The rains have put me in the mood for music...
For the first time ever, today I truly enjoyed watching the rain fall in bucketfuls. And for the first time too, I listened to music all day as I worked, previously impossible for me to achieve together...and what's more, as I reached for my Rahim Alhaj Oud CD, I discovered an entire pamphlet inside which I'd completely missed on the umpteen occasions I previously heard this album! Not only did it contain a description of the Western equivalent of each Iraqi Maqam (or scale) for every song, I found in it Rumi's beautiful words that seem to so aptly convey what I feel today...
And so I share, this.

Don't worry about saving these songs!
And if one of our instruments breaks,
It doesn't matter.
We have fallen into the place
Where everything is music.
The strumming and the flute notes
Rise into the atmosphere,
And even if the whole world's harp should burn up, there will still be
Hidden instruments playing...

- Rumi

On his birth anniversary

and on this day of 09-09-09, a beautiful quote just for you:

"All, everything that I understand, I understand only because I love."

- Leo Tolstoy, From War and Peace.

September is Hispanic Heritage Month and... *drum roll* Self-Improvement Month- couldn't have come sooner for me :)

The Daily News 08/27/2009, Page A02


Random act of kindness balloons


BY LISA FERNANDEZ

Bay Area News Group

A lost wallet. A generous offer. A random comment on Facebook.

This odd recipe sparked at a Trader Joe’s checkout counter has yielded an unusual outpouring of donations totaling more than $ 2,000 to feed the hungry in Silicon Valley. And an energized group of virtual — and real — friends say this viral story highlights the best in human kindness magnified through the hyper- power of social networking.

“ I was blown away at how incredibly fast others had thrown their hat in the ring,” said Carolee Hazard, 43, of Menlo Park — the good Samaritan who started the good- karma phenomenon. “ It’s been incredible to see this grow and how excited people are getting. I have told the story to my friends and they say it gives them goose bumps.”

What led to the goose bumps all began Aug. 11, when hypnotherapist Jenni Ware, 45, of Redwood City realized she lost her wallet while standing in line at Trader Joe’s in Menlo Park. Her cart was packed with groceries. And she had no way to pay for it.

Waiting in line behind the frazzled shopper was Hazard, a retired Genentech biochemist and green activist, who had her daughters, Makenzie, 9, and Jessica, 7, in tow.

“ She was clearly in distress,” Hazard said.

And without thinking much about it, she charged the stranger’s bill — $ 207.29 — on her own credit card.

“ I was at a low point that day,” Ware said. “ I couldn’t believe it. It was a miracle. But I reluctantly accepted it. I knew I was going to pay her back.”

Being kind to strangers isn’t new for Hazard. Her husband, Jon, a senior manager of engineering operations at Google, said his wife sometimes pays strangers’ bridge tolls, just to see their surprised faces in her rearview mirror.

Hazard is also the glue in her neighborhood, both in person and with her Facebook community. When she returned from Trader Joe’s that day, she posted her vacillation on whether to feel “ very good” about what she had done or “ very, very stupid.”

Later that same day, Ware retraced her steps, and discovered her wallet at Draeger’s Markets. She wrote her grocery store “ angel” a check for $ 300. She suggested her benefactress treat herself to a massage with the leftover cash.

Hazard thought to simply return the extra $ 93. Before she did though, she turned to Facebook again. She asked her online community: What would you do?

Within moments, friends suggested she donate the surplus to a charity, and they mentioned several. But the one that seemed perfect for this occasion, since it began in a grocery store, was Second Harvest Food Bank of Santa Clar a and San Mateo Counties. Hazard loved the idea and matched Ware’s original $ 93 with her own. Then another friend said he’d pitch in $ 93. And so on. Even 8- year- old Maddie Campbell, whose mother learned of the story on Facebook, walked over to Hazard’s house with her parents’ $ 93 check. She also brought along her own 93 cents.

As of Tuesday afternoon, Hazard said she had $ 1,309.90 in her hand and almost $ 1,000 more in pledges. Ware’s friends are now sending in money. And some out- of- state friends have vowed to donate $ 93 of their own to their local food banks.

Second Harvest executives couldn’t be more thrilled.

