In between flights...

On my way from Pune back to Bangalore, as I waited for my turn to be frisked at the security check, I saw before me a bearded gentleman who was politely giving way and chatting to someone who did not know where the queue was. I could not help overhearing him say he was American, but ‘is desh mera desh hai’. I suppressed an urge to correct him ‘Yeh desh’. It is not often that a foreigner strikes up conversation with a local in Hindi, especially when two Indians themselves greet in English.

So off he went before me, and as we waited for our planes in the lounge, I happened to be within earshot of him. He was obviously catching up on some business and I could not help admiring how confidently he spoke. I continued to listen as discreetly as I could. The crux of the conversation was that he was called upon to share pearls of his wisdom at some event, but he was looking for some kind of remuneration. He was very matter-of-fact in advising the lady on the other side of the phone that his time cost money, and if he were to prepare for and spend some time with them, then they would have to arrange for an honorarium.

Now, the mental picture I get for this kind of situation is a pot-bellied gentleman, scratching his head and saying ‘kuch kharcha pani mil jata toh …’. For some reason, when he spoke the way he did, it did not sound very awkward. Blame it on whatever you want to, but there I was, wondering what this person did that enabled him to speak the way he did and get away with it. Shortly, he was speaking to someone else who made the mistake of asking him his email ID. This gentleman chastised him for asking an email ID on a phone call, but eventually gave it in terms of his first name, last name and then his company name. I was totally hooked and made a mental note to look him up, having heard his name when he introduced himself on the phone call. He was David Wittenberg.

Well, you never know who you run into. On a separate note, here’s (who I think was) Syed Kirmani napping in the Jet Lounge at Mumbai.

What's Your Raashee?

A yuppie NRI in the US of A is called home to wed, in the hope that his dowry can be used to repay some bad debts. He chances upon the novel idea (pun unintended) of meeting one girl of each 'rashi' to see with whom he hits it off.

In making the movie a comedy, Ashutosh Gowariker makes heavy use of the stereotypes associated with each 'rashi'. In some characters, these get overdone to an extent that it is hardly believable. After a few 'rashis', it begins to feel as if the hero is looking for reasons not to marry, rather, to move on to the next 'rashi'.

Harman Hurman hardly has any scope in the movie. He seems to be strutting around for all of the three and a half hours, asking the same questions to every 'rashi'. There are a couple of songs to showcase his dancing talents, but largely he comes across as a poor man's Hrithik Roshan. Priyanka Chopra on the other hand, can walk away from this movie with her head held high. She has put in effort to research each character and give it a distinct trait in speech or gait. Be it a pretending 'dehaat', or a polished corporate, or a carefree collegian, she does justice to each character. In the title track video, which has all her characters on-screen together, you can see that each character does the same steps differently - while the collegian prances around oblivious to others, the doctor sways a bit reservedly, the corporate moves are 'propah', and the dehaat character has two left feet, which she pulls up together right after the song stops. I thought that the attention to detail given in this particular piece of choreography was fantastic. Music is not extraordinary, save a couple of numbers which have catchy sequences.

My reco:

It's worth a watch to see Priyanka Chopra's histrionics, she's been on a marathon run to the dressing room since Fashion, but her apart, there's nothing really strong about the movie to pull you into the theater. The title track tells you all about the movie - visually and musically too! Wait for it if you can, it will hit the TV soon.

Nano: The New Auto?

The Nano has hit the roads. And as you can see, it is very close to the Auto. :)

The similarity does not stop at size alone. The costs are comparable; in fact the Nano might even be cheaper to own than an auto-rickshaw. The cheapest Nano costs around Rs. 1,30,000 on road and the auto is not very distant from that figure. So, it might in fact be a better option that a prospective auto wala buys a Nano and runs the Nano as an auto.

On the one hand, you have more comfort; one can sit beside the driver rather than squeezing in "cattle-class" at the back. You have more safety, as there are no open sides or soft tops. More value, as you are protected from rain and paan (and may even have AC if the driver is enterprising enough). Roads where two/three-wheelers are prohibited are no longer a constraint.

On the other hand, they may not be as easy to flag down. Typical auto-navigation (read sudden U-turns) may not be possible because of the larger turning radius, which may be a good thing after all. Carriage of goods/luggage can also be a problem, as autos have a reputation of being able to carry a lot of things which cannot/may not be accommodated into a 'car'.

