Phase 2: Commencement

My mom sat with me in the afternoon; asking if I was ready for the new phase in my life. She thought I was, and so did I.

The flight to Newark was full of some of the best words written to/for me; with the upgrade to Business from Brussels onwards adding a lot to the excellent experience.

Jersey City was hot, to say the least. I was ready with a sweatshirt in one hand, and a raincoat in the other. The weather was sure to play a large role in this new phase of my life.

After a smooth immigration and an excited hug with my sister, we moved on to her house. The living room was a guy's dream; a 32" Sony LCD, a Harman Kardon sound system, a Playstation 2, a Nintendo Wii, and the Rock Band Set. I spent a couple of hours singing, drumming and playing the guitar; obviously out of tune.

The next few days passed by in eating different cuisines having really large portions, roaming around Manhattan like it was Bombay, experiencing Eureka-like moments for some engineering problems, and cooking a little bit of food.

We drove to Pittsburgh on the Friday. After a brilliant brunch of eggs, sausages and the world's yummiest pancakes, we arrived at the Steel City. Pittsburgh at night was quiet, to an extent that we felt a little scared walking back to the hotel at 10.30 pm; but that is how Pittsburgh is, not unsafe, but quiet.

Most of the next day was spent apartment hunting and settling down. We took a tour of Carnegie Mellon and fell in love with it.

America has really impressed me; at least with the food if not more. In the 10 days I have been here, I have had Indian, American, Italian, Mexican, Middle Eastern, Chinese and Thai food. On my list next are Polish and Spanish.

It has been a good first few days of the new phase!

Choices

The choices you make depend on an uncountable number of factors. This is why the world goes on. A little variation disturbs everything remotely connected to it.

Going up.

I love going up the stairs.

I hate coming down the stairs.

I'd rather not go up if I have to come down later.

Scindia Stories #1 - SM973

I arrived at Gwalior station with a huge black trunk and a 16-inch suitcase. I was in a daze; I do not remember at all the trip from the station to Gwalior fort, where the school was. It was afternoon.

I was in Dattaji house. Apparently, our housemaster, a Mr. Sanjeevan Bose was out of town with a school contingent, and one Mr. Dhirendra Sharma was helping out the incoming 'new boys'. We were also introduced to the house matron Mrs. Handoo, a tall, heavy built woman, who looked extremely sweet to the parents, what with that over enthusiastic smile of hers. All 'new boys' were queued up in a veranda and weirdly, some teachers and some 'old boys' were trying to clap hands to gain attention. They would go 'Clap clap' and shout 'Quiet please'.

Now, the parents were asked to leave the premises. I could see tears rolling down my mother's eyes. I was holding mine up somehow. After the simultaneous emotional exchange between 65 new boys and their parents, we were assembled again for a talk.

During the talk, we were given ID numbers, that would last us for our Scindian life. I was allotted 973. We had to tag everything that was ours with our initials and this no. So, for my Scindian life, I became SM973. My underwear was tagged, my shampoo was tagged, my shoes were tagged, and basically everything was tagged with a permanent marker.

Later through the years, whenever my clothes or shoes were dirty even after a wash, the matron ready with a stick in hand would summon me and give me a nice beating on the palm.

Although it was supposed to last me only for my Scindian life, SM973 has stuck to me even ten years after Scindia. My previous phone lock code consisted 973.

Scindia Stories - Prologue

I had a little history regarding boarding schools. In the 1st or 2nd grade, I had appeared for an entrance examination for Welham Boys, and when the result came out and I realized I was admitted; I tore off the result. I simply did not want to go.

So it still confuses me as to why I enthusiastically suggested that I be admitted to the Scindia School, Gwalior in the 4th grade. It may have been because of the stories of Mussoorie International School that I had heard from my sisters.

Whatever the reason, the three years in Scindia were the fondest of my schooling life. In the following series, I will write incidents and tales that I remember from Scindia.

Desire

A list of the few things that I would want to have.

