A day in the life of LIFE

Nope it’s not the next Anil kapoor Sri devi starrer on lines of Chaal baaz!

A Sutta Baaz, as defined by the Rashtriya Hindi Shabd Kosh (also called dictionary: for those of you who dint know) is a person whose “har prograam ka main phood” is sutta.

Sutta comes in a variety of shapes and sizes. And a wide range in fact – from Mangalooru Ganesh Beedi to Raabart wala Marlboro. From the information that I have gathered, apparently sutta and cutting chai are supposed to be an unbeatable combination that is relished especially by engineering students who wish to give their breakfast a miss.

P.S.- Any description is not truly the author’s experience. It has been collected from a variety of sources. Ma! This is for your informaiton, lest you think of me as a DTM (Dari Tappida Maga – translated as the son who lost his way).

Ok. Back to the topic. Since my inception in the corporate world, (which is roughly for about three and a half years now), there is one place that has caught my attention as the most happening “adda” and that is the Smoking Zone at office also called the Cancer Club.

The criteria to join the club require you to be a connoisseur of tobacco in either active or passive mode. This is one place where you can find people across departments, hierarchy, caste, creed, color, gender(this is catching up specially outside BPOs) and all the other non-discriminatory parameters as laid down by the U.N. General Assembly.

This is the prime location where a variety of topics are discussed right from the Sensex to behind the scenes stories of office politics. What text books on Organization behavior call “Grapevine” is precisely this.

What’s more, this elite club is organization agnostic.

Overheard this morning at the Sutta Club:

1 “Kings” is lit.

Mr. B: Yaar, Bohot tension ho gayi hai
Mr. J: Kyun bhai kya hua?

J uses B’s cigarette to save a match stick for India. (Applause!!)

Mr. B: Saala 2 lakh gaye mere, Mukesh ke wajeh se?
Mr. J: Arre apna Mukesh joh humarey department main hain?

Mr. B: Nahin re, Mukesh Ambani, usne kuch Iraq mein locha kiya hai is liye bhaav gir gaya, abhi joh maine teesra flat kharida tha pichley haftey usko bechna padega. Kya naubat hai.

The rings of smoke resemble Kekule’s benzene structure! (yes, I still remember :))

Mr. J: Chal Chill maar yaar. Yeh bata, is baar Quarterly payout ki kuch khabar?
Mr. B: Kyun muh khulva raha hai? Shukar karo is baar negative mein nahin jaa raha hai

The cigarettes are half spent

Mr. J: Suna hai Mrs. K ko out of turn promotion mil raha hai?
Mr. B: Haan woh Mr. P ke team mein jaa rahi hai.
Mr. P: Meri team mein? Mujhe khud pata nahin
Mr B: Maine tumhe bataya nahin aur tumne kuch suna nahin

The cigarettes are almost dying out like the lamps at the deathbeds of the aged actors of bollywood movies(wah! Kitni filmy hai!! Nirupa Roy would be proud of me)

Mr. J: Chal woh chhod. Weekend pe kya plan hai?
Mr. B: Bohot hectic yaar. Saturday ko London mein hoon. Wahan se Paris hotey huey Wednesday ko New York mein hoon. Return flight via Dubai hai, who bhi 1 day stop over ke saath. Travel kar ke thak gaya hoon yaar. Ab dekh last trip mein around the world in 80 hours ho gaya tha. Bohot pressure hai

(Nautanki Saaley!)Me began thinking on lines of Mungeri Laal –

“Na ghooma mainey UK
Na dekha hai Amreeca.
Par shikayat, beta inki sunkey
Ghoom aaya khwabon mein poori duniya”

End of conversation.

The cigarettes that provided a medium for the conversation are crushed under the expensive “Franco Leone” shoes, which completes their 2 minutes and 37 seconds life span from the mouth to the foot.

(The butt is almost out with the last bright flicker!)

Not sure how to end this post. So let me just say, An ode to the sutta, sutta club and the sutta baaz.!

John Abraham would definitely love it...

Music in any form is something that I have enjoyed through the years, but there are very few songs have caught my attention so much that they get ingrained in memory simply for the quality of music and emotion that they portray.

The last Bollywood song that I remember belonging to this category was “Kya Mujhe Pyaar Hai” from Woh Lamhe. But looking at the Kannada film industry, there has not been a single song of this repute that I’ve enjoyed as much for a long time.

As they say, for music to be classified as “classic”, it should be near perfect in all constituent aspects including melody, tune, lyrics, emotion, situation and most of all how it is packaged and rendered in totality.

For almost 4 weeks now, I have been listening to one particular song that has swept me off my feet – “Ninnindale..Ninnindale..” from the movie Milana. The first time I heard this was on a local FM station while returning from work at 11:30 in the night, and has since redefined my liking for the song, each time I listen to it, so much that it has mandated a separate blog post to be dedicated to it.

With music being composed by none other than Mano Murthy , lyrics by Jayanth Kaikini, ,picturised in the exotic locations of Europe and melodiously rendered by Sonu Nigam and Shreya Ghoshal, this song just makes the listener sway and get fully immersed into the elements of the song.

Kudos to the team that put together this song. It simultaneously brings out emotions of energy ,tranquility love & angst, and combines the genres of rock, hip hop, fusion and classical carnatic. A unique combination indeed.

And even as I listen to the song in repeat mode on my laptop for the 21st time in the past 4 hours, I also find the same reverberating through the headphones of colleagues around me, and am not sure this would continue for many days to come.

Signing off, here I am, diving deep into the melody of the music. “Ninnindale Ninnindale..” turn on the volume guys. This is heavenly..

P.S. - Thanks to M.V. for sharing this song.

After a long absence for over 6 weeks on the blogsphere, I am back with a bang with as much fanfare as that accompanying Benazir Bhutto's return to Pakistan.

I am happy for Benazir. After allegations of corruption against her and her husband Zardari (who by the way was called Mr. Dus Percent), apparently Mushi who has a heart of olive (yes, everything about Mushi is Green - his uniform, his vegetable meal, his envy, well, it is understood that he refuses to touch anything non green lest he be stripped of his uniform), had a change of opinion towards Mr. & Mrs. Bhutto(or rather Mr. and Mrs. Zardari) and offered the olive branch (see,there's green again :)) as a mark of friendship, and has thus managed to stage a puppet democacy in Pakistan. And the stage is set for Benazir's return in a style comparable that used for the victorious T 20 team. She would be on an 18 hour procession from the Karachi airport to the mausoleum of Jinnah,in a specially modified 20-foot shipping container attached to the back of a lorry. What joy!

Since I am not expert on international politics, all inferences drawn are part of those of a demented mind, trying to make sense of why such similar things happen in the sub continent.

You see, Bhutto's compatriot, Sonia has had a see saw on the nuclear deal as frequent as Rahul Dravid's recent visits to the pavilion, and the joke that during the rounds is that congressmen call up the left for permission even before they visit the rest room.

