Happy Birthday!

Some of us are fortunate to have at least one true SOS friend.
And when she turns 30, you are glad that finally she is reaching an age of some wisdom- may be now she'll tell you to do something other than punch guys on their stupid faces.
May be now she'll make better judgement calls when she is talking to your parents about you.
May be now she won't confuse your past-present-future crushes and embarrass you in their very presence.
May be now she'll not ridicule you for the gifts that you pick up for her(voluntarily & involuntarily)..

I would never bet my money or for that matter even my useless 2007 Sony Ericsson Walkman phone on any of the above actually coming true.. Its all a bunch of wishful thinking and nothing more.. She'll never change, least of all because of some bully called turning 30..

But I hear you when you talk about all the unknowns in life. The ideal version of life and how we are still so far away and still so clueless. I don't know why our mind plays this trick on us and we feel this sudden urge to be all wise and grown up one fine day, all I can offer you is:
1. Sing you your birthday song in the most ridiculous tone I can summon(check done!)
2. Dedicate a post to you complete with pictures of you in a silver crown from our golden days(check-done!)
3. Little gyan- If all of life is sorted out, then spice kahan se aayega!

Again Happy Birthday.. :)

The psyche of a goodbye..

First Act:

Some nights are cold for everyone and some nights are cold just for you..

Sometimes the reason is simple, it’s the blanket or the heating in the apartment to blame and you know you can fix it the next day. Sometimes you are left cold and awake all by yourself because you have traded away the known comfort of your life ‘here’ for the unknown adventure of a new life ‘there’.  It’s the fear of losing the comfortable blanket of friends, family, festivities and food behind that makes you break into a cold sweat. Fortunately the pragmatic mind can explain the cold shiver and point out that it is simply because you have packed and shipped away your warm blanket.

Second Act:

The cold night wakes into a slightly numb morning at the sound of the anxious alarm by the bedside. In its numbness the following lines ring true
 

“There is a line from Verlaine I’ll never now recall..

There is a street nearby from which my foot steps are barred..

There is a mirror that has looked its last on my face..

There is a door I have closed for the final time..

Among the books in my library (I can see them now- Managerial Economics, Marketing principles-Kotler)

There are some I will never open again..” -Jorge Luis Borges

Third Act:

With a gentle lurch the plane wheels begin to glide on the runway. The pilot maneuvers a gentle turn towards the blinking lights of the runway and the plane passes by the signal man in his fluorescent vest. The flight attendants repeat the usual safety instructions. To an outside eye, it is the perfect slow lingering frame with the pacing hum of the engine slowly building up; the prelude before the bellowing engine hits full throttle and the flat expanse of the ground begins to race by. Then in one pregnant moment the wheels lose contact with the tarmac, fold back in and the plane becomes air bound. I believe this is one moment that defines ‘losing touch’ and ‘leaving behind’ physically. From this vantage point my mind was looking inwardly at all the ‘leaving behinds’-the glances, the words and the warmth of the last hug. This recollection was vividly overpowering and I knew not when it lulled me back into a peaceful sleep..

Fourth Act:

I am in a new place, among new people but I am not alone. An old familiar face from a time I thought I had left behind surfaced back again. So I am sitting in my new apartment, looking at the rain fall against the windows sipping my cup of green tea and hoping that life may keep taking me to places as long as it gives me a chance to reconnect with people I once left behind..

A week of Music

Music followed me or conversely I followed music but in the end all I can say is that it was a week full of music.
Perhaps this week was a saving grace for the month of April, for I had waited long enough for something to come along that I could blog about. I am writing this blog in the midst of a loud Mandarin conversation in my apartment, and even with my most conscientious effort to continue with my writing, I cannot string together a proper sentence-so much for the optimism to find music in a loud Chinese conversation.
Ahh..the sweet sound of silence, music to my ears!

