The first phone call of the day was from a client and first thing he said was, "please make it at 2. You have a habit of getting late". And in all the times I've met him, over the last three years, I've never ever been late.
Anyways (remember the rant yesterday about anyways?) the meeting went as expected. The client was his nasty self. I survived through it. And then the day was drab and boring. Just that I finished reading Kafka on the Shore. Totally blown by it. Will write a detailed review soon. Will restart reading On the Road now. Looking forward to it.
Other exciting thing to have happened today was the visit to my 5th Starbucks store in India, at the Delhi airport. Now I've been to all operational Starbucks store. Not an achievement I want to boast about but I love that brand and I don't mind "stalking" it.
What else do I want to write about? I thought I would restart running. The Delhi. Trip has put a break on my 3 km walk/jog/struggle routine but I want to restart it. Today I could not. Tom I cannot as I have a flight. Day after tomorrow may be. Pray for me.
That's it. Next update tomorrow.
April 01, 2013
Day 1 of a new quarter. Or a new financial year, depends on the way you look at it. Starting today I shall try and write a blog post every night before I sleep.
Anyways, an article on rediff tells me that anyways is incorrect usage, I have been reading a lot lately. Blame it on my move to mumbai and subsequent availability of a lot of time on my hands. So last two people that I have read, and needless to say enamoured by, are Murakami and London.
Murakami, I don't understand half the things he writes. The other half, i look up. London, haven't read much of him hit did read about his life. Realised that like most other geniuses, he had a screwed up head that fucked up his social life and as a result he poured all his time and attention into writing. And we know about his writing and the impact it had.
I have been thinking about writing as a discipline a lot. And I sincerely believe I must give it a serious shot, writing as a career. Just that I am not really that great, am mediocre at best. And I am not really on any extreme of social interactions. Am not a megalomaniac and neither a social butterfly. And this may be an hindrance in my soon to be launched writing career. Time shall tell.
But as I write this, I am watching The Rock. I don't think a lot of movies have been written any better. If you're reading this, it's on zee studio. Go watch it.
P.s. this post is made on my phone. I hope to make one everyday. May have typos, bad grammar, non-existant links, and other such things. Would love to know of your feedback. Tag to track: dailyBlog.
Anyways, an article on rediff tells me that anyways is incorrect usage, I have been reading a lot lately. Blame it on my move to mumbai and subsequent availability of a lot of time on my hands. So last two people that I have read, and needless to say enamoured by, are Murakami and London.
Murakami, I don't understand half the things he writes. The other half, i look up. London, haven't read much of him hit did read about his life. Realised that like most other geniuses, he had a screwed up head that fucked up his social life and as a result he poured all his time and attention into writing. And we know about his writing and the impact it had.
I have been thinking about writing as a discipline a lot. And I sincerely believe I must give it a serious shot, writing as a career. Just that I am not really that great, am mediocre at best. And I am not really on any extreme of social interactions. Am not a megalomaniac and neither a social butterfly. And this may be an hindrance in my soon to be launched writing career. Time shall tell.
But as I write this, I am watching The Rock. I don't think a lot of movies have been written any better. If you're reading this, it's on zee studio. Go watch it.
P.s. this post is made on my phone. I hope to make one everyday. May have typos, bad grammar, non-existant links, and other such things. Would love to know of your feedback. Tag to track: dailyBlog.
Winds were her best friends
The other day, someone Dee gave me these words and asked if I could write something. Here is what I came up with. Inspired by Murakami's 1Q84. If you want to help me get over my writer's block and give me something to write about, do lemme know.
Funny thing about this working women's hostel is that no one knows how you get a place for yourself if you aren't staying here already. Most of the occupants have been here since they can remember and no one seemed inclined to leave. Called The Windchimes, the building was an old, yet solid structure that at one point in time was a hotel for state guests of the British Empire. And as a result, all rooms were large by Mumbai standards and were very comfortable. Each room had almost the same set of furnishing. A double sized bed flush to the wall, a closet to the left of the bed, a writing table and a chair between the bed and the closet. Ofcourse each occupant had given their respective personalities to their temporary abodes, by adding knick-knacks and furnishings. So each room looked familiar and yet aloof. Apart from this, the rooms and the hostel were pretty boring, except the rooms had attached bathrooms, no windows but came with individual balconies.
