Adieu ..

After hating, cribbing, and cursing the city of Ahmedabad, am feeling nostalgic sitting here in my dorm room, all bags packed, ready to take a train for Delhi in a couple of hours. I still remember the first day here when everything seemed gloomy and dull, and gave an uneasy feeling in the stomach that something bad was going to happen. The first year was miserable, more to regret than to cherish. The only places I frequented were probably the malls and an off-chance movie at one of the multiplexes. Academic pressure was so immense that vacations felt blissful and we would take every opportunity to flee this God forsaken city. With no local points of contact, even an attempt to join AIESEC proved unfruitful. No friends. No relatives. We felt like strangers throughout that period. Everything we wanted to get involved with proved to be a goose chase with no results - ranging from a cellphone recharge shop to a sports club - futility was what we felt.

So why then am I nostalgic? What changed in me, because there is no way this city experienced a sea change? It is easy to develop a dislike and equally difficult to feel a warmth towards something. The past two years have not been the easiest in life, and I have experienced a multitude of ups and downs - personally and professionally. This is the same place where I was overjoyed with my summer placement, and the same where anxiety was on the verge of killing me for final placements. I still have not answered the question though. Why is it so difficult to leave Ahmedabad now? Was it not what I had been waiting for all this while? Was it not me who said I'd be glad to leave my alma mater as soon as possible?

Emotions defy logic. Its probably something I have learnt the hard way. But now, when am about to leave and reflect on all the phases in the past, I cannot help but smile. The get-togethers in Poply's room, where we used to pain his happiness till he finally yelled out for us to get out, the weekend visit to malls, just to window shop and get some decent grub, better than the mess food, the hunt for a swimming pool, which was within budget and clean too - how we drove the auto-rickshaw driver nuts describing the place we wanted him to take us. All these short memories, even though not always funny have become a part of the time we spent here, and funnily enough, I do not remember the painful classroom sessions or the demoralising surprise quizzes, but the little tid-bits of time spent among friends, and strangers, and how coming to Gujarat opened my eyes to how wonderful Indian people and India can be.

Staying up late in the night in second year, playing Quake with Harry and Poply, then running off to do the chicken dance in front of the loser's room, the weird conversations with Chipco where both of us discussed the trivialities of life, poking fun at people's ignorance, and having long discussions on why the chicken crossed the road! :) The occasional booze sessions, where Thylo used to be the one to turn in drunk and then follow up with his melodramatics, or yelling out from the dorm window who was banging whom ! :D Fielding in the gallery of the second floor, with Harry producing his spin wizardry and Poply unwilling to budge hitting the ball with whichever limb possible. :P The pizza parties. The dorm dinners. The hoax. The faccha gyan sessions.

But I will say that probably the last two months of my stay here have changed everything for me. I might not have been in the best of health, or the highest spirits, but I made two amazing friends, and I realised through them how much enjoyable life in Gujarat could be. I pity those Delhiites or Bangaloreans who dismissed Gujarat as a dry state even when it comes to having fun. To be able to go out into the city, or to places like Baroda, is what makes you see what Gujarat feels like. It isn't the case that I was pulled out of a downward spiral, but just that it presented me with an experience where I forgot completely about the negative aspects of where I was, and let myself enjoy the moment and soak in all the fun around. The long talks, chit-chat on old memories, leg pulling sessions, pointless banter and frequent chuckles, Bombay sandwich, all made the day wonderful. :) I won't elaborate too much on this, because I do not want to label these moments of ecstasy and archive them in a folder called "sweet memories" in my head, but rather have them fresh, just lingering at the back of my head, with vague recollections that would keep hitting me on and off, and bring a smile to my face. :)

I kept cribbing these two years on how miserable life had been at the institute, but now that am leaving, the miseries do not stick, but what remains in the conscience is a feeling of belonging to a dorm, an institute, a place, a city, and above all to friends which has become and will always be an integral part of my life. ;)

Around the world in 14 hours ..

.. or at least it felt that way. On a lazy Wednesday afternoon, a time I'd rather be spending lazing around in the bed, has been taken over by the scorching heat which is forcing me to stay off the boiling mattress. Might as well complete the second half of the train journey lest I forget for want of an ageing memory which is not getting any sharper with passing time.

From the last post you must have realised that train journeys usually come about as unwanted reminders of how irritating some people might get, but what is about to ensue now is what drove me to keep this post as second. If I hit you with this one first, the Gujju family chronicles would have lost their place. Now am no playwright, but as a convenience to the author, I will try to quote as much as possible and provide a list of the main characters at the start. Feel free to reference the list whenever you're lost in the post.

O.G.P. - played by "oh ji prahji" *balle balle*

J.M.D. - played by "jai mata di", the *shiv shiv shiv shiv* auntyji

J.S. - played by "Jai Saurashtra", the continuously beetle-tobacco chewing maniac

Hum - played by the U.P. couple, who could not refer to themselves as "main" (me)

I know a compartment in the train usually has 8 berths, but trust me with the Gujju family hogging 2, and the above 5 (3+2), we just had one big unhappy party! The scene opens with O-ji-prahji seating himself next to me, and running his fingers through his moustache and beard, like a dacoit happy with his prize catch after looting a helpless village. The fingers go left and right, round and round, up and down, before he finally gives up, having annoyed everyone around with the final hook of the finger dishing out a yucky dumpling from out of his nose. I look the other way, hoping to imagine him away and having a beautiful maiden seated next to me. Alas, the burp that explodes from his mouth dashes all such hopes!

While OGP has been busy with his displays of indecency, the couple seated in front of me have managed to drag out everyone's luggage from under the berths to make sure their trolley bag was "accessible". The husband tries desperately to use his scrawny frame to manage a heave so that JS' bag can be shoved into the fray of suitcases as well. He fails. Now weirdly enough, this bloke is a sly fox, and instead of asking for help, he tries to get a workaround and starts eyeing in my direction. The eyes meet, his moves down, to my feet, trying desperately to catch a glimpse if any space is available. Oh no you're not! I cross my feet, the soles facing his eager eyes. The territory has been marked. The jungle instinct is raring. The hyena dare not harbour into the lion's den. The bloke realises the ferocity in my eyes and backs off.

JS could not be less bothered about his stuff, which is why I wondered if the UP bloke was being sensible in sticking it out for his luggage. As if the continuous rattle from JS' phone playing old forgotten Hindi songs which would make a few friends of mine VERY happy given the games they play, he gets a phone call. The ringtone is not set to default Nokia. What plays is a mix of a whelp yelling after being hit, and a donkey making orgasmic sounds. It as become a funny habit amongst people to let the ringtone play. Ok, we get it, you have music playing. He stares, bobs the head a little to the right, a little to the left, makes a face, squints his eyes as if staring at the number from a far off place, twitches his moustache, and clicks, "hello" - finally!

The telephonic conversation that goes on from here, makes time stand still, and all hope vanish, for JS could not have murdered words as much as he did during those 5 minutes of talking. He wanted a cake which had "Muckkey Moooooooz" on it, and the "philabhar" was to be "pn .. apppppl". The reason given for the cake's shape was that the boy who wanted it was a "phan" of the "kooomik shomik mein aate hain na - chitra witra". After 4-5 repititions of the same words, with futility, JS agreed on texting him the name of the cake, the flavour and the name of the boy. You would think the ordeal ends here, wouldn't you ? Having explored all possible ways he could have messed up the procedure to order a cake, this same bloke gets a phone call after an hour with the person on the other side yelling "It is not his birthday, its Manoj's birthday!!" The following words cannot be mentioned due to censor board guidelines, but they took the effect of the bloke forgetting which of his sons' birthday it was. The humanity !

We pull into Delhi Cantt. railway station, and JMD makes her entry. She's accompanied by her son, who's walking with a stick, limping. The son tells behenji to hurry up, and she starts panicking rocking from side to side in a STANDING TRAIN !! The train has stopped for only 10 minutes, and the suitcase needs to be slid in, hugs given, kiss on the forehead and 4 rounds of goodbyes yet to be done with. The son looks at his watch tenaciously, sweating a little apparently from all the running to make the aunty catch the train. Now in this reunion, or rather farewell, our great OGP has to butt in. He stands up, half his shirt tucked into his jeans, and the other half dangling. An embroidered jeans with a yellow dragon running from the back pocket to the lower end of the right calf. Right in between the mom and son, he grabs the son by the shoulder and starts shoving in a polite manner. The reason given by our wise sage is, "If you do not get off now, you won't ever be able to let go! Let go of the feelings and never look back!" We all are in shock - what in Gawd's oh so sweet name is this crazy dumbass talking about?! He continues to press him backwards, the mother, in the typical "Mother India" melodrama is dragged, trailing OGP. All of us just sit there, agape, at the hilarity of what is happening.

