Hi I am driver Jagannath and I drive master Ravi’s Swift. He is a good man this master Ravi but he doesn’t know a thing about driving and I wish he would simply stay out of it. Instead he tries backseat driving all the time.
Take his ridiculous idea about speed for instance. He insists that I restrict to driving at 60 kms per hour. On the Highway ? Come on if you drive at less than 100 kms per hour it is a sign of disrespect to the highway as well as its builders. I am of the firm opinion that even in the narrow bylanes of Ghatkopar which we traverse everyday, anything less than 100 kms is an insult to the car, the roads and the engineers who conceived these narrow bylanes. When I express my views to master, Ravi he wonders as to where I got my licence from. Come on, I got it from the RTO. Also, although I am not much of a reading man I have heard of someone called James Bond and his 007 licence. Now 007 gives a man the licence to kill. Once you have a legitimate driving licence, in my opinion it is really up to the population (pedestrians) to take care of themselves. Did James Bond ever hesitate while using his licence? Why should I?
Take master Ravi’s other silly idea. Don’t get into confrontations on the road, he says. Remember to not get into silly arguments with BEST buses, the huge Volvo tourist vehicles and myriad lorries who simply get in the way of a man discharging his fundamental responsibilities on the road. Come on I know better. I have driven tourist vehicles in my earlier jobs and let me tell you that they didn’t win all the arguments. Yes the Swift may occasionally get a few scratches and even get smashed up. These are occupational hazards. Anyway, he has insurance. These cowards—how do they get to own cars in the first place. On top of that the guy doesn’t pay me properly. And he expects me to be on call. Oh God, he is calling me again. I will have to stop now folks and will update you later.
Post Script: This is master Ravi here although I have personally considered myself to be nothing more than a slave to Jagannath’s driving. I called Jagannath to inform him that after considering various options like buying hefty term insurance, I have decided to sack him. Thanks to that, I hope to celebrate my next birthday.
Sunday, November 28, 2010
Wednesday, October 20, 2010
Celebrating Ganesha
This year’s Ganesha festival which was celebrated last month proved to be one with a difference for me. A mix of circumstances which began with my wife falling sick resulted in my performing the prayer. Usually, I was very happy to let my wife do it and prior to my marriage my father conducted the prayers. This has been in keeping with my nature of not being a great believer in rituals despite being a firm believer in God.
Well to perform the prayer, I had to get into traditional clothes and on earlier occasions I have made an issue of these things. This year though I got into them without any fuss and sat cross legged on the floor. I repeated the mantras after my father who read them out to me. The prayer lasted for about half an hour or so.
At the end of it all, it was time to ring the traditional bell, bow to the lord and seek his blessings. Strangely, after all this I was filled with a sense of peace and satisfaction. Maybe not the same peace that I felt at the Samadhi of the Father of the Nation at Rajghat.
http://glimpsesintolife.blogspot.com/2009/11/connecting-with-mahatma.html
A peace nevertheless.
Next day it was time for the immersion. Normally since the day after the Ganesh festival is a working day (which is the immersion day for many Tamilians), I have rarely been for these. Since, the next day was a Sunday, I went to immerse the statue of the Lord along with my mother at an artificially created lake near my house. We handed over the statue of Lord Ganesha to a young person who swam a bit and then immersed the idol. As I caught a glimpse of the Lord bobbing up and down with the sacred thread draped around it, I was filled with a senses of peace, quiet and joy. An image that has been captured in my mind in way no high resolution camera can. As the poet said “The music in my heart I bore, long after it was heard no more.”
Well to perform the prayer, I had to get into traditional clothes and on earlier occasions I have made an issue of these things. This year though I got into them without any fuss and sat cross legged on the floor. I repeated the mantras after my father who read them out to me. The prayer lasted for about half an hour or so.
At the end of it all, it was time to ring the traditional bell, bow to the lord and seek his blessings. Strangely, after all this I was filled with a sense of peace and satisfaction. Maybe not the same peace that I felt at the Samadhi of the Father of the Nation at Rajghat.
http://glimpsesintolife.blogspot.com/2009/11/connecting-with-mahatma.html
A peace nevertheless.
Next day it was time for the immersion. Normally since the day after the Ganesh festival is a working day (which is the immersion day for many Tamilians), I have rarely been for these. Since, the next day was a Sunday, I went to immerse the statue of the Lord along with my mother at an artificially created lake near my house. We handed over the statue of Lord Ganesha to a young person who swam a bit and then immersed the idol. As I caught a glimpse of the Lord bobbing up and down with the sacred thread draped around it, I was filled with a senses of peace, quiet and joy. An image that has been captured in my mind in way no high resolution camera can. As the poet said “The music in my heart I bore, long after it was heard no more.”
