Perspective

We first saw him in the near-empty dining hall by the table with the prasadam offerings on it. A nondescript, middle aged man standing by himself and consuming sesame seed rice and sundal with a plastic spoon. We had just finished praying at the temple and had entered the dining hall in the rear together with the last few devotees looking for prasadam. A visit to the Indian temple is incomplete without food of some sort in the equation. He was dressed in a dark blue polo and jeans, was bespectacled, wore vhibuti on the forehead and was holding a blue tote. There was enough about him to suggest that he was a parent, visiting his offspring in the US. After all, this is April and the beginning of the visiting-parents season that typically runs through late fall. A nod and a smile I offered him as I joined the food line. 

It was a week night and the crowd was, not surprisingly, thin. And the place was rather quiet until my son, as usual, decided to add some decibels. The payasam was particularly tasty and was naturally down to the last glass by the time we got around to serving ourselves. He turned around to my wife and announced loudly that the payasam (that he had tasted earlier) was really good and he wanted some more. Redfaced, we ushered him to a side and started filling his mouth with sesame seed rice and a side of sundal.  Desi parenting 101: food by the spoonsful quells embarrassing questions.

Too little, too late. His announcement had caught the attention of the faithful few gathered there and particularly the gentleman in blue. He walked over and asked my son whether he liked the payasam. Of course he did. Name, age, school – he hit the usual small talk topics by which time we joined the two of them out of courtesy and also ready to steer the conversation away from further embarrassment if needed.

Casual conversation then shifted to us. Between spoonsful of sesame seed rice, we learned that he was visiting the US, was from Hyderabad (although he spoke decent Tamil) and was visiting his daughter.

 

“Last time I was here, my daughter was here. This time around, she is not.”

Not quite sure what he meant, my wife sought clarification, which is when it hit us like a thunderbolt. He explained that his daughter - his only child, working for a tech giant near Sacramento, had died suddenly and that was the 13^th day since her passing when tradition asks for the grieving family to visit a temple. “It happened suddenly” is about what he offered as cause and of course, we didn’t push him. As a parent, this news grabbed me by the neck and shook me up hard. I had lost two of my friends while I was in college and I remember the effect it had on their parents. Terrible. 

Presently he was joined by two ladies with bloodshot eyes. They were, we learned, his wife and her relative living nearby with whom they were staying. My wife, in tears, hugged the mother and offered her condolences. I shared my phone number with the father and offered any help they may need including a ride if they needed to go someplace. I am not sure if I could have done anything else at that moment. 

Grieving can be therapeutic and it was evident that they couldn't have grieved adequately given the suddenness of the situation, finding themselves in a familiar yet foreign land, staying at a distant relative's place, being surrounded by not so familiar faces and faced with the unpleasant task of having to tie up the loose ends. A long road lies ahead for the lonely, ageing parents. He pointed towards the shrine and observed that he wasn't sure of God's plans in a resigned tone. 

We don’t go to the temple armed with a wish list – like I used to not too long back – but that night it was as if we were shaken awake from a nap. Although the lesson fades away with time, it is humbling to realize that there is so much happening around me even as I type this. Behind every closed door is unfolding a scene with the actors forced to don a role they may or may not like or be good at. There is happiness, there is sorrow. There is joy and there is grief. All thrown into the mix in no seeming order. Counting the everyday blessings - big and small - and being thankful can't be a bad thing at all. 

Sometimes in life, you only need perspective and nothing much else. And that night, in that empty dining hall, life gave us a king-sized portion of it with a side of sesame seed rice and sundal to go with it.

Seoul trip diary

Yet another trip and yet another blog post. This seems to be the modus operandi around here. One more post churned out and another opportunity for you to waste your precious time here. Without further ado...

