Yet another change of address...

My friends (- MissT) keep complaining about my frequent change in coordinates, and finally when I thought I am done for good its time to move again.

This time I shall be moving to Philadelphia, spending the next 4 years (hopefully not more) at Wharton working towards a PhD. That was the only place I had sent in an aplication and I was fortunate enough to get selected. A hurried trip to Philly convinced me that its a great department, very vibrant. The profs seemed like really nice people and the students are extremely smart. People who have been admitted with me have calls from all the top schools like Harvard, Columbia, Stanford, and Chicago. I hope all of them join, it would be a great group. I am in esteemed company :D

Its time to do some serious work now. After graduating in 2003, I have been mostly whiling away time. Work has been interesting but only in patches. I have worked with some really cool technology, contributed my bit but learning has been mostly off work rather than on it. The last few years have been good in eroding the naivety that was almost synonymous with my thinking while I left college. Now I understand the people and the world in a better light. I think I am a lot more mature and focused now and this is an appropriate time to go back to grad school and make the world a better place...

Wish me luck :D

Man's Best Friend

B&W III

Children at play. City Market, Bangalore

B&W - II

Kids posing at City Market, Bangalore

B&W - I

Barber @ Brigade Road, Bangalore

Holi

Why do we read books?

I was with one of my oldest school friend Anand yesterday and we were discussing how a book is a reflection of an authors experiences and desires, both met and unmet. The discussion somehow came around to Fountainhead and then Ayan Rand. I started narrating the story of We the Living to him. After listening to me patiently for a while he asked what was it about the book that made me like it so much. At that point I told him I really liked the character of Kira Argunova, one of the strongest female characters I have ever encountered.

This question persisted with me on my way to Bangalore. On some contemplation I reached the following conclusion. As we live our lives we undergo several experiences, some pleasant some not so. Each of them make our lives richer if we are willing to understand and assimilate them. I think its the same thing when we read a book, a book transports us to a place set in the writers imagination. Personally I get so engrossed in a book that I feel a part of the scene that the author describes. Watching sunsets with the lovers holding hands or fighting the battle with the wounded soldier, breathing in the same air that they exhale. For me the experience of reading a book is as real as experiencing it in real life, images flashing by in quick succession. I mostly see a book than read it.

Coming back to the question poised by Anand, I liked the book because I loved the fact that I knew someone like Kira, so passionate, so full of life and love. Someone who fought to rebuild the future and did not give up hope till the very end. I loved the fact that I existend in the same space with her. Even though it was fictional and transient. But isn't everything around us? Mere spacedust ?

Visual DNA

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The break in the clouds

"I don't think we can spend our lives together".

The unnerving silence that ensued consumed all unanswered questions. There were so many things she wanted to ask, to say, but the silence stiffled her. It had been months, years since she last met him, touched him. She was too overwhelmed with emotions to even count the number of days since they had broken up. Like a child dreads to enter a dark unexplored cave, she too was afraid that counting back to that unfortune day would rip apart her already battered heart. Mia did not have the courage to think about the last conversation she had with him. Before that everything else was crystal clear as if it had happened only yesterday. After that it didn't make a difference. Her life had come to a standstill, she went on living like an automaton, bathing, eating, sleeping - fulfilling the bare necessaties for survival, without emotions without feeling.

"We'll always be together ?"
"Till death does us apart honey"

Mia distintly remembered the day he has proposed to her. She was sitting by the window looking out at the sun setting over the lake with Bob Dalyn palying in the background. A box of Godiva chocolate lay in front of her, that he had got on his way back from Europe. She smiled and picked up the box, she was waiting for him to come before she opened the box. He could be heard in the kitchen, fiddling with the pots and pans to make coffee. Love for chocolate got the better of her and she ripped apart the wrapping paper. She opened the box to find one sole piece of chocolate remaining with a note. It read...

"The world's finest chocholate for the most wonderful girl in my life."

She broke it into two like she always did and there lay the ring. Overwhelmed by emotions, she ran up to him, hugged him and kissed him. The happniness was so intense it, came out in tears.

Its strange how tears change their meaning, the same tears that were a harbinger of happniess now represented intense sorrow and pain. Even the mention of his name used to make her eyes well up. They had been known as a couple for so long that everyone inquired about his absence. Initially she answered their questioning glances with a feeble smile, but soon she started to withdraw from the company of others. Acquaintances fell off and then even close friends followed suit. She wrapped a cacoon around herself that absorbed all the sounds from the outside. Nothing could get through to her. She no longer lived in this world, just continued a mere existance.

