A Life Worth Celebrating

Some people enter your lives by chance and change it completely by virtue of their presence. He was one such guy. My connection to him originated only because he was the older cousin brother to S – older and certainly one of the most protective as well. My earliest memory of him is meeting him for coffee at the Borivali MacDonald’s in early 2004; this meeting happened because he told S he wanted to meet this guy she had chosen to marry. I went there scared expecting a thorough grilling from the over protective paranoid brother just like in the many Bollywood movies I’d seen over the years. But as it turned out, I met this broad-shouldered, genial and always smiling guy who even then seemed amused at how uncomfortable I seemed. It looked like he did approve of me considering S and I did eventually marry and from then on, he instantly became one of the people I could always look up to, both as a role model and as someone who would always firmly be on my side.

A highly talented plastic surgeon, he was a rising star in his professional circle, one highly recommended by senior doctors all across Mumbai. Those of his patients who I’ve come across over the years have always given rave reviews about him and his work. While he held impeccable credentials professionally, he also had the ability to connect with everyone who crossed his path, be it a senior citizen, a nervous college student, people from different social strata etc and make them feel at ease with his natural charm. In his capacity as a medical professional he was able to do good and touch the lives of many people who will never forget him.

For his loving family, he was like the rock of Gibraltar; always present and involved in any major decision that needed taking and we all knew that if he was entrusted with something, you could be rest assured that it would be taken care of. A son any parents would be proud of, a husband any woman would give anything for, a indulgent and loving father to his two lovely children and a brother in the truest sense, not only to his sisters but brothers as well. I say brothers in the plural as I include those who were connected to him only by virtue of marital ties not that it ever mattered to him or anyone else.

Getting to know him was a revelation of sorts, mainly from the viewpoint as to how one person could be so versatile both in his knowledge and his own personal hobbies / interests. While he never openly professed his affection, it always reflected in his behaviour towards you and it was pretty easy to know if he liked you. Conversations with him, both in person or on WhatsApp were always stimulating and there hasn’t been one single conversation in which I have not been able to take away something new. While there would be periods where we would both be caught up in our respective lives, but suddenly he would message me some day about something random or vice versa and a long conversation would then ensue. We connected immediately over our mutual love for food and books and I fondly remember our exchanges about great food joints which left us both salivating for the next time we went there. Similarly, book recommendations flowed freely between the both of us and given the diverse range of genres he liked, my appetite for reading different kinds of books also increased in the bargain.

A much later love that we both shared was that of riding, him a lot more intensely than me. He got his RE TB 500 first and after some months of hard riding cross country finally managed to convince S to let me get my RE as well. My first ride out of Mumbai, though it was only to Uttan, was with him. Still remember the early morning ride we had and the beautiful point we rode to where we got to see the sunrise light up a spectacular vista of an open beach and a calm sea with no one around but us. Subsequently we went on 2-3 other rides together, slightly longer this time and each of these also had the added attraction of some yummy breakfast at a place along the way. We planned to do a proper long ride spread over multiple days in the future but that did not materialize due to various reasons but he covered most of the well known routes including Leh-Ladakh, Spiti and even the treacherous Sarchu Pass in Kashmir with his riding group.

Another endearing aspect of his character was to be able to surprise you with something out of the blue. I remember returning home from work one evening and a random stranger riding my bike into my building compound even as I got off the autorickshaw and I watched open-mouthed as I realized that the silencer of my RE had been replaced with one that gave out a much deeper thump than the original. He had taken my bike away even while I was at work and had this done as a surprise to me for my birthday! This was just once example of what he could do. He was always ready to get up to something fun and going out with family and his close friends was a way of life for him. He had the ability to find humour in any situation and this meant that laughter followed him wherever he went. His trademark slow smile and the lazy laughter always stay with me as an indelible memory.

I have still not come to terms with the fact that he is not in the physical plane anymore and that such a freak accident would take him away from us. I find myself reading and re-reading our entire WhatsApp chat history in my weak moments and wanting to send a message asking him when we could meet next and it seems almost impossible that he isn’t around to reply. Whenever I find myself in certain situations in life, I think about what he would have done in those circumstances. I know for a fact that I carry a part of him within me, now and forever, one that will make me realize is life is to be lived well and holding back is not the way to be. A couple of months before his passing, he had mentioned to me that he was going to do the Everest Base Camp trek in 2018, a first for him. Knowing him, he would be attempting the EBC version of whichever happy place he now occupies. Over the last few months, I realize that I am part of a much larger group of people to whom he was larger than life itself and that his life has been a reason for celebration. And that is exactly what he himself would want, that he is always thought of with a smile for what he means to us. Today, May 13^th, is his birthday and I take this chance to say: Cheers, Bijoy! Love you, bhai!

My Favourite Authors

My first ever friend (guess we were so small, we may not even remember when we first set eyes upon each other) Kavita put me up to this. Seeing our mutual love for books and reading, it is no wonder that I am feeling excited even before I start writing this. Ahem…let us forget that fact that it has been over 2 years that K tagged me. Given the early start I got into the world of reading, it is no easy task to pick and choose a list of favourite authors out of the entire host I have read. Having gone through K’s list, I can safely say I am going to be repeating many of those and I am glad there is no number limit on this. ☺

While I don’t remember the very first books I must have read, I do remember that my earliest fond memories include books. Like all kids of my generation, I went through a regular diet of Enid Blyton and while her name has lately been tainted by people finding racial overtones in her books, she will always be responsible for introducing me to reading and making me love it – be it the Famous Five, Secret Seven, The Ragamuffin series or the slightly more grown up Five Find-outers and Dog series. And even now I am leaving out many others of the magical worlds she created for want of space!

Another series that comes to mind of another “author” is The Three Investigators. Always with an introduction from the famed Alfred Hitchcock, the concept of these teenage boys running their amateur detective agency was legend. Throw in the brains of Jupiter Jones, the brawns of Pete Crenshaw, the organization of Bob Andrews, a few fast chases, narrow escapes from the bad guys and last minute brainwaves and many afternoons went by very happily in their presence.

Now I come to the books that literally ruled my early and childhood years and changed the way I looked at mystery and adventure books forever – The Hardy Boys! The first Hardy Boys gifted to me by a older cousin sister made me seek them out as soon as I was done with that one and I felt as one with the Hardy brothers, Chet, Biff, Phil, Jerry and of course Callie and Iola when they went on their super excited adventures. The small fact that the brothers did not get a year older (till they aged by a whole year when the Case Files started) didn’t bother me in the least. I remember my neighbour in my Khar apartment building who owned the entire original hardbound Hardy Boys series and how he very kindly indulged this 8-year old who would devour one book in about 2-3 days and be back for the next! When the Case Files came out in my early teens, it made the atmosphere in the books much more grimmer with people actually getting killed and not just kidnapped but the tight storyline always had me glued.

The first “adult” book I read at the tender age of 13 was Kane & Abel by Jeffrey Archer. Took me a while but Lord Archer became one of my favourite authors over time and I can profess to have read all of his books over the years though some of his recent efforts seemed to lack the punch his earlier books had. In the similar genre, covering a lot of ground in terms of world history and seamlessly merging it into fiction was Ken Follett, another writer who I count amongst my faves. Sidney Sheldon while considered low grade by many also ruled the roost for me for some time.

Talking about merging history with fiction, I discovered James Michener a few years back on the recommendation of a blogger who has become a friend (you know who you are). Michener is unique in his storytelling in that while his books are really long and detailed, they are literally unputdownable and you are swept away in life and times of the rich world he creates in each of his masterpieces with intricate detail and research. Some of my favourites by him areThe Source (history of Israel), Poland andCentennial. If you like books with a lot of information, details and history then these are the books for you.

Two authors that give me my fix of high adrenalin action with fast paced action with all the bells and whistles of modern firepower and military gadgets are Mathew Reilly and Lee Child. Reilly’s Shane Schofield and Jack West Jr. and Child’s Jack Reacher are men you look up to at multiple levels and aspire for some of their qualities in the face of insurmountable odds. The best books for a short flight or a day you want to spend with a quick read.

Now I come to a genre that while I took my own time to warm up to it, has turned into my most liked genre ever – fantasy fiction! Obviously, this list has to start with JK Rowling and her Harry Potter series and how badly I wished that I had got a shot at living in that parallel world for a while. It was heartbreaking when the 7^th book finally got over and I had to return to a world sans Harry Potter. While it is much older book and had been in existence since the early 1900s, it shot to the limelight when the first movie of the trilogy released and many fantasy fans from my generation were treated to the magic of The Lord of the Rings. I remember buying a copy of the 3 books merged into a single volume immediately and proceeding to devour it from cover to cover. Since then, I have re-read this book about 4 times (yes, call me crazy) and also gone out on a limb and bought all other books by this king amongst authors includingThe Hobbit, Unfinished Tales, The Silmarillion, The Legend of Sigurd and Gudrun and not once have I regretted the purchases. A more recent but just as strong pull has been towards George R R Martin and his famed Game of Thrones series. Needless to say, these 3 authors were enough to start a lifelong love affair with the genre and all the fare it afforded me.

