The Neighbourhood Sofamaker

In the bylanes near my apartment a certain 'Bombay Sofaworks' pronounced itself. It was a typical ground floor, two door house with one part of the house filling as the workspace. It was here I found him; spartan in every sense of the word - dishevelled hair, unkempt beard and always clad in long, crumpled white. Everyday, sitting around a sewing machine with pieces of sofas or their parts strewn all over he was lost in his own sweet world. That probably meant the world to him; the machine making music to the dance of his feet and earned him his bread. Looking around one could see signs of a joint family. There was a makeshift yard with hens trotting along, kids playing and maidens strutting around under the pretence of laying out washed clothes. I wondered how he took care of all these people; was also flumoxed as to where these people disappeared. Always wondered that the single minded dedication came from the fact that he had so many people to support. He loved his work though - beneath the smug image there was happiness when he had work on hand. You always felt it in the air. There was the warmth of Rafi saab's voice around.

I had just moved to my new place. The sparkling newness of the place slowly gave way to a much more worldliness. We ordained that our sofa needed a second set of covering. My wife looked around her contacts and found Mohammed, uncle of our furniture wallahs tailor. Mohammed announced himself as a very competent tailor. He sounded almost too eager when I spoke to him over the phone, so much so that he immediately took measurements and gave me a price to complete this. We like to tread over eagerness with caution. I wasn't averse to getting this done but looked to take my time to say yes to Mohammed. He called me occasionally; sometimes at odd hours. I sensed a sound of desperation at times. I remember he had offered to get some good designs at his cost. Perhaps to entice me to get the work done by him. I now remembered his number from the frequent calls.

Mohammed calls though ebbed and flowed. I found that when my neighbourhood sofamaker had his courtyard jacked with work to do, my cellphone never heard from Mohammed. On the more sullen days the music from his courtyard never flared. I heard music courtesy via Mohammed though; he seemed bent to reach out to me and Rafi waxed from my phone. I was convinced the sofamaker I so admired and Mohammed the one I avoided uneasily was the same person. I needed to put the question to rest though. An evening walk with my wife to look at the sofamakers stifled paradise confirmed this. I was besotted with feelings of despair and thrill. Here was one person I had silently known for a while, someone I was worried about when he wasn't to be seen; someone I liked to see playing with his kids. Someone who's music I admired and paused sometimes to listen. That someone I had connected to and being worldly unwise decided to contemplate that extra bit before offering some of the work I needed done. I found myself smaller realising it pays to do things from the heart.

That instant I decided that he was doing the work at my home, promising to myself that I would call up Mohammed the next morning. He would have been happier that he got his work from the person he had tried to impress; not from a bystander who witnessed him at work and someone who he probably hadn't ever seen.

I called him up the next morning but couldn't reach him. While coming back from work that day I meandered over to his place only to be met with darkness; the house all locked up. Gone were the hens and the chirpy kids. There was an eerie silence. I went back both days of the weekend with a prayer on my lips hoping to find the family back but returned back disappointed. Life kind of bestowed some emptiness to my being; a sense of vacuum. I just wished though that the family had perhaps gone to visit their friends or their hometown.

And, I was right. Monday was back with the tune of Rafi's 'Aaj mausam bada bayiman hai...'. The living area was a collection of hordes of sofa material and work for a few days seemed to be at hand. I decided that my work could wait for a rainy day when the stack was empty and music hummed at its slighest.

Welcome to Chennai...

...screamed one of the giant hoardings as my train made way to Chennai Central. The air felt different this time - rainy and cold; by Chennai standards anyways. I was now used to the routine of getting down at the station and finding my way to my uncle's place in Royapuram. And this includes haggling with the auto drivers although I am usually no good at convincing them to what I think was the right price. I waited for my brother to come along soaking in the smell of rain around. It is amazing how refreshing a morning can look time and again. Even better with a bit of mist around.

I let my brother negotiate the prices with the auto drivers. A little bit of knowledge of the local language helps I guess. Very soon we were on our way meandering through crowds initially and then with a little more free will. These short rides took me back in time. I have my opinions of the city and some childhood memories which will always stay with me.

We tend to gravitate towards the bigger cities. Ala the protagonist of a movie they tend to make all the headlines. Chennai has been the nondescript.  The quintessential character artist, staying in the background yet robust and central to the storyline. Whilst most cities tend to bedeck themselves extravagantly almost tending to the Utopian, Chennai seems to less fashionably blend in. It does not seem to be a facade. Not a stone out of place.

