The Chains On Our Ankles

There was a time when most middle-class parents wanted their kids to be either doctors or engineers. For a few progressive minded parents, 'MBA' was a magic word. I'm not sure about the other parts of the country, but in the one where I grew up, children were literally branded and prepared to become doctors or engineers. The respect that seemingly came with these professions had such a nasty impact on the kids, that some of their childhood has been completely sacrificed in the process of decking them up. Now, I'm not telling you anything that's new. And you may argue that these things don't happen anymore. But I had a shocking discovery when I went to my native town to celebrate my son's first birthday in May this year.

A cousin of mine, a girl of 16, has just written her Class-10 board exams. Two days after the last day of the exam, she started going to private tuition. When I asked her what these classes were for, I was told that they were for her Plus-2 studies. Apparently, engineering was such a sought after field, that these set of tutors (private, mind you) were overbooked every year and if she wouldn't start her classes early, she would not get a berth. When I asked her, how did she know that she would even pass her board exams, she replied casually, "if I don't pass, I'm better off dead."

Perhaps in a fit of scientific miracle, or perhaps by some higher entity, this world was created with vast opportunities. We, as intelligent species, have been endowed with the power to live our life to the fullest in beautiful little ways that serve us best. At 16, girls fall in love. At 16, they discover the beauties of the world. At 16, a girl isn't better off dead because she could not pass an examination. There are higher tests in this world, which she will have to take. The test of motherhood, the test of ethical dilemmas, the test of choosing between right and wrong, the test of sacrifice. The matriculation exam is quite insignificant as compared to these tests. My wrath is not so much over the girl. My angst is against her parents and teachers. Someone or the other must have giver her this idea. Who was it? I'll never know. But I do know that whoever that person was, he is a criminal of the highest order.

Clenching my teeth, when I asked my cousin as to why she had to wake up at 5am in the morning and go to her private tuition, she said this, and I quote - "Sir takes three batches. The he goes to school. The third batch in the morning would have been good, but then he is usually unmindful with that batch. He rushes things, because he has to get ready for school. At dawn, his mind is fresh and he teaches well too." When I told her why she needed private classes in the first place, she said, "if I don't write Sir's notes, he won't give me marks."

I was very saddened that day. Because no dictum, no law, no rule can stop a human being from being base. It can at best try and dissuade one from being so. But as my father once had told me, all laws in the world are founded on the basic principle, that all human beings are fundamentally good. Schools exist to impart education. Their job is very important. They are like the masons who lay the first bricks of a skyscraper. Now, for whatever reasons, the teacher in question was clearly not doing his job at work. Moreover, he had created a threatening situation for even those kids who do not have to rely on a class lecture for education. He simply wouldn't give them passing marks, even if they write all the right answers. Let's stoop lower. Even at home, where he is taking money from students to impart education in the form of one-size-fits-all notes, he becomes unmindful because he has to shave and get ready for school, where he is not doing his job anyway.

I spoke to the girl's parents. They said, "What can we do? This is how it is here. If she doesn't get good marks, no good school will take her. How will she pass her engineering entrance exams?"

So, I told them about some of the best people I have known, who received education, not "NOTES". Some of these people were brilliant in studies, some were not. But all of them, without exception, are happy. I told them about my friend Anupam, who never stood first in class, but has a wonderful job today. There's my friend Bappa, who could never pay attention in class, but was very good at reading books. He is doing very well for himself today. My friend Niraj, who had utter disrespect for conventional forms of education has opened up a company and is doing groundbreaking work on email collaboration today. My friend Anirban and Nidhi run an organization which helps budding entrepreneurs achieve their dreams. My friend Vikash runs a successful online library and bookstore. My friend Abhishek is a successful playwright and director. What's also important to remember is that not all of these folks have succeeded in the first place. I remember reading a heart-wrenching email from a friend of mine who set up an industrial unit, which failed. But he took up an alternate career option, and today, when I look at his picture with his wife and kid, he looks very happy. My friend Chanchal, who I can write an entire book about, was never to conform to norms. Everyone thought that he was good for nothing. Chanchal is a chef at the Ritz in Toronto today. I can go on and on and on. I have realized one thing, off late - in life, we may have chains around our legs, but those chains are never locked. If you have courage, if you are passionate about something, if you think you are good at something, you will find a way to take off those chains and live life happily. For the rest of the days that I stayed in my native town, I tried my best to drive this message into my cousin's and her parents' minds. I don't know if that'll help, but I tried. Perhaps, a day will soon come, when sitting happy somewhere, my cousin will reflect back at what she told me that day and laugh out loud. And how I wish that that day her "Sir" (noun - used as a respectful way of addressing a man - Oxford English Dictionary) could hear her laughter.

Top 5 Videos I Watch After a Bad Day in Office

We all have them, don't we? A bad decision, an unnecessary argument, the lousy boss, the nincompoop of a client, the stupidity of it all. Rat-race, visibility, boring meetings, desperate loud-mouthed participation in such meetings by know-it-all's, pointed questions with sarcastic undertones, business as usual, subject matter expertise, blah, blah and more yawnish blah. Sometimes, I just sit there, staring into the void, like a zombie, and recall a nice piece of music that I heard a long time ago, or a thrilling scene from Hitchcock's movies, or a nice dish my wife cooked for me, and more often than not, Limu's smile. And then, I just slow down and step outside the rat race. I watch as my fellow rats zoom past me, even those who I had left behind. And I say to myself, "I don't give an effin damn."

