I have moved

This message is for two people - Anamika and Manish.

Because I think only they read my blog. Both are good people - one is my wife and friend, and the other...well...just a friend! (I hope each knows who is whom)

So, listen up both of you. After much deliberations and thoughts, I have decided to move the entire blog to a new blog, which has a more creative and exciting name (well, more exciting than dhiraj-hyphen-joshi)

it is here 

http://tru-north.blogspot.com/

the reasons of doing so have to do capitalism, macroeconomic theory, advertising, and just coming across as more 'hip'

Manish, please relink this new blog to your blog, will you?

I have not decided what will i do with this alter ego, but the kind soul that i am , i will let it exist.

For the love and lucre of writing

I am back. Limelight, shine upon me. Now!

 

 

(Claps, thundering applause, colorful lights going off in all directions, people dancing, etc etc)

 

The much awaited return has happened. I have to blame Anamika for that. She is my better half, and better reader still. I am told that I write well and that I should continue writing. I am also told that I am quite funny.

 

I take that fully in my stride. While one is humble, and would want to shun all kinds of fame, one has to give in to popular demand, and take on roles that require oneself to do that come with fame and popularity, all the while enduring the pain of being in public eye, hiding from paparazzi, living in perpetual limelight, and..alas, becoming famous. What to do, such are the demands of being a (famous) writer.

 

Having said that, I know that one day writing will become my profession. It is the final escapade that I long for, when all will be paid by the publisher, and my ego gets relentless massage in the act of knowing that scores of people yearn to read my books. What a day will that be!!!

 

Imagine, all that I write would be lapped up by readers without hesitation. In fact, they'd be queuing up in lines on weekends to get their hands on my latest. My musings will be revered - hotly debated on internet, fan clubs will sprout all over the place, I will be thronged by media, a function here, a function there, cameras blowing out their flashes on me, prizes galore, bank overflowing with royalties...!

 

And I would be sitting in my porch, atop a hill, overlooking the green valley soaked with the golden afternoon hue of a benign sun. The cool air would pass by, and whisper the song of the mountains in my ear. The clouds would play idly with the sunlight, taking on its redness on the front, while hiding their greyness behind. I would have the august company of my favorite singer, the cricket, but I would not be able to see it – just hear the lovely songs that it comes out with. The mountain tops would recede into the skies – slowly and gradually, and far away in the misty horizon, a star would peep out, marking its attendance.

 

And I would have no worries sitting there, day after day. Because my books would be selling, and I would be a celebrated author, just getting his usual dose of creativity.

That day would come.

Today's the start.

The long and short of 'now'

It has been somewhile that I have published anything here. I can come up with many reasons for that, but the real reason is that I was just not in the mood. Writing for me is usually an intense experience. I mull, I think, I go over a sentence again and again, and just like making a sculpture- I tend to make it a laborious process. Not that I produce materspieces, but I like to make my writings well-rounded and polished - as I said, like a sculptor working on his masterpiece.

Well, today's awakening is dedicated to my dear friend Arun Uday. He works with a swanky company in Mumbai, and is a deal-maker. We exchanged some mails, and I discovered that he blogss quite regularly. I think every 4th day or so.

He writes about what he does. So his blogs are (very justifiably) business oriented, MBA like, and have strong corporate overtones. I think that is superb-next time he needs a job, all he needs to do is send across his blog link to the employers. They'll go flat.

I wonder if I should ever do that with my blog. With the kind of stuff I write here, I would be helping other candidates get selected, and very fast.

Anyway, let me tell you about Mr. Uday. He is easily one of the brainiest people I have met. M.tech from Indian Institute of Science, and MBA from Indian School of Business (a qualification that we share). Works now in private equity, and looks corporate.
He was usually found in yellow sweatshirt, and brown baggy corduroys. As it is with brainos, he was duly confused as well. It took him exactly 20 meters walk from the examination hall to realise that he had committed some kind of grave insanity in the exam. Loud 'SHIT!!!!!!!' was usually followed by wild gesticulations, that almost always culminated in hitting his forehead with his hand.

Then, almost as ritual, we'd accompany him to the living room of our apartment, where Vijay (another roomy) and Sai (another one) would rave and rant at him. Vijay would break into hysterical laughter, replete with expletives; Sai would endlessely giggle; and I would wait for Arun to go supine on the sofa set (I think it was a freudian response - Mom! take me unto your fold!), whence he'd take keep on repeating his Mantra - 'How could I do that!!!, Bloody shit!!'
Short of running 10km away (which he once decided) from ISB, he used to calm down and then get stressed about the next day's exam. This was followed by 'guys, I am going to sleep' (usually at 8 pm).
After all this, our man used to get good marks.

Quite a chap, I must say. he also went and bought for himself a biege suit, cream shirt when the going got tough during placements. Now you can see him sporting a black corporate suit on his blog.
Anyway, so after this mail exchanged, I thought I should indulge in some activity. That is why this entry.

