Starry Waters

Bhutan

2009-01-03T20:45:00.000-08:00

I've just returned from a trip to Bhutan. It was a moving experience, one that will stay with me for the rest of my days. There's so many wonderful things I witnessed there. I'd like to blog about it, but I am not sure if my writing will do any justice to the memories. Perhaps I'll just let my pictures do the talking. I'll upload some when I've got the films scanned.

Long live the King.

Finding.

2008-11-16T04:04:00.000-08:00

Having high standards and no ability leads to suicidal tendencies.

(I wrote the CAT today)

I just realised...

2008-05-04T00:24:00.000-07:00

... I have no USP.

Damn.

I think...

2008-05-04T00:22:00.000-07:00

... I'm number dyslexic.

Inspiring

2008-05-04T00:19:00.000-07:00

I just watched Into The Wild... and felt moved. After a long time.

Hats off to Sean Penn.

Impermanence

2008-03-09T04:57:00.000-07:00

Impermanence, et cetera.

I’ve been thinking about the impermanence of things. Everything comes to an end. Friends go. Love (?) vanishes. Pets die, or run away. Gadgets just give up. Passion burns out – or burns you out. Some memories tend to stay longer than others; but they are impermanent as well. Thoughts, opinions evolve (I think that’s the sign of a normal brain). Probably the one thing that stays longer than most others is family – however you may choose to define that.

In the face of this fact, how should one remain interested in life? If everything goes anyway, what’s the point of living? They say smoking will kill you; but so will life. To quote from one of Iron Maiden’s songs, ‘As soon as you are born, you’re dying’. What is the one thing that keeps me going? What is the reason I’m still alive? From today’s perspective, I’ve got pretty much nothing to look forward to – I’ve got to go through the daily grind, the job, the weekend, and the job again. Nothing on the horizon, nothing that I’m working towards. Sometimes the only thing I look forward to, big picture wise is to see how the game plays out. I’d love to see what happens in the end, what life takes me through, and where I end up. I still have no idea of what I really want out of life – don’t mistake this for some kind of selfish idea – I mean what I want myself to do – what I want to pursue, what I want to achieve. I’m not even in a position to chart out what I want the big picture to look like – even describe in very vague terms what it is that I am aiming at. But then again, people say, that if you want to make God laugh, tell him or her your plans. On a more serious note, God and all other things apart, all I see now is a tunnel that I’m heading into. I can’t call this a blank slate, because that is more desirable than what I have now. A blank slate implies not having made mistakes; a fresh start. But, on the other hand, a blank state also implies not having had the opportunity to learn from experience.

What one wants to pursue in life must largely correlate with one’s talent, interest, and what brings the most joy. Also, there is the question of earning a living…

Things are so bad, that right now I have no idea where I want this post to go – I don’t remember what I wanted to say when I started writing this. Such is life. *Sigh*

An Old Friend

2008-03-09T04:54:00.000-07:00

Note: this post is incomplete; I have no idea where I was going with this… anyway, here it is.

An old friend.

It happened again. I should have written when I had to. Now the feeling is gone. The emotions that I was swimming in have now melted away like mist on a sunny day. And this is not the first time. I’m lost, I’m not even sure what I wanted to write about. The saddest thing about this, I think, is that I have not learnt anything from the past. But the fact that I am attempting to write at all is encouraging, and is a sign of improvement.

There have been many experiences that have shown me a different perspective, from which I have learnt something – maybe a new way to look at things, maybe challenged my assumptions – experiences that have moved me, experiences that have mesmerized me. A lot of these have come from meeting people and spending time with them, getting to know them better. Every time something like this happens, I want to write, to document my feelings, and as a record of all the lessons I have learnt. So that years down the line when I read this, it will remind me of one of the moments in my life that has contributed to making me who I am.

Even though when something big happens, you realize it – but you will not feel the same way about it a few days later. That’s why it is important to write about it when you are in the moment, and still caught up in the emotions that are around. No matter how profound the experience is, and how much you think it is going to change your life, you will forget the nuances of it in a few days. That’s the way it always is. You may remember the lesson that you learnt, but you will not remember why. You will not remember why you took away from that experience what you did. The life – changing feeling will engulf you for a day or two, and will linger on for a week, maybe. But a month later, when you are busy just living life, you will have forgotten most of it, retaining just the essence of it. Again, if you can do that, you will have learnt your lesson, but I think that is not enough. I think it is necessary for me to remember why I learnt what I did. And that is what I am attempting to do.

It’s been almost a week since the experience, and I’m not sure what I want to write about, or even why I thought it necessary to do this. Last Saturday, I had been out to meet an old friend – a friend from school, one with whom I had lost contact more than seven years ago. It was not only me, there were a few more of us who had gone out that night. The thought of meeting this friend had not crossed my mind for a long time, so this was quite a surprise. Of course, it’s always a pleasant surprise when an old friend drops by and you get a chance to meet. So we all went to the hotel where this friend was staying, and met her there. It is always a great feeling to meet someone after a long time – this is especially true of childhood friends, because that’s when we are out true selves, and we don’t think too much before choosing who we want to be friends with. All friendships that we develop during our childhood years are ones where our vision is not clouded by the dust of life’s lessons, much less by our egos and judgments. We can be friends with someone for almost no reason at all. It is only in adult life that we befriend someone only after a long process of testing and filtering – only people that match a certain list of criteria are qualified to be called a friend. Seldom will someone you have befriended in your adulthood be as close to you as anyone you have known from school – and also, it is almost impossible to find a friend from your childhood days who has as many things in common with you as anyone you have met in your adulthood.

Anyway, I did not want this story to be about friendship (frankly, I still don’t know what I wanted this to be about… we’ll know by the end of it, I guess). So we left the hotel to go out and have dinner, and it was pretty late; maybe about ten thirty. Since one of us knew a restaurant close by, we decided to walk, leaving our cars parked in the hotel. The approach road to the hotel was a bit deserted,

Cousin's Wedding

2008-03-08T11:53:00.000-08:00

I’ve just returned from a cousin’s wedding. It was a long trip; I was out of town for ten days.

During thins trip, I:

- Journeyed five thousand – odd kilometers,
- Visited three towns, two of which together produce eight million tons of steel a year,
- Watched three and a half Hindi movies in eleven hours straight,
- Met some long – lost cousins,
- Made acquaintance with uncles and aunts who had very interesting stories to tell,
- Took more than two hundred photos on film; and a few more on digital,
- Came within touching distance of a fully grown Royal Bengal Tiger,
- Traveled together with my immediate family (all four of us) after god knows how many years,
- Experienced how comfy life in a small town really is.

Above all, it was a moving experience, because I learnt a lot of lessons, and got to know my family better.

Part One: Ranchi

Thankfully, I did not have any problems with leave – my reporting manager at work is a nice guy, and did not bat an eyelid when I told him that I needed eight days’ leave. Our first destination was Ranchi, the capital city of the northern state of Jharkhand. It is about twenty four hundred km from Bangalore; thirty six hours by train. The train ride was very comfy, but also boring at the same time. I read one issue of The Economist cover to cover, it took me some eight hours. I couldn’t get myself to read any more, despite having taken along a copy of Sherlock Holmes. The last few hours of a long train journey seem to get longer and longer; until you get tired of waiting for the destination to arrive. Inevitably, I fall into a deep, peaceful sleep just before the destination arrives and have to reluctantly wake up… it happens every time. Without fail. Anyway, we reached Ranchi at about nine at night, and headed straight for the dinner + party.

