A dozen dates; you join the dots

01/01/01 - In Tempe, AZ, trying to shake off the effects of a block party ushering in the new year with a bunch of friends.

02/02/02 - Still in Tempe, AZ. Going through the grind of the spring semester at ASU.

03/03/03 - No points for guessing: still based in AZ. Going through the routines of yet another spring semester at ASU. A few of us are beginning to look like Mike Murali: forever in college.

04/04/04 - In Chennai.  A period of growing anxiety about finding a job in India/Chennai after having returned from the US in January. Anticipating a call from the company that I had interviewed with in February. I did receive the call a few days later and I joined on 04/15.

05/05/05 - In the Bay Area, CA on some assignments. Little do I know that this will become my place of residence in another 5 years.

06/06/06 - In Grenoble, France. Working at a customer site on a short term assignment. I recollect attending a meeting that day with the top guys there in a conference room with a fine view of the mountains.

07/07/07 - In upstate NY, wrapping up a very interesting project at IBM. Two of my colleagues have their respective second kids, both girls, born on this day.

08/08/08 - In Chennai. Performing the 8th day ceremonies for my mother who had passed away a week earlier.

09/09/09 - In Singapore. Email archives say that it was a meh day at work. I was preparing to go to Korea the following week. Interesting note: nearly all of the people from those emails have since moved on to different careers.

10/10/10 - In Singapore. Preparing to move to the US via India a month later. My wife is pregnant with our kid and is battling morning sickness while we mentally prepare ourselves for the cross-continental move. Good times.

11/11/11 - In the Bay Area, CA which has become home for nearly a year.Yet again the email archives and office notebook entries (mostly doodles) seem to suggest an uneventful Friday. The wife has returned from a trip to India and we are real parents, taking care of our 7-month old kid ourselves.

12/12/12 - Typing up this post! Maybe I will update on how this Wednesday turned out. Stay tuned.

Salutations to the Mahakavi

Chinnaswami Subramanya Bharathi

December 11, 1882 - September 11, 1921

I just have to say this

Between Adi Shankara, Goundamani and Jerry Seinfeld, a man has solutions to nearly all problems in life. 

Kumud Electronics - A Dirty Business

If you are of Indian origin and live in the San Francisco Bay area, chances are you have stepped into Kumud Electronics at least once. Given my addiction to Indian cuisine, we employ industrial blenders and grinding machines in our household to help churn out one perfect dish after the other. And machines being what they are, tend to break down and require an intervention of some sort. This is where Kumud electronics enter the picture.

For the benefit of the uninitiated, this is the "largest and oldest 110-220V electronics store" in the Bay Area, but let's cut to the chase. It is a cramped, over priced desi store that tries to sell everything under the sun (from carbon brushes to puja items) at an exorbitant mark up. And the icing on the cake is it is run by people that haven't yet heard about customer service. Doing business with them is the best way to appreciate the essence of anti-monopoly laws. 

Our Preethi mixer decided to strike sometime on September. And how! It was working fine one moment and our kitchen smelled like melting plastic the next. My entire engineering education flashed before my eyes and immediately prompted me to do the right thing: unplug it and rush it to Kumud electronics.

Trip 1: Mileage: 10 miles

The store bears more than a passing resemblance to that store from Pulp Fiction. And if that is not enough reason for you to keep away, two bald guys (for descriptive purposes only), that may or may not be brothers, are always behind the counter. They sport an expression that wouldn't seem out of place on the face of a person living through the consequences of a particularly bad burrito from the previous night. But since they seem to be the one store in this region that may carry items that you will need to keep those kitchen gadgets from the old country running, they are still in business, raking in the hard earned dollars of the desi diaspora.

We stepped in and laid the ailing mixer on the counter, walking them through the symptoms. He fired it up and sure enough a plastic smell swept over the place. Just as we were beginning to asphyxiate, he turned it off and turned towards me.

"Hmmm...brush ees gone" He carefully chose his words to explain the gravity of the situation.

"Really? But why is there a plastic smell?" I shot back with the confidence of a vague understanding from many years back that the motor brush isn't exactly made of plastic.

"Yeh toh...." he cleared his throat and proceeded to give me a lecture on the principles of electromagnetism, occasionally throwing in a "daalar". In chaste Hindi. The assumption of my Hindi quotient was more annoying than an impromptu lecture aimed at milking money.