Mia was the only child, and fiercely independent. After her parents passed away she lived all alone. Wary of the ways of the world she allowed very few people to come close to her. A few friends at college, some relatives were the only people who knew what went on with her. Most of her evenings were spent in solitude looking out of the window or curled up with a book. Though a recluse in personal life, she was warm and helpul in the social world. Always ready to win people's heart with a smile and to lend a hand whenever required, as long as her personal space wasn't breeched. While working for CRY, she had met him. He was leading a project that she had volunteered for. The attraction was by no means instantaneous, Mia wasn't a girl given into emotional and hasty descisions. They met a couple of times and they started liking each other's company, the fondness that grows out of being with someone amicable for long durations of time. Slowly yet cautiously, she opened the door into her world. It was more than a year before they went out on their first date. It was pouring heavily when he arrived at her doorstep. He took out a crumpled bunch of flowers from underneath his jacket. She smiled and they hugged.

Every passing moment of her life she waited. She waited for his letters, his phone calls. She longed for him to return. She burned for his touch and his kisses. She listend to every footfall, lest it belong to him. At every knock she prayed to God that it was him. In the night she would get up when she didn't find him sleeping next to her. Everything was the way he had left it, nothing was moved out of place. He could come back tomorrow and start living as if nothing had happened. Everything that he had left behind lay encased in time. Whenever she was at home she could not bear to wear anything apart from the clothes that smelled of him. That was the only thing she looked forward to when she went back home. She always set two plates on the table, and waited for him to come home for dinner. When no one turned up she dumped all her evening's effort into the garbage.

She could never fathom why he had left her. Was it because of something she did, did he fall in love with another girl, where did he go away? There was so much that was left unanswered. In the night, these questions spread their heads like monstrous snakes ready to annihilate her. They grew within her till she could no longer contain them and more often than not came out in a flurry of tears. Her pillow was always drenched when she woke up in the mornings.

They had always gone on walks together, starlit night, cool chilly mornings. That was there most favourite hobby as a pair. When he was gone she continued retracing their steps. Everyday she hoped to find him jogging along one of these roads. But that day never came.

Once on her daily rendezvous, omnious clouds threatened the city. A thunderstorm was announced and everyone was asked to stay indoors, but she had more overpowering thoughts on her mind. Her own safety was the least of her concerns. She started out from her home driven by a maniacal urge that could not be restrained. After she had gone a long distance it started to rain. First it came down in mild droplets but soon the earth was pelted with ernomous raindrops. The stinging rain shot a wave of pain through her but she continued her quest. Soon she started to enjoy the suffering inflicted by the torrent. For once in many days she was thinking about something other than him. It was almost as if she had taken recluse in the pain caused by the downpour to escape from his memories that had haunted her. When she got back home she was completely drenched, her hair plastered all over her face. All her clothes were dripping.

She stepped out of her clothes and started to dry herself. Her hands automatically reached out to his jersey but then suddendly she stopped. For once she found the warmth of the towel more comforting than his clothes. She walked across the room and sat down by the window. The rain had stopped and the moon shone though the clearning in the clouds. The lake was bathed in the milky moonlight, she sat there, mesmerised, for a long while. Solitude was peaceful again. After sometime she got up and tucked herself in the bed. She thought about him, but this time there was a smile on her face instead of agony, she lovingly though of the time they had spent together and wished for his happiness. The rain had washed away all the pain and hurt, it had dissovled all the buring questions that haunted her. They no longer mattered now, she was at peace with herself. Soon sleep took over and she fell into deep slumber, one like she had not know in a long time. She slept calmly, the sleep took away all the tiredness weariness, for tomorrow would be a new day.

A tear of happiness escaped from her eyes.

==
This post was inspired by Meenakshi's post. I wanted to find a happy ending to her story and here is my 2 cents worth. I don't know a lot about love and am not romantically inclined though I strongly believe there should be a closure to all relationships. Only then do we have pleasant memories, otherwise all that stays behind is unanswered questions that cause anguish.

Of men and ships

If you want to build a ship, don't drum up the men to gather wood, divide the work and give orders. Instead, teach them to yearn for the vast and endless sea.

