Notes From Qutub

Morning Visitor-1

2011-04-16T22:25:00.001-07:00

It is a beautiful Sunday morning.

Though the digi-clock displays 11, it's cloudy and gentle breeze is in play.

The peepul tree has begun to sport green leaves.

Until a few weeks ago, it sported M S Dhoni's post-World Cup look (totally shaven head, with not a tinge of hair on his scalp!).

Now, the Almighty is infusing life into it with green shoots.

God's ways of making you shed your past forcefully and thus prepare you for new things in life is amazing.

All of a sudden, the peepul tree has lost all of its leaves - giving a ghost look.

When I bought this 4th floor flat, one of the reasons was this tree. Its leaves were at my eye level where I sit and punch in this blog on my laptop.

Along with the trees came the monkeys as well.

Have a lost of a couple of pens and a favourite compass, gifted by a geologist-friend several years ago.

This forced me to barricade myself inside a cage!

While the monkey is free to move around in natural surroundings, I got caged!

Role reversal.

Well, it does not monkeys don't visit me.

They do on a regular basis.

From the front door, a pair of dogs keep gazing at us from night to dawn and leave only after they are fed with milk, moneys are bit a cagey.

They keep hopping in and out.

This morning, one young sibling jumped around the balcony from outside and got its quota of chivda and peanuts.

Feeding animals - dogs and monkeys - is very invigorating.

Washging machine philosophy!

2011-04-05T18:49:00.001-07:00

Burdensome, it ought to be

2011-03-31T20:54:00.000-07:00

They keep asking me
Who am I? again and again.
Honestly, I don’t know
Because I’ve no memory.

Everything for me
Is now and here.
Perhaps, a day old thoughts –
Nothing more, nothing less.

Biscuits you promised, uncle!
Reminds the child at souq.
Did I? When? I ask.
The other day, remember?

The other day? What’s that?
Yesterday? I ask.
No, last Friday Uncle!
Outside the mosque, remember?

Here’s your money. Take it,
Offers the young man at souq.
My salary is credited.
Thanks for help, Sir!

What money? What salary?
Did I give money to him?
When? By the way, who’s he?
My memory is blank.

Enough. Am going home,
Threatens the lady at souq.
You fend for yourself.
Can’t live without money.

What’s she talking about?
What home? What’s living?
By the way, who’s she?
She said the same thing yesterday too.

Excuse me, madam! Listen.
Take this money. Use it.
Give biscuit to that child at souq.
Before that, tell me who you are.

Father, what’ve you done?
Look, mother has swooned,
Screams the young lad at souq
As crowd collects around the fallen lady.

You’ve lost memory, yes.
Why should we suffer, you old man?
You’re good for nothing. Go away!
Oh, God take him away. He’s a pain.

The young man shouts a lot more.
The lady on ground wakes up
With anger, pity and disillusionment
As I scan the crowd for known faces.

No recognizable faces, so far.
Except the vendor who offered
Water a few hours ago as I came out
Of mosque after watching prayers.

And the toy-like dog under the tree
That licked my extended palm
And ate out of my falafel plate
Outside the roadside café.

I feel light and happy.
I’ve no memories to carry
Along all day and night.
Burdensome it must be.

Thanks, My Lord!

2011-01-01T20:23:00.000-08:00

Everything happens for a purpose. This wisdom hit me with such a force this morning, reinforcing the belief to accept things as it happens.

I cursed when my ipad failed to function as I stepped out for my customary morning walk. Returning home, I dumped it in the hands of spouse and climbed down 50-odd steps.

I did not bargain for what was in store. Hardly 10 minutes in the walkathon, once away from the crowded and noisy fruit market, I walked in the bowl of silence with ruined 12th century stone and mortar edifices around. And green cover on both sides of the road.

A dirty pig passed my path with a plastic pouch in its mouth. Two images flashed on my mindscreen: the kurma avatar wherein Lord Vishnu takes the form of a pig to save Earth from the Big Deluge; secondly a scene from the horror novel - forgotten the name now - wherein villains plot to throw Lector, the Hannibal to the hungry pigs to get him killed. Another 50 odd metres and I was stopped by a pig's grunt. Horrible sound it was. I looked around and spotted two black pigs inside the dense Mehrauli Archaeological Park. As I began to walk towards them, they scampered away.

Again, there was a dense silence. By then I had passed the Jain Mandir. Even that temple was very silent with hardly any human presence in and around. Suddenly I spotted a peacock perched on a treetop. It was preening its feathers or wings and I said "good morning" to him. Obviously, he did not respond, but took off gently to sit at a distance. Survival instinct.

From nowhere, a batch of parrots flew in. A dozen maybe. They alighted on the reetop to join a few which were already there. There was a lot of parroty talk, I presume because the noise level was pretty high. I stood there watching, listening to their undecipherable talk.

