Living in the Age of Disruption - Television

The show was named "Superstars of Soccer" and if my memory serves me right, it aired at 10 PM. I don't quite remember if it was sometime before 1990 World Cup in Italy or the next one but have a feeling that it was the former. My dad was a huge soccer fan and had gotten me to watch the sport (basically only the World Cup). A one hour show packed with clips of the Johan Cruyffs and Maradonas and Zicos scoring goals was enough the capture the imagination of an eight year old. What I vividly remember about the series is that we would often rush back from a family friend's house so as to be able to watch it uninterrupted at home. Bring dinner to the living room table and see spectacular goals being scored. 

And now we have YouTube. So much for instant gratification.

One Show. One Time.

Like any kid born in the 80s in India, Doordarshan was my introduction to television. And apart from Ramayan and Mahabharat, the only thing I remember are the Spiderman and He-Man cartoons. There were hardly any sports (or I was too small to care) and watching TV was more often than not dictated by the program which was being aired at that time of the day. Which essentially meant you picked your shows and adjusted your life around it. If you missed it, it was gone. Forever. And you asked your friends about it and replayed it in your mind. 

More Channels. More Movies.

The big change sometime in the 90s was cable TV. Suddenly you had this thing called "options". A dozen channels. Actually, I think there were more but our TV only had so many channels. So you had to pick favorites. Zee TV, Star TV, BBC World, MTV (they played music back then) and a few other channels almost immediately changed our TV viewing behavior. The concept of channel surfing came into being. There was this air of unpredictability. Let's turn on the TV and see what's on. I would do that with my mom in the evening before dad came back from work. We didnt have channel guides and often weekend editions of newspapers would have all the TV listings. I remember spending a good 10-15 minutes to make sure I had all my action movies covered. To add to the entertainment portfolio, my dad got us a VCR. Still remember the first day trying to set it up. Took us the entire evening. Compared to today's interfaces, that was almost command line like in its demeanor. The advent of VCPs and VCRs (which could also be rented) opened up this whole "Video Parlor" business - shops which would stock copies of Indian and Hollywood movies and rent them out. Nobody I knew "bought" video cassettes. It was way too costly. One particular guy at one of these shops was an avid movie watcher and introduced us to classics like The Gods Must Be Crazy and Dances with the Wolves. We would spend hours at his shop browsing through the library and chit chatting about the movies he had watched. It was one of the more memorable outings that I used to have as a teenager. The quality would often be sub par, though. Sometimes it was bearable. Just a glitch here and there. On the rare occasion, we would have to return it to the shop without being able to watch it. It was normal. A little depressing but absolutely normal. Cassettes get damaged. It was the way things are supposed to work.

The R in the VCR meant that we could record stuff too. And the one we had was powerful enough so that we could set timers to turn on the TV and record stuff even when we were away! Pretty cool, right? We never figured out how to do it. Nevertheless, we did record some live stuff. The 1994 World Cup Soccer Final, for instance. I never watched it afterwards. Roberto Baggio was my hero and it broke my heart to think about that final.

Whatever. Whenever.

Fast forward to the 2000s. The channels increased to over a hundred and the TVs became more powerful but essentially the model remained the same. You had a cable provider (and may be a set top box). CD/DVD players replaced VCRs. Although people had started to buy CDs. They were cheaper and lasted a lot longer. So yes, we are moving from a rent-only mentality to a buy-really-good-movies one. Or buy-cheap-pirated knock offs. I, for my part had moved to college and discovered the power of the internet and P2P file sharing software.

Terabytes of videos. DVD quality. And Free. Beat that!

I perfectly blended into this free model as everything from the latest American sitcoms to the Kurosawa movies were suddenly a click away. Watching as much of the the IMdB Top 250 as possible almost became a fashion statement of sorts. Not that I knew the term then, but this was "Time Shifting" at its pinnacle. You could always watch movies later. The whole Video Cassette followed by CD/DVD industry was built on this premise. That people would want to and should be able to watch any movie any time. Not just when it played in the theaters. But before I went to college, I didn't know that this happened for TV as well. So now, no matter when the 1st season of FRIENDS aired, I  could download it from the LAN and watch it as many times as I wanted to. It was fascinating. 

What began in college continued in Bangalore too. I missed the LAN but still had a hold on LOST and How I Met Your Mother. Bit Torrent to the rescue. I couldn't imagine people paying for content when piracy was so rampant. And so easy. And nobody ever got caught. And thus, "owning" became the default. First I would burn movies into CDs. But then as storage became cheap and 500 GB external HDDs became pocket sized, it became the norm. Download entire seasons and keep them in your hard drive. Not a penny expended. Technology changing consumer behavior. Ah! now, I get it. Thanks to my MBA!

TV meets Internet & I start paying.

The last bit of this story brings us to my life in present day America. I spent the first two years in this country in school which meant there wasn't time to really watch any TV. There were way more interesting things going on. As a result I stopped downloading stuff. Still, buying digital content was an uncomfortable notion for me. Years of access to free, hi-def videos had had its impact. But then there was the question of ease and any time access. Add a hi speed internet connection and a relatively cheap fee to the mix, and I began to realize why I would finally be ok with paying for content. So I got my internet enabled TV with a built in Hulu and Netflix app and access to a couple of other on demand movie stores. Renting  or streaming at a monthly subscription is still a lot cheaper than buying. And I found myself moving from the owning-for-free to the paying-for-rent mentality. A full circle, in some ways.

So much has changed. From the devices themselves to the way content is distributed to the way it is consumed and the way people relate to it and react to it. From a one time only event, most of Television today is available almost immediately after it is first screened. Hulu has made a name out of the concept of "Second Day TV" (making popular shows available for streaming a day after they are aired). It's even more fascinating for me because I work in an industry which is so intricately linked to all of this.We expect instant streaming at hi qualities and are annoyed by the slightest glitch or delay in playback. Things are so easy now. And will get easier in the future. And our options will explode. TV would soon move into (it has already started) handheld devices. It would become more interactive. If you follow this space as closely as I do, you would be aware of how it's being billed as the last domain ripe for digital disruption. And I thought so much has already changed !

Enough of writing about TV. Time to catch some Arrested Development on Netflix!

Songs, Places & People

Even though I think I'm a "musical" guy, I don't listen to a lot of music - like during work or while running on the treadmill. Part of it could be because I don't enjoy putting on headphones. While driving, though, I love it. So much so that I'm willing to say, I need it. I mostly listen to the radio. The zone between unpredictability at one end and the comfort of familiarity (e.g. the Today's Hits  station that each city has) is perfect for me.

Enough of beating around the bush. The reason I wanted to write this post is because with so many songs there are these places and people associated in my head that have become inextricably linked with the songs themselves. Every time a Don't Stop Believin' or Pour Some Sugar On Me or The Scientist or Collide or Coming back to Life or Dust in the Wind plays (I'll stop here, because the list is pretty long!), I invariably end up thinking about those associations. Some go back to the hostel rooms of IIT. Some to the pubs or even my house in Bangalore. Others are more recent and trace their origins to Saturday nights at a certain No. 3 in Charlottesville. Then there are the people with whom you shared the song - singing, listening along with pitchers of beer, dancing or even just sending the mp3 and having a conversation about it.

I don't know how it is with you; but for me, nostalgia is almost always bittersweet. There's the high of having had such a great time and reminiscing about it. And there's also the sense of loss. These songs are part of nostalgia too. 

Fortunately, I've found my staple radio stations in Dallas. Today's Hits, Classic Rock, Alternative New Rock and this station which mixes up everything from a Matchbox 20 to a Bruno Mars. Not surprisingly, a lot of these songs come up during my drive to and from the office. It's a pleasant distraction from the 105 temperatures and occasional traffic on US-75.

P.S. Watched this absolutely riveting movie about street art - Exit Through The Gift Shop. Best thing I've seen in a long time.

Summer Months

A few days ago a friend from IIT had '9 years' as his Facebook status. Apparently it was 9 years to the day that we had attended our first class. It got me thinking about all subsequent summer months (May, June, July) and how I've spent them. And more often than not, they have been characterized by changes and transitions.

2001 was when it started. College. The weeks leading up to that day in July were amongst the most anxious and most joyous days of my life. It was sweeter because it had come after a year in the dumps. I wasn't quite sure if I was more happy for myself or my parents. The weeks after that very first day, however were memorable in a totally different way. But for the bunch of us who underwent the arguably necessary ritual of ragging; things would never be the same again. Inhibitions were shed once and for all, swear words hearted, physical and mental tolerance levels increased, and a sneak peek given of a world full of quirky, smart, different-from-me, nice, not so nice people that was to be our home for the next four or five years.

2002 was my first 2 1/2 month long summer vacation. A lot of my friends from school had come home. We would later realize that it was the last time we would have such a big gang. Get-togethers happened practically every day at each others' house. Dinners. lunches, movies and just chatting about stuff. I was in the stage where I missed school and my friends and had not yet totally become comfortable with college life. So it was a return to my comfort zone, so as to say. 

