tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-110571772024-03-13T09:53:49.749-07:00NagZoneMy personal verbal gymasium in cyberspace where I churn my thoughts, make my inner voice shout and get peace of mind!!Nagesh Paihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11679985046259065815noreply@blogger.comBlogger14125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11057177.post-16117146483644276442008-03-18T22:26:00.000-07:002008-03-18T22:42:06.417-07:00Senior Prisoner's of the Mad City<table style="width:auto;"><tr><td><a href="http://picasaweb.google.com/nagesh.pai/MUMBAINagariya/photo#4964942911860768786"><img src="http://lh3.google.com/nagesh.pai/ROcFRd-OABI/AAAAAAAAAIs/nhcrb27zHX0/s400/DSC04280.JPG" /></a></td></tr><tr><td style="font-family:arial,sans-serif; font-size:11px; text-align:right">From <a href="http://picasaweb.google.com/nagesh.pai/MUMBAINagariya">MUMBAI Nagariya</a></td></tr></table> <p align="justify">I was on my way to my office today, going through the same “exercise” schedule that most mumbaikars go through. My empathizing mumbaikars would take less than a gasp to guess that i am talking about the local train journey towards Mumbai CST.</p><br /><br /><p align="justify">I am one of the few fortunate ones armed with a first class pass. That doesn’t discount any crowd, ironically second class is sometimes much more penetrable. However whats assured in the Fi(r)st class is that most of your co-passengers have had a bath and very few stink of a concoction of sweat blended with mustard oil. Ahh now that was quite an elaborate description of what it takes to be a local train sojourner, boarding the train midway during peak rush.</p><br /><br /><p align="justify">During one such routine morning adventure i noticed a very rare occurence. Right in the middle of the crowded compartment, there was an empty pocket of roughly 1 sq. ft, towards one of the side supports of the doorway. I was beginning to wonder what was that Moses’ spell that kept the Nile of passengers apart. Just when a young student took courage to breach that space, pat came a voice “Please stay away, railways has not made additional space around this side support to accomodate one more man”. The voice traced itself to the center of the no-man’s land. In the gray light that fell in that space through the crowd, i could see a reflection from a neat bald head with traces of gray hair.</p><br /><br /><p align="justify">As the crowd waiting to get down at Dadar junction pushed me further, i discovered this senior citizen standing paranoid and passing warnings at anybody who came close. He held a pink newspaper, going with the fashion of the first class, but that served more like a virtual fence to him, serving like a curtain that helped him keep his private space.</p><br /><br /><p align="justify">The crowd cleared off a bit at Dadar junction, where “uncle” (thats what Mumbai calls senior people with respect) chose to have his last argument. He rudely asked the person in front of him to move away, when he did not, Uncle brushed aside offering his place to the dumbfounded co-passenger. There was a near-chaos with people wondering whats going wrong.</p><br /><br /><p align="justify">I found all of these exchanges pretty wierd until i looked deeper into the eyes of the old man. Old age is meant to be second childhood, and imagine having your child in the middle of a wild herd. The long journey from perhaps thane or beyond, till the Terminus would be a grave hell for the senior person, and i am sure there are many like him who are driven to the business district daily to sustain their livelyhood in this Mad city. Call them prisoners of destiny or captives of the city pace, they continue their struggle armed with perhaps just a newspaper and their paranoia.</p><br /><br /><p align="justify">As the terminus approached, there was enough space between me and uncle, though close enough for my smile to go across. Hope situations allow him to smile back soon!</p>Nagesh Paihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11679985046259065815noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11057177.post-1150799950282649192006-06-20T03:10:00.000-07:002008-03-18T22:11:03.539-07:00The "Check Your Weight Sir" Girl<span style="color: rgb(204, 0, 0); font-weight: bold;font-family:georgia;font-size:100%;" >(encounter on the foothills of the Jivdani Shrine, Virar)</span><br /><br /><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size:85%;">Got a breather after a long time, even as the hot n' humid weather of Mumbai still awaits a break from the cribs of Mumbaikars tortured by it. Few moments back was going through the blogs of my close friends <a href="http://ananthpai.blogspot.com/">Ananth</a> and <a href="http://opentheclosedbook.blogspot.com/">Aparna</a> who have beautifully described their yearning for the deluge.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-size:85%;">The weatherman's prediction has been proving jinx for the rains, for whenever he predicts a storm there is a lull!<br /><br /></span><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-size:85%;">The advent of monsoon, or atleast the thought of it, brings to my mind my trip to the Jivdani Shrine which i did during two monsoons, just when the rains started. Both the times i had an inner urge that drove me to the shrine The first time around i did not even know how to get there from the station. But i did find trusted waypoints to the place. The Shrine is located on a hilltop which is about half hour walk from the Virar Railway station. To reach the temple we need to climb 1000 and odd steep steps which takes another half hour for an average person. When it starts raining, the rainwater gushes through the steps carrying red vermillon (Kumkum) with it offered by devotees, and we see a stream of blood red going all the way.<br /><br />During my second visit there, i was gratified by a beautiful Darshan of the Goddess and that of her humble creation who waited for me during my descent. I was busy smelling the breeze which had the freshness of raindrops and the fragrance of herbs of the hill. I was distracted by a sweet shrill voice that summoned me "Saheb Wazan check kar lo please...sirf Do rupaye " (Sir please check your weight, only 2 rupees) and her dark tiny hands, washed in raindrops, pointed to a primitive weight checker that lay at her feet. I was reluctant and i moved further.. the child was persistent and used the mercy card.. "Sir please check your weight because i need to eat something from what you will pay"<br /><br />I budged and removed my wet shoes before checking my weight. Looking at the dial i said "Oh my God, 70 kilos!! are you sure your machine reads the weight right??". The Kid chuckled pointing to the canteen on the hilltop saying "Sir I am sure you would have had some great Misal pav there" .. i was surprised that she guessed my meal right! by not watching my weight, but my expressions. I smiled at her.. i emptied al the change in my pocket which came to about the fee of checking my weight ten times. In my mind i still maintained that i was not 70 kgs :-)... maybe it was the weight of my rain-drenched clothes.<br /><br />But the day today sees me a little heavier than 70 despite my dry clothes, no extra luggage and yes... no rains from the skies ... sigh!</span><br /><br /><br /></span></div>Nagesh Paihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11679985046259065815noreply@blogger.com14tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11057177.post-1144473887575182092006-04-07T21:58:00.000-07:002008-03-18T22:05:34.905-07:00Prince and Vine<span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="color: rgb(102, 0, 204);font-size:180%;" >P</span><span style="color: rgb(102, 0, 204);">rince & </span><span style="color: rgb(102, 0, 204);font-size:180%;" >V</span><span style="color: rgb(102, 0, 204);">ine</span><br /><span style="font-size:100%;">(When two galaxies collide!)</span><br /></span><br /></span> <div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size:85%;">Before you start dreaming about prince charming or perhaps the luring aroma and taste of a mis-spelt drink, I must start this story with a neat clarification to avoid later disappointment. You will surely not find your Prince charming hiding in the story line, nor will you derive the pleasure of a fine aged matured.. Vine oops wine. But whats assured for you, my dear reader, is a funny observation that may tickle your ribs. An observation of a rather unusual event when inhabitants of two different galaxies meet. Seeing their diversity, you would still feel east and west are close neighbors, but these two are indeed a universe apart. But still there is this one common string that binds them both.. Lets together find it out!</span><br /><br /><span style="font-size:85%;">The story is about two of my dear online friends who refer to me as "anna" (big brother) out of respect and teasing grace. Both of them are connected to me through a community networking site which increased the size of my known friendly universe by multiples that cant be measured by mathematics. They also chat with me frequently over Yahoo IM and exchange notes of their days with mine.</span><br /><span style="font-size:85%;"> </span><br /><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-style: italic; font-weight: bold; color: rgb(153, 51, 153);">Introductions</span></span><br /><span style="font-size:85%;"><br /><span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold; color: rgb(51, 0, 153);font-size:100%;" >Enter Prince:</span></span><br /><br /><span style="font-size:85%;">Bombay has a new bhai (brother), or should i say behan??.. someone who rules if not the city but the heart of her friends and admirers galore. </span><br /><br /><span style="font-size:85%;">Almost as young as me, Prince (name changed, her actual name closely resembles this nick, and She, yes its a she!!!, Rocks and Rules like a prince). She is the younger of her siblings but takes care of her home like the man of the house, shouldering all the responsibilities of her home. </span><br /><br /><span style="font-size:85%;">Working in the Advertising and media industry you would expect her to be pretty jovial and full of perennial energy. Your expectations will be surely exceeded,as much as i know about Prince! Ever dressed in her smart casuals and dressed with a smile, Boldness in her speech with a masculine twang in her self-address, you will ask yourself.. "is it only boost that is the secret of her energy??" No one would dare say ... Our energy :-D</span><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic; color: rgb(51, 0, 153);font-size:100%;" >Introducing.... (drum roll) Vine!</span><br /><br /><span style="font-size:85%;">At this moment i visualize Vine, the young software quality tester enjoying quality time rushing to the biriyani restaurant of old hyderabad, tossing her long hair-plait that may whip a passerby. Her long dupatta or could be her saree whorls ride on the vortices of a passing breeze that just caressed the nearby Charminar of old hyderabad (Yes thats where she is!!)</span><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-size:85%;">Her biggest charm which explains her beauty is her amazing simplicity and bubbling energy that expresses through her chuckling laughter. I still remember the day she had told me that she had a target of fighting with at least X' number of friends in a week. Afterall friendship is dry without fights, she says. </span><br /><br /><span style="font-size:85%;">But the bubbling charm of Vine also has a more responsible side behind the scenes, where being the eldest sibling, she manages many responsibilities back at her home.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic; color: rgb(51, 0, 153);font-size:100%;" ><br />The announcement:</span><br /><br /><span style="font-size:85%;">After a nice long day at work, i rested as usual in front of my "babe" (people call her PC) connected through yahoo messenger to all my online friends, like neo in matrix connected to the "Real world". Just when i was about to check my email pop came a message from Prince</span><br /><br /><span style="font-size:85%;">"Guess what anna, I am going to hyderabad!!". She sounded like a prisoner of the "anda" cell who was just being promised her release. Her prison... her cubicle, she would kill me if i describe the jailor and the jailhouse rock that plays at her office, where i had been once in the evening to find a competing agency to WWF wrestling. Save the fact that here there was no referee or a scorekeeper, and sadly no prize :-) except for a spectator like me who had a audio visual delight.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-size:85%;">So i now move away from her office.. Prince was delighted about her visit to Hyderabad, and also about meeting a friend who had been known only through the community site and yahoo--- Vine! We had kept the spirit of our online group alive and kicking by encouraging offline meets over walks and coffee. But here was a two member two city meet which was worth observing.</span><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-size:85%;">Minutes after Prince told me about her trip, Vine sent across an excited message too."Anna, guess what Prince is gonna visit Hyderabad and I am going to receive her at the airport and have a great time!!". I said.."WOW" and then revealed gently that prince did mention it.