Almost five years ago, my daughter used to chat up a parrot on a daily basis. At the fixed hour, it used to land up on our grilled window and my daughter would feed him - or her? with nuts and fruits. Then engage in conversation. "Say, Mittu!", my daughter would command and the parrot would invaribaly oblige. I used to be a witness this beautiful interaction between the two until it ceased after a few months. We used to wonder whether it got kiled or what. It remains a mystery still.

Once more, I was halted in my tracks as a bunch of monkeys ran across the road with some bitting into apple and banana. After they settled down on the parapet wall of the compound, I noticed that some passerby has left a handful of channa which they began to devour.

"Good morning," I greeted them. Again, no response. One little monkey, "grr"ed at me. I should have carried some fruit to give them, I felt. The money group reminded me two things: fifteen years ago, a group of monkeys attacked my daughter at New Delhi railway station where we had gone to receive my mother in law coming from Chennai. She had to be rushed to doctor for treatment. Before she was carted away from the sight of accident, I had thrashed three urchins who provoked the monkeys in the first place. On another occasion, a monkey came in from nowhere and snatched away my compass - a gift from overseas friend.

A few yards down the road, again I stopped to watch a batch of unindentifiable birds warbling. I cursed for not bringing camera or even my phone-cum-recorder. It was absolutely divine listening to them. It was pretty cold. But birds for company. Pigs, peacock, monkey for company.

As I stepped onto the Mehrauli Gurgaon Road, the other world returned with whizzing and honking cars, the tak-tak-tak sound of truck tyres and the pillion rider shouting "take right at the signal" to his driver. Noisy world.

I would have missed the communion or interaction with god's non-human creations had my ipad functioned. No doubt, I missed my morning quota of "Sheila ki jawani". I realized that everything in life happens for a purpose. Not for me to question, but to accept whatever is offered. Perhaps it was the Maker's intention to make me watch and listen to his children's voices and movements. But for my ipad's malfunctioning, I would not have. Thank you, My Lord!

Tribute to Ganesh

2010-10-09T22:04:00.000-07:00

He was tall. Well dressed, always. A father-like figure to me.

A friend. Well read. Seen the world.

A Tambrahm. But that's not what brought me closer to him.

His child like enthusiasm and his desire to keep himself busy even at an age when he can easily put up his feet on the stool and relax was the attraction. I like busybees, not lazybones.

No. He wanted to be 'engaged' in true sense of the term.

When he was inducted a few years ago into the UMS fold, the then General Manager and current CEO Sandeep Sehgal put out a "welcome note". One of the longest, I reckon.

He used to occupy the large cubicle on the ground floor of the Renaissance House in central Business District - a few feet away from Sandeep's cabin - churning out his 'management fundas" which he felt would be of assistance to UMS.

How much of his inputs were found to be useful, I have no idea.

If my memory serves right, he was brought in as a strategic advisor to the UMS fold consisting of publishing, advertising, PR etc. He came in at a time when the parent company Renaissance Services was in the process of exiting out of non-core activities.

Renaissance Services, a Muscat listed company and in the Top 10 league, was and is focused on providing service to burgeoning oil and gas service - both onshore and offshore. It rightly felt that UMS is not its core function and hence the decision to sell it.

To get a better valuation and make it attractive for the potential buyer, the UMS team (Sandeep and ably assisted by his second-in-command Alpany Roy) began tweaking things for the better. That is when Ganesh came into the picture. His IIM background coupled with his Gulf experience (He had worked in Bahrain and Dubai for several years), perhaps would have made UMS to accept his candidature. Another obvious reason was his son was working in Muscat in the adveritising world and Ganesh candidly admitted that he wanted to be close to his son and his grandchildren, whom he adored.

Given the fact Muscat is a small town (compared to any Indian city) and his son was in the media business, the connect between UMS and him was to be expected.

Ganesh met UMS boss and was on the job in double quick time.

He used to live near OCC - hardly 2 kilometres away from office with his wife. I had the privilege of dining with him on several occasions - both while he was living alone waiting for his spouse from INdia and after her arrival. A nice, cosy couple in their golden age.

On my maiden visit, he prepared home-made food and we drank and ate to heart's content. For me, home made food was the icing because I used to survive on supermarket packed food since I was living alone during my UMS days (2005-8).

Since he was a management expert and I was in the business/economic journalism, we had a lot to talk and share. In fact, on occasions I utilised his services as book reviewer. He loved reading such tomes.

We discussed global management practices and Gulf economy. Of course, the office issues as well because he was handling HR as well and there were a few ticklish issues at regular intervals involving expats and natives. It was a minefield.

An interesting aspect of him was his focused approach to get a driving licence in Oman. To get a licence there is a dream come true. In less than six attempts, he managed to pass through. Sorry, "managed" is a wrong word.