These balconies, alcoves couldn't be larger than 3 feet in width and yet they were considered luxury at a place like Mumbai where every inch of space is reclaimed and becomes fodder for life. But then, these balconies, these expensive alcoves were mostly wasted at Windchimes. Most of these were used to merely dry clothes and condiments. Except the corner one on the 4th floor, facing the intersection. The one with white chiffon curtains, slightly larger than required, that fluttered with the winds as if a large bird was trapped in the room and is trying to fly away with the entire house. This was ofcourse Dee's room. She was a writer of some sort and had been here since last three years. And if word on the street is to be believed, she would have spent most part of those three years sitting on the balcony amidst those flowing curtains and staring at the distant sea. She was like a permanent fixture on the balcony, always hunched on a chair, eyes fixed at some remote point on the horizon.
Dee’s room, her balcony, looked down on the intersection of Henry Road and Boman Behram Marg. Though this was stone’s throw away from the Gateway of India and the famous Taj Mahal hotel, this was not a very busy intersection. Most of the traffic consisted of two wheelers and pedestrians. Diagonally across Dee’s room, there was my kiosk, a hole in the wall actually, that sold tea in the morning to health conscious people going for their morning walks, snacks in the afternoon to children when they left from the Holy Name High School next to Windchimes and cigarettes in the evening to young men who would gather outside Windchimes, hoping to catch sight of their favorite one staying at Windchimes. Of course most women did not use the balconies and hence the “sightings” were pretty rare. Except for my be Dee. She was on her gallery all the time and yet nobody looked in her direction. Not that she was not attractive, in fact she presented a very imposing sight with the long chiffon curtains behind her and stark contrast of her long black shiny hair all over her face but guess she was too easily available and hence most men were probably not interested in the game!
Not just men but Dee somehow dint really have any great friends at Windchimes. She generally kept to herself and most of her interactions with other occupants were on a strict need basis. The house had a common mess and that fixed time at which they served meals. This made it necessary for every occupant to come down, have their meals together and engage in idle banter. Even on these occasions Dee kept to herself and barely spoke. When she did, it wasn’t really a social comment or a dope of gossip but a functional comment, like, “could you please pass on ketchup” or something to that effect. She was not unfriendly and in fact was a very pleasant company. When you spoke to her, she heard it all with rapt attention and made you feel like the most important person in the world. She would nod at the right places, laugh at every point where you expected laughter and removed all traces of happiness from her face when you expected someone to be sympathetic to what you were saying. She was great like that. Just that she was incapable of making any small talk.
She, unlike other people, did not have the innate need to make friends. It’s as if winds were her best friends. She could sit for hours on her balcony and revel in the company of cool winds that came from the ocean. For her it was like a process of purification where apparently the winds carried love letters from her lover who’s gone to the sea and she’s longing for him to come back. Just like Mercedes, the beloved of Edmond (Dantes). If not for the long lost lover then maybe all she wanted from life was to grow wings somehow and then fly away. Fly to that unknown Promised Land that every one of us keeps chasing throughout our lives. And since she trusted the wind as if it was an extension of her body that she could control, she could very well go on that voyage that only a few lucky ones of us get to even think about. All it would take for her is a leap out of her window, along with those oversized curtains, her long hair, and her best friends, the wind!
And this is exactly why I think I am extremely lucky to have ended up with her. She had always mesmerized me. The sight of her on her balcony was like a fairy perched up high on the roof, waiting to come down and take me her arms and make me forget all the hardships I have endured over the years. Ofcourse, there was no way for me to break ice with her. She rarely gave any attention to men and I could count on my fingers, all the times she stepped out. But since I had the advantage of owning the store bang opposite her balcony, I had a rings side view of her life. And all the men gathered at my shop anyways dint show any interest in her, may be that helped because God knows there are far more eligible men for someone like her. So every time she stepped out, I secretly hoped that she would come to me and order some tea or something. Tea, for us Indians has always been a social engagement and an ice breaker. The first we did speak, she was being dragged, I could see against her wishes, by some other girl from the hostel because the other girl had to meet a guy!
