Despite progress, things remain the same.

My family moved back to our house in Andheri in October 1991. At that time, the building in which I live in was the last building on the road. There was a dead end and there was an open drain that you would have to cross. On the other side, there was a Gurudwara built on the middle of the road.
The nearest shop on that road belonged to a pan-bidi seller. The shop was called Mama Pan Bidi Shop. Along with pan and cigarettes, Mama would sell cold drinks, bread and eggs. His shop would be open by 6.30, so that his boys could help deliver the milk. He would make some good money through this trade.
Mama was always indecently dressed. He would wear the Indian-style sleeved vest and a pair of striped boxer shorts. I had never seen him wear anything else for the 17 years that I saw him run the shop. Sometimes I would wonder whether he has a lifetime supply of that particular clothing. What would he wear for a family outing? What did he wear at his wedding? What did he wear when his first kid was born? What would he wear if he scaled Mount Everest? Another question that kept arising was whether I would recognize him if he wore something else.
In 2007, redevelopment started on our road. This meant that several buildings in our area were demolished and families relocated to newer properties in the city. It also meant that the roads were being widened, which also meant that Mama Pan Bidi Shop was going to be razed down.
It was weird for a while, but then I forgot about him. The only time that I would remember was when my brother, who moved to the states in 1998, would ask me what he was up to. He stopped asking as well.
This morning, while walking towards the highway, I decided to take an old route I would take when I was in school. When I turned and began walking down that road, I saw an old man in a sleeved vest and striped boxers. I looked at him and said, "Mama! Aap Yahan Pe Abhi." He laughed and said, "Paanch saal ho gaya, baba."
Mama is one of those people who reminds me of those Doordarshan news readers. Whether you see them in 1983 or 2029, they will always look the same. In that period, a lot in our lives change.

The river will always flow

I’ve been called many things. I’m sure that most of them are true. One, however, that I don’t agree with is accusations that I’m someone who takes people for granted.

I’m not sure what happened there. People have apologized to me for taking me for granted. Not once. Not twice. But several times. So when this accusation comes to me, I am surprised. Hurt even.

A friend told me that I’m like a flowing river. I have the rocks, but I choose to break my pace at weaker stones. Maybe I’ve been doing that all my life. Maybe it’s necessary to find the rocks that will halt my flow. Maybe it’s time that I go by what I feel about myself and not what others feel about me. And the best thing is that the river will always flow.

Great entertainment, I must admit.

So my favourite form of entertainment isn't any television show or some bad Bollywood song.
It is watching a conversation between my tone-deaf grandmother and my equally tone-deaf aunt.
In their defence, they've lived in Madras all their life. If you are a citizen of Madras, one of the credentials you need is to be tone deaf.
My grandmother and aunt, bless their souls, want to be part of every conversation. Sometimes it can get irritating, but most times it's hilarious.
So today, at lunch, this is how the conversation goes.
Aunt to me: I hear Rajinikanth is in hospital
Me: Yes, it was a short thing. He's out I guess.
Aunt: He had a drinking problem
My sister (with a wtf look): He never drank
Aunt: He's in the films. Everyone there drinks. He stopped three months ago
My grandmother: Whose heart stopped beating three months ago?
Aunt: What?
Grandmother: Whose heart stopped beating three months ago.
Me (looking at my father sitting quietly in the background and watching the entertainment on his rocking chair, but still having a look of exasperation on his face): Hahaha
My mother gives me a dirty look, while my aunt starts laughing as well
Grandmother: Why are you laughing
My mother (clearly pissed off): Who lives when their heart stops beating for three months?
Grandmother: I don't know.
My mother: Then why did you ask that question?
Grandmother: I said what she said.
Aunt: I said drinking three months ago.
Grandmother: Who drank three months ago?
Aunt: Rajinikanth.

I wish my work ended really early, so that I could hear conversations like this everyday.