You cannot "manage" a driving licence in Oman - like we can do in India. Very strict. He bought a car and I had the pleasure of being driven by an elderly gentleman like him while I sat next to him!

After a while, he moved out of strategy and HR into PR division of UMS. We used to meet and discuss the status fo PR in Oman.

Honestly, the PR scenario is very much in nascent stage even today there. Forget about Ganesh and his PR division. I used to discuss the same issue with Bikram Sehgal of Adinc (another advertising agency cum PR outfit in Oman) and PR Manager Sangeeta Sundaresan, an ex-journalist.

Ganesh was candid. "Learn to live with reality. We can't change the corporate mindset here," he used to reason with me.

When I decided to leave UMS, he hosted a farewell dinner at his home. His parting shot as I climbed into the cab to return to my pad was: "We were passengers on UMS train. You are alighting down at this stop to catch another one. The journey is on. The train you have chosen to move ahead is different. Best of luck."

Yes, I fully endorse his views. I always loved the journey. Different companies. Different formats. Differrent cultures. Every time.

For me, the journey is more important than the halts en route. UMS was one such stop where I had the pleasure of working with the Carnatic music-loving and an intellectual like Ganesh.

Will catch up with you There One Day, Ganesh!

How about analysing the way St Peter handles the toughest portfolio meanwhile?

Chennai Memories-1

2010-07-16T21:32:00.000-07:00

It was him. But I could not recognise. Smooth and silky voice.

I repeated over phone: "Can I speak to K?"

"Yes, speaking, dear. Who's it?"

"I want to speak to K...Is this his number?...."

"Yes," the voice at the other end responded.

"You mean, you're K... who lived in Rangaiah Garden Street, near Vivekananda College?" I was desperate to pin him down to the exact coordinates I was looking for.

"Of course. Who are you, if I may ask you?" He asked me.

I told him who I am. Rather who I was 35 years ago when I had habitated in the address mentioned above.

"Oh, you must be Delhi Ramesh!" he came back.

Oh migod! It's him: K, the Casanova of my childhood. Whether girls fell for him or not, he chased them by rolling a rubber tyre non-challantly.

One small confession to declare: I was his accomplice on several occasions.

K was two years senior to me in school where we studied. History was his elective. He used to visit my block of multi-single room tenements where his colleague - a Telugu guy lived - to exchange notes: on what, I don't know.

"Yes. I live in Delhi."

It is a habit with many south Indians. They tag your company or hometown to one's name for easy identification. For example, Hindu Ranganathan mama, Shell Chinnappa, Vedaranyam Vadivelu, Simpson Rajagopal, Indian Bank Palani etc. And of course, Delhi Ramesh!

"Arre yaar, you sound very young," I tell him and he responds with a hearty laugh.

I remember Ananda Vikatan Santhanam telling me a couple of hours earlier in the day that K has not changed a wee bit in his looks department even: handsome and adorable.

I tried to collect his face and succeed in framing him in my mindscreen. It is still a mystery why "dawanied" girls never fell for him, despite his dashing looks and childlike innocence even when he was in high school.

But one thing was definite. Any girl chased by K was assured of a quick marriage to someone else other than K! Cruel destiny. He never minded. It was a hobby or time-pass if I may say so.

We chat up a lot over phone and I am keen to meet his mother and sisters. He delivers their numbers. Quickly I disconnect with a promise to return after interacting with his family members quickly.

I call up his sister "S" who comes online in the first ring itself. I tried to juggle her memory to identify myself. "Oh, you must be the Gundu (fat) Ramesh!" who lived on the top floor of Vichu's (another friend) house" she blurts out.

I am no longer Delhi Ramesh, but Gundu Ramesh!

"How dare you call me Gundu Ramesh?" I chide her mockingly. But my day has been made. I reconnect with K's family after 35 years.

She introduces her hubby over phone and brings her mother online with a proviso that she is 80 plus and hard on hearing. I can hear S shouting at the top of her voice to her mother telling her who she is about to talk to you.

"Ennada Ramesha, how are you?" says K's mother. I pour out a lot little realizing she cannot hear a decibel.

Quickly S comes back and tells that mother recognised me.

She's curious to know how did I get her number. I tell her about her brother K and I go ga-ga over K's mesmeric voice.

"You must meet him in person. He has not changed a wee bit. Same look. Very young. By the way, he will be retiring in two years time!" she adds.

Uff! He is nearing sixty. Oh migod! Two years after his superannuation, I will also be 60. But retirement? I am unable to stomach that feeling.

I return to K and convey our dialogue with S and his mother.

"Mother is very old now. I want her to take to Kashi. That time I will visit you in Delhi," says K.

I am tempted to ask him about the half a dozen girls both of us chased in the early 1970s. Did he bump into them? How are they? Whom they are married to etc. But restrain myself. I don't know why. I could have easily asked him those embarrassing questions. But, still don't venture.

