Afterthought

2011-12-18T18:35:00.001-08:00

Don't it always seem to go
That you don't know what you've got til its gone
They paved paradise
And put up a parking lot...

Home...

2011-12-11T06:28:00.000-08:00

Looking back on the last day of my first term back in school, I can hardly believe that it was only a short 4 months ago that I moved to this new place I call home now. But is isn't quite home yet. Even though this wondrous city has welcomed me ever so warmly, and charmed me in more ways than I had imagined; despite the many highs and ample firsts of the term that went by, I have to admit I haven't looked forward to going back home and to family quite as much in many years as I have these last few weeks. In fact, I cannot remember the last time I had fervently wished for a year to end and for a new one to begin either.
In years past, the end of a year would bring with it a sense of wonder at everything the year gone by had brought with it, and a twinge of sadness even at time's relentless march, quickly churning through the present to the recent past, and just as quickly to a more distant one. But not so this year. I am ready to flip the page, and kindle the dying embers back to a burning fire, bright with hope and cheer.
Somehow, knowing that I will be in the familiar comfort of home as I watch the year trickle down to its very last minute makes the wait seem bearable. Oh, 2011! despite everything you have taken, I am thankful for the smidgeon of courage and hope you have left behind. And thankful too, that you've spared me a few precious days to savour the pleasure of fingering the shape of words in my head with much reading, and even some writing. In closing, I offer you, these...

--

Year’s End

Now winter downs the dying of the year,

And night is all a settlement of snow;

From the soft street the rooms of houses show

A gathered light, a shapen atmosphere,

Like frozen-over lakes whose ice is thin

And still allows some stirring down within.

I’ve known the wind by water banks to shake

The late leaves down, which frozen where they fell

And held in ice as dancers in a spell

Fluttered all winter long into a lake;

Graved on the dark in gestures of descent,

They seemed their own most perfect monument.

There was perfection in the death of ferns

Which laid their fragile cheeks against the stone

A million years. Great mammoths overthrown

Composedly have made their long sojourns,

Like palaces of patience, in the gray

And changeless lands of ice. And at Pompeii

The little dog lay curled and did not rise

But slept the deeper as the ashes rose

And found the people incomplete, and froze

The random hands, the loose unready eyes

Of men expecting yet another sun

To do the shapely thing they had not done.

These sudden ends of time must give us pause.

We fray into the future, rarely wrought

Save in the tapestries of afterthought.

More time, more time. Barrages of applause

Come muffled from a buried radio.

The New-year bells are wrangling with the snow.

- Richard Wilbur

the write experiment

2011-08-13T20:49:00.000-07:00

A recent article on being socially hyper-neworked, reminded me of two things.

The first.

No matter what the medium and how fast and new and convenient (add any number of other incentives), it seems that the onus of keeping communication alive can still remain as one-sided as it did in the day of snail mail. I suppose I should have learnt my lesson by now. But the eternal optimist in me (or perhaps, it is the love of writing in me?) persists. As a child, I took to the concept of 'Penpals' on Young Times (a supplement of Khaleej Times) instantly. Unfortunately, my pals' responses went from excited to tepid to none at all. My parents reasoned that clearly this was a lot of work to undertake for the sake of complete strangers. They had a point.

So, I tried again with best friends. As I had many opportunities to experiment with this variant of penpals, what with moving schools, apartments, cities and countries (with the last one, I was hopeful of adding to my other agenda of collecting stamps ;)), I figured this model was guaranteed a greater degree of success. I would studiously compile addresses before each move and set aside generous portions of my pocket money for stationery and stamps right after, and promptly send my friends a letter with my new address. Ironically, with this second model, the responses started directly from tepid and rapidly progressed to none at all. On occasion I would receive letters written by the respective mothers. Sigh.

As luck would have it, from time to time our worlds would collide again. And what had been painfully buried as a failed experiment would be dug out again, by a careless comment, such as "I used to love getting your letters. And then you moved." I would think to myself, at least they loved it. Oh well.

And then email arrived. I don't think I need to elaborate on the response rate with this new experiment. :)

The second.

Social networking sites have created a new layer of awareness. What was blissfully ignored is now dangled blatantly in your face. For instance, in years past, I could be completely unaware that a friend was in town at the same time as I was, but chose to call upon another/other friend/s forgetting me altogether. Now, I cannot. What's curious though, is a good number of these kind folks are the ones to have taken the initiative to search you up and add you as a 'friend' in the first place, leaving you with the challenge of trying to figure out if the person now sporting uber-starightened hair, a new-happily-married-last name, and an interesting online avatar is the same person you saw everyday in school a decade ago; posing the dilemma of whether or not to post birthday wishes on his/her wall; and the familiar response to your 'How are you? It's nice to connect after so long'.

Someday in the not so distant future, we might be able to surround ourselves with the virtual clones of everyone in our social network. I wonder what the communication experiment will result in then. A babel of noises? Or, perhaps, a shattering silence. Only time can tell. I do know that I will continue to write...and sing :)

2011-08-03T20:23:00.000-07:00

As Arjun says, just breeeeathe...:)

a bar of soap

2011-07-30T23:36:00.000-07:00

Little nuggets of happiness are stored in the most unexpected places. Yesterday, after an evening walk at the beach with my parents, Mom and I decided to stop at a road-side bead shop on the way back home, and stumbled into another store that had eluded us for many days. The store, (appropriately) named EcoNut, was supposed to house all kinds of natural, minimally packaged, organic goodies of the kind that is rare to find these days with the explosion of retail multiplexes in the city. As overjoyed as we were to have found the place at long last, I was even more thrilled to find that they stocked NEEV soaps!

A couple of years ago, a friend had brought me a soap handcrafted by a community of rural women in a village in Jharkhand; the enterprise itself had been set up to employ rural people while creating a more eco-friendly alternative to the most commonly marketed soaps. I was sold. But it was many months before I actually tried it out. When the most favorable conditions of discovering I was down to the last few drops of my body wash and no time to make a dash to the store coincided, I went hurriedly looking for that most curiously packaged bar of goodness. At the risk of sounding like a self-appointed brand manager for NEEV, I will proclaim that it was and is still, the most wonderfully moisturizing and refreshing piece of toiletry ever to have been made. Its fragrance (of that earthy first-raindrops-on-parched-mud kind) was so redolent that it lingered for hours afterward filling my senses at every corner of my apartment. Panic instantly gave way to the most luxurious bath I ever remember having. Alas, like all things material, that bar of soap vanished into edible oil. And with it went my morning thrill of being surrounded by its exquisite aroma.

Now, nearly two years thence, I have been reunited with this wondrous creation of man (& woman- please check out their website, they do some awesome work!). :)

a familiar strain...

2010-12-29T14:37:00.000-08:00

the steady rainfall and the gusty winds reminded me of this, my favorite song from more than a year ago

ओ रे मनवा तू तो बावरा है
तू ही जाने तू क्या सोचता है
तू ही जाने तू क्या सोचता है बावरे
क्यूँ दिखाए सपने तू सोते जागते
जो बरसें सपने बूँद बूँद
नैनों को मूँद मूँद...

Ahh! Music, rain and a steaming cup of tea...life is good. :)

In the end

2010-06-09T02:24:00.000-07:00

nothing ever quite pans out the way you or I may plan it. Okay, so this post isn't about to be as serious as it was made to sound with that ominous start. But I thought I would document it here, anyway, that I am now the proud owner of both The Razor's Edge and The English Patient. And yet I brought neither along on my travel; the snippet about the former turned out to be very similar to Siddhartha and Narcissus and Goldmund (both excellent reads by the masterful Herman Hesse, by the way). The latter, a hard-bound heavy-weight, (all puns intended) was too heavy to carry in flight. I did have very pleasant company in the form of a vibrant Parsi community living in Mumbai in the mid '80s, all on print of course.

In the end, too, Madras isn't quite the inferno I'd feared it would be. It has been raining the last few days and it is almost comic how breezy and pleasant it is. Also, this is the first vacation in which I've been able to visit the beach almost every single day. Ah, bliss! :)

Did I mention, how, also, in the end, after weeks of planning a mini ten-year high school reunion, one friend fell sick, another's child did and 2 others canceled their travel plans altogether? Yeah. So, that's that. What I'd envisioned as two weeks of frenzied social activity turned out to be the exact opposite. But, oh, well. I'm not complaining. Surprises of this kind, are not too bad. After all, there's much movie-watching, reading and writing, eating, sleeping and a lot of not-doing-anything to be done! :)
So long!~

a suitable choice...

