The Journey of the One

The Second Look

noreply@blogger.com (Arun Nandi) — Sun, 12 May 2013 05:35:00 +0000

Our eyes had met when we were scanning thru the crowd and glanced back at each other instinctively. Your look said it all. For that one moment, there was a window that had opened up within you. You were at a bar, with people you wouldn't normally meet. The judgments of strangers didn't count or gash at you as much as the ones from friends did. The fact that your life didn't end up the bed of roses that you'd proclaimed it would. Theirs didn't either, but you were always better than them. You had never said that to them, but they knew it by the way you walked with your head held high and your chin up. While they slowly tumbled like bowling pins to rules and compromises, you told them about how you were still having an amazing time. And how that day would never arrive when your life ceased to be spectacular.

Exaggeration was your antidote to the truth. Your mornings started with it and the day wore you down until you couldn't get yourself to, anymore. Creating drama out of nothing led you to keep yourself engaged, anything to keep those dark thoughts from creeping into your mind. The complicated ones, which mocked you and told you it wasn't only about today but 5, 10 and 20 years from now. The future that you hadn't planned for, the one that you had no clue about. You lived, instead, for the moment. And your priorities were far hedonistic than they once were. Wait, weren't you supposed to be growing older with age?

You wore your prized accessory around your arm. He wasn't half as bad as what people around you ended up with. He was always there, interested in you and seemed like a decent person that would keep you happy. Yet there you were, in that bar, making conversation with people in the hope that you could live vicariously thru someone else's life. Or even meet someone who was out of the ordinary. You did meet a couple of them that seemed like they could be that, but you shrugged them off and hoped they wouldn't give up that easy. They did. They'd seen the ring on your finger and weren't interested in wasting time. They moved on, to the next girl in the bar who was available. That was the game; you were in that market not too long ago and had loved the attention. Not that you didn't get it anymore, but it wasn't the same. It never would be.

You would never be able to meet someone who could blow your mind away. You could never start a great conversation and enjoy a few drinks. If you did, you'd never want to exchange contacts and take him up on his suggestion to go to the next dive bar to continue the riveting conversation you were having. And if you did cross those barriers with the feeling of guilt eating away at you, you would definitely not want to dance the night away at the club that was playing those songs you listened to in college and knew the words for. And end the night with the best meal at the food cart with that spicy food.

That was the past. You tell yourself that you've graduated from that phase, but you know you haven't. It's a rush that you've missed for a while. The kind that you've apparently signed out of, for the rest of eternity. And now, you're supposed to live with the TV that has sports playing for more hours than you care for. And conversation comes but at a price. And so does everything else.

And as our eyes met, we acknowledge one another and introduce ourselves. We talk casually, size each other up about what we do and where we live. We've both met those that work at a pharmacy and pretend to be all high and mighty. And those that work at investment banks carrying coffee but act like they own a part of town. We didn't want to spend any time with either of those ends of the spectrum. We wanted to have a good conversation. Not about the Nets or the Jets, or the Mets. And definitely not about the weather or the city or the restaurants. We were looking for something more meaningful. The kind of conversation one felt passionate about and almost never ends up having, because those that weren't included often intrude with a lame comment about something half-funny that everyone else is forced to fake laugh to and acknowledge. Like how the DJ is so bad or the song they are playing is their favorite song of all time - even if they've said that twice already and it's probably Justin Beiber's track.

So we end up conversing for a while about travel and sharing our views on a part of the world that we've both visited. And I'm glad we agree travel doesn't mean Western Europe because everyone growing up in the US had a school trip that took them there. And we are starting to have a nice time, until that friend of yours comes up and whispers something into your ear. And being polite, I excuse myself out of that conversation as our eyes meet one last time. I know what you're wishing for. And perhaps, I'm wishing for something similar. But we'll never find out where that conversation could've taken us. Because, we're both on our own paths and there isn't a point where those intersect. We just hadn't met at the right time and the right place.

The Lives of Others

noreply@blogger.com (Arun Nandi) — Fri, 12 Apr 2013 04:06:00 +0000

The different genres of people one encounters..

The Deprived Indians

These are the people who're the gatekeepers to anything free in the city. They know the places for cheap haircuts, the places that have free entries and everything else under the sun which can be done free or at low cost. It isn't that being Indian made them this way, it's just more pronounced because they fit the stereotype. They've often not had any freedom in India and feel like this is heaven because it's their first time experiencing it. And the thing with freedom is, when you see it for the first time you go a little nutty and overboard. Typically work in NY and stay in Jersey City or somewhere but Manhattan. And claim to love it because they love the peace! They often don't have the confidence to do anything on their own and always move around in groups. And they claim that they have traveled when all they've done is visit Western Europe on the deals flying around all the time. These are the people that give rise to bad stereotypes. Next time anyone asks you, "Don't you eat meat" or "Do you people still have arranged marriages", blame these people.

All the men in this genre want to do is score some time with random women and their phone numbers. All the women in this genre want to do is go clubbing and get drunk and sloppy.

The ABCDs

These second generation immigrants are often struggling with a conflicted sense of identity. Their folks went overboard trying to preserve the Indian-ness in them by enrolling them for a traditional Indian dance form, teaching them to worship their Gods and everything else that Indian folks in India gave a free hand to their kids for. I haven't met an Indian from India that knows Bharatnatyam, Kathakkali or any of those dance forms. But every second generation Indian kid born and raised in the US knows these things. Their folks are kept in the dark when the kids do typically "un-Indian" things like dating - in the 21st century! But then again, they are caught up in conventional 'good' professions - medicine, engineering and law. And don't seem to have an idea why they are.

The Malevolent Americans

These are often those people who've spent their entire life and careers in the US and have no interest in other cultures and are highly ignorant. They often cringe when they hear about any other country or immigrants doing anything of worth and are highly skeptical of change. They think anything outside of the US is all "third-world" and apparently feel danger and poverty when they visit other countries. And are they relieved to be back on American land after a visit to anywhere outside the US!

The Photographers, Graphic designers and travel bloggers

This is the most used euphemism for unemployment. I still don't buy how they support themselves based on their careers in these fields. Because they aren't brilliant at it. They just do it, and claim they freelance. My guess is that they are on state and/or family support. Sorry, you're not fooling anyone.

The Freedom Seekers

These people are here from all corners of the globe seeking freedom. In NYC, they find indifference and confuse that for freedom and claim to never want to go back to where they're from. Their stories about their home countries are only about how bad and unmanageable it is there, and how they got out while they could. They are the escapists that probably couldn't make it there and found an easy way out. After all, if you don't make it to the good colleges in your country, an American college will always give you an admission for the right price.

The Others

Thankfully, there are the others who make this city what it is. There are the music and art lovers, the movie critics and the thinkers. The ones that have a career, and not just a job. And still have varied interests in life. The ones that haven't wasted their lives with incessant pursuits and have probably grown up with enough freedom to have been there and done that. And those that want to make the best of their lives. These are the ones who exude individuality, and not the forced kind. The ones who are passionate about their thoughts and beliefs. Not to prove a point to anyone, but because they want to be true to themselves.

These are the people that leave their indelible mark on this vibrant city that they've come to call home. Here's to the others..

Freedom or Indifference

noreply@blogger.com (Arun Nandi) — Fri, 15 Mar 2013 04:15:00 +0000

New York, they say, is the melting pot of world cultures. The place where diversity gets its due, and you can be whoever you want to be without inhibition or remorse. It is true, every single word of it. For many, this is the dream. If you ever belonged to a marginalized group of society or felt like you were laughed at not accepted, this place is where you want to be.

You can belong here, whether you are a Southerner from Texas who struggled thru childhood not falling into any peer groups or whether you are a Russian ballerina who never really liked conforming to rules. This place makes you an equal, it gives you an identity. It promises you to entitlement just like any other world citizen in this greatest city on Earth. You can choose to be whoever you want to be, and not have to fight it.

With freedom comes indifference. And oftentimes, the latter is confused for the former. And that is where confusion lurks. If you are a gay Jewish boy from Rhode Island, does the average New Yorker accept you for who you are or just let you be? There's a big difference. Here's where the distinction between good, bad and indifferent lies. Growing up, this boy faced a lot of resistance from peers for being different. It wasn't considered normal, he didn't belong to the typical groups of people that formed in a school or in the neighbourhood. He grew up facing a hard time almost wherever he went till he came to New York.

Nobody wondered why you were what you were. Partly because they are more liberal or have seen it all. And more importantly because, they just don't have the time or energy to care. New York makes you indifferent to anything and anybody. Because nobody is interested in expending that much energy in trying to understand you. You can evoke excitement, amusement or amazement in someone when they meet you, but that will not hold their attention for more than a minute - a New York minute.

Too many fast food joints here don't have menus but a list of ingredients. Nobody wants to order from a menu here anyhow, and everyone wants their food customized just the way they'd like it. Whether that customization makes it any tastier, healthier or palatable, it sure makes it unique. And for some, that's all that matters. Being different. And here is where I believe that non-conformism starts forming a community of its own. Exactly like those Atheists who go to every single atheism convention, thereby becoming a part of a community themselves. This is a community of non conformists, who have all come from other states or countries where they didn't fit in for being different. And here they have that choice, to be different and indifferent. Which they do with equal effect.

You meet droves of people everyday, wish them all out of courtesy and talk to a few of them. About the weather, the sports and the usual happenings. And move on. And it's a different set of people everyday. And everyone who has moved here from another place will tell you how these shallow interactions are their only sources of communication with a 'community'. And the comfort of habit is derived out of material indulgences, such as the same blend of Blonde Roast at the same Starbucks, the same salad with the same amount of your favorite sauce or the same restaurant you frequent every Thursday.

When you meet people from various cultures who have moved here looking for a new life, you figure out a common thread that binds them all. Whether they're from a traditional part of China, a village in India, a town in South America or a politically inflamed part of Europe, they are here because they've made an active choice in being here. And a large part of that choice is escapism. Most people claim that they just didn't fit in, wherever they were. They felt inhibited in some way, their rights to expression or speech was curtailed. And they choose to live here, because they believe it to be worth the freedom. They are willing to fight the recession, the green card queue and everything else between them and their freedom. After all, this country was built by immigrants who often left their countries for the same fundamental reasons that hold true centuries later. Immigrants who thought it best to start off on a fresh slate for want of building a better life for themselves. People that had nothing to lose. And this city is the epicenter of the roots of the ethos that holds this country together.