“ It’s just amazing,” spokeswoman Lynn Crocker said. “ The money is very significant. But on a personal level, to be so generous to a stranger, and the stranger reciprocates, it just warms my heart. It shows me that the majority of people are decent and kind and loving.”

Ware and Hazard are no longer stra ngers. They’ve become Facebook friends and they’ve made a realworld connection that will likely stay with them the rest of their lives. Ware remembers that she was at a “ spiritual low” that day in the grocery store, and Hazard’s “ tap on the shoulder” reminded her of God and good people.

“ My faith in humanity is just huge,” Ware said. “ It’s just a reminder that there are these amazingly awesome people out there. And it also reminds me of how good I want to be.”

and August is the month of Romance!~

The month of...

Ice cream!!!! Apparently.
Okay, this is not about my little VOTM actually, but I just noticed today as I was about to change the calendar page over to August before leaving from work, that there is a tiny caption hidden in a corner for each month that says what that month is (meant for) observing/honoring/celebrating. And I am so far behind, I thought I would list it so you might enjoy/observe in retrospect (or look up for next year :) ). Well, that's not entirely true, I think some have been popularized and duly observed, such as Black history month and National garden month to name a couple, but for the rest, here goes:

January: Celebration of Life and International Creativity month
February: Black History and American Heart month
March: Wome's History month
April: National Garden month
May: Older American and Asian/Pacific American Heritage month
June: Adopt a Cat month
July: Yes! Ice cream month. (I always knew it deserved a month dedicated to it).
and...
August: will have to wait until tomorrow ;)

Madras in Alameda

For anybody interested, the Phoenix Adlabs in San Jose provides quite the authentic movie-going experience, corrected to a b-grade theater in Madras in the mid-80s, the reenaction, wholly, unintended.



Perhaps I should begin by rewinding to the conversation en route to the theater on May 31st, to the screening of Margazhi Raagam. (To be clear, this post is solely dedicated to the setting of a unique visual and aural treat and has nothing, absolutely, to do with margazhi or raagam). N, S and I agreed that bringing the traditional kutcheri to digital cinema was indeed a novel concept; we mused about the endless possibilities for improvisation that this unconventional format for presenting Carnatic music might provide; what effects might they create? Oh! what magic and dazzle might digital surround sound add to this divine art form? And so on we went...B, wearing a sage smile the whole while, kept his own counsel.



Our collective imagination soared and with it our expectations.



"My parents saw it in Madras last year and the experience was really pretty good.'



"I would've liked to see it in the Dolby labs in the city; it sounded like it would be the ideal place for such an experiment...I wonder what the Phoenix Adlabs would be like."



"Well, considering they only picked two locations to screen it at, it must be good."



"Yeah, it must."



"I mean, why would they present such a format in anything but a place with superb acoustics??"



Seriously.



"Yeah, the entire package is supposed to be pretty neat."



...



"So, where is the theater exactly?"



"On the right, a few blocks down I guess; we're still at 1600, we need to hit 1400."

"I am sure we will see it."




"I hope there is sufficient parking."



"I hope we aren't too late to find good seats."







...



"Wait, it's this one on the right!"

"Really? Do you see a parking garage?"

"No...not really."

Hmm...




...

We had arrived half an hour early, as recommended. The 'Phoenix Adlabs', we discovered, was the more ambitious name for the imagined alter ego of what's also famously known as the IMC6- India Movie Center. There was a line all right, of the much-branched chaotic sort you see in any kind of Indian congregation. They could hardly be blamed for gathering thus; the hallway just past the entrance could have barely held more than 50 people wihout some serious air circulation issues.



The canteen to the left was just coming alive as we got there; trays of samosas, bought the previous day at one of the numerous Indian grocery stores, no doubt, were being unwrappped; a coffee machine, with dust gathering on the top and rings of dried decoction in the transparent carafe stared back at us. A narrow carpet that had been worn to the point of being indistinguishable from the flooring, led the way to the main auditorium. The side walls were adorned with centerpage Filmfare poster cutouts of a pouting Kareena Kapoor and a sultry Priyanka Chopra.



Have you ever been transported in time to a place far away from just a fleeting sensation? A familiar melody perhaps, or the sight of a scooter in PA or the smell of earth as the first drops of rain fall upon it? I was. Quite violently.