But not always do I manage to not let it affect me. I'm not aerodynamically perfect, and I cannot always dodge shit. Sometimes, it does hit me. On such particularly bad days in office, when I'm really down in the dumps, I tend to watch something nice on Youtube. I have noticed that I often go back to the same videos, and I thought I'll share these with you.

#Five:   The sweetness of the Piano

I discovered this video on Youtube quite accidentally, and was immediately attracted to it. Why? Because it is perhaps the best rendition of a beautiful song by my favourite music director. I had always liked the Piano, as a majestic yet sweet instrument, and was amazed at how teachers would say, "Curl your fingers, like a tunnel." Look at how easily the artist plays the song, as if he knows the role of every single note of the piece. Not a single note is off-key or out of place. And the composition: I don't want to commit sacrilege by saying anything about it.

#Four:   "Main to ishtick rakhta hoon"

He is a forgotten comedian. Seriously, how many people remember Jagdeep? But everyone remembers Soorma Bhopali. In a 3+ hour movie, his role must have been what, 10 minutes? But those 10 minutes are so precious, so neatly done, the comic timing is so perfect, the diction and intonation are so funny, that it takes my breath away, every time I watch this video. I particularly crack up at the expression on his face at 1:42 when he says 'haan bhai?' That singular expression has fear, anger, nervousness and sorrow all built right into itself. Absolutely classic!

#Three:   "I keel you"

Look at the number of hits on this video to gauge its popularity. What's interesting is that a lot of people watch it for the laughs. I do too, but I am more amazed by the art of ventriloquism. I got interested in the subject by reading a short story by the great cinema director Satyajit Ray. Isn't it amazing how Jeff Dunham does it? The item itself has racist undertones, but if you can ignore that, this is a wonderful piece of pure art. To fully understand the context, also watch Dunham's items on another of his characters named Walter.

#Two:   Putting my mind to rest

Roshan, the grandfather of the six-fingered Roshan, is the composer of this beautiful song, and Sahir Ludhianvi is the poet (now-a-days, we have lyricists, not poets). The words of this song, accompanied by the suitably soft music, act like a balm on my bruises, and I can literally feel all my pain going away. As an artist, I am an emotional man. But nothing stirs my emotion more than music. When I have had a particularly bad day in office, I listen to this song at night, without fail.

#One:   "It's how the sailors used to find their way home"

[You have to, simply have to, watch all four parts of the video, the entire 20 min episode to understand what a powerful message it delivers. I found a lot of answers to my questions in this episode]

Can I tell you something? I don't watch this video often. Sometimes, when I have a really, REALLY bad day in office, and I mean a really not-good day, I watch this episode of Wonder Years. I don't watch it because it has such a tremendous amount of impact on me, that I fear I'll do something, like perhaps give up my job or something. It makes me swell up from inside and rebel. And curiously, it also calms me down. I end up making peace with life. I realize that everyone has bad days, and one just gets over it, and moves on. And every single time I watch this video, I remember my father. And then, I remember my son. Then, with a smile on my lips, I have a good night's sleep, so that I can go to office the next day.

Entrepreneurship

For a lazy bum like yours truly, who has a dangerous thing (a.k.a little knowledge), doing something on one's own, by itself is quite a scary proposition. The first thing that puts me off about being entrepreneurial, right at the outset, is the bloody spelling of the very term. I'm like, yeah, right, thanks for the encouragement, right there. I needed THAT spelling in my life to work this out. But when I look back, I realize I have always tried to do something on my own. It began right during my childhood, with inventions. The trouble was, I soon figured out that whatever I tried to invent, was already invented. Also, in the pursuit of Science, I have had to face several hardships, like any true inventor. I remember I once made a contraption which would let a small G.I. Joe action figure float in the air for around 30 seconds. The item was a huge hit within my friends circle. Little did they know what severe criticism the inventor had received from his mother whose kitchen was almost burnt down, thanks to the experimentation with kerosene. There was this other time when I had created a crossbow of sorts, only that it would fire a lasso, instead of a bow. Hulo, the neighborhood cat, who had the reputation of being a light footed thief, was my prime target. I was scoping and stalking him for weeks and had taken elaborate notes of his modus operandi. One beautiful spring afternoon, I decided to strike. Now, my mom had (and still has) a hobby of gardening, and as every gardener would know, a rose is an extremely high maintenance plant. After several months of care and delicate nourishment, mom had successfully created a breathtakingly beautiful shrub of yellow roses. I fired my lasso at Hulo, dropped my weapon, and pulled the other end of the cord with all my might. What came and landed at my feet was a living creature, no doubt, but not the species I had targeted. With a dozen yellow roses strewn at my feet, I stood there like a fallen God, nervously waiting for my fate, as mom decided to walk into the backyard at that very moment. I will not get into the details of what followed, but I do remember that my creativity took a backseat after that incident.

