Frangipani

I believe I'm a sun person Long cold days of Delhi with its lovely winter of the past Always made me yearn for the sun to appear at last Foggy days when the school bus was just two circles of smokey yellow Rainy days when the world was all shades of gray and a muddy puddle Few moments of the delicious sun on winter evenings in the garden Oranges and books and the nice cream thin shawl Winter has gone, am in the land of the sun Everything is alive, ripe, full of life Mosquitoes and worms and flies all thrive Bread goes bad, the spinach has dried up Tomatoes are shriveled and the wind has given up My back is cold with sweat, my skin has changed color I rub the sun away from my eyes and yet it wins and dries them up Yellow has gone and blue is back Red is completely ignored, green strives to win the day Sun - life with you or without you - is difficult Life - with sun or without sun - is difficult I know the sun will rise again...today, tomorrow, and forever - My hand at poetry and I ...

J’attends le bus. Je m’installe sur l’unique banc vide. Une jeune femme vêtue d’un sari vert attend avec moi. La vieille est toujours là. Des enfants jouent autour d’elle. Elle est couverte de boue. Plusieurs saisons ont laissés des traces sur elle. Elle a du être très belle. Abandonnée au bord d’une méchante route. Une route bordée de sombres magasins, sales et bruyants : un atelier d’ automobiles, une boucherie, un chai-wallah. Une piste d’huile, la queue d’un chéval. Un tuyau. Des ordures partout. Indifférente, au milieu de toute cette laideur moderne, la vieille continue d’exister. Immobile. Seule, elle reste dans son coin. Cachée et isolée de ce monde. Un monde qui ne lui appartient plus. Délaissée pour une autre. Plus jeune. Plus moderne. Elle a été belle elle aussi. Des parebrises brisés. Des vitres absentes. Des pneus envahis par une terre affamée, la vieille voiture résiste enco...

I had created this presentation last year as a small step towards spreading the GREEN word. This year to celebrate World Environment Day, I thought that I would share the same thoughts with a wider audience, by posting it to my blog. So, here it is: Let's hear it for THE Earth!!!

The world has been talking about it. It has been broadcast and the story has made headlines all over the world. I'm referring to the performance by Susan Boyle on the show Britain's Got Talent. Her singing was extremely beautiful for sure and that is probably not the most appropriate degree that I'm using. However, what seems to be the real spice in the Susan Boyle story is that she is 47 years old and does not come near to meeting the acceptable standards of beauty in the world. And for some reason, these factors seem to be of more importance than her singing prowess. Why do we always think like this? Na...not think...judge like this. Just because she does not meet the generally-accepted standards of feminine beauty, is she not a woman? Is she not a human being? No, i'm not being moralistic here (if such a word exists) but i have always found it annoying when people make judgments just by looking at the way people dress or walk or talk. Agreed that physical appearance...

Reduce, Reuse, Recycle This is the campaign line of most green societies today wanting to emphasize on how we can save the environment by following these three R's. This made me think about how we have done this in the past and for ages in India. Reduce This is about the time when you would leave that one last mound of rice and dal on your plate complaining that you could eat no more, and your tummy would burst!! And mommy, would always say, "Don't waste food. There are people in the world who don't get enough and here you are wasting it. If you don't want so much, you should have taken less." Bingo! The concept of Reduce, right from scratch. Then, there were always times when we would be admonished for leaving the fan or the light on in the room, when we were not in the room ourselves!! This was a lesson well learned and till date, i feel guilty if i forget to switch off lights or other electricity-eating equipment. We learned this early and maybe it had to d...

This is something that i've been thinking about for a long time and when i say that i dont mean a few hours or a few days but it is something which has always 'bothered' me, let's say, for the lack of a better word. Through this post, i will try and sort it out as much as i can or as less as i must. Our names are a mark of our identity. At times, they are the only thing that identify us. In any case, they are the first things that act as identification. What do you learn from a name? And i will stick to Indian names only. Many people can tell you your religion and also your caste from your name. I've never been good at doing that and that i think has somewhere worked to my disadvantage, where family expectations are concerned. Religion, regions, communities, castes - i like to believe that these are nothing but systems of classification, of organizing. And that is how they began at least. Religion - i like the flower and believe in it. X draws power from the water a...

It is the 31st of Dec, 2008. The last day of this year. Tomorrow will be a new day, a new year. And as always, the feelings are mixed - How will the new year be? Will it bring any better luck or fortunes? Why will it be any different? What is changing...the morning of Jan 1, 2009 will be the same as all other mornings...so what is the big deal? I think the idea behind this frenzy of a New Year is hope and loads of it! Everybody hopes that somehow the next year will be better. A new beginning will be possible only if the old is laid to rest. It is a closure and therefore a beginning too. It is a cycle as is every other thing in this world. And though we may not realise it, it is this circle that gives us a sense of comfort. What goes around comes around... From beginning to the end, from end to the beginning Life, Time, Seasons - all move around in a circle Though we talk about vicious circles and wanting to break away from the circle, we also find real comfort and peace only when in a ...

