smells like teen spirit...

I ran one of the best jogs of my life today... talk about memory lane. Try and follow me - I'm a bottle of port down

I started on 47th street (thats where I live) and jogged down to 23rd on 2nd Ave. I passed 30th Street and glanced at the Pizza Parlor where I was so used to fetching Sukhi's pizza on the way to Arun's place. Bastard never shared. Of course, never occurred to me to pick some up for myself. I looked at Arun's window and some dude was standing - looking out into the rain. Thats right I was running in the rain - and someone had moved into Arun's apartment. Ten minutes of pizza, tequila w/ice, jams, broken speakers (hah!), pianos, guitars, smoke (of sorts), autumn, winter, summer... flew by. I had already turned on 23rd and was crossing FDR when I snapped out of it. New horizons of old building were in view.

UNIS. My high-school. My first memories of New York painfully stick to that building and as I ran by it, a familar whiff drew the white out of my bones and displayed its sickness on my face. I almost hurled. I ran up the ramp to Waterside and ran by the old Deli where Nandan and I would buy these dirty yellow popcorn bags on the way home from school... they'd always make my hands yellow and sticky. I descended the steps down to what look like the boondocks and finally broke out toward the water. Ahhh!... my favorite few of New York. T'was short-lived as I approached the awkward boathouse where seemingly rich folk dined. A short sprint and I was on the boardwalk along the river running towards the Helicopter pad... my old building was in plain sight now. 401 E. 34th Street. Rivergate Apartments.

I stopped and kneeled down toward the sidewalk (pavement) - and searched for almost 15 minutes for an engraving I made almost 10 years ago when the concrete was still a mushy cement mix. Hahahaha! Its still there - immortality. Hammad was sour about that for a long time.

By the time I got home I was hungover from memories from the last 10 years. A shower, dinner and bottle of port later - Delhi was back in the forefront. Srijan had called from the plane - on his way to the motherland. He had stuck the phone to his iPod, which was playing "Yeh Jo Desh Hai Tera" from 'Swadesh' - its only fitting. As always we're only living - a day we'll soon forget. Thats not true.

What it all boils down to - is friends and family. A "place" itself is meaningless -without the people it makes you think of. You always land in Delhi's remarkable thick green smog, highlighted by the yellow lanterns along the way from IG Airport and into the city. Vasant Vihar. Memories fade to truths - nothing new here. Truths that I still hold on to, that still drive me while I'm here - in New York. Its not explainable.

How do you explain that I have 4 homes in Vasant Vihar itself? Joy's, Arjun's, Adi's and Srijan's. I don't need to call before. I barely need to knock. I just walk in.

I've just had a long conversation about Sex with Malay Uncle. He's on his fourth pack of cigarettes by the end of the conversation. Fidel. The back door to Joy's room and up to his roof where we're spending the night in a 'fort' we built -throwing nails at the road. We have harmonicas for some reason. We suck. We're in Bangalore... Aunty Meera has passed out after telling tales of Joy's friends... and how loyal they are... and I'm dropping Siddharth and his sparkling new wife to the car to send them off. Joy is (ahem) busy. Pattu is asleep on the dining room chair. He's tired after having ripped his vocal chords to "Alive". INSANIYAT!

We're driving in Delhi. We're always driving. I never drive. More truths - always having a seat in Joy, Arjun's, Adi and Srij's car. A silent code - Aman has shotgun and he'll fight you for it.

The sheeshah is on and music is blaring at Srijan's place. We're all there and stories are being re-told for the 400th time and still being laughed over. 'Didi' has brought my nimboo-pani. Can't beat her nimboo-pani. And of course, uncle is always calling - "Srijaaaan...." "yes babaaaaaa". They sound like bleating goats - but it's mustic to my ears. Aunty is worried about Srijan - so whats new Vineeta Aunty? You're little Sadhoo is doing just fine.

The bamboo sticks on Surdy's new Iron gate - built when he got Rambo. Late-night visits to his guesthouse became a rarity while that f-in beast prowled at night. Mickey is taking Vandon's case - as always. That kid is brilliant. We're making prank calls to Kabadi - poor kabadi. We're watching Football on Surdy's Aiwa TV and drinking Kingfisher straight out of the bottle. We're playing football in the park in front of his house. We're... ok ok... I'M... throwing stones at the neighbors Fiat and breaking its windshield. FUCK! RUN! We're running through the neighborhood ringing disgruntled Japanese residents' bells from the gate. We're coming home to our Mums who've already gotten the phone calls. We're in it now.

Anahat has transparent shorts on. (sigh). Lodi gardens and Child's play - enough said.

We're in London, UK - Patts, Joy, Surdy and I. We're crying... well pattu was too shell-shocked to cry. Thats right - we all cried. Don't say it. Shut the f*ck up.

We're in Goa. We just beat up a transvestite, fought pretend cops and watched a 35-yr. old woman breast-feed her baby at a rave. We just slept through New Years eve. wow.

We're in 4th class (we're like 9 yrs old). We've just fortified D-base with traps so no one can come in. I can't remember if I was Michaelangelo or Donatello. I drop a wooden log bigger than us on Joytan's head (he still thinks it was a mistake).

We're just driven to Sariska- Adi almost smashed the car into a tractor - but we're here now. Beautiful place. Shaggy's at my window screaming at Joy, Arjun and I - "YOU CAN'T FEED THE MONKEYS!!! THEY'LL DIEEEEEE!!!!" Arjun and I are about to slap her.

We're in a car driving at night in Delhi... we're drunk. Karan has just told a midget driver who we're getting into a fight with - "bhaisaab pleaaaseee!... NO!"... later on - his explanation was "dude... vo doh the" (There were two them).... The four of us just look at each other - no words.

I've met this girl online. 10 years later - she's still my rock.

I've just met this arrogant bastard going down a stairwell. He's recognized that I'm singing "Just Friends" - Musiq Soul Child. I love him. I meet 3 other people through him - and we just signed "chautha sikka" on a guitar. Fuzon has rocked it.

I'm in my room writing a blog about my fondest memories at 1:00 am.

I will die with these people in my heart. Hearts and thoughts they fade... fade away. I don't think so.

It never stops...

http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/south_asia/5194172.stm

In a fantastic turn of events, the Indian Government without providing ANY reason has banned certain blog sites (from this very blog provider) - Blogspot.com

Awesome. You can't even be angry anymore. Censorship has a mind of its own in India (or a lack thereof... 'mind' that is). So much for my argument about a Democratic nation where its the f-in people that decide what they want. I was with you on this. I was with you. Now you've lost me.

Protests and "wants" are immaterial. Similar to the ways a Tyranny operates, the Indian government without any public debate or consensus has ORDAINED this. Thats it. There's nothing you can do about it either.

Here, I'll drop my pants for you and bend over. Maybe if I offer the lube, you'll make it easier on me. What is it? Fear of propaganda? Fear of conversation? Discussion? What? WHAT!? ARGH!

I can't even think about it... its driving me insane... that this is what our government spends its time on.

No No... we don't have any other pressing issues. (AIDs, illiteracy, Terrorism, Kareena Kapoor's latest makeover...)

