This is the kind of idiocy that makes my blood boil...
http://seattlepi.nwsource.com/local/287261_tamil02ww.html?from=wtnews
A man speaking to his friend on his cell phone about a football (the american kind) , and an off-duty airline employee, thought that was suspicious and called the Police.
What kind of nonsense is this ? Do I have to just speak a foreign language and the idiots amongst us start suspecting me of being a terrorist?
This is shameful, and creates an awful impression of the America that we live in today. A Shame is what it is.
Wednesday, October 11, 2006
Saturday, October 07, 2006
Oh god, I love to see the Yankees lose...
It is that time of the year again. Baseball playoffs are on, the Yankees are losing, and every non-Yankee fan is taking considerable pleasure in watching them lose. Count me among one of them. And tonight was great: they got blanked.
Oddly enough, I started off liking the Yankees, even cheering for them when they beat the Braves. But I was turned off by their owner, by their signing away free agents from other smaller market teams, which could not afford the salaries being afforded by the Yankees, driving up salaries and the cost of tickets by their insane spending. The New York media, with its "New York is the center of the world" nonsense, is also a significant factor. The two exceptions are Jeter and Torre, both of whom cannot be hated; the former because he is so "clutch" and the latter for being a tough-as-nails manager (not to mention a cancer survivor). But, all the other Yankees come across as arrogant, highly-paid players, with an attitude to boot. Some teams certainly don't play intimidated, as these Tigers are showing.
Sure, you can sign away the best players in other teams, and never develop your own talent, but you still have to get them to play, for these games are not won on paper. They have to be won on the field, by performing. And, sadly these Yankees have not performed, but it sure is heart-warming to watch them lose, and lose badly. Last year was great, the year before, when they blew a 3-0 lead and lost to the BoSox was greater.
I for one, am waiting for Game 4; if the lowly Tigers sweep the Yankees, there is one household in the Seattle area, that will be partying hard into the night (My wife is a Yankees fan, BTW).
Oddly enough, I started off liking the Yankees, even cheering for them when they beat the Braves. But I was turned off by their owner, by their signing away free agents from other smaller market teams, which could not afford the salaries being afforded by the Yankees, driving up salaries and the cost of tickets by their insane spending. The New York media, with its "New York is the center of the world" nonsense, is also a significant factor. The two exceptions are Jeter and Torre, both of whom cannot be hated; the former because he is so "clutch" and the latter for being a tough-as-nails manager (not to mention a cancer survivor). But, all the other Yankees come across as arrogant, highly-paid players, with an attitude to boot. Some teams certainly don't play intimidated, as these Tigers are showing.
Sure, you can sign away the best players in other teams, and never develop your own talent, but you still have to get them to play, for these games are not won on paper. They have to be won on the field, by performing. And, sadly these Yankees have not performed, but it sure is heart-warming to watch them lose, and lose badly. Last year was great, the year before, when they blew a 3-0 lead and lost to the BoSox was greater.
I for one, am waiting for Game 4; if the lowly Tigers sweep the Yankees, there is one household in the Seattle area, that will be partying hard into the night (My wife is a Yankees fan, BTW).
Thursday, October 05, 2006
Layoffs suck!
A lot of people at my company lost jobs; my own group got cut down by a third, losing 2 people. Both of them were nice guys. Another guy gone in Tech Pubs, also a nice person.
Oh well, this is part and parcel of life, but why does it always have to happen to good people?
Hopefully my position is safe. :)
Oh well, this is part and parcel of life, but why does it always have to happen to good people?
Hopefully my position is safe. :)
Wednesday, September 20, 2006
Book Review: A Fine Balance, by Rohinton Mistry
I just finished reading "A Fine Balance", by Rohinton Mistry. This book was recommended to me by Minu, who I met while I was living in Canada. She was the administrator of the community center of our condo complex, where I was renting at, and she commented that this was a great book that she simply could not put down. I agree with her assessment, but it is certainly one of the most heart-rending books that I have read in my life.
I would like to say that it is one of the best books that I have read in a long time, but it has left me with revelations, conflicted emotions, and a rather considerable dose of reality. Oh, before you go much further, I should warn you that this entry will reveal some details about the book, and discuss some aspects of it. If you haven't read the book yet and are planning to, reading this blog entry would be a very bad thing. You have been warned!
Indians - before we left its shores as expatriates - have long bemoaned the putrid state of the Indian union; the caste system, blind subservience to religion, callousness and unchecked authority of government officials, the plight of the poor, the hold of corruption and land grabbers on the masses, the non-existent infrastructure, the wasted tax revenues, the inept administration, the bulging wallets of politicians even as essential services are affected, the complete apathy of most people to the problems that pervade Indian society today... I could go on and on. During our periodic visits to our friends in Seattle, we held passionate discussions, where ideas were bandied back and forth about what needs to be done to fix India's "problems", if you will. These discussions would go well into the wee hours of the morning, fuelled by passion and lots of Starbucks coffee.
As a child, I heard numerous different accounts about India's "Emergency" period, as my parents and others called it. My impressions of the era were mostly good, with my lower-middle-class parents opining that it was a good thing for the country; things ran like "clockwork" as people were scared of the government. VERY scared. There were also some small problems, like "mass sterilizations" and other minor issues, my parents said - from the comfort of their lower-middle class existence - but for the most part it held the country in its vice like grip, and "improved" the domestic situation. Surely that was a good thing?! Especially in a country bent upon retaining old - and mostly idiotic - ways of doing things; a country driven complacent by the lack of any enforcement. What other way was possibly there to restore integrity than good old-fashioned fear? I thought that "Emergency" and "MISA" were useful tools in the hands of the government to restore some semblance of order and discipline. Anything, it seemed like, to change the status quo.
I held onto this opinion with great passion. India's bad side - that is so much at the fore today - took a backseat at that time under the pressures of a government bent upon imposing its will and vision upon the people, I'd heard. I was 3 years old when "Emergency" started, and was about 5 when it was lifted, so I didn't have a chance to observe and document first hand, but I was around plenty of people, who were able to give me the lower-middle-class and middle-class perspective on it.
In these Seattle discussions, I have long propounded my theory that imposing Emergency on the country would help us commoners deal with the "atrocities" perpetrated against us by the usual suspects: those in the bureaucracy, politicians, goondas, and the high-castes - though I was born into a high-cast myself. A few incidents in my life had helped me arrived to that conclusion. My mother would not have had to pay a portion of her retirement benefits to the very clerks who were tasked with processing her papers. My mother who hadn't received one paisa in bribes was forced to shell out her hard earned money to get what was rightfully hers. One clerk threatened her that "those papers will vanish!", if she didn't pay up. My father needn't have bribed the policeman (Rs. 50) to sign off on the security clearance for our passport applications. The list is endless and it would take all day. Recommended reading however, are India in Slow Motion by Mark Tully, and Everybody loves a good Drought by P. Sainath).
My opinion that strong medicine was needed was bolstered by the numerous accounts of vicious attacks on people who chose to speak their minds against the bad elements of Indian society. Acid would get thrown in their faces, they would commit "suicide" in lockups, become "floaters" in the rivers of the nation, their bodies tortured and mutilated. The Police instead of investigating these crimes would often be the very perpetrators of these gruesome acts. So, there is great reticence among the Indian public to speak out against the iniquities that surround them. As long as it does not affect them, they are content to turn a blind eye. This is pitiful. Unless people question injustices - perceived or otherwise - the perpetrators go scot-free, their acts pardoned by the indifference of a society reluctant to get involved in anything that might involve risk.
I surmised that if there was no fear of retribution, people would speak their minds; and Emergency would provide that. I had no need to worry about being arrested for spouting off my mouth against India's inane, greedy and corrupt politicians, and then become part of the "custodial death" statistics. Accountability would be important and everybody would know right from wrong and do the "right" thing at all times: Politicians, Police, bureaucrats, everybody. I viewed Emergency as the panacea to all of India's ills.
Which brings us - finally! you say - to the reason I am writing this entry. This book completely destroys that vision of "it was a good thing for our country". Utterly, without any resemblance to its former self. The ghastly truths, one half forgotten and another half ignored, are brought to the fore using several powerful and rich characters: Dina Dalal, Ishvar, Om, Narayan, the Beggarmaster and Shankar. No word is wasted, nothing is superfluous. It conveys very elaborately the ills of a government running amuck with power, and how it affected the everyday poor. The poor are the ones who pay the price for the whims and fancies of the people in power, however benevolent their "aims" may have been. It made me realize that the cessation of democracy in our country and the suspension of the fundamental rights of its citizens leads to the same problems that electing corrupt politicians to powers creates. My utopian vision of a honest leader bent on improving the plight of the nation was nothing but that: Utopian. My opinion of Indira Gandhi plummeted to hitherto unexplored depths, as I realized through this work, the magnitude of her abuse of power, and the hare-brained schemes that she unleashed on the public. Her son Sanjay Gandhi was responsible for the mass sterilizations of a lot of people, and it is a well-known fact that some citizens distributed sweets on the streets when he died - rather suspiciously - in a plane crash.
Not limiting itself to painting a picture of the emergency, the book also brilliantly illustrates the perils of the low-castes by showcasing the way they are treated by the upper-castes, by the likes of the "just" Thakur Dharamsi. The way the upper-castes treat the lower-castes was very realistic and a damning portrait of those following untouchability, a moribund tradition of segregating people (and their shadows) based on their caste. I was very ashamed to be born into the higher castes as I was reading this book. I now know why the Dravidian parties in South India want to keep the upper castes under their thumb and not give them much room for progress. If somebody dominated you for thousands of years, and you suddenly came to power, you would do the same thing to your oppressors.