K reels out many of our common friends' present condition. Most of them have become grandparents! He has not. I have not. So far.

I say goodbye and disconnect.

"Dad, what time your flight reaches Delhi?" asks my daughter over phone. I shuffle in the overcrowded Chennai airport departure lounge and tell her that SpiceJet 308 to Delhi is delayed by more than 30 minutes and will touch Delhi past midnight.

I look around the lounge and imagine whom K's roving eyes would have identified to chase. I fail miserably. It's an art in which K excelled. I just "SMS" him with a simple "thanks".

What fantastic days those were. Romantic, indeed. No care in the world. Conservative, no doubt. But we were chivalrious.

I look into the glass pane of the jewellery shop in the lounge and adjust the sheaf of white hair on my forehead.

Wife was 100% Right!

2010-03-20T01:28:00.000-07:00

My wife was 100% right.

"You won't be able to handle her"

"You don't know me," I retorted.

"Hello, I know you better than you know yourself!" she cooed in a confidence-soaked voice.

Arrogance. Over confidence. I will prove her wrong, I told myself.

What am I talking about?

Well... A few sec, please...

Hmm.

It all began with a phone call a week ago.

"Aap Rameshji hai?", the caller on my mobile phone asked.

I 'yes'sed.

"Aap Angrezy and Economics padathe ho?"

"Haan"

"Mein, first year BA Economics student hoon. Mera exams June-July mein hai. Aap mujhe madat kar sakte hain?

"Why not?"

"Kaab aaon?"

"How about kaal?"

"Theek hai, Sirji. Kaal mein aaonga."

"Saath bhaje ke baad aana"

I felt glad as the phone line went dead.

"What? Tuition?" my wife asked.

"Yes."

Jacques Kallis of Royal Challengers just slammed a super duper six over the sight screen and the crowd was going berserk on my TV screen. I was in same league. Supremely happy.

Teaching is something I love. Had taught two 'O' level students for the finals six years ago in Economics. Still remember the thrice a week visit to the phosh Jor Bagh residence of the taught between 7 and 8 p.m.

It ran for three months before something more interesting pulled me out of Delhi to Udipi for a visiting faculty post teaching Business communication at TAPMI. But it did not materialise. AGain it was teaching that drew me.

I have never been a qualified teacher. You know what I mean? No B.Ed.

But the urge to partake whatever little knowledge I possess is immeasurable.

I love economics. Three decades after passing out with a Degree in Economics and un-missed exposure to economic and business reporting and analysis has made me feel economics is pure common sense - perhaps like any other subject.

Consumer surplus. Indifference curve. Law of Diminishing marginal returns. Mathusian thoery of population. Fiscal deficit. Capital Expenditure. Rolling Stock of railways. Balance of trade and balance of payment crisis. And a lot more. All these phrases are music to my ears, so to say.

English is another area of interest. I presume I speak well. Nobody doubted that ability till now. Am no babe in written form as well. Much more powerful perhaps on paper than when I speak.

So when the caller requested whether I can guide her in English and economics, I just could not resist the temptation and agreed.

On the appointed time, S... (sorry, can't reveal her name!) pressed the doorbell. Zack, my three-and-a-half year old Lhasa Apso breed, greeted her with the loudest bark possible. I could make out she had a phobia for dogs.

"Sirji, dog bi rahega kya?"

"Don't worry. It is tied. It won't come near you," I tried to persuade her.

My spouse came to my rescue by taking Zack into another room.

S entered, but Zack's barking continued non-stop. Half of her concentration on Zack.

"Tell me, what you expect from me?"

"Sirji, mera first year exams June mein hai. Mujhe bilkul Angrezi nahi aati hai. Aap mujhe grammar mein expert banana bada hai."

I was stoned, to be honest.

"Doosri baath hai ki - mein aaj a company join kiya hoon. Sablok Angrezi mein baat karte hein. Mujhe bhi un jaisa fast Angrezi bolna hai. ... Woh bi do meine mein."

"What about economics?"

"Sorry. Mein bhool gayi hoon. Aap mujhe hindi mein economics sikna hai."

Economics in hindi?

Tough call.

By then, an urgent international call came which I could not avoid. So for the next 10 minutes I was chatting unmindful of the presence of S from the other room.

When I returned to the study room where S was seated, she blurted out: "Sirji, aap jaise abhi kar rahe te, waise yi mujhe bi angrezi bolna hai."

"Before June, you mean?"

She could not understand. So I repeated in Hindi and she nodded.

She was genuine. Can understand her desire to become a master. To show off her mastery over Angrezi in the shortest possible time. Impossible, my inner voice told me.

I pointed to various objects lying around and asked her to give English equivalent. She could not pass muster. Out of 20 objects, she barely could say English equivalent for 3 objects alone.