Having scaled back my expectations by several notches already, I was completely unprepared for the smell that welcomed us in to the hall. I was thrown back to a summer 10 years ago, to a small dilapidated theater in Madurai, where the smell of dried cowdung patties on the outside and the pungent odour of bathrooms just cleaned out with phenol mingled freely, not to mention the various other tantalizing aromas that numb the olfactory system in an Indian summer.

As we made our way into the hall, which I might add was very nearly empty, the odour got only stronger. We realized as we sat down that this most incredible stench emanated from the seats! Oh! How wonderful that we should now be able to carry back a reminder of this experience all the way home! As I looked up to entreat the Lord, the peeling blue paint on the ceiling only filled me with more foreboding for the rest of the afternoon.

...

The auditorium started to fill up slowly. Children scurried about noisily as the ground floor of Nalli was recreated around us. That was all fine and well, until popcorn cones arrived. Now, I don't know about you, but that was just not something I had imagined along with a kutcheri. Coffee, perhaps, but popcorn and soda? This added a zing to the already heady mix of fragrances available, mind you.



A good three-quarters of an hour later, a small group gathered at a podium to the front of the hall. The gentleman, who'd served at the make-shift ticket counter, the usher, and also briefly seen behind the canteen counter, took on the mantle of well, I don't know, the compeer. He literally yelled out to us, mike and all notwithstanding, (he was excited I could tell) how it was that SIFA came to host this screening, solely for our enjoyment. After the group was done exchanging mutual admiration on a job well done, he shouted out to us to be sure to enjoy. Now that the tone had been set, we only prayed that the light bulb glaring at us from the side of the podium would be turned off.





...

For the next two hours, our ears were digitally pounded and stunned by what was to be an exciting new experiment in taking Indian classical music to the next stage. We certainly had a thing or two to recommend to the distributors for future endeavours, the most obvious being a better 'lab' at the very least.

Having said all that I must end by adding quite frankly that it was entirely to the artists' credit, singers, accompanists, cinematographers and the entire team really, that we enjoyed the music in spite of IMC. A brilliant performance all around, and a testament to the fact that despite a frightening package, the music inside had all the power to transport us to a vastly different plane and to move us as only music can...

Filoli gardens

A beautiful California Saturday was spent exploring this national historic estate: The Filoli Gardens. Snuggled away in the Woodside hills, the 600-acre estate has a sprawling 43-room mansion, surrounded by a series of wonderfully designed and painstakingly manicured gardens. Walking through the rose garden, with a myriad different varieties of sweet smelling roses, all in full bloom was indeed a most delightful experience. As if this treat of nature were not enough, there was an art exhibition too, and I am told a Jazz festival is coming in summer! I highly recommend a visit to this estate, which offers nature hikes as well...I shall stop here with my advertising efforts for the gardens and conclude with what struck me the most from the visit.
The original owner of the estate had chosen the name Filoli as an acronym of sorts from these three guiding principle he'd lived his life by.
'Fight for a just cause, love your fellowmen and live a good life.'

Wonderful, eh? :)

What makes home so special?

Yes, the people we love. Yes, the sights and sounds made familiar and dear from a lifetime of memories. But a beautiful poem shared by N made me wonder if there were not something else too? I speak only for myself here. In my moments of weakness, I have often wondered if home were not also that place in which we feel completely unjudged and un-compelled to strive to be, rather to just be; a place where we are unquestionably and unconditionally loved, a place that brings forth an outpouring of our own love. A place we feel entitled to belong to; a place where we do not always have to be strong...
It makes me wonder then about all the fears that I must overcome to always feel at home; always be loving and loved. It makes me strive for a state of being of complete abandon and peace, within as from without; to know I am home.

i am so proud of my bbbb :)

http://www.hindu.com/2009/05/15/stories/2009051559340400.htm

Trust engenders trustworthiness

I have talked of this to many friends before, but I felt the urge, nonetheless, to record here a lesson I was truly blown away by in my masters program. While the principle was there all along for me to apply as a student, it was only as a TA that the full force of it hit me. The honor code.

Per Wiki:

'An honor code or honor system is a set of rules or principles governing a community based on a set of rules or ideals that define what constitutes honorable behavior within that community. The use of an honor code depends on the idea that people (at least within the community) can be trusted to act honorably...'

