Briefly mentioned

You've heard it before so I won't say it again. I'm tied up with stuff and I've falling back on posts. So there. Meanwhile, some of the interesting things I've come across posted below for your perusal

1.[From FT] Lucy Kellaway on office barbs: Corporate life can be fun. Ask Lucy. In this brilliant column she gives a rundown of the euphemisms hurled at you and what they really mean. I've been fortunate to have worked for a largely-no-bullshit organisation which worked on a bulwark management principle of "Positive feedback is assumed. Negative feedback will be conveyed." (Yes, this has been told to be by my one-time boss). Nowithstanding that, one of my favourite barbs was "We should also look at..." and variations like "Why don't you talk about..". (v. similar to "Have you thought about.." mentioned in Lucy's column). Go read and add your own.

2. [From the BBC]: 50 office-speak phrases you love to hate: Reminds me of what I'd posted here.

2. [From FT] David Simon's interview: The Wire (recommended by my good friend Purush) was arguably the best serial on American television in recent times. And only HBO would air it. I've seen Season 1 on DVD and am waiting for my DVD-wallah to update his library with subsequent seasons. I liked this interview for its descriptions of the series..

The Wire will have none of the trite improbabilities that carefully pilot most movie and television dramas towards their wholesome dénouements. It speaks of a society that is riven, rabid with corruption and frequently wrong-headed. Nothing if not ambitious in its scope, each series treats a different aspect of American society in its overarching narrative: starting with the drug scene, then taking on unemployment, local politics, education and ending with the media.

..and this haunting quote from Simons:

Why doesn’t he write a boy-meets-girl story? “No, I wouldn’t be any good at it.” He says he has problems with female characters. “My strongest female character so far is a lesbian [Kima Greggs, one of The Wire’s police officers].” So where does a viewer find hope in his stories? “In the actions of individuals. In those characters in The Wire who rear up on their hind legs against injustice. The mere act of standing up and speaking for something that is right is a fundamental human victory, even if nothing comes from it.”

3. Back to something funny. I don't know if this is truly Rocky J's blog, but who cares. This is a hilarious post on how Rocky J convinces Vinod Khanna to make a movie on two warring brothers and one South African telecom company. Howlarious. Much fun much required when the markets are causing muchos grief.

4. [From Bloomberg] One more on the markets (via The God in the Middle East): A high-profile analyst at a multinational brokerage ends a 12-year career. During his stint, he also wrote an anon London newspaper column making fun of analysts. Predictably, he's writing a book, which includes this bit:

At one point, Jones, who's been negotiating to switch firms, gets a phone call with an offer: basic pay of 100,000 pounds ($197,000) and two guaranteed bonuses of 250,000 pounds.

``What a total buffoon!'' Jones says of the person making the offer. ``These total losers think that I'm worth almost 700,000 pounds over the next year-and-a-half. Don't they realize I'm just a stoner hippy who got lucky?''

I'm thinking Jack Welch.

5. And finally via The D Man: The Trident at Nariman Point, Mumbai, like you've never seen it before. Hell, even I want to take a photo like that.

On lifts

Firstly, it's 'lift'. I've never heard anyone in Bombay calling it an 'elevator'. So it's lift, not elevator (I mean, imagine Adnan Sami going "Elevate kara de").

My favorite lift story is when we were at this friend’s house. While leaving, I stuck my chewing gum on the "G" button (I figured ground floor’s the most used one) of his lift. I shaped it around the white button, stuck it and left – much disaster, agony, gaali-galoch in his housing society followed. Yes, that was a very tough patch for our friendship. Poor guy.

So, this post is about lifts and the fact that I've been kinda fascinated by them. Terrified of escalators (for which I'm duly mocked at by family and friends), but kinda fascinated by lifts. As a kid it was the whole Superman thing - entering a lift with normal clothes and flying out of the terrace, all caped and red undies and stuff (ok, the undies didn't figure then). As an adolescent, well, if you've heard Aerosmith, you know what I mean. And now - or at least till I worked at an office - I've been fascinated at the great Indian lift culture.

I think lift culture forms an essential part of societal norms and urban life. As long as you are in a mode of transport, there is an established code for behaviour. In a local train you move towards the door when your station's about to come. If you're driving, you stick to certain lanes (yeah right). If you're in a bus, you keep your money ready when the conductor's around. You know, there's an order, a discipline. Small things that keep life in a city calm and peaceful. More importantly, it's part of an important mechanism for survival (or as I know it - getting to office on time.)

I've observed some cogs in the wheel of this lift culture machinery. You know, some trends and types. Like this.

1. The dash - Even before you enter your lobby, from the corner of your eye you notice that of the four lifts in the lobby, only one is boarding - and people are rushing in. This gets out the Carl Lewis or P. T. Usha in you. This is the single most important dash of the day. If you rewind the moment, you can see yourself, in full formals, running, chest heaving, drops of sweat falling off the brow, running to that one lift. Think Chariots of Fire. Think glory, think victory.

2. Being Noah - In the absence of a lift-man, if you happen to be the one near the dashboard, then you, yes you are the man. Sure, others will jab your six packs trying to push the floor button and someone from the back will shout "Boss, jara 10th floor". But dude, you are Noah. This is your ark. You have to herd everyone away from the flood. In short press "door close" and let's move it. Oh and don't forget the expression of Carl Lewis on the other side as the doors close. He didn't make it, I did. Life hai.

3. Low life - May the Lords despatch to hell those who press the "up" button when they want to go "down". May he have fungus-infected underwear for the rest of his life. So the door opens and you see this guy who asks "Neeche?". It brings out the Uruk Hai in you. After all, there is no stretch of logic to justify an action like that. Motion is simple. Up is up and down is down. This lift can't go down mid-way, when it's going up. And certainly not when Mogambo is in it. Now die, filthy mortal. You say "No" calmly. Humanity wins.

4. Desperado - See, pressing the "Lift" button 534 times in 10 seconds won’t get the lift to you quicker. No, really. There's electronics, physics, hydraulics, engineering going behind that door, behind that button. Stuff you won’t understand, stuff that has made people Noble laureates. So it doesn't matter if you keep pressing. I know you belong to an era of collapsible gate lifts when you'd shout out "Lift" and lo and behold, like a nymph from the skies, like an apsara, a lift would float in front of you. No. It's not like that any more. So wait. Be quiet. Save the energy.

So, these were my few observations. Love to know yours.

And if, like me, you’re looking for the answers to these questions:
1. Oh horror, my lift’s falling and I’m going to die. Should I jump out just before it hits the ground?
2. Oh horror, my lift’s….should I just hug the floor of the lift?

..actually even if you’re not thinking those questions, just read this excellent New Yorker piece on elevators, “Up and down: the lives of elevators by Nick Paumgarten”. Brilliant stuff.

