A Love Reaction

 What compels me to write? When do I put fingers to the keyboard and start typing with gusto, words flowing out like water bubbling through that broken pipe which you've been meaning to fix but never got around to and now it's too late and your kitchen is flooded and oh, hell. 

When I was young, it was mostly love. The feeling you feel when you are going to feel a feeling you've never felt before. I wrote pages after pages, not necessarily about love but because of it. Because of the high I used to feel after meeting her between scoops of ice cream, meeting her between rows of books, meeting her at bus-stops, walking through narrow streets sprinkled all over that tiny hometown of mine. 

If not love, it was reading. Which is a kind of love too, of course. Love with words, with dialog, with the process of creating worlds which take you away for a few hours. Worlds of horror, of mystery, of intrigue, of castles filled with incredibly funny Earls, secretaries, and butlers. My writing at the time echoed Stephen King, Robert Ludlum, Agatha Christie, Arthur C Clarke, and every Indian english reader's constant source of amusement, PG Wodehouse. It was terrible writing, now that I look back at it, but it flowed. 

It changed later though, after several years. Especially after my daughter was born, which was peak blogging era (LiveJournal, sigh). I wrote about emotions, about her growing up, about what we learned, my wife and I. Strangely enough, my son's birth a few years later was peak social media. It was Facebook, it was Instagram, it was Twitter, and Whatsapp. Which meant I have fewer videos and pics of my daughter compared to my son, but more words for Rachu than Karan. Not quite sure how I feel about that now.

So, what compels me to write? At this age, at this moment, I think it's the opposite of love. Not quite hate, but anger. Bitterness. Sadness. Frustration. With the world, with politics, with the irrationality that surfaces every day. With the unfairness of it all. And the realization that it's here to stay and there's little I can do about it. 

Other than write.

Father's Day

Thirteen. She's thirteen now. I have no idea how she grew up so fast. From that evening when she was born, through her first day at day care, the first time she was injured, her first day of school, her first birthday party, her first movie, book, toy, friend...I remember them all. More firsts await her, await me, as she lives her life.

Lives her life on her terms, making her own choices.

Father's Day wasn't just yesterday. It started thirteen years ago, when she was born. Every day has been special, every day has been this father's day.

Happy birthday, sweetheart.

Speaking Up, Again

This is a short piece I wrote for the Women's Network at work, recycled from an eight year old post.

---

I confess I'm at a loss when asked to write or talk about diversity in the workplace. I'm no program leader, neither am I an expert on the topic. There's realms of research done by professionals which prove out the benefits of having a diverse workforce, all just a Google search away. 

One topic that's close to my heart though, is about speaking up. We don't do it often enough, irrespective of gender. This could be due to cultural and social reasons with us living in an hierarchical society, but the impact remains the same. We don't really raise our hand and contribute our ideas when faced with challenges. Our solutions to problems tend to be one sided and linear, as the problem solvers wind up being the same kind of people most of the time. On the other hand, if we were to encourage diverse views from a heterogenous mix of contributors, the solutions turn out to be richer and long lasting. 

Speaking up is also about getting involved. Having the courage to challenge existing authority, or as you will see in the story below, standing up for what's right. What follows is a true story about someone who displayed a lot of courage and did the right thing. I've always found this inspirational, hope you will too.

There was this private bus which ferries doctors to and fro from their college in Hoskote. It stops near the Hope Farm in Whitefield, cuts through ITPL and then hits the Outer Ring Road. This bus was blocked by two drunks one evening near the Hope Farm junction. One of them got on board and started abusing the driver for driving through that area. Apparently, the drunk mistook the bus for a public transport vehicle.

The abuse turned violent when the drunk pushed the driver out of the bus and started hitting him with a thick, flat stone. Blood started pouring from the driver's head. The people in the bus looked on, unsure of what to do, not wanting to get involved. People on the road stood and stared, as they always do. 