Having always been accustomed to the presence of an invigilator during examinations at schools and colleges back home, on the first mid-term that my fellow TAs and I were asked to proctor here, I assumed, naturally, that one TA ought to sit inside the classroom keeping watch over the students. Lest they resort to some malpractice, yeah? Just as I made myself comfortable and pulled out a book to read, the senior TA whispered urgently from outside for me to come out. I did, expecting her to tell me something important. But she just smiled and showed me the book she was reading, the exact same thing I'd brought along! A coincidence all right, but there was work to be done, so I smiled back and made for the door again. This time she touched me lightly on the shoulder and said, 'Why are you going back inside?' Puzzled, I asked, 'But shouldn't there be someone inside?'

'Oh, they'll come outside if they have any questions; they know we're right here.'

'Sure, but to proctor?'

'Proctor? We don't have to be inside to proctor. In reality it is the Honor code that does it, right?'

It took a few slow seconds for that to sink in. Yes, indeed it is the honor code that proctors. In fact, it is the honor code that binds us as a society for all ethical conduct, in all those spheres not governed by rules set in stone, authorized by any penal code.

--

Ever since I have thought about how there really can be no other way to build trust in any relationship than by stating clearly, that one trusts the other to do the right thing and holds oneself up to the same standard. (It is another matter altogether, what the agreed upon/how to know what the right thing is. But trusting first is the most critical.) Over time, it helped me also understand why at some level the popular notion parents hold of rebellious teens and their compulsion to flout norms arises. There are many complex psychological & hormonal triggers governing it for sure, but I posit that an absence of trust, is definitely what aggravates it.

Trust goes beyond an implicit decision on one's part to blindly believe in someone. It is crystallized by an honest dialog between two parties. In the specific instance used above of the dynamic between parents and children, out of a fear that addressing an issue can license or sanction less than commendble behavior in some ways, parents often fail to engage in a joint process of questioning and arriving at the truth. Instead, they lay it down as the law of the house, which ought be followed, or else... Implicit in this behavior is, at a very deep level, a lack of trust in the child that individuals are capable of reasoning and mature decision-making through a process than by an overnight switch. More deeply, and quite sadly, it must also a reflect a lack of trust in themselves too, no? A lack of confidence in their ability to lead by example, and a lack of faith in an essential goodness in beings that does respond to actions and habits that bring discord and calibrates iteratively, each at their own pace, to what restores harmony.

Applying trust more broadly to any relationship, placing trust out there on the table, I believe, is also a commitment to accept that mistakes do happen even with the best of intentions, granting that a mistake is only an opportunity to learn; it is a commitment to separate the action from the doer, to be critical of the action and only loving of the doer; it is an unerstanding that trustworthiness only springs forth by first investing trust.

--


The honor code- a sacred, unspoken truth binding the maker and the keeper and rewarding them both aplenty with conviction and honor; it rests solely on the firmament of abiding faith.

There's a hero,

If you look inside your heart,

You don't have to be afraid of what you are,

There's an answer,

If you reach into your soul,

And the sorrow that you know will melt away.

And then a hero comes along,

With the strength to carry on,

And you cast your fears aside and you know you can survive,

So when you feel like hope is gone,

Look inside you and be strong,

And you'll finally see the truth that a hero lies in you.

It's a long road,

When you face the world alone,

No one reaches out a hand for you to hold,

You can find love,

If you search within yourself,

And the emptiness you felt will disappear.

Lord knows,

Dreams are hard to follow,

But don't let anyone tear them away,

Hold on,

There will be tomorrow,

In time you'll find the way.

That a hero lies in.....you

that a hero lies in.....you....

Breathe in. Breathe out.

An inspiring slogan

An advertisement for eco-friendly cars recently caught my attention.
'The best impact one can have on the environment is no impact.'
It seemed to me that I could try to apply that in everything I do, extending it further; will what I do leave no imprint or, better yet, create a positive impact? If not, stop right there.

Patience Taught by Nature

'O dreary life!,' we cry, ' O dreary life!'

And still the generations of the birds

Sing through our sighing, and the flocks and herds

Serenely live while we are keeping strife

With Heaven's true purpose in us, as a knife

Against which we may struggle. Ocean girds

Unslackened the dry land, savannah-swards

Unweary sweep, hills watch unworn;and rife

Meek leaves drop yeary from the forest-trees

To show, above, the unwasted stars that pass

In their old glory. O thou God of old!

