I am reminded of this incident that happened a few months back. I and some friends were travelling on the city bus. We were glad that it finally arrived after making us wait for what seemed like hours. We all got in just to find that the last seats were all empty and were welcoming us for a comfortable ride.The whole seat was at our convinience, but the only problem was a wooden box placed abrubptly in the walkway restricting our access. Somehow we managed to get through and the bus trip continued.
The wooden box seemed like a tiny cupboard with colorful doors and decoration completed with pieces of colored glass and some mirrors. It could easily pass for an antique from some remote part of the world. It belonged to an old man who sat on the neighboring seat keeping a watchful eye on his luggage. His lady sat just ahead of him. From the looks, it seemed they they barely had the money for the bus fare.The wooden box could have been their only fortune.
As the bus moved on, stopping at regular intervals to add a dozen other city commuters to the existing lot, the place was soon growing insufficient to accomodate all the passengers. Amidst the crowd, people would kick and push the wooden box, make some space for themselves and curse the owner of the box.The old man heard the curses but held onto the box, lest it dragged a bit too far. The old lady was also growing restless about their luggage and would turn back every often to make sure the box was still there.
I was watching this with due patience and curiosity. The particuar restlessness on their faces caught my attention. In the entire episode,amidst the crowd and the chaos, the only thing they were concerned of was the box. Which seemed to me like a useless peice of crap not worthy of keeping around. And that is when this question struck me : "What is Priceless?". The object of no worth to anyone on the bus, was the most valuable to this old couple.
I couldnt help wondering, each one of us possesses something which he or she regards as priceless. Regardless its real worth in terms of money, few things are your prized possesions than anything else in the world.These things have their own value and are worth different to different people.If you have something priceless that makes you look more worried than the look on that old couples face, then hold on to it before it gets lost in some crowd where people have never understood and will never understand the real worth of your possesion. In this bus journey called life, hold on to your wooden box, should it be ruthlessly kicked away by unwary people around you, or dragged away out of sight so that you forget about it one day.
Insanely guarding your priceless things, would be the most sane thing to do. Wouldn't it?
Nov 3, 2006
Nov 1, 2006
Reporting live from Mumbai...
They say 'The pen is mightier than the sword', and Varsha was so intoxicated by the might of the written words, she decided, at a tender age, that she would be a journalist. And soon the teenager was immersed in fantasies of being the best reporter in the country, be the first one to bring a breaking news to the country, bring to notice of the general public certain flaws and subsequent fallacies of the system or maybe even expose some corrupt political figure.
The goal was set and she was ready to do all that took to become a reporter. Graduating in contemporary literature and armed with a degree in journalism, Varsha found herself amidst the chaos of Mumbai. The city which never sleeps was beckoning her for an illustrative career. With always something happening round the corner, the city promised her a good job with some top news channel. Though there was a plethora of news channels already, each insisting that they were the truth-centric people bringing to surface in-depth analysis of daily news, Varsha was glad she was being interviewed by the best in business
Finally she had her first taste of success, when she landed a job with MDTV. The first thing she did was call up her mother back home to tell that she had made it. Her mother knew that sky was the limit for this girl who probably was aware of only half her potential. Wishing Varsha all the best, her mother felt a sense of achievement already. And though Varsha was just at the beginning of her career, seeing her go through all the pains and efforts to reach to this point was fulfilling enough for her mother.
Wiping tiny beads of sweat off her forehead, she eased herself as she faced the camera for the first time, and announce to the world Varsha has arrived and will soon conquer the news world. Yes she wanted to be the reporter chasing stories on the field, but one step at a time was what was needed. Reading news that day was the humble beginning as she donned her new avatar.
News media is no easy place to be in, and our girl wasn’t going to be a meek submissive reporter who couldn’t get news of any substance. Gradually rising through the ranks and bringing better stories to the desk each time, Varsha soon was closer to realizing her dreams. Through the course she might have interviewed several famous people, some eminent businessmen, and few politicians who tried to be as diplomatic as possible and occasional celebrities. "Occasional' since Varsha was not the "Page 3" type, she believed in getting down to the truth of the story rather than the surreal dazzling glitterati of the high society.
Years had passed and being on the field, covering stories had become her life. And the city did keep its promise, presenting ample opportunities for Varsha to dig out stories that others might miss and take them to the editor’s desk. But nothing could have possibly prepared her for what she would report that fateful evening. It wasn't just her, even Mumbai was not prepared!
The news came in soon after a series of powerful bombs had ripped apart the local trains of Mumbai, crippling the very backbone of the city. At the convenient time of six in the evening, the mayhem that soon followed was beyond the fathom of any reporter in recent times. As the MDTV crew rushed to the site for maximum coverage of the mishap, Varsha was composing herself to cover the story. With the preliminary reports at hand, the crew thought they knew what to expect when they would reach the site. They were wrong.
The scene that awaited their arrival was beyond their imagination. There was chaos everywhere. People had no idea what had happened except for a few who realized that gravity of the situation. It took some time for the disillusioned crowd to come to its senses and started helping those in need. Varsha went live amidst all the action, streaming footage of the unimaginable carnage the anti social elements had wreaked onto the spine of the city. TV screens across the country were soon live with images of local train compartments blown apart and human carcasses being taken away from the blast site. Mumbai had probably seen the worst of the terrorist attacks till date.
Gathering her bearings, Varsha started interviewing the witnesses and police official, trying the get an idea of how huge the blasts have been and its impact on the average Mumbaite. People everywhere had condemned this brutal act of violence demanding a nationwide search for those responsible for the carnage and restoring peace back in the city.
Two days went by, and there wasn’t a single news bulletin which brought any news of hope. Everywhere there were stories of people madly in search of their beloved who went from home that fateful day never to return again. All the mayhem around was too much for Varsha to handle. Daily stories of mourn, reports of people missing, many left behind after the sole earning member of the family was the victim of the blasts, was disheartening for everyone.
As Varsha prepared to retire to her sleep that night, she was wondering what would the next dawn bring. More stories of tragedy and despair or maybe some ray of hope with hints that people were healing from the deep wounds of terror and look ahead for a brand new day. Hope that everything will return to normalcy and keep the faith.
