RIP Amma

Sad. I felt sad. There is still a ball of grief in the stomach. I welled up as it sunk in. And I hadn’t even voted for her. Ever.

I can now understand the emotions of the real supporters and followers. The outpouring of grief is genuine. A state stands bereaved and it shows.

Gutsy, stubborn and bold. Flawed, corrupt but bold. Easily the best choice for an administrator by a mile. A leader – in every sense of that word – that could strike an emotional chord with people in an age of elevated awareness, access to information and endless scrutiny. Mark my words: Karunanidhi's death, when it eventually happens, will be a mere foot note. 

The last of the charismatic leaders of Tamil Nadu is now no more, leaving a party and a state at the crossroads. 

I’m sad. RIP.

No riots, no disruptions, no mobs and no violence. Raw emotions, immense grief but peaceful all the same. #Tamil pride

My thoughts on demonetization

Much like the Trump election, it was predicted that the sky would come falling down. But it has come to pass that the sun rose the next day and people went about their lives. The announcement by Prime Minister Narendra Modi to ban the 1000 and 500 rupee notes has left his political opponents frothing at their mouths, caused an exponential increase in the number of economic experts in the social media universe and has generally shaken up the system in a way not seen in the past.

Here is my attempt at making sense of the move as a non-economist and also to try and decode the reactions ranging from the frivolous to the baseless.  

First off, I write this sitting all the way across the globe having faced very minimal personal or direct impact by the decision. I didn’t have to stand in queues of any length to withdraw my money. And I have exactly one each of a thousand rupee note and a 500 rupee note - taxi fare on my next trip to India from my father – that shall now become nifty souvenirs. But of course I have been reading up on the announcement, its fall out and yes, my father has been in queues to withdraw money from the bank in India with the rest of the population.

One suspects that this announcement is rather the culmination of a sequence of planned initiatives than a knee jerk decision. The support to the aadhar card program, the jan dhan accounts and the voluntary disclosure scheme seem to support this. Yet when the announcement came, it did catch the nation by surprise. One has to admit that this government means business: there is not only intent but complementary actions to go along.

This move, bold as it may be, will not be able to bring back the black money – in other currencies – stashed away in faraway countries. Nor can it go after ill wealth stored in the form of gold, securities or real estate. And to state the obvious, this shall not rid the nation of all forms of corruption. In fact, I would go so far as to say that all the money in the mattresses may have been “converted” by some means or the other by now for say, a 20-30% commission. Indians are nothing if we aren’t crafty. Corruption will continue at the same rate/speed as before in new currency notes. And a less-cash society remains far away as a reality.

But, all things considered, I don’t think this was ever touted as a cure-all magic pill nor are we watching a Shankar movie here. When one sees it for what it is, demonetization is a first step in the right direction to go after the massive, parallel cash economy. The message is loud and clear: it will not be business as usual anymore. A system reset is perhaps not a bad idea and the prime minister has provided just that. The attempt to bring more sections of the population into the banking fold – an inevitable outcome - is an ambitious step to bring more accountability and even safety to the proceedings. E-rural banking could be the next big thing after bijli, sadak and paani. Improved tax compliance is perhaps another benefit we can expect once the dust settles. And if there is a certain measure of deterrence (conspicuously absent thus far) introduced, I would call it a small victory. There must now be at least a modicum of uncertainty in the minds of the corrupt who will have to be more cautious henceforth.

I shall readily admit that I’m not an economist and hence I won’t try to sound intelligent about the short/long term impacts of demonetization on the economy or its individual segments. Instead, I would like to put down my thoughts on the reactions to the initiative here in the blog.

Hardship to the common man. This seems to be the most popular political response with a few leaders (“The usual suspects”) espousing the cause of the common man with a new zeal rarely seen in the recent past. I didn’t get to talk to the average person on the street caught in the throes of the announcement. But catching up on snippets of media reports gives me the feeling that perhaps there is more acceptance (even if reluctant) than vehement opposition amongst the people. The netas, without fail, continue to under estimate the intelligence of the population. After all, old habits die hard.

Narendra Modi tipped off is friends. Though clichéd, any politician worth his salt will have to indulge in slander. Politics corrupts. The question is how much rather than if. And Prime Minister Narendra Modi is no exception. There have been whispers, insinuations and innuendos galore of Modi tipping off his inner circle. And I’m sure the accusers have evidence strong enough to stand in a court of law and bring an errant PM to justice. In fact, I wish someone does a Subramanian Swamy on the present government and brings to light this alleged tip-off scam. But the gut feeling is that these are mere desperate accusations aimed at gaining non-existent political mileage. Not only are any of the accusers clean themselves but neither do they have the stomach for a legal battle. In the end, a lot of hollow words thrown around.

Organized loot. When the silent one spoke, people would actually listen. But enough about the nineties. When Dr. Manmohan Singh denounced the demonetization drive in scathing words, I could only shake my head in pity. Having already fallen from grace, the noted economist has picked himself up, dusted and flung himself back down again. While he was the silent sentinel when the nation was being serial scammed by his cabinet colleagues, he has suddenly decided to become vocal. A ventriloquist’s puppet can be vocal but his words are rarely sensible and never his own. Although it is quite alright for the economist in him to be vocally critical about the move, he has offered very little constructive feedback or alternatives. It is sad that he chose to wear the ill-fitting politician’s hat instead of the economist’s. Loyalty to the Gandhi clan above everything else. And hey, in the long run we’re all dead, right?

The execution was bad. To quote Manmohan Singh, "monumental mismanagement". One has to agree that the way in which this was carried out could have been handled better. But demonetization, much like surgical strikes, can only be effective when carried out swiftly and silently. Given the nature and scale of this operation, a certain level of chaos could not have been avoided without compromising the secrecy of the plan itself. Planning ahead could have been a give away for the people in the know. Honest folks were troubled and subject to inconveniences and annoyances no doubt, but on the same token, people are aware that sometimes you cut a finger to save an arm. Besides gas, hospitals and train travel, the government could have allowed people to pay their insurance premiums, phone bills and some such other amenities to ease the situation.

The efficiency of this move to flush out the untaxed cash from the economy can be debatable and so also the execution. But merely questioning the intent, citing the flaws and taking refuge in the common man’s sufferings is predictably banal. The Prime Minister’s chair is full of thorns while the ex-Prime Minister’s is a bed of roses from which taking potshots is not terribly difficult. I have yet to see someone with the right credentials take the demonetization plan apart in a logical manner.

To borrow a popular phrase from the US presidential elections, “draining the black money swamp” is a process. And by all accounts, demonetization appears to be a good first move. At the risk of sounding too optimistic, perhaps there is more coming down the pipeline.

Thoughts on the presidential election 2016

I couldn't help but be reminded of "The Opposite" episode of The Seinfeld show this morning. For your reading pleasure, I submit the one dialog that perhaps captures the verdict most aptly from here.

Jerry: If every instinct you have is wrong, then the opposite would have to be right. 

P.S 1: I also urge you to read this post of mine from Nov 2012.

With that out of the way, here are some thoughts on the results of the Presidential election 2016 in no particular order.

People yearning for change and reposing their faith on a complete outsider to shake things up.
A shrewd businessman with zero political baggage and thus free of the handicaps associated with typical politicians.

And although the band of risk around this outsider (the "opposite") was wider, the dividends of a campaign strategy that struck a chord with that often neglected section of the demography - the majority - have just arrived. As they say, look who you called ugly in middle school.

People seeing through the smoke screen and giving a damning verdict on the credibility and trustworthiness of main stream media.

Globalization and world trade are great topics but what matters to most people is the ability to put food on the table everyday. Or at least the hope of being able to do that.

Immigration is a vastly different beast today that can create intense feelings everywhere.