Ishvar and Om suffer in many ways as a result of their caste and their financial status. The poor tailors, who sleep in the streets and signify what most of the urban poor go through, are poster children for the kinds of problems that face such people. They live in a shack (Jhopadpatti) rented from the very person who is tasked to keep the lands clean, and are then chucked out of their accommodation by their landlord. This forces them to sleep on the streets, where they are mistaken for homeless people and taken to a forced labour camp, where they are severely ill-treated, and have to escape using the grace of a Beggarmaster, a local thug who makes them fork over a portion of their pay as compensation for his services. A very fine illustration of the way poor people are used by those in power.
The cast of characters is very rich and captures the wide variety of cultures that one encounters in India. Dina Dalal, the Parsi widow trying to eke out a living - without the auspices of her idiot brother - defines the way the middle-class considers the problems of the poor. She suspects them (the tailors) of trying to cheat her at every turn, and every time they vanish, she starts worrying not about what might have happened to them, but to what might happen to her business. Her insecurity and lack of trust in the poor are traits widespread in India.
Maneck Kohlah, a Parsi arriving at the city to earn an education, and staying as a paying guest at Dina Dalal's little flat is a very refreshing character, not burdened by the ego of a high-caste or possessing a disdain for those less fortunate than he. I found a lot of myself in Maneck Kohlah, though I completely disagree with Mr. Mistry's treatment of Maneck's character at the end. The book completely rips your heart out, but rest assured that the incidents recounted in the book, are highly realistic. One only has to read the daily papers in India to understand the levels to which India's have-nots suffer.
Beggarmaster, the guy who takes perfectly normal children, subjects them to "professional modifications", and then finds spots for them to beg, is one truly macabre illustration of India's vermin. I was riding a bus when I read that line and gasped so loudly that the people next to me looked at me funny. When I was a little kid, my parents kept a constant eye on me, warning me to not wander off or some kidnapper would take me, blind me, cut off my hands, and make me beg for money. So, I completely understood the motivations of this character, though I was constantly dreaming up ways I would kill such a person if I ever encountered one. These people are truly the scum of the earth (Even Republicans don't come close! ;)). A lot of people in India do completely unfathomable things to get ahead and make a living, but the likes of Beggarmaster do not deserve to live.
This book is a very damning account of the period surrounding India's Independence and the problems created by Indira Gandhi's notorious declaration of Emergency in 1975, but it's cast of characters is quite rich. By reading this book, I realized that I had been very naive; I had completely ignored the abuse potential of uncontrolled raw power in the hands of the unscrupulous. India's problems, it looks like, certainly needs something a bit less drastic than Emergency. Its citizens need a strong dose of Integrity.
I would like to say that it is one of the best books that I have read in a long time, but it has left me with revelations, conflicted emotions, and a rather considerable dose of reality. Oh, before you go much further, I should warn you that this entry will reveal some details about the book, and discuss some aspects of it. If you haven't read the book yet and are planning to, reading this blog entry would be a very bad thing. You have been warned!
Indians - before we left its shores as expatriates - have long bemoaned the putrid state of the Indian union; the caste system, blind subservience to religion, callousness and unchecked authority of government officials, the plight of the poor, the hold of corruption and land grabbers on the masses, the non-existent infrastructure, the wasted tax revenues, the inept administration, the bulging wallets of politicians even as essential services are affected, the complete apathy of most people to the problems that pervade Indian society today... I could go on and on. During our periodic visits to our friends in Seattle, we held passionate discussions, where ideas were bandied back and forth about what needs to be done to fix India's "problems", if you will. These discussions would go well into the wee hours of the morning, fuelled by passion and lots of Starbucks coffee.
As a child, I heard numerous different accounts about India's "Emergency" period, as my parents and others called it. My impressions of the era were mostly good, with my lower-middle-class parents opining that it was a good thing for the country; things ran like "clockwork" as people were scared of the government. VERY scared. There were also some small problems, like "mass sterilizations" and other minor issues, my parents said - from the comfort of their lower-middle class existence - but for the most part it held the country in its vice like grip, and "improved" the domestic situation. Surely that was a good thing?! Especially in a country bent upon retaining old - and mostly idiotic - ways of doing things; a country driven complacent by the lack of any enforcement. What other way was possibly there to restore integrity than good old-fashioned fear? I thought that "Emergency" and "MISA" were useful tools in the hands of the government to restore some semblance of order and discipline. Anything, it seemed like, to change the status quo.
I held onto this opinion with great passion. India's bad side - that is so much at the fore today - took a backseat at that time under the pressures of a government bent upon imposing its will and vision upon the people, I'd heard. I was 3 years old when "Emergency" started, and was about 5 when it was lifted, so I didn't have a chance to observe and document first hand, but I was around plenty of people, who were able to give me the lower-middle-class and middle-class perspective on it.
In these Seattle discussions, I have long propounded my theory that imposing Emergency on the country would help us commoners deal with the "atrocities" perpetrated against us by the usual suspects: those in the bureaucracy, politicians, goondas, and the high-castes - though I was born into a high-cast myself. A few incidents in my life had helped me arrived to that conclusion. My mother would not have had to pay a portion of her retirement benefits to the very clerks who were tasked with processing her papers. My mother who hadn't received one paisa in bribes was forced to shell out her hard earned money to get what was rightfully hers. One clerk threatened her that "those papers will vanish!", if she didn't pay up. My father needn't have bribed the policeman (Rs. 50) to sign off on the security clearance for our passport applications. The list is endless and it would take all day. Recommended reading however, are India in Slow Motion by Mark Tully, and Everybody loves a good Drought by P. Sainath).
My opinion that strong medicine was needed was bolstered by the numerous accounts of vicious attacks on people who chose to speak their minds against the bad elements of Indian society. Acid would get thrown in their faces, they would commit "suicide" in lockups, become "floaters" in the rivers of the nation, their bodies tortured and mutilated. The Police instead of investigating these crimes would often be the very perpetrators of these gruesome acts. So, there is great reticence among the Indian public to speak out against the iniquities that surround them. As long as it does not affect them, they are content to turn a blind eye. This is pitiful. Unless people question injustices - perceived or otherwise - the perpetrators go scot-free, their acts pardoned by the indifference of a society reluctant to get involved in anything that might involve risk.
I surmised that if there was no fear of retribution, people would speak their minds; and Emergency would provide that. I had no need to worry about being arrested for spouting off my mouth against India's inane, greedy and corrupt politicians, and then become part of the "custodial death" statistics. Accountability would be important and everybody would know right from wrong and do the "right" thing at all times: Politicians, Police, bureaucrats, everybody. I viewed Emergency as the panacea to all of India's ills.
Which brings us - finally! you say - to the reason I am writing this entry. This book completely destroys that vision of "it was a good thing for our country". Utterly, without any resemblance to its former self. The ghastly truths, one half forgotten and another half ignored, are brought to the fore using several powerful and rich characters: Dina Dalal, Ishvar, Om, Narayan, the Beggarmaster and Shankar. No word is wasted, nothing is superfluous. It conveys very elaborately the ills of a government running amuck with power, and how it affected the everyday poor. The poor are the ones who pay the price for the whims and fancies of the people in power, however benevolent their "aims" may have been. It made me realize that the cessation of democracy in our country and the suspension of the fundamental rights of its citizens leads to the same problems that electing corrupt politicians to powers creates. My utopian vision of a honest leader bent on improving the plight of the nation was nothing but that: Utopian. My opinion of Indira Gandhi plummeted to hitherto unexplored depths, as I realized through this work, the magnitude of her abuse of power, and the hare-brained schemes that she unleashed on the public. Her son Sanjay Gandhi was responsible for the mass sterilizations of a lot of people, and it is a well-known fact that some citizens distributed sweets on the streets when he died - rather suspiciously - in a plane crash.
Not limiting itself to painting a picture of the emergency, the book also brilliantly illustrates the perils of the low-castes by showcasing the way they are treated by the upper-castes, by the likes of the "just" Thakur Dharamsi. The way the upper-castes treat the lower-castes was very realistic and a damning portrait of those following untouchability, a moribund tradition of segregating people (and their shadows) based on their caste. I was very ashamed to be born into the higher castes as I was reading this book. I now know why the Dravidian parties in South India want to keep the upper castes under their thumb and not give them much room for progress. If somebody dominated you for thousands of years, and you suddenly came to power, you would do the same thing to your oppressors.
Ishvar and Om suffer in many ways as a result of their caste and their financial status. The poor tailors, who sleep in the streets and signify what most of the urban poor go through, are poster children for the kinds of problems that face such people. They live in a shack (Jhopadpatti) rented from the very person who is tasked to keep the lands clean, and are then chucked out of their accommodation by their landlord. This forces them to sleep on the streets, where they are mistaken for homeless people and taken to a forced labour camp, where they are severely ill-treated, and have to escape using the grace of a Beggarmaster, a local thug who makes them fork over a portion of their pay as compensation for his services. A very fine illustration of the way poor people are used by those in power.
The cast of characters is very rich and captures the wide variety of cultures that one encounters in India. Dina Dalal, the Parsi widow trying to eke out a living - without the auspices of her idiot brother - defines the way the middle-class considers the problems of the poor. She suspects them (the tailors) of trying to cheat her at every turn, and every time they vanish, she starts worrying not about what might have happened to them, but to what might happen to her business. Her insecurity and lack of trust in the poor are traits widespread in India.