Though the people are still mortal, their spirit to live is immortal. Mumbai will soon recover from these bruises and defeat terrorist intentions by showing the world that despite feeling the brunt of such brutality the city will still go on. Maybe that’s the news headline Varsha would like to read to the country the next day. And salute the spirit of the city and its wonderful people.
Being a reporter was never an easy job. Varsha always thought she knew this but probably it was only now, that she was realizing it.
The goal was set and she was ready to do all that took to become a reporter. Graduating in contemporary literature and armed with a degree in journalism, Varsha found herself amidst the chaos of Mumbai. The city which never sleeps was beckoning her for an illustrative career. With always something happening round the corner, the city promised her a good job with some top news channel. Though there was a plethora of news channels already, each insisting that they were the truth-centric people bringing to surface in-depth analysis of daily news, Varsha was glad she was being interviewed by the best in business
Finally she had her first taste of success, when she landed a job with MDTV. The first thing she did was call up her mother back home to tell that she had made it. Her mother knew that sky was the limit for this girl who probably was aware of only half her potential. Wishing Varsha all the best, her mother felt a sense of achievement already. And though Varsha was just at the beginning of her career, seeing her go through all the pains and efforts to reach to this point was fulfilling enough for her mother.
Wiping tiny beads of sweat off her forehead, she eased herself as she faced the camera for the first time, and announce to the world Varsha has arrived and will soon conquer the news world. Yes she wanted to be the reporter chasing stories on the field, but one step at a time was what was needed. Reading news that day was the humble beginning as she donned her new avatar.
News media is no easy place to be in, and our girl wasn’t going to be a meek submissive reporter who couldn’t get news of any substance. Gradually rising through the ranks and bringing better stories to the desk each time, Varsha soon was closer to realizing her dreams. Through the course she might have interviewed several famous people, some eminent businessmen, and few politicians who tried to be as diplomatic as possible and occasional celebrities. "Occasional' since Varsha was not the "Page 3" type, she believed in getting down to the truth of the story rather than the surreal dazzling glitterati of the high society.
Years had passed and being on the field, covering stories had become her life. And the city did keep its promise, presenting ample opportunities for Varsha to dig out stories that others might miss and take them to the editor’s desk. But nothing could have possibly prepared her for what she would report that fateful evening. It wasn't just her, even Mumbai was not prepared!
The news came in soon after a series of powerful bombs had ripped apart the local trains of Mumbai, crippling the very backbone of the city. At the convenient time of six in the evening, the mayhem that soon followed was beyond the fathom of any reporter in recent times. As the MDTV crew rushed to the site for maximum coverage of the mishap, Varsha was composing herself to cover the story. With the preliminary reports at hand, the crew thought they knew what to expect when they would reach the site. They were wrong.
The scene that awaited their arrival was beyond their imagination. There was chaos everywhere. People had no idea what had happened except for a few who realized that gravity of the situation. It took some time for the disillusioned crowd to come to its senses and started helping those in need. Varsha went live amidst all the action, streaming footage of the unimaginable carnage the anti social elements had wreaked onto the spine of the city. TV screens across the country were soon live with images of local train compartments blown apart and human carcasses being taken away from the blast site. Mumbai had probably seen the worst of the terrorist attacks till date.
Gathering her bearings, Varsha started interviewing the witnesses and police official, trying the get an idea of how huge the blasts have been and its impact on the average Mumbaite. People everywhere had condemned this brutal act of violence demanding a nationwide search for those responsible for the carnage and restoring peace back in the city.
Two days went by, and there wasn’t a single news bulletin which brought any news of hope. Everywhere there were stories of people madly in search of their beloved who went from home that fateful day never to return again. All the mayhem around was too much for Varsha to handle. Daily stories of mourn, reports of people missing, many left behind after the sole earning member of the family was the victim of the blasts, was disheartening for everyone.
As Varsha prepared to retire to her sleep that night, she was wondering what would the next dawn bring. More stories of tragedy and despair or maybe some ray of hope with hints that people were healing from the deep wounds of terror and look ahead for a brand new day. Hope that everything will return to normalcy and keep the faith.
Though the people are still mortal, their spirit to live is immortal. Mumbai will soon recover from these bruises and defeat terrorist intentions by showing the world that despite feeling the brunt of such brutality the city will still go on. Maybe that’s the news headline Varsha would like to read to the country the next day. And salute the spirit of the city and its wonderful people.
Being a reporter was never an easy job. Varsha always thought she knew this but probably it was only now, that she was realizing it.
When success is failure...
Sky was the limit for Aditya when he graduated his MBA and landed a lucrative job "reserved" for the cream of the management students. After a short vacation with his friends, he found himself driving on his way to his job. But he had taken his new wake of life quite gracefully. He had all the qualities of being a sucessful entrepreneur one day. He soon realized that he would rather command people and get productive work done than work for a monthly wage.
As determined, he left his job one day and ventured off to start his own consulting firm. Excellent academics and key experience proved instrumental in setting up his dream. Ruthlessly competitive by nature, Aditya saw to it that the growth of the firm got his utmost attention. Soon the efforts bore their fruit and his consultancy took off splendidly.
Amidst the shooting career, Aditya got married to his childhood friend Smita. It took him ten years to understand why Smita looked at him that way ever since they turned sixteen. Smita had always loved him and now Aditya knew who actually sent him those anonymous letters every valentine for the past few years. They soon were blessed with a baby boy. The couple were at the zenith of their happiness. And little Rahul was enjoying all the attention.
The personal life was beautiful beyond their phathom, but the graph of professional achievement was getting steeper as years went by and soon time came for Smita to understand the importance of Aditya's work. She did understand or so she said. Rahul was growing fast under the care of his mother and generous gifts by his father on his birthdays every year. Though Rahul was delighted, Smita knew that is was just another bribe for not being on time, forgetting the party at home which might be just a little more important than some five star dine to please a client.
As Aditya continued his crusade clenching every milestone he set ahead, he could not wait to get home that day. It was Rahul's tenth birthday. Aditya remembered that and also got a big gift for Rahul. After the guests had left, Aditya broke the news he had been dying to tell his family. He had grabbed the best deal of his life. Something that guarunteed to make his mark amongst the elite in the business. He was awarded the consulting contract after thoughtful consideration over twenty other potentials. Smita tried not to react, but Rahul made an innocent comment. "Whats the use dad? You will come home even more late and exhausted. I will never find time to see you."