-Antoine-Marie-Roger de Saint-Exupery

Reaching into the void

The International Finance Centre, Hong Kong

On cloud 9

Birds

"Reach for the sun, O new-age-Icarus! Thou shalt not fall for thy wings are made of the sternest stuff. Dream the highest dreams, do not look back, for the future is yours to conquer. Adieu!I wish you the very best."

- Supriyo Bose, IIT Kanpur - 2003

Take right

The Struggler’s Guide to Mumbai

A great article by Taran Khan I came across on the Struggle in Bollywood.

Great moments from the life of Rajesh M, aspiring actor. “After one performance, I saw Mahesh Bhatt beckoning me from the other side of the (Prithvi) café. I started walking towards him, heart pounding, and it was the longest walk of my life.” Just as Rajesh reached the director, Bhatt’s phone rang. “He started talking, put an arm around me and we walked around the café. All eyes were on me, I could see them thinking, iski to nikal pari--—this guy is made.” Then, as they reached the edge of the theatre, Bhatt got into an auto and left, still talking on his phone. Rajesh still agonises over that moment which occurred years ago. “What if that call hadn’t come right then? Would he have given me a chance in some film? Would my life have been totally different?” Welcome to the Bollywood Struggle, a sub-culture held together by handshakes, inspirational myths and liberal amounts of wishful thinking.

The Struggle may seem chaotic and random, but scratch the surface and highly developed patterns emerge. Long before Orkut was thought of, strugglers had written the code. A new recruit, depending on his lineage (NSD, Delhi, FTII) and inclination, is almost immediately inducted into specific networks and communities. There are well-defined routes to the ‘break’, signposted for your convenience. There are even conduits, channelling frustrated talents in other directions. It is possible to build a wider network, even to switch allegiance to another circle. But, as actor Vinay Pathak asserts, “You have to be part of the system.”

The ‘system’ demands that connections be honoured. Work goes to friends, or friends of friends. To struggle is to leap over the six degrees that separate you from the person in charge. “I knew someone who had a friend at an office…” is how most stories begin. The Struggle is to gain that point of access. There are always people who got there before you, a crowd straining to catch up. The Struggle is a growth industry, with every success story inspiring hundreds more to board the train. Faces change, people move up or out, but the hang out joints, the addas and the route remains the same.

The road to success is called The Struggle.

PILGRIMS ROCK

When Shah Rukh Khan first came to Mumbai, so goes the story, he stood on the rocks at Marine Drive and yelled, “One day, I will rule this city.” Devotees who pay homage to the spot feel compelled to do the same, preferably in a dramatic silhouette against the evening sky. Variations to this theme include asking “Mumbai ka don kaun?” a la Manoj Bajpai in Satya. There is only one correct answer to that.

MAHURAT SHOT

As his train pulls into Mumbai, the struggler has just two words to guide him in the teeming city- “Andheri station”. This is where most arrivals get picked up by their ‘seniors’, old hands at the game. At the Irani restaurant across the road, they get their first taste of what will be their staple diet for at least the next few months— milky tea and gyan— information, gossip, phone numbers, lots of hope. The struggle has begun.

FOOD CHAIN

Where a struggler eats is an accurate indication of his market worth. Most newbies are found at roadside Punjabi dhabas, like National Restaurant, Bandra, where Dharmendra and Shatrughan Sinha used to dig into cheap chapatis. The action has now moved to Lokhandwala’s Guru da Dhaba. Scaling the food chain is important, but revisiting the haunts of your struggling days is permitted for purely nostalgic purposes.

MUSCLE CELL

The workout is purely incidental. In gyms like Barbarian or Sykz in Bandra and Andheri, more connections than muscles are being built. “Behind every actor on the treadmill, there will be five strugglers waiting for their turn, just so they can shake his hand and say hello,” says Rishabh Sinha, actor. Also developed is the fine art of greeting a celebrity like a long-lost friend, or at least a steady acquaintance, on the very first meeting.

THE HUNTING GROUNDS

The struggle never sleeps. In a one-hour conversation, Sinha exchanges fifteen handshakes, twelve nods and at least one conversation with each table. “This is all part of the struggle,” he explains. The fiercest networking is in small teashops. With success comes Barista and other upmarket coffee shops where writers and directors meet. It may appear otherwise, but the cappuccino-sipping horde is actually hard at work, waiting to be discovered.

