Mumbai beckons!!

In a couple of months now, I am going to be back in India. And it has taken me a long four and a half years to get to this trip. My close friends say, I have changed - and they are right. I have - in many ways large and small. India has changed too - in fact drastically so. From what I hear, the thing that hits hard is just how expensive things have become. That fact along with my extended family's illusion that everyone in the US is filthy rich just because they earn in dollars - has made me nervous to say the least. 

In the past whenever I have gone back home, I have done so to take a vacation and to recharge. Somehow, this trip feels different. No - I am not going to get A-range marriaged - and I am confident that once the hopefuls have figured out just how D-ranged I am - they too will adopt sanity and give up. No, the difference is that in this trip I have a lot on my mind and a lot of questions about my personal and professional life. As it has so many times before - I  am hoping the rocks of Marine Drive will answer my questions in salted whispers. 

I will be in Mumbai on Nov 26th. And I plan on visiting each and every one of the 10 places that were attacked three years ago. My friends tell me: "Don't make a big deal out of it" - perhaps they are right in their perspective. But for me that date will remain ingrained - it was the first time that I seriously questioned my belief in India. The events of those three days and the statements made by politicians - left me dazed and disillusioned. I had a thanksgiving break at the time - I had friends over, and other than sit helplessly in front of CNN, there wasn't much else we could do. It was then I realized that one of the most fundamental differences between the developed and the developing - is their value for human life. The contrast was stark and heartbreaking. And it changed something inside me forever. I was convinced that nothing will change the Indian political system and that at the end of the day - the ordinary citizen will remain the cheapest commodity. At the same time, it also crystallized a reality - that we have to try anyway. 

Let me admit here that I have no credentials to criticize how India works. And that isn't my intent either. And if you happen to resent my statements, I understand you.  I do not myself know what role can I, will I - play in shaping this country of my birth. Except that - my countrymen's judgements aside, I will hold on to this privilege and I can not wait to find out. There have been some that have given me hope. Among them is Parth - a sixteen year old scrappy kid - he has plunged head long into activism and protests - forming online forums and gathering friends to fight for the right causes. When I saw his optimism and zeal, to be honest, I didn't encourage it and in fact through my comments, I raised some pretty cynical and valid objections to his operandi. I am glad to admit - I was proven wrong. Despite popular belief - the youth of India understand their stake in the country and are anything but apathetic. 

And so when I go back home, I hope to meet this young man - and I hope he will be considerate enough to guide me. 

Also looming large in my mind is the question of marriage. After all, none less than five of my close friends are tying the knot this winter. But to be honest, the gravity of this decision and the weight of this institution seem overwhelming to me. In my experience of meeting people, making friends and falling in love - I have come to appreciate the infinite complexity of what makes us unique - of what defines our personalities. And I have no confidence in claiming to understand a person, despite prolonged acquaintance. To think that people tend to do so based on a one page profile boggles my mind. 

It was in Mumbai when I first came to understand love. It was in Mumbai that my vision of romance was nursed and nurtured through infinite movies and soulful music. It was Mumbai that patiently explained to me what holds India together. What drives every one of us.  That family playing on Juhu chawpati..... that couple stealing illusionary privacy. I hope the familiar waves of Arabian sea will explain this to me once more. And I hope they will help me reconcile a new and radically different vision of romance. 

I keep having these flashbacks - a vestige of the fun times I had in Mumbai as a college student. That friend circle is not only married now, but also has kids. In a depressing way - I know with some finality that my memory of what Mumbai meant will never recur again. Its for the best, you are meant to live in the present and shape your future, living in the past has never helped anyone. 

Either way in two months, I will land and buy myself a one month railway pass to CST, stand the door with the wind in my hair and hear what my beloved city has to say. 

- Sanket

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Rains!

I woke up and looked out the window. I looked out the window through half shut eyes and I sighed. It was going to be a difficult day. It was raining outside! As I slowly claimed my conscious, I could hear the faint rumble of clouds and a familiar drizzle outside. Ribbons of liquid stained the glass - twisting the images and distorting my reality. I woke up and stepped out to the patio and let myself be soaked - soaked with wave after wave of cold water. And against my will the water washed away my numbness bringing afresh the longing, love and lust - I had so carefully buried away. 

[Image used in accordance of copyright regulations - http://commons.wikimedia.org]

Rains have a way with me. I was born and raised in Bombay - where rains are the life of music and music is the life of our bodies. The bond between rains and our rhythms is deeper, more mysterious and more intricate than anyone can fathom. It reflects - in part India's dependence on monsoons and in part its need to create art. Art to express that which we wish but we can't. Over thousands of years of evolution the rain drops have absorbed themselves into our culture. They fuel the breaths of our soul as much as our blood fuels the beats of our heart. 

In the west as the countries industrialized and reduced their dependence on seasons so did they lose their connect with nature. In India, that connect survives as a faint but distinct hue in our identity. Hence while people in the west have lost their fascination with rains - in India - they still hold sway. 

Years ago the farmers from barren villages gathered and prayed to the skies. They begged and pleaded - they scolded and cajoled the clouds above. To this day the first rains are celebrated with the same relief and joy  as those parched voices did upon a barren soil. The rains are an innate part of our films and our songs. Even today they behold and move us - a whispered reminder of a time when masters like Tansen would sing Malhar and command the heavens to cry. 

I stand drenched and wet and cold and let myself go. The rains have a mind of their own ....

Rains, Rains - 
These rains carry with them many memories and times. 

They have  a way of entering your hearts
They thrill you and play with your thoughts

Drop per drop they symbolize and encapsulate the elixir of life.

They fall from the sky and unite on the earth.

They are precious they are dear.

They are transient they are immortal. 

Some drip as scented pearls from a girl's hair. 

Some glisten as beads of sweat in passion. 

Some trickle as salted rivulets of sorrow 

Some remain untold and veiled behind silent eyes

Some relish, as drinks of pleasure from a lover's lips 

While some are drunk as poison in anger, anguish and hurt 

Rains, Rains these rains, they have a mind of their own

I am swept clean now, I stand exhausted, spent 

The rains have brought me back to life 

They are my repent, and they have let me absolve
A part of my past ....

 - Sanket

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Childhood Flights !!