The freedom of not being judged, the freedom to stand up with your head held high whatever you may have done. The comfort of knowing that whatever you are or may have done, there are people who have outdone you and will make you look better. This is the place where you come to purge your sins, because you're not the one with the most in your bag.

Congratulations, you've earned yourself some indifference and a consequence of that is freedom. And earned yourself a way to be uniquely yourself in this broth consisting of 8 million different human beings.

Welcome to the community of the attention deficit indifferent unique species. Welcome to New York!

No Longer Capitalism's Den

noreply@blogger.com (Arun Nandi) — Mon, 18 Feb 2013 05:30:00 +0000

If you live anywhere in the democratic world, you've probably grown up listening to stories of how the United States is the flag bearer of the free market capitalistic ideology. You've probably also listened to innumerable accounts of some of the purest forms of capitalism in everyday existence. The Gordon Geckos and the Oprahs who were simple people rising to incredible fame, power and wealth with their intelligence and talent. The "Land of Opportunity" brings in hordes of dreamy-eyed immigrants from all over the world in search of this very glory. And you can't help but think that that's the place for you if you're smart, talented and can get by with your wit and charm better than the average person. The hot bed for rags to riches stories in any genre.

Fast forward to 2013. New York, the greatest city on earth, the place where the high powers of the capitalist world rest. And here is where the myth shatters.

Everywhere you look, people are struggling to hold on to their own jobs. Business growths have stuttered to a virtual full stop, leading to cost cutting across the board and fewer promotions. People in multinational companies are stuck in exactly the same place they were at a few years ago. While companies strive to create more value for themselves and the shareholder, they look to developing markets for growths and the developed world for costs. And rightly so. And while they are at it, they've started chipping away at the reputation that built this first world empire.

However, the propaganda stories remain. You will still find innumerable snippets of pop culture fiercely defending this tag for the country and this city. You will still find, as I did, senior executives in companies talking of how the US has VPs and Directors who are 35 here. Not true. The average age of American mid to senior level executives is a lot higher than it is in China and India today. Perhaps less fancier titles, but the same work levels and responsibilities. Of course, they come easier on the pocket for global companies. Or do they? Not for long as most global leaders are benchmarked to Euro or Dollar salaries these days.

There are still stories of how money can elevate your life to dizzying heights. Yes, it can. If you are an entertainer or a sportsperson. Not if you are a white collar worker who needs to tread thru hierarchies to slowly get to the top. Yes, it can for entrepreneurs who come up with great ideas. Not the ones with good ideas. Because a great idea is worth a lot more in countries where each person buying into your product or service is worth a lot more. But these are people that need to rely on a heavy dose of luck to get there.

If you're a person who believes in cold probability instead, stay where you are. Your idea is worth a great deal there. And you probably can get by with a lot less clutter in whichever industry you choose. And probably get funded a great deal too, while you're at it. Opening a new company in India is nothing out of the ordinary today. Most people either have a plan to, or are already on it. And while the US ideas market gets its funding on Kickstarter for a few thousands of dollars, the ideas market in India is probably fetching upwards of 6 digits in USD. Not to say that the breadth of ideas that do get funded are any less, but there's an underlying current that clearly points to a larger trend.

And with great wealth and fame comes great luxury and comfort, right? If you have above average wealth in a developing country today, you can live in luxury. Real luxury. With help for most household chores and a few bucks thrown around can get you almost any service available, from a government issued card to a person to do your dishes. If you have above average wealth in the US, you could live in a great apartment in a good neighborhood but you probably need to ride the same subway everyone else does and go do your own laundry operated with a keycard in your apartment basement.

You have the same rights to entitlement in any restaurant line, call center queue or an appointment with a hair stylist as another person who probably works a minimum wage job. And that's a choice you're entitled to, if you live elsewhere. With income disparity comes a choice of options that cater specifically to your socio-economic strata. And with that comes comfort. Of course, the egalitarian system suits the 99%. It's when you've left the 1% in another country to get here and realize you're in the 99% that the difference strikes you.

A world built on propaganda and marketing survives only as long as the primary product delivers. And unless a renaissance of sorts reoccurs, this bubble's going to burst sometime really soon.

The Deal

noreply@blogger.com (Arun Nandi) — Sun, 16 Sep 2012 17:10:00 +0000

A set of characteristics that summarizes a person. It consists of their motivations, their fears, the traits they've carried from their upbringing and anything else that has shaped the person they've grown to be. And it shapes what they want out of their life, their social interactions and themselves.

Some people are easier to read than others. It takes simple observation to notice that there are some dead giveaways for anyone to pick up. The subject knows it too, subconsciously. Nobody reveals more than they want to, however intoxicated, trusting or naive they are.

It's more often than not a calculated risk to gain the confidence of someone new, a concerted effort to prove themselves worthy of a clique, an attempt to gain the affection of a lover. Most pick up the superficial remarks and perhaps pay little heed to the inner meanings of those seemingly innocuous statements.

Parties are a great social construct where people drop their inhibitions much more than they'd like to elsewhere. If someone actually pays attention in these situations to people other than themselves, there's a treasure trove of personal information available. It also exposes people at their vulnerable side - their social interactions. People waiting to make conversation with someone in particular, trying to weave themselves in the vicinity of that elusive group. People who nonchalantly choose to ignore that person who seemingly doesn't get the message. People that surround themselves around any group or conversation for fear of coming off as a sociopath.

The loud music, the alcohol and the smoke. It makes your movements exaggerated, your actions dramatic. But it's a fast paced atmosphere, aptly summarized by the beats in the in-house music. People want to feel good about themselves. Others can't help but oblige in this symbiotic ecosystem.

Walk over to the nearest bunch huddled together and you notice the usual suspects. The under confident guy who could never get away from his overpowering Dad's shadow. The girl whose parents never thought her deserving of a boy's place in the household, who had to prove her worth every step of the way. The man who wants to prove that he's worthy of where he stands irrespective of where he's come from. The girl who's been the black swan thru her growing years and had to rely on overachieving in genres where people wouldn't pay attention to her being overweight. The mediocre girl who's reached where she never dreamt she would a few years ago - a respectable job, a boyfriend with a good degree and job.

It's a varied bunch of people, who seem like they're all alike at that instant. All they want is to enjoy their time, make pleasant conversation, shake a leg and not do something to damage their neutral reputation. Right?

Not exactly in that order, and not in the same measures. They had all tread a very different path to reach there.

Some had started off as enjoying this as naturally as they would a cool breeze on a warm summer afternoon. Others had thought of it as an acquired taste. Yet others thought of it as an opportunity to let loose and be a little less guarded than they often are. Others forced themselves to these events, promising themselves that this would make them look suitable for that promotion they had been eyeing for so long.

And yet, they all acted out their deal with conviction and unwitting naïveté. They would change gradually, their actions and experiences appending on to their present realities. But everyone has a deal. And it isn't as well hidden as you'd like to think..

The Champion / The Town that was

noreply@blogger.com (Arun Nandi) — Thu, 10 May 2012 18:59:00 +0000

The Champion

She marches confidently where angels fear to tread. She's no angel and doesn't claim to be. Listening only to her heart's desires, never to be caught up with the hassles of right and wrong, logic and reason.

She doesn't want to be a part of the rat race. That's for the lesser mortals to indulge in, she quips. Confidence is her forte and she can prove that the sun rises in the west even to the strongest naysayer.

She wants simple things in life, never to be caught up with the wants of others around her. She's a child inside, that always wants the shinier ball that lies in the shelf. She wants it only until she has it in her hand, at which point, she concedes that she wanted the one next to that... This process goes on and on until the person on the other end of the counter loses his patience. But it's so hard to say no to her, when she looks expectantly at you with those pretty big eyes...

She is a bundle of energy, a beacon of radiance. The pretty face and the stunning looks are no sign of weakness for her. She knows she's got a weapon, and she knows where to use it and with what effect.

She ponders over the mistakes she's made, and the ones that she wants to in future. She doesn't want anyone to protect her, she's capable of handling the real world herself, she claims. There's times when she doesn't know where she's going, but she'll never admit it for fear of losing her own confidence.

She's scared at times, scared of that omnipresent past that keeps recurring in her mind periodically. Scared of punishment. Scared of rules. Scared of structure. Scared of being tamed. Scared of being mediocre. Scared of being stuck in a place where she's too good for everyone... She's scared to take those chances again, scared to make those changes to her divine self. She's perfect, she quips. There shall be no compromise, she proclaims. She needs some hand-holding at times, to guide her along the right path. She's the 100m dasher, who needs a coach to help her direct her energy at the right places. There's no doubting she's a winner, but it's the difference between her being a high-potential aspirant and a champion...

It takes her a while to understand things at times, because she just doesn't want to. It's too much a waste of one's brain cells, she thinks. Sometimes things that are so obvious go right above her head. She closes her mind when she's angry. She doesn't want to listen to anyone.

She's a lost little cocky kid that enjoys sucking that lollypop until the last remnants of it are gone. She wants another one, and another, and will pretend not to hear when someone says that it's not good for her teeth.

She just wants someone to understand her, just like we all do... And she knows she's destined to be a champion... And she is one of those few in this world that dares to unbelong...

The Town that Was

by "Angel of Chaos"

A window to the right and a door to the left,
The heaven lies somewhere betwixt,
An ounce of the sunlight and a pinch of the mist,
Lies in the lap of that divine abode,
A mirror van ward, keeps an eye on the cryptic tale,
The tale of you and me,
And the unheard whispers of my memory.

He opened his eyes, when the dawn was still young,
To find her sailing in the ‘Bay of Reverie’,
It was a life that they shared together,
A hope that was born out of a decision, au courant,
The days were mystical and light of his eyes illuminated the dark streets of her dreams.

This is a forgotten tale of a small town,
A town that is otherwise too insignificant to be heard of,
(Let’s just call it town B) However,
In the heart of that soil, there lies an incomplete story,
The tale of you and me,
And the unheard whispers of my memory!