1) BMW 530i

2) Tag Heuer Grand Carrera Calibre 8RS Chronometer

3) Mont Blanc Meisterstuck Solitaire Silver Fibre Guilloche

4) A Hugo Boss Suit

5) A Vincent van Gogh

6) Signed copy of all Jeffrey Archer books

7) Cristopher Tolkien signed Lord of the Rings

9) Sachin Tendulkar signed bat

10) Arsene Wenger and Thierry Henry signed football

11) Pink Floyd signed The Wall

12) Bose Lifestyle home entertainment system

13) Arsenal Football Club

Do they say lucky no. 13?

The Indian Premier League - A delayed review

A few years back, when the South African cricket team visited Australia, a new rivalry was born; that of arguably the greatest leg spinner the game has ever seen and of a flamboyant young captain leading the resurrection of a tattered team after an unsuccessful world cup campaign. Shane Warne and Graeme Smith never became the best of friends.

Come 2008, and suddenly, the two fierce competitors were bought by the same franchisee in the much fancied Indian Premier League. By the end of the tourney, Smith declared Warne as a 'fiery old man' and said that they 'got on like a house on fire'.

Now that is what the IPL has done to the sport of cricket. Even one Mr. Sourav Ganguly is now happy to work closely with one Mr. Ricky Ponting, something that seemed unforeseeable in either's careers.

No sport is friendly, but it must be played in the right spirit. The IPL was no different. At the opening ceremony itself, each captain signed the Spirit of Cricket statement, confirming that they intended to play in respect of the game. Another incentive for promoting sportsmanspirit was the Fairplay Award, which took into account a team's behaviour with their opposition as well as the umpires.

It might seem surprising that the Rajasthan team eventually won the IPL. They were touted as the weakest link, they had an accented English-speaking captain, they had no Indian superstar cricketer. However, they had desire. Warne's want to win a game from the most miserable situation was infectious, and it thus showed in the performances of youngsters like Shane Watson and Yusuf Pathan.

One might argue that the famous Harbhajan-Sreesanth slap incident did not do much for nurturing sportsmanspirit; but it is clear that neither of these players have behaved saintly in their past careers, so to blame the IPL for such an incident is not correct.

The inaugral IPL did its bit to promote the game of cricket. Old enemies became pals and respect grew amongst contemporaries. Cricket still remained the gentleman's game, although the viewership grew amongst ladies and children as well.

Indian Institute of Technology, Mumbai

Yesterday, I went to the IIT for Techfest's night event, Laser Floyd.
Now, the last word in the last sentence is enough to draw me, and maybe a couple of more people to the event. So, there it was, a Laser Show from some group from America with Floyd's The Wall playing in the background.
Let me be frank. The laser show was not something brilliant. I think I saw the same kind of thing at our college fest two years back, maybe on a little smaller scale. And just to praise my college a tad bit more, I think the idea of having a live band in Vayu perform along with the laser show was much more exciting.
Anyways, what I loved about the show was the crowd. I would so wish that kind of a crowd present for an event I organize. Even before the show started, the mexican waves had begun. After a couple of rounds of hand-raising fun, there was the flashing of mobiles. It so reminded me of everyone holding a candle during Scorpions' Wind of Change performance; I did not imagine cell phones could be so visible from 25 mtrs.
All right; people who had not heard any song from the album came just because they thought it cool to attend something to do with Floyd, but the spirit of the crowd was enough to make you want to go to that place year after year. Imagine an open air theatre, filled with almost 6000 people, all waving their mobile phones in the air. Pretty decent.
It's things like these that make me even more fond of the IIT; forget the education bit, it's the IIT experience that's the real thing.

That brilliant, er, yeah, film!

There is this certain scene I've seen in various movies, English and Hindi (I do not really watch other language films unless they're dubbed and brilliant.); an intelligent director presents a passionate story to an audience which does not appreciate it. Khoya Khoya Chand has a similar scene where the audience walk off from a premiere of Shiney's directorial debut.

I have a strong feeling Sudhir Mishra is trying to lend a little humour in that scene. He probably knows a lot of people watching Khoya Khoya Chand would want to walk away.