While I am no medical person, but just like K, Robin Cook has had me hooked to his writing and hanging on to every word! Medical thrillers like his brings to mind another fabulous author Patricia Cornwellwith her trademark forensic investigations mixed with crime – can’t but not love them!

A few authors / books have been more recent discoveries – Murakami (abstract but blindingly beautiful), The Millenium Series (3 by Steig Larsson, 2 as yet by David Lagercrantz – Lisbeth Salander always leaves you wanting more and then even more), Keigo Hagashino (one of the best crime / mystery writers I have read, even translated from Japanese). Keigo’s The Devotion of Suspect X was spine tingling not only with its intricate plot but the revelation at the end! Many would have already read and loved The Book Thief by Marcus Zusak but I read it very recently.

This post would not be complete without mentioning some of my most favourite classics, the likes of Pride and Prejudice, Sense and Sensibility (Jane Austen), Arthur Conan Doyle (creator of arguably my most favourite literary character of all time –  can go on and on about him but maybe in a fresh post), the grand dame of mystery and crime, Agatha Christieand... ahem...let us stay with these for now.

Eric Segal with his Love Story and Doctors! Clive Cussler with Dirk Pitt! Khaled Hosseini who changed Afghanistan and made it more humane and warm for me forever!

How can I forget our very own Indian authors in this already lengthy list? Vikram Seth won me over with his mammoth masterpiece A Suitable Boy; can’t wait to read it again! Arundhati Roy with her haunting and beautiful The God of Small Things. Amitava Ghosh with The Hungry Tide; this book made me marvel how words could be used so beautifully to describe life in the Sunderbans and the tragic end made me gasp at the futility of it all. One of the few Indian authors who went and wrote a series and rocked at it, Ashok Banker (his Ramayana and Mahabharata series both changed how I felt about these epics). Amish, who picked up the mythology trail and gave it his own twist with the Vayuputra trilogy and now is 2 books into his own version of the Ramayana.

Given the number of books I now own and have not read as yet (yes yes, I know!) and the number of authors I’ve had the privilege to read and love, this post could go on and on and on if you know what I mean. So I’d rather end here, wallow in this warm happy feeling I’m in the throes of when thinking of and writing about so many prized authors and books and let this post (which my dear friend, K tagged me to do at least 2 years ago) see the light of day! Happy reading. ☺

Sir

I stopped in my tracks! Was this really G sir? Since I was still some distance from the grocery shop, I still wasn’t sure.

Those were days when parents believed that schools were just too crowded to really understand what was being taught and teachers were too caught up managing the class to do justice to teaching. So Sir as we called G sir was the ideal solution in these so-called crucial years of our education.

Sir was a veteran teacher and had a piercing gaze behind thick glasses that could literally burn into an errant student. He never raised his voice; its timbre was enough to command our attention, fear and grudgingly our respect too. His teaching methodology was more logic-oriented than our school’s “by rote” teaching. Sir would make sure the concepts behind the subject matter were made clear and help figure out the rest for ourselves. His notes, tests and assignments were exhaustive and written in his own hand before being photocopied and passed on to us. The tension in the air during each of his tests was palpable. He would sit at the head of the table and look around while we literally and figuratively sweated with our answer sheets.

I remember the comfortable trackpants and t-shirts he used to wear always. I remember him scanning school report cards after exams and the shiver down my spine then. I remember his agitation at what he termed incorrect concepts taught us by school teachers and threatening to castigate the said teacher. I also remember the kindly twinkle in those gray-brown eyes, the thick moustache and large slurpy noise made while sipping on his customary mug of tea. I remember him taking us out for a picnic to a nearby beach during 10th grade, the last time we met as a batch.

Whenever I run into any old batchmates or even other students lucky enough to be tutored by Sir, we realize we actually revered and loved him for what he had been to us - a great teacher! Funnily, none of us had really kept in regular touch with him after school.

I’d reached the shop; it WAS sir. The glasses were still thick, the moustache white but still thick. I smiled and he smiled back, “How are you, Sachin?”. I looked fondly at the frail but still great man and said “I’m well, Sir! And you?”

A Road Less Travelled

Biking lore has it that there is no greater joy than bombing down a long road with a strong wind whistling in your ears, trees and open countryside flashing by and the strong steady beat of your machine keeping time to your heartbeat. I had read about it, heard about it and also watched versions of it in films and on TV. But it is rightly said that till you do it yourself, you can’t understand what the big deal is all about.

I’ve owned a RE Thunderbird 350 for just over 3 years now and have ridden it in and around town quite a bit. This also included 3 “short” rides of about 70-80 km (2 with my bhai - S’s brother to Manor and Vashind respectively and a few rides with the Enfielder’s riding group and friends). These rides gave me a taste of what it was to really get out there and ride hard. This post was written about one such ride with the Enfielder’s in Dec 2016. Yes, it is a late post but people who know me also know how I can be with finishing posts that I start.

At that point, I jumped at the chance of a much longer ride (as compared to other rides I had been on till then), again with the Enfielder’s, to Jawhar / Mokhada; this one would roughly be about 120-130 kms each way so in effect more than double the distance as compared to any of my previous rides.

The ride was to happen on Dec 24^th 2016, the day before Christmas and hence a lesser turnout was expected. I reached the meeting point at 5.15 am and over the next hour and a half, more and more riders joined in taking the count of bikes to 19. Since this was to be an “open” ride, there were a few non-RE bikes including a Harley, a KTM, a Honda and another Honda Unicorn. While waiting for everyone, most of us were giving each other’s bikes the usual once over, checking out the modifications made as well as aesthetic changes that made each RE so unique in character and if I may use the word, personality. A riding group is great example of homogeneity in diversity and the Enfielder’s are no exception; caste, creed, gender, age, profession and background all take the backseat and all riders come together with a single-minded love for riding. The camaraderie is simply amazing to experience and I feel privileged to be part of this band of brothers and sisters.

The ride began post a briefing by the group lead where he laid down the ground rules while riding. On longer rides with a large group of bikers, it is essential that everyone is in sync. This is not only to ensure the safety of each and every rider but also to maintain the high standards and the spirit of teamwork embodied by the group. At 7 am, we set out along NH – 8 towards Virar in single file with the leader leading the pack. The speed picked up once we crossed the China Creek bridge as the rising sun made its presence felt from our right. It was a cold morning and none of the protective gear we had on including riding jackets, gloves, balaclavas and helmets could keep the chill from creeping into our arms and legs. Not that this dampened our enthusiasm in any way!

The sight of all the bikes in a perfect single file thundering their way along a good road is poetry in motion and only experiencing it can make one understand the thrill that a biker feels when on one such ride. Along the way, we passed many small towns on both sides of the highway and without fail, heads turned in unison to see us ride past, wistful smiles on the faces of the teenaged boys and the younger men. Before long we were approaching the Toll naka after Virar and there was a massive traffic snarl on the opposite side with huge trucks and buses blocking the entire entry towards Mumbai. This had led to traffic also spilling over to the wrong side (our side) and the right most lane was a long line of trucks and left most a long line of cars coming from the wrong side. The overall effect was a choke up so bad that it was difficult to even manoeuvre our bikes through. After a while, using the small gaps in between the larger vehicles, the bikes managed their way out of the mess onto a relatively clear area. In the process, I had my right side rear-view mirror cracked when a truck brushed past it.

After a short break on clearing the obstacle, we resumed our ride and very soon we were crossing the Manor flyover and taking a right off the highway. The road we were on now was good and undulating with lot of sharp curves and ascending continuously. Both sides we could only see well tended fields stretching away and bordered by mountains on one side. Riding here was extremely enjoyable but at the same time we had to keep both eyes on the road given the sudden twists and turns and the quick moving occasional traffic from the opposite side.

Biking, like many other pursuits that involve concentration, grows on you gradually until it finally becomes muscle memory. Your bike becomes an extension of your body and responds immediately to the smallest of actions on your part, reflexively or otherwise. This is when your mind is clear and there no idle thoughts to distract you from your primary objective of riding. Your responses are instant and come without any conscious effort from your side. It is this state that every rider worth his ilk craves for and when in it, lives a truly transcendental moment.