My inner mind started sending me unwanted text messages: Remember that Hindi teacher who looked like T. N Seshan having a bad day? You should have paid attention. Or remember Electrical Machines from 4th semester? Guess what? You should have paid attention. At least once in a while.

"Iyere, ennavaam Saettukku?" I turned to my wife and inquired, much like the Hindi challenged Velu Nayakar would ask his consigliere, Delhi Ganesh. (Yes, in my eyes, Nayagan was a poor attempt to make an Indian Godfather. You knew that too, didn't you?)

"Brush poidthungaraan...pudhu brush velai $10, adha maatha labor $40 aahumaam" my wife sprang to my rescue with a swiftness honed by the many Hindi movies (two and a half movies, to be exact) we've watched together. The pleasures of being married to a multi-linguist!

Since I had paid less than $100 for the new mixer purchased less than a year back, I quickly decided to buy only the brush and try to fix it myself. Although my wife, who has an intimate understanding of my engineering abilities, wanted to protest, she decided to hold back and we left the store with a carbon brush, which, I must admit, I was seeing for the first time ever.

Once home, I opened up the mixie with the air of an experienced electrician (again, for the first time ever) and the problem was immediately obvious even to my untrained eyes: the Kumud store guy doesn't have a good nose for electrical faults. The switch, which has a plastic casing, was severely burnt and need to be replaced. The brush, wherever it was located within the depths of the mixer, was doing just fine. I carefully unplugged the wires from the terminals, marked the sequence with a pen and turned up again at Kumud with the carbon brush.

Trip 2: Mileage: 20 miles

I explained to him about his wrong diagnosis and how it is the switch that needs replacement rather than the brush. He didn't flinch a bit or show any sign of guilt. Instead, he offered me a replacement switch that cost $25. Bear in mind that $40 gets you a brand new, low end mixer at Walmart. Left with no choice, I returned the brush, paid the additional $15 and this time went home with a new switch of questionable credentials: although it was of the same type, it  looked and felt cheap and was a dirty black color. Well whatever floats the boat.

It wasn't until a couple of weeks later that my wife's pushing and prodding finally prompted me to sit down and try to replace the switch. My 18-month old son assumed the role of an electrician's helper by depositing his toy car into the mixer's cavity and slipping away with the screw driver. After shutting myself up in a room, I tried to mount the one purchased from Kumud. As it turned out, it was either meant for a different brand/type or was a poorly made duplicate. It was slightly larger than the original and hence wouldn't fit into the housing at all. Super! 

I drove back a third time to their store fully prepared for a confrontation. One of the bald brothers heard me out and displayed no sign of remorse, guilt or anything of that sort.

Trip 3: Mileage: 30 miles

Me: This is the wrong switch!
Bald Bro1: I know...
Me: You knew?? Then you should have told me when you sold me this.
BB1: Ai will phit it.
Me: But I'm telling you I just tried that. Won't fit. I want the original switch.
BB1: No original sweetch.
Me: No original, no fit.
BB1: I know...I masheen mixie to phit the sweetch. Labor only thurty phive dolars.

I stormed out of the store, vowing not to let him, his brother or their crew lay their dirty hands on my mixer. I requested a colleague of mine traveling to India to get me an original switch. Despite his extremely packed schedule (he was getting engaged!), he found time to accommodate my request and last week I had a brand new, original switch flown in straight from Chennai. Total cost: Rs 61 (approx US$ 1.10) I immediately tried this one and it fit perfectly! I connected the leads, plugged it in and gingerly fired it up.

Whirrrrrrrrrrrrr!

I tell you, the noise of the running motor to my ears was like the crisp notes from a symphony. Images of arachu vitta sambhar, thogayals, chutneys and curries seasoned with grated coconut, floated by. But there were still miles to go before I could eat. I took the f***-ed up switch back to Kumud for a full refund.

Trip 4: Mileage: 40 miles

This time, Bald Brother 2 received me and sought full details of the case going all the way back to September. When I finally demanded my cash back, he pointed his crooked finger to a paper stuck on the top rack of the shelf behind the counter: No refund. Only store credit. Dirty a****les!! No amount of reasoning could make him sway from his store policy. So I had to accept a hand scribbled note saying that I can buy anything from the store for $25 by March 2013.