The rain fell softly, on her cheeks and the cigarette that she held,
He held her tight in his arms,
To watch the tall palm trees and the low roofed houses,
“This is one of those moments that will last forever”, she said
The little town B smiled at them and the ambiguity of their love,
And it smiled at all that was to follow.

She knows today, somewhere in her heart, that the moment still lives,
And the little insignificant town B still survives,
But no one knows what happened next,
The story goes on… and the two unknown people,
Lose themselves in the mundane lives of their own,
The world doesn’t really mourn at their loss.

Yet I do.

Because this was the tale of you and me,
And the unheard whispers of my memory!

Red Roses

noreply@blogger.com (Arun Nandi) — Mon, 07 May 2012 18:37:00 +0000

There was an insecurity that followed her. It thrived in the shadows, only emerging when there wasn't anyone around. She didn't mind her time alone; these were the times she felt at one with herself. The world was always going to be the easier battle to conquer, when compared to her own mind.

She juggled between people to entertain her, to humour her, to curb her loneliness. She fed off of other people's overt awe of her. She could see it in their eyes, and she knew she held their attention. She had to bat her eyelids just the right way. Pose with her head tilting to her side, enough to spark a wildfire amongst the people around.

There were many that came into her life, vowed by her beauty. Add to that her wit and charm, and it made her a heady irresistible cocktail for all seasons. Everyone that came into her life expected a larger than life persona, a superstar image that she carried forth to transcend into her personal life as well. But she was far from it. She was just a normal girl, she thought. One that had a tough childhood and learned some lessons earlier on in life. She didn't want those struggles to follow her. She looked for shortcuts with utter disregard to the price they came with.

Her suitors differed from one another, but always had a common trait that bound them. They all thought they could save her. And she had thought they would smash her insecurity. That his entry into her life would be the end of her woes. As they progressed further, he saw that he was the one that needed saving. She played a cryptic game in which she pulled back and gave in, in an unwieldy fashion without any hint of a reason. Perhaps it made no sense to her either. But she played it to amaze and astonish, to be unpredictable. The greatest weakness of all was to be predictable enough to be taken advantage of, she quipped.

It came down to him losing his peace, his ability to function thru his own life with relative calm. He was being devoured by her, and he wouldn't realize it before it was too late. She thought he was trying to help her, like she'd imagined he would. Thought his troubles to be milestones in the path to her salvation. Yet, neither progressed. Or rested. It was a race and they competed and fought, laughed and cried, loved and cursed with each other until they both lay exhausted. The candour that had made them so, now started to limit their expression. Their affection gradually descended to sloth, their attraction to greed. Till there was a nothingness that consumed them.

It was the beginning of the end, she realized. She knew everything she liked would forever be transient. There was no purpose holding on when he could no longer help. His heart was going to break, she realized as she did ever so often. But it wasn't something she could worry about more than her own melancholy, she realized. She asks him to remember her, while knowing he couldn't but not. His face betrays a concoction of anger and betrayal that engulfs him. He only so much as mutters, "I wish I wouldn't"..

All the Same

noreply@blogger.com (Arun Nandi) — Sun, 19 Feb 2012 13:58:00 +0000

The Liar

She walked up and down her tiny studio apartment wondering what to do. She had told 4 different versions of stories to various people. And now she stood at a point where everything could potentially collapse. The mountain of lies she had so carefully erected.

Her parents thought she was going to arrive home on Tuesday. She had told them she would pack up and that she had booked tickets. Her boyfriend thought she was leaving a couple of days later. Her latest fling was told she would be leaving on the weekend. Her friends thought she had already left, because she had resolved to spend her last few days in the city with her two lovers. In this well thought out situation, only one thing was amiss. She hadn't thought of her cellphone.

She had mistakenly left it on, after deciding it best to keep it turned off for the week and use public phones. Her parents obviously called her everyday. One of her friends had mistakenly dialed her number and found it ringing. The lover tried her number once out of symbolism and loneliness. And when it rang the 50 seconds, it went on to the automated voice that said that the call was unanswered. In Marathi. This had given it away that she was still in Bombay.

She played her cards well enough. Every word she uttered was calculated. She would've been a perfect candidate for a spokesperson, perhaps for a political party or a government. She would never reveal anything than was asked, she would claim she hadn't lied if she was confronted and always took advantage of information asymmetry amongst people.

She checks her phone and sees the multiple missed calls. She knows her friends will talk about it for a couple of minutes before giving her the benefit of doubt. She predicts her lover to jump into a taxi and makes his way to her house anytime now. She picks up her bag and leaves, giving her lift operator a fifty note while instructing him, "Woh ek sir aayenge, unko bolna main 3 din pehle hi chali gayi".

The lover arrives almost a minute after she has left. He asks the lift operator when he last saw 'madam' from the 4th floor. He blurted out his rehearsed line. He walks up to her apartment and uses his key to open her door. He sees all her luggage still there and the newspaper of that day. She had forgotten about his key.

The Whore

He was sitting in her house nursing a drink when she got up to take a call. He fumbled to find his phone.

He had been flirting with a girl he hadn't known a week ago. She was new to the city and he had found her on a social networking site. She had given in wondering what harm it could do. All she wanted was to meet new people and find a good circle of friends. After a couple of telephonic conversations and one meeting, he had invited himself over to her house. At the pretext of her not being familiar with the city, he had suggested he could come over. It had worked. He stuffed his three pack of condoms into his back pocket.

He quickly called this other girl he knew was in town only for the night. They had known each other for a while and she was going thru a bad breakup. He had consoled her and told her everything she wanted to hear. "You were always too good for him", "A girl like you would be so sought after now, you shouldn't worry" and the likes. With her bring a small time model, the last statement was probably honest as well. She said she would be done with her dinner with colleagues very soon, hinting that he should come pick her up. He said he was caught up with something and would leave soon.

The girl standing with the phone across the room was oblivious to this entire conversation. As soon as she hung up, he started pretending he was a little tipsy. He showered her with compliments and suggested they do shots. She relents, now realizing she was losing her last bastion of good judgment with that shot down, adding to her tally of 4 doubles. He slowly starts off with his well rehearsed moves. He puts his arm around, playing with her hair as she looks at him. They make eye contact for a second too long, he holds her gaze and dives in for a kiss.

Half an hour later, he gets off the bed and tells her he's going to go find cigarettes. She tries dissuading him, but he's already wearing his clothes. He kisses her on her forehead, assures her he'll be back soon and heads out. He gets his phone out, dials the last called number. He tells her he's on his way to pick her up, and asks if she's wearing a skirt.

The Cheat

She hugs him in their trademark style and tells him she's going to miss him. He kisses her softly and whispers "love you" before darting down the stairs from the fourth floor.

It is going to be 14th February in a couple of days, and he had tried to plan a small vacation. She had dismissed it outright, claiming it's such a cliché. She adds that she must fly to Jaipur to meet her aunt. He is disappointed but tries hard to mask it. He assures her that she'll be alright while himself booking tickets to a weekend with his family.

She zips up her bag which was almost packed, throwing in her 3 pairs of shades along with a high SPF sunscreen. She gets a text message asking her to wait outside her apartment for the car that's been sent to pick her up. She closes the mail thread she's reading on her MacBook and shuts it down.

As she opens the door to the BMW 5-series and gets inside, she glances over to see her ex-boyfriend sitting on the other side. He leans towards her, lands a kiss and says, "All set for Goa?!"

The Deserter

She calls him to tell him about the catastrophe that has just hit her family. He listens without interrupting, as she sobs thru the painful details of how her father has another family and child, out of wedlock.

She is inconsolable, and he doesn't attempt to empathize or tell her that everything will eventually be alright. He hangs up, not knowing how to react when he meets her an hour from then. His mom sees him getting off the phone with a grim expression and quizzes him knowing very well it was her he was talking to.

"You know very well there's no future there, right. I wonder why you're wasting your time", she adds finally when he doesn't volunteer any details.

He storms out, pretending not to hear his mother's barbed taunts.

They both meet at a coffee shop that's come to be their favorite haunt. She hugs him and sheds a few stolen tears, not wanting to let go. He feels the weight of the gazes of everyone around on him. He withdraws from the hug and asks her to sit down. Before she starts, he says he wants to tell her something important.

She is intrigued, and waits for him to start as she picks up another tissue.

"I don't think it will work between us. We should break up and carry on with our lives", he almost mumbles. She can't have mistaken those words. She gets up, her hands trembling. She suddenly feels very weak, and hopes she doesn't faint. She walks outside, till she can't remember how long she's been walking. She goes to a small roadside shop, and lights up with her trembling hands, the first cigarette of her life.

"The liars, the whores, the cheats and the deserters. All the same." - M. Night Shyamalan

A Long While

noreply@blogger.com (Arun Nandi) — Fri, 27 Jan 2012 20:21:00 +0000

There are those days when you wish time were on your side. When you couldn't wait for tomorrow to come, however hard you tried. Every second ticked like it was a year, spawning with it a rush of thoughts each warranting enough credibility and attention that it felt surreal. Yet not so real that it could transport you. Just enough so that it could capture your mind's fancies for a while. A long while.

I was longing for the war to end. It had taken a toll on me slowly. At first, I tried not to notice the hurt. It started off as a little less than a battered ego and a bruise. I let go, claiming immunity with a self attested passport stamped with generous helpings of maturity and endurance. But the bruise needed tending, much less than that the ego yearned. Yet help didn't come, and the bruises started becoming deep cuts over time. A cut deep enough to reveal flesh and bone, and feel disgusted just imagining. The kind of wound that you couldn't stop thinking of once you saw it.

In the distance, I could hear drunk men braving the cold singing songs and drumming with nothing more than boxes. The inebriated drone of the same song repeated to death, with the drumming so out of sync that only the ones there perhaps appreciated it. Why couldn't they see the futility of this all? Were they blind to the expanse of broken dreams that lay strewn around them. Couldn't they smell the inevitability of a slow death lurking around. A death of character, a death of their ethos, a death of everything they once thought they stood for.