It is that kind of a movie. No, you do not want to walk away like you did while watching Jhoom Barabar Jhoom. A lot of people would walk away because they do not relate to the ideas of the
director.

Khoya Khoya is one of the better movies, for me. With the brilliant acting of Vinay Pathak, Soha, Shiney and even Saurabh Shukla, it takes you back to an era my age has not seen. The arty Bengali director, the beautiful Muslim actress, the eccentric producer, the typical UP lad; amazing characterization.

The movie is not so much about the cinema in the 60s as it is about people in general. It portrays the relationship between a group of persons so beautifully that you sometimes wonder if you're really only watching a film.

I liked Chameli, but I have yet to see Mishra's other baby, Hazaron Khwahishen Aisi. Even though, I'm positive that that will again be a good watch.

The day after

The randomness of day is a good research project.

What do you do when you have time to kill, three hours, to be precise. When you cannot play Jetman just for the fact that others will think you're the biggest jerk. When India is playing so horrendously that you don't feel like watching and cheering. When the music runs out on your cell phone or your battery gives up. When there is no one you can sit with for more than five minutes. When all your assignments and journals have been copied complete.

Difficult situations these. My response: I go to the Energee waala outside college, make random conversation with him about how bad India is playing, come back. I sit with this one guy I recognize in canteen. I talk to him for five minutes. Then I get up and walk out to my car for no rhyme or reason. I throw in my bag and walk back to college. I sit with that one guy and girl again. Once they stop showing much interest in me, I get up to walk outside again. Time doesn't fly you know. Damn.

Realization

Realization strikes, suddenly. After all the busy days of the past month, just yesterday, I was contemplating why I was behaving differently to certain circumstances which have occurred in the past.

I was never the expressive person. I used to be content even with no one around me, no one to talk to. I was never the expectant person. This has changed now.

I've become that extremely sociable person, who always needs people around to feel comfortable. I can't sit alone for hours now; not even with a book, my usual substitute for people. I know why this has happened. I've gotten close to a few people in the past few years, who've caused me to become this way. I do not know if it's for the better or worse; I'm just in a very uncomfortable territory right now. I need to know myself better.

That Siddhesh Mehra, who never cared what others thought of him, has started paying attention to it. I do not like it this way, but I do not know how much trying to turn myself back into the old me will change things.

For now, let me be.

Plagiarism

This article has NOT been written by me. I came across it while searching on Google. Credit goes to the writer, Huzaifa. The blog can be found at http://axshuzaifa.blogspot.com/2005/12/ieee-vs-csi.html

IEEE v/s CSI

The following article was written by me for my college magazine in 2004.
I.E.E.E. and C.S.I. are the student chapters of the Electronics and Computer Department respectively. Needless to say, they are the best of friends.

IEEE v/s CSI

Every now and then one comes across a stage in life which teaches you the difference between right and wrong and how to face hardships. It teaches you morals, ethics and things like why soldering irons should be cooled before putting in pant pockets.
Yes, I am talking of college festivals.

Every year the IEEE and CSI societies hold their college festival. IEEE and CSI date their origins to primitive times when two cave men first discovered the dog. The first cavemen taught the dog how to stand, eat, run, talk and cook food, but all the dog did was roll over and play dead. He called this programming and formed CSI. The second caveman passed a direct electric current thru the dog’s leg. When its tail moved frantically up and down, he called it DC to AC rectification and formed the IEEE.

Traditionally these two societies have been bitter rivals, each trying to outdo the other. Their festivals are the hallmark of the semester. CSI calls its festival PROTOCOL which is Latin for “Our-classrooms-are-better-than-the-principal’s-office.” IEEE calls its festival TECHTRIX which is stands for “We-claim-to-have-more-members-than-the-Congress Party.”

