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

For the geek in you!

The science behind the Diet Coke and Mentos Reaction

...because you know you love it!

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

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

Father I place into your hands...

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

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...

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...

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...

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?

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...

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.

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

At long last...

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

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!

"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

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

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!

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’

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...

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.