Celebrating Ganesha
This year’s Ganesha festival which was celebrated last month proved to be one with a difference for me. A mix of circumstances which began with my wife falling sick resulted in my performing the prayer. Usually, I was very happy to let my wife do it and prior to my marriage my father conducted the prayers. This has been in keeping with my nature of not being a great believer in rituals despite being a firm believer in God.
Well to perform the prayer, I had to get into traditional clothes and on earlier occasions I have made an issue of these things. This year though I got into them without any fuss and sat cross legged on the floor. I repeated the mantras after my father who read them out to me. The prayer lasted for about half an hour or so.
At the end of it all, it was time to ring the traditional bell, bow to the lord and seek his blessings. Strangely, after all this I was filled with a sense of peace and satisfaction. Maybe not the same peace that I felt at the Samadhi of the Father of the Nation at Rajghat.
http://glimpsesintolife.blogspot.com/2009/11/connecting-with-mahatma.html
A peace nevertheless.
Next day it was time for the immersion. Normally since the day after the Ganesh festival is a working day (which is the immersion day for many Tamilians), I have rarely been for these. Since, the next day was a Sunday, I went to immerse the statue of the Lord along with my mother at an artificially created lake near my house. We handed over the statue of Lord Ganesha to a young person who swam a bit and then immersed the idol. As I caught a glimpse of the Lord bobbing up and down with the sacred thread draped around it, I was filled with a senses of peace, quiet and joy. An image that has been captured in my mind in way no high resolution camera can. As the poet said “The music in my heart I bore, long after it was heard no more.”
Well to perform the prayer, I had to get into traditional clothes and on earlier occasions I have made an issue of these things. This year though I got into them without any fuss and sat cross legged on the floor. I repeated the mantras after my father who read them out to me. The prayer lasted for about half an hour or so.
At the end of it all, it was time to ring the traditional bell, bow to the lord and seek his blessings. Strangely, after all this I was filled with a sense of peace and satisfaction. Maybe not the same peace that I felt at the Samadhi of the Father of the Nation at Rajghat.
http://glimpsesintolife.blogspot.com/2009/11/connecting-with-mahatma.html
A peace nevertheless.
Next day it was time for the immersion. Normally since the day after the Ganesh festival is a working day (which is the immersion day for many Tamilians), I have rarely been for these. Since, the next day was a Sunday, I went to immerse the statue of the Lord along with my mother at an artificially created lake near my house. We handed over the statue of Lord Ganesha to a young person who swam a bit and then immersed the idol. As I caught a glimpse of the Lord bobbing up and down with the sacred thread draped around it, I was filled with a senses of peace, quiet and joy. An image that has been captured in my mind in way no high resolution camera can. As the poet said “The music in my heart I bore, long after it was heard no more.”
Tuesday, September 21, 2010
RIP: Dr Sethna
“You guys write anything,” said the elderly gentleman across the table to us two journalists-myself and another colleague. The gentleman in question was Dr H N Sethna, the man who was the driving spirit behind India’s first peaceful nuclear explosion in 1974 and we were meeting him in his capacity as the chairman of the Tata Power Company. Dr Sethna was clearly making known his disdain for journalists. At that time (around 1997) I was a correspondent with a leading business daily tracking the power beat and my senior colleague who was covering the Tata group had arranged for this meeting. It was in some ways a dream come true for me as I was aware of the history of the man and also getting to meet the chairman of any Tata Group comp any was not easy for a junior journalist like me.
To get back to the meeting, my senior colleague protested and laughed his way out of the rhetorical statement while Dr Sethna too answered his questions with considerable vim and vigor. After that meeting I didn’t have the pleasure of meeting him on a one –on-one basis although I did meet him at the company annual general meetings.
It was the last annual general meeting that he chaired where I had another interesting conversation with Dr Sethna. I had been tipped off before the meeting that he was going to step down on that day. Sure enough he did. As he walked off at the end of the meeting, I had to ask him the question: Why? “I am too old,” he shot back as he walked away. What he meant was that he had attained the age of 75 under which Tata Group none-executive directors had to step down at that time. I could not help chuckling at this.
A fortnight back, when I read about his death at the ripe old age of 86, memories of my two meetings with him came flooding back. I could not help smiling again at the thought of my last meeting with him. Or at the thought of the message that was sent when India successfully tested its first nuclear bomb in 1974: The Buddha has smiled. For India’s rivals who got the message loud and clear, it was no laughing matter.