That innocence said it all. Was the son so busy that he could not find time see his dad? Reality crashed upon Aditya when he realised the loss his account books never showed when making profit entries as years went by. He was stunned by the harsh reality, his success at profession had proved to be his failure when it came to family. And in moments to follow, he soon understood all that Smita wanted to say. He had failed her too. He was up all night, trying to sum up the aftermath. He gazed at the coffee mug with "Worlds greatest dad" painted on it, a dear gift from worlds greatest son, and wondered had he really lost the chance to be one.
The next day he was in bed longer than usual. Smita reminded him that didnt he have some work to do. "I am coming", said Aditya and picked up his phone to make some calls. Business as usual. He got down for breakfast where the trio slilently had their sandwich and juice, until Aditya broke the silence. "Hurry up you two. We are getting late." Smita was more than surprised,"Where else is anyone going except you!". "Well, not just me, we all are going ... on a month long vacation" Aditya cleared the suspense. "Hurray, I have the best dad in the world". Rahul was jumping with joy.
Just a few phone calls is what it took for Aditya to tell the client that he had decided to take a break for a while and the contract be given to the next bidder. Deep down somewhere Aditya felt, this must be the best deal he could have ever clenched. All he needed was to strike that perfect balance between work and family to stop his success from becoming the laying stone for his failure.
As determined, he left his job one day and ventured off to start his own consulting firm. Excellent academics and key experience proved instrumental in setting up his dream. Ruthlessly competitive by nature, Aditya saw to it that the growth of the firm got his utmost attention. Soon the efforts bore their fruit and his consultancy took off splendidly.
Amidst the shooting career, Aditya got married to his childhood friend Smita. It took him ten years to understand why Smita looked at him that way ever since they turned sixteen. Smita had always loved him and now Aditya knew who actually sent him those anonymous letters every valentine for the past few years. They soon were blessed with a baby boy. The couple were at the zenith of their happiness. And little Rahul was enjoying all the attention.
The personal life was beautiful beyond their phathom, but the graph of professional achievement was getting steeper as years went by and soon time came for Smita to understand the importance of Aditya's work. She did understand or so she said. Rahul was growing fast under the care of his mother and generous gifts by his father on his birthdays every year. Though Rahul was delighted, Smita knew that is was just another bribe for not being on time, forgetting the party at home which might be just a little more important than some five star dine to please a client.
As Aditya continued his crusade clenching every milestone he set ahead, he could not wait to get home that day. It was Rahul's tenth birthday. Aditya remembered that and also got a big gift for Rahul. After the guests had left, Aditya broke the news he had been dying to tell his family. He had grabbed the best deal of his life. Something that guarunteed to make his mark amongst the elite in the business. He was awarded the consulting contract after thoughtful consideration over twenty other potentials. Smita tried not to react, but Rahul made an innocent comment. "Whats the use dad? You will come home even more late and exhausted. I will never find time to see you."
That innocence said it all. Was the son so busy that he could not find time see his dad? Reality crashed upon Aditya when he realised the loss his account books never showed when making profit entries as years went by. He was stunned by the harsh reality, his success at profession had proved to be his failure when it came to family. And in moments to follow, he soon understood all that Smita wanted to say. He had failed her too. He was up all night, trying to sum up the aftermath. He gazed at the coffee mug with "Worlds greatest dad" painted on it, a dear gift from worlds greatest son, and wondered had he really lost the chance to be one.
The next day he was in bed longer than usual. Smita reminded him that didnt he have some work to do. "I am coming", said Aditya and picked up his phone to make some calls. Business as usual. He got down for breakfast where the trio slilently had their sandwich and juice, until Aditya broke the silence. "Hurry up you two. We are getting late." Smita was more than surprised,"Where else is anyone going except you!". "Well, not just me, we all are going ... on a month long vacation" Aditya cleared the suspense. "Hurray, I have the best dad in the world". Rahul was jumping with joy.
Just a few phone calls is what it took for Aditya to tell the client that he had decided to take a break for a while and the contract be given to the next bidder. Deep down somewhere Aditya felt, this must be the best deal he could have ever clenched. All he needed was to strike that perfect balance between work and family to stop his success from becoming the laying stone for his failure.
Oct 31, 2006
How I graduated to cooking?
For years the kitchen had been an alien territory to me. Except for a swift mission to sneak in, grab a handful of whatever I could my get hands on, fill my mouth and sneak out again. But accomplishing the mission without getting caught by the watchful eyes of my mother, remained a mission forever. Years went by and I never let that habit go.
Two years ago, when a job took me to another city, the excitement of the start of a new life and new opportunity had me on cloud nine, and then the reality dawned upon me. Not only will I have to survive a new city, but also deal with the daily household chores which were so well taken care of at home. The numero uno on the list was cooking. I had never even made myself a cup of tea. And the best i could do was make myself a treat of cup noodles by adding some hot water and waiting and hoping that things turned out to be edible.
I moved into an apartment with room mates who coincidently shared the same fate as mine and so the big question was, who would be the first one to actually start using the kitchen?!. I was certainly the worst at the culinary skills, others were a notch above me, if not the best cooks in the world. It had to be a team effort and soon we had it all sorted out. Every one would have to assume a responsibilty and carry it out a 100%. Things ranged from chopping, dicing vegetables, to kneeding the dough for fresh bread to making some rice. And after the dinner, came the most important job which none took up voluntarily : dish washing!!
I was still wondering where would I fit in all this. And since I wasnt good enough at any of the former tasks and so had to take the last one. Dish washing was something that i could do, but certainly not what i liked.
After a few weeks of laborious dish washing, I was certain of one thing, if I were to get out of this misery, I had to rise up the ranks. Starting with washing vegetables, chopping, dicing and slicing carrots and raddish for salads, I started making myself comfortable with the cooking world.
I thought maybe next, I should try my hand at eggs. Omlettes, boiled eggs, half fried - I was trying my hand at each one at a time. Few were well made while others good enough to be tossed into trash. But I guess, I was learning better as I experimented with more and more stuff in the kitchen. Then came the time to try my luck at sandwiches, salads before actually taking the plunge for more complicated food preparation. I excused myself from the elite things like cakes, pastries as I certainly know where my forte lies.
