Scaling New Heights!

A friend, who doubles as my trekking partner and fellow gourmet-experiment enthusiast, was taking me to lunch. As we were digging into some authentic Korean food, we got talking about the two years that had just gone by. Two years in the corporate world, two years of financial freedom, two years of responsible work. But the first thing that flitted across minds when we looked back on these two years? Not achievements, not promotions, not the new car or the now bike that we had purchased, not the parties, not the laughter, not the sorrows- none of all these. We both zeroed in on a memory which was so vivid, it amazed us, considering the time that had lapsed since the experience.

In May 2011, we had gone to the mountains for two weeks. It was a small group, totaling 7 friends. We reached Manali, and we trekked along, and up the snowcapped peaks for 4 days and nights. Everyday, we would start walking when the sun rose, with our backpacks and gear, halting for food that our guides would prepare in a jiffy. We would experience, alternatively, spurts of energy and emotional and physical drain. As we gained altitude, we had trouble breathing. The winds became chillier, and we saw only one colour- the white of the snow, all around us. The view, on the positive side, became progressively breathtaking. We stopped talking to one another while we walked, because talking tired us. I remember, I even stopped thinking. My mind was blank, and all I did was soak up the scene around me. The final test of our endurance sprang upon us on the last evening of the- expedition, if I may call it that.

Our guide told us that we were to scale one peak, which we could see from our campsite. It was a known trail, he told us. But, it was relatively difficult too, we were warned. None the less, we had come this far, we might as well scale the peak, we decided.  Our guide was as agile as a monkey. One moment he would be alongside us. The next, he would be ten metres higher up. After trekking for a little over an hour, we were daunted by the seeming impossibility of the mission. But we were stranded. We could not separate from the group and go back to the camp site, for fear of getting lost in the jungles. We had only once choice and that was to keep following our guide, who, while we were looking around helplessly, had scaled another hundred metres, and was hollering at us from above, playfully throwing snow balls at us to catch our attention. The fact about snow is- it is not a nice thing at all. It is wet, slippery, and the sort of article that must be restricted to nightmares. I lost count of the number of times I fell flat on my face, (trying) walking on the snow.

Then came the part where, we were on all fours, trying to keep up with the group. It is the sort of scene that one sees in the movies, only, over here, it was for real. I will never forget the fear I felt, when I looked down, and realized that one small misstep would mean me rolling down into non-existence. Every single step was an effort. And every metre gained brought a hundred more into sight, which we couldn’t see from our original vantage point. I remembered vividly all that things that I had not done, all the things that I so badly wanted to achieve- I had not seen Paris yet, I had not made peace with a friend I had a fall out with, I had not told my family how much I loved them, I was not even married! There were so many things I wanted to do, and I was talking to God, telling him to please, please see me through this. Our guide had not forecasted any snowstorm, but the clouds were darkening. Finally he came down, and helped us off our backpacks, and with the load lessened, we were able to scramble up relatively faster. As we reached the summit, I had so many thoughts buzzing through my head. The peak- was not a peak, to my surprise. It was flat land. I was looking at all my friends with this blank look, slowly registering the fact that we made it! And as the sharp hail hit us, I felt pain and felt more alive than I did in all my life. And then I burst into tears.

 As we relived this, during our lunch, we realized how much learning we got out of that trek, than anything else. We were pushed to the extremities of our emotional and physical endurance levels, so much that trivialities at work and troubles at home are not so hard to wrestle. Though it might be an overstatement, life, post that trek, seems like rebirth.

They say, live each day, like it is your last day on earth. The idea is too big to comprehend, for most of us. It needs more than just imagination to live each day like it is your last- it needs a life changing experience. And something like this has taught me how seemingly big things- like ego- matter so little, and how seemingly small things, like a hug, a kind word, or being generous with the three magical words – ‘I love you’ can mean so much. Perspectives change, priorities change, for good.

So said Oliver Wendell Holmes, Jr.-  “A mind that is stretched by a new experience, can never go back to its old dimensions.”

God bless.


*Picture-from the internet

Not at all what it seems!