Protocol was the first fest to take place. While preparing for the event it was decided by the core committee that the college walls were looking faded and dirty. So let’s put up garish red posters over every inch of the walls and cover them up. Around 3 million billion killion dillion posters were printed (conservative estimate) and plastered everywhere. There were posters on the stairs, the canteen, the windows, even on the lift doors. Posters would turn up in the most unexpected places like the bathroom cubicles, the labs, the terrace and even in the canteen Pav Bhaji.

IEEE was now faced with an acute free wall space crisis. Someone on their committee decided to hang their posters from the ceiling. Now this is a good idea, especially if you are 8 ft tall and have a rubber neck. For others it was a chance to show off their archery skills. Contests were held during lunch (“Alright let’s see who can hit the poster. Keep your pens and rubber bands ready..FIRE”)

Both the festivals have budgets large enough to wipe the debt of certain African nations. Events like Treasure Hunt are closely guarded secrets. Nobody knows the checkpoints except the organizers, the event heads, the volunteers, their families, the xeroxwala, the liftman, security guards, the canteen waiters, and of course the government of China. Robotics is another keenly contested event in which 20 year old engineering students try to get rid of their ‘geeky nerd’ tags by playing with toy cars.

I have to mention the laser show which was part of the CSI fest.
It was a twenty minute show that had enough lasers to send western Maharashtra on an 8 hour power shortage. CSI proudly claimed it to be second in magnitude only to Bappi Lahiri’s wardrobe.

Not to be outdone IEEE redecorated the college entrance. Disco balls and black curtains were put up to give the feel of an authentic *Technical Festival*.

Looking back on 2004, I have to conclude that it was great fun. The fights, the bickering, sponsor stealing and the occasional glimpse of an empty wall space.
Can’t wait for next year.

About Sport

I play a lot of sport. I think I'm decent at some of them. This is my theory of sport.

1) I love to play against a pro if I play decently.
2) I hate to play against a decent player if I play pathetic.
3) I love to play with people who I used to defeat but they now defeat me.
4) I hate to play against an amateur if I play like a pro.

Personal theory.

Viruddh Gandhi

This one wouldn't have come, but for the incessant abuses Manmeet hurled at me whenever I met him; in person or online. This one's for the aviator.

I'm not convinced Gandhi was Mahatma. It is probably because I've not read enough about the man to deem him Mahatma. He was a good man, powerful rather. There had to be something about a man who could single-handedly influence the second-most populous nation in the world. The aura, of men of that stature, people like Gandhi, Hitler, Luther King; is irresistible. These men inspire me, although none were Mahatmas.
Why this article? Well, I saw Gandhi, my father. Whatever the Times of India or other newspapers thought, I believe the movie was brilliant. From the depiction of a stubborn Gandhi, always knowing the right, a soft father, longing for the love of his son; to the wonderful portrayal of Hari Gandhi, the wasted son of a celebrated father: the emotional relationship is beautifully played.
I had expectations from this movie the first time I heard about it at the IIFA awards. Fresh from watching the Aviator, I almost hoped for a Scorsese-style biography. What I got was different from Scorsese; but was equally brilliant. It is small things I like about direction; the shower scene in South Africa, staying away from the infamous train incident in SA, not indulging into much outside Gandhi's family, images of Akshay Khanna as a Satyagrahi in the later parts of the movie.
It is rather rare that I feel this kind of fervor after watching a movie. The last time I felt it was after The Departed. Rang De Basanti before that. I say Anil Kapoor chose an apt movie to start his production career. Nice.

The dream

Now just the other day, I was discussing dreams with my friends, while cursing myself for not remembering them. They gave me vivid descriptions of their dreamy escapades. So, today, to my surprise, when I woke up, I realised what I was dreaming. Now c'mon, that was an experience for me. So, here it is.