Ad nauseam

On more than one occasion, I've said rather lamely here, and at my other blog, that "I am busy and I will come back". Ad nauseam to myself. Fact is blogging doesn't pay my bills and fact is that much as I'd love to pen down all my thoughts here, it's just not possible (and that's why I love twitter). Also, I can't get myself to regularly link to interesting stuff I read, throw in funny comments and post here (and I quite admire those who do that so well).

And now that I've covered all those things, here's the deal. I've not blogged for some time on both my blogs and I think that sucks. There have been enough moments when I've thought and re-thought on whether I should even stop blogging altogether but that's not an option for me (unfortunately it was for this self-confessed loony blogger).

So, yet again I'll say what I've said - I will be back (as a popular Hindi song so succinctly put it - sinful stomach's question it is). Till then in an effort to explain why I blog, I shall conveniently link to the Iengar Chick's excellent cartoon-filled post on "Top 10 Reasons to be a blogger". #3 is enough for me.

Vodafone's brilliant ad campaign

The minute I saw the new Vodafone ads I knew that the pug represents the customer. The customer who haplessly and tirelessly runs around everyone at Vodafone's legendary call centres. I'm guessing the brilliant ad agency who made this will sweep all ad awards.

Any Vodafone customer knows that the transition from Hutch to Vodafone has moved an already abysmal customer service to an unthought of new depth (been to their "customer service centre lately? what's the longest you've been kept on hold? try and beat my record of 38minutes).

And it is exactly this that is being advertised and celebrated by Vodafone, i.e. we're happy to provide you with "customer executives" that you can breathlessly chase after because ha, ha, ha we sure as hell ain't gonna give you any service.

Your call dropped? You can't get reception in your house while other networks can? Oh, we overbilled you did we? Choose from hundreds of such options. Whatever the problem, we sure as hell aren't gonna solve it. But guess what, we're happy to help you with a chance to run around us, ha, ha, ha, geddit?

The day number portability is launced I will gladly pay to get rid of this execrable, abominable and truly pathetic mobile phone service that is one of the best illustrations of the the term fubar.

[PS: also read this post from what might well be the diary of Rocky J. Or not.]

Life post break

is different. Bombay post break is different. Three short scenes on this different life so far. Thoughts and comments, as always, welcome.

*****

When did this being on break become cool? We (self and wife) were out for an evening walk the other day and I get a call from someone I know who was – as the term goes – slogging away at office. And it’s not the first one of these types I’ve got. Now I don’t think I’m appearing cool because it’s a decision I took and remember it’s you who’s getting the monthly paycheck. But if you’re gonna shower me with all the “lucky you, how does it feel” thing, then well, what do you expect? So here, this is what I’m up to. I’m taking a walk, seeing the sunset, soaking it all in, on a weekday. I never thought I could do it, and believe me, I wish I can keep this going for the rest of my life. And since you asked, yes, it feels great.

*****

The Bombay I knew from my office cubicle is so distant from the Bombay I see now. One thing I’m sure about is that Bombay sure isn’t dead. As long as its people run, Bombay’s full of life. Overflowing with life. Man, except me, everyone’s running. The poor run, the rich run. So do the young and the old (this seemingly 70+, woman almost trampled me when I came in her way today). Rich and poor alike. Running on the road, running on the railway tracks, running with their cars. All running for something, with something, because of something, towards something. I don’t know what makes them run. But as long as they run, Bombay runs. Don’t mistake this for the “spirit of the city” – if you did, then you’re probably a Bombay romantic. Or work for the media. Me? I’ve never believed in a “spirit of Bombay”. The only spirit Bombay has is money and it sure as hell keeps it high.

*****

The scene that will remain me for a long time is when I’m at a school playground catching up with someone I haven’t met in a while. We’re sitting, watching the kids play. They’re practicing running, athletics or whatever it is. Instructors are pacing the kids, the kids are racing with each other. The older ones are running laps. Over the playground and over the mud-kicked dusty air, the sun is setting, setting off its usual riot of colors in the sky that makes me linger on more to sunsets than sunrises. And there’s this palpable sense of freedom. Of absolute, boundless freedom. I can see it in the children, I can sense it in the air. As a passing thought, the concept of open space becomes more real to me than it ever has in my life. But there’s this freedom. As if all that’s there is that moment. That’s what it’s about really. How free do I want to be. Everything else kinda settles down around. Just like the dust and the grass around those kids.

5 lessons from the stock market crash

1. Believe no one. At times even yourself. If they tell you that stocks return more than bonds over the long term, ask them what they mean by long term. If they say 10 years, ask them if they've heard about a country called Japan. In 20 years, the stock market there has halved. If they say shit happens, ask them if they've heard about a country called the United States of America - 8 years (2000 to 2008), that market hasn't gone anywhere. Long term, short term, any term. If stocks return better than bonds, then just remember, you're also taking a higher risk. If you can't do the time, don't do the crime.

2. In the end, it all boils down to luck. Some people are born lucky and some are unlucky losers. Most of mankind trades in between. But no one is bigger than the markets. Take all the collective advice and learnings from all those market experts bombarding the CNBCs of the world and put it on one side. As Jack Welch said "There are more mediocre people making more money on Wall Street than any other place on earth. " So for all their collective experience, their pedigree education, their wisdom, their brilliance, they're all as prone to fall victim to greed as you are. From Wall Street to Dalal Street, a sucker's born every minute. The game changes, but the rules remain the same. South Sea, tulips, Ponzi, Enron, Long Term Capital Management, sub-prime.... I say bring it on. This is what the human race has to offer, as proof of so many years of technological advancement and progress. Sheesh. In some matters, we're still apes. Evolution kinda passed us by there now, didn't it.

3. Fear will scare you, and greed can kill you. Discipline is not a four-letter word. It's a tough exercise that you learn through the years. That's right, your own wisdom from your own experience. Not that of the guy managing your money, because he sure ain't answerable to anyone. Not you. Not to his boss. Ever wonder why there's only one Warren Buffett in the world? Read what he has to say. Learn, fall, learn and move on. Life's a bitch, but there's always debt, right?

4. Making money isn't fun. Bull runs don't last forever, and the bear is one ugly animal. Your money is hard-earned, so think before listening to some slick dude/babe armed with a laptop, who's flashing a presentation about the power of compounding, or long-term investing, or the next big thing. He's just trying to earn a living and the younger he is, chances are he'll only tell you about what happened between 2003 and 2007. Nowadays, spreadsheets and presentations aren't updating too quickly for what's happened in 2008.

5. Define and dare. Be clear that you have what it takes. Be clear about what it can cost you. It's your hard-earned money and that's what is at stake. There are no notional losses, there are just lost opportunities. If you want a suit, be prepared to lose your shirt, pants and then some. Over long, long periods, the markets can, maybe, at times turn kind. But don't expect it.

