The Fungal Journals

Auf wiedersehen and Come Soon

2006-01-04T03:14:00.000-08:00

All apologies for the extended hiatus. Reasons for my absence at my new blog here. Actually its a continuation of this very journal but on a different platform, namely WordPress. Love and Kisses to Blogger but I thought it was time to move on. I hope you will stick with me through this transition. See you at WordPress.

Diwali, Terrorism and Generalisations

2005-11-07T02:51:00.000-08:00

It was not a very auspicious Diwali for Delhi. The Indian capital was rocked by three serial explosions. I heard about the blasts when I came back to the hotel in Bharatpur and turned on the television. Panic calls were made to check on my near and dear. I’m glad to say that everyone I know is OK. I hope the same is true for all of you out there. Some of us, however, were not so lucky. The explosions killed many people and left a large number of families shattered. At the risk of sounding cavalier, these occasional tragedies are reminders to us - the sheltered, the blissfully ignorant - about what an average day in terrorism-afflicted areas like Jammu and Kashmir and the Northeast must be like. Criticism was quick to follow. Around the world leaders tripped over themselves to condemn the killing of innocents in the crowded streets of Delhi. But terrorism in Jammu and Srinagar is just as evil as terrorism in the Capital. Why, then, do church bells ring for them while the others die just as they live – incognito?

It hasn’t been long since PoK was hit by a devastating earthquake. In an act of commendable spirit Pakistan and India agreed to a “soft” Line of Control to allow relief efforts to reach the victims. India agreed to dole out $25 million as aid for the victims. The decision was natural, I thought. It came as quite a surprise to me, then, that a television news channel was interviewing people in the streets asking them if the Government’s decision was good or bad. A no-brainer - or so I thought. As it turns out, a shockingly large number of people condemned the decision. They labelled the inhabitants of the region as being “unworthy” of our support. When we reel under tragedy do they respond in a similar vein, others questioned. Respondent after respondent said that since they had chosen to forsake the Indian nation they had no right to any aid from us. That “Pakistan-lovers” should look elsewhere for support. My first reaction was to wave them all off as plain stupid. Later, I realised that I couldn’t deny that this was what the psyche of the masses in our country was. They couldn’t get past the “Pakistan” in “Pakistan occupied Kashmir”. I don’t know any Pakistanis very well but I’m sure if I did I wouldn’t dislike them just for hailing from Pakistan. Or rather, I wouldn’t dislike them any more than I dislike most people I know anyway. Which raises an interesting question: Do we hate Pakistanis or do we just hate? Period. Have we lost the naïve optimism I believe we are all born with? Have we lost our ability to trust people until proven wrong? I shudder to think I’m about as clued in as the Pointy Haired Boss.

My optimistic faith in the human psyche took a further beating the next day. I was in Delhi where I met with an aged relative. Said aged relative was understandably upset about the blasts in the capital. It was an interesting conversation with her that triggered this blog. She blamed, not terrorists, but Muslims en-masse, for the bombings. She pointed out how the timing of the blasts had been such that most Muslims would have been breaking their fasts – indoors, away from the explosions. If maximum collateral damage had, indeed, been the intention, she reasoned, the terrorists would have been well-advised to wait another hour or so till the markets were truly packed. Wish someone would bomb a mosque once, she muttered. You never see that happening. I understand the spirit behind what she said. Plus, she had shed all veils of political correctness so I didn’t expect any softly-worded statements. In a way they must be more indicative of what she truly feels. If only for that reason I respect those statements. But to accept them as proof of Muslim antagonism towards Hindus, or anyone else for that matter, would be to fall prey to the very spirit of terrorism; that of fostering hate between people. Evidence suggests the hand of Islamic militant groups in these acts. Does that mean Muslims, in general, hate Hindus, in general? Such generalisations are the reason we get sucked into India vs. Pakistan or US vs. Iraq, I kid you not.

If that had been the end of the generalisations I would have been quite pleased. I know people are bigoted and it is often an exercise in futility to reason out their bigotries. But, and this is the scary bit, people are bigoted AND in denial. Add to that a communal superiority complex and you have a heady concoction just waiting to have a fuse lit under it. Aged relative was asked if she thought Hindus were bereft of blame. Of course, she replied. We’re a very peace-loving people. What, then, of the 1984 riots? Were they not exclusively orchestrated by Hindus? Of course, but there we had a very valid reason. In fact, she continued in defence of her kinsmen, if the situation had been reversed the Sikhs would have completely decimated the Hindus. Ah, realisation. So, essentially, we were extremely placid in our murder and loot of the Sikhs in ’84? Exactly! Isn’t that something to think about?

Above mentioned aged relative had not, till that point, reached the end of her complaints. She lamented the fact that the educated masses (read: middle class Hindus) had given up trying to have children. The Muslims, in turn, were as busy as rabbits. The day was not far, she complained, when we would be subjugated by Muslims, again.

If you take a step back now and let the whole thing sink in you will begin to get an idea of the abject fear I felt sitting there through this conversation. If I, who understood her context and reasoning, felt so claustrophobic I can’t imagine how someone who reads this must feel. What scares me more is the thought that she couldn’t, possibly, be the only one to feel this way. Was this, truly, how, at least, urban India felt?

I didn’t have to wait too long for an answer. We had a soiree at home later in the day. More aged relatives poured in and, eventually conversation came around to the bomb blasts. The aged relative mentioned earlier took centre-stage and there was much nodding and aye-ayeing as she put forth her views. This is where I started to panic. No longer were those comments an anomaly or a freak occurrence. Here was a group of educated, middle-to-high income individuals identifying with generalisations, feeling communal hostilities and espousing the values of communalism and terrorism. It was too late for peace. The terrorists had already won.

In Bush we trust

2005-09-30T11:27:00.000-07:00

In keeping with Clinton's heritage
the scene is set on a White House stage
the President tied to a four-poster bed
National Security Advisor providing bread(sic)

Connie, crooned the President
this isn't what I meant
when I said I wanted action
I was talking about distraction

We've used up Iraq and Afghanistan
could we not now blame Iran?
and claim that its gone nuclear
would that not generate fear?