Gender bias is still alive and kicking in the USA, of course. That been said, glass ceilings can (and must) be cracked with merit and performance alone. There are enough examples around the world, not counting the heiresses of political dynasties of South Asia. Another interesting comment that I saw on twitter: America is way more sexist than it is racist. One could ponder about that too.

Victoria: Who are you, George Costanza?
George: I'm the opposite of every guy you met.

It worked out well for George in that episode. The USA will wait and watch the new President.

P.S 2: I don't have a vote in the US. I have been following the campaigns only casually. I am not particularly fond of either candidate. 

Notes from a navaratri trip to Seoul

The hat trick

Three years in a row now, I have played Houdini around Navaratri time. Set up the golu, leave on a trip and return just in time for Vijayadasami (and dismantling); skipping the social aspect of the festival altogether. Oh, and leaving the wife to take care of inviting people over, entertaining and running the show. By herself.

The clash of the calendars

Around September and October is when the Hindu and Jewish calendars are brimming with festivals. Vinayaka chaturthi, Varalakshmi poojai, Navarathri, Vijayadasami on the one hand competing with Rosh Hashannah, Yom Kippur and Co. on the other. Festivals are good especially if you love food. But in the global world we live in, the latter have a stronger branding than the former that leaves guys like me traveling to meet upset customers during golu and whining away in a remote corner of the internet post facto. People, at least the ones I work with, are aware that Americans can’t be asked to travel around Thanksgiving, Chinese folks in February or Jewish people around RH. But sadly even the regulars at Indian lunch buffets don’t seem to be aware of our festivals of which there are many. The solution: I’m pitching Varalakshmi vratam cards, Pillayar chathurthi coconut chocolates and karva chauth dolls to Hallmark! In about a year, America won’t schedule business trips on avani avittam or even start a new project on a prathamai during rahu kalam. You’re welcome!

The ring

No, it is not the scary movie. I’m talking about the hottest accessory that I saw on everyone’s hand in Seoul. And it’s not even wedding season in Korea – although I could be wrong. The ring is attached to the back side of the cell phone and comes in handy for the very purpose these sophisticated phones are built: for taking selfies. Everyone and their mothers had one hanging off their phones. Run your finger through the hole and click away knowing that the phone ain’t falling down. In a way it makes sense that they are “coupled” to their phones by a ring since most of them seem to spend more time on the phone rather than with their BFs/GFs/spouses.

Navaratri at Incheon

So I missed out on homemade sundal. But on the way back, I satisfied my sundal craving in the lounge at Incheon airport. I was sniffing around for vegetarian stuff when a pretty girl of the lounge crew walked up to me and learning my predicament, asked whether I would like to have lentil salad. The dish had not yet been brought out from the kitchen when she handed me a bowl of channa, rajma and black-eyed beans salad and a bottle of tabasco! Kamsahamnida dee kondhe! (Non Koreans and non Tamils excuse!) If only she had started a rendition of a“gaja vadhana…” my Navaratri setting would have been picture (and sound) perfect. 

Open letter to the TSA agent at SFO international

At the outset, thank you for keeping our airports safe. Although the least likeable part of flying is clearing security, I fully realize the reasons behind the hassles. One must grin and bear the long lines and annoyances in the assurance that flying may not be fun but at least safe(r). A sad reflection of the times we live in.

With the politically correct statements out of the way, I do have a problem that I would like to highlight. It is how you insist that I place my shoes in the same tray as my laptop, the bag or the jacket.

On Sunday, at SFO, I placed my laptop, the bag and the contents of my pockets on one tray and my shoes on an adjacent one on the security scan conveyor belt. For no apparent reason, you walked up to me, picked up my shoes and deposited them right on top of my laptop. When I protested, your response was “No shoes in a tray.” I will not waste my time looking for meaning in that half-brained response. And to clarify, there were enough trays around that day for everyone to use separate ones for their left and right shoes. 

You left me with no option but to defy you and put them back in a separate tray: the way they were before you monkeyed with it. And when you tried to put them back on the same tray, I had to tell you firmly and loudly that I will not place my shoes on my laptop before you went away. Yes, words not fit to be reproduced here were muttered under the breath, dirty looks exchanged but I had to do what I felt was the right thing. I’ll put up with shit to ensure passenger safety but complying with some random security agent’s whims is where I shall draw the line.

You see, I come from a culture that places learning and the associated tools on a deservedly high pedestal. We have a god for learning, of course, and incidentally, the day to pay respects to that deity is just around the corner. And we leave our footwear outside before entering our homes. And if by accident we step on even a scrap piece of paper, we were taught to apologize for it. That's right. However, I don’t write this with an intention to preach about Hindu and Indian sensibilities concerning not mixing books and footwear.

The laptop is, among other things, an integral tool of my trade and placing my footwear on top of it goes beyond religious or cultural mores: it is downright unhygienic. Commonsense 101. But to quote my father, these are things that no school teaches. One’s got to pick them up on his own. It is not a crime to be from a culture where footwear inside the house or medicines in the toilet is acceptable. Perhaps you have better immunity for all I know. But the next time you see someone place their shoes in a separate tray, just leave them alone. Believe me, that does not endanger the safety of passengers or airplanes in any way. 

Indian cricket season 2016-17

I’m excited about the start of the long season ahead for cricket India. 13 home tests including the landmark 500^th  for India promises good cricket based on the current team and their potential.

I like test cricket over the other formats. There is something about the whites, the blue cap, the red ball and the potential for a slow burner over five days. Sure I enjoy my cricket in colored clothes but the lure of the test is simply too strong.

I’m sure there were great wins and closely fought tests earlier too but in my eyes India in test cricket rounded a corner around the turn of this century under Sourav Ganguly. This format of the game has simply been re imagined, if that is the word. This turnaround has been made possible by a core of great players. And their biggest contribution yet is how they have inspired the current crop of not only players but also fans. And continue to be associated with the game in various roles. 

Update: I must learn to count to eleven. Perhaps from my kid. Updating the list to include eleven players instead of the original ten I had smartly come up with.

I haven’t followed cricket closely for some time now, but from my gut, this could be the best XI from the squad:

Openers: Murali Vijay and KL Rahul (I think the Shikar Dhawan experiment has run its full course after the poor man's Sehwag shine has all but worn off)

Middle order: Cheteshwar Pujara, V Kohli and A Rahane

WK: Saha

Pace: Ishant and M Shami or Buvi (It is a close call between Shami and Buvi while Umesh is still a work in progress in my eyes)

Spinners: Ashwin and Mishra or Jadeja (Somehow Mishra seems a better choice over Jadeja for his consistency and decent batting performances.)

Water: colorless, odorless but combustible

The seasonal problem of water shortage raises its ugly head again. Governments and authorities concerned caught napping yet again. Law and order on either side of the issue made a mockery of and engineered and orchestrated violence allowed to turn daily lives of people upside down. Idiots and their idiocy, again on both sides, magnified by an enthusiastic media. Insecure chauvinists turning violent, police forces turning a blind eye, colluding politicians fanning the fire and Chief Ministers that trade letters as cities burn. Same story, same rhetoric, only a different year. And the farmer – the direct worst-hit victim – whose image has been coopted by the hooligans, has been reduced to a mute spectator.

The sad truth is that the river, water shortage, sharing plans are mere excuses. The violence has two drivers not connected to water. One is of course politics. In the world of politicians, the problem life cycle is only a straight line that slowly twists itself into a pretzel. Given that elections in Karnataka are due next year, they are scrambling to milk any vote-ensuring topic dry. Congress, or what remains of it, would naturally want to make the right noises for they know that this is their last chance to retain power. Allowing their foot soldiers the opportunity to settle scores and personal vendetta is a nice pre-season gift to galvanize the cadres. For the BJP, it is electoral compulsions too. Karnataka is the only foothold in the non-Hindi speaking belt and they would naturally prefer to be perceived as pro-Karnataka rather than as sensible. Even a Narendra Modi going on a door-to-door campaign won’t fetch them a single seat in the *.MK world of Tamil Nadu politics and they know it too well. The Hon’ble Prime Minister – and I’m still his fan – will do nothing more than pay lip service and give the usual and predictable sound bytes.