Just to add: I have been keeping extremely busy of sorts. I like to spend all my time with my son, who is cynosure of everything for me. Apart from it, office kept me busy, and I was quite stressed about my last golf game, where I screwed up the first nine.
But aced the back ones, with a solid birdie on the 16th Par 4.

I think I will also go Arun's way and create a corporate blog of sorts, and display my corporate feathers in all their resplendent colors.
I will include that in my CV.

Sahasraditya

Sherry.

I became a dad on 1st March, 2007. Anamika gave me Sherry, and I gave him his name. Mom gave him his nick.

It is difficult to express what it feels like. It surprises me that giving birth to offsprings is one of the most common things to happen to humans, but no writing can ever express what it means to have a child. Let me know if you have ever read any that completely explains the feeling.

As I write this, he is by my side, looking at me intently. I don't know what he is thinking. I do know that I have a bundle full of joy in my arms.

I will write more about this later. Right now, I have no time for anything else.

Virtues of having less hair

For whatever little is left on my head, I go to an Indian barber (from Kerala), to do the monthly honors. What he cuts and dresses always eludes me, but what never escapes my attention is that he forces all of us to watch Chinese channels. A Malayalam barber who watches Chinese channels, replete with uniformed comrades exhorting the teachings of Chairman Mao.

How I get to know such people is a matter of detail. What is important is that there are people who excel in the weird and the strange, and I feel quite connected.

The din around his shop is just about enough not to let you hear yourself thinking. May be that is a good idea – you don’t want to be thinking too much when he gets to work. One, he does not speak much and does not seem to like people who do so. Second, whatever you tell him, he will take his own decisions. A man in control. Third, I don’t want to argue with a man holding a razor blade next to my ear. I just sit there like a good boy, and let him mow the defunct plains of my head.

I usually have to wait for a good hour to get my turn. In the process, I have become a bit of communist myself, exposed to the channels he watches. The other day, when India was ripping the shreds off the Sri Lankan team, I was watching a highly informative program on how to grow potatoes. It was followed by an infomercial on road safety, which began with a somber looking uniform clad Chinese woman showing us the remnants of a car that looked like it was hit by an asteroid. The infomercial ended with teachings of Chairman Mao – chapter and verse. Apparently he had devoted a lot of his time on road safety, while also managing a revolution in his past time.

What I watch in that saloon is tactical brilliance of watching TV, bereft of any strategic aim – much like the Indian soap operas. For the first 130 or so episodes, they veer of in all conceivable directions, and then in the last two the scriptwriter wakes up, breaks a pen or two in hastily writing a highly unconnected end, which is more often than not suited more for another serial on another channel. Tactically, these soaps help in supporting the Glycerine industry (and Foundation/Maskara business) but strategically they make as much sense as lighting a fire for warmth in the middle of desert at noon time. My TV has gone for repairs three times already because of the moisture produced in these serials.

This time when I came home after the hair cut, one side of my head felt heavy. As I discovered, our man had completely forgotten to do the honors of cutting hair on the left side. I don’t blame him, if my memory serves me right, there was a highly illuminating program on painting light bulbs (red, of course) and turning them into nice little show pieces, that our man could not afford to miss. The TV is placed such that our man has to stand on the right side of any customer to be able to take in all the wisdom emanating from the TV. Hence the heaviness in my head. Next time I plan to go to him after referring to the TV schedule. He does not seem to like chorus songs dedicated to industrial revolution - I better time my hair cut when those are getting aired.

For a curios soul, wondering why I subject myself to such gamble, I have just few humble submissions to make. One, it gives me a hearty laugh to walk out with one side of my head fluffy and the other flat. Second, for the Love of God, I don’t know why he watches that channel. I would like to sit with him one day and understand his reasons. Third, I find it too interesting and curious to see what will he be watching when I go to him next.
And finally, I don’t have much to loose. See my picture, and you will understand why. Not a high price to pay for an interesting hour or two!

Dark Side of the Moon

Feb, 21. 2007.
Dubai.

Roger Waters.

I was there.

Alice in Wonderland

Well, sometimes it is difficult to know where to begin, but let me try. I have a lot of things going on in my mind, but as usual, it is difficult to decide what to write on. Here goes something. I hope by the end of it, it looks good enough to publish on the blog.

I am in Doha, Qatar right now. Staying at The Ramada. A particularly confused client needs my assistance. I hope that by the end of this project, I don’t end up requiring someone’s assistance!

It is funny that this hotel never changes. It is a five star, deluxe category hotel – from which angle I don’t know. But as you read below, you will see that there are many angles to it really.

Let me begin with the mirrors (Hold still, my heart..)

They are all triangular. One of them, just in front of my bed, is pointing downwards, with a serious intent to pierce the table into two. Another one, an isosceles triangle, is challenging me to find which two sides are equal. I think I will get up at 2 am with the answer.

And then there is a scalene triangle next to the door. I almost bolted out of the window - I got up after a small nap, turned around to see a strange figure clad in white clothes, with a balding head staring right into my eyes from within that scalene triangle. Only after the initial shock had subsided, and possibly the people next room decided to move to another, safer neighborhood, did I realize that I can look scary even in my night suit.

