A day in the life of LIFE

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*