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-size:85%;">Now i was waiting for the day these two would meet. I was reminded of a planetaurium screening that i had seen.."When two galaxies collide". I was hoping to see that again outside the Planetaurium dome and through the words of Prince and Vine since neither i could go to Hyderabad, nor did i want to disturb their meeting from its natural course. </span><br /><br /><span style="font-size:85%;">Prince after that day seemed pretty busy and seldom came online or responded with a delay to chat messages. She was busy wrapping up her work, so that the Jailor couldn't extend her term under any circumstance. </span><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic; color: rgb(51, 0, 153);font-size:100%;" >The Appointment Day</span><br /><br /><span style="font-size:85%;">Finally the D-day arrived with absolute silence, as expected since the two of them would be far away from the Internet, meeting in the real world, casting off masks from each others faces. Unveiling myth-filled impressions that we usually tend to set about each other! </span><br /><br /><span style="font-size:85%;">But before they could do all that, they did prove a corollary "Everything great as this universe starts with a BANG".<br /><br /></span><br /><span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic; color: rgb(51, 0, 153);font-size:100%;" >The Big Bang</span><br /><br /><span style="font-size:85%;">Clad in her ruff and tuff jeans and a hep sports top, Prince saw Hyderabad through the soothing shades of one of her many sunglasses that i had once seen filling her office drawer. Her heartbeat grew its frequency, hoping to see a software engineer clad in casual weekend wear. She waited at the airport exit almost beginning to wonder whether Vine had got the flight and time noted correctly!</span><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-size:85%;">Just when Prince was about to make a call... She felt a gentle tap on her shoulder. When she turned around she did recognize the face, but her jaw opened wide with surprise breathing in a whole lot of Hyderabadi air! She exhaled it spellbound squealing... "Vine!!!" What caught her by surprise is the Way Vine was bottled... err i mean dressed :-)</span><br /><br /><span style="font-size:85%;">She stood there with a Namaskaar dressed in a pink saree with her hair neatly plaited as usual, though i am not sure whether she wore a flower on her head. But for a moment Prince was reminded of the Indian Airlines airhostess who she just bid adieu at the aircraft. However the smile here was natural, and the weight far less in kilograms :-D as compared to the Airhostess. (FYI Indian Airlines is considered an overweight airline and we cant blame the luggage, passengers or Airbus, Boeing for it :-) ) The only thing that stood in a wierd contrast with her pink saree was a Green bag. The green bag was supposed to carry a camera which was lying now safe in Vine's office drawer under lock. She later told me her regrets of forgetting that camera, for Prince's first expression was a Kodak moment!</span><br /><br /><span style="font-size:85%;">Vine had a pinch of surprise too. Though she had expected a mumbai media girl to be clad in weekend wear, she did not expect Ms. Sporty Spice fire-over-ice. </span><br /><br /><span style="font-size:85%;">They exchanged a warm hug as they found out more and more about their respective galaxies. The togetherness that followed during the evening, showed a very beautiful pattern. The similarities now showed up.. both of them loved to eat Bhel and junk food from stalls. Both of them loved ice cream but avoided it for their own reasons. Both of them felt that they were still far away from finding a suitable partner from within their community. I hope not all girls feel the same else i will need to start a bachelors community for traditional saraswat boys :-) who wouldnt go intercaste :-)</span><br /><br /><span style="font-size:85%;">The exchanges continued towards a memorable day together till they finally had to say good-bye for the moment, with hopes of meeting again in person sometime. </span><br /><br /><span style="font-size:85%;">Prince rode off with her mumbai grace exploring the Hyderabadi flavours and Vine left towards her abode, dispersing her fragrance to her paths that awaited her smiling pass-by daily!</span><br /><br /><span style="font-size:85%;">My starfilled eyes then imagined this story with my lazy fingers typing it today, days after the actual incident. </span><br /><br /><span style="font-size:85%;">Happy Encounters!</span><br /><br /><span style="font-size:85%;">Nagesh Pai</span><br /></div> <span style="font-size:85%;"><br /></span>Nagesh Paihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11679985046259065815noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11057177.post-1137315110413997792006-01-14T23:32:00.000-08:002008-03-18T22:05:34.905-07:00Blooper - Spicy Kiss of a Virgin ;-)<span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold; color: rgb(153, 0, 0);font-size:180%;" ><span style="font-family:lucida grande;">"Humor Cureth Tumor"</span></span><br /><br /></span></span> <div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><span style="font-size:85%;">If you see all my previous posts, you will find them to be too serious. Before my collar button got too tight and choked me, i decided to open it and write easy with a dash of humour. The most credible and a successful way to make the world laugh with you is laugh on your ownself without killing yourself with self-pity (Apne pe hans kar jag ko Hansaao). Here is my first attempt at recording a silly, funny and real incident that happened not long ago. </span></span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"></span></div> <span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><span style="font-size:85%;"><br /><span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;font-family:lucida grande;font-size:100%;" ><br /><span style="color: rgb(255, 0, 0);font-size:180%;" >Spicy Kiss of a Virgin</span></span><br /><br /></span></span> <div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><span style="font-size:85%;">It was just my third day at work with a leading international media firm which had just opened its shop in India with most of my previous colleagues joining at different levels here. I was glad to join my best ever bosses who i missed for about 5 months since i had left the last place, when i had worked and joined another reputed ad agency with a not so reputed work culture. I jokingly told my boss that it felt as though i had taken a 5 month leave and rejoined since i saw the same faces, but a new company and office.<br /><br />People usually write about their first day at work. The speciality of my third and fourth day at work is the fact that it was spent at a lavish 5 star property in Mumbai by the Juhu beach - The J W Marriott. The company had hosted an event for its prestigious prospective readers who came from the senior-most technology ranks of Boards of large and medium level enterprises, from Public and private sector. Head of Banks, stock exchange, telecom companies, BPOs were all there for a nice lavish dinner and cocktails. The party was to announce the entry of the company and its reputed international brands in India.<br /><br />So there i was, excited about the nice blazer i was wearing and those good glances it drew towards itself and the one fitting not-so-perfect in it. I was wearing my forced close-up smile as i escorted the senior guests some of who remembered me and were quick to identify me with my last company where i had met them on similar events.<br /><br />After the sessions were over it was time for the guests to rush to the cocktail counter, where we had skillful bartenders lending their ears to multiple requests like a CISCO 32 port switch which most of these Tech chaps would have employed within their organization to network equally loud and demanding computer nodes. But the live and skillful bartender never went on a "server down" mode.<br /><br />I decided to pick my goblet after i saw the crowd getting settled a bit, when i was busy chewing peanuts awaiting my turn for the glass. I was not in a hurry because there was plenty of fruit juice waiting for a teetotaller as me. The "higher" and "deeper" spirits however were guzzled off at a higher velocity.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;font-size:180%;" ><span style="font-family:lucida grande;"><br /></span></span><span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold; color: rgb(255, 0, 0);font-size:180%;" ><span style="font-family:lucida grande;"><span style="font-size:130%;">Encounter with the Bartender</span></span></span><br />The bartender took a deep breath after serving the last guest. He exhaled and asked me .."What can i make for you sir?". I asked him "What can you make for me in fruit juices?" .. "Can i blend a mocktail sir?" he was quick to answer.... I looked at a nice red enticing container of Tomato Juice .."Ah tomato juice! that looks exciting. What can you make with it?"<br /><br />I saw a glitter in the bartender's eye and with a strong voice he said<br /><br />"Can i blend a BLOODY Mary?"...<br /><br />The sound of that reminded me of a review of that drink written by Veer (beer) Sanghavi in a cocktails column... "thats got Alcohol!!" i exclaimed as though my virginity was under threat.<br /><br />"I will make a VIRGIN BLOODY Mary" .. Ahhh Virginity of the teetotaller assured and protected.. courtesy Bartender<br /><br />I responded with excitement without watching my words. To the bartender i exclaimed :<br /><br />"Alright MAKE ME A VIRGIN!! Full glass! Extra Strong!"<br /><br />My loud excited declaration invited louder backward glances with few hicupps too. Few of the looks were full of hopes of regaining something dear that they lost few years back. Those hopeful looks also shifted to the bartender to whom it was requested with utmost vigour and confidence.<br /><br />The DJ (Drinks Jockey) bartender, got to his mixing, while one of the hopefuls - my colleague came to me and asked "Can he really do it??". I looked at the recently engaged chap and asked him "You mean you are not?? Hope you have told your partner about it!!" . We shared a loud chuckle while i sipped my virgin with her lips coated with salt and spicy tabasco sauce. Pointing at the bartender I told my friend " Imagine if he could actually make you a virgin? Before asking me whether he could do it, did you have any idea how would he do it?"<br /><br />"SUI AUR DHAAGA... NEEDLE AND THREAD!!" shouted my another colleague answering my boss in some other context, but in close rhyme with my question. My colleague and i burst into a laughter that shook the chandeleirs and the false ceiling... and we exclaimed "OUCH!!"<br /><br />I continue to remain a Lover of Virgin but Bloody Mary with her tangy tomato, Spicy tabasco and a dash of salt on the glass rim.<br /><br />Virginately yours ;-)<br /><br />Nagesh Pai<br /></span></span></div>Nagesh Paihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11679985046259065815noreply@blogger.com13tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11057177.post-1129053851521921902005-10-11T10:25:00.000-07:002008-03-18T22:09:57.662-07:00Ego and WeGo<a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/4244/881/1600/drunken%20master.jpg"><img style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/4244/881/320/drunken%20master.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-size:130%;color:#6600cc;"><u>Lessons from the drunken Master</u></span><br /><span style="color:#6600cc;"></span><br /><span style="font-size:+0;"></span><br /><div align="justify"><span style="color:#330099;">Mumbai is known for its three seasons – Hot, Hotter and Hottest. Who can vouch for it better than a sales person, braving the mean bambaiyya streets at all seasons! The weather was pumping the mercury real high and the humid breeze mixed with dust was sapping out all my energy. However that summer Friday was having something exciting waiting for me at the end of the day just before the beginning of another cozy slothy weekend.<br /><br />The newest client of my company had its event in the evening at a five star hotel where I was heading towards. I finished my other calls of the day early and I was the first to be there at the venue apart from a few event coordinators and my senior who was busy doing a tango with a phone in his right ear, hearing a mic test through his left, watching the carpenters through his right eye and a reserved left eye to watch for the clients entry.<br /><br />All of us finally settled together to have a brief of the event. My eyes couldn’t miss this person of a goliath stature with a pair of thin rim spectacles doing a balancing tightrope act on the edge of his nose. He had a grim expression on his face as he closely scrutinized a piece of paper with writings in blue scarred by edits in red. Just when I was observing things around, He saw me rushing to my events team to erect a branding signage that had given way. My glance returned to the gentle giant since by now I thought that he was the Vice President from my client’s side. My doubts were clarified when he introduced himself as Pablo, the compere of the evening. He gave his Goan aloha smile as though he cast off the grim-faced expression “Mask” effortlessly.<br /><br />The client team made a grand entry led by the marketing manager who had just escaped from Shakespeare’s play – Taming of the Shrew. Following her was the Vice President of marketing, who had a rectangular pale face and almost similar shaped PDA phone with a wireless earphone blinking a bright blue light. He looked like a taxiing aircraft ready to take off at the drop of a towel. The Lady manager da’ marketing made her first fully loaded attack on poor Pablo and his script.