But heck, enough of cliched by-lines. Tell me, what did the markets teach you today?

Looking for comedy in the Indian world

Before “Flop Show”, there was “Yeh jo hai zindagi” and before both of them, there was “Baban Prabhu and Yakub Sayed” in the Doordarshan days. There was also “Chaal Nawachi vaachal vasti” and a whole lot of Marathi TV serials and legendary Marathi humorists like PuLa, that half of Raj Thackeray’s party members couldn’t even remember. Just like brothers-with-arms, the Samajwadi Party, wouldn’t know Kaka Hathrasi and Ashok Chakradhar. But I digress.

This post is simply about “What makes you LOL?” I’m talking old-fashioned laugh-out-loud. Not a smile, snicker, or heh, but a hearty laugh. Here’s what made me LOL over the years.

First there was..
The earliest stuff made me LOL were all those TV serials mentioned above. I loved them for the simple, situational comedy of everyday life. In movies, “Jaane Bhi Do Yaaro” and “Chashme Buddoor” had me in complete splits. Video was still new and staple viewing included “Mind Your Language”, the “Lemon Popsicle” and “Carry On” movie series. In comics, I was a huge fan of Beetle Bailey, Graffiti, Hagar the Horrible, The Lockhorns and Moose & Molly. (This was obviously before Mid-day in Bombay started my all-time fav “Calvin and Hobbes”)

I discovered the joys of PG when I enrolled at the British Council Library. Other than Mr. Wodehouse, I read magazines Punch and Private Eye and admired the way the Brits tear their politicians apart. In those cable-less days, we were also lucky to see Brit TV series like the legendary "Yes Minister" and "Yes Prime Minister", “Spitting Image”, “Drop the Dead Donkey” and “Fawlty Towers” on good ol’ Doordarshan. There was also “Different Strokes” but give me those Brit comedies any day.

..Then the nineties
With cable coming in the early nineties, Star TV, in its original avatar, showed some excellent stuff like “MASH”, “Home Improvement” and “The Simpsons”. There was also the brilliant improv show “Whose line is it anyway”. The few days that NBC aired in India, I looked forward to “The Tonight Show” with Jay Leno and then “Late night with Conan O’Brien” – quickly coming to prefer Conan to Leno. But NBC shut shop soon deciding that there was no market for an English TV channel in India. It took time for Star TV to agree. (Since then Star has come back with a dedicated English channel, but not NBC).

Later in the 90s, I liked “Friends” for some time but got bored quickly of their self-obsession and sex obsession. An accusation that holds true for just about any American TV series, so it’s only a question of what you can take. So, I took on to “Seinfeld” like crazy. I think it’s the best comedy TV series ever for me. In movies, anything by Zucker-Abrahams was totally LOL’able( “Airplane”, “The Naked Gun” and “Hot Shots” series) and two other landmark comedies of the 90s were “My Cousin Vinny” and “There’s something about Mary”.

The here and now
Cut to present day. I don't think I’m enough. But then, comedy ain’t what it used to be. Political correctness is the order of the day and we take things too seriously. (That’s one reason I enjoy “Curb Your Enthusiasm” – if that’s daily life in the US then it’s more reality than comedy.)

No media house dare make a (comedy) TV series or movie on politics, bureaucracy or the system. Can’t blame them, who’d want their effigies and posters burnt? That sucks so much (just for that hats off to Cyrus Broacha on The Week that Wasn’t). And that’s why I’m a huge fan of “Real Time with Bill Maher”. For the love of God I can’t imagine anyone in Mumbai making fun of either Balu T or Raju T (both of them, ironically, being cartoonists). And I doubt that day would ever come. For example, why has stand-up comedy never taken off in Bombay?

Which means we have to rely mostly on slapstick, parody and risqué humor to run our “Laughter Challenges”. Not that I’ve disliked them. In the past, I’ve enjoyed Raju Srivastav and Sunil Pal much more than any Priyadarshan comedy (barring the first “Hera Pheri”). And I also think Munna-bhai took comedy to a completely different level. But still. There’s only so much that we can come up with. All the laughter shows have become photocopies of each other and I could never stand seeing Sidhu, Shekhar Suman, Mandira Bedi, et al with their over-the-top fake ear-to-ear laughs. The only comedy I enjoy on the Hindi TV channels today is the priceless "Sarabhai v/s Sarabhai". Whoever thought a clash between elitism and middle class-ism could be so hilarious. Ironically, the series has already closed a long time back and what I'm seeing today are re-runs - which are still very funny. 

Finally, the internet. From emails, the fore bearers of the tech funnies, to Facebook wall posts, Orkut scraps and youtube videos, I’ve seen barely a handful of really funny stuff. And now there’s blogs. Even here, I’ve stopped following most of the blogs I found funny for a variety of reasons (Gawker being an exception because he's a class apart).

Hm. Funny. When I want it, it does become difficult to find comedy in my current world.

So, what makes you LOL?

HBO stops Bill Maher podcasts outside US

Update: HBO has resumed podcast downloads for Real Time for listeners outside of the USA, so..er..yay!

I listen regularly to "Real Time with Bill Maher" via HBO's podcasts. A few days back, iTunes started giving an error message which went "Authorization needed to access podcast". (note in the screen-capture below how previous podcasts downloaded without a problem).


Whoo hoo. I thought Apple is at again disallowing lesser mortals from accessing stuff via iTunes (remember, they still don't allow music downloads via iTunes for India). I thought well, you know, it's Apple. What else can you expect? They've still to be pointed out India on the map. But a google search absolved Apple of this.

Yup, because I discovered that this time it's HBO. And guess what, it's not just India on their "oh no you don't" list, it's all the countries outside of the USofA. Check this thread for other users across the non-US world complaining of this. And also check this thread at the Apple discussion forum for something similar.

This kinda stuff defies sense. I mean honestly, we need to call in the Nobel Prize Committee for a new category here. Bring out the Oscars, the Emmys and all the prizes because this kinda global achievement deserves an award.

Seriously, what good does banning a podcast for users outside the US achieve? Do the Einsteins at HBO believe that "Real Time" podcast listeners do not have access to other means of technology that gives them access to - get this - not just the audio, but, hey, the video as well? You know that stuff wherein you can also see the show and not just hear it?

What riles me - as it did about two years back - is when these fruitcakes drive people to alternate methods. Which is what makes that ad which you see before the movie starts, you know the one which goes "Would you steal a car, would you steal a book? then don't go for piracy" look like a bunch of crock.