No one would believe you, Sir
That Iraq was wrong, they still aver
and to repeat the mistake so soon
would be suicidal, honourable loon

But Connie dear, I need a ruse
the people are on such short fuse
and Katrina did us no good
by roughing up the neighbourhood

So, could we not a new tale spin
to keep it from doing us in?
A new hurricane, perhaps, to keep 'em busy
All this thinking makes me dizzy

Please relax, Sir, Powell intervened
from what Intelligence has or has not gleaned
while North Korea is the immediate threat
hanging them both is our best bet

Then there's nuclear disarmament
and our best friend, the Subcontinent
and terrorism hasn't died
just left us a little tongue-tied

There are a million dead issues to flog
and spin-doctors to wag the dog
Qaddafi, Castro, bin Laden are still at large
and you, dear Sir, are the man in charge

The Devil controls the oil rate
and they still can't count in Florida state
The evidence does seem quite plain
you must run for Office again

The President smiled, its good to hear
such encouragement from near and dear
and till the God-fearing, gun-toting people hold sway
I shall be President of the USA

Free and Unbound - Addendum

2005-09-09T23:18:00.000-07:00

My favourite moments on the LSD NB were exchanging poetic repartee with Aditi. I have a sizeable collection of "duels" that we've had or where we've built on each other's ideas. Aditi thought it'd be most appropriate if the addendum to the previous post was such an exchange. So here is what she's sent in. The first poem is mine (please ignore) and the reply is her's.

Fungus: ups n downs

they say life has its ups
and they say it has its downs
well the downs I have met aplenty
did anyone see the ups anywhere around?

they must be here somewhere
they couldn't have gotten far
have the police issue an APB
have them chase them in their car

and when you find them do let me know
I'll be with the downs, drinking
hoping that the drink fortifies me
and keeps my heart from sinking

these downs they are such ugly brutes
uncouth, rude, unkind
but they are all I have, now and forever
my company they don't seem to mind

for all their faults, these downs
they are loyal friends, you bet
not like those turncoat ups
bolting at every chance they get

So when you find those ungrateful ups
tell them to go away and never return
my doors are shut to them forever
I no longer for their presence yearn

Aditi:

They say a lily of the day, though withers and dies that night,
Its beauty is forever, as the plant and flower of light..
The one ray of hope, the promise of dawn, each cloud's silver lining..
Ephemeral, ethereal, more my imagination conniving..

But I give in, cling to that hope, for a ray banishes the shroud of darkness,
I still seek the strength, to push from me, those downs, my soul that harness..
I befriend them, but in helplessness, trying in vain myself to convince,
The ups they are fickle, I do not need them.. a promise I try to evince..

Why do I chase what I cannot attain, what never will stay mine?
Why can't I make peace with those downs, and destiny's design?
But then that lily blooms again, the brilliance of epiphany,
Enough to dispel the darkness of doom, lift the shroud that had fallen over me..

For life I realise is meant to be lived.. those transient ups to cherish,
Its the strength of a dream that will come true, the hope of an unmade wish..
The downs I make peace with, but not surrender my spirit, I will not let them own me..
And the ups I will chase not, nor shun, but treasure the surprise when they meet me..

Free and Unbound - Once More

2005-09-02T02:57:00.000-07:00

Its a first for this blog but I want to dedicate this post to an individual. Not everything can be about me. Mommy says I'm growing up. Anyway, to more serious matters. Let me tell you about this person. Why I want to dedicate this post will become clear in time.

I met her a little over a year ago. As a fresher she was bound to run into the bad man on campus soon enough but I had actually heard about her a little earlier. One of my friends had spotted her at an informal interaction and had set off the rumour mills. The first time I saw her the two of them were together. Someone whispered her name over my shoulder. That's the day I came to know someone who has, since, had a profound influence on me.

She seemed pretty from that distance. Closer up, I'd say she was incredibly cute. The two mean very different things to me. I got what he saw in her. What I didn't get, however, was the shirt, or blouse, as it applies to women. Dark, with a pattern resembling a garden in full bloom, it reminded me of something, but I couldn't quite put my finger on it. Later, I realized that it reminded me of an aunt who lives in Pune. She's Anglo-Indian and she wears the most scandalous blouses, usually paired with the most scandalous skirts. In this case, however, the blouse was tempered with a very sober pair of ladies jeans. There, in that moment, I defined my image for this lady. Floral patterned shirts and light denim. We, as humans, define our lives by associations. Her shirts reminded me so much of my aunt that I realised many of my prejudices towards my aged relative were coming into play almost immediately. I did not make any attempt to get to know Miss Aditi Vadnagare.

Not getting to know her wasn't hard. She wasn't like some women in her batch whose conversations you could hear across the hallways and whose cackles pierced the the walls, the doors, the curtains, the earplugs and, eventually, any decent chance you had of sleep. No, she was extraordinarily quiet, this one. She usually kept her eyes on the floor and her thoughts in her head. When she spoke she did so with the most electric sparkle in her eyes. She spoke well and she spoke sense. But, most of all, she spoke little. In all of the time she and I were at the institute together I don't think I heard her speak a sum total of two minutes. She was in some committee under one of my best friends and he was given to hoping she'd talk more because she had so much to offer. Exactly how much, I found out later.