The second reason is that this is an opportunity for the chauvinistic ‘Digas to give vent to pent up deep seated emotional frustrations and insecurities. The link between what has happened/is happening and the release of water is only tenuous at best. The average, homegrown hooligan (no way connected to agriculture, mind you) in Bangalore busy setting buses on fire or thrashing Tamils for perceived slights can barely tell tmc from cusecs or who is in the CWDT. Bangalore, thanks to the I.T storm, has been yanked away from under the feet of the “natives”. The initial real estate boom and the infrastructure dreams have long gone bad. What started off with all the trappings of a pleasant honeymoon has soured into a bad orgy. At the heart of the matter, they are upset at having been “usurped” from their Kannada bhoomi by the marauding hordes of laptop bearing prospectors that are indifferent to local sensibilities. Time then to dust off Kannada Mata, raise the “Kaveri belongs to Karnataka” slogans, wave the flags of no-name Vedikes and two-bit thugs getting their fifteen minutes of time in the spotlight. If only forcing Accenture staff out of their offices could magically produce rain or reverse Supreme Court pronouncements!

Any number of tribunals can be set up and many expert groups be put in place. Governments on either side can come and go and verdicts can be issued and re-issued by the highest courts of the land. But make no mistake, there will be no solution in my lifetime or yours. The reasons behind this problem are many – growing demand, poor planning, woeful execution of those plans, deforestation and, of course, topped by human greed. Thus developing an amicable solution lies in that space between possibility and dreams. Reorganizing the states (anyone remember C Rajagopalachari?) can be a way forward but anyone suggesting that today will be laughed out. And a national policy on sharing natural resources remains nothing more than a topic for passionate debate. But hey, if noses can be upped at Supreme Court rulings, a national policy will not be worth the paper it is written on.

There is also a great political risk involved in solving this (or any) problem. Any solution could possibly limit otherwise useful political careers. And there are smart stakeholders on either side with a lot riding on keeping this issue festering.  In other words, our grand kids can look forward to unexpected days of school closure.

That leaves you and me - the "common men" - to make sure that we are responsible on social media, use water wisely (rains or no rains) and caste that vote without in the next elections. 

In the meantime, the river trickles sedately, perhaps secretly laughing at the foolishness being perpetrated in its name. And the farmers - Kannada and Tamil - sit silently staring at the skies. Sorrow, their common language. 

India at the Olympics

Two medals. Disappointed? Yes. Surprised? No.

Time to close our rather bare medals cupboard with a sigh and move on (to cricket). And start writing pieces complaining about the lack of infrastructure, official apathy, cultural/social/gender biases that plague our “system” to feel better at having done something even if inconsequential. Another four years before we feel disappointed by our show in Tokyo. Rinse and repeat.

We must acknowledge that it is a really constricted pipeline that supplies sportspersons in India. “Sachin duck adichaalum avanukku sambalam undu; ana nee noothukku noothi pathu mark vaanganam” (Sachin gets paid even if he gets out for a duck but you must score 110 out of 100) was an oft repeated reminder around our house during the 90s during most ODIs. The emphasis, always, is either on education OR on earning. For the vast majority, sports can, at best, be a hobby; not an avocation.

The enthusiasm to come up with quick fixes is completely understandable. “Catch them young” is a popular one. Give eminent sports persons the authority is another. Educational institutions at all levels should give sports more importance; corporate involvement; people’s mindset…the list goes on. Sadly, there are no solutions readily available today to help us leapfrog to a better position on the medals table. There are many basic issues that will need to be addressed in tandem with higher level sporting requirements to give ourselves a better chance come 2024 and beyond.

To state the blindingly obvious, the majority of the middle class will (should I say rightfully?) always perform the risk-rewards analysis and place an emphasis on academic pursuits over athletic aspirations. Just like for the armed forces, there is the collective thinking that there are “others” that will rise up to the call for sporting heroes. The marginalized folks perhaps view a strong body, fast legs and stamina as little more than a good earning tool. It is difficult to think beyond immediate, unmet needs. And the honest truth is that for every Sachin Tendulkar or a P V Sindhu in the limelight, there are hundreds of thousands that have fallen by the wayside without a security net. However, if we could take sports - region and occupation specific - to the outer fringes of the country and society – both literally and figuratively – we could certainly unearth riches. How many times we have read about the “traveled 50kms one way by bus to play” of any athlete? 

Cast a wide net. Promoting active participation in a wide variety of sports rather than pursuing a full-fledged career in one is perhaps a good first step we could take. But when can that happen? I’m not talking air conditioned, indoor facilities. I’m talking about a clean pavement that will let someone take a jog or even a walk around the block, some green cover on the local sports fields (even if only seasonally) and improve basic amenities around existing facilities (security, lighting, parking, etc.).

Health is wealth. Limit access to tobacco, alcohol and drugs to youth. Easier said than done, one must admit. But putting in place tighter penalties (for sellers and users) and incentivizing cleaner habits can help improve the quality of the population overall.

Security. A soccer player or a hockey player in India will hone his skills knowing pretty well that he will never be able to aspire for the riches of our cricketers. Add to that the risk of injury and the playing careers of non-mainstream (read non-cricket) sports can be easily a non-starter. Avenues for better earning, access to quality sports medicine specialists and the ability to make a decent career in sports after one’s active years are possible motivators.

The education system should take a more forgiving look at sports aspirants. Rigid structures, do-or-die exam systems and (mostly) indifferent staff make it an either-or choice between academics and sports. And given the pressures of typical middle class society, it is a no-brainer that someone would pick academics.

If specialty sporting centers with experts can exist on top of these basic changes, there can be hope in the mid to long future. A rich medal tally is a powerful statement in soft power and helps with branding India on a global forum. With its medal haul at every global sporting event, China, warts and all, only enhances its image as a powerful nation. And a good show will also help tone down page-3 folks like Piers Morgan and Shobhaa De taking potshots at our athletes. 

The trailblazer from Tripura

Dipa Karmakar, the vault, the Produnova and Tripura.

Each word in the above sentence is stranger than the one before it. And that tells on most of us as a nation. I cringed when I typed them; guilty when I googled some. The Produnova, the risk it comes laced with, the grit, determination and sweat behind attempting it, leave alone perfecting.

As a nation of sports fans, we have always remembered numbers. The 10-jersey. We remember the 134 and the 143 from a dusty night in the Arab peninsula from many years ago. We remember the Eden 281 and its significance, the 10/74 wizardry in Delhi, 183 and 145 from Taunton on a grey summer English day from many years ago. Also remembered are a 114 from Perth, a 167 in Sydney. And the 183 in Lord’s. 25 June 1983. 02 April 2011. 100 100s, 6 x 6…numbers held close to our heart.

We have also built and followed a strict hierarchy. Cricket came first, second and third. Headingley, Wanderers and 'Gabba rolled off our tongues just as easily as Eden Gardens, Chepauk and Wankhede did. Durban and the "Green Mamba" and how Adelaide supported spin better than Perth is general knowledge. Space was made for the cricket world Cup, IPL and the Border-Gavaskar trophy on our calendars. And EPL, Euro, Wimbledon, the French Open, etc. filled the gaps.

So many special numbers, places and routines that have meant so much to all of us down the ages. So much that little else has mattered all along. Little else allowed to exist by our collective “sporting” conscience.