2010-05-05T17:48:00.001-07:00

Yesterday, I accidentally stumbled upon the fact that Somerset Maugham (who, by the way, is one of my all time favorite authors) modeled the character of teacher in his novel The Razor's Edge after Sri Ramana Maharshi. This book (and practically all of Maugham's work) has been on my list of books to read for as long as I can remember and this piece of trivia does make it a very inviting choice for my next read. What's this post about then, you ask.
Well. Yesterday, I also found out that the Stanford book club is reading The English Patient this month. Also a book that hasn't budged from the same list for years. It was an entry made after an aggravating experience when the DVD of the movie version got stuck at what seemed like a pivotal point. Hmm...I must note here that I own neither the Maugham nor the Ondaatje. In hindsight, perhaps this was a question better saved for the Palo Alto Library to answer.
Oh, my dear blog! It must just be that I miss musing about all and sundry to you, then. Hey, there! :)

2010-04-07T10:44:00.000-07:00

I am not sure if this is something that bothers any of you, but it is certainly a tricky situation that I haven't been able to resolve for myself. Here's the problem:
Have you ever been asked to lend a pen or pencil for 'just a moment'? I'm sure you have. Now here's what happens to me- the moment becomes eternity and the person all but forgets that the pencil is mine and walks away with it. The dilemma is, whether or not to chase after the person and ask for the pencil.
It isn't really about the pencil, see. It's a trivial thing. But it's about the convenience of the thing. Every time that happens, I have to go around the rest of the day asking to borrow a pencil for 'just a moment' and then also remember to return it!
Ack!!!
p.s: I haven't yet decided if the title ought to be 'A Pen-ny for your thoughts' or 'Penning my thoughts'. ;)

2010-02-01T13:49:00.000-08:00

Have I mentioned lately, how wonderful it feels to sing? Well, it does :)

2009-10-13T18:55:00.000-07:00

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

2009-09-09T10:48:00.000-07:00

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.

2009-09-09T09:25:00.000-07:00

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

2009-08-28T23:11:00.000-07:00

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.”

2009-08-01T16:17:00.001-07:00

and August is the month of Romance!~

The month of...

2009-07-31T15:51:00.000-07:00

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

2009-06-01T18:44:00.000-07:00

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

2009-05-31T18:14:00.000-07:00

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?

2009-05-31T10:59:00.001-07:00

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 :)

2009-05-14T19:30:00.000-07:00

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

Trust engenders trustworthiness

2009-05-13T14:13:00.000-07:00

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.

2009-05-06T22:34:00.000-07:00

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....

2009-05-03T22:49:00.000-07:00

Breathe in. Breathe out.

An inspiring slogan

2009-04-27T13:07:00.000-07:00

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.

2009-04-22T22:22:00.000-07:00

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 ...

2009-04-03T16:07:00.001-07:00

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...

2009-04-03T11:39:00.000-07:00

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

2009-03-19T23:01:00.000-07:00

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...

2009-03-09T22:13:00.000-07:00

'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.

2009-03-07T12:56:00.001-08:00

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

-Aldous Huxley

2009-03-04T18:55:00.000-08:00

...

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

2009-02-25T19:51:00.000-08:00

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...

2009-02-25T19:37:00.000-08:00

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...

2009-02-21T17:55:00.000-08:00

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!

2009-02-16T18:05:00.000-08:00

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.

2009-02-07T02:51:00.000-08:00

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!

In celebration of Emily Dickinson's birth anniversary...

2008-12-10T09:43:00.000-08:00

A poem of persevering and purpose, and within it a message of hope and the reality of an eternal existence.

Each life converges to some centre

Expressed or still;

Exists in every human nature

A goal,

Admitted scarcely to itself, it may be,

Too fair

For credibility's temerity

To dare.

Adored with caution, as a brittle heaven,

To reach

Were hopeless as the rainbow's raiment

To touch,

Yet persevered toward, surer for the distance;

How high

Unto the saints' slow diligence

The sky!

Ungained, it may be, by a life's low venture,

But then,

Eternity enables the endeavoring

Again.

A new holiday tradition...

2008-11-26T11:08:00.000-08:00

This morning a curious thing happened. It is almost a ritual for me to begin the day with piping hot coffee, looking out at the sun as it comes up, while listening to the news. This morning as I made my coffee, I wondered how much of the news do I really digest and retain, and how much of it do I merely hear and tune out unconsciously. So I tore myself away from the window, and sat down in front of the TV (you see when the news is on the TV, I also need to watch it to really listen to it, yes I do). And so I watched, with horror, as the story of the San Mateo residential intrusion and shooting was narrated and then was mildly cheered to see the sunny forecasts for the holiday weekend. There's way too much violence in the world, so many people using all forms of desperate and inhuman measures to be heard and taken seriously. (Maybe that's why I tune out? Because I cannot bear to see the cruelty...Excuses excuses...) At any rate as I drove out to work I resolved, today I would genuinely pay attention to (more) news on the radio without mentally charting out an agenda for the day and trying to recollect a forgotten melody at the same time.

Apparently my mind waves were picked up NPR, for it aired the first in a series of recorded conversations inspired by StoryCorps' new holiday tradition for the day after Thanksgiving: To spend the day Listening! No, really!

A sobering thought indeed, if we have to declare a National day of Listening...

Indeed, we must all resolve to listen more carefully; to the birds chirping cheerfully every dawn, to leaves rustling gently in the wind, to hills murmuring mysteriously. To really listen to the responses of 'how're you doing?' tossed out hurriedly to friends and colleagues, to really pause and listen to what the cashier is saying as we hand out change, to hold the hand of a grandparent and accept the wisdom they so benevolently share. To listen to unsaid 'but's in a soft sigh, to the unasked request hidden in hesitation and pride. To the unheard voices that know not they could be helped, to the cries that do resound with compassion, each in our own ways , to the call of duty in every task postponed. To our inner voices, of reason and balance. To a higher truth that is all around.

Moved...

2008-11-05T16:16:00.000-08:00

By the history that was made last night, by the unity that was forged, by hope that was resurrected, by dignity that was rewarded, by the barriers that were broken down, by the courage that was displayed, by the words of a man who promises to be an iconic leader...by these words:

http://elections.nytimes.com/2008/results/president/speeches/obama-victory-speech.html

2008-11-04T21:25:00.001-08:00

Yes, we can.

Eunoia

2008-10-30T15:58:00.000-07:00

Meaning 'beautiful thinking' is the shortest word in English containing all 5 vowels! It is also the title of a book that explores the unique character of each vowel in the English language. What a delightful idea and such a marvelous project!

Floating melodies...

2008-10-26T21:53:00.001-07:00

Have you ever been caught mid-stride or mid-sentence wondering what that beautiful thing in the air is; that's producing the most pleasant waves of happiness within you? Something dancing gently about you, like a tiny bubble, here now, gone next and there again! Like the fragrance of roses in the distance, tickling your senses and changing your course till you catch sight of the enchanting bloom, elegant and demure, that tempted you so...
Ah! It's music after all...someone's playing in the warmth of their home...to a special audience, perhaps? Or for the sheer joy of it...
There's a secret thrill in hearing the music sung or played by another, unbeknownst to them. Of anticipating the next note, hanging delicately off the tips of the last one, and to be rewarded with an unexpectedly exquisite variation instead. Sigh...if only I didn't have a desitination to conitune on to...if only they hadn't stopped playing...
Sweet melodies...~

2008-10-26T08:59:00.000-07:00

शुभ दीपावली!

An afternoon with the children

2008-10-25T17:11:00.000-07:00

My former mentor, and God-mother at work, offered me yet another opportunity for learning when she invited me to speak at her son's school about community service. As ever, I was touched and moved by her kindness and more grateful than words can convey. For the first time though, I realized that I was actually quite nervous to speak in front of an audience; an audience of mostly ten- year olds. You see, adults think in familiar ways (and I highly recommend reading 'The Little Prince' to find out just how suffocating those ways are ;) ), along well-beaten paths of questioning and reasoning. Children are a whole other species altogether. Not for them the confines of such paved avenues of thinking; not for them the excuses and burdens of 'that's how it's been done'. On winged chariots, their minds race a zillion paces ahead of you, pausing only to clarify 'why not?!'.
After agonizing for days on how best to present the notion of sharing and service to such a discerning audience, I finally decided to make a short presentation and let the energy of the class drive the better part of an hour ; go with the flow, I said to myself...And flow it did! In fact, the children took charge entirely. Within a few minutes of talking to them, one thing became very clear to me. They understood, almost implicitly, the need for sharing and giving. In fact, many were even rather puzzled at why I was going to such lengths to explain what a wonderful thing it was! On more occasion than one, I was caught speechless by their depth of understanding; of their grasp on the mindlessness in throwing away used eyeglasses rather than donating them. M frowned at the statistics that were projected- more than 97% of used eyeglasses go uncollected every year- and declared, "That's really silly! Why do people throw things away?", and his buddy shrugged his shoulders, "Seriously!".
Yeah, seriously!
After fielding multiple questions on how UFS works, various impairments of vision, starting eyeglass collection drives and so forth, I was quite overwhelmed by their zest and curiosity, and looking for a breather, I exclaimed, "You guys have already collected twelve pairs!". At which, S adjusted her own spectacles on her nose, and nodding sagely, said "It's the ripple effect."
...
A most glorious Friday afternoon, spent with the most precious little beings, I came out of the classroom, heady with the exhilaration of knowing our world is in very safe hands; in their hands. Also, stunned at the compassion that children have. They do not question why one must serve of or help another; only how. They do not wonder what good it will do them; just how much good it will do the other. Isn't it so strange and ironic, that in growing up, we must go back to being children; to re-invent for ourselves this purity of purpose and eagerness to give?

--

As only Gibran can, he describes, and I quote, the truth I discovered yesterday about children:
"
...

For their souls dwell in the house of tomorrow, which you cannot visit, not even in your dreams.

You may strive to be like them, but seek not to make them like you.

..."

2008-10-24T14:54:00.000-07:00

Apparently, Deepavali's on Monday....But it's not in the air-you know what I mean? Sheesh!!!!! I need to do something about the air!