By 2003, I had assimilated the IIT culture and known myself a lot more. Although not by choice, I had also realized that I wasn't going to break any academic records. So I decided to pursue other activities and learning the guitar took more importance than anything else. Just before coming home for the summer vacation, I had my friend teach me how to hold the G, C Em and D chords. He told me that if I could play them and do the transitions, I could play practically 90% of all the songs that I had ever heard. I believed him, went home, convinced my parents to buy me a guitar (it wasn't hard in any way though. I had quite a bit of music sense in me and my parents knew that) and spent the better part of 2 months trying to string together Greenday's Time Of My Life and Poison's Every Rose Has It's Thorn. When I went back to college, I had added Take It Easy to my repertoire. It was a thrilling experience. 

2004 was my first real experience with the city of Bangalore. Hard to believe, but I didnt drink alcohol back then. Bad life choice. Watching the Euro with my friends in the common area of the place we stayed in, the trek on the railway track at Sakleshpur, working in a company (the most exciting part was getting the ID and being able to swipe in and out!) and working for a boss, the feeling of getting the first pay check, and for the first time being able to buy something for my parents - those two months were full of first experiences.

It was in 2005 that I finally got to feel the summer heat of Delhi in its full glory. We had to stay back in campus to start our final projects and I was also beginning my preparation for the CAT. The 45+ temperatures forced me to a very scheduled life. Swimming pool at 6:30 followed by breakfast at 7:30. I would then rush to the library or the lab to either give a mock test or meet my supervisor and get some project work done. Lunch was mostly taken at the nearby canteen and I would come back to the library to study or read a novel but mostly ended up taking a nap. It wasn't until after sundown that all of us would return to our hostel rooms which were like furnaces. It was impossible to sleep there. So we would have dinner, go out at times and come back to grab a place in the common room in front of the cooler. It was obvious therefore that finally when it rained in Delhi, all of us just went berserk. Windows were opened to let the rain come in the room as we went outside to get drenched.

2006. I remember feeling a void after my final presentation was over. 5 glorious, memorable years had ended. There was more than a tinge of sadness amongst us. It was relief rather than happiness which was the dominant feeling. I had to pack up everything and send it home to Bokaro. A new life in Bangalore was about to begin in June and I don't think I was looking forward to it. I hadn't achieved what I had been striving for the last year and was utterly disappointed. It was a tough couple of months. Suddenly I felt uprooted and very unsure of myself. There was however, a new job in a new city. And thankfully, a lot of my friends were coming too. And there was the World Cup. July was spent house hunting with my future room mates which was nothing like any of us had experienced before. I started my life as a coder in Java, cheered for Zidane and started discovering the pubs of Bangalore.

My parents left Bokaro in 2007. That was the biggest change for me that year, I think. Home took on a different meaning when I went there for the last time. A year into the job, I loved my life and had actually started to like my job a bit.  But apart from the usual weekend trips and hanging out with friends, the summer of 2007 did not have anything particularly different. The usual highs and lows.

By 2008, I had finally realized that I wanted to do an MBA in the US. So I began seriously preparing for the applications. That was the main theme of the entire year, let alone the summers. And yes, I watched Euro with my roommate. We made french toast and maggi and tea during the half time break. Good times.

And finally last year. Well, Darden happened. I quit my job in June, left Bangalore and really had mixed feelings towards where I was headed. It's always hard to leave behind something permanently. Knowing that there is no coming back. No matter how much you disliked it when you were there. I didnt hate being a software engineer. I just didnt like it as much as I should have if I wanted a longterm career in it. And there was house #40 and Bangalore and all my friends. 3 terrific years of a continuation of life after IIT. It was hard to let go of all that. 

So there it is. I have successfully been able to keep myself occupied for almost two hours now. Which takes care of most of my evening. If you are still reading, you're either really jobless or know me pretty well enough to read through the summary of my summers. This one? Well you already know about it, I guess. It's quite significant in the scheme of things. How much impact it will have on my future is hard to say. But like most of the summer months before, it has been different than the rest of the year.

Homecoming

The train curved its way over the rivers and rivulets - flowing full and fast. The intermittent drizzle would occasionally be interrupted by the sun trying to find its way out of the monsoon clouds. A few 'Elephant Zone. Drive Cautiously' signboards went past as the train hooted its way through the dense forest. I half hoped for the elephants to stop the train. Of course, I would then have cursed myself for not having brought my camera. Nothing of that sort, however, happened. The train moved on steadily with its rhythmic clik-clak.

From New Jalpaiguri to Alipurduar Junction, the train ride was at once nostalgic and full of anticipation. It was twelve years ago, when as a fifteen year old kid, I had last been there to spend my vacation with my grandparents, uncles, and cousin brothers and sisters. This time, though, there were fewer people to meet and I had just about two days.

It's unbelievable how our conceptions of space and time change as we grow up. The time it took to cover the distance from the station to my dadi's house had seemed like an eternity when I was a kid. So much so that even a couple of days ago, I had argued with my father that it would take me at least 30 minutes. 5 minutes is what it took me this time. The rickshaw puller who helped me cover the last stretch, told me how the city had changed over the past decade. He showed me the new buildings that had come up long with the old ones - some of which had stayed the way I hazily remembered them and others which had become bigger and more 'modern'. But to me nothing really seemed different. The huge field was still there. The rain, the dense vegetation, the dampness, the one storied houses with tin roofs, the little shacks on stilts which sold everything from bread and biscuits to soaps and brushes, the drains full of water, the people on bicycles, the absense of anything which my dictionary defines as 'modern' - Alipurduar, to me, had stayed pretty much where I had left it in 1997.

I found my dadi waiting for me in front of the gate. I got down, gave the rickshaw puller the Bhutanese 5 Ngultrum note (Owing to the close proximity to the Bhutan border, (less than 50 kms) the Bhutanese currency is used alongside the Indian Rupee in these parts) that the chaiwallah had given me in New Jalpaiguri, touched my dadi's feet, hugged her and went inside.

As a small child, I never realized the charm of the journey to Alipurduar. Reaching home was the most important thing. My heart and my mind hadn't grown up enough to consciously take in and enjoy the little things that made up the week long stay. It's only now that I can separate out the parts and feel a sense of joy mingled with loss. It's only now that I realize that maybe I should have made a little more effort to visit this place more often during my days spent shaping my life and myself in Delhi and Bangalore. The next two days were spent with my grandmother and then my uncle and his family. There was a lot of catching up. More importantly, there was a lot of knowing each other. I have never been very close to my relatives. My parents and my friends have pretty much made up my world. But for what it's worth, it was nice to be there. It was a pleasant feeling - although a bit surprising to me - to know that connecting, bonding with your closest relatives - be it your 85 year old grandmother or your 50 something uncle or your 14 year old brother, isn't all that tough even after the long gap.

Winding Up - 1

I sold my bike today. The milometer read 16486 Kms. It was 2 years 6 months 16 days old. In many ways, of all things I have owned, it was the one thing which meant the most. I remember having literally pleaded to my father to let me have it. Trying to put sense into him that in B'lore, a car wasnt the best option (he said he will lend me the money to buy the car). He was convinced that I too would have the same number of accidents that he had had when he rode his Jawa. I only had a couple. And they were anything but serious. But the one when an Avenger hit me while I was coming back from Purple Haze, in supreme confidence of my maneuvering abilities at 50 kmph, really hurt - because I lost the watch my father had given me. The very next day though, Dada hit a ton at Chinnaswamy and all was good.

2 trips to Nandi Hills, one to Chunchi Falls, the famous Sivasamudram adventure, Srirangapatna and the 2 longer ones to Chikmagalur and Coorg - I did my share of weekend road trips. With Naman as my constant companion in all of them. Of my near three years of stay in Bangalore, a majority of the memories of unbridled joy go back to one of these journeys.

In my day to day life, it gave me a sense of independance. It meant that I could rush off to my friends' place whenever I felt like - just to have coffee and talk about stuff which had been bothering me. Hitting 100 kmph on the Inner Ring Road while coming back home at 1 in the night had its own rush.

It's time to wind up from B'lore. And letting go isnt all that easy. It was a bike today. Soon, there will be bigger, more meaningful things. 

Durga Puja Revisited

It's ashthami today and I spent the whole day at home, alone, working on my Tuck and Kellogg applications. It's the first time I'm not with my parents during Durga Puja. No, I don't feel sad. Just that it's a first. And firsts always get my attention.

Initially I thought that I would ramble about DP in Bokaro but then realized that I have already done it a year back! I have always associated Durga Puja with a sense of fondness mixed with loss. It brings with it memories of Bokaro, the pandals in Sector 4-D and 1-C, friends, family and the general sense of bonhomie. It reminds me of the time when everything felt right and worth waiting for, the time when my dad's 16 hour shifts ceased to matter to him and he would be at his cheerful best, the time when my parents suddenly forgot to fight, the time when my mother's exemplary cooking skills found new ways to delight. It reminds me of the assurance, of the belief, that I had as a kid, that no matter what, there was Goddess Durga to take care of everything. I think it's probably the one thing that still remains.

It was probably in 1997 when we visited Silchar during the Durga Puja. My grandfather had insisted that we spend it there since each year, we only went during my summer vacation. I don't know if this is what you call foresight, or if it was just sheer coincidence, but by the time the next Durga Puja came, he wasn't there anymore.