Anyone who is familiar with the story of Mahabharat would recall the 'Warrior Tournament'. After what seemed to be an appropriate training period when Guru Dronacharya thought it was time to test the warriors for their battle skills, he organized an elaborate competition designed to ascertain the best combatant in all of Hastinapur. Karna (the first son of Kunti and an heir of the Sun God himself) was the most superior warrior in all the land, virtually indestructible and naturally gifted with superior skills, he was the assured winner. Except, on the day of the competition the Sun God was veiled in clouds and Karna couldn't get his father's blessings. Frustrated and impatient Karna paced to and fro outside the gates of the arena as the crowds cheered on Arjun and declared him the winner. As the story goes, the Sun God eventually did reveal himself and Karna proceeded to set the record straight.

I could always feel for Karna - and tried to imagine just how hard it must be for him to wallow in the shadows outside, knowing he could dazzle all if only he was given a chance. Of late I have been feeling exactly like he must have, and I have to confess it is no fun.  As most of you would know and agree,  inspiration comes from sources unknown and there is no concrete rationale as to why one piece turns out cohesive and sparkling while another is found lacking. For the past month or so, my heavenly deity and the font of all my inspiration has been veiled in the clouds. For I have not been able to write despite try, and indeed it seemed as though the Gods were unhappy and hesitant in their blessings. Alas! I am glad to report the clouds have passed, the sun is shining and God willing, you should see the color return to my words soon.

***********

It was the October of '92, the school semester had ended and I was enjoying my Diwali vacations. If mangoes were the luring attraction of summer, then fire crackers and kites were the pleasures of Diwali. This vacation was especially important to me, for it was my initiation into some serious kite flying. Every year in the months of September to November, the kids in our neighborhood would switch affection and dote upon kite flying as the favorite sport. The month of September used to be particularly difficult to deal with, for just as I returned home from school every day, the sky would fill up with kites of all sizes and colors and make me go into a frenzy of excitement. However, returning home, homework was the first order of business, all sport and play followed later. In retrospect I think, this strategy was extremely detrimental to learning, as I could never concentrate on the boring study at hand and would constantly dream of kites dancing wonderful acrobatics in the sky right above.


The real world, to me was a far more interesting place to discover things. Filled with the most unpredictable surprises and mysterious dangers - it was clearly a school I was more likely to learn from. The education system at the time though, did not tolerate this line of thought and so, for the most part, I rebelled against anyone trying to impose rules and restrictions upon me. Vacations was the only time when I was truly free to learn what I really wanted to learn. I used to fill my mornings with quixotic experiments and record all my findings in a little lab notebook.

Filled with observations of chaotic rhyme, they are fragrant with humor to this date. 

1) Concave lens used to concentrate sunlight .... did light fire like the textbook stated .... very useful tool ........ to be used to make a gun for He-Man ...... will defeat Piyush's skeletor. Questions: What other rays can the lens concentrate? Is there really a gun with giant glasses?

2) Stolen sulphuric acid .... grade 8 textbook claims to be extremely dangerous ... hence stolen from lab .... causes bad smell when poured on pencil eraser .... to be used only when alone ...... caused annoying burn .... this must be corrosion. Very nice!

Extremely jealous of all hero figures that the books described, I carved elaborate ambitions of deed and fame and carried purest hopes that the scribblings of my little notebook would make history one day.

Afternoons were occupied with kite training. It is a special class of kites that can bear lanterns into the sky. Locally called 'Kandil Patang', they remain my favorite kites. Usually large in size and considerably more difficult to handle, these kites have an ability to bear astonishing weight. Flying them is a coveted skill and I was to learn it this semester break. However, the right to fly a 'Kandil Patang' had to be earned. It started with a bigger boy showing how to select the right kite, and buy the right 'manja' - string to go with it. Then he would proceed to fly the kite and send it as high as possible - I was to be the spool handler, designated to observe and learn. When the kite reached the right height, it was nothing more than a mere speck in the sky. At this point the bigger boy would let go of the string, and command the trainee to care for the kite until sunset.

I soon learned; 'Kandil Patang's' need a lot of altitude to be able to bear paper lanterns. The lower a kite is, the more vulnerable it is to wind shifts and predator attacks from other kites. 'Kandil Patang's', while great for flying lights, make for a poor fighter kite, clumsy and difficult to maneuver, they are often times easy targets. Because of their altitude, the sharp abrasion line usually used in engagement is out of effective range and as such they are extremely vulnerable to low level attacks. To guard from such  a tragedy, we used to usually fly these kites in scathing afternoon heat when no one dared to venture out. Once at the right altitude, the kite was often invisible to its own handler, let alone predators. If deployed properly and diligently cared for, the kite would remain in the sky for days unnoticed, capable of bearing lamps at will. It was the responsibility of the trainee to ensure that the kite remained stable, undetected and safe until sunset.

While initially difficult and a burden, the job of guarding the 'Kandil Patang' did become easier with time. I remember spending endless hours sitting in the nearby shade watching my  little speck in the sky, and willing it to stay quiet and calm. As a sport, I used to spray the terrace floor with wheat grain to attract pigeons. At times the warm lazy midday breeze would bring with it tunes of popular songs of the time, 'Dheere Dheere se...' and Kumar Sanu used to be frequent visitors. A reminder of some restless youth anxious over his girl, unable to sleep with unaccounted lust. And every once in a while, pigeons used to take my bait, and I would get to watch magnificent birds of grey, brown and white. I would take this as a sign of luck and smile happily at my friend above, thinking ..... tonight you will hold 12 lanterns - wait and watch!!!

If a trainee successfully guarded the kite until sunset, he would get 30 minutes with the 'Debonair' magazine that the bigger boys had hidden on the water tank above. Also part of the lure, was the assured promise that successfully deploying 12 lanterns was a sure shot claim to fame and was to make the boy irresistibly popular amongst the women. I was too young to understand that women in fact never cared for; who mastered the 'Kandil Patang'  and for the most part, were completely oblivious. For the moment, I was content to relish myself upon the nude and semi-nude girls of 'Debonair'.

In this school of choice - I was resoundingly the top student. I successfully burnt a small black spot on Piyush's skeletor and thus claimed victory. I mastered the huge kite and marveled at the dancing lights in sky. I learnt many 'Adult' things from the Debonair and came to love the girls. And when Piyush was cheated out of his 'recreational time' with the magazine, I rejoiced in exacting fitting revenge on the bigger boy that had foxed him. Sulphuric acid (although diluted) was put to good use and the elders learnt to respect the potent terrorist element in little ones.

Like the thousand kites of that evening sky, childhood imagination carried the lanterns of my ambitions and took them higher and high. I remember telling my grandma - that one day like the kite, I will go faaaaar and be just a speck, at which she reprimanded in motherly instinct and prayed - I never leave her side.

