zazen

i am not a lamp lighter. i light incense sticks only because they take me back centuries to jokhang, lhasa. i do not bow in front of beautifully crafted bronze and brass idols. i do not touch my forehead and neck (or chest?) when i pass a gopuram. i do not fast and i certainly do not pray. to god. i guess you can say i am not religious.

my maid today said to me "i have never seen you bow in front of god even one day." her tone was almost accusatory, in the light of sanat doing his rituals. my tone was slightly defiant, surprising me. "and you wont see me ever, not in front of an idol," i declared with a smile, nevertheless.

over the years, especially after moving back to india, i feel more comfortable with myself, my feelings towards religiosity. i dont feel compelled to conform anymore. if people don't like it, it is really their issue. praying and religion are personal and no one, not even my mom should have a say in what i believe.

so do i feel no reverence? no awe at a superior force? i do. my dad sent me this photo and when i opened it up, i drew in a sharp breath of calm amazement. the brahmaputra river valley. all the way from the high plains of tibet to the bay of bengal. my supple mind zoomed its way up to the yarlung tsampo that gurgled in joy beside me in tibet and swooped down to the depths of the serene, deep gorge of the ganges, in uttaranchal. i remembered the first touch of the icy cold water on a maroonish black sand bed. we rafted down the ganges, head upturned in awe at the sheer beauty. yes, i felt reverence. yes, i felt awe at the superior power of white water. to give life, to take it. to replenish and drain. to ebb and flow. like emotions. constant, yet ever-changing. there was my inspiration, my religion.

away from the glare of hot stars, i stretch out on a cold bed beside the small warm sanjana who snores ever so softly and lean towards her to take in the sweet fragrance of her freshly bathed skin. when i feel her cheek and the slight beads of perspiration on a warm summer night, i remember her laughter and her ready forgiveness each time i impatiently berate her fiestiness. there, lying in the dark everything seems so clear -- her wonder at the smallest beetle and her joy at the sight of her 'snoopy' and i feel humbled. here, in this child, is my faith.

when i walked on the streets of lhasa into jokhang, when i ran my fingers along those centuries-old, butter-soot soaked walls, i felt the same reverence as i felt leaning against the red stone of the 9th century temple at the base of nandi hills. stone bearing testimony to history. good, bad, ugly, bloody, glorious. history. i know i will feel that same reverberation in mohenjodaro, like i felt when i stood on the terraces at chittorgarh, or even when i stand in the archways of my alma mater xavier's. i know i will tremble with joy in the sunderbans like i did when i saw lion pugmarks in samburu. in such resonance lies my solace.

in knowledge, in learning, in virgin forests and cold gushing valleys, in a spirited child, in the paw print of a feline, in sudden pink of a stork in flight, in the joy of a passing shot down the line, in a perfect stroke of calligraphy... here lies my deference.

and i bow everyday.

piped water or pipe dreams?

my latest article for India Together went live when i was away... it was an exceptionally difficult one to write, on a controversial topic that has little concrete info around it, but much debate.

privatisation of water and the water situation in Bangalore's booming suburbs.
if you are still interested, read it here.

the best part about writing for India Together is the conversations and debates I have with the editors. subbu and ashwin are mines of information and any time spent with them is enough brain fodder for a month ;).

amazing. IT is a magazine i am proud to be a part of.

memoirs of a trip

there is something exhilarating about traveling alone. a permasmile -- that slight upward curve to the corners of my mouth -- seems to translocate to people around me and i find them smiling back. that then translates to a spring in my step and a general feeling of bonhomie all around. liberating. tho, i must admit that the phenomenon of people smiling back only happens in the US. somehow, that translocation of the permasmile seems to get lost somewhere between my face and the other face in other places around the world.

regardless, i find traveling alone liberating. and so this past week traveling sola, i sauntered over to the LAX airport bookstore. with a rare display of decidedness, i walked up to the "bestsellers" section -- for that was where my chosen book was, in plain view -- and picked up "memoirs of a geisha."

what followed was a 36 hour long tryst with Sayuri in Gion. clicking in irritation at the polite "indian vegetarian meal, madam?" and "would you like a hot towel, please?" interruptions, i traded in my meals (and sleep) as i devoured the 502 irresistible pages instead.

when i was 6 i remember telling my school friends i was born in Japan, a figment of my imagination -- borne out of a fascination for ancient Japanese culture, even then. i remember staring for long at hokusai's paintings of Japanese life and mount fuji (36 views of mt. fuji) and wishing i were there. i remember summer holiday afternoons spent trying to replicate his drawings of geisha ... that nape of her neck... those folds of her obi... that exquisite pattern on her kimono... the setting sun through the cherry and plum trees...