Thats what we all want Indian Tax Rs. to be spent on - "cyber nannies". Mother F-kers can't uphold simple laws in the country but cyber laws! YEAH!

Government of India, as represented by its Actions:

Don't worry about us... we will continue to allow the individuals who run us (i.e. politicians) to rape, steal and kill in their successful efforts to build their personal wealth. We will continue to allow them to get away with murder - literally.

Oh yeah yeah... don't worry about the 100 crores found under Politician X's mattress or his villa in Italy... (illiterate mother f-kers - do you even know what a "villa" is? ... H-a-v-e-l-i... yeah stick to that).

OH! Yea yeah... if you're 25 yrs old and the son of a rich, powerful man - you are automatically entitled to run over sleeping policemen in the middle of the night with your BMW (which is easily identifiable since there are only like 30 beamers in Delhi)... yea yea.. we PUT the policemen there for you... so you can enjoy the crunchy noise when you run over them in the middle of the night... yea yea... go home yaar... have another beer... what? - oh... you've already had 20 before you got behind the wheel of a car you probably know nothing about - thats cool... have another... no problem yaar... everyone will know you did it... but no one will arrest you yaar... but if we have to... we'll get you out in a matter of seconds - no problemmmm yaaarrrrr....

achha... we've also got a semi-famous heroine serving drinks in a bar in Bombay... feel free to shoot her infront of everyone... yeah yeah - its not a big deal yaar... we'll have a fake trial and let you go... after all your daddy is an illiterate politician who does nothing for his country - why won't we take care of you...?

wait wait... wait... what did you say? an obscure friend of yours who works his ass off to earn a few Rupees and generally acts within the boundaries of both State established and Morally recommended laws on a regular basis - who your daddy and his rich friends take advantage of - has a Blog site where he freely expresses his opinions?

BHEN KA LODA... BAN HIS B*TCH ASS!

Olives and Wine Anyone?

Some olives and wine.
I'm struggling to sleep, I need my dreams.
Ferocious, I claw my way forward to
more wine and olives.
Outside a graying man nudged
a red swing cautiously while
inside there were more olives and wine.
Blurry-eyed I envisioned with fear
an apparition with fiery eyes.
it stole from me. Everything.
I heard her scream
and the rotting corpses of spiders
in dark corners of my closet shook
in their curled up indifference.
Nobody came. Nobody saw.
But there was more wine and a few olives.
I slept on moist sheets soon after
and awoke later, somewhat soaked within.

playlist...

After much trial and error, I was able to create a playlist of songs to which I love falling asleep. I used to do this in college - fall asleep while listening to music that is - but had to use headphones so my room-mate wouldn't be grumpy. For those of you that have tried that - I'm sure you agree that sleeping with bloody headphones on your face is not the most comfortable experience.

Anyway, so I haven't had the roommate problem for a while - but only recently began doing this music-before-i-sleep business again. Haven't slept this well in a long time. Here's the current playlist in no particular order -

Indifference - Pearl Jam
No. 41 - Dave Matthews Band
White Ladder - David Gray
Cannonball - Damien Rice
Do you Remember? - Jack Johnson
Just Friends - Musiq Soul Child
Nothing Even Matters - Lauryn Hill ft. D'Angelo
Walk Away - Ben Harper
You've Got Me - The Roots ft. Erykah Badu
Present Tense - Pearl Jam
Crash Into Me - Dave Matthews Band
Older Chests - Damien Rice
Me and Those Dreamin' Eyes of Mine - D'Angelo
The World I Know - Collective Soul
Seasons - Chris Cornell
Use Me - Bill Withers

All of these are brilliant songs - so if you don't have em'... get em'.

g'nite...

The People

In an interesting discussion I had recently with an Uncle of mine, we spoke of the supposed atrocities of M.F. Hussein. As it turns out, Hindu gods and godesses have never been portrayed or expressed artistically in sexually comprising situations. As a theme, the illustrious act of human perpetuation has been displayed artistically for centuries in India -in art inspired and created by humans of Hindu and Muslim descent, but these have always been of Humans and never the gods. Interesting.

I mulled over this for a while. Perhaps my former post was prematurely ejac... (no wait... - lets not test the limits of intentional puns here.) Let me re-phrase. Perhaps, I jumped the gun with my former post (better?). The moral outrage here is the apparent de-sanctification of a religion. Most importantly, committed by a muslim against the Hindu religion. "How dare he?" cried the good Hindu boy and maybe rightly so. Weren't the Muslims equally upset over the portrayal of Mohammad by a Danish cartoonist - of course they were.

My argument in this discussion rested solely on the concept of "freedom of expression". In a secular, democratic state, it *should* be irrelevant that the artist is a muslim, and the art is about Hindu gods depicted in this fashion. You don't like the art? - don't buy it - I said. No one is forcing you to hang it in your foyer. You don't have to appreciate it. Ignore it. Accept it. Do whatever you want - but don't ban it. Logical thinking would prevail in this argument and I would've won. But this uncle made some very good points and I gracefully conceded and stopped arguing.

Herein lies the dilemma. India is a democratic, secular state. Correct. There is no such thing as a perfect democracy (defined by many as a State in which every lobby group is equally powerful and influential). Correct. A democratic rule is theoretically one inwhich the people are empowered. Correct. THUS, it is their wisdom or folly that rules. As a result, if there is a large enough contingency, then their voices MUST be heard AND heeded. I see. And I'm dumbfounded. There is no plausible solution to this. Many would argue that there is no problem here to find a solution to - and thats the point of a democracy. It all falls back on a lack of cohesiveness and understanding. It falls back on a subject matter I have already addressed in a past post - http://bahel.blogspot.com/2006/06/bod-contd.html

...no luck so far with a solution.

Protesting M.F. Hussein

It is my sincere request to all my viewers visit this blog and write comments asking the owner to do some research regarding Indian Art History. You may also point out that he/she is a spastic.

These people need to hear that they are morons.

http://vivekajyoti.blogspot.com/2006/03/protesting-auction-of-m-f-husains.html

Thank you.

Shaded...

As I stood at Gate 20, waiting to board my flight back to New York, I couldn't help but watch an older Indian couple in front of me. I tried my hardest to listen in on their conversation but the stupid flight crew kept making announcements making that impossible.

Nonetheless, the woman in front wore a green-ish sari, very typical and simple and was constantly smiling and making jokes in hindi to her husband. They must've been in their 40's, no doubt ending a short trip in D.C.

Amidst all these people, most of which were professionals, shuttling between New York and D.C. (as I do), here stood this very 'Indian' couple. Not only very Indian - but very Delhi. The lady wore her black shades on her head, almost like a hair band - ohhhh... so typical. This isn't something that’s easily explainable but here goes.

There is a noteworthy difference between wearing D&G Bumble-bee shades above your forehead thereby making some sort of fashion statement and wearing a plain pair of shades above your head as a convenience. This lady wore it as a convenience. The typical Aunty style - right on top, serving two essential purposes. (1) It kept her hair back so they wouldn't fall all over her face while she committed herself to the current task of boarding her flight. (2) It was blazing hot outside, so in a second's notice, she could bring them down to serve the purpose they were invented for. Brilliant. Delhi. Nostalgia.