RIP: Dr Sethna
To get back to the meeting, my senior colleague protested and laughed his way out of the rhetorical statement while Dr Sethna too answered his questions with considerable vim and vigor. After that meeting I didn’t have the pleasure of meeting him on a one –on-one basis although I did meet him at the company annual general meetings.
It was the last annual general meeting that he chaired where I had another interesting conversation with Dr Sethna. I had been tipped off before the meeting that he was going to step down on that day. Sure enough he did. As he walked off at the end of the meeting, I had to ask him the question: Why? “I am too old,” he shot back as he walked away. What he meant was that he had attained the age of 75 under which Tata Group none-executive directors had to step down at that time. I could not help chuckling at this.
A fortnight back, when I read about his death at the ripe old age of 86, memories of my two meetings with him came flooding back. I could not help smiling again at the thought of my last meeting with him. Or at the thought of the message that was sent when India successfully tested its first nuclear bomb in 1974: The Buddha has smiled. For India’s rivals who got the message loud and clear, it was no laughing matter.
RIP: Dr Sethna
Wednesday, August 18, 2010
Yoga & Hari Om
“Hari OM,”said the voice at the other end of the phone. “Hari OM”, I returned. “What a wonderful thing it is to hear Ravi say the name of the Lord,” my wife interjected. This was prompted by the well known fact that, I am not religious by nature despite being a firm believer in God.
To get back to the telephone conversation, the voice on the phone was my Yoga teacher Shyamjee, asking when he should come over the next day. After finalizing the timing, I began ruminating on the change that Yoga and more specifically Shyamjee had wrought in my life. I had become a calmer person and reoriented my focus on life with a firm emphasis on health.
“Consider this body to be your property and remember that it is priceless. People spend all their lives running after money but spare little time to look after their health. What is the use of all the money in the world if your health is damaged? So many world leaders are able to spare sometime to look after their health Are you busier than them,” Shyamjee would say every week as we did Yoga.
The simple truths of life. Something which all of us forget as we go about the business of life and living. Simple truths brought home to me by Shyamjee every Saturday and Sunday while learning Yoga from him.
While teaching me to breathe in and breathe out he would say, “Remember it is this very breath that keeps us alive. It is this very breath that is the source of life”. Again life’s meaning explained at the simplest possible level. Life itself stripped to the bare essentials. These are insights I look have been looking forward to every weekend. And of course to hearing Hari OM.
Please click on link below to read related post
http://glimpsesintolife.blogspot.com/2010/02/yoga-and-new-year-resolutions.html
To get back to the telephone conversation, the voice on the phone was my Yoga teacher Shyamjee, asking when he should come over the next day. After finalizing the timing, I began ruminating on the change that Yoga and more specifically Shyamjee had wrought in my life. I had become a calmer person and reoriented my focus on life with a firm emphasis on health.
“Consider this body to be your property and remember that it is priceless. People spend all their lives running after money but spare little time to look after their health. What is the use of all the money in the world if your health is damaged? So many world leaders are able to spare sometime to look after their health Are you busier than them,” Shyamjee would say every week as we did Yoga.
The simple truths of life. Something which all of us forget as we go about the business of life and living. Simple truths brought home to me by Shyamjee every Saturday and Sunday while learning Yoga from him.
While teaching me to breathe in and breathe out he would say, “Remember it is this very breath that keeps us alive. It is this very breath that is the source of life”. Again life’s meaning explained at the simplest possible level. Life itself stripped to the bare essentials. These are insights I look have been looking forward to every weekend. And of course to hearing Hari OM.
Please click on link below to read related post
http://glimpsesintolife.blogspot.com/2010/02/yoga-and-new-year-resolutions.html
Monday, May 24, 2010
The Madrasi Ghost
“Rocky, Rocky, Rock,” a bunch of boys cried out. They were not cheering Sylvester Stallone. Nor were they cheering Sanjay Dutt in his debut movie Rocky where he rode a motorbike with panache. Instead, what followed after the cries was that a 50 something man with a balding pate, rode into sight on his scooty. The boys in his neighbourhood which included yours truly were giving him three cheers as he rode about with the legitimate purpose of getting on with his life.
Now Brahmbhatt aka Rocky was obviously irritated by these cries but ,since he found himself being surrounded by a bunch of boys whose numerical strength was strong enough to fill a cricket team, he chose the path of discretion over valour. Of course he would let out the occasional cry of rage which used to only amuse us boys further.