After a lovely ride of about 60 km on this road, we reached a small eatery on the outskirts on Jawhar village. We downed breakfast ravenously (nothing like a long ride to whet appeties). Hunger pangs satisfied, we rode through Jawhar village and then onto a narrow winding road leading downhill. This road was pretty much broken down and the loose gravel and stones made the going even tougher. Having said that, the view in places was spectacular though we had to keep our eyes on the road for the most part. A ride of about 20-25 minutes brought us to our destination, a tiny hamlet.

After spending some time there, we set out for the journey back home, again in single file just as we came. We stopped at Jawhar while a few of us went to replenish their fuel tanks and then rode back the way we had come. Luckily, by then the traffic had cleared up and the ride back was smooth all the way upto China Creek with us being able to ride at a consistent speed of 80-90 km all the way. I reached home for a late lunch with my heart full of what I had seen and experienced during the ride. Given my experience of the rides that followed this one, I can safely say that riding is here to stay!! Maybe someday I will ride in the Himalayas after all.... mid life crisis or not.... 

Fond Remembrances

As time passes, you realize that each year gives you something to remember it by, good or bad, pleasant or unpleasant, memorable or forgettable. Even though it isn’t yet over, 2016 has been no different. Three people were taken away. These, while not related to each other, all influenced my life. 

The first was my very own uncle. A patriarch to my family in the truest sense of the word, I don’t remember any major event of my life in which he did not participate. In fact, his presence validated the moment for me and made it more, well for lack of a better word, real. My father’s beloved oldest brother (the “in law” part really didn’t matter), a much loved and respected uncle to all my paternal cousins and me, this dignified and well read person was a pillar to my family throughout his life. Not always openly expressive, his love for his family and especially his nieces and nephews shone through in action. I remember certain late nights when we used to live at Khar when my uncle, who used to be based in Muscat for quite a few years for work, used to come directly from the airport to our house to meet my brother and me rather than go to his own house. The photos taken of one such visit stay with us as a fond memory of that moment all those years back. I remember how my brother and me used to phone him and my aunt to tell them about any of our so-called achievements, be it good results in some exams, or our admission to a good college or even landing our first jobs and getting that first pay-check. My visits to their house always used to include that one conversation with my uncle that covered a whole lot of topics such as cricket, the best routes to get from one place to the other, new food joints in and around, my current job and in the recent future, my kids. He was a true connoisseur of cricket and he could spend hours discussing the nuances with a like-minded companion. These and many other qualities of his always come to mind when I think of him. I was fortunate enough to be one of his loved ones and I will always miss his physical presence in my aunt’s house.

The second person to leave us this year was S’s brother-in-law. While related to him only through marriage, I still got the chance of getting to know him over the years of my marriage to S. He really embodied the “gentle” part of gentleman and his easygoing persona was evident to everyone who was lucky enough to have him touch their lives. His being husband to a sweet lady and father to a worthy daughter only goes to show that good things happen to nice people. In all the time that I knew him, I have never ever heard him say anything negative about anyone. He was a hardworking person himself and he ensured that his family led a comfortable and happy life. His detailed knowledge of rituals made him the de facto go to man for helping to carry out any such occasions which warranted expert advice. In fact, he helped perform the rituals during S and my engagement as well. When I think of him, I can only picture a genial man, with a great broad smile and an enthusiastic approach towards life. His sudden and untimely demise cast a pall over all of us but I am sure that wherever he is, he will ensure that his good wishes will be with us always. 

The third person I refer too has passed on very recently and thoughts of her are still fresh in my mind as I write this. She was the beloved baby sister of my close friends and her age makes it even more difficult to accept reality and move on. Some people influence your life over the course of a lifetime, some for slightly lesser and then there are some who can do it in a very short span of time. Shared interests or people can be factors to this and that was the case with her and me as well. A much loved, vivacious and multi-talented girl, she was full of life and all that it had to offer. Through the eyes of my friends, I saw her as a favourite aunt to her nieces and a loving sister to her own sister, cousin brothers and sisters-in-law. She was also a voracious reader and a big-time foodie. The brief time I had the pleasure of conversing with her was full of discussions on books read or to be read and suggestions of eateries. True to form, she stayed strong and positive and gave a tough battle to the disease till the very end. In my eyes, that is what makes her a super-woman and that is who I will always remember her as. 

It is said that when a person leaves us, they remain with us always in the form of memories they created with us and for us. It is up to us to decide if these memories are to give us pain and sorrow or just are an excuse to celebrate the happy and warm moments we shared with those who left us. While it is always going to be tough to accept that they won’t be with us anymore, we need to believe that they would have never wanted to be a reason for our continued pain. I take this opportunity to express how privileged I feel to have been part of the lives of these 3 people. Maybe this is my way of coping – so be it. 

Stepping Into a New World

We all have, at some point in our lives, had to give up or get out of our comfort zones and venture into something completely new to us. Do you remember how you felt then? That feeling of anxiety as to what all could go wrong? That feeling of stepping out unprotected and vulnerable to unknown dangers? In spite of being reassured by well wishers and trusted elders, the butterflies and trepidation didn't make an exit easily. It took us some time to get over that sinking feeling and gain a firm foothold and go back to our usual confident selves. Remember?

On Jun 15th, 2015, our tiny tot S2 did the same. After more than 2 years of being only around his closest family, where he was always treated like royalty and every nuance of his was understood and then catered to, he stepped out into the real world. It was his first day at Playschool. After a lot of research, S and I chose to enrol him at Euro Kids, not just because this particular center was just across the road for us.

In the days leading upto Jun 15th, we tried all we could to make him understand that in a few days, he would go to playschool where there would be many others of his age, a very nice teacher who would play with them, sing with them and generally help them have a great time. S2 gave varied responses to the efforts on our part ranging from a straight no to a bout of crying to happily agreeing and also at times looking right through us and pretending we hadn't asked him anything. Truth be told, S and I were both terrified. While we had already been through this phase with little S, it never really prepares you for doing it all over again. Our baby, who we hadn't let out of our sights as far as possible, was now going to go into a closed room with many other unknown kids, with unknown teachers and we wouldn't even be there for him. We couldn't even predict how he would react to the situation and from what we knew of him, this little guy wouldn't like it much.

It would be an incorrect statement if I said that our anxiety was only relegated to how S2 would react. We were equally worried for the other children who would be in there with him and the teachers too!

The reason for this will need a flashback: Circa September 2010. Little S's first day at her playschool. Given her soft, pliant, docile nature, we were very sure that she would have a tough time adjusting to playschool. As expected, our angelic baby cried up a storm when it time for her to let go of my dad's hand and enter the playschool premises. What wasn't expected was that at the end of the 1 hour, in her tantrum little S had scratched (read clawed) another little girl, a boy and one of the teachers as well. Ultimately this resulted in her getting scratched back and a free for all crying by all three kids. The surprising and somewhat worrying part was that our little S, who was a very sweet baby, always smiling and tantrum-free, had actually been the provoker of this incident. Leaving this at that for now, little S even today is a very sweet child, extremely well behaved, obedient for the most part and one of the teachers pets in all the classes she's been in.

On the other hand, S2 who is a full 4 years and 1 month younger than her is diametrically opposite in nature. He is loud, brash, naughty and is given to throwing tantrums when he wants something badly enough. He is also prone to actually hitting his "akka" as he calls little S without provocation when he wants something she has, which is most of the times. We have actually had to coach little S to not let him hit her at such times and defend herself against his sudden swipes or fists. Given this sweet characteristic of his, was it a wonder that we were worried for the other kids and teachers in his playschool?!

The one week before D-day, S2 had taken to saying he would "have fun in school, not cry and also ask his "friends" to not cry when they did". The night before we all slept early as little S, who was going to start 1st grade on the same day was going to have to reach school by 7.45 am and so it was an early start for all of us. As expected, little S was up on time and ready to go without any fuss. We dropped her to school and before we realized it, we were back home in time to get S2 ready. He woke up in his usual good mood, all smiling and ready to have his morning glass of Bournvita. His clothes had been selected and kept ready from the night before and it didn't take too much to get him ready.

He was once again told he was going to go to playschool today where he would have a whole lot of fun and he seemed excited about it. He even posed for a couple of pics with his bag slung on his shoulder with a big smile on his face. It was now time to do it. S and me left our home with him in tow and walked the short distance to Euro Kids. One of the most difficult moments for me was the day I walked into the room for my first ever group discussion as part of the MBA selection process. My heart was hammering in fright, my palms were clammy and my legs felt weak. This short walk to Euro Kids with my son in my arm was at least as bad as that moment if not more. Next to me, S was also in her own world of anxiety as our little boy made his entry into a new arena.