"Sirji, mujhe eyh sab cheeze ka name hindi mein maloom hai. Lekin, Angrezi nahi."

I could make out what must be going through her mind. Thinking in mother tongue and trying to translate into English.

"What is your mother tongue?"

"Tongue kya hota hai, Sir?"

I unspooled my memory to the late 1960s. I was like her then. Used to think inTamil and then try to translate into English. Poor English vocabulary made me cry a lot.

For the next 45 minutes, I made her talk in broken English from whatever limited vocabulary she possessed.

No doubt, it was 95% hindi and 5% English.

"Sirji, tuition paisa kitne dena padega?"

I smiled and told her: "No fees. Come daily 7 p.m. for an hour. We will talk about everything under the sun. About Kareena Kapoor. Shahid Kapoor. "

She remained quiet. Must have felt that I am not interested in handling her.

On the contrary, my resovle to do something like what Prof Higgens did to Miss DoLittle "My Fair Lady" (the film adaption of George Bernard Shaw's Pygmolion) flooded my memory.

"Do you know Kapil Dev could not speak good English when he began his cricket career? Do you know, even now Sachin Tendulkar's English is pathetic?"

Silence greeted me.

"Everything is possible. Thoda menath chaahiye"

"Go home. Begin talking to your mother, sisters and brothers at home in toota boota Angrezi.Yes, they will laugh at you. But you will gain confidence. Come back and tell me. Record the entire conversation on your mobile and bring it back. I will tell you where you make a mistake."

By the way, she was recording all our conversation on her mobile. Perhaps she would play back the same at home and tell her folks: "mamma, mujhe aise Angrezi bolna ichcha hai."

I don't know. She never returned. I have not met her since then, though she lives in the neighbourhood.

But the last frame as she left my home that night is still vivid in my memory. When will I speak such effortless Angrezi? was the message that flashed from S. I could relate to that feeling. Because I was like her at one stage in my life.

Did I not tell you at the beginning that my wife was 100% right? Yes, I simply could not handle S.

Glassic Stories-2

2010-03-05T01:07:00.000-08:00

Who does not know Empire State Building? Those who don't, look at the above picture. Seen? Ok?

Now, what is new(s) about it, you ask.

Good question.

ESB is getting ready for a major facelift.

6,500 windows - Yes, ESB has that many windows - of this stately building will be done up again.

Johnson Controls has brought in Serious Materials (yes, that is the name of the company) to handle the windows part.

Serious Materials is bringing in SeriousGlass technology.

What's so great about this technology? It iwl reduce energy costs by more than $400,000 per year.

All existing glass will be REUSED by creating super-insulating Gass units (IGUs).

Savings will be $4.4 million/year plus 105,000 metric tonnes of carbon dioxide over the next 15 years will be saved.

Not a single bit will be thrown away as waste, claim reports.

The existing 6,514 double hung windows will be dismantled from window frames, separated, cleaned in the processing space. New superinsulating IGUs will be produced using the old glass pans, new spacers, suspended coated film, and special gas fill. Then the IGUs will be reinstalled into the existing window frames.

Uffff.

Intersted in knowing more?

Check out ....

http://www.ydr.com/business/ci_14506622

More Glassic tales are in the pipeline.

Keep returning.

Glassic stories-1

2010-03-03T19:59:00.000-08:00

Bro, can you spare a few sec? .. . Thanks, buddy.

Broken glass. … Did I say broken glass? Rather, I should have said ‘broken glass staircase’. Never mind. But remember, a piece of broken glass staircase may create ripples. Don’t believe? Ask Mark Burstiner. He will tell you a long tale of how he is being hounded by none other than Steve Jobs. Hang on. Not the Apple honcho directly but the world famous innovative company is after Mark’s life.

By the way, what’s his crime, you ask. Nothing, he just picked up a shred of broken glass staircase that was part of Apple’s big store on Fifth Avenue, New York. A few days ago, some visitor/potential buyer of Apple wares dropped something on the spiral glass staircase and broken one of the steps. The contractor quickly replaced the same without a murmur and left the broken glass staircase in the dustbin.

Our hero Mark, a part time employee at the same store, checked out with the contractor whether he could take the discarded glass staircase piece home. They said: go ahead. He precisely did that. He walked away with that broken piece.

Well, now the drama begins. Poor Mark …. No, no. Clever Mark put up the broken glass staircase on e-Bay auction block with a starting bid price of $200. Oops! Apple’s ego is hurt. It called the contractor and asked them to retrieve the broken piece from Mark or else … All these happened almost 18 months ago. Now Apple has woken up.

Want to hear from the horse’s mouse?