Time went by and I was getting better at managing more things at a time. Sometimes room mates used to be out for the evening, returning back late. These were the times I had to manage all on my own. Nevertheless, it was a boon in disguise. My cooking got better and now I can manage a dinner for myself. After a good, lip smacking dinner, I can pat myself for a job well done!
Two years ago, when a job took me to another city, the excitement of the start of a new life and new opportunity had me on cloud nine, and then the reality dawned upon me. Not only will I have to survive a new city, but also deal with the daily household chores which were so well taken care of at home. The numero uno on the list was cooking. I had never even made myself a cup of tea. And the best i could do was make myself a treat of cup noodles by adding some hot water and waiting and hoping that things turned out to be edible.
I moved into an apartment with room mates who coincidently shared the same fate as mine and so the big question was, who would be the first one to actually start using the kitchen?!. I was certainly the worst at the culinary skills, others were a notch above me, if not the best cooks in the world. It had to be a team effort and soon we had it all sorted out. Every one would have to assume a responsibilty and carry it out a 100%. Things ranged from chopping, dicing vegetables, to kneeding the dough for fresh bread to making some rice. And after the dinner, came the most important job which none took up voluntarily : dish washing!!
I was still wondering where would I fit in all this. And since I wasnt good enough at any of the former tasks and so had to take the last one. Dish washing was something that i could do, but certainly not what i liked.
After a few weeks of laborious dish washing, I was certain of one thing, if I were to get out of this misery, I had to rise up the ranks. Starting with washing vegetables, chopping, dicing and slicing carrots and raddish for salads, I started making myself comfortable with the cooking world.
I thought maybe next, I should try my hand at eggs. Omlettes, boiled eggs, half fried - I was trying my hand at each one at a time. Few were well made while others good enough to be tossed into trash. But I guess, I was learning better as I experimented with more and more stuff in the kitchen. Then came the time to try my luck at sandwiches, salads before actually taking the plunge for more complicated food preparation. I excused myself from the elite things like cakes, pastries as I certainly know where my forte lies.
Time went by and I was getting better at managing more things at a time. Sometimes room mates used to be out for the evening, returning back late. These were the times I had to manage all on my own. Nevertheless, it was a boon in disguise. My cooking got better and now I can manage a dinner for myself. After a good, lip smacking dinner, I can pat myself for a job well done!
I dreamt one night...
It was one of those fine experiences when you just cant be sure whether it is the reality of the dream or the dream itself, that is more fascinating.
I was driving a car along an endless road. The curves and the winds of the road would last till eternity, but what made the trip worth remembering was the mesmerising slopes of snow clad mountains on one side and large mass of ice cold water on the other side. The reflection of the mountain slopes in the water would, occasionally, be distorted by ripples through water, created by the cold breeze that was blowing through the valley.
Though not alone in the journey, most of my driving was aimed at leaving the other guy far behind. Yes there was this other guy who would look at me and laugh every time he overtook me. I was determined to overtake him the next time and leave him so far behind that he would never be able to catch up.
Thus began the need for speed, cruising at amazing speeds, negotiating every twist and turn in the hostile environment where snow and cold water were equally fatal. And all of a sudden I have this co-passenger, a girl whose face i couldnt possibly relate to anyone I know, who opened the door of the car to have a look at the view outside and feel the breeze as I manouvered the vehicle through another turn. But the speed and the force was too much I guess, because she got pushed overboard and rolled along the road bruising badly.
I stopped the car and ran back to see whether she was OK. Obviously she was not ok. Having bruised badly and blood gushing out of her forehead and arms, she required immediate medical help. All I could do was gather her in my arms, bring her back to the car and stare helplessly around in the hostile environment for help. The other car fellow was long one unaware of the mishap.
In retrospect when I think of this dream and wonder what made me feel this way, I really dont have an answer. Usually one would dream of someone already known or atleast "dream to know". But this was not the case. The girl that fell out of my car never really had a face. An absolute stranger and for whom I took all the pains and efforts I could, to save her.
Never had an "act two" of the dream again. But here is just some food for thought. What are dreams anyway? I would say its just the subconscious mind at work doing some serious thinking. Pondering endlessly over what goes around you in the conscious world, and these things will eventually make their way into the subconscious arena and be visualized as a dream.
I was driving a car along an endless road. The curves and the winds of the road would last till eternity, but what made the trip worth remembering was the mesmerising slopes of snow clad mountains on one side and large mass of ice cold water on the other side. The reflection of the mountain slopes in the water would, occasionally, be distorted by ripples through water, created by the cold breeze that was blowing through the valley.
Though not alone in the journey, most of my driving was aimed at leaving the other guy far behind. Yes there was this other guy who would look at me and laugh every time he overtook me. I was determined to overtake him the next time and leave him so far behind that he would never be able to catch up.
Thus began the need for speed, cruising at amazing speeds, negotiating every twist and turn in the hostile environment where snow and cold water were equally fatal. And all of a sudden I have this co-passenger, a girl whose face i couldnt possibly relate to anyone I know, who opened the door of the car to have a look at the view outside and feel the breeze as I manouvered the vehicle through another turn. But the speed and the force was too much I guess, because she got pushed overboard and rolled along the road bruising badly.
I stopped the car and ran back to see whether she was OK. Obviously she was not ok. Having bruised badly and blood gushing out of her forehead and arms, she required immediate medical help. All I could do was gather her in my arms, bring her back to the car and stare helplessly around in the hostile environment for help. The other car fellow was long one unaware of the mishap.
In retrospect when I think of this dream and wonder what made me feel this way, I really dont have an answer. Usually one would dream of someone already known or atleast "dream to know". But this was not the case. The girl that fell out of my car never really had a face. An absolute stranger and for whom I took all the pains and efforts I could, to save her.
Never had an "act two" of the dream again. But here is just some food for thought. What are dreams anyway? I would say its just the subconscious mind at work doing some serious thinking. Pondering endlessly over what goes around you in the conscious world, and these things will eventually make their way into the subconscious arena and be visualized as a dream.
Jun 15, 2006
Beach Parasailing Rendezvous
Sometime back I had read this somewhere
"When was the last time you did something for the first time?"
And believe me, that’s what I repeat under my breath every time I come across anything new. When you keep guessing when was that last time you really didsomething new, something exciting, never hesitate...just jump to the opportunity.And probably that is how some 17 lunatics, in search of a new adventure, stumbledupon the beach parasailing itinerary organized by a local adventure group. Everyone seemed to have enjoyed a lot and been left wanting for more!!