On one matter though Brahmbhatt had the upper hand. The cricket ball would often sail into his house which was on the ground floor, when some audacious batsman decided to play his shot. If the Englishman believes his home to be his castle, Brahmbhatt actually regarded his as a fort. Naturally, he had his say while we boys stood around half amused. After a few minutes the ball would be tossed back to us and then it was business as usual. On one such occasion when the ball sailed into his house, we were standing around as usual while Rocky went about having his say. My brother Balaji too decided to express his opinion with a hearty laugh. Rocky turned around wildly and asked my brother in Hindi “ Thoo kya hasta hai re Madrasi Bhooth” (Why are you laughing you South Indian Ghost). That of course brought the house down. Apart from that it raised the important question, Is there a community\caste system in the spirit world? I haven’t been figure out the answer to that one nearly a quarter century later and would appreciate someone throwing light on the issue.
Now Brahmbhatt aka Rocky was obviously irritated by these cries but ,since he found himself being surrounded by a bunch of boys whose numerical strength was strong enough to fill a cricket team, he chose the path of discretion over valour. Of course he would let out the occasional cry of rage which used to only amuse us boys further.
On one matter though Brahmbhatt had the upper hand. The cricket ball would often sail into his house which was on the ground floor, when some audacious batsman decided to play his shot. If the Englishman believes his home to be his castle, Brahmbhatt actually regarded his as a fort. Naturally, he had his say while we boys stood around half amused. After a few minutes the ball would be tossed back to us and then it was business as usual. On one such occasion when the ball sailed into his house, we were standing around as usual while Rocky went about having his say. My brother Balaji too decided to express his opinion with a hearty laugh. Rocky turned around wildly and asked my brother in Hindi “ Thoo kya hasta hai re Madrasi Bhooth” (Why are you laughing you South Indian Ghost). That of course brought the house down. Apart from that it raised the important question, Is there a community\caste system in the spirit world? I haven’t been figure out the answer to that one nearly a quarter century later and would appreciate someone throwing light on the issue.
Sunday, May 16, 2010
A Tale of Three Children
Recently over the weekend, I had the pleasure of taking three kids out to Big Mac.– My four plus son Sanjiv, and two eleven year old’s –my brother’s daughter Diksha and my cousin sister’s son Manav. As I saw the three of them tuck contentedly into French fries and McVeggie, I was reminded of the birth of all three children.
The moment the phone rang on December 11, 1998 we my parents and I knew instinctively that my sister in law had been hospitalized. We quickly rushed to the hospital in Mahim where all the children in my sister in law’s family had been born. It was a long wait made longer by our anxiety. Finally, a nurse came out carrying what I can only describe as a pink bundle. It was the most delightful shade of pink that I had ever seen in my life, the memory of which was made sweeter by the fact that, I was the first person to see the child.
I saw Manav during a visit to Chennai, about two months after he was born. He was such a small baby at that time, I exclaimed that he was in fact Adhi Manav. I still tease him about the incident about which obviously he has no recollection.
Finally, Sanjiv. My wife had been in the labour room for a while when the doctor, came out of carrying my son. I was clearly frightened when I realized that she was going to drop the child in my lap. I had till then followed a prudent policy of lifting only children after they had crossed a year. I was trying to explain this to the doctor when she said quietly but firmly—“it is your child and you have to take
responsibility for him”, dropped him into my lap and my life. Needless to say that has been the story of my life since then.
The moment the phone rang on December 11, 1998 we my parents and I knew instinctively that my sister in law had been hospitalized. We quickly rushed to the hospital in Mahim where all the children in my sister in law’s family had been born. It was a long wait made longer by our anxiety. Finally, a nurse came out carrying what I can only describe as a pink bundle. It was the most delightful shade of pink that I had ever seen in my life, the memory of which was made sweeter by the fact that, I was the first person to see the child.
I saw Manav during a visit to Chennai, about two months after he was born. He was such a small baby at that time, I exclaimed that he was in fact Adhi Manav. I still tease him about the incident about which obviously he has no recollection.
Finally, Sanjiv. My wife had been in the labour room for a while when the doctor, came out of carrying my son. I was clearly frightened when I realized that she was going to drop the child in my lap. I had till then followed a prudent policy of lifting only children after they had crossed a year. I was trying to explain this to the doctor when she said quietly but firmly—“it is your child and you have to take
responsibility for him”, dropped him into my lap and my life. Needless to say that has been the story of my life since then.
Sunday, April 25, 2010
Malaysia Musings
A cup of filter coffee in one hand, while one tries to do justice to a plate of idli-vada with the other hand even as a hit song from the Tamil film in which popular actor Karthik made his debut blares in the background.