Ranchi was where the wedding was held, it was the groom’s home town. Since we were from the bride’s family, all of us were guests in Ranchi and were put up at the Ranchi Gymkhana Club. It’s a pretty posh establishment, and I was pleasantly surprised at the quality of our lodgings. We were put up in two large cottages; the cottages had four rooms each.

The next day was the day (night, actually) of the wedding, with the wedding scheduled to be held at night. It’s a far cry from the way things are done back at home, where all weddings are in broad daylight. This wedding, on the other hand, was in the dead of the night. It was a new experience for all of us.

On the day of the wedding, we were free till the evening, except for the Haldi ceremony, which was to take place in the morning at the groom’s house. After the Haldi thingie, we went to this place called Tagore Hill; apparently the place where Rabindranath Tagore used to spend time thinking about the state of the world. It’s a fairly small hill; with some kind of a restored building on top; I didn’t pay much attention to what the building was; perhaps my almost-architect cousin did. I’ll have to ask her about that. You don’t really have to climb a hill; there is stairway that leads all the way to the top. One thing I did notice was that the stairway was very wide and was extremely easy to climb, because the relative height of each step was small. It was a well made stairway. The top of the hill commands a great view of the city. I got some good photos there. We returned to the Club early in the evening. Later, the wedding was a bit of a sleepy affair for all of us, it went on for most of the night. The newlyweds completed the ceremony and left the venue at two in the morning. All of us were sleepy, but awake enough to be amused by the apparently weird customs that were followed. For me, it was a night when I had to stay awake against my will (I haven’t done that for anything except some exams), taking random photos and just getting bored sometimes. During the wedding ceremony, there was nothing much for any of us to do, except sit around and watch.

The morning after the wedding was when everyone left for Bhilai; that’s the bride’s hometown, where the reception was to be held in a few days’ time. My parents and I decided to visit Bokaro for a couple of days, having come this far. Bokaro is the location of India’s largest steel plant, producing some 4 MT of steel a year. It is officially known as Bokaro steel city. It is also where one of my uncles stays, so we went there with him to visit his family. Bokaro is about a hundred and thirty kilometers from Ranchi. Since that uncle had come to Ranchi by car, we were able to go to Bokaro with him. The drive was good; I drove for about one third of the distance. The scenery was mostly dry, but the first few kilometers of the journey we took a short cut that took us through some villages and farmland. That part of the journey was very beautiful. We stopped and I took a couple of pictures. Its times like these I’m thankful for having a camera with me. Eventually we joined the highway (it’s just a strip of tar, really) and continued toward Bokaro. We reached some three and a half hours after we had started.

Part Two: Bokaro

I was visiting Bokaro after some eleven or twelve years; the last time I was there was in 1996 when the whole family had been to the Himalayas for a holiday. That was a great trip… maybe I’ll write about it sometime. I was very happy to be visiting Bokaro; the fact that I was here after such a long gap made it even more memorable. Of course, not that I remembered much from ’96. Bokaro is a township; the town exists because of the steel plant (and vice versa, in some ways). Townships are generally quite well planned, with lots of open spaces. The difference between a big city and a township is striking, in terms of how well planned they are, and how much open spaces there are. But most stark of all, is the almost complete lack of people on the streets. All streets are almost always empty; with only the main roads showing some semblance of traffic. You would have to try very hard to get lost in a township, because all roads are at right angles, all roads are logically arranged and all roads are marked. It’s the closest one can come to utopia in this country, in some ways. For someone from a crowded city, the sight of all the open spaces feels great. It feels like you have a lot of breathing space. It feels like being on another planet. The whole atmosphere of the town is different. Distances are almost nonexistent, there are no traffic jams, and you can go from anywhere to anywhere else within the town in under fifteen minutes. At any time of the day. Driving is always a pleasure. You also tend to know more people in a small town, getting things done is easier. It’s a different life.

We were scheduled to stay in Bokaro for a couple of days, and then join the rest of the family in Bhilai. While in Bokaro, I had absolutely nothing to do, nothing at all. I was not really in the mood to read anything. I could have watched TV, but it’s the same thing running over and over again. So my almost-architect cousin decided to rent some movie DVDs. After lunch on one of the days, we started watching a movie at home. After the first movie, we did not move from our places and went on to the second one. The second movie ended at about seven in the evening, by then everyone else was planning to go out and watch a movie at the theatre. Not wanting to be left behind, I decided to join them. So, by the end of the day, I had watched three movies in some ten hours. After dinner at home, I decided to watch the third DVD that we had rented. It turned out to be a dud (not that the other two were any good – only one of the three movies was worthwhile), so halfway through the movie I gave up and went to sleep. It was a mind numbing experience, one which left me dazed and confused. I awoke late the next morning.

The time that I spent in Bokaro was special. Being there did not remind me of anything, I experienced a feeling of complete detachment. It was the closest I had come to ‘getting away’ in a long time. It felt peaceful. And that for me is invaluable.

There is a painting done by one of my aunts at the home in Bokaro, it is of a vegetable seller – a woman, standing beside the vegetables that she has for sale. I found that painting captivating. I took a couple of photos of it. What is astonishing is the fact that the aunt who has painted it is a doctor by profession.

We were due to leave for Bhilai that evening, by train. We had to take a train to Tatanagar (three hours away), and then change trains to catch a train that would take us to Bhilai. I took a few photos at the Bokaro Railway station, and also a few at the Tatanagar Station, while we were waiting for the next train to arrive. The journey to Bhilai was uneventful, we reached at noon the next day.

Part Three: Bhilai

Bhilai is the other steel producing town that I mentioned earlier; it is also the hometown of the bride (my cousin). The sangeet was to be held on the same evening. This time we were staying at a hotel, since there were a lot of guests at home. After lunch and some random picture taking, we had some time to kill, which was when I got to meet and talk to a lot of people. There were uncles and aunts from every corner of the country, and some others who had traveled the world. A lot of them had amusing stories to tell, if you were willing to listen. This was when I spoke to this i-banker uncle of mine, and learnt that he is in a really, really high up place and is extremely well-connected. We started off talking about hedge funds, private equity and what not, and the conversation went to other things eventually. I found out that he is a chemical engineer turned i-banker. He has achieved a lot over the course of his career. What struck me was how well informed he was. About everything. He can have a meaningful conversation with anyone. About anything. Reading, absorbing and then recalling the right information at the right time is not an easy skill to master, but he seems to have done it. The conversation was full of facts and figures; no arbit judgment-passing. Every statement he makes will be backed with facts and be reasoned perfectly. The depth of his knowledge on a vast array of subjects is astonishing. I asked him where he gets all his information from. And more importantly, how he manages to filter the useful bits of information from the sea of useless noise. He agrees that information overload is a problem today, and that you have to get the information that you want from just one or two reliable sources. FT and WSJ are good, he said. But nothing beats The Economist. That made me smile. Another trait I noticed was his humility. He told me very matter-of-factly that he has shaken hands with Tony Blair. Speaking to him was enlightening, and I’m now his no.1 fan.

The sangeet in the evening was pretty good; the singers were very professional sounding. It was quite impressive. If you had your eyes closed, you could never tell that they were playing live, it sounded like a professionally – mastered recording. The quality was very good for the size of the ensemble.