I try my common antidote to frustration, a cigarette. It works. I'm fascinated by the fire, the smoke, the banal simplicity of it. It drowns out the failed attempt at music for a while. The smoke clouds my eyes, as it does my mind. The wind drags the smoke away from me, as mosquitoes home in on their meal for the day. Metal wings of my good luck charm, the butterfly lifelessly collapse at my feet. I try in vain to juggle my cigarette in one hand, while trying to prevent the bloodsuckers. It's time to stub it out. What seemed like a savior a minute ago seems like a lost cause already.

The distant lawless sounds creep back into my mind. Now it's reduced to a cacophony. Perhaps it's time to withdraw indoors. To safer confines. A quick glance indoors makes me feel nauseous. The haven feels like a compromise now. I long for the familiar crackle of the radio. It doesn't. Perhaps for the better, I conclude. The radio is no more than a carrier of more death and misery.

The fantasy of peace feels painfully distant. However much I try to remember the fragrance of tranquility, it evades me. I feel like I should make a mental flag at the next opportunity I encounter it. So that I can remember how it feels, tastes and smells. But I will once again be lost in the euphoria of it all when that moment does arrive. For it has not eluded me forever. Peace and I are strange bedfellows. It's a vacation romance that lasts only for the short duration of what seems like an insignificant part of my life. And in between it all, I'm consumed by this war. The war within.

Rules of the Facebook age

noreply@blogger.com (Arun Nandi) — Sun, 11 Dec 2011 14:11:00 +0000

The overused "social age" metaphor is a good place to start. We are all now connected to almost every single person we know well enough. And a lot of others that we don't. David McRaney argues that there are a few psychological reasons people like to have as many friends on their list as they do. Every single person now knows more about you than they ever needed to, because of only one reason. You.

It's this itch that doesn't leave you, a tease that doesn't feel corrupt. The need to portray oneself as better is pervasive. We all have our own definitions of our 'better'. There are some that would describe their 'better' as more well read, more well traveled, more popular, more creative, more successful professionally, more attractive and countless other aspects of one's life. And here's your easiest chance to portray a larger than life image of yourself. Without leaving the comfort of your desk.

So you do it too. It starts off innocuously by adding people you met once in order to reach that number of friends that your neighbor has. And if the critics ask how you got to 1000+ friends, say you never added anyone and that you just don't want to be rude to others' requests. Be realistic. Either you're of some use to others (attractive, successful, influential) or you've added those people. Everyone claims to be polite, even if that is the exact opposite of what they are personally.

You're now starting to take photos of yourself for the sole intention of making it your profile picture. Nobody really looks like their profile picture photo anymore. Here's the things you did, all perhaps without even realizing it. You've spent enough time in front of the mirror in your life to know which your good side or pose is. So take a good camera that works in low light; go to that club that you've only ever been to once; strike your favorite pose, arm yourself with your partner and shoot. Next, spend the rest of the evening uploading these from your iphone or blackberry.

Serves all your purposes in one go. Firstly, everyone will think you're a regular there at that hot nightspot. Secondly, it's your best pose in your best attire. And lastly, you have your partner in the frame, so nobody thinks you're a loser. Right? Wrong. Everyone does the same so they already know you're not a regular in that invite-only club anymore than they are. Secondly, you don't often look like your profile picture. And lastly, most people that are married or dating never keep their profile pictures with themselves alone. They strangely always have their partners in their profile pictures. Now don't tell me it's love, I know it's not. It's probably your insecurity or your lack of individuality as a person.

And every single time you go to any event, make sure you check yourself in with all the others you want to be seen with. And add a status update that goes, "Never had so much fun ever!!" or the like. Or tell people how amazing that performance or movie or concert is that you're at. If it really was that captivating, I doubt you'd remember to take out your phone and update your status.

Joel Stein tweeted that a person is considered high maintenance if she's got more than 800 photos tagged of hers. I beg to differ slightly. I think that person probably has an addiction to garnering attention, has an insecurity of being alone AND is high maintenance.

There are merits some have enjoyed out of peoples' innate curiosity in knowing about the lives of others. The Shilpa Shettys and Kardashians of the world did succeed in making careers out of doing this for a long time, but you're probably not going to see what happens to them after people move on to their next muses. And attention does get addictive. But unfortunately, amidst Goliaths like drinking, substance abuse and sex, attention doesn't yet have rehabilitation centers.

It's a middle of the spectrum phenomena. There are those amongst us that don't have the curiosity, patience or time for this because they're ahead of the threshold levels of self awareness and actualization. And there are the others that perhaps feel miserable seeing what people are up to and think they wouldn't match up however hard they try. It's the ones in the middle, the strugglers amongst us that are consumed by this. The ones that measure themselves up against the standards others set for themselves. The ones for whom everything is relative and very rarely, absolute. The ones that will always remain in the middle of the spectrum. And those that will redefine rules for their lives the next time a fad like this comes along.

Nobody even notices this as abnormal or out of the ordinary anymore. But there are several people who do go thru bouts of depression looking at the life someone else is apparently leading. Note to those: their life is no better than yours. They obviously don't ever post anything about their bad hair days, the times birds shit on them or their troubles at home. And no matter how far one goes in trying to fool themselves, self-awareness in some degree will catch up someday and whisper, "Hey, you're really not who you're trying to be"...

Office Party

noreply@blogger.com (Arun Nandi) — Thu, 17 Nov 2011 18:51:00 +0000

And there it was. The end of the 'working session', signaled by the bar being declared open. The DJ gets his cue, starts off heavy. Hip-hop ranging from Flo Rida to Neyo and all the other new pop songs that constitute any club's regular commercial playlist. The crowd rushes to the bar. Orders ranging from "beer" to "mango-based mocktails" are called for, and sometimes met with quizzical looks from the bartenders. They roll their eyes and serve up the drinks.

The call is for "shots" and some wise guy comes to the bar asking for 10 shots. He looks around, "Yeah, make it 10 tequila shots". The bartender tries serving up the tequila, lime and salt in the limited time available. Any more than a minute and she's sure to be quizzed on how long it'll take. An incoherent set of people are amassed from the ones standing near the bar and in close proximity to it. People down their shots in the shot circle; some go salt, tequila and lime. Others go lime, tequila and salt.

Someone has the courage or drunken spirit to go to the DJ and request for a Munni/Sheila song. The DJ gets it, this is going to get the most cheers. He switches to Hindi commercial pop, and won't stop this until people are getting carried back.

People start the awkward dance circle. This is after a couple of drinks. A large circle forms with people from a certain group forming the core members. Everyone sways to the music. Someone that's had a couple of drinks more than average ventures inside. Everyone cheers and a few others join. A smaller inner circle is formed and everyone repeats the same dance moves. The moves repeat for long stretches of time, irrespective of the song, waiting patiently for everyone to learn the move and then master it. This continues until the inner circle becomes bigger. The older members drop off nondescriptly to get out of the circles altogether. This continues until people are satisfied with having shook a leg. The legs that have only left feet.

Another few drinks or shots down the line, the outer circle starts demonstrating the same characteristics as the inner one. People now resort to shoving drinks down others' throats, clothes and anything else they can distinguish.

Amidst the chaos, I escape to light up a cigarette. It's much more peaceful here, but talk of work and goals isn't far from any conversation. A quiet drag here, a stolen glance there. The world sure goes around.

Therapy

noreply@blogger.com (Arun Nandi) — Sun, 30 Oct 2011 19:14:00 +0000

"Lights will guide you home...

And ignite your soul,

And I will try... To fix you"

- Coldplay, Fix You

No matter how many songs Chris Martin pens about loneliness and love, it doesn't change a thing. It makes for good music, and it provides hope.

Yet hope is short lived and logic gets the better of you as soon as the song fades out. After promises of utopia comes the reality of dystopia. Of cures ranging from valium and sleeping pills to various levels of therapy.

Therapy is often the easiest suggestion when something inexplicable occurs to someone around you. You can probably recount instances of suggesting therapy to a mutual friend or loved one quite easily. This was perhaps prefixed by a lengthy discussion on how to get the incumbent out of the current rut they're in and get back to leading a normal healthy life.

Normal, healthy life. How easy it is to spell and how hard it is to define. There never did exist an established meaning of normal. After all, everyone is someone else's weirdo. If living a life so that nobody around thought one to be a weirdo was normal, then most of us wouldn't dare challenge artificial boundaries set by their ancestors and society. The revolutions of the world wouldn't take place and neither would art and science thrive.

Stop right there. You're not part of any revolution. You're too scared to go support the civil dissonance movement in your city, for fear of being apprehended by the police. You won't be a desk campaigner for the cause that hacktivist group is campaigning for, because that would require you to do some work. Let alone supporting a revolution, you won't even take a differing stance from the rest of your colleagues on the new smart ass who is teething in his first few days. You join hands and mockingly applaud his innocent misendeavors.

That solves it right here. You are normal. Everyone you know will testify to it without flinching. And apparently not in need of therapy.

And then there are the others, the misfits, the eccentrics and the violent. There is no shame in being a misfit if being normal didn't work out for you as long as nobody is affected by it. But there is absolutely no honor in harming someone as a consequence of this. And someone who cares for you, at that. Not those 'friends' that text you on your birthday as a courtesy, or those 'loved ones' who think more of their entertainment than that one phone call to find out about your well-being. Hurt someone that genuinely loves you and therapy, along with strong dosages of prescriptive drugs are not only warranted but desirable.

But if there are those that irritate you with their life's disasters, frustrate you because they just don't understand you, or aren't willing to toe your line, then spend a moment to think about what ails them. Perhaps they don't matter to you. And even if they do, think about whether you want to throw in the towel and suggest therapy or worse, give advice. There isn't a person in the world that doesn't have their lows. And there's isn't a subset of those that didn't get a chance to get over it.

Nobody needs a pretentious therapist to work out their problems for them. Therapy comes in different shapes and sizes. Someone's therapy might be a vacation, another one's might be porn. Someone's might be a group of people sharing stories, while for some it might be the right music. They don't need your sympathy or your charity. Neither your patronizing speeches nor your condescension. They need space, and time. Space to breathe, and time to stand up back on their own two feet without crutches supporting them. And if you have that patience in you to watch, they will survive. Because it's in our genes. We survive.