The bloke gets off and as sardarji brings aunty back to her seat, she starts sobbing, to which he gives her a lecture, the details of which I cannot reproduce, because I shut my senses off for the utter nonsense that was playing in front of us - there is only so much that my conscious brain could take! By the time I regained consciousness, everyone had snuggled into their blankets, and food had arrived. Dinner, was a "pleasure" with the grand Gujju family, but as always, I guess Punjabis make sure they have the lasting effect of being the most obnoxious. OGP wants chicken. The train ain't got enough chicken. He should have mentioned it when asked before. OGP picks up a fight. In his usual Big Brotherly fashion he takes the attendant aside, slips in a 10er and asks for "arrangements" to be made. A 10er ?! Are you kidding me ?! The attendant is infuriated, tells him the money isn't necessary, and gets him his goddamn chicken. Now am no newbie, but I am a 100% sure that the cover on top of that chicken was moved, and nothing other than spit could have formed the garnish on that piece of meat! He chomps, as happy as a pig can be. He burps. The attendant is called upon again, and this time the complaint is "chicken khane mein mazaa nahi aaya, veggie khane lao". The bloke never returned, and we had to listen to OGP harp on rudeness and unprofessional behaviour for another half hour!

The aunty meanwhile, had decided to call up her son and tell him how there were flesh eaters in her compartment - yes, she was actually whining on the phone that she was stuck with non-vegetarians. For heaven's sake lady get a grip on your numb skull ! She sits up, crosses her legs, which have already started smelling of goo. The stench fills the compartment, each of us looking at the other's face, contemplating who shall be the one to break the news to aunty that she is a stink bomb right now. In the end, I guess, curiosity gets the better of OGP, and he breaks the news to aunty. Normally you'd expect the person to blush and lower their feet slowly, feeling slightly ashamed, which would cause qualms in your tummy, thinking you might have been a little rude and intolerant. But no, aunty has a surprise for us, she simply denies its her feet that appear to have been dabbling in pigeon poop. And she starts happily chomping again, loudly talking on the phone. You expect an old lady to be courteous in the least, even if she's lost sanity, but this one's a hoot. She goes on to tell her son on the phone, the guy sitting opposite to her, JS, is munching on beetle nut and disgusts her to the core. She even mentions that because of him, she has been reading the Hanuman Chalisa to drive away his filth! The UP couple is mentioned as a pick right out of the saas-bahu serials, and the audacity of her ridiculousness came to its peak when she gave them just another year together, after which according to her, either the husband will go deaf listening to the high-pitched voice, or the wife will leave him for his resistible, nope not irresistible, but RESISTIBLE looks! Well you're not expecting me to disclose what she mentioned about me are you ?! If you are, am sorry buddy, but that ain't happening !

Story time. Dinner done. Awkward moments settled. It was time all differences be forgotten and we reconvene as one big happy family. OGP had this uncanny knack of becoming grampa all of a sudden, only difference being, instead of the horror stories I was expecting, all he gave were unrealistic accounts of his travels. Apparently, he threw a guy off the train for causing trouble with the catering and creating much fuss about it - ironical ! ;) Well he says the train was stalled for 45 minutes, I wonder how that must have happened, considering the chain was never pulled and the bloke was pushed off a moving train. I guess the most annoying aspect of my journey came when asked what my business in Ahmedabad was. Despite desperate attempts at trying to remember names, I just could not and in the eventuality of losing face, I had to mention my university. It invited far reaching interest, much to my dissatisfaction, while I answered nonsense queries, and entertained foolish requests. One of the moms there wanted me to give her son a call and counsel him on choosing an MBA over Medicine, including tips on how to crack the CAT, and then also wanted me to mail him a consolidated list of the pros and cons for each II* (word has been omitted for obvious reasons :) ) and also against the leading B-schools in the US! She must have been nuts to think I was going to do any of that.

We slept. We woke up. From 8 in the morning till 10:12 when the train pulled into Ahmedabad junction, aunty had recited to me a million and 5 times that both her sons were in the Army, one was shot in Maniour, the other was posted as a captain in Kashmir, and he quit, was now working with Idea, at a very good post, and Idea is an MNC, and recession hit only small firms, and that I should reassure her that her son won't lose his job - who am I, the friggin' MD of Idea Cellular ?! Sheesh ! We pulled to a halt and I ran for it, ran for my life!

Disclaimer: This post has been written over broken periods so ignore any discontinuities, weird ramblings, because I do not have the strength to proofread anymore !

The electrifying concert

UK - April - U2. I'll be rotting in Delhi, probably browsing through VH1 looking for glimpses of the live coverage.

USA - July - Coldplay. I'll be rotting in Delhi, probably burning the midnight oil to get some money for the Stock Exchange.

India - Kardinall Offishall.

No, it isn't a mistake that I haven't mentioned anything about the concert in India, coz most of the "hip-hoppers" coming here are a turn-off. Who in their right mind would name themselves, Kardinall Offishall (Cardinal Official) ?! So here is the updated version of the last concert:

India - Kardinall Offishall - when? - like I care!. I'll be happy such buffoons stick to Bangalore.

My The Big Fat Greek Gujarati Family

Now I know what you might be thinking, how corny. Its not. I can't help it if the Rajdhani from New Delhi enroute Ahmedabad in Gujarat is riddled with Gujju families, and one of the most hip'n'happening ones happens to be in my compartment. Its been a long time since I did a train journey, perhaps why I was feeling nauseous at even the idea of a 14-hour ride alone, with no company. Recession has struck, my friend, spending twice the amount on a 2 hour flight just is not that inviting anymore.

I could go from the best possible way to build up the humour, but that would mean double the work for me and since am already writing this whole thing up, just got off a 14 hour train ride and have to take another 3 hour bus ride a few hours from now, I'm going to do this the simple way - chronologically. So get your popcorn and remain glued as this 14 hour saga unveils.

New Delhi Railway Station sure has received a facelift ahead of the Commonwealth Games, but what might seem pleasing to a Delhiite's eyes after looking at a dingy old station for 25 years, might appear as a nightmare for a Korean couple getting off the Guwahati Rajdhani! A dog scampers onto the railtracks to scare away a rabbit-sized rat, who is gleefully nibbling away at a potli - a wonderful display of human craftsmanship set forth by the Indians in which garbage, enough to explode out of two bags, is compactly packed into one, tied tightly and slung across the tracks to strategically land right in the middle, not to endanger any approaching trains. With this woeful scene one can live with, but when you have a bloke drag his child up to the nearby tea-stall, pull down his shorts, and yell at him to pee, it just makes you want to snatch your heart out, and stomp it with your own feet. When will Mera Bharat Mahaan learn ?!

After the ridiculous display of our "patriotism", the train moved forward, finally inching its way out of the junction. Not two minutes into the journey, I realised what I was in for. The lady, a bulky woman of around 55 with greying hair, a heavy voice, and an annoyingly long pony tail went plomp right next to me. Well no, had it been the "plomp" of someone easing their butt onto the seat, I would have said *plomp*, but unfortunately, this was more the gaseous release of unwanted intestinal residue, in short she farted. Now they say its the SBDs which are the most unbearable - Silent But Deadly. I think the lady was oblivious to that fact and decided to become an exception to the fact. It stank so much that the nose hair would curl up and never reveal themselves in broad daylight for fear of having to bear that torture again. Now, usual human reflex demands that the nose be clamped between the thumb and index fingers of either hand with utmost immediacy, but common human courtesy commands you to just smile the smell off and not make the other person feel bad. Am too courteous for my own good ! The lady was, however, unwilling to acknowledge, and bent over, exposing me to the main firing line of the bazooka! I was sweating. This memory, if ever formed, would not leave me for life ! I think there was more in store for me which is why God spared me and left me to live another day.