My own stand on piracy is a bit less liberal than others, i.e. I do believe in paying for content. If there was an iTunes for India, I would have paid to download music. But at this rate, what options do I have? You want to deprive me of my music, of my podcasts, of latest seasons on my TV series (remember all English TV channels in India are running more than a year behind of current seasons across all popular shows)? And you expect me to twiddle my thumbs till then? Yeah right.

See, there's a limit. There is a limit to which you can put those patronizing error messages on my computer screen. There is a limit to which you tell me that your is not available in my country.

Because guess what, M/s HBO and M/S Apple, and this will come as a surprise to you, there is something called the Internet. And hey, did you know it connects people to people. And - oh, this will blow you - it actually allows people to share things? So, if you think I'm not good enough for your content, then I guess I'll just have to find someone who does. And while you're figuring that out, please give my regards to the dinosaurs.

About the inner receptionist

This Lucy Kellaway FT column was pointed to me by a good friend (JS!) from the Middle East. The piece titled "Happiness is finding your inner receptionist" hits home (last year, I'd quit my full-time to take a break.)

In said column, Ms. Kellaway speaks of a friend who quit a 20yr career of powerful media jobs to become a receptionist. Why?

Her routine was soothing. The people were friendly. The work was pleasant. It was also finite, easy to do well, and ended on the dot of 6pm. There were no unmanageable work loads, no ugly competition, no gnawing anxiety that you aren’t up to it and that someone else is better.

But best of all, she said, the receptionist’s job didn’t swamp her mind and her life; instead it left plenty of room for her to think her own thoughts. The only thing that wasn’t fantastic was the money, but it was enough and she didn’t mind.

You can read the article for your own conclusions. I was just thrilled to read it. Some familiar thoughts went through my head, re-visits of when I was firming up my decision to quit my job.

1. If we're all doing what we were born to do, why do we crib about the hours or the money or the pressure or the deadlines?

2. Is there an assumption that the job we do employs our talents to the best?

3. Do we even know what our talents are?

4. Is the path to discover our talents a linear one (i.e. Job X to Y to Z to A to B to C) and one that only a job can fulfill?

5. And finally, a very basic one - are these two joys comparable and/or mutually exclusive(a) watching a sunset each evening (b) adding that next zero to my net worth?

Ever thought on these lines? Would love to hear from you.

I don't want to be a woman

I don't want to be a woman because

- I'm a child, a girl, a lady, a woman. A friend, a sister, an aunt, a wife, a mother, a lover. Before all that I'm a woman.

- I'm available. I'm public property. My eyes, my lips, my breasts, my hands, my arms, my waist, my thighs, my feet, my legs. Their hands, their elbows, their eyes, their feet, their chest, their mouth. Their words. Their attacks. Their gropes, their stares, their nudges, their pushes.

- I'm a cunt. If I don't smile back at a stranger saying "Hi, want a lift?".

- I'm a raand. If I don't smile back at a stranger saying "Kya madam, chalen sair pe?"

- I'm available. If you want a one-night stand.

- I'm a whore. If I want a one-night stand.

- I'm a slut. If my best friends are guys.

- I'm a drunk. If I go to a bar after a bad day.

- I'm a chaalu. If I wear a mini skirt.

- I'm disgusting. If I used foul language.

- I'm ideal. If only I only stayed at home and didn't party.

- I asked for it. If I didn't smile back, if I got drunk, if I wore a mini skirt, if I wore a tight T-shirt, if I wore jeans, if I wore a frock. If I moved in a crowd. If I wanted to enjoy a sunset alone at Band Stand. If I wanted to go home with my friends after New Years.

- Yes, I asked for all of it. The violation, the intrusion, the humiliation, the hurt, the bruises, the insults, the blood, the tears, the trauma. I asked for all of it.

Mumbai declared safe for women

The following is hereby notified vide Regulation 124/a/c/1/8765 of the Official Change of Status Act, Maharashtra, 1897, read with The Male Female Interaction Code of Conduct, Maharashtra, 555BC.

Mumbai is declared safe for women, provided, subject to:-

(1) The word "safe" means "free from molestation". The term "molestation" is restricted only to actual, proven, physical contact ("PC") between men and women in the city of Bombay/Mumbai. Examples of PC include groping, fondling, massaging, nudging, pressing, grabbing and similar activity.

(1b) However, staring at women, passing lewd remarks at women (for e.g. phrases such as "aati kya Khandala?", "kya maal hai", geographical references such as Aarey Milk Colony, etc.) fondling by man of his genitalia on seeing women, are excluded from the term "molestation". Mens are free to do this with no answerability, accountability, responsibility and any other ability.

(2) Women wearing following banned dressing will not have access to safety, i.e. if women wearing banned outfits below, then they will be subject to molestation at their own risk.

(2a) Indian outfit - sari, blouse, salwar-kameez, punjaabi outfits. Any outfit representing formal or informal attire of any state/UT of India.

(2b) Any other outfit

For best results, we recommend women wear large home furnishings (curtains, bed sheets, drapes) covering entire body with only the nose (specified as the only non-private part of a woman) being exposed for respiratory purposes. We do not take responsibility of women wearing above banned outfits.

Women wearing above banned outfits will be declared "fair game" for molestation with no resort to any authority.

(3) Women drinking any and all forms of alcohols are excluded in above declaration. Women found sipping, tasting, drinking, guzzling, injecting alcohol (in pure, distilled, direct or indirect forms, including soft drinks black in colour, including nail polish removers) do so at their own risk. Women found drinking (irrespective of quantity, irrespective of whether it is free or paid for) will be subject to molestation attempts from men at their own risk and the provisions of this section will instantaneously not apply.

(4) Following persons (including person and family) can say "Mumbai is safe for women"

(4a) Those who have not used public transport since 2002 and hence those who have their own personal transport (all vehicles priced at more than Rs6lakhs)

(4b) Those who only go from home to office and back, with weekend activity restricted to their own homes and those of similar said friends and relatives.

(4c) Those who have never been to malls, parks, promenades, gardens and other public places.

(4d) Those who have never walked on roads, entered lifts with a crowd of more than 5 people with women included.

(4e) Those who do not stroll around market places, vegetable markets, non-vegetable markets or go to pay bills for telephone, electricity or visit banks, hotels and restaurants.

The above-mentioned people (4a to 4e) are hereby authorised to chant "Mumbai is safe for women".

(5) Political parties Shiv Sena and Maharashtra Navnirman Sena will be issuing their own code of conducts, but these will apply to Maharashtrian women only (by birth, preferably not by marriage). Catholic women are free to approach the church. Similarly, we recommend that if you are a woman (defined as non-men), you should contact your nearest political party or religious body for further advice on safety, protection and salvation.

(6) The first 100 reported cases of molestation (starting from night of 31st Dec) in Mumbai will go scot free because these things happen in societies. We do not make mountains of molehills.

(7) The above declaration applies to all days and nights of a calendar year, except New Year's Eve.