The only time we could be a little entrepreneurial in school was during the fests. Girls and other unimportant people used to visit these fests, and I had built a device, something that I'm sure you must have tried to build during your childhood days as well. I stretched a copper wire across two small upright pillars. I bent the copper wire like a sinusoidal curve, with zigs and zags. I created a small loop with another copper wire and both these wires were connected to batteries through a series connection. There was also a bulb which was part of the connection. The game was simple. One had to take the loop with a steady hand through the zigs and zags of the crooked wire from one pillar to another, avoiding contact between the two wires, failing which, the light bulb would glow. After the first day of the fest, a Marwari friend of mine called me for a meeting. We met in the evening over Gold Spot and my friend proposed that we attach a revenue model to this invention. "We could charge 5 bucks for a shot, and we can keep some kind of prizes for those who succeed", he said. I wasn't sure, and asked "Why would someone want to spend 5 bucks over this stupid game?" My friend took a long sip into his drink while giving me a deep and hard look, and said, "Lesson # 1:   Never think of your own offering as stupid." I was amazed. How true! What a visionary! He continued, "Lesson #2:   People have been known to do a lot of stupid things when challenged." I was more amazed. This guy is gonna do something with his life! He went on, "Leave all that to me. We need to get some cheap prizes. You know, stuff we can find at home? And the prizes need to appeal to girls, coz they're the ones who'll be giggling a lot while trying this. Which means more attempts, and therefore more revenue. Plus they'll have boyfriends, who'll be more than willing to pay 5 bucks to show that they, and none other, are the right men in their girls' lives." I was amazed at how he was segmenting and scoping the market with such ease. The final strategy was yet to come. My friend said, "Oh and by the way, make the wire more crooked and the loop smaller" and disappeared into the darkness outside. We earned quite a bit during that week, enough to have a delicious Biriyani lunch at Gulfam restaurant in Hotel East End. Our model was replicated by several other business groups in school in the years to come.

But now, when things are quite different, I genuinely salute every individual who is entrepreneurial in nature, and who has tried to do something on his or her own. I have a few friends of mine, who have succeeded with ventures of their own. I also have a few friends who have not succeeded. What I like most is the confidence that people from both these groups have. I see young boys trying to set up a company and go to market. I see teenage girls coming up with wonderful ideas, and taking them to fruition. I like their confidence. Every time I see them, I am reminded by my friend's statement: "Never think of your own offering as stupid."

Confessions of a Father

I have learned more about automobiles than about anything else after I heard about my wife's pregnancy. The biggest fear that a man has at that critical juncture of life (especially if it's your first time) is - how the hell am I going to drive my whale of a wife through the traffic of this city to the hospital? What if there is a traffic jam? What if there is a political rally? I can tell you that I had personally measured the time I would take to drive from my residence to the hospital at six different times of the day - twice. I knew exactly how many humps and potholes were there on the road, which were the various puncture shops and which are the traffic lights which I could safely jump, if required. While my wife was reading 'What To Expect When You Are Expecting', I was reading 'Know Your Car'.

Selecting a baby name is also a difficult job. First things first, no one likes 'common' names these days. How dare someone call my baby 'Rakesh', or 'Sunita'? I will not pour tar on my baby's destiny by selecting such a boring name. I'll call her 'Anjini'. Why? Because it sounds so cool. And have I spared a thought for her son, who would curse me for naming her mom after the mother of Hanuman? Ok, I'm too old-school. What if it's a boy? How does the name 'Nibodh' sound? I have to say it sounds wonderful. In fact a single-key typo, and it would sound more wonderful.

Those of my readers who have already been through the experience that I am talking about would know about this dreadful phase where your wife has these post-pregnancy mood-swings. Utensils fly. You sleep on the couch. At midnight, you shudder to see your wife standing in front of the open door of the fridge, and you ask yourself - "is that who I think it is?" These mood-swings are a little intriguing. The doctor warned me of these, and said, "Think of it this way. All her young, irresponsible days of having fun and frolic are going to take a back seat. She is going to feel the responsibility of a whole new life from now on. It's natural to feel a little shaken up, don't you think?" I smiled at the doctor genially, saying "Of course, of course", but I thought to myself - my days of Playstationing and hanging out with friends and watching Kung-Fu movies shall happily continue, I presume?

"This is your baby too" is a statement which is widely heard in bedrooms all over the world during this phase. "I can easily tell you think this is only my responsibility" is another. Now, as much as you would like to say something, the doctor has sealed all possible routes of the mildest of protests by recruiting you as your wife's "emotional companion through this very important phase of her life". Yeah, rrrright!

Then comes the baby. It's a wonderful feeling, those little fingers, those closed eyes, bundle of joy and all that - till suddenly you realize that for the first time in your life, you haven't slept for four days and four nights - straight. The emotional shock of that and the inability to do anything about it and most importantly, the prospect of that routine continuing for the next month or so, scares the hell out of you. I rushed to my mom, who used to pester me so much for a grandkid and demanded why she never spoke of this aspect of parenthood. In the cruelest of responses ever heard on real life or reel life, she says, "Would you have walked into it, had I told you?" That's villainous, simply put.

As the baby grows, so do your expenses. Let's talk about the vaccines. Here's a direct quote from the doctor on one visit - "I'd like to speak to you about this new revolutionary vaccine. It is a recommended preventive for blah-blah-blah disease, and has been found highly effective. It's absolutely optional but four out of five babies who have not taken this vaccine have died." Now, when we were in school, we had learnt about this figure of speech called Antithesis and this is one of the finest examples of that. You cannot use 'optional' and 'your baby might die' in the same sentence. When I ask about the price (much to the chagrin of my wife), the doctor tells me "It's a little on the higher side because it comes directly from Australia". When the price is finally quoted to me, I am forced by my knowledge of my financials to tell my wife in a soft consultative whisper - "Honey, you or I didn't take this vaccine, we turned out just fine?" - and she looks at me like I'm a cold hearted butcher, incongruous of being called a father. We take the vaccine....errr....every month.

