Drive-thru temple

A young man is navigating through a web of traffic near Kabuthar Khana at Dadar. With exquisite Bombay driving skills, might I add. Not an inch given, not an inch taken. The perfect balance.

As he approaches Hanuman mandir, he slows done, takes both his hands off the wheel, pulls his handbrake, closes his eyes, takes his right hand over his right  cheek, then over his left cheek and repeats this action in rapid succession. Finally, he cups his hands together, says goodbye to Hanumanji, opens his eyes and drives off. The perfect drive through experience. Efficient and fulfilling.

Nothing fazes him while he's carrying out this deeply spiritual procedure. Car horns blaring because of the build up, the policeman wildly gesturing him to move ahead with his arms, a BEST bus driver screaming. Nothing. This is his pious corner, or centre. His own private sanctuary. Would Thyagaraja Swamy have been distracted while singing Bala kanaka maya? Would Gautam Buddha have been distracted while sitting under the tree? Would Mother Teresa have been distracted from serving people?

One must understand that there are different roads to God. And this was his favourite route.

It's about the higher purpose. The intent. In the pursuit of this higher purpose, if a few people face some minor troubles, that's just collateral damage.

Travel and the cell phone

I was travelling by metro to work the other day. I was completely engrossed in reading something on my cell phone. It was then that I heard a voice next to me, "Could you please let me sit? It's a request." And the lady next to me promptly got up.

When I managed to tear myself away from my cell phone, I realized that the voice belonged to an old lady who definitely needed the seat more than any of us.

So, why didn't I offer my seat? One simple reason: I didn't even see the old lady. Chivalry is based on one basic premise: You need to observe that somebody needs your attention. Only then can you expect your better nature to take over and do what is necessary.

We are all so busy catching up with life while travelling that we are not even aware of our surroundings. We are listening to music, reading email, chatting with friends, checking Facebook, consuming news and sometimes preparing for the 9 o'clock meeting. With all this going on, do we even see what our eyes are resting on?

I wonder if we will outsource this activity to travel journalists and read about it on our cell phones on the way to work? I wonder if we will see the slow death of a truly Mumbai phenomenon called 'train friends'? I wonder if the famous words will still remain relevant "Life is a journey, not a destination". I wonder. I wonder.

The (in)valid use cases

There are valid use cases and then there is the overkill. As a product manager, you must be aware of when you are crossing the line. If not, you are made aware. If you have handled the  difficult developer (now come on guys, don't you all go nodding on me), you will be able to appreciate the  supposedly overdone use cases or their close cousins some product managers are likely to have heard in their lifetime:

1. The ECG machine will not monitor heart rates below 20 beats per minute. The performance deterioration far outweighs the  probability of the use case.

2. Air traffic controllers will be able to monitor only up to 20 flights an hour. This is not Heathrow!

3. Bank balances will be stored only till the hundredth decimal place. Who really cares about the chump change?

4. Pages of the eBook will not be reproduced in exact order. What is this? Six sigma? Its a book, for Christ sakes!

5. There  will be no search feature for this fledgling e-commerce site. What is this? Amazon?

I empathise with the developers. If you let us product managers dictate all the requirements, no system would ever work. Let those who do the 'real work' decide. They know their stuff.

The possum syndrome

Have you had the pleasure of meeting Ellie, the mammoth, on the big screen? Or even the little screen? Or even your mobile device? Well, to put it delicately, she has quite a presence. She owns Ice Age 2 with her brothers, the possums. She is the most lovable, fun, mammoth to make a cinematic appearance.

There is something about Ellie that you should know. When she was a little child, she was separated from her herd and was adopted by a possum who had two little possum children of her own. She has a happy childhood growing up among the possums. But, every silver lining has a cloud. And, this happy upbringing caused a slight misunderstanding in little Ellie’s head. Ellie believes she is a possum. She even hangs upside down from trees like her possum brothers. Or at least, she attempts to.

Let me give you some perspective on why this might be construed as a slight problem.