"Bon voyage"
We embarked for the coast on a crispy October night. I was in a mood to doze off immediately, since had to dash across from my place to the super market and back for some last minute shopping and was running a bit late. But before the weariness could take control, we started with dumb-sharades. The "dumbs" in the bus had volunteered for the game and were having a blast trying to enact movies and other outrageous"home productions". Later on, it got even more interesting when other joined in. I was pretty amazed at my skills at the game. Had a rocking time acting out some movies.
This would have carried on all night long. But then came a call to put out the lights and catch some sleep. Fair enough, the lights were out, but everyone had hard time catching up some sleep, all thanks to the beautiful road conditions.
"Destination : Diveagar"
I must have dozed off some time soon, coz when I woke up later on, we had already reached the accommodation facility. The bed mattresses were some relief from the treacherous bus, I would say. But the excitement was still high, and after everyone else had retired to the cottages, me and three others made our way to the beach. At 4.30 in the morning, the sea waves were calling us. It was a very enticing experience. And though we could hardly see a thing in the dark, we knew that when daylight would break, we would be assured of a great time on the beach.
"Wake up call"
Came back from the beach, and had a sound sleep for the remaining time until our team captain came to wake everybody up. And in no time the place was alive with the morning hustle-bustle. After some tea and snacks, all headed for the beach.Wind did not favor us for the first half of the day. But the time was worth fully spent playing some beach ball. Well, we were playing less and bickering more over how low the ball was and it qualified as a net and a re-serve!! Then there was a quick change of plan amidst all the fun, and people headed for the sea fort - Murud Janjira. What better way to start that run than to sip on natural coconut water. Simply perfect.
"Enroute conquering Murud Janjira"
The army then set out to conquer the sea fort of Murud. Equipped with loads of excitement and singing songs all way long, I never realized when we reached the ferry point.The ferry trip to the fort and back was nice. And my heart sure missed a beat when the load on the small boat was imbalanced to the verge of toppling over.
"Enjoy the meal"
After the victory at Murud, the army certainly deserved a sumptuous meal. And as we made our way back, lunch was ready, typical Konkani style of food preparation complete with specialities like "Ukadiche Modak" and "Solkadhi". After the lunch, I just wanted to retire to my cottage and sleep like a baby. But thenwe weren’t here for that, were we?? Just a few moments later all started for thebeach again and this time it was to "fly high! sky high!!"
"Showtime"
When I reached the beach, first few guys had already done their part. The sight itself was thrilling and I wondered how it would feel to soar that high in a matter of seconds. Was having an adrenaline rush and goose bumps at the same time.Equipped with the handycam, I wanted to take footage of the flight from up there.Gradually as people were taking their turns to imitate the birds, I was getting readyfor the ride of a lifetime. Of course there was never a time when I had done this for the first time.And then the moment of truth. With the parachute canopy swelling to the fullest behind my back, and the jeep idling ahead ready to launch, I took my first steps of flight. And before I knew it, I was up there seeing tiny people waving there hands at me and some toy car trying to pull me. Initial few seconds of the flight were just complete chaos. It took me some time to gather my bearings and aim the camera at something worthwhile to shoot.I was having a feeling that the harness tied to me was gradually slipping away. And to make the freaky moment even more freakier, I remembered someone telling how a girl had fell of some 10 feet since the harness was not tied properly. Well 10 feet is okay, but you don’t want to fall from the roof of a building. I had little choice but to scream from up there, vainly telling the jeep fellow that I am slipping off theharness. I would have wanted to sing "I believe I can fly...I believe I can touch the sky..." but with the chaos and excitement coupled together, I managed to utter the veryversatile "F" word to describe how beautiful it is from up there.
When the jeep slowed down and I gradually descended before another tug launchedme back to where I was, I became more comfortable with all the "loose harness" thing. Just some stupid concern about safety. And now that I had the confidence, I started shooting the trees, mountains, sea, sunset and of course the parachute that was holding me up there.It is really amazing to experience flight. Something which we knew we could never do, until this day. And now am left wanting for more !! The touch down was like a feather.Smooth and perfect.
"The Video Footage"
My immediate reaction, after I was free from the harness, was to rewind the tape and check all that had been caught on film. I wasn’t disappointed. But the camera cannot even get close to the trill one experiences when airborne. Itwould be just a reminder of the awesome adrenaline rush within that short time.‘Mission : accomplished’
"What a day!"
After my turn, I had some time to spare in the murky waters of the beach. Watched the sun go down and disappear. And while other were finishing their turns at the parasailing, I relaxed and settled down to call it a day. A day planned beautifully and made worthwhile by all the lunatics and fanatics on board the‘Fun Express’.
"Final retreat"
After a relaxing bath and some more refreshing tea, we all started back.And this time the "back-benchers" were in full form. Singing timeless classics that reminded us of our merry childhood.The crusade carried on till a stop for dinner. Personally I don’t want to recollect thatat all. The menu should be best forgotten.
Slept like a baby in the final lap. Touch down at 2 am. A bit delayed, but who cares... after a day like this, it did not matter. And I had already decided to call in sick the next day. So Monday was a sick leave from work for me. Spent most of the time sleeping lazily around the house.
Yes, this is yet one of those trips that are worth remembering and moments worthreliving again and again.
"What next?"
Now the next plan has caught my imagination, Scuba diving and snorkeling on the beaches of Lakshwadeep. Seems to be out of this world. May take lot of planning and coordination and most important, begging for holidays to make it a success. Seems difficult, but then ...
"When was the last time you did something for the first time?"...
...flashback from October 2005
"When was the last time you did something for the first time?"
And believe me, that’s what I repeat under my breath every time I come across anything new. When you keep guessing when was that last time you really didsomething new, something exciting, never hesitate...just jump to the opportunity.And probably that is how some 17 lunatics, in search of a new adventure, stumbledupon the beach parasailing itinerary organized by a local adventure group. Everyone seemed to have enjoyed a lot and been left wanting for more!!