When your baby cries in the night, the acting of deep slumber that ensues between both parents is a performance worthy of any number of Oscars. It is a waiting game - who would move first? You lie still, and take deep breaths, just as you would when you're sleeping like a log. The crying gets louder, the neighbour's dog starts barking and one of the two parents (usually the mother) finally relents. She picks up the baby, and in an unnecessarily loud voice, tries soothing the baby, thus taking her revenge on the sleeping partner. You woke me up, I'm not gonna let you sleep either. On other nights, when she is particularly tired, she would simply poke you on the rib, with full knowledge of the difference between voluntary and involuntary reflexes. A strategically placed pillow or heavy quilt typically helps, but even God can't save you from the wrath or innovation of a woman who is hell bent on waking you up.

Sometimes, the baby sleeps with you in the same bed. On one such night, I woke up, and switched the bed lamp on to see that my son had woken up, and had managed to sit upright, and was staring at me. I don't know how to explain it - the beauty of the sight was such that I couldn't move for a minute or two. During this time, he just kept staring at me. And then he smiled. One of the most beautiful smiles I have ever seen. I smiled back, and patted him lightly on his back, and he promptly lay down by my side, put his tiny hand on my chest and went to sleep. I switched off the bed lamp, still smiling in the dark, feeling proud to be a father.

Five Rare Pancham Gems

Many people have many opinions about RD Burman. I'm of the opinion that he is a fantastic example of how one can be good at both classical as well as western music, and how one does not need to choose. It is the same person who has created "Beeti Naa Bitayi Raina" and "Doston Se Pyaar Kiya - Shaan Se". In fact he was so adept at both, that he could use both classical and western music in the same song - giving two distinct flavors to the song. A wonderful example of this is the song "Meri Nazar Hai Tujh Pe" from the movie 'The Burning Train'. Anyways, today, my intention is to share with you five rare songs of RD Burman - such songs as you may have heard, but may have forgotten. If I am able to rekindle the love that you have always had for this great composer by making you remember (and perhaps hum) these songs, I shall consider my article successful.

1.   O Mehki Mehki Thandi Hawa (Bombay To Goa)

   I am sorry to have begun with a composition which was not really his own [Listen to "Help Me Rhonda" by The Beach Boys to know what I mean]. But hey, we all liked this song when we first heard it, didn't we? Who cares about The Beach Boys? Long live RD!

2.   Shikwa Koi Tumse (Dhan Daulat)

   This song is a recreation from one of RD's own Bengali compositions. The original one was used in a Bengali movie titled "Troyee" [meaning - The Trio]. I like the use of the accordion, saxophone and violins in this song.

3.   Dil Kya Hai, Ek Sheesha Hai (Lava)

   Music lovers, particularly serious Bollywood music lovers, are able to name the music director of a song, even if they have never heard that song before. Music directors have certain - how shall I say - 'signatures'. RD had his own. One of his several signatures has been used in this song, starting at 0:20.

4.   Nadiya Kinare Pe (Barsaat Ki Ek Raat)

   Shakti Samanta made a Bengali movie named 'Anusandhan' with Amitabh Bacchan (perhaps his only Bengali movie), Rakhee and Amjad Khan. The movie became such a big hit, that he decided to make it in Hindi as well, shot-for-shot. The result was 'Barsaat Ki Ek Raat'. Somehow, this one didn't click. The songs of the original one are beautiful and all superhits. When these songs were translated into Hindi, they lost their charm. For instance, this song was translated from a Bengali one 'Otho Otho Surjai Re', meaning 'Rise, oh sparkling sun'. All said and done, the music is vintage RD.

5.   Kaun Kisiko Baandh Saka? (Kaalia)

   This jailbreak song, which captures the essence of Bollywood so well, is rarely heard, but has such an enchanting theme, that you feel like you are right there in the scene. A great number by Mohd. Rafi and hats off to RD.

   RD - the versatile genius could create music of all kinds, and what he has left us with is a treasure trove of wonderful melodies. It is said that music can dissolve all your sorrows. While that is true, I sometimes feel sad when I hear an RD song, thinking what a great loss his absence is to the world of entertainment. But I think you'll agree with me when I say this - as long as there is a Pancham, we will always remember Pancham.

Valentine's Day & Me

This morning, I woke up and said in a soft whisper to my wife - "Happy Valentine's Day!" and immediately my 9-month old son decided to empty his bladder on me. That is when I decided to reminisce about a few memorable Valentine Days of my life, because clearly, I wasn't going to have a memorable one this year.

The small town, where I grew up, had two famous schools - Don Bosco School for boys, and Little Flower School for girls. While some of the guys and girls with a more liberal outlook (and parents) could meet from time to time, we baboons could hardly get a date. And when we did manage to get one, oh what a date that would be! The first point of preparation would be to find a suitable gift. Now, I don't know about the rest of the folks, but my mother used to manage my pocket money with the strictness of the Gestapo, leaving me hardly anything to fend for myself, let alone get a gift for a girl. Also, much to my misfortune, both the demand side (the girls had expensive choices) and the supply side (Archies Gallery was more expensive than the Louvre Gallery) were not in my favour. I would, more often than not, be compelled to choose a 4" X 6" greetings card, saying 'Will you be my Valentyne?'