and Golden's descriptions of the kimonos in Gion took me right back to those days. there is so much to be said for an author's ability to transport you into the story -- so much so that your eyes glaze over when you look up from the book. i know i tried to imagine those stewardesses as geisha, silly as that may seem. and constantly, i found myself thinking of the metamorphosis of amiran to umrao.

for all the book built up gradually, i must say, it didn't deliver towards the end. without giving it away, i'll say this. the verve and details with which Golden captures Chiyo and then Sayuri's feelings, is lost after Amami. somehow somewhere, that magical enigma evaporates into rushed and tired prose. not nearly enough of Sayuri's voice comes through in the end. but even so, it is un-put-down-able.

traversing into Sayuri's Gion added that je ne sais quoi to my trip. not unlike the feeling i get, say, when i watch umrao jaan or ijaazat... sola.

--------------

tomorrow MoaG releases on the big screen in India. will i see it? of course. will it live up to the book? probably not. and i wont know until i see it.

but there is ken watanabe in the film. cannot be too bad then, can it? :)

four years, seven months on

Feb 20, 2006
she speaks a lot, non-stop, loves company and constantly wants to do "projects" and "dictation."
she fancies herself as preity zinta (no idea where that is coming from), loves hanuman and her microscope.

of course, her doting parents, grand parents and great-grand parents spoil her no end.

pill vill pyar vyar

the guys were thrilled about their 'pill.'
S: it's awesome man. take one 30 mins before the evening and the morning after is a breeze.
A: really? wow. now that is some pill, if true. I want one.
S: i have only two. i need one for tomorrow.
A: i want one.

this went on for some time while the girls exchanged quizzical glances that dissolved into giggles.

eventually, they had one each, spent the evening in revelry, woke the next morning and repeated the same. blissfully inebriated for 48 hours with none of the headache. the pill was wonderful.

the morning after:
A: can i get some more of these?
S: it's awesome man, yeah. will bring you a cartload next time.
A: (showing rare animation, clapping hands) Awesome!

it was nice seeing them after nine months. it was nice seeing everyone. the pleasure of sitting on a cool floor chatting (or not) -- simply soaking in the company of old friends -- was as refreshing as the cup of adrak chai i was sipping. this was the stuff my dreams were made of these nine months.

and the only thing that could beat their expressions when they saw me there was the frenetic beating of my own heart at the proposition of meeting them after so long. by the time i got to phoenix i had replayed how things would play out time and time again like a tune that refuses to go away. of course, it did not quite keep to script, but the effects were amazing, nevertheless.

the human mind is a curious thing. sometimes it frets and wails at change at first but then adapts easily. at other times it welcomes change early on but then longs for how things were. or maybe mine is just not as evolved as others. but one thing was certain. i felt at home where friends were.

when we go back (and we evenutally will), things may not quite be the same -- the novelty of us being there will wear out quickly, no doubt -- but for me, the value of these friends has only doubled with the distance. and i hope that will translate into more chai-time masti.

i did not get nearly enough time with anyone, being there for one short, short day, but that was my pill for the year.

stop us if you can

sorry, terr. couldnt resist a stunning parallel with your life.

humans came over one evening. some invited, some spontaneous, all very welcome. anyone who knows us, knows we can be loud. very loud. but this time, truth be told, half the humans had gone out to pretend they were chimneys. the rest sat lounging and snacking, chatting and bantering. a couple prefering privacy, hung out in the balcony whispering, when the doorbell rang.

i was certain it was the chimneys causing the complaint, but no. "saary, saar. please keep vaice down. some neighbors are complaining." haan? a finger went in the direction of the said "neighbors" and anonymous they were not, any longer.

bbb... but it's 9:30pm! heavens, some humans had only just arrived. oh ok, fine, we resigned. the whispering two came indoors and resumed close-talking. the rest pretended it didnt apply to them.

an hour later, pictionary. despite the supposed calm of the activity of drawing, decibels were rising slowly, spasmodic shrieks at inane suggestions were accompanied by guffaws... and a doorbell.

same security chap. "saary again sir. they [finger again pointing in the relevant direction] want you to close the doors when you have party." his embarassment was palpable.

the whisperers, chimneys (who had since returned) and other random humans proceeded to analyze what these 'complaining neighbors' must be like. giggling, guffawing rolling eyes pitched questions at the embarassed hosts. "are they old?" "why cant they live in a villa?" "who goes to sleep at 9:30 on a saturday night?" the hosts looked embarassed and amused in equal measure and apologised in spite of themselves, fuelling more amusement in the visiting humans. and the revelry continued albeit behind closed doors.

anyone who knows us, knows that these humans were not easily quashed under wet blankets.

well all was done and dispersed, suns had risen and set, a Circular arrived. These arrive with predictable regularity after any incident that riles one of the "committee members" in the apartment complex.