A woman stepped out of the bus and ran towards the fight. She positioned herself between the drunk and the driver, stretched out an arm and said,"You will not touch him again". 

The drunk tightened his grip on the stone, said "I don't care for ladies. Step aside or I'll hit you too". The lady didn't reply, but kept her arm outstretched. The drunk moved around in a circle, trying to see if he could get closer. The woman moved with him, making sure the driver was protected. The drunk stopped short of hitting her, but tried a few lunges from time to time. The woman maintained her position, not saying a word, not budging an inch. 

This was the tableau when the cops arrived, ten minutes after the lady had intervened. The drunk tried to run away, but couldn't go far. The cops caught him, brought him close to the lady and asked her to identify him. She did. The cops hauled the drunk away and took the driver to a nearby hospital. The lady took her cellphone, called her husband and asked him to come get her home. 

Which is what I did.

How to get to heaven and what to do there (Part 4)

You spend a good part of the next morning applying suntan lotion, as you discover you've turned a very dark shade of brown overnight. Of course, it would have helped to do this before your trip to the sunny, snow covered hills of Sonamarg, but you go ahead and apply it anyway. Better late than never, as you always say.

You spend the day dutifully visiting the Mughal gardens in Srinagar, as you've been instructed to by friends. You ooh and ah at the first garden, Shalimar, privately thinking that Lalbagh was better. The second, Nishat, does have its charm, though. Tulip, the third garden is surprisingly enough, all about tulips. You find red tulips, yellow tulips, orange, pink and a few other shades you never believed existed. You find that you've covered only a tenth of the park, but by then you have seen enough tulips to last you a lifetime.

How to get to heaven and what to do there (Part 3)

Alright, let's get down to business. You are here for the snow. You've heard stories about it, you've seen it in hundreds of movies, you've always dreamt of throwing snowballs at everyone, especially at the Bangalore drivers who cut in from the left.

You hire a cab to Sonamarg, it's a ninety minute drive from Srinagar. The family starts cheering when you spot the first blob of snow on the road. It's a brownish-white muddy mess, but you stop and take a dozen pictures. Your driver points at you and laughs helplessly.

The terrain changes quickly. You see more of white, less of brown. You arrive at the foot of a snow covered hill. There are tents, small houses and hundreds of Kashmiri guides all around. 

You get out of the car and try to go with the least intimidating bunch. You do need to rent snow boots anyway. You are not sure if you need a guide though, you try walking up. You cover thirty feet and stop, legs aching, gasping for breath. 

The guides come by again, they tell you that they can take you up the hill on their sleds, they can show you parts of Sonamarg that you wouldn't be able to see on your own. The lead guide is all of seventeen years old. He says he will need to wait five hours till he gets his turn again. It's a token based system, apparently. You agree, he and his friends start pulling you and your family uphill. It's not the proudest moment of your life. 

Then again, it's probably one of the most spectacular. 

How to get to heaven and what to do there (Part 2)

The army is everywhere. In the airport, next to the baggage carousel, next to the terminal gate, the men's room, the exit, the pre-paid taxi stand. You see a soldier with a gun every fifty metres on the road. The cops are heavily armed too. They conduct frequent checks on vehicles, ask drivers for their papers. You don't think it's a move to make money on the side, though. The checks are quick, a glance at the license and registration appear to be enough. The driver takes it in his stride, he is clearly used to it.

You reach the hotel, the one right next to Nigeen Lake, which showed up prominently on Trip Advisor. It looks old school, with heavy carpeting and Mughal knick-knacks. It was probably someone's house, you remark as your bags are taken inside. You wander around the place a bit, checking out the lawn and the lake right in front. Impressive. Beautiful. Especially the free wifi.

You settle in for your first full fledged Kashmiri meal, served right at your table. The rotis are soft, the sauces delicious and the mutton well cooked. You get ready for a nap, you are on vacation after all. Your wife has different ideas, though. You are steered to the front desk, where you ask for a Shikara,  one that you can hire for a four hour ride through the Nigeen and Dal lakes, through the canals and backwaters of Srinagar.