On some unfortunate nights, one of the candles used to fall in its paper lamp causing it to catch fire and thus break the string. And we had to endure the sadness of watching our beloved kite fly out of sight. Watching the dancing lights disappear used to be one of the hardest sights for a new trainee who had spent hours guarding his kite. Even the big boys used to show a rare glimpse of compassion in such times and assure us, that the kite was safe and that because it was tended with love it would go to a better place and one day be reunited with us again.

Battling the US recession, I often times feel as if a cruel and uncaring wind has snatched my floating lights. And like I did as a child, I sure hope that one day soon, the wind will cede and I will be reunited again. After all dreams are just like Kites, it is their destiny to fly.

- Sanket

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Purani Jeans - The Chaos of Engineering.

Its been five years since I graduated from Father Agnels; my Engineering college. Of recently, there have been talks about a reunion, and so it seemed fit that there be an article on our days in Engineering. This post has been a long time coming, but it took a final push from a fellow classmate for me, to overcome my laziness and pen down my thoughts. Its a challenge to write such a piece. Its very easy to write an entire book on the subject, but to be able to condense it all into one post, thats a tricky needle to thread. So here is my attempt, and it is dedicated to the class of '04. I truly hope you like it.

Engineering is a testing experience for every person who graduates from Mumbai University. But I speak of a very specific one when I write about my batch of '04 from Agnels, Vashi. It is easy and indeed very tempting, to narrate the whole experience as horror stories akin to those of Nazi concentration camps. And it is easier to turn the whole thing into a teacher-bashing exercise that my fellow class mates would throughly enjoy. But deep inside, we know, it wouldn't be right. For, not all teachers in my college were bad. And so, I am not going to dwell on that unpleasant topic, except to say this; as I look back now, I have nothing but pure sympathy for the few teachers who relished in torturing us. Surely any person who derives such sadist pleasure in the abuse of power and wrongful punishment of helpless students - must have had a rather traumatic childhood.




My story begins in the fall of 2000. I was as naive and green as the rain soaked trees of sector-9A Vashi. Like most recent 12th pass-outs, I was hyper-excited and nervous that first day approaching my college campus. As I neared the iron gates, I saw a group of students to my left, they were laughing and looked happy, and I relaxed, thinking .... this doesn't seem too bad after all. It turned out those students were in fact not from my college, they were from our neighbor's. The mood inside campus was far less jovial, with gaunt, haggard looking students wearing a perpetual expression of distress. Their fervent glances pleading a silent warning: 'This is not for everyone, leave while you can!!' Call it 'Destiny' but I stuck to the place, and to - what would be - the best and the worst times of my student life!


Once the course has started, and the formalities done, you quickly begin to realize, you are in this on your own, the only friendly people you have in the world - are your class mates. And it fosters an intense, duty-bound sense of loyalty and friendship, one that is unique to the stream of Engineering. In just one month, you learn the unwritten survival law, that says, "You may not like your class mates personally, but you WILL help them in every way you can!" There are very few people you can relate to, once your training has started, your friends from before wonder, where is it that you go to - to come back so exhausted, and your parents do not recognize the frustrated individual returning home.


As far as I was concerned, the campus was to be my home. It was my social life, it was my academic, it was the place to study and it was the place for fun. In the middle of our chaos, I found a harmony. It was here that I learnt how to speak in front of a crowd and not flinch. It was here that I leant, how to prioritize and make decisions real-time. It was here, that I laid the foundational concepts of my career. It was here, that I learned to endure stress beyond my limits. And it was in this period that I enjoyed my most untroubled sleep.


There is a distinct quality to Engineers; given any situation, they immediately come to realize what is doable and what is not, they make calls without second guess and they handle events as the situation unfolds. It comes to them naturally. Any person can evaluate and take practical measures, except, Engineers do not feel guilty about the compromises they make. It instills a defiant confidence that remains with you for the rest of your life. And, it has saved me many many times.


At a research meeting, when my professor wanted a paper completed - he gathered my lab mates for a meeting and asked "How much time do you guys need?" My American counterparts answered - two weeks, I simply asked "When is it due??" I did not know how much time would I need, but it was the Agnel-instilled confidence that said - It doesn't matter how much time you need - All that matters is how much time you have!






It is hard to encapsulate the essence of my college and the experience I had, mainly because it doesn't lie in academic transcripts or the courses I studied. It doesn't lie in the concepts I absorbed or the ones I didn't. It is amorphous yet potent. It lies in endless cups of hot coffee over the front steps. It lies in the jokes we wrote and the chits we passed - while we sat day-dreaming and distracted in classes of theory. It lies in the time we spent sitting on stairs, 'bird-watching'. It lies in the distinct sound of that dot-matrix printer on the first floor, which was to us, nothing short of beautiful music. It lies in the intoxicating smell of kerosene and xerox copies. It lies in the suffocating air of notes-littered hallways, as we waited our turn for a viva. It lies in the euphoria of watching all required signatures on our submission sheet. It lies in painful aches and cuts from the workshop of first year - to the carpal tunnel from excessive coding. It lies in our convoluted sense of humor and in our tacit arrogance screaming ... "Yes, we did!"


It is the sum of all parts, greater than the entirety.


It is in the enduring qualities I learnt from my class mates. Every single one of whom - taught me something. They were my team, and I was theirs. Our victories were sweeter because we rejoiced together and our sorrows less painful because we suffered together. They were the support and they were the hope, they were the gems and they were the jewels. They formed the identity of my class, and in some way will always remain a part of me.


The class of '04 and the paragons of my memories! With a salute to all, I offer you these. Come, share a glimpse of my class room, the people who formed me....


Some are not so obvious, they are the silent geniuses like Unmesh Kulkarni.

Some are tall, athletic and capable like Sushant Kadam.

Some are whimsical, albeit pervert in their brilliance, like our very own Ajit.

Some are beautiful, compassionate, generous and have it all, like the beloved Sushma.

Some are the heart of a crowd wherever they go, unmistakably Manavi.

Some are fiery and feisty in everything they did, like Roshan and Nadeem.

Some are flamboyant and larger than life, like Maulik.

Some wont say a lot, but perform proudly, like Amol Gawli.

Some are painfully virtuous, like Tushar.

Some have kept me company and made me smile, Pritam and Priyata.

Some are always up to something, like Sandeep Kaul.

Some you just can't miss, like Divya and Richa.

Some are incredibly talented, like Kripa.

Some are touchingly simple, like Apoorva and Harshada.

And some, will give you a run for your money, like Pankaj.