Visit http://gizmodo.com/5482132/apple-threatened-me-with-legal-action-for-selling-a-broken-step-from-their-new-york-store-on-ebay

Check out this also:

http://cgi.ebay.com/Huge-Glass-Stair-From-Apple-Fifth-Ave-Spiral-Staircase_W0QQitemZ110497982754QQcmdZViewItemQQptZLH_DefaultDomain_0?hash=item19ba316922

By the way, Mark told Steve Job and company and the contractors to – yes, you’ve guessed rightly – “go to hell”. The broken glass staircase is back on ebay. Want to bid? Rush in, folks. What a ‘glassic’ story!

Dirty mind,. dirty body... what about soul?

2009-07-04T23:26:00.000-07:00

The sun is out. Almost kissing the top of Qutub Minar. Today being Sunday, decided to sleep a little longer and skip the 4 a.m. walking routine. Stepped out of home when the clock displayed 6.10 a.m. with Zack in tow.

The fruit vendors were just unwrapping their wares to begin the day and the night sentry with a lathi greeted me as usual in the phal mandi. Half a dozen black puppies came rushing at Zack which I warded off deftly. Found the elderly security at the ICICI ATM in the marketplace was seated in his plastic seat with legs stretched. I have been seeing this gentleman for over a month now, except once or twice when a much younger security used to be guarding.

The elderly security also has a black dog chained to the ATM - perhaps as his companion which hardly moves or barks.

Half a dozen news vendors are busy sorting out sunday morning papers while a makeshift roadside chaiwallah is dishing out garam chai and 'fan' and rusk to the delivery boys. The Mehrauli bus terminus is almost empty and hear a conductor shouting 'AIIMS", 'New Delhi railway station' "connaught place' Three or four auto rickshaw drivers were standing outside their vehicles while their radios were blaring some old hindi numbers. "Shoo, shoo'' yells one driver at Zack which gives a royal ignore to him. A few early morning walkers seated on the parapet of Bhool Bulaiya - a 12th century old architecture curiously peer at me and my dog.

Zack dutifully drags me to as many pillars and tree trunks as pssoible to sniff and pee to mark its territory or as its identification mark. Hundred metres down the road, another pack of black and brown dogs come rushing out of the MCD car park and the Yogamaya Mandir - where the Pandavas conducted yagna during their vanvas - and Zack barks at them with equal ferocity. False courage, I presume. I know it simply cannot handle the pack. Still.... it barks at the top of its voice while I shoo away the pack to avoid any damages.

As I move towards Qutub, I sense a shooting pain through my legs. I stop in my tracks and bend down to check out. After a few seconds, the pain stops. I move forward and again the same drama repeats. Who's feelng the pain:Me or my body? is the question that pops in my mind. Why this confusion over body, mind and me? what's me? Is this 'me' different from 'body' and 'mind"? Is 'body' not 'me"? Is 'mind' not 'me'? I brush aside these thoughts and move ahead.

Near Qutub, I overhear a few elderly gentlemen-morning walkers talking about actor Shiney Ahuja and his 'consensual sex' confession to the Mumbai police. "His wife categorically declared that he is not that type - meaning 'rapist'," one bespectacled and baldy man was remarking. "Lekin, he would bed the maid if she agrees! What morals?" another chortled. "Poor lady - his wife who has so much faith in him,' I heard one of them saying. 'Dirty mind,' was another comment.

"Dirty mind" and 'dirty body' also. What about his soul? Is that also dirty? Don't think so. Soul is pure, unblemished. What our mind thinks and how our body acts has no impact on our soul. All of us nurse thoughts and indulge in various activities - including sec 37 of IPC. Luckily, each one of us is privy to our own thoughts and deeds. While deeds are monitorable by others, our thoughts are not. How many of us can claim to be 'pure' 100%?

Does Zack has a soul? It does, surely.

MEDIAMATTERS 2: 31 May, 2009 - Sunday

2009-05-30T21:08:00.001-07:00

Walked into http://epaper.timesofindia.com
straight to astrospeak
Next halt – Delhi times page 1. Nothing interesting.
Delhi Times last page – Bollywood gossip. Nothing interesting
page 1 lead – lankan massacre toll story. Short on words, but good gripping aerial shots. Pix courtesy: Times,London
to edit page – nothing interesting
conversation with paul Coelho – decide to read. Not immdly
sports page – t20 world cup columns on fatique. French open story. Not reading
too many advts on sports section. News looks like fillers.
go to times life section – aditya rajkapoor (shammi’s son) first person account. Like it.
Paul Coelho interview with Bachi Karkaria – “I don’t understand how buying gossip magazines may raise the GDP of a country” says PC. It does, I believe. Chain effect. Bachi talking about crap being churned out and lapped up by public!
Try http://epaper.dailypioneer.com. Like Express, it still shows yesterday’s paper. Wake up, guys!