Signed,
Those responsible for Mumbai

We invite public comments and opinion for above policy.

Wishing everyone, especially Mumbai's girls, ladies and women, a very safe and happy New Year 2008.

Happy Holidays

A term that I couldn't get when I first heard it. "Happy Holidays"? What's the deal with "Happy Holidays"? Sure I got that people go home for Diwali and stuff. And for me going home meant staying in Bombay itself. But "Happy Holidays"?

I mean I haven't seen anyone take more than two days off for Diwali. But since Diwali is on two separate days, more often than not it becomes a long weekend. You know, leave for home on Tuesday night, Weds is off (i.e. public holiday for Lakshmi Pooja), take Thursday off and since Friday would also be chutti (public hol #2 for Diwali), you land up taking almost the whole week off. Fresh back to work on Monday morning. That's the holidays that I know here.

But to think of going home from say, 23rd (Dec) night all the way to 1st (Jan)..that's 10 days. Man, that is a lot of leave. Yet, each time I see people greet each other, or signboards and ads everywhere (all this of course when I'm watching a an American serial) which go "Happy Holidays", I can't help but wonder, what would happen if I tell someone "Hey, Happy Diwali and Happy Holidays". Yeah, yeah, I know that look.

And since you're waiting for the point of this post, it is in fact - Happy Holidays. At least to me, because this blog is now off for..um..holidays. I will see you on the other side of the New Year 2008. Oh ok, I now I've been lax in my posting. And yes, I know that posts should logically have increased since I'm on break. But well, it's not happened and I'm sorry. I am because I know I want to post more. And I won't BS by saying "My New Year resolution is to post more", because that lies next to the "I will lose 20kgs this year". I mean if you believe that you'd believe that it's gonna be Ron Paul v/s John Edwards next year in the USA. Oh I kid the Americans (talking of which, does anyone know when Bill Maher's new season begins?)

Finally, wrapping up 2007.

1. My movies of the year are The Bourne Ultimatum (English), Chak De India and I'm now adding Khoya Khoya Chand.

2. On DVD, I can't recall one single movie that I went ga-ga over, because this, for me, was the year of TV series on DVD. And therefore, my DVD of the year would have to be "The Sopranos".

3. My song of the year is Vaari Vaari (Hindi). English song would have to be Speed of Sound (I know it's not from 2007, but I heard it so many times this year that it just eclipses anything else I heard).

4. Since I didn't read any book this year, I don't have a book of the year like I did last year. But I can point you to NYT's list of The 10 Best Books of 2007 and Books of the Year 2007 at The Guardian. What a fine line-up of books. Maybe I'll even read one of them next year.

So, what were your fav movies, music and books for the 2007? Love to know.

Wishing you all a Merry Christmas, Happy New Year and yes, Happy Holidays.

The one about the break

This post was long due. A few days back I quit my full-time job. Not to take up a new job or do my own stuff. But to take a break. This post is about getting things off my chest.

[Side note: If you expect dramatic farewell e-mails copy/pasted here then this ain’t that dhobi ghaat. But since you asked, I had a dream job and I was lucky to work with some tough-ass talented, even genuinely nice, people]

"Why?": No simple reason. I think career decisions like these are the toughest ones to make. And sure as hell, the toughest one to take. I worked for eight years in a great job, but somewhere I drew a line and said, well, that’s that then. I need a break. Not that whole running away to Ladakh and finding your mojo (for the record I also did that) kinda breaks. Not those varieties. I’m talking clean break.

I’ve seen how we slog. And boy, all of us slog. Those late hours and all those reasons to justify them. I’ve seen some people doing the work they were born to do. Good for them. Me? I’m not in a tearing hurry to find out what I was born to do. Like that Jerry Maguire tagline I love – “The journey is everything.” So one fine day, I decided I needed to exhale. You know, take a look around. And hence the break. Or the brake.

"What next?": “Dude, I don’t know, let’s see”. Some people buy it, some don’t, even if I’m not selling anything. What I can’t quite get is why this “I don’t know” isn’t acceptable. I mean, what’s the big deal in someone just taking a break without a job offer or a business plan in his hand?

The opinions: Dicey, dicey. We live in times when ambition and drive are taken for granted. Pushing harder is the order of the day. Tolerance and understanding come at a premium. We’re all entitled to our opinions and views. And neither have to have anything to do with the truth. Or with your side of the story. Being judgmental is easy. But our opinions about others can say more about us, than about them. Enough said.

The ones on my side: One funny question I got often was “What’d your wife have to say?” I don’t know the point of this question but since you asked, she was cool with it. My friends were also, by and large, cool. So ok, some of them questioned my intelligence and some warned me about desolation, doom and gloom. Oh I kid them, but come on, they did so only for my good. They couldn’t understand my reasons and I don’t expect them to. I’m just glad they’re there. But the ones I love are those that went “Congrats” and “You’ll figure it out”. And those that never asked me why.

Finally, here’s the thing. I have no idea what job or business I’m going to do tomorrow or whenever. And sometimes, that ain’t a pretty thought. But sitting here today, if I take out the debris of an all-too familiar panic, I can see excitement too. What the heck. We all make decisions and we all have our reasons. It’s a risk we take, a call we make. Things work out, things don’t. They call it life. This is mine.

Scenes from a city abroad

Singapore. Some scenes, some thoughts below. Comments, as always welcome.

******

Too sleepy to check out Changi Aiport. We’re now on our way to our hotel. Groggy, red-eyed, first impressions of Singapore. Long roads with loads of cars, all kinda cars. What speed are we going at? 100kmph? On city roads, what’s the deal? Am I dreaming or was that an angel I saw flying past in a Mini Cooper? Fast, but not furious.

******

Freshed up at hotel and out on the roads. I’m head over heels. What a city. The control freak in me implodes. I want to relocate here right now. I can’t believe there’s any place in this world where everything is so damn orderly. It’s too much to handle, really. Everything’s so clean, squeaky clean. I mean, why is everything so lush green here? (Updated: Here's the answer). There are plants and trees sprouting out of everywhere. Everywhere. I mean outside my hotel, on every street, corner, nook and cranny. All concrete and loads of jungle.

******

Malls. Lots of large malls. They call it Orchard Road. You can shop here forever. Which is something I don’t get. I mean, how much can you shop? Clothes, perfumes, jewelry, leather…How long can you spend there? Wife isn’t listening to me. But hang on, what’s this shop? Says “Bookbinder Designs, Sweden”. Such exquisite stuff, diaries, calendars, pencils. Must see. Must go. Must buy. Must shop.

******

“It’s the Truman Show, yaar” drawls a friend, puffing clouds of cigarette smoke. Huh? “Oye, I tell you. You look at each road at any given time. You’ll see the same car, taking the same turn, going to the same place. It’s all staged. There’s cameras everywhere. They’re watching you.” Too much coffee. But for a minute, he spooks me.