The week started with a trip to Memphis, the city which traces its musical roots in a combination of country, blues, jazz, and rock and roll. The Memphis airport flaunts this musical history, but I was unaffected. I was more occupied to find the booth of the yellow checkered taxi which would take me to my hotel. It was at the hotel lobby waiting for the escalator that I clearly heard the strains of a familiar song from the good old days of rock and roll. I am cursing myself for not remembering the songs, but every-time I took the escalator I would smile inwardly at the song playing.
Monday evening, when I was finally done with my long interview process, my friend took me out to explore the city. From this point on-wards, I can assure that I have a better recollection of the songs that surfaced through the week! It was 'Purple Rain' and 'All Summer Long' as a live band performed on the Beale Street.
Beale Street is a significant location in the city's history, as well as in the history of the blues. It runs from the Mississippi River to East Street, a distance of approximately 2.9 km. and is lined with blues clubs and restaurants. During the first weekend of May (sometimes including late April), the Beale Street Music Festival brings major music acts from a variety of musical genres, the festival is the kickoff event of a month of festivities citywide known as Memphis in May.(source Wikipedia)

It was a street where all days of the week came to experience a Sunday and people just played along holidaying, singing, dancing eating and drinking with no cares for tomorrow! But the years rang loud and clear in the voice of this old shriveled man who was performing for the crowd. The street had seen it all, his act over the years, people swaying in the rises and ebbs of his voice, cheering as if in a spell when nothing else matters but music..

Driving back along the Nashville highway, my friend played her CD of country music and we were humming along Johnny Cash as he 'Walked the line',  talked of a 'Boy named Sue', felt the 'Hurt' of 'Folsom prison blues'. The next best thing after music will have to be food, and even mediocre Indian food in a foreign land with Jagjit Singh playing can be a treat. The day ended in the strains of her collection of Hindi songs and a bottle of wine. Good times!

Next day I flew back to Chicago, and music found me again or i found it -a bright blue guitar at the train station. Two guys headed to New Orleans started singing South American songs(Spanish/Portuguese, i wouldn't know), the music was sure making people tap their feet and occasionally break into impromptu dance faces! The next moment an Amish traveler joined the ranks of the travelling vagabonds and while his wife sheepishly smiled at him, he sang 'Joy to the world, the Lord is come'.
Well the train did come, and it was called 'City of New Orleans', so no surprise if they play the song 'City of New Orleans' as passengers board the train.

All these musical adventures span Sunday, Monday and Tuesday. Wednesday night S calls up to ask if i would like to go for Bob Dylan concert the next day. Hell yes! I bought the tickets for Bob Dylan concert on Wednesday and Thursday was again musical with Mr. D performing.
The crowd had a generous mix of 40 year old, undergrads and we-the middle ground. S clearly shares no love for the middle ground, always ready to jump boat onto the younger side-but only if he could!
A new band named Dawes opened the show for Dylan, it was a decent band- 'A little bit of everything'

Then the legend took to the stage, and the next two hours it was him performing live!
He is undoubtedly the most influential person in the musical scene. There is so much already written about him, his life, his musical style that I have no fresh insights to offer. Sitting in the auditorium hearing him perform, it felt like a story telling session where some wise old man, who has seen life up close and personal (The more I die the more I live) was just talking about it in beautiful verses, deep voice and occasionally taking the help of the mouth organ that he picked up sometime in his youth.
'Tangled in blue', 'All along the watchtower', 'What good am I', 'Summer days' ..

On a personal note, the week ended with the sweet sound of success, and now I will have to wait and watch where this music takes me from here..

Homecoming

I slipped back into my life in India with an involuntary ease, neither the people around seemed to sense much change(yeh to jaise gayi thi waise hi dekh rahe hai..) nor I seemed slightly out of practice when I shouted at the taxi people outside the airport early in the morning for trying to point me to multiple taxis when my token clearly said 41.

Driving around Delhi on a Saturday morning at 6a.m. has its own charm. The sleeping city is slowly waking up, but there is no rush of the techie office crowds instead there are the regulars jostling around with chai, some nimbu-mirch threads, newspapers. The people who live on the small earnings of the day do not have the luxury of weekends.. As we drove to the hotel in Paharganj where my friends had managed to find the most posh hotel, I listened to the trials and struggles of a migrant taxi driver with IIT dreams for his kids studying in Kota. I at once assumed my old identity of a techie working in an Indian company and listened to his stories with a sympathetic ear. Luckily for the taxi driver, right at the hotel entrance there was an anxious father with a suited up son who was looking for a ride to the airport since the taxi they called didn't show up on time. My taxi driver was all happy, dropped my luggage inside, forgot about his earlier pitch for some extra chai-paani and gladly drove away!