Meanwhile, even as Inzy wobbled off the field like an overused bull dozer, struggling with his English, just as he used to a couple of decades ago, Sachin is showing no signs of retirement. A recent report said that he is keen on playing with his son in the same Indian team, claiming that Boost was the secret of his energy. One word of caution though for Sachin. Hope his son does not face the same fate as Rohan Gavaskar.(Rohan who??)

I cannot compare the movie industries of the two countries, since I know not of a single hit Pakistani film, actor or actress, so my mind draws a blank there.

Finally, even as the Indian aviation industry gears up to carry Mallya's tummy oops baby, the all new "Simplifly deccan" in true Kingphiser ishtyle is set to create a new record. I heard they are now proposing to launch "a free air ticket with every beer" scheme to promote the newly launched brand. If changing the color of paint could change performance, the "hangover in the head" Indian cricket team could do with a change in uniforms.

Coming to think of it, do Pakistanis have any other option other than PIA? Maybe they are going to allow Air China to operate domestic services.

Enough of comparisons! Even as we bask in our similarities and bite into our differences, the aam aadmi on both sides is yet to get his necessities of roti, kapda, makaan and mobile! the sooner, the better...

I have not been tagged for quite a while now. Silverine has posed an open tag dare and I just happened to pick it up.. So here goes....

1.Pick out a scar you have, and explain how you got it.

Well, I suddenly realized that not having a scar was rather uncool when my cousin kid sister, visited us after a Harry Potter movie and exclaimed –“ Harry is a wizard because he has a scar”. The poor me, with no other avenue to become a genius, used the divider of Ma’s students to get myself a scar. People tell me I have gone from bad to worse. “J K Rowling, you are sure to get to your lawyer soon”

2.What does your phone look like?

Phone? What’s that? All I have is a gadget that has the latest MP3 songs, doubles up as a camera, uses quick office like a mini computer, acts as an alarm clock, but makes no calls….I wonder why…maybe it does not have a SIM card.

3.What is on the walls of your bed-room?

Hmm. I grew up in my bed cum study room over the past 14 years. So the walls are no longer recognizable. They have everything from Sachin Tendulkar pin ups, Trigonometric formulae, stains of Boost (9 years old and growing strong), and an examination time table containing the good old subjects that have been part of most curricula from the eras of Shah Jahan to Sonia Gandhi.

4.What is your current desktop picture?

Bah! How I wish I could choose my own pic. The Systems guys in the company have put up a desktop picture having text that reads as , “ You are looking at this in case your window is minimized which means you are not working!”

5.Do you believe in gay marriage?

I have been advised by my brand manager to be neutral in my response. So here goes – “ While the right of choice of an individual is to be respected, Societal norms out to be kept in mind as well”

6.What do you want more than anything right now?

Something!

7.What time were you born?

Though I am told that it was 8:17 p.m. on a cold winter night, I must admit I have no confirmed source of verification. But irrespective of the exact time, I know for one thing that my mom had a terrible time.

8.Are your parents still together?

The word “Still” needs to have a reference. I saw them together yesterday, and Dad’s away on a work related trip and am not sure of the situation post that.


9.Who was Last person who made you cry?

Well, boys are not supposed to cry. But the last time I shed tears (of joy) was when, I burnt the midnight oil for a straight 2 weeks and delivered a job of high quality and got the recognition from my boss as “ not a bad job”

10.What is your favourite perfume/cologne/ deo?

Cigar, The fragrance of the deo helps camouflage the real ones. :P

11.What kind of hair/eye color do you like in the opposite sex?

The last time I tried assessing my choice from among a wide variety available, I was almost jailed by the moral police..So there..

12.What are you listening to?

The sound of silence (most people are sound asleep, post lunch)

13.Do you get scared of the dark?

Nah! I’m just pertified!

14.Do you like pain killers?

Yes as long as they help you get rid of people who are a pain in the !@#

15.Are you too shy to ask someone out?

The last time someone asked me out was the Department HOD in Engineering course. And he wasn’t quite shy during the process. I am yet to arm myself with that confidence..

16.If you eat anything right now, what would it be?

PUDIN HARA!

As a matter of fact, I just returned after a heavy meal immediately followed by a colleague’s farewell, that comprised of veg puff, chocolate pastry, French fries, and ice cream, on the menu.

Why did you have to ask? *groan* *burp*

17.Who was the last person who made you mad?

LOL, no one can make a person mad when he already is one…:)

18.Who was the last person who made you smile?

The kids in the school bus that I saw from the window of my bus this morning, all cuddled up and cute, on their way to school….

Happy Long weekend, everyone....

A big thank you to all of you who have endured my writing over the last year and a half. I have completed a century of blog posts and am grateful to all my readers.

Warm Regards,
Asmyaham.

Last week, I embarked on the “Amazing Race”, traveling across the congested bylanes of Bengalooru (yes, we’ve re-christened ourselves, as part of increasing the rest of the world’s competency in pronouncing tongue twisters, and after you are done with Bengalooru, you can try Hubballi, Mangalooru, Vijaapura etc…), and battling against all odds to reach Indiranagar, which is diagonally opposite to the part of town where I stay. The journey equalled the duration that suffices to reach the royal city of Mysooru.

All this, because my new employer wanted “saboot” that I was medically competent to deliver benchmarked performance in my role. I arrived at my destination, half blackened by the soot and carbon that fed my otherwise healthy cells with their dose of equivalent nicotine fix. I am almost sure that if and when a carbon dating analysis is done on my body to check for the civilization that I belonged to, my cells are sure to throw up data pretty much off the mark, coz, the carbon content in me would be equal to that of those in the tyrannosaurus rex that once ruled the earth.

Nonetheless, I entered the diagonostic lab, only to find “would be” colleagues also present there for a similar ordeal. The nonchalant ward boy looked up to me and said: “X ray?”. I looked at him, puzzled. Now, how am I supposed to know that owing to the level of fraudulent practices, people are now using the photographs of the spine and femur as unique identifiers, instead of photo ID cards?.

I opened my wallet and showed him my driving license. He retorted, “ Saar, X Ray, X Ray!”. As I looked confused, another colleague of his came up and directed me to go to the X Ray room located in the basement of the building. The stairs that led the pathway to the dingy room were as fragile as Shankar Dayal Sharma’s knees and I was worried that the stairs might collapse under my weight.

The X Ray guy asked me to get half monty and motioned me to pump up my biceps at the count of three as he prepared to fire the trigger. It was almost as if I was modeling for a Pirelli calendar, all set to become the next pin up poster of Bollywood (coz Italian cinema is yet to open its doors to Indian actors) .

Well, that was the end of round one. In Round two, I was ushered into a private room which was apparently the ECG hall. Sister Stella (well I guess that was her name since she was not wearing a name plate), exclaimed “Wellgum Wellgum. In cayse you hyave yenny myettal aabjects von yo, blease geep theym ivadey(here) on the coat(cot)”. I followed her instructions and she asked me to lie down on the adjacent cot.