Some context for those who know nought about the institute. We use a chat software that also has a lot of cyber-NBs. My favourite is the LSD or the Literary and Symposium Desk. It is where most of my work has gained recognition and its where I met the "other" Aditi. It was during a thread of poems that I was a part of that I ran into a reply by Aditi. I clicked on it, not knowing what to expect. The closest anyone has gotten to describing the feeling that followed was Mario Puzo when he describes Michael getting his first look at Appolonia. "The Thunderbolt" is what it is called. Very apt, I'd say, considering I sat there staring at those few lines for, what seemed like, an eternity, open-mouthed and all. In a very self-centred moment I lost all my desire to reply right there. This woman, in her perfectly well-intentioned way, had ruined any chance I had of posting a befitting reply, simply because you couldn't match what she had just put up. I did get around to posting a reply, eventually - I am only human, after all - following which she quickly posted another, and another and another till all I could do was sit and stare at the screen in complete awe and bewilderment. How could someone who never spoke be so lucid and "in control" when putting thoughts on paper? How could someone - anyone - churn out poetry that made you feel like ordering in and staying in front of the screen in anticipation of more mesmerising magic to flow forth?

Her poetry is her own and I will not post any of it here, even though I have almost everything she has put into the public domain. I will, however, request her to post some of it as a reply to this blog so that, not only can everyone get an idea of what I'm talking about here but, once on the reply page, they can also give vent to their feelings. It is a cheap substitute but let me tell you how her poetry makes me feel. Reading her work makes me feel that although all is not right with this world we're still in with a hell of chance of putting it straight. If only everyone could partake some of the beauty her words had to offer there'd be a lot less people fighting in the streets. Of all the poets I've read only Wordsworth and Keats consistently make me feel what Miss Vadnagare's poetry makes me feel. I'm not likening her to either of them but, nonetheless, that comparison works well for me.

I got to interact a lot with her on the LSD NB after that. She had earned herself a fan who dogged her every virtual step. I expected her to have changed in real life following her revelation in the virtual one but she remained the same. We did acknowledge each other by and by and became friends eventually. We promised each other a cup of coffee a year ago but that hasn't happened yet. We did talk, albeit in concordance with her propensity to keep silent most of the time, and I understood a little more of the enigma that is Aditi Vadnagare. She mentioned once that her mother used to sing her to sleep and that her repertoire of "lullabies" included "Que Sera Sera". Now come on, how many of our folks have ever sung us "Que Sera Sera"? Certainly not mine. That moment I understood that she and I were two completely different poets. I culled my poetry from all around me. Her's was inside her. And for that simple reason I was never going to be as inspirational a poet as she always was - and will be.

Time passed. I left the institute. To paraphrase an old proverb: You can take Fungus out of IIM Ahmedabad but you can never take IIM Ahmedabad out of Fungus. I kept in touch. My friends list on the messenger grew longer. I kept regular tabs on the NBs. Despite our great fears, life hadn't completely lost meaning outside those brick walls. But suddenly, I realized, that something was amiss. It was only after checking the LSD NB after a week's hiatus that I realized that Aditi wasn't writing any more. The campus has always had its share of good poets. There was Mangu. Our junior batch has Bulco. To his credit, he is as good as anyone I've ever read and, possibly, more tormented. But without Aditi LSD simply wasn't worth coming back to. And this left a big, gaping hole where there once lay the fountain of my poetry. I was too used to the high her poetry gave me. In it there lay the foundations of world peace. In there lay inspiration and love and beauty. And, all of sudden, someone had just turned off the faucet. It was a bad case of withdrawal that, eventually, drove me back to the campus. It hasn't been that long since I left. I wasn't expecting dramatic changes in anyone I met and yet, the entire second year batch seemed to be collectively weighed down. It wasn't just my imagination; too many people I talked to admitted the same thing. I'm not claiming the Great Depression was because Aditi Vadnagare had stopped posting - I still retain most of my faculties - but it did seem like it was bad time for her to not be writing.

We talked. In between classes and play practices she never did get around to the coffee. But we talked. We snatched a few snippets of conversation over breakfast. I told her then and I'm telling her now. She is too good to be not writing. At the sake of being laughed at, let me bring forth a quote from "Spiderman": With great power comes great responsibility. And Aditi Vadnagare has a power so great that the responsibility of it weighs down heavily on her shoulders. She has a responsibility to the world at large to keep writing; to keep churning out rhyme after delightful rhyme; to take the world along with her on a ride of the entire gamut of human emotions and then some. Consider this a dedication, consider it an appeal.

Aditi, I can tell not just by the beauty of the words you put to paper, not just by the sheer contrast there is between the Aditi who goes to class and the Aditi who shines through each beautiful word on the LSD NB and not just by the testimonials of those who love you. I can tell that you are more alive in a minute of poetry than in an hour without it. And just for your sake, if not anybody else's, don't stop writing. Please.

The finitude of numbers and the safety therein

2005-08-02T22:49:00.000-07:00

I am sitting in my resort in Bharatpur with absolutely nothing to do today. On my way here I had inquired about the level or urbanism in this little watering-hole. I asked if there was a McDonald’s. I knew the answer before I asked the question. What surprised me, however, was when someone told me they had a Café Coffee Day here. I’m exhausted and frustrated beyond measure walking around all afternoon. Let me tell you they don’t know what a CCD is in this town, let alone have one in their midst. I’m parked right outside India’s largest bird sanctuary. Just my luck it doesn’t open for another two months, huh?

I travel a lot in this job. I discovered there are subtle ways I use to make myself a wee bit more comfortable in unfamiliar environs. Tracing the nearest coffee shop or McD’s is one. These places are, obviously, made to a cookie-cutter template – identical no matter what city you’re in. I could be in a McDonald’s in Timbuktu and it’d feel like I was at home. Another little method I use to get my bearing is to, as soon as I can, determine distances to the nearest cosmopolitan areas. Knowing that Delhi is 170 kilometres or that Agra is 55 kilometres is of little practical use but it just lets me tell myself that I’m somewhere on a map I know and that, if push came to shove, I could find my own little corner of the globe.

