AWOL for 6 Weeks...

Well, what do I say? The financial year ends keeping most of us on our toes and the rest of us on the sidelines watching the fun. You guessed right about which group I belong to (wink).

The world’s changed quite a bit since Feb 17, ’09 (hint: my last post), and I thought I’d put in my two bits of how it’s affecting me…

Valentines Hang-over

You would’ve guessed it… The generous contributors to the ‘pink chaddi’ campaign who were discreet enough to write down their personal address and numbers on the couriers expecting a sari, are now flooded with obscene calls from the outfit’s workers. I’m not surprised at all! Moreover Muthalik plans to sue all contributors to the campaign for defamation. His logic: It is ‘perverted’. Hmmm… I wonder what could be more perverted than beating up hapless young women… I know: wearing chaddis! According to Ravi, a passionate fan of Muthalik, underwear is not a part of Indian culture. Now that makes us all ‘Christian Westerners’ don’t it? (Please see comment under: HELL WITH THE FREE CULTURE PROTOGANISTS.... HELL WITH PUB CULTURE by Ravi on 23 Feb 2009 on the second link)

Shift Focus

The Maharashtra government is planning to shift this year’s Ganesh Pooja celebrations to Kabul. This was keeping in mind the inability to provide adequate security for the event. The authorities decided on Kabul after extensive survey of ‘low risk’ cities around the world that ended with Kabul tied with Lahore and Baghdad. The samitis have already started contacting their donors and members to start processing their travel paper-work, growing beards, stitch burquas, and the like. Keeping in mind the taliban’s sensitivity to music, the crowds will have to use personal MP3 players. Each committee will post their music on the net where the devotees can download the playlist.

Of course this ain’t true (not for 2009 at-least)! But the IPL season 2 has definitely moved to South Africa citing similar reasons…

The Other Gandhi…

The obscurity of Varun Gandhi has come to an end. Everybody knows ‘the other Gandhi’ now. As the poster boy of the right-wing, he was ‘forced’ to deliver a hate speech against the Muslims by his political opponents. Or so says his mother Maneka Gandhi. Her reasoning? It is incorrect to file a case against him. However, you would be glad to know that Varun was unrepentant. This didn’t stop the UP government from slapping the NSA on him. As the biggest reality show in India hits the road, you can expect a lot more action…

Held Hostage

I was held hostage at home today from 08:00 to 11:15 by my maid. It was traumatizing to say the least. Ron’s in Mukhteshwar with Baba and Ma and that leaves me home alone for the next few days. So, I have to wait for the maid to do her thing before I leave for work. Praveen Pandit had come over last evening and (correct me if I’m wrong, Pandit) was ready for work for the first time (ever) at 08:00. But then, we were held prisoners by the maid who decided to make an appearance at 11:00. The sweltering Mumbai heat (that’s touching 41 degrees Centigrade or 106 F) didn’t add to the experience. I tried to keep Pandit pacified with a few cups of coffee and then tea, but that din’t seem to cheer him up either. Finally we drove to work at 11:15 blasting heavy metal and that seemed to do the trick.

Well, as you’ve read, it’s been quite eventful, the past couple of months. I've also watched Mithunda's Goonda, and similar poems on celluloid thanks to Ratul. But I plan to pick up a copy of NFS Undercover sometime soon to help things along for the next few days/weeks… Which means that my fingers may be too swollen to type the next post.

So, till next time, be cool guys and keep walking!

TheWalker returns...

Laziness…
Fun Holidays...
Bigger workloads…
Moving households…

Just a few of the things that kept me away from my blog. Prats finally motivates me to write something, and I think what do I write about? So much has happened with and around me… Then I thought I’d do just that – write about what happened :)

Suckfest! Reliance metro starts digging up the road leading to work. Travel time shoots up three-fold! Then this week, BMC (Brihanmumbai Municipal Corporation) digs up some space that Reliance had left out. Why should just Reliance have all the fun?

Fantastic... Took a trip to Kerala. With both parents and in-laws, we expected counseling sessions. Well, things turned out pretty well and there are some nice pics to prove it! I’ve already uploaded a video of the famed snake-boat race that the missus shot.