The Shikara shows up promptly, the boatman mentions an hourly rate of Rs 600. You negotiate at length and finally beat him down to Rs 650. The kids get bundled in, you and your wife settle down on the comfortable bed inside the boat. The boatman, Shafiq Mohammed, gently eases the Shikara towards Nigeen lake and beyond.

The ride is lovely. You miss Bangalore traffic of course, especially the honking and the autos cutting in from the left, but then there are similarities. You have the occasional boat sliding along towards you, trying to sell you Kashmiri ware. Paper mache products, nuts and shawls are available. You politely decline, as you've been instructed to by friends. You do feel a pinch of sadness, though. This is their only livelihood. Tourism is the biggest industry in Kashmir. Perhaps the only one.

The Dal lake comes up ahead. You stop at a shop in the middle of the lake, have your first taste of Kashmiri Kehwa. It's very sweet, but warm and pleasant too. It's a mix of tea, saffron, almonds and a bunch of other stuff that's good for you. You raise a toast to Shammi Kapoor and hum to yourself, as your boat snakes into the sunset.

How to get to heaven and what to do there (Part 1)

First, put your kids to bed at 8pm or earlier, as the flight's at 6 in the morning. Spend a sleepless night tossing, turning and hoping you wake up at 3. Wake up at 2:30 instead and stare at your wife, who didn't sleep anyway.

Give the cab driver directions to your house, poke the kids awake, do the regular, last minute mad scramble to pack and lock up, bundle up everyone in the cab and sleep till you reach Bangalore airport. Get on the Mumbai flight as it's cheaper, though you'll need to spend over three hours at the Chhatrapati Shivaji Airport, which is not really different from the Chhatrapati Shivaji Bus Terminal.

You've probably seen better bus bus terminals, in fact.

Wait for the boarding call for your flight to Srinagar. Plan extra time for the extra round of baggage checking just before you board. Secretly get irritated but act virtuous and nod your head saying it makes you feel safer. Control your excitement in the flight, which is fairly easy to do given that it's a two and a half hour ride and you have all sixteen members of the Joshi family for company. The eldest Joshi is busy doing a Sudoku and munching on a paneer roll, the youngest is bawling for one of the mothers Joshi, in harmony with Baby Joshi Two screaming for his dad to play Angry Birds with him and Baby Joshi Three laughing after tripping the stewardess for the second time.

You proudly look at your four year old, happy that he's quiet. Quietly puking into the barf bag, but quiet nevertheless. Your wife smiles at you, holding your son on her left hand and stroking your sleeping daughter's hair with her right. You smile back, stretch, munch on your chips and get back to your book.

Kashmir shows up quite soon, though. It takes your breath away.

You wait till the plane lands, you can't wait to get on the ground. You, your family, the sixteen Joshis and the rest of the passengers rush past the crew and set your feet on the ground. There are smiles all round. You walk towards the terminal, at peace. 

You have arrived at heaven.

Karan

So, I became a dad all over again last Monday. Thanks to technological marvels such as Blackberry, Facebook and Twitter, I could take pics and let people know within minutes of my son's birth. Felt weird, felt good too. Feb 23 was an amazing day for a lot of happy Indians, it became even more special for me.

The baby is doing just great. He keeps us awake most nights as any newborn worth his salt would. His mom is also fine and well, recuperating faster than most, thanks to an excellent gynaec whose only advice after the Caesarian was to run up and down four flights of steps. My wife being who she is, loved the advice and proceeded to do exactly that. She's almost fully back to normal now, within just a few days of the operation.

The big sister went through a mild patch of severe stomach ache and vomiting, which started curiously enough the day the baby reached home. She got a lot of extra attention the next couple of days and is back to normal now, thankfully.