<br /><br />The red marks on his script increased courtesy the editing scissors of the client. He came to me and gave me a look that clearly showed that his script was turned inside out and he was certainly not having a good feeling about it. The frown on his face was like that of a dull student who just received his report card with many failed subjects, with the prominent and ruthless red marks. He sprayed his cinnamon flavoured mouth-freshner, waiting to blurt out the remade script, and in the due course of the event managed to deliver a splendid performance by holding the show and the attention of the audience together.<br /><br />The conference ended with people rushing to the bar counter for their share of drinks like children running to the sandwich seller during their slim lunch break. Pablo managed to get his fair share and sat to enjoy with his drinks, while I sat with my usual mocktail sans liquor. I met up with most of the guests who were the top technology decision makers from various large companies based in Mumbai. Pablo, was trying to flirt and “tame” the shrew by being courteous to her asking whether she had dined, but he withdrew at her cold stares. He winked at me as I smiled watching that scene. He asked me for my feedback on his presentation while appreciating me for being a young and proactive member of a nice events and media company that could garner the business of a large client .<br /><br />Pablo remarked “Nagesh, do you see this lady here with her bosses and the way she is fighting with her sales people who are volunteering at the desk? She almost made a royal mess of the show. You would have certainly seen some of the guests simply walk out of the show. “Its their ego that has spoilt things without which the show may have been better” . I could see a bit of frustration in his speech which was not just because his script was messed up, but as he claimed the show could have been better like the many others he compered.<br /><br />He further said “I liked the way you were working with your events folks without a worry that your arrow shirt would get a stain. This attitude of yours will see you go places higher”. Anybody likes a good praise, with me as no exception. Just when I was about to be carried away, Pablo warned me, “Nagesh, don’t be like them ever… They have Ego.. in your case there is a small difference.. its WEgo. Both of you manage to get your work done , but in your case everyone is happy and content and the surroundings is full of celebrations! Where as in their case of Ego, its only frustration” Just that W mattered a lot indeed. Thanks to Pablo and the extra pegs that made him open up a lovely conversation, I had an important message about modifying my weaknesses just by a letter and turning things around for everyone’s happiness and success.<br /><br />My faith in learning and getting from simple things and people around me in all forms, got strengthened further. Despite Pablo being drunk, he had a message for me that came out through our conversation.<br /><br />After that day, I smile wider at my every colleague and take pride in being their man Friday at times when they need my help. That’s when I remember my friend Pablo.</span></div><u><span style="color:#330099;"></span></u>Nagesh Paihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11679985046259065815noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11057177.post-38785632722318634172005-08-07T08:29:00.002-07:002016-07-26T10:14:29.687-07:00Garaj Baras - Notes from a rain-soaked day<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="color: #cc33cc; font-size: 180%;"><b></b></span></div>
<div align="justify">
<span style="color: #cc33cc; font-size: 180%;"><b>I</b></span><span style="font-size: small;">t was a day after i cleared the dust from Hawking's "A Brief History of Time", to sink into an experience of feeling how miniscular and insignificant we are in this mysterious conspiracy which we have conveniently named "The Universe". Perhaps the day after that, was when Mama Nature had scheduled her practical exercise to prove me the same point with a milder version of her boundless power. </span></div>
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "georgia";">After seeing through the exercise, I am tempted to write my observations which i hope, describe Her session with me!</span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: #339999; font-family: "georgia";"><br /><br /><span style="color: #006600; font-size: 130%;"><u>The Gray Day (July 24,2005)</u></span></span></span><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "georgia";"><br />Six months back i had enthusiastically laid my hands on an original edition of the Stephen Hawking best seller, with my biting conscience resisting the tempting calls of the pirate seller who was giving it away at one fourth the price without bargain in the streets of Fort, Mumbai. </span></span><br />
<div align="justify">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "georgia";"><br />Each progressing word of the book gave me an out-of-body experience and took me farther and farther away from the surface of the earth. I could feel myself shrink smaller with the book gently unfolding the limitless expanse of the Universe, with its innumerable unanswered riddles. </span></span></div>
<div align="justify">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "georgia";"><br />Back to the world that we know as real (which by then was an imaginary projection), the skies were getting darker, challenging the reducing lumens of the sunlight that passed through the mounting clouds. Despite subjecting a near-twilight at 12 noon, the clouds were as stingy as much as they were dark and seemed loaded. They did not spare even a single drop of rain! Meanwhile news started pouring that the far off suburbs and places like Thane and Panvel is where the action was happening with the fear of floods in few places. </span></span></div>
<div align="justify">
<span style="font-size: 85%;"><span style="font-family: "georgia";"><br /><span style="font-size: small;">I got myself prepared for the next day at work when my client had called for a meeting, I finished my day at work at normal time without even seeing a single drop of rain and cursing myself for carrying the extra weight of the umbrella, which was dry as its owner :-). The day ended peacefully.. Perhaps it was what they call the silence before the storm.</span></span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: 85%;"><span style="font-family: "georgia";"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-size: 85%;"><span style="font-family: "georgia";"><span style="color: #006600; font-size: 130%;"><u>The May Day ( July 25, 2005)</u></span> </span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: 85%;"><span style="font-family: "georgia";"><br /></span></span>
<br />
<div align="justify">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "georgia";">I woke up with enthusiasm, which i used to don during my days as a sales person, smiling brightly at the mirror. I had a client meeting, which is very rare in my present case where in most of the things happen over phone and email. I dressed carefully in a bright white arrow shirt with a brown Allen Solly trouser. The only dark spot in the shirt was the flauntable arrow logo on the right cuff. I was tempted to wear a neck-tie but the folks at my office would think its my birthday and demand a treat.</span></span></div>
<div align="justify">
<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
<div align="justify">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "georgia";">I reached office guarding my white shirt with a windcheater which bore my company logo. At two thirty, i took my eyes off my computer to look out towards the window. It felt as though some divine hands had dimmed the lamps outside, casting an uncanny gray ambiance over the central garden green. It was darker than usual, felt as though it was past 7 PM, but my watch argued otherwise. The rain started its onslaught by 2.30 and from the confines of the office, it felt as though it was yet another ordinary heavy rain of Mumbai which could be easily scaled with the courtesy of my windcheater and umbrella together.</span></span></div>
<br />
<span style="font-size: 85%;"><span style="font-family: "georgia";"><span style="color: #006600; font-size: 130%;"><u>The Voyage begins</u></span></span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: 85%;"><span style="font-family: "georgia";"><span style="color: #006600; font-size: 130%;"><u> </u></span> </span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "georgia";">(Well begun is half done?? Well, we were almost done for)</span></span><br />
<br />
<div align="justify">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "georgia";">At 3 PM, Boss and I left office in a cab, thinking that train may be a problem. At Dadar, the storm cloud bursted its with-held bladders on our helpless cab which was flapping its windshield wiper in desperation. The inside of the glass was fogged with the driver trusting his gut-feel of the mean streets, and by the faint glow of the tail lamps that filtered through the frosted windshield. </span></span></div>
<div align="justify">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "georgia";"><br />Every ten minutes we asked the driver where we had reached... Prabhadevi.. Dadar...Shivaji Park...Mahim..Every reply saw us getting disappointed over the fact that we would be late for the meeting. Little did we know that our appointment was fixed for another terribly demanding client... The weather.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "georgia";"><br />We tried to reach the client, but darn!! his phone was sounding busy. We finally got stuck up at the Mahim causeway signal. I dared to ask the cabbie how far the highway was and he bleeped "Ek aadha kilometer sahab". Its then i realized that the water from the sea face was appearing to cross the Hutments of the fisherfolk and creeping into the busy streets. The wayside palms bent beyond their usual 90 degrees, as though they were bowing down to a noble woman approaching dressed in a strange grey garb. The scene was highlighted with a heavy confetti of wind-dispersed raindrops.</span></span><br />
</div>
<div align="justify">
<span style="font-size: 85%;"><span style="font-family: "georgia";"><img alt="" border="0" src="https://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/4244/881/320/DSC03269.jpg" style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center;" /><br /><span style="font-size: small;">The water levels on the road rose higher and finally i could feel the waves hitting the bottom sheet of the cab, under my feet. A couple of apathetic heavy vehicles created a strong wavepool in which i could feel my cab almost drifting. </span></span></span></div>
<div align="justify">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "georgia";"><br />As a citizen of a democratic nation, the cabbie utilized his fundamental right to abuse the government for forcing his cab to run on CNG engine which is the first to succumb to the rains. His predictions were true and the car finally stalled at the causeway. He begged us to pay a flat higher rate to compensate his day and asked us to jump the divider. </span></span></div>
<div align="justify">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "georgia";"><br />I told boss that we had no other option but to get drenched. Luckily i had many plastic bags in which i could safely confine my most precious digital camera, which i was hoping to carry to my friends house to capture a function, and my ardhaangini.. my phone. </span></span></div>
<div align="justify">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "georgia";"><br />Moment of truth:The moment i stepped out of the cab, we got drenched to the bone in five seconds flat, as though my arrow shirt topped with the windcheater and the trousers, were no clothes at all. The raindrops felt like bullets, not that i had braved any of them to know the experience, but it hurt hard on the face. We somehow jumped over the divider and saved ourselves from knee deep water to land in ankle depth. We quickly decided that the highway route would be the best since the interior roads would have been flooded with open manholes at large.</span></span></div>
<div align="justify">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "georgia";"><br />As we dashed out towards the highway, we were racing against a crowd moving in the opposite direction. A papaya tree gave up its vows to the ground it stood and crashed just a couple of steps ahead of us. After pushing hard against the wind and the cheek-piercing rain-shrapnels. </span></span></div>
<div align="justify">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "georgia";"><br />We took a five second refuge under the shade of the foot-over bridge whose roof could not stop the horizontal raindrops. We decided to walk to the highway towards Bandra and all the way till Sion to catch a train from there. We thought the rain was seeming heavy there because of the seaside and were still hopeful that the trains were running on the central side.</span></span></div>
<div align="justify">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "georgia";"><br />The flyover crossing the highway served as a partial shelter to stranded people, mainly two wheel riders, who were already tormented by wearing soaked helmets to save themselves from the sadist cops. We did not stay under the bridge for too long. Despite our age difference, my boss and I felt like two school boys enjoying getting themselves drenched after bunking their classrooms. But by the time we reached the next signal we could be certified as aquatic. Near the kala-nagar signal we caught hold of a Rickshaw and asked him to take us to Sion, He agreed reluctantly but after seeing an ocean at bandra kurla complex junction he took a U-turn.</span></span></div>