After getting the greetings card, I had to summon all my creativity to write something on it. I had asked one of my friends for some ideas, and he had told me that he usually writes the lyrics of some famous song. So, on my first date, I wrote the first two lines of 'Chup Chaap Baithi Ho Zaroor Koi Baat Hai' on the card, only to be abandoned by my date midway between our rendezvous. I was later told by the same advisor friend that he meant 'English' songs, and that the particular song that I had written was being used as a melody in an advertisement for sanitary napkins.

The next item on the agenda was the perfume. After being educated about the difference between a gentleman's perfume and a lady's perfume on the first one or two dates, I realized that stealing my mother's perfume wasn't such a great idea. I switched to the neighbour's son, whose family had a garments shop in the town market, and who never cared to study because he knew where he was headed, and who had an impressive collection of perfumes (and everything else).

After all the preparations, when the auspicious time did come, I could hardly speak. I have stage fright even today, but this was something different. I remember I always used to choose a restaurant for my dates, because having a toilet nearby used to be my primary necessity. The girl would often start the conversation. In those days, "what is you favourite movie?" used to be an often-asked question. I don't know why my dates would get so pissed off with my choice of favourite movies. I ask you, dear reader -  can "Baiju Bawra", "Udan Khatola", "Patal Bhairavi", "Shaheed Bhagat Singh" and similar classics be branded as bad movies, by any definition?

Anyways, those were my Valentines Days. Coming to think of it, I'm quite happy with this Valentine's Day, which I'm gonna spend with my lovely wife and lovelier kid. The day is about love, after all :-)

Back To Basics

There used to be a time when things used to run smoothly in this country, and people used to have values which our former rulers had instilled within us. The rulers departed, and gradually but surely, even the values they had taught us to respect faded away. Nobody talks about punctuality these days, for instance. The younger brother of the Maharaja of Cooch Behar once arrived at the railway station to catch a train. In those days, the Imperial Railways used to ply long distance trains between Kolkata and what is now known as Assam. The Maharaja's brother looked at his watch when the train pulled into the station, and saw that the train was late by 10 minutes. He immediately took his watch off his wrist and threw it onto the tracks. Such was the confidence that people had in the Imperial Railways. Today, when almost everything is in a downward spiral, punctuality isn't the first thing on people's mind. I have a feeling it hardly features on people's minds anymore.

Take quality of service for example. When I was a kid, my father used to take me to a certain tailor shop, where we used to get our clothes stitched. The tailor, you will be surprised to know, never used to take my measurements (or those of my father). He used to look at me with a quick glance, and used to give my father a delivery date. In my 14 years of taking services from the tailor, his clothes have never been a misfit. The other day, my wife took me shopping and I had to wait in a long queue outside the trial room in a well-known retail store. I didn't mind, and waited patiently, and tried the trousers which I had asked to be altered in length. Unfortunately, after around 20 minutes of waiting, I found that the trouser was too short. To cut a long story short, after three more such alterations, almost two and half hours of waiting and 350 bucks spent on an unnecessary pizza, I finally gave up. I still wear those trousers to work, and am extremely displeased when people look at my exposed socks.

You buy a Digital TV subscription, and the sales team will speak to you like the entire planet has suddenly been deprived of oxygen due to some apocalyptic catastrophe and you are the biggest hoarder of the precious gas. Once you make the payment and they have said "Have a nice day", the fun starts. I sometimes take notes on the difference of behavior between the sales team and the service team of a provider, and refer to them during my lonely moments, for entertainment.

I'm not saying things haven't improved in certain areas. Of course they have - I'm not blind, or bitter. But I wouldn't care less for people who came and told me that we live in wonderful times. It's time they opened their eyes and confronted reality, and better still, tried and changed it.

Baba

I had once asked my father, with a lot of grief and angst in my heart and tone, "Why don't you ever talk to me like a friend, like Sunny's father does?" I was 14 then. Sunny was a friend of mine in school. His father seemed to us boys like the best "dad" in the world. Sunny's dad was always so nice to us, throwing us parties, taking us out to picnics, giving us chocolates and comics. We used to wonder, if this man was so nice to us, what a lucky guy Sunny must be! Whereas my Baba used to be strict with not only me but with my pals as well. He once scolded a good friend of mine for an extremely trivial reason. I used to suffer in silence at some times and rebel on some occasions. On one such occasion, I posted the aforementioned question to my father. I remember he didn't answer. I remember he spent a long time, a very long time indeed, sitting in his favourite chair in silence.

It was not that Baba couldn't be cool. He liked movies and himself came from a background of Theatre and Music. He was the son of a teacher and he was very close to his father, despite being one of ten children. Baba had a strange way of doing even the most ordinary things. He had, what I can best describe as, "ideas". For instance, if a light bulb would burst, he could, instantaneously and on-the-spot, create a short poem about it and make Maa and me laugh. He would always take me along when he used to go to the market. He used to tell me, "Look around you, so many people, accumulated at one place, to trade. People from different classes, with different budgets, with different problems and satisfactions, all gathered together at one place, all gathered as equals." Most of the times, I wouldn't pay attention, and would be peeping into the nearby kite-shop. On other times, I would actually listen, and be amazed. Baba used to go to work everyday, without fail. I have never seen him take a sick leave, EVER. When the Mahabharat was being telecast, Baba used to watch it closely, and used to tell me, "Imagine how powerful the story is, it's thousands of years old, but even today, it beats every movie and becomes a traffic-stopper."