She proceeded with fastening me with objects that best resembled the vacuum stickers that are stuck on the doors of refrigerators. She applied some solution which was pretty ticklish, and followed up by asking me to pull up my tee shirt, and then she chuckled “ Monney, pvull up the banniyan volso, ECG alle?”

I almost fell asleep, for it had been long since I had been pampered, and nothing better than an ECG room to soothe your nerves and help you relax. The serenity was broken when someone who I assume was the chief matron barged in and said, “ Sister, please be quick! We have a lot of patients waiting”. I thanked the nerse with "Onashamshagal" which was a week away, and walked out of the room.

The ECG was followed by a blood sample collection. In fact the nerse struggled to draw out blood from my fore arm despite securing the pressure pads around my upper arm and she exclaimed, “blooddey illey, monney”. This time I grinned, considering the fact that my new employer would not be able to suck my blood since I didn’t have any (the literal translation for “khoon choos na”)

The urine sample collection and routine color blindness test followed suit and the doc, after some elementary questions asked me to get along.

Thus, ended the half day ordeal, post which I walked out disoriented (they drew out almost a bottle of scant blood, you see), tired and hungry, and mused on an internet joke I had received earlier during the day.

“The employer conducts a medical examination and secures health insurance for the prospective employee as a moral obligation for all the diseases and stress he picks up as an occupational hazard”.

What joy! I say myself, even as I have begun lugging a 3 kg laptop that has already given me a sore right shoulder in 3 days……-:)

“Maa!” I called out to mom. “ Can I please borrow the stick you use for hanging clothes, for a day? ” “ You sure can, only if you step in to be my mobile ladder in its place” she quipped. Flag Hoisting at our household is more important a ceremony, than that of any religious festival, with no less pomp and grandeur, much as expected in a family of freedom fighters.

I have a captive audience for the ceremony, you see.. Maa’s students, the maid of the house, and some neighbors, assemble atop the terrace for the most important event specified above

Aazadi, Freedom, Independence… Three words that hold special meaning to those who swear by the same. And 60 just makes it more special. A living miracle, some call her, while others believe she’s ready to take on the world, and as Shobha De puts it, India at Menopause reflects her maturity on the world stage.

Well, irrespective of perceptions, we’ve definitely come a long way. The beauty of a democracy is that despite all the spokes that try stopping the wheel of progress, economics has the power of making its presence felt.

A telephone call at a fraction of a rupee, the technology revolution, the farmer at the ATM, education and its reach, yes these are indeed the positives to cheer about. Critics argue that these necessities that were once luxuries are not all pervasive, and blame it on the “system”, while washing their hands off the tasks at hand.

Today’s edition of The Times of India has a wonderful message on the cover page, on the power of two letters – D.O.

It very carefully outlines the typical cynic who lists a variety of hurdles that he considers roadblocks in the path of progress. The very next set of lines, outline the power of “D.O”, they describe the power to transform situations, the power to translate the potential of thoughts into the kinetics of action, the power to change, by not dwelling on the glories of the past or the uncertainties of the future, but, by dominating “TODAY”.

With each passing day unfolding the spectrum of opportunities that once were part of the exclusivity of the West, Brand India is all set to stamp its authority over the world. From near bankruptcy in the early nineties to a Foreign exchange reserve in excess of 217 Bn $ by 2007, we’ve really come a long way.

As it is clichéd, yet true, “India, once a land of snake charmers, is today a land of mouse movers”. It’s never been a better time than the present, to be an empowered young Indian.

At the stroke of this midnight hour, let’s contribute our bit in putting India on Center Stage…..Chak De…..India….

Happy Independence day, everyone…..As British Airways acknowledges, “ For India, the world is waiting!!”….

Well I have not blogged for quite some time, coz, I was asked to lie low by my CSO -Chief Security Officer(Gunda), saying that my life was being threatened by some disgruntled elements.

Gunda, my neighbor's dog was quite prompt in his barks,and though my neighbor is fed up of them, he does not have a choice.

Finally, here I am, disclosing my co-ordinates that I'm alive and kicking in the Silicon valley of India.. Well, it's actually strange, many of my ex-colleagues (I think you got the hint, yes, I am transitioning jobs) who have been based out of Bangalore used to regularly ask me about cool places to hang out at, and I would give the sheepish grin and say, "Oh, maybe you should try Veena Stores on Malleshwaram 15th Cross. Well that's where I went to when I studied in class X". And, then those colleagues would scorn at me with a look that best described Jhonny Lever's constipated one in KNPH.Actually, born in Bangalore, being in IT,and not working in bangalore? sounds weird ain't it?

Well, that also explains why I was looking around through the wide windowed Volvo bus, as wide eyed as a monkey in Mysore zoo, when I was witness to the various IT companies, their sprawling lawns, the big brands, even as the conductor rattled off the names of the companies with as much ease as Anil Kumble's Trent Bridge test century.

I kind of enjoyed being stuck in the Bangalore traffic. As they say, you are not a true Bangalorean unless you crib around about its traffic.

These Volvo buses run by the city transport corporation called BMTC(Bittre Maatra Tirugi Sikkolla - "You won't get (the buses) again if you let them go") are cool. With air conditioning, television streaming and FM channels in the background, the plush seating coupled with cell phone charging points that don't work,give the picture of modernity, flavored with the "Swalpa Adjust maadi" attitude. Like a foreign tourist who gets his feel of the city, I was getting a first hand running commentary from the co-passenger seated next to me.

I needed to get off at a stop that I had never alighted at before and hence asked him if he could let me know when it arrived. He acknowledged, and asked me, "Yaava Ooru?" (which city?). Not wanting to expose my ignorance of the city despite belonging to it, I replied, "Mysooru". With an exclamation that approved of my small town status, he started explaining to me, how Bangalore had changed, how IT companies had transformed the landscape sending prices sky high and of course he looked at a company and muttered to me.."Look this is where a friend of mine who earns a six figure salary works...".

I meekly nodded my head as my bus stop approached..The conductor shouted into the microphone and I passed by a live traffic feed visible on the driver's monitor.." Bangalore, I smiled to myself - I.T. 's great to be here...."

Images below - Inside the local volvo bus, and an innovative road safety sculpture - view taken when stuck in traffic on the dairy circle flyover....

Nestled away from the bustling IT hub of Bangalore, and about 20 kms from the regal erstwhile kingdom of Mysore, is the temple town of Nanjangud.

The town in addition to its religious fervour, also plays host to a number of small scale industries including paper and sugar mills.

Situated on the banks of the river Kapila, Nanjangud literally translates to "the residing place of Lord Nanjundeshwara or Lord Shiva". Originally believed to have been built during the period of the Ganga dynasty (325-1000 CE), it has over the years received patronage from Haider Ali and Tippu Sultan(who referred to the deity as Hakim Nanjunda) and has come to be known as Dakshin Kashi (Kashi of the South) as well.

Having proximity to the famous Chamundi hills and the wildlife sanctuaries of Bandipur and Madumalai,of course not to forget the famous royal palace and the engineering miracle of the KRS resevoir, Nanjangud is a favourite of devotees and tourists alike. With the four-laning of State Highway 17 that connects Bengalooru to Mysore, getting here takes less than two and a half hours from the state capital.