Maneck Kohlah, a Parsi arriving at the city to earn an education, and staying as a paying guest at Dina Dalal's little flat is a very refreshing character, not burdened by the ego of a high-caste or possessing a disdain for those less fortunate than he. I found a lot of myself in Maneck Kohlah, though I completely disagree with Mr. Mistry's treatment of Maneck's character at the end. The book completely rips your heart out, but rest assured that the incidents recounted in the book, are highly realistic. One only has to read the daily papers in India to understand the levels to which India's have-nots suffer.
Beggarmaster, the guy who takes perfectly normal children, subjects them to "professional modifications", and then finds spots for them to beg, is one truly macabre illustration of India's vermin. I was riding a bus when I read that line and gasped so loudly that the people next to me looked at me funny. When I was a little kid, my parents kept a constant eye on me, warning me to not wander off or some kidnapper would take me, blind me, cut off my hands, and make me beg for money. So, I completely understood the motivations of this character, though I was constantly dreaming up ways I would kill such a person if I ever encountered one. These people are truly the scum of the earth (Even Republicans don't come close! ;)). A lot of people in India do completely unfathomable things to get ahead and make a living, but the likes of Beggarmaster do not deserve to live.
This book is a very damning account of the period surrounding India's Independence and the problems created by Indira Gandhi's notorious declaration of Emergency in 1975, but it's cast of characters is quite rich. By reading this book, I realized that I had been very naive; I had completely ignored the abuse potential of uncontrolled raw power in the hands of the unscrupulous. India's problems, it looks like, certainly needs something a bit less drastic than Emergency. Its citizens need a strong dose of Integrity.
Monday, July 10, 2006
Just what the world needs...
... another freak in saffron robes, attempting to lead us into nirvana. India has produced a lot of intellectuals, but the profusion of these religious heads boggles my mind.
This new guy is called "Paramahamsa Nithyananda", and is a new "Swamiji". Run away as fast as you can. One of the people endorsing, nay inspiring him is a "Mataji Kuppammal", a "deeply pious lady". Oh my god. One unknown saviour endorsed by another unknown saviour. I won't even post the URL here. Where do these guys get their inspiration from? What makes them think that they can take people for a ride ? Because a lot of people among us allow ourselves to be led astray by these "Gurus" of philosophy. Arise, awake.
There are too many of these "Swamijis" and their weird "philosophies". Foremost among these quacks stands that much-followed, and much-maligned Puttaparthi Sai Baba, he of the "afro" fame, who produces "lingams" from his mouth and ash from his hands (using stuff stored away in his armpits). Politicians stand in line to meet him, and one erstwhile President of India, prostrated himself at this man's feet. Shameful! I know of plenty of people who get phone calls from the "Swami" himself, helping them in life's decisions! A Swamiji who sends "godly" messages through the phone! Who would have thunk it? And I know people who use these messages as messages from God himself!
Puttaparthi Sai Baba, Premananda, Sivashankara Baba, Yagava Munivar, the list is endless. The latter two even fought on TV over who was the real incarnation of "Kalki".
I am sick of these people and pity these gullible individuals who follow them and allow themselves to be bilked, or worse, physically and mentally abused.
This new guy is called "Paramahamsa Nithyananda", and is a new "Swamiji". Run away as fast as you can. One of the people endorsing, nay inspiring him is a "Mataji Kuppammal", a "deeply pious lady". Oh my god. One unknown saviour endorsed by another unknown saviour. I won't even post the URL here. Where do these guys get their inspiration from? What makes them think that they can take people for a ride ? Because a lot of people among us allow ourselves to be led astray by these "Gurus" of philosophy. Arise, awake.
There are too many of these "Swamijis" and their weird "philosophies". Foremost among these quacks stands that much-followed, and much-maligned Puttaparthi Sai Baba, he of the "afro" fame, who produces "lingams" from his mouth and ash from his hands (using stuff stored away in his armpits). Politicians stand in line to meet him, and one erstwhile President of India, prostrated himself at this man's feet. Shameful! I know of plenty of people who get phone calls from the "Swami" himself, helping them in life's decisions! A Swamiji who sends "godly" messages through the phone! Who would have thunk it? And I know people who use these messages as messages from God himself!
Puttaparthi Sai Baba, Premananda, Sivashankara Baba, Yagava Munivar, the list is endless. The latter two even fought on TV over who was the real incarnation of "Kalki".
I am sick of these people and pity these gullible individuals who follow them and allow themselves to be bilked, or worse, physically and mentally abused.
Friday, June 23, 2006
Is a Car really freedom?
I was sitting on the 522 this morning - after a lung-busting climb up from the Burke-Gilman trail to Lake City way - when I overheard a few conversations a woman had on her cellphone. I wasn't privy to who she was talking with, or even her face, for I never turned back to look at her. And no, I wasn't eavesdropping: the whole bus was privy to her conversation it looked like. It was like a puzzle. The words she spoke were the pieces, and my mind subconsciously attempted to complete the puzzle using the different "pieces" that floated in the air. It was a tad loud, to say the least.
The first conversation was certainly with a woman, I thought. It started off being about our heroine not wearing matching slacks. It was certainly something a woman would be most concerned about, and I wondered why a woman would set out to work while donning less than "ideal" colours? Well, as it turns out, our heroine had gotten her shirt covered in oil! So, she had set out with matching colours. What had changed between the time she set out and the time she had gotten on the bus ? Like a soap-opera fan, I was hooked! I didn't have my usual crossword in hand, or a book, and so I was going to grab whatever little entertainment I could find.
"My car broke down this morning and I had to walk 7 miles to catch a bus!" she anguished to her friend, and that's when I realized what had happened. The woman had encountered some car trouble this morning, and that explained why she was on the bus. Her friend must have commisserated with her, for reasonably long periods of silence followed. "I just paid 3300 dollars for it, and it was supposed to make my life easier", our heroine mused. More silence followed.
I caught little bits here and there about still having a bus pass and stuff like that, so I conjectured that our heroine had been a daily rider of the bus, until she had falled victim to the "Cars are freedom" story, and had gone out and bought a car for a price she could afford, and had gotten the short end of the stick on. Our heroine bid adieu to her buddy, and made another call.
"My car broke down this morning", she said softly into the phone, her voice tinged with disappointment. I could not guess who she was calling, but I would find out soon enough. "I just bought the car a few days ago, and it has broken down already. I paid 3300$ for it, and have only driven it twice!", she ranted into the phone, her voice now clearly not soft, but rather laced with anger and vitriol. I guessed that this was the place (or person) she bought the car from. Then came the final blow.
"I have driven only 11 miles on it. I have left it where it broke down and you can go check the odometer", she said. I felt really sorry for her. This was a woman who had just given up riding the bus and had bought a car to make her life "easier", and now she neither had the comfort nor the money she paid to get that "freedom". 11 miles. I don't know how she will fare, but it seems like $3300 is a lot of money to only go 11 miles. Do cars really make our life "easier", I wonder?! A downpayment, Insurance, car payments, gas expenses, regular maintenance and the agony of sitting in bumper to bumper traffic sure don't sound like they make my life "easier", not to mention the threat of breaking down or driving a "Weapon of Mass Destruction".
Her last call was to her HR department to let them know that she was going to be late to work, because her car had broken down. My bus had arrived at my destination, and I got off, completely satisfied that I do not own a car.
The first conversation was certainly with a woman, I thought. It started off being about our heroine not wearing matching slacks. It was certainly something a woman would be most concerned about, and I wondered why a woman would set out to work while donning less than "ideal" colours? Well, as it turns out, our heroine had gotten her shirt covered in oil! So, she had set out with matching colours. What had changed between the time she set out and the time she had gotten on the bus ? Like a soap-opera fan, I was hooked! I didn't have my usual crossword in hand, or a book, and so I was going to grab whatever little entertainment I could find.
"My car broke down this morning and I had to walk 7 miles to catch a bus!" she anguished to her friend, and that's when I realized what had happened. The woman had encountered some car trouble this morning, and that explained why she was on the bus. Her friend must have commisserated with her, for reasonably long periods of silence followed. "I just paid 3300 dollars for it, and it was supposed to make my life easier", our heroine mused. More silence followed.
I caught little bits here and there about still having a bus pass and stuff like that, so I conjectured that our heroine had been a daily rider of the bus, until she had falled victim to the "Cars are freedom" story, and had gone out and bought a car for a price she could afford, and had gotten the short end of the stick on. Our heroine bid adieu to her buddy, and made another call.
"My car broke down this morning", she said softly into the phone, her voice tinged with disappointment. I could not guess who she was calling, but I would find out soon enough. "I just bought the car a few days ago, and it has broken down already. I paid 3300$ for it, and have only driven it twice!", she ranted into the phone, her voice now clearly not soft, but rather laced with anger and vitriol. I guessed that this was the place (or person) she bought the car from. Then came the final blow.
"I have driven only 11 miles on it. I have left it where it broke down and you can go check the odometer", she said. I felt really sorry for her. This was a woman who had just given up riding the bus and had bought a car to make her life "easier", and now she neither had the comfort nor the money she paid to get that "freedom". 11 miles. I don't know how she will fare, but it seems like $3300 is a lot of money to only go 11 miles. Do cars really make our life "easier", I wonder?! A downpayment, Insurance, car payments, gas expenses, regular maintenance and the agony of sitting in bumper to bumper traffic sure don't sound like they make my life "easier", not to mention the threat of breaking down or driving a "Weapon of Mass Destruction".
Her last call was to her HR department to let them know that she was going to be late to work, because her car had broken down. My bus had arrived at my destination, and I got off, completely satisfied that I do not own a car.
Wednesday, May 03, 2006
The trouble with (a few) bicyclists....