How to Save Everyone

noreply@blogger.com (Arun Nandi) — Sun, 17 Apr 2011 08:20:00 +0000

"I think I'm not made for this", she said softly, teary eyed and shaken. "Of course, you can", I replied vehemently, "All you need to do is to stand by what you believe in and things will follow."

"No, you don't know how bad this is", she went on. This was the tipping point. I had just gone from being a casual listener to a well-wisher who cared to now being a strong proponent of a certain action. A solution.

I went on to convince and cajole her with a step-by-step action plan on how to tackle the issue that was plaguing her. It wasn't enough, and it was never going to be. Not because I hadn't thought it through, but because it had come from a person other than her.

In my formative years, I learnt a very important lesson, the hard way.

"Never try to help someone that doesn't want to help themselves"

Oftentimes over the course of the learning, and seldom after, I got into situations where I was fiercely propagating something which the person themselves washed their hands from. I often got carried away by people's emotional recitals of a traumatic past, a turbulent present and an anxious future. I always had solutions. It was probably a failure in my mind if I couldn't offer a viable solution. And to me, all my well thought-out solutions seemed viable enough.

Funny thing was, the people that made me sit through these melodramatic recitals often never wanted a change. And slowly, I understood that if they really wanted to change something, they would've by now, instead of taking their problems to a relative stranger. This doesn't require lateral thinking!

And then, there were those others.

"You know, I never seem to be able to catch a break with the type of people I encounter in my life", she said. "There's always those reaching-up stalkers, the pseudo-intellectuals, the crass new-rich, the ones without purpose and every genre of loser that exists on this planet trying to get a piece of me"

"Listen, you seem like a nice kid. I think you should just wait for the right guy, really", I continued, "I know there's a supply-demand mismatch in this equation, but don't lose hope yet.", I assured.

All I could do was assure her of that good occurrence. And I met several 'good' people who got along well enough that I could empathize with them. But not do much else.

This was a person that needed someone to guide her along the right path. And she was perhaps on the brink of losing hope that someone like that would ever come along. I felt her pain, I understood how hard it was standing alone in the rain without an umbrella. Yet, I stood nearby, with an extra-large umbrella, not budging to help.

I had been there before, in these situations several times over the years gone by. I could extend the umbrella, but it would entail walking along to get her to safety as well. It would bring us close and she would be obliged to like and appreciate me. If you save someone, they would forever be in your debt. But their gratitude would wear off with time, and they would start re-evaluating you once they reach the safety of a higher plane. And then, there would be guilt.

And I wasn't playing that game anymore. If I was, perhaps I would've jumped at this opportunity. But I wasn't. It wasn't the time or place. So I watched her get drenched, turning more cynical with every drop that fell on her. And wished her well.

"I wasn't going to be able to save everyone"

The Year : 2010

noreply@blogger.com (Arun Nandi) — Fri, 14 Jan 2011 18:08:00 +0000

It was a year like no other. This was a different genre of drama; pain and gain in measured material terms, nothing personal. It was a year when lists were checked, and tags were marked. Continents covered, milestones accomplished, goals re-thought and acted upon.

After the troughs of 2009, came the crests of 2010. People and places took a backseat as I, Me and Myself took to the stage. The world revolved around me, again. I dictated how anyone did or didn't make a difference to my life.

Arrogance made a re-entry and damn, I missed it last year. The control I sought was taught to me by an esteemed other. And I learnt well, and enough to stand me in good stead for a while...

Real friends and real love took the test of success. It is true that nothing truly changes your opinion of friends as much as success does. And it did.

Life is more complicated again. Got a lot to lose now, and in the spotlight. Similar situations I had earlier tread, and bungled due to immaturity and impatience. The last time I was dethroned from the summit hurt more than I could take. The way down made me revisit every duel I'd had, with a broken sword and wounded, fierce foes.

This time, I've reached here with a lot more patience and bags of maturity. This time is different. I've kept my Valkyrie tucked away for the impending storm. It will be a test like none other, again. But this time is different. This time, I'm ready.

Compete to Live or Live to Compete

noreply@blogger.com (Arun Nandi) — Sun, 19 Dec 2010 17:21:00 +0000

When I was growing up, I realized that one needed to be the best at something to be recognized, to be rewarded, to reap the benefits of success and adulation. We live in changing times, needless to say. Somewhere between middle school and high school, something changed in this theorem. Suddenly, you had to be good at more than one thing to be successful. Gone were the days when that boy in school who was good at sport was idolized, or the girl that did well in academics was the example parents gave while criticizing their own kids.

You had to excel at sport, score well in academics, have a flair for extracurricular activities such as music and theatre and add a dash of talent in something unique like practicing a form of martial arts. Suddenly, these were the alpha beings in society. Or at least everyone started realizing that that's what they wanted to be. There was always competition in India growing up, simply because of the quantum of other kids growing up alongside us. But the competition showed no signs of climaxing, and continued skyrocketing.

And the list didn't end here. You had to be good with the girls. You had to have a girlfriend in the girls' school across the street, apart from having the coolest friends. And you had to be comfortable with foul language and the street buzz. All this leads to a highly stressful childhood for most, and I can only imagine that things are getting way worse. There were those that peaked earlier in life and lay discarded socially by the wayside, exhausted. While others peaked at the right time and made 'worthy' their lives.

If you had good grades in college, you wanted to be the cool person as well. The person who had certificates in participating from competitions. The person that took part in theatre, in university tournaments and everything in between. And you wanted a partner who could prove their worth, at least on paper, to the glaring social world.

You wanted him or her to be worth your time, to be someone as high on the social index as you were. And if you were in a constant state of flux in the social spectrum, you constantly changed partners to suit your needs as well. Many people commented in post-grad school that they were now attracted to a different league of person; one that they hadn't earlier thought was attainable. The ones they sought earlier begged for their attention, but to no avail.

We traversed so far down this rabbit-hole that it became our way of living. Somewhere down the line, the difference between competing to live and living to compete was blurring. And the generation of people growing up started focusing on success in every aspect of life. We referred to our support system as 'stakeholders', calculated how beneficial an acquaintance could turn out as a friend, as we invested in an asset's future return. We calculated risk/reward of staying with a partner when the relationship had lived thru its honeymoon period. And we blatantly termed people 'losers', if they had no apparent utility to us.

We probably cancelled a trip or two to visit the family because it was too expensive. And that money would probably be blown away in 4 trips to the latest nightspot in town. Essentially we traded a less 'worthy' asset in our portfolio for a more attractive one at the time. And we did this not only with people at work, but with the self-proclaimed important people in our life: family, friends, partners and children.

Where is the end to this calculated approach to all our decisions and judgments? Why has everything become so transactional? We almost evaluate, perhaps subconsciously, the value of a person in our lives based on their perceived worth or potential worth. What next, use the discounted cash flow model with a social currency to analyze personal worth? It's total bullshit when people say they're competing with themselves and not others. It just means that they are competing on others terms' but not ready to be held accountable for any loss.

And this is all because we were built to compete. We were taught that someone who didn't get it all wasn't good enough. Competing to live is something that has already started defining the youth in India and China, which is increasingly starting to tell on the economies of these countries vis-à-vis the western countries. However, the impact on people's quality of life and their relationships is something that hasn't generated as much introspection or thought.

It is a revelation that some will dawn on, sooner than their peers. And it is these people that will go on living far more gratifying lives than the depleted ones of the others.

Sirius

noreply@blogger.com (Arun Nandi) — Sat, 11 Dec 2010 18:28:00 +0000

And there wasn't a cloud in the Northern sky. Sirius and it's better half seemed as one, challenging the remainder of the mortal universe to better it. Humans, apparently, didn't get the drift. The Eastern world studied it by remembering it in school, and the Western world bothered only to study it in astro-physics major classes.

Sirius may well be a classic example; the brightest star in our night sky, existing in a binary form, whose union was proclaimed by generations of stargazers. Until the science of telescopes far too complex to help anyone's daily life declared, as a result of careful observation and analysis, based on axioms nobody was going to prove, that it was indeed 2 stars.

The educated world functioned way too predictably. They had in their minds, a dominant logic of a world governed by reason. Deviation from the common startled them, made them uneasy. They were happy dispelling myths and questioning presets from an earlier generation as progress against lack of information and too little analysis. They wanted to get it right so bad, that they forgot what the wise had followed.

And there they stood, at the end of the tunnel of darkness, finally stepping out into the light, realizing that their eyes had been accustomed to the dark awhile now. That in the light, the world didn't seem as beautiful anymore. That inherent flaws were now visible; greed, envy and cruelty. Things that the darkness knew all too well, and feigned ignorance about.

The light had changed the world as they knew it. They had yearned for it from time immemorial and now, when they had achieved it at long last, it didn't seem as utopic as they had imagined it to be. Unfortunately, as time went by, they realized that they wanted to go back. Back to a place where the quest was what drove them to wake up everyday, instilling in them a sense of purpose.

Now there was just a void. And the inevitable truth dawned on them. That going back was not an option. So there they were, at the pinacle of the place where they worked to get to, not knowing why they came there, wanting to desperately go back. Civilizations progressed in technology, in efficiency, but not in their needs. Their needs were just as basic as their ancestors'. And yet, they thought themselves superior, assuming knowledge to be the mana that reinforced their status. Yet, they didn't consider even once, that someone somewhere long before them, had the option of taking their path, and forfeited it knowing it wouldn't leave them any wiser.

A false sense of achievement from a discovery that was made long ago. Analysis and information that deplored their standards of living, yet gave them a sense of accomplishment. Conditions worsened as minds went overboard analyzing and seeking information on every stone unturned, in every sphere of life. Until there wasn't anything left to discover. The entire predictable world was all captured as knowledge and celebrated.

And still, they all ended up worse than when they had started. Sirius was better off as one star, the brightest in our night sky.

Why I will never buy an Apple product

noreply@blogger.com (Arun Nandi) — Sun, 12 Sep 2010 17:08:00 +0000

This isn't a rant of how overpriced, overpopular things often command mindspace over seemingly more important and innovative animals in our world. This piece, is about standing for something. And sticking to it...