Clubbing the visit to the temple with a family wedding was the best utilisation of time that could have been possible. The presiding deity is the griha devata (family God) of most Shaivites including sankethis, who came to reside in the surrounding villages, over the past several hundred years.

The visit happened Sunday, last, with the entire bandwagon of relatives hopping onto a tempo traveler, that pretty much did justice to the inviting stretch of road ahead of us. With one brief stop at Maddur Tiffany's to grab a quick bite of the famed Maddur vada (the lesser cousin of the ubiquotous Medu vada), we reached the temple at quarter to Eleven.

Being a Sunday, the population that had descended to the town was immense, and we managed to avail the tickets for the "special" darshan, which has now become a common place at all major religious establishments with the spread of capitalism.

Nonetheless, the devotional songs that filled the air, the common rush at the temple premises, the automated bells and drums for the Maha aarti, the state bank ATMs chequered across the town,the motley shops that stacked up orange flavored concotions in Limca bottles, the universal temple elepahnts, the narrow bylanes, with some evidence of a rail guage conversion, all presented the picture of a town that depite being deep rooted in tradition was trying to catch up with the progress the surrounding cities had achieved.

Even as the driver Chandru tried to avoid a biological speed breaker (yes, cows do move as per their free will), I was brought out of my reverie, as we headed to the land of the Wodeyars, the royal state of Mysore, that for long has stood as a force that gave the British Imperialists a run for their money.

Some images of Nanjangud, below... A day in the life of India...

Apologies for not having blogged for quite sometime now. Life's been a little more than a roller coaster ride, with my status of existence oscillating over the last few weeks like the crests and troughs of a perfect sine wave.

Nonetheless, the primary point is that I am right now seated in the comfortable environs of "home" in the truest sense of the word, after a long gap of 8 months.

Yes, please go ahead. Join Ma and bring out the "Oh My God !! you have been away and have not visited home for 8 months, do you even remember the way back?" phrases that I have been listening to already. Well, Delhi and Bangalore are not sister cities that I could do a "hop-skip-jump" antic and land on my comfy sofa watching TV (that's my prized possession and noone messes with me over that other than my lovable grannies), munching on hot pakodas flavored with Maa ki Mamta...all portraying the picture of filmy Utopia that one longs to experience.

Eventually, this weekend, I was in Bengalooru, enroute to Mysore for a cousin's wedding. Rising air fares, courtesy the recent consolidation in the aviation industry has made me to choose from the best of the worst available. Jet Airways, for whatever it's worth, burnt a meteor hole through my pocket. And a salary so low that it prevents me from even doing window shopping, has made matters worse.

The last couple of days have been quite hectic owing to the usual din and pomp associated with every Indian wedding. But on the sidelines of the wedding, I have realised that coming back to a place of your own, one that you've evolved with, brings back the feeling of nostalgia. One realises that the smallest of things that were once taken for granted tend to be more valued when one gets back to them.

The call of the local sabzi wallah, The kids playing on the street who time and again annoy dad by breaking window panes, The neighbors' courteous enquiry,the "Mungaru Male" song that plays in the local barber shop, the fragrance of the "Mallige" flowers that adorn the verandah, the vibrations emnating from Ma's 5 a.m. prayers, M.S. Subbulaxmi's melody that flows from the 1998 BPL player,all this and more, have made me realise that God lies in the details.

It's a good feeling to be back home, a feeling of peace and quiete, a feeling that people acknowledge your existence, and more importantly, the feeling of authority that one can probably exercise in one's backyard, more than anywhere else.

Touching down at Bangalore has never felt so great as this, after a long sojourn at New Delhi. And even as the rest of the Duniya goes "Oot Patanga", right from Pratibha Patil's Presidential credentials to the Taj being voted into the 7 wonders of the world, I am blissfully resting on dad's couch, digging into a new book that I picked up on Saturday titled "Jalebi Management". More on the book and a review of the same later...

Till then, home is where the heart is.....*Yawn*

Having survived for almost 3 long years in the IT industry, (yes, 3 years in IT is equivalent to 30 in BHEL), I must say that the Indian IT industry has transformed itself with as much variety as Paresh Rawal's roles in Bollywood.

I am planning to write a comprehensive blog post on the "IT Survival Tool Kit" commemorating my third anniversay in the industry which is due shortly.

You may be pleased to know that Aaj Tak has already bought rights to screen the entire celebration "live" from my 2x2 cubicle that more resembles a packed sardine tin can.

There are some aspects that do not change irrespective of the organisation that you are in including white collared bonded labor, highly exoctic canteen food that is often cribbed about, overhyped "mission critical" coders who are held in high regard next to Spiderman in the context of saving the day, and but of course the insatiable paychecks that are always just enough to cater to 30 days of living.

Of late, in fact, just yesterday, I learnt the Golden rule for IT survival - English Grammar. Yes, kudos to Wren and Martin for all those tongue twisting grammar tenses and whimsical grammar rules that end up confusing even the Queen of England at times..

Ah! Coming back to the Golden rule. Just as "Har snack namkeen nahin hota", this rule with the twist is the best IT can get.

POSTULATE :

Never use the first person prepositions "I", "We", "Me", "us", "Myself" etc.... in any conversation that has to deal with the obituary of a project that you are part of.


PM: "Team, the client is furious. The project is running 6 months behind schedule. Who is responsible?"
TM 1: " They gave us the code for testing a month after is was due"
TM 2: " They gave us the specs. that were revised as frequently as a baby's diapers"
TM 3: " They told us that the functionality should remain as they desired"
TL : " They were not only told about the project plan by them, but they ended up changing it mid way too"
Quality: " They prepared the plan based on the estimate they provided"
Onsite Co-ordinator: " They messed it up"
PM,(facing the customer): "They were not given the test cases that suited their reqirement. But they are doing their best to do their tasks right,they will work 16 hrs a day and they will work on weekends, free of cost, though they are not a party to this task that was completed by them"
Customer: Who are "they"?
Everyone: SILENCE.
Customer: Let "them" perform a root cause analysis before "they" continue with "their" project. And let "them" be paid for fixing "their" folly that resulted in "their" mess in "this" project

Welcome to the Land of Mouse movers, Just do IT!! Hey Ganpat! Java la....

To realize how important,the details could be
That these details test the substance in me
I need decisions that need to stand the test of time
Also assist me in drawing the crucial lifeline

I was always told that decisions are never easy to take
Specially when it impacts an individual being's state
The future the wise men say remains a mystery,
But it also hinges on the book of history.

I am what I am, I achieve as much as I perceive,
But the heart is not content with the gifts I receive,
Natural for a being to want more than he can digest
Few are men who stand apart and dare to resist

As i stare at the crossroad ahead of me
With thoughts flowing in perennially
Each bringing with it a new found insight
With the balance swaying either side

And as I gear up to make my decision right,
One thing I know is to not regret in hindsight,
I move with the hope of success and that things would be fine
That the inconsequence of consequence lies in the eventuality of time!!