If you are thinking this is going to be a tirade about bicyclists, you thought right.... I am sick and tired of all these cyclists not obeying traffic laws and doing whatever the heck they can. Allow me to explain.
My commute to work is 12.5 miles, and it takes about an hour from our apartment in Bellevue, WA. I work in Seattle, and I witnessed all of the following incidents, during this morning's commute:
One, I was at 2nd and Pike, in Seattle, waiting for the light to turn green, when a cyclist, pulled up alongside me. I thought he would wait for the light, just as I was. No, of course not. After waiting for a couple of seconds, and not even putting his foot down, he took off across the intersection, jumping the red. WHAT is with these idiot cyclists who insist on not stopping at red lights? A Car coming down Pike slammed on the brakes to avoid hitting this cyclist.
Two, I saw a girl riding without a helmet. Like it or not, that is the law, and she was flouting it.
Three, I was sailing through on 1st Ave near the Seattle Space Needle, when a cyclist turned right in front of me, while completely ignoring a stop sign. I didn't have one in my direction of travel, and didn't have to stop, but he made me just slam on the brakes. I could have really hurt him, but without so much as a mumbled apology, he went his merry way.
Four, Just before I got to work, I was almost hit by a cyclist cycling on the sidewalk. You would think, I have experienced it all. No, there was more to come. I saw one girl cycling on the opposite direction of traffic, on the sidewalk. It was almost as though she has the words "kill me" tattooed on her forehead. Very smart.
I should probably also mention here that I have also been hit headlong by a drunk cyclist riding without any lights, in the middle of the night. Surely, all these people have some brains and are interested in self-preservation, you would think, right? Doesn't look like it. From riding without a helmet to barrelling down the road on the wrong side of traffic, some bicyclists do it all. And in doing so, they give all bicyclists a VERY bad name. Bicycle couriers flout all of the above rules and more, and I have not seen a single Seattle cop pull them off and give them a ticket. Couriers seem to get away with it all.
If you have come here thinking I am going to bash bicycling, or the rights of people to bicycle on the road, you thought wrong. Because, I am a cyclist myself. And, I was on a bicycle when I witnessed (endured?) all of the above incidents.
I was and am appalled at how poorly bicyclists act and flout rules. They think that following the rules is for wimps, and do act like they are exempt from that little "obligation". I think these people give cyclists a bad name, and as much as I hate to admit it, there are more cyclists breaking the rules than followinng them. Yes, you heard right. I said it. If we all followed rules, and were courteous, we would face less angst from car drivers.
Seattle drivers seem to be very accomodating of cyclists, and I have had very few incidents where I have had to take evasive action, but it seems like drivers have to do more to avoid hitting us. A few of my non-bicyclist friends have commented about this on more than one occassion.
If we demand equal rights and expect to be treated with respect on the road, we should atleast be visible, follow the rules and ride predicatably. Ride like you are a car, and cars will respect you. Act like jerks, and you will get lunatics yelling in our ears. Please bicycle responsibly. The lives of some bicyclists are riding on your actions.
My commute to work is 12.5 miles, and it takes about an hour from our apartment in Bellevue, WA. I work in Seattle, and I witnessed all of the following incidents, during this morning's commute:
One, I was at 2nd and Pike, in Seattle, waiting for the light to turn green, when a cyclist, pulled up alongside me. I thought he would wait for the light, just as I was. No, of course not. After waiting for a couple of seconds, and not even putting his foot down, he took off across the intersection, jumping the red. WHAT is with these idiot cyclists who insist on not stopping at red lights? A Car coming down Pike slammed on the brakes to avoid hitting this cyclist.
Two, I saw a girl riding without a helmet. Like it or not, that is the law, and she was flouting it.
Three, I was sailing through on 1st Ave near the Seattle Space Needle, when a cyclist turned right in front of me, while completely ignoring a stop sign. I didn't have one in my direction of travel, and didn't have to stop, but he made me just slam on the brakes. I could have really hurt him, but without so much as a mumbled apology, he went his merry way.
Four, Just before I got to work, I was almost hit by a cyclist cycling on the sidewalk. You would think, I have experienced it all. No, there was more to come. I saw one girl cycling on the opposite direction of traffic, on the sidewalk. It was almost as though she has the words "kill me" tattooed on her forehead. Very smart.
I should probably also mention here that I have also been hit headlong by a drunk cyclist riding without any lights, in the middle of the night. Surely, all these people have some brains and are interested in self-preservation, you would think, right? Doesn't look like it. From riding without a helmet to barrelling down the road on the wrong side of traffic, some bicyclists do it all. And in doing so, they give all bicyclists a VERY bad name. Bicycle couriers flout all of the above rules and more, and I have not seen a single Seattle cop pull them off and give them a ticket. Couriers seem to get away with it all.
If you have come here thinking I am going to bash bicycling, or the rights of people to bicycle on the road, you thought wrong. Because, I am a cyclist myself. And, I was on a bicycle when I witnessed (endured?) all of the above incidents.
I was and am appalled at how poorly bicyclists act and flout rules. They think that following the rules is for wimps, and do act like they are exempt from that little "obligation". I think these people give cyclists a bad name, and as much as I hate to admit it, there are more cyclists breaking the rules than followinng them. Yes, you heard right. I said it. If we all followed rules, and were courteous, we would face less angst from car drivers.
Seattle drivers seem to be very accomodating of cyclists, and I have had very few incidents where I have had to take evasive action, but it seems like drivers have to do more to avoid hitting us. A few of my non-bicyclist friends have commented about this on more than one occassion.
If we demand equal rights and expect to be treated with respect on the road, we should atleast be visible, follow the rules and ride predicatably. Ride like you are a car, and cars will respect you. Act like jerks, and you will get lunatics yelling in our ears. Please bicycle responsibly. The lives of some bicyclists are riding on your actions.
Monday, April 10, 2006
Car Free!
After years of wanting to be one, we are finally Car Free! I drove up to Vancouver on Saturday and sold our car off to Carter Honda. The plan is to be Car-ownership-free for as long as possible, using the bus and the bicycle locally, and rent a car if need be. But, we will try to use public transportation as much as possible.
Not owning a car and not having to worry about things is a great relief indeed. Not that I was wimping out and driving to work , but still it is a maintenance nightmare that I am not very good at. So, the car is gone, and I hope it stays gone.
Not owning a car and not having to worry about things is a great relief indeed. Not that I was wimping out and driving to work , but still it is a maintenance nightmare that I am not very good at. So, the car is gone, and I hope it stays gone.
Thursday, January 19, 2006
Nearly roadkill on a mall parking lot.
Would people please please please, look ahead when they are driving? You know, there just might be people there that you might run down and kill ?
I had this most scary incident at Factoria mall (Bellevue, WA), Sunday afternoon.
I had parked our car and was walking across the mall parking lot, to Rite-Aid. I was crossing the final 2-car-length stretch before reaching the sidewalk, when I saw an SUV coming about 15 feet to my right. Now, I distrust car drivers - being a cyclist - and so I looked in that direction to see what the driver was going to do.
She slowed down, and I thought she had seen me, and hence was slowing down. I started to cross that expanse to get to the relative safety of the sidewalk and had barely taken three steps, when the woman rapidly accelarated. Her tires made the rough noise of (almost) losing rubber, and she came straight for me, at about 20-25 miles an hour!
I saw her looking to the left, at the parking spaces, and as I froze momentarily in horror, the car was heading straight for me. I thought I was a dead man! A split second later, I came to my senses and covered the next few paces in a sprint. The woman missed me by about 5 inches, and stopped exactly OVER where I was about a second ago.
I was extremely upset and yelled at her using the oft-used four-letter word. I also proceeded to question the sanity of the person who granted her, her driving license. She however, had the civility of rolling down her window and saying "Sorry!". But, as we all know, Sorry doesn't make dead men come alive. I was pretty peeved, as I walked away, and the woman just drove away. I didn't write down her license plate, as I should have. That would have helped me complain about her to the police.
Listen up all you car drivers: Everyday people walk, bike around, and are NOT in protective cages as you are, so when you run over them, you will KILL them. They are vulnerable, and so please pay attention. Please! Your voice mail, your email, your GPS can wait. Don't shave your face or your legs when you drive and STOP applying your make up. Don't look away from the road when you reach for the Radio or CD player. DONT look at the movie playing in the vehicle in front of you. DONT yak on the cellphone. You are driving a killing machine.
One more thing, that whole bit about your life flashing before your eyes in near-death moments.... ain't true. Or maybe, just maybe I wasn't as close to death as I needed to be to get that experience. ;)
Watch out on the roads, pay attention and and look AHEAD.
I had this most scary incident at Factoria mall (Bellevue, WA), Sunday afternoon.
I had parked our car and was walking across the mall parking lot, to Rite-Aid. I was crossing the final 2-car-length stretch before reaching the sidewalk, when I saw an SUV coming about 15 feet to my right. Now, I distrust car drivers - being a cyclist - and so I looked in that direction to see what the driver was going to do.
She slowed down, and I thought she had seen me, and hence was slowing down. I started to cross that expanse to get to the relative safety of the sidewalk and had barely taken three steps, when the woman rapidly accelarated. Her tires made the rough noise of (almost) losing rubber, and she came straight for me, at about 20-25 miles an hour!
I saw her looking to the left, at the parking spaces, and as I froze momentarily in horror, the car was heading straight for me. I thought I was a dead man! A split second later, I came to my senses and covered the next few paces in a sprint. The woman missed me by about 5 inches, and stopped exactly OVER where I was about a second ago.
