Of many cafes I have visited in my life, there are a few places I have got hooked to. This is one of those, and fortunately its not only me but both of us, me and Pinky got attached to. There is some aroma and cosiness about this place on Westheimer road on the intersection of Kirkwood that you would hardly miss once you frequent this place. There are a variety of people one would see if you take a trip. The visitors are mostly multi-national-cultural or rather MNC crowd. The largest crowd being people from somewhere in the middle east part of the globe. There is a bunch of them mostly in the 40s and 50s. Occasionally you will encounter a group of guys in their 30s. All speaking a very familiar language that you would associate with Arabic. Also you would see people from Asia, Philippines and the south Americas, although its hard to distinguish the countries in South America. This is our most visited hang out place. Opens sometimes in the morning and open until midnight, although the staff comes around 11.30 PM arranging chairs and folding the umbrellas and hinting us - its closing time, we will wind up in 15 minutes, as if there was some kind of an event. And yes, it is, if you think about it - A place where tired souls flock around after a tiring, exhausted day at work with the sweltering heat of Houston, somewhere to rest and ease out and relax, to gossip, to smoke and sip coffee. It definitely is an event - An event called REWIND LIFE.
Of the frequent visits that we make, I interact with people disguised as a person not interested in their personal lives but just a stranger who is sitting beside them. In the pauses between the talks with Pinky and between the words while she is speaking to me, I sneak out of our world into theirs. So grab a piece of their day to day lives. Imagine a little , make up a prelude to their conversation and narrate the same to Pinky. Most of the times there is no conclusion but there is always a story. A story although similar but way so different from others. The story of LIVES or PEOPLE.
I intend to bring those stories to you thorough my blogs. With fictitious names and a pinch of imaginary plots, lets stir the coffee of our LIVES.
Sunday, August 15, 2010
Peepli Dive on Independence Day
Last night we went to watch “Peepli live”. As Rajeev Masand says its a serious movie with a heart. There are few things to take away as you walk out of the theatre. One - it does not take stars to make an excellent movie. All you need is a sincere storyline and clarity of thoughts. Excellent work Miss Rizvi. Two - The sorry state of affairs in India, which always was there and is becoming worse by the day. Be it Commonwealth games mess or “Shashtri yojana” in the movie. politics as always was a source of exploiting the poor and channelizing tax-payer's money into funding the politicians multi billion business ventures, foreign trips and educations of their kids. Ever wondered, when my Dad’s salary as a bank officer is same, or may be more than the salary of the local MLA (oh yes, they do get salary !), his kids study in the costliest boarding school in Dehradun? whereas all we got was a basic bi-cycle and coudl not dare to ask for a fancy ATB (All terrain bike - Hero Ranger, if you could recollect). Three - How have we become beast-like, insensitive and hungry, competitive and blood sucking animals. I feel pity for the people in media and Budhia. The young journalists who have been portrayed nothing but real in the movie. What are you chasing fellows? and Four - The loneliness of today's individuals. Natha, the central character has hardly spoken a word in the movie. The plot where he gets comfort by hugging the lamb moved me a lot. the feeling of despair could not have been portrayed better. We all sometimes feel the same way when we take a pause and step back and think. Where are we heading? what do we want and the world around sometimes behave like the way characters in Peepli do.
In the end, Natha is shown working as a daily laborer in the city. Please note, there is just a glimpse of Natha and then many unknown faces , or may be known faces in the city working as laborers. Its a story of 8 million Indians and more who might not have gone though the same as Natha did, but have eventually landed where Natha did. That was well derived from the sincere effort of Anusha Rizvi.
