The Yega Bomb

The moment I stepped out, I noticed couple of things - The man who was chasing people for alms wasn’t there anymore and the chilled breeze of Seattle started fondling me. I have always found her very very pristine and healthy. I savor every moment of her softness and never feel satiated. But this time it was different and pleasantly special – I wasn’t walking, I was wobbling. Mind was drifting as though keeping pace with the wind and very importantly the Thinking machine was off after a long long time.

Rajat, Umesh and me were walking towards Hotel Pan Pacific through the silent corridors of down town Seattle. As we reached the Hotel entrance, Umesh got ready to drive 20 miles back to his house in Bothell.

‘Drive safe and see you in the morning’, we said while he left.

The lift beeped stopping at floor number 4.

 ‘Don’t hesitate to call me for any help, I am in room no. 429’, Rajat said getting off the lift.

‘No, I am….’, the lift doors closed before I could complete.

I reached my hotel room, threw my shoes apart and stared through the large windows into the darkness for good two minutes. I tried every bit I could to keep the eyes open.

Nothing much changed since morning. The pavements were still painted white by the layer of snow. The only extra were the foot marks. Took deep a deep breath and pulled back the window curtains to fall flat into the cozy bed.

But I did not sleep, opened my laptop instead.

I wrote 4 emails. Every time I was about to click the SEND button, I expanded my eyes as wide as I could, held back the wandering mind very tightly, double checked every line I was furiously typing.

While all others were business emails, one was without Subject.

The bitter Pinot Noir in dinner and two glasses of the clear-juice-like Lemon Drop, the Tequila shot, Yega Bomb in a tiny glass suspended in Red Bull. I gulped them all with commendable ease. The result was complete bliss, the bliss of first high!

A Rainy Day in Delhi

It was pouring in Delhi and my cab was moving at a speed of 1 inch/hour. The words of cab driver changed from – ‘Three hours is a lot of time sir. We will easily reach airport by 4 PM’ to ‘I told you sir we should have taken the other route ’. 

But it had been an incredible day for me and I continued to beat life. The flooded roads and snarling traffic could not stop me from reaching airport back on time. Ambling on the walkalator I saw passengers lining up at gate number 45. The departure of IT 343 was being announced. I was tired but not as much as I was happy. Life was fast, furious and beautiful since the previous evening.

It was the fourth meeting of the day and I was struggling to stay awake. Manish’s email popped up and it stirred me enough. It was a reminder to check the status. It was Thursday, 8^th September and the last hope. I entered details online and to my delighted-confusion the text abruptly ended – ‘Passport received from French Embassy. Please collect on.’ I burped. 

‘What does this text mean?’ 

Any other normal thinking mind would have read it as – ‘Visa is ready, have a wonderful trip to Paris’. But it was mine which has a penchant for analyzing absolutely trivial things.

With a very determined intent to clarify all my doubts, I dialed the customer care number. Yes, I was right. It was clarified and ascertained that life mocks at me at will, a little more when the topic of discussion is foreign travel. It was 6 PM and the call centre was closed. Amidst all uncertainties, one thing was clear – With or without Visa, I had to collect my passport. So requested Manish to book the early morning Hyderabad-Delhi flight. 

It was raining very heavily in Delhi. I reached the Visa office at Nehru place a little ahead of scheduled time. At the collection point, I was given an envelope. I tore it with all my might and quickly opened my passport. I saw what I wanted – A glossy page with multi-entry Schengen Visa. I was happy, very happy. 

I have to mention this to all my readers. After the agonizing experience I had with US Visa, this was truly wonderful. I was scheduled to travel to Paris on Sunday the 11^th of September. The only way this could happen is to get Visa latest by Friday, 9^th September, the last working day. With every passing day, my hopes waned. But I was always telling myself, whether I fly or not, what was important for me is Visa. Because I sincerely hoped that countries worldwide will increasing believe that I am harmless and all my future Visa applications will be hassle free (fingers crossed). Never know what problem they will have with my name and religion. 

Whatever, for now, I was all set to visit the fashion capital of the world and importantly a new country this year.

I hurriedly entered into the cab while questioning the cab driver, ‘We will reach airport by 4 PM, right?’

A Perfect Date

It’s not often that life throws at us few pleasant surprises whose snapshots will be captured in our mind for ever. One such experience was a perfect date with her. Needless to say, I wish it happens again. 