Not bad… Took another trip to Calcutta. Missed Tuntun on this one, though.

Cool… Ron resigns to join me in Mumbai. A good drive from Hyderabad to Mumbai with Ron and Praveen Pandit. I drive all the way, they sleep some of the way. Reached Mumbai safely. Stay with Chandu and Ruby. The latest addition to the sweetest couples we know…

Relief! To get a society NOC in Mumbai is about as easy as Osama getting a H1 visa for US. Numerous visits to police stations, assorted government offices and finally we have a roof over our head. Chandu and Ruby are relieved!

Contemplative… Think of migrating to Somalia, become a pirate, rake in the moolah! Nobody seems to bother them. And I come to know today that the pirate ship they actually bombed turned out to be a deep sea trawler. That helps!

Good. My brother, Sanju, visits us in Mumbai. Diwali was fun. We find out the wrong way that a portion of ‘fruit cream’ at the Haji Ali juice center is for four! Never one to waste food, I polish off the leftovers. Ron doesn’t bother waking me up till the next evening.

Happy… At work, we start roll-out of the most kick-yo-butt program ever! Great client feedback, boss happy, me happy!

Worried. The great economic meltdown. Bankruptcies and bailouts… I wonder if they will bailout my band of pirates if the shipping companies stop plying the Somalian coast…

Angry. The Malegaon ‘Blast Probe’ (Isn’t that an oxymoron? Especially so if you think of probe as a noun) uncovers another far-right-fundamentalists. Don’t we have enough of that already? The future don’t look too good L

Change. Another seemingly impossible feat – Obama is the President elect for US! History in the making as a brotha’ is set to ‘change’ the United States of America.

Destressed! We take a trip to Kashid, a beautiful beach near Mumbai, for a weekend. We lost our way (despite a very confident ‘Follow Me’ from Ranjith) only to find a better route! Have fun with the guys, drink lots of beer, took in some sea, and were back at work.

Troubleshooting… Google talk is blocked by the new firewall at work. Plunges my workplace into productivity! Suddenly the only thing you can do is work… I am not affected (let’s just say that you need to keep your tech guys happy) but Anu is devastated. Sort out the issue for her while Prats rediscovers me and urges me to do something about Anu’s GTalk. We all miss Prats…

I hope to not put y’all through another of these litanies. So, I’ll try and blog regularly (or intermittently at worst). ‘RESTECP’ to all who’ve still found this page! Be good and be safe…

The City of Joy…

(Exhibit 1)

(Exhibit 2)

Well, it finally happened. My trip to Kolkota finally materialized. Two and a half eventful days, and I’m a convert.

Thanks to the clock-work efficiency of the Tatas, I got picked up from the airport and dropped at a well-maintained guest house in Salt lake. Had maach-bhaat and bhindi bhaja for dinner, which the caretaker was only too happy to serve thank to my rusty Bengali. The next morning, the adventures started with a phone call from the Kolkata office. They gave me a mobile number and a name. The number, I withhold, the name was Tuntun.

The name didn’t surprise me much since I’d already read a Bengali A-Z of sorts that claimed “G is for Good name. Every Bengali Boy will have a good name like Debashish or Deboprotim and a pet name like Shontuda, Chonti, and Dinku. While every Bengali Girl will be Paromita or Protima as well as Shampa, Champa and Buri. Basically your nickname is there to kill your good name.”

Oh, coming back to Tuntun. Tuntun was my driver designate for the day. A deadly combination of Rajpal Yadav physique and Sunny Deol demeanor. A mean motha’ with a profound dislike of any form of life and an equally profound fetish for trashy music. I was driven to Park Street listening to the likes of Vishwaatma’s “Dil le gayi teri bindiya, yaad aa gaya mujhko India” which roughly translates into ‘Your bindi has taken my heart, I remember India’. Before I could recollect a more shallow poem, I was dropped at hotel Peerless Inn.

I meet Ayan (pronounced ‘awe’ – ‘yawn’ as explained by him) and Arya, my colleagues in Kolkata. By the time we were done with meeting our client, the whole of Esplanade area is swarming with (an estimated 200,000) Trinamool Congress party workers. Now TMC (as the party is called), is headed by this lady called Mamta Bannerjee. I have never seen a more disturbed-looking politician. Ever! The poor lady never seems to be happy. Her promotional snaps always show a woman in a fit of rage. Or pointing an admonishing finger. Or plain constipated!

