to be or not to be

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'Leisurely' opinionated

Not sure if I wrote this or someone else said these lines. I was browsing through my old emails and found this from 2006. The reason this found a place in my blog is its uncanny resemblance to 'my Last email I sent to my colleagues at IBM'. I am amazed at how much the poem Leisure inspired me in every walk of my life. Here is me quoting it almost 6 years ago.


anyways... another round of questions:
have you ever did something so crazy that would redefine the word "crazy"?? hmmmmmmmm if you are thinkin' whether you did the 99% chances are that you did not!

when was the last time you ate an ice-cream?? played in the rain??took a walk barefoot on the beach??listened to the waves??i wanna do all this stuff today!!!(i wish!!) 
how i wish life is like a seashell which traps the sea inside it!! 

hmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm i miss my home!

i hate this darn minute by minute existance! blessed solitude is what i crave for at the moment.. ya know what.. here i am sitting at my desk in a typical corporate enviorment with my mind far far away... wow the power of imagination!! 

i would kill right now to take me to a place on a cliff dropping into the sea with the full moon shining all bright overhead and Mozart in the background....... hmmmmmmm oh' also
some gravel on the ground an no soul for miles around! 
keep on dreaming... at least no one can break you off them!!hmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm.......


all this reminds me of the poem Leisure by Wordswort: what is this life full of care.. no time to stand an stare!!

Waah aaah aaah aaaaaaah aaaaaah Taaj

It has been my dream as a child to visit Agra and see the Taj from the banks of river Yamuna at midnight. Post a set of unfortunate events, I ended up in Agra. I had to coerce AP Express’ pantry car manager to let me in and work for him at least for sometime in exchange for the ride. After much cajoling he has agreed. There I ended up mooching a ride to Agra, cooking biryani in the pantry car. I was unable to see the Taj at midnight but mid afternoon, hell to the yeah. Its sheer magnificence bewildered me and as usual I set off in a tangent with my thoughts.

My first thoughts were channeled on to a full blooded man. The only time a woman can expect a gift, I’m talking a bunch of flowers or a box of chocolates or a love note for some seksay time or a crudely crafted massage certificate or a motorcycle ride in the hills or a foot rub……damn you tangents. Anyway the bigger the goof up, the better the reward. Shahjahan got the Taj built and I don’t think it needs a genius to sum things up. But I just cannot begin to fathom the monstrosity of a mistake he might have committed.

Shahjahan loved his wife, Mumtaj. For a guy (yeah yeah I know he was the emperor of India yadayadayada but he was a guy nevertheless you moron) with a harem of women from atypical parts of his empire and sent from other empires seeking friendship {I read (in Akbarnama) he had a special harem

dedicated to Iranian/Turkish women pssssst} I am not sure if I should admire his appreciation for Mumtaj or should I call it love? I mean it’s hard to pick my favorite from my past girlfriends. They are now nonexistent, no they are not dead (I aint that lucky a guy sadly) but we do not communicate on a daily basis. Just once in a while to hurl insults at each other or a few acerbic words sans the caustic rim.

Firstly, I do appreciate the guy 1) for his memory (he’s gotta remember which one is called Mumtaj) 2) for his vigor. Mumtaj was the queen or empress or Mrs. Shahjahan. What does she not have? What more needs to be given to make her happier? The logical conclusion I could end up is if shahjahan lasted a little longer. To be an emperor’s woman, you can never cheat. I mean you can, if you want to but the impending death sentence or being dropped head down from a tower or being whipped whilst being naked do not romanticize an extra marital affair. The emperor with his never ending harem, Mumtaj will never have a clue when his next conjugal visit would be. Though there are a few days like her birthday, the emperor’s birthday, may be Eid….Often times it might be a month sometimes a tad more. Then there are these wars he waged, she might have accompanied him but I just call it chance. So technically once in a month or less but bestowing a benefit of doubt for our emperor here, I shall say once a month.

Growing up, I was allowed to eat ice cream just once in a month. I used to literally and so eagerly wait for that day, make plans for the day sequencing chores in such a way I could have more time to savor the ice cream, used to think of all the flavors I can have a pick from (Baskin Robbins allows its cute customers to sample a few flavors before choosing what ice cream to have). I stretched it a bit once and even dressed up for the occasion. I oddly feel similar to Mumtaz’s setting. Mumtaj was looking for it and the right way to show Mumtaj he loved her was to ‘last’ longer. With the aforementioned issues, needless to say a life full of fervent loiter was just wasted albeit a few times. So what better a way to let a woman be happy, than

promising her a monstrosity of a monument on her name. Well I’ve heard people say you can climax by just looking at the monument, so our Mumtaj is again a happy girl.