The meal

You’d think you’ve seen every mess up that a travel agent can do to your itinerary over 16 years of flying on either business or pleasure. The list should be exhausted by now. Apparently not. At work, I can make my own reservations online – I prefer goof ups of my own making. But every time I select an itinerary (no red-eye, non-stops only or no crazy layovers, etc) it raises a dozen different flags that require approvals from upstairs. And yet when I request for the exact same itinerary over the phone, the agents seem to make it happen. So I choose to make my reservations over the phone: not convenient but gets the job done. My travel profile states that I’m vegetarian. The travel agent needs only to plug it in (or perhaps not even that) and the airline makes arrangements for a veggie meal. Simple as that. For the past few trips, however, something seems to be broken and I have been served anything but Indian vegetarian. On Singapore airlines! This time I opened the box to find chicken. It smelled good, I’ll admit that but far less to make me want to eat it. Sorry Gnarlson Doggone-wit (not auto-spelt), your service seems to be more miss than hit. P.S: But this is SIA, and this flight is filled with desis of all stripes all times of the year. So the cabin crew rustled up a veggie meal in no time. Phew! The United crew, by comparison, would have dragged me to the rear and kicked me where it hurts. 

Premium economy

I recently realized that I’m eligible for premium economy class seating on flights over 10 hours – one of the perks well hidden in the travel policy. Small comforts for the many inconveniences involved in business travel. I’ve traveled prem. Eco on United a few times and also once on ANA – they are economy seating with an almost imperceptible increase in leg room and a different colored cloth for the headrest. This is however my first time on Singapore airlines. The seats are definitely fancy looking, significantly wider, come done up in faux leather and are equipped with nicer reading lights. The nook for mobile devices is a nice touch and so are the better headphones although they started pinching my ears over time. The leg rest seemed promising but ended up providing only feeble support to the calves. Seem to have been put in almost as an afterthought to further justify the higher fare. Would I choose this over economy class when paying for my own tickets? I think not. But those wide seats are truly comfortable.

Club class comedians

On the Boeing 777, when you board the aircraft, you turn right and pass the business class section en route to economy. Over the years you get used to the many kinds of glances you receive from the occupants as you begin your march down the aisle. There are the seasoned flyers that aren’t plagued by guilt from the passing economy class travelers – they have settled in with the newspaper or their device – and don’t even give you a glance. I’ll take that: it is dignified and is not put on. There are the recently upgraded that easily give themselves away. They cast sneaky, awkward glances as we – their former coach class mates – pass by and appear to derive some sort of pleasure from doing so. Subtlety has no role to play in their urge to announce to the world that they have arrived. I imagine this crowd to save their business class boarding pass to display to all and sundry long after the actual flight. Then there are the busy bees that are already tapping away on their laptops but don’t fail to ensure that you are noticing them. They casually look up – cracking a knuckle or popping their neck - as you pass them by and their eyes seem to say “If only you were as hard working as me, you could be sitting here in business class.” I have had a few class mates of mine do that when the teachers would announce test scores in India.

Coffee shop culture

Yogerpresso. Ediya Coffee. Caffe Bene. Coffine Gurunaru. Espressomente. These are but a few of the dozens of coffee shop chains that dot Seoul’s thoroughfares. There is the inevitable Starbucks too, of course, but is in fierce competition with the many local chains vying with one another to provide you your caffeine fix. Seoul, so I’m told, boasts a higher number of coffee shops per capita than, you guessed right, Seattle itself. This, like the number of churches, surprised me during my first few trips as I was stereotyping expecting them to be big on tea. But very soon I realized that caffeine and nicotine is a hugely popular combo for many Koreans. If I had been a coffee loving smoker, which I’m not, I could have become the VP for South Korea operations in our company by now. Much of the crucial discussions happened over steaming cups of coffee in smoke filled smoking rooms while I was waiting outside. Damn those statutory warnings on cigarette packs! The coffee chain proliferation seems to be a Korea-specific phenomenon as I don’t remember seeing this many outlets neither in Tokyo nor in Taipei.