Thank you Dipa for giving us a new set of numbers to remember. A new set of numbers to be proud about. New places and people that we must look for and look after. 

15.066 – a number that will now be etched in our sporting memory.

0.15 – the whisker by which a slice of history could have been hers. And ours. 

4 – Fourth best in the world. Not a missed medal.

14-8-2016 – The day when a little known girl from a little known place overcame the tyrannies of distance, barriers of prejudice, inadequacies in infrastructure and the cold indifference of a nation.

1 – One more national icon to be proud of. One more sport to follow and accommodate in our packed sport (watching only) calendar.

Agartala – Sporting hinterland no more. It may not have an IPL franchise but it is just as much a part of us as Mohali, Kolkata or Hyderabad.

Rio de Janeiro – The place where we have been woken awake.

I was following the updates and watched only the deferred telecast later that night. But in the moments that she defied gravity and soared in the air, I felt that the 70^th Independence day had arrived a day earlier.

Dipa did not lose a medal; she may have actually lit a spark. She didn’t lose a spot on the podium; she has captured many hearts. She should be proud of a performance that forces us to take cognizance of the big world beyond the boundary ropes.

Thank you darling!

The two faced sea

The sea is a constant presence in the Tel Aviv city life. From Jaffa port in the South to the mouth of the Yarkon river in the North and beyond, the beach frames the West side of the city.  Most of the big city hotels are along the waterfront, affording the guests with stunning views. As I have mentioned earlier, I hardly get to enjoy the beach or even the views as I usually don’t return in time to catch a brilliant sunset. But the sea does make its presence felt – sunset or not – whenever you catch a glimpse through the windows.

During weekends it is a happy scene with a riot of fun activities when families flock to the beach to cool off in the water. In the mornings and evenings on all days, the athletically minded make the most of the uninterrupted promenade to quietly pack in some exercise. The warm waters and the white sand offer a fun venue for an entire population to unwind and forget life’s grind. The old, the young, the healthy, the infirm, men, women – all of them turn up in good numbers to unwind and paint a picture of joy and delight. To them, the Mediterranean is that old aunt whose home provides fun, succor and recharge to anyone that enters.

Looking out over the beauty of the calm, blue waters, one would find it difficult to picture the grief and sorrow that unfolds across the sea; people dying every day in unbelievable numbers while trying to cross the Mediterranean. Populations fleeing the violence of their homelands. Man-made conflict – religious, social and economic – driving them to seek refuge elsewhere along unwelcoming yet peaceful shores. Life or the lack of it forcing them on a perilous journey that could take them away from their past and towards an uncertain future. Placing their trust and life savings on the hands of ruthless operatives and setting sail on fragile vessels. The voyage across turquoise waters that often ends in watery graves for the tormented travelers. The Mediterranean becomes the bar where people drown themselves attempting to drown their sorrows. Or looked at differently, perhaps deliverance from their sufferings?

One sea, one water but the opposite shores paint two starkly different pictures. And yet the sunsets are just as brilliant every evening. On both shores, I’m sure. 

Stand up comedy roundup

Of late, I’m into stand up comedy. No, I’m not trying my hand at it – God knows that I’m ill equipped to regale an audience. So relax. I meant to say that I have been listening to/watching stand up comedy of various artists on YouTube – that fountainhead of mobile entertainment. I have a long commute and my choice of en route entertainment these days is stand up comedy on the way back home. On the mornings, it is still NPR and Mr. Ilayaraja.

As an art form, I suppose stand up comedy isn’t all that different from the other performing arts. You write material, practice, perform and improve enough over time to make a name for yourself. But unlike singing or dancing, which require years of rigorous and formal training to polish the skills, stand up comedy is largely self-honed. There are no schools or proving grounds, traditions to adhere to or grammar to stick to. The comedian is pretty much his own guru and there are no exams to certify one’s worth. Similarly there are no props to lean on or even hide behind – music, musicians or fellow performers. There is the performer, a microphone and the waiting audience and their appreciation the only scale to calibrate one against.

The comedian’s task is further more challenging because many in the audience think of themselves as being humorous. Not everyone that walks into an Aruna Sairam concert, for instance, fancies themselves as singers or are trained in classical music for years. But every John Doe out there can crack a good joke once in a while. So to provide a fresh perspective on everyday stuff and to bring a sense of novelty to things and experiences that almost everybody in the audience is aware of is a tough ask in my eyes. Choosing a profession fraught with these kinds of hazards is a big decision. Thus my healthy respect for their tribe.

I don’t mind mild (what is mild?) racial or ethnic jokes that play on stereotypes and a casual swear word thrown in here and there doesn’t turn me off either. So I find someone like Russell Peters funny. But I see some guys over using foul language as a comedic tool which doesn’t suit my taste. And for this exact reason, I have growing respect for the ones with squeaky clean content that you can watch with your kids.

There aren’t clear favorites yet as I’m still sampling the fare out there. But I’m beginning to like the work of Louis CK, Jim Gaffigan, Brian Regan from the US and Craig Ferguson and David Allen from the United Kingdom. And much like suffering poets being more profound, I find that guys with a difficult past (based on a few interviews) tend to come up with the better stuff.

A few friends recommended some Indian standup comedy acts in English and somehow I haven’t been able to savor the stuff that I have come across thus far. The comedians adopt English to cater to a wider, pan-Indian audience which is understandable. But therein lies the problem. In my opinion, English simply kills the comedic potential of content that can be better exploited in native languages. And dare I say, stand up comedy in India is still young and needs to evolve a bit – both among the performers and audiences.

Perhaps it is a cultural bias but I still prefer Indian comedy packaged as a track in movies or stage dramas. Between Goundamani’s body of work and S Ve Shekar’s and Crazy Mohan’s older dramas there is no gap in my comedy requirements. I also continue to mine the treasures of the Kamal and Crazy Mohan  combination when I need a good laugh or two. Yes, these are all stuff from the past and sadly, I don’t like very much what passes for comedy these days. 

Kabali - the experience

So yes, it is done. The movie has been watched and it is time to spill the guts/pour the heart out here. But before I start, here are some disclosures in no particular order.

      1. I’ve only been a casual Rajini fan (at best), throughout my life. I have never watched any Rajini movie within the first 2 weeks of its release. Except for Endhiran which I watched the day it released. In Singapore. So that doesn’t count.

2    2. I have never watched any of P Ranjith’s other movies. I don’t have a feel for his style, if there exists one.

3    3. I have mere passing knowledge of the situation of Tamils in Malaysia by virtue of having lived in nearby Singapore for a few years and having worked with a few Malaysian Indians.

Warning: Full of spoilers.

The story line has three threads. The plight of Tamil-origin people in Malaysia, a turf war between rival gangs and a man seeking out his long lost family. Rarely have such three strong elements been made available to provide the perfect setting to deliver a masterpiece that would have not only made the fans happy but also enhanced the fading star’s larger than life image. But walking out of the theater, I felt transported back to the night of the 1996 ICC WC semi-final when I watched the favorites flounder on the biggest night on the biggest stage. There was an equal mix of disappointment and sadness not just for the Rajini fan but also the Tamil cinema fan. When you realize that the entire teaser was entirely sourced from within the first 15 minutes of the movie, you know you have been done in.

The first question that springs to mind is what did Ranjith want to convey? Was this a clear political movie with a strong pro-Dalit message? No. That would have called for a more nuanced handling of the plight of the Tamils in Malaysia rather than the cursory, episodic portrayals seen here topped off with jarring one liners with political innuendoes inserted here and there. Was this then a full-fledged mafia movie about an ageing don ascending to his rightful place on the throne? Hell no. This was a mish mash of poorly choreographed fight scenes thrown in pretty much at random. Did he want to at least explore the tender side of a once-violent don in search of familial love? Again, this aspect was not fully exploited and came across as under cooked.