More than two decades ago, many aspects of technology and the companies in the industry were different. There was no Google or Twitter. There was nothing pervasive about online privacy because social networking didn't exist in it's current form. We lived, blissfully, without knowing who "was having a bad hair day today", or who changed their relationship status to "It's complicated" after being dumped.

We complained about bandwidth and a dial-up modem that croaked loudly in the middle of the night. Phone lines were a big deterrant to connectivity, apart from the pathetic speeds we got. Indeed, technology and life were fairly mutually exclusive spheres in those days.

What hasn't changed since those stone-age days of computer technology is Steve Jobs. He still wore the black long sleeve top and the geeky high-rise jeans to his keynotes, which he continues to do even today. The man was a marketing guru, in the days, when the term itself wasn't coined.

He took on the big bad wolves in the marketplace, like Microsoft and IBM, in an attempt to usurp the throne to domination. It was a time when he would brashly depict Apple as the means of saving humanity from conformity. He waxed eloquently about how the big corporations of the day were indulging in monopolistic deeds and repeatedly sought investigations from state-run authorities.

He told America to support the underdog, to invest in something that is as unique, individual and nonconformist as they are. And they did. Slowly, people didn't mind shelling out their extra dollars for a curvy computer that did much less than the other ones of the day, because they felt they were supporting entrepreneurship. The true American dream. The dream of a crosscultural American kid, one like them, who sought spiritual enlightenment, experimented with substances and finally came into his own.

An inspiring albeit reckless person, he had a sound business sense and continues to be a role model for generations to come. Slowly but surely, there were newer 'inventions' that were, like most other Apple 'inventions', rip-offs of earlier existing technologies bundled in a commerically appealing format. The transformation from cult favorite to commerical came easily at a time in the social world, when being different was the only way to survive.

The smorgasbord of products that they dished out, kept appealing to masses, who still believed they had something different. All the 110 million people that own iPods probably feel the same way.

Something, however, was differnt now. The niche spot that Jobs had carved out for Apple in the marketplace was now redefined. They had become the size of the erstwhile monsters they had fought. And with great power, as Spiderman's dying uncle said, did come great responsibility.

This was followed by a complete downfall of moral standards, that they themselves claimed they stood for. When businesses donate billions to aid, they know that consumer goodwill is affected in an intangible way somehow. The similar analogy holds for what a company stands for, especially if they try to hold a moral high ground.

After many instances in the recent past, the details of which are much beyond the scope of this article, starting from the FCC controversy to the Flash debates, Apple has just become that monster. One so ugly, that Microsoft bundling their IE with Windows seems like a small scared kitten compared to this blood-thirsty hunting wolf.

There are others who have probably done the same, to save their revenue streams. But perhaps, not at the cost of many development companies and their developers. Perhaps not at the cost of sounding like a complete hypocrite in their FCC response and the many interviews that Jobs does. Perhaps not at the cost of those people who invested that extra buck in something they believed someone stood for.

All this wreaks of immorality, and plain deception. Of a company that knows how to earn their bucks, but leaves a sour aftertaste to it. I have been an afficionado of the technology space for very long, and have invested hugely in time and money, in several companies and their products and services. But I won't buy an Apple product. Not now, not ever...

update: http://bit.ly/c92dEM (A nice anime video on the topic I later found on TechCrunch)

Conception

noreply@blogger.com (Arun Nandi) — Tue, 10 Aug 2010 17:19:00 +0000

Inspired by "Conception" - by C.C., July 29th

Ariadne

There's something about him, something intriguing. Something that I've seldom seen in others. He seems so confident, almost arrogant in every stride he takes and every word he utters. He seems invincible...

When he first came to me with his tests, I felt a strong need to prove myself to him. And the deeper I went, the deeper I tread into this labyrinth, the more faith I put in him, unknowingly. There was no doubting his intelligence. But the man is bloody reckless.

I'd like to grow into someone with his skills, but not his traits. He seems unabashedly individualistic in everything he does. He has everything justified in his mind, from every little mistake to every life altering blunder he's made. And that's why I'd rather just have him as an acquaintance.

Perhaps, I have the power to save him. After all, his subconscious allowed me into a very private part of his dream. A subconscious in which he hides so much pain, in a mind that's lived his years. Yet, there's something about him. A shout for help that his aura exudes; not in a helpless, but in a strangely endearing sort of way.

He never does reveal anything to his close associates. It makes me wonder what he feels about me... I think I should be cautious; he may just be using me like he does everyone else. Yet, there's something about him.

Arthur

It's not possible; I know this for a fact. Call me a cynic, but I would rather be safe and rich than be sorry and dead. It's just old loyalties that bind me with him; otherwise the story would've been a lot different.

I'm not in it for the accolades, or the fanfare. I'd rather just get my paycheck and get out the side door. But he's exactly the opposite.

But I sympathize with him. He's truly changed, shattered after what Mal did. I don't disapprove his occasional outburst, to divert the attention from his real problems. It gives him a false sense of security and I don't mind giving it to him. He needs to feel like he's the boss, and I let him have it.

After all, he brought me into this game. And for years, it's been convenient being his researcher. With him as the subject, we manage to get the job done.

She is simply awe struck by him. And women with such imaginations always go for the quarterback. She's caught up with this sense of righteousness with wanting to save him. From himself. She'd could invest her time learning the tricks of our trade, instead. But she will learn, in time. It's not possible.

Eames

I'm an artist. Perhaps, I could be known as an impersonator or forger, but I practice an art. It's not something that these operational lads could ever get a hold of.

I'd rather live a life in peace than fend for my life every single day. Living in Cobol's backyard isn't easy. It requires a certain finesse with people, something Cobb and Arthur will never have the patience for.

Brick and mortar jobs don’t stimulate me, and the only reason I'm working with them on this one is the challenge. Perhaps it's the niggling thought of failure the last time around that spurs me on. But I'll give it a shot. It's worth the money, and it's insured. All I need.

I have the easiest 'out' in this alliance, the best way I see fit. While there are always going to be buyers for what I sell, I want to indulge myself in this enormously challenging canvas for my palette. I don't need to, I have all the money and peace I need. What I do need, however, is an inspiration. I'm an artist.

Saito

I want domination. After you get to this point in your life, you start realizing that you want other things. Starting from where I did, I acquired everything that I wanted. Money, Respect, Power. Except this.

I need to have it all. I know the industry like the back of my palm. What I can't do is compete with Maurice Fischer. The old log commands a respect amongst everyone from the President of his country to his every last employee in his factory. He's been good with me, and I hate that I respect that man every bit as everyone else does.

Robert Fischer will face the wrath of corporate war in every domain possible. The only problem is, Fischer Jr. is forewarned. He's going to be prepared to fight this war, along with the army his able father has trained and deployed at his disposal.

Cobb may very well be my last ray of hope. His team can be rewarded with whatever they'd like. Anything they ask will be done. All I want is domination.

Fischer

He was never there. Never a man to express his emotions. Never there for me, during my poetry recitals, my soccer games, my graduation.

All those times I'd wonder what a man like him was driven by. After all, he was always there for his shareholders, his employees, his customers. Everyone, in his professional life. They respected him more than any man I've ever known. There are times when I wondered how the same man could be so disparate in his life.

I looked up to Peter as a father figure all along. He was my father's most trusted aide, and probably knew me better than him. Yet, I believe Dad really did love me. That he was terrible at expressing it, but he did everything in his life, with the sole purpose of providing a great future for me. That one thought, of what he meant to say to me, when he was on his death bed, overwhelmed me more than anything else in my life. It doesn’t bring anything back, but it makes up. For the times he was never there.

Cobb

Guilt. That guilt is always there reminding me of the truth.

Perfection had taken a toll on me. I wanted imperfection after a while. I wanted us to experience joy and sorrow, ecstasy and disappointment, exuberance and anguish. I wanted to feel, again.

I wanted us to snap out of it. She did, in the only way she knew how. And I can't let Philippa and James pay for my deception. Not anymore. Even if I need to answer their questions all my life. Even if they find me at fault for killing her. I have to do this, the right way.

And even when I do, that guilt will always be there reminding me of the truth.

The Jab We Met Effect

noreply@blogger.com (Arun Nandi) — Sun, 30 May 2010 17:44:00 +0000

When I first saw the movie in 2007, in a cold and rainy Manchester, I had remarked at how realistic it was. After a couple of re-runs, I realized that it was quite a classic. The screenplay was apt, never overdone; the dialogues were very simple and real, unlike most Hindi movies; the comic anecdotes interspersed in various scenes were just right; and the characters very well sketched, especially the lead.

One couldn't help but be mesmerized by her. She was over-the-top and loud, extremely overconfident and very self aware, not a very usual combination of attributes. She added flair to everything she did, and never let a moment pass where you weren't in awe of her. She always kept you guessing, to a point where her unpredictability almost got predictable.

There was an unconventional grace in the way she carried herself, and she was truly beautiful. The movie inspired me, and she called out to me from within it.

To a point where I met someone very closely resembling the girl from the movie. The girl was ablaze with wit, unpredictability and a power. A power so strong, that no one around could help but be mesmerized by her charms. She knew of this all too well, and worked it to her best most of the time. Mystery surrounded her every move, and it was hard to believe that someone truly played life this way. It almost felt like being dragged into the movie.

The problem was, I wasn't supposed to be part of the movie. I didn't know what role I played, and spent most of my time just observing her and saving those memories for a later date, to tell myself that I wasn't part of a movie dream. It was awhile before I realized that there was more than a small downside to this character. That downside, I later realized, was well explained by Steig Larsson's title character in his book series. The girl in the movie and the one in the book seemed juxtaposed to create the one in reality. And somehow neither the book nor the movie ever told me who she was, as well as time did.

This character was not a sustainable one in today's world. It truly required a very innocent and forgiving world to understand her. It required a very patient and non-judgemental person to understand her. And perhaps, the world wasn't ready for someone like her. It simple trampled on people like her, just enough to change her ways. Perhaps, this age and time were wrong for her. And she was wrong too, to think that the world would accept her, without branding her insane.