Not very often would you find me waking up at 5:45 a.m. unless of course my neighbor plays Himesh Reshmiya’s constipated songs in full volume as against the melody of M.S. Subbulaxmi's Suprabhatam. A beautiful morning it was. The 10th of May –The penultimate day marking the 150 years of the First war of Indian Independence-the uprising against the Raj. And what could be more ironic than me making my way through the canopied wide roads of New Delhi, enroute to the US Embassy located at Shantipath, Chanakyapuri.

I reached there well in time before the “scheduled” appointment, only to find people who had been camping there through the entire night, I presume. They had settled themselves on the sprawling lawns a few hundred meters away from the Embassy compound, even as sparrows and mynahs pecked away beside them in their search for the ubiquitous morning breakfast.

It was quite a scene, and studying the myriad people who had descended upon the “Mecca” of visa dispensing nations brought me immense joy.

“Kya yeh queue Business Visa key liye hai?” I enquired with a young lad (yes, much younger than me, so I could definitely call him young!), who was sporting a Fidel Castro tee shirt and blue denims, to which he replied “ Thore is ohnly ohne loine dyude! And Oi don’t thoink it moikes a deffence” in a typical US accent. It was almost as if the “desi dyude” had been sent to a Rapidex American English Speaking course for a complete make over. The only thing they did probably forget to tell him was how well the Yankees liked Fidel Castro!!

After a second word of confirmation from the security guard who acted with the audacity that even the President of the USA did not deserve, I walked to join the drove of already queued up people, the scene resembling the punishment I often received in school for not having completed Math homework from Mrs. Rajamma.

The whole of India had been represented within the 45 minute time window that I stood outside waiting for my application to be screened at the entry point. I tucked, re-tucked my shirt , adjusted the belt that kept my trousers from falling, and combed my hair atleast a zillion times, till my head resembled well-ploughed land ready to be embedded with seeds to yield a bumper crop.

Just then, 5 brethren from Punjab broke the queue and joined those of us who were already lined up. Welcome to India, I said to myself but no one had the temerity to confront them, for each of them in their uniform blue headgear and white attire stood 7 feet tall even as the khanjars dangled around their chest. I was curious to know how they would clear the security check, though.

An old Bengali couple was turned away owing to the fact that they had arrived 5 hours before their scheduled appointment.

As I glanced up to catch a glimpse of the stars and stripes U.S. national flag fluttering inside the Embassy compound, an auto rickshaw apparently carrying three Tibetan passengers on a sight seeing trip signaled to them about the important and most sought after landmark, just as he sped away lest he be towed for violating parking rules.

Finally having reached the security check, the Guard carried out his routine tasks. In between, he shouted out to one of the earlier applicants and said “ Bhai saab aapka passport idhar hi rehgaya!”. As the absent minded Chironji Lal (of Khosla ka Ghosla fame) returned to collect the same, the guard quipped ”Sir, wahan aisa nahin chalega, ab toh aap amreeka jaane wale hai!”, in typical Asif Iqbal (the visa agent) ishtyle, which aroused laughter all around.

The dedicated queue for B1 visas also had representation from all companies including Iyer and Iyengar Software Limited, Chennai. The lady in front of me and the guy behind me were actually a married couple who worked for the same IT company. The Embassy staffers sent out a couple of guys to advise people on the order of arranging the documents. The lady in front submitted hers. The guy asked, “your full name?” – The lady replied “ Padmavati Guntupally”. And what about that before marriage? “Padmavati Baganpally” she replied. “Please mention the same in Box 10 ", he said.The guy behind me was “ Adikesavulu Ramanatha Krishna Srinivas Guntupally”. I am sure he would have run out of space while filling his full name.

The queue progressed at a snail’s pace even as an entire family from Bhatinda comprising of Chunnu,Munnu,Sonu and their Mummy Paapa, made their way though the pathway. Quite a few newly wed ladies (recognizable from the stack of red bangles that adorned their arms) waited, presumably to procure a dependant visa to join their hubbies in the US.

Eventually, I did manage to enter the embassy premises which was as heavily guarded as the Red Fort on August 15th. One person was stopped by the security as he was carrying hair spray and deodorant and was let off only after he sprayed the same on his hand and inhaled it. It was as comic as a drunken driver being asked to walk the yellow line, by the cops.

The queue that resembled the one in the sanctum of the Tirupathi Balaji temple,had one lady who reverently prayed to the heavens and closed her eyes, just before she entered the holy shrine of “Visa disbursement”.

After handing over my finger prints akin to the prisoner identification procedure, I was lined up for the interview window. Not all Americans are cheesy. Atleast not this one. He infact had a cheerful demeanor and quite a sense of humor. Just as he finished with a guy in front of me, he remarked, “Have a good day, Mr. De”. After a few routine questions he positively acknowledged my visa approval.

I walked out even as I eyed the cookies, doughnuts, and Pringles that were stacked up for refreshments in the totally Americanised setting quite polarized from the ground reality of New Delhi.

The interesting thing about the routine was that it was for the first time that I saw over 99% of the people being new to the entire process unlike those while visiting a place of worship or paying the electricity bill. And to top it all, every person was as clueless as the person next to him/her.

And all of those who had their visas stamped, exited with the song that best described the mood of the moment – “O Hansini, kahan ud chali, mere armaanoke pankh ladake…..”

- Truly, A day in the life of India!!

After Richard Gere got grounded by the desi moral police for "explicit obscenity" which made him believe Delhi was a suburb of Kabul, and Mandira got noticed more for her unpatriotic saree than her cricket commentary skills (which generally equals Rakhi Sawant's IQ), I have been the latest victim of fundamentalist fascist individuals for what they perceive of my blog posts. This has prompted me to utilize the services of Ramu, the friendly neighborhood canine, as my Chief Security Officer. He has a bark so ferocious to keep the muscle trio of Sunny Deol, Sallu Bhai and John Abraham away.

My Mom always believed I did not have the guts to protest even when the class bully in elementary school poached my lollipop in broad daylight. Neither have I had it in me the wish to threaten a mind as demented as Arjun Singh's. I was almost about to be nominated for the Nobel prize for harmlessness just when they felt that Radha, the cow was a better deserving candidate.

So, desh waasiyon, I look up to the skies and wonder what would make someone accuse a seedha saadha guy of trying to be a "wanna be", through my blogs. May be like one of those Re-incarnation movies I might have stolen mangoes from my neighbor's orchard in my previous birth to demonstrate my superiority over the Ten Headed Ravana, but I would not do anything more bizarre or outrageous than that, in the process of trying to get into the limelight.

Coming to think of it, I do though believe that every chalta phirta biological specimen is entitled to an opinion of his/her own, and has a right to express what he/she thinks of issues ranging from the Abhi-Ash wedding to the Dumping of plastic waste in the drain next to my office. But to categorically type cast and brand me the way that I've explained before would be condemned even by the Government of India as "Baahari-haath-ki-saadish".