Today, amidst all this madness of getting an admit, a better job, a better life - I miss the simplicity of spending 4 days of Durga Puja as a child. I miss the joy of trying to land a 25 paise coin inside the bangle placed at the bottom of a bucket full of water. The 50 paise which it would earn brought with it, a thrill which is now hard to find. Yes, I know my essays say that 'coming up with technical solutions to complex business problems is thrilling' - or something to that effect, but you know the truth.

At around 8:00 in the evening I had got tired of my essays and staying alone in the house. I submitted the Kellogg application after looking at the preview for the tenth time (the extra care because I had sort of screwed up the earlier one I had submitted to Ross). I think I got it perfect this time. Almost 15,000 words and 7 months after I started this process, Phase 1 is about to get over. The end however, is nowhere near. Anyway, I put on the new shirt which my mother had bought for me in July, insisting that I wear it during Puja, and decided to visit the nearby pandal. A 20 minute walk through the evening traffic in the heart of Koramangala took me there. I walked in till I reached the place where the idols were kept. Like always, I closed my eyes, folded my hands and prepared to list down my demands in front of the Goddess. Like always, I could say nothing and just kept quiet for a few seconds. I then grabbed a chicken roll and a glass of masala lemonade and a few minutes later left the place.

There should always be something to go back to when you feel being burdened by the weight of carrying on. For the longest time, DP was one of those things. It's another story that when it was most enjoyable, there was hardly any thing which burdened or troubled me. Life wasn't nearly as complex. I wasn't nearly as demanding.

Pamuk says in Istanbul - Life can't be all that bad....whatever happens, I can always take a walk along the Bosphorus.
I hope all of us have our Bosphorus to take a walk along.

The Last Day

I remember coming back home late in the evening and handing over the full sleeve shirt to my mother. 'Keep it somewhere and never wash it', I had told her. I wonder if the shirt is still there. I wonder if something (anything) of the names and 'will miss u' and 'all the best in life' messages that were scribbled all over it in sketch pens still remains. I wonder where all those names are right now. Yes, I still know almost everything that's happening in the lives of about 3 or 4 of them but about the rest, I don't think I care that much. It was the last day of school. Sometime in the December of 1999. And the students of St. Xavier's School (SXS) Bokaro sure knew how to create memories.

The build up that had started almost a year ago had reached its finale. And at the center of it was the signing of shirts and dupattas. The music played on and we danced as if nobody was watching. People who had hardly spoken in 12 years were behaving as if they were the closest of friends. The shiest of boys were having a laugh with the most popular girls. Some of the teachers stood back and smiled as the Y2K batch (as we liked to call ourselves) readied itself for a last party.

At SXS, we were a privileged lot. We won all the quizzes and the debates. We had the largest and the most beautiful school in town. We had the best teachers. The entire town looked forward to our Annual Fete on 14th Nov. We were the only school which had the parties and farewells. We created the best gossips. And we produced the best results when it came to academics. And how can I forget; we were the only ICSE school in the city. So when it was time to leave all of it and start afresh, it was obvious that the longing, the loving would be difficult to forget. I don't think I have ever been so carefree as I was then. Slam books were signed, promises were made to keep in touch for ever, phone numbers were exchanged and past sins were forgiven. A few girls started crying but there was no denying the general sense of bonhomie which swept us in those last days of school. Looking back, it sure seems foolish. I guess we were just conforming to the saying - Ignorance is bliss. But at the same time, it was the most natural thing to do.

As the evening went by, a few left for home. Most of us, though, headed to Vora Brother's. Had soya chilli and Pepsi there, giggling all the while. Walked in a line blocking the street. On the rare occasion, also talked about the pre-board exams starting early January. Most of us would still be meeting pretty much everyday for tuitions. But all of us knew that it would never quite be the same again.

That was eight years ago. Long time. A lot has happened since. A lot has changed. I have changed. But today, out of nowhere, that day came to my mind. That particular moment, to be precise. People walking with their bicycles in front of Vora Brother's; the night about to fall.

Writing is as close as we get to keeping a hold on the thousand and one things – childhood, certainties, cities, doubts, dreams, instants, phrases, parents, loves – that go on slipping, like sand, through our fingers -- Rushdie

Couldn't agree more.

DP

An only child of Indian parents is apt to be spoiled, especially so if he's a Bengali. More so if the occasion is Durga Pujo. And if he happened to live in Bihar, it meant that he would have at least three times, if not more, the number of new clothes to wear during Pujo than his non Bengali friends! In the best of years, the number (and mind u, this is the number of combinations of Trousers and T-Shirts/Shirts) could go up to 7 or 8 which meant 2 new combinations for each day. At times it was almost embarrassing.

Yes, back when I was growing up in Bokaro; Durga Puja or DP, as I have only heard Bokaroites call it, was FUN. And the new clothes were just one part of it. From setting up little stalls in front of the pandal which lent out Nagraj, Super Commando Dhruv, Chacha Chowdhury, Tinkle at 50p (Re 1 for the Digest, mind you!) and earning a princely Rs 17 in the process, to feasting on the Re 1 and Rs 2 'ice creams' that were to be seen everywhere; from eating Khichdi sitting under the sun along with family and friends on Ashthami or Navami to going around the city on cycles, scooters and in later years, cars, to check out the pretty girls all dressed up; DP was one event I totally looked forward to. The anticipation, the lead up to saptami, the three days of unabated celebrations and then dashami, it was so very intense.

Roaming around in the pandals, watching the 'Arati Competition', making sure that on arriving at a pandal the first thing we did was to pray to the Goddess before we started looking around for pretty faces, making the occasional polite conversation with the neighbourhood uncle who recognised you, everything about those few days had a touch of magic to it.

Over the years though, like most things, the charm faded away. Whether it was a case of us outgrowing the simple pleasures of DP or the charm actually giving way to something bordering on tedium, would become a favourite topic of discussion amongst us.

Slowly inching towards the wonderfully created and even more spectacularly lit 'Harry Potter' pandal, replete with the train, tunnel and Harry Potter, with my parents alongside me, I felt lonely amongst the five thousand odd people gathered in Salt Lake's FD Block in Kolkata. DP, was no longer the same.

Beauty in transience. I guess that's what all those beautifully crafted idols and pandals are meant to convey. That's why those few days of fun and laughter were given to us as kids. When everything else took a backseat and DP reigned supreme. And although I never was the religious kind, yet if I had to pick a favourite God(dess), I know who it would be. And the reasons would be far from religious.

By the way, if the first lines sound familiar, I really like the way Nehru starts his autobiography.

Goodbye, and thanks for all the memories...

The mist that seemed to engulf the entire city at dusk heightened the melancholy that was growing over me. I love misty dawns. I have always hated dusks. I was sitting with two of my school friends near the Cooling Pond, gazing at the expanse of water and the reflections the lights from the steel plant were making on it. My last day at Bokaro, the only home I have ever known was drawing to a close. 'Ghar jaa raha hoon' would never mean the same again.

I remember having this great urge to write when we shifted to a different, bigger house in the winter of '99. I even had the title prepared. '3016, IV-C: From a Quarter to a Home'. I never actually got down to writing it. I regret it to this day.

Bokaro has always been a sanctuary for me. A place to come back to to cleanse myself, to recharge my batteries. A place to soothe my nerves after a grueling semester in college. It's a return to innocence. Then again, over the years, the exposure to life at big cities and my growing up has meant that my feelings for the city have become ambivalent at best. The city is there because of the people and not the other way around. It's as if it lacks a life of its own. The streets bear a deserted look after 8 in the evening, there are no Baristas to hang out, the traffic (if you can call it one) is too less for comfort. It's a very, very small city. But it was this very small town feel, easy going life without the red lights and big buses and lack of malls that made it a heaven for me when I was at school. I think a lot of what Bokaro is or rather was to me then is reflected in who I am today.

Kunal (Bunti) and Neha's wedding meant that were a few school friends who came over to make my stay all the more memorable. Kunal had started talking about 'we' and 'us' instead of 'I'. All of us were so happy for him and Neha. But in one corner of my heart, I could feel something going away. As we sat through the wedding ceremony which ended in the wee hours of the morning, discussing how getting married was at the same time scary and momentous and unsettling and the biggest emotional experience of our lives, I thought of how things have changed over the years. But more than that I think it's we who have outgrown the city of our childhood. This trip was memorable in more ways than one. So many of my friends have moved out of Bokaro because of parents retiring or getting transferred. A few have bought houses ensuring that the link to the city always remains. Kunal, whom I have known for almost twenty years now, got married and I am still unable to let it sink in. I got to have a drink with two of my closest friends and it was probably the last time we would meet in Bokaro. We also went to school where almost every inch of the ground had its own story to tell. It was as if the floodgates of memories had burst open. The classes and the labs, the place where we had our lunch, the different forms of cricket and tennis that we played, the trees that substituted as fielders, the assembly ground, the bunking spots, the fields and the games we played and invented, the bells, the dosa stall, the jack fruit tree; it was endless. Most of the teachers had also left though it was great meeting the few that have stayed. It was touching even, to know that they can still associate names with the faces.