Often times movie scenes almost glorify simple run-of-the-mill activities into candy floss picture perfect scenes. The bad feels uber cool in a grayscale textured universe, the good feels like a bright blurred-on-the-edges soft textured world. That world seems a lot different, forces your imagination to go beyond yourself.

There are movies, and there is reality. Yes, movies and books create characters that are awe-inspiring. Yet, however much these media progress technologically and holistically, they will never ever be able to truly depict the reality of human beings...

Future and the Options

noreply@blogger.com (Arun Nandi) — Mon, 08 Mar 2010 15:09:00 +0000

It came to be a convenient arrangement. They liked each other, refrained from throwing around the L word. They both knew they'd used it in the past with almost no effort. And somehow this time around, it just didn't come naturally. Or was met with an awkward silence soon after. So they let it be.

It was fun to be different, quirky to let associations be undefined, smart to keep one's options open. They played it as dispassionately as anybody their age could. On some level, it seemed more a short term arrangement, for lack of a more appropriate term. They were scared to call it names that tainted more than described.

One was not 'expected' to behave in a certain way. Yet there was always an implicit demand. When either of them crossed the fine line in making that demand explicit, all hell broke loose. There would be accusations of “not putting in any effort” or “taking no interest in the future”. And there would be justifications of “not being ready” and “too much responsibility”.

They continued to play this game for two, with almost nothing to lose. After the failed relationships in the past, they had learned not to be as forthcoming in sharing with others. Most potential partners are introduced thru friends, and friends have a tendency to disregard you as being in the 'market' if you told them that you were interested in someone. And parents: the whole drama of trying to explain to them why you were interested in that particular person and where it was headed to, was always going to be tedious. In this arrangement, they didn't have to do any of this. They weren't answerable, they could reply with an "I don't know" to almost every question posed and there wasn't any explicit obligation. And then, there was always the ex-girlfriend or ex-boyfriend that they could rekindle a romance with, especially if they didn’t know that you’re currently involved with another person. Easiest play in the game. And the new options were, of course, infinite.

All he had to do was search. There were ones with doe eyes. Ones with perfect bodies. Ones that dressed well. Ones that spoke well. Ones that were witty. Ones that were smart. Ones with class. Ones with spunk. Ones with dreams. Ones with values. He could get whatever he wanted. All that stood between him and this person was a search.

All she had to do was choose. There were ones with class. Ones with intellect. Ones that were witty. Ones that tried hard. Ones that were 'elite'. Ones that had ideals. Ones that were self-made. Ones with good looks. Ones who traveled countries. Ones with toned bodies. Ones that could sing. She could get whatever she wanted. All that stood between her and this person was a choice.

Neither would ever find someone that fit their bill to the last dot. They could cross-off three-fourths of their list, but it would be slim pickings after that. It would take a lot of maturity or helplessness for them to realize that they could make do with this much. That the remaining came down to how much they wanted it to work, rather than these statistics.

It takes two mediocre human beings who really want to be with each other to make a relationship work. Not two spectacular human beings that set their bar of expectations so high that they will spend a significant time trying to understand why nobody fits their bill for too long. Sometimes, it takes the best of them to get off their high horse and realize that life is always going to be half empty if the right chances are not taken at the right times.

Pop psychology tells us that one tends to accept a choice and be happier with it, when they can't go back on that choice. Sometimes, it is that simple. Make an investment with sound fundamentals and lock it in. And take a leap of faith. It takes two to play this game. That notwithstanding, options are going to be omnipresent every single day in the future. Yet they may just not seem as worthwhile.

The Year : 2009

noreply@blogger.com (Arun Nandi) — Wed, 30 Dec 2009 04:27:00 +0000

As the calendar year reaches its climax, I look back to remember the year that was.

Joy. Anxiety. Restlessness. Boredom. Excitement. Longing. Belonging. Transition. Sorrow. Guilt. Depression. Misery. Instability. Frustration. Anger. Pain. Inaction. Upheaval. Support. Nonchalance. Arrogance. Thought. Inspiration.

This year was not my best.

Cyber: My soul-brother
Harvey-Dent: My fellow dreamer
Kvs: My ever-present wall
A: My Best friend
Lovely Superstar: My inspiration
Miss Sunshine: My counselor in this unforgiving world
Quack: My roots
Miss Paranoia: My daily dose of jokes and fights
F: My biggest fan

For the undying love and support,

Thank You

26-11: Bullets, Love & Life

noreply@blogger.com (Arun Nandi) — Sat, 28 Nov 2009 10:52:00 +0000

There was something different about the day. It started off with conversation and no sleep, with an ‘enigmatic connection’. It was to be a day of records, with one getting created right as the day started. A long while later, when I often wake up to get ready for work, I decided to go to sleep instead. Groggy and sleep-deprived, I had decided to stay at home and catch up on much needed mid-week rest during the day.

As the day gave way to dusk, we decided on a plan for the evening. Shiro was my place of choice, but she just wouldn't acknowledge the existence of a world outside South-Bombay. And there it was, the decision made. Bootleggers in Colaba.

Not quite familiar with the name, I Just-Dialled it up and found out that the address was somewhat familiar. 4 Pasta Lane, it said. Cabbing it from Churchgate, I reached there exactly at 1945, as promised. And she was late, as I’d presupposed. My mood was dampened by the half-hour wait outside. As I walked aimlessly outside the place, smoking away, I noticed that the street housed some apartment blocks, prominent of which was one that was called Nariman House, which I came to know of, a while later.

It was a rebranding exercise that had left this place, earlier known as “Hawaiian Shack”, rechristened as something a little more unique, considering that it was obviously overshadowed by its namesake at Bandra. After a few complimentary Bailey’s shots and a couple of rounds of wine, the colleague and friend that accompanied us were ready to leave.

We mulled the idea of heading to another place after dinner, with the Hilton on top of my list. Bootleggers had proved to be a damp squib, and even the promised Karaoke hadn’t happened.

As we paid the bill and left, there was a sudden loud blast that took us by surprise outside, as she let out a loud shriek. Laughter ensued, as we just discarded the sound as firecrackers, attributing it to the weddings season. And then another went off. And a barrage of what seemed like smaller firecrackers in quick succession. As a crowd gathered 10 meters away, we were not quite sure of what was going on. Something was amiss. People were running helter-skelter and motioning for others to move away. We just stood at the sidewalk, as I suddenly became aware that the road was completely devoid of any vehicles. People were gathering around from everywhere, and this was obviously not a safe place for any women, as the JW incident just flashed by my mind.

And before we knew it, we just watched as a mob of

more than 20 locals pounced on a foreign national in the middle of the road. Even as a beat constable tried to separate the mob from the man with his lathi to help him, things were getting heated up. Just a minute later, an obviously injured man from somewhere else was being carried by 4 men into a taxi, perhaps to a hospital. Murmurs of gang-wars were starting to surface amongst the crowd of bystanders.

I took out my cellphone camera to capture the scenes, but was soon stopped by people around. “Damn it”, I remarked aloud as I reasoned to them that these are not really everyday occurrences. We briskly walked up to an eatery up the road, called Theobroma. We’d hardly ordered our brownies and cheese cakes, when we started getting calls from people informing us that there’s been some firing at Leopold’s. In hindsight, moving up Causeway to within 50 meters of Leopold’s now seemed like a terrible decision. And there was suddenly a lot of commotion outside as we heard what was unmistakeably, an automatic weapon going off!

The shutters were downed from the outside by the security guard and we decided to stay indoors till we received further information. The next hour or so went in answering calls from loved ones and explaining to them that we were indeed safe. The staff at the diner led us out thru the back exit which led to a Parsee housing society. Now cognizant of the fact that the entire city was rocked by blasts, firing and other nefarious activity, we decided to stick around as no cabs could be traced. Only the occasional police patrol. Some concerned residents brought us water and biscuits as we sat at the stone slabs around a park and waited. We heard rumours that the terrorists were hurling grenades into housing colonies as well, and nobody dared question. Going back home would not be an option tonight, we’d known.

After a while spent sitting around on benches in the plush neighbourhood, we proceeded to one of my colleagues’ distant acquaintance’s apartment. The biggest explosion till then suddenly sent shock-waves ripping throughout; as we heard the Taj’s dome blast from what was easily a half-kilometer away. The lights of every window at the housing colony went on, one after another after another, as people were rudely awakened from their sleep.

An eventful day and night ended with no sleep again as we stayed up another night.

It was a day like no other, a date that will reside in my memory for the rest of my life, as it was more exciting and one-of-a-kind than any I could ever plan. It brought me the knowledge that there are many that care enough to find out if I’m safe even if it is in the middle of the night, and also the unflattering knowledge that there are some that I’d considered dear that don’t even call, perhaps representative of their indifference to whether I live or die…

Chaos and anarchy are often thought to bring about suffering and misery. A life of uncertainty, a life where one cannot be sure of returning home safely at night; A life when one may just be seeing loved ones for the last time. Where life is frailer than one imagines; where one mourns for those that aren’t around anymore. And grieves when one hears stories of those acquaintances that’ve lost people close to them and wonder why the world’s come to be such a dreadful place.

Everyone talks about the pain and devastation that chaos brings with it… However, it brings with it something else as well, however short-lived it may be. It brings in us a sense of respect for our lives and those of others around us. It makes us count each second more dearly than we ever did. It makes us go one step further, to talk to those that are precious to us and tell them that we love them one more time, hoping that it isn’t the last. It makes us stand up for what we believe in. It makes us want to hold those loved ones for one last time, not wanting to let go. It brings us closer, for we are more aware that life is shorter than we’d like to think. And it makes us want to do more with our insignificant little lives…

Perfect Bride

noreply@blogger.com (Arun Nandi) — Sat, 31 Oct 2009 21:07:00 +0000

Of late, I have been inundated with personal accounts of proposals, searches, oppositions and the entire gamut of experiences associated with marriage and a partner. Most people around me are on the search for or in the process of sealing the deal in hand, and yet coming excruciatingly short of the finish line.

There are those that have found the 'right' person, those that are not sure if the one they've found is 'right', those that are stubbornly looking for the 'right' one despite kissing a lot of frogs, those that believe there are no 'right' ones around and lots more one-off categories that would take a while to list down. The more I've heard of these experiences, the more I've realized that there are no easy stories around, simply demonstrating the age-old claim that 'ideal' doesn't quite exist.