We grow up fed with a lot of ideas about things, in general. A lot of Indians would like to believe that we keep the culture flag flying high, Americans have no values, a woman who prefers traditional sarees to comfortable western wear is ideal wife material any day, men who smoke and drink are bad people who decent girls ought to keep safe distance from, and oh yes, dating is scandalous.

In the same vein we Indians love to tear our country into bits, and have inane ideas about the different sects of people who habit these myriad bits. I was never a believer of these- but some of the outrageous/hilarious/commonplace ones, I would share.

Hand-me-down thoughts and the influence they have on the way we think and act these days!

Coming from Chennai, I would start with this. Tamil boys are the most decent of all men out there. Chennai girls cannot speak English and cannot leave home without their malli-poos. Bengalis are dirty, smelly folks who love their fish and cannot eat/sleep/live without them. Delhi boys are to be shunned by decent south Indian girls because they all think about is ‘only one thing’. People from Bihar are uncultured brutes who you can never trust with anything. Malayalee girls, are always ready, anytime, anywhere, for ‘it’. Maharashtrians are rude, snobbish people who would never give a thought about anybody except folks who speak Marathi. Oh, and don’t get me started on the Sardarji jokes.

Now, where on earth did these notions come from?

I definitely did not make them up- these are views put forth by friends of mine- and I can boast of a big circle of them, from all over the country. And it is very saddening/ heartening to say that- every-single-one of these I could negate. My opinions are the result of a very miniscule sample population, and would be insignificant as well. But nevertheless I simply HAVE to say that- Gaurav from Kolkata is one of the smartest men I know, who comes up with the best one liners I have heard till date. He is one of the best dressed people at work, and his nails are always clean. Delhi boys might, on paper, do anything for ‘it’, but all the Delhi-Punjabi boys I have known, have always been sensitive to what their women want and don’t want, and have never, not once, manipulated/influenced/thrust their wants on them. Gaurav, from Bihar, is the one person we would never, ever, plan any trip without- simply because he is the one man we all feel safest with. He is patient, sensible, and knows when the party has to wrap up. He is like the mother hen of our gang- or, Daddy ..Hen? Ok I will stop the poultry talk here. I know 3 girls from Kerala, and not one of them remotely resembles Shakila, in thought, manner or bearing. Enough said. And I have the second highest number of friends in Pune, after Chennai, and every single time I land there, I am welcomed and showered with so much love- by, sometimes the very same Kokanastha Brahmins who every non-resident calls the bane of Maharashtra.

In the end, it is not as much the perceptions that are the issue. It runs deeper than that. To the extent that, such repelling ideas would dictate the way we behave with these – normal people- who we have no knowledge about, except that his or her second name is- say, Joshi or Sharma or Bannerjee or Balan. This- again- is no cock-n-bull story that I have made up. The moment a fellow Indian, from another state sets foot into Chennai, he is given the look, scrutinized, branded, and left to his own resources. I know that I get the same treatment too, the moment I leave the Delhi or Mumbai airport- but isn’t that what we need to change? Be the change!

By the way, I deliberately did not use certain words, because of outrageous stats that feedjit has been giving me, like this.

Peace out!  

Stilled

I have been reading Eat, Pray, Love. This is one of those remarkable coincidences, where a book lands in your lap, exactly when you need it. In fact, the past couple of weeks have been a bundle of coincidences- myriad paths- taking me exactly where I wanted to go, but had no idea that the place existed - I landed on this amazing blog, which I keep going back to read, time and again, and I have started to reconnect, with a lot of old friends, and God. (Kind of Déjà vu, still)

Today, I was in, kind of, the lowest of the low. And I decided to go to the temple. We frequent a lot of temples, but there is almost always, just one or two, where you really feel at home, at ease. The sort of places where you think you can have a nice (seemingly one-way) conversation, and feel like you are being listened to. I went to one of those, feeling very numb all over.

As I stood there, I felt the presence of this man behind me. Now this guy is all over my neighbourhood. Sometimes he is in rags, other times he is clean clothed. Disheveled at times, at other times, somebody takes pity on him and gives him a haircut. He just landed on the street parallel to where I stay, nobody really took pains to know where he came from, but he bothers nobody, so we just let him be. The local, mad man, who mothers point at and scare the hell out of children.