That is Engineering, these are the people, the paragons of my memories and the best parts of me!


- 100026 (Sanket)


- Sanket

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The First Journey Home

A close friend of mine left for India today. Its his first trip since he came as a student into the United States, and it has taken him three years. It reminded me of my own, first journey home, and so this post is written as a dedication to my friend, and in the hope of capturing that magic which grips and enthralls the international student upon his virgin flight home.

[Image used in accordance to Terms and Conditions per www.maharashtra.gov.in]

The first voyage, is, in every possible way, a surreal experience and for the most part while its happening, you feel as though you are some place else. The reality is so intense that initially your mind refuses to accept it. Superstitions arise where logic ruled before - and you begin to wonder, Is it possible to ruin your happiness just by thinking about it ? Are you really tempting fate?? This is especially true if you haven't gone home for more than two years and if you have never stayed away from home before. There is a price you pay - when you leave to pursue a career abroad, a sacrifice you make. And its enormity cannot and is not, initially comprehended.


The moment you land, you realize that you have left everyone you knew, you are thousands of miles away, that even a simple phone call has suddenly become complicated. That you are in a continent whose culture and customs, smells and tastes, cost and currency, weather and warmth, and even time is as different from your home as it possibly can be. As you stand at the revolving carousel, hoping your luggage isn't lost, it dawns upon you - that against all instinct, you really did pack your life into suitcases and left the familiar - and you begin to seriously question your sanity. A sickening anxiety starts to grow in you, its shape: undefined, its origins: unknown and its length: uncertain.

After wonders of the first-world have worn off their fascination, after the charm of novelty has become stale in growing stress, the reality of your world sinks into your bones and its parameters stabilize. As you become busy with studies and are sheared beyond normal, as you juggle between a job and academics, between expense and incessant search for fund, you become pragmatic about your ability and even the thoughts of your country become too expensive to afford.

There is a price you pay, a sacrifice you make, and its magnitude cannot be read - at the time you make it.

Only after you have spent days and months and years in longing - Only after you have budgeted your phone calls and timed your cravings - Only after you have post dated your tears and hung by a memory, do you come to understand what was asked of you. You do know beforehand, that you are going to miss home. But you do not know that you will miss your best friend's wedding, or your sister's birthdays, movies and music releases or new trains and roadways. You do not conceive that the place you were born and raised in - will move on without you. That the mangoes of summer would bloom and crackers of Diwali would sound - with or without you.

And on some days, some horrible days, news comes that your city was bombed. That Mumbai is on fire, and you can not be there to help. That your loved ones, friends and family, the places you are from, rock, stone and buildings are left vulnerable - and there is nothing you have done, nor can you do, to protect them. How can someone deprive you of the right to defend everything you love and are made of ?? And you realize that - that someone is you - and you marvel at your selfishness and loathe every breath you undeservingly take. You realize you can drown without water and be suffocated even as you live.

But adversity builds character and sacrifice renders reward - and this does hold true, on some magical evening the forces of nature submit, and circumstances relent. The constellations in the sky are aligned just right, and you find that the miracle of miracles, you actually have enough savings to buy a ticket home. And so you make the purchase, eager yet defiant, and you count. Count the months and moments, the nights and minutes and days after painful days and everything inbetween. And you cross your calendar, you cross your fingers, you find a friend - and cross his fingers - and you wait.

And so I did, and I waited on the flight home, willing it to fly faster, land earlier and travel safer than it was supposed to. And on a December night, I heard the most melodious voice - that my plane was going to land. And I fastened my seat belt and pressed my face to the window, and on my cue, the clouds parted to reveal my India beneath - magnificent and majestic. And in that hour of the night, I beheld my city like the lover who turns to bride and through the moist of my eyes I saw those shimmering lights and braced my heart - for the Mumbai I missed, every single night. I surrendered tear after saved tear - and with the friction of those tires on home soil, I earned that - which was rightfully mine.

Home sweet home, you can travel the farthest corners and revel in riches beyond, yet there is no place - absolutely no place that can compare to your home. The first journey back - its special - its magical - its beautiful and its spectacular. It is worthy of the price you paid - of the sacrifice you made. It is afterall home sweet home.
- Sanket

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Conscience where art thou??

A few days back, as the 44th President of the United States addressed America and the world, in his inauguration address he said - "We reject as false the choice between our safety and our ideals". The statement was burnt in my mind. It came from a man and a country truly understanding the meaning of democracy. I was awestruck and felt jealous of The United States. As the new President went on about his address, he remembered the founders of America and recited their ideals, crystal clear and undiluted across two centuries and I couldn't help but think of what the Indian Prime Minister had said after the 26/11 attacks and the reforms hence discussed. 

In a nationwide press release - the Indian Prime Minister, after being criticized about the country's security said, "Human rights may be infringed upon in the wake of new anti-terror laws" . It deeply upset me - not the statement itself, but that I accepted it as fact. Caught amidst fundamental questions about my pride as an Indian, my country and its origins and about myself as an individual: I have to admit, I couldn't come up with clear answers. 

In theory they are both democracies. On the one hand there was America which had successfully overcome its own racial prejudice and had chosen to vote upon logic and hope. And on the other hand was India, where in a national survey (less than a week old) only 46% of the people believed that democracy was the right way to govern with 21% actually saying that a dictatorship would be better.

A nation whose leader called upon its citizens to do their duty and to deliver the gift of freedom to future generations - and a nation whose leader was informing its citizens that he could not protect India's democracy without violating it. 

Since then, as I went about my daily chores, there has been a looming question in the back of my mind: "What the hell is wrong with us?? Indians, As a people as a country???"  And so I read once more of the Indian independence movement and in doing so traveled back in time.... 

A time when a child saw his father beaten and cursed by his British master - "thrashed" as the Queen's vocabulary would call it. Beaten to be reminded of the fact, that as Indians, they were slaves to their British ruler. As the father walked the child home, struggling to hide his shame, they walked past signs stating - "Indians and Dogs not allowed".

Even the mere imagination of an enslaved life brought me to tears. How could you live in your own country as slaves?? 

Even at his little age, the child had an unmistakable sense and an innate understanding - that this was just plain and simply wrong. As he grew over the years, so did his sense of injustice. And along with the child, the nation grew to find itself humiliated beyond tolerance. With each lash the white master sowed seeds of rebellion that were coming to fruit. 