MEDIAMATTERS 1: 31 May, 2009 - Sunday

2009-05-30T20:11:00.000-07:00

Began with www.asianage.com
checked veenu sandal’s tarot card reading of my zodiac sign
on the home page, found Pranab Mukherjee still being mentioned as “External Affairs Minister”, though he is the new Finance Minister. Of course, he was the External Affairs Minister in the UPA government in its first term that ended a few weeks ago. Habits die hard!
logged onto http://epaper.hindustantimes.com
The Australian episode of Indian students being attacked and Meira Kumar’s prospects of becoming the first woman Lok Sabha speaker in India did not interest me because I had consumed this news last nite on CNN IBN.
Skimmed other news – Wal Mart in Chandigarh, but did not read.
Went straight to sports page
Lead piece – Namaste London – liked the title. Did not read. Its about Indian team in London reaching for World T20 Cup beginning this week
Read Gavaskar’s column Extra Punch – the legendary cricketer does not miss a chance to give a solid ‘punch’ to the world cricketing body.
Sometime, I like to down pdf pages and read. It is much faster and easy to read because you don’t have to click and read each item. Moreover you have the liberty to enlarge font size to anything you like and read items of your choice.
Paris Open is on. Still not interested to read about it. Dunno why.
Excellent usage of visuals – editors know how to draw eyeballs! Lot of legs and cleavage show!
The third page of sports page on football. Lot of ads. Did not like the look of that page.
page 4 – lot of ads. Colors TV channel programme promotional ads – distraction for a serious reader.
went to Books page – read Coca Cola review. The book is by a friend – Nantoo Banerjee, former business journalist. Later he worked withCoke in India. He was a hard hitting guy. Well, the review says he has lost his original touch. By the way, another coke’s Indian operations are in the offing. Some American fourth estater is likely to land in india in the next few weeks. Watch this space.
World page – read about Susan Boyle, the singing sensation on “Britain has got talent’ (snippet)
Read the Sri Lanka story on the death toll – quoting UN official. Last night watched Walk The Talk – Shekhar Gupta with SL President partly. Will transcript when it appears in Express next week.
Vir Sanghvi column –on dynasty politics. Yes it is a major concern.
Indrajit Hazra column – Red Herring – xlent. Reading him for the first time.
Manas Chakravorty column – superb. Read him on livemint.com. HT has changed immensely over the years for the better.
straight to zodiac page.
HT City – KJO party news – good to know about patch ups. Why carry enmity too long? Better to bury them a.s.a.p.
Visuals tell the tale. Maybe. Abhishek-Claudia Cannes meet issue am talking about.
Enough of HT on Sunday morning – spent a little over an hour.

Leave Me Alone, Please!

2007-11-01T22:41:00.000-07:00

What are you upto these days, madam?
I’ve no problem over you building
More than one residential block.
Certainly, not at my cost.

We never met since I moved in.
It’s no issue at all.
Heard you’re lazy and drone away
Most of your time inside a gilded chamber.

Seen your children buzzing around
All the time in my little house.
Sweet, and honey-suckled ones sure
I must admit.

The other day daughter showed me
Your black and brown mansion
From my terrace and quite impressive
I must say.

Well ventilated in a neat structure.
When expressed desire to meet the architect,
Daughter said it was none other than you.
Great guy, you must be.

Tell me, why you need another mansion?
The one I saw was huge to accommodate
An army, if I may say so.
Clueless I am.

On the eastern side of my balcony
I saw hectic activity with some preliminary
Survey work underway as your consultants
Busy exploring the ground and surroundings.

That was a month ago. Yesterday I was aghast
To see some structure in place and
A huge workforce in full swing –
Trying to meet some unspelt deadline.

Build as many mansions as you want!
I’ve no quarrels to pick.
But leave my walls and compound free.
Go and build your residential complexes.

How about the peepul tree
in the neighbourhood?
Or the Finolex drainage pipe
In Wadhwa’s four-storey building?

The choice is wide. Leave me alone.
I can’t move the Supreme court
To evict you out of my premises.
Wonder why I object?

The day your complex is ready
And families come to occupy,
My entry into balcony to watch
The majestic Qutub Minar will be over.

Can’t afford that simple joy!
Concede my request, Madam!
You can build elsewhere.
Qutub I can’t move for a better view!

You're My Sonia!

2007-10-31T01:53:00.000-07:00

Catch hold of him tightly!
Lest you fall and crush bones.
No helmets and careless.
Not mandatory, so what?

Where were you all these days?
Vanished into thin air
With no trace whatsoever
Leaving me in a quandary.

Don’t do this again.
I’m a heart patient.
Can’t bear this separation
Anymore. Got it?

You, in the pillion,
Me in the driving seat.
You in the scooty upfront
And me in the car behind.

Don’t mistake me!
I am no loafer.
I know you, but don’t know
Whether you know me.

On road our paths
Criss cross daily almost.
Traffic signals provide
Extra opportunities for close ups.