But yes, please go ahead and do be critical of my writing if you really feel it is better to watch Arindam Choudhry's - Sunny Deol starrer "Rok-Sako-toh-Roklo" than reading the Hinglish of these posts.

And yes, a statement of clarification - " Just as my name (Asmyaham) signifies, I just want to be and am not a wannabe".

Cheers! I have a couple of more blog posts ready to be uploaded over the weekend...

For the uninitiated (including yours truly), dancing as a skill might be as difficult to invoke as for a non swimmer drowning in the shallow side of the pool. But this time around, I made this brave attempt to take to the dance floor as part of a Punjabi wedding to hone my skills in the art of bodily movements. Documented from these experiences are the best practices of learning the art.

Note: The author is not responsible for any physical harm that could be caused to the reader on account of the tips outlined below. Adults are advised not to try them on their own and to carry out the steps under strict supervision from teenagers :)

Tip 1: “Sunlo, Sunlo…..”

Listen to you favourite FM station for just one hour a day.(preferably 8 p.m. to 9 p.m.) as you wade through the peak hour traffic. Knowing the latest chart busters helps coz it’s very unlikely that the DJ of 2007 would be playing a Senti Amar Prem number. Not to worry in case you missed a couple of songs owing to cell phone distractions. Just flip to the next station which would more often than not feature the same song at a different slot in ordering.

Tip 2: “Light is Right”

Wear light clothes. It can be tough (specially for beer drinkers) if you have a blazer, a tie and formal shoes while dancing, lest you want to miss out on a cool and hip dance step that needs you to do a 270 degree twist.

Tip 3: “Theme action co-relation”

Try and match the theme of the song with actions using your hands/feet. For example, if the theme is “barsaat” then signal the falling rain with your hands in the most emotive manner. In case the song to follow talks about “sardi”, motion inwards with your jacket as if you are in the process of wearing one (This one was an original from yours truly that was quite acknowledged by fellow hip shakers. Ok, yes! I did take a bow for that…)

Tip 4: “The Evergreen steps”

There are some dance steps that are as theme agnostic yet nice as the mishti doi in every Bengali home.

For example, any fast paced number could do with the step of balle balle that you see in every bhangra song. For those who watch bhangra as frequently as Virender Sehwag’s century, try this – “ The Let’s go party tonight” step by Priety and Abhi where everyone jumps in the air and actions “Out ! Out” like any cricket umpire would. Do it once with your left hand and once more with your right.

Even after this, In case your dance gyan is as low as my IQ, try the time tested clichéd one – “ try fixing the light bulb with one hand and patting your pet dog with the other”. Make sure there is no stray doggie around or you’d never be able to pat one again

Tip 5: The “Junglee” survival kit

Warning: This only works for tough numbers and may not work if the song is quite easy to perform. Wave your hands vigorously as if you are shaking off chewing gum stuck to your thumb and match it with your hair/head turning with equal speed till you see the world upside down. By then you ought to realize it’s time to stop.

Tip 6: Ragging in college

Not that I am a proponent of the activity (so don’t plan to sue me either), but after having been through some sessions, this was where I “burnt” a make shift dance floor with my outrageous steps which matched the Indian batsmen trying to evade the bouncers from the Bangladeshi Bowlers. The rest they say is history and I did not get selected for the college dance team. I had enough reasons to believe that the selection committee was biased against me


Tip 7 : Powered by Cltr C and Driven by Cltr V

Non-computer users please excuse. This is the “mantra” on which the Indian IT industry survives. If you can’t create a step, plagiarize one. Look at the most happening gal/guy in the circle and give a nod confirming that it’s a good step and what else? Start churning out the same

Tip 8 : E-learning courses

Enrol yourself into the “Doing the jig in 8 days” course which I am going to begin soon. E-learning has been the innovation of this millennium and the three top courses on my agenda would include swimming, driving and now of course, dancing version 1.0 for all novices who wish to learn the same through the internet

Tip 9: Traffic Lines

Try crossing traffic median during peak hour on an arterial road. One step back and one step front.. As you target survival, you will also learn your steps along the way.

Tip 10: The “Daru” effect.

Please be advised that I have not tried this myself and do not claim this to be a potent tool.

I am “told” (re-emphasizing this one) that two swigs of the most sought after beverage after water, can considerably improve your skills by freeing your locomotory body parts and give you a dose of the prabhu deva flexibility.

But there have been cases where hic! “dancers” have been hic!“grounded” for hic!“flying” in the air for hic! too long, so you would not want to hic!“land” in a similar situation.


A final take from my side, at the end of all this - Pick three random tips and rehearse them with a dose of Iodex or Moov in tune with the age old saying, “Prevention is better than cure”.

Till then, “Everybody on the Dance floor!!!!!!!!!”

Days are passing by with the velocity of “Street Hawk”, and sitting in 3x3 cubicles under artificial lighting does no good to your cause with regard to catching up with the news in any way. But, with the power of “connectivity” driving everything around the world, even my doodh wala has an email id and talks about leveraging youtube and google for online advertising.

A lot many things have changed the order of the world since I last blogged.

As part of the “socializing” etiquette I donned the attire of a chalti phirti Rangoli for a day on account of “Holi” celebrations, and I was morphed to such an extent that folks at my colony conducted a DNA test before they let me in

Liz Hurly and Arun Nayar showcasing their wedding in true desi ishtyle was the highlight of the week though. The fact that amused me the most was “Sir” Elton John lauding Liz on finding the right man after initial mistakes (obviously Hugh Grant) with credentials that best suit Michael Jackson’s commentary on Carnatic music.

The guests included Liz's son, whose father is claimed to be a producer who was associated with her in addition to Matthew Perry (Chandler Bing of “Friends”) and Hugh Grant, in her previous relationships. All the best to Mr. Nayar to ensure that the wedding does not end up like another Gurinder Chadda film which gets over even before you finish your pop corn.

The Big Bad budget caught everyone unawares with “Mr. White” Chidambaram proclaiming a conservative budget , targeting to only please the Cotton sellers of Coimbatore to ensure that his daily supply of dhotis remains unhindered.

In another piece of news, Sunita Williams (no she’s not the “separated at birth” sibling of the Williams sisters) is missing samosas in outer space. Spotting this lucrative opportunity, Babu Chettan Chai kada (chain of authentic chai samosas imported from the gelf) has decided to go global, rather go universal and set up a floating tea shop in space.

Meanwhile the world cup fever is catching up with everyone, and news items like “Indians begin with courage and self confidence” flash across the media even as the Indians structuring their innings reflect a strategy as strong as that of the American Cricket team.(yes the yankees do have a team, most of which is constituted by expats)

There is a galore of offers everywhere. The other day I stopped over at the local Pan wallah who offered me a free supari as a promotional scheme. My grocer has a lucky dip offer for anyone who buys 10kg of provisions in a day, and the winner gets a trip to West Indies. But the asterix below the promotion pamphlet reads “ The trip is ex- Mumbai, with West Indies being the first village at the Maharashtra - Gujarat border and the mode of transport - Chacha Choudhury’s bus service”.