I had missed the first fifteen minutes of the movie and when we reached the theatre I wanted to stay after the show so that I could watch the next show’s first part that I have missed. As the movie progresses, people’s emotion were controlled by the screen play. I heard laughter and people literally rolling off their seats with the awesome dialogues and one liners and the typical Indian slang. But somehow, right from the beginning of the story, I felt the scenes were laughable but it was NOT funny. It was not. There was a pain and agony that was running behind the scenes, behind the laughter, behind the Psyche of the common man. The director’s original thoughts and feelings dominated me throughout. As the theater bursts into laughter, I felt more pain and twitch in the heart. Being from a village myself, I have seen many Nathas in my lifetime. It was just re-rendering an old story.
At the end of the movie, i just wanted to leave the theatre and didn't even care to watch the first fifteen minutes any more. I just wanted to leave and so we did. As I was driving with a heavy heart, innumerable thoughts and my known Nathan's faces bombarding my mind, I get a call from India with a wish - “Wish you a happy Independence day”. It was 15th August in India. Over the last couple of years and especially today, I wonder WHAT do I have to celebrate on the Independence day? - Independence from WHOM? and yes, HOW can I celebrate?
In the end, Natha is shown working as a daily laborer in the city. Please note, there is just a glimpse of Natha and then many unknown faces , or may be known faces in the city working as laborers. Its a story of 8 million Indians and more who might not have gone though the same as Natha did, but have eventually landed where Natha did. That was well derived from the sincere effort of Anusha Rizvi.
I had missed the first fifteen minutes of the movie and when we reached the theatre I wanted to stay after the show so that I could watch the next show’s first part that I have missed. As the movie progresses, people’s emotion were controlled by the screen play. I heard laughter and people literally rolling off their seats with the awesome dialogues and one liners and the typical Indian slang. But somehow, right from the beginning of the story, I felt the scenes were laughable but it was NOT funny. It was not. There was a pain and agony that was running behind the scenes, behind the laughter, behind the Psyche of the common man. The director’s original thoughts and feelings dominated me throughout. As the theater bursts into laughter, I felt more pain and twitch in the heart. Being from a village myself, I have seen many Nathas in my lifetime. It was just re-rendering an old story.
At the end of the movie, i just wanted to leave the theatre and didn't even care to watch the first fifteen minutes any more. I just wanted to leave and so we did. As I was driving with a heavy heart, innumerable thoughts and my known Nathan's faces bombarding my mind, I get a call from India with a wish - “Wish you a happy Independence day”. It was 15th August in India. Over the last couple of years and especially today, I wonder WHAT do I have to celebrate on the Independence day? - Independence from WHOM? and yes, HOW can I celebrate?
Saturday, March 27, 2010
Up comes Late
It’s been more than a year and a half I have been parking my car at the PG8 of the HP's Houston office, formerly the headquarters of Compaq. It takes a 5 minutes walk from my desk through the elevator to the PG8 exit. As you exit the revolving gate, you encounter a few familiar faces waiting for one of the three elevators at the garage to stop with a screeching tone similar to the windows error message tone. Some people have very little patience or may be because of a feeling of guilt and satisfaction of taking the stairs instead of the elevator. Satisfaction of self-explaining theory that "Well I don’t need to go the gym because I take the stairs every day". Strange it may sound, but true. Guilt of not able to motivate one self to drag one's body to the gym or the nearby park for a jog.
Anyways, for all these months, I have chosen the Elevator-home-motivate-go-to-gym way. But until recently we had not observed a flaw that even when you press the UP button first and then the DOWN button for the elevator, the elevator to go down comes first. One day, I was thinking out loud - why this happens? And then Raghu, my friend said - "If you want to down in life, there are faster ways to get there". Down elevator takes you the underground parking spot which is dark and wet and no radio or phone signals. Up takes you to an open parking place with natural light and fresh air. The top most is the open sky parking at level seven. This made me think that the unusual behavior of the elevator(I believe in Science and believe that any equipment built and maintained by the specializing companies, OTIS for instance always innovate to make equipments function better) was not merely a electronic flaw, it was a way of demonstrating human tendency of going down. The lift for going up always comes late. An indication of persistence, faith, determination, patience - whatever you want to call it - Things that take you UP in your life towards your goals comes late. Even when you always have more possibility of going down and going down fast, you always have two buttons in your life to press. Just wait a little longer if you want to reach the bright SKY parking level at seven. Way to the shallow parking place at the underground Lower level two is easy. Hold on, it's on the way.