Anyway, Ayan had the presence of mind to tell Tuntun to wait away from the madhouse and we begin to walk. The worst part was getting 10 meters from the gate of our clients’ office through a sea of humanity hired and transported from the fringes of Kolkata (even civilization) and fortified with country liquor. Then, an hour or so later, we make a pit-stop at Nizams. I eat a much-awaited double-egg-double-mutton roll and a mutton tikiya. Ayan and Arya ordered biriyaani, which I politely decline given my unshakeable support of Hyderabad (and it’s biriyaani). We then digest them with another half-hour walk and half-hour wait and we are finally at the Kolkata office around 5 PM. I meet with Saurav ‘the Rockstar’ Chatterjee, Monami, Ishika, Shibani, Manju and the others who’d come back from Mumbai. Meet a few more of the staff at Kolkata, finish some work and crash! And did those legs hurt …

The next day was pretty uneventful work-wise. We weren’t driven by Tuntun. However, I went to meet my wife’s Pishi (Aunt) and her family. My first-hand experience of Bengali hospitality in Kolkata, and I was floored. Both my wife and my father-in-law have exalted Pishi’s cooking and I found out why. Pishi disappeared for a couple of minutes and reappeared with some Mughlai Paratha, Chicken, and Aaloo bhaja. Then came Rosogolla and Sandesh (Bengali sweets). Finally Pishaji forced me (and I thank him for that!) to have some divine mishti-doi (Sweet Curd). And that, according to her, were starters! I would’ve made her proud were it about a year ago when I was known for my ‘legendary’ appetite. But things change over time and I regretted having lunch… Pishi wasn’t too happy to see a ‘Jomai’ without an appetite. I promise to not disappoint her the next time and reluctantly say my good-byes. Then as usual, to work and then crash!

The third day, I am greeted again by Tuntun. This time, I ensure that both Ayan and Arya ‘face the music’ like I did the first day. We had a pretty long drive to Sonarpur and we were tripping on cult classics like Disco Dancer, Dance Dance, and other masterpieces of a ‘higher’ being called ‘Bappida’. On our way back, we had to ensure the doors were locked, coz we feared that Arya would jump out, but that didn’t happen and by the end of the trip, and we had another believer! I drop them at work, get driven to the airport (about 25 KM away) in 15 mins flat by Tuntun, and take the flight to Mumbai. I had a rather chatty co-passenger named Arnab (pronounced like doorknob, without the D) but his enthusiasm was no match for my sleepiness. Sorry Arnab.

Some things that this trip opened my eyes to:
There are always two sides to any Indian city. The clean side (Exhibit 1) and the other side.
Even Kolkata has bad English. (Exhibit 2)
Bengalis love to eat and to feed.
No one makes sweets like the Bengalis.
Being the jomai (son-in-law) is pretty cool!
Bengali women are pretty.
Malayalis are given ‘honorary’ Bengali status, especially the ones married to Bengalis :)

Rest In Peace, my MPX

Love me tender...

My beloved companion of three years, my Motorola MPX 220 Smartphone is fighting for its life. I made a tough decision to take it off life support today.

I knew she had to be mine the moment I saw her, a successful model in the US. A love story spanning continents. She was born in the USA, and me in Gods own country. She was sleek, sophisticated, and sensitive. I was (let’s leave that aside) and let's just say opposites attract.

The day she came to my life, she changed it. It was one of the first models to feature Windows Mobile™ 5.0. The activesync feature enabled it to sync with my PC and update all my appointments and contacts. Suddenly, I she was privy to every event in my life however minor (buy sugar) or major (anniversaries, birthdays)… She accompanied me on every trip and listened in to all my conversations.

Of course there were some (major) cultural differences. Like she couldn’t use the Indian electricity sockets, or the standard mini USB cables. But love transcends all boundaries. We decided we shall never part ways till… (sniff… sniff…)

I detected the early signs of illness when one day, out of the blue, she collapsed. I revived her (restarted) and this became an almost weekly chore to reboot (oops transfuse). Her condition only deteriorated from there on… She refused to communicate with anyone other than my virtual half (my office PC) and would not sync with any other. I accepted that as a part of her illness and moved on.