All of us cousins (about seven or eight of us) were staying in one large cottage at the hotel, and that night after dinner we all got a chance to hang out and chat up. The chatting went on till 4 am; I awoke at nine. The next morning there was nothing much to do; except wait for the evening. That was when the reception was to be held. During the day, I took some more random photos and chatted with some more people, this time another uncle of mine, who has worked in the merchant navy for a long time, had some great stories to tell from around the world. Hearing all these great stories from all these people, I realized that experience is not only the best teacher; it is the best teacher to learn from.

Later that evening the reception was held at the Bhilai club; it was a large venue. There were about twelve to fifteen hundred guests. My uncle is a very well connected person in Bhilai; and the turnout for the reception was evidence of this. At the reception, I took some more photos. Taking photos at night is always a challenge, first you have to find enough light, and then make sure the light is coming from a good angle, and is not making your subject look bad. I chose to shoot black and white film because I was shooting under artificial light; and also because I like the look and the mood that it creates. B&W film allows you to concentrate on the subject; there’s no colour to distract you from the subject. Another challenge is the small depth of field that is available at large apertures. It is often impossible to keep two persons in the same photo in focus, because they will not be in the same plane... but then again, it can be most flattering if used properly. Most of you will not understand this stuff, it’s getting too geeky. All said and done, I had a great time shooting that night. Later, while having dinner, I got to spend some more time with the i-banker uncle. I also found out that one of my cousins eats dahi-vada without the dahi.

The next day most of the guests were going to leave, so the house emptied quickly. Even the newlyweds left just after lunch that afternoon. Later that day, we were free, we had nothing to do. That was when my brother came up with the idea of visiting the zoo. At first I thought I was too old for it, but then when my uncle told us that he would to arrange a guide and a special visit just for the two of us, I decided to go. Because this uncle is very well connected, I knew the trip would be worth it. And it didn’t disappoint. Our guide turned out to be the senior vet of the zoo. And we were allowed to use the car inside the zoo. We traveled from one cage to the next by car.

Anyway, the first animal that we wanted to see was the tiger. The Bhilai Zoo has some eleven Bengal tigers and about eight white tigers. We first went to the Bengal tiger. There were a couple of them in a cage. We were able to go right up to the cage, and were just a few feet from the animals. There was also another fully grown Bengal tiger in a separate, smaller cage – he was kept in isolation because he was recovering from a surgery. Tigers are much larger in person than what is apparent from photos or video. A fully grown Bengal tiger can extend to eight or nine feet in length. Their beauty and majesty is just amazing, inspiring. The tigers are also very nimble and move with the stealth that can only come naturally to a predator. But I just couldn’t come to terms with the size of the tigers – they were so huge, I’m incapable of doing any justice to their awesome presence here with my frugal vocabulary. It will suffice to say that I was left speechless. Although I took a few photos of the tigers from up close, no photograph, no matter how good, will really do justice to the commanding presence of a tiger. A tiger is more than just an animal, its presence brings with it tension and awe; being in the presence of a tiger is a moving experience. Just looking at a tiger from close you will feel the power of the animal. Taking a photo of a tiger is just pointless; it only captures the visual stimulus that is just one part of the experience. Even the sound that the tiger was making – it was certainly not a roar, just a grunting sort of a noise, produced by heavy breathing – was so loud and basey, it was scary even though the tiger was encaged. It was as if there was a large subwoofer placed in the cage. I’m not kidding. So that is when I decided that I am not going to take photos of tigers from now on, no matter how good the shot is going to be.

We continued on to see some other animals, but my mind was still on the tigers. It was really a great experience. A little later we finished the tour of the zoo, thanked the kind vet for his time, and returned home. We were scheduled to leave that night, so we packed and then had dinner. Our train was at midnight, and we were all tired. I was glad that I would get enough sleep during the journey back home.

We reached Bangalore some thirty hours later, and I was happy to be home again. But I was also in a hurry to get all the rolls of film developed. The same morning I went and dropped off the film at the lab. I got the colour photos back within a few hours, and the black and white ones came back a few days later. Looking at the photos, especially the black and white ones, it was immensely satisfying to see the results. I got quite a few good shots among the black and white ones, but the success rate among the colour ones was quite a bit lower. Anyway, I’m in love with black and white; I’m glad the photos turned out ok.

And finally, thank you all for reading this long, long post!

Connections

2008-03-08T11:48:00.000-08:00

I was reading about JRR Tolkein the other day (yes, while at work), and read that he was a close friend of CS Lewis. That brought back some more such connections that I had read about other people. I have read that Emma Thomson (the academy award winning British Actress) knew Hugh Laurie (Dr. House) while they were at studying at Cambridge University. Hugh Laurie knew Stephen Fry while they were at Cambridge, and have been working together since then – they have acted together in the sketch show A bit of Fry and Laurie. Even Rowan Atkinson and Hugh Laurie knew each other from many years ago, having worked together on Blackadder. Douglas Adams was friends with David Gilmour…

It’s quite amazing to think that all of these people knew each other from their early twenties, and have been doing what they like since then, and have all become extremely successful in their careers. It makes me wonder what it takes for something like this to happen. I also know a few very bright chaps from school. I can see them going on and having successful careers. But will it be the same for us? And on the same scale? What will decide that? I don’t know, but time will surely tell.

Beauty

2008-02-29T17:35:00.000-08:00

Beauty... continues to evade me.

One (Apparently) Wild Night

2007-12-16T01:54:00.000-08:00

Please note: this post is fiction.

It’s quite ironic that I should be writing about this experience, because I don’t remember anything about the most important thing about that night. Also, one more post about what happened one night may lead you (my dear readers – all three of you) to think that I’m mostly asleep during the day; or that nothing exciting happens during the day. Well, after that night, I was asleep for most of the following day, and no, some interesting things do happen during the day, they’re just not that interesting.

It started off as a perfectly innocuous evening out with some old friends – friends from school, to be precise. Friends from school are always special, because you’ve met all of them and befriended them when you still were very young, before you evolved into the person you are today. At that age, you need very few reasons to become best friends – someone can be a friend just because he or she sits next to you in class. As an adult, you tend to make fewer and fewer new friends as the years go by; I have no idea why – but I suspect the ego has something to do with it. At a young age, when our view of the world is not yet coloured by the dark tinge of experience and ego, we are who we really we are, and not afraid to be ourselves. As adults we tend to have different personalities when they are with different sets of friends. This is why I think my school friends know me from the inside, and everyone else knows me from the out. Of course, as it turns out, they ended up getting to know me better after that night, but for an entirely different reason. Anyway - we had planned to go to dinner, and then visit another friend at her hotel room, who was in town just for the night – more on that later. I picked up three of them on the way to the restaurant (I had taken dad’s car that night), and another friend was to meet us at the venue. The restaurant we picked claimed to serve Thai food; I say claimed because I have no idea if what they serve is really Thai food – I have never tasted actual Thai food before. Anyway, technicalities aside, we reached the restaurant and found that it had moved – to another location. This was at about nine fifteen at night, when we had reservations for eight thirty. Luckily the management had the good sense to put up a banner indicating the new address – it was not that far away, so we reached in a few minutes. The fifth friend was waiting for us at the restaurant – apparently she knew about the change of address. Wise.

Dinner was a pretty sober affair, by ‘school gang’ standards – we usually attract a lot of attention wherever we go, by the sheer amount of noise we make. The food was good, some people said it was bland, and it was – but that’s how I prefer it. It was not very different from the regular Chinese food – I don’t know if I should blame that on the restaurant, or on the cuisine – I suppose cuisine in all countries where people have the same kind of eyes will taste the same – except maybe Japan – I don’t know why, it’s just a guess. We thought we’d have some dessert – maybe ice cream – but then decided against it, we thought we’d have dessert along with the sixth friend in the hotel room.