Grant me some smaller grace than comes to these;-

-But so much patience as a blade of grass

Grows by, contented through the heat and cold.

-Elizabeth Barret Browning

Back in school ...

This morning I was in a class again after 3 years. Prof. Hiten Madhani was invited to give a short course on Yeast genetics at my workplace. As he walked us through the basics of cell division in yeast and the familiar figure of the cell cycle came up, I was trasnsported back to a class 8 years ago with AB. That's where it all began- my fascination with the cell division machinery, the check point regulation in the cell cycle, its de-regulation and cancer cell biology, biochemical signaling mechanisms in tumor progression, drug target identification, drug synthesis, biocatalysis in the synthesis of drug intermediates, biocatalyst and genetic engineering...an evolution of my own interests as I joined the molecular evolution campaigners.

The one hour class summarized for me everything I love and revere about being a classroom; to opening myself up completely to receive knowledge as it is delivered masterfully; a story unfolding in front of my very eyes, building with each slide a surge of excitement, until a very simple and elegant truth underlying the most complex biological phenomena (or for that matter physical or chemical) is revealed. It is sheer joy, made especially delicious by a teacher who engages the student intimately in unraveling the mystery, guiding each student to the discovery, each owning the truth at that instant. It is, as well, humbling to be led through this path of discovery by teachers who have already conceieved of every turn our minds will take as we digest the material, even more so, by those who guide us gently and expertly as we attempt to probe uncharted territory.

I recognized arising in me the same sense of wonderment today as Prof. Madhani described the process of meiosis. I was already shaking my head, marevling at this brilliant orchestration that cells conduct when he conluded by saying 'It is simply the most amazing mechanism in the biology of cell division, to at once replicating genetic material as well as generating new diversity.' Truly a fantastic process. And certainly my favorite hour of the work week, in a classroom again.

An Idea...

Years ago, I don’t remember how many, as a part of a class project to understand protection of intellectual property, a friend and I were paired up to make a mock patent application. Simple and fun, but we had to come up with an idea; novel and practical. We came up with many frivolous ideas, some prototypes and many modifications to existing products. Among the list of things I came up with (in addition to thermal regulation in jackets, nasally attached strips of air freshening spray;some of which were wish lists, with no conception of the how-to) was a rear view mirror attached to spectacles. I have been prone to running into things and people for as long as I can remember, and tend to walk so quickly as if my life depended on it. And figured I could really use this thing, especially as I turn corners and whirl around when I change my mind, which I also do a lot. At any rate, we finally settled on something else to present for the purposes of the class, but I kept going through this process of need-finding in my head for a while after.

Yesterday, years later, as I stood outside the bike car, waiting to get off the Caltrain, I saw two bikers preparing to unlock their bikes and I kept staring at their goggles, at first not quite understanding what it was that was protruding from it to one side. And then a cry of delight escaped me when recognition hit! I am sure I startled a good many passengers standing in line and likely made the bikers squirm as I grinned broadly, looking somewhere in the direction of their goggles and helmet. But I didn’t care.

All I have to say is, don’t be afraid to tell the world when a new idea hits you. Do not convince yourself of its stupidity before you have tried it out on a few discerning ears. I look at it this way (now obviously, and even now not always, I confess) if it is good, there are people out there who could use it. If it is not, it can only get better.

Happy Friday my dears!

A precious gift

of divine poetry was given to me today and this one is especially for you, my dear sg....
it resonates with exactly the idea you'd expressed in your reflection on what poetry means to each person...

Eating Poetry

My poems resemble the bread of Egypt—one night

Passes over it, and you can't eat it any more.

So gobble them down now, while they're still fresh,

Before the dust of the world settles on them.

Where a poem belongs is here, in the warmth of the chest;

Out in the world it dies of cold.

You've seen a fish—put him on dry land,

He quivers for a few minutes, and then is still.

And even if you eat my poems while they're still fresh,

You still have to bring forward many images yourself.

Actually, friend, what you're eating is your own imagination.

These poems are not just a bunch of old proverbs.