This is Ellie:

 This is Ellie with her possum brothers:

As you can see, the family resemblance isn’t exactly striking. Now, there is no need to come down hard on poor little Ellie. It is inevitable for such confusion to arise. Why, I see it every day on the Mumbai roads! Giant trucks seem to have it. Buses have it. Even auto rickshaws seem to be equally confused! Really, it's a ridiculously common phenomenon.

This is what they are:

          Image courtesy of nitinut at FreeDigitalPhotos.net

This is what they think they are:

     Image courtesy of Danilo Rizzuti at FreeDigitalPhotos.net

There must be a reason these slightly larger vehicles do what they do. There must be a reason they think they can weave in and out of traffic in seconds. There must be a reason they think they can fit into that lane that exists to the left of the left most lane. There must be a reason they think they can benefit by prodding you ahead by a few inches with their not so subtle horns.

All those in the medical profession can thank me for an enlightened diagnosis.

The real reason the vehicles do what they do is because they have ‘the possum syndrome’. They think they are a motorbike.

Vroom Vroom….

The Running Age

I am sure this has happened with you. You meet a mother strutting about proudly with her well behaved child. You ask her, 'How old is he?' And she says, 'Five complete, six running'.

I, for one, have never been able to grasp this 'running' concept. Who is running and to where? Why not just offer up 'He's five years old.' Why do we need to educate people that the next milestone in the child's life is turning six?

Does the child have an option really? I mean, can he just skip turning six and get on with being seven already? In which case, I can understand the second bit of the puzzle. He's five today, but come his next birthday, he's gets to be seven because he earned a 'too cool be be six' badge. Then it would be, 'Five complete, seven running'.

Imagine the other end of the spectrum
The little foetus. The poor little child has to say, 'Zero complete, one running' for 21 months! Imagine all the running the little feet must do!

Save the foetus. Stop the running.

The Quarter Bucket Bath

I am going to let you into a clean little secret of mine. I have the unique ability of taking a proper bath in quarter of a bucket of water. This bath comprises of the following steps:
1. Wet myself.
2. Apply soap.
3. Wash the soap off.
4. Play with a little water to end the bath with satisfaction.
As I said, a proper bath.

Now, I am aware that the grapevine about me doesn't remotely suggest that I do anything economically. No, I am woman enough to not look past this. If I need to take a hundred bucks, I will take a hundred and fifty. If I must carry two pairs of clothes, I will carry three. If the journey requires two diapers, I will take four. Be prepared, is always my motto.

To what then, you ask, can we attribute this deviation in character to? In an otherwise undulating landscape, where did this mountain arise? I can see where your curiosity comes from. It is indeed a pertinent question and one which stems from an intellect of the superior nature.

To assuage all your many concerns regarding my general mental well-being, I take you back nine years to the winter of 2005. Fresh out of college, I was embarking upon the great voyage of corporate life. My parents came to settle me into a nice place five minutes from my workplace at Pune. It was a paying guest accommodation in which four of us settled in.

The land lady ran a tight establishment. Must be home by ten, else she'd let the dog loose in the compound. Things of that nature. Harmless really, but effective. We were seldom late.

One of the other things she felt a tad less magnanimous about was water. She'd ration a bucket of hot water each day to each of us. And, like Oliver, we dared not ask for more.

This was all okay on regular days. But, once a week, we needed to wash our hair. It kind of entered the realm of the mandatory. Even this wasn't too much trouble for three of us. The fourth lady though posed a challenge. She had knee length hair and one bucket for her tall self and her locks just wouldn't do. The very thought made us all long for home and unlimited water supply.

In this forlorn state, I came up with a brilliant and communal plan. We each would donate a portion of our allotment to the aggrieved one. Such generosity. Seriously, you need to be born with it. And it worked brilliantly. We learnt a new and useful skill. And, she stopped going all 'Joe from Little Women' on us.

And so, by the end of the two months we spent together, I had perfected the art of making do with just a quarter bucket. Not a drop more. Not a drop less.

A Year Gone By

It's been a year. They say time heals.  I guess it’s not time yet. We still wince with the what-ifs. We still say, 'Oh, wouldn't he have loved this!' We still remember the day like it was yesterday. My father died one year ago on this day. Life was never the same again.