Then it was the grand reunion, college friends, old flatmates from Kolkata, my sister. 7 girls can create a lot of noise especially if they meet after such a long time. The hotel people had no clue why girls kept dropping in at regular intervals in this weird Paharganj ghetto. From Paharganj to Comesum at the old Delhi railway station, we scared all the sleepy eyed Delhi places with our loud laughs and old reminiscences.

I was wide eyed all along, until my train lurched gently for the sleepy hills. And then I slept sound and deep until the train finally came to a halt. Waiting at the train station was my tall little brother coming to pick his two elder sisters. And that is the story of the homecoming.. to be continued later..

Collecting Durga

Photo credit: sr
It is good to receive Durga Puja pics after posting the blog :) Rana sent across this picture this morning and I thought I'll build a new collection this year with picture charity from friends. So this year it is 'collecting Durga's)!

Manged to retrieve the following from the old is gold collection-sony ericsson camera phone. Didn't find any Durga images but just some pandal decorations:

This one was some upscale pujo pandal in the salt lake area(AD, Tank no. 3 may be)











This is one was a more traditional decoration with generous use of bamboo


11/19/2012: M just sent me these pics today uploaded them as well :)
M is not the same as the 'M' in 007 but a dear old school friend who also has a Kolkata stint on her timeline!
Thanks buddy!

Barfi Inspired

Abhi rookna nahi hai manzoor dil ko kya keeje..

raas na aaye dimag ke sujhav dil ko..kya keeje..

karte hai hum har baat kabool dil ki kya keeje..

shayad isliye yeh raah baaki hai..

shayad isliye yeh intezaar baaki hai..


Mausam badla hai dil ki basti mein kya keeje,
jaante hain kyun par keh na paayein wajah kya keeje,
dil, dil hamesha se hi tha masoom kya keeje,
aaj samjhe hai dhadhkan kahan gayi hai gum
shayad isiliye yeh ikraar baaki hai...
shayad isiliye yeh intezaar baaki hai...

Epilogue: Thank you Shivani for writing the second stanza of the poem :)  Loved the song from Barfi so much, that had it running in loop through the day, and the song inspired the first stanza. And the poem will be incomplete without the following dedications :)

sache aur ache dost dil ki baat samjhte hai.. aur shabdo ke jaadugar hote hai..

sache aur ache dost dil ki baat samjhte hai.. aur tasveer main badal dete hai. 

sache aur ache dost dil ki baat samjhte hai.. aur ache gaane sabse pehle share karte hai..
sache aur ache dost blog padh ke dil ki baat samjh jate  hai..
sache aur ache dost bus aise hi hote hai kya keeje..

photo credit : sr

poem co-credit: ss

song introduction:vs

Old Friends

"Old Friends 
Old Friends 
Sat on their park bench like bookends 
Newspaper blowin' through the grass 
Falls on the round toes 
Of the high shoes 
Of the old friends 

Old Friends 
Winter companions the old men 
Lost in thier overcoats 
Waiting for the sunset 
The sounds of the city sifting through trees 
Settle like dust 
On the shoulders of the old friends 

Can you imagine us years from today 
Sharing a park bench quietly? 
How terribly strange to be seventy... 

Old Friends 
Memory brushes the same years 
Silently sharing the same fear 

A time it was 
It was a time 
A time of innocence 
A time of confidences 

Long ago it must be 
I have a photograph 
Preserve your memories 
They're all that's left of you"- Simon Garfunkel

photo credit:sr

Sign off..

She knows how to give the right black and white effect to the moment...