Even my parents are facing the dilemma of leaving the slow, peaceful life of Bokaro for the crowded, faster paced life in Kolkata and at the same time embracing the culture of the City Of Joy in place of the lifeless evenings at Bokaro. Leaving Quarter No. 1019, IV-B though, would be the biggest jolt. Especially this garden.

I have never felt the impact of change more in my life than what I am feeling at this point in time. It's alright when you make the transition from a school goer to a college goer and then from an academic life to one in the corporate world. But when something you have known for you entire life, something which has remained almost unscathed, unaltered while people and times around it have changed, is about to make way for the unknown; it sure hits you hard. And was it coincidental that I was reading Pamuk's Istanbul at the same time. A novel about growing up. A novel about a city and its reflections in its inhabitants. I would like to think so. Kolkata would sure be a new and a much more diverse experience. It could even be said that Bokaro's time was over, there was nothing more left to savor in it. But it would still remain as the only home that I have ever known till now and in spite of its failings, I think I would miss going to 2157, IV-F on my scooter and shout out .......'Bunti'.

The Way Back Home

The last few weeks have been very hectic as far as work is concerned. Late nights have become more the norm than the exception. And frankly speaking, I can't say I dislike it. Well, it could be because of my otherwise not so happening evening life or just the fact that this is a change from the usual. It might as well be the feeling that I am actually doing something which would directly or indirectly benefit me somewhere down the line. But no, this post is not about my experience in the software industry which by the way is nearing a year. That, will have to wait for a few days more.

The six kilometer stretch of road that brings me home from my office is one of the best in Bangalore. The road is wide and the traffic relatively less at any time of the day. So at around half past 10 when I hit the Outer Ring Road and put my bike to full throttle, the ride is enormously enjoyable. The smooth traffic allows me to touch speeds of 90 kmph on a regular basis and add to it the chill in the air especially if it has rained in the evening; and you have a 7-8 minute ride that robs you of your weariness of the day. It's one time of the entire day that I am completely living the moment without thinking of the past or the future. I hum along a few songs and at times even sing them at the top of my voice while racing past other vehicles on the way.

It's not that I have something very exciting waiting for me upon my arrival. Yet, the prospect of having a laugh with my flatmates, reading a bit, spending some time with my guitar and ringing up family and friends, makes me feel at peace with myself.

I can't help but reminisce about the time I used to make a similar journey back from school to my home on a cycle along with my friends. During the morning sessions before the summer vacations, school got over at around 1 o' clock and we would come home licking the 25 paise or 50 paise 'ice creams' that we bought in front of the school gate. Holding it in one hand and balancing the cycle with the other, we often rode our cycles at full speed to be able to catch some live action from the Sharjah Cup. There would be nothing, not even the scorching heat or the loo, which would slow us down during those times. Our orange coloured hands and tongue would bear testimony to the fun we had had. During the regular sessions when classes got over at 3:30, the ride would be more sedate. We went along discussing the happenings of the day, the latest affairs in school, cricket and what not. Since my house was the farthest away from school, I had to part company at some point and travel the last kilometer long stretch alone. I remember us stopping at the last junction (my friend's house) and chatting for a good 10-15 minutes before finally leaving for home. It really used to get tiring during the summers especially since the last bit was mostly uphill. But I knew that I had my prize waiting in the form of watermelon slices and mango shake kept in the fridge and at times dahi-chuda with gud. Ma would be waiting for me in the balcony with the keys to the garage where I kept my cycle and that was such a pleasing sight. She could make out my arrival merely by the sound of the gate. She said she could distinguish between the sound I made and that made by others! In later years, the scooter replaced the cycle and I became more reluctant on eating something after coming back but the pleasure of coming back home, coming back to your Ma waiting for you; well, that remained unchanged.

It's about comfort and a sense of belonging that makes the ride back home special. Whether it's to your waiting mother, or to a shared flat with friends or even a single room that you call your own. It's a journey that seldom has any surprises in store for us but one which comes with an assurance. An assurance of going back to the place you know, to the people you know. An assurance that another day has gone by. An assurance that a new one would soon begin.

Me And The Stage

Its been long since my last post on this blog. Life's been pretty mundane and inspiration has been hard to come by. So it felt nice when a few friends inquired about this sudden hiatus. The last few days have been particularly frustrating and so I thought that I would try that extra bit to take my mind off my daily existence and string together a coherent post. So here goes......

All I remember from that day is that it took me quite a while to get the brown boots on while the music played in the background and the scene where I had to pounce upon the mouse.

My first stage appearance (as Puss in Puss In Boots) happened when I was in class three. Till the fourth or maybe fifth grade there were also a few elocutions but then I realised that I never won anything and so decided to stop it altogether. In class six the Maggi Quiz happened and I found myself representing the school while some Mr. Derek O'Brien asked questions like why is 'AMBULANCE' written in the way it is. We came second by a whisker but I had found something which would put me on stage and something at which I didn't suck.

It had its advantages. It gave me an existence in school. It allowed legitimate bunking of classes. I was quite good at it and along with my partner formed a formidable team which lasted till the end of our schooling days and left me with a showcase full of trophies and more knowledge about the World War and India's freedom struggle (courtesy the 50th year of the Indian independence and the Quizzes that followed in its wake), soccer, literature and movies than my peers. The thrill of knowing the answer to a difficult question and waiting till it came to you, the buzzer rounds, the rapid fires; I loved them all. And a major reason was that mostly we won. I loved the stage. From the friends who came along with a couple of teachers to cheer us, to the applause which followed during the prize distribution and in the school assembly the next day, it sure had its rewards.

In the meanwhile I also got enrolled in the newly formed Music Academy where I learned tabla. Even there the stage appearances continued although as part of groups of almost 10 with instruments like tabla, violin, guitar and sitar coming together to play a composition on raag Kafi or Kalyan. And the best thing was that on more than one occasion I created a place for myself (which meant a 20-30 second solo when all other instruments stopped) by volunteering to play the pakhawaj or the khol. It certainly helped that I was a fast learner and picked up things with ease. Amidst the applause during a jugalbandi between the percussionists and the stringed instruments, the words of appreciation by our teacher on the completion of a successful performance, the spark in the eyes of my parents as I watched them from the stage looking at their son; my love for the stage kept growing.

Then college happened and I suddenly found myself thrown in amongst immensely talented people. Luckily there weren't many good tabla players around. So I got a new life and went back to the first instrument I had laid my hands on as a seven year old and had left after my class 10th Boards. So my love affair with the stage in general and music in particular continued. In fact it blossomed like never before, at a totally different plane, in the company of some great musicians. I never had stage fright and although the prizes kept eluding us, yet the experience itself was prize enough. We performed in the inauguration of Rendezvous and Tryst and also once at the India Habitat Center and I got to know about every corner of the Sem Hall and the Convo. After third year, tabla gave way to rhythm Guitar but the love of the stage remained intact, changed perhaps only in its expression.

As luck would have it, a few months back I got to perform on the stage in a totally new avatar. That of a solo singer. And that too in front of the entire company. And frankly speaking even though it was a debut of sorts, I wasn't nervous. So when the 'once more' came, I knew I had added another page in the chapter titled 'Me And The Stage' in my life's book.

I love the adrenalin rush, the transient nature of a stage performance, the spectators, the applause, the anxiety before the performance, the accolades that follow it. I love the ego boost, the kick that it gives. I like to be known and acknowledged. But above all, in the few minutes that I am on stage, I forget everything around. I lose myself to the occasion. I feel liberated.

Autobiography of a PC

The CPU cabinet now doubles up as an elevated platform on which the monitor rests. The off white colour of the monitor has changed to a dirty white with visible streaks of gray. I sit in one corner of the large hall shielded away from the daily exercise of the bai which resembles some form of sweeping. Lying amidst my more stylish, sleek and powerful brothers, people now look at me as if I am some relic from another age. My days of glory are long gone and from today I will have only one person who would care about me. Yet in the summer of 2002 in Delhi, things were so very different.

Equipped with a Intel P4 processor, 128 MB RD RAM an original Intel Mother Board and most importantly, Creative 2.1 Speakers, I was the best of the lot, a dream come true for my proud owner (henceforth to be referred to as Atish). And being among the first few of his batch to get one, he ensured that I got my fair share of limelight and adoration. The evening that he brought me home along with his 'I-know-stuff-about-computers' friend, the entire wing was abuzz with activity. Within minutes I was set up, hooked to the power supply and the LAN port and switched on. As the familiar Windows Welcome tune played and the bliss wallpaper appeared on the monitor, everybody let out a collective gasp, 'Chal gaya ...'

I was witness to the evolution of the IIT Delhi LAN. From the famous TOBU to the primitive and tedious IP Scanner and the memory intensive Sharescan and then finally to the longest standing avatar, DC++; P2P clients were the most popular applications that I made friends with. Virtually everything that ran on me depended on the LAN. Music, movies, some other kind of movies, wallpapers, docs, everything was there on the LAN. Atish was in the Computer Science Department which meant that I was also used to connect to his department's servers for a faster internet connection. Xterm and later port forwarding through the Putty became as popular as the P2P clients and I remember people flocking to my room for checking their mails and downloading stuff from the net.

