Diwali eve

FINALLY on the train home on Diwali eve. Dead tired after spending five hours on a crowded platform, waiting for a train which kept getting delayed and delayed and delayed. The saving grace was the platform humour which erupted in spurts from one or the other corner, much like the firecrackers in the sky - which unfortunately were no great shakes at providing entertainment to the tired crowd at the station. Anyhow, the train, usually on time, decided today to get delayed by almost four hours. So for those of us, who had dilligently reached the station well on time, it turned out to be a bloody long wait.

"Yatri krupaya dhyan dein, Delhi junction se chal kar ... ko jane wali ...Express tees minute deri se aane ke sambhavana hai." ..after the said 30 minute, turned into "...Express...ek ghanta aur thees minute der se aane ki sambhavana hai", and so on and so forth. By the time the fourth announcement was made, about two and a half hours after the original delay, the platform could do nothing but erupt into giggles and chuckles (or maybe it was chuckles and giggles, I am just too tired and sleepy to remember exactly). The same people who a minute ago were damn irritating, - the group of tipsy men listening to music on the phone at full volume, the kid running around between the legs of passengers while the mother looked on with pride and the father looked on with exasperation, the constantly quarrelling couple, and so on - each time the mike crackled on, loud "shhhhs" rang through the platform, followed by an agitated and just barely controlled silence. After the first few annnouncements, the chuckles were accompanied by "Maro yaar announce karne wale ko",clearly said in jest by the large group of college students sitting next to me. Who said it and then simultaneously erupted in laughter. Maybe the message got through to the railway announcer nevertheless, who, in the very next announcement, went deadly silent after the first four words, "Yatri krupya dhyan dein..". Thats it. The sentence remained unfinished. The mike silently crackled, while around the platform merriment rang out and a loud voice said, "Ab bol na himmat hain to!!!".

But now that one is in the train finally, and on the way home for Diwali, here's wishing everyone good festivities and good cheer on journeys home. And for the railway employees at the Delhi stations, well, here's to crackling mikes and just about amused passengers.

Happy Diwali all.

Humming, Hemmingway and things which make me go (H)Mmmm..

- Evenings: And new memories. Which for days and days have made me smile and sing to myself while driving to work every morning.

- Reconnection: Out of the blue connection with an old friend after years of searching and giving up. Glad to be back in touch Mr. Thesis!

- Places: I'd rather have been these few days at: Burma, Kabul, Paris

- Alternative careers: Colleagues in the know have officially certified an alternative calling as a fashion designer. Looooong story! Those of you who know me, have already heard of - and seen it, and man, it makes me clutch my stomach and guffaw each time I remember the gala dress (enough said!)

- Irritants: "Celebrities" - queensize egos, pintsize brains; "Media" - brainless twits with nothing but attitude; Microsoft Word 2007 - WHERE the f are all the options?; Flu and colds; Airtel - I give up, outsourcing does not always work; cleaners; and, live bands which play less and talk more.

- Career I will NEVER EVER follow: celebrity management

- Key-work-words: Life, before and after gift!, the declarations - the recommendations - and the tantrums, fantastic media who know their stuff and media who are anything but, self-sufficiency, inspirational speeches, following-up and being followed, dog bites and missing laptops, and oh yes the lone International Red Cross. Some recovered, and some in recovery, but all in all a successful commencement.

- Thank God for: friends who stand for tantrums and friends who bang the drums of common sense. A shout goes out to J in H, R in E and S in U.

- Music of the fortnight: Ethnic Motives in Jazz ('El Bembe' -Jimmy Wilson, 'Afro-Cuban Drum Suite'-Dizzy Gillespie); French Lounge ('Breathe' and 'Smile' -Telepopmusic; 'License'-Agent 5.1); Latin Groove ('Linda manigua'-Sidestepper, 'El Carretero' -Barria Cubano de Ronald Rubinel, 'Yorulamento' -Supatone)

- Things I enjoyed the mostest: Inspirational speeches, lime margaritas, and mmmm..beaucoup de baisers (absolutely and utterly not in that order!)

- Current state of mind: anticipation

SOLD

All I can say is, read it.

Prose, pain and pathos.

Here's an excerpt:

"MATHEMATICS

In the village school we were taught to add, subtract, multiply, and divide.

The teacher gave us difficult problems, asking us to figure out how many baskets of rice a family would have to sell to buy a new water buffalo. Or how many lengths of fabric a mother would need to make a vest and pants for her husband and still have enough for a dress for her baby.