Ranjith, I suppose, wanted to convey a strong pro-Dalit message using Rajini as a vehicle. He couldn’t have set the story as happening in Tamilnadu for the obvious reason that Rajini’s fan base cuts across all castes. So he had to move it to Malaysia to be politically correct. But he dare not talk anything against the current political dispensation there (or the Bhumiputra policy) without setting off a political fire storm. So to avoid that, he travels in time rather conveniently to pick up issues with the the white man. Lo and behold, here is a neat little political plot that upsets none! And he dressed it up with some don drama and a dash of family sentiments. And in the middle of all this juggling, he remembered that this also has to be a Rajini movie after all and hastily tried to throw some core elements in almost as an afterthought. The result is a limp movie that tries to be many things at once but caters to no one’s needs in the end.

A Rajini movie is like an intense religious ceremony and its director the chief priest overseeing the preparations. His familiarity with the plentiful traditions, handed down the ages, is a pre-requisite. And the traditions are to be adhered to at a minimum or organically enhanced, at best. Questioning them or attempting to overturn them is blasphemy But the novice director in his rather careless handling of the script (and the mega star) has betrayed his lack of pedigree resulting in a movie that has little to show for the pre-release hype.

The biggest drawback was the screenplay that was as helpful as a soggy, soiled diaper around a playful baby’s waist. A taut screenplay can partly shoulder the burden of a weak script. But unfortunately this was a double whammy that left many passages of the movie dragging. An electrifying opening and introduction segment was sorely missing. After showing him inside the prison cell, I was left confused: is this it or is there going to be an actual intro? This confusion seems to persist throughout the movie and together with a flimsy story line, leaves many questions unanswered. For instance, how did Rajini transform from a local leader to a gangster and a don? How did he make the money to bank roll his lifestyle especially if he avoids drug trade and flesh trade?

The cast was the second weakest link. With all due respect, who (the f***) is John Vijay? Forcing us to accept him as Rajini’s friend from youth is a slap on our intelligence. The guy looks like an idiot in that wig and is driving Rajini around in a bike. Ranjith, allow me to break this down for you: Rajini does NOT ride pillion. Ever. Period. Moving on, let’s look at memorable villains of the past – Raghuvaran, Ramya Krishnan, Manivannan, Vijayashanthi. In that impressive lineup, this guy from Taiwan is a bad joke. A superhero requires a super villain and he/she was sorely missing from the script. Dhansika as the daughter was a bitter pill to swallow especially when Radhika Apte, playing her aged mom, looks like her class mate from MOP Vaishnava college. Radhika was about the only real actor in the movie. The reunion segment was easily the best in the movie and the “maya nadhi” song showed glimpses of what Rajini the actor is capable of and what we have missed all along. The music is also a big letdown. neruppu da was catchy and maya nadhi, soulful. But the background score was loud and noisy and didn’t liven up things.

The production quality was particularly bad. Whose idea was it to not even grey the aged Radhika's hair? While Rajini had aged, she looks like his elder daughter. Wigs, particularly for the flashback segment looked clumsy. And the set for the climax scene looked like something out of a “Shaktimaan” episode. If a third of the money and focus spent on promotion and marketing had been diverted to the making, this could have come out much more stylish and classier.

That leaves Rajini as the one redeeming feature – standing tall while surrounded by a sea of mediocrity. He tries to carry the entire movie on his frail shoulders but looks hamstrung by the cast, crew and the script. Age, which had begun to show for a few years now, has started seriously encroaching into the persona. The charisma is still there and so is the stylish screen presence but the voice has grown feeble and the body frail. Scenes he could once have chewed up and spat out seem less convincing. And in the hands of a less capable director, he runs the risk of being reduced to a caricature.

Rajini the larger than life super star is at the inevitable crossroads that every ageing star faces. A body of work that he can be proud of lies behind. And still adoring fans surround him. From here on, it is all about the legacy that he chooses to leave behind. He must remind himself that history takes a kinder view of those who leave on a high. Time is not his ally anymore and it is critical that he chooses his script and directors with utmost care. Dalliances with the inexperienced is an adventure that he can ill afford and his fans simply deserve better fare. Else, Padayappa may well become the last real Rajini movie ever made.

Kabali - the noon before

Typing this up a few hours before watching Kabali. It would be a lie to say that I’m not excited. After weeks of watching the trailer/teaser, listening to the songs and staying clear of leaks (alleged opening/intro clip sitting unviewed on whatsapp), scrolling past reviews and opinions of all sorts, even my kid – born after Endhiran came out, to give you some context – is walking around mouthing the dialogs and humming the songs.

I would say that the pre-release promotions for Kabali have been an order of magnitude bigger than any other Rajini movie; bordering on manufactured mass hysteria. Yes, it is good business sense to whip up some excitement even if it is a Rajini movie given the money that gets put in. But this one has gone overboard. The expectations are now set high; time to see if and how the movie lives up to it.

Will blog about the Kabali experience soon! 

Why this kolaveri da?

An unarmed girl hacked to death in broad daylight by a spurned lover stalker. Peeling off one more layer, let’s look a bit at the individuals involved. The victim was employed in a leading software company. The stalker was an engineering drop out with little else going for him besides this one sided amorous pursuit. Her crime? Spurning the advances of a sociopath.

It is a fine line that separates fantasy from reality. And it is a scary thought that the youth of today – not all of them, of course –so easily go astray and cross that line with no thought about the consequences. I’m trying to make sense of what his intentions were in following her. Did he really fancy his chances with her? Assuming for argument’s sake that she had reciprocated his feelings for her, did he ever ponder what then? Remember, she was at the threshold of a career and by all reports, he was already an absolute failure.

From the news reports, it looks that his friends have stoked his desires and he may have been encouraged to pursue her by his peers. The fact that she had not reported him to her dad – for fear of being curtailed I’d imagine rather than out of any romantic interests – have apparently emboldened him. And finally when she had called a spade a spade, he loses the plot and takes it upon himself to teach her a lesson that goes horribly wrong.

Anger from rejection is a natural human emotion. But channelizing that anger to improve oneself is so passé. Teaching a lesson on the other hand – a la Rajinikant the shrew tamer – is cool! I hate to oversimplify this situation and lay the entire blame at the doorstep of Tamil cinema. But it is hard to overlook the role of movies in incidents like these. Do movies reflect society or does society imbibe from cinema is a debate for another day. But it is fair to assume that cinema today has a strong influence on the youth.

Let’s face it. The hero from a humble background winning the hands of the princess is a horse that has been flogged down the ages on celluloid. In earlier times, the hero was unfailingly depicted as a fundamentally good person that rose from the lower rungs of the society and rebelled against the ruling class. The love was (of course) incidental and merely a vehicle to question class distinctions and bring about societal change. The romance, more often than not initiated from the girl's side, was boringly clean and always ended in sweet union. In other words, even a kid knew it was a story. No sane person could identify themselves with any of the onscreen characters. 

Let’s take a look at how the role of the hero has evolved. There was the period that glorified suicides spawned by "love failure". Or giving oneself liver sclerosis when spurned. But today, when movie makers vie with one another to portray "reality", the need to portray positive values has become one of the first victims. Besides the humble background, today's cine male has nothing in common with the ones from the black and white era. He has a highly inflated sense of entitlement and pretty much nothing else. He is a flawed rebel without a cause, qualifications, values or even the looks for that matter. An academic failure? No problem. Completely incompatible with the girl culturally and economically? No problem again. The narrative is one that gives him the entitlement to any girl’s love interest only because he desired so, no matter what. After all, “engala maari pasangala paatha odaney pidikkadhu. Paakka paakka dhaan pidikkum”, right? (Loose translation: we are an acquired taste.)