Soon after, our entourage of two cars headed towards the hotel. We reached in about fifteen minutes. It must have been about eleven thirty then. We headed straight our friend’s room. She was here only for that night, and was due to leave the following afternoon. After hanging around in the room for a little while and doing what old friends do – talk about good old times - we went out for a walk around the hotel premises. First we headed for the pool on the rooftop, but it was closed and dark. Still, we could sit there for a few minutes before the guard kicked us out. Next, we went down for a walk on the lawn, but it was too cold, and we were bored quite fast. So we headed up to the room once again.

You may have noticed the absence of one element so far – alcohol. All the while we were at the hotel; the sixth friend was desperate for alcohol. No one else was as eager as her to get drunk that night. But this being a really expensive hotel, buying or ordering alcohol from the in-house pub was out of the question. No one was willing to part with half a month’s pay for a few pegs of alcohol. We were desperate, but not that desperate. The problem was, this being Bangalore, all booze shops close very early, and after midnight it is almost impossible to procure alcohol.

Now the focus shifted to how to get alcohol at this hour. A vexing question indeed, but you can always get booze if you know where to look. Although we had no idea even where to start, we decided to go out and search. Stupid idea, but all we started out anyway. All six of us squeezed into the car, with me driving. We had no idea where to go, some of us had some ideas, but they turned out to be duds. After driving around for a while, it became apparent that this was not going to be easy. Even in the seediest of areas, we found that all shops were closed, with not a soul on the streets. And so the phone calls started – everyone called all the drunkards they knew, to get ideas on where we could get some stuff at this ungodly hour. We got a few suggestions, and continued driving around and checked all the places out – no luck. All roads were deserted, no one in sight. After one last phone call, we were told that there is a high probability of getting lucky at a place near the centre of town. This place was right at the heart of the city, and we were quite far away. We decided that that would be the last stop, and head back empty-handed if we did not get lucky there.

We reached the spot in a few minutes, and found that even that road was deserted – except for a couple of cars parked halfway down. We were told that we had to park behind those cars and someone will come up to the car and take our order. I was pretty nervous; none of us had done stuff like this before. This was a lot scarier than it sounds now, the silence and the darkness adding to the effect. Someone approached the passenger side front window, and asked us to switch off the lights. I killed the lights, but left the engine running. Then I lowered the window. I was quite unsure of what to say, what to ask for. He might have been peddling anything. I asked him if we could get vodka, and he said yes. I thought a half bottle would suffice, but people from the back insisted on getting a full. So we asked him to get a full bottle for vodka, along with some soft drinks. There were actually two of them standing outside, one waited while the other one went through a doorway to get the stuff. He was back in a couple of minutes, and handed over the merchandise in a black polythene cover. We asked him how much, and he told us. I was not aware of how much a full bottle of vodka costs here in Bangalore, but after hearing the price, I was sure we were getting ripped off. I later found out that we overpaid by more than two hundred percent. Anyway, being the wise man that I am, I kept my mouth shut, and handed over the money. I said thanks, and was ready to drive off, when he said “Boss, cell number?” I was shocked. Why would he want my cell number, I thought. Then he said again – “Boss, do you want to take my cell number?” I breathed a sigh of relief. I said no, thanks, and drove off.

This whole exchange would have happened in about four or five minutes, but it felt a lot longer than that. It was a big relief to get away from that place, and we were on our way back to the hotel once again. We reached the hotel in few minutes. After parking the car in the parking lot, we were wondering how we would smuggle all those bottles into the room without anyone in the lobby noticing. All of us managed to conceal the bottles under loose – fitting clothing – a shawl, a jacket, a kurta, et cetera. Once in the room, we all breathed a lot easier, and finally started to enjoy some hard – earned alcohol.

I’m not that much of a drinker, and I prefer scotch to vodka. Anyway, we all started drinking and generally having a good time. Of the six of us, four were drinking; the other two decided not to. After a couple of drinks, I usually feel sleepy and just fall asleep. And that’s why I don’t drink very much. This time, it was a different story. Even though I was a little drowsy after a couple of drinks, the noise and commotion around me kept me awake. Also, someone kept re-filling my glass when I wasn’t looking. So I continued to drink even though my head wasn’t really on my shoulders and I couldn’t feel anything. My memory only serves me till the bottle was half – finished.

It must have been about nine am when I woke up. I tried hard to recollect what all happened the previous night. I could only remember seeing half the bottle on the table, and saying that I was feeling woozy. That’s it. After that, my memory is completely blank. When I came to my senses, I could see that the bottle was empty. I was also told that of the four who drank that night, two of them had had only about one peg each. Implying me and the other friend (whose hotel room this was) had finished the rest. I’m proud of the fact that I held it all in. (Look at what my life has come to – look at the things that give me pride now. Just despicable.) One of the first things I asked as soon as I awoke was - what happened to the bottle. After being told that we had finished it, I couldn’t quite believe it.

But more incredible was the apparent memory loss. I thought I would have fallen asleep after a couple of drinks. But everyone claimed otherwise. At this point, I was still not fully in my senses, and was still half-drunk, and was not sure of what to believe. I was still under the impression that everyone was playing some sort of a prank on me. Now, when everyone tells you that you were drunk and that you said and did things that were quite uncharacteristic of you, and to top it all off, you don’t remember a thing, it’s impossible for you to believe them. But upon being told some of the things that I did and said that night, it now seems plausible. I just made sure that I hadn’t done anything ungentlemanly, like try to kiss someone or something. Turns out I hadn’t. And that was a relief.

I was eager to know what I said and did that night, but they all refused to tell me. They told me that I had spoken about some things that I had never even mentioned to anyone before; there is stuff that I keep private, no matter what. But apparently all was undone now. Unfortunately, none of us had time that morning to elaborate. All of us had to get home for some reason or the other. In my case, dad needed the car because he had to go out. I was not alert enough to drive. Still, I insisted, and as I attempted to reverse the car out of the parking slot, it became abundantly clear to me that driving in this state was not worth the risk. So another friend was kind enough to drive me home. She dropped me close to home. I remember most of the things that happened from here on, and was beginning to feel better now. I remember the drive back home – I was in the back seat, navigating. After being dropped off close to my house – on the main road, I drove slowly back home, thankfully without any incident. I reached home at about ten am. Once home, I had breakfast, and went straight to bed. I awoke at three in the afternoon. I don’t think anyone suspected anything at home, because most of the junta was on the way out at that time. Only my mom was at home, but she didn’t seem to have noticed anything. And even if she did, she did not mention anything.

That afternoon, after I awoke, I showered and decided that I should go and meet another friend (from college), but I was unsure if it was safe enough to ride. I was still feeling a little strange, a little disoriented. My hand – eye coordination was not yet back to normal, and my brain was still slow. In this state, it takes you a little while to figure out why people are behaving the way they are. For instance, I was channel surfing in the afternoon, and on one channel I came across a couple, wearing outlandish clothes, behaving very strangely. Their movements seemed abnormal to me; there was something about their mannerisms that didn’t seem sane. And yet, I knew there is a perfectly good explanation for their behaviour. It took me a few seconds to realize that it was a song and dance sequence from a Tamil movie. Then it all fell into place. Thankfully I was able to comprehend what people were saying to me, otherwise there might have been trouble at home.