He was something to everybody. My mother misses her wonderful husband and dear friend. I miss my unabashedly loving father. The extended family misses a guiding light. His friends miss his amiable self. And so many others miss so much else. But, most of all, we miss his sparkling wit and engaging company. 

And so I'd like to remember him with some of the anecdotes he told and retold and regaled us with.

One of my favourites was how he played big brother to my uncle whom he called Chamy. I will try to say it in his voice. "So, I remember this time when we were kids. A kid from the opposite cottage had roughed up Chamy. So, I taught him a lesson. In the evening, the boy came with his entire gang and identified me. The cottage kids were not the kindest lot. At that particular time, I happened to be batting in an all-important game of cricket. My team captain proclaimed to the boys, "You will not touch him till he gets out." Such dedication to the sport! I held onto my bat and played the innings of my life! I have never batted the way again! Literally, for dear life!“

My father dabbled in a bit of magic in his college days. This one was from his days at Bombay College of Pharmacy. "My friend trained hard and long for a magic show. His chief act was one where he would eat glass. He trained by starting slowly with a small piece each day and over the course of six months, he could eat an entire glass tumbler. So, at the show, he broke a glass tumbler and started eating it and finished the act with élan. Then, as is customary, he invited someone from the audience to attempt it. And this chap, a really eccentric fellow from our class, started walking up. This chap was nuts! Our man started sweating. He got really nervous. The guy from the audience walked up and calmly ate the remaining glass and walked off. Much ado about nothing!"

This other one was of a time when we were travelling in the US with my father’s uncle Nachu mama.  "Travelling with Nachu mama has its own charm. You are guaranteed to have fun all the time. We were trying to get from New York to Washington Narayan's house in Washington and we were lost as usual. We stopped at a light and rolled down our glasses to ask the next car for directions. Do you know the way to Lee Highway? The Chinese couple replied, "We are also looking for Lee Highway." Nachu mama paused and asked the couple very seriously, "Are you also going to Narayan's house?" And the whole car erupted and shook and the poor couple in the neighbouring car had no idea what was so funny!"
Another one was when we did finally reach Washington Narayan's house. "So, we finally reached his house. The man had a bread maker in his house. He made his own bread. He carefully put the ingredients in and waited faithfully for over two hours. In the two hours, he enlightened us about how he locked himself in a room and the positive vibrations of the room helped him levitate. And, finally the bread was baked and ready. We took it out and devoured his fruit of hard labour in all of two minutes! Next meal- after two hours!”

Ofcourse, I can’t complete this without replaying a joke that he would tell and tell and tell. I really think SMSes and Whatsapps of this world may have led to the demise of good joke telling. My father was really good at it. He’d build the suspense well and deliver the punch brilliantly! Here’s one of the jokes I practically grew up with! “So, Santa Singh was at the cricket ground watching a cricket match. It was Mumbai vs Karnataka and he was supporting Mumbai. Mumbai was bowling and was doing rather well. The bowler pitched a delivery and just as the ball was about to land into the fielder’s hands, somebody called from behind, “Oh Santa Singh!” Santa looked back and missed the action! In the next over, the bowler yet again pitched a delivery and just as the ball was about to land into the fielder’s hands, somebody called from behind, “Arre! Oh! Santa Singh!”. Santa looked back and missed the action! He cursed and turned his attention to the field again. This rigmarole repeated another three times. Just as the fielder was about to take yet another catch, somebody called from behind, “Arre! Oh! Santa Singh!” Finally, our man gets frustrated and yells back “Arre! Mera naam Santa Singh nahi hain!”

We miss the conversation. We miss the wisdom. We miss the words. We miss the voice.

It is easier to think of death as a continuum to life after which life happens again. The alternative is hard. Very hard. Hope the years make it easier. Amen.

Six yards across the seven seas

My aunt was visiting us from London. We were sitting around and chatting in the night after putting the baby to sleep.

In the midst of all this conversation, my aunt's daughter, Kaveri, rings her mother on Skype. Kaveri was getting ready for an Indian themed party. And for this, she needed to wear a saree. She had started out valiantly and, like so many explorers before, got lost in all the six yards.

