That image of you on a cushion-less leather chair near Gate 13 at Barbara Jordan Terminal in Austin, TX, cross-legged, chin resting on your hand, elbow delicately balanced on a thin armrest, an open notebook with scribbles ambitious of being the words that will be your history someday. Will you be able to confine that image to permanent memory?

Yes, it was confined to permanent memory. I remember it like I remember a photograph that I have seen a few minutes ago.

And we are back to airports. In a way that it used to be. It’s nice to know yourself the way you knew you were. It’s like meeting a friend after ages. Like John Travolta (Face/Off 1997) said, “It’s like looking in a mirror. Only… not.” It is like the experience in Coach 78519:

“You are the same too – except a few crinkly wrinkles that have become permanent after years of laughter – the only sign perhaps – of how much you laughed once upon a time.“

And in between the meeting of the then-you and the now-you, there’s a third self, a ghost of the in-between adventure. But he isn’t present, as such. You can’t see yourself, but (the now-)you know that your smile has changed. What was once only a dream is now buttressed with with a calm resolve. The blinding speed, scattering of effort, the running around in circles have all vanished. You don’t just see it; you experience the space.

This slowing-down-thing is working very well, I must say.

It’s a lovely day.

It was not to be. It was quiet and devoid of any frenzy or even action. It came and went like any other. The changes, if at all, were internal and not so obvious. And, they were only the seed of the change, not itself. What is left to be seen till the next one, is if these seeds will be nourished and if they will grow to a beautiful tree in the future.

It even indicated contemplation. I couldn’t, though I tried and attempted, even to force it. Contemplation requires a trigger – and these artificial triggers did not work. The ceremonies associated with these markers, that have now become the identity of these markers seem more and more worthless as each marker passes me by. The association makes these markers stand out; devoid of the association, they are just factual instances of a measure.

But celebrate we must, for there are others who live by these markers. If not for yourself, then for them, you partake in the festival about you that others celebrate. It is not all morose, if it sounds that. There is happiness, only it does not transcend as it usually does.

It fills you deep inside.

All’s well

I also found out today that the missing girl was found by the police on the same day that she went missing. There is now a photo of a newspaper article doing the rounds, reporting that the girl has been found. Folks on Facebook are still sharing the link asking people to help find the missing girl.

I find this exercise futile. Somewhere, deep in our psyche, we feel we have contributed to helping find the girl by letting more and more people know that the girl is missing. Apart from that we don’t do much. Maybe some people actually do something about it – go in search of the girl or something to that effect – but most of us let go of the girl after we have re-shared the shared link.

The link that tells you that the girl is found, is not shared as much. Is it that we have an obsession with sensationalism, that we are quick to share the news of the girl going missing but ignore sharing the news that the girl was found? Is it that, it’s all good that girl has been found, and it doesn’t matter whether we tell our friends of the good news? Would we share thoughtfully if Facebook charged us a few rupees for every share? If every share cost you something, would you share as much? For that matter, if you were charged for every like, would you like so many things?

I think a couple of years ago, there was more original content on Facebook. Now, it has become a browser.

Episode 1

Episode 2

This post by itself has little in it by way of content. But it carries the seed of many posts, thoughts, tales of travel, and emotions. It sets the pace, for the days to come.

*

New year’s eve is actually like any other night. The first day of the year is like any other day of the year. But the glamour associated with it makes us want to participate in its significance. It perhaps provides us a sense of purpose and meaning. There is celebration and contemplation: often occurring simultaneously. And in that slight moment celebration overcomes contemplation.

*

We are too preoccupied by the mechanics of everything. To take a road through a forest to enjoy what it has to offer is clouded by the worry of the road’s seclusion. The dwindling daylight. We have to stop there; in the middle of the road. Remind ourselves of the purpose. Be aware of the environment, of course, but more importantly be aware of ourselves. And it works for things other than roads in forests.

*

Doing nothing is bloody difficult.

*

Watching fire (like a campfire) is therapeutic. The dance of the flames is mesmerising. Wind and fuel choreograph it to perfection. You can even take anything from your mind and toss it in the fire. Sadness burns very well. Watch it burn, crackle and become ash that will blow away in the morning. You can even toss wood.

*

There is no third-party out there. A big blob-kind-of-a-thing, with many names and forms, that causes everything and has all the answers. It just does not exist. It’s just you. It is enough that you know what the truth is. If you look for validation, there is a good chance you do not know the truth.

*

Once in a while, you will wonder about why you like certain things.

In recent times more so.

Conversations are sparse and acknowledgement is dwindling. Attention spans are smaller and the gap in our understanding is bigger. While the nay-sayers predict the end of the blog, I continue this pursuit. To what end, I do not know, but I am unable to give up on blogging the way some of my peers have.

Good thinking and good ideas need space. More than 140 (or so)  characters. Friends have been contemplating leaving Facebook. Some friends have already quit on Twitter. But a large majority have let go of blogging. For their own reasons. A sense of loneliness hovers around me, threateningly.