Now I understand, and am completely at peace with a large family traveling by train, packing their luncheon, creating a lot of noise, because I identify with their excitement, to be able to go around frolicking with familiar faces over an entire stretch of three compartments, that has to have some value. But the tipping point comes when, just because you're thin, you get pushed into a corner, well not literally, but because there is an entire dining table of food laid down beside you. Looking directly at someone else's food is bad manners, they taught me. I had to look the other way, my conscience is feeding on some sort of muscle building protein I suspect. 15 minutes. 25 minutes. I look down again and 43 minutes have passed, my neck starts to ache. Am swearing. Am frustrated. Am in half a mind to throw a tantrum and scare them all away. I don't. Instead I simply turn and give the kid one of the coldest stares ever. Its easy to pick on kids, they get scared easy. So did this one. He ran off to his mom, hugged her tight and took refuge in her palloo. Try not to smile. Try not to smile. You can do it. There you go. Ah shoot, there comes the smile, of great success, and achievement in scurrying off a little kid. Alas, it gets misinterpreted as a playful prank I was playing on the kid, and within a split second he's back right next to me, wiping his soiled hands on the berth, licking them, his nose drooling with goo!

I'll skip the next few ordeals I had to go through for the sake of humanity. We now cut directly to dinner time. Well now Rajdhani offers dinner, included in the ticket fare. So like an honorary Indian, every service has to be availed. In a move by the government to improve food quality, the pathetic excuse for a soup had been scratched off the menu, much to the disgust of the Gujju family apparently. There was much hue and cry for not getting a bowl, or rather tumbler full of swill which was probably first tasted by guinea pigs to check for fatal diseases and then sent through sewage processing. It makes sense to have bread-sticks with soup, but if the main attraction of that combo has been taken off, there ain't much point to the side-kick making a guest appearance is there? So in their plates land two NutriChoice biscuits - a range that has revolutionalised the biscuit industry in India, since for the first time ever, biscuits feel like they're meant for humans and not just dogs. But alas, what do we do? The whole family calls the poor caterer, gives him a good lashing, followed with demeaning words, and the child squishes the pack of biscuits under his feet! I am awestruck! How ridiculously apathetic and insane can you be?!

Main course arrives and having ordered vegetarian food, the Gujju family sits together, this time thankfully the other berth owners have occupied the seat next to me. They call for an extra load of 25 paranthas, which is obviously ruled out by the guy serving since the basic order for others needs to be satisfied first. The bloke, receding hairline, curly hair, an unbuttoned shirt, white chest hair showing, a faint hint of a moustache, and tracks, which I believe could have only be soiled the way they were by wrestling a pig in mud, stands up and shoves the serving guy. We all get up in shock in anticipation of a fight. The caterer gets scared, scolds the guy serving and sends him off. The family gets its 25 paranthas.

Come sleeping time, I am disgusted at the people, and agitated at not being able to get back at them. I know it was none of my business, but still the kid in me wants to seek revenge. Now what am about to disclose better remain between you and me, and not go out in the open lest that family find out. I had the middle berth. My bottle of water was full, and my mouth was dry. All I will say is, if you fill your mouth up tight with water and let it out through a narrow opening by pouting your lips, the stream travels far and wide, and can easily land up on someone's face sleeping somewhere down below, without them realising if the roof is leaking or is it God pee'ing! ;)

I spared the Gujju family after that, reason being, ah well that story shall come in the next post! Stay tuned!

Wah ri Dilli

After a long break, am having to stay in Delhi, and not surprisingly, here's what I heard on a single outing to the marketplace.

Bloke: "Haan yaar .. aise hi nikla tha .. thodi marketing kar raha hun"

My conscience: Marketing ?! Dude !! Why show off your skill in English, or lack thereof, the word is SHOPPING, not marketing!!

A bonnie lass: "Kajrare kajrare .. mere kale kale naina"

My conscience: *mouth agape* Mere ?! Firstly, its "tere" and yes, with such black eyes you can be nothing else but a witch !

A pindu (in her teens): *looking at my shoes* Papa, mainu wi canvas de joote chainde ne !!

My ego: You moronic buffoon ! Its CONVERSE shoes, not friggin' canvas ke joote ! Ass !

Bloke: *trying on a pair of bathroom slippers* Mommy, yeh chhote hain!

My frustration: Abbe ullu ke patthe, take off your socks first, and then try the slippers on!

*Sigh* this just the beginning of what is to come!

Ink

For the past few days my mind has been host to a tussle between two ideas that had popped up for a blog - a sword fight ensued, and after a grueling battle that saw both sides suffer heavy casualties, I guess this post won the honours of coming up first. Well I could technically go on and glorify this battle and justify why am posting on this subject before a more lighter aspect I have in mind, but I think I'll do my conscience some justice and disclose the truth.

My fingers have the supernatural tendency to act independently - figures why I love writing and typing so much! Well not two days ago my very own fingers turned on me, and in moment of anger and desperation, all lay down with just the right middle finger standing up to me, facing me. Now I can either take offence and tell them to bugger off (for want of decent language on the blog), or I could wonder what happened. But considering what I had them going through over the past 28 hours, I was not surprised by such rudeness on their part. Don't worry, am not going to disclose any objectionable dirty secrets here, stop racking your brains looking for ulterior motives. Fact of the matter is, for digits that have been used to blogging or writing essays on literary critiques, poems, letters, mails, it becomes derogatory to ask them to do something that is beneath any form of sense or emotion. To ask them to ramble on for pages without full commitment, to spew shit (I can't help it, can't make it mellower than that ! ) all over Microsoft Word, is without a doubt, debasing their credibility and honour!

Confused? Not more than a day ago my Facebook status read "Shakespeare's time is past .. a new Dark Age of report writing dawns upon us *no smiley*". Ah, bet the light bulb just lit up over your head didn't it ? But keep reading, its not just the motive I want you to figure out but read on a little to see what has become of us, over so many years. Education - has got many evils, none of which I am going to explore here. However, I am going to elaborate on something I realised, while drawing up an 18 page report and a 10 page book review. They say writing a book review on "how you feel" after reading the book is a 'good' thing. They say summarising your findings on a project you pursued 'helps' you 'realise' areas of strength and improvement. Don't ask me who in Pete's name "they" are !! The whole benefit behind the report writing exercise has become a farce. Projects never ensue, for want of procrastination. Reports just end up being fabricated, out of thin air. The surprising and sad fact is that such a realisation would come as a shock to several professors and colleges. They would never have imagined that students now can cook up the most believable nonsense off the top of their heads - they can conduct surveys and bring about key findings without setting foot out the door.

This is not where the story ends, unfortunately. Am not saying am the ideal student or haven't been part of such fabrication in the past. But yes, I will also say that I have time and again tried to be faithful to the effort. Alas, the system never rests from chasing its own tail - if one thing is overcome through resolve, another absolutely redundant aspects forges its ugly head up. Any honest and rule-abiding student who wants to get something meaningful and substantial out of the exercise is automatically put at a loss when it comes to writing down his or her (for want of political correctness) findings in a report. Why? Simple. The professor does not want to see anything short of a 15-20 page report. No matter if the whole experience could be summed up in a well-composed 5 page report, we sir want to have the student drill and pain his happiness to the point where he just cannot take it anymore.

What does the student do? Elementary, my dear reader. Its inconsequential at this stage to produce quality - the emphasis has already been laid on quantity. We as students have a multitude of weapons at our disposal. Verbosity. Font-size. Font-type. Line spacing. Headers. Paragraph styles. Title pages. Abstracts. Table of contents. References. Appendices. And a lot more. For want of time, and knowing how greatly reduced an attention span we now have as humans, am gonna detail just a line or two on each mode of clever writing, and then conclude.