I do not know about CNG/LPG, but I do not see a significant difference in the fuel efficiency in the two when using normal fuel. The auto is known to give anywhere near 30 kmpl of petrol, while the Nano is said to return around 25 kmpl. A little math is required, perhaps, to work out a pricing model, where the Nano can be a little pricier than the auto, but still cheaper than a regular taxi. In fact, I think if LPG is considered, or for that matter, even diesel, the Nano can still be profitably used with the existing auto tariffs.

If it clicks, we may well see the Nano inherit the traditional black and yellow, hitherto worn proudly by the Auto and the Premier Padmini.

The Years Gone By

Old photographs make for a fun filled post-lunch session. Recently when I was home, I went through our regular routine of cupboard re-organisation. A bagful of old albums are taken out, spread on the double bed, and the flashback begins, often not ending until dinner is served.

This time was no exception, I found a small paper sachet with a few additions to my Dad's collection of passport size photographs. Dad has this habit of retaining one photograph everytime he takes a fresh set of eight photographs. So, the cover had about 10-12 photos of Dad at various stages of life - resulting in this panorama.

It is amazing how time wears a face out, how you can look back year on year and see how faces change. Some lines are welcome, some take a little sheen off the personality. Hairlines recede, the skin puffs up, the different hairstyles symbolic of the era all leaving you with memories of each phase.

On Independence Day ...

... Orkut does a fine job of giving an Indian motif on its home page. Not quite unexpected, considering that India has one of its largest user base.

PS: And on Diwali, this.

Passing the test

A few weeks back I had the car tyres changed as the offside ones were on the legal limit and would have failed the MOT. The search for the tyres were almost like the search for the car itself (which was like having autotrader as the default page on your browser). Sometimes, options do drive you crazy.

I chose Pirelli P3000s and even though I 'had' to change only two of them, I had all the four changed. I'd rather drive on new tyres myself and sell the car than drive on part worn tyres and put new ones on it while selling.

The difference the tyres made to the overall driving experience was awesome. As soon as I spun the car around the roundabout, I was smiling wide. The braking is firmer and the handling is a lot easier. Small bumps are no longer noticeable and these tyres seem to be a tad quieter too.

The real fun came on the motorway. The car used to show signs of vibration near 80mph. I had suspected this to be due to wheel balancing/alignment. The offside tyres were badly worn, while the nearside tyres still had some life in them. After I had the Pirellis fitted, we drove to Birmingham the other day to visit the temple, and the car did not wobble an inch even when I hit 80mph. Then 90mph. Then 100mph for a short while. The drive was total paisa-vasool, I wish I had these tyres when we drove up to Lake District.

Last week, I also had the MOT done on the car. It was at the usual folks - JS Motoring. Last time I had the MOT done for the Golf, it had set me back sizably. As I watched them size the car up, I got the 'butterflies'. I watched as they went through the motions - doors, check; wipers, check; windshield, check; lights, one bulb blown (fine, not a big deal); tyres, check; seatbelts, check; and so on... It was like the time we ran through our question papers - a ten here, a five here, a ten there, a five more for the diagram, a ten from here and there in the last hour... forty, Yay PASS!!!

Apparently, the car is in good nick. It came out of the MOT clean, with only a few minor niggles like blown bulbs and brake settings to be taken care of. Remarkable, if you ask me, for its age and miles. Peace for 12 more months. :)

Roads for Development

The photo-feature I did set me thinking about the roads we have in Milton Keynes. Milton Keynes is served by two major roadways - the M1 and the A5. These two arterial roads handle most of the traffic that comes into (and goes from) the city. In fact, this ease of accessibility allowed us to expand S's job search to places around MK, so that we could move home and I could commute by car.

It is quite common to see a lot of people who stay as far away as Birmingham commute to Milton Keynes on a daily basis. Of course there are traffic qualms, but then some amount of timing will ensure you are done in about an hour (Birmingham). An interesting fact about Milton Keynes was that it was deliberately built where it is now. It was planned so that the city is equidistant from the major hubs like London, Birmingham, Oxford, Cambridge and Leicester. Remarkably, one third of the UK's population is within one hour of Milton Keynes. This is the single biggest factor favouring Milton Keynes as England bids to host the FIFA World Cup in 2018.

It is amazing how a good network of roads can help you pitch for tourism, trade and business.

A Photo Feature on Roads

Roads, sometimes they are clean,

Sometimes, dirty.

Sometimes, lonely.

Sometimes, crowded.