So these were the thoughts that were in my head. Naturally I found an imminent need to share them with someone. Found a guy from the United States (remember, Americans know it all) approached him and voiced my views. To say he was flabbergasted would be sugar coating it. He drew the worse expression you could use for disgust and in a thick southern accent he just said, can ya do the same for ya girl bud? I smiled and walked away silently thinking “Ah another tangent”

As the legend goes, Shahjahan amputated the hands of Taj’s architect, his team and of the help. He resorted to such drastic action so that; the team would not replicate its finesse elsewhere. His son tried the same with a different team but everyone knows the mini Taj (at Aurangabad) is nothing but a cheap replica and does not merit a visit neither a mention.  I recently quit my job so a monument is outta

question so taking the spirit of Taj Mahal into consideration not the money or the man power that has gone into it, I thought of buying a card for my loved one. To match the emperor ill have to find the designer of the card and go amputate his arms. But shahjahan had it easy; he did not have computers or eye ball tracking devices or the likes of Stephen Hawking during his time. I have it so very tough. I’ll have to track

the designer, take his arms. Newspapers seldom report the way less abled people got lucky and started painting with his feet. The designer might use his legs to do so, what choice do I have but to amputate

his legs too. Then to make sure he does not use an eye tracking system, take his eyes out. He might verbally issue commands to a computer, cut his tongue. Well with his eyes gone, limbs torn apart, speech hampered I am not sure if there is anything he could do other than waste a seat in our crowded city buses, so I just might have to kill him.

Sameer keeps the Taj premises clean and uses the money to study. He wants to be a chartered accountant.

Gone with a bleat

When I thought today is going to be a normal day little did I know nature has something else planned. As usual nature has her own ways of doing things. No subtle hints whatsoever, no dramatic thunderstorms, no torpedoes with uprooted trees twirling around and cows flying amok to warn me. Nothing, Nada, Zilch.

Lying next to me is my friend and the prankster in me was already up urging to have some fun. I launch myself with a loud shout on him and scare him shitless. Expecting a reprisal I was prepared but distracted by the smell of camphor and inveterate bleating – an unusual combination but too late he pins me down. I see something bright and yellow move towards me, it was hazy. I thought my friend went over board and is on the verge of strangling me. Our neighbor – the yellow blur, kindly walks in and pulls us apart. I feel silly now. Well our neighbor is a likable guy, naïve and playful with everyone. I thank him for saving me and began to talk about mundane things. The smell that emanates from the temple was more evident now mixed with sweet aromas of freshly broken coconuts and lit camphor. Abruptly our vision’s blurred black, and the bleating increase. It was a fraction later we realized the blackness is moving away with our neighbor in tow. It is taking time for me to register the series of incidents that were happening which  resembled the pre-climax scene in Mortal Kombat where Sonya is taken away by Shang Tsung. Then everything settled down. We did the most logical thing we could, go to the millennium man.

It has been a ritual since a month for us to venture out into green pastures. Both me and my friend are not sure what has happened in our lives before the month, completely clueless. But there is this very old man, millennium man. Some claim he was born at the turn of the millennium. Some say he was born a little earlier and had a glimpse of the millennium celebrations. One day I mustered up my guts to ask him about us and he says we were brought while he was ruminating his lunch. He doesn’t remember exactly but saw us being brought a month ago. He mentioned we were brought in by the same ones who brought him too when we pressed him more into divulging our past. His usually smug face turned forlorn when we mentioned about the happenings of the day. Then he turned cranky and asked us to get going. We felt odd but kept our feelings to ourselves and set out to proceed with our ritual.

Our days generally started with a back breaking journey to somewhere, where the clanging of the bells is inherent, smell of burning incense/camphor and the sweet smell of freshly broken coconuts. We never knew what it was. It is usually dull and quite dark inside except once in a while when the side wall is moved and we have unlimited to access to sunlight. Those days are exceptional and we look forward for that day each day. A brilliant idea stuck my mind and I convinced my friend that we would look for our neighbor instead of going to the pasture today. We started walking around and to our surprise we found we were in a temple premises. We run around all the way up and down the temple alleys, we meet other people and some pigeons too. Almost all people sound friendly except that there are these huge shapes that resemble tree trunks and moved around. It seemed similar to the running hadrosaurs scene in Jurassic park where the kids could only see a cluster of barks running all around. Without a care we run around and also look for our lost neighbor.

