The Airport

c3. The Airport.

The auto sped over the bumpy, undernourished roads of Bangalore. Quite unimaginatively the road was called ‘Airport Road’. As we turned into the narrow lane approaching the airport, I wondered how much time before ‘Airport Road’ would be rechristened after an ambitious politician.

It was 6:30 in the morning, the warm glow of the streetlights lit up the passage to the airport. I was early, as always. Thanks to this I had to pay the auto 1½ times the usual fare. Smiling, as I shelled out the cash, I swore at him in Hindi. The serene Kannadika wasn’t corrupted enough to understand, as he thanked me and fired up his 3 wheeler to life.

I rummaged for my ticket and showed it to the security guards. I could’ve sworn they didn’t give it half a glance, as I was ushered inside. I could have been a terrorist you know. With my baggage sufficiently violated, I collected my boarding pass and moved into the waiting lounge.

I sat down and proceed to open up a book I was carrying. From Beirut to Jerusalem, by Thomas Friedman. I couldn’t read more than 7 words as I found myself in a highly distracted state thanks to the cute girl I had deliberately placed myself next to. A green Tee proudly proclaiming the wearer to be Von Dutch, her blue jeans and white converse sneakers grabbing my attention. Or perhaps it was the cleavage which drew me in. A deviation from normal behavior, I didn’t feel the need to initiate conversation. It was almost entirely to do with the girl whom I just started to date. While I came to grips with this hold she seemingly had on me, the girl got up and left. While thinking, I had obviously forgotten perform the ‘mission critical 5 second cleavage look away procedure’. Cursing my luck I withdrew into my moth eaten seat, and just looked out of the huge glass window panes.

I don’t know what it is about airports and airplanes but it gives me an irrevocable high. I observe all and sundry and find the time to identify planes from the bright motifs on their tailfins. The international carriers are usually the larger four engine planes. The Indian ones are all either Boeings or Airbus’s, with the exception of Paramount which uses Embraer. Regarding the artwork, I find Air Sahara’s logo the most plaid of all. All at once I have this mental image of an out of work copyrighter coming up with the most non-original idea possible, a tri colour. I would understand, believe me, had India just gained her independence and the air fleet was newly established. Under the current scenario, I feel their brand managers should handle more mature themes – like Adult Diapers.

The Go Air motifs are definitely more eye catching. The colours on their planes, probably, don’t even have proper names – like red, blue and the likes. But the Indian Airlines planes are definitely the most unique. Half their Airbus’s sport one logo, and the other half another.

The people at airports, are inherently more ‘observable’. Maybe it has something to do with the fact that so many of the passengers there, have their trips financed my someone else – companies, the airline they serve candies on, parents, political parties etc. It’s a collection of people who find themselves in the confines of a brightly lit and highly guarded environment with nothing common among them.

In the corner sat a man with an IBM thinkpad series laptop plugged into a power socket, courtesy Airports Authority of India. Clean shaven wearing a shirt, and a jacket. His extra short cropped hair reminded me of farmers from the Hindi heartland. He had an unmistakable rustic air to him. The jacket was embossed with the logo of Bosch Machine Tools. It loudly proclaimed the slogan, ‘Invented for Life’; But not nearly as loudly as the music blasting from his laptop. A nauseating mixture of Ricky Martin and Westlife smashed into my ears at the speed of sound. He spoke on his expensive cellular phone, in a practiced street-smart Hindi. “I don’t have enough pieces with me to make the sale”, he said for the benefit of the passengers sitting more than 50 meters away. I assumed he was a salesman doing brilliantly in the company, thus rewarded with laptop and air travel privileges. With some nostalgia I remembered my days in consulting, when I’d lug around a laptop and feel important.

I caught sight of Von Dutch girl again, this time a glimpse of her fanny heading into the transit bus. I got up and made my way to the bus as well. As the bus lurched forward, I reflected on my Bangalore trip. It had been a wonderful experience. I felt a lot better and more enthusiastic about life in general. She had obviously contributed more than she’d ever realize. In a way she got me reading again. Somerset Maugham and Virginia Woolf were new words in my vocabulary. Delhi was going to be good again. I could feel it in my bones.

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Excerpted entry,

Odd mixture of non-fiction and cheap thrills fiction and aviation nonsense.

The Truth About Truth.

Woody Allen: “Life doesn't imitate art, it imitates bad television”

--------------------------------


It’s usually something offbeat that gets you thinking. By thinking, I mean really thinking. Thinking about life, love, loss, gain, pursuit, happiness and its usually unholy tradeoff with money.

Recently I was writing an article on stand-up comedy for a magazine. I found that, the basic premise that comedians worked on was that they would bare themselves. They would tell the truth and not leave a single shred of it out.

Lenny Bruce said, “If Jesus had been killed twenty years ago, Catholic school children would be wearing little electric chairs around their necks instead of crosses”. Bruce had nothing against good ol JC’ – he just found a way a telling, what according to him, was the truth, i.e. the hypocrisy of religion.