A little later that evening, I left to meet that friend; I took my bike this time. The ride was pretty normal, no incidents on the way. I was to meet him near the centre of the city, on one of the busiest streets in the area. While I was waiting for him there, I was surrounded by a sea of people, and once again had the chance to observe why people seemed to behave strangely (I was still not fully OK). As I was standing there, I was looking at people walking by, and I found it quite amusing to just look at them walking, doing some apparently strange things. I was mostly bewildered. That was when I realized that women really do look more attractive when I’m drunk. (Of course, I wasn’t really that drunk at the time, but still, the effect from the previous night was pretty strong). My friend arrived in a little while, and we hung out for a while.

On the way back home, it was dark, and I was a little nervous about being able to get back home safely. Thankfully, I reached home alright. I had dinner and went to bed, depressed about the fact that I had to go to work the next morning.

Epilogue

After all the drama, I still had no clue of what had happened that night. Everyone was claiming to have had loads of fun, to have laughed like they never had in a long, long time. And I had the feeling it was all at my cost. It was a pretty bad feeling. They all claimed that they now know me better than they ever did. They claimed to have seen my true colours. It was scary stuff. A couple of days later, all of us met one evening after work at one of the friends’ place. That evening I was told what had transpired that night. I had spilled the beans about some things closest to my heart, about things I hadn’t shared with anyone. And now they all knew. I was a bit embarrassed initially, but I only had myself to blame. Then, of course, I came to terms with it, and elaborated a little more, so they got the full story. And now, I suppose they really do know me better. I don’t know if that’s a good thing or a bad thing, but then again, if your friends don’t know you, who else should?

Damn!

2007-11-01T04:03:00.000-07:00

I think it's time I added a new section on my resume - one titled "Skills I used to have".

I used to be good at a lot of things, things that I can no longer competently accomplish.

I find that that list is growing - fast.

Sometimes I wish life came with a reset button. Or at least one that says 'undo'.

One night in Pune.

2007-09-23T00:14:00.000-07:00

This happened in Pune. I was visiting Pune for a couple of days (for a weekend, actually) – I was there for a cousin’s wedding – sometime in July this year (I don’t remember the dates now). It’s not any great thing that happened – it could have happened to anybody – but I am narrating it because this is writing practice for me, and also because it reminded me of a lesson I had learnt long ago. But let’s not worry about that for now. On with the story.

Characters you will meet:

Y: An old friend of mine, whom I have known from my school days – we were classmates in school, from class 2. Extremely hard working, hyperactive and almost always in an excited state. Mechanical Engineer (just like me) par excellence (not like me).

S: Also an old friend, also one whom I know from school for as long I have known Y. Also a mechie, also very hard working. Has got lofty ambitions - and that’s always a good thing. Knows what one wants from life.

Both Y and S are working for engine manufacturers in Pune. Both are die hard Bangaloreans. Both are jealous of me, because I am in Bangalore and they are not (well, just a little).

A Black Honda Dio – belonging to a cousin of mine - about two and a half years old, but looks and feels much older. The odometer says four and a half thousand kilometres, but that’s been broken from god knows when.

So I was finally in Pune for the wedding. I had been looking forward to this for a long time – not the wedding, but the being in Pune part. I had booked my tickets more than two months in advance, told my boss a month in advance. I had taken Friday and the next Monday off, so I had four days there. I reached Pune on Friday afternoon and the weather was overcast, it had been raining heavily for the past few days – the monsoons were in full swing. Thankfully, it was not raining when I reached. While on my way home from the airport I called some friends - to let them know that I had reached.

After having lunch at home, I wanted to go and meet Y, so I decided to take an auto. But since my cousin’s Dio was lying unused at home (cousin was out of town for a few days), my aunt suggested I should take that, it would be more convenient. So I took the keys and went downstairs, and was not surprised to see the dio covered in a film of dust. So then I dusted it, and after five minutes of kicking (the electric start was not working – the battery was dead) the dio finally started. The tyre pressures seemed to be ok, so I stopped at a petrol station on my way and filled a few litres. The rest of the trip was uneventful, I was able to meet Y and roam around the city for a little while. We parted in the evening, because I had a function to attend – it was one of those many pre-wedding ceremonies that go on. It was a day before the actual wedding (the wedding was on Saturday), and I had tried to persuade my grandmother to let me skip the thing, but she wouldn’t have any of it (yes - when in Pune, always do as my grandmother says). So I had to go for the thing. Before I left, Y and I made plans for later that night – dinner, et al. This time S would be joining us.

I then went home, changed into what my mother calls decent clothes, (so that I look presentable, I suppose) and then went for the function. I have no idea what it is called, why it is held, what is done, et cetera. I had to go, so I went. And yes, I forgot to add, that I was not feeling fully well that evening, I had a sore throat and a mild cold, and I could feel a fever coming on. I went nevertheless. Brave men make no excuses. The function lasted about two hours or so, including dinner. I had just a few morsels of food to keep my fever at bay. The entire two hours I spent there were boring, except for a few very pretty girls. But then again, that’s just eye candy.

Finally, the time came to leave. I had called Y and S and told them to meet me at the bridge behind Bal Gandharva (it’s a theatre for performing arts, and a pretty famous landmark in Pune), which was very close to the venue. Thankfully, the two of them arrived on time; I was a little late. They had come on S’s room mate’s grey Honda Activa. We chatted there for a while and then decided to go to a Chinese place on FC Road. I of course did not have anything, but both S and Y were hungry and had a sumptuous meal. Contrary to popular belief, when three mechies get together over a meal, we do not only talk about engines and horsepower. We talk about life, and everything that constitutes it. After finishing dinner at about eleven, we debated whether to go to our regular coffee place at Aurora Towers, or to go to S’s place and hang out for a while. We decided to go to S’s place because it was too early to go to the coffee shop.

S had always been a gracious host, Y and I had been regulars for dinner there over the last few months. We talked about our lives, where they were going (apparently nowhere for me and Y – the last time we checked, both of us were sailing in the same sinking boat), and what we needed to do to salvage what’s left of our futures. Of course, there was also the inevitable talk of our respective jobs, bosses and colleagues, who unwittingly formed such a large part of all our lives. It felt great to hang out with good old friends, brought back memories of my stay in Pune when I was working there (OK, that last sentence was a little dramatic, I had returned from Pune to Bangalore only eight weeks ago). This was what we used to do almost every weekend – hang out at either my place to S’s, talk about the old times, talk about Bangalore, our school, old friends, et cetera. It was getting late, we considered going to the coffee place, but then decided against it, because Y had to go to work the next morning. It was past midnight when we decided to leave.

I almost forgot to add here – by the time we left, both S and I were feeling pretty sleepy; all I wanted was to go home and crash. But not Y. He was hyper as ever, quite oblivious of the fact that it was almost midnight. He was fully awake. It was as if he had just got out of bed, ready to take on the world, raring to go. His energy is almost limitless. Hats off.

Y and I left from S’s place after saying goodbye and goodnight; the plan was for me to drop Y off to his place and then go home. Y was staying at the opposite end of town; the ride from there to his place would have taken us about three quarters of an hour. We had just covered a few kilometres when the Dio suffered a rear puncture. I had not expected a puncture, because the dio is supposed to have these self – sealing tyres that are resistant to punctures. They are supposed to seal the puncture as soon as it occurs, by means of a fluid that is present in between the tyre and the tube. But, as I said, this Dio was pretty badly maintained, and felt much older than it actually was. I was later told by my cousin (who owned the bike) that he had had to replace the original tyre with an ordinary one owing to non – availability of the original one. Too bad for me.