The child became a revolutionary, and along his comrades was sentenced to death - a sentence he accepted gladly. Before he was about to be hanged, he was asked - "Why are you doing this?? What is your prize??" and he had replied - "I have a dream - that children of the future would be born free - in a brighter, stronger India". As history has it, he went to the gallows - smiling. Across the nation people burnt their foreign clothes and goods and shunned away from work. A man rose with a message of peace and unified the country to stand strong yet non-violent.  People woke up each day to participate in protests - only to be met with lathi charges or sometimes with brutal gunfire. As the day receded, the women tended to the wounds. And the baffled  white master, came to find the same people bandaged and ready for fresh assault - day after day. Until he was forced, to question his own conscience. Until a day came when he could stay no more - and India was freed. 

I am sorry if I seem to lecture in history - but people have paid with their blood for a freedom, that we today take for free. What Lincoln called - 'The last full measure of devotion".  Perhaps, that is the problem with the India of today; we haven't paid the price ourselves but were offered freedom on a silver plate. Hence - the erosion of morals and the all consuming selfish apathy. 

In a way - it does make sense. Only when faced with utter adversity and hardship - is one forced to ask himself harsh questions - is forced to establish his identity. Only when forced to, does one ask himself - "What do you stand for and What is it that you believe??"

Only after swallowing scathing swills of guilt  is the human conscience nourished. 

I hope that the questions we ask of ourselves today shall render us stronger tomorrow.

There is a legend that says - 'A life sacrificed to save another's does not relinquish its soul - that such souls come back to roam the living world as winds and every once in a while come back to life as a new being. 

I can only hope it is true.  As you feel a wind tomorrow, listen to it, may the voices of our freedom fighters whisper to you across the ages. And may their spirit give you the courage to do the right thing.

Jai Hind,

  - Sanket

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Home is burning!!!

Hi,

I was born in a Mumbai hospital in 1982. I have lived my entire life in Mumbai. It is my home. About 25 hours ago my city was a victim to coordinated terrorist attacks at ten popular locations. A tragedy that has left over 100 dead and 300 plus injured - some of them critically. They came with AK-47s and grenades with an aim to die and to take with them as many as possible. Except - they are going to very different places. Immediately after I heard of the attacks, I called my friends back home to check if they were fine. They were going about their usual day and upon hearing of the attacks, they rushed into the conflict regions and hospitals to offer help and to donate blood. Rushed into... The streets of heaven are too crowded with angels tonight. They are my friends, innocent Mumbaikars, law enforcement officers and my kin.

Have I told you how beautiful Mumbai is? It is an island city on the west coast of India. It is the biggest, most glamorous and the richest city in India. But you can read all that there is about Mumbai and still never quite grasp its essence. To know Mumbai truly, you need to have lived there for a long time - lived through its pain and joys, through its struggles and its triumphs. For those who are born in Mumbai, it is not just their city. Mumbai is the skeletal framework of your personality. It is an inherent part of who you are and what you become to be. It is reflected in the way you frame your words, it is reflected in the way - you tackle challenges, it is reflected in the way you smile and it is reflected on how soon you stand back - if you were to fall. Mumbai is the land of dreams - it is where thousands of people come every week to seek their fortunes. It is the commercial - cultural and entertainment capital of India. It is a city that never sleeps. It is a city of lights.

There is a pride we take in Mumbai that comes from deep love - that comes from looking forward to the future - that comes from the glow of a million dreams and that stems from Mumbai's sky-high ambitions. There is a spirit in its wind - a music to its sound - there is a rhythm in its crowd and a thrill in its pace. In Mumbai - you never stop - bombs - floods - strikes - riots - when its done - you step out - you check your watch - you check the next train - and you move on - you NEVER stop. What would begin for you as a mindless ritual - soon becomes the most wise course of action - and one of the most profound truths of life - that no matter what the set backs, moving forward is the only sensible thing to do. That work indeed is the best antidote to sorrow.

I was too young when the city was attacked in December '93 - too young to understand what was going on. My parents kept me safe in the house. In a sense it is these ordinary families that keep Mumbai running. Sticking to a most simple code - my parents insisted, I always complete my homework - that I always play fair - and make friends no matter what the persons religion. I am a Hindu - I was educated in a Catholic school and have had plenty of close friends -Muslims and Christians alike. I grew up celebrating Diwali, Christmas and Eid with equal enthusiasm. And so I do not understand why would someone want to hurt such an admirable people on the basis of religion.

Over the years, Mumbai nurtured me - made my career possible and exposed me to information and experiences, without which - I can not imagine life as it is. On days when things did not go my way and life seemed miserable, I would retreat to Marine Drive - and sit by the sea - listening to the certainty of its waves until daylight faded away and I could see city lights gleaming over the water. And so the city has known me - more intimately than any person - Mumbai - has been my best friend and confidant. And it has never failed to lift my spirits. Slowly but surely as I would stand at the train door of the last north bound local - the rhythmic sound of train wheels and track changes - would work its healing powers and restore me - for another day to fight.

In the phone conversations I have had over the past few hours, as me and my friends have tried to comfort each other - there has been a uniform sentiment of being fed up with violent conflicts. Alas! If only the world were a perfect place. But its not. And so long as Mumbai remains India's crown jewel - it will with equal certainty stay a prime target. A friend asked - what CAN we do? To which I said, keep doing what you are doing. Except do it a little better - work a bit harder. There is an infinite capacity in the will of a people. And Mumbai has proven its will many times. It is this 'Never Let Go' spirit that gets imbibed in each individual - and so when a person leaves Mumbai, he carries with him an inner strength - that is capable of seeing him through the most difficult of times.

You see a girl or a young woman - free in her spirit and confident in her smile. A girl who knows the lyrics of 'Vande Mataram' as surely as 'Hips don't lie' - she is signature Mumbai. And so, to the women of Mumbai I say

"I admire your gumption. I adore and enormously respect your values. I think you are the loveliest that India has to offer and I am one hundred percent fida on your beauty. I will probably marry one of you - I would be honored to. When this ordeal has subsided - as you step out your house - dress a little prettier - and smile a little more eager. Despite the grief - I need to see your face calm - despite the scars, I need to see your smile. There is nothing that hits the morale of a people more - than to see its women in worry. And so, I need you to stand stronger - aim higher and voice your opinions louder.

You see a man confident and smart. A person who excels under pressure - and achieves his goals in a certain but casual assurance. Chances are he is from Mumbai. To the spunkiest of the youth, to the alpha males of my country, my brothers, I say ..

