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.

Nouns and verbs

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes, I can.”

“Good! Run is a verb.”

“Nice!”

“Can you do Ms. G?”

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

laughing. 

Ms. G is his teacher at school. 

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

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

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

WT20 - my thoughts

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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What do we do with the ODI?

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

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Emotions

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

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

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

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

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

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

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