At this point, I was riding and was very sleepy. At first, I didn’t realise what was wrong, but a few seconds later when the bike started wobbling a bit, I realised it had to be a puncture. Suffering a puncture at the middle of the night, when there’s almost no one around, and really far away from home is not really the best of situations to be in. If I had found myself in this situation just a few years ago, I would have gone ballistic – maybe pulled my hair out. This would have driven me nuts. But not now. I am a wiser and a much calmer man now, and the trivialities of life are not worthy of my scorn. There are bigger things to worry about. But still, it was a pretty hopeless situation. If you have at any time owned or used a bike, you will know that punctures are the most irritating part; dealing with a dry tank is easier, all you have to do is find a petrol station. But when you have a punctured tyre, you have to find a mechanic and then get it repaired. I think I find dealing with a puncture more torturous because it involves relying on someone else to do the job, you cease to be independent. And of course, given my aversion to dealing with people, this should not come as a surprise.

There was a paanwala shop that was still open – we asked the shopkeeper if there were any mechanics close by who would be open at this hour. Of course, he said there weren’t any that were open, but there was a petrol station just down the road and that he might be able to help us out. So Y and I pushed the bike till the petrol station – this was about a kilometre away. It took us about ten minutes. The petrol station was about to close, all the staff were sleepy and grumpy. They told us there was a mechanic close by, but he would open only in the morning. We asked if we could re-pressurise the tyre so that we could at least get home. They refused to co operate, giving us some ridiculous reasons. I was beginning to get pissed now.

Since we had no hope of getting the puncture repaired then, we decided to park the bike somewhere close by and walk home, because pushing the bike another six or seven kilometres was out of the question. It would have damaged the tyre and we would have gone crazy. We looked for a safe place to park the bike, I was worried – I was hoping nothing would happen to it. We turned into one of the side lanes (it was a residential area) and parked in an empty site that served as a parking lot – there were a couple of bikes parked there already. It seemed like a safe enough place. I took one last look at the bike, turned around and started walking.

As we started walking, I was just thinking what would happen if the bike was not there when I came back the next morning. I certainly did not have the resources to buy my cousin another Dio… I didn’t let that thought percolate any further. We walked for a little while, looking for any kind of public transport that would save us the trouble of walking. There were no autos around, but we saw a lot of cabs plying the road. After a few futile attempts at flagging one down, one cab finally stopped – he was going in the same direction, and agreed to drop us near the bridge where we had started off from earlier that night. From there, we walked back to my place. Now, Y still had to get home - and his place was about ten or so kilometres further from my place.

One thing I forgot to mention earlier was that as soon as the Dio punctured, I called home – I spoke to my uncle, and asked him if his kinetic Honda was in good enough shape – with the intention of dropping Y home on that. So when we reached home, I got the keys to the KH and brought it out (from the parking space, on to the road) and then tried to start it. It started after a few attempts. This bike is very, very old – my uncle had bought when it was first introduced in India. It must be atleast fifteen years old. It’s remarkable how it has held itself together over all these years of abuse on Pune roads, amidst Pune traffic. We realised there was not enough fuel in the bike, so we headed to a petrol station close by – this was one of the few that was open all night. After fuelling the bike, we set off – slowly, but that was as fast as the KH was capable of taking us. On the way to Y’s place, I did not feel all that sleepy, because Y was still chatty and going on about something or the other. After I finally dropped Y off and headed home, I started feeling very sleepy. I dozed off for a few seconds once, but because the road was both wide and empty at the same time (both rare occurrences in Pune), I did not crash. The rest of the trip was uneventful; I finally reached home at around two a.m. I did not sleep very well that night; I was worried about the bike.

The next morning, I got dressed and was about to leave to get the bike repaired, when my uncle offered to come along. When we reached the parking lot, I was relieved to see that the Dio was just as I had left it there. I pushed it to the puncture shop which was now open. This was not a small puncture, it turned out, the tube had ripped and had to be replaced. So finally the Dio was repaired and I headed home.

This brings us to the end of the story.

Epilogue.

I was just thinking of this incident a few days later, and what it reminded me of. It reminded me that one should not take anything for granted. Doing that is just sowing the seeds of discontent. There’s a lot I’d like to say here, but I will do it through these words that I once read somewhere:

“In every life, no matter how full or empty one's purse; there is tragedy. It is the one promise life always fulfills. Thus, happiness is a gift - and the trick is not to expect it, but to delight in it when it comes, and to add to other people's store of it.

What happens if, too early, we lose a parent- that party on whom we rely for only everything? What did these people do when their families shrank? They cried their tears, but then they did the vital thing: They built a new family, person by person. They came to see that family need not be defined merely as those with whom they share blood; but as those for whom they would give their blood.”

Aerosmith Live in Bangalore, 2nd June, 2007 AD.

2007-06-07T08:23:00.000-07:00

I had not planned to go to this concert; it was a spur of the moment thing. I called up some friends on Friday morning – S p a c e Reddy, Ozzy and Prathap. All of them had some or the other reason for not being able to make it. So I thought I should call my friend Antony_Mallu_Kutty_Boob_Marley_Francis (also known as ‘abuse or be abused’ Anto) as well, and see if he was up for it. It was a slim chance, but I thought I should try anyway. So I called him, and surprisingly he said yes. I bought the tickets on Friday evening on the way back home from work. We decided to go for the 1800 Rupees one, rather than the 1200 one.

On Saturday evening I reached the venue (Palace Grounds, of course) at about five fifteen, which was fifteen minutes before the gates were scheduled to open. Anto showed up ten minutes later. There was a pretty big crowd outside the entrance, we decided not to join the queue, and sat on the grass nearby, waiting for the crowd to clear. Anto was bringing me up to speed on the scene in Bangalore, telling me about what’s been happening. It seems the two hottest activities here these days are killing mosquitoes with those ultracool high tension electrocution racquets, and going to Reliance Fresh to shop for groceries and getting ripped off in the process. I took his word for it. We also discussed other things like work, life and everything, and we both agreed that our lives were headed nowhere, and that we both went to work each day for the pocket money. And of course there was the cribbing from me, and the abusing from Anto’s side. It was just like old times.

The crowd had, in the mean while, cleared to some extent. We decided to go in. This involved getting frisked by some dude who had no better thing to do that evening. The security was pretty lax, the aforementioned dude asked me what’s in my pockets, I told him I had my cellphone and my wallet. He asked me how come I did not bring ‘anything’, with a wink. After that we had to walk through a metal detector. It was very crowded; there were a lot of people walking through the detector. If it beeped when any one person passed through, the third guy after him was caught.