I was pouring my heart out, standing right there. If God’s gender was masculine, I am sure he would have gone, ‘okay, okay child, I’ll take care, shush, just, just quiet, go home!’ when I was only 1 minute into my ranting. But, yeah this post is not about God’s gender. And God was listening, as I went on and on and on about ‘oh why, why, why, why ME?!!’ A placeAnd as I went ranting, I heard the mad man plunge into a cacophony of- sounds. He was not speaking, he was- just going on and on in some alien tongue, and for some reason it was getting on my nerves.

So I wrapped up my monologue (within 7 minutes), and started on my pradakshina. Just as I finished the stipulated 3 rounds, there was instantaneous silence. What made the mad man stop his gibberish, I know not. I shouldn’t call it gibberish too. But when that silence descended on me, it was like an answer, a promise.

And I felt the calm still the palpitation that my heart was experiencing for the past few weeks. And then I knew, this, I would cross :)

And we lived to tell the tale :)

Management Trainee Batch of 2010 :)

With today, I finish 2 whole years in the corporate industry. IT. All my life, I grew up telling myself that if there was one thing I would never put myself through, it would be a stint in the IT field. (No, I never knew what they did then. Yes, there was a time when I never gave a damn about money :P) So post school, when all my classmates went on to slog for four years to earn a degree in the Engineering Sciences, I was playing grasshopper in WCC, cutting frogs and rats open, poking my fingers and analyzing blood samples, volunteering at museums and zoos, birding and wrestling baby crocodiles, camping, trekking and – in a phrase- living the life!

Then MBA happened- out of nowhere. Not that I regret it. I never cry over spilt milk. So futile, I say! I loved college, I – got used to the course. Made great friends, learnt that I could love Marketing as much as I loved animal sciences and literature, and then looked towards getting into an organization where I would “sweep in, earn amazing profits for it, come up with brilliant ideas and turn around the way the place operated”. Yes you can smirk. :P

And then I landed here. My first company. Where I have been hanging around for the greater part of these 2 years. Time sure has flown by! No, I did not get to do all that I had dreamt of doing. I learnt a lot. Some leanings- might be funny, some might be bitchy, and some- downright crazy. But we survived! And that earns me a pat. And icecream.I learnt that- impressions matter. A lot.

People will always speak behind your back- there is acute shortage of conversation topics in these companies.

There are good people around, the world is not a dark, mean place, yet.

Anything, once mastered, becomes a chore.

If you do not have a communicative relationship with your boss, you are in deep trouble.

Smiling helps. Appreciations help more.

One screw up can sweep down a whole year’s worth hard earned reputation.

Building back lost trust is more difficult and tiresome than constructing a space shuttle.

Most people have a problem with attitude. Whoever said despotism died away?

Be judged, or be ignored. Your call. (flicked from Seth Godin)

A bunch of friends make office worth coming to. Laugh aloud, let everybody see it.

Take feedback, don’t ever take shit. People telling you what you can never be or what you can never do qualify as shit.

Respect, where it feels mutual.

Take vacations. I look back on these two years- I remember, more than all the work I did- my various trips- trekking, the Himalayas, Ooty, Bangalore masti, Delhi..

Try to love what you do, try hard.

Salary- is THE motivation factor.

There is life beyond these walls. This is not the end :)

A Great Deal More Than Aloo Parathas and Balle-Balle!

Punjab is a country in itself. Or so they would like to believe :P

Not an attack, not at all. But after a visit that offered a peek into their culture, customs and history, I come back all amazed, and whirring with the colours that the city flashes at you.

So it was a one day visit to Amritsar. We had an amazing localite for a guide. Babbu aka Devender Singh. We dropped the bags off at a hotel and headed straight to a Dhaba for breakfast. Kulchas and Parathas. dripping with ghee, with a hundred flavours that tantalize your tastebuds..Heavenly is the word. We stuffed ourselves till we could eat no more.

Amritsar is a small city, it still has this old world charm about it. You see ancient arch ways and spires that do not look the least out of place next to neon lit dhabas and crowded market places bustling with denim and sneakers clad men going about their businesses. But what hits you more is the colour! Bright hues, all around you. Like butterflies flitting around, and not restricted to gender. The men sport colourful pagris and the women, as always, have no dearth of choice.

