen by me in 2007 when M, my erstwhile flat mate got married. This year seems to be again quite busy maritally and my calendar is filling up with wedding invites. My brothers wedding in December was expected. Now I have to add this frnds wedding and skip his engagement, as another of my frnds is getting married on that very day, in a different location. Auspicious day indeed!

Which basically reduces the trio to a duo of single spirits. Thank goodness we had the Goa vacation earlier this year and didnt wait till later. Because in the present scheme of things the later wouldnt have come.

Now to wait and meet the lady. And of course, attend the wedding to check whether 'baratiyon ka swagat Pan Paraag' se hoga ki nahi.**

[For my non-Hindi speaking audience:
We is used as a substitute for 'I' to show higher rank as compared to middle class families
* - a famous dialogue from most Bollywood movies in the 80s where two high ranked business men converse about their eligible children:
We want this friendship to culminate into relationship
O Rly?
Yes, We wish that your daughters hand is given to my son (in marriage).
What a wonderful thing Mr S. If my daughter is wed to your house/ family, it would give me great joy.
There then, here are some sweets to seal the deal

**- a famous advertisement from my childhood, where the only 'dahej' that the boys side want is that everyone is given Pan Paraag (a mouth freshener) when they come to attend the wedding.
So I wait to see if we are welcomed keeping the fimly manner alive, with Pan Paraag]

Patriarchal Society and Matriarchal Customs

Thu, 21 May 2009 13:08:08 GMT

Today a friend of mine shared this with me. It was a nice read and yes, there are some things that cannot be explained to anyone except another woman. Or perhaps men till they become father, or never - I would never know.
Which brings me to Mothers and Daughters. Its an old joke in books, movies and any other medium how fathers never see their daughters as grown up enough to be married, yet Moms have just no problems with that. Perhaps to a mother, it is satisfying to see a daughter grow up. Though much importance is laid on the sons and the paternal line, eventually, it is the woman who usually ends up running the house.
In olden days, with a joint family, it was the new wife who was the outsider, the one who had to mould herself to the traditions in the new place. The boy of the family, thus, was important. He & his family would be the one carrying on the traditions and views of the family. He would bring in his mate, and they would do what His parents had always done, as had his grandparents. The food, the family traditions, etc would continue with the male sire because it was a big joint family where the man's family lived.

Today (as in for the past decade or more), the families are usually nuclear. And till date in most cases, most of the housework is done by the woman. The in-laws (bride or groom) come to stay only when they are old and infirm. In this case it is the lady who brings home the customs. The housekeeping, the food, everything is as it is in her home. As she has grown up. The husband only gives his touches in his choices or in the small chores he does. Not in the daily running. The new family is moulded as per the mother, even though the surname remains of the father - in most cases.

As a mother sees her son grow up, it is a man she looks at, someone who would perhaps be like her husband later. Someone who would be nice, kind, helpful, dashing, energetic - whatever you can think of - but as a man. When a man looks at his son, its probably as his scion. But, as a boy. He definitely does not see him as a grown man, until perhaps the father himself is old. Till then, his son is still his 'boy'. One that needs to be taken care of till he is independent. To him he passes on character, but not traditions.
With daughters too, a father would usually think of her as a young fragile thing who is to be taken care of (ref: the link above) rather than a grown woman who is to battle out her life. He would rather not have her battle on. To her he passes on the will to battle, and yes, character.
To a mother however, a daughter is a reflection of herself. With time she sees in her daughter what she did when she grew up. The social changes and how her daughter saw it all better. And her traditions. And her cooking.
The housework is passed on to daughter from mother. As is the cooking. When a mother sees her daughter grow up, she sees her emulating the only other source of housework - her mom. So the daughter (adding in her own character) continues the tradition of the family. When a man talks about 'Moms Food' he is not talking of food his father's family endorsed - he is acknowledging the food that his mother (and her mother before that) have made. The wife may serve that to him once in a while, but she definitely is going to prefer her 'family' food - it is what she knows, it is what she cooks, and ultimately, it is what she likes. Eventually, her children like that too. The tradition carries on.

In the world of Patriarchy, almost every man is living in a world created by his mother or his wife. The Mother echoes her mother and the wife, hers. Though lines remain patriarchal, traditions flow matriarchally.

-------------------------
- In mixed religion marriages, it is assumed or often noticed that the child tends to follow the mothers religion. If the mother is vegetarian, the chances of the child being vegetarian is higher. It is because it is her who eventually does the banal every day tasks, and hence spends more time with the child.
- Dont ask me why I had the thought, I just had it. And no, none of this is influenced by my family.