I believe that all jokes made by even non professional comics, reflect what they really feel… If you meet someone who makes a joke about falling for you, then that’s probably true. Humour has always been the best way to say something without actually saying it. This is exactly what they teach in the 1st class of your comedy course. Speak about what you believe in, not about what you think others find funny.
The analogy here is – SPEAK YOUR MIND & THE REST SHALL FOLLOW.

Comedians were never afraid (as suggested by Chris Rock’s spoken word album Never Scared). They just went out there and said what ordinary people were too scared to say.

Maybe, just maybe, we all need to take a lesson from them.
Maybe, we all need the balls to say things that would usually blow our egos into pieces of shark bait.
What I’m trying to say is that if you want to become a hippy then go do that. If you want to write then do that. If you want to marry your landlady then propose.
If you disagree with your parents then take them out for dinner to a nice Italian joint, and then tell them.

A very good friend is getting more homicidal by the day because he is doing a course he absolutely hates. He wants to write, but then that would be swimming against the stream.

Another bloke earns 6 Lakh p.a. He wants to enter the social sector, but then that what would his neighbors say?

Another guy, and a girl are completely into each other. If only they’d stop tap-dancing around the issue and say something about it.

Besides, think back. How many times have you done something pander to the ‘neighbors’?
And how many times have you done something just because ‘It’s the bloody right thing to do”.
How many hours of your 24, feel “Just right”?
When was the last time you felt excited about what you are doing?

I agree that India’s GDP is almost at the 10% growth mark, but then abandoning everything that’s near to you, in order build that corporate career? Surely you have better imagination. (But if that’s what gives you your kicks then by all means do It.)

However, if you have that once in a blue moon conversation in which you say, “man, I really gotta get out of this shithole”, then you know that your allegiance lies elsewhere.

Life shouldn't be about, driving to work--driving back--and then sleeping. I think too many of us are stuck in the rut. In any case, even if you win the rat race, you are still a rat right?

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Don't get me wrong. This is not just about work. This is about enjoying life.
Speaking for myself, it took a visit to a certain seaside town to figure out that I want to travel, learn a new language, make music, write, be entrepreneurial. I haven't forgotten anything from that trip... And this is just an attempt to continue to remember all of that.

It's when you are not over-analyzing and dissecting what you are about to say before you actually say it, that you are being truthful. It may take a stand-up comedy act to realize, but better late than never.

So keep a tab about the jokes you make, the stories you tell in passing and what you said during that one perfect conversation you had - for they will tell you alot.

Life is too short to figure out what's right and what's wrong.
If it makes you smile, it's probably right.

Thus Robin Williams spake, “You're only given a little spark of madness. You mustn't lose it."

ALL you need to know about the CAT exam

I recently had the pleasure of preparing for the CAT (Common Aptitude Test) exam, conducted by the IIM's. A few random observations, if you'll allow me.

You can tell a CAT aspirant out of any lineup. Their eyes are wider, pupils dialated and a with hint of madness which screams, "Look I know I'm going sanile - but bugger off!!". It like being high on dope, without all the trouble of scoring. Thats right - be forwarned. Your friends are going to become monsters.

If your friend calls you for a walk and mutters under his breath, "ok.. ok.. 2 m/s and 2m/s .. ok .. ok.. relative speed = 4, ok.. ok.. 100 m / 4 = 25sec" & exclaims... "Ya dude, if we continue to walk at this speed, then we should pass the pretty girl in exactly 25 seconds", THEN, that is your cue to RUN... Because your friend is infected with the CAT virus.

Thats right, ordinary people suddenly start to talk funny. (Something like Shoaib Akhtar, who sounds like a unholy cross between Tony Greig and Kumble.) They say annoying stuff like,

"Dude, voh kya keh rahi thi - full on esoteric laga. Voh
toh Raj ke taraf Partisan hai, and
Bhai, main to ek Egalitarian ladka
hun. Sabko equal chance. Pakka CAT ke tareh."

And then there is the other class. The backward classes of CAT (no, not the lucky ones). We are the ones who observe the commotion from a distance. The fly on the wall. The invigilator in the CAT exam hall. The sitter in between 5 IIT level questions on Logs.

I'm one of them. These days everyone has been asking me, "Dude, how is CAT prep going". I turn around and say, "Man, it feels like I'm on the wrong end of a Sine curve." That pretty much sums up my CAT saga. It's like seeing art-house French movie... without the subtitles.

But seriously, what do you expect unless you were born with a little extra lumps of brain. Do NOT dismiss it as impossible. Doesn't Hrithik Roshan have an extra thumb?? Scientists do not want to prove it, because then the secret of their success (and single status) would be out.

For example: Have you SEEN the data interpratation sets in this years AIMCAT series. (slow death, i call them).