We visited a couple of temples in the morning. Their temples allow photography! And they are worth being clicked too, I should say. Their idols are nothing like the stone sculptures we see in the south- they are neatly chiseled, decked and ornamented- such a feast to the eyes. 

We visited two such temples- One called the Vaishno Devi, which is a simulation of the real Vaishno Devi temple, with all its caves and corridors. The other was the Ram Tirath temple, which is, according to legend, the place where devi Sita lived, and raised her twin sons Luv and Kush, after she was banished from his kingdom by  Lord Ram. When he performed the Ashwamedha yagna, this was where his sons intercepted the horse, and this was where the Lord had reunited with his family.

Around lunch Babbu took us to the Golden Temple. The temple itself, its ambience, cleanliness, the seva, the sanctity and the reverence that the place held to the Sikhs cannot be put to words. We had the langar, (food served to all visitors at all Gurudwara), which is touted to be very tasty, but for some reason I felt it was overrated. We visited the museum- and then is when the gravity of the great Sikh heritage hits you. Their valour, sacrifices and inherent greatness is out there for all to see- and then you wonder who ever came up with all those irritating Sardaji jokes.

 We troop into the Jallianwala Bagh which is next door. We all know the history. Some pics that would give you an idea of the horror.

Finally we head to the much written about, much heard of Wagha Border for the famous Retreat ceremony. Forgive me, but it was sheer madness. A 3500-strong crowd sits in the gallery, with a mere 200-300 odd, from the Pakistan side of the gallery, a few metres away. The impeccable march and ceremonial closure of the gate is marred by the crowds jostling for space, pushing and pulling around, with absolutely no respect for the National flag. Add to it some lathi charge from the police men, trying to keep the crowd in check. And an army officer who mistakenly tries to spice up the sober ceremony by egging the already fanatical crowd to shout ‘Bharat Mata ki..JAI’, ‘Bhande..MATARAM’ and the like.  No, not my style.

And then, there is nothing else of touristic importance. We find time to shop. Jutis, patialas, and suits with amazing phulkari work- that I cannot wait to show off. Babbu buys us Aam papad and takes us to this local pani puri wala who offers us- for 20 bucks- 6 puris, each dipped in a different flavor of pani. I forget the flavours, but I remember grinning through the whole episode. And there ends my first, and probably only taste of Punjab, but, to sum it all up in a word- Respect!

Summer Nightmares

   I have always had a love-hate relationship with the month of May. All through school, you longingly wait for the long vacation where days are supposed to be longer, but in truth, fly by faster- still the heat turns you off so much, and you can literally feel the fluids being sucked out of yourself.

   Out of school and college, still there is no dramatic change to the situation now. And this May is so screwed up- I am at a loss as to how I can sail through it.

   For those who are not from around here- the following would give you an idea of our state. 

   I work with a company where travel and location shift is commonplace. So it is not unusual to see new faces swimming around the corridors every other week. So one not-so-fine April morning I walk into the ladies rest room, and run into this cute thing who I remember, was from Dehra Dun, fanning her sweaty herself vigorously.

“So HOT isn’t it?”

   I gave her a sympathetic nod. I wanted to tell her that this was just the beginning, and that the sun was going to act crazier with every passing day. I shut up. She did not.

“I have become so BLACK, you know. HOW do you people survive here?!!”

   I have faced this question from I-know-not-how-many people. The snide joke that I got from a friend from Pune was that Chennai has only 2 weather conditions. Either it is hot. Or very hot. Nothing else.

   Maybe we have just got accustomed to it. Acclimatization’s new definition: staying sane at 45 degrees C.

The ironic truth is that all the to-do things on my bucket list-which I would have been finding ways and means to achieve, would spring out from nowhere only during the infamous ‘Summer Vacation’ time. The already-did items that I ticked off my list in the past couple of weeks were- the sea-floating adventure, with the CTC (I used to gloat about it, calling it sea-diving, but there are too many smart people around these days), visiting the Chennai museum (which is still the same- more dusty, probably) and kick starting my German class (Guten Tag!).