<div align="justify">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "georgia";"><br />We saw many people taking the flooded side footpath of the road which also had open manholes, We saw a lady tripping but thankfully she was safe. We took the center of the road and carefully followed the vehicles ahead of us.</span></span></div>
<div align="justify">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "georgia";"><br />We passed through Dharavi towards Sion. My boss was not willing to believe that we were passing through Asia's largest slum since the Road side was looking like a full fledged leather mall, save that it was all part submerged, with the tanned hides of jackets, purses, shoes and belts lapping up the storm water. At a distance i pointed to the Sion railway station which appeared hazy behind the showers.</span></span><br />
</div>
<div align="justify">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "georgia";">When we reached the station, boss was looking at the indicator, just when i pointed the platform to him and we both started laughing like madmen. The water level over the tracks had come up to the level of the platform and was flowing towards Kurla at a pace much faster than the stalled trains.</span></span><br />
</div>
<div align="justify">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "georgia";">Just when we were walking towards the next signal, a car brushed by us and its owner offered us a lift till Chembur which was quite close to my home and meant few Km's nearer to boss as well. Through the traffic our car went slowly. the car was luxurious with the FM radio stations busy playing item numbers and old movie songs in a contrasting combo, but nothing about the real world! Perhaps the radio compere had kept the auto playlist in control and fled home, I thought.</span></span></div>
<div align="justify">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "georgia";">Some of the driest places, Everard Nagar, Priyadarshini were all submerged and looked as though they were resting on a shiny red muddy surface, with few abandoned cars floating towards the side gutters. We somehow reached the Kurla signal flyover where we parted with our host. Vehicles were not moving beyond since there was a sudden increase in water levels here and what we saw was the Red Sea!! We walked slowly through the flood. My Arrow shirt was going through a natural wash cycle of the raindrops while my allen solly trousers and bata leathers were beating the flood waters. Despite forcing my boss to come to my house, he decided to put his efforts or call me later. We parted at the next signal.</span></span><br />
</div>
<div align="justify">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "georgia";">7 PM, The fading sunshine made me realize how chaotic it was without electricity anywhere, with a vehicle breathing its last gasp every 50 meters.</span></span><br />
</div>
<div align="justify">
</div>
<div align="justify">
<span style="font-size: 85%;"><span style="font-family: "georgia";"><span style="color: #006600; font-size: 130%;"><span style="color: #993399; font-size: 180%;"><b></b></span></span></span></span></div>
<div align="justify">
<span style="font-size: 85%;"><span style="font-family: "georgia";"><span style="color: #006600; font-size: 130%;"><span style="color: #993399; font-size: 180%;"><b>"</b></span><u>Is this my Locale or has its address changed</u><span style="color: #993399; font-size: 180%;"><b>??"</b></span></span> </span></span></div>
<div align="justify">
<span style="font-size: 85%;"><span style="font-family: "georgia";"><img alt="" border="0" src="https://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/4244/881/320/DSC03272.jpg" style="cursor: hand; display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center;" /></span></span></div>
<div align="justify">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "georgia";">As i crossed the Amar Mahal Signal I saw many vehicles getting "amar" before reaching their "mahals". Shoppers stop.. sumaria.. Gautier and the small grocer's shop, the rains were equally merciless to all. They did not even have the opportunity to move their stocks. An Autorickshaw driver was trying to save his vehicle against the stormwater draft by tethering his vehicle to a lightpole using a handkerchief!</span></span><br />
</div>
<div align="justify">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "georgia";">Finally i was relieved to reach the entrance of the area where i stay, only to see a giant tree collapsed to make my home feel farther away. The next morning after the skies had relatively cleared, i visited the same place. I was horrified to see a dead man under that. I felt that he would have been there when i walked past on my way back, when perhaps he lay unconscious ..maybe gasping... but with his heart still beating.. coming to a grinding halt from its rhythmic ritual of 30 plus years in that person's chest.</span></span><br />
</div>
<div align="justify">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "georgia";">The water got deeper as i finally entered my lane.. In the near-darkness, I was horrified to see my groundfloor neighbor's abandoned homes filled with water till the waist. There was not a soul to be seen on the street or in the building balcony. Soon i did glimpse candle lights through the rain which was now forceful as the waterfalls i had bathed at the Malshej ghats.</span></span><br />
</div>
<div align="justify">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "georgia";">This was the first time that i was thankful that my home was on the third floor. I walked in pitch darkness with light from the screen of my mobile phone that was protected by the plastic packing. Mom was glad to see me home, we were hosting our ground floor neighbour's daughter who had to abandon her car and come to our home with her son. I was glad that my sister decided to stay at her office who took all their employees later to a nice guest house in Malabar Hill. My niece was playful as usual, undeterred by the absence of electricity and her mom's electrifying voice (hehe sister bashing as usual). We were worried about Dad but he was home by midnight with an experience more tiresome than what i went through. He was in the submerged Kurla area and took temporary refuge in the top deck of a stalled double decker bus. After a brief rest, he waded through chest deep water for few KM's before arriving home. </span></span><br />
</div>
<div align="justify">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "georgia";">I thanked God that despite releasing his wrath on us he did take special care of my family and rendered us safe. This situation made me feel as though the roof of my house was removed and extended to cover whole of Mumbai, which made me pray hard for everyone. But unfortunately some had to leave unexpectedly, with the rains as a sudden reason.</span></span><br />
</div>
<div align="justify">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "georgia";">Switched on the radio which was busy with its digital item number playlists with thin slices of situation of Mumbai which made no sense. All India radio Mumbai was busy with experts debating on what happened in the union strike in Gurgaon. The PRO of Railways was optimistic to start the services in no time, however the "no time" is not yet due.</span></span><br />
</div>
<div align="justify">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "georgia";">The cribs can be endless... but it was a different experience to start the chapter on "space and time" in The book - A Brief history of time, in dim candlelight, with all the other modes of information and entertainment reduced to dead solids.</span></span></div>
<div align="justify">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "georgia";">The air was aloud with the sound of the raindrops accelerated by the wind, and was heavy with dampness. Soon got accustomed to it which finally put me to sleep, where the darkness of the room shook hands with the jet blacks of my sound slumber.</span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "georgia";">The rains continued till the morning next. </span></span><br />
</div>
<div align="justify">
</div>
<div align="justify">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "georgia";">Regards,</span></span></div>
<div align="justify">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "georgia";">Nagesh</span></span></div>
</div>
Nagesh Paihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11679985046259065815noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11057177.post-1123430522257828182005-08-07T08:29:00.000-07:002016-07-26T07:57:52.721-07:00Garaj Baras - Notes from a rain-soaked day<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/4244/881/1600/DSC03270.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" src="https://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/4244/881/320/DSC03270.jpg" style="cursor: hand; display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center;" /></a><br />
<a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/4244/881/1600/DSC032691.JPG"></a><br />
<br />
<div align="justify">
<span style="color: #cc33cc; font-size: 180%;"><b></b></span></div>
<div align="justify">
<span style="color: #cc33cc; font-size: 180%;"><b>I</b></span><span style="font-size: small;">t was a day after i cleared the dust from Hawking's "A Brief History of Time", to sink into an experience of feeling how miniscular and insignificant we are in this mysterious conspiracy which we have conveniently named "The Universe". Perhaps the day after that, was when Mama Nature had scheduled her practical exercise to prove me the same point with a milder version of her boundless power. </span><br />
</div>
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "georgia";">After seeing through the exercise, I am tempted to write my observations which i hope, describe Her session with me!</span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: #339999; font-family: "georgia";"><br /><br /><span style="color: #006600; font-size: 130%;"><u>The Gray Day (July 24,2005)</u></span></span></span><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "georgia";"><br />Six months back i had enthusiastically laid my hands on an original edition of the Stephen Hawking best seller, with my biting conscience resisting the temptating calls of the pirate seller who was giving it away at one fourth the price without bargain in the streets of Fort, Mumbai. </span></span><br />
<div align="justify">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "georgia";"><br />Each progressing word of the book gave me an out-of-body experience and took me farther and farther away from the surface of the earth. I was feeling myself shrink smaller with the book gently unfolding the limitless expanse of the Universe with its innumerable unanswered riddles. </span></span></div>
<div align="justify">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "georgia";"><br />Back to the world that we know as real (which by then was an imaginary projection), the skies were getting darker, challenging the reducing lumens of the sunlight that passed through the mounting clouds. Despite being near-twilight at 12 noon, The clouds were as stingy as much as they were dark, since they did not even spare a single drop of rain! Meanwhile news started pouring that the far off suburbs and places like Thane and Panvel is where the action was happening with the fear of floods in few places. </span></span></div>
<div align="justify">
<span style="font-size: 85%;"><span style="font-family: "georgia";"><br /><span style="font-size: small;">I got myself prepared for the next day at work when my client had called for a meeting, I finished my day at work at normal time without even seeing a single drop of rain and cursing myself for carrying the extra weight of the umbrella, which was dry as its owner :-). The day ended peacefully.. Perhaps it was what they call the silence before the storm</span></span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: 85%;"><span style="font-family: "georgia";"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-size: 85%;"><span style="font-family: "georgia";"><span style="color: #006600; font-size: 130%;"><u>The May Day ( July 25, 2005)</u></span> </span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: 85%;"><span style="font-family: "georgia";"><br /></span></span>
<br />
<div align="justify">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "georgia";">I woke up with enthusiasm, which i used to don during my days as a sales person, smiling brightly at the mirror. I had a client meeting, which is very rare in my present case where in most of the things happen over phone and email. I dressed carefully in a bright white arrow shirt with a brown Allen Solly trouser. The only dark spot in the shirt was the flauntable arrow logo on the right cuff. I was tempted to wear a neck-tie but the folks at my office would think its my birthday and demand a treat.</span></span></div>
<div align="justify">
<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
<div align="justify">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "georgia";">I reached office guarding my white shirt with a windcheater which bore my company logo. At two thirty, i took my eyes off my computer to look out towards the window. It felt as though some divine hands had dimmed the lamps outside, casting an uncanny gray ambience over the central garden green. It was darker than usual, felt as though it was past 7 PM, but my watch argued otherwise. The rain started its onslaught by 2.30 and from the confines of the office, it felt as though it was yet another ordinary heavy rain of Mumbai which could be easily scaled with the courtesy of my windsheater and umbrella together.</span></span><br />
</div>