"Bon voyage"
We embarked for the coast on a crispy October night. I was in a mood to doze off immediately, since had to dash across from my place to the super market and back for some last minute shopping and was running a bit late. But before the weariness could take control, we started with dumb-sharades. The "dumbs" in the bus had volunteered for the game and were having a blast trying to enact movies and other outrageous"home productions". Later on, it got even more interesting when other joined in. I was pretty amazed at my skills at the game. Had a rocking time acting out some movies.
This would have carried on all night long. But then came a call to put out the lights and catch some sleep. Fair enough, the lights were out, but everyone had hard time catching up some sleep, all thanks to the beautiful road conditions.
"Destination : Diveagar"
I must have dozed off some time soon, coz when I woke up later on, we had already reached the accommodation facility. The bed mattresses were some relief from the treacherous bus, I would say. But the excitement was still high, and after everyone else had retired to the cottages, me and three others made our way to the beach. At 4.30 in the morning, the sea waves were calling us. It was a very enticing experience. And though we could hardly see a thing in the dark, we knew that when daylight would break, we would be assured of a great time on the beach.
"Wake up call"
Came back from the beach, and had a sound sleep for the remaining time until our team captain came to wake everybody up. And in no time the place was alive with the morning hustle-bustle. After some tea and snacks, all headed for the beach.Wind did not favor us for the first half of the day. But the time was worth fully spent playing some beach ball. Well, we were playing less and bickering more over how low the ball was and it qualified as a net and a re-serve!! Then there was a quick change of plan amidst all the fun, and people headed for the sea fort - Murud Janjira. What better way to start that run than to sip on natural coconut water. Simply perfect.
"Enroute conquering Murud Janjira"
The army then set out to conquer the sea fort of Murud. Equipped with loads of excitement and singing songs all way long, I never realized when we reached the ferry point.The ferry trip to the fort and back was nice. And my heart sure missed a beat when the load on the small boat was imbalanced to the verge of toppling over.
"Enjoy the meal"
After the victory at Murud, the army certainly deserved a sumptuous meal. And as we made our way back, lunch was ready, typical Konkani style of food preparation complete with specialities like "Ukadiche Modak" and "Solkadhi". After the lunch, I just wanted to retire to my cottage and sleep like a baby. But thenwe weren’t here for that, were we?? Just a few moments later all started for thebeach again and this time it was to "fly high! sky high!!"
"Showtime"
When I reached the beach, first few guys had already done their part. The sight itself was thrilling and I wondered how it would feel to soar that high in a matter of seconds. Was having an adrenaline rush and goose bumps at the same time.Equipped with the handycam, I wanted to take footage of the flight from up there.Gradually as people were taking their turns to imitate the birds, I was getting readyfor the ride of a lifetime. Of course there was never a time when I had done this for the first time.And then the moment of truth. With the parachute canopy swelling to the fullest behind my back, and the jeep idling ahead ready to launch, I took my first steps of flight. And before I knew it, I was up there seeing tiny people waving there hands at me and some toy car trying to pull me. Initial few seconds of the flight were just complete chaos. It took me some time to gather my bearings and aim the camera at something worthwhile to shoot.I was having a feeling that the harness tied to me was gradually slipping away. And to make the freaky moment even more freakier, I remembered someone telling how a girl had fell of some 10 feet since the harness was not tied properly. Well 10 feet is okay, but you don’t want to fall from the roof of a building. I had little choice but to scream from up there, vainly telling the jeep fellow that I am slipping off theharness. I would have wanted to sing "I believe I can fly...I believe I can touch the sky..." but with the chaos and excitement coupled together, I managed to utter the veryversatile "F" word to describe how beautiful it is from up there.
When the jeep slowed down and I gradually descended before another tug launchedme back to where I was, I became more comfortable with all the "loose harness" thing. Just some stupid concern about safety. And now that I had the confidence, I started shooting the trees, mountains, sea, sunset and of course the parachute that was holding me up there.It is really amazing to experience flight. Something which we knew we could never do, until this day. And now am left wanting for more !! The touch down was like a feather.Smooth and perfect.
"The Video Footage"
My immediate reaction, after I was free from the harness, was to rewind the tape and check all that had been caught on film. I wasn’t disappointed. But the camera cannot even get close to the trill one experiences when airborne. Itwould be just a reminder of the awesome adrenaline rush within that short time.‘Mission : accomplished’
"What a day!"
After my turn, I had some time to spare in the murky waters of the beach. Watched the sun go down and disappear. And while other were finishing their turns at the parasailing, I relaxed and settled down to call it a day. A day planned beautifully and made worthwhile by all the lunatics and fanatics on board the‘Fun Express’.
"Final retreat"
After a relaxing bath and some more refreshing tea, we all started back.And this time the "back-benchers" were in full form. Singing timeless classics that reminded us of our merry childhood.The crusade carried on till a stop for dinner. Personally I don’t want to recollect thatat all. The menu should be best forgotten.
Slept like a baby in the final lap. Touch down at 2 am. A bit delayed, but who cares... after a day like this, it did not matter. And I had already decided to call in sick the next day. So Monday was a sick leave from work for me. Spent most of the time sleeping lazily around the house.
Yes, this is yet one of those trips that are worth remembering and moments worthreliving again and again.
"What next?"
Now the next plan has caught my imagination, Scuba diving and snorkeling on the beaches of Lakshwadeep. Seems to be out of this world. May take lot of planning and coordination and most important, begging for holidays to make it a success. Seems difficult, but then ...
"When was the last time you did something for the first time?"...
...flashback from October 2005
Jun 9, 2006
A World Of His Own
Om is different from other children of his age. GOD has made him special. At age 15, while other boys are out in the field playing football, Om cant even stand on his feet and has trouble counting his fingers. With bulging eyes, always wandering around, he makes desperate attempts to speak flawlessly. His life is confined to a wheel chair, at the mercy of any help at hand.
But there is one thing that makes his eyes gleam with excitement and utter words of joy - colors. Colors that he paints on the canvas. Struggling with the crippled grip, he leaves the world behind and gets started with what he loves most.
For him, colors are a way of expression. Be they the colors that were painted by his brush or those smeared on the canvas with his bare fingers. Om sometimes spends time endlessly, bringing out the shades on the canvas, as if wanting to say something.
His colors speak for him. Sometimes red blares its anger, yellow and orange show how bright and lively life is, while shades of black and grey say that Om is gloomy today and there is no one to cheer him up.