I started wondering about this little quirk of mine. I mean, you could tell me Delhi was a million miles from where I was. But as long as it was exactly a million miles I’d be OK with that. The number, in itself, means nothing; just that there should be a number. I realise that it isn’t just me. Look at scientists; presumably, the most rational people in the world. Tell me that the Universe is infinite and they’ll smile indulgently. But tell them that there are approximately 10¹¹ galaxies and each has, approximately, 10¹¹ stars and they’ll smile smugly. “We told you”, they’d say. Not that all of them put together could begin to imagine what those numbers represent. Or tell them that an electron is infinitesimally small and they’d huff and puff till they blew themselves over. Infinitesimal is not something they can work with. They need a number to give them peace of mind. It’s the same with all of us. I was passed by a cycle-rickshaw the other day who wanted to know how far a particular landmark was. I told him it was a kilometre and a half away and he immediately redoubled his effort at pedalling. That it was almost 5 kilometres away is irrelevant. All he needed was a number. That number told him that he was on the right track and he’d be there soon enough. The string theory suggests there are 8 dimensions. I have enough trouble figuring out 3. You think anyone of us will ever actually understand 8?

There are little more than 6 billion people on this Earth. Anyone who has any idea of what that means please raise your hand. Our heads couldn’t begin to comprehend what that means. Teachers use little illustrations to make you understand. Stuff like, “If everyone stood in a line the line would go around the Earth so many times”. Did that ever make anyone realise that, put simply, there’s just too many of us to take in. Like you’re ever going to be able to put people in a line around the globe. Or that you even knew just how huge the globe is and what it’d take to go around it once. Tell us there’re too many and we’ll accept it.

A statement I’ve often come across in textbooks of basic science: “If a table-tennis ball were to represent a single RBC (red blood corpuscle) then the number of RBCs in a single drop of blood, in terms of table-tennis balls, would fill up a football field 20 feet high.” I’m not saying the statement is correct in measure – I don’t remember enough of my science. What I’m asking is what point there is in such an illustration. Of what consequence is it to compare RBCs with table-tennis balls? Why do we need to know their magnitude? We need to know what the normal medical counts are. That’s all. And if my doctor knows it I don’t need to know either.

Tell a hiker that the next stop is 20 km. further and he’ll happily trudge it. Tell him, however, that it is just a “little further” and he’d snap you in two with a look. When people ask me distances I’ve learned to lie. I have no idea how to tell distances. But I invent a number for their sake. They’re just so happy that it is only so much further.

I think it all has something to do with the finitude of numbers. The human brain isn’t designed to grasp infinites and infinitesimals. We’re a species of limited means. We need to be able to define every measure in our own ways. Give me a number in miles and I’ll immediately convert it to kilometres because that’s what I am comfortable with. Tell me the size of an atom and I’ll figure out how many, stacked up, would make the thickness of a human hair. Tell me the distance to the moon and I’ll figure how many years my bike would take to get their or how much fuel that’s take me. These are all meaningless conversions. If I’m getting somewhere it matters little how many miles I need to go, except that I just need to. Atoms to a hair or bike rides to the moon are all pointless but they illustrate the lengths we’re willing to go to define the world around us in terms we’re familiar with. I don’t doubt that being able to define the seemingly infinite or infinitesimal in standard terms is useful at times. We would have never made it to the moon if we were content to consider the distance as “too much”. We would have never spilt the atom if we thought of it as simply “too little”. I think it was Mark Twain who said, “The reasonable man seeks to adapt himself to his environment. The unreasonable man seeks to adapt his environment to himself. All progress is, thus, the result of the efforts of the unreasonable man.” I agree.

Stuck in a rut?

2005-07-31T01:46:00.000-07:00

OK. Here’s a thought that’s been troubling me for a while now. It was in an issue of the Reader’s Digest (methinks) that I read about this conservationist who was a Ph.D. professor and had chucked an extremely honourable job and salary to walk through the jungles of the world collecting data about the various small cats that survive in the wild. While there are many things that could bother one about this little nugget of information, like, what was he thinking doing a Ph.D.? aren’t all Ph.D.s losers? and such similar questions that is not what disturbs me. What disturbs me is a trend I have noticed. In a world of alleged high-stress lives and high-stress jobs and the need to maintain a work-life balance the need for distinction has gone out the window. Let me explain myself. How many conservationists or other environmentalists or round-the-world racers or extreme sportspersons do you know who would put their tools down at 6 in the evening or refuse to work on Sundays? How many would worry about comfort at the office or stress levels or the amount of caffeine they consumed? How many of them would, do you think, be attending yoga classes to help them de-stress? Don’t for a minute assume that their lives are stress-free. Puh-leez! These are the people who make our lives look like walks through extremely lavish parks. And yet, you don’t see them complaining half as much as we do. Or at all, for that matter. Which raises two important issues. One: What is it that makes us moan and grumble about nothing at all while these “heroes”, as I, most certainly, see them, grin through hardships we couldn’t begin to imagine? The obvious answer is that they enjoy what they do. So, in reverse, that implies that we don’t enjoy what we do. Now that’s a scary thought. If 6 Billion people across the world are doing things they don’t enjoy there’s a lot of angst and discontent building up on this lovely planet. I could go on about this but I have a second point I’d like to return to. I have heard of lots on instances where people pushed to the brink in their daily existence have upped and left humdrum jobs to follow their passions. Allow your mind to wander back to the Ph.D. professor mentioned at the start of this passage. These are people who have never embraced a work-life balance, as we know it. 6 O’ clock on the watch means nothing to them. My theory is that the need to let one loose exists in all of us. But the ones who siphon off their stress in tiny bits every day, the ones who totter home at 6, the ones who take vacations with their families every 3 months or the ones who attend seminars by Deepak Chopra and the like never build up their “force” in enough magnitude to propel them to higher things. And the ones who find their true calling – I believe none of us were, in essence, made to trade shares or sell soap – are the ones who push themselves too hard for too long. Eventually the levee breaks and they see what is truly important: the need to do something important, something exhilarating, and something distinctive. Does this mean I’m going to stop going home at 6 or stop trying to perfect my Tai-chi? Afraid not. What it does mean, however, is that I am going to have to resign myself to the fact that, in all probability, I am never going to dedicate my life to anything more important than the pursuit of money and superficial happiness. That I am not alone does not make me feel a whole lot better.