A bright yellow pull over reflects the afternoon sun bright into our faces, guess we found our answer. Our friend was right around at the corner of the temple wall as if he is hiding and trying to look at someone. We felt elated to have found him but were angry too. Most part of the day running around in green white fields was wasted due to him. We wanted to get back at him and we decide on an ambush. I ask my friend to cover the ground and come from the other side while I readied myself to pounce from this side. 1,2,3 we run and I give a hefty push on my neighbor’s back. At the same moment I hear a blood curling shout from my friend. I turn to see what has transpired but my feet touch something slippery and I take a nasty fall. I could see my friend was shaken and his face was completely ashen. I turn in the direction where he was looking and by god I fainted. The neighbor’s yellow body had dried blood in place of a head and the slippery surface I fell on was the blood that gushed out of him. I was just not sure what to do, so helpless lying on the ground I look around. For the first time I understood what those barks that moved around were. Everything seemed so confusing, was I imagining things or is this an aftershock seeing my neighbor’s body since I was seeing goats walking around. I then notice the millennium man staring at me sadly. Our eyes met and his seem to convey an unsaid apology to me. Then for a second I saw what I thought was fear in his eyes. Before I could react and ask him what, a hoof snatched my long hair and pulled hard at it. It dragged me to a congregation of goats, some decked in flowers, a goat in red garb and gold, some wearing traditional clothes. They assembled in front of a strange statue which predictably resembled a goat with multiple hoofs and different weapons in each hoof.

Quite interesting! I thought but not as interesting as what is happening to me. The goat wearing flowers and gold bends down, smears some red paste on to my forehead and then lights camphor. She turns the camphor fire thrice in anti clockwise direction in my face. I still was not sure why they were doing this while the hoof held me in place. It was quite painful to be frank. I try to push and escape when the powerful body that  owns the hoof kicks me hard on my legs. I feel crippled, well almost. Pain radiated from my legs to my head and my body feels sore from all the stress. Some day I’m having I say to myself. All of a sudden I hear rhythmic bleating, something similar to what I heard this morning. The bleating increases in intensity and sound. The goats seems to be in some sort of a trance. I was then secured to a stone with my neck nicely edged in-between two stones. As disconcerting that seemed to be, it felt good for my strained neck muscles.

The muscular goat now took few steps backward. From my tilted view point I could see there is something shining in his hand. I could see a goat wearing everything red chanting bleats and everyone rhythmically moving. I then feel something on the back of my neck, cold and sharp. In a fleeting moment I realize what is going on but its too late, the muscular goat brought down the blade and with a thud my head was separated from my body. A burning sensation seared my neck. I could feel a liquid seeping into my head, but funnily I am feeling light headed. If my head is separated from the body and I was thinking with my head shouldn’t I feel light bodied? I could feel something slimy and wet touch my face on one side, my vision starts turning red. Oh! My own blood! How about that! I could feel my body being lifted up and being offered to that strange goat god!

If you think this was what I saw last, you are mistaken. My friend was curiously watching the proceedings while I could see the muscular hoof converging over his head. The last I heard was yet another blood curling scream from him.

                                             The red panda (Brahmins who perfom ceremonies)

This was what I thought after I visited Kamakhya temple and witnessed the animal sacrifice there. It is an interesting thought to reverse our roles with goats and yeah pigeons too.

Thought for India

Not many of you are familiar with me applying to be a fellow with Teach for India. Here is my take on what has happened.

The selection process is quite competitive, I am not gonna go into much detail but 3 essays, a phone interview, a mock session and then a tediously long personal interview is what it entails. I was keen on being a fellow (that’s what they call the people working with TFI) until I saw the email calling me for a final interview. I believe the words they used were – the interviewees are expected to behave professionally. Agreed they might have had an issue with misbehavior in the past but that should not form a basis for stereotyping. It also seemed as if they were addressing a juvenile bunch but not professionals from different walks of life. I admit I took personal offence with the poor choice of words ~ strike 1

I entered the premises where the interviews were conducted and was surprised to see two Americans dressed in traditional Indian clothes representing TFI. Babak and Catherine were with Teach for America and now are the program managers of the TFI program at Mumbai. They mentioned they have worked with TFA for over 3 years and now moved on to help TFI grow in India, I am sorry but I do not think it’s a novel cause. TFI is modeled along the lines of TFA employing fresh graduates/working professionals to put themselves into an entirely different environment and then counts on their success. I just fail to understand how someone from an entirely different background, utterly clueless about our culture, who taught in an environment that is considered decent (some might even call it a privilege but I won’t stretch it here), is bound to train these TFI fellows in tackling with the challenges they are bound to face. Let me be frank here, suggesting therapy for stress release (like in the US) or Bikram Yoga for relaxation (since this is India) is not going to work in the current setting.