Your aqualine nose
Reminds me of Jayapradha,
The southern siren
Satyajit Ray adored.

In colourful Salwaar kameez
Or crisp Canjeevaram saree
You’re divine.
Do you know that?

The way you tie hair
Into a bun or allow it
For a free flow sometimes
Know not how to describe.

Know not what you do.
Know not where you go
Every morning piled onto
Scooter with the gent in front.

You’re calm and silent.
Modern, but not ultra.
Sleeveless cholis, yes.
Faded denims, not yet.

My wife’s diamond nose-ring
Will sit on you nicely.
Your fingers from distance
Look empty. Thank God!

No engagement rings.
You’re a free bird.
Should be no problems.
The first hurdle cleared.

When you vanished for a
Fortnight, worried I was.
Getting married? When?
To Whom? Have I lost out?

Now that you’re back
I’m happy and glad.
Hold him tightly, baba!
Let you fall and crush bones.

The signal is green now.
Your scooter moves forward.
Me too behind the wheels.
All is well and smooth.

Must rush home this evening
And tell my wife that
You are my Sonia.
Perfect match for my son!

The X Factor

2004-06-06T17:39:00.000-07:00

I have an appointment with God of death.
Know it is certain, but know not when.

This is one appointment I can’t cancel
Come what may when the call comes through.

Can’t tell my secretary to put Him on hold
Saying “I’m busy in a meeting for the next hour”.

Neither can I complete my power lunch with
The visitor from abroad at the posh restaurant.

He means business. I mean, God of Death!
His meter does not stop nor tolerate delay.

Can’t even kiss my sweet daughter at the
Dining table as He gently nudges me out.

No way, he can tolerate delay on any count.
If it’s time to go, you better go.

It’s unusual that I can’t fix my own
Appointment with Him. It’s He who fixes!

‘Take it or leave it’ is perhaps his style.
Who the hell is He to decide my exit?

Child, my father told before his own exit,
The appointment is fixed the day you were born.

I never knew of it. Neither you will know.
But it’s there that we cannot decipher.

The Doctor who wrote your birth certificate
Almost saw the writing on the wall, but seldom read.

As the nurse cut the umbilical cord linking you with
Mother saw the same. But did not understand.

Every night I sit at desk to write X minus one day
On a piece of paper and repeat the exercise daily.

Till I know the value of X, this meaningless exercise
Will continue, I tell myself. Mystery is it not?

Know of any mathematics genius who can solve this
Puzzle once for all to relieve me from tension?

RAMESH KUMAR

The writer lives just behind the 12th Century Qutub Minar, New Delhi, India

The Dark Room

2004-06-02T19:09:00.000-07:00

It is damp and dark
As I roll over
Tangled wire-like stuff,
Kicking and keeling.

No one to my rescue, yet.
Piercing screams through
Parched throat bring no relief.
Written off already?

Cruel, if so.
How I manage in this
Cloistered leather cubicle
God alone knows!

She is restless,
Helpless. Like me.
I feel her, can't see her.
How long? I don't know...

Just a matter of days
Before I see light and life.
This is one room
I can never return to.

She's longing to see me.
So am I.
It is a long wait
In this damp dark room.

I live on hope,
She too.
We're linked,
Yet, not seen.

It will be over soon.
I wait for two things:
A loud scream and
A liplock with you, mother!

Published in www.motif.tk, an online fortnightly theme-based webzine

Romancing At Cafe Randezvous

2004-05-28T18:29:00.000-07:00

You’re tall. You’re attractive.
Sing well in whatever language.
Sparse crowd at Café Rendezvous
Doesn’t surprise me.

Your solo performance is on.
Conversations puncture
The cool ambience
As I dig into some
Unknown Korean munch.

Without a care in the world
You’re on a roll singing like a breeze.
Wonder how you manage this!
Unconcerned and unmoved

Over audience apathy.
I keep glancing at you
Between bites and some business deals.
You’re engrossed.

Believe you’re singing for yourself.
If the audience don’t listen, so what?
Are you drugged tonite
To ignore the tasteless lot?

Don’t know, but can’t ignore.
I ponder.
An eye contact I try to see your soul.
I don’t exist for you, I presume.

Table cleared and bill paid.
I raise to leave towards door.
Legs motor me to you.
A warm handshake

I desire and you don’t disappoint.
Neither met you earlier.
Nor heard you till now.
Just one look and just one song

Is all that needed to change me.
Friends search for my
Hands to shake at the gate.
I hide them in my pockets.

How can I allow them
Rub away your fragrance
Etched on my palms
On this beautiful night?

Let them think I’m mad.
So what? I don’t care.
I’m in love with you
Till tomorrow morning at least.
Don’t disturb me till then!

RAMESH KUMAR

The writer lives just behind the 12th century Qutub Minar, New Delhi , India.