Long time no see

2005-06-29T05:06:00.000-07:00

OK. First of all, apologies for the inordinately huge amount of time I haven’t posted. I have a great set of excuses, though. I finally joined my job after weeks of sitting idle at home. More on Castrol later. Much more. Essentially, they brought us all to Bombay (remember, I said I’d never call it Mumbai?) and they put us up in a hotel. And they kept us busy enough to ensure that I couldn’t slip out to the cyber-café now and then to update my blog. And they kept delaying giving us our laptops for almost a week. When we did get our Dell Latitude D600 machines (these machines are loaded!) we realized we were in for another long wait to get permission for Net access. Now, I’m new to the job. And this is my first job. So I don’t know how all-encompassing the non-disclosure agreements are. To err on the side of safety we’ll postpone discussion about my company till such time that I am more aware of my rights and responsibilities. Never fear, though; I have a lot of stuff that I can still rant about. So, without going too much into the details let’s just say that Net access was given to me at Delhi, almost three weeks into the job and I have been hard-pressed for time to write. So, apologies all around. Now that that’s done with let us begin. Let me tell you how I’ve been keeping busy outside the office in the three odd weeks I’ve been with Castrol.

Bombay was a time to catch up with friends. I met a few from the Institute (IIM-A, for those who are new) and two from school. There were pizzas and there were some more pizzas that fortnight. I saw “Mr. and Mrs. Smith”. Now we know Brad Pitt is God’s gift to women and we know Angelina Jolie is, without a doubt, the hottest thing ever. But, and this is the important bit, don’t movie-makers in Hollywood know that merely two screen icons does not a movie make? There’s no denying that the guns are big, the chemistry just about cuts it and THE fight sequence rocks but it is hard to appreciate all these when the mind is dying of lack of storyline or plain old common sense. I had a good time but, in retrospect, I realize that it is probably because of good company rather than the movie itself. Not to worry, though; it wasn’t bad enough to keep me away from the theatre too long. Couple of days later I was at it again. This time, however, I was checking out my most eagerly awaited movie of the year: “Batman Begins”. I was not disappointed. While Jack Nicholson, Danny De Vito, Michelle Pfeiffer, Kim Basinger and Michael Keaton made the franchise iconic the movies themselves were more reminiscent of the TV shows from the 50s rather than the comic strip itself. I thoroughly enjoyed them both, don’t get me wrong, but I knew somewhere out there was a better Batman movie just waiting to be made. When Val Kilmer slipped into Joel Schumacher’s “nippled” Batman costume my hopes were raised, only to be dashed yet again. Nicole Kidman was as hot as she ever got. Kilmer himself was forgettable and Tommy Lee Jones didn’t even seem to have a role. Oh yeah, we had Chris O’ Donnell as Robin, didn’t we? Never mind him. The personality of the movie was Jim Carrey as Edward Nygma and if only because he came across as a total buffoon my memory of the movie is tilted towards tomfoolery too. Don’t even get me started on what George Clooney and Schwarzenegger tried thereafter. “Batman and Robin” is probably one of the worst movies ever made. And I don’t make these statements lightly. Let’s recap. Life at this point has been a series of disappointments for Batman fans; their bar being set by Keaton and Nicholson, lowered by Kilmer and Carrey and buried underground by Clooney and Arnie when in step Christopher Nolan and Christian Bale.

I will forever be a fan of Nolan after “Memento”. That movie occupies a spot in my Top 10 all time favourites. I was slightly disappointed by “Insomnia” but only because it wasn’t a worthy sequel to its illustrious prequel. In itself it was a very decent movie. When they announced that Nolan would be in charge of bringing back the Caped Crusader I was more than happy. Christian Bale was the question mark, however. Anyone who has seen “Equilibrium” probably came away feeling that had the role required the slightest bit of emotion from Bale we would have been in for a disappointment. Thankfully he gelled beautifully with that particular role. And, mercifully, the Bat suit fits him well. Nolan manages to put together a stellar ensemble cast with Michael Caine, Morgan Freeman and Liam Neeson occupying positions of responsibility. The movie is rather different from its predecessors, though. Alfred is Brit but minus the stiff upper lip. People tend to talk back to Bruce Wayne a lot in this movie, especially Morgan Freeman. Caine goes to the extent of mocking him as a means of exaltation. Neeson treats him like dirt. All of this goes towards making the story so much more believable than the ones before. They raised more questions than they answered. Just because the Bruce Wayne lost his parents he turned into a masked crime-fighter? Why? How did the heir to a fortune as vast as the Wayne Empire become physically capable of taking on an entire army of low-life scumbags all at once? Did he merely pour money into a cave and suddenly have a state-of-the-art arsenal, chem-lab and, possibly, the sexiest set of wheels in the world at his disposal? The new Batman movie seeks to answer these questions. Speaking of the Batmobile, many purists would be hurt by its new version. Gone are the fins, the extravagant tail, the retractable wheels and even the streamlined body. What Batman drives is a tank that truly inspires awe and more suits this down-to-earth Batman. This is, after all, the first Batman movie, in a way. It traces his roots, his fears and his reactions. It seeks to explain a lot of things; and it does. Don’t, even for a minute, let that fool you into thinking that all the mystery has been taken out of Batman. What I liked best about the movie were the fights. What fights, you ask? Exactly! When it was Keaton or Kilmer (Clooney, I don’t even consider a Batman) you could see they were strong and they were fast. But you can only be so strong or so fast. And all it takes for you to get beaten is someone faster and stronger. With a Batman you can’t even see once the fight starts you never know exactly how fast or strong he is. As a result you have the satisfaction of knowing that, come what may, he’s always going to be strong enough and fast enough. This is Batman Unlimited. More than merely mortal: exactly how I like my superheroes served up. I do have a couple of cribs, though. One is that they severely under-used Rutger Hauer. The other is Katie Holmes. What the lanky plastic lady was doing as Batman’s love interest, the minimum qualification for which is “blonde and hot”, is beyond me. The good thing, though, is that they don’t end up together and we get to see someone else as Bruce Wayne’s leading lady in the next instalment. I can’t wait to see who plays the Joker in the Caped Crusader’s next outing.