This was sent across as a forwarded e-mail by a few friends. This story is worth a read... http://www.forbes.com/opinions/2008/12/01/mumbai-terror-taj-oped-cx_mp_1201pollack.html Commentary Heroes At The Taj Michael Pollack 12.01.08, 7:40 PM ET My story begins innocuously, with a dinner reservation in a world-class hotel. It ends 12 hours later after the Indian army freed us. My point is not to sensationalize events. It is to express my gratitude and pay tribute to the staff of the Taj Mahal Hotel in Mumbai, who sacrificed their lives so that we could survive. They, along with the Indian army, are the true heroes that emerged from this tragedy. My wife, Anjali, and I were married in the Taj's Crystal Ballroom. Her parents were married there, too, and so were Shiv and Reshma, the couple with whom we had dinner plans. In fact, my wife and Reshma, both Bombay girls, grew up hanging out and partying the night away there and at the Oberoi Hotel, another terrorist target...

I should have remembered Nov 26 as just another time that my age clock comes a full circle and I subtract another year from my life. Yet, what happened on Nov 26 this year has shaken me completely as it has a lot of others...Mumbai was under attack ...Mumbai, desh ki dhadkan was under attack once again and with what audacity where we questioned and made to come down on our knees. Who were these people who made it possible? Young 20-25 year olds, apparently-misplaced youth...20-25!!!!! For God's sake...their God and my God and everybody else's God...20-25 is the time when one lived and thought of life ahead. What is it that makes these young people move towards such means? What justifies this macabre killing of so many people? Money - how much money is good enough for committing such an act!!! 10, 000, 50, 000, 1 lakh, 1 million...how much is good? Who are these terrorists - dressed like you and me, looking like you and me, walking the same streets, watching the same movies, ea...

It has been quite a while since I posted anything. So, I thought that I will post some quotations that I have saved up. These are from a collection that I started when I was in Genpact. I used to send out 'Quote for the week' kind of stuff. Then, Priya also shared some lovely short poems and all of it went into my collection. I really like quotations. Actually, if I think about it, quotations have been a part of my journey so far since school days, I guess. Meenakshi and I would always fall for birthday cards which had either funny one-liners or long poems with beautiful words. And then we would go on to add quotations to the card...write inside the card, over the envelope, even on the flap. I had gotten this beautiful cloth-bound diary for my birthday when i was in school and i promptly made it my quotations books. I have it till date!! It has been close to 15 years now...i would think. Nani and I also used to write down quotes into a diary. She was the one who got me started ...

“Are you from Orissa? How long have you been in Delhi? I’m sure you don’t speak Oriya? Do you?” I’ve answered these questions time and again. And its not just one section of the society that poses these questions to most young people of Oriya families settled in Delhi. There are times when I’ve tried to be understanding if the question comes to me from aged people, people old enough to be my grandparents. I know that for them these and similar questions is an attempt to understand that ‘children’ are still being taught traditions. When they pose these questions, there is no mockery in them. Instead, there is a curiosity to know and understand if people who’ve lived away from Orissa have any connection with their native land. Answers to their questions in the affirmative reassure them that all is right with the world. However, they can accept negative responses to the same as well. They understand if you tell them that you have lived away all your life and so, don’t identify with the Or...

Moi, je m’assoi Seule La lumière s’étend Lentement La voix trouve un coin pour se cacher Trouvé Des questions me troublent Ami Sont des réponses Ami de la voix Le noir dure Lait de la lumière Le silence Dure Pesant Silencieux Des réponses introuvables Intimes Un moment Perdu Non Ce n’est pas vrai Je le croit Croyais Vrai Faux Réel …non Seul Le miroir L’espoir Le noir… Written on 03 June 2002

Mala was sitting at her desk in the office of « The Changing Times ». It was already seven in the evening. Suddenly, the phone rang. It was her boss, Mr. Thakur. He asked her to work on an article, a sensational story on that damned woman, the writer. He had even suggested a title for the article, laughing all the while in his special derogatory manner – “The author of Why Rape? raped by 3 people”. Mala was stunned. Slowly, she had taken a few pages, yellow with time, and had begun reading them but it all came back to her even without reading. It said, “Why do men rape? Is it a test for them to check their virility? Or is it a way of expressing all their frustrations? What is it? … … … The victims are – a three-year old child, an eighty-year old grandmother, a sister, a mother…” Mala continued to read as if in a trance. Some lines underlined in red. “God is neither a man nor a woman. Because the world, God’s creation, needs the energy of both the forces – masculine and feminine....

Mala s’asseyait à sa table dans le bureau de « Le Temps Changeant ». C’était déjà sept heure du soir. Soudain le téléphone a sonné. C’était son patron-Monsieur Thakur. . .Il lui a demandé de faire un reportage « sensationnel » sur cette maudite femme, l’ecrivaine. Il a suggéré le titre aussi-« L’auteur de ‘Pourquoi le viol ?’a été violé par trois personnes. » en riant. Mala était étonné. Lentement, elle a arraché quelques pages jaune avec le temps et elle a commencé à lire-mais de memoire. Elle a lu - « Pourquoi les hommes violent ? Est-ce-que c’est un type de examen pour vérifier sa capacité pour l’acte de sexe? Où c’est une sortie de toutes ces frustrations? C’est quoi?……….Les victimes sont – une enfant de 3 ans, une femme de 80 ans, une sœur, une mère…… ». Mala continuait de lire comme dans une transe. Quelques lignes soulignaient en rouge. « Le Dieu n’est pas un homme ni une femme. Parce que le monde, sa création, besoin les deux forces - masculin et féminin. Donc, co...