Verbosity - Its not enough to spit words on to paper, it is quintessential to chew, break them into pieces, churn them in the stomach, regurgitate and vomit the cud out onto the paper to make it look well-processed and full of "mental nutrition". Let me give you an example. It is mundane to state "the present situation was sad". Instead, it is aptly defined and done with adept clarity if put the following way - "the circumstances we have been forced into present themselves as very unsatisfactory and not conducive to our well-being, defining the moment as least opportune and absolutely unacceptable by current standards". *phew* Now the professor would not be alarmed at the ambiguity of what is being said here, but would go "Hmm .. deep indeed - I reckon this lad(or lass - ah boy this gender equality is gonna kill me some day!) has a great future as a philosopher or thinker, he goes to the root of every problem". NO, you ignorant fool. This guy has a great future as a politician - coz he can twist words around with such art that even a scholar like you has been bamboozled by the utter hilarity of it all! In verbosity's defence, it does make your paper go from one line to three lines per thought! Deep indeed, I say. Deep bullshit!

Font-size and font-type - Am not gonna elaborate on font size, except for stating, a professor will screw you for going from a size 10 to 12, but if you're wise and tread the size 11 line, no mai ka lal can get you for it. Font-type or font-face, choose your terminology based on whether you're a Mac or a Windows enthusiast (the geek in me lives), is more subtle than the size. Choose Bradley Hand ITC, Verdana, Book Antiqua, Garamond over Times New Roman, and observe the wonders you can work.

Line spacing - One and a half line spacing is allowed, make it double, because trust me nobody's going to be sitting down with a ruler to measure when the report comes up for correction - just make sure you send it as a PDF document, and not a Word one.

Headings - Introduce them. You can never have enough, because every new heading demands a blank line before and after.

Paragraph spacing - This is something very technical. Instead of keeping the space at 0 pts, make it 2 pts, before and after - ah forget it if you're not a computer wiz!

Extra pages - Add a title page, even for an assignment. Add an abstract - don't worry, do as the name suggests, write in some tree-hugging hullabaloo crap that more or less summarises your ideas. A table of contents goes a long way even if it includes just entries of Introduction, Main body, Conclusion. References, even if just two, SHOULD be mentioned. An appendix is any irrelevant information you still have and might not have used, and can afford to include in the report, because it "somehow" touches upon the topic.

Take care of all the above and voila, in no time, you'll have a brilliant piece of art comprising 15 pages at the very least. Shame that quality has taken a hike, and what matters to professors is the weight of the submission. While writing up such utter useless nonsense, it drills into the conscience; the futility of it all. How over time we have become so accustomed to figuring out workarounds rather than the actual assignment, that the benefit that was to be accrued has been lost, and defeated comprehensively by the willingness to cheat. But like all other realisations, this one too is short-lived, and I know, the value of this post is going to boil down only to those pointers given above for making up pages, pretty soon. Oh the irony.

Welcome aboard Air India flight IC7618 to Delhi

Ever wondered how boarding a flight becomes a different experience every time you're at the airport? New faces every time you check-in. New flight attendants every time you fly. What remains unchanged is the presence of an element that makes the day memorable in a weird way. Nothing out of the ordinary or melodramatic, but just a change, an anomaly that does not fit into the picture.

Up at 5 in the morning, still drowsy, occasional lapses into the unconscious were not a surprise for me. As I dozed off at the airport in anticipation of a happening arousing interest, the idiot box hummed a continuous rant on the success of Delhi-6 as a movie, and the shame brought on Pakistan with the attack on the Lankan players, an unrelenting kid coaxing his mommy and poppy to give him a ride on the trolley bag. A usual early morning scene at the Sardar Vallabhai Patel Ahmedabad Airport one must say. Flights came in, flights took off, anxious airline officials ran looking for the last passenger to board the plane, in short the usual routine at any airport. At 8:15 came the announcement for boarding for IC7618. About time! Now as a young bloke, you kind of have an unexplained desire to see a fresh face amongst the people boarding, just to identify with the presence of that face, and acknowledge you're amongst fellow "kins(wo)men". Unfortunately, my sin was that I booked with Indian Airlines - the airline that flies old businessmen and government officials! As if my drowsy bent back wasn't bad enough, the sight drooped my shoulders too, as I ambled or rather skid my way to the bus to take us to the flight. This is going to be a boring trip - a painful hour and half!

Once aboard, seated in 14 A (I still am confused why after repeatedly asking for an aisle seat I was handed a window seat !!), I placed my guitar into the overhead bin and slid my backpack underneath the seat. Ah, settled in. I do not know if its an inherent Indian thing, or some sort of prejudice oldies have in general against a guy with a guitar and spiked up hair, but I sure became the cynosure of all the Gujju businessmen surrounding me. Venting out their frustration in mumbles and mouthing weird sounding Gujju, they tried adjusting their bulky briefcases pushing and tugging at my guitar. One of them struck a cord - no not the phrase, he literally plucked at one with all the tugging - I had to yell out HEY !! - out of sheer anger - you don't meddle in a "musician's affairs". So what if am still at the stage where I just carry my prized possession around, it still is my ticket into the niche club of talented artists!

After all the greying men had cozied in and let out the initial bursts of laughter greeting each other, the pilot took up his mike and spoke in, clearing his throat. What follows henceforth is a detailed speech made by the pilot - based purely on the way it sounded rather than the way it was written. May William Shakespeare's spirit forgive me for this brutal murder of his language of poetry!

"Heya blokes! Welcome aboard this flight from Amdabad to Deli. The flight is gonna be a lotta fun - oh look the sun's out! Oh boy what a day to be flying - people on the right - look out - there's birds outside !! We-L (yup - that's supposed to be 'we' and then an 'L'), I will be flying you out on this beyoootiful day, and the weather in Deli is bad - hell bad! They got smoke. They got fog. So they got smog. That wat happenin' whe' da smoke hit da fog - make 'em smog! Anyways, we have two aaaxcellent and beyoootiful flight attendants at yor service - please do remember to smile at them and they will make your day - I repeat they will make your day - if you know wha' I mean! *snicker* So sit back my friends as I take you out on this bright day - we should make it in an hour and 15 minutes - but you know it will be 15 more minutes right because we will be going round and round Deli - they never have space for us ! *ha ha heard in the background* Again, don't forget to smile at the two sweethearts attending to your needs today!"

Ok, I understand Air India suffers from a negative image of having middle-aged flight attendants who can scold you if required, but to revamp your image with a pilot who resonates more with a drunkard hippie, and is promoting the flight attendants as if they were in a Bond movie aboard the chartered plane of the villain is absolutely hilarious! His accent hinted at him having grown up in the "hood" or having deep influences from gangsta talk from movies - and that too with Gujju businessmen. One of them signaled to the other that the pilot might have had a shot of vodka in the morning! Ah boy, the hilarity - you should have seen the look on their faces. There I was laughing away to glory on the way he spoke, and there was the poor chap sitting next to me hugging his bag fearful of the kind of hippie who might me flying him to "Deli"!!

The irony lies in the fact that the aircraft was an Airbus 2X2 - something very similar to a chartered plane - there goes the climax for the Bond movie and lovely flight attendants. That is where the fun ended, but I was glad - another flight, another anomaly - mission accomplished. Another feather in the bag of stories grandpa Kshitij is gonna be telling his grandkids 40 years down the line!

Active citizenship

Let me start off with a very simple question, something we had internalised in class 9 civics course itself. What are the Fundamental Rights given to us by the Indian Constitution? If honestly you cannot remember any then fret not, for you do not stand alone in this miserable state of being. To give you company is one of the premier institutes of the country where a simple question as this got the reply of "I cannot think of these rights at the moment". It is indeed sad that people we expect to be the thinkers and business leaders of tomorrow do not possess the most fundamental knowledge of their own belongingness to the nation. I would not act judgmental for I am guilty of recalling only 4. I do sincerely hope that you, as the reader are at least aware there are 6 fundamental rights! If not, I'd suggest reading on nevertheless.

We have prided ourselves on being one of the few economies registering an annual growth of 7% even in times of recession as these. Our intellectual prowess' mettle is appreciated the world over. From sciences to all the arts, we have shown our versatility. All of this gets shattered in a moment of realisation when one person stands up and questions our basic understanding. If this was not humiliating enough, to be unaware of the details of the rights, the follow-up question on whether a concept of "Fundamental Duties" existed, met with an equal silence from the whole class, nobody aware, or even remotely confident of the correct answer. The answer, my friend, is that we DO have fundamental duties as well, and one of them is the duty to vote "properly". We often simply restrict our use of the English language either due to pure laziness or ignorance - ending at "my right to vote". The suffix of "properly" seldom comes into play. What then does one associate with a vote being proper? Choosing the right candidate? Exercising the vote? Not being influenced by partisan politics? Keeping the country's benefits in mind? Not letting "I have to go pick up munna from school" get in the way of going down to the poll booth? Unfortunately, "properly" encompasses all these and a lot more! We have in our daze to zoom ahead in life, forgotten the moral and ethical fibre that has set us apart from the rest of the world. I will not get into a patronisation seminar on exercising our right to vote, so no worries on that front.