<span style="font-size: 85%;"><span style="font-family: "georgia";"><span style="color: #006600; font-size: 130%;"><u>The Voyage begins</u></span></span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: 85%;"><span style="font-family: "georgia";"><span style="color: #006600; font-size: 130%;"><u> </u></span> </span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "georgia";">(Well begun is half done?? Well, we were almost done for)</span></span><br />
<div align="justify">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "georgia";">At 3 PM, Boss and I left office in a cab, thinking that train may be a problem. At Dadar, the storm cloud bursted its with-held bladders on our helpless cab which was flapping its windshield wiper in desperation. The inside of the glass was fogged with the driver trusting his gut-feel of the mean streets, and by the faint glow of the tail lamps that filtered through the frosted windshield. </span></span></div>
<div align="justify">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "georgia";"><br />Every ten minutes we asked the driver where we had reached... Prabhadevi.. Dadar...Shivaji park...Mahim..Every reply saw us getting disappointed over the fact that we would be late for the meeting. Little did we know that our appointment was fixed for another terribly demanding client... The weather.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "georgia";"><br />We tried to reach the client, but darn!! his phone was sounding busy. We finally got stuck up at the Mahim causeway signal. I dared to ask the cabbie how far the highway was and he bleeped "Ek aadha kilometer sahab". Its then i realized that the water from the sea face was appearing to cross the Hutments of the fisherfolk and creeping into the busy streets. The wayside palms bent beyond their usual 90 degrees, as though they were bowing down to a noble woman approaching dressed in a strange grey garb. The scene was highlighted with a heavy confetti of wind-dispersed raindrops.</span></span><br />
</div>
<div align="justify">
<span style="font-size: 85%;"><span style="font-family: "georgia";"><img alt="" border="0" src="https://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/4244/881/320/DSC03269.jpg" style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center;" /><br /><span style="font-size: small;">The water levels on the road rose higher and finally i could feel the waves hitting the bottom sheet of the cab, under my feet. A couple of apathetic heavy vehicles created a strong wavepool in which i could feel my cab almost drifting. </span></span></span></div>
<div align="justify">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "georgia";"><br />As a citizen of a democratic nation, the cabbie utilized his fundamental right to abuse the government for forcing his cab to run on CNG engine which is the first to succumb to the rains. His predictions were true and the car finally stalled at the causeway. He begged us to pay a flat higher rate to compensate his day and asked us to jump the divider. </span></span></div>
<div align="justify">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "georgia";"><br />I told boss that we had no other option but to get drenched. Luckily i had many plastic bags in which i could safely confine my most precious digital camera, which i was hoping to carry to my friends house to capture a function, and my ardhaangini.. my phone. </span></span></div>
<div align="justify">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "georgia";"><br />Moment of truth:The moment i stepped out of the cab, we got drenched to the bone in five seconds flat, as though my arrow shirt topped with the windcheater and the trousers, were no clothes at all. The raindrops felt like bullets, not that i had braved any of them to know the experience, but it hurt hard on the face. We somehow jumped over the divider and saved ourselves from knee deep water to land in ankle depth. We quickly decided that the highway route would be the best since the interior roads would have been flooded with open manholes at large.</span></span></div>
<div align="justify">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "georgia";"><br />As we dashed out towards the highway, we were racing against a crowd moving in the opposite direction. A papaya tree gave up its vows to the ground it stood and crashed just a couple of steps ahead of us. After pushing hard against the wind and the cheek-piercing rain-shrapnels. </span></span></div>
<div align="justify">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "georgia";"><br />We took a five second refuge under the shade of the foot-over bridge whose roof could not stop the horizontal raindrops. We decided to walk to the highway towards Bandra and all the way till Sion to catch a train from there. We thought the rain was seeming heavy there because of the seasiude and were still hopeful that the trains were running on the central side.</span></span></div>
<div align="justify">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "georgia";"><br />The flyover crossing the highway served as a partial shelter to stranded people, mainly two wheel riders, who were already tormented by wearing soaked helmets to save themselves from the sadist cops. We did not stay under the bridge for too long. Despite our age difference, my boss and I felt like two school boys enjoying getting themselves drenched after bunking their classrooms. But by the time we reached the next signal we could be certified as aquatic. Near the kala-nagar signal we caught hold of a Rickshaw and asked him to take us to Sion, He agreen reluctantly but after seeing an ocean at bandra kurla complex he took a U-turn.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "georgia";"><br />We saw many people taking the flooded side footpath of the road which also had open manholes, We saw a lady tripping but thankfully she was safe. WE took the center of the road and carefully followed the vehicles ahead of us.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "georgia";"><br />We passed through Dharavi towards Sion. My boss was not willing to believe that we were passing through Asia's largest slum since the Road side was looking like a full fledged leather mall, save that it was all part submerged, with the tanned hides of jackets, purses, shoes and belts lapping up the storm water. At a distance i pointed to the Sion station which appeared hazy behind the showers.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "georgia";">When we reached the station, boss was looking at the indicator, just when i pointed the platform to him and we both started laughing like madmen. The water level over the tracks had come up to the level of the platform and was flowing towards kurla at a pace much faster than the stalled trains.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "georgia";">Just when we were walking towards the next signal, a car brushed by us and its owner offered us a lift till chembur which was quite close to my home and meant few Km's nearer to boss as well. THrough the traffic our car went slowly. the car was luxurious with the FM radio stations busy playing item numbers and old movie songs in a contrasting combo, but nothing about the real world! Perhaps the radio compere had kept the auto playlist in control and fled home, I thought.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "georgia";">Some of the driest places, everard nagar, priyadarshini were all submerged and looking they were resting on a shiny red muddy surface. with few abandoned cars floating towards the side gutters. We somehow reached the Kurla signal flyover where we parted with our host. Vehicles were not moving beyond since there was a sudden increase in water levels here and what we saw was the Red Sea!! We walked slowly through the flood. My Arrow shirt was going through a natural wash cycle of the raindrops while my allen solly trousers and bata leathers were beating the flood waters. Despite forcing my boss to come to my house, he decided to put his efforts or call me later. We parted at the next signal.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "georgia";">7 PM, The fading sunshine made me realize how chaotic it was without electricity anywhere, with a vehicle breathing its last gasp every 50 meters.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: 85%;"><span style="font-family: "georgia";"><span style="color: #006600; font-size: 130%;"><span style="color: #993399; font-size: 180%;"><b></b></span></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 85%;"><span style="font-family: "georgia";"><span style="color: #006600; font-size: 130%;"><span style="color: #993399; font-size: 180%;"><b>"</b></span><u>Is this my Locale or has its address changed</u><span style="color: #993399; font-size: 180%;"><b>??"</b></span></span> </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 85%;"><span style="font-family: "georgia";"><img alt="" border="0" src="https://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/4244/881/320/DSC03272.jpg" style="cursor: hand; display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center;" /></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "georgia";">As i crossed the Amar Mahal Signal I saw many vehicles getting "amar" before reaching their "mahals". Shoppers stop.. sumaria.. Gautier and the small grocer's shop, the rains were equally merciless to all. They did not even have the opportunity to move their stocks.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "georgia";">Finally i was relieved to reach the entrance of the area where i stay, only to see a giant tree collapsed to make my home feel farther away. The next morning after the skies had relatively cleared i was horrified to see a dead man under that. I felt that he would have been there when i walked past on my way back, when perhaps he lay unconscious ..maybe gasping... but with his heart still beating.. coming to a grinding halt to its rhythmic ritual of 30 plus years in that person's chest.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "georgia";">The water got deeper as i finally entered my lane.. In the near-darkness, I was horrified to see my groundfloor neighbor's abandoned homes filled with water till the waist. There was not a soul to be seen on the street or in the building balcony. Soon i did glimpse candle lights through the rain which was now forceful as the waterfalls i had bathed at the Malshej ghats.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "georgia";">This was the first time that i was thankful that my home was on the third floor. I walked in pitch darkness with light from the screen of my mobile phone. Mom was glad to see me home, we were hosting our ground floor neighbour who had to abandon her car and come to our home with her son. I was glad that my sister decided to stay at her office who took all their employees later to a nice guest house in Malabar Hill. My niece was playful as usual, undettered by the absence of electricity and her mom's electrifying voice (hehe sister bashing as usual). We were worried about Dad but he was home by midnight with an experience more tiresome than what i went through.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "georgia";">But i thanked God that despite releasing his wrath on us he did take special care of my family and rendered us safe. This situation made me feel as though the roof of my house was removed and extended to cover whole of mumbai, which made me pray hard for everyone. But unfortunately some had to leave unexpectedly, with the rains as a sudden reason.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "georgia";">Switched on the radio which was busy with its digital item number playlists with thin slices of situation of mumbai which made no sense. All India radio Mumbai was busy with experts debating on what happened in the union strike in Gurgaon. The PRO of Railways was optimistic to start the services in no time, however the "no time" is not yet due.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "georgia";">The cribs can be endless... but it was a different experience to start the chapter on "space and time" in The book - A Brief history of time, in dim candlelight, with all the other modes of information and entertainment reduced to dead solids.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "georgia";">The air was aloud with the sound of the raindrops accelerated by the wind, and was heavy with dampness. Soon got accustomed to it which finally put me to sleep, where the darkness of the room shook hands with the jet blacks of my sound slumber.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "georgia";">Regards,</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "georgia";">Nagesh</span></span></div>