We didn't live in an abundance of wealth, but were reasonably satisfied with whatever we had. My upbringing was soaked in literature, mythology, sports and music, and Baba, with his background, had a big part to play in it. We used to watch the movies of Satyajit Ray together, and we used to discuss and comment on a movie after having watched it. His favourite movie was "Bancharamer Bagan" by Tapan Sinha, and he could discuss the movie for hours. On Sundays, I used to watch He-Man. Baba used to look at it in disgust, but he never prohibited me from watching (I think Maa had something to do with that). He did, however, throw me out of the house when a book titled "The World's Most Notorious Women" was discovered from my possessions.

When I reached my teens, Baba suddenly changed. He became grumpy, unnecessarily strict and wasn't cool anymore. At first, I was clueless as to why that would happen. Later, I attributed it to problems at his work. He was so bitter, that I honestly didn't want to talk to him anymore. He had a scooter, which he used to park inside the house. Since there were two steps leading to the house, he had got a wooden plank made, which would act as an "inclined plane". When he used to return from office, I used to help him push the scooter up the plank and onto the veranda. When I reached 15, I stopped doing it. I found the job too lowly and embarrassing. A friend of mine had given me an amazing cassette of Rock music, and I used to listen to it day in and day out. And pausing the heightened crescendo of the music to come and push my father's bulky old scooter didn't seem like an attractive proposition to me. So, Baba used to do it alone.

One March morning a few years ago, when I had just come out of a lovely warm shower in a hotel in New York, I got a call from my wife that my father has passed away. I won't lie - I didn't weep. I even watched a movie (Aladdin) on the flight back home. Three hours after landing, I went to the hospital to claim Baba, and then took him to the cremation. After the cremation, my father-in-law and I drove to Srirangapatnam to immerse the remains, because there's no river in Bangalore. Then I came back, and sat down with Maa. Not once during those days did I weep. Months later, when I was sitting in silence during one of my "do-nothing" phases, I remembered the question I had asked my father. It was then that I wept. For I realized I was wrong. My father had always been nothing but a friend to me - checking me and stopping me and my pals when we were about to do something wrong, correcting me when I would swear, teaching me the amazing power which a simple market holds in equating people, educating me about the principles of our ancient culture, showing me the value of punctuality, educating me about the sincerity with which one should approach one's occupation. I may not have learnt half of what he taught me, but he tried. Last night, I dreamt of my father sitting in his favourite chair in silence, perhaps thinking about the piercing question I had put to him. I realize now the gravity of those moments of silence. I have nothing but awe and respect for those precious moments of silence. I realize now that it wasn't he who had changed when I reached my teens. The change had happened in me, and it had scared him. He could have answered that question that day, but perhaps he knew that I wouldn't understand. Perhaps he had left me with the question so that I can find an answer to it myself someday.

I think I'm gonna go now. I can hear my son crying in the other room. I think he needs me :-)

An Embarrassing Experience

Like many men of my age, I was pretty scared at the prospect of becoming a "daddy". I believe this fear had its roots in the post-adolescent self-realization of what immense trouble I had been to my father. But, as luck would have it, I am a daddy too, now. But that's not the central crux of this story - it's just the pillar on which the premise of this story is based. Now, not very long ago, two events happened in my life, at the same time, which set in motion, among other things, one of the strangest and most embarrassing events that I have encountered. I got promoted at work, and my wife Sweta got pregnant. The fact that I was scared of the huge responsibilities that come with parenthood must have prohibited my wife from sharing the news with me immediately. I, on the other hand, came home and broke the good news from work to her. We celebrated, with me completely ignorant of the fact that there was something else I needed to think about.

Enter, my mother-in-law. Even today, I cannot imagine why my wife had broken the baby news to her, and not the promotion one. So here was I, who knew about the promotion but not about the baby. And there was my mother-in-law, who knew about the baby, but not about the promotion. Under such circumstances, she called me to congratulate me (on the baby, of course), and the most remarkable conversation happened. I have tried to be true to my memory:

MIL:  Hello Bhaskar, congratulations!

ME:   Thank you, thank you, maa :-)

MIL:  Such a wonderful piece of news! I'm so happy for you.

ME:   Yes :-) Indeed, I'm happy too.

MIL:  Of course you are happy. We are all so, so happy. So when did you get to know?

ME:   Well, I had an idea it was coming, but the final confirmation came yesterday.

MIL:  Really?!! Very good, very good. Finally, I'll have some reason to come to Bangalore and celebrate.

ME:    Why, of course, maa! Please come down, we'll celebrate.

MIL:   Sure, sure. I have been praying for this day for such a long time.

ME:    Yes, this was long due.

MIL:   Ah, NOW you are admitting that this should have happened long time back? I don't understand your generation. Why do you have to take so much time for such things?

ME:   Well, these things are never easy, maa. There's a lot of hard work required. It takes time.