And it has certainly got it's heart in the right place. As a child I looked forward to a stopover in the city on my way to Kerala. It was just a half day layover but it promised warmth. Warmth is where you feel welcome in a house full of people. It is when you have cousins waiting to spend the day with you. It is when you are received at the station at 4 am in the morning. It is also when your train doesn't have a stopover at Chennai but your friends still come to meet you at a station two hours away. It is a city that gave a standing ovation to a Pakistan cricket team that beat India in a close match. It also pronounces the best brand loyalty with the city franchisees in IPL.

I go back to this city every year just to watch it from the sidelines. Every Chennaite I asked doesn't dislike your city but they'd unwaveringly go back, whenever they get a chance to 'their' Chennai. As I end this journey I look forward to my night train to this city again. Just like filter coffee or ‘kaapi’ as they call it, it feels better each time.

For the love of it..

She was back, looking disconsolately at me. Her soft silhouette stuck the curvature of my eyes and I for one couldn't miss the coy glances once the eyes met. Delicately draped in exotically printed patterns, her elegance hadn't gone down one bit since we had last crossed paths. It was a case of the nondescript me, muddled in the mires of work meeting the classy her; looking divine. We had hit off well but gradually ended up spending less time with each other owing to workloads. Though we had briefly flirted aeons ago the time was ripe again to indulge. Our courtship is perhaps meant to be. Wondering the identity of such a sassy being?

I am talking about the book I had begun reading a while ago and gave up. Been a while - time to keep up my date.

So long, Murali

I must confess at the outset that I’ve never tried following you that much because you were from another country. I perhaps first noticed you during the controversies that happened in Australia where you were so ridiculously no-balled repeatedly. I am a minimalist; purely following cricket for the purity and grace bereft of the technicalities. Never felt you were a chucker. I also felt that there were many other bowlers who ‘seemed’ to chuck but were never called. Everybody agreed that you were being humiliated. You stood strong in the midst of all this. I am sure you were proud of your captain at that time.

You came back stronger from those trials. Your strike rate never went down; nor did your smile. Even at the most desperate of situations I haven’t seen you frown at an opposite batsman or your own team member. Sure, you’ve shown disappointment which is pure instinctive.

You perhaps could easily have reached 1000 wickets if you wanted to – and you know that. But you choose to leave it all in one blaze of glory - choosing your final bow, achieving 8 wickets against a pretty good Indian team and going away in a fairytale ending. Being an Indian fan, I was wishing you could take the 9th wicket and it would start raining buckets in Galle but it was never to be!

Perhaps it was fitting that your team won, weather permitting or otherwise. You always were a winner, and a very nice guy; proving once again that nice guys don’t always finish last. You are respected as a person and as a cricketer all through my country and cricket is a loser today that you aren’t playing test cricket anymore.

School days

Like a whiff of fresh air? Or the first showers post summer? Does the thought of your school days kindle the same kind of feeling in you? It does in me.

“You will come back to me in the future and tell me that your school life was the best” said my teacher. Looking back now one couldn’t agree more. Although I yearn to go back to my alma mater and repeat this statement back to my teacher I haven’t made it back as yet. I don’t want to go into the labyrinth of reasons as to why I haven’t done it. All this while I figured that one’s time as kids in school, under the nurturing eyes of our teachers; under the love and care of our parents; under the bonding of friends is indeed the best time of our lives.

Though we didn’t probably realize at that time, as kids we soaked in every bit of experience we could. We were lucky. Back then education wasn’t commercialized and we hadn’t entered the rat race of entrance exams and what not as yet.

School wasn’t really a chore. I never really remember complaining being there. I used to be irritated when the local rickshaw wallah who took me to school always turned up at the last minute. It wasn’t the kind of really late you know. The school assembly would just start the instant I arrived at the gate. Our gatekeeper (or ‘mali’ as we called him) always locked us out till the assembly session was over before he let us in. I considered this downright shameful. I never wanted to be late. Getting into high school meant I wouldn’t have to be towed by the rickshaw wallah and could walk to school. This meant a lot more freedom and almost never being late.

Then, the friends. I still remember the group of friends I bonded with - discussing exam papers, studying and playing cricket at my home. When study was deemed too much, my home verandah was converted to a cricket pitch. It was fun in the purest sense. And, then there was the walk back from school to home. We stuck back in school a few minutes after the long bell ran and slowly meandered back home. We did this on purpose though; never wanting to see the rush back of all kids going back home. We slowly ambled out, briefly engaging in watching our hostel mates playing basketball before turning back. The thrill of walking back on a Friday evening was something else as was the time when it rained. Some of my friends though having bicycles preferred to walk along wanting to join in the fun talk.