Am in the mood for delving into the business, and governance aspects of the whole discussion, but I will refrain from doing so, in the larger interest of the readers. I will, however, elaborate on one last point - education. There was a time just post-independence when our educational objectives used to be, in the order of decreasing preference:

1. Be a better human being - compassionate and understanding
2. Become a rational citizen, aware of responsibilities and rights we now enjoy
3. Specialise in a field - become a doctor, lawyer etc. for the betterment of society

While none of these is dispensable, over the past 62 years of independence we have eliminated the first two as prerequisites, and instead focused on the last point. We have intensified all efforts to gain expertise and excel in our fields, in the process, forgetting our moral obligations, our national responsibilities. Nobody expects each and every one of us to be a Gandhi, or a Bose, but we do have the option to be a responsible citizen of the nation. Citizenship is a fleeting concept that bubbles up in a cricket match between India and Pakistan, a terrorist attack in Mumbai, studying abroad. We want to be associated with a vibrant India, yet in our wish to be so, we hardly put in any efforts to ensure these dreams are realised. Every law in India works, the Constitution is the longest and most irrefutable living document in the world, yet we are where we are, despite all that.

We have always questioned the violation of our fundamental rights, but never ensured enforcement of our fundamental duties. While the fundamental rights remain "judicially enforceable", the duties continue to dabble in murky waters as mere "suggestive guidelines". Harping on being a "responsible citizen" won't help anymore, the new world order is "active citizenship" - to draw the mantle and take it on yourself to be a representative, and law abiding person working for the betterment of the nation. It would be apt to surmise this post on Gandhi's philosophy - There is enough in this world for everyone's needs, but hardly enough for one man's greed.

PS: Following are our fundamental rights in case googling up stuff is also a hassle for you :)

1. Right to equality
2. Right to freedom
3. Right to freedom of religion
4. Right against exploitation
5. Cultural and educational rights
6. Right to constitutional remedies

Disclaimer: While the post might seem disconnected, I attribute that to the million questions brewing up in my head, which I could not spew onto this post, for want of longevity.

The Inner Circle.

Before we have any wisecracks associating this post with the membership card for "Lifestyle" chain of stores, shut up !! This post comes as a direct consequence of an anomaly - a useful lecture from a totally unexpected fraudulent subject. Different holy and spiritual scriptures have defined models for "liberation of the self", be it the Upnishads for Hinduism, teachings from Confucius or the Holy Bible. It might seem tacky at first to deal with the subject on the basis of religion, but consider this preaching more along the lines of philosophy. Though interpretations differ, we realise that the ultimate actualisation is a series of concentric circles, starting with the outer one depicting societal expectations, the middle one as the familial obligations and finally the inner one - self satisfaction.

We often confuse the word "satisfaction" with "success", though in our defense, nobody can really provide an indisputable distinction. I won't foray into discussing the finer points of the dividing line, now will I attempt to define satisfaction. I figure that the concept is subjective and unique to every individual, and it makes more sense for the reader to see this post through that prism of definition personal to him, so that he can refract the message enough to make sense to him. On a lighter note, am not being sexist in using "him", the reality is, I doubt my blog has any feminine avid readers. :)

Multitude of decisions taken during our lifetimes always have to undergo the test against our conscience and practicality, which we naively term as the quest between "the intellect and the heart". Most common amongst these is our career, whether we ought to pursue our dreams, whether we ought to earn enough to fulfill our obligations to people who matter most to us, and loads of other considerations. It becomes so easy to patronise someone to go after their dreams and own up to one's own desires, but when we face that same situation in our own lives, reality comes up with a smack right through the face, the right cheek goes red! It might be easy to act indifferent and forge ahead on the path of familial obligations, and it might be equally easy to put up a bolder front and disregard such sense of guilt and go after something you desire, uncaring about the returns you get. Unfortunately, it is not taking the stance which becomes the problem, it is the consequence of taking that step forward, unknowingly walking into unexplored territory which makes us so conscious of our decisions, and we are wrought into indecision and ambiguity. We lose sight of what makes sense and get tangled in the question of "what am I supposed to do?"

This question spells doom. When you start asking that question to others, realise that you have given up on the possibility of coming up with an answer on your own. It is at this point in time that we need to realise that where we stand now is the Inner Circle - where all that matters is our satisfaction. Neither path is wrong. Neither is correct. It is all a matter of knowing and feeling comfortable with what you do. It is easier said than done. I agree. We may regret in the future, we might smile, for the decisions we took in our present. The key is to understand that we are responsible for our future, yes, but we equally owe it to our present to be worth living as well. Our pursuit for happiness takes so much out of our lives that we end up overlooking the fact that our happiness in the "now" is what projects in the future.

Am not immune to this dilemma, which is what brought me to write here today. My passion is in stark conflict with my obligation, but am not seeking salvation, or the enlightenment to realise the middle path. What am looking for that feeling inside my head that tells me "This is what you wanted, go for it".

D: It is written.

Movies have always influenced our perspectives and train of thought, even if momentarily. The closer we identify with the theme of the movie, the more we tend to "want to" associate our lives with them. It is not necessary that we live through those moments, to have lived through such times, or faced similar problems. I have categorically been against people getting a sudden spike in adrenalin levels leaving the cinema hall and letting it fizzle away over the next couple of days, if not hours. But here I am, justifying something to a similar effect, the only difference is identifying with an underlying theme, something that isn't as obvious as the original screenplay or dialogue delivery. It might sound hypocritical, but it isn't. This post is also my redemption for having written about a couple of bad movies in the past, which is why am violating my oath not to write anything remotely related to the paparazzi anymore.

I guess most of my limited readers would have realised that the movie am talking about is Slumdog Millionaire. Am not going to talk about the movie as I trust the numerous film critics and the free time on their hands to take care of all such stuff and critiques. What I did start thinking about after watching the movie was something more related to our "undying passions". We are never satisfied with the way we are, if passionate about that one thing, we yearn for a simpler life when we would not have to try our best to get what we want, if not, we in turn aspire to be one of those who are devoted to achieving that one thing or fulfilling that one dream in life. Neither of the two are wrong, or right. The difference comes in how we understand the limits to which that passion should rule our lives, whether it is sensible to be singularly devoted to attaining that satisfaction, fulfilling that desire to accomplish what we set out for. What sacrifices are we willing to make? Do we or rather should we expect anything in return for our efforts? Such questions will continue to arouse anxiety amongst people who are all for a cause in life.

Lets say we do not have that singularity in life. We cruise and take life as it comes. Then one fine say we ask ourselves - all of my friends are trying for something or the other, yet I take life as it comes, do I have a direction? If I do not have something to be passionate about, to the extent that I test my limits in achieving it, would I ever know what all I am capable of ? Myriads of questions tumble over once we set our priorities straight. Neither side is immune to the barrage of inquisitions which make us make a mess of our lives.

Then there are a lucky ignorant few who believe that their lives are simple because they have nothing of the sort to bother about as it does not affect them. Little do they realise that life may seem rosy while we have other affectations occupying our attention when we're young and surrounded by friends, but later on when everyone parts ways, you're left alone, stranded. Thinking. And by the time we come up with an answer then or even start pondering, its too late, and way beyond our mid-life crises.

I had a passion, a dream. It got shattered. Now I remain and move in the shadows, pondering, whether it was ever worth having such a devotion to one cause. Do not patronise me, or anyone for that matter with statements like "You should move from one passion to another, not to give up", since a passion is what build up with time, with character. Jamal, in the movie, showed what it meant to be so devoted to that one feeling, how it defined what life meant to him, that the essence of belonging to a higher motive drove him forward, never stopping to even look back for a second on what he left behind or what could have been different. Such is the amazing desperation to fulfill your dream and desire, which I aspire to, and had.