All this while, unsuspecting S2 prattled on in his usual way. In minutes, we were at the gate of the center and all we could see were tiny tots exhibiting their powerful lung capacities to the world at large when they were being separated from their parents. The teacher was waiting to take our son inside and I asked her if I could take a pic of him before that. I set him down at the doorway and took a quick pic. That was the very first moment when he realized that school meant that his mumma and dai were not going to come in with him and the expression on his face in that says it all. The teacher quickly picked him up and took him inside and as she opened the door, we could hear a cacophony of wails, howls and sobbing. Now the die was cast.

That one hour, which S and I spent waiting outside the playschool itself was veritably one of the longest ever. Halfway through the teacher came out to tell us that S2 was crying softly but he was not creating a fuss. Our hearts melted when we heard that and thought of how confused he must be with what was happening around him. Finally that hour got over and the teachers started leading out the children. As a rule, they were all crying, some even more than when they went in though they had all been given a large smiley to be held on a stick. And through the throng of parents, we saw him walk out; he was crying too, right till S picked him up and hugged him. The "ordeal" was over, at least for that day.

To celebrate his first day, we got him to choose a toy from the store and he picked out a bright yellow truck and armed with that, he came back home. Later we realized that with all the crying, he hadn't had the time to eat from the snack box that was in his bag. Another interesting point was that he had cried on that first day because he wanted to go play on the slide that was outside the center and he hadn't been allowed to do that. :)

It's now been about 15 days since then. The playschool timings are now for 2 hours and S2 is now settled with the idea of going there, doing his stuff (which includes singing rhymes, playing with blocks, scribbling with crayons and last but not the least cleaning out his snack box) and coming home saying "maza kiya". Love to see him get all dressed up and potter his way to playschool and back as if he's been doing that all along.

Yes, it is a heartwrenching experience to see your beloved little ones get out of the comfort zone you have made for them bit by bit with a lot of love and care and go face the real world. Yes, it is even tougher to see them cry while they do it. And it is the toughest of all when they sometimes get pushed back or get hurt in the bargain. But having said that, they will always end up gaining something from the experience. They will always become stronger, better equipped and ready to take on whatever life throws at them. After all, we've been there and done that too. The world is their oyster now!

Standard Chartered Mumbai Marathon 2015 - My Story

Just 2 days back, I registered myself for the Satara Hill Marathon 2015 that is supposed to happen on Sep 6^th. This particular event is touted to be one of the toughest half marathons in India and with good reason. Last year was my first attempt at this one and to say that it was an experience would be an understatement. 10.5 kms of a winding ghat road constantly climbing upwards on its way towards the Kas plateau might be good for a leisurely drive in the comfort of your vehicle but running along it as part of the SHM is something else altogether. Having said that, I did manage to see it through and after a very tough up run, made good time going down ending SHM with 2 hours 41 mins on the clock. Suffice it to say, I was happy to have finished it without injury.

Running has now become more than just a health habit with me, it is something that has become a matter of routine and something without which I feel incomplete. I can’t go so far as to call myself an amateur runner but hopefully someday soon, I will get there. That brings back thoughts of the 2 big races I ran in this year – the most prestigious one of its kind, Standard Chartered Mumbai Marathon (SCMM) 2015 in Jan and the Hiranandani Thane Half Marathon (HTHM) 2015 in Feb.

While I have always been passionate about the idea of running since I ran my first half marathon in 2011 (SCMM), 2014 was the year when I decided to take S’s words seriously. She always used to tell me, “It’s all very well to talk so much about marathons and how to run and how not to run but till the time you actually walk what you talk, you are never going to get better at it.” Right after SCMM 2014, after a very short break I started running again. A few short week day runs and a definite long run on Sundays became a norm and I began to feel guilty if I skipped a scheduled run. Helping me along were 2-3 of my childhood friends who also made it a point to compulsorily run on Sundays. This did not let up even during the monsoons which is usually the time, my enthusiasm would drop and I would let these 2-3 months wash away all opportunities to run. We also had the SHM 2014 to look forward to in Sep and the thought of attempting the Satara hills was enough to keep me on my toes.

In the meantime, on the office front as well, I was successful in getting a significant number of my colleagues, including a few seniors, interesting in running and we started training as a group each Sunday at the Sanjay Gandhi National Park in Borivli. We all now had our sights set on the SCMM 2015 in Jan. As part of this drive, my organization was good enough to rope in Physiorehab, S’s place of work as our official training consultant and things moved to an all time high with them taking each one of us through our paces, be it strengthening our core muscle, engaging us in functional training and advising us on our diet and training plan to boot. These physio sessions were happening at least twice a week and were being followed up with regular long runs on Sundays with the distance on these runs gradually going up from 10 km to 12.5 km to finally 17-18 km in mid-December.

For once, I was feeling good and in form to do well in the upcoming SCMM. This self confidence was bolstered by the fact that even S and her colleagues who had helped me strengthen and train felt that I was in shape this year and on track to a good SCMM. My running group, Brisk Pace Marathon Group comprises of some really good runners, who challenge themselves on each run and had raised the bar for the rest of us in the group. Here too, a lot of expectations were getting built up at an informal level and everyone was pepping the other on to give it their best. To my mind, a personal best (PB) and maybe even reducing my previous PB of 2.28 to less than 2.20 was definitely on the cards. There was this buzz in me that rose to a crescendo when D-day came about. It was one charged up Sachin who stood on the start line of SCMM 2015 amidst thousands of other equally enthusiastic runners in the holding area bathed with yellow light from the many halogens strung up.

The race began and I surged ahead with the music beats pushing me ahead. The adrenalin was pumping and all the training was in my mind as I gave in to my game plan and started pacing myself accordingly. The sharp vibration of my GPS watch alerted me every kilometre and gave me my pace for that km and my overall pace for the distance covered. The first 6 kms, most of which are on the iconic Bandra Worli Sea Link, went by like a breeze, the large number of runners carrying me along and at the end of the sea link I was well within my targeted pace. It was heartening to see the crowd of people waiting to cheer us on and to know the first milestone had been crossed. It seemed like the strengthening over the last few months had worked well and I was feeling strong, fresh and there were no niggling aches or pains anywhere. I was just taking short walking breaks to give my muscles some rest and also to consume small quantities of water. The 10^th km marker flashed by with my watch telling me I was still on target. Almost half done and I was on track. All I had to do was maintain the pace and not do anything silly. Should have been a simple thing by any standard, right?

The second half of the run is something I have still not been able to reconcile myself with till date. While I was still running more and walking less, still feeling strong and still had my eyes set on my target, my pace slowly started to lag each kilometre from there on. I was willing myself to run quicker but my legs refused to do so. I could sense that time was slipping by but was somehow not able to come to terms with it and act on it. Eventually, on Marine Drive, with the last 4 kms to go, it finally caught up to me and running became a form of ancient Chinese torture where each stride became unbearable. When I reached the point where S and her colleagues were waiting to cheer us on (close to the 18^th km mark), S realized I was in danger of missing even the 2.30 hours timing and asked me to stick with the 2.30-hour pacer who was just passing us by and finish in 2.30 at least. And that is what I did; I kept close to that pacer uptil the turn towards Churchgate when even keeping up became an ordeal and that bus passed me by. With less than 1.5 km to go, most runners start quickening their pace wanting to make up for time lost along the way or because they are close to their targeted timing and want to beat it if possible but all I wanted to do was finish the race at 2.30 hours.

The cheering became louder as more and more people thronged the pavements now; hordes of relatives, friends and well wishers screamed themselves hoarse egging their runners on and once they passed, pushing unknown runners to pick up their pace. It was this support, the voices of the unknown but beloved supporters from Mumbai and elsewhere that spurred me through those mind-numbing last 1.5 kms. My eyes were focused on just the road in front of me, the sweat drops making them smart. Every other runner became a blur and now all I looked for was the distance markers announcing “500 meters to go”, “400 meters to go” and so on. In that haze, I did not realize that I somehow passed the 2.30 pacer and her bus with 200 meters to go and there it was – the Finish Line. Maybe it was just the heat or the haze in front of my eyes but its edges seemed to shine when I looked upon it. I knew I could fall any minute but I decided that I was going to sprint across the finish line. I pushed my legs, which by then felt like dead pieces of wood, harder and started to run faster. I started sprinting as hard as I could and as I approached, spread my arms wide and ran through the line. Just as I did that, my eyes scanned the big digital clock at the top which read 2 hours 29 minutes 23 seconds and I knew I had done it. I had finished within 2.30 hours! While there would be a lot of time later to berate myself for messing this one up, I had at least once again broken the 2.30-hour barrier.