So we were in. The first thing I noticed after entering was that there was no carpeting on the ground. There usually is carpeting at all big (international) concerts – it was there at the Maiden as well as the Roger Waters concerts. That was quite surprising and disappointing. Because the crowd can kick up a lot of dirt while jumping up and down. It is quite irritating. Surprisingly though, nothing of that sort happened – there was very little dust kicked up during the concert. Anto and I moved towards the stage. It was high as usual, must have been 10 feet or so in height. This stage had a runway extending into the crowd, which was good. Anto got really excited upon seeing the stage, because we were very close to it. It was not that crowded inside at this point of time, which was why we were able to get so close to the stage. We decided to move back, however, for better visibility. We took a spot towards the right of the runway (viewed from our side), and a little farther away. We must have been twenty or so meters away from the end of the runway. There was a camera and a couple of microphones mounted on the edge of the runway, the mics were pointing in the direction of the crowd. I suspect they were recording this show with the intention of making a live album or something. There was a large screen at the back of the stage, and this was not a projected one as usual, it was made of LEDs, which were very bright, and had pretty good clarity. The images were not that sharp, it did not have good enough resolution. But even so, it was great. This was a first for me – I had not seen this before. As usual there were two projected screens on either side of the stage.

It was still very bright, and there was a long time to go… so we waited. It gradually got more and more crowded, more and more people started taking places ahead of us, and we got pushed back a little. One very good thing here was that there was no opening act, only Aerosmith were to perform

We waited for a really long time, from about six to past eight. Their last-minute checks seemed to go on for ever. But finally, the lights dimmed, the screens came alive with images of the band from the past years, and then when all of a sudden the lights came back on, the band was on stage. Steve Tyler was instantly recognizable, with his hair and the mic stand with scarves tied to it… as usual. Joe Perry was with a fender Stratocaster, the opening song was taste of India. At first, the bass was not that impressive, only the mid and the high frequencies were loud. The second song was Falling in Love (Is too hard on your knees). It was when this song was in progress that the bass speakers (subwoofers) were turned on, and the effect was awesome. The guys are great performers given their age, they still have a lot of energy on stage.

The fact that we were close to the end of the runway meant that we could see Steve Tyler from up close – even Joe Perry, when he came down the runway for the guitar solos. It’s only when you see these guys from so close that you realize why they still have long hair – even after thirty plus years of rocking – it is to cover their wrinkles. Seriously, these guys are probably grandfathers by now… it shows when you look closely enough. Steve Tyler is a good showman, and Aerosmith has great stage presence (big surprise).

Joe Perry and Steve performed one acoustic number, where Joe used a black twelve string guitar. For this song, they sat on chairs placed at the end of the runway and the two of them were almost in the middle of the crowd. It was a great performance. Over the course of the concert, Joe used many different guitars; among them were the fender Stratocaster, the fender Telecaster and the Gibson Les Paul. He also used an Epiphone guitar and one with a transparent body – dunno which one that was. The guitar sounds were very easily distinguished from one another, with the telecaster sounding especially crisp and clean. The Gibson Les Paul had a fatter (thicker) tone, with unbelievable sustain. As a band, Aerosmith uses a lot of base guitar on their songs, with the base guitar work not always simple, it takes some doing. The base guitarist was good, it was a treat to hear the base guitar work.

Steven Tyler’s voice was as distinguished and beautiful as ever, but age is starting to catch up with him, it becomes apparent when he tries to hit the really high notes (like when he screams). And in a concert setting, the sound is not optimized for best voice performance, and so it was hard sometimes to hear his voice with full clarity. Even so, his voice was as striking as ever.

The lighting was pretty good, and the sound was also good. Nothing, however, still comes close to the sound and especially the lighting in the Roger Waters concert in Bombay. That’s not surprising though, because Floyd is famous for their concerts being an experience, more than just the sum of the parts. All individual aspects of the (Waters) concert (like the sound, the lighting, and the visuals that were projected on the screen on stage) were excellent by themselves, but all of them together made up one unforgettable experience.

The crowd was very posh, all the chicks were hotly dressed. All of them. Not one exception. The chicks were very hot. Really. Hotness was all around. Anto remarked that this was a pretty good crowd if you were desperate. (You’ll have to ask him exactly what that means.) I was just wondering why we don’t see such a crowd normally in Bangalore. But then later I realized that majority of them were from Bombay, come here just to see the concert.

And yes… I almost forgot… there were so many posers there … it was hilarious to hear what they were saying. Here are a few samples:

“kyon be, tum headbanging karte ho kya?”

“yeh Steven Taylor aadmi kaun hai?”

“they are not going to play ‘jenny has got the gun’ kya?” – This was when they overheard some others wondering why the band had not yet played ‘jamie’s got a gun’.

“we paid eighteen hundred bucks to stand here for five hours”

“yeh concerts hamesha raat ko hi kyon hote hain?”

“in logo ne ek hi jagah pe itne saare chootiyon ko khada kiya hai…” (referring to the crowd)

“yeh log acche kapde pehen nahin sakte kya?” (yeh log = the band members)

About half of the people were there just because it was cool, or because there was someone they knew who was going to go and they didn’t want remain uncool. They all had that familiar look-at-me-I’m-so-cool-I’m-at-an-aerosmith-concert look on their faces, not knowing anything about the band. But here there was also that look-at-my-girlfriend/boyfriend-she/he-is-so-hot-aren’t-you-surprised-how-she/he-landed-up-with-me look.

Anto dropped one of his pearls of wisdom here, he said that most of the women were insecure, and that they would rather show up here and be seen with an ugly dude, than be seen alone. So I think that would answer the age-old mystery “how did this dumb guy end up that hot chick?”

After the concert we waited outside for a while, waiting for the traffic jam to clear. We were just sitting outside the concert area, watching the babes walking by, not quite believing our eyes. Then we said our goodbyes and left. There was a little bit of traffic at the junction just outside the entrance, but after that the roads were clear. It was a great ride home. I enjoyed that almost as much as I enjoyed the concert itself.

Homeless in Nasik

2005-08-28T04:14:00.000-07:00

Homeless in Nasik

I’m living in Nasik. And I’m going to be homeless soon. The owner of my current apartment has communicated to me that he has sold this apartment and that he wants me to vacate, but he hasn’t told me how soon he wants me out. I want to find a new apartment and move in as soon as possible, because the diwali vacations are around the corner-less than two weeks away, and I intend to (or rather, have to) go to Pune. I have no idea how on earth I am going to manage to find an apartment that soon… there are a lot of things that I have to look at, like the electrical circuit earthing (or else my computer will be in grave danger), the availability of a broadband internet connection, the apartment has to be livable (clean, in a good neighbourhood,…), and well ventilated, etcetera. This would be a hopeless situation in almost anyone’s opinion, but for me it’s even more so.

I’ve just moved to this city, I followed my job here. I first came here about five weeks ago, following my transfer to the large engines division. We (four of us who did not have homes here) were initially given rooms in a truly crappy hotel, and we were allowed to stay in the hotel for one week. I started searching for an apartment on day two. I did not find anything to my liking, so I was forced to move in with a colleague of mine who had a spare room in his apartment and was kind enough to let me crash at his place for a few days. In the meanwhile, I was able to find this apartment (where I’m currently living) with the help of the uncle (a close family friend, actually) of mine who is here in Nasik. So the deal was struck, the agreement signed, the money exchanged hands, and I was told that I would be given the possession of the apartment on some particular date, which I don’t exactly recall now. As agreed upon, I packed my bags and brought them here only to find that this apartment was not painted yet, and was in pretty bad shape. So for one more night I was forced to sleep as a guest, this time at the aforementioned uncle’s place, which, very fortunately for me, happens to be very close to the apartment in question. I was (finally) able to move in the next evening, after work.