Rumi

(translated by Robert Bly)

--

This poem could refer to almost any thought or profound reality, that hits one in a moment of startling clarity, that might come from a reading, a conversation, an image, a dream, an equation, anything really. The understanding that emerges from it must be processed completely and shelved with utmost care and respect, in a most accessible place in the mind, to be drawn upon at any future instance, so the wisdom gained may be shared in all its brilliance...

'So, what's the secret?'

'Just pick up the phone, babe. That's all there is to it.'

--

Really, that's all there is. Sometimes, days and weeks, months, and sadly in some cases even years have rolled by before I've found the right moment to get back in touch. I am guilty of procrastinating this staying-in-touch business, because I want the conversation to be savoured and the time carved out for it to be free of any other engagement or distraction, to give the receiver all my attention and energy in the space between hello and goodbye; to fill the chat with a generous slice of my life that needs updating on; to be considerate of any other demands the other might have on his/her time, presumed by me obviously, at that moment. And then the moment itself passes, and the exuberance and eagerness to say a trivial nothing with it. Yet, I realized as I spoke with D last night, that in acting upon that impusle, the trivial is made memorable- the immediacy of that exchange collapsing all the time that has elapsed before it, only warmth and a sweet relish remaining. And with friends there can be no disturbing, right? Perhaps, they do welcome the interruption, even if only to say later, yet be gladdened for having been remembered?

And so, today I called three precious friends in the evening...to say nothing really, but everything still, and vow to do so more often.

After silence, that which comes nearest to expressing the inexpressible is music

-Aldous Huxley

...

कैसा अजब यह सफर है

सोचो तो हर एक ही बेख़बर है

उसको जाना किधर है

जो वक्त आयें, जायें, क्या दिखाएँ

ओहो ...

दिल चाहता है

कभी न बीते चमकीले दिन

दिल चाहता है

हम ना रहें कभी यारों के बिन...

For Morning

In this the month of happiness and joy, I must share the joy I feel every morning as I step out into the sunshine. A sweet melody this, it captures the essence of that delight.

Morning has broken, like the first morning
Blackbird has spoken, like the first bird
Praise for the singing, praise for the morning
Praise for the springing fresh from the word

Sweet the rain's new fall, sunlit from heaven
Like the first dewfall, on the first grass
Praise for the sweetness of the wet garden
Sprung in completeness where His feet pass

Mine is the sunlight, mine is the morning
Born of the one light, Eden saw play
Praise with elation, praise every morning
God's recreation of the new day

Riding into the rainbow...

Somehow I never understood the gloom that Monday mornings are popularly credited with. At any rate, I cannot imagine a morning, be it any morning, beginning with anything but an utter astonishment for a world created anew; for the beauty that lies ahead in the day, waiting to be unraveled. Oh! For mornings! Everything sparkling under the radiant sunshine, the gift of another day to be lived and learnt from, the pure joy of being! And oh! Indeed what joy it was to reach the Palo Alto Caltrain station this Monday to find the full arch of a rainbow over the train tracks. I could only marvel at it in utter glee. It was truly a wonderful sight, and my phone camera did no justice to it. Yet here it is.

A patch of India...

Friday, I visited the Indian consulate in the city for the first time. (I will soon have had 3 passports issued, each in a different country outside India.) In a last minute decision, I decided to Caltrain it there and was pleasantly surprised by how seamless the transfers were. With a rare collection of Chekhov's short satires to give me company, the 1.5 hour commute each way was made quite pleasurable.

At any rate, I had found it rather strange to read on the CGI website that the consulate provided no storage/ lockers for leaving back packs, mobile phones, umbrellas etc. in, while prohibiting taking them inside. Thankfully, a dry and moderately sunny day had been predicted, so locker or no locker, I was quite happy to make the trip sans phone or umbrella, carrying just a folder and the delightful Chekhov. I arrived at Arguello and Geary at 8.39 to find the Tricolor peeping out from around the corner of a pet store. A modest building, the most striking object outside it was a flower pot turned into a cement slab-holder for the following sign.