She then pulled out an Ericsson phone, one of those bricks that serve 30 functions, only 2 of which will really ever be used. Ahhh... but wait... can't see the screen -out came the reading glasses from her bag.

Lady: "Anilllll.... what the bloody hell is this? Sameer has just sent a text but I can't see it"
Evidently Anil: "Uffff... why do you buy these complicated things if you're never going to learn to use it baba...."
Lady: "Arre... if you don't teach me then how will I learn baba..?"
Anil: "Read the manual... there's a reason the phone comes with one"
Lady: "But the manual's at home ya... and I don't have the patience so just tell me"
Anil: "I don't have patience for you... achha... do you have the boarding passes"
Lady: "Yes baba... no need to get so hysterical for no reason"
Anil: "Hysterical? ... I just asked you a question... ismae hysterical ki kya baat hai"
Lady: "Achha shuttup now... I have to read Sameer's message"
Anil: (sigh)... *shakes head*

Behind them stood a 24 year old man, thrown back to his Delhi days with a severe longing to be home. All it took was 5 minutes of watching this couple and I had an awkward affection for them - more as a sincere "thank you".

I got on the flight and flew home. I have three homes. The one dearest to my heart, Delhi, is the one I'm fartherest away from. The next is New York, which I'm mostly away from. And my least favorite is my hotel in D.C., which I'm constantly in. For the past year and a half I have lived Monday through Fridays in a hotel away from New York and much too far away from Delhi.

I hope Joy's able to make it out to New York in December, and Anya too. Ooh... and Maya too. Fuck it... if I can't be in Delhi, I'll bring some of it to me :-)

Alive

June 3rd, 2006
East Rutherford, New Jersey - Continental Airlines Arena
(Home of the NJ Nets and the NJ Devils)

Pearl Jam ended the first leg of its 2006 tour here in the "greater" New York area. Karan flew down from San Francisco for the concert. I had tickets (see earlier posts) through the "Tenclub". The only entity that I am a fan club member of - Pearl Jam.

It has taken me a while to write this blog. It seems I am unable to find the appropriate words to express what I went through for those 4 hours. I still haven't found them. There are no adjectives to define the euphoria ... of being in the presence of Pearl Jam performing live, 20 yards away. This is my definition, rather my version, of a musical utopia. A field of dreams... where your dreams are actually realized. They're beyond a "band" to me. They're beyond rockstars. They are the last, of a dying era.

Scores of people had pulled in from everywhere, most were tail-gaiting outside the arena. Playing Pearl Jam songs and throwing footballs around. Karan and I smelt the beef, chicken and pork on the grills and were hungry instantly. We got our tickets from the booth, got a T-shirt each... and waited around looking at the crowd. I had no clue what to expect inside. This being my first concert - ever. (I'm not including a performance by Itzahk Perlman that I attended in Lincoln Center).

Vedder, considered by many, including myself to epitomize the word "cool", spent the entire night, singing, playing the guitar, sweating, rocking, drinking his wine (straight from the bottle of course) and smoking his cigarettes. I have never seen Stone Gossard dance before (in any videos or pictures). He danced a lot. Mike McCready was on fire, jamming and running all over the stage - absolutely phenomenal performance. Matthew Cameron... wow... he had a tremendous night too. My camera sucks, for some reason I wasn't able to zoom in enough and it always made the stage and the band friggin' tiny. But I decided to pose two of the pictures anyway. Once I take the 5 minutes necessary to figure out how to put up a 165 MB video - I'll do that too.

Here's what I didn't expect. I didn't expect the turnout (crowd) - since PJ had performed 2 days ago in the same arena. Apparently that wasn't a full house (or so I've heard). The arena was absolutely packed. Of course we were on the floor so it looked like everyone was rocking, while that may not be the case (i'd imagine the people in the nose-bleed sections might've had a hard time). I didn't expect the sound to be so clear, whenever I could hear them over Karan's singing... (sigh). I didn't expect Vedder to be drinking and smoking on stage (although I knew for a fact that he is known to be sloshed by the last song - but I always envisioned him getting wasted before taking the stage). But what surprised me - and what blew my mind was them 'being' a band. A rock band. The last rock band as far as I'm concerned.

I've performed on stage several times now, and have a decent idea about performing in front of audiences. Sure, the largest crowd I've performed in front of was about 5,000 (while PJ performed in front of 20,000 that night). Nevertheless, I remember how hard we practiced just so we were "together". Just so people came in at the right time, we sounded right... we hit the right notes, we sang the right words, we moved together, we were in... well... unison. And we were 'ok' when we performed. Pearl Jam executed each and e-v-e-r-y song with masterful precision - a clear sign of undeniable experience and dedication. I was thrown off my feet, as they moved from song to song absolutely perfectly. Here is the set list:

Open

No Surrender - Bruce Springsteen song performed solely by Eddie with an Acoustic guitar.

Set 1

Severed Hand

Corduroy - absolutely phenomenal performance

World Wide Suicide

Hail Hail

Animal - they had electricity problems which Eddie blamed Bruce Springsteen for.

Love Boat Captain

In Hiding

Even Flow

I Am Mine

Whipping

Gone

Comatose

State of Love and Trust

Rats

Garden

Inside Job

Porch - awesome slow version. Very unlike the record version - truly awesome.

Encore 1

Army Reserve

Hard To Imagine

Last Kiss - the crowd really got into this song - everyone did.

Black - absolutely fantastic. Beautifully sung... we sang till our throats hurt... and then some.

Crazy Mary - the most amazing version - I actually cried during this song. Read below for more on this one.

Last Exit

Encore 2

Wasted Reprise

Life Wasted

Lukin

Leash

Don't Gimme No Lip

Why Go

Leaving Here

Alive - truly amazing

Yellow Ledbetter - which tailed off into 'Star Spangled Banner' played by McCready, Hendrix style.

The cover band was called "My Morning Jacket". They were good except for the singer - he would go into an extremely high-pitched (ear hurting) voice a little too often. But they had some very good music and were very remniscent of older famous bands.

After years of deliberation, I have concluded that my top 5 favorite songs of Pearl Jam (in no particular order) are: Crazy Mary, Black, Release, Alive & Indifference. To hear 3/5 of these... LIVE... has been a life-changing event. PJ were assisted by Boom Gaspar (a Hammond Organ player) on some of their songs, including Crazy Mary. This song is absolutely amazing and to hear it live was an experience on its own. Now, I'm not gonna lie - but Music and Movies always move me... emotionally. But nothing has made me cry yet... Fucker Vedder successfully drew a tear out of me during Crazy Mary. And to top it off the hair on the back of my neck rose when McCready walked across the stage to Boom and they jammed for about 5 minutes - it was unbelieveable. I don't care much for the organ as an instrument (sort of has an Addam's Family feel to it) but to watch these two go at it was awesome. McCready, in my books, has elevated himself to become one of the greatest guitarists. At times, he would get in the zone by standing at attention, closing his eyes, looking up... and playing... awesome - those were great moments.