Did anyone see the Indianapolis Grand Prix? Why? For those who don’t know what this is all about let me recount the facts. Seven of the ten Formula1 teams drive on Michelin tyres. Michelin brought two different types of tyres to the Indianapolis circuit and found that neither was safe enough to guarantee driver safety at Turn 13, the fastest turn in the F1 calendar. They advised the teams to ask for a chicane (that’s a left-right combination) at the turn and not race in the current configuration of the circuit. The teams took the proposal to Max Mosley (he and Bernie Ecclestone run F1) and he told them to go to hell. He got support from Ferrari (Jean Todt runs the Bridgestone running team). I don’t really blame Ferrari. After all, in a season as pathetic as they’re having they need every break to go their way. And this was a huge break. With just Ferrari running the race (c’mon, Jordan and Minardi aren’t really F1 calibre) they were assured of the top two podium spots. So Schumi has another victory. Are the Ferrari fans out there celebrating? What disturbs me more are Mosley and Ecclestone. Bernie tried to take himself off the hook by denouncing what happened as stupid. Mosely, on the other hand, went all out postal. Not only did he haul up the teams, who did little except look out for their drivers’ safety, but also deemed them incapable of retaliating. Well, I wish him luck. A month ago I wouldn’t have even contemplated the possibility of not watching F1 but now, it’s a distinct possibility. I’m sure I’m echoing the sentiments of a lot of fans out there and, if that is true, Mosley, Ecclestone and Todt better watch out before their actions come back and bite them in their collective rear.

One last thing: all of who are working please tell me how you manage to stay awake in a 9 to 5 job. It isn’t bad out there in the field but I simply have no stomach for the confines of a desk. I don’t know if it’s the catering or the induction presentations but I have a hard time keeping my eyes open most times of the day. The other trainees tell me it isn’t just me but that is little comfort when your boss is giving the lecture of a lifetime and while the others nod you nod off. Tell me there’s help out there for me. A friend suggested I wash my face post-lunch but all that gives me is a wet shirt. Suggestions still welcome, though. Bye for now and I’ll see you as soon as I get a chance.

Of prayers answered....

2005-05-25T15:20:00.000-07:00

And Liverpool win. More on the most amazing match I have ever seen later. Haven't the time or energy at close to 4 in the morning. Just wanted to note that if God exists, he/she is trying awfully hard to make a believer out of me. I mean, what other justification could there be for so many prayers being answered en masse? Arsenal taking the FA Cup; Liverpool taking the Champions League Title and the cup, for keeps; Gerrard staying on, in all probability; 5 English teams in the Champions League next season....hopefully. Don't want to say too much about the match just yet. Best to let the adrenalin subside. Will just say that it takes more than just skill to do what the Merseyside heroes did today. Commentators will tell you it takes "heart". Bah! What it takes is "Balls". And between the 11 men on for Liverpool in the second half they had more than their fair share. Interesting also to note that it seems to be the time of the year when goalkeepers long-forgotten and oft-criticized seem to step up and shake things up. Lehmann did it for Arsenal and now Dudek pulled off not just 2 saves in the shootout but an AMAZING double save off Shevchenko among others. Hats off to Gerrard, genuflexion to Carragher and a big "Thank You" to Monsieur Benitez. This is the stuff legends are made of. What a way to end the football season. Good night, everyone.

Arsenal lose the FA Cup. Well, almost.

2005-05-21T11:33:00.000-07:00

Yippee! Arsenal won the FA Cup. Not that they deserved to. Oh no. I think if the FA had to hand it to Arsenal they should have given it to Lehmann to take home and not let any of the others even have a peek at it. Despite the win, it was a truly shameful game from the Gunners. After their absolute destruction of Everton and Manchester United’s draw against Southampton you’d think Arsenal would have come into the game assured of silverware. Instead, it was United who ruled the game: shots came off heads, off goalposts, off crossbars and did just about everything but settle in the back of the Arsenal net. It did that too, only Ferdinand was offside. Which brings me back to our pal Jens Lehmann. He’s had a miserable season and several critics, including yours truly, but he not only earned his year’s pay today he also made almost certain of at least another couple of years at Highbury. I’m not sure what Bergkamp’s status is but I’d give anything to have him play another year with the Gunners. Though, it must be said, he looked every bit as old as the paper says he is in the match today. Well, everyone in the Arsenal side, with the exception of Lehmann, looked fifty so that really isn’t saying much. Man U weren’t all that great either. Ruud, to paraphrase fans and commentators, was certainly not in the mood. Giggs hardly got any time on the ball. Ronaldo refused to take his fancy footwork into the penalty area and Scholes, God bless him, missed the penalty. The one shining beacon in a United side that has much to ponder in the off-season was Rooney. Every kick he took had venom. Schole’s layoff to him from the corner and the grounded shot that Lehmann saved were signatures of someone who is destined for greatness. Possibly the only thing he needs to work on is his temper. He must realise that while the English referees treat him like God’s own refs elsewhere will be less forgiving of his verbal abuse and physical outbursts. With Sir Alex letting it slip that he plans to spend at least another couple of years at the helm of the Devils and with Monsieur Glazer in-charge Man U fans have a lot of praying to do. Speaking of Man U fans I kept wanting to call up some of my friends who are ardent supporters and rub their faces in it after the match. Only, Arsenal didn’t give me any ‘it’ to rub their faces in. So pathetic was the display that, despite the win, I kept fearing phone calls from Sonal and the like. Well, at least the Arsenal cupboard has some silverware this year. I can sleep easy.