Sometimes, straight.

Sometimes, twisted.

Sometimes, narrow.

Sometimes, wide.

Sometimes, scenic...

... picturesque ...

... and sometimes outright breathtaking.

You can see some roads till the eye can see.

Some roads appear to be a dead-end.

Some are artificial.

And some do not even need to be on land :D

Das Auto

I had not thought much about having a car until I rented one to go visit Goks in Ipswich. That triggered the dormant driver and I rented a few more times that year. And then when AA had to go back to India, he left me his car in our driveway. It was a 1992 1000 cc VW Polo. By today's standards, it was quite rudimentary, but it did the job. For four people who had to walk home in winter, it was a godsend. It heated the interior, played audio cassettes, and we had a car. Yay! So what if it had only three doors and we had to squeeze into the back seat?

I took out insurance on it and used it to commute to the office for as long as AA's parking permit was valid. Then we used it only to go to the movies because the winter was cold and the parking was free. Then one day, in great gusto, I filled a little more fuel than normal and it sprung a leak at the bottom. It beats all notions, but I still believe the leak was because I put in too much gas and some weak point in the tank could not bear the weight. It was still usable until it developed a problem with the horn wiring. The horn would sound every time I turned the car left or right. Miffed, I let the car stand in front of the house as I could not bring myself to scrap it.

About this time, KG was going back to India for good. And because he had to go in a hurry, he left me his car in our driveway. It was a 1997 1400 cc VW Golf. By today's standards, it was a mediocre car to have. It had five doors, looked good and had a sunroof :) So what if it had done about 125000 miles? I transferred my insurance on to it and started using it. It was a great car, we took it on the motorways once to Birmingham and it behaved itself very nicely, although I felt that the the engine was a bit slow to respond both while overtaking and picking up from zero. Within the city, it was great fun. The lack of response from the engine gave a factor of predictability to the car and it handled easy, almost like a toy. I moved home about this time, and took the Golf with me, while the Polo was still parked at my bachelor pad.

I liked the Golf in spite of the big dent on the front bumper (thanks to AD) and even contemplated keeping it but it cost me a bit too much in its annual MOT. Plus there was no service history on it before KG bought it, so I was a bit wary. I eventually sold the car to a guy who wanted a car to practice his driving on. I tried fixing the Polo. I managed to disconnect the horn under the hood so there would be nothing to sound even if the wiring fired but no adhesive or sealant would plug the hole in the tank. Finally, I asked a used-car dealer who took damaged cars to haul it away.

My current car is a 2000 Vauxhall Astra, 1600 cc. By today's standards, it is a decent car to have. It has remote locking, fog lights, and plays CDs. So what if it does not have a sunroof? The insurance I had taken out for the other cars gave me one claim-free year which got me a hefty discount when it was time for renewal. Since I have bought it, I have done more than 4000 miles on it. The car has been to places as near as Birmingham and London to those as far as Blackpool and The Lake District. A few months ago, I had the cambelt changed when the service was due, and now I am having to change the tyres, because they are very close to the legal limit, but them apart, the car has been in fantastic shape and performance for its age and miles.

If you notice, the cars are getting newer and more powerful. An SUV around 2.0 litres would be logical for the next change, would you say? :|

Friends at work

One of the questions on the annual employee satisfaction survey we have (when we have it) is 'Do you have a best friend at work?'. Sure, I have friends at work, but my answer to that question has always been no. It is because if you're 'best friends' with a colleague, it blurs the line that demarcates personal and professional relationships.

Back home in India, it is easy to maintain different networks. You have your friends from school, from college, from the neighbourhood, from work etc. They are all distinct social circles of which you're a part of for a period of time. It is therefore possible to leave your colleagues at office and go to movies with your friends. But when you're in a foreign land, where your only social circle is made up of your colleagues who don the role of friends after hours, it makes it very hard to identify where to draw the line. And because everyone is part of the same circle, you're always bumping into each other everywhere - from the shopping mall to the movie hall to the pub crawl - bringing about an odd sense of familiarity between two people that eventually leads them to understand each other profoundly, or one taking the other for granted.

It is all good when everything is ok, but when people fall out, it fosters an unhealthy atmosphere. Suddenly people are no longer willing to help. Hands are thrown up in the air. Questions met with shrugs. Greetings unacknowledged. Dirty linen washed in public. And other people notice and they talk. They probe. They wonder what may have gone wrong. It lingers on somewhere in the mind, popping up every now and then, killing the urge to work and crushing productivity levels.