Those of you who have changed residences will know that moving is not as easy as writing an internal at UVCE (I didn’t want to use ‘a walk in the park’ or ‘a cakewalk’ here). Moving is quite a tedious, time and energy consuming process, even for me, with all my belongings in just two suitcases. I undertook a massive cleaning operation and stayed up till 2 am for the next two days, cleaning (the floors, window panes, doors, toilets...), getting things in order. I was coming home late everyday after work, because I had to buy things that I needed at home-like some cleaning paraphernalia, and some other necessities that you only realize you need after you move in…, etcetera. It took me almost two weeks to feel comfortable here, for this place to feel like home. Everyday I would realize something was missing-some household item-for example a toilet brush, a mosquito repellent, a clothes line, or some such. Everyday on my way home from work, I would have to get off on the way, buy the stuff, and then walk back home. It was (and still is) very tiring-I don’t have a vehicle here, so I have to walk a lot. And so I end up wasting a lot of energy and time.

And now, after just three weeks, it is time for me to move. Again. Obviously, this sucks. Totally. But there’s nothing I can do to change this. Yes, the owner and I had signed an agreement, but there was nothing in the agreement that forbade him from selling the house before the agreement expired. Each party had a right to call off the agreement, giving the other party a notice one month in advance.

Understandably (I hope), I’m quite angry, worried and screwed all at the same time. First there’s the apartment issue. Then there’s the job. MAN it sucks. Right now it’s not really a job as such, we’re still going from department to department, trying to understand how things are done, what each department is supposed to do, how it functions, the systems and processes that are followed there, etcetera. There’s no target or any specific thing that we are expected to do, other than some trivial task that the head of the respective department tells us to do. So it’s just aimless wandering right now. At least I am getting an idea of how the organization functions and what role each department has to play in the bigger picture. I am learning how systems and processes are critical to the smooth, efficient and effective functioning of the organization (Gawd that sounded like a bunch of crap). Another bright side is that we are allowed to walk around the plant as we please, so we get to see a lot of new and interesting things. For example, a twenty (yes, two zero) cylinder vee engine is being assembled for the navy. It is the first of two such engines that will power a corvette ship. Man, it’s awesomely awesome (that adjective works because I say it does). The crank case is about five and a half meters long, and six feet high (I know, inconsistent systems of units and all… we shall attribute this to the UVCE effect). This engine will produce about eight thousand horsepower, about four hundred hp per cylinder. It’s got two turbochargers, and they are sequential – only one will be active at low loads, the other will kick in at higher loads. The turbocharger rpm at full load is about 30k. These engines are constant speed engines, they are designed to run optimally at one particular speed only – it is usually either 750 or 1000 rpm. This one is a 1000 rpm engine, as all navy engines are. The cylinder bore diameter is 280 mm, and the stroke is 330 mm. The pistons weigh about 35 Kg each. The piston is made of two parts, the crown and the skirt – they are screwed together. The crown is made of steel, and the skirt is made of some alloy. There are five piston rings – four compression and the bottom one being the scraper ring. All the critical parts of this particular engine – he five Cs are imported – crank case, crankshaft, camshaft, connecting rod, cylinder heads, and even the fuel injection pumps and the injectors. 80% of the engine by value is imported. All other low value and less critical parts are procured from within the country. Things like flanges, inlet/exhaust manifolds, various covers, etc are bought as castings and machined in-house. All the machines (except one) that are in the plant are ultrasuperduperunbelievably old. The machine shop feels like our good old UVCE machine shop. They are still using machines from the ‘50s and ‘60s. The quality of output of any machine depends solely on the operator’s skill. And most machines have only one dedicated operator. So if the operator does not show up for work, the machine lies unused. But despite all this, the quality of output that the operators manage to coax from their machines is quite unbelievable. They are still managing to get 10 micron accuracy from those machines. Hats off to their skill. But on the other hand, if the workers go on a strike, the management will be well and truly screwed. Because they cannot replace these workers. They just cannot. The only exception is a new CNC milling machine, which is pretty good. The problem is they’re trying to learn how to use it.

Back to the engines: the injection pressure of the fuel is 320 bar. Each cylinder has its own separate individual cylinder head. And the valves are ultracool. They’re really sexy. They are about 45cm (one and a half feet) long, the valve stem is about one centimeter thick diameter and the diameter of the valve seat is about eight centimeters, I estimate. The valve springs use bajaj’s spring in spring technology, which is used in the rear suspension of the discover (just kidding). The crankshaft is simply sublime. It’s really huge, and you simply cannot believe your eyes when you first see it. Being able to manufacture it is one thing; to do the dynamic balancing is another. I wonder how it is done. The camshaft comes in four pieces, and has flanges at the joints where it’s screwed together with the other pieces. And remember – the vee engines have two cam shafts. It has three lobes per cylinder, two for the in and out valves and one for the fuel pump. And the cylinder heads have four valves each. The connecting rods are also imported, they are about the size of a tennis racquet – maybe a little bigger, only more massive (obviously) and bulky. Each piston costs about one lakh, and the crankshaft costs close to one crore. Each piston ring costs about 10 or 12 thousand, I think. These figures are approximate, I don’t know for sure…

Despite all the gigantic dimensions, the tolerances while doing the quality checks in assembly and in the machine shop are in microns. And I think that’s the most amazing thing. And the engine is only a small part of the whole setup, there are very elaborate and complex systems to cool the lube oil, cooling water, and lots of other stuff. There are hajaar wires and pipes to measure hajaar parameters, carry hajaar fluids to some hajaar places and all. All this said I don’t want you guys to get overly excited, because the technology used here (engine and otherwise) is primitive. It’s from the ‘70s (at least the engine design). So there’s a lot of better engines out there. The navy comes to us only because we’re the only desi company that assembles these engines. That’s all.

There are about 70 to 80 managers (including us 9 trainees) in this plant, with some 35 permanent workers and maybe 50 temporary workers. It’s a pretty small setup. I’m still very uncomfortable here and really hate to go to work every morning. I find the atmosphere here very depressing; it’s just like a government office. MAN there are so many files here… I think it’s ironic that of all of us, I’m the one who landed here in this government like office. The people’s work ethic is very bad. The person in charge of assembly knows less about assembly than the workers there. It’s pretty sad.

I am now starting to miss Bangalore and my home really bad. I miss the Bangalore darshini food, the bad roads, I miss my bike, I miss my freedom, I miss my lifestyle in Bangalore… I miss all the time that I had for myself, to do as I please. Heck, I even miss hanging out with all you guys in Mahadev’s room during the harita days. But then again, I could afford that lifestyle only because I didn’t have to go to college…. So is it that I am now missing UVCE? Yes. I am. If I would have had to make this statement four years ago, I would have had to be crazy. But time changes things and perspectives. Everyone wishes they could go back, I guess. These days I am all the more wondering if I made the right decision in coming here. This is a small town and I am really feeling the pinch… I am stuck here heading nowhere at exactly zero kilometers per hour, while all you guys are on the software fast track to money, fame and more. I feel like I’m out of touch with the world, with no time to read my economist magazine, no time to surf, no emails, and no friends. I am now closer than ever to quitting and going back home, especially because of this apartment business. It’s really bugging man… I really don’t know what is going to happen.

Nasik is not really a bad place or anything. There’s a lot of money here. The city’s poshest area is a place called mahatma nagar. All the houses there are really great, and none of them would be out of place even in indiranagar or koramangala in Bangalore. It’s the people’s mindsets here that are a bit backward. People are not forward thinking, they don’t have that open minds – they are very conservative.

I guess this marks the end of this long post hope you guys enjoyed reading.