MIL:  Yeah, I know THAT!

ME:   Plus, only hard work isn't sufficient. To some extent, you need luck as well.

MIL:  Yes, ahem......luck does play a big role.

ME:    But I'm not saying that I don't deserve it. After all, there're no shortcuts to these kinds of success. But there are other factors as well.

MIL:   I'm sure there are.

ME:    For instance, motivation. Why do you think we're seeing this success today? It's because I just love doing what I do every day. I do it with a feverish passion. The excitement is something which I really enjoy and look forward to.

MIL:   By the way....

ME:    And then, there are other things which play important parts.

MIL:   Really, like what?

ME:   Visibility, for instance. It's not enough that I am good at what I do. It's important to SHOW others that I am good at it. Only then will I be recognized as a true performer. Only then will I be in demand.

MIL:   Bhaskar.....ok then.....I have to go to the kitchen......

ME:    And finally,of course, without encouragement from my boss, this would not have been possible at all. She is the one who motivated me to do this.

MIL:   Accha?!!

ME:    Absolutely! If she would not have recognized my talents over the years, you and I would not have been having this conversation. Not only did I make her recognize my talents, I actually went to the extent of ensuring that she benefits from them. And I can tell you, she is VERY happy with my performance.

MIL:   .........

ME:    Hello, maa? Hello? Hello??

A Trip To Coorg

My wife and I have been thinking of visiting Coorg for quite a few years. Truth be told, we were hesitating to make this trip because we had heard conflicting reviews. After about five years of deliberating, we said to ourselves "there's only one way to find out", and set out for Coorg for a four-day trip. Thursday Jan 26 being a holiday, I took leave on Friday, and had four full days to relax. My wife, Sweta, did all the planning and bookings. She was very clear that she wanted to stay in a homestay, because we had heard about Coorgi hospitality and cuisine. The crux of the plan was this - Day 1: start for Coorg from Bangalore, reach there and relax in the estate where we had our booking. Day 2: visit one or two local attractions. Day 3: Pure unadulterated relaxation. Day 4: Drive back to Bangalore through the famous Nagarhole National Park. On Jan 26, my son Limu, Sweta, my driver and I started off.

The distance to Coorg (door-to-door) is 245 kms. From my residence in Sarjapur Road we took the Electronics City flyover and then the Nice Road to hit Mysore Road. Driving through Ramnagaram (where the famous "Sholay" was shot), Mandya, Maddur and the historic town of Srirangapatna, we bypassed Mysore city and hit the Hunsur highway. This by-pass is easy to miss. Look for the huge signboard that says "Thank You for Visiting Srirangapatnam". The by-pass is the first right turn after this signboard. After leaving Hunsur behind, we reached a Y-junction where we took a left towards a place called Gonikoppal. Gonikoppal, I was later told, is an important commercial town for South Coorg. We looked for the 'More' department store in Gonikoppal, and took the first right turn after the store to hit the Pollibetta Road. After about 3 kms, we saw a sign saying "Victory Homes - Brigadier Ponnappa", and we followed the signs through a huge coffee estate, till, just like the curtains get drawn out from over a cinema screen, a beautiful bungalow appeared before us, nested on a hillock. We had reached our homestay, and the ever smiling Kaveri Ponnappa, the Brigadier's wife, was waiting for us.

I'll take a few words to describe Victory Homes, because this is important. The bungalow is in the middle of a huge coffee estate (4 acres). The bungalow itself was constructed about 20 odd years back. It's a two-storey affair, with 2 rooms with attached baths on the top floor, and a drawing room, dining room, pantry, store and 2 bedrooms with attached baths in the ground floor. The Brigadier (retired) and his wife live in one of the bedrooms in the ground floor, and the other three bedrooms are let out for homestay. The entire house has a woman's touch, with simple yet beautiful decorative pieces of brass, wood and glass scattered systematically all throughout the house. My wife liked the Pooja-room so much that she made me promise that we would get replicas of everything that the room contained. The bar was well-maintained. The rooms themselves were simple affairs. No unnecessary zwing-zwangs, and yet they had everything for comfort. No televisions. The house was surrounded on two sides by a garden and an orange orchard. A lilly pond flanked the house on the left, and the backyard had the kitchen, a couple of garages, the water tower, store rooms, workshop and two kennels. The estate itself had woods full of coffee-plants in full bloom, orange orchards, four ponds, several servants' quarters, engine and generator rooms and an area where coffee-beans are dried. I will not mince my words - if I were to be asked to spend a month in that estate without venturing out, I wouldn't complain. There's no sound of traffic, only the chirping of birds in the day and the sound of cricket (errr....you know what I mean) in the night. One day, I even heard a Nepali plucker happily singing "Teri adaaon pe marta hoon, LOVE, tujhe LOVE main karta hoon" with wild abandon, completely ignorant of the fact that I was watching him.