If you've seen the reality show Perfect Bride, you know how unflattering the show is to the title. There are a few guys (of whom I'm acquainted to one!) along with their mothers, and a few girls who are all on the lookout for a marriage match. A leap ahead of online matrimony, one can witness the cut-throat world of partner searches, which is almost an enlarged picture of real-life relationships. I won't get into what drives these people to enrol for a show of this profile, for that topic would get quite damning and digress from the primary theme. I never quite took the MTV or Channel V reality shows seriously, because those shows and people don't classify as sane.

Here, emotions and words are faked with élan as people hold hands, profess love and would surely do a lot more if the mom's weren't around. The whole partner search concept is ridiculed by the way each 'contestant' hedges their risks blatantly with multiple people. And why not? The rest of the world is doing the same, without the relative discomfort of cameras and judges.

And no, the rules of "He's not that into you" don't apply here, Oprah! Even if they're into you, they're still going to take their time to accept your existence in their life. They’re going to say and do everything that suggests you’re in a relationship and then quip, “I’m not ready for you”. They're still going to keep you a stranger amongst family, friends and colleagues. If they’re on the extreme end of this scale, he’ll drop you off near the place you need to go, saying they don’t want people there to get the wrong idea. They’re definitely not going to tell their ex’s about you; ask and you’ll get innovative responses on this one. Don't even expect them to change their Facebook relationship status to committed, let alone link your name on it. And you can kiss that dream proposal goodbye. It ain't happening!

There are no "good" stories around for a reason. People have accepted the trade-off of deception and deceit over prospective pain. If you've not been able to make one work, you want that one to disappear into thin air making way for the Next Contestant. Nobody wants to have any visible residue around when the Next Contestant walks around for that all-important first glance. Whatever happened to Carrie Bradshaw's thumb rule of taking half the time you've been in a relationship to get over it.

We like our dessert better when it's not the only one on the menu. One obviously doesn't want to go home wanting if one's ordered the apple pie and they've run out of fresh apples, so having a walnut brownie option is worthwhile. Life is a race, and one wants to get where his or her peers want to faster than them. When people recite relatively "good" stories and swear by them, I encourage them to go to "Moment of Truth" (or Sach ka Saamna, the Hindi version) and return unscathed.

When I initially started talking to acquaintances about this "Hedging theory", there were quite a few of them that were taken aback at how cynical and cut-throat I made people seem. They then came back to me a while later and encouraged me to write about it, after having witnessed it in close proximity or bearing the brunt themselves. Today, that article would be redundant for obvious reasons.

Those that currently are on the lookout for someone can take solace from how they don't yet have to deal with this hypocrisy and deceit. Those that are currently with partners that are hedging can choose to practice it themselves. Those that are committed to someone, you're the smartest of the lot. You've already given in to this and accepted it as a part of your life, so this won't even raise eyebrows.

Teenage Dreams: So hard to Beat

noreply@blogger.com (Arun Nandi) — Thu, 27 Aug 2009 09:07:00 +0000

He gets on the bus to college, the 121 route bus which ferries by every 15 minutes like clockwork. He looks like any other kid, just into college and about 18, trying to look older than he actually is. He gets on, flashed his pass to the conductor and chooses a seat near the window, while plugging in his earphones to his phone and clicking on the random play button.

He looks around, flashing a rehearsed scouting gaze that he's mastered, which could pass of as a nonchalant glance. He notices a pretty girl sitting two rows ahead of him, and another slightly overweight girl that had a cute face diagonally opposite. He remembers having noticed the pretty one before, and it seems like she knew a couple of people from his class. She seems way too well dressed and made up to be traveling in the bus. And people like her didn't take the train either. They got their drivers to drop them off to college or take the taxi everyday. She was the kind that stayed at Malabar Hill, the type that had rich parents who gave their kids wads of cash to spend every week. The kind of cash that had that inimitable stench that only black money does, and comes in non-sequential bundles, which old businessmen had stuffed down their pyjamas or worse.

She hung around with those rich spoilt brats in class. The kids that roamed around in their dad's second or third car, the ones that had managed to get their drivers' license delivered to their places while underage, without even getting off of their backsides, just because their dad had thrown some money at the touts at the RTO. The power of money, he promises himself, would be his soon, and girls like her would be all around him when he got there. His longish gaze is interrupted when someone slaps his shoulder. It is one of his classmates, taking the seat next to him.

"Forget it! Way out of your league", he starts almost snatching the thought out of his friend's mind instinctively.
"Why not?” he says. He is in an argumentative mood today. "Maybe she's smarter than them. And she really gets bored listening to those guys brag about how fast they drove their car at Marine Drive last Sunday. Maybe she wants to have a real conversation with someone!"

"Those types never get bored of those guys. She would be dating the most popular idiot among that bunch of guys and even her parents would be glad that she's dating some rich guy. After all, nobody that stays at Napean Sea Road made any money of their own; they were all 'born with a silver spoon'. And girls like that are only into stuff like that", his friend states matter-of-factly.

"Well, just wait and watch. I can get people like her in 5 years time", he says plugging back the earphones into his ears. As Chad Kroeger rhymes about being a Rock Star:

"When the girls come easy and the drugs come cheap,
We'll all stay skinny coz we just won't eat,

Hang out in the coolest bars...
Every good golddigger's going to wind up there...

...I'm going to trade this life for fortune and fame,
I'll even cut my hair and change my name"

She looks out the window, with the wind in her hair. Today's not out to a good start, as she's taking the bus to college, a break from her routine. On most days, she gets dropped by her dad on his bike on his way to work. She always insists he drops her off on the street adjacent to her college, claiming that her friends are all waiting somewhere there. Her dad suspects that she isn't really proud of being dropped on a bike, but he's never brought it up. After all, he was the one that insisted she get an education from one of those elite private schools whose fees could easily sustain a small household in the suburbs in Mumbai. He would probably not mind if his daughter came home to him, a few years from now, informing him that she wants to get married to a boy of her own choice whom she knows, preferably from a wealthy background. In fact, he secretly hoped that would happen, ridding him of the burden of going searching for a suitable match in his circles like a commodity. After all, he wants her standard of living to be much higher than his ever was.

She gets off the bus, slowly and gracefully. She catches the stares of two guys getting off behind her. She's not taken aback; she's used to the attention she’d been getting for a few years. During her growing up years, the neighbourhood boys would never let her play with them, until she turned 12, when they started to plead her folks to send her to play. She’d been uncomfortable with the sudden change then, but learnt to get accustomed to all the interest she sparked in the opposite sex.
Her parents have never stopped her from spending on herself. And she knows not to be extravagant, while retaining a certain elegance about herself. It is easy getting lost in the world of girls around her, all dressed and acting similarly. They all watch MTV and Channel [V] religiously, and ape those attires and accessories unfailingly. Nobody was ever different, or bold.

And she wasn't one to get caught up with last season's style. She maintained her 'own' style statement, picking up from magazines instead, those that didn't quite cater to teenagers like her, but to the 20-something woman. And with her attitude and poise added to this, she maintained a constant array of admirers in college, ranging from the staring-type to the more daring-type. The ones she chose to hang around with were indeed those rich spoilt brats with no character. She hated and loved it both at the same time. She loved that she could be with people, for whom money was not an issue of concern in their everyday life. It took her mind off her own family's financial issues. And at the same time, hanging out with them made her suffer from low self-esteem because those kids were also the most frivolous. They always made it a point to judge a person on where they stayed, what brands they owned and what places they visited.

She plugs in to her iPod. She notices that she knows one of those guys from somewhere. She's seen him in college; he's just another guy. She's never spoken to him, but he seems the sharp, grounded kind. It could pay to keep in touch with people like him; he'd at least know how to treat a girl with respect. She catches him off guard as she casts a sideways glance his direction and makes eye contact almost accidentally. She presses the Play button in the centre of the iPod dial, and catches Savage Garden playing... Affirmation

"I believe we place our happiness in other people's hands
I believe the grass is no more greener on the other side,
...I believe your most attractive features are your heart and soul"

Disturbed by a Lack of Faith?

noreply@blogger.com (Arun Nandi) — Mon, 24 Aug 2009 18:26:00 +0000

Often during one's lifetime, one goes thru thorough introspection about the meaning of life and one's place in it. While some of us take solace in the fact that a Supreme Being extinguishes those splinters of doubt that plague our minds, others stay content with seeking faith elsewhere. I won't delve into the merits and demerits of each school of thought, for that would no doubt be a pointless exercise. My motive, however, is to unearth and question some of society's prejudices towards these often contradictory paths of choice.

From time immemorial, people have faithfully paid Gods their tributes and followed elaborate traditions to please their form of a Supreme Being. While the origin of some of these traditions may well be bordering on superstition and myth, a major part of society preaches that we follow our ancestors' unwavering faith in these endeavours.

Society has increasingly become more accommodating of alterations to its ethos, as people have chosen to interpret it in various ways to suit their lives. Yet, society still retains its fastidious approach to counter-conventional views on the existence of a God. A recent court ruling in New Jersey denied adoption rights to a couple who declared themselves as atheists under the religion column in the application. Why are those that don't believe in a Supreme Being looked down upon as living without a faith?

An adult decides, without force or compulsion, that she doesn't feel the need to believe in the existence of a Supreme being. She conducts her life as anyone around her would, without any imposition on another's faith or a question on their beliefs. She partakes in festivals when they are an occasion of joy, and not for their religious meaning. Why should this person's civil and social rights be discriminated against?

As a society, we have nudged and shoved and created place for many philosophies that were earlier thought of as sacrilege. We have adopted homosexuality, polyamory and other social phenomena which were widely regarded as taboo, as hues of individualist expression. Yet we continue to regard atheism and its forms as blasphemous.

For many, a Supreme Being offers that pillar of hope and support only when all else fails. And perhaps society would still consider that a more significant virtue. Perhaps those that don't believe in the existence of this Supreme Being seek hope and support from within, or from society itself. The very society that blatantly continues to discriminate against them.