In this synthetic reality where his shortcomings are his qualifications and greed is a virtue, the lady’s rejection then becomes a classist slap on the face of an entire section of society. Choosing a more compatible guy is casteism masquerading as choice! In other words, the girl (or her family) knows nothing, should have no preferences of her own whatsoever and her choices simply don’t matter. The knight in shining armor – warts and all – shath set everything in order with his love en route to a happily lived ever after. The flawed man’s misplaced desires are here and here to stay.

Cinema has always been guilty of airbrushing reality to reel in audiences but now the consequences are becoming more lethal. Combine that with the sorry fact that strong values are not instilled into youth at every opportunity (family, schools, colleges), girls and their families unjustly bear the burden of a few men getting high on flawed narratives and running amok when hit by reality.

I hate Kamal Hassan the actor and nowadays even the individual. But I remember and like one of his earlier interviews where he advises the audiences to watch a movie strictly for entertainment and brush off its influences as soon as one steps out of the theater. Sounds so right.

Flight 619 cleared for takeoff

The abiding image of Anil Kumble, for me, is the big man standing at the start of his famous run up, giving the old ball in his hand a hard twirl or two on the fourth day of any test match. Intense eyes scanning the field placements, exchanging a word or two with the captain, trousers turning red at the groins and close in fielders preparing to lap up the edge that was always imminent. The venue could be Kanpur or Capetown. India could be winning or gasping to save the test. The pitch could be favoring somebody and the weather somebody else. But you just knew the match would be cracked open no matter what and India would be given at least an outside chance. With his determination and grit as much as with his spin and flight.

As Anil Kumble transitioned from player to administrator after his retirement – a less lucrative path, not often taken – I felt a satisfaction that his services to the game would continue. And as he takes up the reins of the Indian team now, I feel that he will bring his A game to the table just as he had done every time he wore the India cap.

A great player need not necessarily be a great captain or a good coach. And Anil certainly lacks coaching pedigree that Tom Moody has in plenty that could come in handy at this level. But Anil has worn new hats with success before and more importantly, his dedication and sincerity together with his knowledge of the game should stand him in good stead. A belief that is certainly not misplaced in his case.  And given our legacy of weak pace assets, a world class spinner as the head coach can certainly help nourish and develop our spin attack.

Matches will be won and lost; trophies lifted or gifted. But one can rest assured that this team, to borrow his famous words after that ugly Sydney test, will “play the game in the right spirit”, as it should be. The sagely Kumble could be the perfect foil for the aggressive Virat.

As a fan, I’m hooked. Time to sit back and fasten the seat belts as The Jumbo prepares for takeoff. 

P.S: For a India fan from the eighties, this is like a reunion of sorts happening now. Between the cricket advisory committee, the India U-19 coach and now team India head coach, the old boys are back together again! 

Nothing to see here

Some time back, Progressive Insurance, if memory serves, ran a television ad where they claimed to provide their customers with quotes from their competitors right on their own website. Their claim? "We want you to save money even if it's not with us." I never went with Progressive as I have always been saving 15 percent or more elsewhere (and also that lady on their ads is a bit creepy) but their tag line has stuck in memory for all these years.

In that spirit, today I'm providing you with links to better prose elsewhere with nothing more than the noble intention that at M/s. Slowelectron Inc., we want you to get some value for your time. Even if it's not with us. Although, anyone that has visited this site would know that the chances of getting anything of quality here are rather slim.

Without further blather, here are the promised links.

Exhibit 1: If you have wondered whether you are wasting spending too much time on social media, there is good news and bad news. The bad news is that, yes you have been wasting your time. But the good news is that you are but a pawn in this intricate game of luring you in and making you lose any sense of time on their app/website. Tristan Harris - a magician and ex-Google Design Ethicist - shines light on a high stakes game where human weaknesses are leveraged to the advantage of the businesses, where every pixel seduces you and every click draws you deeper into the abyss. Time to snap out of the stupor and take control. (P.S: No, I don't have this affliction. FB had to flash the the pictures of a few of my friends for me to identify as the account had been inactive for too long. And that was a few months back. And I still believe that Whatsapp is a mobile messaging app.)

Exhibit 2: Hariharan Iyer calls the bluff on the double standards of the secular brigade, this time it is Trupti Desai and her two distinct set of antics for two different religions.

Exhibit 3: From being denied a visa to getting a state welcome and addressing Congress, India's Prime Minister Narendra Modi has come a long way, in few giant strides. But meanwhile at NY times... I stopped reading at the paragraph that says "The Gujarat riots began on a February morning, when a train carrying Hindu pilgrims was surrounded by a mob of Muslims and caught fire at a train platform in Godhra."

Hope to be back soon with something original.

Tamil Nadu election results: An amateur's review

Looks like I may have a future as a political pundit after all. Cho Ramaswamy's protege? Perhaps, perhaps. Don't jinx it. ;)

My amateur takeaways, in no particular order, from the poll results where Tamil Nadu has chosen to be robbed by the incumbent set of thugs for the first time in 38 years. 

1. This appears more a loss for DMK than a victory for ADMK. Tamil Nadu's notorious anti-incumbency urge was not strong enough to deny Jayalalitha a second term. Memories from DMK's previous term, greed spawned by family/dynasty politics and potential for great corruption did DMK in. To make matters worse, their tie up with Congress turned out to be a big mistake - they won 8 of the 41 seats that they contested in with a paltry 6.4% vote share. (Source: wikipedia). They had to go with the Congress: the BJP wouldn't touch the DMK with, to borrow a term from my Brit colleague, a ten-foot bargepole and quite honestly, the Congress and the DMK partnered so well in UPA II to loot the nation that they had to keep each other happy to ensure that the lid remained seated firmly on their sordid affairs.

2. Imagine M Karunanidhi dying as a Chief Minister: restrained glee for MK Stalin, manufactured grief among the cadres and mild to moderate chaos across the state as the power struggle in the family unfolds. I'm so happy that this has been averted.  And a grave on the Marina beach for the fossil-in-a-veshti nonagenarian will now be a tough ask with JJ at the helm. 

3. BJP and their sad Tamil story continues. My secret wish was that they would win at least 5 seats in and around Coimbatore and Kanyakumari. And they drew a blank. BJP going alone in TN is a wasted effort: their flavor of Hindutva done in Hindi won't appeal to the Tamil sensibilities, their better governance notwithstanding. And development is not as big a deal in the state like elsewhere in the country. That said, I'm still willing to bet that the same people would vote for BJP in 2019, provided they are able to cobble together a good alliance. The national credibility of the BJP combined with some local flavor will be the ideal mix, although it remains to be seen who can be that ideal local partner. 

4. The DMDK+ drubbing. I'm hard pressed to say anything other than, well deserved. I'm glad the people were able to see right through them and called their bluff. Granted they didn't have the might - people and money - of the big two. But all things considered, it was a rickety party and turned out to be a damp squib. And how! Captain, Thol Thirumavalavan and the communists lost spectacularly. Of particular interest is the curious case of Thol Thirumavalavan losing in a reserved constituency. The self styled voice of the Dalits shown the door! Time for introspection guys. 

5. Alcohol. It was billed as the ultimate make or break issue around which this poll was supposed to turn. And everyone that had promised total prohibition - and had expected to win the female vote - ended up biting the dust. Prohibition is, at best, a knee jerk solution to the threat posed by alcohol abuse. Personally I'll bat for more control, extensive rehabilitation and increasing awareness rather than total prohibition. Going cold turkey will only facilitate a flourishing illicit liquor trade, people losing eyesight and countless deaths. And also leave that occasional drinker looking for a beer on a Friday night terribly frustrated. 