We have named him Karan. Karan Madhav. You know he's going to steal your daughter's heart one day, don't you?

Our first choice of name was Kabir, though. It's sad that we live in times when we had to rule out a child's name, for fear of giving him an unnecessary handicap when he grows up. Kabir, you see, is perceived as a Muslim name in the south, especially in Kerala. Sindha and I thought of conversations which would go:

- "What's your name, smartass?"
- "Kabir"
- "A-ha! What's your father's name?"
- "Madhav"
- "Oh! We have a live one here. What's your mother's name?"
- "Thomas"

This would ensure him getting beaten up by all three communities. The Sikhs might also join in, given the importance they give to Kabir's poems. As much as we both loved the name Kabir, we just didn't want to setup our son for trouble later on in his life. The above scenario could very well turn out true, the way things are going these days, especially in Karnataka. I'm not very proud of it, but we chickened out finally.

At any rate, the baby is here and all of us are happy and well. We are four now.

Kiddie Tales Vol 4

It helps having your parents over to babysit your kid, especially during the long summer holidays. One problem though is that the kid gets influenced quite a bit by the grandparents. Having your child go through the usual Ramayana-as-told-by-grandma routine is to be expected, of course. What one doesn't expect though is to see the kid look at a spoonful of salt and go,"Oh, King Lear!". Not to mention said kid lifting left arm and pointing out,"Biceps, triceps and deltoid!".

Deltoid, indeed.

Cross one

Ok, so that's one off my long term to-do list. Watched The Never Ending Story with my daughter.

Thanks

Thanks for all the messages, folks. Rachu is doing much better - the wound is healing fast. She is back at the creche today.

First Cut

What's the scariest event that can happen to you at work? Getting fired? Falling down the office steps? Getting stuck in a lift?

Or getting a call from the creche where you left your two year old, a stranger's call, a call informing you that your daughter fell down and cut her chin and the bleeding stopped but she is sleeping now and they don't know what to do and can you come as soon as possible and you don't even know who the fuck is calling and all you want to do is to slam the phone down and run like a hare, run to her, run and be by her side?

***
Nothing major, thankfully. She was pushed by some snot-nosed kid onto the steps where she fell and cut her chin. Sindha and I took her to Manipal Hospital, where they put in four stitches and covered her chin in gauze bandages.

The kid is taking it pretty well, everything considered. She even thanked the doctor on the way out. Tomorrow might be hell though, I suspect. I'm taking the day off anyway.

And the lady who called? I still don't clearly know who she was. She told me "my sister is alone at the creche". I said,"so who am I talking to?". She kept quiet for a few seconds and said "I am her sister's sister". Ah, of course.

Kireedom Revisited

There's this bus which ferries doctors to and from from their college in Hoskote. It stops near the Hope Farm in Whitefield, cuts through ITPL and then hits the Outer Ring Road. This bus was blocked by two drunks on Saturday evening, near the Hope Farm junction. One of them got on board and started abusing the driver for driving through that area. Apparently, the drunk mistook the bus for a public transport vehicle.

The abuse turned violent when the drunk pushed the driver out of the bus and started hitting him with a thick, flat stone. Blood started pouring from the driver's head. The people in the bus looked on, unsure of what to do, not wanting to get involved. People on the road stood and stared, as they always do.

A woman stepped out of the bus and ran towards the fight. She positioned herself between the drunk and the driver, stretched out an arm and said,"You will not touch him again". The drunk tightened his grip on the stone, said "I don't care for ladies. Step aside or I'll hit you too". The lady didn't reply, but kept her arm outstretched. The drunk moved around in a circle, trying to see if he could get closer. The woman moved with him, making sure the driver was protected. The drunk stopped short of hitting her, but tried a few lunges from time to time. The woman maintained her position, not saying a word, not budging an inch. This was the tableau when the cops arrived, ten minutes after the lady had intervened.