Recently two colleagues of mine (who were good friends) fell out of each other's favour. I recalled all the times spent together, and then all the venom spit out now, and wondered if it was all worth the result. I mused if this could have been prevented if they were merely colleagues, and strangely it made sense. They would have probably gone their own ways, like they have now, but without the acrimony. And it would have worked out well for everyone.

The incident came as a loud wake-up call to me. In each of the people we know professionally, there is a colleague who knows us well and a friend who works with us. It is important that we differentiate the two and know whom to work and whom to play with. It reminded me of a line which I often use - 'Good fences make good neighbours'. When the fences are strong, all is well, but when you let the fences break down, you give them the power to hurt you.

And once hurt, the relationship will never be the same again.

An Year of S

This June, S completes a year of stay here. Looking back at it all, she's managed pretty well. Not that I am a hard person to live with, but she has been able to mix the excitement of being in a new place away from family, the hesitancy in making new friends, the boredom of being jobless all together and lap it up without letting it go into her head.

Last June, when we came in, she was all too excited about the house. She could not imagine it well enough when I described it to her (which was a good thing, since she did not have any preconceived notion of how it was) so I made a video of her as she entered the house and explored each room (of the 1BHK, if I may add). Now, it makes me smile as I look at her going around the house, looking wide-eyed at (now) common things like the carpeted floor, the bedside tables, etc and gushing "It's so cute".

The first few weeks were quiet, until she wore off the blues of being in a new place. She took her time to acquaint herself with the house, moving little bits of furniture around, making the place her own. She loved the fact that internet was available 24/7 and became so active on Orkut that she used it as an instant messenger. She bent the stick too much, and it broke. Within weeks, she deleted her Orkut account having got bored of it. Her next project was to go through my hard drive and arrange my music. Then photos, place-wise, date-wise. Then she ran out of things to do and there started the tantrums.

She missed her office, she missed friends of her own, she missed the independent life she once had in Bangalore. Suddenly, she began feeling claustrophobic, with no one to talk to, nowhere to go to, nothing to do. We've had our silliest fights during that phase,and sometimes I'm glad it's happened here. Anyone who saw us fight would have thought there is something seriously wrong in the marriage.

At this time, FRIENDS played a big role in taking things forward. S had this box set of FRIENDS - 'The One With All The Ten Seasons', which she always wanted to see with me. So one weekend we put in the first season and leaned back on the sofa. From then on, we devoured FRIENDS like Joey devours sandwiches. One DVD would never be enough and we would watch complete seasons at a stretch. It caught on to such an extent that S would keep an episode ready and we would watch it over lunch before I went back to office. Then again over tea, and dinner, and later.

FRIENDS gave way to 'Jo Jeeta Wohi Superstar' and we rooted for Vinit to win. Vinit imitating Himesh was an oft-played clip in Youtube. We caught up on all the episodes and actually became 'Live' in the sense that we watched Rahul Vaidya win in real time. The singing competition gave way to dancing competitions and streaming television at which point I lost interest.

Cooking provided S with another channel to expend her energies. She did find it hard the first time when I had invited about 20 people home, but once that was a grand success, she has not looked back. She now follows a cookery blog and conjures up dish after dish of simple, but exotic, delicacies.

The transition from a working woman to a homemaker has not been easy on her. Not landing a job has been her biggest grouse. With the market down, and employers preferring British people over immigrants, jobs have been hard to come by. Women and Work, which she recently joined provides her a chance to go out, meet other people and observe their lifestyle, but still a regular job eludes her.

Yet, she remains hopeful, and goes about her fairly predictable routine cheerfully, making me look at her in awe.

Dave Hitz on Engineering and Management

Just about the time when NetApp ranked first on Fortune's Best Companies to Work For:2009, I came across this video of Dave Hitz. In a short talk at Princeton, Dave talks about his experience from founding the company to being VP of Engineering.

Dave talks about his becoming a manager despite being involved in a technical capacity for more than a decade, and the rationale behind Dan Warmenhoven in choosing him for the job. Giving (sometimes humorous) examples of various clients, he talks about technological simplicity, company values and culture.

What I liked most was a quote about engineers. "The optimist says the glass is half full. The pessimist says it is half empty. The engineer says that glass is twice as large as it needs to be to hold the fluid it contains." 

Full video here. 