Chennai in the 1980s? Actually no. It is Kuala Lumpur, Malaysia in 2010. As I sip the coffee and drink in the atmosphere I could not but experience a sense of déjà vu of being back in the Chennai or Madras as it was then know of my boyhood. After one steps outside the hotel though all thoughts of being in Chennai disappear. There can be no mistaking the fact that one is in Malaysia or at least the fact that it is not Chennai. Despite, the significant strides that India has made as a nation in the last five years, despite remaining relatively unaffected by the global economic meltdown, India lags far behind other countries when it comes to infrastructure. What all this has resulted is in that while the India story has been good in terms of improving the income levels of at least a certain section of the population, it hasn’t translated into a better quality of life for Indians
Despite this shortcoming there is a sense of pride as one goes about ones business in an elite Kuala Lumpur shopping mall. It only reconfirms my impression that today there is nothing lacking in India. The old paradigm of Indians going abroad for their shopping and then showing off to their neighbors is gone forever. Add to this that fact that India is a vibrant democracy where one can freely speak one’s mind and you realize that you have got a good deal in India. Sure it is a democracy that is flawed. Sure one would give a lot for uninterrupted supply of water and power. And yes, the roads can be much better. But then India has managed to marry democracy and growth. Not many countries from the developing world have managed that particular combination. As India continues its journey on the road less traveled all one wants to make the journey complete is good, clean roads. Then the dream would continue when gets out of a Kuala Lumpur hotel next time.
Chennai in the 1980s? Actually no. It is Kuala Lumpur, Malaysia in 2010. As I sip the coffee and drink in the atmosphere I could not but experience a sense of déjà vu of being back in the Chennai or Madras as it was then know of my boyhood. After one steps outside the hotel though all thoughts of being in Chennai disappear. There can be no mistaking the fact that one is in Malaysia or at least the fact that it is not Chennai. Despite, the significant strides that India has made as a nation in the last five years, despite remaining relatively unaffected by the global economic meltdown, India lags far behind other countries when it comes to infrastructure. What all this has resulted is in that while the India story has been good in terms of improving the income levels of at least a certain section of the population, it hasn’t translated into a better quality of life for Indians
Despite this shortcoming there is a sense of pride as one goes about ones business in an elite Kuala Lumpur shopping mall. It only reconfirms my impression that today there is nothing lacking in India. The old paradigm of Indians going abroad for their shopping and then showing off to their neighbors is gone forever. Add to this that fact that India is a vibrant democracy where one can freely speak one’s mind and you realize that you have got a good deal in India. Sure it is a democracy that is flawed. Sure one would give a lot for uninterrupted supply of water and power. And yes, the roads can be much better. But then India has managed to marry democracy and growth. Not many countries from the developing world have managed that particular combination. As India continues its journey on the road less traveled all one wants to make the journey complete is good, clean roads. Then the dream would continue when gets out of a Kuala Lumpur hotel next time.
Thursday, April 1, 2010
Living to Fight Another Day
“ Ravi, you are simply running,” away said my friend Ajay. “ I am running away to fight another day,” I returned. The year was 1997 and I had spent about a year in Business Standard as a journalist and had clearly failed to master the art of reporting. No one doubted my writing skills but the consensus in the newspaper was that I quite simply did not know reporting. To tell the truth I myself had come to the same conclusion. The dream of 1996 had clearly turned into the nightmare of 1997.
It was then that I made what in retrospect turned out to be a wise decision. I simply decided to take a break for around 15 days around mid-May and went off on a holiday to Chennai and Bangalore. I can also say that with the benefit of hindsight that I did the right thing by simply refusing to even think about my work and simply enjoyed myself. The net result of all that was that I felt refreshed when I came back.
I also found able allies on the road to making my career work: My friend Ajay and my boss R Sriram who is the present Editor of The Economic Times, Bangalore. Ajay not only assured me that I had the skills to succeed in the profession, but also displayed a surprising knowledge of journalism for one who was not a journalist. He guided me on newspaper requirements. Sriram actually taught me the tricks of the trade. Amongst other things he taught the art of developing sources. Plus the art of simply being firm with companies\individuals who were ducking queries that were uncomfortable for them. For instance, a leading Indian company had submitted a corporate restructuring to the financial institutions and I had managed to get hold of a document outlining that. Despite that, Sriram first insisted that I get a comment from the company and later when the company ducked responding to my faxed questionnaire under one pretext or the other, he insisted on my telling the company in question that I intended to go-ahead with story now without a comment from its end. The response was instantaneous. In two minutes a person from the CEO’s office was on the line gving me a comment. That was Sriram for you. He not only taught me but a bunch of mostly rookie Business Standard journalists between 1996 and 1999 the art of reporting.