Anyways, for all these months, I have chosen the Elevator-home-motivate-go-to-gym way. But until recently we had not observed a flaw that even when you press the UP button first and then the DOWN button for the elevator, the elevator to go down comes first. One day, I was thinking out loud - why this happens? And then Raghu, my friend said - "If you want to down in life, there are faster ways to get there". Down elevator takes you the underground parking spot which is dark and wet and no radio or phone signals. Up takes you to an open parking place with natural light and fresh air. The top most is the open sky parking at level seven. This made me think that the unusual behavior of the elevator(I believe in Science and believe that any equipment built and maintained by the specializing companies, OTIS for instance always innovate to make equipments function better) was not merely a electronic flaw, it was a way of demonstrating human tendency of going down. The lift for going up always comes late. An indication of persistence, faith, determination, patience - whatever you want to call it - Things that take you UP in your life towards your goals comes late. Even when you always have more possibility of going down and going down fast, you always have two buttons in your life to press. Just wait a little longer if you want to reach the bright SKY parking level at seven. Way to the shallow parking place at the underground Lower level two is easy. Hold on, it's on the way.
Tuesday, March 10, 2009
A Fresh Breed of Proud Losers
You must be guessing who is Shaan targeting in the lines to follow. No suspense. Its you and me. Yes we are – A breed of proud losers planning to win greater battles of life in near future!
Once a man from a remote Indian village who excelled in his field of interest as a geologist didn’t join the top organization because he had to relocate to some big city like Mumbai or Delhi to pursue his interest. He joined a bank as a clerk and stayed close to his family, raised his kids armed with values, education, sensibility and global outlook. He did the best he could, sacrificed the passion for rocks, dropped the interest in cinema, probably never heard music as passionately as he used to, lost interest in traveling, blacked out the passion to click photos and worst of all stopped dreaming.
Compromises, if I term that appropriately, is what has my father has done to build and keep a large family united. Quarter of a century later, me and you and most of us are continuing the saga. I would not start on the list of ‘Things-I-could-have-done’ because the blog will never end. I became what most of us were supposed to become. When my father was not able to pursue his interest or passion, he definitely would have pledged that my kids would do better, they would do what I failed to do, what I wished to. Hey…..did I hear you take the same pledged again? Have you ever realized what you wished? Technically they would pursue your dreams and not his/her own. Better you confess now or never blame your predecessors. But let me tell you something straight, we are a better breed of blamers than being just losers. We always have someone or some circumstance to blame for our failures and our non-commitment to pursue our passion. ‘Because’ is the favorite word in the loser’s dictionary. And when you wish something for your next generation, your wish might not come true, the reason being when they look up to you, you wont have a better explanation why you didn’t chase your dreams. Better be prepared with a satisfactory answer. Must be questioning, why I haven’t mentioned my mom, the epitome of a sacrificing middle class woman. The reason being I never figured out what she ever wished and dreamt in her whole life.
One of my dearest friends, once while we analyzed this breed of human species, we figured that we are lost and confused. Having a deep sense of music and passion for art, he now keeps asking himself- ‘What actually am I passionate about’. For years, our attitude to compromise and sacrifice and loosing and failing and blaming someone else have made us all incompetent. One common explanation, we all have is – ‘I did this for the happiness of others’. My dear, as we moved on to the twenty first century, that other person has no time and space in his/her life to be happy for you, because he/she is busy sacrificing and compromising to make someone else happy. It’s a vicious circle.
As we build ourselves today, so will the next generation. Nobody else has nor can create the passion in you. All you could do best today is wake up and start running, go get your dreams, be happy. Live your own life to the fullest. Your sacrifice for someone else will go unnoticed and a quarter century from now, you would not be happy to see what kind of breed you created.