The drunk tried to run away, but couldn't go far. The cops caught him, brought him close to the lady and asked her to identify him. She did. The cops hauled the drunk away and took the driver to a nearby hospital.

The lady took her cellphone, called her husband and asked him to come get her home. Which is what I did.

Kichan in The Hindu

He didn't tell me about this interview at all! He is the guy in the right, btw.

Madhav Nair Happy Aanu

Moved. I just can't stop smiling. Our house, our land, our aching bones.

Pics to follow.

7

How I spent my summer vacation

Through a window, clearly

The first glimpse of Kerala always floors me. The mode of transport doesn’t really matter. A train window does offer a different perspective compared to the view from above, but the effect is the same. Wonder. Happiness. Awe.

Sindha looked outside and said, "I see only coconut trees. Nothing else - no houses, no roads, nothing." I smiled back. I love this land.

The Heat

We could feel the difference in climate from the moment we alighted. Hot, humid, sultry as hell. Rachu got affected the most; the first day was pretty bad for her. She cried a lot after reaching home, got very cranky in the evening and scared off most people who came close to her. Luckily, we did have a bit of rain a couple of days later, which cooled things somewhat. Sleeping with the a/c turned on also helped. Rachu perked up immediately when the a/c kicked in. She grinned at us, did somersaults on the bed and went to sleep without too much fuss.

But it was still hot most days. We didn’t venture out anywhere during the day.

The Songs

It was all about one song, really. Lajjavathi was everywhere. Three year old kids who couldn’t put a normal sentence together were crooning the lyrics. Sixty six year old grand-moms whose last song sung was Aatmavidyalayame were singing while working. The song played in shops, in movie halls, from loudspeakers on cars on election duty and on every channel every day.

The song is quite catchy, of course. It’s easy to see why it’s such a big hit. Jassie Gift’s singing style adds a tangy flavor. However, I doubt if he can repeat this phenomenal success.

I bought a few CDs - 4 The People (of course), Hits of Manju Warrier, Bharatham, Panchagni+Nakhakshathangal+Kaathodu Kaathoram (the best Malayalam soundtrack CD ever) and an assorted collection of the latest hits.

The Books

I badly wanted to start reading Malayalam literature. I’ve always been ashamed of having read novels like Kazhakhinte Ithihasam and Yakshi in English, rather than their native Malayalam. Went to Current Books and bought a pile:

1. Kazhakhinte Ithihasam by OV Vijayan
2. Marthandavarma by CV Raman Pillai
3. Ummachu by Uroob
4. Mayyazhippuzhayude Theerathu by M Mukundan
5. Payyan Kathakal by VKN
6. Asuravithu by MT

Sindha bought Mrs. Mathew’s cookery book and an English translation of Premchand’s Godaan. I started reading Payyan Kathakal, found it light and enjoyable. The others will be more difficult, I guess. Might need a good dictionary, too.

The Movies

We couldn’t go for any movie, for obvious reasons. Or rather, one reason - li’l Miss Rachana Madhav. 4 The People and Vellinakshathram were the current hits, from what I understood. Mohan Lal had a new movie called Vismayathumbathu, which appears to be a pale reworking of Manichitrathazhu. No one apart from a few die hard fans seemed interested in the film. Sad to see one of the best actors of my generation slowly sink into oblivion.

The Friends

There aren't too many of my friends around aymore. Jamy is the only one from what I call my inner circle, who is still in Trivandrum. Sindha, Rachu and I went to Sreeji’s house and met his parents, two brothers and other folks. They were quite happy to see us, after a really long while. Met Jamy at his house, but he had a personal emergency and we couldn’t get too much time to sit and talk. We wanted to go to Jayasankar’s house too, but lacked the energy to go up to Vattiyoorkavu in the heat.

Sindha's circle has three friends, out of which two were in Trivandrum. We visited both of them. We also did the obligatory visiting neighbours thingy too. Smiles all around.