More awesome moments - at one point the lights on stage suddenly dimmed and Vedder stood in the middle of stage facing and jamming to the drums... his back to the crowd. The music had subsided to a low volume but rigorously being played... the drumming got louder and more intense as Eddie began to raise his guitar... higher and higher... until it was way over his head... the band continued to play and the music was at full volume again. Vedder was shinning the light from the lonely spotlight... onto the crowd. Wherever he shone the light, that part of the crowd erupted into a chaotic and adoring cheer. It was awesome.

We came out of this concert, sweating, tired, energized and moved. Both Karan and I couldn't believed that were just witness to this unbelievable time. All we did was recount every single moment from the concert. "hey... you know when vedder did.. this!"... haha! Of course i do! I was right there with you!... we did it to each other nonetheless. We needed to tell someone else... fucker Arun didn't answer his phone.

Something important needs to be said now. While we waited for 1 of 50 buses to take us back to New York City, Karan mentioned U2 and a concert of their's that he went for which didn't even compare to this one. He described a catwalk, that circled through the audience and back to the stage, upon which Bono would walk around singing. Now... I like U2 and I like they're songs... but I didn't care for the catwalk shit. I can't even imagine Eddie, putting on leather pants, a blue velvet shirt, orange goggles with a headset instead of a mic... or mic-stand... walking around singing to the crowd. Thats just too fucking Britney Spears for me. And thats what I mean by PJ being the last rock band out there. They are the last of an unfortunately dying era... when rockers would hit the stage and liberate viewers by liberating themselves. There is nothing liberating about whats out there now.

In my 24 years of existence, this concert has become one of my favorite moments. It is grounded in, and will influence in many ways the rest of my life. How and why is not the point. I whole-heartedly hope (ah.. that dangerous word again) that everyone has a defining moment like this... early in their lives.

Godspeed.

BoD... (contd.)

Punjab, Nagaland, Goa and most recently Tamil Nadu have BANNED the release of the Da Vinci Code.

http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/south_asia/5036094.stm

I'm past the stage where shock and disbelief tied my hands behind my back and my words fail me. Perhaps it is time that we accept certain nuances of American Political psychology/culture. Perhaps it is time... we embraced them.

I have never been a fan of American Political Culture (not that India's political characteristics are something to be particularly proud of..) but nonetheless - I find it a little sickening. I almost kneel over every time I hear a politician in the U.S. throw out those stupid phrases - "Liberty..." and "freedom" for all. It is preached in the alleways and yelled from the rooftops "freedom to speak!"... "freedom to express!"... "freedom to think!".... "freedom to invade sovereign states!" ...oops.

These are their civil liberties. Their Bill of Rights. How much of this is actually afforded to them - is questionable. But you know what? It works. These freedoms for the most part ARE afforded to their citizens. People in this country live under the impression (whether falsely or otherwise is irrelevant) that they have these rights but MOST importantly that because they have these rights - other citizens have these rights to. Now bear with me. I'm going to ignore states like Mississippi, Arkansas and Alabama etc. These are like the Bihar's of America. The idea here is that the awareness of your rights AND your fellow citizens rights is what I like about this country. This is a concept that is lacking in India. ME and MYSELF is all that exists.

Our communal riots, though spurred by wicked politicians are still mostly attributable to an emotional and unstable public. Sure, you can blame the politicians. But they are merely taking advantage of an obvious rift. Wholistically, we are bound only by our Patriotism. Even in our metropolitan cities there is a severe lacking in our civic sense. There is a blatant disregard for other citizens and this comes in all forms - whether casteism, stature-ism etc. etc.

Please note that I don't praise the U.S. for much - but this cohesiveness - amongst their citizens (whether misguided, wrong or right - is irrelevant) is something that I do give them credit for. I don't care how they achieved it and I don't care what they use it for... they have it. All else is inconsequential. And it is something I envision for India. I don't see it yet. Maybe because I'm not there. But acts like this aren't very encouraging.

In the end, its disheartening to see Movies, CLEARLY stating that they are fiction, being banned because a religious group claimed that they will riot. This says nothing about a responsible State Government. It speaks volumes, however, about the perceived irresponsibility of the public. It speaks VOLUMES about the Government's lack of faith in their citizens' ability to accept and/or ignore and/or appreciate ANYTHING that hints at a contradiction in their current beliefs. The Brethren of Dolts runs deeper than I had imagined. They are more than a Brotherhood. They are part of the fucking system... (sigh)

Tamil Nadu? - don't they have one of the highest literacy rates? what the fuck is going on? I will ponder on a solution, albeit, I have a strong feeling there is none. Perhaps my acceptance of morons will set an example.

(impossible)

The Brethren of Dolts

http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/south_asia/4985370.stm

Excerpts from the article:

"Roman Catholics in the Indian city of Mumbai (Bombay) have received Muslim support in protests against the release of the movie, The Da Vinci Code."

"An umbrella organisation of Islamic clerics in Mumbai have labelled the film as "blasphemous" because it spreads "lies" about Jesus Christ. One Roman Catholic activist has gone on what he says is a "hunger strike until death" unless the film is banned. "

Maulana Mansoor Ali Khan, general secretary of the All-India Sunni Jamiyat-ul-Ulema, said "The Holy Koran recognises Jesus as a prophet. What the book says is an insult to both Christians and Muslims," and "Muslims in India will help their Christian brothers protest this attack on our common religious belief".
___________________________________

Great.

What did we need more than individual idiots to deal with? Morons of the world unite! A Brethren Of Dolts (hereon will be referenced as BOD). I could name several acquaintances who would merit an induction. No test required. "Can you breathe? Ok. Is your framework of knowledge built on dumbfounding principles of a generally retarded nature - great! you're hired"

Does the concept of "Fiction" completely escape these people? "...an insult to both Christans and Muslims"? It's called a s-t-o-r-y morons... You know what a story is right? Well here's an example... Once upon a time, in land far far away and naked man and a naked woman frolicked in a Golden Garden. Subsequently, they were tricked by a reptile into eating an apple and...

Oh no, I'm sorry... thats not a story... that really happened. right right... (yo... puff and pass man...)

Honestly, what is their purpose on this planet? Why do these morons come out of the wood-work in these times? They rank up there with the "lets establish Prohibition in India" folks.

Give me your addresses. NOW! Arrrrrggghhh! I just... (sigh)... want to grab you by the shoulders and... grrr.... *shake* you... yelling "what!...is!... your... major malfunction!!!???"

The unfortunate thing is none of them will have access to this blog. I bet the Internet is a sin right? As is knowledge? Thats right - according to the book(s) that you take so literally and hold so close to your heart - 'knowledge' was the forbidden fruit. The root cause for mortal sin. Hmm... interesting. So that would mean - *learning* about your religion as a child was sinful... SINNER! Wait wait wait... that means that preaching (as per above and in so many other ways) and thus propelling/spreading the word of God (whatever f-ed up version you hold true) and perpetuating *understanding* (an off-shoot of knowledge) should be a PRIMAL sin no? It's only logical. But wait! Logic must be a fucking sin too. How can you do all of the above and leave out logic? How can these people miss that one? Well, at least you're *saved* on that count - since logic is clearly a characteristic beyond your stunted capacity.

