Saturday, March 31, 2007
So Long, Farewell
Isn't it funny how an entire lifetime can be summed up in 7 cardboard boxes and a cup full of loose change?
Tuesday, February 27, 2007
Night Riders Inc.
The distance between Vastrapur and Gandhinagar is roughly 30 odd kilometers. The roundtrip took us about 1.5 hours and 74 km on an open highway. Before you do the mental math, let me clarify that its true what they say - The average man will sooner have a body part waxed than ask for directions!
My personal sense of direction has always been a little, shall we say, off. K. is, if possible, much worse :)
We left campus at 2 am and immediately proceeded for 10 km in the wrong direction. To give us some credit, we went in exactly the opposite direction. No mean feat that!
There's something about the wind in your hair on a cool morning, an open road, and no destination or timetable in mind. For as far as we could see, the road was ours.
As Sally says, in Cars
And we ended with piping hot parathas at a roadside dhaba..
My personal sense of direction has always been a little, shall we say, off. K. is, if possible, much worse :)
We left campus at 2 am and immediately proceeded for 10 km in the wrong direction. To give us some credit, we went in exactly the opposite direction. No mean feat that!
There's something about the wind in your hair on a cool morning, an open road, and no destination or timetable in mind. For as far as we could see, the road was ours.
As Sally says, in Cars
Well, the road didn't cut through the land like that interstate. It moved with the land, it rose, it fell, it curved. Cars didn't drive on it to make great time. They drove on it to have a great time.
And we ended with piping hot parathas at a roadside dhaba..
A pic of me at a sign saying Gujarat Tourism welcomes you
Thursday, February 22, 2007
My Morning Run
I used to sleep at 4 am. Then it became 5. Nowadays, I usually sleep by 6.30 - 7 in the morning. Sometimes not even then. To say my cycle has turned upside down and inside out is an understatement.
For the past week or so, I've been going at 6 am to get chai from the roadside shop opposite the campus gate. Its usually an motley crew of people who're awake. We've usually spent half the night chatting, talking, or just hanging out and watching the stars at LKP. And then at 6, we get on DBab, message everyone who's online, and head for chai. Steaming hot cuttings of sweet chai, with half the junta heading to the tiny cart around the corner for cigarettes. The most amazing and mundane conversations I've had here, I've usually had over morning chai.
I have two classes left. One paper and two exams due before I'm done.
Unless I decide to go back to school at some point of time, this could be the last time I 'study'.
I feel the pressure to say something poignant, something significant about this experience. But it won't come now.. the memories, the nostalgia..
Later maybe, a few months from now when I realize with a pang that I miss the complete freedom of an academic environment. No fixed schedule. No real responsibilities. And no real pressure.
Maybe when I'm working, I'll look back and think about this time, when I had nothing to do except plan holidays and read books.
Right now, I'm just having too much fun.
For the past week or so, I've been going at 6 am to get chai from the roadside shop opposite the campus gate. Its usually an motley crew of people who're awake. We've usually spent half the night chatting, talking, or just hanging out and watching the stars at LKP. And then at 6, we get on DBab, message everyone who's online, and head for chai. Steaming hot cuttings of sweet chai, with half the junta heading to the tiny cart around the corner for cigarettes. The most amazing and mundane conversations I've had here, I've usually had over morning chai.
I have two classes left. One paper and two exams due before I'm done.
Unless I decide to go back to school at some point of time, this could be the last time I 'study'.
I feel the pressure to say something poignant, something significant about this experience. But it won't come now.. the memories, the nostalgia..
Later maybe, a few months from now when I realize with a pang that I miss the complete freedom of an academic environment. No fixed schedule. No real responsibilities. And no real pressure.
Maybe when I'm working, I'll look back and think about this time, when I had nothing to do except plan holidays and read books.
Right now, I'm just having too much fun.
Thursday, January 18, 2007
Go Goa!
Before we left, we tried to understand the term susegad. From a variety of travel guides and internet resources, we gleaned the following :
Susegad, is a way of life in Goa. It's roots lie in the portugese word socegado which - loosely transalated - means 'laid back'. A less charitable reviewer even called it 'indolent'.
What is true however, is that the pace of life in Goa is slower, much slower than anything I've ever experienced.
In our quest to have a 'real beach holiday' we scouted around for a quiet, non-touristy beach. We finally hit the jackpot in South Goa near Palolem where we found a piece of unspoiled coast. For as far as the eye could see, we were the only ones on the beach. Four days with no cellphone access was a completely new experience for me. I'd never been so 'out of touch'.
Most shops open only at 10.30, only to promptly close again at 12 for 'breaking time'. At breakfast one day we ordered something called a 'transcendental juice' only to be told that the cook hadn't managed to go shopping that day. Something that would've elicited some frowns anywhere else, seems perfectly reasonable in Goa.
One afternoon we went shopping in Palolem and I sighted a pair of bamboo slippers that I wanted to buy. When I asked the shopkeeper if I could try them on, he said (with a smile) "er.. No Ma'am, I have only one pair..".
I don't think I have an accurate definition for what susegad is, but considering how happy everyone seems - I think they may have hit upon a good thing!