'FOR ENSURING YOUR SECURITY AND SAFETY, THE FOLLOWING ITEMS ARE PROHIBITED INSIDE THE CONSULATE PREMISES AND SHOULD BE LEFT OUTSIDE AT OWNERS RISK:
MOBILE PHONES
BACKPACKS, BRIEFCASES AND OTHER SUCH ITEMS

LADIES HANDBAGS
BABY STROLLERS
PLASTIC CARRY BAGS
FOOD OR DRINK '

In fact, there were two signs proclaiming the same. Satyameva Jayate was almost in fine print above the door by comparison...
As it turned out, there were a dozen lockers just outside the side service door! I could feel a smile begin to form at the familiarity of this blatant contradiction and the promise of more to come. Having arrived 20 minutes before the consulate opened, I was only the 3rd person waiting outside. And at that point the 3 of us were fairly impressed by the methodical fashion in which the security guard cum all-purpose handyman checked our belongings, assigned each of us a token number, read through a checklist of supporting documents for each type of application, and through it all treated us in a most agreeable manner. He even offered to check if he could arrange for us to be seated inside before the counters opened.

Just as soon as he went inside, however, a group arrived; two of them barged straight inside, nearly bumping into him as he turned around. The remainder formed a second 'single' file to our left and amongst themselves agreed that, clearly, they couldn't be expected to leave their phones outside- they would just turn it off and stick it deep in their pockets... The guard decided we were best left waiting outside.

--

8.45 am:

A stream of cars bringing consular personnel arrived, the last of which was a mini-van for the deputy consul general. His chauffer banged the van door shut nonchalantly, and whistling to himself, twirling the car keys on one hand and swinging the DCG's lunch bag on the other, cast us a sidelong glance as he strode in, as if to say he also had a share in the authority vested in his boss. The gentleman behind me muttered to his wife as soon as the chauffer was out of earshot, 'Thank God we only have to do this once in 10 years...'

--

8.50 am:

There were about 10 of us waiting outside by now. We'd turned around to watch the street, standing in a semi-circle. A lady walked past rapidly and overshot the consulate. Then, perhaps realizing there were an unsually large number of Indians congregated in one place, walked back and heaved a sigh of relief . She then rummaged through her bag frantically and said out loud, 'I need glue'. When nobody responded, she asked the man in front of her pointedly, 'Glue?' He replied, 'Yes, this is the queue.' She frowned, and tried again, 'Okay. But do you have glue?'

'Oh gum!'

'Yes.'

'No.'

--

8.55 am:

A white Honda civic arrived and the driver audaciously attempted parking behind the DCG's minivan. A curt glance from the chauffer who was pacing outside told him this was not such a great idea and he quickly backed out and reluctantly moved into the paid parking spot on the street. An old couple, a younger lady with a little boy and a baby girl sleeping inside a stroller, got out, speaking loudly in Punjabi. As the guard proceeded to tear out 5 tokens for them, explaining meanwhile security regulations and document requirements, they nodded distractedly. When asked to see their paperwork, it emerged that they were still waiting for R, who had all the documents for Ma, the sole applicant.

--

9.00 am:

After carefully negotiating the space behind a nearly double-parked Corolla, a grey Mercedes claimed the last parking spot outside the consulate. A tall dusky lad with an overgrown stubble, clad in baggy jeans, a flabby grey sweater, and a cap worn backwards stepped out of it. For a few minutes he just stood and stared, eyes narrowed, hands stuffed in his pocket, nose wrinkeld as if in disgust. Quite unnerved, the two men to my right, who hadn't spoken a word to each other until then, turned to one another in shared apprehension. One of them whispered, 'You know the crowd in San Francisco is pretty weird.' The other nodded his agreement. As we waited for the dude to break into gangsta rap at any moment, he swaggered toward us. Feet shuffled hastily, the semi-circle tightening just a tad, everyone clutched their folders instinctively. Mista gangsta then stopped abruptly, turned back and went to his car. He then retrieved a large worn yellow envelope and his phone. He walked toward us again, paused to call somebody and said, 'Where are you guys?' From the far end we could hear indisticnt Punjabi. R had arrived.

--

9.05 am:

We were finally asked to go inside. There were 3 counters facing us and 3 more to the far right. There were all of two people manning the counters, one of whom was the cashier. To our left around a narrow wall, was the waiting area, with only about 7 seats, an enormous TV, and beyond it was a smaller room with rest rooms at the back and a few scattered chairs and a couple tables in front. A door ahead of us led into a hallway with offices for embassy employees. As everyone scampered in to find seating, the flustered guard explained that we should seat ourselves in the order of the assigned token numbers. Some prized seats were reluctantly vacated and new occupants sat down smugly and smiled up at the guard, as if their obedience would win some favor.