Behold! - the saviors of mankind have revealed themselves! No seriously guys, thanks for your concern and attempted censorship/ban and everything... but you know what? I'll take the rough sex, drugs and Da Vinci Code.

No no... (sarcasm) the censorship of this movie is most definitely worth going on a hunger-strike for. Please do... and rid this world of your stupidity. These are the things that you can check against your list of positive contributions to this planet. Without doubt, you will be recognized in the present and remembered in the future for this stupidity of biblical proportions.

Pun-fucking-intended...

*frustration is evidently rampant*

The Goa Chronicles: Mausam

Chronicle – “a usually continuous historical account of events arranged in order of time without analysis or interpretation.” Of course, some of my chronicles will include opinions so forgive the deviation at times. My chronicles are an attempt to capture (to the best of my memory) events occurring on a travel experience. The first of these (hopefully many) posts relates to my recent travel to Goa, India.

Brief Intro: Goa is located on the west coast of India, in the region known as the Konkan, and is bounded by the state of Maharashtra to the north and Karnataka to the east and south. The Arabian Sea bounds it to the west. Panaji is the state's capital, and Vasco-da-Gama (Vasco) its largest town. Portuguese merchants first landed in Goa in the 15th century, but colonised it soon after. The Portuguese colony existed for about 450 years, until it was annexed by India in 1961. Internationally renowned for its beaches, Goa is visited by hundreds of thousands of foreign and domestic tourists each year, and has become one of the most popular holiday destinations for European travellers.
December 30th, 2005: It was around 1 am in the morning. Joy and I had been walking along the beach sharing a bottle of Old Monk, laughing at the locals dancing in their kachhaas . Before we knew it the bottle was done and we were devastatingly sloshed. Now, between Calingut and Bagha, there was a short stretch where there were no Shacks to light the beach. The sky, though littered with stars and a big bright moon, was not enough to provide the light we needed to navigate effectively so we followed the foam of the sea toward Calingut.

As we dawdled toward our hopeful destination, in a drunken haze, I noticed a girl walking about 40 feet ahead of us. She was in shorts and had a shawl wrapped around herself, no doubt to shield herself from the increasingly chilly night. I nudged Joy (who was barely able to keep his eyes open) and pointed out this lonesome girl to him. As expected, he turned to me and a familiar mischievous smile came across our faces. With inflated chests and longer strides we moved quickly through the sand. Completely drunk and severely lacking female companionship played an important role in our motivation here.

Before we knew it we had caught up to her. Our girlish, impish giggles were more than a give-away and she turned to face us. Wait a minute. No no. This can't be.

She... was a HE!

That’s right ladies and gentlemen, imagine my surprise when the girl who's face had run through our minds several times over was a dude's ugly mug! Our dreams of a midnight romance with a girl strolling the beaches of goa... smashed. But this wasn't going to damper our spirits! No! We weren't about to pass up the opportunity successfully harass a transvestite. So we spoke. Well, Joy spoke. I was still a little upset at the disappointment.

Joy: Hi!

It: Hiiii…

Joy: So umm…whatcha doin?

It: Just walking on the beach – how about you guys?

Joy: Oh… we’re just looking for some action… whats your name?

It: Oh… I’m Mausam.

Joy: Mausam?... ok… (pointing at me) this is Barsaat and I’m Roshni.

(nice...)

It: (smiles) – nice to meet you.

Suddenly, Joy leaps toward me, hugs me and turns us away from “it”. In a fraction of a second his palm is on my face and he’s kissing the back of his hand. So to poor Mausam it looks like we’re makin’ out on the beach. Meanwhile, I’m like – what the fuck?

Note: It is important to keep in mind that we are severely wasted here.

Joy uses his other hand to grab Mausam and pull “it” closer… and I’m starting to get a little worried here. I’ve got a brown-haired dude on me and a transvestite approaching nearer. Never thought I’d say that. At this point Joy pulls away and starts yelling:

“YOU LOVE MAUSAM! I KNOW IT! YOU DON’T LOVE ME ANYMORE!!!” and then... he’s gone.

Nice… thanks a lot Joy. He races off into the darkness and has vanished in a matter of a few seconds. I’m too bewildered to move at this point until I realize that not only am I standing alone in the dark with this transvestite but “it” has moved uncomfortably close to me. With a nervous laugh I call out in vain “umm… Joy?”… no response. Great.

This is one of those moments that you prepare for with ‘think fast’ games in high-school. I am rarely faced with these situations where am forced to react physically and mentally in a fraction of a second. Mausam reaches and grabs my package. WHAT THE FUCK!?

SMACK!

I slap Mausam as hard as I can and “it” falls to the floor helpless and sobbing. I’m looking around desperately unsure of what to do next. Now Mausam, sniffling, tries to stand up and is on its knees when Joytan comes running back. (sigh)

Cut to Joytan’s view: Aman Bahel standing on the beach with a transvestite in front of him on its knees… precariously close to him. No one else is around.

Joy stopped dead in his tracks – looking at me shocked. “NOOO!” he yells and runs over…

SMACK!.... and Mausam hits the ground... again.

Now Joytan is pushing me “what the fuck are you doing you sick bastard?... what’s wrong with you!?”. Now, I haven’t realized what Joy saw and perceived but I’m taking a lot of pushes here.

Suddenly there are voices in the distance.

Joy and I take one look at each other and we’re off. We ran for about ten minutes as fast as we could and with no clue of direction – completely unable to comprehend what has just transpired. Tired, drunk and confused we fall to the sand and sit idly – staring at the Sea trying to catch our breath. No words are spoken here. No words are appropriate. After about five minutes, we find flashlights in our eyes and two bamboo sticks nudging us from behind. Cops. But that’s an unrelated story for another time.

I think back and I suppose I feel sorry for Mausam. But in the end, having this story to tell made it all worthwhile. Yeah yeah... it'll live.

Envisage

Sheets wrinkled from last night's sweat,
Stains of a fine Merlot, I cannot rid my shirt of
She lies still in my bed wrapped in those sheets
How can emptiness fill something till it bursts?
Yes, I composed poems with twisted clichés
Beauty is in the eye of the beholder, as are Vanity and Jealousy
I bear these sins, and wish to though cannot leave.
There are many petals on this rose
and spots on its stem where thorns once stood
But I needn't carry her grocery bags
They aren't as heavy as they seem.


(I wrote this several years ago. It's one of my favorites yet I don't have an inkling as to why.)

Riots...

On October 31st, 1984 - Indira Gandhi (the Prime Minister of India at the time) was assasinated by two of her own (Sikh) body guards.

I will opine on several of the events and facts - in a section below.

Quick Biography:
Indira Gandhi was the only child of Jawahar Lal Nehru (a fag as far as I'm concerned). She was responsible for several successes of India as a country. In 1971, her popularity rose as she battled and gained a victory against Pakistan. She was also in power when India's first nuclear weapon was successfully tested (detonated) and she launched India's first satellite into space.