The Korean Brushmen

Brushing the teeth after lunch seems to be a national pastime. One is sure to run into vigorous brushers hell bent on giving a wicked sparkle to their pearly whites in the rest room after lunch time. Others can be seen engaged in a “who’s the loudest gargler” contest. Many afternoon meetings will begin after folks deposit their tooth brush and a tube of paste in front of them on the table before opening up their laptops. And their scrubbing efforts are paying off. I must admit that most of them do have white(r) teeth compared to the Taiwanese or the Japanese. Or me, for that matter. This is not a bad thing but now the homeless guy in a white lab coat around the corner holds a sign that reads “Will do a root canal for an espresso at Coffine Gurunaru.” P.S: I now remember two of my Korean origin colleagues at my previous place of work, living in the US, brushing their teeth after lunch in the office.

The rest of the world called and they are running out of glass (the regulation Seinfeld reference)

Two smart cellphones – both Samsung, of course. The on-dash display in the car for GPS, audio and climate control. A tablet that doubled up as a TV, mounted on the windscreen. A DVD player with dual LCD screens. Another display mounted again on the windscreen for the feeds from two cameras: one on the hood and one on the rear windscreen. Then one more for the taxi meter. “There’s a screen for that” seems the story on most taxis in Seoul. If there is a piece of information out there that is even vaguely relevant to man’s existence, there is an LCD screen to display that in Korea. On one of the trips back to the hotel in the evening, the driver brought up the list of movies on the DVD player screen and asked me to pick one. I chose Inception and promptly went to sleep. Thanks for checking but no, I didn’t have dreams inside dreams.

Nouns and verbs

Alternate title: I was doing fine till education spoiled me. 

The other night, we were driving out somewhere. It was dark and we were doing good speed on the local highway, heading either home or some place I can’t remember now. The car was rather quiet with not even a song playing when my son decided it needn’t be so.

“Dad, can you do cup?” He doesn’t take after me in giving some context before shooting questions.

“What do you mean,” I asked, a bit startled at the abrupt question thrown my way.

“Can you do cup?” persisted my son, somewhat annoyed that appa couldn’t answer a simple question.

“No,” I offered, not sure what this was all about.

“That’s right! A cup is a noun.” Sounding very much like a four-year-old teacher.

“Oh! That is nice! They’re teaching you verbs and nouns, huh?” I was glad to finally see some return on investment for the money and all those early morning drop offs.

“Yes. Can you do spoon?” He was sure glad that I had latched on to the topic and wanted to provide more.

“Nooo,” I gave him an exaggerated response to keep his spirits high.

“Correct pa! Spoon is a noun too. Can you do running?”

“Yes, I can.”

“Good! Run is a verb.”

“Nice!”

“Can you do Ms. G?”

“No!” I said with as straight a face that I could manage, even as my wife sitting next to me burst out 

laughing. 

Ms. G is his teacher at school. 

“Appa? Is Ms. G a verb or a noun? Amma edhukku sirikkara?” (Why is mom laughing?)

“Ms. G is her name. Names are nouns. Amma? Nee edhukku sirikkara?” (Mom, why are you laughing?) I passed the buck to the missus and drove on. 

Nouns and verbs, ladies and gentlemen. Or as I said, return on investment. 

WT20 - my thoughts

At the start of the tournament, they were seen as journeymen cricketers who did well individually, particularly for their franchises worldwide rather than for West Indies. Would they come together to create magic for their national team? They had more than national pride to play for in this World Cup. Other teams had to defeat only their opponents, mind you. The West Indians had their own board to take on. They had to prove individual opinions wrong, dispel misplaced perceptions about their team and silence vile critics. And then the matter of sending out a strong, loud and clear message to their bumbling WICB administrators.

In the hour of reckoning, it came down to a simple equation: 6 balls. 19 runs.

West Indies lifting the cup was a result that no cricket fan – barring the English, of course - could begrudge that team. And 6, 6, 6, 6 was like the icing on the cake, especially when most – including their dugout – were more than nervous when Stokes walked up to the start of his runup for delivering over number 20. Curtly Ambrose was tense. Yes, the Curtly Ambrose. It was such a tense night. And let’s admit this - the team party tonight will be much more fun than if the English had won.