Such a situation called for collective action. Team Mumbai had five women across three generations. So, that would be two grannies, two mommies and one young mommy. A team, in fact, with a combined 150 years of saree wearing experience among them. And the team took it upon themselves to ensure that Kaveri would wear that red saree to the party, if that was the last thing they did. Kaveri also took a similarly inspiring oath. Do or drop out!

A lot many times such inspiration tends not to afflict that which is not human. In this case, the Wi-Fi. The Wi-Fi continued on its unaffected path and refused to aid our noble cause. The feed we got was grainy and delayed. This lead to two small challenges. 

1. We couldn't tell the difference between Kaveri's red saree and the very same red petticoat since Kaveri had gone to a lot of trouble to match them. 2. Everybody screamed repeated instructions and  got frustrated that she wasn't following them. When in fact, she had already pinned it to the left 20 seconds ago!

After three unsuccessful iterations, Granny #1  graciously offered to demonstrate using the saree she was wearing. But, everybody believed their voice would be best suited to accompany the demonstration. To make matters more challenging, my mother and aunt added infectious, uncontrollable laughter to the act. They got severely ticked off by granny #1 for interfering with the proceedings and hurting the granddaughter's sentiments.

Like every child who wants to impress the adults after a goof up, my mother decided to take on the heavy mantle of leading the demonstration.   She started demonstrating using my granny as the muse. At one point, she actually sent off granny into a dizzying twirl! Granny quietly handed over the saree to my mother and ironically, within the next half of an iteration, she had found another saree, draped it and joined us back.

My mother then decided that the level needed to be upped. She decided to demonstrate herself. The problem was with the muse. It wasn't. The committee began a debate on how the petticoat could possibly be seen in the front.  Granny #2 shook her head solemnly and said, "By this age, I had two children...". My mother shot back, "She is set to become a doctor in a few months!"

Just when it seemed like the warriors were about to lay down the arms, the youngest and most inexperienced member scored a century on debut. I managed to get one round of six yards right. And raised my bat to the stands. The veterans had made too many assumptions. Novice to novice, we finally pulled it off.

 

What was achieved was truly beautiful, in the literal sense of the word. She looked every bit as gorgeous as the combined effort of five ladies. 

This was a war that left behind a beautiful picture in it's wake. We were all victors, except maybe a certain fabric which didn't wish to be tamed by mere humans. But, the humans, much to the incredulity of the stubborn fabric, conquered and lived happily ever after.

A wonderful new morning

He called across the room, announcing the fact that his day had begun! 'Ammaaaaa...', he said, in that lovely, singsong tone. That is the most beautiful melody I have ever heard.

I went over to him in dramatic strides and he soaked in my grand entrance. My mother said with a pride that only a mother can have, 'He has eyes only for you.'

I spent the next fifteen minutes on the bed with my baby. We laughed and rolled and tickled and sang. Oblivious to the rest of the world.

'...So, somewhere in my youth or childhood, I must've done something good...' I hear you, Maria. I hear you.

The Admin Desk - The Ticketing Trials!

Great Baby Truths

1. Everybody is always encouraging you to be a parent with beautiful portraits of parenthood. After the big announcement, the very same people will say, 'Enjoy whatever time you have. Once the package arrives, life will never be the same again!'

2. Irrespective of the age of your kid, parents of older kids will always tell you, 'It gets tougher.'

3. You will do everything you disapproved of your friends doing with their kids. You will take the assistance of the mobile phone, the iPad, the TV, the car at three in the night....

4. Every one else will always have better and brighter ideas than you about how to comfort your screeching baby.

5. Never try to force your baby to sleep. If by some miracle, you succeed, he will wake up just when your head hits the pillow.

6. The baby always wakes up when you have five minutes of the episode left.

7. Your playlist will undergo the biggest change from the latest chart busters to repeat renditions of 'Wheels on the bus go round and round..round and round...round and round'

8. You will see a sharp decline in the number of long drives. Unless, of course, you are okay with repeated renditions of 'Wheels on the bus' put on loop.

9. No matter how much you read up on baby forums or follow what the doctor says, you will eventually accept your in-laws' advice. It has worked on a real baby.