Then her condition took a turn for the worse… She refused to be charged by anything other than her data cable. Then she used to collapse unless on life support (charging) and her heart (battery) became feeble. But her brain (processor) was still sharp as ever. Never did I have to wait for her to tell me her secrets (data retrieval was lightning fast). I had to carry the cable wherever I was going and if I didn’t carry the notebook along, I had to plan my route to stop at places with PCs. And life went on…

Then one day I think she felt that she was becoming a burden on my mobility. With her hooked on, she almost became a desk phone. She decided to take her own life. She refused to charge using the data cable. I tried CPR (cold boot, hot boot, what not) and finally managed to twist her charger in a way that she could charge. But this morning she stopped responding to life support as well…

I shall be putting her to rest over the weekend and even though I may buy a new phone, I know it will never be as special as her. Adieu my love, we shall meet again in gadget heaven.

Farewell JS...

(This image is courtesy Viva books)

Jyotirmoy Sanyal, or JS or ‘Chicha’ as we fondly used to call him, is no more. He died after a heart attack on April 13, 2008.

I met JS while I was the training head (customer contact) for a major Indian bank. We wanted our customer service representatives to write better. Clear English India, was then a fledgling institution and we had our doubts. All those doubts cleared away during our first interaction.

I have never seen so much passion in a 20-year old. The enthusiasm he has is very contagious and in five minutes flat, I was a convert. Me and another colleague pleaded, persuaded, and premeditated the top management for a training program by JS and Ajoy. We were allowed two programs, one each in Mumbai and Hyderabad.

I usually used to spend at-least 2-3 weeks going through the program details, interviewing the facilitator at days on length before launching a new program. With JS, the next time we met was for the session in Mumbai. Over the next two days, JS changed the way we looked at writing English. The program, according to every one participant, was the best they attended. But some of them couldn’t handle JS’ firebrand enthusiasm and temper. Ajoy would step in from time-to-time but he was also not spared. A few women were offended by his language, some offended by his ‘non-veg’ jokes, but most wanted JS to come back at-least once a year. That was typical JS. You can not be a fence-sitter when it comes to your views on JS. You can either love him or hate him. I adored him.

The next program in Hyderabad was a tremendous success. He became (of-course behind his back) our ‘chicha’ – a term of endearment used for an uncle. I still remember Vidya, Abhishek, Avinash, and a few more trailing him every minute he was on premises. And for these kids with zeal, you could see the love in his eyes. His advice: ‘Write as you would speak’ still rings in my ears. And each time I sit down to write anything more than one sentence, I ask myself if JS would’ve approved.

(Unfortunately some complaints from the session in Mumbai did not go well with the senior management and the program could not take off.)

That evening, we went for a drink and my wife came along. It felt almost like family! We chatted up till late at night, and on a wide range of subjects from English to Dog-food! That was the last time I saw JS.

We were in touch regularly till about a year ago. Then the frequency of our e-mails to each other dropped to about once or twice a month. And then this morning, Ajoy’s mail with the sad news.

I write today in gratitude to JS for enriching our lives in such a short acquaintance. I can not begin to imagine his daughter’s grief. The only other time I saw the glint in his eyes was when he was talking about her. The void left by him will be huge. I pray for his family.

I also grieve for his colleagues. Especially Ajoy, to whom he was a friend, philosopher, and guide. Some others who will miss him dearly will be Janet, Abhishek, Vidya, Deepali, Joyita, Avinash, Sirisha and a whole group of us to whom he was our ‘Chicha’. Also my wife, who in the course of one evening became a huge fan.

For all those who knew him, whether they loved him or otherwise, his demise is a huge loss. Because whenever we write, we secretly ask ourselves if JS would’ve liked what we wrote. I’m asking this to myself as I write this post. Pardon me this time, JS. I can’t seem to write with a heavy heart.