Having worked with a few underprivileged groups in the United States, I initially considered applying for TFA while I was in the US. During my preparatory process, I was able to talk to many people who have either pursued TFA or have been fellows. What I witnessed was appalling. A significant number of the applicants have excelled in their college but just want to build their resume. Some have confessed they haven’t thought of the situations they were going to be placed and did not have an understanding of the support they might get. I felt happy I was not allowed to apply (not a US citizen)

TFI is another matter, started with great intent in mind I believe if the question – whether or not 2 years is sufficient for a fellow to bring about a change in the kids’ lives. I am sorry if I am professing myself as skeptic here, I just am being pragmatic. Placing the fellows in such situations I believe is an imminent bargain with children’s future. You might argue they have a program manager who is going to monitor their teaching, give them feedback yada yada yada, I maintain my stand – the PMs are not Indians. They do not understand an iota about what it is to come from a background where basic resources are considered luxury.

 Where is the consistency that the kids need; or the understanding of the happening in day to day life. Shaving your head doesn't mean you are a follower of Hare Krishna movement, similarly reading about underprivileged kids in the newspapers doesn't make you an expert. The kids under the current system need teachers who have the support, knowledge and experience to be able to teach successfully, and for the teachers to stick around and provide consistency. I felt the focal intention is to create advocates outside the classroom than cultivate teachers ~ strike 2

The interview starts and the first question posed to me “we asked you to behave professionally why are you not dressed up professionally?”  Two strikes later sitting in front of her I was challenging my decision to become a fellow and Cathy by popping the question helped quicken my decision. Everything said and done the only thing that should count is my ability to teach or to rise up to the situation for which my educational background and other points I mentioned in my resume should form the basis for debate. But if you prioritize something so puny (I was wearing a kurta pajama – which is an Indian’s traditional garb) over everything else, I don’t think I need a genius to say “Hey Dhir, can they prioritize kids over everything else?” this is the same atmosphere that I saw in Indian schools over the years, which is why I wanted to join TFI in the first place and this American woman parades around replicating the same. Thanks but no thanks. Out of respect I had for education I went ahead with the hour and half interview ~ OUT!

When has American system become the uncrowned king of education systems?

The education system in America is broken and if you try to convince me saying it is America they must know what they are doing – I am sorry my friend I do not think they can impose their broken system on other countries.

When I received an email from TFI 3 weeks later, I did not feel like devoting any extra time than I already did. I simply did not open the email which still lies in my inbox.

Serenade in D major

You might have seen the Taj Mahal, the Great Wall of China or the Statue of Liberty. All these monuments bear a testimonial to man’s will power and perseverance. Alongside these I bring to you something very different, a piece for which the phrase “delayed gratification” might have been invented. Nothing and I mean nothing can prepare you to the spectacle called the living root bridges and in comparison the aforementioned man made edifices I should say delivered an instant pay-off.

About 3 hours from Guwahati lies the town which is considered the wettest place on earth - Cherrapunji. Rainfall is apparent every single day no matter what time of the season it is and you got to be me to breathe in that fresh air. It smells better than freshly baked bread. The living root bridges are located 15 kms away from the main Cherrapunji town. For a person who seldom underestimates anything I gave this drive amiss and tried to take a power nap. Earlier that day I had a chat with the curator of the Eco Park (Cherrapunji) who mentioned Living roots trek is only for the adventurous and in the words of Barney Stinson I just had to say – Challenge accepted. A diminutive sway of the cab awoke me (thank god for small mercies!) and my breath was taken away. Damn the creator and his ‘Monet’ish scenery that snakes around this 15kms drive not to mention the cool breeze.

We got off the cab and filled up our small water pack and I could feel my spine tingle – a feeling I have gotten used to since a while now. It just indicates something awesome (to be read frightening, adrenaline churning, mind boggling – depending on the situation). Thanks to the beautiful drive which turned my mood somber the only thing stuck to my mind now is western classical music. The trek just reminds me of Mozart’s Serenade in D major. Its crisp articulations, nifty dynamics reminded me of the way the breeze, drive, the route and the vistas intertwine to give an experience inexplicable. About to start the trek, I could picture a solid core of musicians drawn from the ranks of the St. Petersburg Chamber orchestra, ready to welcome me.

The trek is totally 3 kilometers (one way) which starts at the village Tyrna and I cannot be sure if the measurement is accurate since a decent part is covered with steps. This so called adventurous trek is in point of fact the only route to reach a few Khasi villages in the hills and is a part of a foot path construction project from Tyrna to Nongriat village. You might have crossed villages in a bus, car or even on foot but this is your chance to cross it using steps.