I met with an accident during my second year. Something was wrong with my Hard Disk and since Atish and his friends were not sure if it was a disk problem or something related to the Mother Board, it was decided that I be taken to Nehru Place (NP). So we were going to NP on Sahu's bike when suddenly I slipped out of Atish's hands in the middle of the traffic and went tumbling down the road before finally stopping. I dont know how, but I was still in one piece. No vehicle hit me and the thermocol and the cardboard covering saved me. My hard disk had to be replaced and I was back, alive and kicking.

I was such a vital part of Atish's existence. True, he was not the kind of guy who sat in front of me for hours, playing games or randomly surfing the net or even watching movies. Chat was probably the one thing which kept him occupied the most and during his pre final and final years, TV serials. Yet his room was always a hub of activity and that meant that I was kept busy. The presence of the Creative speakers ensured that almost all the music practice sessions originated from his room as Suhas, Venky, Maddu, Shastri came in with the guitars and the keyboards to figure out the songs. Often he would sit in front of me on the chair with the guitar on his lap, the web page with the chords of a particular song opened and the pluck between his lips, as his hands moved from the keyboard to the strings trying to figure out the song. I found him to be very happy and content during those times.

Then there were the movie screenings when the lights would be switched off and the windows closed (if it was day) and a few friends would bring their pillows and take their positions on the bed. Atish mostly sat on the chair though. Often his friends (mostly Laddu) would make fun of my processor, calling it names like a P3 or even a P2, when some movie clip took a little longer than usual to start, or some application hung up. I remember it was a favourite pastime of Atish and Laddu to discuss whose dabba was better (or worse!). I would like to believe I was, but Laddu always had different views.

In the last couple of years, Wonder Years, Lost, Desperate Housewives, Joey, How I Met You Mother & Scrubs had become Atish's favourite pastimes. I remember during the Diwali break of 2005, he spent two days continuously watching the first season of Lost because he was so 'lost' in it. 24 episodes of 40 minutes each. Figure that out for yourself!

Once my keyboard and mouse had to be changed, the former primarily due to Atish's new found fixation with a black keyboard after his internship (although the old one had become rather difficult to use) and the latter because, it had reached a stage where only he could use it and anyone else who tried his hands on it vowed to throw it out of the window the next time around.

Sometimes Atish also used me to make his assignments! Hard to believe but true. See, basically he hated the labs and the atmosphere there, where a dozen faces would be looking at what you are doing and while all the bright ones would be thinking of ways to optimise their code and make it more elegant and readable and what not, he would probably be struggling just to make it run. So the confines of his room suited him the most and he tried doing his assignments (particularly the ones in Logic, PL and ADA) sitting in front of me, punching out the alphabets and the numbers, frequently dashing off to Pinku's or Laddu's room to seek help and occasionally getting someone to come by if the going got too tough for him. I never thought computer science was meant for him. I seldom saw him enjoying coding. While making the assignments, he was more focussed on selecting the right playlist than anything else. He probably enjoyed writing articles for Kara Update more than coding but we will talk about his love for writing later.

Hmm.. so where were we. LAN, music, movies, serials, assignments. Yes, chatting. he did a lot of that. With his school friends and even the ones in the campus and he attributed his typing speed to just that. I still remember how Laddu used to tease and curse him when he chatted with his girl friends from school.

And finally we come to writing. In the December of 2005, he started blogging, inspired solely by Zubin's blog. Invariably he used to compose his posts late at night, alone, without anyone's disturbance and at one go. I particularly remember the day the IIM interview results were out. It was 3 o' clock in the night as he sat in front of me to pour his heart out. It was sad and I felt bad for him.

I would like to believe that I have been an important entity in his college life and though the plastic cover came off after the second week, yet the occasional cleaning up with Colins ensured that I was better looking than most of my mates. Even in Bangalore, where I have been perhaps the most crucial part of the daaru parties (after the alcohol that is!), the jubiliation that followed my arrival, confirmed that I still had a part to play in his life and that of his friends. But it will never be like those days, in Karakoram. I know he misses hostel and come to think of it, so do I.

Bose Miss

Someone recently told me how my blogs and stories are always about some point in time and rarely about someone. So here's to one of the finest human beings that I have known.

We knew all about her even in standard 3. The transition from Primary to Middle school was not only a matter of changing buildings, there was more to it. We had heard tales of her strictness and her love, of her collection of comic books and the year end party at her home, of her excellence as a teacher of English grammar and Mathematics, of the small hikes that she took her class to and most importantly of her approach to teaching, of changing students forever for the better. So when I was assigned Class IV-B, I knew I was one of the few fortunate ones.

The class was divided into 2 groups named Rose and Lotus if I remember correctly. There were the Red Stars and the Black Stars for your performances in the class tests and your house got points for the same. There was ample incentive to finish the test or any assignment before time. You could then submit your copy and take the keys from her to unlock the cupboard which had the best and the most varied collection of comics that a 4th grader could ever come across. Tintin, Asterix and Archies rubbed shoulders with Nagraj, Chacha Choudari and Super Commando Dhruv. Throw in a few Tinkle, Champak, ChandaMama and some other story books and you have an amazing collection to devour for the entire year. Once every week (or twice maybe) she had the last 2 classes of the day and invariably one of them would be spent outside the class room, playing Dodgeball, Langdi-choo, and all sorts of wierd games. Then there were the Samosa and Jalebi parties which she arranged for in the class room without any notice and quite frequently. Everybody loved her. She was the oldest teacher in school. When we were in 4th grade, our school had completed 25 years. So too had she and we remember the sense of pride in each of us as she was called to the podium to speak about the school on the occasion of the its silver jubilee celebrations. She was easliy the most loved and respected teacher that I ever knew. Till 3rd standard my best performance in class was a mere 69%. In IV-B, I stood second in class and got 84%, the turning point as far as my academics in school were concerned, one which sadly I could never better. The position I mean, not the percentage!

I remember the last day. The famed last day of IV-B when she took all of us to her home. We watched two movies (Deewar. Not the best movie for the occasion though! and another one which I dont remember), played games, all 50 of us, ate Khichdi , I played a few tunes on my Casio SA-1 which I had taken there and came back by the evening. Its been so many years but I can still remember it, not clearly but enough to feel it.

I still have the english grammar copy. The table of tenses; present, past, future and the perfects and the participles, active and passive voice, gerunds and propositions, subject verb agreement, clauses. Important parts underlined in Red ink. It was very much my Wren & Martin. I never needed any and I would like to think I have done just fine. The last time I talked to her was probably class 7 or so. Then we changed buildings and somehow amidst everything, I no longer met her.

She was a lady with a golden heart. For the first month she was very strict and would scold us at the slightest of mistakes. That was her style, to get her students to love and respect her. After the first month, you would never want to hurt her or do anything she wouldnt approve of. She was the best. The best teacher I have ever had, and probably one of the best human beings I have come across. Her name was Mrs. Dora Bose. We called her Bose Miss. The next time I go home, I would try to meet her. Its difficult to say after all these years what would happen but I am sure she would remember the name at least.

Found, Lost & Found Again

School. Seems so far away now. We were kids then. All of us were so different, so naive, unsure of where life would take us, but sure of keeping in touch. Those wonderful friends, the first that we ever made, the groups that we had, the lunches that we ate at each other's houses, the farewell parties that occurred year round in standard twelve, the cricket, the tuitions, the stories, everything seems so removed now, so different from the now that takes up all of our mind's space. Somewhere in between a few friends drifted apart, a few came closer, a few were forgotten and a few rediscovered to be cherished all over again.

Ten pegs of vodka (that's just me by the way!), the best pub in town in which, to quote a friend who took me there for the first time, "It's the music that gets into your head and not the Beer...", and a set of friends to cherish for life. It doesn't get much better than this. All this was prompted by the visit of a friend, a doctor now, one of my closest buddies in school, and probably the one who drifted the farthest apart in the years that followed. They started with Yellow, Wonderwall and Iris and then moved on to Boulevard Of Broken Dreams and some AC DC and Ramstein which I hadn't heard. Then there was Hallowed Be Thy Name and Turn The Page to be followed by Toxicity and after that it was a blurr but yes I remember there was Roadhouse Blues too. We were singing along, arms on each others shoulders and shouting on top of our voices "chadh gayi hai yaar" . The doctor who's high even without drinking was ecstatic to put it mildly. He kept blabbering about school, our group, the times we spent together. It was almost as if the years had been rolled back. We so dearly missed some people. Especially the doctor from Aligarh. Everything was a haze as I somehow read the amount in the bill, made sure to give the waiter a good tip and signed on the debit card slip and grabbed my card. The auto took Rs 50 for a 2 km ride but I was too drunk to argue with him. When I reached home all I remember is that I was high.

He was a very nice guy. Always hyper, a good singer, pertified of exams, chubby, introduced me to english music with MLTR's hit album Someday, fun to be with in general and the best orator I have heard. I still remember his recital of The Highwayman.

The wind was a torrent of darkness upon the gusty trees,
The moon was a ghostly galleon tossed upon cloudy seas.....