It’s a good thing Arsenal won. I missed an alumni dinner for a match that not only had me pulling my hair out most of the time – almost an hour over the regulation 90 minutes, mind you – but, had Lehmann not made that save in the penalties, would have left me looking like a fool in front of all my batch mates who just couldn’t understand how I could miss something so vital over football. Heretics! At the end of it all, however, I was so happy that all my screaming, kicking, stomping and general soccer hooliganism had the neighbours at my doorstep worriedly inquiring if everything was OK. OK? It was much better than OK, I told them. They didn’t appreciate the humour, I’m afraid. Ah well, Arsenal won the FA Cup. You can always get new neighbours.

One last observation for the week. Chelsea won the EPL, Arsenal the FA Cup and Liverpool are going to Istanbul. I’d say honours are split pretty even among the English teams. My wish for the week is that the Reds kick some Milan posterior and make it 5 English teams in the Champions League next year. Wouldn’t that be something!

Friends – who needs them?

2005-05-13T10:50:00.000-07:00

Tough week, the last one. Spent most of it by myself in a sullen mood. If you knew me you’d know spending time on my own is a sure recipe for the blues but I still mention it for the uninitiated. I spent most of my time spewing curses to the world at large and feeling sorry for myself (very moody bugger, this one). These are my last few days in the city. I leave for Bombay (will not call it Mumbai…will not) at the end of the month. Consequently, I’d pictured these last few days as being spent in the quiet company of my nearest and dearest. Only, my nearest and dearest have very little regard for the pleasure of quiet company. Most don’t seem to have the time to meet up despite schedules that make me look lazy. When they do get the time they want to “do something”. Some want to go trekking, the others would rather do lunch at eateries or even go boozing in places with loud music and minimal possibility of conversation. Not quite what I had in mind. As a result I’ve spent the past few days fuming at my friends. I’m generally mad at them. Not at any one specifically, but at friends at large. And it was in one of many such moments that I started asking myself if I could find a flaw within the very concept of friends. I’m not sure I found a flaw but I did find something that disagreed violently with me and has, since, unsettled me no end. I have entitled my little realisation:

Friends as State-Memory Devices

I’m sure I’ve lost some of you here. I urge you to stay with me for just a little while longer because, despite the extremely obtuse title, the point I’m trying to make is very simple. What I mean is, simply, this. Each of your friends commits you to memory as one single image which is a sum-total of the entire time you have spent with your friend and others (as hearsay). In effect, thus, that image is a “state” which is “path-retentive” – it is unique due to the way it got created, namely how you got to be remembered the way you are remembered. And the fact that you are but a “state” is true. While the processes that have gone into creating that image/state in your friend’s head may be extremely complex, the net result is an aggregate image. No more, no less. And every time your friend thinks of you he/she is merely drawing that image into the foreground. And if you think of all the so-called “memories” your friend might have of you I’d submit that they exist simply because of your friend’s involvement in them rather than yours. Your friend remembers stuff he/she did and your being part of the memory is incidental. All he/she recalls of you simply by virtue of you being you is that image or state.

This is just fact. My quarrel is not with this fact but rather with its effect. What happens is that, once established, it is very difficult to alter this image that you have created in your friends’ heads. Most people like to think of their lives in stages; some more than others. At one end of the spectrum is a friend of mine who knows exactly what phase of life she’s going through and what to expect next. She is so aware of this change that she knows what her priorities need to be on a day-to-day basis and she follows them to the point of excluding everything else. She even has names for all these phases, knows how long each will last and what she expects to get out of every one of them. Hers is an extreme that often has us, her friends, flummoxed, because we aren’t always able to keep up with her phases. In most of her phases friends come way down the priority list and it is hard to adjust to that. The ones at the other end of the spectrum would be those folks who never seem to grow up and live out their sentence on the planet as a 70-year long childhood. And yes, I know a few of those too. Most of us exist between these extremes. We identify life’s phases as those of infancy, teenage, youth and adulthood or as schooling, work and retirement and other such distinctions. Most of these phases involve radical changes within us. And I like to start each of these phases afresh. This is where the effect of your “image” within your friends’ heads comes into play. While friends and family provide continuity to your life across these phases and act as stabilising influences in most people’s lives they tend to keep me from completely starting afresh as I enter succeeding phases in my life. My anchors are my dead-weights that keep me from completely freeing myself.

I’m slightly twisted. That much I’m sure you’ve noticed. But this particular ranting isn’t as aberrant as it may seem. It’s the circumstances that make it so. Most of my close friends are friends I made in school. And due to the facts and effects I’ve listed above they will always remember me as they did in school, come what may. In their eyes I will always be what I was earlier, not necessarily what I am now or what I want to be in the future. And to see myself as two distinct images – one in their heads and one in mine – is disconcerting, to say the least. There’s a lot I have changed over time and there’s a lot I’d like to change about me still. But the old Me keeps the current Me from changing too radically. Guess that means there’s very little hope for the new Me. Alas!

I’m being unduly unfair to my friends. But that’s OK. Charitable isn’t one of my more known traits. And in my uncharitable moods I have been emphatic in pointing the above thesis out to them. My biggest jolt came when one of my friends – her of distinct life-phases fame – let it slip that she wasn’t going to see me anytime soon once I left for Bombay. I console myself now by saying that she probably understands me best. The others don’t understand or appreciate. But they know me. They know it is very Me to go on and on about something and end up doing quite the opposite. They know – I hope they do, at any rate – that it’ll take a lot more than just a job and a change of location to separate us, despite anything this twisted brain of mine comes up with. Who needs friends? I do.

