Benazir, You Were Better Off In Exile...

Bummer! But Benazir's martyrdom might just lead to an explosion of pent up anger and frustration. It's too big a country to have only 1 little-popular leader, one who's walking the fine line between showing allegiance to the new world and enjoying support from religious extremists, lead till time indefinite. How long can he mock the judicial system, or democracy itself, and get away with it? Revolution won't be suppressible too long. Bush should figure, this time the General needs more than a pat on the back.

Her assassination might affect my rather harmless, ineffectual life too. Political instability (read civic unrest) is bound to spill over the 100s of kms of shared national boundaries. How it'll affect my life and to what magnitude is anyone's guess, but rest assured it'll be more than yet-another-chat-topic-over-evening-tea. I can only hope it won't be violent or disorienting in nature.

Benazir, in your death, you've probably done more than you could've living. God bless.

Kolkata In All Its Beauty

Chronicling my sightseeing trip in the City of Joy, Dec 19th.

4 Students, a Professor from abroad (a guest) and our guide, Mrs. B. We started 9am and the 1st place we went was Mother Teresa's Missionary of Charity. The short visit was awe inspiring. Amazing how a tiny lady in a foreign land could reach out and touch so many people. The trick would be, I guess, to forget your own agenda and empathize. Easier said than done, of course. I saw the room she called home for ~40 yrs and the place she sat everyday for her meals. The setting could not have been any more modest.

Next stop, Jain temple. My first ever visit to one. The temple was ornate with colorful glass/mirror. Exquisite. In the middle sat Mahavira. There was a large chandelier hanging just at the entrance. Intricate sculpting all around, and a garden and lake outside. Beautiful start to the day.

To enter Mullick's Marble Palace you need special permission from the local tourism department. Fortunately for us, we had Mrs. B with us. A 150 yr old palace where 22 members of the Mullick family still live. A peek into how royal life would have been during the British times in the then Indian capital. The house is a collection of European paintings and sculptures. Tall White-House like pillars in the front, courtyard in the middle, 2 floors of rooms around, 1/2 private and hence inaccessible to us. Outside, a lawn large enough to play soccer, a zoo with exotic deer and birds and a garden beyond. This piece of real-estate is situated in the heart of the city. Royal life isn't bad.

Final stop, Vidya Sagar setu, next to the river Hooghly, close to the Howrah-Kolkata suspension bridge. The Ganges in all its glory and the hawkers on the side selling pao bhaji.

There's, of course, the Victoria Memorial, the zoo, the museum, the planetarium, the Dalhousie Square, the race course, the governor-general residence turned library and many other places worth the time. How many are graced by my magnanimous presence, is yet to be seen.

Da Vinci Code Before Christmas

Merry Christmas! It's been 2007 years since Jesus appeared on earth, give or take some weeks (I think). Couple days ago, I was reminded of the chime "On the 12th day of Christmas, my true love sent to me...". Brought me in the festive mood too. Sort of girly I admit, but the jingle just appeared in my head, and I couldn't get it out for a while. A hard reflection and the corporate/Hollywood images of Christmas do come to recollection: the red stockings, the Christmas trees with the hanging ornaments and candy-canes, the presents underneath, the happy family reunion, the Santa Clauses and their 'one horse open sleighs', the snow, the joy. Images at my present residence are a far cry, so I allude to and thank Hollywood for showing me the true spirit of Christmas.

It's amazing how great an effect this miracle man has had on history especially in Middle East and Europe and of course, the New World. Just days ago I saw 'Da Vinci Code' with my folks (refreshed the amazement I felt when I read the novel an year back). Amazing, again, how a novel can blend with history and shake my entire foundation of fact and fiction. Was Mary Magdalene Jesus' wife? Was she pregnant with Jesus' child? Was she the chosen one to lead Jesus' followers in his absence? Does the Priory of Sion exist? What about the Knights of Templar? Did they protect the Holy Grail and the descendants of Christ for all these past 2000+ years? It's amazing. If it's true, it's the biggest cover-up I can think of. Somehow, the thing that appeals in Dan Brown's thesis is Harvard's Symbology Professor Robert Langdon's 'Sacred Femininity'. Religion, like life, should have balance, the Yin and the Yang. Was religion actually intended to be dry, where misogyny and penance were paramount? Or does religion embed faith, love, devotion and surrender of the absolute power that created us, gave us each breath, our daily bread, and will ultimately take us back at His/Her own will.

Hopefully, these are questions for more than a Friday-evening-over-a-couple-beers.

Down Memory Lane: An Ode to ISKCON, L.A.

I luckily discovered New Dwarka when I resided not too far away. Krishna, Rukminiji stayed there along with Balarama, Subhadhra, Krishna and Gaura, Nitai. Sunday evenings were full of congregational singing, chanting and dancing. The deities smiled contented and looked absolutely gorgeous, the appearance came not only from bathing and new colorful apparel but also from the happiness of being served with love and care. For those 3 hours the airs were full of faith and prayer. The dinner feast came from the remnants of what was offered to the Lord - prasad. I consider it my fortune to have lent a helping hand those dozen or so times in the kitchen sending those 100s of puri balls through the rollers to flatten before they were fried. The temple evoked memories of when founder Srila Prabhupada walked its halls 37 years ago, then purchased as a discontinued Methodist Church and transformed to a thriving ISKCON temple.