Hritik Roshan had to pay dearly for his inquisitiveness when he was simultaneously modeling for Tata Sky and Chloromint. His question of “Where you going Paape?” elicited a tight slap from the “ghaas ki dukaan” who said “Dobara mat poochna!”

No matter what I do, I cannot but help but turn my attention towards snippets on the world cup, right from my insurance agent to my doctor. Maybe that needs an exclusive post covering the live action from the Carribean!

Till then, “Let’s play for India !!”

Lot of things happening on a busy weekend.

Try as I might, the 8:30 a.m. alarm fails to separate me and Sameera Reddy (voted as the fittest actress in Bollywood), who is hell bent on acting with me in her next movie called “Maanav bana Daanav” where I am supposed to be the protagonist.

It became a lot tougher this weekend, when the only source of “awakening” was the doorbell which I think played all the nursery rhymes from “jack and Jill” to “ Three blind mice” before the battery ran out.

Dreamy eyed, and still chased by Sameera, I managed to peep out of the door with my disheveled looks only to find a stranger, who looked as tough as Mike Tyson, which made me realize I had not made my credit card payment on the due date.

Luckily, he happened to be one of the residents of the colony and had come to cordially invite some “senior” member of the house to attend the General Body Meeting to discuss issues of grass root level importance.

Since I did not have anything better to do other than watching “Ramgarh ka Sholay” on “FILMY”, which comprised of look alikes of popular actors, rendering a different touch to the original movie, I decided to have a first hand impression of what happens in a GBM.

After scouting around as to where the health center existed in the township where I stay ( that was where the meeting was scheduled and I had never been to the “health” center before), I gingerly entered the hall which more resembled an improved version of a local panchayat. The elderly formed the core group with all uncles forming the second rung of defence. A Lot of issues ranged, prime among which were the following:

• A concrete plan on celebrating Holi
• Annulling the extra membership fee of Rs 200 for using the health center
• A core committee to conduct free and fair elections for posts within the Association
• A beautifully worded ”Angreji” letter on action against the present management member Mr. “U” for having misbehaved with the ladies (don’t let imaginations run wild : Mr. U had apparently put up his hands when a “lady” had requested him to carry 20 kilos of her vegetables home).
• A point on bringing the Ganga river water into all our households

The last point was something we could do without, if we did not want our final immersion to happen immediately in the same water.

However, the uncles around this place are a little hot headed and some “almost old losing all hair” uncle took what the “rimmed glasses but all grey hair” uncle’s comments on the working of the local body, as a personal remark.

Though most exchanges happened in chaste Hindi,( not my type which aligns itself to the Mumbaiyya ishtyle), but nonetheless it was much fun.

Eventually, most issues were resolved and the “health center” was thrown open to all till such a time the management reverts on the membership fee.

People like me have accepted this offer with glee, since I first need to know if my current Olive Oyle structure can be changed to match that of Arnold Shivajinagar (whatever that dude’s name is :p) before I actually start paying for something that may be beyond reach.Meanwhile I have been re-united with a game that has graduated from me playing the same with tumblers and ladles as nets on the dining table to a standard Table Tennis court.

Bikes and Sports run deep as passions for most “bachelors” I am told.*wink*

And while I explore what faciltities the health center has in store, separating me from Sameera Reddy should probably become much easier now!

It’s Four forty A.M. by my watch on the second most significant day in the context of India’s existence – Republic Day! And what could be better than sitting at the airport of the National Capital, awaiting the rest of the nation to awaken to the celebrations that would begin in a couple of hours from now.

26th January, atleast for the last two years has meant me being at the IIT Madras for their annual cultural festival, SAARANG. But today, after just two hours of sleep, I await in the lobby of “Indian” (formerly Indian Airlines), even as patriotic songs reverberate on the mounted television screens around me. It’s kind of a co-incidence that I would be flying the official national carrier after almost ten years ( and no, neither am I a privileged club class member, nor do I hold an exclusive frequent flier pass), but yes, in the era of the Kingfisher and other premium airlines, INDIAN does face challenges in innovative branding.

The lady at the baggage check in counter seems to be in her late 40’s with a smile that best suits the one Inzamam-ul-Haq has when Shoaib Akhtar is walloped by Sehwag. She examines the ticket with the least of interest even as a co-worker interrupts her frequently seeking clarifications. It’s almost as if the lady has been in the system for so long that she knows all procedures by rote. Her identity card is so worn out that it resembles my grandmom’s ration card rather than an employee ID. Talk about long lasting durability.

Not very excited about her expected response, I still ask her, “ Kya aap mujhe ek window seat de sak te hai?” She looks up to me like “ Kid! You are not going on an amusement ride. And nothing’s visible other than the clouds, and for GOD's sake, it’s INDIAN, which may not even fly. So how does it matter?” All this, even as smartly attired personnel of other airlines whizzed around with the much desired enthusiasm.

The scene around me is pretty lazy. A middle aged “ Gentleman” has just taken off his shoes and has made himself comfortable on the seats, a couple of foreigners are curiously looking at the pigeons (the winged birds with a disturbed body clock thanks to the bright lights) flying over them in the lounge, and it’s almost day break but chilly winds are making their way through the wide doors that have just been thrown open to passengers of another airline that is due to fly shortly.

Yawns interrupt my otherwise peaceful existence and like a sleep deficient Vietnamese solider, my fingers have almost been mechanically programmed to type away at the laptop.

Time to catch some news folks. They’ve just loaded the complimentary newspaper stand and there’s already a beeline to grab the freebie. Lemme join the bandwagon too.

Can’t wait to be pampered by the “motherly” treatment of the air hostesses of the Indian flight like one of those Mother's Recepie advertisement . After all, Mother India is calling!

More on Mumbai , the city which never sleeps, once I reach there!

Okie. I know that! You don’t need to rub it in. My mom always considered me a slow learner, which explains why I begin my lunch when The Indian team begins their innings and continues till Sreeshant is done with his on-the-field break dance. This is also why I could never differentiate between a break dance and a disco dance apart from the fact that Michael Jackson and Mithun da were exponents of the same in that order.

I have been slow in putting up this blog on the much awaited “talk of Bollywood”! But after a bumpy and hectic week at work, am finally blogging about this “Hot” topic akin to the late arrival of the Hindi movie Police. Thankfully am also not so late in the cycle else I may have had to write about Manoj Kumar’s Mother India, so I guess it’s fine.