Let them be winners.
Once a man from a remote Indian village who excelled in his field of interest as a geologist didn’t join the top organization because he had to relocate to some big city like Mumbai or Delhi to pursue his interest. He joined a bank as a clerk and stayed close to his family, raised his kids armed with values, education, sensibility and global outlook. He did the best he could, sacrificed the passion for rocks, dropped the interest in cinema, probably never heard music as passionately as he used to, lost interest in traveling, blacked out the passion to click photos and worst of all stopped dreaming.
Compromises, if I term that appropriately, is what has my father has done to build and keep a large family united. Quarter of a century later, me and you and most of us are continuing the saga. I would not start on the list of ‘Things-I-could-have-done’ because the blog will never end. I became what most of us were supposed to become. When my father was not able to pursue his interest or passion, he definitely would have pledged that my kids would do better, they would do what I failed to do, what I wished to. Hey…..did I hear you take the same pledged again? Have you ever realized what you wished? Technically they would pursue your dreams and not his/her own. Better you confess now or never blame your predecessors. But let me tell you something straight, we are a better breed of blamers than being just losers. We always have someone or some circumstance to blame for our failures and our non-commitment to pursue our passion. ‘Because’ is the favorite word in the loser’s dictionary. And when you wish something for your next generation, your wish might not come true, the reason being when they look up to you, you wont have a better explanation why you didn’t chase your dreams. Better be prepared with a satisfactory answer. Must be questioning, why I haven’t mentioned my mom, the epitome of a sacrificing middle class woman. The reason being I never figured out what she ever wished and dreamt in her whole life.
One of my dearest friends, once while we analyzed this breed of human species, we figured that we are lost and confused. Having a deep sense of music and passion for art, he now keeps asking himself- ‘What actually am I passionate about’. For years, our attitude to compromise and sacrifice and loosing and failing and blaming someone else have made us all incompetent. One common explanation, we all have is – ‘I did this for the happiness of others’. My dear, as we moved on to the twenty first century, that other person has no time and space in his/her life to be happy for you, because he/she is busy sacrificing and compromising to make someone else happy. It’s a vicious circle.
As we build ourselves today, so will the next generation. Nobody else has nor can create the passion in you. All you could do best today is wake up and start running, go get your dreams, be happy. Live your own life to the fullest. Your sacrifice for someone else will go unnoticed and a quarter century from now, you would not be happy to see what kind of breed you created.
Let them be winners.
Saturday, January 10, 2009
Rehydration Of The Soul
I am neither a Poet, nor a Lyricist. Had I been one, I would have for sure been a millionaire and had I been a millionaire, I would not be composing, I would not be writing ! Perhaps they call this the Method of Contradiction, one we used extensively to prove impossible theories in school, specially in Mathematics. So the established theory is - I am not a Poet.
But for sure I was drunk one fine evening watching Palladia channel, with Chivas in my head and pen in my hand, this is what got jotted on the yellow office notepad. Here it goes.........
But for sure I was drunk one fine evening watching Palladia channel, with Chivas in my head and pen in my hand, this is what got jotted on the yellow office notepad. Here it goes.........
Rehydration of the Soul
One Saturday night
When I was on stage
You must have thought I was drunk
It wasn’t the Spirit I drunk
The Spirit was drunk.
Time came for the dead to rise
The dumb were singing
It wasn’t a surprise
I thought I was reaching for the goal
Suddenly I realized
It was time for the Rehydration of the Soul
You can live with the mortal thought
And live your life to Crawl
Or crawl as you live
And make it beautiful for all
Its time you realize
Its time you need, Rehydration of the Soul
You don’t wanna die
When you know you stood tall
With all you had in life
Was for you all
When you are high, you know
Still it’s time for Rehydration of your Soul.