I plan not to patronize this dirty business in future except to get something overpriced for the $25 store credit. They seem to be running the store on the spider web model: squeeze anyone that strays in to the maximum extent possible. Pleasant customer service, valuing your business and nurturing customer loyalty seem to be abstract topics as far as these guys are concerned.

I love you son. But daddy would like to...

1. Read a book without having to hide it from tiny, curious fingers trying to shred  for every turn of the page.
2. Watch a (good) movie in one sitting without a diaper change/fight for control of the remote inbetween.
3. Spend a couple of hours on a lazy afternoon at a Fry's/BestBuy store without running through aisles behind a (really fast) kid.
4. Step out of the house without a plan, multiple bottles, tiny jackets, fresh diapers, change of clothes, the pram...
5. Visit the local library without having to apologize to random patrons, hide from the staff or be heard at all. 
6. Attend a conference call from home without blurting out the fragile nature of items around the house and hoping nobody noticed. 
7. Discuss anything but poop details over dinner.
8. Listen to a song with none of the following words in its lyrics: Wheels, bus, wool, sheep, twinkle, little, star, or the names MacDonald, Johnny or Jack. Unless it is Johnny Walker or Jack Daniels, that is. 
9. Enjoy a cold beer without staving off tiny hands reaching for the bottle and insisting on having a swig of "juice". 
10. Update the blog without having to wait until the little one has gone to bed. Which is at well past late every night. 

Sachin Tendulkar and the retirement

Quote 1: "Despite the enormous popularity and willingness from the rest of the cast to return for a tenth season, Seinfeld decided he should end the show after its ninth season in an effort to maintain quality and "go out on top". NBC offered him $110 million but he declined the offer." Wikipedia on Jerry Seinfeld wanting to end the show after 9 successful seasons. 

Quote 2: "You see, this profession is filled to the brim with unrealistic ******s. ******s who thought their ass would age like wine. If you mean it turns to vinegar, it does. If you mean it gets better with age, it don't." - Marsellus Wallace, Pulp Fiction. 

It was the 3rd of April, 2011. No Indian cricket fan needs to be reminded of what had happened a day earlier at the Wankhede. The adrenalin was still coursing through my veins. The world seemed a beautiful place. As I started reliving the victory by reading every single article penned on the topic, I was expecting one particular announcement: Sachin's retirement. Amidst the euphoria that was washing the nation down, I was fervently hoping that Sachin would declare his innings, signing off in the most perfect way. The title was won at the end of what was a successful campaign for arguably India's greatest player. Right in his home ground. In front of his adoring fans who had waited to witness that one moment. But that particular announcement never arrived. Not till today as I write this. The fan in me only hopes that he has not missed the opportunity to time his exit from the game gracefully despite growing fears of the contrary. 

Call me stupid but sporting careers are better cherished when the one overwhelming question at the curtain call is a resounding Why rather than an embarrassing Why not. "The bugger had at least a couple more years of cricket left in him" is a much better way to reminisce about your sporting hero than a "You know when he should have quit?" discussion. Signing off on a high is perhaps the toughest achievement in any sport that easily eludes even the most supremely gifted of performers.

Of late I have seen arguments calling for his continuing in the team, about his ability to score runs at will and the "leave him alone, he knows when to quit" being bandied around. They seem even more absurd coming from ex-players and otherwise sensible journalists. I'm no expert in team selection. But some common sense suggests that future potential rather than past achievements should be the overriding factor in selecting the best eleven men to represent the nation and take the team forward. If that is not the case, then I would like to see Gavaskar open the Indian innings for the next test. Sachin has had the touch of the divine no doubt, but at the end of the day we are talking about the limits of human ability in a performance sport. Allowing emotion and fondness of the heart dictate selectorial decisions may not be in the best interests of Indian cricket.

The future replacement for Sachin Tendulkar cannot be, wait for this, a Sachin Tendulkar. If we had had the ability to replace past greats of the game with an equivalent player, we wouldn't have had a Sachin in the first place. For, there has never been someone like him before nor will there be someone hereafter. It is a bit ironical then, that the void that he will leave behind will best reflect the magnitude of his majestic presence in the team. But on the same token, what better way to motivate a whole generation of players that have grown up on Sachin's feats than to aspire to be called his replacement?