Then we went to college. He went to Vellore and I moved to Delhi. He didnt have net access, I didnt call. Initially it was at least the Birthdays and the New Years but slowly even that ended.
And all this while my relation with some friends changed for the better. As the world around us changed and we found oursleves picked up from our nice cozy homes in Bokaro and thrown headlong into it, we changed too. We came closer, got to know each other in a much better way, a more holistic way. Coming back to the friend from Vellore, in short, for all practical purposes we ceased to exist for each other and I only got to know about him through common friends. Sure there were periods of some activity when we met by chance in Bokaro or in Bangalore during my internship but we were more like acquaintances than friends, catching up on stuff we have been doing, generally asking about each other. I didnt like that. We didnt connect. Last year though things slowly started to change. He finished his MBBS, we talked a few times on the phone and he discovered Orkut. So when he got through his PG entrance and said that he would be here for a day, I was totally looking forward to it.

And yesterday night we did connect. Be it in the singing together of Free Falling as I strummed my guitar or the talk of how all of us have ended up doing fine or reminiscing about the school days or talking about what the future holds for each of us or even just abusing each other when totally drunk. And add to it a friend who has perhaps undergone the maximum change from a typical mummy ka laadla to a budding guitarist cum rock enthusiast cum super cool dude to hang out with; the ever confused soon to be married, eternal flirt who has a heart of gold; and the quietest yet a very dear friend (whom I know from Nursery!), and you have a night to remember for a long long time.

School was a great time. No tensions. Success came easily and there were so many people to fall back on. Life was good and easy and simple. We cant possibly hold on to time. What we can though is hold on the people who made it worthwhile, people who have in some small way defined us, people with whom the occasional drink and a chance meeting makes you feel happy to be who you are.
By the way life's still good, just that our demands have increased.

Weekends

My mom would start calling me at around 12 which ensured that by another half an hour I was in the bathroom trying to get the dirt out of my chappals and my feet. The heat, the dust, the window panes, the quarrels, the discarded bus tyre which doubled up as the wicket, the wodden plank which efficiently played the role of a wicketkeeper preventing balls from going behind and also taking catches (will explain that later!), the leg side rules, the lifelines; all formed a part of the weekend ritual that we called Cricket. The world didnt exist for us during those two hours or so. The cries of our mothers would drown out among the appeals and the calls for runs, vegetable gardens would be trampled at times for saving the crucial single and anarchy would rule as about six or seven of us assembled in the little space behind our quarters to play. Only a few shots were productive; the square cut which fetched you four runs if it hit the garage wall, the Sachinesque straight drive which fetched you a couple if it managed to cross over to our neighbour's vegetable garden, and the forward or backfoot defense which accompanied by good calling and running would earn you a single. The fielding positions and the fielders themsleves also demand some looking into. There was the cover point fielder to save the ferocious square cuts and the silly mid-off and the silly mid-on to save the singles. These were the human fielders. The others included a bunch of banana trees positioned strategically at short mid-on to stop the couple, the mango tree at point to save the boundary and most importantly, the wooden plank behind the tyre, hitting which directly amounted to an edge being taken!

Weekends in Bokaro, the place where I grew up, meant cricket, tabla classes and staying at home doing nothing. Sundays were typically spent helping my father clean up the car and the scooter and doing other small odd jobs to help my mom. Back then, the demands were few and satisfcation was easily acquired. There was no "life ke funde" to be pondered upon, no career changing exams to be taken. My parents never told me to study as I did reasonably well in school. I used to eagerly await these weekends. As I grew older, the charm of school also started to grow upon me. Weekends then meant not being able to meet all your pals and more importantly, not being able to talk to the girls. The tabla classes finally made way for study hours at home and then tuitions. The cricket became more civilised and less intense. The career changing exams slowly began to enter my unhurried existence.

I remember my final days in school when our entire gang would get to school during weekends to gossip and play cricket and do a whole lot of insane activities. It was one of the best times ever. As we neared the end of a phase of our lives we came closer to each other. New friends were made and old ones made dearer. There were get togethers in each others houses and farewell parties and what not. It's too much to put as a side topic in this post. Some other day maybe ....

Then college happened. The weekends started to take a whole new meaning and purpose in my life. Wash clothes, go out to eat, catch a movie, meet some friends, visit local guardians to have some good food, get some sleep for the coming week, prepare for hostel events. Virtually everything imaginable had to be crammed in those two days. Assignments were made (if at all!) during weekends, continuously cursing the TA and the Professor responsible.
As the years rolled by and bunking classes became more a habit than an exception, weekends gradually started loosing their uniqueness. Everyday was almost the same and was often identified by the food that we got in the mess which was at its worst during the weekends. Still the feeling that it was an official holiday provided some solace to my conscience.

Now in Bangalore, these weekends have again started to define themselves in a new way. Lazing around in the house, reading books, exploring new places to eat out, having a few friends over. The occasional booze and the bike trip, the very frequent "let's do something this weekend..." discussion. Mostly its just relaxing and doing nothing but sometimes its planning and working for your next step in life.

Somethings almost never change. The amazing feel of a Friday night and the agony of a Monday morning. Getting up late on a Saturday afternoon which almost becomes a defining principle of life. Somethings though, like the backyard cricket match, now seem to belong to a different age.

Memories

It was a bright sunny morning today in Bangalore. I was all alone in the house as my flatmates had either left for work or had gone home for new year. I followed my usual ritual of getting up, doing my daily chores, turning on the geyser, carefully arranging an assortment of songs to be played for the next half an hour on my computer which included aashayein, Lucky Ali and music from "Scrubs" (the most awesome soundtrack a TV series could ever have. Zach Braff rules!). Then I made myself a cup of coffee and stood in the balcony with the sun rays on my back and the music floating out of the hall. I felt wonderful.

My grandparents lived in a place called Silchar, Assam. And every summer vacation, we used to go there for about a month and a half. I remember it as being the best part of the year for me, especially the day the journey was made. The journey had three legs to it. The first leg was covered by a taxi from Bokaro to Dhanbad. The second leg was the train journey from Dhanbad to Howrah. Thereafter an interval followed, spent either at a relative's house or some guest house or (this was my best choice) the DumDum airport. I loved putting up at the airport dormitory. The evenings were spent watching flights take off and land and roaming around the lounge. What more could a kid ask for. It was easily the best day of the year for me. From evening to morning next day when the flight would finally land on Silchar airport I was on a high. I loved every bit of it. The excitement of travelling, the anticipation, the security check, the bus ride to the plane, the climb up the stairs, the airhostesses, the take off, the clouds, the landing, the smiling face of my Nana as we descended the steps from the flight. Boy, it almost felt like heaven.

It was huge two storied house that my Nana lived in. It also had a big garden and a pond or pukur. I remember how I used to sit with my Nana as he explained to me the principles of Profit Loss and Simple Interest. Yes, those were the days of holiday homework! He also had a plethora of bengali story books which I used to read. From Satyajit Ray's legendary Feluda to the more intellectually stimulating Byomkesh Bakshi to folk tales and hunting stories. My mashi also used to live there along with mesho and my cousin brother who was five years younger to me. Teasing him and giving him fundas was a favourite passtime. Evenings used to be spent either playing cricket in the nearby ground with the local boys and my brother's friends or taking a walk by the river Barak. There was no internet and even cable TV was a new concept, two things without which life today would be unimaginable. I used to spend days loitering around the house, watching people do their daily jobs: Nani doing her cooking, Nana tending to the garden along with a servant and playing games with my little brother and just lazing around at times. Oh and there was also a VCP in which we used to watch movies. Haathi Mera Saathi, Tridev, Ghayal... just to name a few!

We also used to have these fishing sessions in the pukur with the most enthusiastic members being my Nana, my mother and I. So I would quietly sit with my Nana at vantage positions patiently waiting for the fishes to take the bait as he went on puffing cigarettes. It was an awesome experience. The tug, the dip, the pull and finally the catch.
Once during my stay a fisherman would also be called with his fishing net. That day was special. Everybody would gather round the pukur (even people from other houses!) as the jele (bengali for fisherman) would cast his net and then slowly pull it out inch by inch. My brother and I went crazy as we saw the fishes sparkling in the sun and jumping about. My brother being more a localite than I, was more adept at handling all this stuff and often I ended up following his lead on how to catch a fish and prevent it from jumping back into the water.

My granparents and others even tried to get me to learn swimming in the pukur. So my Nana and Mashi (both being good swimmers) would jump into the pond along with me holding on to a banana tree log. I was very afraid of water and could barely let go of one of the helping hands even though I had two or three people close to me who would never let me drown. This carried on for a few years and though my braver brother learnt swimming, I didn't. Much later before joining college when I finally did learn how to do it, it seemed surprisingly unscary! (is that a word)

Then there was the ritual of gathering the coconuts from the half a dozen trees in the house (I told you it was a BIG house!). One of the servants would climb up the tree and drop the coconuts into the pond which would later be collected by someone. My Nani used to make delicious sweets out of these coconuts.