"No parties after 11pm. please close your doors after 9pm. do not move furniture after 8pm."

saar, swalpa adjusht maadi.

pogo's loss of innocence

have you seen the new pizza hut commercial?

javed jaffrey in his salaam namaste role would have been hilarious, just not on pogo. (pogo is a tiny kids tv network, but you would never guess, if you saw the ad).

still sporting his bihari accent "we will give you the sweet mammaries (memories)" cut to a strappy low necklined mom eating choc fudge (?) ".... and the sax..." cut to a saxophonist, but there is no fooling anyone what JJ meant.... and it goes on. the innuendos are severe, blatant and the accent completely out of line on a toddler/primary school kid network like pogo. come to think of it, pizza hut has been risque of late... even with its "wanna get fresh?" line for the freshizza.

anyways, this latest jj ad wouldn't have made the cut on network tv in the US and certainly not on nickelodeon. now if only it had not "the aired on the pogo, it was the screaming fony ed."
sorry?
eggjhactly.

look ... a culture shark!

this morning, when i was driving in to work, i saw a strange sight. polyester checked shirt on scooter, gesturing wildly. talking to himself? and then i saw the extension to the left ear. ear phone attached to the ubiquitous cell phone, more plentiful in bangalore than anywhere else i've been. look out of any window at any time & you will see checked shirts with moustaches -- one arm bent at the elbow, handset stuck to the ear. plenty of them. some walking in twos each talking on the cell. to each other? naah. hope not! patiala salwars with crinkled dupattas are not to be left far behind. their phones hang around their necks like nooses. indeed it is that -- a noose. no way you can escape a cell phone in bangalore. life comes to a stand-still if you do not have one. "give me a missed call." 'scuse me? uninitiated, that means call me so i have your number and can save it.
-------
stop at any signal and look around you. all you will see are men. seas of them, oceans of them. staring back at you. wait for the elevator -- make sure you don't balk when the doors open. men inside. tons of them. you squeeze in feeling naked for all those eyes bore into your back. walk into a cafe for more men. cups are set down and eyes are trained on you. you can be boy, girl, fat thin, beautiful, plain jane, big butt, slim hipped, blond, streaked, or simply average joe. those eyes will stare. you're in a car, in your cocoon -- or so you think. auto to the right and scooter to your left. auto driver, mom-dad with kid in the back will peer in. scooter driver and pillion rider make their hair in the reflection of your thankfully tinted glasses. else 4 more eyes would stare. and not just glance, not just look. i mean stare you down. until the light changes and they get a move on (or you move on). and probably catch up with you at the next light to continue the activity. and... not only men, women stare too. like when this woman stared me down in an elevator that went 6 excruciating floors up, up, up, to my cube. we're a staring culture.
------------
"silence" "people working, please be quiet." "no meetings in the aisles." "find a conference room for your meetings." thus go chandler corridor signs. cut to bangalore. the decibel level on the 6th floor of the airport road office is unbelievable. every blue badge is screaming over the amplified voice of another.

Blue Badge 1: "Aa server bantaa? yenoo, naa tarbekaa?"
Blue Badge 2: "What? The dealer has not replied? why didnt you follow up? you are underperforming."
Blue Badge 1: "Yaav server tarlii?"
Blue Badge 3: "helloo? helloooohhh?"
Blue Badge 2: "You should call back everyday! kya yaar."
Blue Badge 4: "kitne ka discount hai?"
Blue Badge 3: "why can't you do this yourself? this spoon-feeding will not do!"
Blue Badge 4: "helloooo? sunoh!?"
and then to top it all, someone puts his call on speaker phone! "this is anil, can you hear me?"

yeah, we all can, thank you.
was this the stock exchange i had walked into? i mean the noise level was insane. and on days that sales guys are visiting and occupying any which empty cubicle they can, the melee gets unbearable. you can forget hearing the person at the other end of your own coversation. can we ask them to pipe down? or find a conference room? no, that's not polite. 'scuse me?
--------------
and so it goes. life in bangalore. frustrating at times, interesting at other times -- always entertaining. not so much kannada in the center of town as you hear bengali, hindi, marathi, hingligh, indian-english and the occasional twang. on saturdays, typical brigade road demographics go something like this: 20% women, 30% young men, 30% old men, and 20% white/oriental/blacks.

and often, you'll see a polyester checked shirt with a tall caucasian sporting green cargo shorts flagging an auto....

polyester shirt will say, "is bangalore too much of a culture shaark for you? this is aahto.... give it a shaat."

wokay, why naat.