Of course, now, it all looks like a dream. Call it luck, call it fate, call it destiny, somehow we have ended up together and I couldn’t have been happier. Dee is every bit of fairy that I had imagined her to be. Probably better. As I write these lines, Dee is still hunched onto a barstool on a make shift restaurant at this otherwise secluded beach, her elbows resting on the table, one hand cupping her face, other holding onto mine with a fierce grip. At times I wonder how her frail and tiny body could have such a firm grip, like she’d not get me go, ever. Like that line from that famous John Denver song where they are talking about holding each other and never let go. I look at her hands and her serene face that is betraying her by showing off just a hint of a smile. I know she is happy. I know I am happy. I know we are happy together. We have come a long way from that intersection of Henry Road and Boman Behram Marg.
And the best part, she is doing what she loves doing the most - staring at the ocean, letting the winds play with her hair that have grown even longer since she moved out of Windchimes. Just that, this time, her secret is shared by two people. I, and the winds, that were her best friends. Indeed.
Funny thing about this working women's hostel is that no one knows how you get a place for yourself if you aren't staying here already. Most of the occupants have been here since they can remember and no one seemed inclined to leave. Called The Windchimes, the building was an old, yet solid structure that at one point in time was a hotel for state guests of the British Empire. And as a result, all rooms were large by Mumbai standards and were very comfortable. Each room had almost the same set of furnishing. A double sized bed flush to the wall, a closet to the left of the bed, a writing table and a chair between the bed and the closet. Ofcourse each occupant had given their respective personalities to their temporary abodes, by adding knick-knacks and furnishings. So each room looked familiar and yet aloof. Apart from this, the rooms and the hostel were pretty boring, except the rooms had attached bathrooms, no windows but came with individual balconies.
These balconies, alcoves couldn't be larger than 3 feet in width and yet they were considered luxury at a place like Mumbai where every inch of space is reclaimed and becomes fodder for life. But then, these balconies, these expensive alcoves were mostly wasted at Windchimes. Most of these were used to merely dry clothes and condiments. Except the corner one on the 4th floor, facing the intersection. The one with white chiffon curtains, slightly larger than required, that fluttered with the winds as if a large bird was trapped in the room and is trying to fly away with the entire house. This was ofcourse Dee's room. She was a writer of some sort and had been here since last three years. And if word on the street is to be believed, she would have spent most part of those three years sitting on the balcony amidst those flowing curtains and staring at the distant sea. She was like a permanent fixture on the balcony, always hunched on a chair, eyes fixed at some remote point on the horizon.
Dee’s room, her balcony, looked down on the intersection of Henry Road and Boman Behram Marg. Though this was stone’s throw away from the Gateway of India and the famous Taj Mahal hotel, this was not a very busy intersection. Most of the traffic consisted of two wheelers and pedestrians. Diagonally across Dee’s room, there was my kiosk, a hole in the wall actually, that sold tea in the morning to health conscious people going for their morning walks, snacks in the afternoon to children when they left from the Holy Name High School next to Windchimes and cigarettes in the evening to young men who would gather outside Windchimes, hoping to catch sight of their favorite one staying at Windchimes. Of course most women did not use the balconies and hence the “sightings” were pretty rare. Except for my be Dee. She was on her gallery all the time and yet nobody looked in her direction. Not that she was not attractive, in fact she presented a very imposing sight with the long chiffon curtains behind her and stark contrast of her long black shiny hair all over her face but guess she was too easily available and hence most men were probably not interested in the game!
Not just men but Dee somehow dint really have any great friends at Windchimes. She generally kept to herself and most of her interactions with other occupants were on a strict need basis. The house had a common mess and that fixed time at which they served meals. This made it necessary for every occupant to come down, have their meals together and engage in idle banter. Even on these occasions Dee kept to herself and barely spoke. When she did, it wasn’t really a social comment or a dope of gossip but a functional comment, like, “could you please pass on ketchup” or something to that effect. She was not unfriendly and in fact was a very pleasant company. When you spoke to her, she heard it all with rapt attention and made you feel like the most important person in the world. She would nod at the right places, laugh at every point where you expected laughter and removed all traces of happiness from her face when you expected someone to be sympathetic to what you were saying. She was great like that. Just that she was incapable of making any small talk.