The moment of reckoning, when the scores are entered and then they get the official seal. The finality of the last stroke, when with a swift movement you underline your signature and lift up the pen. It’s done, its attested, its signed, it’s the final verdict..
They could never easily decide where they wanted to go. It doesn't matter if there are two or ten people in the gang, the choices always stack up higher than what they initially thought. There is always the lure of the tried and tested places, but then there is the adventure in looking around new corners. Interestingly some one or the other must have heard something good/bad about it or read online. We just know too much always and so are always at a loss of not knowing the exact enough. And thus the question always stares.. Where do we go?
Interestingly the place of rendezvous invariably stayed the same for them. They were always meeting in smaller or larger groups at the same place, though the number and faces kept changing. We live in a strange world where there are infinite permutations of the same combination.
The same two eye, one nose, a mouth, the same basic color- a tone darker or a tone lighter yet the one above knows his art just two well, he never makes two pieces just exact.
And thus the question always stare.. Why do we keep coming back to the same point and why is it never really the same?
I could never fathom why every time they met they fought over something. They would meet after long intervals, after many failed attempts to get down together. They would plan, make promises but then they'd get busy in their sordid lives or the city would play the devil and make the distances seem double. However despite everything they would meet once in a while, sometimes another one of the flock would come calling from a different city and they'd gather together once again. Yet still the warmth and joy of meeting would be incomplete unless there were some heated exchanges and someone was/played the 'angry bird'. And thus the question always stares.. Is fighting a true sign of friendship?

Going back to the picture above, this is a small piece of what really transpires before Nelly sits down to fill out the feedback form at Yo-China in Delhi after a sumptuous meal with the old college flock- The friends who meet after innumerable rounds of planning and ditchings'. Then they do the customary multiple rounds of CP where some of them are dying to sit and eat and the other half is dying to shop. By this duration some one or the other has picked up a fight because they are tired and hungry. Then the discussion starts about where to eat, which invariably ends in a Chinese place but not before whiling away a good hour or two.
Its then when the sun really sets on that day of togetherness and each one of us sets off in his own direction. Its then that we sign off again on an invisible promise to meet once again; do all the above things with the same spirit. Love and Fight and split the cheque/check with always the same honesty... ALways...

photo credit:sr

One more time

Three o'clock, this morning, I woke up in a dream.
Thought I heard a flathead motor roar, I thought I smelled gasoline.
A feeling came upon me, that I ain't had in years.
Something like a hot dry wind, whistling past my ears.
Saying "time, time, time is all you got".
There's a memory that's still burning, way down in my mind.
And that's why, I'm going out and trying, a flathead one more time.

I ain't seen my racing buddies in thirty years, or more.
One by one I lost them, out on the dry leaf floor.
We learnt to push those flathead cars as hard as they could go.
Just like old Whiskey Bob, down on Thunder Road.
I hear their voices calling, just across the finish line.
And that's why, I'm going out and trying, a flathead one more time.

I'll get back to you baby, don't you have no fear.
'Cos I been there, and I wrecked that, and baby I'm still here.
But I can't take you with me, when I cross the finish line.
And that's why, I'm going out and trying, a flathead, one, more, time.

Time, time, time is all you got.

Ry Cooder

These lines touched a deep cord somewhere :)
And that's why, I'm going out and trying , a flathead one more time..

New Friends need New Games

And then someday you just realize you played your best game of ‘mafia’ not today but the first time someone taught you.  I think of the mafia game and I recall the Nagarjuna Sagar, the Tata winger, the ‘shutter-island’ ah!  And the wonderful bunch of people I befriended back in Hyderabad. I suddenly realize how earnestly I miss them all.

And then we sit in CCD coffee shop assuming the characters of our favorite movie.  It was pure awesomeness, what an august company it was-the Kungfu Panda, Master Shifu, the Tigress and the peacock J Round and cheerful that’s how ‘S ‘qualified the Panda round. Sophisticated and prim R was the peacock through & through. I just recalled C was multitasking; she was the Tigress and the Master Sheep. To shadow the peacock in the Jade palace (Shilpa Park) we needed the Master Sheep.  And for this new school of histrionics Kungfu-style! I had to be the unassuming Master Shifu.

I still believe it was the rain dance on the roof top in Hyderabad that gave me the sneezes! All dripping and cold, that’s the way to enjoy a Sunday shower at home. And how do you enjoy the sun on weekdays? The team communal breaks in the evening.  Barista time in the ‘sprawling’ office lawn under the sun umbrellas, talking of life philosophically, talking of dreams, and cracking jokes at the manager’s expense…‘Pyar batete chalo!’

 I could go on counting all the ‘good-times’ but what strikes me today is how in retrospective all the days look so much more beautiful. Every time you move in with a new set of people you again have to make a fresh start. It will again take an effort to learn a new game because ‘the mafia game can never be as much fun as it was the first time when someone taught you’.