Now, back to the point. Open any management text book and you will find a dedicated chapter on mergers and acquisitions. ( My gyan on management is limited to my roomie who happens to be in Human Capital Management, otherwise referred to as “HR” in most organizations). There have always been M&As in Bollywood – the most famous being Rishi Kapoor and Neetu Singh, AK and TK (Akshay and Twinkle) , the legendary AB and JB ( go drown yourself if you could not get this expansion), Anil and Sridevi (Dewar- Bhabhi relationship :( ) and the latest being Ash and Little B. After having been scorned by KK ( K Kapoor) for being a flop actor, Little B has grown by leaps and bounds to fit into the shoes of Big B. But now, after the latest merger in the greater good of Bollywood, Little B to Aish karenge. *wink*

Media sensationalism is at an all time high and the entire Page 15 of the TOI was dedicated to this “happy” news in Bollywood. News snippets ranged from the Ash’s Lehenga, to the number of sarees purchased, the prices of the same, and most importantly the muhurat of the wedding. Ash’s father in law (guess who) was quoted saying “ The children have decided, and I am happy”. But, in one corner of the page, a small 4 cm x 4 cm frame also spoke of the alarming levels of pollution in the Ganges of Allahabad, with due focus on Environmental responsibility.

I switched on the T.V. only to find one news channel proclaim – “Breaking News”.

Studio: Swati, ab aap kahan pe hai?
Reporter: Sumit, hum yahan Khandala ke jungle mein hai.

Studio: Lekin aap ko Toronto mein ya Big B ke ghar ke paas rehna chahiye
Reporter: Haan Sumit, lekin hum is waqt us jagah pe hai jahan maana jaata hai ki Little B Ash sey pehli baar miley they.

Studio: This is breaking news! Again, hum aap ke liye laa rahe hein exclusive pictures khandala ke jungle sey. Swati, aur kuch khabar wahan sey?
Reporter: Chaliye baat kartey hai Sukhi Ram sey, jo yahan ke kheto mein kaam kartey hai. 80 baras ke Sukhi Ram, ek who lauta shaks hai jinhone Little B aurAsh ko ek saath dekha tha. Sukhi Ram aap ko is waqt kaisa lag raha hai?

Sukhi Ram: Humko kaunu pata naahin. Hum apney hal chalarahey they, ee sab kuch ho gaya. Humka maaf kardo sarkaar!

Reporter: Sukhi Ram daro mat! Puri duniya aap ko is waqt dekh sakti hai. Kya aap ney Abhishek aur Aishwarya ko saath dekha tha ya nahin?
Sukhi Ram: Humka chchod do sarkar. Hum sarpanch ji ko keh diya hoon, paanch saal purani baton ko kyon phir se daura rahe hain?
Reporter: This is breaking news. Is ka matlab, yeh sab kuch 5 saal se chal raha hai. Sumit I cannot believe this! Hindustan ko yeh jaan ne ka haq tha is ke baren mein lekin Sarpanch ne mana kiya tha Sukhi Ram ko. Hum isko yahin pe nahin choddenge.

Studio: Is waqt humarey saath hai Jyotshi Shri Batuk Maharaj, jo batayenge ki yeh baat duniya se ab tak gupt kyon rahi?
Maharaj: Shani ki drishti vakr hone sey shayaad yeh bat dab gayi ho parantu yeh var aur kanya ke liye bahut achchi baat hai

Sukhi Ram (breaking down): Theek hai Memsaab! Hum apna galti maan letey hoon. 5 saal pehley Kishan Ram key bhaise – Abhishek aur Aishwarya ko mein chala raha tha. Ek din bin bataye bhaise chal padi. Is mein humra kaunu galti nahin hai mem sahib!
Reporter: Sumit, itni badi baat police se chupayi gayi, is ke liye hum media key taraf se Sukhi Ram ke khilaf muqudma karayenge! Kishan Ram ko insaaf milke rahega!

Studio: Darshakon se request hai ki woh kahin na jaaye, kuch hi pal mein haazir honge, ek special programme ke saath - Kissa Kishan Ram ke Bhaiso ka – Aakhir kahan gaye Abhishek aur Aishwarya?

Welcome to the land where Nithari has become a tourist attraction,
It happens only in India!!

When was the last time you actually listened to the Sapta Swara? (Sa Re Ga Ma Pa Da Ni) Must have been ages, right?

Growing up for me, has been associated with learning Classical Carnatic Music for 5 years, and like Calvin Arnold’s Wonder years, my voice broke just before my classical vocal examination and hence did not take up the same.

Be it the varnas, geetas, or the kirtanas ( For those of you who thought they were names of my girlfriends, go shoot yourself! They are components of great music), the perfection in the rhythm and the beauty in the music is a class apart vis-à-vis the gen X music which goes Oot Patanga and Dhink Chak Dhink Chak.

As an indication of the current times, people forget that MG Road is an abbreviation for Mahatma Gandhi, R.T. for Rabindranath Tagore, and T. Nagar in Chennai, for Thiyagaraja Nagar.

Getting back to the topic of Classical music, today is the anniversary of the Great Shri Thiyagaraja, who, enriched this art of music with his compositions that have enthralled the patrons of all time. So much was his contribution to music, that he is in fact considered as the Father of Classical Carnatic music.

The Thiayagaraja Aaradhana - an event, which is organized for 6 days on the banks of the river Kaveri in the city of Thanjavoor of Tamil Nadu, every year, draws practicing and accomplished musicians, and even relishing listeners, by the thousands from all over the world, and is a treat for all those who cherish the plurality of indigenous Indian music.

Renowned musicians like Kunnakudi Vaidyanathan (Violin maestro) and Kadri Gopalakrishna (exponent of saxophone) grace the occasion where all the Pancha Ratna Kirtanas composed by Shri Thiyagaraja are recited with a symphony of percussion instruments.

Doordarshan is probably one of the last channels that you would switch on, in this era of bouquet channels and soap operas, but this morning, Doordarshan did the wonderful task of broadcasting the one hour program live from the venue.

The involvement of individuals is immense. Their flair for music, the gesticulations of the taala, the swaying of the vocal chords to conform to the raagaa, the dignified and purified look on the participating men folk clad in veshti and dhoti, and the silk sareed ladies bestowing the grace associated with the Indian women, all this coupled with music descending from the heavens, formed a perfect combination of a concert that is equal to, if not greater than the Mozzarts and the Beethovens of the world, live in action, even while some westerners present at the occasion, captured these rich images to take back to their native lands.

But, yes, to identify with all this, being a connoisseur of music is a pre-requisite. And the problem with Indian music is that it is not branded and marketed well enough to suit the liking of the younger generation, apart from a few high profile singers with a couple of big banner advertising. A R Rehman and Illiyaraja, who are the Birbal and Tenali Raman of the south indian music industry, equally talented and skilled in their art, have to a certain extent tried to bridge the gap and have drawn the masses to Indian fusion music.

But nonetheless, the rich culture of this abundantly blessed nation still needs preservation, so as to transfer it to the generations that follow.

So, next time you purchase a 1500 couple entry ticket to a Boyzone or a Metallica live in concert, do spare a few thoughts for these immensely gifted musicians back home who enthrall you for “free” at community centers on various occasions. After all, we donot need everything to be certified and authorized by the west, even though it is our own, before we adopt the same!

In the words of the great musician, Sri Thiayagaraja, “ Entharo Mahanubhavulu, antharikku vandanammu” ( To all the noble people of this land, please accept my salutations)….

India’s calling.. Where are you?


Pic: The great Shri Thiyagaraja




Some internet based images of the Thiyagaraja Aaradhana.