‘Goo straaaight, first lefth, lasth room', she said and I thanked her. ‘Aaah, naat a praablem’, she replied while I was already on my way she directed. I stopped at room no. 318, fiddled with the key and when it finally opened, toppled in almost trampling my specs as they fell onto the floor. It should have been a blistering hot day at Chandigarh, but at Hotel Hard Rock, Orlando, Florida, 16th of May was a great-for-a-date kind of evening.  But my mind is a strange beast, it already started whispering – ‘Allz-not-well’, ‘Allz-not-well’. Being together for 25+ years, bonding between all my parts is outstanding. They all started singing in unison – ‘Stomach- is-not-well’.  First thing I looked for was bathroom. 

 No matter how many switches I turned on, the lighting was very gloomy. I hated these incandescent lights all my life. I always imagined them spewing all the ominous things at me. I get nauseated in no time. I switched off everything except for a bed lamp and slid the window curtains. I ate almost nothing for 24 hours in my journey from India via London. It was a question of survival now. Reached out for the menu and the items I found belong to this genre– rabbit roast, fry bread, moose steak, venison stew. I anxiously looked for the 4 letter word R.I.C.E, and was on cloud 729 (nine cubed!) when I found one. But it was definitely not in the form I want. Called up the chef and he was very concerned. I just said ‘Stomach terribly upset, I want rice with simple vegetables and lime water’. God bless him, he provided just what I was dying for. I ate in a complete peace-max-and-satisfactory mode. Called up Kristen and asked her to mark me absent for team dinner. The cozy bed, the jet lag, the urge to rest, all swayed me to a blissful sleep.

The next day started with arey-mein-tho-hero-ban-gaya type of feeling. Had a massaging bath and walked out towards hotel lobby through the maze of silent corridors. It was abnormally silent till I spotted a tall grave old man with milky white skin wearing a long hat. He walked towards me with all the seriousness he could muster until he was a foot away. Suddenly he bent and said – ‘Good Morning’ and kept walking away. It scared me for a split second and I blurted – ‘Morninnggg’, heaved a sigh and kept walking but a bit slowly, turning back twice to make sure he is no more in sight. With a rattled mind as I stepped into the elevator, a waft of stunning fragrance welcomed me. Even more stunning was a beautiful lady in business formals. She as well surprised me, but in a lot pleasant manner –‘Morning, how are you doing today?’. ‘Fantastic, fantastic’, I said as we walked out, unable to utter anything else. Now it was confirmed, people greet here even to strangers. I liked it and it took less than 5 seconds to implement it. ‘Good morning Amy, how are you doing today?’, I said, quickly glancing at the badge of receptionist.

I literally fell for the awesome weather which fondled me in her pristineness. More than any other damn thing, a non-hot weather with cold gentle breeze interlaced with drizzle, makes me a child again. It was exactly this way each day and I was living a dream. Despite living in most torrid conditions for a quarter of a century I am so much allergic to sunshine.  A/C at work made things worse, actually worrusstt! The pic is in the campus of University of Washington. I seriously regretted for a while for not thinking of pursuing MS.

Liking number 3 was the concerted effort of the public in ensuring that the country remains clean. It clearly reflects the sense of belonging. I am sure sparse population makes it easy to maintain. But I confess one aspect which I detest about my country is the lack of this feeling. Public places are used like shit, period.

Take-it-easy attitude which people carry here is exemplary. They seem to just enjoy what they are doing respecting every kind of profession. Work in morning/night and go to college in day/morning, fend for yourself while thoroughly enjoying the whips and nestles of life - real cool thing I say (green grass on other side?).        
                                                                             
Finally biggest eye opener was the love and care parents have for children here. All my misconceptions were washed away. Apparently parent’s love doesn’t inhibit child to develop all-around personality. The child in the adjacent pic slided down atleast from a height of 40 feet, swam against the water current to get high-five from his instructor all while his parents were on the bank. My mum would have stood right at the bottom of the slide to catch me come what may and shower kisses and tight slaps all at the same time (provided I sneaked to anywhere near water!). This kid rightly embarrassed me saying – ‘What are you doing there?, come in’. I grabbed him for a kiss and a snap and said to myself – ‘No son, my mum just loved me too much’.

The timing of my trip was perfect, and of course anything short is inevitably enduring, but the fact is, United States of America, I had few of the best days in my life with you. With a sense of pride, I mark COMPLETED against the to-do item for this year – Visit a foreign land.