6. 57% voter turn out in Chennai. That old-school indifference of the middle class rears its ugly head again. Yes, there is the age-old grievance that is unique to the middle class: what do they get in return for their vote? Pretty much nothing. So why bother. But let's not forget that the income tax one pays doesn't fetch much returns either in India. But everyone pays it nonetheless. Just like that. 

7. A truly three cornered fight remains a distant dream in Tamil Nadu. The DMK is at a crossroads: MK's death will lead to some ugliness in the fight for succession. But the party would survive better given that it is only a family business and families patch up. Especially if the stakes are high. On the other hand, ADMK will flounder badly in a post-JJ world, as second tier leadership is unheard of in their set up. With PMK, MDMK, DMDK and the communists being irrelevant players, DMK will be left without a serious challenger. And that is a scary scenario. BJP, are you listening?

TamilNadu polls: my predictions

Since turning 18, I have exercised my franchise exactly once. I have always been living outside of India for the most part of this century and have missed all the elections since the 1999 national polls including this one.

So had I been in Chennai, instead of in the opposite side of the world, who would I have voted for?

Not for the DMK - Congress alliance. Two families of bandits with vast experience of looting the nation in most imaginative ways between them, coming together - once more - with a clean plate at the election buffet. Under the leadership of M Karunanidhi - who, if the media is to be believed, may actually be alive. A vote for them is not only forgiving their many sins of the past of varying vintages but paving the way for many more, I'm sure, in the future. And call me old fashioned but I have a thing against family/dynastic politics. Particularly if they have the fake-Gandhi and *.nidhi names. Oh and I'll also pass the opportunity to have a 93-year old three-wived, conniving fossil as a Chief Minister! And finally, remember, Congress-tainted DMK presence will do no help to pass any legislation in the parliament.

Not for the ADMK. If DMK is the devil (quite rightly), the ADMK is definitely the deep sea (again, quite rightly). As far as corruption credentials go, the DMK and ADMK are conjoined twins with two separate bank accounts. On top of corruption and sycophancy, you must throw inefficiency into the mix this time around. Cases in point: the Chennai deluge and the loss of industrial investment to the state (source: Indian Express). They may not have family baggage but with an ailing leader (officially a spinster), the sister family and the sycophants circling around and no trace of a second tier leadership worth talking about, this is a slowly ticking bomb.

Not for the PMK. Granted that they have adopted a different approach for this election: going it alone in all constituencies, announcing the CM candidate, taking an early and consistent stand on abolition of alcohol, although with no convincing plans on how to offset the loss in revenue and prevent illicit liquor problems. But I can't look past their history: after all this is still the same tree felling party playing caste politics. And the problems of La Famiglia politics hangs like a cloud over this set up too.

Not for the PWF (the miscellany) either. An LTTE sympathizer. Tired communists. The so called Dalit champion and an actor with questionable qualifications. (Reminds me of a strictly for Tamils-only Rajini clip: Oru dhaadi, oru mottai, naalu school pasanga! Ippo suthuveengalae??) An alliance of convenience with no common ideology other than the self-assumed "alternate" to the old-school Dravidian dispensations. A noble and lofty goal, no doubt, but they possess neither the cohesion nor the clout to pull of anything more than a seat or two.

That leaves us with the BJP. Forced to go alone because they couldn't stitch together a half-decent alliance in the time they had. A national party trying to be relevant in a state that cannot (and will not) follow what Mr. Modi shouts from the pulpit. Based on what they are trying to do rather clumsily in New Delhi, a vote for them is a vote for clean(er) governance and that is something that Tamil Nadu can do with now. And paint me an optimist but I nurse the hope that in the near future they could become a political force to reckon with in the state. So, yes, I would have voted for them.

Let's pretend that the readers of this blog - both of them - ask me the next question: who do I think shall win? Well, I'm no political pundit and my knowledge is gleaned from the comments section of click-bait articles on Tamil publications. But given that any pol. pun is only taking an educated guess and is as likely to get it wrong as the next guy on the street, let me throw my hat into the ring too.

For all the talk about this being a "multi-cornered" contest, this will continue to be a closely fought dog fight between ADMK and the DMK. Given that as a state we have the dubious distinction of alternating between these two sets of thieving groups, history may be smiling at the DMK this time. But Rs. 1,76,000 crores is a figure that has been tattooed on people's minds. Not an easy amount to forget or forgive, the recent flood mismanagement notwithstanding. One look at the faces of Raja and K'mozhi and those memories come flooding back and I have to watch a few Dr. Subramaniam Swamy videos on YouTube to feel better. So here is my prediction: the marginally lesser of the two evils - that's ADMK for non-Tamilians - could scrape through by a slim margin. Perhaps even with the help of BJP?

With that out of the way, I'll join the rest of the state with bated breath for the 19th. 

An aborted take off and the aftermath

The world’s best airline. The second best airport in the world. What happens when the proverbial shit hits the fan?

6:00pm

“Flight crew to your stations please.”

The reassuring voice of the captain from the flight deck came over the PA system. The aircraft taxied to the head of the runway, turned around and came to a halt for those few moments before the take off. The engines gathered speed as the aircraft started thundering down the runway, all set to take off from Incheon, South Korea on its long hop to San Francisco late in the evening on the 5^th of May.

From my 44C aisle seat, I peeled my eyes from the LCD screen and looked out the window. I could see little more than the wing and the slats in the dim light. No number of years of flying can make me feel insouciant at the time of takeoff. Truth is, I’m still awed by flying, planes and everything connected to aviation. And from my seat, watching or visualizing the plane actually lifting off, the wheels folding, imagining the pilots manning the big bird through the clouds is now a habit. Oh and a prayer or two also, I must add. Perhaps my own way of being part of, in my opinion, what is a magical phenomenon.

I reckon we were maybe eight seconds, or ten at the most, from lift off when instead of accelerating the plane actually started braking. Momentum, braking efficiency, friction – all those concepts float by when a nearly full Boeing 777, about to lift off, is brought to an abrupt halt. That rare time when you appreciate why the seat belts are put in and thankful that you are wearing one. As the plane came to a shuddering halt, quizzical looks were exchanged till the pilot came back on and to say that he had aborted the takeoff on the orders of the control tower. You could be flying the greatest planes to the most exotic locations but the guy in the tower calls the shots.

We must have been sitting for about fifteen minutes at, what I’m pretty sure was, the very end of the runway when the pilot came back on again and shared further news. First about a plane straying on to our runway (gulp!) and then about flat tires and a brake system that is hot, dashing my hopes of a short delay. This could be longer. Many Indian parents (SQ16, May, California Spring…) had meantime started floating multiple theories, one more interesting than the other. Buses showed up about 30 minutes later and ferried us back to the terminal with our hand baggage and I could actually see the flat tires through the window. But this is the world’s best airline having issues at the world’s second best airport and I reckoned we could be airborne later that night.

7:30 pm “Let them have cake!”

The ground staff led us to the waiting area in front of the Krisflyer lounge. I identified two colleagues who were on the same flight – frequent flyers – and hence could shadow them into the lounge. The colleagues managed to take in 3 elderly folks to the lounge. As a fan of test cricket, you are familiar with the torture of rain delays in a tantalizingly poised game: a break in the rains – mopping – pitch inspection – new start time – more rains. The airline equivalent of this started playing out. The first announced 2-hour delay quickly became three after some checks and then four by which time it was rather clear that the chances of flying out that night were slim. No complaints there: ensuring flight worthiness of the aircraft and hence passenger safety is paramount. I’ll wait till you are satisfied. But I’m sure glad that I had access to the packed-to-the-gills lounge and hence some reasonably good finger food. The economy class folks in the waiting area outside, in the meantime, had been given a rough deal in what was the first of many goof-ups that night. Meal vouchers, I learned, were handed out but the restaurants had all closed down by that time, rendering them useless. Later some cake was then distributed to the folks. “Let them have cake!”