The Cricketer Under Cover

The Fake IPL Player has been evoking a lot of interest. I have been seeing the rate at which he attracts comments, and I must admit, I have seen such frenzied hits on one site only during online contests like Klueless.

Part of the reason for his popularity is that he is in uncharted territory. Given the importance attached to this game in the country, and the way lobbies work their way through the system, any little detail leaked to the public will go a long way, polarising many in its wake. The players know this, and therefore what happens in and around the dressing room, is largely kept to themselves, rarely coming out from under the honey-coated, politically correct blanket. 

Take for example any development in the recent past - senior players not wanting to play under Dhoni, Dravid resigning as captain, the coaches who came and went, the Ganguly-Chappell emails - all exhibited signs of dissent and conflict of interests. Rather than being a cohesive unit, the team sought to be content to co-exist in an environment of mutual exclusivity. 

In that respect, Fake IPL Player (if he is a player), is blowing a very loud whistle.

Part of the reason is also that he gives a tiny window into the other life of these demi-Gods. A life which spans five-star hotels, uptown nightclubs and flashy discotheques around the world. A life where an inebriated star making small talk with a local chick suddenly brings him down from his lofty pedestal to something not very different from what you and me see or do. 

In their defence, tours abroad may be the only chance the stars get to let their guard down, especially coming from a land where all it takes is a single photograph for the media to proclaim a cricketer and a movie starlet as a couple. Still, you get the drift.

However, the biggest reason contributing to the player's popularity is that he is under cover. He is a mole. A double agent. No one knows who he is. He leaks their secrets. He gives words to the steely stares. The team management is determined to snuff him out. The owner is having sleepless nights (unless of course he has conjured this up, in which case we may have to doff our hats, all this muck and mudslinging notwithstanding). There have been attempts to ban internet, laptops etc in the hotels, but this guy manages to stay a step ahead, blogging via SMS etc.

Like the backbencher kid who cracks jokes while his headmaster berates him, he takes on the mighty cricket establishment and pokes fun at it. He mocks the system that tries to unsuccessfully stifle him. 

It is this in-your-face irreverence that the masses are cheering.

Iranian Deserts

A few days ago, local newspapers reported that the residents of Broughton village here blocked the entry of a Google Street View car and prevented putting their village on air as they thought it intruded upon their privacy.

My views on the Street View feature are rather desultory. Useful? Perhaps. Intrusive? Maybe; but one thing is for sure. I would never have found out where these stunning locales were from, if it were not for Google Maps.

I took these photographs from the plane when we flew back here last June. The flight attendant told us we were somewhere over Iran, giving us something to start with when we came back home.

After unsuccessfully locating various other lakes, I did find out the place. It is the Orumiyeh lake in Iran. See Google Map embedding below. The faint line joining the green to the brown is the unfinished bridge. Zoom in to see more.

View Larger Map
Some googling also revealed that the unfinished bridge has considerable history behind it. Here is a photograph from one side of the bridge.

Take a look at the deserts and the terrain. You can sense the dusty, earthy feel to it, a quality which implores the traveller in you to leave everything behind and experience the weary, rough nomadic life. I hope I get to walk on those sands someday.

Here I go again

Its been a long time coming, but here I am. Marriage didn't kill the blogger in me, after all! And it feels good to be back!

More later, but soon.

Doing It Yourself

My first brush with carpentry was to create a dove-tail joint out of two half-a-foot blocks of wood. In the carpentry shop in the mechanical department, I marked and I sawed, I chafed and I chiselled until I managed to fit the two blocks into a T, where one block held the other against movement in its length axis.

The second was to build a wardrobe out of this. :O















First, I fit the middle plank to the bottom and the main shelf-plank to make the skeleton of the wardrobe.














Then, the top panel (to the bottom of the pic) was joined and the side panels were clamped in.














The rear plys were then nailed in.















And then the whole thing was heaved and put against the wall. Once up, the doors were hinged in.















There, a decent wardrobe, with lots of hanging space, shelves on one side, and drawers and racks on the other.

















I bought this thing from a colleague who was leaving UK for good. Thankfully, he dismantled only the planks, and did not go all the way to the pegs. I'm glad I waited till the long weekend to get this thing up, because the next morning, I woke up with a pain in the lower back (which subsided after a session in the gym). Thankfully, few friends came in after the rear plys were nailed in, and helped me heave the wardrobe against the wall, and fit the doors in.