On the whole, it was four days of lying on the beach, getting sun, napping all afternoon, staying up till 2 am talking, reading on the deck and lazing around. On our last day we finally roused ourselves to go to a more commercial beach and managed to jetski, parasail, and fall off a contraption called a 'ringo' boat into the deep blue sea.
I can't wait to go back!
Susegad, is a way of life in Goa. It's roots lie in the portugese word socegado which - loosely transalated - means 'laid back'. A less charitable reviewer even called it 'indolent'.
What is true however, is that the pace of life in Goa is slower, much slower than anything I've ever experienced.
In our quest to have a 'real beach holiday' we scouted around for a quiet, non-touristy beach. We finally hit the jackpot in South Goa near Palolem where we found a piece of unspoiled coast. For as far as the eye could see, we were the only ones on the beach. Four days with no cellphone access was a completely new experience for me. I'd never been so 'out of touch'.
Most shops open only at 10.30, only to promptly close again at 12 for 'breaking time'. At breakfast one day we ordered something called a 'transcendental juice' only to be told that the cook hadn't managed to go shopping that day. Something that would've elicited some frowns anywhere else, seems perfectly reasonable in Goa.
One afternoon we went shopping in Palolem and I sighted a pair of bamboo slippers that I wanted to buy. When I asked the shopkeeper if I could try them on, he said (with a smile) "er.. No Ma'am, I have only one pair..".
I don't think I have an accurate definition for what susegad is, but considering how happy everyone seems - I think they may have hit upon a good thing!
On the whole, it was four days of lying on the beach, getting sun, napping all afternoon, staying up till 2 am talking, reading on the deck and lazing around. On our last day we finally roused ourselves to go to a more commercial beach and managed to jetski, parasail, and fall off a contraption called a 'ringo' boat into the deep blue sea.
I can't wait to go back!
Sunday, January 07, 2007
Miscellany
I've been so lax about this blog lately - rarely writing and staying away from it for weeks at a time. Not that particularly interesting things are happening in my life. But I have been reading a lot. And watching a lot of Sex and the City.
Museums and Manolos
How does a thirty something afford a 100+ shoes each of which costs $485? How can anyone really afford to live in the upper east side and own Chanel? Logic and reason clearly do not apply here.
But there's something uniquely enjoyable about this hit show that lasted six years. M observed yesterday that it shows New York in a very different light. New York is not all about museum benefits, terribly expensive shoes and Bungalow 8. And she's right. But its not just about coffee shops and purple walls either. I guess its just one tiny slice of life in the big city.
Yet, this is terribly addictive, simply cos it shows women in a different light from the traditional stereotypes that popular television slots them in. While the "Why doesn't he call" cliches DO exist, they are not the be all and end all. On this show atleast, its clear who has the (excuse my language) balls ;)
Mancini
Confession : I've only seen a part of Breakfast at Tiffany's. But I love the theme song. Moon river however wasn't Mancini's most famous composition. He also composed for Love Story, Godfather etc.
After a gap of several years, I recently bought a CD. An actual physical music dissemination device. Even in this age of BitTorrent and InstiLANs, we need them sometimes.
ChickLit
The term ChickLit is reserved for books that are :
a/ Usually pink (or in a sharp departure from the traditional - a baby blue)
b/ Have loopy cursive titles
c/ A story line that can be broadly summarized as :
* Twenty something woman in New York struggles to find herself
* Works hard and suddenly finds success
* Cannot find man despite dressing well, having ash blonde poker straight hair
* Meets Mr. Wrong
* 276 pages later - realizes Mr. Right was under her nose all along
* end of story :) Roses and Champagne are usually involved at this point!
Yet there's something magical and endearing about this genre. This is Mills and Boons for the next generation of women who have careers and want it 'all' but still dream of knights sweeping them off.
Mostly, they're light, fluffy, comfortable and are the literary equivalent of gooey chocolate cake. Comfort-Lit.
I must guiltily admit to devouring tonnes of them the past few months. It started in New York mostly because books are so hooribly high-priced there. No wonder almost everyone watches tv instead. I finally stumbled upon the 3 for 2 section where I found 2 books I'd been meaning to read. After going through the rest of the section twice, I finally just picked a pink book without really glancing at the title. (Can you keep a secret by Sophie Kinsella for the truly interested). Was immediately hooked!
Frontiers and Futehally
I usually tend to avoid award winning authors. I haven't really figured out why, but I prefer unearthing my own gems in some forgotten corner of my favorite bookstore. I pick up books without ever having heard of the author simply because the blurb grabs me. And I still haven't read The God of Small Things (there, I've said it.. Sue me!). Somehow the idea of trudging through award winning prose bores me. 18 lines into a review of The Inheritance of Loss and I get the feeling I'll never be able to pick up the book.
There have been a few times when I've been pleasantly surprised though. Jhumpa Lahiri is a favorite example. I picked up the Interpreter of Maladies on a whim and fell in love. Other gems include Chitra Bannerjee Divakaruni, Ladies Coupe by Anita Nair. Do you notice a very strong female bias?