Patriarchal Society and Matriarchal Customs

Thu, 21 May 2009 13:05:20 GMT

Today a friend of mine shared this with me. It was a nice read and yes, there are some things that cannot be explained to anyone except another woman, which probably a man realises only after having a daughter. I would'nt know.

Which brings me to Mothers and Daughters. Its an old joke in books, movies and any other medium how fathers never see their daughters as grown up enough to be married, yet Moms have just no problems with that. Perhaps to a mother, it is satisfying to see a daughter grow up. Though much importance is laid on the sons and the paternal line, eventually, it is the woman who usually ends up running the house.
In olden days, with a joint family, it was the new wife who was the outsider, the one who had to mould herself to the traditions in the new place. The boy of the family, thus, was important. He & his family would be the one carrying on the traditions and views of the family. He would bring in his mate, and they would do what His parents had always done, as had his grandparents. The food, the family traditions, etc would continue with the male sire because it was a big joint family where the man's family lived.

Today (as in for the past decade or more), the families are usually nuclear. And till date in most cases, most of the housework is done by the woman. The in-laws (bride or groom) come to stay only when they are old and infirm. In this case it is the lady who brings home the customs. The housekeeping, the food, everything is as it is in her home. As she has grown up. The husband only gives his touches in his choices or in the small chores he does. Not in the daily running. The new family is moulded as per the mother, even though the surname remains of the father - in most cases.

As a mother sees her son grow up, it is a man she looks at, someone who would perhaps be like her husband later. Someone who would be nice, kind, helpful, dashing, energetic - whatever you can think of - but as a man. When a man looks at his son, its probably as his scion. But, as a boy. He definitely does not see him as a grown man, until perhaps the father himself is old. Till then, his son is still his 'boy'. One that needs to be taken care of till he is independent. To him he passes on character, but not traditions.
With daughters too, a father would usually think of her as a young fragile thing who is to be taken care of (ref: the link above) rather than a grown woman who is to battle out her life. He would rather not have her battle on. To her he passes on the will to battle, and yes, character.
To a mother however, a daughter is a reflection of herself. With time she sees in her daughter what she did when she grew up. The social changes and how her daughter saw it all better. And her traditions. And her cooking.

The housework is passed on to daughter from mother. As is the cooking. When a mother sees her daughter grow up, she sees her emulating the only other source of housework - her mom. So the daughter (adding in her own character) continues the tradition of the family. When a man talks about 'Moms Food' he is not talking of food his father's family endorsed - he is acknowledging the food that his mother (and her mother before that) have made. The wife may serve that to him once in a while, but she definitely is going to prefer her 'family' food - it is what she knows, it is what she cooks, and ultimately, it is what she likes. Eventually, her children like that too. The tradition carries on.

In the world of Patriarchy, almost every man is living in a world created by his mother or his wife. The Mother echoes her mother and the wife, hers. Though lines remain patriarchal, traditions flow matriarchally.

-------------------------
-In mixed religion marriages, it is assumed or often noticed that the child tends to follow the mothers religion. If the mother is vegetarian, the chances of the child being vegetarian is higher. It is because it is her who eventually does the banal every day tasks, and hence spends more time with the child.
-Dont ask me why I had the thought, I just had it. And no, none of this is influenced by my family.

Names

Tue, 05 May 2009 08:57:49 GMT

Everyone has a name. In the normal course of events, one meets a person and gets to know their name. However, in the world of internet, one is usually acquainted with the name first, then an email, a phone call and eventually, perhaps a face. This results in people having images of a name in their mind.

Certain names conjure up certain personalities and ages. An email style is no indication of the person's age, yet we tend to categorise. As is talking to a person on the phone. An old man may have a surprisingly youthful voice and vice versa.

This is the age of dissociated understanding of a person. The age where one may judge another person solely by their actions and words, with no preconception regarding their expected acts.

For example, earlier, meeting an old person, one would forgive him/ her certain gestures - since s/he was from the 'old world' where those qualities were the norm. However, the same thing on email sounds either quaint, rude, or chivalrous, depending upon the act. A rude dismissal is just that - a rude dismissal, and not an 80 year old mans impatience. Courteousness in emails is just that. And not the habit of a 70 year old man from years ago. The same stands true for younger people.

However, these emails are actions. The actions are coupled with names, and we humans being what we are, like to put a face to every name/ gesture/ action. So we imagine a personality behind the names/ emails. Not consciously, but a vague idea. An idea that effects how one reacts to an email, and talks on the phone, but basically, something that is not actively decided.