It was fun, no doubt, but you need to get your basics right. We fit and re-fit a door two times, but it was still not straight. It was finally brought in line by tweaking the position of the hinges. The right side doors are still a bit askew, but then... chalta hai.

About S and Love

Sometime back, I moved home. I moved out of the bachelor pad, and into a single BHK close to the office. The new place is a quiet little cosy place, which is tastefully decorated by the owner. I haven't had to bring much into it. It looks and feels so balanced in its minimalistic furniture that I don't want to bring anything and make the place cluttered. Recently, I bought a huge four door wardrobe from one of my colleagues who was returning to India for good. Him and me dismantled and brought it in our cars. I am yet to re-fit it again. The planks are just lying there, waiting to be fixed, but every other weekend, some thing or the other takes precedence.

Every night, after I return from office and fix myself some dinner, there is a lull before I actually go to sleep. If I turn the music down on the laptop, and keep the tall lamp in the corner glowing, it creates an introspective mood. It gives me time to think about S, about the fact that in less than a month, people will start referring to us as a single entity. It is not long before S joins me here and we start our own life. Sometimes, while the thought wanders aimlessly like this, the low music and the muted lighting creates a magical atmosphere and makes me miss her.

I think about how this will be a good time to start wooing her all over again. We have been together for almost eight years now. In these four years of being together and as many years of maintaining a long-distance relationship, some things have changed. For better, I would like to think. And then there are things that have not changed. She still laughs at my PJs. The good ones, that is. I hope it never changes. I think about how I used to wait my turn at telephone booths, and there used to be so much to talk about. I think about how I can call anytime I want now, and yet sometimes, there is nothing to talk about. But from then to now, the longing to hear my voice is still the same. I hope that never changes. I think about how her eyes sparkled on seeing me arrive at the bus-stand every morning. I recall the same sparkle when I was with her in January. I hope that never changes.

And then there are things which are revelations. I think about how, working in Bangalore, staying in PG's, she has become this independent woman I never knew. I think about how she gushes about her awards, and her shifts and deadlines and team-building and stuff, and I wonder, was this the same girl who did not write aptitude tests in college, because she was scared she would end up with the lowest scores. This in spite of the fact that the whole class copied her notes. I think about how, living in Bangalore, she has developed a 'taste'. I think about how she takes me all over Bangalore. I look with great interest as she darts back and forth through MG Road, holding my hand and leading me as though I were a child. In times like these, it is as if I am outside myself, leaning against a pole and watching her lead me as she weaves our way through traffic. I think about this and I smile. It must be the movies I watch. :D I think about how my excitement on seeing Shahrukh Khan and shaking hands with Amitabh Bachchan amused her. I think about how she chides me, for happily staying here, while she (poor soul!) is in India.

I think about how we will now be a single entity. How, should we attend any function alone, we will be asked why the other did not come. How, if we go out together, it will be acceptable. I will miss the risk and the guilt of making up reasons to go out and meet her. Somehow, the reality of the union is unreal. I want us to go back four years and live them together. I want to call her from office, and arrange to meet her at a multiplex, watch a movie, drop her and then go home. I want us to just hang out, see a sale, shop together. I want to cancel a day out with the boys to be with her. I want her to come over to my place on lazy Sunday afternoons, and to make us some tea, and go out to the terrace and talk about having to iron clothes for office the next day. I want to wait for her at the railway station on Friday evenings, so we could travel to Mysore together. Or by bike sometimes. I want to get up late on a weekend and realise I had to meet her at CCD, and make it double quick. I want my four years back.

And yet, I dream of us sitting together on the window sill on a rainy night, drinking hot tea, listening to the constant pattering of the raindrops on the glass. I dream of us washing the utensils and wiping them dry before going to bed. I dream of us in bed on warm balmy afternoons, too lazy to get up, talking about nothing in general. I dream of us sitting down and working out finances and homestead. I wonder if these will make up for the four years.

I have good colleagues at my job, I have more friends than I deserve, I am given more love in the family than anyone else, but I would still want those four years. You see, when it comes to love, I am greedy. I can never get enough. :P

That Queer Shake

12:10 - I am sleeplessly lazing, stretched out across the width of the bed, my back against the wall, cushioned by a rumpled duvet and a pillow, and my feet on a wheeled chair. I'm aimlessly browsing stuff, here and there, listening to Gaalipata songs on Kannada Audio, and randomly scrapping friends on Orkut.