Just something from my repertoire that I thought suited the occasion:

Of Friends I've Had

Met many people along the way
Some I befriended, others I let slip away
Of the ones that stayed along
some have faded, others grown strong

But the ones I love most dearly
are the ones who've criticized me
who've pushed me, helped me grow
and for this I love them so

We've not always seen eye to eye
and often we've let the words fly
But know that underneath it all
in times of strife its you I'd call

And I hope you'll think of me too
when you're down and feeling blue
for it would please me no end
if I could be of service to a friend

Blogs - As we see them

2005-05-08T02:41:00.000-07:00

I love the way how most of the blogs that I like tend to switch so completely between topics across entries. I love thinking that although the blogger wrote two different entries at two different times, at two different points in his/her life and in, possibly, two different frames of mind we tend to read them in one go. What a difference that must make in what the blogger intended to convey and what we eventually interpret. With blogs this difference is more marked than with most other pieces of writing because a blog is a direct “as-is” picture of the blogger. It is a self-expression and reading about multiple facets of the blogger’s life gives us, while interesting, a somewhat inaccurate picture of who and how the blogger is.

I’m all for interesting. So, in the spirit of things this particular entry is about as different from the last as I can make it. Let me start with a little poetry to illustrate my above point.

Weep

Sleep, my love
for you are done
buried before you ever begun
usurped, pre-empted
outcast
fading , fleeting
falling fast

weep, my child
though you weep in vain
your day
will never come again
the chance, it came
and went
you were never one
of opportunistic bent

So rue, my sweet
but rue alone
nurse your bruises
your sins atone
and sleep, my child
waste the day
the chance will never
again come your way

Just for a moment allow me to dwell on what could have possibly been going through my mind when I wrote this. Obviously I wasn’t in the highest of spirits. Let me present one more poem and that’ll be all the poetry I have to offer for the day.

Rain

Rain, Rain, go the Hell away
I'm sick of seeing you everyday
wake up to find you pouring down
go to bed and you're still around
When people said Gujarat was a dry state
obviously, you they did not anticipate
Those who said Gujarat was in drought
now have their collective foot in their mouth
The drought is gone, your work is done
high time you let us see the Sun
The first week, I admit, was a welcome respite
and the second week was about all right
but now you're getting under my skin
giving birth to rage within
So cease and desist! Be gone with you
you've outstayed your welcome, your stay is through
go away into the nether
who asked for such horrid weather?
The whole world is an unearthly grey
birds don't sing and kids don't play
all you hear are croaking frogs
infesting, enjoying these seasonal bogs
Bespectacled folk are the hardest hit
Specs are no good in this monsoon shit
So go away, go away, go away rain
till next year show us not your face again.

The two poems above illustrate my point completely. Two different times, two different frames of mind. And yet, when read together, they provide a picture that’s a little skewed, if not completely incorrect.

Don’t worry; I’m going to find lots of ways to dump my poetry here. Once in a blue moon you might be subjected to the odd short story or two. And – and this goes out to madam Tapki who thinks I haven’t done my “market research” (I hate using management jargon in daily life) – if you don’t want to read it, move on. There’s lots more stuff on the Net. My personal favourite is the blog of a friend of mine @ http://sidin.blogspot.com but if you’re a self-respecting blog-reader you already knew that.

Done for the day. I have a lot of folks over and Mom insists I spend some time with them. Auf wiedersehen.

The Fungal Journals????

2005-05-06T06:15:00.000-07:00

Well, my name’s Fungus. That should be explanation enough for why my blog is called what it is. Yes, I hear someone sputter, but how about explaining why you are called what you are. Ah. Good point. It wasn’t like my folks went out pub-hopping right before they came up with a name for me (which reminds me of another story of what I almost got named by them). In fact, my mother finds “Fungus” so revolting that I’m pretty sure she’d have put her foot down if the name had actually occurred to my father. No, my childhood was spent rather safe from any effects a name like Fungus might have brought about. I shudder to think of the kind of money the shrinks would be making off of me if my folks had succumbed to the temptation. Which reminds me, please shed a few tears for my not-yet-conceived child for that poor bugger is going to have it very rough. I love my name so much I might just name any future progeny just as weirdly. Tch Tch. But hark, I drift. No, my parents had absolutely nothing to do with my being called Fungus. To their credit, they named me Rajjat and it stuck for 23 years. They never even had a nickname for me. That’s quite an achievement. My sister got called 20 different things by 20 different people. Now don’t go judging her just yet. She just had a lot of “pet” names. I was always just Rajjat. It’s what my folks would call me, what my teachers would use to scold me and what my friends would append insults to and toss across the hallways. It wasn’t until I got to the Indian Institute of Management, Ahmedabad (the IIM, hereafter) that I realised that “Rajjat” was a thing of the past. All inmates, if I may call them that, are given handles; “dorm names” that they will carry for the rest of their lives. That is the intent, anyway. Some names catch on, some don’t. Mine did. Testament to that is the fact that even after 2 years of being caged up with the same set of people not many knew who the hell Rajjat was. Even my folks call me Fungus now. The irony of the thing is that when my seniors rechristened me their intentions had been anything but noble. They didn’t want to give me a name that would catch on as much as it did. All they wanted was that this upstart who had been presented to them at the start of the year would regret ever meeting them. They wanted to leave an indelible impression on his psyche. Little did they realise the name itself would become part of lore, let alone the fellow who carried it.

There I go again, on yet another ego-trip. I’ll desist. Since this is my very first blog let me use this opportunity to tell you what all I’m going to write about. Anything that I care to write about, actually. These pages are the private side to my public side. What that means is that I’d never confess to murder on this public forum but, short of that, you will get a taste of almost everything else. I love cars, computers, gizmos in general, food, women, travel and movies. There are a lot of things I dislike too. You can read about both these classes of things within these pages. I love to reflect on the most arbitrary things and you will see sentimental bullshit as well as serious musings here. The logical and the illogical will clash here often. Luckily, I’m extremely opinionated. I assure you of colourful times ahead. Please keep commenting on what you agree or disagree with. I’d love to acknowledge the agreements and make the disagreements seem more stupid than they actually are (I’m very good at making my point seem valid). I hope you have a sense of humour. I do. And I assure you this is going to be a fun ride (for me, anyway). :) Toodles for now.