As soon as I finished, I was swept up in a wave of finishers all on their way to collect their refreshments and the most coveted finishers medal. After a few light headed moments where I stumbled along trying to hold myself up, I weaved my way to the end of the lane where the throng was lesser, collected my medal and finally, at long last, let me legs buckle under me and eased my aching body to the pavement. All around me, I could see many other runners in the same posture, some applying ice packs liberally to their cramped up muscles or trying to stretch themselves out. It was now time to locate and meet my other friends, colleagues and of course S and then head home together after a well deserved breakfast but for now SCMM 2015 was dried and dusted. It is another matter altogether that it turned out to be a real dampener for me. No amount of talk or analysis could change the truth; I had well and truly disappointed myself as well as several of my well wishers with a performance much below expectations. I can throw about multiple reasons – burnout, over expectations, humid weather, incorrect pacing, inadequate nutrition / hydration during run; but none of these would let me be at peace with myself. It was time to swallow the bitter pill and take it in my stride. For the record, my official SCMM 2015 net time was 2 hours and 29 minutes, a minute more than my previous best of 2.28

The Hiranandani Thane Half Marathon 2015 was less than a month away and it was going to be one tough run, one much tougher than this one and my negative frame of mind was definitely not going to help me there. But more about that run in a following post. For now, it was time to wallow in my despair of SCMM 2015!

Problems anyone?

We live in a world of plenty. We are spoilt for choices and one can find at least one alternative which fits their need perfectly. And even then, stress is rampant, stress about whether the choice you made was right, stress about lifestyle, our relationships, good schools for our children, bigger cars, larger houses, getting good house-help, about taking that annual vacation to an international destination, about that elusive club membership, about so and so who was in school / college with you earning more than you and going places and you not and the list just goes on. 

Most of us always move about with a cloud above our heads, worry lines etched large on our faces encouraging people to ask us if everything is ok and if they can do anything to help. Our answer to this is “It’s life. Will manage somehow.” And in this manner, we move through life, the years adding up as also the value of our so called sense of self worth and the amassment of possessions leading to even more stress and thus the cycle continues. Will we ever get out of this? Will we ever be able to be happy with such important decisions weighing on our minds? Nothing can ever reduce the criticality of these things in life. Or can it?

Cut to my daily commute to work in a Mumbai local train in the general 1^st class coach. It had been crowded as usual and finally there was a mass exodus at both Bandra and Dadar stations leaving the coach relatively empty. At Bandra, this very old lady entered. She was very frail with wrinkled skin covered with the traditional tattoos usually seen on people in rural Maharashtra and dressed in a dark green saree and a checked pallu that had seen better days. She was hobbling along using a short length of bamboo and carrying a small jute bag in her other hand. She was peering out of rheumy eyes and begging from the gents in the compartment. Some of them were giving her coins and she was dropping them in the jute bag with a word of gratitude.

I have always had this soft corner for aged people and it always breaks my heart to see them tottering on a busy roadside, trying to get about alone with no one to help them along. I will never forget this one incident when I was returning back from Johannesburg to Mumbai after a office convention and we had a long stopover at Dubai airport before our flight back to Mumbai. We were whiling our time at one of the many food courts there and happened to notice this elderly Indian couple sitting a table not too far off. The old gentleman was slowly making his way to the counter at one of the food stalls. It was pretty evident that they were travelling alone and were also on a stopover just like us. While all of us felt a little sad at seeing them travelling alone, there was with us this soft-hearted friend of mine (who I had barely known then but is now one of my closest friends) who could just not bear it and actually walked over to them and started chatting with them. They turned out to be a gentle couple who were on their way to their son who was settled in the US or Canada. Their son would be waiting to receive them as soon as they disembarked after the long flight over the Atlantic. We all were very much relieved at what now promised to be a happy ending. 

Coming back to the Mumbai local train and this other old lady, she made her way through the compartment collecting a small number of coins before she reached my side of the coach. By now, we were approaching Lower Parel where I would be getting off. To say my heart was at this moment breaking into a million pieces would still be an understatement. I could not stop myself giving some money to the lady but I did not feel any satisfaction from the act, I just felt broken. So she managed to collect a small sum of money here, mine included. But what help would that be even in the short term? The city we live is not kind to homeless, poor people and even less to those who have the added “stigma” of being elderly. What kind of a life must this old lady living on a day to day basis? Even the basic necessities that we all take for granted so easily are nowhere in sight for people like her. Getting through each day without mishap must be such a struggle. Thinking about the sheer misery that these people face makes our so called problems of plenty pale in significance and seem extremely trivial, materialistic and a sham.

It was with such dismal thoughts crowding my mind and a heart heavy with the sense of helplessness that I got off the train at Lower Parel that day. What can I do to make a difference with not just the sole intent of bringing peace to my own guilty heart of being able to lead a charmed life when there were so many human beings who can’t even live like humans? What can anybody do? Even now, I can still see that old, withered face, murmuring her gratitude and blessings, the eyes mirroring their acceptance and resignation to her state and even then a sense of calm reflecting on it. What can I do? 

I had a dream..

I have a dream.

A line made immortal by the great American activist, Martin Luther King. This one line inspired millions of Americans to strive towards abolishing the rampant racism that pervaded in the USA in those days. We all have dreams and aspirations. Some of these are as idealistic and inspirational as the one above and many others that are a lot more personal, a lot more mundane and a lot more down to earth.

I had a dream, too! And this was one amongst many others as a young professional starting my career way back in 2000, fresh out of MBA school and hurled straight into the chaos a budding dot com company brought with it. Working long hours, burning the proverbial midnight oil, single, unattached (for the most part), all of it seemed exciting and fun at the time. Travelling in crowded Mumbai locals along with like-minded colleagues, trading anecdotes, talking shop and discussing our youthful fantasies was the order of the day. It was in one of these discussions on a train commute on the way back home that I once again heard the magic word “Bullet”. No, this has no reference to bullets of the violent kind which form ammunition for guns and the like. This Bullet was The Bullet or Bull as some called it fondly, the workhorse from the Royal Enfield stable at that time.

To say that it was a name that inspired awe, longing, respect and a lot more feelings in guys (irrespective of their age) would be an understatement. From an early age, I had seen one of those beauties thundering past making all heads turn. I had even seen traffic cops and policemen look at them with admiration in their eyes. In fact, it is an urban legend (yet to be proven) that traffic cops do not stop Royal Enfield riders. The charisma that comes with owning one of them is so high that in the agri-rich belts in Maharashtra, Punjab, Haryana etc, it is a status symbol to own one; a true sign that this particular farmer or landlord has truly arrived.

Coming back to the train discussion, my colleague was postulating his dream of owning one someday and that was the moment when I made it mine as well. Having said that, I knew that for someone like me who could just about ride a bicycle and barely manage to ride a automatic scooter, a Royal Enfield was way out of my league. But then, dreams are just that; you can have a dream and not bother about the logic or the lack of logic thereof. From that day on, you could see me turn my head to look whenever one of these machines went past me, some sedately with a deep throated though mellow baritone and others at a much faster clip with their “silencers” spewing out an ear-splitting but musical roar. Their sleek lines, the bold central headlamp, the hand tooled machinery, the widely splayed handlebars and the big, solid and stable looking tires all made their presence felt to me and called out to my heart in the most tantalizing manner.

Over the years, the dream only grew stronger but alas at the same time, the price of the various Royal Enfield models only went up as they started looking better and growing more and more popular. I read a lot about them, spoke to enthusiasts, discovered that there were actual clubs where Royal Enfield owners got together for various events involving their bikes, went on long rides together and helped each other become better riders. I also learnt that a Royal Enfield owner was a much more responsible rider for the most part and that “power” and not “speed” was the buzz word here. All in all, a lot new facets got added to my love for a Royal Enfield including the fact that each bike that came out of the Royal Enfield factory was an individual in its own right and tended to behave differently as such and over years of usage, its rider would get so used to and so attached to it, that riding a so-called identical model would still seem like a different model altogether.

A few years after I got married to S, I shared my dream with her. I expected her to laugh at me or something of that sort but to my pleasant surprise all she said was “We’ll get it someday soon.” With other priorities always coming up in life, a new house, a much needed car, two kids and lot many other associated things, this dream of mine got relegated to a rarely used corner of my brain. Only relegated, mind you and not discarded, still smouldering and alive.