Update: I chanced upon Reshma Sanyal’s (JS’ daughter) blog and a few goodbyes.
Reshma Sanyal
An angry young man called Jyoti

Enemy of the cliche

A man of style, and great substance

Of friends and good times…

Last evening was probably the best I’ve ever had in Mumbai. Even counting the Iron Maiden show! It was a time for friends and family – the good, fun variety.

I met Jibu ‘Dicky’ Jose after a good four years. Jibu and I studied from 1st to 5th together and then we met again in college. We were roommates for a good while and used to stay with Vipin in one room. Ajeet and Chandu were good neighbors. But Jibu, somehow was very special. I have this dastardly habit of getting a bit emotional when I’m wasted, and Jibu used to be the one who had mostly borne the brunt of it.

(And Jibu again because I’m pretty fond of his family too. His Mom is an absolute sweetheart and more importantly, an awesome cook. I used to be a bit scared of his Dad, but That was a long time ago. Jitu Bhaiyya, his eldest brother is like a friend to most of our batch mates. He is now blessed with a beautiful daughter – Jamie, who turned 5 yesterday and a naughty son – Joel. Jinu, the elder one, used to study in the same town as we did. Jinu was a bit more formal, so not many stories floated around about him.)

So last evening, in addition to Jibu, his beautiful wife Minal, Jitu, Bhaabi, and the kids, there was Jibu’s cousin Shiny with her family. The only other time I’d met Shiny and her sister Sheeba was 10 years ago! But we greeted each other like long-lost siblings :) (And what memory, especially Sheeba for recognizing my voice!). We were later joined by Minal’s family. So, that’s how it began – as a small family get-together. I met Shiny’s dashing husband for the first time too, and we hit it off quite well… We went on till late in the night, trading stories about school, college, and the good ol’ times in general. And before we knew it we had to wind up :( Jibu breathed a sigh of relief that he was spared the usual sentimental outbursts.

I don’t know why, but I feel really nice today. Like the way I feel after meeting my sisters… I guess that’s what friends really are – an extension of your family. And I am lucky to be treated by their families as their own too. I feel great! And I feel blessed.

So, this is a thanksgiving note to God for my friends (Too many here to name) and their Moms. Jibu’s Mom, Ajeet’s Mom, Bindu’s Mom, Rohit’s Mom – are my favorites. And the joy of seeing your former roomies and homies happily married to great people is unbeatable. Probably it’s His way of telling me that He still cares for the people that matter to me and me…

Say what?


P.S.: The pic here is about a year old. I’ll ask Jibu to send me a new one…

Diversity...

"The art of thinking independently together" - Malcolm Forbes

Diversity is now a commonly used synonym for multiculturalism. This concept talks of an inclusive society (or workplace) where people from varied ethnicities and beliefs live in harmony.

In my dealings with numerous organizations based out of the US, one thing that has caught my attention is the huge number of posters claiming the organization’s diverse workforce. Couple of times, I had to attend a ‘diversity workshop’ as a mandate before dealing with them. However, as an Indian, I strongly believed that I should be excused from another such workshop. My passport is proof of my tolerance.

India has more than 150 languages! And that’s not talking about dialects… And She has more than 10 different religions (again not counting sub-denominations). Never, ever have I worked in an organization or lived in a locality that didn’t have at-least three different religions and about 10 different languages. I am a Catholic from Kerala, brought up around the country. My wife is a Bengali from Benaras, brought up in Delhi. More often than not, my best friends were neither Catholics nor Malayalis. Ditto for my wife, my sisters, our parents. So, why is it that someone in my country refuses to let another work in his/her city?

Found an interesting piece of news here. It says that the US should learn diversity from India.

Is it enough to be content that: “In only 60 years and with 14 Prime Ministers, India has already elected a staggering variety of chief executives - from a Kashmiri Pandit to a Punjabi Sikh, India has seen a UP Thakur and Jat, an Andhra Brahmin, a Punjabi Khatri, a Karnataka Gowda, and a half-Parsi, half-Brahmin pilot, among others at the helm.”

Well, that article says a lot about our political diversity. But please understand that these leaders were made by politicians and not by the people. Did I ever want a V P Singh or a Deve Gowda to be my PM? Hell no! And at the same time, we have people in Assam, Mumbai, and other parts wanting ‘outsiders’ to go back! The state machinery waited a full 10 days before filing an FIR in Mumbai. And it is anyone’s guess as to the outcome of that. I am led to think that diversity in India is more of an accident than a choice!