In T20, it is difficult to conclude that the better team won with as much certainty as, say, in a Test or even an ODI. This is a largely tactical game with little room for error and much less for recovery and either team is just as likely to come out on top till the last ball is bowled. But given how their innings started, one must admit that Samuels and Bravo “constructed” the chase, if one can even call it so, and paved the way for Brathwaite to unleash the big shots to go past the finish line. And mind you, they have been effectively a 10-man team for much of this time: Chris Gayle hasn’t done much since his scintillating century versus the English in their first game.

This WI team has had the momentum going for them right through the World Cup. Theirs was a near perfect campaign and the loss against the Afghans was perhaps just the shakeup they needed towards the business end. And the Englishmen, both players and others – not for the first time – riled up the West Indies and paid dearly for doing so. Mark “short of brains” Nicholas now joins the ranks of the late Tony “Grovel” Greig and Stuart “6x6” Broad. The spicy repartee from Samuels or the outburst from Sammy seems to be commensurate with the provocations.

Kudos to West Indies, kudos to the Caribbean flair and to that sense of joy they have been bringing to this sport. That said, I wouldn’t go so far as to label this a resurgence in Caribbean cricket: there have been one false start too many in the past. And let’s face it, these guys play Jekyll and Hyde between Test cricket and the shorter formats. Trade their maroon jerseys (or their franchise colors) for whites and these same men can’t seem to string together one good session against opposition of any quality. Don’t get me wrong: I love me a good game of 20-overs cricket. Call me old school, but Test cricket is the real deal. And Test cricket success requires a different skill set altogether.

But for now they are on top of the world – boys, ladies and gentlemen – and it does look damn pretty. If only they can ride this huge wave and carry the successes in this format to the longer versions, it will make for some interesting times for cricket fans all over.

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What do we do with the ODI?

Ol’ mama Test cricket had two kids born too many years apart. The elder ODI who possesses the looks of mama and the much younger T20 who looks nothing like mama but can provide all the thrills that she is famous for but on a much shorter time scale. Test cricket is that well-crafted e-mail from a friend that you save in your folders and read when you feel like it and T20 is that super funny Whatsapp or Twitter message that you enjoy and pass around. And sadly that seems to leave the ODI trying to find a role to play. The excitement of cricket funneled into a single day rather than over five days was great when it happened and the ODI as a phenomenon has had a great run. But perhaps it is time to wonder if that format has run out of steam and is like that aging fielder every captain tries to hide in the third man region. Does it serve a different purpose other than providing more ad time to brands?

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Emotions

This tournament saw interesting display of emotions. And also impeccable control of the same.

Exhibit 1a: Mushfiqur Rahim. India vs. Bangladesh. 2 runs required off 3 balls and Hardik Pandya about to bowl. With the match almost in the bag, he went for glory. All that premature fist pumping and jumping got him a little too excited for him to actually put his head down and focus on getting his team past the finish line. His error in judgment cost his team dearly.

Exhibit 1b: MS Dhoni. It ain’t over till it is over. The Indian captain kept his cool – like the Steve Waugh of the 90s – and pulled off victory from inside the throat of certain loss. An inexperienced bowler, a high stakes match or the expectations of a nation did not let him take his focus away from the job and he finished it off with his own hands, running out Mustafizur Rahman.

Exhibit 2: Mushfiqur Rahim rejoicing at India’s loss (not the WI victory, mind you) in the semifinal with an ill-timed tweet has seen him become the most trolled cricketer of the moment. Licking one’s wounds is better done in private no?

Exhibit 3: Craig Braithwaite. 19 runs off 6 balls and the world championship on the line. No display of nerves or emotions. After 3 stoic sixes, he lets out a roar only after hitting the 4^th one.

Exhibit 4: Ben Stokes. Perhaps it was the occasion. Or it was his running feud with Samuels. Or simply big match nerves. 6 6 6 6. He let Caig B go one up on the devil himself!

Exhibit 5: Marlon Samuels at the post-match press conference. He was dripping badass! This is how Samuel L Jackson would do a press conference if he played cricket. Take that WICB, take that Mark Nicholas. Sassy!