Come April 2014, S said to me “What the heck, let’s go buy your RE on your birthday and I’ll sponsor half of it for you.” In the meantime, I also found out that with my dad being a retired IAF personnel, he was eligible to buying a bike under the CSD quota at reduced rates. So on May 30th, with my heart doing cartwheels, S and I went to RE Brand Store in Bandra and did it! We booked the Royal Enfield Thunderbird 350 in the newly launched Lightning colour. The nice people at the brand store told us that there was at least a 3-month waiting period for this model and I happily acquiesced as I anyway didn't want my beauty to brave the onslaught of the Mumbai monsoons in its very first year.

The monsoons went by and so did October and November. By now, my patience was starting to wear thin and the frequency of my calls to the brand store was going up always to hear the reassuring voice tell me "Next week, sir!" And finally, on December 11th 2014, they called me and asked me to come and take the delivery of my bike the next day. The delivery was to happen from Royal Enfield's workshop in Santacruz as the brand store itself was undergoing some renovation work. My dad and me reached the workshop and there it was! It was yet to be washed but could even then see the large trademark fuel tank, the contoured but strong body and the much loved and dreamt of Royal Enfield logos. I saw the mechanic give it a thorough shower and then buff it dry honing the sheen to perfection. The love for the machine was evident even in the hands of that mechanic who must do this for hundreds of bikes getting delivered each day and even then my bike was still special for him. Told me a lot about the relationship I was just about to begin. Instructions over, I finally wheeled the bike out of the workshop and tentatively tried the kick-start. The engine sputtered and then died down. A second try and this time, the engine held and the motor roared to life. I revved the accelerator a little just for kicks and then with my dad on pillion sailed out onto the main road. That first ride from Santacruz to home was something else. It was like trying to gain mastery over a unruly but powerful and beautiful horse while galloping in a jungle filled with all the animals possible.

Could feel beads of sweat start on top of my head and slowly trickle down my face and my neck inside the helmet as I strained to keep the heavy bike upright in loads of traffic and at the same time maneuver it through rush hour highway traffic without it touching any other vehicle. Am sure my dad was a relieved man when we reached home at long last. At the end of the ride, I realized that it was the Thunderbird that owned me too and not just the other way around.

Since that first time, have ridden my Thunderbird quite a few times and we have both gotten used to each other. I can now say that I at least have an idea of riding it without any major problems or discomfort. It is always a pleasure to feel the powerful 350cc engine vibrate under me, the shivers travelling through my arms and into my body, a sign that all is well. 550 kms done and the first service under the belt, we are now ready and looking forward to explore close by places with a whole new perspective. At least now, I feel worthy enough to think about getting myself some decent riding gear good enough to use while riding this beauty. Have also had the privilege to give pillion rides to S, my kids and few very close people and they have all come back with a sense of wanting more.

I suppose I can keep going on and on but given that there are a lot more roads still to ride on and a lot more places to get to, I shall leave those for a future post. Should have posted a pic here but shall leave that in my mind's eye for now. Once again I say:

I had a dream. 

Why do I Run?

Many of us are at that age where we “feel” that our best is past us and the so called vestiges of old age are beginning to creep in. We hear of someone in our known circles being detected with a lifestyle related ailment and think “Oh, but he or she is only XX years!”. Some of us remember our early days when we were thinner, fitter and generally more active. We make resolutions on New Years, Birthdays, Anniversaries and all other such occasions about working on our fitness and staying healthy. Sometimes we follow it through but mostly the rigour of daily routine and the demands of our professional and personal lives take a toll and the resolution becomes just a paper exercise.

Why did I start running? I was never into running, not even as a child. I have played cricket, some amount of football, badminton and the usual games children normally play but running, never ever. I was present at school track and field events but only in the audience. All through my growing years, the only running I did was to catch the bus or the train. Then came the first Standard Chartered Mumbai Marathon in the year 2004. Surrounded and mesmerised by the hype, I went for the event – but again as part of the audience. The huge crowds, the carnival-like atmosphere and the enthusiasm levels were so infectious that I found myself part of a huge group of “runners” in the Dream Run (7.5 kms then) category in the second version of SCMM in 2005. Suffice it to say, enthusiasm was one thing and actually finishing 7.5 kms was another and the next day found me unable to move a muscle without groaning. But the seed had been planted and year after year, I took part in the Dream Run till the year 2010. That year, the crowd participating in the Dream Run was overwhelming – one could not run at all, it was more like getting in and out of a crowded local train at peak hours. On whim, I decided that I wanted no more of this and that the next year, I would take part in the half-marathon. And from there it continued.

With that background, why do I run? What makes me wake up at a god forsaken early hour and drag myself out? This is it as I see it:

-      The most basic of reasons, it helps keep me on my feet and fit and builds my endurance

-      Running is one of the few times I get to be really alone, something really needed

-      A long run is one of the few places in life where you are not competing with anyone but your own self

-      It gives me a chance to breathe easy, I mean really breathe easy

-      You automatically belong to a band of brothers (and sisters) who may be vastly different from you in real life but out there, you just run

-      You get to look up to and get inspired by some truly fantastic people

-      It makes me treat my body better and not abuse it with unhealthy food or unnecessary strains

-      While this may sound filmi, running helps me find myself and takes me where I would not usually go

-      Running is pure, it is untainted; it makes me be a better person and helps me reach out to others as well

-      Running takes me from strength to strength – makes me feel I can do anything. I had never in my wildest dreams thought I could last 10 kms, forget 21 km!

-      Off late, it has helped my introduce people I care about to the joys of running and that in itself a high that can never fail

-      A marathon (or half) is a analogy for a good life lived; there are moments of pure bliss, then those of doubt, pain and even despair but at the end, when you finish you feel it was all worth it

-      Most marathons support some charity or the other so it is also a way to give something back to the needy

-      Running teaches me to fight through obstacles and not just let things go

-      It pushes me to take myself seriously, take myself head on and beat myself the next time round

-      During a marathon, there are moments of self doubt where you may feel like you’re done and then that one cheer or shout out from someone unknown can pull you up and help you sail through

-      The high you get from finishing a marathon can only be believed if experienced once

-      And last but not the least, I run to tell my disbelieving body that I can and I will.

Each one of us has different reasons for running. Some of us more than the others. The point is, when we are all out there, pounding the pavement or roads or tracks or wherever we are, we are all in the same single-mindedness and purity that running brings. So, why do YOU run? 

Happy Birthday, T!

We all have people in our lives who by there being there and not being there leave a profound impact on it, both positively and negatively. Ultimately it is up to each one of us as to how to react to this. The most obvious influences come from our parents as they not only pass on their traits and characteristics but also their way of thinking explicitly and implicitly. Another, not so obvious, influence is that of grandparents. I believe I will not be wrong if I state each and every one of us have a special place for our grandparents in our hearts, both paternal and maternal. Due to the societal norms we Indians follow, a majority of us would have definitely lived with our paternal grandparents for at least some part of their growing up years.



While my paternal grandfather passed away much before my parents even married, I was lucky enough to have lived of all the first 22 years of my life with my grandmother who, unusually enough, I used to call by her first name T. This continues right from the time I started speaking till she passed away in 1999 and even today, in my thoughts she is still T. While I have countless memories about her, what follows in no particular order are things about her which remain and will always be imprinted in my heart forever.



·         When I was just 4, refusing to go out with my parents when they went to a friend's party / wedding, preferring instead to stay at home with T. Spending time in a make-believe airplane that was taking us to America. Me asking her if she would like to eat something on the flight - assuring her that she could get anything she liked, I only had to tell the "air-hostess".

·         Being petrified of Rang Panchami during Holi and her hiding me behind her saree’s pallu when any of my friends came home to forcibly apply colour on me.

·         Listening to the many stories she used to narrate to my younger brother and me (us listening open-mouthed) and then pestering her to repeat a particular one after having just heard it from her anyway. And her obliging us each time.

·         Her crocheting beautiful pieces using wool with those long crocheting needles. In the later years, her carefully saving all the plastic bags that the groceries came in, cutting them into strips and using them instead of wool to make just as beautiful doilies. These are still there in the homes of most of my aunts and uncles and our houses and are used to cover telephones or as table mats.

·         The distinctive sound her slippers used to make as she walked around the house.

·         Her perfectly draped sarees and neatly tied hair.

·         Sleeping adjacent to her at night all throughout with one loosely linked through hers – her sometimes patting me to sleep.

·         Her reading of the Marathi newspaper Loksatta on a daily basis through her thick glasses and then in the later years, also using a magnifying glass to make the letters appear even clearer.

·         Her concern for the health of all of us at home and the home remedies she was master of.