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Nagesh Paihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11679985046259065815noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11057177.post-1122980918618176112005-08-02T04:07:00.000-07:002005-08-02T04:08:38.623-07:00Malshej Ghat in MonsoonVisit my blog on a wondrous weekend at Malshej Ghat.<br />at<br /><a href="http://nagpai.blogspot.com">http://nagpai.blogspot.com</a><br /><br /><a href="http://www.imagestation.com/album/pictures.html?id=2123327104&code=17361268&mode=invite&DCMP=isc-email-AlbumInvite">Photos here</a><br /><br />Cheers!<br />NageshNagesh Paihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11679985046259065815noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11057177.post-1121605093652662792005-07-17T05:16:00.000-07:002008-03-18T22:08:05.646-07:00An Ode to Her Music<a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/4244/881/1600/DSC014341.JPG"><img style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/4244/881/320/DSC014341.JPG" border="0" /></a> <span style="font-size:180%;color:#993399;"><strong>S</strong></span><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="color:#006600;">alutations at Thy Lotus Feet,<br />Oh Goddess of divine music.<br />Melodies and Dance together meet,<br />and cast a spell of Pure Magic</span><span style="color:#000099;"> </span></span><a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/4244/881/1600/DSC01330.jpg"></a><br /><br /><div align="right"><span style="font-size:130%;color:#006600;">Your Magical tunes although, </span></div><div align="right"><span style="font-size:130%;color:#006600;">ain't just mere illusion.</span></div><div align="right"><span style="font-size:130%;color:#006600;">The North east west and south,</span></div><div align="right"><span style="font-size:130%;color:#006600;">find here a harmonic fusion.</span></div><div align="right"></div><br /><img style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/4244/881/320/DSC013301.JPG" border="0" /><br /><br /><a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/4244/881/1600/DSC01331.jpg"></a><br /><span style="font-size:130%;color:#996633;">May your lilting music flow </span><a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/4244/881/1600/ma%208%20anhurium%202.jpg"></a><br /><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="color:#996633;">to far flung solitary lands<br />Irrigating lush green oases<br />amidst frigid desert sands<br /></span><br /><br /></span><div align="right"><span style="color:#993300;"></span></div><div align="right"><span style="font-size:130%;color:#993300;">An admirer of the art manifest</span></div><div align="right"><span style="font-size:130%;color:#993300;">Has no more words to say</span></div><div align="right"><span style="font-size:130%;color:#993300;">may your music heal one and all</span></div><div align="right"><span style="font-size:130%;color:#993300;">Is what I will ever Pray.</span></div><div align="right"><span style="font-size:85%;"></span></div><div align="right"><span style="font-size:85%;color:#993399;">........Pied Paiper</span></div>Nagesh Paihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11679985046259065815noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11057177.post-1121096133481580502005-07-11T08:32:00.000-07:002005-07-12T20:59:20.173-07:00Vangani TravelogCheck out<br /><a href="http://nagpai.blogspot.com"><br />http://nagpai.blogspot.com</a><br /><br />This is a log of a nice weekend trek that I had.<br /><br />here are the photos too!!<br /><br /><a href="http://www.imagestation.com/album/pictures.html?id=2124017990&code=17105578&mode=invite&DCMP=isc-email-AlbumInvite">PHOTOZ</a>Nagesh Paihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11679985046259065815noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11057177.post-1120738735553037442005-07-07T05:18:00.000-07:002008-03-18T22:11:03.540-07:00The Unforgiving Boss<div align="justify"><u><span style="font-size:130%;color:#666600;">At the Head office</span></u> </div><div align="justify"></div><div align="justify"></div><div align="justify">Braving the heat, humidity, dust and grime of a typical midsummer Mumbai, I was relieved to enter the cool air-conditioned fortress “Om Sagar”, which served as the Head office to my ex-company. Quick as breeze, with a <em>“daakiya daak laya rhythm</em>” I flew across many cubicles of my colleagues who formed a Mexican wave of greets as I passed their dens. Quite a warm welcome that a sales person gets when he comes on a not so frequent visit to the head office, far away from the party time (noise to few) of the city sales office.<br /><br />I was glad to see all of them like a child sliding his fingers over all the whites in a piano octave, like the green coconut palms waving past me in a train taking me to my long separated hometown, like the standing paddy turf bowing to gusts of pollinating breeze gently caressing them.<br /><br />As I was swinging past with joy, I came across the cubicle of my friend who was a senior correspondent of one of the reputed publications of the company. His reportage was well regarded as a genuine source by lot many faithful readers of the magazine and of course by the highly placed marketing managers of leading IT companies regarding whose coverage in the magazine was very much sought after. As a good friend he used to provide me with tips from the industry which I used for generating sales. His reference was highly effective in breaking ice with new and otherwise unapproachable clients.<br /><br />This time around the cheerful expression of his face was evicted by a gloomy frown with a tinge of frustration. He asked me “ Nagesh, can you spare a minute? Lets go to the café. Have something confidential to share”. “Sure” I replied hoping that it nothing more serious than the hot summer that kept him disturbed.<br /><br />“I have decided to quit the company” began my colleague stating it upfront and bold. “Have you got a better offer elsewhere?” I asked with glee.. “No Nagesh, I am starting something on my own and wish to ask whether you want to be a part of it” He further explained what he was intending to do. I appreciated his enterprising decision but regretted my participation stating that I still had to gain experience and it was too early in my career to take such a bold step.. I was playing safe but after due calculations. He ended by saying..</div><div align="justify"></div><div align="justify"><em><span style="color:#999900;"><span style="color:#006600;">”I am tired of working under someone. Its high time I do something on my own and earn for myself rather than generate profit for others” .</span><br /></span></em><br />The last statement due to some reason started playing in my head again and again like a needle-stuck-gramaphone. While it was an enterprising move that my friend was trying to make, was he doing it out of passion or out of sheer frustration? Well maybe a fine combination of both.. But would he succeed or land up from the frying pan straight to the voracious flames? I wished him good luck and proceeded back to my paths with the extra luggage of my friends last statement… <em><span style="color:#006600;"></span></em></div><div align="justify"><em><span style="color:#006600;"></span></em></div><div align="justify"><em><span style="color:#006600;">“I am tired of working under someone”</span></em><br /><br />I had known the editor, his boss to be a nice man, was he being a tyrant? Nah .. couldn’t be. Maybe saturation in his career and its worries had caught him imprisoned. The kit-baggage with these questions in my mind was waiting to be answered on another occasion which wasn’t far off.<br /><br /></div><div align="justify"><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="color:#666600;"><u>Day with Anand </u>(Answers)</span></span></div><div align="justify"><span style="font-size:130%;color:#666600;"></span></div><div align="justify"><span style="font-size:130%;color:#666600;"></span></div><div align="justify"></div><br /><div align="justify">It was another day o’ dust, sweat and grime minus the central AC of Om Sagar or my cozy cubicle at the Sales office. I was out on the punishing Andheri-kurla road where pedestrians, stray animals ( wild as well as tamed, some of them on wheels) and vehicles fight for their square feet share of the cratered tar + concrete, to jiggle and if possible wriggle their way through, while still remembering their destination by the time they take their next step into chaos.</div><div align="justify"></div><div align="justify"></div><div align="justify"></div><div align="justify"></div><div align="justify"></div><br /><div align="justify">Finally after overcoming every hurdle on the road and getting a thorough inhalation of vehicular exhaust, I reached Anand's office. Anand and his brother Gurpreet managed one of Mumbai's largest Web-hosting business and were faithful advertisers in my company's magazine from its day one issue. After cooling down with a glass of water with a cup of tea waiting to cool (Anand never lets his visitors go without serving them tea), our discussions started and led to me asking for more than usual business for a special issue which was due in the coming months. Anand was a good negotiator and startled me saying that he may not be present in the next issue which meant it would be his first break in 3 years!!! He then allowed me to release my witheld breath by saying that he will not be able to spend high for the next month, although he will be present in his usual quarter page advertisement. </div><div align="justify"></div><div align="justify"></div><div align="justify"></div><div align="justify"></div><div align="justify"></div><br /><div align="justify">In his self-made stature he remarked </div><div align="justify"></div><br /><div align="justify"><em><span style="color:#006600;">"Nagesh, I may be having a great rapport with you, but my boss will not allow me to spend even </span></em><em><span style="color:#009900;"><span style="color:#006600;">a penny more".</span></span></em></div><br /><div align="justify"><em><span style="color:#009900;"></span></em></div><div align="justify"></div><div align="justify"></div><div align="justify"></div><div align="justify"></div><div align="justify">I had known Anand as the proprietor of the company, now who was he reporting to off late?? How could he entrust his entire self made and established business to someone so easily?? Before I could think of disguising my question and ask him.. He read the query in my expression and said "You must be wondering who my boss is? Relax, I still own this business but I am Self-Employed.. I am employed... by whom?? Well you will be scared if I even tell you about what a tyrant he is." </div><div align="justify"></div><div align="justify"></div><div align="justify"></div><div align="justify"></div><div align="justify"></div><br /><div align="justify">Anand continued " Nagesh, you work for a nice company where if you dont meet your targets they dont ask for your head. Well my boss doesnt take any prisoners, He is the most ruthless superior you may ever see in your worst nightmares. Whenever my decisions lead to the right results i get rewarded. But when I fail, I dont get cajoled but I get the lashes straight till I bleed"</div><div align="justify"></div><br /><div align="justify">Anand's words kept me hooked as he disclosed </div><div align="justify"></div><div align="justify"></div><div align="justify"></div><div align="justify"></div><div align="justify"></div><br /><br /><div align="justify"><em><span style="color:#006600;">" My boss is My Business"</span></em></div><br /><br /><div align="justify"><em><span style="color:#006600;"></span></em></div><div align="justify"><em><span style="color:#006600;"></span></em></div><div align="justify"></div><div align="justify"></div><div align="justify"></div><div align="justify">" People may think that i dont have anyone to report to. But like I said, My business is an absolutely unforgiving boss who never keeps accounts to be settled for later. Whenever I take the right path and succeed, He rewards me with profits a large part of which I feed him back. But sometimes even with genuine intentions if things go wrong and give unfavorable results, he punishes me with the worst ever punishment.. losses, some of which takes long enough to recover and endangers your sustenance. But despite all of this I have to report to him and Hence I am sorry Nagesh I cant spend more with you at this time when I am at a greater chance of being punished". </div><div align="justify"></div><div align="justify"></div><div align="justify"></div><div align="justify"></div><div align="justify"></div><br /><br /><div align="justify">I smiled back at him with a genuine smile which may have perhaps raised surprise in his head, since salesmen can't don a genuine smile when refused. But what i had gotten from him was a big principle of business which perhaps no B School would teach me.</div><div align="justify"></div><div align="justify"></div><div align="justify"></div><div align="justify"></div><div align="justify"></div><p>Flash-back Om Sagar.. I was wondering if my correspondent friend would quit the current job because he did not want to report to anyone, whether he would be able to cope up with the Ruthlessness of a new boss - Mr. My-own-Business. The only quality that would drive anyone to the brighter side of this boss was sheer passion, which was at its highest levels in Anand, which I prayed that my correspondent friend should have.</p><div align="justify"></div><div align="justify"></div><div align="justify"></div><div align="justify"></div><div align="justify"></div><div align="justify">Passion for your goal is the only language that can help him negotiate with "the unforgiving boss". Pursuit of passion would surely see him shining in his new venture. But an act driven by escapism would surely land him in the boiling cauldrons of his unforgiving Boss - would -be. </div><div align="justify"></div><div align="justify"></div><br /><div align="justify">Hats off to Anand who answered my predicament and gave me a lesson for lifetime. Sincere Prayers for my correspondent friend for his endeavors! And a big thanks to you for reading such a long blog :-)</div><div align="justify"></div><div align="justify">Sincerely,</div><br /><div align="justify">Nagesh </div>Nagesh Paihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11679985046259065815noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11057177.post-1120070617782771572005-06-29T10:40:00.000-07:002008-03-18T22:11:34.098-07:00Triple traits of a Woman<span style="font-size:130%;color:#ff6600;"><u>The Three Traits of a Woman - Uncle Gokhale speaks again</u></span><br /><u><span style="font-size:130%;color:#993300;"></span></u><br /><span style="font-size:85%;color:#663300;">July 1998, Pen, Maharashtra</span><br /><span style="font-size:85%;color:#663300;"></span><br /><span style="font-size:130%;color:#663300;">Arrival at Pen:</span><br /><span style="font-size:85%;color:#663300;"></span><br /><br /><div align="justify"><span style="font-size:85%;color:#663300;">If you have read my last blog you would be conviced as to why i am in love with this place. The monsoon of 98 with a great training at IPCL Nagothane, and a great place to retreat after a long day at the plant, made those 10 days memorable. Apart from the occassion, what made the experience unforgettable was the magic of Pen - the house where we stayed and its owner Uncle Gokhale, who was the dad of my father's colleague. Many more trinklets and glistens formed the fine brocade of this magical place. It was also a different experience for a pampered and protected kid like me to stay away from the luxuries of a well provided, "automated" home.