I was extremely upset and yelled at her using the oft-used four-letter word. I also proceeded to question the sanity of the person who granted her, her driving license. She however, had the civility of rolling down her window and saying "Sorry!". But, as we all know, Sorry doesn't make dead men come alive. I was pretty peeved, as I walked away, and the woman just drove away. I didn't write down her license plate, as I should have. That would have helped me complain about her to the police.
Listen up all you car drivers: Everyday people walk, bike around, and are NOT in protective cages as you are, so when you run over them, you will KILL them. They are vulnerable, and so please pay attention. Please! Your voice mail, your email, your GPS can wait. Don't shave your face or your legs when you drive and STOP applying your make up. Don't look away from the road when you reach for the Radio or CD player. DONT look at the movie playing in the vehicle in front of you. DONT yak on the cellphone. You are driving a killing machine.
One more thing, that whole bit about your life flashing before your eyes in near-death moments.... ain't true. Or maybe, just maybe I wasn't as close to death as I needed to be to get that experience. ;)
Watch out on the roads, pay attention and and look AHEAD.
Friday, November 04, 2005
Why is my wallet so much lighter?
...because I am now in the states...
And, we don't have loonies and toonies here... :) :) :) Back to the days of good old bills for $1 and $2.
And... http://www.canadianfavourites.com (for xCanucks in the States). Get those Canadian things that you cannot seem to get in the States. You are welcome!
And, we don't have loonies and toonies here... :) :) :) Back to the days of good old bills for $1 and $2.
And... http://www.canadianfavourites.com (for xCanucks in the States). Get those Canadian things that you cannot seem to get in the States. You are welcome!
Thursday, October 27, 2005
World Champions?
I just watched the Chicago White Sox of Major League Baseball win the "World Series" (sic). The phrases "World Champions" and "World Championship" were splashed all over like the (cheap) champagne that flowed freely in the victorious Chicago locker room. And, as is often the case, I wondered why ALL US sports leagues claim their titles to be "World Championships"! Am I just a anti-hype kind of guy or are these guys taking credit where little is due?
Let us examine this for a second.
The NBA, NHL and Major League Baseball all play in two countries (US and Canada), while the NFL cannot even claim that little distinction. To me, "World Championships" are to be awarded when countries battle each other for the honours, not when piddly clubs fight for a poorly named cup that half 0f this world wouldn't recognize if their life depended on it. The NBA, NHL and MLB all take international sports and try to make themselves the bellwether. Can you spell "Shallow" ? The NFL probably has the best defense. It is a game played mostly by North Americans, ONLY in North America. Surely they can call themselves "World Champions", heck, they are the only ones playing the damn game!
All of these clubs assemble the highest paid talent in the world for sure. That fact is indisputable. But in the absence of any real international competition, should these leagues have the right to proclaim their championships, "World Championships" just because of this one fact? I think NOT. It just smacks of hype and megalomania.
Now, I am off to buy my World champion Chicago White Sox T-Shirt and Cap, for only US$ 51. ;)
Let us examine this for a second.
The NBA, NHL and Major League Baseball all play in two countries (US and Canada), while the NFL cannot even claim that little distinction. To me, "World Championships" are to be awarded when countries battle each other for the honours, not when piddly clubs fight for a poorly named cup that half 0f this world wouldn't recognize if their life depended on it. The NBA, NHL and MLB all take international sports and try to make themselves the bellwether. Can you spell "Shallow" ? The NFL probably has the best defense. It is a game played mostly by North Americans, ONLY in North America. Surely they can call themselves "World Champions", heck, they are the only ones playing the damn game!
All of these clubs assemble the highest paid talent in the world for sure. That fact is indisputable. But in the absence of any real international competition, should these leagues have the right to proclaim their championships, "World Championships" just because of this one fact? I think NOT. It just smacks of hype and megalomania.
Now, I am off to buy my World champion Chicago White Sox T-Shirt and Cap, for only US$ 51. ;)
Thursday, October 13, 2005
How many beers in your culture?
It was a weekday evening, and my wife and I were at a local Pizza Hut restaurant near our house, hardly a 15-minute walk. The skies threatened - as they often do in Vancouver, BC - to dump a load of liquid sunshine on our heads at any time, but being the brave souls that we were, we had walked our way. And the skies opened up a little, right as we entered the restaurant.
The restaurant was far from crowded, but the lobby sure was. There was tons of teenagers, some sitting and chatting, and other standing in the little reception area of the restaurant. A very chaotic scene, and the waitress (or part-owner?) was visibly flustered. She rolled her and generally gave the feeling that she would rather have a root canal than those teenagers in her lobby.
"Could you please wait outside?" she asked, with a mixture of irritation and anger, clearly annoyed that such a chattering bunch was occupying most of the front of the restaurant. "I am worried about security, so could you please wait outside?", she said. It was raining outside by now, so her "request" was a curt, not to mention borderline arrogant, as she showed them who was the boss. Three teenagers immediately left the restaurant, while a gaggle remained, though subdued. I wondered if her attitude was because they were really making a nuisance of themselves or if she hated the fact that they were Orientals. I will never know for sure.
The other guy at the till noticed us, and we were seated, by the same woman who drove out the teenagers. She was polite enough to us, and showed us to our seats. We ordered Pizza, and after what seemed like an eternity, the food arrived. I took one good look at it and sure enough, they messed up our order. We didn't want any cheese on our Pizza, they had forgotten this and made it with Pizza. We were hungry by the time this fiasco masquerading as Pizza arrived, and were forced to wait for a little while longer. Oh, well.
While we were waiting for our food, we noticed a caucasian couple sitting two tables away. Their table was filled with beer bottles: I counted 5 at a casual glance. If he had drunk all of them, he probably was drunk by now. The woman was dabbing her eyes with a piece of tissue, and not wanting to intrude on their privacy I looked away. The guy ordered another beer and I overheard the waitress saying something about "this would have to be last call then", and then walk away. When the beer arrived, he drank it down like water. I was considerably impressed.
Our food arrived - finally - and we began to dig in. The restaurant was mostly quiet, and we began to enjoy the pleasure of each others company.
"Can I have another beer?", I heard the guy asking. Didn't she say something about "last call" ?
The waitress told him that he had one too many and so she could not serve him anymore beer.
"But I only had three!", he said, "She had the other three". The waitress was not impressed by this and held her ground.
It was then that the conversation took a turn that I never expected. The man was quite upset over this. He tried several tacts, the plead, the anger and then he attacked her ethnicity.
Taking one long look at her badge, "I don't think you know Canadian culture", the guy said. The waitress looked stunned upon hearing this comment. "We are used to drinking a lot of beer. This is not Indo-Canadian culture you know? I don't think you really know Canadian Culture. It may be wrong to drink a lot of alcohol in your culture, but it isn't in ours", he continued. Raji and I looked at each other, and sure enough the waitress was upset.
She said "Stop this conversation right here. I am not from the Indo-Canadian culture, but I do know Canadian law. This is the law. I am not allowed to serve you more than 6 beers". The guy protested, but she took their plates and then walked away. The guy skulked in a corner, clearly upset at not getting his way.
After about 5 minutes, they got up, and went out of the restaurant. We thought they were bailing without paying, and considered warning the owners about them trying to possibly sneak away. They thankfully stood outside smoking. The waitress actually was taken aback at their disappearance as well, but her fears were allayed seeing the two of them smoking away outside. She continued about her business, and by the time she had gotten back to check on them, the two of them had high-tailed it, without paying!
The other guy at the store tried running around to spot them, but they had vanished. I was left wonder if they knew what Canadian culture was. The recipient of the vitriol, the waitress shrugged her shoulders, and went on about her business. She clearly knew more about Canadian Culture than this particular piss drunk caucasian guy.
As an immigrant, I am always cognizant of how people perceive my actions, but such accusations of a lack of understanding on the part of immigrants from people who themselves lack an understanding, I had never seen. I suppose there is a first time for everything.
Something to think about.
The restaurant was far from crowded, but the lobby sure was. There was tons of teenagers, some sitting and chatting, and other standing in the little reception area of the restaurant. A very chaotic scene, and the waitress (or part-owner?) was visibly flustered. She rolled her and generally gave the feeling that she would rather have a root canal than those teenagers in her lobby.
"Could you please wait outside?" she asked, with a mixture of irritation and anger, clearly annoyed that such a chattering bunch was occupying most of the front of the restaurant. "I am worried about security, so could you please wait outside?", she said. It was raining outside by now, so her "request" was a curt, not to mention borderline arrogant, as she showed them who was the boss. Three teenagers immediately left the restaurant, while a gaggle remained, though subdued. I wondered if her attitude was because they were really making a nuisance of themselves or if she hated the fact that they were Orientals. I will never know for sure.
The other guy at the till noticed us, and we were seated, by the same woman who drove out the teenagers. She was polite enough to us, and showed us to our seats. We ordered Pizza, and after what seemed like an eternity, the food arrived. I took one good look at it and sure enough, they messed up our order. We didn't want any cheese on our Pizza, they had forgotten this and made it with Pizza. We were hungry by the time this fiasco masquerading as Pizza arrived, and were forced to wait for a little while longer. Oh, well.
While we were waiting for our food, we noticed a caucasian couple sitting two tables away. Their table was filled with beer bottles: I counted 5 at a casual glance. If he had drunk all of them, he probably was drunk by now. The woman was dabbing her eyes with a piece of tissue, and not wanting to intrude on their privacy I looked away. The guy ordered another beer and I overheard the waitress saying something about "this would have to be last call then", and then walk away. When the beer arrived, he drank it down like water. I was considerably impressed.