12:20 - Too many tabs opened on a window, I guess, and Explorer has had enough. Without warning, it comes up with an error saying 'Explorer has encountered a serious problem and will close'. And poof, it closes all the sites at once. Though the loss is nothing so important or interesting to be furious at, I find myself cursing the laptop. There is a saying in Kannada which roughly translates to "going and sitting on an ant-hill, when there's nothing better to do". If only it had occurred to me, when I was showing off at Frankfurt airport having connected to public wi-fi without an anti-virus, my laptop would probably not have been in this state. To cut another story short, I had to take it to a HP authorised dealer to have it back in working condition without loss of any data.

12.25 - I shut my laptop down and place it on the chair (the one with the wheels). I visit the bathroom, remove my lenses and come back with my glasses on. With a cursory glance, I take in the general quadrangle of the room. Wash Clothes. Iron Trousers. Make space on the table for the laptop. Unpack completely. (I came back ONLY three weeks ago you see :P). Towel for tomorrow? Check. Ironed shirt? Check. Set alarm on the phone? Check. Removed from silent mode? Check.

12.35 - I switch off the light and jump into the bed. My eyes adjust to a pale orange light streaming in from the sodium vapour lamp outside. I take off my specs and place them above the laptop on the chair (the one with wheels). I look through the skylight into the darkness. It's an odd test I take sometimes - looking into the darkness with my heavily myopic eyes to see how much dark-distance I perceive. Sometimes it gets really interesting. Especially when you look at a luminous object, and then at something else, you see a superimposition of the luminous object over the real object in your line of vision. It is almost as if you can touch the vision with your hand, only it disappears when you outstretch your hand. It may lack an explanation, or may be it is too trivial to deserve one, but sometimes I do it for kicks. In Mysore, I could climb up the stairs and go to my room in pitch-dark "power cut" darkness, and return with Chelpark Black ink for my pen. Blindfolded. You tell me how.

12.40 - I close my eyes and try to sleep. I'm thinking about a dream which I had last week, and remembered to write about. What the dream was, I don't know now. But what I know is that I had remembered the dream then and wanted to get up and make notes lest I forgot about it. Why I didn't get up, nobody knows.

12.55 - I am shaking. It is not the usual shudder which I involuntarily have when there is a sudden cramp or a bad dream. Few seconds later, I realise it's not only me. The dim reflection of the white of the cupboard behind my bed is shaking too. The chair (the one with the wheels) is moving farther and farther away. A few seconds later, everything is still.
Puzzled, I go downstairs to talk to my flat mates who are usually awake till late. Unusually today, they are asleep, and do not respond when called. I walk back to my room and look around. I remember I shook unnaturally. I stretch my legs to feel any tell-tale pain which may have given a cramp. None. I look around, but there are no clues.

Only the chair (the one with wheels), having rolled to the center of the room, stands witness to my first second experience of an earthquake.

News:
Yesterday just before 0100 GMT, an earthquake measuring 5.2 on the Richter Scale, hit the UK. With its epicentre in Lincolnshire, it was the biggest earthquake in the UK in 25 years.

Asides:
1. I now know how people must have felt in Latur. What I experienced for 10 seconds was muffled by 100 miles of solid rock.
2. That Queer Shake is an anagram of The Earth Quakes.

Flashback in the New Year

As New Year says 'Hello', I am glumly reminded of the fact that it has been an year since I have been out of the country. Standing at the London Eye, watching the fireworks last year, I was not very sure that the year ahead would be without breaks at all. I had a faint hope I could go home sometime in between. Alas, it was not to be. But this New Year brings cheer with it, because, by Makara Sankranti, I will be back home for vacation.

The year that passed was a year of new acquisitions. Late as it was, but I did get my hands on the XDA Orbit. Quite common now, but at the same time last year, it was quite a sensation, and a fine sense of ownership would wash over me each time anyone asked to see it. This continued for a period of about six months, from when it started to become common. There was a similar kind of joy with the bluetooth stereo headsets, the high capacity hard-disks and the electronic gadgetry, though the joy this time was shortlived owing to their plummeting prices.