But the canvas has just colors all over it. No shapes, no sceneries, no flowers, no people. Nothing. Just colors. Each having its own persona and each saying something new, everytime. Certainly, Om is not the best painter, but his painting is what he does best.
It is a world of his own. Each day he is thankful to the colors for being his media of self expression. And that is what inspires him to live for another day and another and another...
But there is one thing that makes his eyes gleam with excitement and utter words of joy - colors. Colors that he paints on the canvas. Struggling with the crippled grip, he leaves the world behind and gets started with what he loves most.
For him, colors are a way of expression. Be they the colors that were painted by his brush or those smeared on the canvas with his bare fingers. Om sometimes spends time endlessly, bringing out the shades on the canvas, as if wanting to say something.
His colors speak for him. Sometimes red blares its anger, yellow and orange show how bright and lively life is, while shades of black and grey say that Om is gloomy today and there is no one to cheer him up.
But the canvas has just colors all over it. No shapes, no sceneries, no flowers, no people. Nothing. Just colors. Each having its own persona and each saying something new, everytime. Certainly, Om is not the best painter, but his painting is what he does best.
It is a world of his own. Each day he is thankful to the colors for being his media of self expression. And that is what inspires him to live for another day and another and another...
Jun 2, 2006
Little Angel
I was standing at that phase of life where school and college had done their best to groom me and a brand new world was waiting for me to reach out. Soon I took up a job and was excelling well. Being grateful to the education I have had, I took the privilege to live a well to do life, away from the real struggles.
During course of a seminar that I attended, there was an appeal for people to come forward and give back to the society, starting in any humble way one could. They were arranging a field trip to the areas of the city where people were less privileged. Curiosity got the most of me and I went along. The sight that met my eyes was not a pleasing one.
People were living, rather surviving, devoid of basic education bringing in unemployment and poverty. The NGO volunteers were explaining how all could help to levitate these people from their plight. While listening to their plea, I glanced across to a little girl playing by herself, unaware of what was going on around her. "Hello there. What is you name? What do you do?” I asked. She looked back with bright eyes and a vibrant smile. "I am Jyoti. I would like to go to school”. That reply caught my attention. She deserved to go to school, but poverty was holding her back. I decided to do something. A humble way to repay the society. I volunteered with the NGO to bear the expense of Jyoti's education. My eagerness was rightly aided by the NGO volunteers and I was promised that they would watch the progress of the girl and keep me informed.
Jyoti started her schooling soon. She was a bright student. The brightest of all, doing well in Math and English. I arranged a visit to the school, later that month, to see her. She had written her name on a slate and was showing it to me with great pride. The little angel was getting what she deserved.
Soon, I moved out of the city and took a job elsewhere. But the NGO kept me aware of Jyoti's excellence at academics and other socio-cultural activities. As her name suggests, she was a bright light that would shed the darkness of illiteracy and ignorance. Over the years, I stopped getting letters from the NGO. "Obviously", I thought. She must have moved on from school to college and then to wherever destiny would take her.
I am retiring next year. Life has had its pace. And today as I see my children do well in their professions, somehow I am reminded of the little angel who must be about their age. Just a bit older.
Last month, some money matters took me to a bank. With all the advances in the banking procedures and influence of technology, it was rather difficult to find out things as simple as opening an account. But the banking executive assured me with all the formalities without much waiting. I was gratified with such warm treatment. "What is your name young lady?", I asked. There was a moment of silence.
The little angel then drew a slate from under the table and wrote her name for me.
During course of a seminar that I attended, there was an appeal for people to come forward and give back to the society, starting in any humble way one could. They were arranging a field trip to the areas of the city where people were less privileged. Curiosity got the most of me and I went along. The sight that met my eyes was not a pleasing one.
People were living, rather surviving, devoid of basic education bringing in unemployment and poverty. The NGO volunteers were explaining how all could help to levitate these people from their plight. While listening to their plea, I glanced across to a little girl playing by herself, unaware of what was going on around her. "Hello there. What is you name? What do you do?” I asked. She looked back with bright eyes and a vibrant smile. "I am Jyoti. I would like to go to school”. That reply caught my attention. She deserved to go to school, but poverty was holding her back. I decided to do something. A humble way to repay the society. I volunteered with the NGO to bear the expense of Jyoti's education. My eagerness was rightly aided by the NGO volunteers and I was promised that they would watch the progress of the girl and keep me informed.
Jyoti started her schooling soon. She was a bright student. The brightest of all, doing well in Math and English. I arranged a visit to the school, later that month, to see her. She had written her name on a slate and was showing it to me with great pride. The little angel was getting what she deserved.
Soon, I moved out of the city and took a job elsewhere. But the NGO kept me aware of Jyoti's excellence at academics and other socio-cultural activities. As her name suggests, she was a bright light that would shed the darkness of illiteracy and ignorance. Over the years, I stopped getting letters from the NGO. "Obviously", I thought. She must have moved on from school to college and then to wherever destiny would take her.
I am retiring next year. Life has had its pace. And today as I see my children do well in their professions, somehow I am reminded of the little angel who must be about their age. Just a bit older.
Last month, some money matters took me to a bank. With all the advances in the banking procedures and influence of technology, it was rather difficult to find out things as simple as opening an account. But the banking executive assured me with all the formalities without much waiting. I was gratified with such warm treatment. "What is your name young lady?", I asked. There was a moment of silence.
The little angel then drew a slate from under the table and wrote her name for me.
May 29, 2006
When I cry alone...
Life has been fair to me. Always. Almost.
No matter how lively I feel everyday and however upbeat the moods may seem, certain things of the past break me down. Shatter the jovial mask that I wear around, because deep down under, the toughest call has been a matter of the heart.
Yeah, was love struck at 22 and lived a dream for an eternity. She was beautiful. Like an angel sent from the heavens above. Night and day, she was all that I could think of. It was an ecstatic feeling and I was carried away into a world of trance never wanting to come back. But love can be a tricky emotion, and games were what my mind was playing on me. No doubt the dream was beautiful but what I probably was never prepared for was what if all this ceased to exist one day. What if I woke up one day to find the shattered pieces of this dream. That is when life started to feel unjust. Things fell apart and the pang was too deep to recover from.