I must also tell you

2008-10-19T19:41:00.001-07:00

that I have, finally, read 'The Little Prince'. Or rather, have had it read to me. It is truly one of the most delightful books to be read, and turned out to be everything it was promised to be by other lovers of this treasure. Some of the truths, as explained very patiently by a little child, were very startling in their simplicity. And I know I will read it many, many more times to completely grasp, and fully own the knowledge within those covers. For now, the first reading has left me with a deep sense of satisfaction, and a song in my heart! :)

ps: I also think all children's books should be read aloud.

I must tell you

2008-10-19T18:31:00.000-07:00

about this very cool drive Whole Foods has going every month- they will accept about 20 plastic bags in return for two re-usable, bio-degradable Whole Foods bags!

2008-10-12T08:59:00.000-07:00

The possibilities are limitless. There is much hope. :)
On that note, let me quote Rabindranath Tagore:

Where the mind is without fear

and the head is held high,

Where knowledge is free;

Where the world has not been broken

up into fragments by narrow domestic

walls;

Where words come out from the

depth of truth;

Where tireless striving

stretches its arms towards

perfection;

Where the clear stream of reason

has not lost its way into the

dreary desert sand of dead habit;

Where the mind is led forward

by thee into ever-widening

thought and action–

into that heaven of freedom,

my Father,

Let my country awake.

And may my 'country' encompass every inch of earth that man has set foot on and not be constrained by geographic boundaries. Let us arise and awake! :) Have a glorious week my dears!

2008-10-11T21:13:00.000-07:00

the problem really is...infinity and eternity are concepts we find incredibly hard to contain within the very finite capacities of our minds...

2008-10-11T19:07:00.000-07:00

Sometimes, I wonder, what life might be like without music...---shivers---

2008-10-06T20:11:00.000-07:00

Unexpected acts of kindness are like rainbows after a down-pouring from the heavens. Yesterday I saw one such rainbow, late at night. (Many things happened yesterday that were quite like little rainbows in themselves, all wholly unexpected, little, petty pleasures....like finding the coziest reclining chair under shade, surrounded by flowers of every color- brilliant blue, glorious red and bright yellow....like the kinship forged over the magic that words bring, the joy that stringing them together brings...like meeting one of the sweetest souls from my dear dhwani after nearly two years....from hearing dhwani itself; more music than music is :)...).
Just as I was mulling over how quickly time has flown since I first received the email from JS welcoming me to UFS; how many friends have given of themselves so very generously, their kind words and creative energy the veritable life force sustaining me; just as I sat shaking my head over the end of summer, I received an email from E. More than a month ago I had casually mentioned my plans for the holidays and he had expressed an interest in learning more about UFS. So, I'd written him a mail describing their model and the tremendous impact they have...Yesterday, he wrote back with a most generous pledge and wishes that warmed my heart. Thank you E! And thank you all, my dear dear friends and family who have given me reason to smile wider every day; you are my rainbows on a rainy day!

the time is ripe...

2008-10-05T22:18:00.000-07:00

For writing! There is a narrow window of opportunity between sorting out your thoughts enough to make a coherent piece of prose of, and it becoming so well ironed out that you can shove it right out of your head. So, seize that opportunity and write. For that moment will never return, and the thoughts lost to the world.
Happy writing my dears! :)

Out-of-the-box

2008-09-19T15:16:00.000-07:00

For many years now, once every few months, I would try testing my ability to resist temptation or my favorite impulses, be it for food, entertainment, word-usage, colors, what not, just as a way to see just how much I can rein in my urge to give in to a habit or simply to force myself to try something new, a flavor, a hobby, or challenge a pre-conceived notion or check the extent of my reliance on something. And it has worked beautifully in the past and many good things have come of it. For instance, I discovered the joys of the radio after the TV was turned off. My day could begin without coffee (!), I could wake up without the alarm, (beige is an under-sung color) tomato juice simply delicious...
The one thing I haven't subjected to this test is my impulse, nay, near-addiction to checking my inbox every 10 seconds! So, here goes. For the next few weeks, I shall begin by only checking email once an hour (Yeah! I know! What has the world come to! Sigh).
Next up (if I don't die of withdrawal symptoms): rely on my (ever-faithful) memory to dial numbers on the mobile (drat it all) phone.
Happy weekend my dears! :)

immersion...

2008-09-10T16:29:00.000-07:00

"Those who visit foreign nations, but who associate only with their own countrymen, change their climate, but not their customs; they see new meridians, but the same men; and with heads as empty as their pockets, return home with traveled bodies, but untraveled minds." -Colton (1780-1832)

This quote was shared by a friend and has been well worth thinking about for me, in terms of how accepting I am of new cultures and ideas, how open I am to change and different ways of thinking about things. More importantly it has been useful to ask myself, how objective am I to new frameworks and attitudes that challenge my existing beliefs, especially those that are self-limiting or based entirely on a narrowly defined space of observation and knowledge. This quote challenges me to step outside my comfort zone, accept things for the essential goodness and truth in them, not for their superficial association with familiarity, and at all times to keep from being judgemental...

2008-09-03T21:55:00.000-07:00

Last Friday when I left work, the sprinklers were just starting up, to lavish its showers upon the manicured lawns outside the mini-Biotech park at Seaport; the grass green as ever, the sun beating down fiercely, the leaves still sitting pretty atop the trees. Well, see you Tuesday, I thought to myself.
The new week stole upon us during the long weekend and has also nearly ended. And what do I see this evening as I rush to catch the shuttle? The little green mound on which we wait for our bus, is hidden under a carpet of brilliant golden yellow leaves, maple-like, small and large, crisp and dry. For a moment I was startled. They were just beautiful! Like someone had burst open and sprinkled a bag of crepe stars over the green turf for it to dazzle and play in the sunlight.
Fall is here!

2008-09-01T16:16:00.000-07:00

The great grandpa tree has been felled... In it's place now lies earth that has been dug out and mounds of wet mud scattered around. Scraps of wood clutter the path where the grass had been. The whole park seems to be in mourning; the squirrels must sorely miss their giant wooded play ground with it's sculpted trunk and serpentine branches, thick and strong, and the foliage dense and inviting; the dogs haven't come out to play, the birds haven't chirped as much. Perhaps it is all in my imagination? It must not be. The emptiness cries out aloud as I turn the corners of the library on my evening walk, I have to force myself to look away and content myself with the other trees, some younger, just beginning to establish themselves into the ground around the periphery of the park, and others a little older, their leaves downcast and sorrowful; the torchbearers for future generations of children to shade themselves under, birds to teasingly chase scampering squirrels down from and for wisdom to provide to the tender little grass-lings swaying gently in the wind.
No, there shan't be that waft of eucalyptus to tingle my senses with the breeze. There will no longer be the live mural behind the windows of the library in the children's corner. The sunlight streaming in now, unobstructed, seems a harsh reminder of what we've lost. A monument that endured for a century despite what killed it from within, an atrocity we wreaked on it. Yet forgiving and ever gracious, it stood by and smiled upon us gently. Just like a grandparent does a mischievous grandchild...
Dear, dear great grandpa tree, we miss you!

My 'Green' Library?

2008-08-29T20:47:00.000-07:00

A few days ago E and I were talking about our currents reads and the books that we have on our ever-growing list of things to read. As I am prone to, I commented on the sheer joy it is hold a book and feel the pages between my fingers and he smiled and we observed a moment of silence, each imagining that irreplaceable feeling. He shook himself out of his reverie by suddenly remarking that he had tried Amazon's Kindle once. He had a sad faraway look in his eyes. And then as if to be fair to it, he added that they'd worked a lot on the interface by making it's look and feel match as closely as possible the real thing. The book. It can come close, but it cannot ever be the real thing, we agreed. The book is decidedly a superior object, grown epic in our minds, and reading it in that form a tradition almost, that is left to us to keep alive. We shook our heads on that.
I added, a little wistfully, that more than a year ago, I had all but given up subscribing to newspapers and magazines in paper and had switched altogether to online reading and borrowing from the library instead. The attempt to 'go green' though, had scrambled my morning ritual completely. I no longer relished reading every section, business and international, sports and editorials, from start to finish. Now that it 'sat' in my inbox, it pretty much did just that. I would catch the headlines until a flurry of emails caught my attention. Scrolling the New York Times to find the same article listed twice in two categories is rather irritating, not to mention a series of links on related articles that appears alongside the one you just clicked on, wickedly tempting you to be distracted. Is a person to read an article in peace or what? Now I don't know about all the rest of you, but somehow doing the crossword online, doesn't quite cut it. I still need paper and pencil to fill up the boxes just right. It wasn't much of a debate, we were clearly agreed on the virtues of paper and the evil-ness of its online counterpart. Truly!
And so it went, until I remembered my long-cherished dream of a library in my own home. And I shuddered. If you've read my feverish excitement for a weekend of reading, you would know what that library means to me. I have promised myself collector's editions and bound copies of precious novels. Shelves upon shelves of painstakingly sorted books of all categories surrounded by coziness itself. God forbid, I should come upon the day that this dream will be shattered by one Kindle sitting 'green'ly atop my table! Horrors!
And with that thought arrived our destination. A little rattled by this very real possibility, we bade one another goodbye, thinking to ourselves, I am sure, that perhaps, if we did everything in our power to save the trees and the environment; take our cloth bags to farmer's markets, sign in to the green utilities program, take the train come rain or shine, turn off the sprinklers and stay vegetarian...perhaps, we'd be entitled to our little library?