Coming back was tough, very tough. I remember my mother, my grandparents, in fact everybody crying. I didnt. The flight from Silchar to Calcutta would be so very different, though I was happy at the prospect of meeting with my Dad after a month or so. He would be waiting at the arrival lounge waving to us. I would run to him and give him a hug. We would soon be headed towards Howrah to catch the train to Dhanbad as he narrated the latest stories from our Steel City, like so and so got Rank 21 in IIT. Yeah, guess that's where my fate was decided to an extent.

My Nana died in '98. Even then I didnt cry. I dont know why, considering how close to him I was. He was the best story teller I ever had. I remember one particular night when he kept on telling me stories till we could see the first rays of the sun. I noticed that in the later years he became so much quieter and indifferent to happenings around him. He would even listen less. It's strange that even as I write all these I can feel my eyes becoming moist. I last went to Silchar in '99 for his annual ritual.

My Nani visited us this October and I met her after six years. She said that the house has changed a lot. The pond has been filled up, the garden is no more there. She also gave me the diamond ring my Nana had. She said that he would have wanted the same. It was such a different time, a different world.

And about the first paragraph, I had set out to write something else but then this came up.

Thoughts

There was a time when your world was controlled by two supreme human beings. The time you woke up from bed, the kind of food you ate, your clothes, TV serials, your future, your decisions; everything was taken care of. You had the simplest of tasks. Simply following them. And on occasions when your mind revolted with the notions of independence and self reliance, there would always be one them to set it right. Yes, we all waited for that period to get over. For most of us, the journey from our mother's lap to school, from middle school to high school, from school life to college life and beyond is a series of events marked by one common thread... the scent of independence. But somehow we keep looking at the past and present, savouring the moments from the past that we miss the most and looking forward to the joys that the future holds for us. At school, college seemed exciting. At college, school seemed so much tension free and job meant crossing the last barrier of independence, and at workplace, college meant so much more fun (not that it didnt, while we are stil in college !). All the while our life keeps getting more and more complex, with new relations, new environments, new challenges to deal with and fewer people to guide, new dillemas and of course new hopes.

In college, I was told, almost to the point of shame, by everyone that cared or bothered, that I had the most time to kill. I was a total vella. Somehow I never had anything to do or so was portrayed by the life I lead there. I didnt study, I bunked most classes, I had no girlfriend to look after, I was not particularly a party going fellow (not that there was always one happening around). People always found me in my room doing nothing worthwhile, reading a novel, listening to music, playing guitar at times, gossiping with friends (my room was one of the hot spots for all these gossips!), staring at my computer...

Amazingly, here, I dont find time to do all the things that I want to. I have about a dozen novels lined up to be read, each one bought very thoughtfully, ones that I want to read slowly, allowing them to sink in. I have my new guitar on which I want to play so many things that I cant even start to list them. Yet again I am sitting for a competitive exam in about 3 months time and I want to crack it badly to give my ego a boost. I want to follow the EPL and India's rape by the South Africans. I want to roam around in my new bike and visit new places. I want to eat at all the good joints in Bangalore and become an authority on food. I want to learn cooking and cook delicious meals. I want to be able to watch all the movies in town. I want to buy things before my parents come to visit me in December. I want to plan out a great weekend when some of my college mates come here in December. Yes, I am doing some of this but for the first time in many years, I feel I dont have the time. I am totally on my own, with no responsibilities, no liabilities, free to do whatever I want and its a totally amazing feeling.

The other day I was cleaning up my bike. I had this bucket of water and a piece of cloth. It was a Saturday morning and everything around had an air of calmness to it. The instant I dipped the cloth in the bucket of water, my mind raced back to those days when I would be doing the same thing along with my father. Just that it would be a Sunday morning and the vehicles would be a car and a scooter. It was so much fun. Getting to play with soap and water, at times getting to start the car and just press the accelerator as my father did something under the bonnet or even trying to start the scooter by putting my whole weight on the kick. And suddenly I was missing everything. The joy, the innocence, the look on my father's face as we ended the cleaning up, the sparkle on our white FIAT as it stood in the sun, my mother's cries as we entered the house all soiled and messy.

Life's always about living the small moments. You think too much about the consequences and the moment's gone. Today I read one of my friend's blog about his annual visit to his nani's place. It reminded me of my annual affair. Guess that warrants a post soon.

In the weekend when I rang up home, my father said that he was planning on applying for VRS. In case you dont know what that is, it's the Voluntary Retirement Scheme. He asked for my opinion. I took the safe option of telling him to do whatever pleases him the most. He says he's tired of working, doesnt want to do it anymore, has had enough. It's a strange feeling, frightening at times. Seeing your parents grow old, get tired.

My life's always been pretty predictable. Especially seeing what some of my friends are going through, I think mine is like a bland salad as compared to theirs' which is like a sizzler. Its a different fact that some are loving the sizzler and some are hating it. I have seen people fall out of love and get on the verge of making a mess of themselves and then fortunately recovering, people talking of getting engaged to their soul mate after an in and out relationship for nearly 2 years and some others still who claim I never knew the real them, talking of things which make little sense to me and sadden me. Mine on the contrary has been very calm. There's no turmoil so to speak, not on the outside, not on the inside. I have tried to stop lamenting about the missed opportunities and thinking about the things that could have been. I am more content at capturing the little moments without any inhibitions. I'm sure it's a long road and my share of excitement is bound to come by.

Thank You For The Music - 2

It would be our last night out together. He was leaving the next day and though the two of us would stay for another year, things wouldn't ever be the same again. In the four years that we had been together the thought of doing this had crossed our minds several times and subsequently, we had spent many night outs singing songs for hostel events as well as just for the pure pleasure it gave us. But the reality of the last night out was what it took to finally get a cheap headphone and an amazing piece of software to record some of the songs we had sung and tunes we had played, henceforth to be remembered as "aakhri nite out"

"Do you sing?" asked the Music Rep of my hostel. It was the summer of 2001 and we were being "ragged". "No, but I can play the tabla nad a bit of congo, Sir" , I said, almost too embarassed to state that I didn't play something cooler like guitar or drums. "Tabla! ok let's see what all you can play"

I still remember the day of our Fresher's Music event. It was the 17th of August 2001 and my Rep had asked me to come running to the hostel immediately after finishing the first Quiz of my college life. It was on Applied Mechanics. There were three songs lined up for the event. "Nights in Blue Satin" would take care of the Western Song, I was playing the Congo in "Chale Chalo" - the Eastern Group Song and the tabla for the solo instrumental. As Venkat and myself started on the mandolin and congo respectively to begin "Chale Chalo", I felt a strange calm descend on me. It was the first stage performance where I had a significant role and I simply loved it.
We came first and one of the most cherished moments of my college life was my hostel mates almost picking me up and dancing on the SAC floor. I felt ecstatic.

I was fortunate to be one of the very few tabla players in the campus and as a result people had to bear with whatever I dished out. So for the first three years of my stay in college, I played in almost each and every event; often pushing in the instrument even if it was not needed just to add to the classical touch. In singing events that we had, for some strange reason there were no points for the accompanying instruments. This meant that in one particular Ghazal Night in which I was the Music Rep of my hostel, I ended up playing tabla for 7 hostels out of the 9. My hostel finished 5th and two of the others for whom I played, ended up 2nd and 3rd. Not bad, ha!!

In my first year we had this fourth yearite who was the best Drummer in the institute and folks from my hostel said that he always hoped that there would be a tabla player so that we could fuse the two instruments and do a sawal jawab in the Fusion Night event (till then the most happening event in the Music Club).

It was a chilling January morning and the time was around 5 o'clock, as we stepped out of the hostel to go the the institute music room (which had the only Drum set) to have the last practice for the Fusion Night. We were almost sure of clinching it. We had a few tunes from Indian Ocean to be played on the Electric Guitar along with the drums and the tabla, a very melodious piece on the synthesizer which was to be played by one of my seniors who of all people I have met had the keenest music sense. Be it keyboard or guitar he could figure out tunes, chords, harmonies with ease. His rythym sense was fantastic and was a true asset to the hostel and the institute. All of us in the first year simply adored him, more so because of the lovable person that he was.
Anyway, the real attraction was to be the jugalbandi between the drums and the tabla.

As the judge stepped on to the stage in the Convocation Hall, all of us could feel the tension in the air. We had made a few mistakes here and there but come on, no other hostel had a drummer and a tabla player. Worst come worst we would be second, I thought.
"The drummer from Karakoram was fantastic."
Cheers!!
"The tabla player was also good."
Yipee!!
Second Runners Up ............
OK. Good. Now we are either first or second.
First Runners Up .............
Cool. We have almost made it. Just announce it quickly will you.......
And the winner for this evening is .........

I dont even remember which hostel came first. All I remember is that they had played some crap. We were crestfallen. We cursed anyone even remotely associated with the event. In hindsight though, it was to be the most important lesson as far as playing in events was concerned. Never play for the result, play for the fun. Never play for the stage, revel in the practices.

What followed was the costliest and the biggest (in terms of sheer quantity) treats that any Music Rep has ever given to his team in our only hostel cafetaria.
KL? Cafeteria? Anyway...

We mostly lost in the music events. Initially it hurt. Later on it didn't matter. At least not to me. and it was true even when I was the Cultural Secy of my hostel. I was anyway not the "play for win" kind of a guy ever in my life. I took whatever came to me in my stride.