At the cashier's counter, 'Sir, the website clearly states we only accept money orders or demand drafts'.

Token # 1, 'Oh, I see. Okay.'

Silence.

'We do accept debit cards now.'

'Oh! Thank you Ma'm!'

--

9.10 am:

More people started walking in, quite optimistic that a last-in first-served policy was in place and queued up outside the closed hallway, only to told off by the guard.

One couple observed,

'Apparently, there is a single line.'

'No, look there is another line to stick your photographs on the application.'

'And I guess that is the family line', pointing to the area in front the rest rooms where there were now at least 3 baby strollers and the accompanying spouses and parents of applicants huddled together.

The security guard, after multiple feeble attempts to interrupt the rapid Punjabi exchange, asked R, 'So, Sir, do you have copies of your mother's passoport?'.

'Umm...No.'

'You can make copies at the store around the corner of the street. Okay, does she have an ID, proof of residence?'

'Umm...Ma?'... 'I guess.'...'So, how long will this take? I only paid for half an hour's parking.'

'That depends, Sir. So, next, copy of proof of status? Visa?'

'Umm...where should I look for that?'

--

9.15:

Token # 4 next to me got up and huffed, 'Oh God! Why are they taking half an hour for each applicant?!'

Token #1: 'Ma'm, my receipt shows you have charged $25 instead of the $3 debit card fee.'

'Sir, please look carefully.'

'No, Ma'm, really!'

'Okay let me see.....Oh! I am very sorry, let me see what I can do...hmm...Were you going to come and collect your passport?'

'Yes, definitely Ma'm.'

'Okay, good. Now what I have done is to charge your payment for a stamped express mail envelope to have your passport mailed to you and that will be $17. So, that way there is only a $5 excess. We cannot refund the fees, unfortunately. Okay?'

--

9.20 am:

Consul officer, 'Everyone please listen. Only one person per family should come up to the counter, the rest of you please remain in the waiting area. And please, keep all your documents ready for scrutiny. Do not start opening your folders in front of me and have things flying around.'

At #3, I had already moved on to make the payment at the cashier's and was quite impressed by how quick the whole thing had turned out to be, and inwardly glad I had made the effort to get a cashier's check the previous evening.

'Sir, I just made an announcement to keep your papers ready! Did you not hear that?'

'Ma'm'.

'Please step aside. Next!'.

(Flashback: 5th grade, English class, Chennai.

Mrs. Rodrigues, 'Everyone. Silence now. Please listen. Draw your margins and write the date on the left. Start this new lesson on a new page and underline the headings. Bring your homework book and classwork book when you come to my desk. I shall start calling you, one by one, in 10 minutes.

...

Mrs. Rodrigues, 'Where is the heading? And why is your homework book not covered? Stand outside!')

--

As I was leaving the consulate, R was just returning with some photocopies freshly made.

'Okay, now I have the copies of her passoport. So, umm, this proof of status thing. I looked in her passport. What are we talking about? I mean, she has a US passport, we all do.'

'What was your appointment for again, Sir?'

--

Jai Hind!

Friendship

by Ralph Waldo Emerson

A ruddy drop of manly blood

The surging sea outweighs;

The world uncertain comes and goes,

The lover rooted stays.

I fancied he was fled,

And, after many a year,

Glowed unexhausted kindliness

Like daily sunrise there.

My careful heart was free again-

O friend, my bosom said,

Through thee alone the sky is arched,

Through thee the rose is red,

All things through thee takes nobler form

And look beyond the earth,

The mill-round of our fate appears

A sun-path in thy worth.

Me too thy nobleness has taught

To master my despair;

The fountains of my hidden life

Are through thy friendship fair.

I've never been one to like cold rainy days or grey skies. But I must admit, yesterday evening as I waited for the evening shuttle, I was stunned by how beautiful the sky looked as the heavens prepared to pour down upon us....the silvery grey of a dozen clouds gathered together, the evening sunlight gleaming just beneath, slowly receding from the horizon...the trees bereft of their leaves, bare, like ivory against this backdrop...
So stark and yet so arresting in its beauty...ah! creation! what a marvel it is!