Our food arrived - finally - and we began to dig in. The restaurant was mostly quiet, and we began to enjoy the pleasure of each others company.
"Can I have another beer?", I heard the guy asking. Didn't she say something about "last call" ?
The waitress told him that he had one too many and so she could not serve him anymore beer.
"But I only had three!", he said, "She had the other three". The waitress was not impressed by this and held her ground.
It was then that the conversation took a turn that I never expected. The man was quite upset over this. He tried several tacts, the plead, the anger and then he attacked her ethnicity.
Taking one long look at her badge, "I don't think you know Canadian culture", the guy said. The waitress looked stunned upon hearing this comment. "We are used to drinking a lot of beer. This is not Indo-Canadian culture you know? I don't think you really know Canadian Culture. It may be wrong to drink a lot of alcohol in your culture, but it isn't in ours", he continued. Raji and I looked at each other, and sure enough the waitress was upset.
She said "Stop this conversation right here. I am not from the Indo-Canadian culture, but I do know Canadian law. This is the law. I am not allowed to serve you more than 6 beers". The guy protested, but she took their plates and then walked away. The guy skulked in a corner, clearly upset at not getting his way.
After about 5 minutes, they got up, and went out of the restaurant. We thought they were bailing without paying, and considered warning the owners about them trying to possibly sneak away. They thankfully stood outside smoking. The waitress actually was taken aback at their disappearance as well, but her fears were allayed seeing the two of them smoking away outside. She continued about her business, and by the time she had gotten back to check on them, the two of them had high-tailed it, without paying!
The other guy at the store tried running around to spot them, but they had vanished. I was left wonder if they knew what Canadian culture was. The recipient of the vitriol, the waitress shrugged her shoulders, and went on about her business. She clearly knew more about Canadian Culture than this particular piss drunk caucasian guy.
As an immigrant, I am always cognizant of how people perceive my actions, but such accusations of a lack of understanding on the part of immigrants from people who themselves lack an understanding, I had never seen. I suppose there is a first time for everything.
Something to think about.
I quit INDE.
Well, after slightly over 3 years, I quit from INDE Electronics, Richmond, BC. It was quite a different experience, unlike any other company I have ever worked at. A new chapter in my life begins.
http://www.visto.com, in the Queen Anne district of Downtown Seattle. No showers though, so I gotta find a way to shower after cycling to work.
http://www.visto.com, in the Queen Anne district of Downtown Seattle. No showers though, so I gotta find a way to shower after cycling to work.
Sunday, October 09, 2005
The new Wallace and Gromit rocks.
I saw the "Curse of the Were-Rabbit" recently (October 8th) and it rocks. I have been anticipating this movie ever since it was announced, and I went the day after it was announced, being a big fan of the lovable-but-not-so-smart Wallace and the mute-but-supremely-intelligent dog, Gromit.
Nick Park, as is usual, sets up a very humorous situation for Wallace and Gromit: the owners of a business that protects the "belongings" of the residents of their town. The movie itself is a fascinating combination of excellent claynimation, drama, suspense and memorable characters and scenes, which is sure to bring a smile to the lips of a lot of people.
I enjoyed it immensely, particularly the subtle comedy that several of the earlier offerings of Mr. Park made famous. ("Call me Tottie", for instance). The kids will love the characters, and the adults will love the animation and the subtle comedy that is bound to go over kids' heads.
I highly recommend it!
Nick Park, as is usual, sets up a very humorous situation for Wallace and Gromit: the owners of a business that protects the "belongings" of the residents of their town. The movie itself is a fascinating combination of excellent claynimation, drama, suspense and memorable characters and scenes, which is sure to bring a smile to the lips of a lot of people.
I enjoyed it immensely, particularly the subtle comedy that several of the earlier offerings of Mr. Park made famous. ("Call me Tottie", for instance). The kids will love the characters, and the adults will love the animation and the subtle comedy that is bound to go over kids' heads.
I highly recommend it!
Tuesday, March 08, 2005
Getting the next generation hooked…
As most cruciverbalists (aficionados of crosswords to the uninitiated) know, a morning is complete unless it starts with a crossword. This past weekend I was in Portland, visiting my brother and his family. This day started that way too. I was looking over the crossword Saturday morning, a cup of coffee in my hand. My two nephews, already at the table munching on their breakfast moved closer to watch me go at it.
I tried to involve them the best I could. I would call out clues and then say the answer out aloud, in the hopes that the two little rugrats would understand how it is done.
The clue was “Mississippi or Colorado”, and the answer was a 5-letter word. My little nephew first thought it was “state”. Then we found an across clue which gave us some help. It began with the letter R. My nephew, all of 9 years of age, said “River”. Just like that.
I thought it was an incredibly cool moment. This was the first clue he had ever solved. The puzzle needs to be saved away and cherished, much like his first kiss, or his first steps. Some adults are prone to be sentimental, and I am no exception. When he was 5, he would always grab the pen from me when he caught me doing a crossword and say, “Tell me what to write, and I will write it”. He would stick the pen on top of his ear, just like I did, and we would both look like draftsmen with pencils stuck in our ears. And now, here he was, solving clues of his own.
I hear from my sister-in-law that the little ones are trying to get at least a couple of clues a day. It looks like we have created a new generation of cruciverbalists. And I am quite happy about that.
Thursday, February 24, 2005
Fitness is a journey; not a destination
Their voices were deafening. I heard them every step I took. I tried my best to commiserate and yet I had to look the other way. They begged for relief, and I was torn between giving them what they want, and achieving what I wanted to. They clamoured for relief and I paid them no heed, for my actions are to be ruled only by my backlit watch.
By now, you might have guessed who "they" are - my calves and shins, those beasts that had the audacity to lose their conditioning when I wasn't exercising them well enough, or not at all. These sturdy aides that had seen me through 2 marathons were whining and complaining, asking for some mercy - the same shins that laughed at a half-marathon, the same calves that pooh-poohed a 20-miler. Oh how low the mighty have fallen!
Here I was, three years removed from my last marathon, and it showed. Last night I was running along a little shared path alongside Westminster Highway at a piddly pace. The air was chilly - uncomfortably so. All I had to do was run for 10 minutes and walk for a minute and do this 5 times. I wasn’t halfway into my first rep and my right shin was already killing me. I was severely dehydrated, having had more coffee than water during the day. And of course, coffee sucks the water out of your body.
I thought back to those days where I would do a 10-miler as if it were a walk around the block. The 52:10 10K that I ran without even trying. Why had I slacked off when I was in the prime of fitness? I had lost my job, sure, but didn’t that mean I actually had more time to run than less? Why? Why? Why do I keep falling off after getting to a strong position?
I am not ever treating "fitness" as something "achieved", a checkmark to be placed and then conveniently forgotten. I am going to treat it as a challenge to be met daily. Three times now, I have slogged to get to where I want to be physically, and then sat back and watched it all go down the drain. Well, not anymore! It is so easy to fall down the fitness ladder, so easy to lose motivation and conditioning. You literally don't have to do anything. And yet, the climb back to where you once where is so hard
If ever you have to keep moving to stand still, this is it. Think of this when you are tempted to bag a run, or skip a workout - it really hurts on the way back!
Sunday, February 20, 2005
Suckered!
It all started with a simple voice message from an acquaintance, related to a (former?) close friend of my wife's.
"There is going to be a seminar in your neighbourhood. We are doing some very innovative things in Vancouver, and I think you would really benefit from attending this little seminar, being held Sunday morning at 11." the message said. Being of the polite disposition, I called this acquaintance back who told me that his Business Partner (TM) was currently visiting Vancouver, and that it would be great if I could attend this seminar of his. I was very unsure about this business, and I asked him what exactly this seminar was about. He replied "We help people setup independent businesses on a royalty basis". Sound familiar? I have been a little removed from this kind of ambiguous terminology and I didn't quite clue in on what it was all about. I think we were a bit apprehensive of offending my wife's friend and decided to go without fully comprehending what this "business" was all about. Surely this wasn't a company developing software, which is what we might benefit from?!
We left around 10.30a, and as if the gods were sending us a message, we got lost. We were late, and expected to have to find some seating in the back of the room. We had missed the meat of the presentation! We drove around, and finally found the place around 11.35a after buying a map. The "seminar" location itself was another red flag. A seminar in a dingy looking house in Vancouver? Hmm... something is amiss here. My wife Raji took one good look at the house and wanted to bail. But I was afraid that somebody would have actually seen us coming, and we would alienate our friend if we pretended to just walk away.
On the front lawn of this house, we were very warmly greeted by "Yogesh", who we had no clue about. We had no chance of escape now! We were led to a dingy looking basement with a little 3x4 white board mounted on a stand, and 4 chairs. The person who we were supposed to meet was Mr. Suraj; the moment I laid my eyes on him, I knew who he was. My junior from College! This was Suraj Prakash Bathija, who was an exceptionally smart man who routinely topped our University in courses. Of all the places to meet someone who you haven't seen in over 11 years! We met his wife and little kid. After our initial introductions, we settled down into our chairs to see what this "seminar" was all about. There was one other person in the room apart from Yogesh, who thankfully we weren't introduced to.
I noticed right away that this basement had an unwholesome odour about it. It reeked of urine combined with sewage, which is right next to incense on the odour-likeability scale. NOT! Well, we were in it now; goddamn it. The presenter used the word "opportunity" too many times and asked us what we would do if we had extra income. The size and feel of this seminar combined with all the different things amiss finally made me realize what I had gotten myself into! I had been suckered into attending an Amway meeting!