******

So, we’re waiting at the corner of a junction hailing a cab. Waiting and waving at cabs. Wife nudges, points to a small line of cars that’s formed in front of us, out of nowhere. They’re all calmly waiting. Huh? Duh? Wife whispers – “They’re waiting for us to cross”. Inadvertently we were standing at one end of a small zebra crossing. So, they’re waiting for us to cross. We hop over to the other side, barely four steps. Calmly the cars pass us by. These guys, they actually give way to people to cross the road. Faint.

******

The first Airbus A-380 was delivered to Singapore Airlines that day. On TV it’s the Prime Minister himself, addressing an event. Before I start scoffing (you know, what’s the big deal?), I catch the phrase “… in our relentless pursuit of excellence…”. I’ve never heard a nation premier talking about pursuit of excellence. Now, I’m feeling like the tourist I am from a poor, third-world, developing country visiting a developed one. Ticker below moves across “Mumbai Sensex: all-time high”. Am feeling a bit hollow.

******

At Night Safari now. I’m marveling at how these guys have done it. We’re in a tram with a guide explaining everything. We pass a rhino here, a lion there. Oohs and aahs rippling across. Louder ones at the amphitheatre with the nocturnal animals show. Hosted by nice, funny, trainers entertaining the audiences. And I’m thinking, ain’t this cool? This is what tourism is about. Making life easy and fun for tourists, make them go ooh and aah. You know, few animals, some fire-eating tribal dances, food joints (they’ve got a Ben & Jerry’s here). These guys are just brilliant, they’ve got it all figured out. I mean, there’s nothing particularly spectacular about the whole place. But they’ve put in focused effort, planning investment and packaged it as must-see Singapore. And it is, it is worth the visit. I’m thinking, what have we done with Kazirangha, Bandavgarh..just to name a few? More hollowness.

******

In conversation with friend. Idle touristy chat, I’m telling her “You know, someone once told me, long time back..pata nahin when, school, college, naukri.. that these guys throw vessels in the air to keep their names. Bartan phek ke naam rakhte hain.” Friend says “Haan suna tha. Not funny any more, na?” Silent nod.

******

I’m driving across the streets, seeing all the cleanliness, efficiency, order, discipline. We don’t hear a single honk – and I mean it, not a single honk – in all our time there. The cars, all of them, shine as if they’re new. No scratches or dents. So, I’m taking it all in. From nowhere I remember that Laloo-Japan PM joke (read the last one here). Not funny any more.

******

Walking across Clarke Quay. Vibrant, party atmosphere everywhere. People milling around, unwinding on a Friday night. Out on the streets. All dressed up and everywhere to go. Loads of trendy restaurants; there’s one based on a hospital (people sipping from an IV, chairs and tables themed on hospital beds. We go “Morbid”) and there’s even an oxygen bar. There’s this whole line of restaurants with seating extensions near the quay-side. Spanish restaurants, guitars strumming away. All in the open. I think I get the term “nightlife” now. Cross over to Boat Quay, which, I’m told is the poor cousin to Clarke Quay. Dinner at a “desi” joint. Friend says, best kaali dal in all of Singapore. Very, very yum.

******

And before I know it, too soon, I’m back in Bombay. There’s an Indica cool cab in front of me. One single word emblazoned on its back windshield. “Jesus”. Around the corner, three traffic cops talking to each other, some wearing tired expressions. Their day’s just over. Or just begun. Moving out of the airport. Across the slums, its dandiyas. Huge posters with bloated netas and a small place for God. Crowds of people thronging the dandiyas in those slums, colonies and chawls. Some watching, some dancing the night away. Lines of people, crowds of people, circles of peoples.

Dandiya. Mumbai. Jesus.

I’m home. Back home to the crazy, crowded, corrupted, congested city. Enough of Singapore detox. This is Bombay. I’m drugged to its delusions. Addicted.

“Itna bhar de, ki khaali kar de”

This city I tell you.

Two

A few days back, this blog turned two. Yay.

The first year – as I wrote here – was about seeing my words in cyberspace. The second year has widened the experience in more ways than one. Getting things off my chest has never been more fun. While I’ve always liked to write, it doesn’t come naturally to me. Blogging made me realize the rigour and discipline required for good writing. I realized it while writing and I realized it while reading other blogs.

Most of the time, my posts come out like my thoughts. A bundle of chaos, with some unpardonable trespasses and compromise on the English language. For e.g., it took me some time to realize that the “?” comes without a space. Ew, gross. Still, it’s a thoroughly enjoyable experience that I intend to keep doing till I can.

Over the last two years while I’ve cut down my regular reading list to a handful of bloggers, thanks to this job (which I enjoy more than any paid job) I’m subscribed to hazaar feeds, that I skim every once in a while on my feedreader. And believe me, there’s nothing more satisfying than unexpectedly bumping on to a good post. In these last two years, reading what I’ve read on blogs, I can safely say that for reading pleasure, blogging beats mainstream media.

Before I wrap, these are my top three posts from Year #2 of blogging.

1. Don’t you articulate me: I think this post got the best quality of comments. I never expected it, and if I can repeat it, I’d consider it an achievement.

2. The one about Delhi: Oh what fun. The trip was fun, writing about it was enjoyable and the comments were a party. I learnt more about Delhi on that trip and that post than I have in my life-time.

3. Scenes from a city: I’ve always wanted to write it. It’s the first in a series, which originated from Sailu – the original scene from this city. (Next in the series were More scenes and One September Sky)

In the early days, I used to stress over traffic and rankings. You know, all those tips about how to draw traffic, what to write, leave comments on other blogs, etc. Over time I decided to junk all of that and just write for the fun of it. I’m just lucky I get the comments I get. That’s what keeps me going. And this is the part where I thank my readers.

You.

This is my home and I invite you to it. Thanks for coming here. Thanks for spending time, time that is valuable to you. Thanks for leaving your comment and your thoughts. Those who have blogrolled me, it’s a huge honor and I hope I can live up to it. For your visit, your link and your comment, I’m a better blogger.

One September sky

Or just another scene from the city. Just one this time.

I think Bombay reveals itself in these brief glimpses. You have to see it to know it. And they're always around. Like this one.

Around 6.30pm. You know, the time when nowadays, the clouds and the sun and the sky seem to come together in a riot of colors. September skies. I'm not kidding you. Check out the skies during sunset in September and they will be different than other months. The kinda skies that make you want to halt everything and marvel at the beauty that one sunset can be. Like an entire ritual on its own.

But this is Bombay. Life zooms you by.