All this worked for I did get two promotions in the next three years in Business Standard. Of course it was time to move on from the newspaper and eventually from journalism. I have never forgotten that in life it is important to live to fight another day. Nor of course Ajay and Sriram who helped me make that decision work.
It was then that I made what in retrospect turned out to be a wise decision. I simply decided to take a break for around 15 days around mid-May and went off on a holiday to Chennai and Bangalore. I can also say that with the benefit of hindsight that I did the right thing by simply refusing to even think about my work and simply enjoyed myself. The net result of all that was that I felt refreshed when I came back.
I also found able allies on the road to making my career work: My friend Ajay and my boss R Sriram who is the present Editor of The Economic Times, Bangalore. Ajay not only assured me that I had the skills to succeed in the profession, but also displayed a surprising knowledge of journalism for one who was not a journalist. He guided me on newspaper requirements. Sriram actually taught me the tricks of the trade. Amongst other things he taught the art of developing sources. Plus the art of simply being firm with companies\individuals who were ducking queries that were uncomfortable for them. For instance, a leading Indian company had submitted a corporate restructuring to the financial institutions and I had managed to get hold of a document outlining that. Despite that, Sriram first insisted that I get a comment from the company and later when the company ducked responding to my faxed questionnaire under one pretext or the other, he insisted on my telling the company in question that I intended to go-ahead with story now without a comment from its end. The response was instantaneous. In two minutes a person from the CEO’s office was on the line gving me a comment. That was Sriram for you. He not only taught me but a bunch of mostly rookie Business Standard journalists between 1996 and 1999 the art of reporting.
All this worked for I did get two promotions in the next three years in Business Standard. Of course it was time to move on from the newspaper and eventually from journalism. I have never forgotten that in life it is important to live to fight another day. Nor of course Ajay and Sriram who helped me make that decision work.
Wednesday, March 17, 2010
Children and the art of timelessness.
I was catching up on my CD viewing during a recent public holiday. I decided to watch my collection of Hindi songs from the films of the great Hrishikesh Mukherjee for the millionth time. My son Sanjiv decided to skip his afternoon nap and join me for the viewing. Once he decided to do so it became a venture fraught with possibilities.
As we heard the songs, one by one it became that they were lost on my son. The beauties of the numbers form the 1966 film Anupama or the classic songs of the 1970 film Anand did not leave him dumbfounded. When I asked him for an opinion he gave it freely –Bad. On an instinct, I switched to the song “ Rail Gadi, Chugh Chugh” from the movie Aashirwaad of 1968 vintage where a none too young Ashok Kumar mimics the sounds of an train and announces the arrival of one station after another. Suddenly Sanjiv was rolling down the bed in laughter. What is more he kept asking for repeated encores.
Suddenly, this song from Aashirwad which I used to routinely fast forward had occupied the same place in life for Sanjiv that had earlier been reserved for songs from films like Taare Zaamin Par (Bam Bam Bole). A four year old child in 2010 liked a song from a 2009 film as well as a 1968 film. Children seem to love the same thing down the ages. Whether it is songs or stories. That is the reason that stories form the Ramayana And Mahabharata have been handed down the ages. Reflecting a certain timelessness. Like children themselves.
As we heard the songs, one by one it became that they were lost on my son. The beauties of the numbers form the 1966 film Anupama or the classic songs of the 1970 film Anand did not leave him dumbfounded. When I asked him for an opinion he gave it freely –Bad. On an instinct, I switched to the song “ Rail Gadi, Chugh Chugh” from the movie Aashirwaad of 1968 vintage where a none too young Ashok Kumar mimics the sounds of an train and announces the arrival of one station after another. Suddenly Sanjiv was rolling down the bed in laughter. What is more he kept asking for repeated encores.
Suddenly, this song from Aashirwad which I used to routinely fast forward had occupied the same place in life for Sanjiv that had earlier been reserved for songs from films like Taare Zaamin Par (Bam Bam Bole). A four year old child in 2010 liked a song from a 2009 film as well as a 1968 film. Children seem to love the same thing down the ages. Whether it is songs or stories. That is the reason that stories form the Ramayana And Mahabharata have been handed down the ages. Reflecting a certain timelessness. Like children themselves.
Wednesday, March 3, 2010
Tendulkar and the Art of Breaking Bulbs
“Daddy, you must bat like Sachin Tendulkar,” said my son Sanjiv just a few days before the great batsman cracked the historic double hundred in a one day international. We were playing cricket outside my brother’s house in a courtyard of sorts. Strangely maybe because he is a child, he showed a preference for bowling.