She, unlike other people, did not have the innate need to make friends. It’s as if winds were her best friends. She could sit for hours on her balcony and revel in the company of cool winds that came from the ocean. For her it was like a process of purification where apparently the winds carried love letters from her lover who’s gone to the sea and she’s longing for him to come back. Just like Mercedes, the beloved of Edmond (Dantes). If not for the long lost lover then maybe all she wanted from life was to grow wings somehow and then fly away. Fly to that unknown Promised Land that every one of us keeps chasing throughout our lives. And since she trusted the wind as if it was an extension of her body that she could control, she could very well go on that voyage that only a few lucky ones of us get to even think about. All it would take for her is a leap out of her window, along with those oversized curtains, her long hair, and her best friends, the wind!
And this is exactly why I think I am extremely lucky to have ended up with her. She had always mesmerized me. The sight of her on her balcony was like a fairy perched up high on the roof, waiting to come down and take me her arms and make me forget all the hardships I have endured over the years. Ofcourse, there was no way for me to break ice with her. She rarely gave any attention to men and I could count on my fingers, all the times she stepped out. But since I had the advantage of owning the store bang opposite her balcony, I had a rings side view of her life. And all the men gathered at my shop anyways dint show any interest in her, may be that helped because God knows there are far more eligible men for someone like her. So every time she stepped out, I secretly hoped that she would come to me and order some tea or something. Tea, for us Indians has always been a social engagement and an ice breaker. The first we did speak, she was being dragged, I could see against her wishes, by some other girl from the hostel because the other girl had to meet a guy!
Of course, now, it all looks like a dream. Call it luck, call it fate, call it destiny, somehow we have ended up together and I couldn’t have been happier. Dee is every bit of fairy that I had imagined her to be. Probably better. As I write these lines, Dee is still hunched onto a barstool on a make shift restaurant at this otherwise secluded beach, her elbows resting on the table, one hand cupping her face, other holding onto mine with a fierce grip. At times I wonder how her frail and tiny body could have such a firm grip, like she’d not get me go, ever. Like that line from that famous John Denver song where they are talking about holding each other and never let go. I look at her hands and her serene face that is betraying her by showing off just a hint of a smile. I know she is happy. I know I am happy. I know we are happy together. We have come a long way from that intersection of Henry Road and Boman Behram Marg.
And the best part, she is doing what she loves doing the most - staring at the ocean, letting the winds play with her hair that have grown even longer since she moved out of Windchimes. Just that, this time, her secret is shared by two people. I, and the winds, that were her best friends. Indeed.
On The Road
Thanks to Prateek, he got me this book, I have stumbled onto apparently one of the most important non-fiction books of our time. On the Road by Jack Kerouac. I started reading it today and I am stuck on page 7. I cant seem to go beyond it. There is this piece of text on that page that I cant get over with. It reads...
In plain text it reads,
I then thought, if I am not mad, do I know some mad people? Are there people who inspire me and I "shamble" after? Are these the kinds that make you go "Awww"? Surprisingly the answer was not one but many. In fact most people I tend to make friends with are the kinds to have the mad trait. A small list would have Killa, my boss, Ashu, piyush, meghna, Solo from my workplace (wow! so many mad people there) and otherwise, Suds, RR, Huz, #sgMS, the other SG, Radhika, Nikita, Vijesh, Ankit, Agony Aunt in it. Ofcourse I have tons of non-mad people who are special to me, the guy who tolerates me more than anyone else, the guy I share my place with, the woman I have a recent crush on, they're all comparatively sober. What I need to do however, is transform all these people into mad ;P
Anyways, coming back, I am really looking forward to reading the book. I can easily relate the state the country is in right now to the things Jack talks about. May be I shall write the Indian version of On The Road someday. I dunno. But for the time being, I am going over the Page 7 over and over again.
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| Image Credits: MWW |
I shambled after as usual as I've been doing all my life after people that interest me, because the only people that interest me are the mad ones, the ones who are mad to live, mad to talk, mad to be saved, desirous of everything at the same time, the ones that never yawn or say a commonplace thing, but burn, burn, burn like fabulous yellow roman candles exploding like spiders across the stars and in the middle you see the blue centerlight pop and everybody goes “Awww!”This piece of text, sounds fancy but is brilliant. The easiest thing to say would be that I am the maddest person I know of (I want everything, I dont say commonplace things etc) but I am not. I have lately realized that I am not mad or out of ordinary. I think as I am growing older I have sort of reached a compromise with myself. I will not shine like Steve did or all the other mad people I know of are on the verge of. No time for sob story, this is an exciting book and I am glad to have got a copy. Thanks once again pattice.