The air conditioning factor

I consider myself fairly lucky.
The summer's bad, but thankfully I'm one of the few laptop users at office.
This analogy would not make sense to most of you, but my colleagues know exactly what I'm talking about.
Our office is a bungalow in Bandra that has a ground and first floor.
The air conditioners are not functioning on the first floor.
Thankfully, our bosses said that laptop owners can work downstairs where the air conditioner is fully functional.
Right now, myself and this other colleague of mine, who also happens to be a friend, are the most hated poople on the floor.
But that's okay. We have the AC.
***
That experience of sitting on the first floor made me realise what a government job feels like after lunch.
Your head feels heavy. You're eyes are drooping. There is this cooler that has been installed, but it doesn't have any effect because nobody feels cool. Yet the sound of a fan whirring at that pace becomes part of the room. It no longer feels like an external factor.
You're staring at your screen. Your head and neck feeling extremely sticky. Your mouth is dry. You ache for t that bottle of ice cold water, but it's not there because there aren't that many bottles in office. You make do with room temperature water, but you want ice. Ice. Cold ice to be part of you. You ache for it. Suddenly you realise that there is no drinking water available in office. Your mouth goes drier. You think, is this the end of me? Will I die because my body is going to melt? Is this what they call a slow and painful death? You feel your sweat trickle from your sides down your face. It's some form of water. You want it. You know you do. You stretch your tongue out to try and get that sweat on your tongue. You know it's salty, but right now, you don't care. You stretch your tongue as far as you can, but that drop seems far away. You sigh in disgust and walk down the stairs. All of a sudden, you feel this cool air blow on you and you realise that you're not in hell. The AC still works in office.
Suddenly, everything seems all right. And you even find a bottle of cold water in the fridge.

I'm pissed therefore I starve

Anna Hazare has created a trend.
When you want to protest, you fast until death.
Suddenly, everyone is doing it.
Teachers fast until death for salaries.
Farmers fast until death for compensation.
Hell, even car dealers are going hungry.
There are questions that I raise now?
1) If I don't get a good salary hike, will my colleagues and I get something if we decide not to eat for an hour? Hunger fast for an hour? For us, that is a fast until death.
2) When these guys break their fast, will the fast breaking moment be sponsored by 7UP Nimbooz like it was for Anna Hazare or will someone decide to do something desi and sponsor it with Nariyal Paani?
3) What the fuck are these people fasting proving anyway. Just because Hazare succeeded (and now people are laughing at him more), does it mean that they will.
Answer these three questions and if they make sense, I'm sure you'll not bother with a hunger strike anymore

Selfish is good

Life's funny.
You think things are going your way, but things don't.
You overcome obstacles to find a clear path. Another obstacle comes right in front of you. It's like a first person shootout. You cross a room and another bunch of bastards are there to blow your head off. Unfortunately in real life, you have no cheat code.
Dealing with obstacles is a daily ritual for all of us. We live, learn and pass it on. Others may not heed our advice unless they face it first-hand, but it's better when we learn it on our own.
The day we accept ourselves for who we are is the day that we've attained salvation. We're selfish in achieving it. We hurt friends and family in achieving it, but they'd do the same in achiving it for themselves. We do what we have for us and at the end of the day, if you're told that you're selfish, you might as well take it as a compliment because you're thinking about what's good for you at the end of the day.

What an Idea

So I was in Pune yesterday and I came across the most interesting sight that I have ever seen.
I was sitting in a rickshaw where my driver was savouring a kulfi. His cell phone rings and he answers it by putting on a pair of earmuffs in 35 degrees Celsius, attaching the phone and talking.
I call it ingenius.
Pity that I didn't have a cell phone on me.
Inventing ideas is brilliant. Executing them is genius. You just need the right platform and the right team leaders to get you going. I have that at my current workplace. Thank god for that.
Ideas are many. Democritus, the ancient Greek thinking thought of the concept of atoms and space before they were even discovered. He said, "By convention, there is sweetness. By convention, there is bitterness, but in reality, there only exists atoms and space."
A few centuries later, two men: one a chemist and the other a physicist sat in their university cafetaria to discuss how life can be found in one cell. James Watson and Francis Crick won the Nobel Prize for Chemistry a few years later.
The rickshaw driver's earmuff idea was brilliant, even though I laughed about it when I saw it for the first time. I hear and see ideas around me everyday. I have ideas everyday. They keep me going. I know that they may never win me a Nobel, but they're an idea nonetheless
I say get ideas, keep thinking and move on. It's better than assuming, getting mind fucked and staying back.