The suggestion I guess could have been made only by an adoring four year son when it comes to me. To reiterate a point made earlier by me during my college days, my friends recognized my passion and knowledge of the game but not my talent.
Coming back to the present, perhaps inspired by my son’s words I unleashed what by kids’ standards was a ferocious drive. The speeding ball found an unlikely mark—a tube light and of course there was a crash. Why anybody should keep a tube light with a blown fuse (as subsequent enquiries revealed), in a courtyard was of course a mystery. Anyway, any chance that the tube light would at least flicker during its dying embers was put to rest. as it split into numerous pieces. Also for sometime the game came to a halt as father and son retired to the safe precincts of my brother’s house and watched the remnants of the tube light being swept away. Later on when the game resumed, Sanjiv wisely did not let me bat and showed to the world that here was a batsman in the classic Sunil Gavaskar mould when it came displaying a tight defence.
This took me back to my college days when I managed to combine singing (again something at which I am no good at) with breaking bulbs. While humming a popular Shammi Kapoor number of the 1960S I threw the ball in the air in my kitchen only to hear a bang. Of course it was a bulb. I guess old habits die hard. As I have transited from being a college going adolescent to being a father, I continue to be bad cricketer, a bad singer but continue to display a talent for breaking bulbs. The canvas has only widened with the courtyard replacing the kitchen and of course the bulb giving way to a tube light.
The suggestion I guess could have been made only by an adoring four year son when it comes to me. To reiterate a point made earlier by me during my college days, my friends recognized my passion and knowledge of the game but not my talent.
Coming back to the present, perhaps inspired by my son’s words I unleashed what by kids’ standards was a ferocious drive. The speeding ball found an unlikely mark—a tube light and of course there was a crash. Why anybody should keep a tube light with a blown fuse (as subsequent enquiries revealed), in a courtyard was of course a mystery. Anyway, any chance that the tube light would at least flicker during its dying embers was put to rest. as it split into numerous pieces. Also for sometime the game came to a halt as father and son retired to the safe precincts of my brother’s house and watched the remnants of the tube light being swept away. Later on when the game resumed, Sanjiv wisely did not let me bat and showed to the world that here was a batsman in the classic Sunil Gavaskar mould when it came displaying a tight defence.
This took me back to my college days when I managed to combine singing (again something at which I am no good at) with breaking bulbs. While humming a popular Shammi Kapoor number of the 1960S I threw the ball in the air in my kitchen only to hear a bang. Of course it was a bulb. I guess old habits die hard. As I have transited from being a college going adolescent to being a father, I continue to be bad cricketer, a bad singer but continue to display a talent for breaking bulbs. The canvas has only widened with the courtyard replacing the kitchen and of course the bulb giving way to a tube light.
Tuesday, February 16, 2010
Dad, Cricket and Beer
It has been a couple of weeks since my father has been admitted to hospital and finally we have the news that he is likely to be discharged tomorrow. He called me up a few minutes back and while he appeared recovered, he also sounded weak. After kindly enquiring about my wellbeing as only fathers can he came back with the question, “What is the score?” He wanted to know the score in the ongoing second test match between India and South Africa. I could not but marvel that even while in hospital his appetite and enthusiasm for cricket remained undimmed.
This took me back to the magic year of 2003 when India under Soured Ganguly’s captaincy made it to the world cup final in South Africa. I had been married for only a few months at that point and when my wife returned from work she opened the refrigerator only to find a few bottles of beer. This was sacrilege. The pre-wedding script that had been given to her was that I was a teetotaler. She suddenly began doubting whether the Tamil Brahmin she had got married to recently was all that he had been portrayed to be. It was my mother who put her on the right track. It was not me but my dad who had ordered the beer to celebrate India’s march to the semifinals. This of course restored my wife’s confidence in me. My dad of course had one more bottle of beer when India made it to the finals. I suspect he had one when India lost the finals –this of course was downed in sorrow while the other two had been washed down with joy.
This is not to say that my father is prone to drinking. Indeed the only other time I remember him having a glass of beer was after my brother’s engagement in 1996 that too when some relatives wanted to celebrate. At the bar, we ran into some of my close friends and we all celebrated the moment together. I have to concede that a glass of beer did bridge the generation gap on that day. To this day my friends cannot get over the fact that a man well past 60 years joined guys less than half his age for a drink.
Well, all I can say is that he has been a great father and really I have no complaints where he is concerned. In short, welcome home again dad.