Unfortunately, not everyone can be a Jamal. To all those with the million questions, moving in the dark alleys of subconscious anxiety, welcome. Whatever will be, will be, for it is written. And a Happy New Year to you all.

Authority - really ??

First day of class, a punishment to write a report for 1600 words and a boring 1.5 hour session later I was sipping on chai, just to shirk off the yawn that might have engulfed all of Singapore at least if not the Maldives. Leadership, vision and blah blah was the name of the next lecture - to be honest, this term was supposed to be a fraud competition to see who can choose subjects that do not require one racking his brains and losing more hair ;) So there I sat, smiling, because hell if a leadership and vision subject isn't fraud, I got no clue what is ! Ambling back to the lecture hall, climbed up to the second last row, corner seat to stay away from all attention while I slip into deep slumber. Just to complete the context, I have missed around 4 days of school, and as a result missed the screening of "the making of the Mahatma" - a movie on how M. K. Gandhi became a Mahatma.

In general, ask an engineering graduate who is doing his MBA to participate in such a discussion, like me he would just tilt the head either side and gently close his eyes, with an open mouth, wide enough to slip a ciggy in and not blow a whistle or snore. Well of course I followed suit, but unfortunately, the students presenting chose to beat the crap out of my eardrums and the sounds of "Raghupati Raghav" reverberated with the sound of drums beating against the membrane of my inner ear (XII standard Biology HL - A+ - pat pat eh ? ;) ) A boring monologue that lasted 30 miserable minutes of a guy dressed up in a khadi kurta and blabbering something that sounded more to impress the professor than show his true feelings or opinions - why, you ask ? Well you judge for yourself, if the guy actually states "Gandhi's doctrine of showing the other cheek if slapped on one should be applicable to the Kargil War" - OMG, how ignorant can one be ?! I'll let that pass too, since hypocrisy breeds in a lot of pockets here, but then if one of the curious members in the audience goes ahead and blurts out - "Gandhi was responsible for nearly half as many deaths as inflicted by Hitler", am sorry but I just lose it ! I am not a Gandhian or an anti-Gandhian for that matter, but there is a line which you need to draw between reasonableness and total arbitrary bull!

I chose to keep mum. Was the best policy. You can only reason amongst a bunch of people who understand what "listening" means - but apparently our young age extrovert junta (public) has forgotten to exercise the cochlean muscles :*sigh* - such a pity. The discussion ensued for a bit, nonsense corollaries were presented, to the height of Gandhi being called a selfish fool. Oh well, agreed some of his principles might not get us anywhere in today's cut throat egotistical existence, but we need to consider the context in which we adjudge him to be a fool or a Mahatma - nobody can be God - hell am an agnostic so no-bloody-one can ! ;) What surprised me was that how easy it was for all of us to judge a man who stood up for something, who had the balls to speak up, whatever be his motives. We often fret for our own sorrows and issues, not giving a rat's ass for the sufferings others go through. Where does our sense of judgement go then? The Mumbai blasts evoked national sentiment, then a headline in HT and TOI came that read something to the effect of - "one month hence, Mumbai goes back to normal and is coping with the horror of 26/11" - and voila, people rub their hands off the tension and their share of being compassionate or concerned is taken care of - "humne apni moral responsibility poori kar di hai bhai" (we have fulfilled our moral responsibility). Strange. Is this the same public which discards and demolishes the idea of Gandhi as a Mahatma for his want of being popular? Is this the same public which says that Gandhi was responsible for so many deaths and yet turns it face away after some time thanking God it wasn't them in the massacre or terrorist attack? I never thought benevolence or anything even remotely related to it was a prominent trait of us humans - but to realise the levels of hypocrisy we have reached - its a shame.

Wonder what authority we have to even embark upon a discussion of whether or not Gandhi was a Mahatma. Call it the whine of a young Indian, a complaint of the previous GenX, or a momentary lapse into a dying conscience, but this fact shook me a little - but as always, am gonna think over it for a bit, gulp down a paracetamol and go off to bed, praying not for the souls of those who got lost in the Mumbai attacks but for me to get well so that I can go sleep through my lectures tomorrow morning.

Forgot ..

Oh yes, there's another thing I love about Leuven - no Starfucks .. I mean Starbucks here !! :P

How it all starts ..

I am doing something very different this time around by skipping on fables of misery from Eindhoven and Maastricht, enroute Leuven. Why? Lets just say that there's more to tell on the wonderful time in Belgium, than there is to report on some weird and awkward experiences in Netherlands - and I couldn't keep my fidgety fingers from picking up the laptop and typing. From tall tales of "uh oh"s and "damn"s, this is a welcome change - for I want to let you all know what happens in this Flemish town of Leuven - I might be wrong but shut your piehole because Leuven sounds better presented that way!! :P

The horrors of the journey afresh, a closed series of stores just outside the station, and a nerve-wracking cold, the only thing keeping me from picking the next guy and yelling at him for no apparent reason was the need to get in touch with my friend so that she could dawn the guise of my fairy godmother, come and pick me up - of course not in a horse carriage made of pumpkins like Cinderella! Humans have a tendency to be abrupt in their neck movements, but when you're so bogged down, the energy barrier to get that sudden movement goes sky rocketing and instead you croon about as if your neck was a periscope of a Russian submarine. Left, right, up, down - nowhere could I locate a telephone shop - but then a sudden flash of lightning struck me - ah who am I kidding - it wasn't lightning of wisdom - 'twas my tummy grumbling so I went into Carrefour to pick up some grub. I think guys have either a huge mental block or they are genetically designed to be indecisive when it comes to basic stuff like food and clothes. After a 10-minute scrutiny of all the waffles in the line near the counter, I moved on ahead deciding against eating - well hullo - I was going to be eating with my friend - can't be an inconsiderate twit! Now the lightning struck - honestly it did - and I thought of asking the Carrefour counter if they had any GSM SIM cards - why did I use the word GSM in that question to him, I still don't understand - so after much confusion he gives me a Carrefour SIM card - I happily scratch it, insert it, switch my cellphone on - and voila - I have a signal!! BUT, like all cards, it needs to be registered so I have to send a text message. Instructions are in Dutch. Great.

I hurry back to the bloke, he tries hard to help me, to the extent that he forgets about the queue and instead starts reading and calling and messaging, with a disgruntled public mouthing grunts and sighs at him - what do I care - I got my very own Santa's lil helper working the problem. :) I do not mean to brag, but eventually my German proved more fluent than his Dutch and the mobile was officially online - congratulations you have 15 euros in your account! Woohoo.

After calling her up, I waited impatiently at the train station - I am very unreasonable at times and I do not know why but I expected her to be there to welcome me - how in gawd's name could she do that - she didn't even bloody know when I was coming - me and my 'great expectations' ! Oh boy is it a relief to see her walk from the distance. Home, finally. We walk, chat, I crib, she laughs, and I stand agape in front of the Stadhuis - not budging for a few seconds. We move on for some dinner - Amici Miei - an Italian restaurant - a favourite with "my friend and her band of merry maids" - talk bout "Robin Hood and his men in tights" being a funny title - beat this ! :P A Mexicana for me and a De blah blah for the lady, please, and could you also get us a bottle of red wine? Order placed, we catch up on stories. Me red with anger, she pink with laughter - oh da agony. Two wine glasses, the bottle comes and the guy pours some into her chalice - "would you like to taste the wine first?" - well it doesn't happen at a restaurant with a 'student menu' - so we're a little taken aback and *sip*, she tastes it. A frown. Looks upwards, shakes the head gently, looks my way, I taste and like a brute blurt out - "faltoo hai" (is crap) and make a piggy face - how dumb, I know. Well we order the house wine - a whole bottle of it, which is better than the previous one.

Awesome pizza, lovely wine, and a hearty meal later, we walk towards home. I guess the one thing I love about Leuven is how carefree you can be walking around, and how much fun it is to be in such a place with friends all around. They say physical attraction is superficial, but really, it could be the first step forward. Leuven's dynamism, and its liveliness left a mark, and that is how the Belgian affair started. ;) The second date is with Brussels, more on it later - right now have to rush off to meet my friend :)

When darkness turns to light ..