Several things were thrown around: "Private Franchising", referring people, setting up "legs", commissions, buying products, diamonds, platinums, double-diamonds, numbers to whose authenticity we had no clue about and lots of promises about how we could make tons of money by buying everything from Quixtar. We asked the presenter if this was an Amway-style operation, and were repeatedly told that this was the furthest thing from Amway, and yet 2 seconds later this guy would explain Amway's frrrrreaking business model. ARRRRGH! I started devising ways of walking out of this meeting, but was too polite to actually execute any of them. I stopped paying attention after about 15 minutes. I should have just stood up, said "Please don't waste my time and yours. You will never win me over", and then just walked out.
Raji and I repeatedly shot glances at each other. This wasn't a stupid software business opportunity; this was a good-old Amway-style marketing Spiel! I had adroitly avoided going to one of these stupid meetings in all these years and I had been suckered after 11 years. DAMN! DAMN!! And that too in a stupid crap-smelling room! God. This couldn't possibly get any worse.
At the end of the presentation, we were given material, and CDs. I took the papers, but refused the CD. Suraj's face went dark, and Raji noticing this took the CDs not wanting to offend him. I was past caring. I am used to wearing my heart on my sleeve and feel no reason to be nice to someone who had snookered us into attending this meeting. We had ourselves to blame - we had ignored several important red flags raised during this little "experience". First of all, the guy who I talked to wouldn't tell me anything more other than B.S. Secondly, my wife's friend didn't give us any details about this "opportunity". Thirdly, the "seminar" was in the stupid basement of a house, which reeked of crap. The only saving grace was the fact that these guys haven't been as pushy as the Amway guys. They only wanted to proceed if there was mutual interest on both sides.
I was deeply offended and so was Raji. What a pathetic morning to have! We both cursed all those involved in this in the most colorful of language. I swore to yell at my wife's friend the next time I saw her. She had behaved in the most undesirable of ways.
I guess sometimes it is better to be rude than to look like an idiot. Cheat me once, shame on you! Cheat me twice, shame on ME!
"There is going to be a seminar in your neighbourhood. We are doing some very innovative things in Vancouver, and I think you would really benefit from attending this little seminar, being held Sunday morning at 11." the message said. Being of the polite disposition, I called this acquaintance back who told me that his Business Partner (TM) was currently visiting Vancouver, and that it would be great if I could attend this seminar of his. I was very unsure about this business, and I asked him what exactly this seminar was about. He replied "We help people setup independent businesses on a royalty basis". Sound familiar? I have been a little removed from this kind of ambiguous terminology and I didn't quite clue in on what it was all about. I think we were a bit apprehensive of offending my wife's friend and decided to go without fully comprehending what this "business" was all about. Surely this wasn't a company developing software, which is what we might benefit from?!
We left around 10.30a, and as if the gods were sending us a message, we got lost. We were late, and expected to have to find some seating in the back of the room. We had missed the meat of the presentation! We drove around, and finally found the place around 11.35a after buying a map. The "seminar" location itself was another red flag. A seminar in a dingy looking house in Vancouver? Hmm... something is amiss here. My wife Raji took one good look at the house and wanted to bail. But I was afraid that somebody would have actually seen us coming, and we would alienate our friend if we pretended to just walk away.
On the front lawn of this house, we were very warmly greeted by "Yogesh", who we had no clue about. We had no chance of escape now! We were led to a dingy looking basement with a little 3x4 white board mounted on a stand, and 4 chairs. The person who we were supposed to meet was Mr. Suraj; the moment I laid my eyes on him, I knew who he was. My junior from College! This was Suraj Prakash Bathija, who was an exceptionally smart man who routinely topped our University in courses. Of all the places to meet someone who you haven't seen in over 11 years! We met his wife and little kid. After our initial introductions, we settled down into our chairs to see what this "seminar" was all about. There was one other person in the room apart from Yogesh, who thankfully we weren't introduced to.
I noticed right away that this basement had an unwholesome odour about it. It reeked of urine combined with sewage, which is right next to incense on the odour-likeability scale. NOT! Well, we were in it now; goddamn it. The presenter used the word "opportunity" too many times and asked us what we would do if we had extra income. The size and feel of this seminar combined with all the different things amiss finally made me realize what I had gotten myself into! I had been suckered into attending an Amway meeting!
Several things were thrown around: "Private Franchising", referring people, setting up "legs", commissions, buying products, diamonds, platinums, double-diamonds, numbers to whose authenticity we had no clue about and lots of promises about how we could make tons of money by buying everything from Quixtar. We asked the presenter if this was an Amway-style operation, and were repeatedly told that this was the furthest thing from Amway, and yet 2 seconds later this guy would explain Amway's frrrrreaking business model. ARRRRGH! I started devising ways of walking out of this meeting, but was too polite to actually execute any of them. I stopped paying attention after about 15 minutes. I should have just stood up, said "Please don't waste my time and yours. You will never win me over", and then just walked out.
Raji and I repeatedly shot glances at each other. This wasn't a stupid software business opportunity; this was a good-old Amway-style marketing Spiel! I had adroitly avoided going to one of these stupid meetings in all these years and I had been suckered after 11 years. DAMN! DAMN!! And that too in a stupid crap-smelling room! God. This couldn't possibly get any worse.
At the end of the presentation, we were given material, and CDs. I took the papers, but refused the CD. Suraj's face went dark, and Raji noticing this took the CDs not wanting to offend him. I was past caring. I am used to wearing my heart on my sleeve and feel no reason to be nice to someone who had snookered us into attending this meeting. We had ourselves to blame - we had ignored several important red flags raised during this little "experience". First of all, the guy who I talked to wouldn't tell me anything more other than B.S. Secondly, my wife's friend didn't give us any details about this "opportunity". Thirdly, the "seminar" was in the stupid basement of a house, which reeked of crap. The only saving grace was the fact that these guys haven't been as pushy as the Amway guys. They only wanted to proceed if there was mutual interest on both sides.
I was deeply offended and so was Raji. What a pathetic morning to have! We both cursed all those involved in this in the most colorful of language. I swore to yell at my wife's friend the next time I saw her. She had behaved in the most undesirable of ways.
I guess sometimes it is better to be rude than to look like an idiot. Cheat me once, shame on you! Cheat me twice, shame on ME!
Tuesday, February 08, 2005
My beef with Baby Showers
I was standing in the lunch room, lost oh-so-wonderfully in making my afternoon cup of coffee , when my reverie was rudely interrupted by our company accounts maven. Normally, she would enter the lunch room and go about her business, exchanging nary a word with anyone already present.
"Hello Narayan," she said in greeting. "Hi," I said, giving her a smile that told her I knew she had something more to say. She lazily poured her coffee and delivered the meaning of the word "blindsided": "So, when are you gonna have a baby?" she asked, with a certain evil stress on the word you, which conveyed the idea that I was long overdue.
My reaction to such questions is usually exactly the opposite of what I am feeling inside - unrestrained anger. "Not anytime soon," I said, fully realizing that I cannot lash out at this moment against this woman, despite it being fully deserved. The woman would not quit when she was ahead. She asked "Why not?". I hate the "Why not?" question more than I hate the "How come?" question.
Normally, a colleague would have no grounds to ask such personal questions, at least in North America, where privacy and individuality are both guarded with great zeal. But you see, my wife and I work for the same company, and she had just attended a "Surprise" baby shower (very similar in its surprise quotient as death is to the condemned). Apparently the discussion in the shower centered around who would next have a baby, and everybody teased my wife that she would be the one.
This is something that I really hate about baby showers. When a married-and-childless woman goes to one, it looks like all the women in the shower thrust that question on these poor unsuspecting souls, badgering them about having babies, which has very predictable results for their husbands. TROUBLE!
In my case, it wasn't trouble from my wife, but trouble from other women who went to the baby shower. What is the point? Why not concentrate on the one going to have the baby, rather than all those who don't have one yet? Talk about wasted time and breath. I had three women walk up to me and ask if Raji was the one going to have a baby next. One woman even had the audacity to insist, let alone suggest, that I "should" have children and that my life is incomplete without one.
First of all, it's intensely personal and none of their business.
I have had it with all these well meaning people. Next time, the kid gloves are OFF.
"Hello Narayan," she said in greeting. "Hi," I said, giving her a smile that told her I knew she had something more to say. She lazily poured her coffee and delivered the meaning of the word "blindsided": "So, when are you gonna have a baby?" she asked, with a certain evil stress on the word you, which conveyed the idea that I was long overdue.
My reaction to such questions is usually exactly the opposite of what I am feeling inside - unrestrained anger. "Not anytime soon," I said, fully realizing that I cannot lash out at this moment against this woman, despite it being fully deserved. The woman would not quit when she was ahead. She asked "Why not?". I hate the "Why not?" question more than I hate the "How come?" question.
Normally, a colleague would have no grounds to ask such personal questions, at least in North America, where privacy and individuality are both guarded with great zeal. But you see, my wife and I work for the same company, and she had just attended a "Surprise" baby shower (very similar in its surprise quotient as death is to the condemned). Apparently the discussion in the shower centered around who would next have a baby, and everybody teased my wife that she would be the one.
This is something that I really hate about baby showers. When a married-and-childless woman goes to one, it looks like all the women in the shower thrust that question on these poor unsuspecting souls, badgering them about having babies, which has very predictable results for their husbands. TROUBLE!
In my case, it wasn't trouble from my wife, but trouble from other women who went to the baby shower. What is the point? Why not concentrate on the one going to have the baby, rather than all those who don't have one yet? Talk about wasted time and breath. I had three women walk up to me and ask if Raji was the one going to have a baby next. One woman even had the audacity to insist, let alone suggest, that I "should" have children and that my life is incomplete without one.