So, I was halted at a signal, on Marine Drive. And I see this young lad cross the road before me. Shirt out, something held in his left hand. He bends and with his right hand reaches for the footpath. Gently touches it, then touches his hand to his forehead, his lips and his heart.

He strides forward on to the footpath and in a single movement his left hand unfurls and out comes one of those lighted yo-yos. The kind kids like (or do they any more?), the kind that make a line of light when you flip, toss and pull it. You know the kind you see people selling on Juhu, Chowpatty. On Marine Drive.

That's it.

He's selling these yo-yos. Or whatever they're called in Bambaiya.

That's him. Beginning his working day at 6.30pm on Marine Drive. A place he regards as his source of income. Something holy. He seeks blessings from it, says a quick prayer before beginning his day. You know, maathe pe lagaa ke.

Quite like the broker entering the stock market. Everyday. They do the same thing. Before they climb the stairs, they first touch the ground to their forehead and then begin their working day. Or the coolie at Dadar platform. Or...well, this is Bombay, I'm sure you've seen them. Business is religion. This is Bombay.

And Bombay treats its people the same.

That traffic signal where I saw this lad, had share-a-cabs and buses loaded with people returning from Nariman Point to Churchgate. And it had loads of cars with people. All going back after a day's work in the city. Earning a living. All of us in the same journey.

Just like this one lad, whose day would probably end at midnight.

All of us are one in our pursuit in the city. That fresh, clean-shaven, suited, booted lad who walks out of Bombay Airport, armed with his degrees and an acceptance letter for a high-paying job at foreign bank. He might not touch the ground and then his forehead when he walks off the airport. But he's in the city for the same reason as the lad above. I see both of them as one.

Just as I see the wealthy seth and the top-ranking CEO. All of them, they're the same as this guy selling these yo-yos. Or whatever he calls them. We're all the same, aren't we? In the pursuit of wealth, happiness, sadness, money...or whatever you call them.

Yes, Bombay is lived in these flashes. In these moments. Did you catch one?

Some clarifications

Somewhere on this blog, if I've given the impression that "I love Bombay" or its "never-say-die" attitude or that I praise the "spirit of the city", I think its a good time to clarify. It says "Bombay Addict" not "Bombay Lover" or "Bombay Deewaana".

"Love"? There are things I really love about the city and things I don't. But, whole-hearted, undying, to-die-for, unconditional kinda love? I'm not sure about that. Can I stay somewhere else? If I have to. In fact, I'd prefer some place where I can afford a house. Will I miss Bombay? Sure I will. I'll miss its places and its people.

"Never say die" attitude? Um. See, Bombay is about money. Nothing else. Its not World War 1 or 2 or 3 happening on a daily basis. Out here, time is money. You want yours. Everyone else wants theirs. The colour of money that a cabbie makes is the same as that of what an industrialist makes. Does that make them "heroes" or "survivors"? I'm not sure. They found their ways. We have to find ours.

"Spirit of the city"? Bumper sticker and nothing more. Humanity on any other day, that over the years got romanticised, got garbled and took the shape of a tag-line, a by-word to be used on every show and in every column when things go wrong.

See, here's the deal. I like all the cities I've visited. I blogged about Delhi. I've wanted to but never have blogged about Chennai and Bangalore. Both wonderful cities in their own ways. I've only been abroad all of four times. Twice to Hong Kong and once each to Colombo and Dubai. Never to Shanghai, New York, Tokyo, London, Singapore, etc. When, or if, I can, I'd love to do scenes from all these cities.

I'm sure there are enough people who came flat broke to the shores of each of those cities, and made it in life. They will tell you a tale if you wish to hear it. I'm sure they all like whats good in the city and hate whats bad.

I don't know what makes Bombay "better" or "worse" than these cities. Its all going to boil down to who you are and what you want. Out here in Bombay, we are all people on the same train/bus/car/rick/taxi going to the same stop/station/destination. Earning a living and living our lives. I don't know how that makes us better - or worse - than other travelers in other cities in India and the world.

PS - If you lived in or visited any of the cities above - or any city anywhere - I'd love to hear your views. Thanks in advance.

PPS - I just have to recap these words. They say more about this city than anyone else I've heard in recent times.

Utar Jaaye Ragon Mein Jo Toh Yeh Nasha Hai
Iski Aadat Jo Pad Gayi Toh Yeh Saza Hai
Aise Bhar De Ke Khaali Kar De

More scenes from a city

Another trip back home, more sights, more thoughts. The city's the same.

For once, I leave when the sun's almost melting into the sea. Not after.

And a sunset at Marine Drive? Yes. That's what gets them there, doesn't it? Nothing like the sun and the clouds in frenzied colours. Grey, black, hint of white here, blue there. Oh and Marine Drive is being done up nowadays. Looking all swanky. Hong Kong, Shanghai, Singapore. Everything but. Bombay is only Bombay. Forever.

So there's the sheng-chana wala. There's the kids from Jaihind, Sydenham, KC, HR. Man, I used to come here on weekends with my friends all the way from Bandra. You know - lets go to town for a drive. Check out the babes, the townie crowd. Sheesh. I still come here. Everyday now. For work this time.

So, there's the kids. Then there's the posh variety. Young, old. Walking their dogs, brisk walking in their track pants, furiously, staring and glaring at anyone in their way. Evening walks and all. Man..where do they get all that time?

And then the couples. Endless pairs of couples. Arms around each other, intertwined. Sweet nothings all over. Coming back from work, going back home. Meeting up at Churchgate, going to Marine Drive. Catch the sunset. Spend time together till we get married. Or don't. So why'd you come home late? You know, work, it piles up.

There's also the singles. The men. Some staring vacantly into the sea. Unemployed, employed, lost-my-job-today, came-here-to-look-for-a-job. You know, nowadays they want someone who can talk English well, these private companies.

"I don't know if I can make it here. But hey, I'm enjoying myself before I leave tomorrow. I've seen Marine Drive in so many movies. When I go back and tell them I was here, they'll be impressed. They won't care if I didn't get a job. Wish I could take a photo. But tell me, uncle, how come they're no photographers here? there's so many of them at the Gateway of India."

Man, I feel so old sometimes.

Babulnath is really jammed these days. What is it with this Shravan fasting and the daily crowd at the temple? Hah. I remember what this Gujju friend told me about his brethren. Saale. Dikhaane ke liye vegetarian, Jain, no kaanda, no meat, no chicken. Saale. Then check 'em out in the night - having tangdi at Bade Miyaa and heading out to Topaz. Sab saale aisi-ich hai. I never met anyone who fit that profile. Yet I don't know why I keep remembering that story once in a while when I pass Babulnath. Funny.

Cadbury. Mahalakshmi. Traffic cops. That one looks new. Smart guy. Young. Crisp shirt, topi ekdum straight. Takes his job seriously. Maybe he'll stop that guy in that Skoda talking on his cell, while driving. Maybe he wont.