10. Here's the biggest truth of all. If you accept this, your life will be transformed overnight. Now take a deep breath and repeat after me, 'Babies cry'.

The birthday that wasn't

It was that time of the year again. Neel was losing sleep because the excitement was sending shivers down his spine. Birthdays were always great days in the ground floor apartment at Fortune Royale. A great many friends were invited, a lot of entertaining games were played and a sumptuous meal was had. It was everything a young boy, who was about to turn eight on Saturday, wanted. That and his birthday presents, of course. Never forget the presents. Let all the world say that it's not right to want presents. I say, 'What's not right about it? I have personally never got a present that was smelly, dirty or ugly!' 

Neel woke up on Monday morning, with the expectation that it was going to be the beginning of a fun filled week. He had expected to be the first one up, as it usually happened this week very year. He almost always drove his parents crazy by wiggling in his bed, until they woke up. His parents always seemed a bit disoriented out of lack of sleep on birthday weeks.

They were already awake that day and his father was just trying to read the temperature on the thermometer. By his expression, Neel could tell that the number his father had just read didn't please him. His father looked at his mother, 'Anita, you should skip work and see the doctor today. You have quite a fever.' She nodded in agreement and went back to sleep.

Neel's heart sank and a million thoughts crowded his head all at once. He felt sad that his mother was ill.She was not half as agreeable on sick days as she was on regular days.He grudgingly admitted to himself that nobody ever was. But, it was difficult to be sensible when such a catastrophe strikes at such an inopportune time. He was torn between trying to feel sorry for his mother and feeling disappointed at the timing of her sickness. He was a loving boy, but he was also a boy who had a birthday which was due in a week.

With all these thoughts in his head, he sauntered off to school dejectedly. His friends tried to lure him into the usually popular game of who-beats-the-last-seat-till-it-tears. He simply looked out of the window. He even refused to take part in the daily chant of 'We are the first bus! Bus no. 2 doesn't know its way!' The bus parked itself in the school compound and Neel got off quietly.

The entire day at school was quite uneventful for Neel. Every cloud, as they say, does have a silver lining. A positive by-product of this event was that Neel did not feature in the list of 'most talkative students of the day'. Neel's grandma was very relieved that he missed making it to that list. She was always at the receiving end of the teacher's rant, 'Oh, he is a very good student. He only just talks a bit too much.'

He reached home and ran up to his bedroom, hoping that his mother would've made a miraculous recovery in a day. That was not to be. She still looked sick, and a little worse for wear. She still greeted him with a smile and asked him about his day. He told her about the lessons at school and excused himself rather quickly. Neel's mother knew he was disappointed and chided herself for falling sick on his birthday week. Neel overheard his father comforting his mother in the night, 'Don't worry about it. He is a very mature boy. He will understand'. 

He did understand as he was indeed a mature boy. He was determined not to make his mother feel guilty and he cheered up for the rest of the week. She also got better and was nearly back to normal by the time Friday arrived. They went out for dinner to Neel's favourite restaurant on Friday night. Neel knew this was meant to be a substitute for the party that would have happened the next day. It was like winning the consolation prize in a contest, when you had been fully expected to win first place. Nobody spoke about the birthday all through dinner and ended the day with the regular good nights.

Neel went off to sleep feeling miserable. This would be the first birthday his mother wouldn't have planned a grand party for him. She was the most engaging host and all his friends loved coming to their party. This year, however, it wasn't to be. He drifted off to sleep in the middle of all these dispiriting thoughts.

He woke up the next morning with a feeling of foreboding. It was his birthday and it was destined to be just another day. He tried his best to perk himself up and opened his eyes slowly. The poor young lad couldn't have been prepared for what happened next. He couldn't believe what his eyes were telling him. He shut his eyes tightly, counted up to ten, and slowly opened them again.

His eyes were not lying to him after all. The entire house had been decorated in bright colours with balloons and festoons. There was his father and grandma, holding a cake with eight candles. They had the triumphant look of two friends who had conspired successfully to loot the neighbourhood ice cream store. His mother looked as bewildered and confused as him. They looked at each other in disbelief and the two co-conspirators broke into a chorus 'Happy birthday to you....Happy birthday to you...Happy birthday, dear Neel.....Happy birthday to you....'