This took me back to the magic year of 2003 when India under Soured Ganguly’s captaincy made it to the world cup final in South Africa. I had been married for only a few months at that point and when my wife returned from work she opened the refrigerator only to find a few bottles of beer. This was sacrilege. The pre-wedding script that had been given to her was that I was a teetotaler. She suddenly began doubting whether the Tamil Brahmin she had got married to recently was all that he had been portrayed to be. It was my mother who put her on the right track. It was not me but my dad who had ordered the beer to celebrate India’s march to the semifinals. This of course restored my wife’s confidence in me. My dad of course had one more bottle of beer when India made it to the finals. I suspect he had one when India lost the finals –this of course was downed in sorrow while the other two had been washed down with joy.
This is not to say that my father is prone to drinking. Indeed the only other time I remember him having a glass of beer was after my brother’s engagement in 1996 that too when some relatives wanted to celebrate. At the bar, we ran into some of my close friends and we all celebrated the moment together. I have to concede that a glass of beer did bridge the generation gap on that day. To this day my friends cannot get over the fact that a man well past 60 years joined guys less than half his age for a drink.
Well, all I can say is that he has been a great father and really I have no complaints where he is concerned. In short, welcome home again dad.
Tuesday, February 2, 2010
Yoga and New Year Resolutions
I don’t break new year resolutions for the simple reason I don’t make them in the first place. This year I would say that I did make one (although would still hesitate to use the term) and more importantly have stuck to it with a certain steadfastness for a month.
I decided that every weekend I would spend two hours learning Yoga. Sure enough I am ready for my Yoga teacher when he comes home in the morning, having already taken a bath. Every Saturday and Sunday in 2010 (alright I did skip one Sunday) I have been learning Yoga for an hour. What has helped me is what in management jargon can be termed as “the customized home delivery model”, which when translated into simple English means that I have a person teaching me Yoga at home and I don’t have to get up early during the weekend and rush to a class.
The truth is also that I have actually been ready to get out of bed and attend Yoga classes and even enrolled in one. This led to a very strange situation where the student was willing but the teacher was simply unavailable. The institute very kindly offered to refund the money as they were having a problem getting a teacher for the particular batch that I had enrolled. I graciously offered to wait. Like all great problems this one too had a simple solution. A yoga teacher landed quite literally at my doorstep. My wife and mother chanced to speak to my neighbour Mule aunty who informed them that she had a teacher come over to her house everyday. Then matters as the great story tellers say took their course and I am finally learning Yoga.
On a more serious note, this perhaps illustrates best what my teacher Shyamji says in practically every session: Yoga is learnt only by those people who are destined to learn it. While doing Yoga has added a certain amount of peace to my life, it has also served to remind me that I am not getting any younger. The Sarvanghasan, (an exercise where one has to kind of support oneself using the neck) which was child’s play when I was a child is now not so easy. In fact, I have already deferred trying it a couple of times.
The body may not be so flexible but still willing. The mind of course is still willing as I continue on my journey of learning Yoga. This is one year resolution which I shall do my best to keep.
I decided that every weekend I would spend two hours learning Yoga. Sure enough I am ready for my Yoga teacher when he comes home in the morning, having already taken a bath. Every Saturday and Sunday in 2010 (alright I did skip one Sunday) I have been learning Yoga for an hour. What has helped me is what in management jargon can be termed as “the customized home delivery model”, which when translated into simple English means that I have a person teaching me Yoga at home and I don’t have to get up early during the weekend and rush to a class.
The truth is also that I have actually been ready to get out of bed and attend Yoga classes and even enrolled in one. This led to a very strange situation where the student was willing but the teacher was simply unavailable. The institute very kindly offered to refund the money as they were having a problem getting a teacher for the particular batch that I had enrolled. I graciously offered to wait. Like all great problems this one too had a simple solution. A yoga teacher landed quite literally at my doorstep. My wife and mother chanced to speak to my neighbour Mule aunty who informed them that she had a teacher come over to her house everyday. Then matters as the great story tellers say took their course and I am finally learning Yoga.
On a more serious note, this perhaps illustrates best what my teacher Shyamji says in practically every session: Yoga is learnt only by those people who are destined to learn it. While doing Yoga has added a certain amount of peace to my life, it has also served to remind me that I am not getting any younger. The Sarvanghasan, (an exercise where one has to kind of support oneself using the neck) which was child’s play when I was a child is now not so easy. In fact, I have already deferred trying it a couple of times.
The body may not be so flexible but still willing. The mind of course is still willing as I continue on my journey of learning Yoga. This is one year resolution which I shall do my best to keep.
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