So at the last count at I have 3 mirrors in my room. More discoveries can happen as I wonder about. I don’t know what purpose they serve, but I can tell you this one thing for sure - whoever designed this room must have had psychotic parents and (not 'or') a very demented childhood. Or like me, must have had psychotic math teachers (One name tops the list, but let bygones be bygones). I must mention that one of the mirrors must have been donated by Family Planning Mission of India. It is a huge triangle, much like the red family planning sign I grew up asking questions about to my Mom. Publicly, let me add.

Let us come to the bathroom (Now is the time when you hold your breath, and brace for impact)
First thinsg first, they need to keep a ‘Manual’ in each bathroom. This should be made mandatory by law. For the love of God, someone tell me how to do what in here and not get soaked while doing / not doing it?? This one time I want communism to rule. I want a manual in here!

The manual should explain what knob does what,. It should be cross-indexed with a glossary of terms to explain everything. It should have a contents page with a small summary of events that might happen to unsuspecting souls like me if a specific button is pressed or not pressed. At the end of it, it should have a helpline number and a website address where you have FAQ section. If this is too much, at least the hotel guys should have a video (much like airlines' which is so badly made and so boring that it makes you strangle the passenger next to you). If nothing else, they should start giving a crash course titled ‘Managing Bathroom Fittings with Ease’ as soon as you check in. Better still, write a book titled ‘Using Bathroom fittings for Dummies’, (or how about this one?) ‘Bathroom Fittings and Me: A life in retrospect’. It will be an instant best seller, I tell you.

I entered the bathroom and was instantly transported to the front deck of Starship Enterprise. Forget doing anything, I stood there like Alice in wonderland, dumfounded by the sheer nickel around me. It shone and shone, and bedazzled the lights out of me. The only difference between Starship Enterprise and this metal museum was that in the Starship, captain Kirk smiles and nods his head, and feels good about alien life forms and about saving the earth. Here I was marshalling all my energy to hold nature’s call with every fiber of my body, going through the maze of equipment to understand what does what.
(I rotated a few knobs here and there, pressed some buttons quite frantically and ended up getting soaked from a shower burst that came from no where and hit me in the back. Coward.)

From next time onwards, I am going to carry my own bucket and mug into such hotels.

Did I tell you about the lighting? (take a deep breath...)
Well, the room has about 3 gazillion lamps (give or take a few). The way they are placed remind me of Chinese torture chamber. This one, right above my desk is shining so brightly on the key board that I wish the keys had brail characters – I can’t see anything. I am sure this hotel is facing a constant surge of extreme voltage. I think I need to invite some astronomers and scientists in here – they'll know how centre of Sun feels like.
The upside of this all is that by tomorrow, I will be glowing so much that the client will need to switch of their lights when I enter their offices. I will dedicate this project to the all glorious Ramada.

On that happy note, let me sign off here. There is still a part of me that wants to talk about the art-deco wall with a pot embedded in it (like it came from outer space and got stuck here), but that will take me another three hours to write under present weather and light conditions (Please note that it is not that I have not discovered the switches to turn of these lights; I tried doing that and ended up turning the room into a discotheque). Then there is the case of the lost butler, who entered my room while I was sleeping, woke me up, saw my face and went out in silent anger, quite upset that I was not his master. I also don't want to write about how I searched for a plug in here and could not find one, and how I have a long wire extension that helps my laptop with its power. The technician told me 21 times that they don't give extensions to people, lest they start using water heaters, ovens, and microwaves in the room

(what is going on in here????)

Weird connections- It is a weird world.

Tailpiece: While I was searching for some topic to write on, I was reminded of two beautiful Shers by Ghalib, wherein he mentions his lust for writing (in his case, letters to his beloved)

Khat likhenge garche matalab kuchh na ho,

ham to aashiq hain tumhaare naam ke.
(I will keep on writing letters to you, whether they make any sense or not.
I am hopelessly in love with (writing) your name)

The second one is actually one of my favorites. It tells how hopelessly one is in love and is quite hilarious.

Magar likhvaaye koi usko Khat to hamase likhvaaye,

hui subah aur ghar se kaan par rakh kar qalam nikale.

(Anyone interested in writing a letter to her, please come to me.
I step out every morning with a pen tucked next to my ear just for that purpose)

Ghalib has also written about his dwelling place, and since we were on my room’s case, here is something he wrote while he must have been on his room’s case…

Ug rahaa hai dar-o-deewaar pe sabzaa "Ghalib",

ham biyaabaan mein hain aur ghar mein bahaar aaii hai.

(Moss is growing on the walls all around me.

I am alone and Spring season is coming right into my home)


Finally, a Sher by Iqbal extolling the virtues of silence (I should note this one for self-improvement)

Keh rahaa hai dariyaa se samandar kaa sukuut

jis kaa jitanaa zarf hai utanaa vo Khaamosh hai
[sakuut = silence; zarf = capability/capacity]

(Ocean’s silence is telling something to the river; one is as silent as one’s capability)