Right on.

But in 1984, she ordered Indian troops to enter into the Golden Temple (in Amritsar) to fight "terrorists", or promoters of the Sikh secessionist movement. The Sikh secessionist movement was a fight for "Khalistan" a separate Nation for Sikhs. They wanted a nation in the middle of India. Thats right... so it would be surrounded on all sides by... India (sometimes... surdies... (sigh). Anyway, so she ordered the troops into the Golden Temple - one of the most sacred places for Sikhs. Consequently, some very pissed off extremist Sikhs assasinated her in the same year.

As a direct result of this - there was mass rioting in and around Delhi and close to 4,000 Sikhs were massacred (which I believe was Congress sponsored).

What I didn't know happened:

Jabalpur is a prominent city in Madhya Pradesh. It's prominent because it is an important trade route between Maharashtra and farther, southern states to the North. Majority of goods are transported aboard freight trains and trucks and good majority of these truckers are Sikhs. It comes as no surprise that Highway No. 7 (which runs from the South to the North via Jabalpur) is lined with several Sikh settlements (truckers etc.) The following words were spoken by an ex-Commissioner of Police from that district - "We were asked to stand down and stay in our stations as close to 20,000 Sikhs were massacred over a period of 5 days. There was not a single media medium that informed anyone that this was going on - during or after the event. We could do nothing but help clean up in the end."

I sat there dumbfounded.

It was a State organized massacre -similar to the charges in Gujarat except that THAT whole hooplah was over 2,000 Muslims. We're talking 20,000 human beings cut, raped, tortured and burnt. And not one word? Even now if you do a google search you'll find articles stating "4,000 Sikhs killed in Delhi..." etc. etc. and nothing about this.
______
Opinion:

1. I am of the stout belief that State comes before religion of any kind. It is this that makes me believe that Muslims shouldn't be allowed to have multiple wives, and it is the same reason that I think that a temple is Indian soil before it is a temple or a church, or whatever. Indira Gandhi's decision to order troops into the Golden Temple is a touchy subject and I recognize that. Unfortunately, I don't know the "requirment" behind this decision. How important was it - etc. etc. If there was an obvious and deliberate threat to the nation, then yes - I am alright with the troops going in there - if there was no direct threat and they were unarmed etc. then maybe not.

2. The response from the Sikh extremists was fairly disappointing. It was rash and not necessary. There was no great "paap" in what happened. There was no "defilement". And there certainly was no need for her to be assasinated.

3. The fact that rioters were walking around with uniformly cut metal rods (sourced to distributors affiliated with the Congress) is greatly disheartening. Whats worse is they had access to and were openly walking around with Voter lists! They knew where which Sikhs lived and went for them. Someone pointed out that this is like organized crime - where groups are allowed to act above the law. Yes, it is like organized crime, except that it wasn't organized. It was killing and murdering Sikhs who - A) Had nothing to do with the Secessionist Movement and B) Had ABSOLUTELY nothing to do with Indira Gandhi's assasination. Blood-boilingly frustrating to note (and I have no doubt that it wasn't this way) that the lack of good consciounce of a few men surpassed the consciounce of several other men - to an extent where thousands lost their lives.

4. Jabalpur. I'm unsure of this story. This person has no reason to lie. But I just find it hard to believe that a major incident like this goes down and it doesn't get reported anywhere. How is this possible? But wait a minute, this is a little similar to the Kashmir situation isn't it? Scores of Hindu pandits and their families have been either killed or ousted from Kashmir. Thousands of Hindus have lost their lives in that region - but I never hear about it in the news. I never read about it in some prominent, intellectual, supposedly fact-finding, little prick's editorial. No - I hear about it from Army officers, friends of my father's. Not one, or two - but several. Independent of each other. So if this can happen in TODAY's day and age, then why not over 20 years ago? State sanctioned massacre - just like Gujarat. Even now I find and have met with Hindus - expressing extreme grief over the death of these Muslims (not just in Gujarat but in Kashmir also). A good Hindu's good consciounce is troubled with the suffering of another. What happens to that consciounce when Hindus and the Sikhs are massacred?

I look at all this shit... hear all this shit... and while I'm frustrated and angry, I'm also relieved (but only a tiny amount). The reason for this miniscule relief? Because all the reasons I thought I was going to hell for are like a particle of dust in a hurricane of sin.

Throttle...

I met an idiot today.

Every so often you run into people on the street from your past. I'm unsure as to why - but I get this indeniable and incessant need to walk up and say hello. In New York, if you catch a glimpse of a familar face across the street, it is more than easy to avoid that person all together. But no... no no no... that would be too easy. An urge drives me to walk up and say hello - "hey - howya been?" Stupid stupid... stupid... (sigh).. stupid me. Why do I forget... for those few moments... the primary reasons I have avoided this person for - for so long. It just slips past me!

But then, within two minutes of dialogue I am reminded - and for the next several hours I will remain frustrated... more at myself than at that person. That ugly person (intrinsically... not appearance-wise)... so ugly that I bet their mother had to get drunk to breast feed them.

There are no words to compensate for their existence. These are the people you want to slap around... actually not even just "oh hi... *smack!* - and they're out cold... no no.. thats not enough... a blunt spoon to the throat perhaps... or a long... unabbreviated strangle-hold - one that keeps them busy with pain for an elongated period of time - yeah... bleeding just doesn't cut it anymore.

Perhaps a burlap bag or a potato sack... followed by several blows with a baseball bat to their head. Eitherway, sometime shit just pours out of people's mouths and all one can do is look at the sky and wonder - is there a god? You hope so.

I've tried the Gandhi path - a simple (sigh).. shrugh, smile and walk away - but how long can my patience be tested? Had there not been witnesses today, Earth would've been short yet another insignificant cockroach.

Pent up anger and angression you say? More like frustration - bound for eternity to these minions of the dumber gods. Its easy if a person is just dumb - no? You can laugh and say - its ok... he's just dumb! Its o-k. But what if they're dumb and they try to overcome it with arrogance? What about if they try to overcome it with opinions - which they believe if spoken with enough conviction will make them sound smart. I feel sorry for their kids... and even worse for the poor women who are fated to conceive them. These are the truly ill-fated women of the world.

I'm out. I will try to sleep off this day and move on to the next. I will pray to God tonight - perhaps he will re-distribute his love for ALL creatures today... because clearly he left out a few...

You know I'm frustrated when my words fail me.

CANCEL!

The South...

So I've visited both Dallas and Atlanta now and am experiencing a different side of America. Granted these visits are short-lived but experiences nonetheless and I do consider them to be moderately important.