Here I do a different set of calculations.

If I bring a half dozen men to my room each night,and each pays Mumtaz 30 Rupees, I am 180 Rupees closer each day to going back home. If I work for a hunderd days more, I will surely soon have nearly enough to pay back the 20,000 Rupees I owe to Mumtaz.

Then Shahanna teaches me city substraction.

Half of what the men pay, goes to Mumtaz, she says. Then you must take away 80 Rupees for what Mumtaz charges for your daily rice and dal. Another 100 a week for renting you a bed and pillow. And 500 for the shot the dirty-hands doctor gives us once a month so that we won't become pregnant.

She also warns me: Mumtaz will bury you alive if she sees your little book of figures.

I do the calculations.

And realize I am already buried alive.

-

See

>:-( Hmphf

Do you have those days when you're angry and upset with everyone and everything (And, NO, this is not a question, its a bleedin' statement). Well, its been a long month of such endless days.

So here's a half-hearted sort of attempt at 'looking at the bright side' and all that cliched blah blah.

Good things:
- Friends who keep in touch, no matter how weird you act. God bless you!
- Unexpected emails which make your day and make you daydream.

Now am going to breath in and out slowly (does that work for anyone??), shut up, and retreat back in my mind.

Imperialists and dreamers

Rory Stewart is of middle height, lanky frame, with slightly long hair, and the last time I saw him, he wore jeans, a white shirt and a long black coat. Rory Stewart is a 30 something former British diplomat, who, not too long ago, held the position of Deputy Governor of a region of southern Iraq. (.. trying my best to ignore the 'neo-colonization' blinker flashing across the mind...) He is also the author of a book based on his solo trek around Asia, including through the conflict-ridden Afghanistan. Rory Stewart is also a glib talker, as glib diplomats go. I heard him speak at a panel discussion about a year ago. And it was not difficult to visulaise him in the role of the young governor/diplomat, imperialist overtones notwithstanding. He speaks the way I wish I could, as do most young people who dreamed while growing up, of being revolutionaries-authors-Presidents-adventurers-archealogists-pirates, all rolled into one. He articulates scenarios with oh so impassioned words but with an expressionless face, - cliched diplomacy at its best. And, Rory Stewart, now an ex-diplomat, is currently working in Afghanistan, on restoring/ preserving old Kabul architecture. To sum it in a sentence, Rory Stewart is the modern-day real-life version of the fabled adventurers mentioned in many an adventure book. And, one of many examples why 'too busy with life to follow that dream' seems like such a feeble excuse.

Here is the link to a recent article about the architecture preservation work he is doing, and an older and more general one on his various stints.

The picture is taken from The Telegraph article linked above.

Lesson # 1

The weekend fast aproacheth. Hence taking a cue from Three Beautiful Things, and meandering off in my usual style, here are Three Lessons Learnt, from last weekend:

1. After one-two-many, no matter how slow one speaks the words slur. In fact, the slower you speak the more elaborate and in-slow-motion cometh the slur. Solution: Keep mouth (and mind) shut, after three drinks. Good luck with that one though. Lemme know if it works. (Uh what did you ask..right..yeah we are working towarjeuq..I mean towardashddud, well towaaaasd..oh well see its better if yo cals..yo cald.. me on my office number over the week, here's my carth..well, here is half of it anyway..let me see if I can find the other half in my bag somewhere..(take a big gulp of the drink to drown the sheepish smile..and walk off))

2. Never buy ciggies when plans for 'a quick drink' are afoot. Because, you'll be too out-of-it to recall what happened to the yet unopened packs. Hint: left it on the table. That could be any table - in a pub, restaurant or somebody's house, but usually its a table. (Drat! Both the packs were unopened, AND I left my lighter.)

3. Giving the DJ repeated dirty looks is NOT going to change the music. Hint: a) change the venue b) have another drink.

Venues: Shalom, Stone, T's house
Drinks: Lime Margarita, Blue curacao margarita, Kiwi margarita, G & T with bitter
Food: Some sort of ridiculously small but exorbitantly priced mezze platter. Taste: don't recall!

Happy weekend all. Esp, S in W (jetlagged (but happy) I bet!), I in G (I know doll, will email soon), S in the outskirts on one side of the city (happy treadmillin), J in the outskirts on the other side of the city (c u tomorrow..been a while), and S almost in the neighbourhood (don't think, just eat).