"I owe you everything. From educating me with that first Blue Film to making me hardy through street fights. I will never forget the lessons you have taught nor be cavalier in keeping your pride. I can feel the pain in your pulse and my blood boils along side yours at the atrocities of yesterday. Yet, when you get to work, I need you to focus better than ever before. As you walk outside on a new morning, I need you to walk a little straighter, speak a little calmer yet remain eternally on fire - to get things done - that need to get done. I am confident in your intent and I am inspired by your actions.

To the mindless, irrational terrorists, I say ..

"You may have trained in the most extreme hatred of Jihad - and I know you are prepared to die. Yet - I assure you - to night my hatred for your ideology will stand any weapon you can throw at me. I promise you - you will never succeed - I want to inform you - I am more fearless than I was before. I want to tell you - I will never ever back down. And lastly I am not ready to die - unless I have killed the very ideas you stand for. That I will accept any consequences of my actions against you - that I will fight this fight with intelligence and a commitment that you can never dream of. That you will find the most ordinary person in my country - your worst enemy.

To the brave NSG and cops who are battling the odds - there is nothing I can say - that will be enough.

'I am forever indebted to your sacrifice. You have my most sincere reverence and that I applaud your courage. That I will think of you whenever I think of the nobel - and I promise you - your names will never be forgotten.

To the brave hearts that were forever lost ... 'Rest in peace my friends.

The streets of heaven are too crowded with angels tonight......

Sincerely,

- Sanket

'Bombay is a bird of gold.' A man living in a slum, without water,
without toilets, was telling me why he came here, why people continue
to come here. In the Bayview Bar of the Oberoi Hotel you can order a
bottle of Dom Pérignon for one and a half times the average annual
income, this in a city where forty per cent of the houses lack safe
drinking water. Another man put it differently: 'Nobody starves to
death in Mumbai.' He was being very literal. People are still starving
to death in other parts of India. In Bombay, there are several hundred
slimming clinics. According to a dietician who operates one of them,
fashionable models are on the verge of anorexia. This is how
Bombayites know they've parted company with the rest of India. 'In any
class of society in Bombay,' explains the dietician, 'there are more
people wanting to lose weight than put on weight.'

Bombay is the biggest, fastest, richest city in India. It is Bombay
that Krishna could have been describing in the Tenth Canto of the
Bhagavad Gita, when the god manifests himself in all his fullness:


I am all-destroying death
And the origin of things that are yet to be . . .
I am the gambling of rogues;
the splendour of the splendid.


It is a MAXIMUM CITY.

Excerpt from Maximum City - by Suketu Mehta.

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I wish ......

Ok - so I am getting bored sitting home - not that there arent things I would want to do, its just - I can't - so I decided on the next best thing .... write about them...
Well, heres a list of things I wish...

I wish, I could take all of my close friends and go on a camping trip. Put up little tents - and not sleep in them, but stay up all night sitting about a camp fire, playing my guitar and watching my friends in the amber fire light, eat chicken legs roasted fresh .... drink vodka ... and slur out names .. hahah ... throw things at them, get hit on the head, get mugged and - have taken care of for a while .... have people who would ask ... "Had dinner?" ..... lie on the ground and take deep breaths of cool air ... and not worry about things ... no career - no relationships - no responsibilities - no burdens .. and go to sleep with the certainty that I would protect my friends from any harm that shall fall that night ..... and vice versa... sleep without the guilt that someone might be needing me half way across the globe tonight ... and I can not be with them.

I wish, I could have a girl to go to .... just for once, when life has been cruel, go to her and lie on her lap and fall asleep with a caring hand on my forehead. Not that I have objections to life being a bitch, or facing problems, but just for once, take a break - have one night of rest .... of healing - and go back to face it with renewed spirit...

I wish ... for once - that my aching sighs were not echoed back from empty loneliness .. but reached some one ... who would put them away and make me smile .... just once ... in case there was some outer world power capable of granting my wishes .. I do not want to appear greedy .. so just once a year ... I wish I could have this luxury.

I wish ... when I am tired from work and walk and toil ..... and go to bed ... but can not sleep .... due to things .... that still haunt me .... that when I am called to get up ... by that unrelenting alarm .... I could sleep .... just five more minutes.... just five please..

I wish ... that there be someone lovely .... who would dry my hair - when I got out of shower .... and make me late for work ... cos shes dressed in nothing but my shirt ... that there be a time when I am helplessly seduced .... and spoilt ... and angry and immensely happy ... all at the same time.. I wish that once a year, I be granted .... ummm ugh ... a 'sex-leave'.

I wish I could .. once more .... sit all day at a CCD .... as I once did ... with friends chatting non sense ..... in a place .... where everyone from the customers to the waiter know me... where old - responsible and married people can come and look at me ... and warn their kids ... not to become like this ....


I wish I could .... yell out lewd comments during a scene in a theater ... and have people "Shush me!" .... and have my friends tell me once again ... if I was beaten that day ... they dont know me :)

I wish - I could .... be bored once more .... in my old college lecture hall.... and pass chits ... with stupid jokes ... and get caught and punished ... just one more time....

I wish I could ..... hang out a running train ..... and talk to Mumbai ... and feel free .... and listen to "Radio Mirchi" once again ... and go home with pockets carrying 50paise peanuts .... and shirts having loooong hair on them ... and be asked by my mother .... who IS this???? ...... another evening..

I wish I be innocent to say ..... "Star shine star bight! The first star I see tonight ..... I wish I may - I wish I might ...... have the wish - I wish tonight!"

- Sanket

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The Wincing Heart!

Soon a year would have passed

Since the time you last held my heart

The streets have changed

The people have changed

And yet my mind searches ...

Wandering down familiar paths

Long have I bled and hard have I suffered

I should feel anger,

Or I should feel vengeance

And yet, I feel neither.

The days have been numb

And the nights, sleepless

The eyes remain moist,

The Breath, restless .

Nothing can be changed

And Nothing can be done

Yet the heart listens not,

It asks Why and It wonders How?

It doesn't know the answers will never unravel

For questions not be asked

When the day has wound down

And the world is quiet

In the silence of the night

I can still hear your voice.

So fair, so clear

As if you were in my bed - still besides

With the body still living

You took the life out

In return of love, I might have expected many things

But this, I did not imagine

This, I could not

They say forgive and forget

I know not where to start

Should I forget the way we fought?

Or the way you laughed?

How do I remove the scent of your hair

Still coursing, the veins of my heart

I do forgive you

In such a way as I can.

Yet this I promise,

Though far away you may be

Now, in someone else’s arms

On some unexpected evening

In an unguarded hour

You will see the sky turn crimson red

And remember me in that hour.