COMFORT ZONE

In times of loneliness or celebration, strugglers seek out the sea, usually on Versova beach. If the mood for contemplation occurs during the day, coconut water suits the script. But at night, the ‘Rock Bar’ offers better comfort from the liquor shop nearby. The resultant bonhomie regularly prompts more optimistic members of the group to strike a pose on a handy elevation and declare, “Ek din apna bhi aayega doston. Our time will come.”

THE END

In the carefully graded hierarchy of locations, an invitation to the JW Marriott, by a director or producer is cause for celebration. “A guy calling you to Andheri station can only give you hope, a meeting at Barista can yield a number to call. But the Marriott can only mean The Break,” explains Sinha. This is when the credits roll on the ‘struggling days’, and the screen reads The Happy End. Or, as they say in Bollywood, The Beginning.

A new dawn

The days have gone by, pages of the calendar have flipped and another year has marched right in. Almost stealthily. Last year saw a lot of activity both pleasant and upleasant. It was an year filled with activity. A year that started in New York and almost ended in Bangkok. I changed jobs, parted company from a lot of friends. Last year helped me gain a lot of direction in life, now I DO KNOW for once in my life what I want to do. That realization also brought in lot of hard work or at least the inclination. I believe this year too will be extremely eventful. Though I do not know what it has in store for me, I am excited at the onset.

I hope you too will have an extremely joyous year. "Naya saal mubarak ho"

BTW I am in love with Picasa and have uploaded a lot of my photographs on picasaweb. As time passes by I grow fonder of this hobby of mine, sometimes it almost reaches maniacal frenzy when I go out in the cold at 11 in the night to click night photographs. I hope this fascination will continue to grow. Have a look at the pics and let me know your opinions and suggestions. Till I write next, Alvida

Handpicked

Diwali @ Home

Somehow I just love clicking candles :-) Got back from a long trip home. The trip was hectic, kept running all over the places, had to go to Calcutta a couple of times. Met up with Guddu Bhaiye after a long time, almost 2 years I guess. We missed Chomraj's company, her tid-bits about Jsr, the masala news and delicacies (??) at her place. Listening ma'am ??? You better send some chocoltes this way to redeem yourself :D

Jamshedpur never changes. Its the same old place where we went to school, the same old roads and the same old shops. Well almost all. Maybe thats kind of reassuring, now matter wherever you go you can come back to some place that you can call home.

Post India

Ladies and gentlemen here I present to you PostIndia...

"PostIndia is an experiment to delve more into the Indian psyche and find of the common threads the runs through the diversity of this magnificent nation."

After a long hiatus I have started work on this project. Your contributions are most welcome.

And do spread the word.

Thanks,
Vibs

Some reading

I happend to read two amazing books back to back over the last couple of days. It was impossible to put them down even though they were taking away a lot of time from my hectic schedule but they were well worth the read.

"I want a drink. I want fifty drinks. I want a bottle of the purest, strongest, most destructive, most poisonous alcohol on Earth. I want fifty bottles of it. I want crack, dirty and yellow and filled with formaldehyde. I want a pile of powder meth, five hundred hits of acid, a garbage bag filled with mushrooms, a tube of glue bigger than a truck, a pool of gas large enough to drown in. I want something anything whatever however as much as I can."

A Million Little Picecs is the memoir of a 23 year man undergoing treatment at a rehabilitation center. Its a story of courage, of shame. Of everything bad a man can do and how he tries to atone for it, realizing all the while that atonement might not possible. Through the book there were so many incidents that made a chill run down my spine. You start of being in control and soon the addiction takes control over you. So much so that even though you know its killing you, all you can do to get over the feeling is dope some more. I thinks its a must read for all youngsters, it would prove to me a real deterrent in the fight against drugs.

Its also about the camaderie that develops in so obsure a place that seems so far away from a normal person's psyche. Judges and felons, drugdealers and doctors cohabit the same dorms, eat the same meals, share the same jokes and of course recourse to the same cigarettes to drive away the "urge". I am dying to read the second book in the series, My Friend Leonard.

The Cave is surprisingly another book on hope. Extremely enchanting.

BTW I am looking for a copy of The Story of Civilization Vol 1. Please holler if you know where to find it. Its out of print.

one night...

the light dispels the darkness.
well, almost !!