Sometimes, at night, when I lay in bed, all the memories start flooding back. Things could have been better, definitely. But from where I see it now, I feel helpless. Helpless because circumstances will never favor me again. There was a time when maybe some decision would have made things work my way. But the moment had passed. This helplessness makes me realize how weak one can be at times. No matter what I do, it seems all the more difficult to draw the strength to face the truth. I am still struggling to hold on when there is nothing to keep.
A broken heart. A lost love. A shattered dream. I feel the pain of these reminiscent thoughts and I cry alone...
No matter how lively I feel everyday and however upbeat the moods may seem, certain things of the past break me down. Shatter the jovial mask that I wear around, because deep down under, the toughest call has been a matter of the heart.
Yeah, was love struck at 22 and lived a dream for an eternity. She was beautiful. Like an angel sent from the heavens above. Night and day, she was all that I could think of. It was an ecstatic feeling and I was carried away into a world of trance never wanting to come back. But love can be a tricky emotion, and games were what my mind was playing on me. No doubt the dream was beautiful but what I probably was never prepared for was what if all this ceased to exist one day. What if I woke up one day to find the shattered pieces of this dream. That is when life started to feel unjust. Things fell apart and the pang was too deep to recover from.
Sometimes, at night, when I lay in bed, all the memories start flooding back. Things could have been better, definitely. But from where I see it now, I feel helpless. Helpless because circumstances will never favor me again. There was a time when maybe some decision would have made things work my way. But the moment had passed. This helplessness makes me realize how weak one can be at times. No matter what I do, it seems all the more difficult to draw the strength to face the truth. I am still struggling to hold on when there is nothing to keep.
A broken heart. A lost love. A shattered dream. I feel the pain of these reminiscent thoughts and I cry alone...
Apr 17, 2006
As pawns see it!
I like my armor. It may not be the best looking one around, but it is probably the only thing I like about being me. Well, who am I? I am a petty pawn in the army of the Mighty Blacks, lined up at the far right in the front line of attack. I never really liked the idea of facing the enemy head on. The reason you ask? I am just too brave to be in a place like this. With the fellow pawns and other mighty pieces like the Knight, the Rook and the Queen... I feel just too insignificant to even exist.
And thinking about existence against the Magnificent Whites!! Do I even stand a chance? History has it that every battle fought on this checkered battlefield, the Mighty Blacks have perished, their existence wiped out, each one given a slow agonizing death.
And here I am to be a part of this history repeating itself. The sight of the Magnificent Whites across the battlefield sent an eerie chill down my spine. Did they seem to be in thousands in number? Wasn't this to be a battle among equals?? Or was the destiny already written!
So it began ... with deafening war cries, the army let loose its wrath on each other. Moving forward the fellow pawns quickly made a line of defense and geared up for the onslaught. I couldn’t believe it was happening. I'd probably be still dreaming if I weren’t jostled into reality. Suddenly, I saw the Knight leap over me and into the battle ahead. The Whites had also charged ahead and were too close for comfort. I knew there was no escape.
The gory battle that followed was too horrifying for me. I saw the pawns being wiped out as if they never had a stand. One of them lost in a silly gambit that was not worth at all. With the pawns visibly weak in the battle dominated by the Knights, the Bishops and the Rooks, I was seeing fewer and fewer of them as time went by. It felt like ages and any moment would cease my existence as well.
The Knights, Bishops and Rooks were good at combat but certainly not as impressive as the Queen. I can’t put in words the havoc wreaked when she moved into the field and slayed many of the Magnificent Whites. From where I could see, the Mighty Blacks seemed to surpass the formidable Whites. And then it happened.
With all the judicious strategies of warfare, the Queen allied by the Knight and the Rook, had cornered the Whites and their King had no choice but to succumb to the Mighty Blacks. Victory! There we stood, amidst all the blood and gore, a few survivors of the great battle. I glanced around but saw no one from the Mighty Black’s first line of attack. All fellow pawns had perished. More than half the army erased in a battle, which we eventually won.
I was glad it was over. Rather, more relieved than glad, because I never had to inch a foot forward in this great battle. The fear that gripped and paralyzed me had helped me survive.
And thinking about existence against the Magnificent Whites!! Do I even stand a chance? History has it that every battle fought on this checkered battlefield, the Mighty Blacks have perished, their existence wiped out, each one given a slow agonizing death.
And here I am to be a part of this history repeating itself. The sight of the Magnificent Whites across the battlefield sent an eerie chill down my spine. Did they seem to be in thousands in number? Wasn't this to be a battle among equals?? Or was the destiny already written!
So it began ... with deafening war cries, the army let loose its wrath on each other. Moving forward the fellow pawns quickly made a line of defense and geared up for the onslaught. I couldn’t believe it was happening. I'd probably be still dreaming if I weren’t jostled into reality. Suddenly, I saw the Knight leap over me and into the battle ahead. The Whites had also charged ahead and were too close for comfort. I knew there was no escape.
The gory battle that followed was too horrifying for me. I saw the pawns being wiped out as if they never had a stand. One of them lost in a silly gambit that was not worth at all. With the pawns visibly weak in the battle dominated by the Knights, the Bishops and the Rooks, I was seeing fewer and fewer of them as time went by. It felt like ages and any moment would cease my existence as well.
The Knights, Bishops and Rooks were good at combat but certainly not as impressive as the Queen. I can’t put in words the havoc wreaked when she moved into the field and slayed many of the Magnificent Whites. From where I could see, the Mighty Blacks seemed to surpass the formidable Whites. And then it happened.
With all the judicious strategies of warfare, the Queen allied by the Knight and the Rook, had cornered the Whites and their King had no choice but to succumb to the Mighty Blacks. Victory! There we stood, amidst all the blood and gore, a few survivors of the great battle. I glanced around but saw no one from the Mighty Black’s first line of attack. All fellow pawns had perished. More than half the army erased in a battle, which we eventually won.
I was glad it was over. Rather, more relieved than glad, because I never had to inch a foot forward in this great battle. The fear that gripped and paralyzed me had helped me survive.
Apr 2, 2006
My First blog
Guys, this would be my first ever blog on the web.. sometime back i didnt even know what blogging meant, but i guess its a very good medium to get your thoughts across to a community of fellow bloggers, have an exchange of views over the blogs and of course get appreciated for what you may have written.
Few blogs will follow... some time soon.
Few blogs will follow... some time soon.
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