Mr. Powell, Thanks but no thanks

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Shivalik Park in Manimajra as always was filled with old people, women and families discussing in groups. Children played under the lights late into the night. I was alone shuffling between short walks and sittings. The cement seat was still warm. I stared for a while at the handicapped kid trying to walk over the bridge with his brother’s help. It was 10.10 PM and I was sure Chawla general store from where I buy water bottles will be closed. I needed water to survive yet another long lonely heated night. Luckily, the small counter in the park was still open. I bought a bottle of water, coke and pop corn. Sat on a chair in a dark corner and gulped the chilled water. Got pensive yet again.
'Long time I have written a blog post', I thought.
Munched more pop corn, this time with more vigor and sipped coke. It was stronger than I expected.  Started feeling better, the rare positive energy was doing rounds and I stoked it. I needed it badly, the longer it stayed, the better I felt.
‘Any seldom-good-and-often-bad exciting incident happened in life in recent past?', I asked myself.
Last few ml of coke were left, pop corn already over. My senses started conversing and finally they decided I have enough to write one. I picked up the flakes of corn which fell down, send them down the USE ME box along with the coke bottle and walked towards house number 22/1, galli-number-3, my abode for last 12 months.
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‘Using our products you can do your job in 3 hours which otherwise will take 3 weeks’, I asserted while giving my 9th demo for the day.

I was tired and hungry and no mood to cajole another potential customer. I asked Marc to take over and I went to have some food. I picked a bowl of fruits and a glass of water with lots of ice and walked aimlessly till my tired eyes fell on the giant screen.

It was General Badin Powell, the key note speaker at SAPPHIRE’10 at Orlando, USA.

‘Let’s show the world that our security is our primary concern..’ he said.

General Powell's life is no ordinary, a man with exemplary achievements. I was excited to see him speak live. I quickly followed a flock of SAP geeks into a hall where he was addressing a very large audience.

‘After the 9/11 attacks, we revisited our entire security system……’, he was touching upon something sensitive. 

‘US embassy offices across the world have been upgraded with latest IT, we connected them with the fastest of internet using optical fibers…’. I was finding it increasingly difficult to stop yawning.

‘And we made it clear that the VISA will never be easy again for people from Pakistan, Afghanistan and Middle East and of course Moslems (Muslims)’.

There was a round of applause after every patriotic comment he made. I remained indifferent and when finally tiredness took over I moved out. As I walked back, I suddenly realized. I have just got the answers for few frustrating questions lingering in my mind for a while.

Ankur Uttam, Rohit Bohra and me were in same line with same documents and reason for travel. They got their VISA and not me, Why?

Same office, same reason for travel like Ritika but a long wait of four months for me. Why?

"I agree Mr. Powell that you were forced to enforce such a change and may be my name matched with some damn grief stricken terrorist. But I thought every law (natural or man-made) has some exception. You should have allowed a decently harmless student from India’s best Business school invited by the Dean of the best Business school of your land (Stanford), duly recommended by honorable local congressman of the mighty United States of America and endorsed by the elite academicians. I wrote emails and kept writing, called up desperately at your embassy office, and all I get to know is my VISA is in pending administration status. No information can be shared nor can it be expedited."

Visa became a distant dream until that afternoon in DLF building when a courier guy stopped and asked 'Sir, eh Winshuttle naam ki company kahan hain', I smiled when I saw the parcel on my name in his hand.

The Great Indian Muslim Wedding

Bus number AP-36, 7689 was heading to Secunderabad and our destination was Tarnaka. I was furious on Ammi as Baba got us into this non-ac bus which stops at every possible bus-stop (but why on Ammi?, just because I can’t vent out my anger on Baba and she is my sweet heart who soaks in all my stupidity). 

'Please get them down at Tarnaka bus stand and help them with the luggage’, Baba told the driver forth time as I said bye to him with those I-will-gulp-you-in-single-bite looks.

Bubbling in artificial anger I avoided eye contact with Ammi for a while but in a few minutes happily dozed off on her lap while she caressed my hair. We were on our way to attend my dear friend Rehan's wedding. Me attending marriages is a rarity but this time I was keen to witness a Muslim wedding, more closely and consciously. 

We just reached in time for the bridegroom-making-ceremony. I was expecting Rehan to wear *Sehra, the trade-mark of an Indian groom. But in terms of weight Muslim Sehra has unassailable lead. Easily it increases body weight by 10%. In hot scorching summers, the groom will understand the functioning of a blast furnace like never before. Rehan was lucky enough to escape this but not the chores of being introduced to a long line of guests. I watched him posing for photographs with unflagging enthusiasm. The line was real big and my intestines were screaming. To placate them my legs hurried to dining hall.

For carnivorous animals like me, Muslim wedding is a paradise. It’s not just about the long list of items but also the taste. On the day of *Nikah, I ate to the extent of having a bout of diarrhea but still sustained the same levels of enthusiasm even for *Valima. Gods were on my side, they knew I was starving for good food in the land of Rajma and Paneer. 

*Dowry is all pervasive in Indian ethos and Muslim community is no exception. But 40 *tolas of gold is beyond my imagination. As an MBA, I say Gold is the safest bet in investment perspective especially when markets tumble. But if these 40 tolas are precursor of many more kilograms to follow, I see it as an absolute sunk cost. Will the bride ever wear it all? My future in-laws, here I say, I prefer liquid cash.