Dallas, Texas (June 2005): I was there for a week. My group's annual off-site was held there. The city is fairly nice. Of course, my glasses are tinted with the Big Apple so while I attempted to rid myself of any pre-conceived notions but whats the point of not keeping things relative. As expected it was hot. I mean really hot. Delhi hot. The word I use for Dallas is 'scarce'. There's a scarcity of stores, people and generally.. life as I'm used to it. Its as if a Suburb lives amongst a few tall buildings - very strange for me. Nonetheless, a few adventurous folks and myself proceeded to experience the city by foot. We were in the "hotel/financial" district (if there is such a thing). There was almost no one on the streets. We walked into a bar and the contrast was more than noticeable. Stark white folks staring at us. Our group composition: a Russian (thus white), an Arab, a Chinese fellah and an Indian (myself) . Some dude was singing about his Dodge Ram on the juke box.

Anyway, I've never felt so out of place in my life. A bunch of rednecks staring me down clearly letting me know I wasn't welcome. It came as a sudden realization that I was probably safer in the ghetto than here. Here... they can afford guns.

Anyway, so after mustering up all the courage I could and with whatever dignity I could afford, I sat down with my colleauges and had a beer. We could hear them jeering at us, provoking us - but we endured. In the end, we reached home safely - having successfully swallowed our pride. It was expected. It was known. But it was still a little shocking. Living in New York - I've rarely had a racist comment made at me. There have been some - but they are so mild that they only occur to me as an after thought - "oh... did that just happen because I'm Indian?"

Atlanta, Georgia (June 2006): A year later I'm in Atlanta. I had a high expectations - given that its the home of Ludacris and the Nelly. (Side note: what the fuck is up with Nelly and the band aid on his face?... i mean seriously...) Anyway, so Atlanta is a different kind of town, there are African American people by the scores. Its not that I'm not used to this diversity living in New York and having done some considerable travel to places like Cleveland, Ohio and Washington, D.C. - but a fairly large chunk of the population here is African-American. Note: I do not have a problem with this community - this was a mere observation.

Nevertheless, I'm walking down the street at 10:00 pm with another Indian, a white male and a white female. I've got the Ritz-Carlton to my left and Brooks Brothers to my right. Immediately I feel secure that this neighborhood is fairly safe given these two landmarks. I'm wrong. Within a few seconds of being noticed by the local hobos - we were approached by one of them. 6 feet 6 inches tall with able hands and legs. No reason for him to not have a job. He walks up to us and begins to ask for some change. No - I'm not giving you shit. Fuck you, get a job. Harsh, yes. Fuck you too if you think I'm a dick. You better be a parapalegic or an amputee to get money outta me. So we keep walking but he kept following saying random shit until he bursts into "Fuck you Spanish mother fuckers" - aahhhh... he thinks I'm spanish - nothing unusual there- it happens a lot to me. Anyway, I took offense nonetheless but wasn't going to let Goliath know that. I kept walking, fists clenched - unable to say anything and partially praying that this pissed off troll doesn't shoot me. The chick we were finally gives him a dollar and tells him to go away. Good riddance no?... no... mother fucker stays with us for another 5 minutes - cursing out the spanish, the indian cab drivers and "The Man". Yes, we are the cause of all your problems. So he finally leaves us alone and what happens? Hobo #2 approaches. I mean... you've got to be kidding! Hobo #2 was 5"4' tall and didn't walk straight - so while I wasn't as intimidated anymore, one still wasn't sure of any concealed weapons... not that he had many clothes to hide any weapons but still. I finally turned around to this guy (our new companion) and very politely said "Me no espeeky english... no dolla... no moanie (money)..." It worked! He left, cursing and twitching.We reached back to the hotel in total shock. Couldn't imagine what the ghetto of Atlanta was like - if this was the case in front of the Ritz-Carlton. I don't consider this a racial experience but there's a marked difference between this city and New York. In NY, hobos chill on side, asking for money but never actually following you. You may hear a comment or two but thats about it. This has only strengthened my conclusion that if I'm to stay in this country - it New York and no other place.

Racial profiling of any kind is an inevitable outcome of a capitalist system. Its like Crash, the movie. Watch it if you haven't. Phenomenal one-time watch. I feel this burden. Arun knows what I'm talking about. Wait, to call it a burden is inaccurate. Its a subconscious, constant, prodding, an awareness. No matter where I am - on a flight, checking into a hotel, walking down the street, over here I am c-o-n-s-t-a-n-t-l-y aware of the fact that I'm Indian. I hate it.

I want to go home... back to India.

This is a long-ass blog.

(sigh)

The Obvious...

The blood in your veins pumps through with certain inevitability. Straight to your heart for purification, back out through your body and then the cycle continues. On the outside, the world follows a similar pattern. Each ephemeral but significant event serves as a cleansing agent. A time for you to step back and reassess everything you’ve succeeded in and everything you’ve failed at to this point. And you'll wear it on your face as you make promises and assure yourself that you will change this way and that way. You will feel this and that. You anticipate, you envision and then move on. You may even promise yourself to always remember that moment or event – and you may actually remember it the way you wanted. But you may forget about it years down the road. And either way is alright.

It comes as no surprise that life is a series of realizations each of which promises to be profound –for the time being at least. And pulling this cart of realizations is hope. Hope for that final realization (sigh), hope that the final realization truly is… profound. So that in the end, you can justify having lived.

There is nothing "profound" here – merely another realization. A realization that some things are just obvious.

Discovery

It was on a Sunday afternoon that I discovered spandex. I had finished my afternoon cup of tea and was mentally preparing myself for a good jog. Thats right - I jog. But that dreaded "ghissa" - oh fearful ghissa... curse you!

For those of you unfamiliar with *ghissa* -I shall explain. When you run and sweat profusely (as I do), sweat inevitably trickles down your inner thighs. When you slow down and do some walking (i.e. take a break from the running) the sweat dries up very quickly. As the inner thighs rub against each other over this wet (but steadily drying) skin - you develop - "ghissa". Its a burn and it hurts like a mother. For several months now my timid mind has boggled over a solution to this exceedingly bothersome problem. And now I have found it - spandex!

Now now - its alright. Its not like I'm wearing nut-huggers and running around the streets in a yellow tight top and spandex-bicycle shorts. I wear regular basketball shorts over the spandex - and maintain a very decent sense of (ahem) man...li... umm... ness. (yeah... shut up).

Fact is spandex and me are friends now. Spandex was developed for a reason and after much reluctance -I have tested it. Ladies and gentlemen, my conclusion is as follows: A careful use of spandex (note -"careful" use...) is allowed - you can continue to respect yourself and have others respect you if you wear spandex and conceal it well enough (please find note of caution below).

Note of caution: I still do not condone running in nothing but spandex on the street, sweating... panting... heaving... bleah! NO! ohhhhh... and you know who you are. You are dangerously falling closer and closer to the category of - "guy who runs in ridiculously short speedo shorts and no shirt". Think of the trauma young children experience when the witness these atrocities of gross negligience... of a severe lacking in civic sense. Spandex is a useful tool but must be used wisely. Inappropriat eusage can cause tremendous and possibly irrepairable damage. So go my young grasshoppers - and experience spandex freely - but carefully...

(oh.. and Kareena Kapoor... yeah - spandex didn't exist when Ashoka was king - SO YOU CAN'T BE WEARING THAT SHIT AND DANCING WITH HIM ON A RAFT IN A MOVIE BASED IN THAT PERIOD OF TIME!