I did not complete 800 posts, this time. My 100posts/year benchmark has been missed. Funnily, I am not upset about it. It doesn’t matter anymore. Very few people care about your blog. Very few people care about their blog. They are content with your shorts on Facebook and Twitter. (Sidenote: I love it when people predict the death of things and I love it even more, when people post about the death of things, insisting that that prediction of death is useless.)

The Blog is dead; long live the Blog. 633 people follow this blog. I am sure this is WordPress bug. There is no way that 633 people follow this blog, I am willing to bet on it. It’s New Year and all. Hopefully, you have had a Merry Christmas.

As far as I know, only one person has read all the 670 posts on this blog. Maybe, you are another one of them. But, I do not know. You didn’t tell me.

As you have already gathered, this is the eighth anniversary of this blog. Eight is an odd year. We are more sentimental of rounded anniversaries. 5, 10, 15, etc. The 8th doesn’t figure here. So, I will not make a big deal about it. We have become slaves to rounded milestones. We take great pleasure in celebrating anniversaries that end in a number that is a multiple of 5. Why? I always wonder.

This is a scheduled post. I wrote this post a few days before the 29th. On the day that you read this post, I am probably in a place which does not have Internet or mobile connectivity. Since I have an idea where I will be, let me tell you – I am happy to be where I am. I hope you are happy too, wherever you are. I wish, that you are happy too, wherever you are.

I do not know if I will post anything before the New Year, so here’s wishing you all a very Happy New Year! Work for your dreams and make then come true!

Mumbai roads, that early morning can be quite alien. Most of the traffic comprises of unusual trucks and hired SUV-kind of vehicles dropping off and picking up folks who work shifts. All of them drive fast; a couple of hours later, these streets will be filled with other and many familiar vehicles.

One big advantage of having a dual carriageway is that you need to focus just a bit less on the road. And since this road is quite familiar, it works better for me. It didn’t matter whether it was Rajasthan or Karnataka. I wanted a conversation. With my best friend. The expressway helped us set the mood for the next few days. We talked.

I am happy. My plan, beyond the routes and the reservations is coming true.

We had breakfast at McD’s. I like their muffins better than their burgers.

I have been thinking about highways and dual carriageways for a while now. They are efficient. They are fast. But, they do not expose you to the environment in which you drive. Flashback: c 2002ish, I am at my friend’s house in Virginia. He is a proud American. Like you and me, you know – proud about our country. We were discussing how the highways and expressway have changed the scenery on a drive like this. We killed a little bit of romance at the cost of speed and efficiency. Years later, I saw Cars (2006) – the movie – and we spoke again.

Today, I do not mind the speed. But I do not want it all through this trip. I am out here, to slow down. The 59th Street Bridge Song starts playing in my head. I wonder, how I will make the morning last. The best I can do, is capture that moment. The tea is laced with masala and the morning, with happiness.

The more or less uneventful, but enjoyable drive continues. We passed Kolhapur. It’s the first time I have passed it by. In less than an hour, we are at the border of Maharashtra and Karnataka. The road quality changes. It becomes better. I have thought about this before – and it comes back to me. How can the quality of a road change at state borders when the road is a national project?

We make our way by-passing Belgaum, Dharwad and reach Hubli. I have been warned that credit card machines are rare, as I leave the highway. The first ATM I go into has the ATM software’s equivalent of the BSOD. The second ATM seems to be working. And for the first time in my life, I see angry graffiti at an ATM; a severe accusation of not delivering. The language that was employed was very different, but I’ll let your imagination take over for that. I am a bit concerned. It would be a shame to have your debit card sucked-in at this point of the trip. We drive away, finally find an ATM that (a) worked and (b) did not have a bad review.

It’s time to leave the GQ. We take a left towards Hospet, onwards to Hampi. The road is not as bad as I had thought it would be, and apart from the ongoing road works, it is in good condition. But more than that, the pleasure of being off an Expressway is now in view.

The sun prepares to leave for the day, and my calculations, about reaching Hampi while it’s still daylight, have been wrong. I had even accounted for the shorter December days. We reach Koppal just after sunset. I have been asked to call from there, for the directions to the Anegundi Road. We stop at a “Tiffin Centre” – my favourite places to eat when I am in the peninsula. A few kilometres ahead and we take a turn onto what is obviously a village road. My concerns are happily devastated as the road tuns out to be quite good and small hamlets pass us by every 5-odd kilometres. We are to reach Basapur, where someone will escort us to the place we are to stay.

It is 7:15pm. There’s a buzz in Basapur even though it’s not brightly lit. There’s smell of street food, dried grass, mixed with country liquor wafting in the neighbourhood.

We get our escort on a bike, and in less than 5km but almost 20 minutes, we meander through a rocky dirt road to Hampi’s Boulders. A very warm welcome and we are told we are just in time for a campfire & barbecue. It’s been fourteen hours for the 740 kilometres to get here. A campfire and a barbecue are very welcome. We quickly checked in to our room that was perched atop one of the largest boulders I had seen, and went to the campfire.

It is 8:20pm on 23rd December, 2011 and little did I know; campfires were to be a prime theme of this trip.