One unique feature of Muslim wedding is segregation of men and women into different sections. Even the bride and groom are not together, not even during Nikah. May be this separation serves as a catalyst to glue them together for next seven births. For unmarried eyes prowling for feminine species it is horrendous experience. Indubitably woman epitomizes beauty and it embellishes further in company of a man. Hence I opine this segregation is uncalled-for.

As I was planning to stay with Prad that night I had to meet Ammi which meant crossing the border. I could see the glint in her eyes as she spotted me. I am nothing less than Mercedes Class S for her and occasions like these form perfect platform for me to be put for interactive display or may be a prospective sale.

She took me with her and the first thing which caught my attention was the glistening attire of the ladies. This is very common amongst Muslim women and no better occasion than marriages to flaunt them.

‘Aapa, mera beta’, I was introduced to a lady in ultra-red sari with glitters which exemplifies tare-sari-pe.


‘Salaam karo beta khala ko’, Ammi said. Even without a slightest hint as to how we are connected I obliged with a fake smile. 

‘Ittha sa tha jab Jaibun ki shaadi mein dekhi’, she continued while I was wondering what could be the weight of her necklace. 

'Suna hain bada padhai karre, Ab dawat kab doge?’, now even Ammi looked at me with quizzical eyes. 

‘Bus jaldi, aap aane ki tayari shuru karna khala’, I ducked the question and nudged Ammi to move on.

While this conversation was on there were atleast hundred eyes staring at me which made me nervous. Thanks to the fact that headquarters of our biological system is located in our mothers, Ammi already got SOS signals. She quickly completed the introductions with this-kid-is-impossible expression on her face and I heaved a sigh of relief as I stepped out. As I walked towards Prad through the silent corridor, a cold thought struck me – 'Roles will be swapped soon'. So what? I jerked my head, ruffled my hair and felt happy to have enough stuff to scribble another post on my blog. 

Notes:

Sehra-barrier made of flowers hanged in front of bridegroom's face;Nikah-Marriage;Valima-Reception;1 tolla=11.7 gms. Also, the dowry thing I specified is based on what I overhear in general, not specific to any marriage in vogue or broken.

Chandigarh days.......

Scribbled on 30th Nov-2009

Never in my wildest dreams or remote(st) thoughts I imagined myself working in a place called Chandigarh. The most common job locations in India for IIM pass outs (not sure about other MBA's) are Delhi or Mumbai. This was definitely not my desired location by any standards (personal or professional). I came here as I did not have an alternative, period. I am sure I will not miss this place once I leave. However I am glad I had been here. To some extent it satiated my quench for traveling and observing people.I always feel rich to embrace new culture, new way of living. Well, it is definitely not a new culture as such, but definitely a novel experience for a guy who has seldom been to Northern India. Chandigarh has a charm, and I believe it is because of its people. Amazing beauty thrives here, beauty(yes, I am referring to humans) which transcends all ages. Cutest kids, handsome hunks, sexiest damsels and good looking old people. My first thoughts were - Boy, this is a different tribe!, Intra-breeding is a norm, A case of dumb and the beautiful?

If beauty in Chandigarh entranced me, the food has been pain-max. I agree it is because of rice-dal-dahi-chutney kinda food I have been eating all life, but I swear - Rajma, Paneer and black dal have hit me hard. Adding to the woes is the Jira in plain rice, grrrrrrr...... Until my cooking escapades started, I confess I had a pathetic time. Thanks to the place I live which is void of any restaurants, I have become a decent cook.

I first came here in mid of May. Despite being from a place known for scorching summers, I felt extremely difficult to acclimatize myself. I vividly remember those early days in my rented house - drinking water use to just get HOT in no time, the windows and doors open all night, the intermittent power cuts, the hot blow of air even at midnights. It feels so funny and incredible that how much it has changed now. Its freezing cold, a perfect example of minus infinity to plus infinity concept thought in school. One common thing across these extreme weather conditions is tough nights either because of grueling heat or bitter winters. Amidst all this, I savor the 5 minute walk every day as I go to office. I am truly in love with the freshness of cold air, much needed warmth of the morning sun, the sight of cutie tiny tots in stuffed winter wear, the lush green shivalik park.

Chandigarh as per what I see is definitely not a happening place. Advent of IT has made it bigger, I wonder what it was prior to it. Getting a job in IT park, working in Infosys is a BIG thing for people here. I have not traveled the entire breath of it, but if I extrapolate my experiences I think it can be a haven for family, definitely not for a south Indian bachelor*.

*Conditions apply