.. it ends tonight .. it ends tonight! Check-in - hurray !! "The plane is SUPPOSED to land here within 2 hours and HOPEFULLY we shall reach milan 5 hours from now" was the response I got from the check-in counter. What was the question you ask? "Hi, what time is the flight expected to land in Milan?". Simple isn't it ? Wonder why the suppositions and hopes were still a part of the answer I got, wasn't 8 hours enough of a buffer for the incompetence of Myair to be taken care of? Ah well, like any normal being, my follow up question was - "Well if the initial flight was supposed to take 1 hour 40 minutes, why is the new flight going to take double that time?!" - did the time-space continuum freeze for them, or is it because the God of Time is yawning in the morning so it gets stretched to the extent of making things happen doubly slow ? At this point in the conversation, in a cartoon a light bulb would have lit up on the lady's head as she understood the question, but that's cartoons, in reality what I got was an "I dunno" with a shrug of the shoulders and a "have a nice flight" with a pretentious smile - I don't care if am being obnoxious or negative - I deserve to be all that and even more especially after tonight!

I guess if its 5 hours from now, the connecting flight is screwed, lest it be late too following in the footsteps of this one. Totally exhausted and literally yawning while writing this post, I wonder what makes these people tick like clockwork - the enthusiasm is bubbling as if the Italians were waiting to get their hands on all the duty-free goodies. People buying boxes of Turkish delight, baklawa and what not - hell there's even a Turkish lady who now has 5 bags in her hand and is trying to control her 3 bratty grandkids! For want of change, and pretense, I amble into the duty-free shop, picking up colognes and trying them on, as a towering lady stands right next to me and out comes a heavy Turkish voice - "can I help you with anything?". When you're half asleep, groggy and pestered for the past so many hours, even the slightest of sounds feels like echoes in the head, and this one was like shouting in the Grand Canyon !! I get up with my reverberating ears, and drowsily walk back to my lappy to write this adieu.

Great - a woman just started the beep system because of a Red Bull - why would someone be so dumb to hand out a Red Bull to a friend outside without paying for it and ask if its cold enough - i thought cold was a binary expression -it is or it isn't !! Well when in Rome do what the Romans do, but when they're in Istanbul, never follow what the Romans do ! I do not know why but apparently the lady next to me seems really interested in my screen, am giving her a mention so that she can be happy reading while i write this.

There is a lot more to tell, especially on what happened just before and after check-in, but for now am praying I catch my flight from Milan on time, so that I can crash on the bed, and sleep all day long! Am sleepy, groggy, bored, tired and very angry, so I guess the funny is out the window, so no bad jokes - I bid adieu, till next time am conscious and in a frame of mind to complete the tale of the night that never ended - almost ;)

Word of advice ..

When waiting to pee, or writing a blog about peeing while not doing it, DO NOT listen to "driftwood" by travis! Reasons:

"floating"

"drifting into water"

"floating underwater"

"long long time"

"drifting now forever and forever more"

"you really didn't think it would happen"

"everyone has to go"

"but it really is the END OF THE LINE"

What is he trying - to figuratively deconstruct my attempt to control and make the pressure build up ?!?!?!

The good news is ..

.. that the flight is still 8 hours late, thankfully no more delays - I know, the dark humour that has become my life !! *sigh* After two of my friends laughing at me, one telling me to see the silver lining, and another telling me to "cheer up" - I think am pretty much at the stage right now to have a go at four bleeding noses in one hit ! The long drag back to the international departures section was not as simple as I had anticipated, especially with one hand busy moving the mouse on my open laptop so that the free internet does not go away if the lappy falls to sleep - technology - am telling you, it maketh numbnuts of us all !! So with the charging cord dangling and intent on trying its best to make me trip and fall, the lappy balancing on my right palm, the camera sliding off the left shoulder, and the heavy elephant on my back - stupid presents - for once felt like eating them myself and lightening the load ! But then again regular gymming pays off - is someone out there listening ?! :D

After dragging myself to the information desk, rather reluctantly I had just muttered the word "MY.." in a suppresed voice when pop came the magical words, as if it were something the snob behind the specs was proud off - "Sir you wait" - oh great so they DO know the word "Sir" as well ! Wonder why that makes me happy - think am holding on to every shred of hope too strongly. With drooping shoulders I turn, and sluggy back - yes its not a word, I invented it to describe the slow movement of a slug - now shuddup and read on. Well what do you know, the Devil's probably winning at chess in the heavens because even my place is gone - the one close to the power socket. Ah but there is a catch - like in every fairy tale, I have a fairy godmother too - the masticating cow - no offence to her, apparently liked me better in that place and what I believe, or would like to believe is what she told the guy was to get lost as I was there first - I smile, and cozy up to the cold, uninviting floor - ironical eh ?

I know at this stage I should not really be choosy, and make do with whatever the airport has to offer me, but believe me you - the worst part in such a situation is when you have to pee. I know, I know, why the sudden fetish for pee posts - I cannot help it - its an important human function and its cold - so live with it ! So as I was saying, the pee, yes, to pee is one of the worst feelings, in this situation, and am having it right now. Why bad? Why BAD ?! You try walking in with the elephants and an open laptop with dangling wires - now there's even headphones attached - oh da glory ! How the hell am I supposed to follow "Dear passenger, kindly take care of your luggage and personal belongings at all times", when the urge to pee is there, the necessity to keep the lappy awake, and the anxiety to keep an eye on my luggage ?!

Time for another break, will gather all my stuff and go get the sweet release of osmoregulation - hey I can't use the word pee too much - let this post maintain some sort of decency ! Till we meet next - au revoir - yes there is going to be another meeting - still under 2 hours to check-in.

Why does it always happen to me ?

Yes, patronise me on whining and I swear I'll give you a bleeding nose in no more than 5 seconds! Sitting on the floor of a filthy airport with my legs crossed and painful, on a cold evening, does NOT leave me in a happy frame of mind. An 8 hour delayed flight, a misinformed information desk whose only English vocabulary apparently is "You wait!!", an Italian stylist who just cannot stop his "mama mia" from sucking my brains out through the ear with the straw-of-a-mouth he's got !! Why am I on the floor ? Am glad you asked - well because there is no friggin' power point except for the lobby ! The lady in the small convenience store right next to where I have camped for the night has been masticating - yes, masticating NOT chewing on her gum for the past 20 minutes and staring at me as if am some sort of experiment God's having on frustration levels. Okay, the lady might not be thinking that, but hell I feel like that hamster toddling on the giant wheel right now - the vicious bloody circle !! Am hungry, so hang on while I try to get some grub with the measly change I have in my pocket - stay tuned.

Oh sweet mother of all that is good and pure - food - at last. The glucose melts on my tongue as the sugary bit satisfies the craving within. What am I having - the cheapest biscuits available which I believe only kids have because of the high sugar content. Don't judge me, that bloody nose is still very much possible, and what do you expect from someone who has only 2.65 YTL to spare ?! A few girls just walked by, laughing, dare they mock me !! You better wipe that snug smirk off your face too or else don't say that you didn't see it coming ! Anyways, back to the venting - so, here I am, and I think my left foot has already gone numb and the right one is following closely, to give it company - blimey !! I know, have been watching too much of Brit comedy lately, so the effects will show - ignore :) As I stay put in one position, think the pain will eventually fade away, even it will get bored after some point of time.

I would have loved to say that when you are sitting on the ground, just observing, you can appreciate the little things at the airport that we usually ignore - but no, when you're on the floor, you get disgusted with how unclean it is, and the crawling insects that just might get into you baggage, and the irritating sound of women walking right across in high heels !! I am a bitter, bitter man - so put a sock in it and read on. 23:55 is what my watch reads - still 5 hours to go *sigh* . I have noticed one thing though, the Turks seem to have lost their cool knowing the flight is delayed by a whopping 8 hours, but the Italians seem pretty cool about it - not to be prejudiced in any way, but are they actually aware of such delays - makes me wonder about the horrors I am up for the next week of visiting Italy after Belgium. I am going to Belgium - yay !! :) The cleaning guy on his motor ride just waved at me - not to ask me to move - but as a gesture of acknowledgment that my bum is helping him clean the floor - oh da humanity !!