Remember the smiling eyes

Of a mischievous, yet innocent boy

The boy who gave beyond giving

The man you widowed, without marrying

And you will have to return into his arms

For your sake, I hope truly

He can love you as I once did

As love should be, As I would have!

- Sanket

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It is Mum ..... Ah Ha Mumbai !

Its been said - 'The observation of a phenomenon ....... changes it!" ....... well its certainly true of Mumbai! I had been here only 8 months ago ...... and in 8 months, this place has changed face again..... May be I wasn't as observant the first time around ..... or may be its the rains that highlighted the changes in the city, but I could noticeably make out the difference.

How do I best describe Mumbai! the mumbai of today, the place I am returning from ....... (this blog is written in transit ....... well to kill time and finish up on some long due assignments) ...... the Mumbai of today is about generation next...... specifically males and females in the age group of 23 - 33 i.e. todays youth ......... its the most visible, influential and defining demographic of the city.

The city's youth wants .... wants and wants........ and they are prepared to slog real slave hard for it. And many if not most are getting it ...... not all of it ..... not exactly the way they want it..... but they are moving forward anyways..... what impressed me most this time around is the omnipresent motivating AMBITION of this demographic..... you pick any individual in this group and ask him/her what is it that they want, what are they working for and I assure you - that you will get a very specific answer.... they are not idealistic or philanthropic ambitions, most of them are materialistic, but they are ambitions none the less.

Some 10 years back, this wasn't the case. Students who did well in their high school got into prestigious colleges and got themselves engineering/ medical degrees and then became successful citizens, the ones who didn't sulked, cursed the system and whiled their time away.
The IT revolution and the emerging BPO changed all that. Suddenly it became possible for these people (and they were many I tell you) to earn good money, and money plays the most important role in this city....... no - these are not gold hungry satyrs ..... money is important and very very essential to the youth..... and for good reason. Let me take a diversion and explain how the young mind works ...... the logic behind the ever increasing need for money... Having experienced the first world for quite some time now, I was able to objectively note the intricate workings of this vicious need circle....

The hallmark of a country's progress is the ratio of resources to demands of its people. It is this ratio that directly projects the standard of living at any place..... In India this ratio is still ..... unfortunately staggeringly short ...... be it any resource, the number of ideal trains ..... as compared to the number of people using it, the number of effective, wide and efficient roads, trafic signals, as compared to the number of vehicles on the street, the square feet of land per person ... which essentially determines individual space, the number of oxygen molecules in the air as compared to the number of nostrils that want to breathe ..... any resource .... its short.... and by a long margin, the likes of which an average first world citizen can never imagine in his existence.

Since the youth cannot fix the resource problem overnight, they try to mitigate its effects .... to whichever extent they can. Train problem can be fixed (partially) if you buy a first class ticket, traffic problem can be made livable .... if you have an air conditioned small car, land problem can be cured if you look for a living place on the outskirts but for all of these solutions to work, you need money! And so the youth is obsessed 24x7 to find new ways of making more money. Why? So they can afford more things, buy better clothes, look sexier, eat better, in general ..... live better...

The resource problem that I mentioned before, is very subtle .... and unconscious .... many people donot realize the reasoning behind their crazy spinning - work your ass off - lives - I am pretty sure, if I had stayed back in Mumbai and joined the working IT class, I would have been in the same boat. Besides, just what is the first world! what should the ratio of resources:people look like ....... you don't get that idea by watching Hollywood movies and Friends ........ you got to taste that luxury first hand to know what you have been missing all this long..... I did, so I noticed....

And so people complete their education and get into working hard .... the harder you work the better results you get, which means ......... yup you guessed it right ..... more MONEY. But I talked to several of my friends ..... married and single ....... and asked them ...... about their reason behind ...... late nights, break neck pace, the malignant work environment ....... and many if not most ...... were without an answer.... I am working, I am earning ......... for what? Am I able to achieve that purpose? Especially with couples, I noticed the amount of quality time they are left with ..... with each other ...... was meager at most..... and most people seemed helpless about improving that ..... the reason ???


I may be wrong, for this is purely my hunch but I think people here are so obsessed and occupied with getting basic necessities of life fulfilled that they lose touch with enjoying life and reasoning about each action they take, why are they doing what they are doing? And is that purpose achieved? If not why not? What can I do to change that? I believe very few people ask themselves this. After a crushing train journey when the 26 yr old female gets down at Thane station, shes greeted with construction sites and mud ponds, with a huge line for an auto, so she stands despite paining legs and gets in ..... when her turn comes (lets not describe the bus journey) ..... gets home where she still has to cook for the day....... tend to her husband ....... same goes for a modern day man who wants to help his wife with everything ..... GOD knows when and how they have sex!

And now please allow me to turn my attention the nursing hatred you have in your mind towards me ...... for bringing out the grey black areas so bluntly. Yup! you are absolutely right, I am criminally apathetic ... and I completely accept your grudge .... of all people who say ...... "You have no right to say a word, when you know the problem, you chose to quit and run to America when you should have stayed and fixed it!" ....... any person saying this is absolutely right.

I came to America to pursue Artificial Intelligence research ..... which frankly, is still an impossible career option in India. I can not live with the thought of not trying to help my own country. The recent Times of India articles for Lead India burnt my heart with the acid of my own guilt. For the moment, I am financially tied to this place.... A day might come when those ties don't exist any more and I would truly face the choice of staying and commenting ..... or returning and helping ....... but till the day - I make that choice ...... all readers are permitted to call me the names, I am sure they have been calling.

My motive behind this article, is to awaken the youth, to the WHY? in their lives. I admire their ambition, I absolutely adore their spirit, but I question how informed they are about the motivations behind their day to day actions.... None the less, Suketu Mehta was right when he desribed Mumbai as the MAXIMUM CITY. ....... .. it truly is!!!

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Kaccha Nimbu

[Image Credit: http://www.canet.be/galerie10.htm]

'Kaccha Nimbu' is a concept. To those who are not familiar with it - heres a brief description; 'Kaccha Nimbu' literally means unripe lime - its a term used to refer a kid who either because of age or because of physical injury can not play a sport with other kids on equal terms. Say for example, you got a sprained ankle, but you still want to play dodge ball with your friends, so you take part in the game as a 'Kaccha Nimbu', or theres a kid who is too small to play, small in age, small in his body frame - but the kid still wants to play - and everyone else is big, then you let the kid play as a 'Kaccha Nimbu'.