On meeting the said person, we unconsciously expect certain things - and are surprised. Hence we realise that we had a presupposed personality in mind.

To me, certain names convey certain personalities, like the name 'Naval'. Coupled with the prompt email responses and informal note, I expected a strapping man in his early 30's. Instead, I met an old man, short, shriveled and very knowledgeable.
The name Sanjeev meant nothing, his unavailability on phone however led me to presuppose him to be in his mid 40s. His curt email and asking his secretary to set up an appointment told me he would be in his mid 50s at least. The secretary herself sounded like an unmarried quirky christian in her mid 80s.
Guess what?
I was right.
About the seccy. The man? He was an early 30's Dynamo. Vibrant, energetic and young. And oh so bald!

And yet, because of the time spent interacting via emails and phone calls, my mind still sticks to the preconceived notions. And, when I see Naval and Sanjeev on paper, I have to remind myself what the man was really like. Like the tiny bespectacled man behind a big desk, when I expected a fat jowly person. Like the young irritatingly slow, balding man with a tic, when I expected a young, energetic dynamic person. I could go on.

Most of the times though, the thoughts and realities don't clash wildly. As a result, the mind does not remind us of what we had preconceived. However, it does remain that we always imagine. We always put mannerisms to actions, and faces to those mannerisms.

Keeping track of your feeds

Tue, 21 Apr 2009 12:28:44 GMT

Thanks to Facebook and its integration feature for Google Reader which I use, I now get a staple question from most of my frnds - what is 'shared on google reader' thingie displayed on ur FB ?
So I tell them. I think its time Google starts acknowledging me for their sudden increase in reader users from India ;)

However, the real question that comes has more to do with using the reader, than just well, using it. The most common problem people face, is keeping up with the feeds. Generally, people subscribe to news sites. These are sites that are updated a million times daily, and the number of 'new' items inundating the reader is mind boggling. To someone who is new, this usually results in them spending hours just to scan through, read and delete items.

After some such discussions, I have come to the conclusion that reading feeds is an art. A skill form. With every passing year a new skill form is developed for the Net. And reading RSS feeds from an aggregator is such another. To some it comes instantaneously, to others it comes with practice. Many give up and die.

Like most things on the Net, an aggregator just makes it simpler to track whats happening on few selected sites, and is not really an invite to read it all - unlike emails. Emails have to be acknowledged. All of them have to be scanned or read, whereas all the web page updates one gets probably dont need to be read. A scan through all the headlines once a day, followed by a 'mark all as read' can be good enough for feeds of news sites.
Also, it is very difficult for an unused brain to get used to the fact that though the aggregator updates immediately, it is not important to read it immediately. Once updated, that information is available thereafter (unless deleted by the originator site) and can be ready at personal discretion - a minute/ day or even month later.

Small things like the above are difficult to explain to people who get emailers with news on them - and usually just junk the email than read its difficult to read headline based material. To explain that a feed reader makes it easier to do so, is difficult without a practical demonstration. Even then, usually people get stressed by the 'unread' count. Bloglines, Google Reader, NewsGator, etc. all show an unread count, or at least mark topics which still have unread articles, if not the actual number. To people who are used to 'staying on top of their emails' this is a Herculean task to reflect on their feed readers. So, they give up and never check on them again. I wonder if Google will have the statistics of unused reader accounts - it would be quite interesting.
Google of course, it seems, is the most popular feed reader. Not only because of its great interface, but also because its seamlessly integrated with the other Google applications like Gmail, Calendar, Documents, etc. and the great publicity it gets on FaceBook thanks to people like me.

So, I say, get onto a reader, add your bookmarks and enjoy their information sans ads, flash, colours etc. - just for the information. And do not worry about the unread count. A reader is one of the most useful ways of keeping track of activities on the Net. I suggest everyone go experiment!

Handmade Ornate Furniture [Flickr]

Dips_C — Sat, 20 Dec 2008 07:33:19 PST

Dips_C posted a photo:

Workers toil away thru the evening making ornate wooden mirror-frames

charminar gate [Flickr]

Dips_C — Wed, 17 Dec 2008 12:21:00 PST

Dips_C posted a photo:

Clock Tower [Flickr]

Dips_C — Wed, 17 Dec 2008 12:20:19 PST

Dips_C posted a photo:

Busy crossing in Hyderabad

Decrepit House [Flickr]

Dips_C — Wed, 17 Dec 2008 12:19:33 PST

Dips_C posted a photo:

Old & New [Flickr]

Dips_C — Wed, 17 Dec 2008 12:18:44 PST

Dips_C posted a photo:

No Parking sign on an elaborately carved wall