In India, we have a penchant for celebrating everything with fervor. And most festivals or holidays are linked to one religion or the other or else have such mythical beginnings, the stories of which have gotten lost over centuries. One of these happy occasions stands out in its uniqueness. The day I'm referring to is Teacher's Day. This is celebrated on Sep 5 each year across all educational institutes in India. However, it is the enthusiasm in schools that truly brings out the 'teacher' and 'student' in us. As Sep 5 just went by, I wanted to talk about a few such teachers who left their mark on me during my growing-up years and have most definitely played a role in shaping my personality. I spent my childhood growing up in South Delhi and went to a school called Green Fields. At that time, it wasn't one of the top league schools such as a DPS or a Modern or a Sardar Patel, but it was the best. :-) One of my earliest memories is of a music teacher way back ...

I click therefore I am My values are but a mouse-click away All desired skills have boiled down to a component ID The LMS – a record keeper Sole proof of my values existence Back and Next – two entities of my life So close, yet so many pages between them Loading at 40%, then 60% …my knowledge never reaches 100% I drag and I drop unhesitatingly Hoping that these activities get me recognition I wait for my development plan to fade away And to evolve into a certified valued professional I cross all hurdles and reach the assessment Never has a 90% meant such joy and relief And as I return gleefully to my seat with my name printed in b/w My thirst for knowledge And my will for development is all but extinguished There in my inbox sits another mail … it is IT Security week next and the darned online trainings are back!!! I click therefore I am - Written in blood after putting in 16 hours trying to finish certain ‘mandatory’ online training...

I’m very fond of watching the various music-based reality shows that are being shown on all the TV channels these days. I’m referring to the more serious ones – shows like Sa Re Ga Ma Pa, Voice of India, and the latest to join the bandwagon – Junoon. (I will not name Indian Idol in the same breath simply because I think it is blasphemy to do so.) I think all these shows are brilliant in the way that they look for such amazing talent across the country and across the continents, in many cases as well. I think Sa Re Ga Ma Pa is the one that began this trend of music-based shows and we have quite a few voices in the music and film industry now, voices that have found their audience and limelight, through this show. It used to star Sonu Nigam as the host, who did a splendid job of it too. The voices were all so fresh and so beautiful. Some became popular and some not-so popular. But, each one did find the confidence and I’m sure this was one of the shows that proved to all the young ‘h...

Another bomb blast...another security lapse...another headline...another news story. But this was not just another bomb blast...This was a blast on a train which carries people across two countries. The Samjhauta express is a link for the people of two nations joined by a lot more than history and border lines. Though most of us are screaming that it is a huge security lapse, and what were the officials doing, I think what is more important is for each one of us to take responsibility. Each time you think that you can travel ticket less, and when caught pay a bribe of Rs. 50 to get away, that very moment you become as much responsible for killing this country. I agree that the government has a huge role to play and so do the authorities. But what about the time when people get annoyed because they are being frisked for security when they enter a station or a mall? Why should we not live responsibly? Why are we never alert, never responsible? Why does it happen that it feels easier to j...

What's in a name, the bard wrote, but I'm sure there is no one in today's world who would agree to that. A name is the first element that gives you an identity, and that defines what you are to the world around you. I have always been extremely possessive about my name. And have had to face quite a bit of enthusiasm from the world - not only about my first name, but also my last name. Picture this - You are walking down the corridor of your school, and there is this teacher screaming out for 'Saraswati' or 'Sulakshna' at the highest pitch possible. Obviously, this 'Saraswati' or 'Sulakshna' is either deaf or simply non-existent...:-). And the latter was the case. Besides these, I've always had to repeat my first name at least thrice when introducing myself. Well, this is not unique to me. It is an affliction for many traditional Indian names - be it from Punjab or Tamil Nadu or anywhere on this semi-continent. Coming t think of it, maybe ...

It is March in New Delhi and the colorful festival of Holi has just gone by leaving its traces on people. This time of the year is when Delhi is at its most beautiful. I know many of us would argue that the winters in Delhi ought to get more of the limelight. But that would be stating the obvious. Spring in Delhi just dawns on people, it comes in ever so gently and makes its presence felt in a quiet way. The flowers just seem to abound, the breeze carries the cool caress of winters mixed with a nice warm feeling. It's at such a time that all the Gulmohurs of this city and the pansies bloom away. The main roads of Delhi - Lutyen's Delhi - Akbar Road, Shahjahan Road, Nehru Gardens, India Gate, the innumerable roundabouts are full of color. There are reds, yellows, greens of the grass and the trees, whites, oranges, the mad rush of the pink bougainvillea...its beautiful and wonderfully enthralling. Waking up in the early mornings when the moon is still shining away and the sun is ...