It's actually amazing how a meek old man almost 70 years of age could take a 37 day trip, suffering 2 heart attacks on the way, in a cargo steamer to the opposite side of the globe from India, New York, back in 1965 with $7, a metal suitcase with books etc, some dry cereal, an umbrella yet create an organization so magnanimous. For him, the year 1965-66 was spent in struggle in small cheap rental rooms in the NY ghettos, concentrating on translations, chanting, publicizing, and romanticizing at the seaport of returning to Vrindavana. But his faith in his Guru's words and his awareness of his duty to spread Krishna consciousness across the world, kept him going; then and the 12 years after, he circled the globe fourteen times on lecture tours that took him to six continents, authored sixty books on Vedantic philosophy, religion, literature and culture (translated to 70 different languages) and watched ISKCON grow to a confederation of more than 100 schools, temples, institutes, farm communities, and ashrams.

It's amazing what the human spirit is capable of. After testing faith and determination, even God pitches in his bit, and the snowball once set rolling grows larger on its own. I've got to find a better activity than 'killing time'. Who knows what my person can do.

Combing Hair

I adore my hair in front of the mirror a few times everyday. Not too long, usually a couple minutes at most, comb it to bring some order, check it out from a couple angles, make sure no matter which angles the ladies catch me, Cupid's arrows fly ;). I've ceased experimenting with different styles, you work with what you got, and I don't really have that much. Besides, the hair gel, spray or oil debate and the part in the middle or on the side or somewhere in between debates, don't have any real winners and I just choose whichever comes naturally at the moment now. But the comb is not a true a friend. Every stroke, and it takes some precious strands away. Hair, I love you, don't leave me you heartless devil. When I can count the strands, its like depreciation, you don't really care because it's bound to happen, but when I can't seem to value the loss, that's when it hurts the most.

That's life. Die a little everyday. I lose a day (time I could've spent doing anything on earth, but didn't), some strands of hair, some gray cells too, who knows what else. Beauty is fading, for all the similarities I have with the Khans or the Kapoors, I guess I can't really count on it forever. Something tells me Yoga or T'ai Chi have probably discovered ways to channel the energy in ways that keep the body younger longer and are probably worth the try, much more than the hair regrowth creams and transplant operations that the cosmetics/healthcare companies are promoting these days. Either way, "Hair, pls stay, long enough to get me married, at least?".

Our Milkman

When you think about how life could otherwise have been, the possibilities are endless. A peek into the life of an everyday guest tells us how. Our milkman drops by at 10am every day with 1-1.5 liters of milk for us. He carries about ~100 liters on him when going around the town knocking doors and pouring milk (or milk and water or water and milk however the customer's luck is that day). He begins his daily tour 7am and by 12:30-1pm has bicycled about 40km. He repeats the process 5-9pm, on a different 30km route, for the evening deliveries. He basically does a 'Tour-De-France' every month-and-a-half just because he can't afford petrol/gas if he gets his hands on a motorbike! He gets up at 4am to tend to his cows and buffaloes. Someone has to make sure they are getting their share of nutrition, aren't ill, haven't strayed or been lured away by someone else who is aware of their resale value, and needs to milk them dry of their daily production. So this unassuming man in his 30s, with an appearance some years older than his real age, stays along with a few hired help, away from his wife and kids, who are growing up fast back in the village, just so the town kids can drink milk and grow tall and strong. He doesn't have the time to sit and chat, unless he's come up with an infection that might need medical supervision from my mother. Compare this with being too lazy to change the channel on the idiot box. He also doesn't keep his own accounts, he trusts us with his payments, not quite like how we trust him with our milk.

Remember, if you've 'got milk', someone's sweat, and maybe even tears, is behind it.

Managing Expectations

Marketing is about managing perceptions, finance is about managing risk, economics (to a certain extent) is about managing expectations. I need to balance my economics.

I'm done with a 3rd of the graduate program I'm enrolled for. Don't ask me what I've learnt so far, I'm quite sure I've learnt something. Every time I face an exam, however, I come out quite confident I've fooled the teachers. If they think they can trick me with their round-about questions, I have the uncanny ability to see beyond the apparent myself. Don't know why, but the scores I receive tell a different story.

The faculty operates on frequencies not in sync with mine, and it shows with all the crosses and zeroes on my graded answer sheets. Here comes the practical applicability of managing expectations. If an economy policymaker manages expectations well, inflation will never jump out of proportion. Similarly, if I manage my expectations well I won't be swayed emotionally or otherwise by the outcomes of all these evaluations I am constantly subjected to. Higher the expectations, more the fear of it not becoming reality. I've found that peace lies in not trying to convince the faculty that their thought processes are as well developed as mine, but in refusing to be judged or in creating a new dimension or calibration where I'm no less than perfect.

The question is: am I a brick in the wall that's supporting the entire structure or am I there just for the aesthetics or am I just lying outside, unused, may, in the future, be picked up as a stump for a match of street cricket?