#include fantasyland.h
Now, a senior of mine had shifted to Australia while we were still in school. So now, probably a couple of years later, I meet a girl outside who I faintly recognize as that senior's sister. She's getting some land dug in an open ground in front of school. When I go to enquire out of curiosity, I learn that she's a telecommunications engineering student and she was doing a project on telecomm in India. So she was trying to get to the MTNL lines.
/*Pause. Some days later. */
I meet the same girl again, getting the same digging done, but now right in front of my building. I say hi to her once again, and get talking. Turns out we share a nice rapport. I give her my contact number, and we go around Bombay for a couple of days. We start liking each other, and the day before she's leaving for Australia, she comes to my place. We are in the elevator, and I tell her I like her. She smiles. I hug her. She does not refuse, but she does not respond.
/*Pause. Next day.*/
Next day, she does not call before leaving. I cannot contact her because she does not have a cell.
Some days later, she calls from Australia. I complain about not meeting her when she left, and she says she felt awkward right after the hug. But that, to make up, she was sending me a gift.
Suddenly, I see myself holding an album. Pictures of mine and hers', with apt captions and messages.
/*I get a phone call. My dream ends.*/
end dream

Now, now, before someone asks; I can't remember who the girl was, neither who the senior was. The telecomm engineer in me appeared in the dream. And then, the photo album must have been because I was searching for pictures to put up on Facebook yesterday. Dream analysis ends here. It was a nice little dream. But probably even a little influenced by the James Bond flicks I've been watching rather religiously for the past few days.

The insect

Imagine this.
You take an oath never to kill an insect.
Now, an insect keeps climbing on your face even though you push it away a couple of times. What would you do?

Of people

OK. So there are people who work in my house.

Instance 1: Pandeyji
Pandeyji has probably seen me for more time than I can remember. So whenever he enters the house, he greets me with the words Boss. Now, it's fine to call me Boss, but not when it sounds like Bose. Not as in the Bos(z)e audio systems, but the Subhash Chandra Bose types.
Imagine, everytime I see him, all I hear is "Bose", and it drives me crazy. So much for the patriot in me!

Instance 2: Manoj
Manoj is 18 years old. He's indispensable to me. So now, he was trying to decipher what the Laughing Buddha in my show case meant.
The following are his words:
"Ye to woh hi hain naa ji, woh bhagwan jinhone macchli pakad li thi. Yeh buddhu bhagwan hain na?"
God, I could not stop laughing when he made Buddha into Buddhu. Lord.

Poetic Moods #6 Distress II

My grandfather suffered from a brain stroke on the 6th of October, 2002. It took away his speech, and left him paralyzed on the right side of his body. This is for him.

His fingers clenched around my wrist,
he held me tight,
a quiet look of desperation,
I trembled at that sight.

His eyes so still,
pleading to me in exasperation,
the worried smile,
I cursed my incomprehension.

I relived that old night,
had it struck again?
without those words he had long lost,
I could almost feel the pain.

The sudden relax,
his grip lost my hand,
he responded to my excited worry,
on my feet I could again stand!

Poetic Moods #5 Her

A little shade of the unorthodox,
she looks into those eyes,
And then she comes to understand,
there's someone who never lies.

She's pretty, she's smart, she's sensible,
she's all that you would wish,
yet she's not available,
she's happy as she is.

There is so much more meaning,
it's difficult to explain,
but for a friend like you,
it's all simple and plain.

When you feel uncomfortable,
I know exactly how it is,
But damn, I do not know,
Is there anything else to this?

Russell that!

So then; I wasn't supposed to be there! I did not have the passes. All those people who are thinking of me as the perfect bitch who went without them knowing, let me tell you the whole thing.
It was the last show Russell was doing in Bombay on this tour. And so, like an expectant fool, I went to Andrews thinking that an idiot would come there offering me passes for the show. I reached there to the sight of one of my sisters friend selling tickets to another guy. I cursed the traffic. I waited with a friend for another hour with no luck. No one was generous enough to give me that so desired pass. We waited, and the show started. Then, we went to the entry gate and gave the organizer the most agonized look that we could. Sympathetically I think, he told us that he had only one ticket with him to sell. Tempted, we bought the ticket and waited for someone as helpful to give us the second ticket. When that person didn't come, my friend suggested we toss a coin and the winner goes in; no point wasting more time outside. I agreed and my luck! I got the ticket. Center seat, 1st row!
Sorry Raj!