·         The tough life she led; from losing her husband, seeing a lot of hard days but doing everything possible to ensure that her children never suffered, a trait she passed on to all her children and all this without losing the smile on her face and her trust in the almighty about never forsaking them ever.

·         Her weathering some turbulent days with her usual fortitude over certain family issues which seem trivial in the longer scheme of things.

·         Her habit of carefully preserving greetings cards, wedding invitations and hand-made gifts given to her by her loved ones.

·         The patience with which she handled these two extremely hyper-active grandsons.

·         How she could turn out the most delicious traditional dishes and make us lick our fingers after eating and always want more.

·         Her going to sit in the building compound most evenings with her “friends”.

·         Her being able to actually treat her daughters-in-law feel more like daughters and always supporting them in any way possible to her.

·         How all my friends would love her after having met her just once and get drawn to her warm, gentle and loving demeanour.

·         Loving to listen to her reminisce about the days gone by and the incidents she recollect from a long while ago like the

·         How she used to nurse me back to health along with my mother when I used to be delirious with high fever.

·         Her mock irritation when my brother used to tease her.

·         The way she used to pronounce certain words.

·         Her extremely warm persona that radiated all around her in spite of her simplicity.

·         Her pride in her children and even more so her grandsons and granddaughters on their every achievement, big or small.



When it is about T, I can go on and on but then this would have to be a book. I cried very bitterly and developed a temperature when she left us to go to her heavenly abode in April 1999. Life was never the same again. Having said that, I have never really had to miss her as I have been extremely fortunate to feel her by my side every waking moment. In fact, there are times when I see her in my dad. Today is her birthday. While there is no such milestone required to say something which I am sure she realizes, I will still take this chance and say “I love you, T!” I hope I have lived up to any aspirations you had from me and that I have grown into at least a quarter of the human being you were. Though knowing you, you would still be biased and say you don’t expect anything at all. Happy birthday! 

Relativity anyone

Warning:- This post is a ramble and is not necessarily logical. So you have been forewarned……

When you are driving alone on Mumbai roads, especially if you’re unlucky enough to get stuck in one of the numerous traffic snarls that plague us (and 8 times out of 10, this will happen), you get a lot of time to think idle thoughts. Like the time last week, I was fortunate enough to spend 35-40 minutes stuck in traffic on the road linking the arterial SV Road and the W. E. Highway at Malad and was able to appreciate the beauty of the concrete jungle on either side of the road.

As an aside to the topic of this post, it looks like such grid locks bring out the worst in all drivers. In spite of knowing that all their efforts will not yield to them a metre of forward movement, they will still try! Autorickshaw drivers will covertly start nosing into the ultra thin gap between a bus and a car as if they want the world to know that the word “flexibility” is derived from them. Bike and scooter riders will have their pillion riders raise their feet up to protect themselves as they edge into a gap only they can see. And the wonder is that they actually manage to find one! Hats off to the pillion riders who manage to escape unscathed. With most of the new models in cars having side-mirrors which can be operated from inside, you find many Schumachers retracting their mirrors and revving their car engines as if they want to blast the opposition aside and zoom through. A small nick from a bike or bicycle squeezing through is largely ignored.

But I’m digressing – on this particularly “lovely” day, a gentleman in a Maruti Alto suddenly decided he has had enough and that he is adroit enough to make his way out of this mess. He is on my left side and all of a sudden I hear him gun his accelerator and he takes a hard right in front of me taking both me and the auto in front of me by surprise. Not only did his right side back fender graze against my front bumper but he also managed to butt into the back of the auto. Sitting in the midst of such traffic for over 30 mins transforms even the most sedate person into a snarling monster and it was this very monster that stuck a head out of my car’s window and shouted, “Hey, kya karte ho? Jara bhi akkal nahi hai kya?”. The rickshaw driver too was out of his vehicle and walking behind to inspect the damage. That was the time when the driver of the Alto gets out and I realize it’s a middle aged gentleman who is obviously not having a good day.

Stop. Back track. Check. Middle aged??

Harking back to good old college days, we used to play a lot of cricket. Not anything professional, mind you. These were the variants of gully cricket that most Mumbai boys and some girls too grew up playing. Our building society was such that each Sunday morning around 10 am, all the usual suspects used to gather and play cricket. This group comprised of all us youngsters and the “uncles” of the building. It used be a fun time with us forming 2 teams and lot of good natured hollering. Sometimes, for convenience sake, we just used to form 2 groups – one of us youngsters and the other with the middle aged men. Stop again. Back track. Check. Middle aged??

I remember that this “middle aged” group of men were of the age group ranging from 30 onwards till maybe 45 or 50. For us then, anyone who was married or working or both and not above the age of 50 was middle aged and accordingly given the suffix or prefix of “uncle”. Middle aged for us meant being more older than younger, more serious than fun, more responsible than carefree and all the other qualifiers that go with being old.

Years have passed since, this youngster group that I mention above finished their education (graduate and post graduate level for some us), got married and even had kids. Most of us are now in the 32 to 38 age group. Most of us still think in the same way that we used too. Somehow, mentally we still retain the attitudes we did all those years back. We still can play a good game of cricket and enjoy it as well. We still frequent the same haunts and laugh at the same jokes (of the same level too). I just realized that just one thing has changed though. Our definition of “middle-aged” – as we now populate our earlier definition, we now define middle aged as someone above 40 years of age and below 55. We still flinch when a child calls us “uncle” and it isn’t because we don’t accept our age, it is more because we still feel “youthful”. We still think of events of our teens and tweens as something that has only passed us a few days back and is still fresh in our memories.

Funny how our minds play tricks on us as this one. Goes to prove how right Einstein was. Everything is relative – state of mind, age, relationships and even definitions of seemingly simple concepts like “middle aged”. Just for the record, the middle aged Schumacher in the Alto must have been close to retirement age (or 58).

Book review - "Tea for two and a piece of cake"

To start off with, I’d like to narrate what made me buy Preeti Shenoy’s second book “Life is what you make it”. My book-crazed self was wandering around a Crossword outlet in a mall (I think I was waiting for my wife and this is usually the best ever past time for me) and browsing through various categories of books. That was when I spotted this book titled “Life is what you make it” by Preeti Shenoy. It was in the “Newly Arrived” section at that point in time and I was taken aback more because my mom’s first cousin (my mama) is a Shenoy and his wife is named Preeti. So I picked the book up and read the summary at the back and it did seem interesting. But that was not all and I was in for a further shock. I opened the book and in the “Acknowledgements” section, Preeti’s husband’s name leapt out at me from the page, Satish! And you guessed it right, that was my mama’s name. So Satish and Preeti Shenoy both could definitely not be a co-incidence and I was pleasantly surprised to know we had a writer in the family. But as I read more about Preeti I realized it was indeed a mighty co-incidence and this Preeti was a completely different person altogether. I went on to buy this book and it was a enjoyable and thought provoking read.

So when Preeti’s third offering came out in the form of “Tea for two and a piece of cake”, I didn’t think too much and bought it from where else but Crossword. It was a very quick read and I finished it in a matter of 2 days (these 2 days being Saturday and Sunday). Yet again, Preeti had managed to write a book that cover an entire gamut of emotions and feelings some of which would ring true with each one of us. They range from angst, rage, tenderness, affection, love, friendship, maternal instinct, neighbourly concern and a whole lot more.

Very easy to read and light on the eyes, the story traces a story of a girl who is grounded but at the same time dreams of an ideal future, one in which she has found the love she has yearned for all her growing years. This girl could be one amongst the scores of girls you see in any city like Mumbai every day, rushing to get to office, working hard to try and get to where she wants to and at the same time being rosy eyed enough to keep an eye out for Mr. Right whenever he comes along.

Another aspect of the story line that appeals to me is its simplicity. We have all read works of fiction which are classics and fantastical in their imagination. These authors create a new magical world for us on the canvas of their books and the reader is lost in the panorama. Any serious book lover would be a fan of such fantasies. No such thing in this book; every event in Preeti’s offering is from the real world. Everything you read is something that could have easily happened to you or me. Even with the vortex of emotions described, the plot is not complicated enough to challenge reality. Every page, including the fairy tale ending is believable and therein lies the charm of the book.

I have also been reading Preeti’s blog and I believe her to be someone who writes from her heart. The same feeling reflects in her books as well and “Tea of two and a piece of cake” is no exception. It is said that anything said or written with the right emotions would always be good to hear and good to read. That is proven right yet again here. I would be letting too much of the plot of the book out if I delved into the story line so I shall just end by saying – if you have a afternoon or two free and you are the kind who likes to curl up with a quick read high on emotional quotient, then don’t miss this one.