I then thought, if I am not mad, do I know some mad people? Are there people who inspire me and I "shamble" after? Are these the kinds that make you go "Awww"? Surprisingly the answer was not one but many. In fact most people I tend to make friends with are the kinds to have the mad trait. A small list would have Killa, my boss, Ashu, piyush, meghna, Solo from my workplace (wow! so many mad people there) and otherwise, Suds, RR, Huz, #sgMS, the other SG, Radhika, Nikita, Vijesh, Ankit, Agony Aunt in it. Ofcourse I have tons of non-mad people who are special to me, the guy who tolerates me more than anyone else, the guy I share my place with, the woman I have a recent crush on, they're all comparatively sober. What I need to do however, is transform all these people into mad ;P
Anyways, coming back, I am really looking forward to reading the book. I can easily relate the state the country is in right now to the things Jack talks about. May be I shall write the Indian version of On The Road someday. I dunno. But for the time being, I am going over the Page 7 over and over again.
The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo
If you havent, you ought to buy Stieg's masterpiece and read it.
Anyways, so, today something crazy happened. I was on my way back from some place when I saw this girl passing by. She was in a dark grey business suit (unlikely for women to be dressed in business suits in India) and like everyone she seemed to be in a hurry to reach somewhere. Very petite and long flowing hair, falling till the small of her back. Someone you cant ignore while she's in front of you. Even though she was part of a sea of people rushing to catch a train from probably the busiest train station in Mumbai, my gaze somehow landed on her. Before anything else, I realized that she was clearly a misfit in the seemingly coherent scenery. And yet, some part of me told me that she fit in there as smugly as if all the maddening crowd of people around her was strategically put in place by some old and cunning warlord. And not to flank her with all those objects, but to accentuate her presence.
Very small compared to men and women of all sizes rushing through the station, impeccably dressed in a sharp suit compared to the crumpled and unkempt attires around her, very calm and serene compared to all the madness around her. It was as if she was from a different time and place and she had been teleported just an instant ago. She was so comfortable as if she was in a board room or on a film set. I have this suspicion that if she was put in the outer space, she would be as comfortable. She walked with such ease, such control and so much self-assurance as if she owned the entire place.
Not that I ogle at women on stations but she was hard to miss. She wasn't good looking by any metric, she wasnt even the rustic kinds that I think makes Indian women so desirable. But she couldn't be ignored. She was like this electro-charged magnetic orb that was pulling all the attention to her. For the time while she was in front of me, I could not see anything else. It was blinding and illuminating at the same time. It was something that, at that instant, I wished that would not end.
And while I finally walked past her (it wouldn't have taken not more than three seconds since I first spotted, her to the time I crossed her) I could see peeking from under her shirt, wrapped around her neck, the unmistakable dragon tattoo. The kinds that you can't forget easily.
You have to see it to believe it. The tattoo. And the girl with the dragon tattoo.
Look ma, I got a writing table!
Ever since I thought I could be a writer, I have always craved for a table that I could sit on an write. A table that I could use to pen my thoughts on. A place that I could make messy, a place that I could call my own. A place where I could feel good about doing something. A place that gives me the peace of mind. A place that make my fingers fly on the keyboard without much effort. A place that becomes my escape and my durbar. And a place that could inspire me. And a place that could help me get that one story out of me.
I dont really have the best of things or best of choices but I think I finally have the kind of place that I have wanted. I am not too happy with the room that I am in but I cant ask for everything at the same time? Can I? There are people far less fortunate that do wonders with whatever limited things they have. I, on the other hand, more than I could ask for. Just need to make the most of it.
Wish me luck! Hope that 2013 is as great as I have envisioned it to be!
I dont really have the best of things or best of choices but I think I finally have the kind of place that I have wanted. I am not too happy with the room that I am in but I cant ask for everything at the same time? Can I? There are people far less fortunate that do wonders with whatever limited things they have. I, on the other hand, more than I could ask for. Just need to make the most of it.
Wish me luck! Hope that 2013 is as great as I have envisioned it to be!