What followed was a flurry of activity. Everybody hugged each other. Neel's mother kept repeating the birthday song hysterically throughout the morning. This was good news and meant that she was back to normal. Neel rushed from room to room and tried to consume the beautiful decorations done all around. He gleefully and dreamily floated around the house, giggling nonsensically then and again. Neel's mother hugged him till he could barely breathe.

So, what had happened was this. When his father saw the dejected look on both Neel and Anita's face, he decided that he had to make this right. He recruited grandma and Neel's uncle and aunt for the job. They had secretly shopped around for all the party material, bought the cake, bought Neel presents, and also invited all of Neel's friends under the strictest oath of secrecy. When Neel and his parents had gone out the previous night for dinner, the trio had decorated the entire house.

Neel's uncle and aunt arrived at about eleven o'clock and told Neel that it was time for him to hunt for his presents. Much to Neel's delight, they had organized a treasure hunt for him! He scampered about from clue to clue, excitedly knocking half the house over. They had planted eight clues, one for each year of Neel's life on Earth. When Neel was able to figure out the location of the clue, he found a gift there. By the end of the game, he looked greedily at his entire stash of eight gifts all sparkling in colourful gift wrap paper. He couldn't decide which one to open first. He decided he would open them in the order in which he had found them. He was thrilled with all his gifts and went off happily to lunch with his family. He was back to being the chatterbox he always was at the lunch table.

When evening arrived, all his friends started filing into his house. They all had a mischievous look on their faces for having pulled one over Neel. Neel was too happy to contain himself. He was literally jumping up and down in delight. Neel's father had organized games and treats for all the children and kept them happily engaged for a couple of hours. The food was up to the usual high standards that the house had adhered to over the years. All in all, when his friends left after the party, Neel was content and felt happier than he had ever felt.

After the long and exciting day, Neel did not need too much prodding to get into bed. He was still excited but the activities of the entire day had tired him out. He was ready to call it a day. He kissed his parents goodnight and gave his father an extra tight hug. Neel thanked him for the millionth time in the day and settled into bed. He smiled to himself and drifted off to a good night's sleep. And this was how a birthday that almost wasn't, came to be. And, it was one Neel would never forget his entire life.

Good Night!

Jugni - the song that stuck

'Queen' is a movie featuring a young protagonist who decides to go on her much anticipated honeymoon abroad. This becomes an especially interesting scenario in light of the fact that her fiancé stands her up at her wedding. The movie is a breath of fresh air in an industry that is an aeon away from portraying women progressively. I believe the story could have had more depth, but it's a step in the right direction.

The subject of this blog, however, is a song from the movie called 'Jugni'. The song is composed and sung by Amit Trivedi and penned by Anvita Dutt.

It begins by setting the context of a girl who is tentative, scared, and trapped in darkness. Amit begins with low notes and a soft tone. This combined with Anvita's brilliant use of repetition, gives a amazing sense of trepidation.

‘Dari, dari, dari, dabe, dabe, dabe

Pairon se woh chali, kaanch ki ghaas pe, ghaas pe’.

The real build-up to the climax happens in following lines, where the girl glimpses a new dawn, just as it is breaking out. Amit takes the notes very quickly to the high notes in these lines, to transition the story from its soft beginnings to its more bold ending.

Subah, subah, subah…

The climax that follows does full justice to all that has happened till now and describes how the girl breaks free. The analogy to a bird just taking flight is well done and gives a sense of freedom that one would feel when breaking out of years of tradition and accepted practice. Amit completely lets himself go in these lines and sings with all his heart and soul. The accompanying beats, for the lines, also brings in the climax with a much needed bang.

Jugni, udi, naye naye par liye,

Oh pinjraa khol! Oh pinjraa khol….

Like the rest of the songs in the album, the song details the journey of a woman realising her existence as an independent being and revelling in it.

The song tells a story and tells it beautifully. The melody compliments the words and transforms you into a different world, much as the creator intended. The impact the song has on me is one of bursting with a desire to be free and therein lies the brilliance of the man.