MY constitution gives me the right to live in ANY part of MY country. No man/woman or political party has the right to question that. I was not a cynic, but some of my perverted fellow countrymen are succeeding in making me one.

But there is one thing that I will take with me to my grave. And that is my identity as an Indian. An Indian who doesn’t just believe in diversity, but has lived his entire life in it.

Weekends and a week :)

Hey readers! I'm off home this weekend and will be with my family the whole of next week! It seems weird that somehow I don't find time to blog when I'm home... I had a month-long break in December too, when I was home and not a single post!

Now, don't get me wrong here, It's not what you think... It's just that it's so much easier for me to switch off when I'm here in Mumbai. Back home, I always have something or the other on my mind. And I have my favorite place to sit by the window and then, sloth overwhelms me. Moreover, when I'm home, I'd rather be good and save the missus some trouble and do some cooking, right? Wrong! She is mortified of the idea that I might be cooking at home. The kitchen, in her own words, "Looks like a war-zone"!

But This time, I have a few tricks up my sleeve, thanks to EuphoRHEA (You'll find the link to her blog on the right). So, even if it means I cook for 10 mins and clean for an hour, I'm 'all in'.

This time, I'll try and see if I can update you on my culinary skills. I'm keeping my fingers crossed!

BTW, someone please tell Chandu that I'm bad-mouthing him because he's not reading my blogs anymore. I just have 2 regular readers ;) and without him, I'm cut down to 50%...

Here without you baby...

It's so wierd innit? Sometimes you listen to a song and think that the singer felt exactly what you are feeling!

Here's this one by 3 Doors Down that I was listening to:

Here without you...

A hundred days had made me oldersince the last time that I’ve saw your pretty face
A thousand lights had made me colder and I don’t think I can look at this the same
But all the miles had separateThey disappear now when I’m dreaming of your face

CHORUS:
I’m here without you babybut your still on my lonely mind
I think about you babyand I dream about you all the time
I’m here without you baby but your still with me in my dreams
And tonight it’s only you and me

The miles just keep rollin as the people either way to say hello
I’ve heard this life is overrated but I hope that it gets better as we go

[ CHORUS ]

Everything I know,and anywhere I go it gets hard but it won’t take away my love
And when the last one falls, when it’s all said and done it get hard but it won’t take away my love

[ CHORUS ]

About the song:
Artist: 3 Doors Down
Album: Away from the Sun (2002)

A walk on the other side…

I turned 30 on January 12. I thought it would be a monumental event in my life, not quite. But I still wonder – What is the big deal of having 30 candles on your cake?

(A good thing about turning 30 is that people start buying your philosophical bullcrap! Your musings are considered ‘mature’ opinions. And the worst – people consider you a man of years… Be cautioned if you want to read on.)

To be honest, I have not seed 30 candles on my cake… There was no cake at all :p But I will still consider myself a 30-year old. And do I feel any different? Hell no! I still love the same kind of music, I would still watch the same kind of movies, and I still care about the same people… So what is the big deal? I say – It is the wisdom!

Factually, I am 100% wise (proof – I have all four of my wisdom teeth). There are some who claim otherwise. But since this is MY blog and added to that I am writing about MY birthday, I will not entertain that group!

Coming back to MY wisdom of 30 years – Your only assets is life are the love of your dear ones! In the darkest of your days, they will shine on you and comfort you.

My neighbor from my hostel days – ABC (no, he doesn’t wish to be anonymous… that’s his name – A B Chandrasekhar) and his wife, Ruby Chandrasekhar, took me to my favorite hang-out and bought me drinks! I was flooded with calls from my friends after the dreaded hour, and that too, cheered me up :) I would’ve loved if I was with my wife, but well, you can’t always control things.

Then on the big day, I met my niece, sister, and brother-in-law. Later some of my old college buddies – Vishal and Prakash were in town, and along with Sony, Nitin, Maninder, Chandu, and his wife we spent some quality time reminiscing about the ‘good old days’ and narrating some of my much sought-after PJs. 500 miles away, my wife was comforted by friends. They were enjoying a live band and though she wished to be with me, there was good company at hand. (But nothing could compare with my PJs, right honey :) ?)