I could understand why I had heard conflicting reviews of Coorg. If you go there with the expectation that you'll do a lot of sight-seeing, you'll be disappointed. The points of interest are (a) pretty far apart from each other, and (b) nothing great. There're the Abbey Falls, the Tibetan monastery near Kushalnagar, the Dubbare Elephant camp and the Thalacauvery temple, which is said to be the origin of the river Cauvery. My driver Prakash went to visit this place all by himself and offered pooja. When I asked why, he described how his elder brother had built a house in the village and the borewell was not giving any water, and how his brother and his wife had offered pooja at Thalacauvery and had gone back to find that the borewell was spewing divinely sweet water. When I asked him if someone was still drilling during the time this pooja was being offered, he answered in the affirmative, but vehemently denied the remotest possibility of hitting water without such pooja being offered. When I asked him to at least explain why he had boarded two wrong buses while returning from Thalacauvery to Victory Homes and ended up missing his dinner and almost getting bitten by the dog, he realized that his employer was a devout disbeliver in organized religion and gave up. Moving on, don't go to Coorg expecting a Darjeeling or Ooty. If you're interested in lazing around, taking a refreshing walk amidst nature, admiring a flower you've never seen before, or hearing ripe fruits falling from trees into a pond, or seeing the wings of a dragonfly shining in the sunlight, chances are, you'll like Coorg. If you get happiness out of simple things that you've not done in a long time, like making a paper boat and sailing it in a brook, or pelting stones into a pond or falling asleep on a verdant lawn, then you'll like Coorg. The cuisine is great, and tastes better when Mrs. Ponnappa holds Limu while my wife and I eat! The hot breakfast in the mornings are particularly mouth-watering. I felt the meals are a tad expensive, but the affection with which she cooked them for us perhaps justified the price. The Brigadier, a thoroughly well-read golf-loving gentleman, gave me company during the evenings. We discussed my love for cinema, his love for golf, we discussed the contributions made by the British to this country and I took tips for my retirement home from him.

We did end up visiting Orange County, an extremely overpriced luxury resort, to savour their famous buffet lunch, and taking a tour of the place. My suggestion to you: please make good use of your hard earned money by buying and reading books and don't blow incongruous amounts of money on 21-grands-per-night rooms that overlook a jackfruit tree. The only thing I liked about Orange County was the loo. The buffet spread was quite good though and was reasonably priced. Don't miss the Coracle ride in the Cauvery 2 mins from Orange County. The boatman took us out on request and we saw the sun set on the Cauvery from the depths of a dangerously unstable Coracle. That, in my opinion, was the highlight of the trip.

While driving back, consider taking the route through Kutta (the condition of the road is quite bad) and driving through the Nagarhole forests. Try and drive through very early in the morning, and you can expect to see elephants, deer, wild boars and langoor. Since I had a langoor sleeping in my lap, I wasn't too interested in seeing one outside the car, but the forests are scary yet beautiful.

Coorg has always eluded us, but in the end, when we did manage to go to her, she did not disappoint. I wouldn't mind going back if she beckons me again.

I'm Coming Out

I am 33. Over the last two decades, I have been suffering silently in shame and agony. Make no mistake, I have had the greatest parents one can ever dream to have, and have had the good fortune to receive a decent education too. I made a fairly successful career and have a great family. Despite all the good times that I have spent in this life, there is a terrible secret that I have kept. A secret so devastating, that if revealed, can ostracize me in the Indian society in a matter of minutes. A secret so terrible, that even my closest family members won't support me once I tell them about it.  A secret so scary, that ever since I discovered this strange aspect of my existence more than 20 years ago, I have shuddered to think of its consequences.

But, the world today, as we know it, is much more welcoming and liberalized, as compared to what it was 20 years back. People have become more sensitive to personal choices, and aberrations in preferences. "Normal" is a word that is very carefully used these days. People are cautious not to hurt anyone's sentiments. There are focus groups who help traumatized people like me. It is with the faith that perhaps my family, friends, colleagues and acquaintances will at least make an attempt to understand my situation that I have decided to come out in the open today. Needless to say, I could not gather the courage to talk about it, so I decided to write about it. I hope...no, 'hope' is not the right word...I pray to anyone reading this - please, oh please, try to put yourself in my shoes before you judge me. I, like you, am a human being, God's child. If God has created me with this aberration, am I to be blamed for this? Think about it for a moment before you come to any conclusion. This is not easy for me, as you can imagine. I need your support to walk through the rest of my life with this burden. I am now going to tell you my secret, with all the courage I can muster: I don't like Cricket.

There, I have said it, and I'm feeling quite light already. Coming out into the open with a statement like that is no easy task, especially in India, where fanatics may stab me in the chest tomorrow morning, when I'm walking in the park. But it's the truth. I just don't like Cricket. I think it is overhyped, and it has had such a terrible influence on some of my friends, that it's sad to see that people can't reach out and switch off the TV. People spend unwarranted amounts of time on this 'sport'. Work stops when play commences. Doctors don't go to work. My friends, who are otherwise very talented and logic-loving individuals, change their stances on players with every passing day, idolizing them one day, and crucifying them the next. Somehow, apologetically, I just don't get it. I know it's an aberration, but God, which is a nickname we use in this country for a certain player, will perhaps understand what I mean.

What will happen to me now, depends on how you react to my shameless admittance. If you were expecting something else and are now too busy laughing, perhaps you will comment and show me your support, telling me that you understand my plight and will stand by me, despite your personal choices. If, on the other hand, you are frothing in the mouth and baying for my blood, please comment and say so, and I will try and keep away from you for the next month and a half. If you are neutral about what I just said, just write "No Hablos Ingles" in the comments and we will forget this ever happened. But whatever you may be feeling right now, please tell me what you think about what you read, coz it's my first blog after all.