It was also a great feeling to be a loved group of students in school. Though, we did have our very own tricks all the teachers loved us. It was a bit of a shocker to me in that I did not meet any of the classmates at the time of the Board results. I was out of town on that day and that was it. Everybody just looked at their results and moved on. Perhaps it didn’t occur to us that we had to know a way to contact one other. Being just before the dot.com revolution we did not have email addresses to exchange.

Now, years hence I still think about the days we had in school. Of the praise my teacher use to give during English lessons, the punishment meted out to the whole class sometimes, all the games played in campus and at my home with friends, the year end picnics, the time of the school magazine, the special chai and snacks my mom used to make for us at home when we were around studying or playing. It isn’t faint. It is a very vivid recollection but it’s gone and can hopefully be re-lived when my kids are around and go to school.

I contemplated a bit on what to write; and then a little more on what the name of the post should be but figured that when I have a random post after a hectic week it’s better to be general than specific. So here comes my first nameless post, so to say.

For starters, I was very wrong in my previous post. I wasn’t going to get away with a lighter week at work. I must accept though that the work was lighter. It seems almost ridiculous that you end up doing reports and more reports for the work you’ve done; almost taking up a big share of the time you spend at doing the actual work itself. You need it though to convince the big bosses about how good you are at your work lest they don’t feel the need of you being there! There is a tendency to overplay, rant and display credentials of yours which actually make you feel stupid. And, you don’t even know if your audience is keen on picking the nuances you want to convey. But then you’ve got to do what you’ve got to do (even though it sounds very cliché). That summarized the week for me – there was a presentation which hogged most of my week; and a promise of more to come in the coming week. Have to go now. More later.

After a busy week

It's really been that way all week. Although I have been coaxing myself to write something; and although I had a few thoughts in mind I haven't been able to get to it. I couldn't really wind down to pick something to write for now but figured that I should post something for the week - random thoughts from the week; especially things that I heard and read.

This summer has been a scorcher already. I live in a penthouse and find it hard to survive without the air-conditioner. I can't watch any more television because the living room literally blows me dry. It was the same news around office. There were colleagues researching on the best deals on air-conditioners; talking to dealers who could deliver a product quickly; the very same people who felt that they didn't need one till last summer. Well, is it really getting hotter or are we getting too comfy living our lives primarily in enclosed cubicles in offices? Either way spreading usage of air-conditioners is not very ideal I know. How much warmer can we get our World? I am reminded of a scene from a Telugu movie called 'Aditya 369' where the protagonists travelling forward in time discover that they cannot stay on the earth's surface due to heat and radiation and live underground. That's not a good place to be. Sighs!

Sania Mirza's wedding with Shoaib Malik seemed to have caught the headlines. While we shouldn't be commenting on somebody's choice of love I do think they hogged a lot of unnecessary media space. All the talk of which country she should be playing for is uncalled for. Thinking outside the realms of nationality she must be termed as an under-achiever. All that promise; looks, combined with a fiery forehand hasn't bought in many trophies, has it? Why don't we look elsewhere? Recently, Saina Nehwal got bracketed amongst the top five badminton women players in the World. That didn't get as much space as the wedding did. Glamour does rule.

Also, the IPL fiasco between Lalit Modi and Shashi Tharoor begs a mention here. After several accusations between them they seem to be getting into trouble with the big bosses. I have a feeling that they are a few skeletons in the closet here. We'll wait and watch for things to unravel.

As I write this piece there have been a couple of explosions at Bangalore just outside the cricket stadium hosting an IPL match. The authorities decide to go through with the match even while it posed a risk to the 40,000 people at the facility to watch the match. A bigger risk though was to the nation itself. Bowing down to such fear would have lent a major success to the perpetrators of this incident. It's an act of courage by the public, authorities and the players to not bow down under such fear. Any of these people were very well within their rights to not proceed. They choose not too and send a strong message to whoever it was. It also proved that our security system is still a little too lapse and gives a few brownie points for a few people making claims that all's not well with the state of security in our country. I am sure they'll make sure this event catches a lot of headlines.

Otherwise, I am headed for a pretty low-key weekend. Little bit of stuff to take care at home after which I am headed straight back to work the day after. I look forward to a lighter week next, and perhaps some more chirps in here. Rock your weekend. Ciao.

Perfecting myself at a sport

Table-tennis is a game I enjoy immensely. My tryst with the game started while I was young at school but I never got much of an opportunity. My classmates were the champions of the school and perhaps even did well at inter school competitions. I for one was too shy and timid to even approach a table-tennis board and let them know I wasn't as good as them. There was also a question of access. My school had a single board and far too many people vying for time. That was when we started plying our trades at a crude form of squash and we became pretty good at that too. All our recess times were spent playing the game and I remember that I even pestered my mother to allow me to take lunch to school in order to allow more time for me to play.