Launch of The Karachi Deception
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| The Karachi Deception |
Thats it. Thats the plot, the story and the narrative. The book take you behind the scenes into what it takes to plan a covert mission that needs to be executed on a foreign soil. Its one of those stories that is really detailed. While reading it, the text is so real that you think you are watching a movie.
This is his first book and though I havent read the final version but I have read the first drafts. And I could not put it down. I am told that the final draft is far better than the first one. Looking forward to reading it.
If you want to buy it, its on infibeam (for Rs. 162, as on 14 Feb 2013). And no, this is not the book review.
Fancy my fancy life?
So, when I took this fancy place on rent in Mumbai, along with it, I got a fancy club and a fancy swimming pool. Ofcourse at a fancy price. And since I work out of my home for the time being, I spend a lot of time in my fancy apartment, which it not too fancy once you step inside (that's another problem I have with these fancy apartment complexes in Mumbai). Club the two together and all my close friends think that I have a facny life where all I do is sit at home, watch tv and go swimming. Little do they know that all these are really really tough things to pull off, when done at the same time.
Lets start with swimming. Of course all those who read this blog (yes, both of you) may remember my earlier attempts at it (documented here). I am sorry to report that its been three years now and I am still a struggling swimmer. At this rate, I would still be learning how to hold my breadth in water when my great great grand kids would be crossing the English channel. The thing is, it looks easy. All you need to do, is to lie flat on your belly, move your legs too and fro and shake your arms and you are on your way. The trouble is when you are trying to move all four limbs at the same time and breathe. I dont think I can ever master that. Its been almost a week since I have been going and there is not an iota of difference in my weight (which should ideally have come down by now) or in my swimming skills. And the cherry on cake, everything that I touch starts smelling of Chlorine (despite using a soap as strong as Medimix to clean after a dip).
Now, coming to more important matters of work, I am in Mumbai to create a company from ground up. That in layman's language means that I am expected to hire people, manage them and find enough work to pay for their salaries. I would reckon its slightly too much for someone like me who hates getting into operational details. And add my compulsive introvert nature on top of it. Makes for a heady mix of dreams (that have no way of turning into reality) and harsh reality (of the pressure of making ends meet and justifying the move to Mumbai). I, being the frivlous and easy going me, dont really bother with details too much but its really tough to resist the temptation to think. And then sulk. And when you are trapped in a pseudo fancy place for home and a fancy hobby that you cant seem to master, it becomes even tougher.
So much for my fancy life. Fancy taking part in it?
Lets start with swimming. Of course all those who read this blog (yes, both of you) may remember my earlier attempts at it (documented here). I am sorry to report that its been three years now and I am still a struggling swimmer. At this rate, I would still be learning how to hold my breadth in water when my great great grand kids would be crossing the English channel. The thing is, it looks easy. All you need to do, is to lie flat on your belly, move your legs too and fro and shake your arms and you are on your way. The trouble is when you are trying to move all four limbs at the same time and breathe. I dont think I can ever master that. Its been almost a week since I have been going and there is not an iota of difference in my weight (which should ideally have come down by now) or in my swimming skills. And the cherry on cake, everything that I touch starts smelling of Chlorine (despite using a soap as strong as Medimix to clean after a dip).
Now, coming to more important matters of work, I am in Mumbai to create a company from ground up. That in layman's language means that I am expected to hire people, manage them and find enough work to pay for their salaries. I would reckon its slightly too much for someone like me who hates getting into operational details. And add my compulsive introvert nature on top of it. Makes for a heady mix of dreams (that have no way of turning into reality) and harsh reality (of the pressure of making ends meet and justifying the move to Mumbai). I, being the frivlous and easy going me, dont really bother with details too much but its really tough to resist the temptation to think. And then sulk. And when you are trapped in a pseudo fancy place for home and a fancy hobby that you cant seem to master, it becomes even tougher.
So much for my fancy life. Fancy taking part in it?
The New SG.com
One of the things for Feb, apart from the list that I made a few days, I would redesign SG.com. So far its just a blurb but eventually it would reflect who I am and what I do. It would have links to my posts, my writings, my observations, projects and other such things. And it would be something that someone could goto and get a birds eye view about me in one glance. And then once they are there, they could get details, if they desire to.
I have a design idea in my head. Lets see how it translates into action.
I have a design idea in my head. Lets see how it translates into action.
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