Thursday, December 4, 2008
Someone's Watching
I have been waiting for a while to start jotting this because it’s not merely a thought but a compilation of events or so called assumptions to establish my belief. Every religion teaches us to believe in some powers beyond our understanding and definition. In English we call that GOD. How often have you realized that there is someone or some power around you?
I have my own interpretation. Way back home, all these years, we used to get a delicious lunch every Sunday but I always wished and still long for, is the same menu the next Monday. I always wished for a something on Monday lunch and here comes your wish granted. My mom used to keep a portion for the next day. Such wishes are very personal and never said. One should watch the secret smile on the faces of little kids on such occasions. Most of the time we ignore it, but they really mean something. Who granted this wish of mine? Just for the facts, my mom is a religious person and its strict vegetarian food every Mondays and Thursdays! Getting the unexpected leftover non-veg food on a Monday was a wish that one would never wish.
As I grew up, such little wishes came as surprises and accidents until I tried to relate them and today establishing this theory. There is someone around me all the time listening to me and granting me my surprises. Well this cannot be a theory until it’s supported with events or instances. And it certainly cannot be my theory because we have a thousand novels and a hundred movies made out of this.
Moving on, as we grew up, certain decisions of life which were absurd and illogical and weird at certain point of time and proven to be wrong many a times by the knowledgeable and experienced people on our lives, turn out to be a pleasant surprise as we look back. Have you ever realized this: You just escaped a scorching Texas sun in the month of June and you wanted a butter pecan ice-cream? You know that you haven’t had any ice cream in the freezer, and don’t remember to have bought recently. You come home and with a smile just for the sake of it, open the freezer. You see the Blue Bell ice cream. Someone better is watching that secret smile. I look around over my shoulder and I can see him. I then relish the scoop as I watch National Geographic channel . He relishes my smile, trust me!
Next instance that has happened with me a couple of times, when someone asks me for driving directions and I jump on to the wheels with a fake idea of where we are heading towards and fair amount of assumptions, as I drive on with someone continuously judging my move, I see the destination to me right. May be the restaurant was never there and, earlier was located just three blocks away, or maybe I was there to witness both, or maybe he just made it for me.
Couple more instances like just finding the car keys, when I am in a hurry and am sure I had lost them the previous night, when I was all drunk and hardly able to locate where my bed is. You just see them being placed on the table beside the bed. I would have never kept them under normal circumstances, leave aside when I am four repeats down.
These are not rare events and occur every day with every human being walking the earth. I am just jotting down a few of them. Many a times you think of someone and want to talk to that person and you get a call or a mail. Theorists have already defined that as telepathy, but I still don’t believe that they believe in it!
You could very well debate with me on this with broadly two major theories. One being, that Santanu, you are trying to create a script out of non related events just for the blog or Secondly, Santanu you are too careless to have ever noticed that Rohit had bought two flavors long back and was hidden behind the ice cubes bag. I would love to both of your theories!
But what prompted me to finally get together all this was an incident on our Colorado trip last week. We started our third day of drive to Royal Gorge from Ouray and having taken all precaution and suggestions from the localities, we did not carry a snow chain for the Ford Explorer. After driving for a about an hour, I noticed a small sedan stuck n the bridge with its back comfortable resting in the sides. A family of four was struggling to get the car even straight on the road. And then as I put my foot on the gas, car was skidding back. I had given up all hopes. The snow clearing truck whizzed past, so did many on looking cars. For our company, we got a few more cars behind us. Then appeared this girl, sporty looking in her twenties, parked her car across the bridge, pulled out a sand bag and helped one after the other car get off the bridge. Our car wouldn’t move after quite an effort and on a bridge where one could barely manage to just stand steady, she skated her way from one car to the other. I really wanted to ask her name and thank her but couldn’t. All she asked was ‘where are you from and where are you headed?’ As I pulled my car off the bridge, there was no one to watch that smile. I looked over my shoulder as my friends walked up to us. I knew what her name was and where was she from. Trust me!