The Circle (Part 3 - the culmination)

Note: This is the third and final part to “The Circle”. Before you read it, please please read Part 1 and Part 2 so that the below may make some sense. :-)          
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After the fright of the morning, Sunita and Shyam finally managed to get ready for work, all the time keeping an eagle eye on Piya though that was not really necessary anymore seeing how scared Piya had been. Getting off the car close to her office, where Shyam dropped her, Sunita knew how lucky they were that Rajni happened to notice Piya’s not being there and she couldn’t thank God enough. It was with this feeling of gratitude that she entered her office building, gratitude for where life had brought them, for her lovely family and her beautiful daughter.

Sunita was the principal consultant in a large software development company and her job involved understanding the client’s requirements and getting the product made exactly as per the client’s wishes. She had been working here for almost 6 years now and was a respected employee. Over the years, due to the constant high pressure, Sunita always had a perpetual frown on her face along with stiff shoulders from keeping herself on her toes all the time.

But this morning, something had changed and her immediate colleagues got the full blast of the warm persona that Sunita really was under that professionally “removed” exterior. Her eyes sparkled and she seemed more relaxed than she ever had been. Today, she was extra nice to her team, as if she wanted to make up for all the times she had taken them to task. During the mid-morning meeting with her team, she suggested that plan a team outing the next weekend. This was a first for Sunita, who was known to never mix business with pleasure.

After the meeting, Sunita was walking back to her desk when she saw the door to the adjacent meeting room was wide open though there was no one in it. Seeing a lot of papers spread out on the desk, she went in and immediately realized that these were the extremely confidential requirement documents for another project that was ongoing. This particular project was being anchored by Varun, who was another principal consultant. Varun was very competitive, so much so that he looked upon Sunita as a threat and did all he could to undermine her projects. This included him trying to get his hands on any innovative ideas Sunita and her team thought of and using them in his projects. To top it all, he would not think twice about taking the entire credit for the same. It would be true to state that Varun was not very popular with his colleagues but he had the knack of getting hold of large projects and driving his team into a frenzy about meeting the stretch deadlines he set for them.  

Today, the documents that Sunita had in her hands were those of Varun’s latest baby, a cutting edge requirement from a company known to be asking for the best in technology. It was a known secret that Varun was pulling out all the stops and had already planned some tools that had not yet been thought of ever. It was the detailing of these tools that was given in these documents. A voice in Sunita’s head told her to quickly get a photocopy of these 2 pages and it would be possible for her to modify them and detail them out for HER project. And no one would ever know.

But Sunita’s thoughts today were on a different plane; while she didn’t like Varun much, she knew that his insecurities stemmed from some deep rooted problems in his personal life. While most people did talk about it, no one really knew much about Varun as a person. Today, Sunita let her conscience get the better of the “voice” telling her what to do and decided to return the papers to Varun herself. She gathered all the papers from the table, put them in the manila folder kept there and quickly walked towards Varun’s cabin. Seeing him in there, she knocked and went in.
 
It was obvious he was taken aback to see her there seeing they never really talked much or interacted. Sunita quickly handed the folder to him and said, “Guess you forgot these in the meeting room. You shouldn’t leave them lying round unattended.” Varun managed to say something about having just finished an urgent phone call and that he would have been going back there in any case. Sunita just smiled and said, “By the way, I haven’t looked at them. So don’t worry, your project is safe. But I’m not sure if our other peers would be that honest. Have a good day.” And she left.

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Varun stood up and watched Sunita go. He had just gotten off the phone with his lawyer; his messy separation case from his wife was finally through and they had both agreed to a mutual divorce. It obviously hurt to end a relationship of over 10 years like this but he knew it was for the best as they couldn’t see eye to eye anymore. The happenings on this front in the last 3 years had made Varun very bitter and affected every aspect of his life. It definitely didn’t help that his job was high stress and competitive.

As he couldn’t really live in the same house as Seema, his older sister had asked him to come and live with her and her husband. She had said that she would be glad to have him and as they had an extra bedroom, there wouldn’t be any issues. So he had taken up her offer and was living there now – it also helped that this house was closer to his office.

About today, he didn’t know what to think. While he knew Sunita was a complete professional, he had definitely not expected this at all. While he had only Sunita’s word that she hadn’t gone through them, he knew he could trust her on that. He knew that anyone else, including him, would have been tempted to at least have a peek at what they knew to be the most cutting edge developments in the company. This thought led him to another line of thought and after ruminating over it for some time, he quickly dialled a number. He spoke for a good 15 mins and then ended the call.

Varun then sat back in his chair and let out a deep breath. The call he had just made had a been a tough one to make but he was glad he had done it. He suddenly got up and left his cabin. He was going to speak to Sunita and thank her and also hope to clear the bad air between them. He hummed out of tune to an old Hindi number as he went making a couple of his juniors stare in amazement.

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She replaced the phone in its cradle and stared at it. She was still not over the shock. The shock that her own kid brother could do this. Yes. Varun was her step-brother. Her father had remarried when her mother had passed away. She had been 7 when Varun was born and she was overjoyed to finally have that sibling whom she could take care of and call her own. The fact that he was a step-brother was a minor detail and one that didn’t hold much strength with either of them. Varun always looked up to his “didi” as he called her and she would always find him trailing in her footsteps all through his formative years well into his teens as well. Even when he went to college and became a brash and cocky youth, he adored her and her word was the last one for him.

When she went abroad for her MS, he would write her long mails to which she always replied and they never really lost touch. Varun was overjoyed and dismal both when his didi got married – he quickly became his brother-in-law’s favourite and they had the best times together, be it drinking or indulging in their shared passion of biking. Didi would look at the 2 of them fondly and indulgently smile. Varun met Seema through some common friends and after a whirlwind romance, they got married.

Funnily enough, Varun’s sister, while cordial to Seema was never close to her. Seema, right from the outset, was a very outgoing girl and as the years progressed, this got more and more evident. Varun too didn’t mind going to clubs and parties but then he was also at heart, a romantic and loved being in his own space with his wife. Over time, Varun and Seema slowly started to drift apart as it was obvious they both wanted very different things. The bomb dropped when Seema put her foot down about having a child of their own and said she didn’t want to have children. This broke Varun’s heart and even though he tried his best to convince her, Seema never agreed. This was just an excuse for another of their bitter arguments, one which culminating in them deciding that enough was enough. Being the person he was, Varun let Seema stay in their carefully done up home and went to stay with his sister. The last 3 years had been bad on Varun and this had resulted in him going into a shell and focusing on the only outlet, work.

Didi had seen Varun go from bad to worse, putting in inhuman hours at work, drinking heavily and getting more and more cynical. Manoj and she tried their best to pull him up but what had happened weighed too heavily on him. Varun’s sister understood how work can be a distraction from your emotions as she too worked for a medium sized company in a senior position. She had a team of 5 people and most of them had been with her for a while now. While much of the initial client interactions were done by her juniors, she initiated each discussion herself and the finally costing for a new project before going live had to go through her.

While it was a busy situation at work, she was a balanced person and believed in leaving office at a reasonable time. This meant that she was used to carrying documents home where she could peruse them at leisure and get that some important tasks done in the relative peace of her home. What Varun had told her or rather confessed now over the phone, shocked her to the depths of her soul. She knew that Varun would always be her kid brother no matter what. Even now, all she felt for him was sisterly love and the fact that he had mustered the courage to admit to what he did melted her heart and she had told him so already. But it also meant taking care of some things at her end.

He had told her that he had gone through the quotations of her last 2 projects without her knowledge when she had got them home. Then he had his team target the same clients and quote a lower price for the same solution and bagged those orders. He said he was very sorry and he didn’t know why he had done so. She attributed it completely to his state of mind post his separation from Seema. She was actually very happy to hear about the divorce; it meant Varun would get a new lease of life and she would do all it took to bring back the brother she knew and loved.

She was relieved too. She had decided to take a tough decision and fire the team member who was the anchor for these 2 orders as no one other than her and him knew about the quotes being given to these prospective clients. She was not the kind of supervisor who liked to let people go. But now she realized it was no fault of his and she felt really sorry about the cold treatment she had been giving him the past few months. She had a meeting scheduled with the junior today where she had intended to break the news to him. In fact, the meeting was just 5 mins away.

Priya picked the phone, dialled an internal extension and said, “Sumant, can you come to my cabin please?”. And then finally, she smiled.

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Note: This is a rudimentary work of fiction by an amateur. No ideas or “inspirations” has been knowingly picked from any existing situations or writings. Would love to receive healthy feedback on my attempt so do comment. Thank you.