And while I'm at it, might as well add my two cents on the other elephant in the room: the Bharatratna. It goes without my stating it here that Sachin has been the greatest Indian batsman of our generation. For the longest period, he has been the strength of an otherwise weak team and has admirably shouldered the expectations of a cricket crazy nation. He has indeed inspired by example - a truly fine specimen of our species. But at the end of the day he is an extremely gifted sportsman and conferring the nation's highest civilian honor on the grounds of excellence in a team sport just doesn't seem to sit well with me. If the Rajya Sabha membership is awkward, the BR would only be more so. Why don't we simply reserve that honor to eminent scientists, scholars, statesmen and leave sports people alone?

Adios Laxman!

By the time I have managed to get this one wrung out India have just won the Under-19 World Cup and also the first test against New Zealand - a largely expected result. This post, not unlike Sachin Tendulkar's retirement, is long overdue. But better late than never.

VVS Laxman's retirement.

A sporting retirement is inevitable. It is the sole aspect that is common to all sorts of careers and personalities. But some, when timed really well, leave us with a sense of longing and a sadness. Especially when time is called on a career that had come to define a rare quality of Indian cricket - defiance. Watching Laxman's retirement go by is like finally selling a car that you were really fond of. Especially if that car happens to be a Toyota Corolla. Far from flashy, not remotely flamboyant and a 0-60mph number that may not be the most impressive. Yet you don't remember when it has stalled on a Monday morning, or on a rainy night on your way home. Ever reliable in getting you from point A to B. Point A, in this case, often being a precarious situation against quality opposition in a tense test; while point B was, just as often, a position of safety or, on many occasions a victory. For, make no mistake, Laxman was the Toyota Corolla of Indian cricket - the no fuss, all-weather, everyday man.

Most of Laxman's memorable knocks were an artisan's assignment executed with the flourish of an artist - artisan in the no fuss acceptance of the team's needs and going about the rescue act; artist in the magical methods that he chose. Occupying the lower part of India's greatest middle order, and always in the shadow of the hype and exploits of the bigger names, his role has been one of understated efficiency. His crucial contributions, though, were consistent and often delivered when it mattered the most.

Together with Rahul Dravid, the other gentleman cricketer to hang up his boots recently, Laxman formed a partnership, that can be best described as thayir sadham (curd rice). The great Indian cricket feast has seen  its share of spicier and tangier dishes together with the accoutrements that are readily remembered when recalling the feast. It is the humble, smooth and mellow curd rice that one remembers least, yet it is that very dish that rounds off any square meal; providing the much needed relief and comfort for the connoisseurs.

Laxman, over his entire career, has entertained the fans of the game, helped supplant despair and resignation with hope when the chips were down and brought a certain measure of balance to a star studded team.

The sight of the old school stylist from Hyderabad - the honest man's Azharuddin, if you will, walking in at the fall of the 4th wicket will be missed. The silken mastery that helped conjure gaps and angles unseen by mortal eyes will be missed. The man wearing a toothy grin and a white hat at second slip will be missed. Thank you Laxman. 

Vignettes from a LA trip

We have just returned from a quick trip to LA last week. Taking advantage of a brief lull in the work world, I hastily planned a dash to the entertainment capital with the extended family in tow. I've been to Los Angeles on multiple occasions before. As a graduate student, as a newly employed single guy, as a newly married couple. This was my first trip in my new avatar: father of a particularly mischievous 15-month-old tyke.

The onward journey

We set ourselves a start time of 8AM from the Bay Area intending to escape traffic snarls at both ends of the journey. However, it was only after 10:00AM that the one-kid circus hit the road, packed with enough food to feed an army. 90 minutes into the drive, we were wolfing down idlies (+ gojju), tamarind rice (+ chips) and curd rice (+ home made pickles) in a rest area along the I-5. One coffee stop and 75 songs later, we were in LA: nearly 7 hours after we had started. Surprisingly, the LA traffic was mild and we could check into the hotel at 5pm.

Universal Studios

Visit #4 for yours truly. Yes it is over priced. Yes it is over crowded. But you've got to hand it to the Universal folks that successfully manage to keep people interested in this place even after all these years. With a new ride (Transformers 3D), a change here (King Kong 3D in the studio tour), a tweak there - the place seems to be reinventing itself at some level to live up to its title of "the entertainment capital of LA". They have built it and the crowds indeed keep coming.