2008-08-19T11:59:00.000-07:00

The underpinnings of corruption
An interesting read...

2008-08-15T09:11:00.000-07:00

A day for raag Desh...:)

the things we do...

2008-08-13T17:19:00.000-07:00

My evening drive back home is the time to catch up on news I missed in the morning and get a load of the breaking news- NPR. Headlines from around the world is delivered by BBC World, told crisply with just the right dose of information to last me my ride, so I can read up the full story at leisure. Good stuff.

Here's the kind of thing you might hear at about 4.30 pm: (My recollection of it at any rate).
"The latest from the Illinois State fair's Hog calling competition...." ??!!
"And we have the winner with us on air, who is also, the first female to win this contest."
!
"So tell us Doris, how did you learn to hog call?...."

I was really confused at this point, but I must admit, wide awake and fairly intrigued.

"So can you give a short performance for our listeners? They cannot see you, but I am sure they would love to hear it." Yes, indeed. What the heck's going on here?!

A series of grunts and oinks followed, at which point the anchor said, "That's just amazing! How did you look when you did that?" "Oh, my lips were all curled up and I had my fingers in my mouth, and I must have looked like a pig myself."

"(Laughs) Wow! Now that can't be a compliment." "(Chortles). No, not really."

Right.

I say, the rest of the animal kingdom must find us humans rather strange.

2008-08-12T14:48:00.001-07:00

God is in the details. Specifically, the controls.

2008-08-09T23:20:00.000-07:00

the sun on my back and the wind on my face....why don't summers last forever?...

Try it!

2008-08-08T14:58:00.000-07:00

I must preface it by saying, I am still a great believer in Googl-eshwar. But this is pretty cool.
Scour Search

And a giant passes away...

2008-08-08T13:49:00.000-07:00

Solzhenitsyn, Literary Giant Who Defied Soviets, Dies at 89- NY Times

intersections...

2008-08-08T12:41:00.000-07:00

5.18:
tick tock tick...
blue square, white square, blue square, white,
blue, white, brick.
shadows to the left, shadows to the right...
i look up and see a 4-year old wobbling along, blond hair flying...one hand holding her mother's index finger tightly and the free one making patterns in the air...and i can't help but smile...that seems to throw her off a bit...she wobbles some more, dangerously to one side until her mother steadies her...and then she grins back! :) yay! and then they walk past...
back to counting bricks...what's that tune in my head?...brick, white, brick, white, brick...black?
i look up this time to see an unfamiliar face, new to the 5.28er's scene...hmm...
blast!!!! screech and hiss!!!!...drat that train!...well at least it's on time...
brick, white, brick, brick, gate...the cherry blossoms have gone...the trees look lovely still...about turn.
ah! 'take me the way i am...' :) how wonderful it is to remember that melody drifting about elusively in your head and pin it to the words that went with it...
bells and whistles...
more screeches and hisses...
there comes the northbound...have a nice evening ya'll...
brick, brick, brick, yellow...and up...
her eyes look steady but she seems to be staring at something far far away...what a lovely embroidered jacket....it must be from india....she turns momentarily, startling me from my half-reverie, half question and we both avert our gazes quickly...it's the song's fault, else i wouldn't have walked staring and grinning...brick, white, blue, blue, blue...ah! the breeze....
there comes K....
running back from Safeway...as she does everyday...
getting a thrill out of making a dash for the stores in her 12-minute wait...watching her huff and puff and then break out in a victorious grin with her thumbs up at me makes me smile again...and i smilingly turn and this time her eyes bore into my face, intense at first and then relaxing to an open, curious and yet somewhat tentative look! i do understand what that little girl felt like now...my smile just widened and directed itself straight at her...
blast!!!! drat...how come it always always gives me a jolt, the silly train!...and just before i turn to walk back a few paces to get my usual coach, she smiles back, with relief, glad to have not been the one to grin (stupidly?) first, a hint of dismay? for the conversation that almost began...
5.55:
finally...cal ave!...i like the blue blue of the fountain...like i like it everyday...the froth and the bubbles, the little ripples that are in constant formation...the hills in the distance...i heave a sigh of satisfaction...doggyyy!!!...wait..let me cross over to the other side...me in peace and you with more wag room...
what a lovely embroidered jacket...wait!! it's the same lady...so she gets off here eh...how funny our paths should cross again... just as she turned to look my way before crossing herself, i had started to walk again...
there's a sale at k&s...wonder what cameras they have on....and by the time i pick up my brisk pace and look around...she's gone and with it the conversation...another time then! another day...
...
5.59:
a little late...
it doesn't matter, cal ave. at last...there's my blue fountain...and the hills in the distance...what a day it has been...two ladies, probably in their late 50s walk by, one talking animatedly and the other nodding vigorously..."it's just that feeling, you know?"... :) yes, i know....i see the flickering man on the traffic lights...but i don't feel like hurrying...not today...i will wait for the next one...apparently the fellow walking in beat to the music in his headphones felt the same way...and we smile...yes, it's not worth it...there's music to be heard and the walk savored...what's that tune?...hmm...it will come to me...the car to my left inches out slowly, creeping out in front of us, lest we decide to walk first?...oh! don't worry, there's music to be heard and the walk unhurried...crossing the road i think..there comes the rotten broccoli junction...an ungodly stench, why won't they do something about it?...but the roses ahead are lovely...freakishly large, but lovely all the same...all these leaves on the street...they will be red soon in fall....shadows of a jogger...ah! it's from 'rhythm'...what imagery the lyrics have...shaking my head at its beauty i look up...and stare right into the face of the jogger...and a smile breaks out! i know this face...have our paths crossed before? i frowned a little in confusion, smiling still...and she smiles back broadly :) yay! why it's the lady of the embroidered jacket!..well, you have a good evening dear...now where did i leave that song?....suddenly her footsteps stop and she turns around "we've met", she says...there is no one else on the road...it must be me...i turn around....and smile again, yes, we have..."at the train station?"..."yes! that's right"....and so begins the conversation...she lived here on college terrace...a wonderful location...i most decidedly agree...they've moved now, not far, but not on c.t.,...they would love to move back..."we wanted to stay close to..."...oh? i wonder...of course it makes sense to me...but why to her...her son needs the therapy...no! why children? my heart goes out to you, it does..."but he's much better now" she says....thank god! :)....now that her family is away briefly she can catch up on her jogging!...what fun! :)..."yes, that must be nice in a way", i comment...hmm...gosh! i could just jog if i so pleased...it must be a stolen pleasure for her, the poor dear...a wonderful melody..."...many children do you have?"...da di dum....what?!...there must be an appropriate response to this...the last time i was asked for my id at a table that was being served with drinks...i have never been asked this...i must've managed an intelligible response, because she smiled...we had been smiling the whole while...it's a most pleasant feeling, i must say....i must listen to that song tonight..." we must meet at the library!"....my eyes grow wide, did i miss more of that sentence again?!!..."yes, that would be lovely, i go there often"...she smiles...apparently not..."yes, it would be nice to meet again"..."yes, it will be P"....and we went on our ways...
:)...
what a smile can do...of strangers friends make....

At the Farmer's market

2008-08-03T16:27:00.000-07:00

Some snatches of conversation overheard...

'Why! This is like a festival!...'
'...Ah!...The good life!'
'Ooohh!! Look at the colors!'
'Mommy, these are the sweetest plouts, ever! You have to get them!
'Did you make these yourself? They are so beautiful...'
'...Ave. is transformed every Sunday....All these people, all the sounds...'
'... hand-picked and bottled...they stay fresh for weeks...'
'...a little sunshine, a little water and all your love; that's all they need.'
'A cup of coffee, Miss? Freshly brewed...'
'...and you have a gorgeous day!'...

And you too! :)

Makes my heart sing with joy, it does! Sing Hallelujah for farmer's markets!

This week. A busy week. A good week.

2008-08-01T19:45:00.000-07:00

This week has been a furious week of activity at work and outside. And a good many events occurred and topics emerged that I have wanted to think aloud and write about , but haven't had the time to dwell on at length. So, I resorted to posting links about a few of them as a compromise. But that won't do...It isn't quite right...But not to fret! The weekend is upon me and write I shall! See you soon blogger! :)

enc-roche-ment

2008-08-01T18:18:00.000-07:00

The Roche-Genentech merger: The ultimate union of diagnostics and therapeutics?

2008-07-29T09:16:00.000-07:00

An interesting read on vengeance in the Week of Forgiveness and Mercy.

For the geek in you!

2008-07-28T19:40:00.000-07:00

The science behind the Diet Coke and Mentos Reaction

...because you know you love it!

2008-07-27T13:00:00.001-07:00

Should I want something because it is supposed to make me happy? Or should I want something because it actually does make me happy? Should I even use the word 'should'? Perhaps it ought to just be, I want something...More cobwebs in the attic!

In Remembrance

2008-07-25T22:07:00.000-07:00

Remembering Prof. Randy Pausch and his last lecture. May his soul rest in peace.

Father I place into your hands...

2008-07-24T18:52:00.001-07:00

A children's hymn I learnt in school and often hummed when worried or disturbed. I say this as a prayer today, for my friend.