I mean seriously - they took Ashoka... put him no a wooden raft and made him dance with a girl in spandex... r-a-i-g-h-t... I'm sure thats what Ashoka was doing... you know... in between his strategic sessions planning his quest for world domination... "oh! you know what!?... a nice boat ride with a gori in spandex and some dancing will be fun..." ...bhenchot... khassi bana diya uska.)

3 / √3 (confused? - well i am...)

ok seriously - I've had it with this. I'm seething right now - yeargh!

You see the fraction in the title above? I first came across this math problem "anomaly" over a year ago when a certain someone, while studying for the GMATs asked me - "what is 3 /√3 ?" I kid you not - This was a serious question. I passed it off then as a comical lapse. You know, you're studying very hard and sometimes the obvious just slips past you. Fair enough. It can happen to anyone. But that wasn't the last of it. It started originally as a lightly humorous joke. Until Arun and I found ourselves joking about it in front of people - and they didn't get it. Thats when the gravity of the situation hit. I started then - to explore (to-date without a solidified answer). I've posed this question to over 40 people now.

Now, I can imagine that some people hate math. I did -in school. Never liked it. I wasn't horrible at it - but I didn't like it. But thats not an excuse. If 2 + 2 = 4 is a fundamental question for a 3 year old then 3 /√3 is a fundamental question for ANY adult. Honestly, I can't believe this is actually an issue for people. BUT IT IS!

*deep breath*

Ok. Pose this question to the next person you meet. Ask them - "what is 3 /√3?" They may look at you for re-assurance that this is not a trick question. You MAY give them that assurance. I'm curious to know the responses you get. Try different audiences - and don't write it down for them. My current theory is that they're having a problem conceptualizing what three divided by the square root of 3 looks like in their head (which is strenuously dumbfounding on a different level).

I did try it on different people. I tried it on co-workers and friends. I brought it up while sharing a cab with people in D.C. or in casual conversations at hotel lobbies or in the gym. So far only TWO people have given me a straight and correct answer without getting flustered. My brother and Arun. My brother won a medal in his 10th boards for Math - so its safe to say his Math is strong. Arun's math is strong too - take my word for it. But do you have to be a math god to know this? I've asked computer science majors who work in esteemed consulting firms, to private business owners, to salespeople to even co-workers of mine in my group who graduated in Engineering from Ivy League schools. NONE OF THEM GOT IT!?

This is not a rocket science question. Nor is this some childish quest to prove to others how smart I am. I'll put it like this. If you know the answer - good... not GREAT... just good. If you don't know it (sigh)... its time to go back to school.

What is it? Is it the way you were taught math? It can't be. I spread my test population across different ethnicities. (Yes, EVEN the indians who studied Math in India - a subject we are so very proud of our success in - FAILED!)

First of all, I can't believe this is an actual test for me now. The best part is I was telling this story to a co-worker today about how you have to be retarded to not know the answer is to 3 /√3. He was looking at me as if it were the funniest thing I'd ever said.

I knew then that he didn't know. I asked him. He said 9. AND because he couldn't conceptualize it in his head, I had to walk thim through it using the laws of exponents.

What is that turns our minds to mush? Is it solar radiation? The spinning Earth? Britney Spears? What... WHAT!? I haven't pinned down a definitive answer yet... but i'm working on it.

By the way - my "mental-midget**" viewers,

- yeah you know who you are -

You can put away your calculators. The answer is √3.

**"Mental-Midget" - a coined Bahel phrase. If you don't understand the phrase - you fall into its category. Pleasingly self-serving :-)

Modernization!

"The Operations, Maintenance and Development Agreements and the share holders agreements have been signed," India's aviation minister said.

In January, the government announced that the two airports will be leased to private companies. The move was opposed by trade unions and airport employees.

The GMR group, a leading construction firm based in south India, won the contract to modernise Delhi airport along with its German partner Fraport.

Another leading construction company, GVK, won a similar contract for Mumbai airport with Airports Company of South Africa (ACSA)."
- BBC News (www.bbc.co.uk/news)

excellent... this is great news. Hopefully the project will be handled in the same way that the Underground Trains in Delhi were - strategically, efficiently and expeditiously.

Dilettante

So many blogs have gone by and I am surprised at myself for not having mentioned Thomas Mann. He is the author that caught me off-guard.

Now, several people have favorite authors and/or books and some have favorite moments or sections of books that they are fond of. I only really started reading in college (how very unfortunate for me, yes.) - but Mann is my favorite author.

(Note: I'm not counting The Hardy Boys, Tintin and Asterix as real "reading" as a child.)

After several years of reading numerous books, Thomas Mann surprised me. 'Death in Venice' was the first piece of literature of Mann's that I read and I literally (pun not intended) hung from every one of his words. His diction, sentence structure and grammatical prowess surpassed all others.

"And by beauty we mean simplicity, largeness, and renewed severity of discipline we mean a return to detachment and to form. But detachment, Phaedrus, and preoccupation with form lead to intoxication and desire, they may lead the noblest among us to frightful emotional excesses, which his own stern cult of the beautiful would make him the first to condemn."

But above all - it was the distinction between intellect and art that he perpetuated and studied. His absolutely fascinating characters have limitless depth and draw an unimagineably realistic parallel to life. The best part is, he didn't need a 500 paged novel to achieve this. He did it with his short stories as well.

I didn't truly appreciate the "short story" form until I read some of Hemmingway's and Mann's stories. And now, its almost as though I prefer them over a novel. "The Dilettante" was the first story I read. Coincidentally, "delettante" is my favorite English word -if there is such a thing.

"But what is destroying me is that hope has been destroyed with the destruction of all pleasure in myself. I cease to write, fling the pen from me -- full of disgust, full of disgust! I will make an end of it -- alas, that is an attitude too heroic for a dilettante. In the end I shall go on living, eating, sleeping; I shall gradually get used to the idea that I am dull, that I cut a wretched and ridiculous figure."

His work isn't meant to be an inspiration yet I am always inspired. They aren't your "Tuesday's with Morrie", it's dark and twisted fiction -but brilliant fiction. His literary genius sways me, turns me and leaves me shocked. Which is essentially how he caught me off-guard in the beginning. He surprised me by writing about the THEN not-so-cliche'd theme that - all is NOT necessarily going to end well.

[DO NOT source greek and shakespearean tradgedies in a counter-argument here. There is a difference between a tradgedy and a story of degeneration. Degeneration of the mind, physical being or a society. Unfortunately people apply the word 'tradgedy' to anything these days. If something is sad -"oh, thats tragic" - NO IT'S NOT! It's just f*kin' sad! Thats all. Same thing with the word 'epic' - "oh! titanic was a romantic epic". NO IT'S WASN'T. An epic traditionally means over 10 years. The sh*t needs to go on for over 10 years... not a few hours in the Ocean having cross-social-strata sex. People died -its sad... but its NOT A TRADGEDY EITHER!]

Anyway, I encourage my readers to read a little of what inspires me - Thomas Mann.