Monday, July 28, 2008
Making Friends the High-Way
Having recently added a few thousand miles to my odometer, I discovered an amazing behavior on the highway. I started my journey from Dallas to Chicago, I had set my goal to be at St. Louis by evening, merely 600 miles and 10 hours of drive to spend the night at a friend’s place. as I distanced myself from Dallas, my second home after India, my longing for friends grew stronger and as I was all set to take a U-turn after a hundred miles or so, there came a friend, the friend on the highway. So how did I get a friend the high-way?
For the last few months I have been driving alone for hours and like me many a people I find on the move. All the while I look for someone to talk to, share with, laugh at, compete with and fight with. And there he comes driving a Buick, an eighty’s Merc, an worn-out Tacoma looking for a friend to compete on the deserted highway, stretched for miles and that becomes our playground till the exit separates us. I step on the gas and there screams my lovely Elantra hinting her limits. The Tacoma gives the way to the lady and then as I shift to the right lane and invite the babe to chase, she responds. The Tacoma whizzes past again to slow down for me. All we do is entertain our monotonous journey of life, color our moments and give a damn to the melting tar.
We are not alone, sometimes Kishore, Shaan, Rafi and sometimes Brad Paisley accompany us and I am sure they too have fun. This high nicotine and benzene game has become a part of my life. As we drive for hours chasing each others life we become friends, the high-way. I alias her with the name of the car and I believe she would be doing the same for me. So as I enjoy the company of the lady in the tough Tacoma, She must be longing for the guy in the gorgeous Elantra. We talk through the engine rolling and tires screeching, exchange smiles and appreciate each other in the race and thank for being a good sport. Sometimes I wish this race never ends.
Then comes the time to separate. Like a real life love, this too takes its own time to hint that the two souls would distance, the time has come. Time slows down, the speedometer at seventy miles per hour shifts to the fifties as the right indicator starts blinking, you know its time. I look at her for the one last time as the distance between us widens with the fork at the exit 44B. Time freezes, frames move in a slow motion with the ‘Whiskey Lullaby’ filling in the background. Heart aches once again as I loose another friend Tacoma, someone I knew for the last eighty miles. I know, we never gonna meet but friends made the High-Way go the high-way. Yet another little life and sweet moments lived on the highway.
For the last few months I have been driving alone for hours and like me many a people I find on the move. All the while I look for someone to talk to, share with, laugh at, compete with and fight with. And there he comes driving a Buick, an eighty’s Merc, an worn-out Tacoma looking for a friend to compete on the deserted highway, stretched for miles and that becomes our playground till the exit separates us. I step on the gas and there screams my lovely Elantra hinting her limits. The Tacoma gives the way to the lady and then as I shift to the right lane and invite the babe to chase, she responds. The Tacoma whizzes past again to slow down for me. All we do is entertain our monotonous journey of life, color our moments and give a damn to the melting tar.
We are not alone, sometimes Kishore, Shaan, Rafi and sometimes Brad Paisley accompany us and I am sure they too have fun. This high nicotine and benzene game has become a part of my life. As we drive for hours chasing each others life we become friends, the high-way. I alias her with the name of the car and I believe she would be doing the same for me. So as I enjoy the company of the lady in the tough Tacoma, She must be longing for the guy in the gorgeous Elantra. We talk through the engine rolling and tires screeching, exchange smiles and appreciate each other in the race and thank for being a good sport. Sometimes I wish this race never ends.
Then comes the time to separate. Like a real life love, this too takes its own time to hint that the two souls would distance, the time has come. Time slows down, the speedometer at seventy miles per hour shifts to the fifties as the right indicator starts blinking, you know its time. I look at her for the one last time as the distance between us widens with the fork at the exit 44B. Time freezes, frames move in a slow motion with the ‘Whiskey Lullaby’ filling in the background. Heart aches once again as I loose another friend Tacoma, someone I knew for the last eighty miles. I know, we never gonna meet but friends made the High-Way go the high-way. Yet another little life and sweet moments lived on the highway.
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