Father, I place into Your hands
The things I cannot do.
Father, I place into Your hands
The things that I’ve been through.
Father, I place into Your hands
The way that I should go,
For I know I always can trust You.

Father, I place into Your hands
My friends and family.
Father, I place into Your hands
The things that trouble me.
Father, I place into Your hands
The person I would be,
For I know I always can trust You.

Father, we love to see Your face,
We love to hear Your voice.
Father, we love to sing Your praise
And in Your name rejoice.
Father, we love to walk with You
And in Your presence rest,
For we know we always can trust You.

Father, I want to be with You
And do the things You do.
Father, I want to speak the words
That You are speaking too.
Father, I want to love the ones
That You will draw to You,
For I know that I am one with You.

Father, I place into your hands my friends, and their friends, their disappointments and doubts, their sorrows and their tears, their sufferings and their miseries.
Father I seek your grace and mercy upon these friends, your healing touch upon their fevered brows, so you may lay to rest their fears, and ease away their worries.
For I know I always can trust you.

Courage and acceptance

2008-07-22T14:18:00.000-07:00

Here's a thought for this week:

"Lord grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, the courage to change the things I can, and the wisdom to know the difference." - Saint Francis of Assisi

A prayer so simple, and yet contained in it is a message of such humility and surrender to the Lord above. Indeed, it is only He who can grant us the wisdom, courage and forbearance we need, and only He can deliver us from all trials, strengthening our convictions, renewing our faith and our very spirits.
This Saint of Assisi has been a source of inspiration to me through my years in school and continues to be to this day...

2008-07-18T15:50:00.000-07:00

I want nothing more than to sink my toes into the sand in a beach somewhere and nod off with a book over my eyes, with a gentle breeze blowing over...
You can tell, I can't wait for this weekend to begin...

2008-07-18T11:25:00.001-07:00

Zucchini... what an inherently funny sounding word!!!...if i had not known that it was a vegetable, i wouldn't have guessed it was! Oh! what delightful sounding words swirl around me...

2008-07-17T15:03:00.001-07:00

Having said that...I'm about at the end of my tether there!...how about some miracles shower down right now and make my experiments work?? One will do nicely, thank you :)
Still doing 'well' :).

How are you today?

2008-07-17T11:53:00.001-07:00

How do you answer this question? Well, you could be totally English about it and insist "I am well, and you?" (Or, you really could be, and I am incredibly happy for you that that is the case :) )Or, you could launch into a detailed description of how you twisted your ankle two weeks ago and how the occasional mis-step causes you great discomfort.
But really, are you well? -In the former case. In the latter, it is clear you aren't, and the discomfort itself becomes communicable in a way.
Coming back to those who are well, now, when you say you are 'well', do you mean you are in the pink of blooming health or do I take it to mean you are feeling rather jolly today? Hmm...
As for those who aren't, here's what I wish- I wish that the question always prompted an introspection of one's state of mind. Specifically an effort to separate the effect of a long, tiring day from the cheerful disposition that might be buried underneath. (I am convinced it is, it is a matter of digging deep to unearth it. Or digging enough to plant it, if not!) Happiness is a state of mind after all. So I guess I am wishing everyone were truly happy, deep within, despite everythig life throws at them day after day.
That is not to say, one could never get bogged down by worry, disappointment, or sheer fatigue. Nor is it to say that one should never confide those feelings to a dear one. But the very act of believing that happiness is internal and can be readily tapped into at such moments, must make the load lighter to bear, eh? And what a wonderful vector that would be to infect others with!
So go on and be merry my dears!
ps: I am doing very well today, thank you :)

Thought for the day...

2008-07-14T18:51:00.000-07:00

A tradition we followed all through school. Every morning, we would turn to a new page in our little school diary, where at the bottom would be inscribed an inspiring quote to live by, a kindly virtue to adopt, or a line of prayer given in thanks for the bounties we have. The same would be written across the blackboard in our classrooms for us to be reminded of every time we looked up at it. At the time I did not realize it, but it must have seeped in little by little- the beauty of having a 'thought for the day'. After all, it is very easy to lead life, day after day, without spending much time thinking about our actions, how they affect us, those around us and the world at large; easier still to skirt around the fact that this life has been gifted to us to make an effort to rise up and reach a higher plane, a spiritual realm of truth, beauty, virtue, love, kindliness and justice. And every hour of every day, every thought and word, every act and gesture must lead us upwards and towards that realm. Not an easy peak to scale, and a rocky and arduous slope to climb, that we need every aid and support we can get. And this 'thought for the day' is that handle; words of wisdom that many a benevolent and generous soul have left behind as sign posts in a trail, so we may tread this path without losing our way, so we may rise to our calling without slipping, and find the light and peace eternal...

So, here's a thought for today:
'Praise loudly, blame softly'- Catherine the Great.

And I shall try to post a new one every day, or week at least. Harder still will be to live those words and find the truth in them, but endeavor I must. So join me as I seek to do so.

2008-07-13T19:48:00.001-07:00

I love it here! ---shivers--- I miss home.

At long last...

2008-07-11T11:03:00.001-07:00

At long last the day has arrived...the day I have waited for, for the last 7 odd years...it feels exactly like what I had dreamt for myself...a wonderful rush of exuberance, liberation sublime, a lazy summer day and an evening to kill...the day has arrived!la di da!~...glory be to God! la di da!~...I have a whole weekend and a delightful book to read! What's better, that's exactly how the week that follows it and the weekend after, and all the ones beyond it look! :) Oh joy!
It must not seem like a big deal to many. But allow me to describe why this is such a treat for me.

For years in school, I just had to begin the day with a book on my ride to school in the rickety school van. No matter that I had children of all ages eager to start another day chattering around me (and I joined in too), but I had a precious book in hand and a world within to retreat into at will and come back out for a change of scene. You see, it had to be read before the bell was rung for morning prayer. And then would come another book for recess, possibly the same to blot out dull lectures in organic chemistry, read ever more voraciously in the drugged silence that invariably resulted from hearing about the wonderful virtues of the carbon atom. And yet another one for the ride back home, to keep me company through lunch and bury my face into as Grandma's finger waved menacingly at me for the umpteenth time for not paying attention to food. A long story, a thick book, the smallest print it had to be... to recline with over my siesta and wake up to for the early evening and get a quick glimpse at before running for music lessons and run back to for dinner. And then came the minor matter of homework, to be quickly completed and put away, for what better way to fall asleep than over a tale masterfully crafted and cleverly wrapped up?

The end-quarter exam weeks were my favourite because that meant walking back home from school much earlier in the day, the day stretching out endlessly ahead, dear friends to muse with over all and sundry and a stop at my darling old Eshwari Lending Library on the way. A dimly-lit room filled with the smell of books, old and new, crisp and weathered, hardback and paper, hmmm...the feel of paper to skin, accompanied by the promise of a wondrous fantasy is the single most joyful thing ever imaginable. Ever. And a whole room full of it! (I shall have a library of my own one day. At home. With couches to sink into and lamps of wrought iron. A coffee maker in a corner somewhere. A window looking out at squirrels scampering up a tree...) At any rate, having 4 additional hours then meant a 4th book could be easily fit into a day's schedule. Perfect.

But then, sadly, school ended, and college began. (Not that I didn't like college, mind you. I loved it in fact.) And with it went my bus rides and stolen reads in class (the classes were facinating, yet a minor consolation, I assure you). More importantly, my vacant summer days of unquestioned freedom and abandon had been irrevovably snatched from me. Or seemingly so at least. It had to be filled with research breakthroughs. (In Biology that means sleeping and waking with the bug, mostly just waking.) And so, I promised myself, that one day, not far away, I shall reprise my summer of reading. It is wholly figurative, mind you. Come rain or hail, there will be reading for sure. I shall have merry rides on buses and trains, evenings to spare, weekends to sing and paint and hike about, but with hours to spare for the alphabet.

And so it was that yesterday a chance conversation with a friend while waiting for my bus (yay!) to work set the wheels in motion. He told me about the arrival of the hit Broadway musical, Wicked- The Untold Story of the Witches of Oz, in SFO and that sealed my resolve for the summer of '08. It brought back the irreristible urge to get my hands on a book , in this case, the one the musical is based on. With a singular determination, I headed straight for the bookstore after getting off the train (yay! again) in the evening. To my utter astonishment and great delight I found three copies of it sitting pretty on a shelf, in the fanstasy fiction section (rightly so).

As I flipped through the pages, it struck me that the day I'd promised myself had indeed arrived! I realized that I did have train and bus rides to take into work. I did not have quite the madness of my first two years at work trying to get on board as many projects as one humanly could, while giving standardized tests, training new hires, applying, PT, and ...the list goes on. It dawned on me that this summer is my summer. I have an art class and a web design class to go to, Dhwani to sing sweet melodies with, the perfect weather to go hiking about on, and evenings to myself. All to myself. Free from PT, free from guilt of a nobler cause turned into a series of deadening deadlines, free from panic of missing any (metaphorical) buses. It is just free. Free to read.

And this is how good it gets. Now I have a list of what I shall read and a few in hand already. A couple books to quickly finish tonight (burning the midnight oil is well worth the effort for such a cause) and my new book to begin!