An imaginative conductor starts his sound check as soon as you start your descent, thanks to the crickets. As you trek down, their chirping increases and goes down as you move away from them. It feels like the ebb and flow emanating from the string quartet when the conductor is playing with them. The sound check seems primitive but with little glimpses of the extravaganza ahead. The area is entirely filled with bay trees and most times of the year you find bay leaves fallen off the trees, dried up and their sweet smell teasing your olfactory nerves. The trek gathers momentum as you realize there are more than a thousand steps to cover. As you try to increase your speed you are gently reminded these steps are made for a demographic that is significantly smaller in stature to a fully grown south Indian male. I can call this an inconsequential bungle in the opulently melodious flow of the Serenade. 
Walking on the dried bay leaves mixed with other leaves produces a crunch which sometimes is not noticed by the untrained ear. I could not resist bringing a simile with the base patterns in the orchestra that goes unnoticed. They might seem insignificant but without, the piece sounds rather bland.

 















You pass by cute little houses with people gently greeting you, sometimes offering you water. They do know why you are there and sometimes openly thank you for making the effort. Such simplicity! The Serenade takes its first peak when you reach the suspension bridge. Ineptly described by lonely planet guide as nerve wrecking, the bridge draws inspiration from the living roots bridge, a mere human’s replication in iron. I could here hear the clarinet seamlessly alive and electrifying my experience of crossing the bridge.

 


The Serenade now turns grave with an overdose of bass – courtesy the trek. After a solid 2 kilometers (800 steps) of descent your muscles get accustomed to it and it is quite hard to climb these steep steps now. 




The bass at its somber tones is not too inspiring to move on but the colorful butterflies that flutter around due to our sudden movements do help alleviate our pain. 

Another suspension bridge with water a deep turquoise is a sight that pleases your eyes 


A small board announces the arrival of the first living  roots bridge. The safety engineer in me, not entirely sure about the load bearing capacity of the bridge reluctantly climb on it and to my surprise I find it better than the suspension bridge. 







Acceleration into the final stage of the Serenade, it just has all the jubilant impetus one could ask for! A flight of stairs lead you to the double Decker bridge called Umshiang. 














 


























Nothing and I emphasize nothing can actually prepare you for the sight that is in offer. If audiences seeking a musical adventure seek refuge in Mozart, this adventure could be adeptly compared to the Serenade. Nearing its peak, the distinctive enunciation of the ensemble juxtaposes an experience in one’s mind so innate with ingratiating effect - you are just wowed down to monstrous proportions. It brings an angelic quality, a rhythmic handle if I may to this thrilling trek.

A little about the living roots bridges

 They are made from the roots of the Ficus Elastica tree which produces a series of secondary roots from the elevated parts of its trunk. Khasis are a long existing tribe in Meghalaya who mastered the art of growing these bridges over generations. The Double Decker I have visited is said to be over 500 years old. It goes unsaid for forthcoming generations of Khasis to take care and grow the bridge. It is like an unwritten will and the Khasis take this seriously.

The Khasis employ betel nut trunks sliced in half to create the root guidance. The bridges can take at least 10 years to be fully functional as they gain strength in time, but can support tremendous amounts of weight. 

Shit Makers Anonymous

Pizza for dinner = Brown shit in the morning

Full meals your friend paid for at Andhra mess = loose shit in the morning. Depending on your efficiency and load bearing capacity, could also lead to continuous shitting the whole day. Do not ask me about the consistency. I am more than sure it may vary.

Tempted to test?? Be my guest ;)

Pure basmati rice and vegetables = gratifying crap the next day.

For you steak eaters its just Black crap.

Channa Batoora and plenty of it = no shit.

Followed by constipation through out the day and oh not to mention the pungent fumes of methane emanating from the same orifice, also called flatulence (for you nitwits who did not get that, I’m talking about a fart, you fart!) which would indubitably make even your best of friends to plot your murder or the more fortunate others to think they would rather die than stick around you!!!

Point is, we turn a very nice yummy looking and mouth watering Spinach Quiche into a greenish gewy stinky substance called shit!

Aren’t we all but shit making machines with varying efficiencies? So much for all of us!

P.S. Sadly my memory can neither remember the consistency nor the color of the crap after having binging a boat load of alcohol. Any help in the aforementioned department would be greatly appreciated and would be treated with a beetroot salad.

P.P.S. Sounds all crappy eh!? (it should after all!) but you should definitely accede there is some element of profundity (or profoundness!?) in my discourse.

After all, we give so much importance to this body (that does nothing but produce shit) than concentrating on improving our intellect and purifying our mind.