The year that passed was a year at the movies. I have never seen as many movies in one calendar year ever. If there is anything such as a good bargain, then it is the Cineworld Unlimited card. For 11 pounds per month (now 12), getting any number of movies, any number of times, any time of the day and at any theater in the UK is a superlative deal. Especially if the normal cost of a movie ticket is 7 pounds (now 8) for an adult. From watching Nehle Pe Dehla almost alone to seeing people watch Sivaji standing, I have done it all. I have been able to watch much-hyped big banner movies WEEKS before my friends saw it in India. I have seen them a lot cheaper too, if you think about it. If you wanted to watch Chak De India, Aaja Nachle and Om Shanti Om on the first day (as I did), you would probably pay more than what a non-member would pay here (approx. Rs.2000). The card is the first thing I recommend to any colleague who comes from India. So much so, that now, we are a sizeable number and at one point of time, we used to calculate the monthly cost-per-film and try to reduce the ratio the next month by watching more movies. Yeah, we are like this only.

The year that passed was a year of luck. How else would you define having seen from a distance of ten feet, the two most bankable stars of Bollywood - Amitabh Bachchan and Shahrukh Khan. It has been my fortune to be roomies with an FTII alumnus, who has immense hunger for films and their making. He is a member of the British Film Institute and the National Theatre. It directly results in getting passes/tickets to premieres (Chak De India premiere at London), award functions (IIFA at Yorkshire) and film festivals (London Film Festival).

The year that passed was a year of appreciating good food. When you get up early on a weekend (#1 on my 'Will-not-do' list) and travel 75 miles (#2 on my 'Will-not-do' list), just to get some breakfast, you know you miss India very very much. Over the year, I have travelled to London innumerable times, just to eat Idli/Dosa. Nothing else. I have noticed that the curry you make at home is better than the bland stuff which comes when you order from an "Indian" restaurant. I have learnt that my room-mates cook so well, that if I can rake up some money, I can persuade them to shift from IT to catering. I look back with extreme satisfaction that some of the best food I have eaten over the last 12 months was cooked by my own roomies. Back home, my grandmother, my mother and my three aunts all make coffee the same way, yet there is a distinctive taste of each coffee, and I could make out who made which coffee. Now, I have forgotten how filter coffee tastes. Here coffee is either a black hot espresso or a sugarless, milky latte. Being away makes you realise the value of things taken for granted.

The year that passed was a year of travelling. Brussels, Bruges, Ghent in Belgium. Rotterdam, Amsterdam and the famous Keukenhof in the Netherlands. Cardiff, Barry Islands, Swansea and the beaches of Port Eynon in Wales. Glasgow, Fort William, Fort Augustus, Isle of Skye and the Loch Ness in scenic Scotland. And in England - London, the temples at Birmingham and Neasden, Sheffield, Ipswich, the cathedral of Norwich, the beaches at Great Yarmouth and the Isle of Wight, the Roman Baths at Bath and Bristol. It's an utter pity, a shame in fact that I haven't found time to write about them yet. Each of them was an experience in itself and deserves mention.

The year that passed was a year of fun. Of driving on the motorways at 100 miles per hour - as fast as a Shoaib Akhtar delivery. Of experiencing the first snowfall. Of pelting each other with snowballs and making snowmen in the parking lots. Of seeing black ice on the roads. Of taking steam baths in the gym. Of converting a flatland in the park into a cricket patch (not a pitch). Of seeing only five hours of daylight. And then sixteen hours. Of waking up to dull grey mornings and watching out of the window, with a cup of hot tea in one hand and a phone back home in the other. And of the joy of having taken a seven-year young relationship towards its logical milestone.

2008 promises to be fun. Here I come!

Kaboom

And there goes another message to the political establishment, one more famous name added into the kitty of the perpetrators of terrorism. A 54 year old leader of a troubled state reduced to a mere number in their also-killed list.

I'm not a political guy, heck, I don't even understand the games played in the office, much less a country. Yet, when I see a person of the stature of Nawaz Sharif, emotional and choking on the television, saying it is the darkest day of his country, I know it is not drama. I see Benazir on the television, telling Barkha Dutt that she is not afraid of going back to her country, that she considers that no one can be killed until their time is up. I see Benazir emotional when she is back from exile into her homeland, jubiliant and confidently talking about what she wants to do next. I look at the family, where the father and his three children are tragically done to death and wonder what reason will possibly justify these murders.

Cut out all the fors and the againsts, leave aside all her political aspirations, and charges of corruption and what have you. Till today, here was your woman - living in exile, wanting to do something for her country, having lost her family to a series of unnatural deaths, and probably putting her own life on the anvil everytime four people gathered around her - and still saying it does not worry her as she enters her own country in dangerous times. Such guts!

And now, all that is left of those guts are two words making a cold headline. Benazir Assassinated.