</span></div><span style="font-size:85%;color:#663300;"></span><br /><br /><div align="justify"><span style="font-size:85%;color:#663300;">Mounted on a rumbling n' wobbling four wheel box o' jagged tin ( God knows whether the fifth wheel existed in the drivers hands), which is locally called Maharashtra ST bus, we chug-chugged from Mumbai. After getting down we carefully followed the detailed directions noted by my dad and found ourselves far away from the bustling Goa highway into the quiet enclosure of old Pen where the trumpets of the great marathas can still be heard looking at some of the old "Waadas" and the old Shiva temple up the hillock.</span></div><span style="font-size:85%;color:#663300;"></span><br /><span style="color:#663300;"></span><br /><span style="font-size:130%;color:#663300;">Gokhale Uncle</span><br /><span style="color:#663300;"></span><br /><br /><div align="justify"><span style="font-size:85%;color:#663300;">We were welcomed by our elderly host, Mr. Gokhale, who assured us that his home was a peaceful and comfortable place to stay. We felt quite protected in his octogenerian company, despite feeling slightly insecure about the heavy rain falling on the age old mangalore tiled roof. He helped us quickly unwind. He told us that there had been few students of a nearby engineering college, who stayed as paying guest with him for a long time except for one who got bogged by drinking habit and had apparently put up some obscene posters in his rented room.<br /></span></div><div align="justify"><span style="font-size:85%;color:#663300;"></span></div><div align="justify"><span style="font-size:85%;color:#663300;"></span></div><div align="justify"><span style="font-size:85%;color:#663300;"></span></div><br /><div align="justify"><span style="font-size:85%;color:#663300;">I could see Mr. Gokhale getting more talkative with growing enthusiasm which was a direct reflection of how lonely he had been staying all by himself long after the last paying guest had left him.... long after his wife passed away... long after he retired from the film editing lab where he glared at every frame of movie with his expert eyes, much before the burning light of the arclamps projected its image on an awaiting white screen. As he started talking more and more we could see the experiences he had been through and the many cycles of various seasons, some changing as per the nature's pattern and the others rather uncertain.</span></div><div align="justify"><span style="font-size:85%;color:#663300;"></span></div><div align="justify"><span style="font-size:85%;color:#663300;"></span></div><div align="justify"><span style="font-size:85%;color:#663300;"></span></div><div align="justify"><span style="font-size:85%;color:#663300;"></span></div><div align="justify"><span style="font-size:85%;color:#663300;"></span></div><br /><div align="justify"><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="color:#663300;">Uncle Gokhale pointed to the inner room and said " tum log yaahaan pe soneka.. chadar chatayi rakha hua hai.. laga ke so janeka<em> Bhe**hod".</em></span> <span style="color:#660000;">The last word came naturally with an absolutely smooth allignment with the rest of the sentence. Kaushal my colleague who was a non-swearer till that point in life, wondered why uncle used a gaali for no mistake done!!! I was reminded of my Dad's description of few elders who use abuses like <em>Ashtottara</em>, which is a set of endearing names to God almighty.. I could feel the same music in his abuse, except that Kaushal took time to appreciate Hard rock music, which was clear from his question "<em>Uncle ne humlog ko gaali kyon diya"</em>. </span></span></div><div align="justify"><span style="font-size:85%;color:#660000;"></span></div><div align="justify"><span style="font-size:85%;color:#660000;"></span></div><br /><div align="justify"><span style="font-size:85%;color:#660000;">For the next two days Kaushal and mine sentences to each other ended with that word, while trying to imitate the smoothness in uncle's tone.. we could not :-). Saints as we were at that time when we never used any abuse, it was quite a try when no one else was hearing.</span></div><div align="justify"><span style="font-size:85%;color:#660000;"></span></div><div align="justify"><span style="font-size:85%;color:#660000;"></span></div><div align="justify"><span style="font-size:85%;color:#660000;"></span></div><div align="justify"><span style="font-size:85%;color:#660000;"></span></div><br /><div align="justify"><span style="font-size:85%;color:#660000;">After our dinner, uncle said that there were many boys who stayed there but he never allowed a single girl to stay there.. I thought that with a small house as that it would be an obvious reason not to allow a girl to stay there. But before i could freeze my apprehensions, Mr. Gokhale vented out saying: </span></div><div align="justify"><span style="font-size:85%;color:#660000;"></span></div><div align="justify"><span style="font-size:85%;color:#660000;"></span></div><div align="justify"><span style="font-size:85%;color:#660000;"></span></div><br /><div align="justify"><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="color:#660000;"><em>" Ek chatt ke neeche hazaar ladke reh sakte hain ... lekin do ladkiyaan kabhi nahin.. Kyonkin <span style="color:#006600;">aurat ka teen gun hota hain</span>" (teen and gun are hindi words not to be pronounced as in english, but what uncle meant was a more lethal weapon than a gun in english) .</em></span></span></div><div align="justify"><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="color:#660000;"><em></em></span></span></div><br /><div align="justify"><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="color:#660000;">I did not wonder too much as to why he was being so unfair to womankind because i myself was a MCP those days, much more than what i am today. </span><span style="color:#660000;">Overcome with sleep after a sumptuous dinner and an equally filling long talk, I nodded at that statement thinking that it was one of the dialogues of his film and retired to bed in total darkness of not just the night, b</span><span style="color:#660000;">ut in the darkness of my ignorance about where uncle Gokhale came from when he made that statement.</span></span></div><div align="justify"><span style="font-size:85%;color:#660000;"></span></div><br /><div align="justify"><span style="font-size:85%;color:#660000;"></span></div><div align="justify"><span style="font-size:85%;color:#660000;"></span></div><div align="justify"><em><span style="font-size:85%;color:#660000;"></span></em></div><div align="justify"><span style="font-size:85%;color:#660000;"></span></div><br /><div align="justify"><span style="font-size:85%;color:#660000;">Next morning he spoke about his sons and their family, about the arrogance of his daughter-in-laws. One of whom had a love marriage with his younger son who was not even having a firm employment then. His older son's wife was arrogant and quite believed in staying separately. It was apparent by now that Uncle had seen the worst of women in them who were the reasons for him to stay away.. far away from urban civilizations in his own world where he experimented with herbs and ayurveda, where he carefully stored his collection of old film posters of those for which he did the editing, where he lived with the fond memories of his passionate and hard struggled past. He once again ended up saying "<em><span style="color:#006600;">Aurat ka teen gun hota hain</span></em>".. this time my eye brows went higher, the way it does when you see a catchy advertisement for the second time delving deeper into what it is trying to convey. </span></div><div align="justify"><span style="font-size:85%;color:#660000;"></span></div><div align="justify"><span style="font-size:85%;color:#660000;"></span></div><div align="justify"><span style="font-size:85%;color:#660000;"></span></div><div align="justify"><span style="font-size:85%;color:#660000;"></span></div><div align="justify"><span style="font-size:85%;color:#660000;"></span></div><br /><div align="justify"><span style="font-size:85%;color:#660000;">I heard this sentence a couple of more times before i finally blew the whistle asking "<em>Uncle yeh teen gun hain kya??".</em> He burst out laughing and asked "Tereko <em>aurat ke teen gun nahin maloom? Kaisa aadmi hain tu bhi?"</em> I told him that i honestly did not know about it. He then then repeated the phrase like a mantra.</span></div><div align="justify"><span style="font-size:85%;color:#660000;"></span></div><div align="justify"><span style="font-size:85%;color:#660000;"></span></div><div align="justify"><span style="font-size:85%;color:#660000;"></span></div><div align="justify"><span style="font-size:85%;color:#660000;"></span></div><div align="justify"><span style="font-size:85%;color:#660000;">"<span style="color:#006600;">Aurat ka teen Gun hota hain</span>"</span></div><div align="justify"><span style="font-size:85%;color:#660000;"></span></div><div align="justify"><span style="font-size:85%;color:#660000;"></span></div><div align="justify"><span style="font-size:85%;color:#660000;"></span></div><br /><div align="justify"><span style="color:#660000;"><span style="font-size:85%;">Ater a pause he repeated and continued <em>" Yeh teen gun ke wajah se saadaran si aurat Indira Gandhi ban jaati hai.. yeh teen gun se .....sirf yeh teen gun se woh apna raj chalati hai is duniya pe"</em></span></span></div><div align="justify"><em><span style="font-size:85%;color:#660000;"></span></em></div><div align="justify"><span style="font-size:85%;color:#660000;"><em></em></span></div><br /><div align="justify"><span style="font-size:85%;color:#660000;"><em></em></span></div><div align="justify"><span style="color:#660000;"><span style="font-size:85%;"><em></em></span></span></div><div align="justify"><span style="color:#660000;"><span style="font-size:85%;"><em></em></span></span></div><div align="justify"><span style="color:#660000;"><span style="font-size:85%;"><em>"Sabse Pehla gun: Shringaar" </em>A lady expresses Shringaar through her beauty, through the way she carries herself, the way she decorates herself and makes her presence felt aloud. She grabs attention and then she robs unsuspecting sights and hearts.... she conquers. The charm of beautiful women like Madhubala was still present in the fading posters from uncle's collection of those movies he edited. Cleopatra unlike the hype was not known to be a particularly good looking woman, she had some odd features. What made her alluring was her sense of Shringaar. People go out of the way and ways fall apart when the lady in red calls for her shots, no matter however "strong hearted" a man may be. The way a woman carries herself can get her big tasks done by others without throwing her weight. I must confess here that i have been an unsuspecting victim to this weapon too and many among ye readers after raising your eyebrows will recollect a time when you have been vulnerable (men) or when you have used this deadly weapon (women) :-).... She dresses to kill and she rules.</span></span> <div align="justify"><span style="font-size:85%;color:#660000;"></span></div><div align="justify"><span style="font-size:85%;color:#660000;"></span></div><div align="justify"><span style="color:#660000;"><span style="font-size:85%;"><em></em></span></span></div><br /></div><div align="justify"><span style="color:#660000;"><span style="font-size:85%;"><em></em></span></span></div><div align="justify"><span style="color:#660000;"><span style="font-size:85%;"><em>"Doosra gun: Rodan"</em> . I recollected Munshi Premchand's words which may be translated as "A woman's tears is the highest calorific fuel to keep masculine anger at its highest temperature". The toughest masculine carborandum-hearts have melted like butter on a frying pan at the first trickle of a feminine tear droplet. Tears may arrive as an indication of deep pain but have the immense capacity to mobilize action. </span></span></div><br /><div align="justify"><span style="font-size:85%;"></span></div><div align="justify"><span style="font-size:85%;color:#993300;"></span></div><div align="justify"><span style="font-size:85%;color:#993300;"></span></div><div align="justify"><span style="font-size:85%;color:#993300;">"Teesra Gun: Matsarya" .. Before uncle could tell me more about jealousy, i was reminded of the famous story of Goddess Parvati being jealous of her sister River Goddess Ganges residing in her husband, Lord Shiva's hair locks. She devised a fine conspiracy after that to ensure that Ganges was sent back to earth. However her Jealosy served a higher purpose of relieving the thirsts and sins of thousands of seekers in the downstream of Ganges. But I stood bewildered at the amount of action and change that Jealosy can drive.