First of all, it's intensely personal and none of their business.
I have had it with all these well meaning people. Next time, the kid gloves are OFF.
Wednesday, February 02, 2005
Am I writing material?
I cannot believe that there are actually 2 people on Earth who think I am talented enough to write. Well, the only problem is that I haven't written anything since High school English composition (which they haven't actually seen). So, what could this opinion be based on? Talent evaluation is an art indeed and the aforementioned two are ill-qualified at it.
When do you decide someone is talented in a particular area? In my case, my Father-in-law wants me to write, completely based on my opinions on things and possession of a small degree of command of the English language. Is this justifiable? Does having an opinion - albeit strong - necessarily imply writing talent? I think not. Having an idea is one thing, and efficiently putting it down on paper is completely another. But one thing has been proven. A little encouragement can be a dangerous thing: I now want to write.
So, if I have something to say and want to put it down on paper, what should I do to do it well? Read about writing? But wouldn't that change how I write? Am I supposed to have my own style or shape my style based on others? I am caught between the horns of a dilemma; one faced by every single aspiring writer.
As a reader, I do have my own opinions of what constitutes good and bad writing, and I will write true to that opinion. For instance, I hate reading long, wordy, confusing sentences that will get an average reader nuts. I am not writing for the MENSA crowd; rather, I am writing for the average person who I want to reach. "The Portrait of a Lady" by Henry James comes to mind as one style that I will never ever follow.
Writing this blog is my way of taking the plunge. I think the secret is to write anyway, and have people critique it at different points in the game. My wife has started a blog for the express purpose of helping me along in this process. Three cheers to her for this :D
I joined the writingindia mailing list - which required writing a bio to get in :P - which will help me learn by doing exercises and watching the purveyors of the art showcase their wisdom. It seems to be full of people who have had their work published. Enough credentials to fill a room.
When do you decide someone is talented in a particular area? In my case, my Father-in-law wants me to write, completely based on my opinions on things and possession of a small degree of command of the English language. Is this justifiable? Does having an opinion - albeit strong - necessarily imply writing talent? I think not. Having an idea is one thing, and efficiently putting it down on paper is completely another. But one thing has been proven. A little encouragement can be a dangerous thing: I now want to write.
So, if I have something to say and want to put it down on paper, what should I do to do it well? Read about writing? But wouldn't that change how I write? Am I supposed to have my own style or shape my style based on others? I am caught between the horns of a dilemma; one faced by every single aspiring writer.
As a reader, I do have my own opinions of what constitutes good and bad writing, and I will write true to that opinion. For instance, I hate reading long, wordy, confusing sentences that will get an average reader nuts. I am not writing for the MENSA crowd; rather, I am writing for the average person who I want to reach. "The Portrait of a Lady" by Henry James comes to mind as one style that I will never ever follow.
Writing this blog is my way of taking the plunge. I think the secret is to write anyway, and have people critique it at different points in the game. My wife has started a blog for the express purpose of helping me along in this process. Three cheers to her for this :D
I joined the writingindia mailing list - which required writing a bio to get in :P - which will help me learn by doing exercises and watching the purveyors of the art showcase their wisdom. It seems to be full of people who have had their work published. Enough credentials to fill a room.
Monday, January 31, 2005
In a land of milk and honey...
Immigrants always face terrible dilemmas. On the one hand, they move to a new country to better themselves and allow themselves better opportunities, but their mind constantly dwells on what is back home, what price they are paying for the privilege of all the fine things their new home has brought them.
I am one such immigrant. The son of a welder-father and a headmistress-mother. My brother and I were always told the education was the only ticket to success, and that I had neither family prosperity nor ancestral wealth as a fall back option in case things didn't work out. I can remember a lot of Deepavali's where my parents got nothing for themselves in the way of new clothes, but my brother and I would have the best of clothes, and firecrackers to fill a warehouse. When I finished my baccalaureate education, I was encouraged to do whatever it takes to take the next step, either a Master's degree in some foreign institution or a work permit in the US. There was never ever a thought given to what I would be leaving behind.
I seized on that motivation, and left India shortly after my graduation, the proud recipient of my brother's kindness - and influence - in arranging for a work permit for me in the US. California, here I come, I thought. My parents, sent me on my way, tears in all our eyes, the heart burning with the sadness that comes with parting with two people who have been your everything in life. I have never felt such powerful emotion in my life.
But, leave I did. I landed in California, and apart from the odd visit to India, haven't spent any more than 6 months with my parents at any one stretch. I moved to Canada after I got married, partly to bring my parents over permanently, but my parents refused to come; after all, much of what they know and consider important is in India.
It is 10 years now since I left my hometown in search for top dollar and a better career, and I shudder to say, better environs. I have all, but I constantly wonder at what cost. How many times have my parents fallen sick and not told us about it? How many times have they felt our absence and cried over it? How many times did they have to ask somebody else for help, when they wouldn't have had to look anywhere if I had stayed back? I can only wonder...
As I sit on my recliner today, I reflect. I think about all those that are all those miles away, that are so dear to me. Those that shaped me, made me who I am, gave me the strength and the education to go out and make something out of myself, and I am miles away from them. Connected but by a stupid phone that works only 25% of the time, thanks in part to the wonderful efficiency of the Anna nagar Telephone exchange. I digress. I am constantly beset by thoughts of of how I have ditched my parents, of sucking the juice out of them and leaving them with nothing but their skins, of taking the best years of their life and giving nothing in return. My offers to come back are rejected quickly; so quickly that I am forced to question the seriousness of my own offers, when I cease to counter these rejections with more than a token fight.
An immigrants life is so rosy to everyone back home; "He has got it made", they say. They know not the anguish that courses through us, or the pain of paying such a huge price for our ambitions, our desires to have a better life for ourselves, or the embarassment of being so utterly selfish, or the self-beration that inevitably comes from leaving behind all that is known and trusted for a measly paycheck, and the constant self-examination about whether the price we are paying is really worth it. Some times I even wonder, why I even moved away?! If I had known nothing better, I would have stayed in Madras, near my parents, taking care of them. A fat bank account is overrated. Have mercy on us, dear relatives. Understand that the weight of our wallets is indicative of the weight of our hearts.
If all one eats is porridge, and then tastes Ice Cream, whose fault is it that Ice Cream wins out? I think the best thing I can do is go back and take care of them, when such a time comes that they cannot reject my offers anymore. That way, I can partly quiet my own demons. But until such time , I would have to bear them with a grin, Ice Cream cup in hand.
I am one such immigrant. The son of a welder-father and a headmistress-mother. My brother and I were always told the education was the only ticket to success, and that I had neither family prosperity nor ancestral wealth as a fall back option in case things didn't work out. I can remember a lot of Deepavali's where my parents got nothing for themselves in the way of new clothes, but my brother and I would have the best of clothes, and firecrackers to fill a warehouse. When I finished my baccalaureate education, I was encouraged to do whatever it takes to take the next step, either a Master's degree in some foreign institution or a work permit in the US. There was never ever a thought given to what I would be leaving behind.
I seized on that motivation, and left India shortly after my graduation, the proud recipient of my brother's kindness - and influence - in arranging for a work permit for me in the US. California, here I come, I thought. My parents, sent me on my way, tears in all our eyes, the heart burning with the sadness that comes with parting with two people who have been your everything in life. I have never felt such powerful emotion in my life.
But, leave I did. I landed in California, and apart from the odd visit to India, haven't spent any more than 6 months with my parents at any one stretch. I moved to Canada after I got married, partly to bring my parents over permanently, but my parents refused to come; after all, much of what they know and consider important is in India.
It is 10 years now since I left my hometown in search for top dollar and a better career, and I shudder to say, better environs. I have all, but I constantly wonder at what cost. How many times have my parents fallen sick and not told us about it? How many times have they felt our absence and cried over it? How many times did they have to ask somebody else for help, when they wouldn't have had to look anywhere if I had stayed back? I can only wonder...
As I sit on my recliner today, I reflect. I think about all those that are all those miles away, that are so dear to me. Those that shaped me, made me who I am, gave me the strength and the education to go out and make something out of myself, and I am miles away from them. Connected but by a stupid phone that works only 25% of the time, thanks in part to the wonderful efficiency of the Anna nagar Telephone exchange. I digress. I am constantly beset by thoughts of of how I have ditched my parents, of sucking the juice out of them and leaving them with nothing but their skins, of taking the best years of their life and giving nothing in return. My offers to come back are rejected quickly; so quickly that I am forced to question the seriousness of my own offers, when I cease to counter these rejections with more than a token fight.
An immigrants life is so rosy to everyone back home; "He has got it made", they say. They know not the anguish that courses through us, or the pain of paying such a huge price for our ambitions, our desires to have a better life for ourselves, or the embarassment of being so utterly selfish, or the self-beration that inevitably comes from leaving behind all that is known and trusted for a measly paycheck, and the constant self-examination about whether the price we are paying is really worth it. Some times I even wonder, why I even moved away?! If I had known nothing better, I would have stayed in Madras, near my parents, taking care of them. A fat bank account is overrated. Have mercy on us, dear relatives. Understand that the weight of our wallets is indicative of the weight of our hearts.
If all one eats is porridge, and then tastes Ice Cream, whose fault is it that Ice Cream wins out? I think the best thing I can do is go back and take care of them, when such a time comes that they cannot reject my offers anymore. That way, I can partly quiet my own demons. But until such time , I would have to bear them with a grin, Ice Cream cup in hand.
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