The Sights

Veli was packed with people the day we visited. I was sad to find that my favorite coconut tree, the one which leant over into the backwaters, was missing. That apart, it was quite relaxing to sit next to the lake, with the cool sea breeze gently touching your face. Rachu was delighted too - she really enjoyed being next to the water and watching the birds fly by.

We did visit Shankhumukham beach too, but the kid was exhausted by then and we had to leave.

The Food

Staying at Sindha’s place is always fun. I never feel hungry from the moment I step in. Chicken - curry and chilly, three different varieties of fish - each fried and curried, tapioca, mutton cutlets, crab curry, fried prawns and the usual vegetarian spread of avial, sambar, thoran, ithyadi. The whole trip was one gastronomic delight. I also managed to get meat puffs from Jayaram Bakery and halwas (pineapple, grape and fig) from Sweet Mahal.

Net increase: 2.5 kilos per person. Rachu has also put on weight. Not bad for a week’s visit.

The End

Back in Bangalore. Back to routine, back to work. Back to pressures and deadlines, expenses and bills. But also back to what we can really call home.

Madhav Nair's Day Off

Had a lovely day off yesterday. Sindha and I left home in the morning and headed straight to Innovative Multiplex to check the show timings of Ek Hasina Thi, the only movie both of us agreed on. Found that it had a show at 1pm, drove off to Barista's on MG Road, the one in front of Barton Center. Chilled out there with a cup of coffee (current music - tere sang, ek simple si coffee bhi kick deti hai) and an orangey liquid called Mixed Fruit Tango. Moved on to a clothes shop in CMH Road where we picked up quite a few dresses for Rachana. Dropped in at 's new restaurant Shiok (hope I've got the name right) for a quick, delicious lunch and then made it to the theatre on time. Headed back home right after the movie, where Rachu was waiting with a smile. Topped off the evening with a round of badminton. Aah, perfect !


Ek Hasina Thi was good. It is definitely inspired from a host of books and movies - we could think of If Tomorrow Comes and the newer version of Double Jeopardy to begin with. I also thought there were several elements of Elmore Leonard, Tarantino and even Roald Dahl thrown in. However, the concoction does work. Just when you think you've figured it out and know the next scene, the director throws in a twist that leaves you wondering if you are really watching a Hindi movie. Quite unconventional. I thought all the actors save one did an excellent job. Saif was really, really good - this is eons away from his Dil Chahta Hai character. The only actor who didn't do justice to the role was Urmila. I've never been a fan of her acting, always thought she overacts - be it her role in Satya or the one in Bhoot. She doesn't really go over the top all the way here, but you do feel that a better actor (Karisma ? Kajol ? Tabu ?) would have excelled in this author-backed role.

Tomorrow

Sindha and I are planning to take the day off tomorrow - not from work (its a holiday in any case) - but from home. We really wanted a day to ourselves without the baby around. Haven't decided what exactly to do, but we'll probably sneak out in the morning, catch a movie, do lunch and walk around MG Road/Commercial Street. Should be fun - its been ages since we spent some quality time together. Doesn't really make me feel like an ideal dad though. Oh, well.

In other news, we stared playing badminton in the evenings. More on this later.

Dream a little dream

I've been thinking about this, off and on, for quite some time now. My line of work requires me to travel about once or twice a year (at most) to the US. If I could take Sindha along for one of these trips, we could take a couple of weeks off and roam around. Both of us prefer to travel in Europe, so maybe we could break our return journey at Frankfurt or Amsterdam and then backpack wherever possible. We have a few friends and relatives at Holland, England and Switzerland, so perhaps we could stay with them for a day or two, cutting down on hotel expenses. We'd need to leave the kid with one of our parents of course, when she's old enough for that.

We might be able to do this in a year's time, if everything goes right. I haven't thought through the expense part though. Hope it wouldn't wind up terribly beyond our reach.

Interesting enough to dream about, anyway !