The road today is well-known and often travelled. Almost all of it is a Dual Carriageway and three-fourths of my drive is on the Golden Quadrilateral. After Hubli, I am not sure what’s in store for me. The place I am supposed to reach, is not even on Google Maps. I feel quite comfortable about driving till Hubli. The adventure, I suppose, will start when I take left after Hubli.

It’s almost one in the morning, and I still do not feel sleepy. I have been planning this for the last three months. Routes on Google maps, asking for feedback on Twitter, tips from friends who have recently been to Rajasthan and the like. And after three months of rigorous planning, I have a completely new plan – in the opposite direction. We are going to South India, instead of the North. And I am now wondering, how I got this route and the locations in place in one week. Perhaps, that’s the reason why I don’t feel sleepy. I am surprised wide awake.

These thoughts go on, they occupy every crevice in my mind nudging their way back and forth to my attention. And I am still not asleep.

“It’s already 4:30,” she says, “you said we’d have to get out by 5:30.”

I wake up, and that seems to be proof enough that I did get some sleep. All my thoughts, who had slept with me, wake up with me. The excitement buzzes in my head. I take a minute for the buzz to settle.

We are ten minutes late. It’s 5:40am on the 23rd of December 2011.

We are off.

Merry Christmas and a Very Happy New Year.

No, I did not say Happy Holidays. Like, for example, the BBC has been doing on its channel.

The world’s changing into too much of averageness, And I will have none of it. Every specific thing that I have known – every festival is being reduced to an abstraction of meaninglessness. Hate me for it, but I refuse to participate in this politically correct (PC) charade

When it is Diwali, I will wish you a very Happy Diwali and Prosperous New year. When it’s Christmas, I will do the same. And I will wish you a Happy Id, depending on when the moon chooses to show itself. Even if it for a moment in that day, I will remember Guru Nanak’s teaching. I will wish you a Happy New Year, when the Parsee, the Tamilian, the Maharashtrain and when the Punjabi celebrates it; when anyone celebrates a New Year (I may not know your new year, that’s another thing). What the hell, if you decide a that a day in the year is a start of the new year, I will wish you then. (Just let me know about it)

I do not do Happy Holidays. Period.

I do not know what they mean. It is almost like wishing you a fun vacation. Which I will do – if you are going on a vacation. But I refuse to do it during a holiday given for a festival. If you look deeper at any festival, it is essentially a time to be with family and friends. To make merry, to connect, to eat together; to enjoy together. And each festival has a ritual, a means — a method — to be with family and friends. Some festivals have protocols. Some fun; some weird. You may not subscribe to them in their entirety, but in your own modified way, you will follow them, let go of your ego and high-practical-scientifically-oriented-thinking for those few days and just be. For most of us, these days, festival holidays, especially if they come in contact with a weekend, are a way to retreat from the daily routine. The significance of the festival is lost to us. Some may think that. I don’t, yet. As joint-families give way to nuclear families, it is the way to go. We still end up doing what we were essentially supposed to do at festivals. We are with family and/or friends and we make merry.

A few years ago when I had wished many of my customers in the US, a Merry Christmas, my colleague, who was based on the US for a while, had chided me for sending these messages. He identified a few of my customers, who were Jews and other non-Christians, and told me that it would be inappropriate to wish them a Merry Christmas. I thought about and acceded to his request and maintained the “Happy Holidays” protocol in the next few years. In my mind, however, I never ever completely agreed with him. He of course, never took the pain to remind me of Jewish festivals when I could wish them, specifically. I later asked him, why none of my customers ever wished anybody in my team a Happy Diwali? My team took the pain to explain that we would not be working for a Thursday and Friday and sent them Wikipedia links about Diwali. Apart from a few generous souls, no one ever wished my team a Happy Diwali. He obviously had no convincing answer. Most of the folks from the US, wished us a Merry Chirstmas, incidentally, in December as they proceeded to their “Happy Holidays”.

Isn’t it blasphemous to wish a Hindu or a Muslim a Merry Christmas? Or, for that matter, wish a Happy Diwali to a Christian? I do not know.

This post may be seen as the cultural incongruence we face, when working with different regions and religions. It possibly is; even, But, we need to make that slight extra effort; we need to understand that abstracting every festival to meaningless averages is not going to help us understand each other better. What will help us, is participating in each others’ festivals. I have been blessed that I was invited to a family Thanksgiving dinner, in the US, where the family kindly cooked chicken for me because they were not sure if I’d eat turkey (I did). I have been blessed that my friend from the UK has visited Lalbaug cha Raja, and participated in the Ganapati Aarti, with me at my home. I have been blessed that my friends, when they have stayed overnight at my place, have offered their morning Namaz at my home.

Most important of all, I have been blessed to have been taught to know and respect cultures around the world and that I can keep this respect alive without succumbing to political correctness. So, whether you are Christian or not, here’s wishing you a Merry Christmas and a Very Happy New Year.

What other people believe and do, does not determine who you are. What you believe and what you do, determines who you are.