And the street kids. I think Bombay belongs to the street kids. I remember going to the Kala Ghoda Festival coupla years back to see a Terence Lewis dance show. So, once its over, they're packing up. There's still some chairs and tables lying around. You know, for the VIPs and all.

So, everyone's clearing the table, but somewhere some music is still playing. And there's this raggedy girl. Torn and dirty frock, frayed hair. Her family's begging somewhere around. But she slowly climbs on top of this white plastic table. No one's around her and the music's still playing. And she's swaying to the music. Unaware, unconcerned, blissful in that moment of nothingness and joy to some song. Her ma finally lands up from somewhere, drags her back with her. Oh thats ok with this kid. She goes off all smiles. That moment was hers.

Worli. Bus stops. Lots of them. And the people waiting for the buses. I don't know what it is about the journey home after a long day at work (are there any other types these days?). Its just special. Leaving for home to the people you love? Nothing like it. Makes the day worthwhile. Makes that boss a bit bearable. Even if he's the only thing on your mind at that time.

I see the people waiting there. You know, leaning against the bus stop. Looking out for the 83, or if you're lucky you might get an empty 84. If only they had more AC buses. The people at the bus stop. Some of them plugged into the radio on their phones. Some talking. That hurried smile. Two words on the phone, "attaach neeghaali", before the bus thunders in. Or a hurried one-word text - "left". Or a quickly wiped tear there, wonder what she was feeling sad about. She looked cute. What kinda guy....

Then Mahim. But you've been there. You've seen them, hunched up and bunched up. Waiting..hoping?...for food. They don't go away. They don't. This is Bombay.

And before I know it, I'm finally somewhere home. That familiar Bandra junction. That chaos at China Gate restaurant which is now an entire building. The traffic jam. Valet parking. Narrow, two-way lane. Chaos. All for food. Everyone lining up to get in. Minimum half an hour waiting. And they line up. Not hunched up but a bit bunched up. They don't go away. They don't. This is Bombay.

It gets tiring once in a while. This 20km trip I'm doing everyday. But its a journey home. Nothing like it.

Or the city. And its places and its people. Nothing like them. The city. If it won't kill you, it will probably make you harder. And run faster. And fall here and there.

This city I tell you.

On fatty bombolatty

Ok, so I admit it. I'm fat. I can't hide it any more. I'm coming out. There it is. Out in the open. And now that that's out of the way, can we move on? Thanks.

I went a bit "Hmmmm" when I read this piece in the NYT by Dick Cavett. He says..

Television comedy, in particular, has become an equal opportunity employer of the gigantic. It seems as if nearly every sitcom has a requisite fat, sassy black lady (or man) or a fat, avuncular white Uncle Jim large enough to absorb the scripted fat jokes. I have yet to see one of those Comedy Central shows with multiple standup comics that doesn’t include someone the size of the Hindenburg. Frequently the comic is black or Hispanic — the two groups, according to many studies, currently bearing the brunt of the obesity plague.

Back in Bombay of course, the media - be it TV serials, adverts, hoardings, etc. would have you believe something else. Part of which it might be true, for e.g. Adnan Sami, Shekhar Suman. Look at Bips. What did she do to herself in Beedi?

My world is a bit different and closer to what Mr. Cavett's talking about. People I know, friends of mine, all of them. Looking a bit..what's that politically correct phrase?.."pleasantly plump". Little signs of another chin coming out here, a neck disappearing there. Someone who was quite thin and slim, lean and mean (love-making machine? geddouttahere) now looks like he's been stacking up the pizzas and sizzling brownies with walnuts and cheese-filled enchiladas.

Yes, we're all working hard and playing hard. Which is why an entire industry has come up around fat-free, etc. They didn't even leave shrikhand and rasgullas. And of course 98.5% fat-free gelato. Et al.

In school, I was pretty much 10-over par. Then one fine day - and I recall with amazing clarity - I woke up and all my trousers were loose, I was feeling better. I think I'd pretty much gone on some major diet and had done cycling and stuff. I didn't even know it till I noticed that man...they weren't calling me "Jaadya" any more.

Then college happened, then gymming happened. And then work happened. Loads of work happened. So much work, so little time. Gym went out of the door. And weight came in. And man, have I put on. I don't want to go into numbers, but you get the picture.

In the article above, Mr. Cavett goes on to add

But it’s no longer true that Europe and Asia can point to America and smugly sing, “Fatty, Fatty.” We’ve exported our revolution with our fast-food chains. Japan now has obese children for the first time in its thousand-year history. Mad for anything American, young Japanese have made McDonald’s (charmingly: “ma-ca-do-naru-doz”) their second –­ if not first –­ home, partaking there more than once a day.

I don't know if thats true in India. All those MackDees seem full whenever I go by. Those Domino pizza guys whiz across in their scooters like there's no tomorrow. And they still line up at Kailash Parbat and Bade Miya like they used to. But when I see around me, man, these bacha log, especially in college..all of them look like so nice and fit. Maybe no rippling biceps and curvalicious corners, but you get the picture.

So, what next? Guilt trips galore. Major internal strategy sessions (?) on the need to shed. And shed soon. Avoid wife's stern stare. Head to weighing machine, trembling in trepidation if that kaanta's crossed a century.

Gaah.

Do you have any inspirational stories on how you gained and lost and then gained and lost again? Or, do you want to privately wallow in self-pity on the state of your weight? do you want to beat your breast or chest with how you can simply not find that 25th hour to work out? (btw, I read in Mid-day that TV stars work out at 2am or something...with that mandatory photo of the track-panted actress stretched on a bench press with a trainer wearing a stern look and a T-shirt which says "From lard to hard").

Do you? then drop in a comment. Would love to hear from you.

They say, it is better to have ate and lost then never to have ate at all. Huh? Says who? That's what weight can do to sense of humor, I guess.

Gaah.

Archived under Lifehacks

This is
- why I love blogs
- the sum and substance of posts I never wrote from drafts that I never made

Via Amit. Read full post here. I'm quoting the one I strongly agree with.

If you make your work your life, you’re making your life into hard work. Like most people, I confused myself by looking at people like artists and musicians whose life’s “work” fills their time. That isn’t work. It’s who they are. Unless you have some overwhelming passion that also happens to allow you to earn a living doing it, always remember that work should be a means to an end: living an enjoyable life. Spend as little time on the means as possible consistent with achieving the end. Only idiots live to work.

I love being 35. I did my time in learning loads of things. And I'm gonna learn so much more ahead. And my knees will hurt bad. When they do, this is what I will remember

- Sometimes you're ahead, sometimes you're behind. The race is long and, in the end, it's only with yourself.[>>]
- Your time is limited, so don't waste it living someone else's life. [>>]