   The yet to be initiated list includes- Kung-fu class at the YMCA (self defense is the mantra), a snake hunt expedition with the Madras Crocodile Bank Trust (yes, I get a high out of digging snakes out and brandishing them, like Steve Irwin), a bikers expedition with the CTC (no, I would just ride pillion and look pretty). And. The crowning glory of the big list- A trip. To Delhi. And from there to Amritsar.

A Punjabi friend asked me if I left my brain at the museum.

   Delhi is going to be a furnace, he told me. And Amritsar is going to be worse. A week in the blazing heat is directly proportional to the intensity of the tan that I will proudly showcase on my return. Just in time for my dear cousin’s wedding. South Indian weddings, for the uninitiated, are occasions where random uncles and aunts walk up to eligible looking girls, and shoot a standard set questions.

1. What is your name? (erm. Stranger?!)
2. Who is your dad/mum? “Ah, you are her daughter!! You have grown so big! I remember seeing you when you were this small!” (Midget size. Did they hope I would be stuck in time?)
3. So are you in college? What, you finished college? You are working?!(just when you are reveling in the unsaid compliment…)
4. How much salary do you get in hand? (gasp*)

   You are still in shock. By then the snoopy aunty has gone over to interrogate some other unsuspecting girl.

So, evidently the mum is very anxious for me. Because weddings such as these are breeding grounds for future marriage proposals, and given the fetish for “tall, fair, beautiful” girls in the marriage market, she is very wary about the impending tan. And though I might not give a second thought about scoring high ratings in the marriage market, who does like a tan, pray? So, I would probably give some good old sunscreen a shot.

Watch out this space for pictures- sans the tan. A Mid-summer night’s dream- no more nightmares!

At- The Piano

So this is my Resolution for the month of February. To revive my dying blog. (Atleast) One (meaningful, useful, sensible) post a week.


Weekend before last, we had been to Bangalore. Met a couple of friends, walked along the streets, lots of laughter, crazy fun. This is not my first trip to the city, but it was one of the most special trips, in many ways. For one, this was the first time I was there sans family, so there was no pre- defined itinerary. Every next action was on impulse. On one of those impulsive moments, we ‘just’ decided to go to this place called The Piano.


I wanted to figure out the exact location of the place, but it does not even show up on google, which I think could either be 1. Such a shame – because it is one of the most amazing pubs that I have ever been to, else 2. They are doing famously well without all the unwanted publicity, which is a credit, by itself. So I shall try to give you a near accurate location of this hidden place-it is located on the Castle road- Near Museum Road (!!)


So in we tromp, four hungry souls, two already in dream land about the fare in store (these buggers had been to the same place the previous night) and the other two, neck deep in expectation, having heard such tummy-inspiring tales, that they simply HAD to sample the place. First thing that struck us was the ambience. Not overdone. Filled with knick-knacks. Funny one liners all over the walls. Make you stop, read, grin, and then walk on. Nice crowd, and nicer staff. Made one feel genuinely welcome, the sort of people who come by, crack a joke or two, laugh with you, and continue their work.


So we were settled in our table, the much awaited menu arrives. This is the best part. The specialty of this place is- flavoured beer. They come in 6 diferent flavours, the ones that we had, I would recommend: Fruit beer (beer mixed with passion fruit juice), Bee sting (the name says it- with a hint of honey) and lemon beer- of course. In a word- AMAZING. Out of the world. Though, after going this far I must warn you- Once you have this, beer would never be the same again. Post this we asked for a pitcher of ‘normal’ beer- and it simply wouldn’t go down.

A few lines about the food as well: Pretty decent, though I wouldn’t call it pocket friendly. They boast of chicken wings in a variety of flavours. We had something called the Old Monk- which is not recommended at all. It was way too spicy, with a little bit of sweet somewhere in between, that teased your tongue and made your eyes water. Vegetarian fare was pretty good- said the Vegetarian who accompanied us. Non vegetarian- Great stuff. Nachos, the lamb lasagna, and the stroganoff. All cooked perfectly, in their own way. (Though, personally, the best stroganoff that I have had would be at 10 Downing Street, Chennai, anytime) Meal for four- Rs 2,400. But worth every paisa of it.