This in addition to my family, with their unconditional love.

So, boys and girls, keep your family and friends close. Because, like I realized when I matured, on your birthday, don’t count the candles, but your loved ones.


P.S.: The average life expectancy for an Indian Male is ~64 years. So, only those of you who want to shorten your's can call me middle aged... humph!

Another Birthday…

Today is Chechi’s birthday! And Chechi is my elder sister, whose life changed from the day I was born. She suffers from a multiple personality disorder – she thinks that I am her son! She has always treated me (and some of my friends) so. My life would’ve been so dull without her. And I haven’t thanked her for that…

She used to be a year up in school, and I had the constant pressure of being judged as her brother. Have no doubt – she was (and still is) brilliant! In academics, co-curricular, sports, everything. And with my li’l sister joining our school a few years down the line, the teachers thankfully figured that I was the exception and not the rule. Mom used to ask her to mind me when we used to go out to play too. So, in addition to the usual football, cricket, and other randomly violent sports or fights, I was quite adept at skipping, hopscotch and stuff. The boys and girls used to play in adjacent playgrounds, and neither of us could concentrate on our games. Chechi was always had one eye trained on me, lest I pick up the customary daily fight. And I used to feel watched and be helpless to try some of my patented maneuvers on-field. She used to always watch my back. And I haven’t thanked her for that…

Then came the high-school days. My classroom was at the ‘T’ where Chechi’s classroom’s corridor met the main one. And almost always, she could see me in/out the classroom in various poses of punishment. Kneeling down, hands up, on the bench, etc.. Her classmates never tired of teasing her and she, of twisting my ear. Whoa, those days, I remember, she used to dread going to school! Then one day, she broke down at home. That was the day that I was punished in front of the whole junior and senior assembly. I wish she had my perspective – now everyone knew me, and I didn’t bother telling her that because I knew she wouldn’t be amused. Oh no! And that was just the beginning of many such incidents to follow. However, she never gave up on me. And I haven’t thanked her for that…

But one thing never changed. Despite all this, her love for me grew stronger. Sure there were days she would have happily walked me to the guillotine, but love always won. And I’m glad. I still remember her taking leave from college to come and tutor me for my 12th standard boards. I also remember (with morbid amusement) the look on her face when I admitted to her that I have ‘left’ Integration and Differentiation for my finals. (For non-math students, this was a topic in the syllabus put by some sadist to solely torment poor souls like me. And these put together had 60% of the total marks!) That was the first night-out of my life and I got 75% in my boards the next day for math! And I haven’t thanked her for that…

She has sacrificed a lot for me. She gave up her dream of becoming an engineer thinking Dad would be stretched a bit when I went into engineering too. And I’ve always mocked her hopes for me, like not taking up engineering. And to this day, I fail to understand why she thinks I am the most brilliant human ever to walk this planet. She regularly reads my blogs and always has something good to say even about the crappiest post. I attribute that to her ‘Mother Syndrome’ towards me. Every time we meet, I see in her eyes a great man. I so wish I could be that man! And she has never lost that hope. And I haven’t thanked her for that…

So, I dedicate my post today to a dear friend, a loving sibling, an inspiring guide, and a great human being.
Chechi, you have always been my pillar of strength during school, college, and even for my marriage. I’ve told you you’re impatient, fat, inflexible, ugly, boring, and lots of other things. I lied (except for the boring part :). You are the most brilliant, beautiful, loving, understanding, and caring person I’ve met. And you’re a killer cook too! There’s nothing I would like to see changed about you. I’ve always prayed for you if not for anyone else, and Leeona and Paul are answers to that.

So, this is my confession. This is me saying ‘Thank You’. And though I’ve never admitted it, I love you, Chechi. More than Mamma and Dada. You’ve been my guardian angel, and nothing I will ever do can repay that.

Happy Birthday Chechi.

Virtual realities...

Have you ever been through a time when you were generally pre-occupied? Not something that you can lay your finger on, but still, just pre-occupied? Well, I was in one of those phases and I still am, I guess. But I’m still writing to celebrate God’s 11th gift to mankind.