</span></div><div align="justify"><span style="font-size:85%;color:#993300;"></span> </div><div align="justify"><span style="font-size:85%;color:#993300;">Its amazing that these three forces are neatly concealed since they appear as signs of weakness or as means of getting attention. It is these notions that makes these forces unbeatable.</span> <div align="justify"><span style="font-size:85%;color:#993300;"></span></div><div align="justify"><span style="font-size:85%;color:#993300;"></span></div><br /></div><div align="justify"><span style="font-size:85%;color:#993300;"></span></div><div align="justify"><span style="font-size:85%;color:#993300;">Mr. Gokhale's story was an eye-opener which showed clearly that men and women are not created equal, as women are more equipped with these three forces. As a matter of fact every woman is well armed to use these three forces for either rocking the cradle or ruling the world. </span></div><div align="justify"><span style="font-size:85%;color:#993300;"></span></div><div align="justify"><span style="color:#993300;"></span></div><br /><div align="justify"><span style="color:#993300;">.... </span><span style="font-size:130%;color:#006600;">"yehi teen gunon se woh apna hukum chalati hai.... aur saadi si ladki Indira Gandhi ban Jaati hai"</span></div>Nagesh Paihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11679985046259065815noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11057177.post-1119767441781301952005-06-25T21:45:00.000-07:002008-03-18T22:11:18.430-07:00The Little Green Woman<span style="font-family:georgia;font-size:180%;color:#666600;"><u>The Little <span style="color:#009900;">Green</span> Woman from Innerspace</u></span><br /><span style="color:#999900;"></span><br /><div align="justify"><span style="font-family:georgia;font-size:85%;color:#000000;"></span></div><div align="justify"><span style="font-family:georgia;font-size:130%;color:#000000;">Outset:</span></div><div align="justify"></div><div align="justify"><span style="font-size:85%;"></span></div><div align="justify"><span style="font-family:courier new;font-size:85%;color:#000000;"></span></div><div align="justify"><span style="font-family:courier new;font-size:85%;color:#000000;"><span style="font-family:georgia;">The monsoon of 1998 saw me excited upon a spectacular journey, a nice getaway that every tormented prisoner of Chaos City longs for. Thanks to my close college-mate, Sridhar, Kaushal and I got a berth for an exciting offsite training at the IPCL plant at a distant place, Nagothane.</span> <span style="font-family:georgia;">The three of us were quite a group</span></span></div><div align="justify"><span style="font-size:85%;"></span></div><div align="justify"></div><div align="justify"><span style="font-family:Courier New;font-size:85%;"></span></div><div align="justify"><span style="font-size:85%;"></span></div><div align="justify"><span style="font-size:85%;"></span></div><div align="justify"><span style="font-size:85%;"></span><span style="font-size:85%;"></span></div><br /><div align="justify"><span style="font-size:130%;">Accomodation at Pen:</span></div><div align="justify"><span style="font-size:130%;"></span></div><div align="justify"><span style="font-size:85%;"></span></div><div align="justify"><span style="font-size:85%;"></span></div><br /><div align="justify"><span style="font-size:85%;">While Sridhar had a direct bus from his outskirts residence leading to the plant location, Kaushal and I had to stay at a nearby town called "Pen" ( n pronounced with the stronger syllable), which is famous for its plaster sculptors who supply the whole world with plaster statues of Lord Ganesh. Thanks to my father's colleague, we got ourselves an accomodation in the innermost precincts of Pen, which was a stronghold of Maratha warriors of yore, whose presence could still be felt through the family temples and the large residences named "Waadas" prefixed with the family names (eg. Daataarwaada). The Waadas and the fragrance of the place were frozen in time ever since the last Maratha warrior raised his war cry, save the falling plaster and structural deterioration of the buildings, inspite of which the structures stood tall and sturdy.</span></div><div align="justify"><span style="font-size:85%;"></span></div><div align="justify"><span style="font-size:85%;"></span></div><div align="justify"><span style="font-size:85%;"></span></div><br /><div align="justify"><span style="font-size:85%;">The clouds and the left-overs of the sunshine that it spared through, ensured that the grays matched with that of the old town.</span></div><div align="justify"><span style="font-size:85%;"></span></div><div align="justify"><span style="font-size:85%;"></span></div><div align="justify"><span style="font-size:85%;"></span></div><br /><div align="justify"><span style="font-size:85%;">When we asked for the residence of Mr. Gokhale, our host, we were pointed to an old, ramshackle tumbledowned home. It was made of mud with a roof of burnt-red Mangalore tiles. The central portion of the structure had already given way, succumbimg to the forces of nature and neglect. We came to know later that this demolished part of the house partitioned the two occupant families of the house like a no-man's land between conflicting countries. The courtyard was a fine red paste of mud, the blend of which told us aloud that the place was well rain-fed. The dripping droplets from the trees above did its bit to keep the dampness of the place alive, despite the strong showers having left the place about an hour back.</span></div><div align="justify"><span style="font-size:85%;"></span></div><span style="font-size:85%;"><div align="justify"><br />Our host was very courteous well in his eighties, and had lots of stories to tell us about ayurveda and the silver screens of yest years where he served as a technical person. The posters of the old movies which he proudly showed with his name in the fineprint, with the innocence of a child showing his high grades, were all faded. But in the glimmer of his faint eyes, the colours of Madhubala's costumes showed with its full lustre, just like it did on the silver screen on one of the first eastman colour movies that he edited. </div><div align="justify"></span></div><div align="justify"><span style="font-size:85%;"></span></div><br /><div align="justify"><span style="font-size:85%;">After his wife's demise, Mr. Gokhale stayed all alone by himself in this house but for a companion whom he called "the Laxmi" of the home. I discovered this "Laxmi" later, a small mole rat, when she was having her share of the khichdi that I cooked with chef Kaushal's directions, thankfully she did that after we were done with our share. She was harmless as Uncle Gokhale had told us, she came uninvited and left at her own will, but paid regular visits. The house was lit by three bulbs, one flickering tubelight and had bare minimum possessions like a primus original kerosene stove and a couple of vessels for cooking and heating bath water. We were about to crib for a fan before the onset of the night that blew a cold breeze with torrential rains over the place. We sought refuge under our blankets. </span></div><div align="justify"><span style="font-size:85%;"></span></div><div align="justify"></div><br /><div align="justify"><span style="font-size:130%;">The Dark Damp Night.</span></div><div align="justify"></div><br /><div align="justify"><span style="font-size:85%;">At the end of the first long day Kaushal and I were done with our dinner and so was "Laxmi". We were also done washing the utensils and the clothes which took over two days and nights to dry in the damp weather. The one's which dried anyways became wet when we wore it and set off in the windy rains.</span></div><div align="justify"><span style="font-size:85%;"></span></div><br /><div align="justify"><span style="font-size:85%;">The last lamp in the house was finally switched off and Kaushal immediately dropped asleep. While I somehow made it to the bed in the pitch dark, I was lost in the darkness even after settling in the bed. I could feel just my eyelids flickering with not a pixel illuminated on my retina to prove that I still had the ability to see. Goodness!! had i turned blind!!?? or do such dark places actually exist on earth!!?? My eye lids continued to blink with an experience of total blindness less the sixth sense of a blind man.</span></div><div align="justify"><span style="font-size:85%;"></span></div><br /><div align="justify"><span style="font-size:85%;">The next morning, Mr. Gokhale gave us a small surprise and said that he is leaving for Mumbai to collect his pension and the house would remain in our charge. He asked us to religiously light a lamp or an agarbatti in the place near the kitchen where he had the photographs of few Gods and his departed grandmother who had taught him ayurveda. He gave us some medicines to take care of ourselves, and a mysterious powder which was supposed to have the effect of sanjivini.. the elixir of life kind of drug. I later on found that the same medicine had cured my tonsils without operation, long back when Mr. Gokhale's son had sent me during my troubled days.</span></div><div align="justify"><span style="font-size:85%;"></span></div><br /><div align="justify"><span style="font-size:130%;">The Damp night Returns.. She Came with her torch.</span></div><div align="justify"><span style="font-size:85%;"></span></div><br /><div align="justify"><span style="font-size:85%;">The night repeated with her mysterious darkness, tranquilizing Kaushal almost as fast as the lights went off. Once again I marvelled at the immense darkness of the place till I had the encounter which was waiting few moments ahead.</span></div><div align="justify"><span style="font-size:85%;"></span></div><br /><div align="justify"><span style="font-size:85%;">Just when my eyelids were almost done with their routine flicker and were about to close like the falling curtains of a concluded opera show, they swung wide open to a spectacle! This time they did not flicker...my eyelids were held wide open.... for the entire room was filled with a green haze that was bright enough to light every detail of the room, just like the zero watt bulb of the room in the brown-out low voltage. </span></div><div align="justify"><span style="font-size:85%;"></span></div><br /><div align="justify"><span style="font-size:85%;">For the first few minutes I could not trace the source of the light, until a tiny green lantern came flying across the room and hovered for a brief instant over my head with her full lustre in which i could now see my own nose. She proved to me that i did not turn blind after the lights went out and that my faculties of vision still remained active. I realized that the room and I were haunted, as much as I was enchanted, by this glow-worm who had just graduated to become a firefly. Her tail had the faint green steady light which was unlikely of the bright strobelight flashes of the fully grown firefly. She settled on the wall like the night lamp on duty, while her green glow into sweet slumber.</span></div><div align="justify"><span style="font-size:85%;"></span></div><br /><div align="justify"><span style="font-size:85%;">I was beginning to believe that it was a dream until the next night she returned to redeem me from the blinding darkness of the night, giving me company till I fell asleep, giving me rays of green hope even under the grey clad skies and the burnt mangalore tiled roof. </span></div><div align="justify"><span style="font-size:85%;"></span></div><br /><div align="justify"><span style="font-size:85%;">The night after, she never came, but by then my heart was full of her beauty and lustre and I was pretty much convinced that it was the darkness of the night .... nay not loss of sight which defined the black canvas on which my imagination drew green images.</span></div><div align="justify"><span style="font-size:85%;"></span></div><br /><div align="justify"><span style="font-size:85%;">Sincerely..</span></div><div align="justify"><span style="font-size:85%;">Nagesh Pai</span></div><div align="justify"></div><div align="justify"><span style="font-size:85%;"></span></div><div align="justify"><span style="font-size:85%;"></span></div>Nagesh Paihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11679985046259065815noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11057177.post-1109267963543765282005-02-24T09:59:00.000-08:002005-04-27T01:13:08.196-07:00My first blog<span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Hello There!</span><br /><span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;">How has your journey in cyberspace been so far? Welcome to Nagzone, the place where you find a good friend in me and get an opportunity to share some of your interests and knowledge with me. </span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;">26 years Young, Religiously secular and Secularly religious, net to net, a firm believer in the Supreme who is humble enough to come down to my level and help me shoulder-to shoulder. An engineer plus MBA in qualification, after a fair share of experiments in career today I am content and almost settled in Advertising and Media. </span><br /><span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;">Every breath and heartbeat in life for me constitutes the rhythm of the drum that starts its thumps from the womb and stops at a step short of the tomb. My life is full of music and Music fills my life! Keep visiting my cove here and stay tuned!</span><br /><span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;">Cheers!</span><br /><span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;">Nagesh</span><br /><span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;"></span>Nagesh Paihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11679985046259065815noreply@blogger.com1