Being a 'Kaccha Nimbu' offers delightful privileges; if you are playing cricket and you get 'Out' you can still bat one more time, if you are playing carom, you can place your striker any where on the board and hit anything you want, you can even drag the queen piece into your favorite pocket and no one will say anything - "He's kaccha nimbu re!"

As you grow adult, slowly the 'kaccha nimbu' opportunities die away. Till a time comes when you can no longer play as a 'kaccha nimbu'. I just finished my third semester as an international graduate student - having to deal with tedious projects and endless submissions - I was really really wishing some one in my graduate school would let me play 'kaccha nimbu' for the last week of the semester.

There is an archetypal cliche; "No one is perfect" - yet I do not accept this as an excuse for not trying, neither do I tolerate flaws in character under the disguise of so called 'imperfection'. But often times in dealing with an imperfect world, I have been bogged down and frustrated to infinity by the burden of my self imposed rules. And in those times, I wish I can play a 'kaccha nimbu' with my rules. But thou hath not this chance - for thou hath grown up now. And since when were principles negotiable any ways ??

May be it is a force of nature or the imperativeness of age - that lately I have had an insatiable desire to find a partner. At least companionship to start with. Some one who will come to you and say - take a break, some one who will let me be a 'kaccha-nimbu' with her. Some one who would tolerate albeit for a short time. Some one who can understand that subtle and unsaid desire that each person has of being a 'Kaccha-Nimbu' .....

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The Art of TP.

As any educated civilized person would understand, TP - is true positive. This blog is about the other connotation of TP - Time Pass... No - it doesn't sound virtuous at all. So heres my attempt at proving the virtue and importance of Time Pass.

The only time when I have truly engaged in TP and when it was most beneficial, was - in the monsoon of '98. I was in KJ Somaiya College. Junior College. High School by American standards....


Photograph: http://jambino.blogspot.com/


Let me introduce the characters first ... people as they were more than nine years ago...

There was Rahul, the definition of cheerful. There was Aashish, friendly but queer. There was Chinmay, simple and with a great sense of humour. There was Deepti, spectacled and beautifully uncomplicated and there was Mithila: frank and an unquestionable Babe! And of course me! Each of us brought a new color to the concept of friendship like suspended drops of water forging new colors from youth's sun light.

Everything we did was cool! Our day began at a leisurely hour and we would immediately get in touch with each other on the phone - to co-ordinate our train timings. Fun started from the train journey itself - each person boarding the same compartment one by one as stations progressed. We would all get down at Vidyavihar and walk to campus. I can still remember the dizziness of joy that filled me whenever I entered that campus!

Beyond two large 'iron-grill' gates lay the sprawling Somaiya campus - at the time - it was the largest thing I had seen. The Somaiya campus opens up from the main entrance as two parallel roads leading straight on through to the end with college buildings coming up one by one on the right side. The divider between the roads was lined with mid-sized palm trees. After a recent rain - their hanging leaves would still be dripping - showering the students with fresh monsson water as they entered the campus. Immediately to the left was the "Suruchi" Canteen - on really lazy days - we would directly go in here - to satiate our ever hungry appetites. The 'Suruchi' canteen was cheap and versatile in its menu - more than enough for our junior college needs. Usually we would walk straight ahead. The first right turn ahead - lead us to our classrooms - after the first month of college - I don't recollect taking this turn again. So walk we would .. to the far end of the campus, past the sports grounds on our right till we reached the engineering cafeteria. There was a spot on the left sidewalk just right enough for six people ; this would be our TP base. Once stationed at the base at around 11am, we would dutifully 'time-pass' till it was 6.

On some days, the sidewalk would be wet - and we would tear off pages from our unwritten notebooks and sit on them instead. Our discussions of trivia used to be conducted with utmost honesty and unimaginable humor. Punctuating these discussions regularly were the local coffee(2Rs) and hot Maggie noodles (5Rs).

I still remember Deepti who had a tendency to crawl from one person to another to taste different stuff, tearing her jeans at the knees in the process and causing her parents considerable distress...I remember the innocent satisfaction - I would derive from picking a harmless monsoon earthworm from the damp soil and causing the girls loads of trouble by bringing it in their vicinity. It was the first time we were friends with girls - so often times our discussions would be throughly enlightening. Later in life I have faced a lot of problems because of the early misconception that Somaiya put in our brains - "Girls are usually frank and don't mind open thoughts on all topics" - as it turned out the girls we were with were quite the exception and not at all the rule.

The base was at a fairly low level - grazing the road - so that when people used to pass by - we would have to look up to see who it was. Somewhere around 5pm, the girls from Fashion and MBA used to disperse - and we would (including the 2 girls) - to put it kindly - check them out! Passing lewd comments was OK ... staring open mouthed was OK .... we were kids - in the first year of college .... we were OKed to do these things.

On some days - the idle wind would carry with it strange romours .... "Damodar is on the loose!! Watch out!" ..... Damodar - was the supervising prof - guy who used to ensure - students were in-class and not out! And we would all hide out. On some days we were caught - these were especially funny times - some of us would feign sudden illness - others like me or Rahul would have no respite and Damodar would demand our college id cards. "They are already with you Sir! " we would reply impishly.

Towards the end of the day as our class mates sprang out .. we would casually ask them - as one would ask an old acquaintance - "So! Aaaj kya hua?" (what was covered in class today?) Months would easily slip by ... .. amongst movies and outside food and masti and endless talking and pool tables we would never allocate time to trivial things like studies. UNTIL ..... when the exams came by, and we would scramble to get ourselves in order. Luckily course work was light and I don't remember ever requiring more than a days preparation to get by in the exams. Of course parents would wonder - what was happening to our shining grades from last year..... but thats a whole different can of beans.

Career ..... coming to America! such things weren't in our wildest dreams. We knew serious times lay ahead ... but at the moment we were just content in knowing each others little worlds as throughly as possible. The friendships that were forged by the lasting laughter of that TP, by the moist scent of Mumbai - are by far the most lasting connections I have ever had..... unstained by the passing of time.

Later on in Engineering and now in Masters, I have been fortunate enough to have good friends, but the friendships that endure most were those formed almost a decade ago. I was too innocent to recognize that friendships are also some times formed out of need. We changed as people, we went different ways and pursued different careers ....... but to this day when we meet, we are the same people when we are together.

Duh! Central point of all my blabbering being ..... that there is a time and place in each persons life when TP plays the most important role ...... when TP isnt TP at all. That TP reinforces good health. That TP can some times be the most lasting memory a person would ever have!

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