Life is just peachy. Sing Hallelujah to the Lord!

ps: As an aside- It has been a week of Oz! It started Monday listening to Judy Garland reminiscing her days during the shooting of TWW of Oz, and the music of course. Oh! the sweet melody. It reached its highest point yesterday, and it wasn't over with Wicked. The bookstore owner let me in on a sneak preview of a cherished treasure- 100 years of Oz in print, capturing the book, to the film to all kinds of memorabilia photographed and documented...And while I'm at it, I figured I may as well watch TWW of Oz this weekend! Somewhere o'er the rainbow...:) Just peachy, I say.

Cavernous wonders

2008-07-10T12:42:00.000-07:00

The weekend of the 4th my friends and I visited Lake Shasta and the Lassen National Park. A most vivacious group, crackling with wit and curiosity, warmth and good humor, made the weekend all the more memorable.
Day 1: Friday, the 4th
The cool morning air gave way to a toasty mid-morning by the time we reached the lake campgrounds. Parched expanses with sparse vegetation tinged yellow and brown stretched for miles around. Rings of variegated earthen colors baked out from where the water had evaporated encircled the lake. I thought to myself, what an unremarkable scenery...
We went about setting up our tents. One in particular proved our undoing. An irregular hexagon, if you will, was hoisted trying every combination of A-A and B-B, mostly getting A-C and B-A for the first 20 minutes. Finally, we got our geometry in order. Hurrah!
As I patted the dust off my hands and stood back to admire our handiwork, it struck me that here I was, a grown adult, about to 'live' in my tent-house! Okay, let me back up a bit. As a 5-year old my greatest desire was to own a tent-house. The kind my cousin had, and invited me over to have tea in every weekend, painted to look like a red brick structure, with yellow window panes and a little gray chimney. A make-believe world of our own, complete with a house, front and back yard; miniature cutlery, imagined friends, a battery-operated 'real' dog and time that stood still for us. Perfect. Almost. I would still go home and wish I had one of my own. Petty, I say. Yet.
And now, 20 years later, I stood outside yet another tent-'house', real friends, wilderness all round and a starry night that was sure to come and sighed with contentment.
At any rate, we made quick time to get on board the boat ride at the lake, to be followed by a quick bus ride to the Shasta caves. A full five minutes after we had entered the cool, dark interiors of the cavern, hundreds of thousand years in the making, I realized, that it was not the patchwork scenery or the lake itself that was to be the highlight of this day, but these mysterious caves.
A narrow path had been made for tourists, slippery in some places from the drops of water that fell intermittently. Stalactites in various stages of formation hung low. From thin and hollow-like, wafer thin 'straws' to waxy cones, to entire columns where stalactites and stalagmites met could be seen. As we made our way further interior and upwards, careful not to touch anything, lest the oils from our skin interrupted the calcite crystal formation, every turn of the corner brought an amazing new display; ceilings of broccoli, shallow craters or 'peanut brittle', clay icicles, ragged jaws and stony daggers.
Very low wattage lights, placed in nooks and crevices, let the light bounce off the surfaces and play with our imagination, lit the way up. The tour culminated in a grand finale: a discovery 'room' with a balcony with the the most stunning formation of 'drapes'. A continuous arrangement of sheet-like stalactites, starting off wavy at the top ending sharp and straight when viewed from the side. They hung like curtains of some ancient alphabet engraved into the rock, curling into intricate designs and patterns.
A truly magnificent display of what nature had quietly designed while we went about our business in the hub of civilization. There was stunned silence as we marched out of the caves and back into a shock of sunlight, and onto the bus. Truly marvelous, and utterly awe-inspiring.
The short trek up from the lake, where the boat ride had ended back up to the main recreational area was sufficient to tire us, especially with the sun beating down fiercely. What was supposed to be a short break turned into an extended halt, with some taking naps, a few going nearly delirious over a delicious trail mix made all the more so with molten chocolate, and a few others restless to get a short hike out of the way. Eventually, the heat just got the better of us and we decided to drive instead towards Mt. Shasta, secretly harboring hopes of catching the fireworks somewhere along the way back.
An hour into the drive and the sun had mellowed considerably, and bright flowers dotting the way inspired us to pull up at the earliest suggestion of a trail head and get on our feet. The trail we chose was a short one, with only a modest gain in elevation but gave us glimpses of the beautiful Mt. Shasta off in the distance. The snow- capped peak would play hide and seek with us, sometimes hidden by a cloud, sometimes smothered by smoke, at others glistening white and glorious.
The hike back down was spent debating whether or not Qabuli channa would be made for dinner. Quite hilarious in retrospect, considering we were all utterly exhausted and happy to chew on anything edible, that we ended up eating Maggi. (Yes, much to the disappointment of the food crew, who'd planned a semi-barbecue over camp fire.)The food, plentiful and almost excessive as it was, was only incidental, as yet another bright new day awaited us, to be begun at the crack of dawn.
We had picked a tidy little spot, off the road on a slight incline, with a lake-view close by. So, in the morning, just before we left the campgrounds for our next destination we took off on an ever-so-mini 'hike'. From where we were parked, at a short walk down the road where it bent further into the camping area, was a grove of Manzanita trees and some wild bushes. Walking down through the mesh, we could see a clearing, offering a view of the lake. The last look at the lake was indeed more remarkable than my first one had been. The muddy shore was lined with trees, some lying prostrate with jagged branches, jutting out over the waters. A stark scene it was, with a raw appeal nonetheless.
A beautiful stop by all means.
Onward ho!

2008-07-10T11:40:00.000-07:00

"How wonderful it is that nobody need wait a single moment before starting to improve the world." - Anne Frank

how true, how very true...

The Giving Club

2008-07-01T14:03:00.000-07:00

A chance conversation one morning, many months ago at the bus stop, introduced me to one of my neighbors who commutes to work- a very earnest, curious and magnanimous spirit. This morning chat soon became a staple for me; my dose of enthusiasm for the day, my cup of purpose refilled. We would discuss everything from the addiction that living in the Bay Area is, to Broadway musicals, public health and epidemiology to Farmer's Markets. In one such conversation, E told me he was spending his evenings co-authoring a book! I was intrigued.
He went on to tell me all about the project. He and his friends had started a club they call the Giving Club. Its mission- to put together a book that could serve as a one-stop shop for anybody interested in donating their time or resources to charitable causes but clueless as to how to go about it or whom to approach; the causes range from care-giving at hospitals, environmental protection, education, empowerment of low-income illiterate communities, and many more such.
The idea behind it is at once a simple and noble one. There are many many issues plaguing the world today and the inequities glaring. Deep down, we all want to do something to help remove those inequities and lend a helping hand to someone in need. But which cause to support? What action to take? Is there an organization out there that could use our specific skills or talents? Is there a group out there looking for a voice to carry their message outward? Yes, many of us are indeed a little lost and caught in this web of ignorance. How nice it would be to have a neat little road-map telling us where to head to help illiterate tenants file a petition against exorbitant rents in a supposedly low-income housing tenement. How wonderful it would be to know the 5 organizations in the Bay Area working with poor children in middle school to provide after-school tutoring.
That is exactly what their club set out to do. The members represent a diversity of interests, educational and professional qualifications and affiliations to organizations. So, each member took on the responsibility of compiling a list of programs and organizations, sorted geographically and demographically, for a given area requiring our collective attention. They would meet every two weeks to brainstorm about meaningful causes that they have missed, identify outfits for financial givings that people like you and me can work with to reach out to the needy, and ways to enrich the book to be with their personal insights.
What I found most inspiring beyond the club and the tool that will result from it, was the thought behind it. Beyond engaging in service oneself, to find the means to enable others to serve. Oh! What a supreme act of generosity! What a marvelous idea and what a wonderful fraternity!
The Giving Club. Are you a member yet?

Lead kindly

2008-06-20T12:35:00.000-07:00

This last week The McKinsey Quarterly brought into focus factors for succeeding at open- source innovation, in the light of the whopping number of downloads of Mozilla's latest Firefox web-browser version. In an organization where much of the software coding, product development, distribution and what not depend on volunteers, it was interesting to read what these factors might be. In her interview with TMQ, Mozilla Corporation's Chairperson, Mitchell Baker commented on the management styles adopted early on at Mozilla, that were very unlike traditional practices, but key to open-source innovation. And the secret? 'A balance between maintaining control and letting motivated people run with their passions…’

This sounds like the most intuitive thing, almost common sense, doesn't it? After all, every senior manager, of even the most traditional industry and thesis advisor, must surely be expected to live that very balance in some form or fashion. But like most fundamental principles of sound management and effective leadership, they only sound simple. To practise them is certainly much, much harder to do and truly inspiring when done. The heroes and towering personalities of our times, however, do not instill a sense of urgency to imbibe those values. No, by their very stature they become far-removed from our immediate reality (mine at least); an idol on a high pedestal, an excuse to not aspire to that ideal. But the people in our lives- the people we can meet with, laugh and cry with, touch and hold, whose struggles and triumphs we have watched first-hand; people who seem like any one of us in their demeanor, in their station in life, in their hopes and fears; the same people whose qualities and actions set them apart from every one of us, truly inspire.

One such friend stopped by a few days ago.

In the course of our conversation, we touched upon her work and how rapidly it had expanded from a prototype for an online tutorial to a product now deployed by governments across the seas, inspiring social workers in several developing countries. ‘Her’ project had now become the foundation for multiple sub-projects, spawning undergraduate summer research material, master’s thesis components, a non-profit organization and that’s only part of it!