"Irfan is an allrounder in cricket and is good at all three aspects
of the game. batting bowling and fielding. He has a weekly training schedule,
such that all three aspects as practiced for exactly 3 sessions, in the period
of seven days. Gap b/w any two consecutive sessions of any of the 3 aspects must not be more than 5 days. He rests on 1 day of the week, only on wednesday he practices all three aspects. During a period of 6 consecutive days he practiced feilding on first day, bowling on second day , bowling on third day, feilding on fourth day, bowling on the fifth day and may have died by the sixth day. the above is only a partial list of of some of the days during which he could have practiced multiple aspects on the same day."

Question: On what day did he rest?????

NO WONDER HE IS NOT IN THE TEAM!!!

Anyway, here is my theory on how AIMCATS get there crazy DI questions.

• They have captured and chained a mad russion scientist called Igor Ivanov who produces DI caselets like the above one. He gets his kicks. Its like sex for him.
• A bunch of reformed axe-murderers who used to be mathematicians in their hayday produce these by the dozen.
• There is the One, (like in the Matrix), who was hired by these guys. He can be identified by the Dr. Phd. MPhil. MCom. CA. CISA. FPM next to his name. He wears white shirts and red chequered ones, when he's feeling particularly adventerous. Also, he has an autographed copy of Newton's Principa Mathematica.

Why would anyone subject themselves to this? and yet, 2,50,000 people... !

...of Supermarket Temples, Levitating saadhus and Blatant Disregard for Construction and Land Use Norms

The Akshardham temple : Either you are one of those who has seen it, or you are one of those who missed out - For it is a spectacle like none other.

or as I like to call it, "The Disneyland of Hinduism"


A quick primer on the temple.... Location: Nodia Mor, East Delhi.
- It is positively huge. The parking lot is probably as big as some of the islands in Indonesia.
- It bright, and always lit up, just like your friendly neighbourhood drug addict.

Yes, the Akshardham is unique. In fact, a bit too unique. Perhaps the levitating saadhus hadn't envisioned a few alternative uses for the temple, but here are a few to help them out. Jai Ho

1. The Lights.
When an kid sitting in Jaipur goes, "The temple is blinding my eyes", you know there are far too many lights.
I'm thinking maybe, we could use the place as Delhi's next international airport... Hey, its already got the lights and the parking space... All we need now are duty free booze shops and Nigerian drug peddlers.

2. The Water.
When your high school geography teacher takes you on a class trip to the Akshardham temple to show you, streams, creeks, brooks, rindles, rivulets, tides, torrents and fucking river deltas - then trust me, there is far TOO MUCH WATER, smack in the middle of a dry riverbed.

Maybe if the DJB (Delhi Jal Board) tapped this water, Delhi would finally get those alcohol distilleries its been hankering for all this time.....

3. Multiple square miles of parking.
Miles and miles of Parking? In Delhi? Are you sure? ... What are all those surrounding lights for? That's right, its a Cricket stadium.
(and God is right next door... the Indian team can't possibly lose again).... Can it ?

Can you add to the list? ... Comment.

--

Refrences:

• "Killing Delhi's lifeline", An article on encroachment on the Yamuna bed [link] [alternate]
• "The monstrous Akshardham temple, aggressively encroaches on public space by flouting all rules" [Hindu, Nov, 2003]
• "It is worth mentioning that the Master Plan has been violated far more systematically and ruthlessly by the rich and the powerful and the government itself than by anybody else. The entire Asiad 82 infrastructure, including stadia, hotels, flyovers etc. were built in violation of the Master Plan. Thousands of farmhouses encircling Delhi are again violations of the Plan. From Akshardham temple to the Metro Rail Depot to even the Secretariat of the Delhi Government- all these are violations" [link]
• And this rant would be incomplete without one by Carlin. "No God, transcript" [link]

and Whats the point again, of evicting traders, when even the Delhi Secretariat is a flaming example of illegal construction.

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So what got YOU into Rock Music ? (Part 1/2)

Let me just start by saying that I never, never let an opportunity go by when I can tease my sister about something. It usually ends with her stomping off - actually not so much of a stomp, as a tip-toe. She must be 22.5 Kgs... women these days, I tell you.

About Tonight:
I came back home at about 12:00 AM and she opened the door. After exchanging grunts, I headed to my room. Somewhere between then and now I heard the delicate strains of Nirvana's Lithum playing in her room and her friend was staying over.

I could'nt resist.
Me: "So, Nirvana and all huh"
Sister: "So"
Me: "Wow... u guys are so cool and all"
Sister: "HUH !@#%!@%"
Me (on a roll now): "2 angst ridden teenagers... Find a common soulmate in the raspy voice of Kurt Cobain"
Sister: Slams the door.

I walk away smiling, knowing fully well it was I who got her into rock music and the wanton rebellion thats included in the package deal.
And knowing fully well that somewhere behind that door was a quivering new subject for my sister to work on. A fresh sacrifice that must be taught the wicked ways of the rock underground.

She should be able to tell the mainstream metal (Metallica) from the new age kids stuff (Linkin Park), the classic rock (Deep Purple) from the elitist rock (Dream Theater).
She should be taught how to barf on instinct at the very mention of boy bands.
How to pretend she likes it, before actually liking and loving it.














*sniff* ...Smells like teen spirit