Once, early in a month (when I'm usually flush with pocket money) I re-read Catcher in the Rye. On an impulse, I bought Franny and Zooey. What an amazing turn of prose! What a picture he paints!
I've had my fair share of mistakes too. Lolita for example, was bought after hearing that it was one of 'those' definitive works. Another book with its covers too far apart (to paraphrase Churchill)
Recently, I came across a review of Futehally's prose and decided to check out her posthumous collection of stories titled Frontiers. It was in one word - Amazing.
When I was younger, I remember trying to come up with ideas for my contribution to the school newletter. I didn't know about writers block then but I knew I couldn't think of a single thing! I came across a rather 'global' piece of advice - "Write about what you know". When I later thought about it, this is probably the best advice you can ever give a writer. Shama Futehally had followed this to a T, and it shines in her prose. She crafts tight personal spaces and slices a neat knife through them - opening them up in ways I've never seen before.
Her prose makes me stop, put the book down, and think. In short, she is the kind of writer I want to be when I grow up. Read the book - you will not be disappointed.
Museums and Manolos
How does a thirty something afford a 100+ shoes each of which costs $485? How can anyone really afford to live in the upper east side and own Chanel? Logic and reason clearly do not apply here.
But there's something uniquely enjoyable about this hit show that lasted six years. M observed yesterday that it shows New York in a very different light. New York is not all about museum benefits, terribly expensive shoes and Bungalow 8. And she's right. But its not just about coffee shops and purple walls either. I guess its just one tiny slice of life in the big city.
Yet, this is terribly addictive, simply cos it shows women in a different light from the traditional stereotypes that popular television slots them in. While the "Why doesn't he call" cliches DO exist, they are not the be all and end all. On this show atleast, its clear who has the (excuse my language) balls ;)
Mancini
Confession : I've only seen a part of Breakfast at Tiffany's. But I love the theme song. Moon river however wasn't Mancini's most famous composition. He also composed for Love Story, Godfather etc.
After a gap of several years, I recently bought a CD. An actual physical music dissemination device. Even in this age of BitTorrent and InstiLANs, we need them sometimes.
ChickLit
The term ChickLit is reserved for books that are :
a/ Usually pink (or in a sharp departure from the traditional - a baby blue)
b/ Have loopy cursive titles
c/ A story line that can be broadly summarized as :
* Twenty something woman in New York struggles to find herself
* Works hard and suddenly finds success
* Cannot find man despite dressing well, having ash blonde poker straight hair
* Meets Mr. Wrong
* 276 pages later - realizes Mr. Right was under her nose all along
* end of story :) Roses and Champagne are usually involved at this point!
Yet there's something magical and endearing about this genre. This is Mills and Boons for the next generation of women who have careers and want it 'all' but still dream of knights sweeping them off.
Mostly, they're light, fluffy, comfortable and are the literary equivalent of gooey chocolate cake. Comfort-Lit.
I must guiltily admit to devouring tonnes of them the past few months. It started in New York mostly because books are so hooribly high-priced there. No wonder almost everyone watches tv instead. I finally stumbled upon the 3 for 2 section where I found 2 books I'd been meaning to read. After going through the rest of the section twice, I finally just picked a pink book without really glancing at the title. (Can you keep a secret by Sophie Kinsella for the truly interested). Was immediately hooked!
Frontiers and Futehally
I usually tend to avoid award winning authors. I haven't really figured out why, but I prefer unearthing my own gems in some forgotten corner of my favorite bookstore. I pick up books without ever having heard of the author simply because the blurb grabs me. And I still haven't read The God of Small Things (there, I've said it.. Sue me!). Somehow the idea of trudging through award winning prose bores me. 18 lines into a review of The Inheritance of Loss and I get the feeling I'll never be able to pick up the book.
There have been a few times when I've been pleasantly surprised though. Jhumpa Lahiri is a favorite example. I picked up the Interpreter of Maladies on a whim and fell in love. Other gems include Chitra Bannerjee Divakaruni, Ladies Coupe by Anita Nair. Do you notice a very strong female bias?
Once, early in a month (when I'm usually flush with pocket money) I re-read Catcher in the Rye. On an impulse, I bought Franny and Zooey. What an amazing turn of prose! What a picture he paints!
I've had my fair share of mistakes too. Lolita for example, was bought after hearing that it was one of 'those' definitive works. Another book with its covers too far apart (to paraphrase Churchill)
Recently, I came across a review of Futehally's prose and decided to check out her posthumous collection of stories titled Frontiers. It was in one word - Amazing.
When I was younger, I remember trying to come up with ideas for my contribution to the school newletter. I didn't know about writers block then but I knew I couldn't think of a single thing! I came across a rather 'global' piece of advice - "Write about what you know". When I later thought about it, this is probably the best advice you can ever give a writer. Shama Futehally had followed this to a T, and it shines in her prose. She crafts tight personal spaces and slices a neat knife through them - opening them up in ways I've never seen before.
Her prose makes me stop, put the book down, and think. In short, she is the kind of writer I want to be when I grow up. Read the book - you will not be disappointed.
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