It was during my engineering days that I got full access to a table-tennis board and started playing the game regularly. I did well in departmental competitions too. However, sport is very fickle. It makes you feel you're the king one day, only to show you unfathomable troughs the very next. Is it just a lack of practice? No. I remember we spent endless hours at the college hostel practicing specifically each different shot, a backhand here and a forehand there. Of course the chances of me doing well at a random game were good when I practiced but even so there were times when I felt helpless. I either found the net or the ping-pong hit my opponent instead of the board. It feels crazy when that happens.

Years later, I now play the game almost every day even if it is just for half an hour. Though I don't practice or take everything as seriously as I used to do earlier I still love the game like I used to earlier. However, knowing the different ways things pan out while I am at play makes be reinstate the fact I stated before. Things can get as fickle as ever. There are instances where things are a dream; the ping-pong can land wherever I want leaving people dazed. There are days like today when nothing seems to work alright. Even the pretty basic don't turn out well. Its days like these when I retire earlier than usual and spend my energies at something else, like this blog today.

However, it's a game I love a lot and I keep going back, hoping to conquer it someday.

How important is your cell phone?

Ever thought about it? Do you have the habit of not remembering any contact numbers depending wholly on your cell phone? Well, I think it's about time we changed that attitude. I was cruelly reminded about this a few months back. My cell phone was stolen. Well, in fact snatched away as I was talking by somebody on a speeding motorbike. I could be nothing but a 'blind' spectator. It was a hopeless situation because my spectacles got pulled out together with the phone and I was at that moment as good as blind. I was in luck that I was near home and could get back without the need of them spectacles. I was dazed for a moment or two before it hit me that I was robbed.

There it was, all the contacts I had, numbers of all my friends and family who seemed to always be there on speed dial, all but lost. There were some that I faintly re-collect but I had to send out an email to all I knew to send me their contact numbers. The lazy people we all are, they were just a handful who responded. I don't fault the rest because we don't have time.

This little big incident made me despise myself a little bit. Here I am, somebody pretty good with numbers, not bad at all with memorizing them too. Why do I have to depend on something which I can lose, or go broke anytime? Storing them on your cell phone memory doesn't do our memory any good! I am making an attempt to remember numbers. At least it prepares me for something similar or better still, makes me less dependant on a machine.

A weekend at Vizag - a trip down memory lane

The thought of Vizag always brings memories of the beaches, the cyclones, the lazy lifestyle and the wonderful people. It's been almost a decade since I was there so when I got a chance to go there one weekend recently I was fazed. Fazed, because my memories of Vizag are vivid childhood memories which one would never like erased by any sort of change. I was almost sure that the Vizag I knew is not probably the same anymore. We humans tend to hold the best things in our life close to our heart, forever cocooned from the perils of change. Since I wasn't going to visit much of the city I wasn't too perturbed though. I took the plunge.

We choose to stay at Rushikonda which though a little outside the realms of the city doesn't require too much commuting from the railway station. Besides, I had heard far too many good things about the bay views from the resort to leave out such an option. The views of the sea as expected were breathtaking. The resort itself was on a small hillock and it provided fascinating views of the Bay of Bengal for the occupants. One look at my room and the money we paid for the accommodation was all accounted for. Watching the waves seemingly pushing back the land, sipping a cup of chai was an awesome feeling. The unknown expanse of the ocean reaching the skies at the horizon seemed to put things in perspective. I needed that view of the ocean to remind me of the fact that we are nothing before a possible fury of nature.

It was a blessed weekend topped by rain towards the end of the weekend. It made us loathe the fact that we didn't have any more time before we returned. That said, I was happy I went back to Vizag. Inertia had set into my being - I went back once after I got a job, only once did I go back once to my school after I passed out, only once did I meet my teachers from school. All, things I want to set right. There is a sense of wrong I know but those hallowed memories are too sweet to be touched, too sweet to be spoilt by anything that doesn't confirm to what it was. Till today it was too much of a risk to take.

Passing by the city I saw lots of traces of change. There is perhaps a lot more in places I haven't been too but I kind of got the feeling that the inherent being of the city is intact. It's not just the infrastructure that makes up a city, the people do too. As long as the city doesn't become a metropolis swarming with people from all over the country (maybe even globally) the attitudes and the culture don't undergo any drastic change. It is here that Vizag doesn't seem to have been affected as yet. Hopefully it doesn't happen for a little longer. I understand that it's not good (or too much for) to wish on my part but let's hope the 'City of Destiny' stays in its being, as it is. Touchwood.