And as we marveled over this incredible growth, she remarked ever so casually that while she had had some experience with professional project management, her current work called for a very different approach to management. A student-led not-for-profit initiative, run entirely by volunteers and funded by angels (in the truest sense of the word) and supported by only the most sincere, giving and passionate people driven by nothing other than the promise of a better informed and hence, safer world. It called for her to at once be able to provide the guidance, knowledge, acquired painstakingly over the last three odd years, and vision to each new aspirant to this mission; and yet let go of execution, and completely relinquish ownership of the new direction each mini-project will inevitably take. And when she spoke of it, she did so with a smile of assurance and faith in her team, total acceptance of the individuality they are bound to mark their work with and an earnest desire to see the very best be done in every aspect, even if that means having to step back and let someone else take the reins.

A fresh realization of what detachment means emerged for me; a most gentle and generous form of leadership revealed.

Ps: Having nothing to do with the web-browser itself, the article and the recollection of a greater leadership made me, finally, switch from IE to Firefox over the weekend! Hurrah!

And then kids grow up...Shucks!

2008-06-19T22:24:00.000-07:00

They're doing that all the time, you know. Kids growing up, that is. They're doing that next door, in that day care center; as they discover new people in this world, different from their parents- little people like themselves. They try to be valiant in this strange atmosphere, failing hopelessly at times and bursting into tears, gurgling mirthfully at others, forgetful of the newness. Yes, kids are always growing up...(Heck I grew up! Although my grandmother does not believe such an event occurred and has me at 21 still and does not think that's very grown up anyway; another 5 years and I will be grateful for that courtesy). But for my baby bbb to have grown up! No!!! It cannot be. She says so though, every chance she gets, that she's a near adult. (I only hear the near, mind you). She will be in college soon, moving away from home, getting a bank account, moving into an apartment... taking charge of her affairs, as she calls it. Affairs, my foot!
And so, I insist upon her talking to me everyday, for hours, if I could have my way (how wonderful that would be!) as if that way I could arrest this onward march somewhow and hold it where it is. Right here. Right now. I will have to get as much of her, in this child-like state now. Tomorrow it will be no more. She will be a child to me, ever. But in her own mind she will cease to be.
If I could only protect that precious wonderment within her, if I could give her that magical mix of feeling liberated as a child and self-reliant as a young adult, if I could preserve the child in her and nourish the woman in her...:) I shall say a prayer for her.

On reading ‘Dreams from My Father’

2008-06-19T20:04:00.000-07:00

I picked up this story of Obama's mixed inheritance to read on my flight to India. The longest transit of my life notwithstanding, I only managed to read half the book. That, however, is not the point; I had resolved to read nothing more intense than Calvin and Hobbes and perhaps a Wodehouse or two, just to recover from the trauma of back-to-back reads of first the God of Small Things (yes a decade late) and The Kite Runner. (Don't get me wrong; reading, I love. Human misery and the darker side of life, depicted in excruciating detail, leaves me reeling and yearning for balloons and blossoms) And so, I was half expecting to give up after the first chapter under the weight of the matter and could see myself desperately reaching for an escape- book when I packed this one into my carry-on. But that didn't happen. I am not making any claims as to to the read-worthiness of the book, nor to my skills on reviewing such. But I did feel the irresistible urge to share some (his) words of wisdom, all too familiar, but lost somewhere in the crevices of our memories, with anyone who might chance upon this blog.

In the last weeks leading up to the conclusion of the Democratic primaries, the media was cashing in on every aspect of the protagonists' public, publicly private and privately intimate lives. Not to be left behind, Costco had slashed the prices on 'Dreams...' and 'The Auacity of Hope...' Between his dreams for himself and America, and the dreams handed down to him from his father, I picked the latter. And I'm glad I did. What struck me was the ease and simplicity with which he peeled away the layers of human emotion underlying inexplicable behaviour, his understanding of the veneer of arrogance for what it was; a shroud covering fear and diffidence deep beneath it. But mostly his empathy and above all his honesty were deeply moving. This paragraph in particular hit a nerve somewhere and made me sit up straight as I read through. It hit hard especially because I had just returned from India, with a million thoughts about home, family, the ever-widening gap between between those reaping of the burgeonining economy and those to whom it made the mockery boom louder, flitting in and out of conscious thought; mingling with observations of common courtesy that was indeed quite common to see aboard Caltrain and wondering why it was painfully lacking back home on a similarly sweltering day, on a very similar train. It had captured in a few words the essence of what had happened to the many many faces that we collectively label 'bureaucracy'; it had summarized the resignation that we categorize as indifference, the same indifference that we were ourselves sucked into at one point, I was for sure, and that freshly shocks me everytime I return.

But before I rant on and on, the passage mustn't be lost, and here it is. The context, if you had not guessed already: his observation of the apathy that preachers, aid workers, men and women in public service, and sadly those needing the service themselves, inevitably slip into.
'....The three of them reflected the attitudes of of most of the people who worked in Altgeld: the teachers, drug counselors, policemen. Some wre there only for the paycheck; others sincerely wanted to help. But whatever their motives, they would all at some point confess a common weariness, a weariness that was bone-deep. They had lost whatever confidence they might have once had in their ability to reverse the deterioration they saw all around them. With that loss of confidence came a loss in the capacity for outrage.'

A loss in the capacity for outrage is a great loss indeed. A loss that can strip one of accountability, the accountability for our own complicity in having stood by.

However, as I am prone to, I searched for hope to make a comeback soon and that probably increased, briefly, my average reading rate (which in the last decade has fallen appallingly). And I arrived at this passage. Again, for context: it describes a scene at a public elementary school.
'... As the teacher tried to direct them up the stairs, I thought how happy and trusting they all seemed, that depsite the rocky arrivals many of them had gone through- delivered prematurely, perhaps, or delivered into addiction, most of them already smudged with the ragged air of poverty- the joy they seemed to find in simple locomotion, the curiosity they displayed toward every new face...'

Ah! Isn't that joy the birth right of every infant born into this world? And to keep that smile on every child's face from fading not a worthy cause to strive for? It reminds us of why we are here, why we cannot resign as if it were a day job and what purpose we have been called upon for; It reminded me that there is always hope, when there is a willing spirit.

ps: technically this should have been my second post since the Rising...just for the record.

All for some good coffee...

2008-06-07T08:58:00.000-07:00

Yes, it was almost so good that it prompted me to consider blogging after a 2 year hiatus! Hi blogger! :)

A month ago, I was so excited to be flying back home after more than a year that nothing, not weeks of 12 hour days at work, banking glitches, car trouble, an impending dinger from b-school, no nothing, could take away the spring from my step nor wipe the silly grin off my face. And then came 9th evening, the evening I'd been waiting for ever so eagerly. It was supposed to be a simple affair: go to the bank, withdraw some cash, go home and check luggage and apartment one last time, and be on my way to the airport !!!...Sure!

Step 1, bank. Got the cash, easy enough. Backed car out of bank, and BANG!!! Not me!!! (not this time!) (As a side note, it always fascinates me how the human mind conjures up a zillion vivid images and thoughts within seconds and then springs right back into present time! Dear God! Exchange numbers, call insurance, won't be in town for 3 weeks? Great! Then don't count on insurance! Another trip to Auto Body repair....wait!) The pleasant pat on the back was from a gentle old lady whose spectacle rim got in the way of her clear sideways vision and a blinding glare completely eliminated my car from her view! Was this a fore-runner of things to come??? I'm not normally superstitious...but you'll see...The good part, if one might call it that, was that there wasn't so much as a scratch on either of our cars and the poor grandma was so nervous and apologetic, that I got moist-eyed. Phew, thank God for small mercies. Anyway, slightly distracted, but back on track to simple town...

Step 3: A breeze to SFO international? Uh huh. It did seem that way initially, but 15 minutes into the ride, traffic on the left lane of 101 N had suddenly built up out of nowhere and we were barely moving. There'd been a 3 car crash close to San Mateo and CHP had the lane completely blocked. News suggested we might enjoy the balmy breeze for close to an hour. Not panicking! We were still early. But you know how one hour can become 3...At any rate, a small miracle happened and we were able to inch out on to the right lane after half an hour and were finally cruising to the airport...And nothing of import really happened for the next several hours as I flew from SF to HK to Singapore. I even took the customary city tour and, sadly, slept through all of it. I briefly awoke and remember thinking how very alike the commotion outside a temple there was to its Chennai counterparts! (It's a small wonder that I actually slept through every single hour of every flight until I reached Singapore! Just as well, it was.)

Where's the coffee, you ask. Well, it's coming.

The flight to Chennai was to leave at 9.00pm. And waited, we did till 9.40, IST and all. What else can one expect with Indian Airlines. The transformation from international travellers to fish market- mongers took place within seconds of boarding IC558. After what seemed like an eternity, the captain warmly welcomed us aboard and wished us a very pleasant journey with IA. I was duly thrilled. But nothing happened. We were served some apple juice and asked to remain seated with our seat belts fastened. Not that anyone paid attention to that, least of all to the request to keep cell phones turned off. A few minutes later, we were once again told we would be taking off in just a few moments. This time the wheels started to turn. As we taxied out and picked up speed, the engine to my right shuddered and sighed, the pilot braked with all his might, till the wheels nearly burst sending sparks flying. Completely rattled as I was, I reached out to steady myself against the seat in front, only to find it wasn't tightly bolted to the floor and was now rocking back and forth! Horrors! This time round, my mind couldn't nearly conceive of every possible consequence of what might have been that it just went blank.