The Jurassic Park Ride

When it comes to going on rides, I will admit without shame that I am reduced to a quivering mass both before and after the ride. And I throw up three of my four previous meals both during and after the ride. Yet, about once in five years, I do end up going on one, only to curse myself for the next five years.

1997: Giant wheel in Black Thunder, Mettupalayam. Culprits: Taunting friends, my own ego and stupidity. Outcome: (pun intended) the lunch - a full meals in TN parlance, if I may add, and the last few morsels of that day's breakfast.

2001: A centrifuge posing as a ride, New Year Block Party, Tempe, Arizona. Culprits: Taunting friends, my own ego (there was a girl in the group) and plain stupidity. Outcome: The Thai dinner and two cans of Pepsi.

2006: The Mummy ride, Universal Studios. Culprits: The smooth talking staff "It goes forward at 40mph and returns to the starting point at 40mph." I'll bet that guy would have described the Pope as a German guy in white wearing a cross. Outcome: although I didn't do the technicolor yawn, I was caught in nauseous spells for the next two days.

I have only been on bus/plane rides since then, save for a nano-roller coaster ride in Malaysia in 2008. A wife can be extremely persuasive on the first anniversary.

2012: The five year cycle was up and I told myself that I would go on the Jurassic Park Ride that seemed less evil than the rest. The wait time was nearly 60 minutes and as the line snaked through to the boarding point, my stomach kept churning. As we rounded the last corner, I was ready to sneak out under any pretext. However, when my wife pointed to a young girl taking the ride in spite of her right leg being in a cast, my pride was stung and I had to take the ride.

The night of the fight, you may feel a sting. That's pride ****ing with you. **** pride. Pride only hurts, it never helps. - Marsellus Wallace, Pulp Fiction. Truer words? Never spoken.

To make an already long story short, I survived the ride - the spitting dinos, the roaring T-rex, the fall and all. And honestly, it wasn't too bad. The regulation picture from the ride shows me clinging on for dear life, yelling like a mad man. But here is the best part: neither did I barf nor did I suffer from any dizziness afterwards. (Although, I might have as well thrown up the sorry veggie burger that I had for lunch.) Perhaps I'm getting better with time, like wine? Stand by for a confirmation in 2017.

The heat

I've spent the first twenty years of my life in the oppressive heat of Chennai. I've spent the next 4 years in Phoenix, Arizona where the heat was dry but just as oppressive. Add another 3 years in Singapore and I have no business complaining about heat anywhere on earth. But I felt really, visibly uncomfortable in LA when the mercury was above 104F. My complaining about the heat is like Manmohan Singh complaining about corruption, but that day I was as comfortable as Swami Nithyananda in a press conference. How soon the body gets used to the pleasures of milder climes. I sought out every mist blower, every square inch of shade, applied liberal quantities of sun block and yet was nearly dead by the end of the day.

The return drive in numbers

0 - food stops
1 - beverage stop
2 - diaper stops
3 - pm start from LA
4 - beverage stops we should have had
5 - times we told ourselves "No road trip till son turns two"

The car

My ride for the trip was a brand new 2013 Hyundai Sonata: the odometer read 10 miles when I picked it up and the new car smell was very strong. I have been among the people that have been blown away by the looks of the reincarnated Sonata - the Koreans have hit this one out of the park surely. After the 900 mile journey, I was seriously toying with the idea of replacing my 8-year-old, used Passat. But then it doesn't take much to convince myself that a new car is never a good idea financially and my present ride, though not a head turner in any sense, is after all reliable and gets my family from one place to another in reasonable comfort.

My observations on Japan

This post is not about Japan's recovery from the WW II/the atom bomb/March '11 tsunami and the subsequent rise to the atmospheric levels of economic and technological development. If you've come here expecting to read about the never-say-die, you-can't-break-my-will spirit of the Japanese, I'm no expert in those topics. This post is also not about how clean, organized, respectful and culturally different/rich that nation is. Instead, these are some useless casual observations about the people/country that I have personally made over the time that I have spent there. In other words, if you've come here expecting any value at all in return for your time, I have two words: Hello newcomer! 

The scramble crossing. This is the best thing to happen to mankind since the tilting wet grinder. (Why does it always have to be sliced bread?) The light turns green and a sea of humanity crisscrosses at every major intersection in all possible directions. To give you an idea, I have written this post entirely from the time saved by using the diagonal crossing. And that is a lot of time given my writing skills. If big cities across the world haven't done this, they should. If most of them already do, I must travel more.