Think that is enough for the current update - feels like an aeon has passed and am identifying with Tom Hanks in Cast Away. Wait for more - shortly ;)

The time, forgotten

There will be a time when the existence of man shall be questioned and held accountable for the horrors inflicted on several innocent souls, but until that day of reckoning comes, our conscience beckons, reminding us of the need for humanity and compassion.  

Today, with my 49th post on this blog, I am not going to relate to you a funny anecdote but go full circle to the beginnings of this blog, the reason the "why" arose.  Life relates to us several tales, some etch into our memories, others drive the adrenalin up, and eventually fizz away into nothingness.  A fizz is what bubbled into the intertwined deliberations - the random ramblings that evolved over the past two years and more.  But in public interest am not going to walk down memory lane and reminisce.  Instead, I'll celebrate this pre-golden jubilee post for myself, by giving it the post it deserved - something that has been etched in memory for more than 9 years and was renewed this month during my visit to Munich, and never had the potential of fading away.

Political correctness has not been my forte, so before I start, my apologies to anyone who might be offended in any way with what I talk about.  Dachau - one of the first concentration camps in Germany, was established near Munich, which Steffi - my friend whose place I crashed at, drove me down to, on a chilly autumn morning.  Whatever experts may say, I refuse to believe that global warming caused that day to be especially cold - it felt like winter had set in - the nose numb. Drooling. Everyone taking out their taschnetucher (paper napkin) and blowing their noses in.  The ears about to drop off, the lips parched - not for lack of moisture, but the moisture on them being frozen into icicles.  I dare not imagine what a tongue would have gone through had it been on a popsicle that day!  We could not make an early start since last night had been rather tiring and the beers did not help with the alarm either.  Surprisingly for 11:30, the fog is still very thick - a dense grey set in the outskirts, visibility low.  In the car it didn't cross either of our minds what that gloomy weather meant for us.  We simply drove on, reached, and made our way to the audio guides section. 

This has been my second visit to a concentration camp, the first one being Mauthausen, on the outskirts of Vienna.  I will not advertise.  I will not coax you into going there.  I won't elaborate on what I saw either.  However, what I will tell you is the chill that ran down my spine, when I saw the line of 24 barracks in continuation that seemed to disappear into the horizon with no end in sight.  I will tell you about the design that won an award - and how that death seemed less painful than what would have been inflicted.  The more we glorify or condemn something, the more renowned something becomes, the faster it loses impact.  Dachau was different.  No cafes, no restaurants.  No souvenir shop, or marketing gimmick.  The grey abode stood there, amidst civilisation - people going in to work everyday, letting it drift into history - unnoticed, uncelebrated.  

I won't elaborate on my conversations with Steffi either, for they were wonderful - and any attempt on my part to reiterate them to you would simply not do justice to the ideas we discussed, the perspectives we got.  By afternoon, the chill had grown into a windy storm, as the breeze grew wilder, edging us on to the next exhibit in line.  What was supposed to be a 2-3 hour trip took longer - we were engrossed - not in the horrors - but in something more abstract  - the feeling - the empathy was prominent - the sympathy lingering.  Exiting the museum, we entered the barracks - the bunk beds - reminds you of "Life is Beautiful" - the movie, but not so much the horrors - we could not help but think that in probably in another hour we would be home, sipping on hot cocoa or coffee, while not 60 years ago here lay men, awaiting - not death, but the morning horn for headcount, shivering, unaware what came with the next sunrise.  

If you expect from me an elaboration on what I saw, a condemnation of Hitler's tyranny, this is not the intent of this post.  It is just one elaboration - an attempt at it - to tell you that it isn't a Romantic's idea to experience pain and suffering when going to such a place, but a common man's compassion that brings him to realise the need for love amongst humans.  It might seem all too far fetched, preachy and exaggerated - more like a work of drama, but the presence, the gravel under your feet echoes into your head - without permission - of the untold horrors.   

Five o'clock in the evening approaches and we make our way as the last tourists to leave the premises - happy to get out of the depressing state the camp put us in, content to be able to get in the car, switch the heater on and warm ourselves, happy that in today's times we feel secure. But as Steffi sped on to the highway, I cleared the fog from the window with my jacket, looked into the distance as the tin sheets shattered in the strong wind but the trees lining the camp stood still - the silence echoing in history - "never again", disappearing round the curb to join the evening commuters into Munich.

Not a moment's peace

Reminiscing of an old Indian fable, a wise man - Birbal - from the court of ministers of the great Mughal emperor Akbar, was once asked by the ruler what was the most relaxing and satisfying human emotion? A very simple question, yet it sent the entire court in a tussle between gratitude, benevolence, and what not - everyone trying to show off their "humane" side.  Birbal, being his wise self chose to maintain silence and requested the emperor that he be allowed to demonstrate his answer.   The emperor aware of Birbal's wit willingly agreed, hoping to learn the answer the fun way.  

In the dead of night Birbal came banging to the emperor's chamber requesting his company on a journey across the river.  The emperor reluctantly agreed, sensing the urgency in Birbal's voice.  The river waters gushed calmly, the fog set in, the visibility was low, and there anchored along the shore afloat was a rowboat - but nobody to row it.  Unfamiliar with such inconvenience the emperor quizically looked at Birbal expecting an explanation, but the wise man just smiled and got onto the boat assuring the emperor he would not have to row.  Three quarters of an hour into the journey, the cold was taking its toll, Birbal rowed at a leisurely pace, and the emperor grew restless.  Eventually he gave in and pleaded with Birbal to row faster as he had to pee.  Birbal with his usual smile informed that they were in the middle and going either way would take at least another three quarters of an hour.  He suggested that the emperor satisfy his urge in the river itself.  The idea was outrageous to the emperor brought up with such etiquette and he categorically denied any such improper act.  Another quarter of an hour passed and the restlessness became unbearable, and the emperor became impatient, the wise man still smiling and rowing.  He eventually gave in and threw all his apprehensions out the boat (window :P) letting out a sigh of relief - with a voice in the background saying "sire, this is the most satisfying human emotion" - a hearty laugh followed and they both rowed back home. 

Why? Because its a good story but more so since I realised its importance not two days ago.  Leaving the gym, I calculated that if I hurried I could catch the minibus in time and not wait for the next one to leave in 15 minutes.  Had to pee but thought, a 5 minute ride against a 15 minute wait, I could hold on for some time.  So I ran to catch the minibus - made it just in time ! :) Couldn't get a seat so kept shifting my weight from one leg to the other, bobbing forwards and backwards just to keep the pressure from building.  Could have made a good club dance move any other day, but all that occupied my mind then was - "just 2 more minutes .. 119 seconds .. 118 .. 117 .. 115 .. 110 .." - yeah I was skipping seconds, because believe it or not, if you are waiting, and you KNOW you're gonne be free of the 'tension' in a few seconds, the pressure builds up even more.  So instead of the usual baritone of "Acarlar" to request the driver to halt, a squeak came out, and I hurried off the minibus, brisk walking back to my apartment, hands trembling and missing the keyhole twice. I finally got in.  

No no no - how can life be THAT easy ?! I open the door and the phone rings - "hello .. hello .. hellooooooooo" - nobody answers - why would someone bother someone already in a hurry - ack !! So I continue on walking like a penguin by this time, and before I could reach the shining white ceramic, the cellphone rings - on vibration mode - what was luck trying to do - kill me ?! I take the bloody thing out and its one of my friends calling about meeting up - so I take the call, and in  a stressed tone - talking more like a Robert de Niro or a Marlon Brando in the Godfather fix up a time and disconnect - hey don't judge me to be rude - I was under a lot of pressure - literally ! I reach the door - glowing, inviting, turn the handle - locked! I turn again - still locked - why oh why ?! "Am in here KG" comes a voice from inside - its one of my flatmates ! Oh bloody hell !! Fortunately we have two restrooms, so I hurry off to the other one - now that one has not been designed for guys pee'in - the lid keeps falling down - so got to adjust that first - 2 more minutes of misery - that taken care of - okay I will save you the details, thankfully for you, but lets just say, even the zipper played spoilt sport that day, and another 5 minutes later only could I go "oh dear heaven on earth" - and the sigh of relief !! :)

I know a lot of people would identify with this experience but would deny it all the same ! :) Never again am I gonna go for a 10 minute time saver and have 10 minutes of misery - the 15 minute wait it shall be ;)