The dew drop

What does a dew drop remind you of?

“Pearls!”, cried the happy and gay girl
Without a care or worry in this world
“Nice and round and shiny and bright
They are so pretty - so nice and so white!”

“Perspiration, on my brother’s brow
After a day of toiling, grueling and more”
And so said the young one who had seen more care
More than his and his brother’s fair share.

Said the soldier, “A drop of muted tear
On my mother’s face, all lined with wear
As she waits to see if I come back home
Her only son, from across the foam.”

Each according to his station spoke
So many emotions does the dew drop evoke
As life parades the purity of the dew
With all our feeling, we taint the view.

“Dripping like a mermaid” is not a funny expression!

Life does have its own ways of playing little jokes on us. So today, as I headed off to office, the day started off pleasantly enough - a few clouds dotting the sky, but otherwise nice and delightful. The clouds didn't bother me too much. Having been in Bangalore for the last 4 years, I like to think of Bangalore weather as an old acquaintance whom I understand well - mornings are pleasant, sometimes even sunny; late afternoons and evenings is when the downpour starts. Bangalore weather being such, I have never had problems riding my bike (read: Honda Activa) to office even during monsoons.

And so today, as usual, I put on my helmet, pulled out my bike, nodded my customary hello to the watchman at the apartment, and rode away. Like any other Bangalore morning, it was as pleasant as pleasant could be - the kind of weather that makes you want to go picnicing, the kind of weather that people would change jobs for, the kind of weather that.. oh ok, you get the drift.

About midway to the office as I stopped at one of the numerous traffic signals, I felt a little drop or two of water fall on my sleeve. I brushed them away, thinking it was dew drops from the trees. Little did I know of the downpour that was about to begin. And the downpour did begin soon enough - quickly followed by little puddles of muddy water on the road, large splashes of muddy water from vehicles all around, and mayhem in general.

As I reached office and parked my bike, I took stock of myself. Dripping and soaking wet, with a generous splash of mud on the right trouser leg and plenty of muddy spots on my otherwise spotless shirt - didn't exactly tally with the typical image of the young (ok, I exaggerate) consultant off to work, about to change the destiny of the corporate world (ok, I exaggerate again). With a theatrical sigh, I decided I was not presentable, messaged my boss updating her of the “unavoidable circumstances causing regretful delay”, and turned around.

Now another thing about Bangalore I fancy I understand well is the traffic; and traffic behaviour in Bangalore is well correlated with the occurrence of rains. So then, as predictably as the ending of a Bollywood movie, I got stuck in the traffic. Traffic plus rain - thats the best combo to drive someone really mad. Repeating to myself for the umpteenth time that patience is a virtue (I find it quite difficult to accept that at face value, you know), I trudged along with the traffic moving at nano-speeds.

Finally, after about 50 mins and 5 kms of the snail’s race, I reached home. As I hurried to find something dry to change into, I looked out of the window and it stuck me - it had stopped raining! And just like that, Bangalore returned to its oh-so-pleasant weather.

Life does have its own ways of playing little jokes on us. I am sure that whoever was up there controlling the rain-valves today had a good laugh at poor me. Well, as some bright soul said, if God is watching us the least we can do is keep him entertained!

Riot - Shashi Tharoor

A book review I did for the office magazine...

Riot is set in 1989 in Zalilgarh, a small town in U.P where an American student visiting India - Priscilla Hart - becomes a victim of a Hindu- Muslim riot. A few weeks later, Priscilla's parents travel to India to find out what happened. The rest of the story unfolds the circumstances around her death, which becomes the pretext for a thoughtful novel about the religious tensions plaguing India. As Shashi Tharoor mentions, the plot took form when a college friend, an IAS officer, sent him an account of a riot he had dealt with as a district magistrate and thus Riot became a medium to bring out the various view-points regarding the Hindu-Muslim tensions in India. 

The novel covers the perspectives of a well chosen set of characters – a progressive thinking district magistrate, a Sikh superintendent of police, an American reporter, a Muslim academic and the head of the local Hindu fraction, among others. The novel covers a vast spectrum of historical events which are seamlessly integrated with the main plot – right from Coca Cola’s first entry and subsequent exit from India to Operation BlueStar – all narrated through the eyes of different characters. 

The other theme which provides an undercurrent to Riot is the dichotomy of Indian thinking which so puzzles the rest of the world. As one of the characters says “I’m Indian. I enjoy Beatles and Bharat Natyam. I act in Oscar Wilde plays and I eat with my fingers. I read Marx, and I let my parents arrange my marriage.” The novel explores the psyche of the typical Indian caught balancing between deep-rooted Indian sentiments and their own progressive thinking.

While the plot itself makes for a compelling read, the narrative just makes it unputdownable. Tharoor has a masterful narrative style with the book taking the shape of a compilation of journals, transcripts, letters, newspaper extracts, scrapbooks and even poems written by some of the characters. The form of writing gives Tharoor the space to experiment with the narrative and write from the perspective of various characters. As the author says through one of his characters, “I’d like to write a novel that doesn’t read like a novel (…) something in which you can turn to any page and read. You pick up chapter 23, and you get one thread of the plot. Then you go forwards to chapter 37, or backwards to 16, and you get another thread. (…) you see the interconnections differently depending on the order in which you read them.” Through Riot, Tharoor has definitely achieved this. 

The simple pleasures of life

The kind smile of a stranger

As he goes out of his way

To make your day better.

The story, of the Emperor’s new clothes

Read out by the doting brother

Amidst much laughter and giggles.

The warmth of a hug.

A cuddle

When you need it the most.

Maggi at midnight.

Chocolates, ice creams,

And more chocolates.

The doggy wagging his tail

Vigorously

Everytime he sees you.

The knowledge that someone cares

Enough to listen to you rant

All night long.

Appreciation

From someone you look up to.

Satisfaction, of a job well done.

The enthusiasm

Infectious

When you make plans to meet old friends.

Simple pleasures of life.

Some that you live for.

Some that you cant live without.

Dedicated to family, friends and certain Dutch strangers. (Not to mention Nestle, Cadbury, Lindt, Ferrero Rocher, Corner House, Naturals, et cetera)

Pilot.

A place to put together all my random thoughts and the outcomes of any other indolent pastimes. Posts might range from arbit to thought provoking, from seriously brilliant to downright stupid, and everything in between...