11:30pm “The wheels on the bus go round and round…”

It was finally announced that a special flight would be made available the following day at 1300hrs – a delay of nearly 20 hours - and that we would be provided accommodation for the night. Accommodation as in an hour-away-by-bus-back-into-Seoul and not something close by. The first class and business class travelers were whisked away separately. Again, no complaints: this is how the world works from temples to airports and everywhere in between. All of were asked to head to the immigration counter for canceling the departure stamp to allow re-entry or get a temporary visa issued as appropriate. In what was a masterstroke in customer service, when the elderly started looking for baggage trolleys, the Incheon airport officials informed us, rather callously, that no trolleys would be available as it was late night. Yes, the world’s second best airport couldn’t let the elderly and the infirm use baggage trolleys. We took turns helping out those who needed help with either walking or heavy bags.

A quick side note. Most Indian Americans, by default, seem to ask for wheel chair service for their traveling parents. Some of them genuinely need it; case in point the 88-year-old couple that was in the plane. But many others, don’t get me wrong, seem to be playing it extremely safe. A few fifty year-olds had been enrolled for the wheel chair service: I helped them with some paperwork and hence I know their age. Granted that I don’t know their medical condition to make a judgment on whether they really needed one. But as they say, it is a small world. I ran into some of them a few days after in the Bay Area, walking around just fine! My point? Walking during the layover and/or arrival would actually be better for them instead of more sitting from a health stand point. Again, this is not for everyone but something to think about.

Immigration was long and cumbersome given the lack of enough officials at that hour. More so for a few that required help with questions. The ground staff wasn’t around to help out here and we pitched in to help out to the extent possible.

2:00am

Buses took us to the Hilton at the foot of the Namsan Hill in Seoul. Check-in was not too bad but we were informed that dinner was not part of the accommodation plan. And needless to mention, food on the late night menu was steeply priced. We again helped out people with their bags and kids. Most of them required help with the card key entry, the lights, the faucets and figuring out window screens. By the time we could go to our rooms, it was past 3am.

10:00am

It was a grey, murky, wet morning and breakfast was a solemn affair. Everyone had one thing foremost on their minds: Can we get back to the airport and be on our way please? We were bussed back to Incheon and check in to the special flight was quick.We raised the lack of support at many stages since the aborted take off with the ground staff and requested this: that the really elderly be upgraded either to the business class or at least the premium economy section. No and no. After much haggling, they upgraded the 88-year-old couple to premium eco. I wish they were a lot more reasonable under the circumstances.

May be I sounded whiny. It is not my intention to be so and I consider myself as having been nothing short of extremely lucky. But what was truly appalling was the lack of adequate support and efficiency that should have been made available, particularly to those that needed it the most. Looking back at the incidents of that night, here are my takeaways in no particular order.

We were an extremely lucky group in that a plane straying on to the runway could have been much more, umm…serious? I don’t think I will know whose fault it was but full marks to the air traffic controller and to the pilot for making sure that a canceled flight was the worst thing that happened that night.

One would expect that things would be handled smoothly given that it is Singapore Airlines having an issue at Incheon. But the lack of coordination, bad communication/updates at every step of the way was stunningly bad! I could hear many people murmur that United Airlines (yes, United!) would have done a better job in that same situation.

If you need great service onboard, a fantastic entertainment system or finely customized meals to suit every palate, one needn’t look further than Singapore Airlines. But when things weren’t going according to plan, we got to take a look at their underside. Verdict: not very pleasant. Was it lack of experience or training for such a situation that led them to trip up the way they did? Whatever be the reason behind it, I hope they learned a thing or two from the incident.

Once again, full marks to the ATC and the pilot! Being around and healthy to post this is a better outcome than the other possibilities, the annoyances notwithstanding. 

The scent of a mother

This is something that has been languishing in my drafts folder along with a dozen or so other under cooked posts-in-the-making. I chose to put the finishing touches to this one today and serve it up as the next dose of prose of mediocre quality that is the standard fare at this corner of the internet. If you think this is my mother's day offering, you really don't know me too well. Anyways, I guess this is how Maniratnam must've sounded when he claimed Iruvar was a piece of fiction. 

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It was a late afternoon in August 2008. I had gotten out of work early and was meeting my father and my brother – who had been out running some errands – at Ambika Appalam depot, a few blocks down the street from our home. It has always been a convenient meeting point for our family – not too long a walk from home, near a bus stand and an easy landmark for all Chennai auto drivers. Although the two of them had been delayed and showed up late, the three of us stood there by the bottom of the stairs leading up into the building. We had nothing pressing to get done, none of us was particularly keen on going back home and we stood there for some time – three men – not quite sure what to do with the rest of the evening.

I don't remember where we ended up going to from there or what we did that evening and that is not the point of this post anyways. But here is some context to how we ended up at that corner in Adyar. Our mother had died only a few days earlier. The ceremonies spanning thirteen days had been completed. We had then taken a few days off to visit family in Bangalore. We had also visited my in-laws in Mysore. My wife wanted to stay back with her parents for a few more days before we returned to Singapore. So it was just the three of us back in Chennai – me, my brother and our father – to spend a few days by ourselves tying up loose ends before heading back out to our respective bases.

That day, there were no doctor appointments to take our mother to, no treatments to arrange for. There were neither hospital stays to be coordinated nor any medicines to be procured. And as I said, the ceremonies over the preceding days had been completed, the relatives had departed one by one and we found ourselves in a sudden vacuum – three men, till recently very busy – not quite sure what to do with the rest of the evening.

That particular incident impacted me and kept playing back in my mind again and again over the next few days. The Ambika Appalam Depot bathed in the late afternoon sun. Three men, not quite sure on the agenda for the evening. No compelling reason to go back home to. There was something unsettling about that moment that I had trouble putting a finger on. 

Then it dawned on me one fine day. I was the married guy but with the wife out of town. My brother was still single then. And our father, the recent widower, of course. We didn’t have the reassuring presence of a woman around – a mom or a wife or a sister-in-law – to engage us or even drive us nuts. The presence of a lady, the whiff of womanhood – of any relation – is such a positive influence on everyone around. A natural mechanism to keep everyone - particularly the XY-chromosomed - grounded and balanced. Granted there is always the exception or three but at least in our family this has been the case – the lady was the bedrock. 

I kept playing this incident in my mind again and I replaced the three of us from that evening with a school going kid. I played out that exact same scenario: a young kid - mother recently deceased and the dad away at work to support the family - returning to an empty home after school. Such a terrible scenario. And scary that it would be so easy for the kid to lose his path and focus. There was a similar example that I became aware of on my wife’s side where the kid (now in college) suffered after his mom passed away when he was small. A fate that should not visit any child - young or old.  

At the risk of sounding like something straight out of a particularly cheesy Hallmark card - mothers are simply special. No mother is perfect and no woman flawless. But they are where they are - shortcomings and all - for a pretty big reason. Cast in a role much bigger and grander than they are even aware of often times.

On a related note, a few years back, I was in the room when a doctor uttered the best words I’ve ever heard from one of their tribe: “A sick mother is no mother.” Truer words? Never spoken, I would say. So please take care of your health. After all, you must be around and fit to enjoy the fruits of your labor. Go take a walk, get that mammogram, take that pap smear test, read a book or sip a quiet cup of coffee. They are not against the law, I checked. 

On a random Tuesday (few days after mother’s day), my salute to all mothers. Actually, make that a salute to every woman out there – mother, grandmother, sister, aunt, friend - that is a positive influence on an individual, her family and the society. We may not thank you often or thank you enough but make no mistake, you are special. 

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.