The pencil box. That's right. Every working adult in Japan seems to carry a fully loaded pencil box. The said pencil box would have, at a conservative estimate, multiple mechanical pencils (with spare leads, of course), an assortment of pens with multicolor refills, a few erasers [a Jap colleague of mine routinely doodles during meetings with his pencil and erases them afterwards with his eraser. I mean, how cool is that? Au contraire, I have to lock up my note books. Should someone rifle through the pages of my office notebook, I'll be sitting across from the HR head and answering very awkward questions.] some highlighters, a solitary correction ink dispenser and a six-inch ruler. Yes, you heard me: A six-inch ruler. Ever seen one since class X? Me neither.

The suit. The Japanese national obsession with suits never ceases to amuse me. (It seems to be the same case in Korea too.) Suits of many colors, materials, styles, prices. Suits for men, suits for women. Suits as uniforms, uniforms as suits. They are just everywhere. I'm all for dressing up for the occasion. But wearing a suit every single day of the week wears me out. Even if it is not me that is actually wearing one. Interestingly, this year, the thermostats are set higher because of the power shortage and the general agreement has been to do away with the suits during business meetings. Just when I finally got myself one and learned to knot a tie.

A quiet morning at the Tokyo Station

Eye drops. Moisturizing the eyes seems to be a national past time. Waiting for the train? A couple of drops. In the taxi? A couple of drops. Before lunch? A quick squeeze. After lunch? Reach for the bottle. Most, if not all, of the people that I work with seem to be carrying a tiny bottle of some concoction meant to keep their eyes moist and clean.

Wet towels. Simple, handy and convenient. Saves you a pre-meal trip to the wash basin, saves so many (t)issues during the meal and offers a means to salvage some pride to even the most clumsiest of eaters. A dollop of curry on your favorite shirt? No problemo! A drop of soy sauce on your tie? Worry not! As someone blessed with two left hands when it comes to handling chop sticks, I can't count the number of times I've carried out covert clean up missions with a wet towel on shirts, ties and pants. Of people sitting next to me.

Air craft boarding. This is the smoothest exercise involving the movement of an assembled group of people from one point to another. If aircraft boarding was a sport, Japan would be world champs. Everyone is small, lean, smart, organized and disciplined. Announce - board - settle is the routine. Compare that with the standard boarding procedure in Chennai: announce - mad rush - try taking the first class line with an economy class boarding pass - quick calls to bid farewell one more time - stuff that coffin-sized cabin baggage into the overhead cabinet while blocking the aisle - negotiate a seat change to sit next to a friend - demand a pre-take off whiskey. We have some catching up to do.

Texting and cellphone accessories. The Japs (And Koreans. And Singaporeans.) seem to be maniacal texters. People, girls particularly, are on the phone, typing away at 90 miles per hour. Particularly on trains. Flip open...type text....close...flip open....read....giggle....type text....close. Round and round they go till they finally get off at their station. And the cellphones look like a decorated cow on maattu pongal day: inconvenienced and clumsy.

Yamaguchi-san on a conference call. 

Ten jobs I would love to have

1. Chief Minister of Tamil Nadu
2. Mayor, Chennai City - You will have something to defend Chennai against other metros. Not including the weather. Of course.
3. Commissioner, Chennai Corporation - That stink won't be the first welcome sign to Chennai.
4. Education Minister, Tamil Nadu - To start with, no more Anna, Kamaraj on Tamil text book faces.
5. Head of State Transport Corporation, Tamil Nadu - Conductors will go to you. Fares will go up.
6. Station Manager, Chennai Central Station - No human waste on tracks, no karuvaadu smell in the platform. A 15 member auto driver gang won't hound you as you get out.
7. Airport Manager, Chennai International and Domestic Terminals - Urine stench free boarding area, meaningful displays. Park and fly vs. an entire village to see a passenger off.
8. Chairman, Tamil Nadu Tourism Development Corporation - You will carry back some good memories.
9. Cabinet Minister, Indian Railways - Working toilets, clean food. Fares will go up.
10. CEO, Air India - Part of Star Alliance, no stewardess over 60 70!

You're welcome.

If you're my manager reading this, I absolutely love my job. What? Yes, I will get started on the report that you wanted done yesterday.