Yes guys, the long wait is over… Need for Speed 11 – Pro Street will be launched today! Not that I’m rushing to the stores right now, but I’m still excited. Why? Because I trust EA - the developers of NFS. I’ve been hooked on to NFS and have played all their games released till date. Let me confess – I am a slave! And the only games I play are the NFS series.

By the time I could afford to buy one of these games, I was married. My wife was not exactly thrilled about my escapades in the NFS world. She used to draw parallels between my driving in the real and the virtual world. So, there were times, I used to sneak out to this place called Starbucks and race online. It didn’t discourage me a bit that I was beating 10-15 year olds in this game. Believe me – these guys can be mean when you make a mistake! When ‘Walker’ used to come online for a race, most racers started to chicken out. I kinda used to hold court and give free tips to budding online racers. I felt like a superhero… But like Superman, Batman, and all other superheroes, I had to keep this ‘Superhero’ identity a secret from the missus :)

But these were the Underground 1 and 2 series. Win races, challenge racers for outruns, earn money, pimp your ride… you were in car heaven!

Then, one day in Delhi, I bought NFS Most Wanted. I installed it on my notebook that had a 256 MB RAM, which meant that the game was forever in slo-mo. I was granted 30 minutes (max) a day to indulge in my dark (racing) fantasies. I guess the ladies will never understand the thrill and excitement of Most Wanted. The plot is simple! You drive into a city, you are picking up races and winning them, and then a local punk sabotages your ride and beats you. The rest of the game is spent trying to win your ride (and respect) back. To get your ride, you need to challenge the punk, who is No1 on the blacklist (that has 15 members). To challenge each member, you have to win some races, damage property, and engage the cops in pursuits, wreck cop cars, the works!

So, with the rationed 30 minutes a day and close to 20 hours on the days my wife was traveling, I finished the game and became the ‘Most Wanted’. I have been tempted to put that on my resume! The days I was alone at home, I used to hook it on to my sound system, crank up the volume, and soak in the sweet music! Dopey, our Lab initially was psyched, but got used to it. The maid used to me near tears! But I must also admit that I managed to do all this without pissing my wife off (or so I’d like to believe), and I even coaxed her to allow me some extra time. That will change if she came to know about the ‘crush’ I had on Mia, the animated character who guides you and watches your back in the game…

Later, when work kept us apart, she bought me a PlayStation. Yeah guys – A PLAYSTATION! Isn’t she cool or what? That keeps me pretty busy when I’m off work, and I rarely have time for anything else. Which is cool with me. And my friends too. NFS Carbon was nothing to write home about as far as the PlayStation version was concerned, and the system requirements for the PC platform are obscene. Same with ProStreet. Check it out:

OS: Windows XP/Vista (FAT16 and FAT32 File Systems are not supported by Digital Delivery)
Processor: 2.8GHz or faster (Windows Vista requires 3.0 GHz)
Memory: 512 MB RAM (Windows Vista requires 1 GB RAM)
Hard Drive: 8.1 GB (16 GB required for Digital Delivery)
DVD Drive: 8 SPEED (not required for Digital Delivery)
Video Card*: 128 MB with Pixel Shader 2.0 (AGP and PCIe only)
Sound Card: DirectX 9.0c compatibleDirectX - Version 9.0cOnline
Multiplayer: 512 Kbps or faster; 2-8 Players
Input: Keyboard, Mouse
Optional: USB Steering Wheel / Dual Analogue Gamepad
*Supported chipsets: NVIDIA GeForce FX 5950 greater (GeForce MX series not supported); ATI Radeon 9500 or greater. Laptop versions of these chipsets may work but are not supported. Updates to your video and sound card drivers may be required.

I would have to be a millionaire if I want to play the PC version. And I’m ready to wait. In the meantime, I keep dreaming about the races and hoping that my system magically upgrades itself… In the meantime, if any of you can afford the system configuration, I say – Go for it! This time, the races are legal, the damages stay, and there are bucket loads of aftermarket accessories and upgrades available from real tuners!

And, till I get my hands on such a machine, I guess I’ll just have to ‘Keep Walking’.


P.S: I am eternally grateful to EA Games for NFS.