After many agonizing minutes, we came to a standstill. Out came the cell phones and a dozen voices narrated the story of the failed take-off to anxious spouses and families, peppering it with their vivid imagination for good measure. In the midst of this mayhem, the PA crackled to life and the kindly captain announced that there may have been a slight issue with the engine and they were looking into setting it right and we would be on our way soon!!! Nobodoy was convinced. Twenty minutes later, the captain once again introduced himself and this time announced that we would we would be served dinner, at Changi. Just what I'd hoped for.

Now that it was official that the flight was in dire need of repair, people were in a mad hurry to exit the cursed boeing...in case it should go up in flames all of a sudden eh? One wonders, at least, seeing people elbow one another in the narrow aisle. In the chaos that ensued, a neat little package was delivered onto my nose from above. There was no time for apologies, you see, this was an emergency!

At any rate, an hour or so elapsed. After some comic relief provided by fruit thieves at the dinner party, an urgent voice beckoned us all back to terminal C21, or some such. This had to have been a record of sorts. The IA engine repaired in under 2 hours?!...Ah! The real story emerged; the engine had failed, the damage irreparable, and the solution? Spare parts to be flown in from Chennai! (It should've made us proud. No spare parts to the rather state-of-the-art air craft in all of Singapore...) Better yet, no flights in the forseeable future to Chennai. I sincerely regretted taking the city tour already, asleep or not.

We were then read out our rights and privileges; We could request seating on the already over-booked early morning flight out, we would however not be guaranteed any space! Not to be disheartened- a luxury suite in the aiport lounge awaited us till kingdom come. I am not entirely sure what I was thinking, but I believe I agreed to the luxury suite option and trudged out of the boarding area. I was half aware of some passenegers, 3 in particular, employing all means of persuasion, in turns, to convince the now weary Mr. Suresh of why they absolutely deserved to be on that flight to Chennai. In fact one of them had now taken on the role of that gentleman in fending off irate passengers to the lounge to end all distraction from his immediate goal, and I must admit did a much better job at it.

As I sat down to fill in my immigration forms, a strain of conversation from the babel came back to me and I realized an option to fly to Bangalore instead had been offered. What in heaven's name was I signing up to the airport lounge for?! I ran back to the boarding area and managed to get assigned to that flight just in time. While s1 and s2 came out beaming with me, relieved to be on a flight headed anywhere in India, s3 , our very able public relations cum logistics expert lingered behind to make his final pitch...

Our altered itinerary demanded an additional 6 hours at the airport. I spent the first two making frantic calls to my parents, already perplexed after a 3 hour wait at Anna International to no avail, and then rousing from sleep my uncle and aunt in Bangalore. Very pleased with the way things had turned out (it could have been much worse, you know. Much.) I emailed the adventures to my friends back in the BA. Finally exhausted from all the action, and with no clue as to what time zone my body was operating on, all I knew was if I had to be awake to get on that fated flight, I would need a ton of caffeine. And starbucks won't do.

At that precise moment, s3 strode out into the transit lounge, looking very smug. I knew it couldn't have been the thought of Bangalore that was having this effect, there had to more. Cautiously I asked him if he had managed to get on the flight to B'l anyway. Of course, he said. Now that the flight is re-scheduled and everything, we have plenty of time get some coffee and toast as well. In fact that little coffe pub called Toastbox over by the kiosks serves some excellent coffee, he added. Re-scheduled?! Doesn't matter. Excellent coffee- a more pressing matter. I unceremoniously ended our conversation right there and made a bee line to the Toastbox.....

Words cannot adequately describe the exquisite aroma and the rich flavour of the gourmet coffee made from freshly ground beans, foamed with full cream and condensed milk, and sugar to top it off. The boy serving at the kiosk even had the accent intact (likely a Singaporean one, but to my ears, it rang like music from the land of filter coffee) when he said 'kopi-ya?' and whisked out this incredible intoxication, with a side of thick toast buttered on both sides, nay, soaked literally and yet crisp...I believe the very act of sipping into that manna set things right with the world; as s3 came and sat down at my table, and narrated the story of how he'd badgered Mr.(another) S (I'm afraid) into summoning an IA representative out of bed and into re-routing the flight to B'lore via Chennai, it confirmed my belief. This called for celebration. The news was relayed to s1 and 2 and a third set of boarding passes made for the night (or morning or who cares!). And what better way to celebrate than over another cup of kopi! :).... Bliss- served in a cup.

2006-09-01T19:46:00.000-07:00

Streams...
Drops of pink paint.
Perfectly formed, perfectly rounded.
Glistening liquid buds, about to cast its seeds,
into clear water fall,
not without a tinkle, nor a nervous quake.
Bouncing off the satin of white and blue,
for a moment in mid-air;
As if unsure, as if undone,
before its surrender, into the rippling crests...
Drops of pink paint.
Momentarily pink.
Soon to be engulfed by ever widening reams.
With the next shining pearl following in its wake,
attempting a brief renewal, asserting its own hue.
Alas! Very brief, is this defiant affair.
Trembling as it were, towards it's eternal path;
A new identity forged- of all merged in one, as one with all it rests...

2006-08-24T20:32:00.000-07:00

I've been thinking about this for quite a while now and the thought fills me at once with amusement and dread.... The first time the idea crept into my mind, I remember it was a regular Wednesday morning....
Barely two weeks after I had started working full-time (rudely thrust out of the coccoon of student-life for more than two decades). Half the working week had gone by in a blur and I can't say I was eagerly awaiting the rest; the aroma of Starbucks coffee wafted through the bullet train expressing on to Redwood city, the caffeine seemingly charging the drinkers with a nervous energy that I am convinced is what feeds into the bullet, a little different from the inertia that would cause them to lurch ahead at two feet above the ground as the train pulled up to its stop.
Two new members had joined our coach that day. That it was the very first coach is no small matter. One, a blunette (for lack of a better description of the plumes) who gives a curious start every morning just as she boards the train at Palo Alto, as if she cannot fathom what makes the conductress so chirpy! And the other an elderly gentleman, who seems quite content to ride the entire way standing (I suspect he was in the not-so-eneviable position of being faced with an empty seat and the blunette at the same time).
The landscape zipped past as the train pulled out, changing from college town to cozy suburban downtown becoming increasingly nondescript with every passing minute. Close to 7 minutes into the ride, the scenery, if one can call it that, takes an abrupt turn to relentless concrete as we zone in on Redwood city, only to be interrupted by enormous dumpsters or unused parking lots that serve the same function.
As the train slows to a halt at the Sequoia station, itis as if the commuters want to remind the conductress to preempt the announcement even before it is due with their mere presence, as if doing so would get them to their destination even sooner. And once there, the impatience of 8 people crammed into the vestibule waiting to disembark is comical in its antithesis to the unhurried mechanical motion of the doors opening. The simple pleasures of basking for a moment in the unfiltered rays of early morning sunlight, watching tens of pigeons fly out in waves at the commotion, marvelling at the misplaced semi-European cobbled-stone pathway with street-side cafes just opening their doors, sigh! seem entirely lost on the milling crowd.
The blunette and I take the same bus to work from the train station, oh yes, the commute is far from over. And I can't help but wonder if she might not hesitate to elbow her way through if the mass waiting to board at Sequoia did not part like the Red Sea did for Moses when she clumsily gets off- three bags in tow , and a jacket she flings over with scant regard for the unsuspecting coffee-holder unfailingly trapped behind her! In any event, we plow ahead through the throng, and from there on it's a race to the shuttle: the test of Darwinian principles every morning as 10 commuters from 2 arriving trains scamper to get a space to sit in the 16 seater already filled with smug riders from the previous trains! (There is one exception though, the roller boarder, who swagggers in, as if he couldn't care less if a double decker careened to a halt as he glided across from the platform to the shuttle in one smooth manouevre, startling squirrels and the limping ragpickers in his wake).
With the distinct advantage of youth speeding my gait, I usually make it effortlessly to the shuttle, although never failing to wonder why I am compelled to make the dash while tracking this parallel thought. Ah! the thought...I wonder if the blunettes of Sequoia spare the time for thought and such things. Not the kind that cracks the genome of a mustard seed or the one that luanches a hundred synchronous missiles, or the one that plots the dollar against every greek letter and third world currency, I am sure that mankind has been thinking furiously about these matters for so long now, that it would be heresy to suggest they didn't think. No, but the kind of thoughts that must cross the minds of wide-eyed wondrous eight-year olds.? Ack, in any case, that was an aside.
Back to the subject of the musing that makes the corners of my lips curl up and twitch uncontrollably every morning. It is almost preposterous, as if I was transported by some strange quirk of fate to observe this age, some time machine from the past (or the future? or are they the same?) What am I doing thinking such things, the very windows of the bullet seems to scream at me, when the world about seems to have dismissed such notions, nay, has not even entertained the possibilities as it goes about its business. The thought, I must hold on to it as my source of inspiration and delight...before I ramble on again...here it is...What would happen if invisible lead weights were somehow magically tied to everyone's feet, and I mean but everyone?