In the meanwhile I also tried my hands at drums and though the process lasted only about a month or so, it was fun. Helped by my senior I practised everyday in the music room and given my rythym sense, I could say unabashedly that I was a fast learner. The pinnacle of my stint as a drummer was the House Day perormance where I played drums with the instrumental rendition of the MI theme and a part of Metallica's Nomad. Take my word for it, it was a hit!

Amidst all this I was spotted by a certain stud. Stud Singh for all those who have ever been to my college! So along with a Mohan Veena , Violin and Guitar player and perhaps the best classical vocalist of my college we formed a fusion group. To say I enjoyed the association would be a gross understatement. We spent time composing tunes on certain Ragas (I mostly listened though!) figuring out jugalbandi between tabla, ghatam and the pakhawaj, trying out pieces from Mrigya, playing Vande Mataram on the mohan veena accompanied by the tabla, singing bhajans and ghazals. It was probably the most enriching experience that I have ever had as far as music is concerned. There was so much to learn from each of them. We became quite popular in the campus and it was fun to be congratulated on the superb performance in the inauguration of the Tryst or Rendezvous. I think I upped my tabla playing abilities by a few notches during those days.

So while I went about trying to fulfil my craving for playing the tabla, there were performances by the stalwarts of Indian Classical Music in our campus which left me dumbstruck in awe and amazement and gasping for more. I didn't look for company to go to these concerts and remember in my first year attending a Ravi Shankar, Anoushka Shankar concert in the Siri Fort Auditorium , sitting in the steps all by myself. In the campus itself I was fortunate to see Pt. Shiv Kumar Sharma, Pt. Vishwa Mohan Bhatt, Ustad Bismillah Khan, Pt Hari Prasad Chaurasia, Dr. L Subramaniam, some of them , multiple times, accompanied by the lesser known but no less talented tabla players like Ustad Shafat Ahmed Khan. It was heavenly. At the end of the concerts as the performers stirred up a storm with their amazing speed and dexterity, it seemed almost out of the world. Throats went dry and heartbeats became faster. God I miss those days.

I never wanted to be stereotyped as someone who listened to a particular type of music or played only a particular type of instrument and so always wanted to learn playing the guitar. You see, tabla was great, it's one of the most difficult and beautiful instruments. There's nothing like hearing to a tabla player in full flow. But as a college goer there was only one thing which was cool. Singing songs with friends and playing the guitar alongside. I knew I could sing at a certain level which would hopefully prevent my listeners from throwing footwear at me. So the fact that one of the nicest guys around and a very good guitar player was one of my closest buddies coupled with the realisation of the approach of a two month long summer vacation of nothingness, prompted me to finally take the plunge and get the first few lessons from him to be honed at home.

My first and until recently, only guitar was a Hobner Jumbo and boy, I remember the first chord I played on it . It was wonderful. It was the summer of 2003 and spirits were high. G C D & Em formed my life. I was sure of why I wanted to play the guitar and so it made things easy. I never wanted to be a Joe Satriani ( I didnt even know his name back then) and so I concentrated on learning to play the easiest chords. My mother bore the brunt of it all. From morning till night I would keep playing (rather try playing) chords at random The thrill of learning was mine again and it was awesome. It was painstaking and boring at times but I somehow kept my interest levels up with the vision of singing "Take It Easy" and "Every Rose has its Thorn" firmly embedded in my eyes.

As third year started I began playing the guitar more freely. My guru would teach me all the songs he knew which meant that we ended up knowing the same songs and no more. There was also the thrill of taking the guitar along on visits to my home. Yeah there was the rare occasion of a few girls (ya you heard me right , Girls!) saying to me the lines I always dream to hear whenever I carry my guitar along with me .."So you play the Guitar.....Kuch bajao na..."
Soon I was the dependable rythym guitarist of my hostel, doing all the easy chord playing while others played the leads. I loved it all the way. My first appearance with the guitar was the most beautiful song I have heard called "Dust In The Wind".. (that's where the title of my blog comes from) and do I even need to say it, we came first.

Then there was that incident where about five or six of us sat on the road in front of the hostel through the entire night, waiting for the keys to the music room to arrive. There was some dirty politics involved in it and I dont wish to reproduce the details here. But it was the most amazing of nights as we sat in the middle of the road waiting for the keys to come, frustrated, angry and amused at the same time. Somebody brought maggi for all of us and we sang a few songs. It was dreamlike.

Meanwhile many events went by. We won some. We lost more. I managed to see some fabulous performances. "More than Words" by Francis and Baijal, "Comfortably Numb" by Mohit, Amitabh Basu on his keyboard (it didnt matter what he played), Jwala on the second year Eastern Night with Basu on keyboards, Jeet on the Mohan Veena and Aravind on the Violin... there are too many to name. Through all of this I came close to so many people, mostly from my hostel. So there was our synth player who graduated from figuring out and playing chords (which he was by the way very good at) to playing Fur Elise and Moonlight Sonata , who became the epitome of determination for many of us, the level headed, wierd at times, genius, the boy house wardens want parents to meet when their kids come to the hostel. Then there was our lead guitarist whose antics generally started after midnight as he plugged in his guitar and distortion, the bundle of energy and enthusiasm, whose rendering of "Toxicity" in the first Distortionaire is something I would never forget. And there was my guitar guru. When he sang "Baby can I hold you tonight" at 3 in the morning, it brought goosebumps.

In the last year in college I had all but stopped playing anything. I didn't learn anything new, the thrill, it seemed, was gone. Coming here though I have realised that I cant live without music. And I don't mean listening to it, I mean playing something, singing to myself. So as I sit in my room with my new Yamaha acoustic guitar trying out "More than words" a sense of pleasure fills me. The joy of doing something to your hearts content.

People who know me say and I myself like to believe that I have a sense of music . If you ask me I won't be able to describe to you in words exactly what it means. The point is as long as I have this sense I would like to keep playing something and it doesnt matter to me whether it's the cool guitar or the classical tabla (or maybe some other instrument someday!)

By the way, if you have managed to reached this far, firstly thanks a ton, and if you still remember the mention of the Applied Mechanics Quiz in the beginning, I scored -1.5. No that's not a typo!

Thank you for the Music.

Change Revisited....

It's a subject that has begun to fascinate me more and more since the time I pondered on the change that was about to happen, as I entered the last days of my college life. Till then though I somehow only thought of it at a very individual level: change in environment, change in the people living around you, different routines. different hang out places. My visit to home this time (the first one as an employed son !) opened for me a new perspective.

There are certain things in life which you take for granted. Or at least I did. Things which to you are eternal. For me it was my hometown. No I am not talking about the physical appearance of the city of my childhood. I am talking about its feels. Its sounds and flavours so as to speak. As kids, Durga Puja was one of the most eagerly awaited events of the whole year and although the attractions changed from getting gas balloons and riding the merry-go-round as a 5 year old to checking out the prettiest girls in town all dressed up as 10th graders and roaming around the city in one's father's scooters (sadly the dad's in my hometown prefer a scooter over a bike), yet the charm stayed the same, unaffected by the growing years.

This time around, as I stood in the pandal with one of my friends, I realised (and this was something which had hit me a few years back also) that we no longer enjoyed it as we used to. The thrill was gone, we were too old for the merry-go-rounds and too young for enjoying the spiritual/religious aspect of it. There were almost no known faces and we were only going through the motions trying to recapitulate what thrilled us as schoolboys. I guess it's but natural that you outgrow your childhood joys and start enjoying newer more mature things but even then it sort of hit me hard.

At home as my father came to me to ask about the nittie-gritties of the latest Digi-Cam that I had brought for him, my mind went back to the days when the roles were reversed and my father would be unravelling for me the mysteries of the newest remote control car that he had brought from Calcutta. I met my grandmother after 6 years. For her mine was a transition straight from school to that of an employed youth. She was delighted and nostalgic at the same time and we spent a lot of moments reminiscing about the days when grandmothers and grandfathers were the most caring and the best humans on earth. As for me I could see that she had grown old. There were the usual joint pains and the daily dose of medicine. A far cry from the Nani who would make me stand on her feet while she sat down and then swing me for as long as I wanted.

When you go home on a vacation, it's mainly for the two things that matter a lot in your life: your family and your friends from the school days. And like family you always expect your friends to be there or at least their families to be there. This time around as I parted with one of my closest buddies I realised that I didnt know when I would meet him next. His father would be retiring on March next year and so his family is moving out. It was as if a defining principle of your existence was being challenged. I always expected home to be this way. Meet family , hang out with old friends, go to their houses irrespective of their being there or not at that moment to feast on the various dishes that their mothers would prepare once intimidated of my arrival! All that was slowly changing. And then I realised that my father would also be retiring in a few years and leaving for Kolkata where he has built a house.

I guess all the while the world around us is changing in its various forms. Sometimes the changes are shattering and sometimes too subtle to catch our imagination. It's only when we sit back and retrospect that we find the way things have changed: relations, perspectives, roles, everything. On a slightly different note, ever since I started maintaining a blog, I think I have become more aware of everything around me. Someone once said to me "The more you write, the more you will have things to write about..." . Now I can fully understand what he meant.