Breaking the Cycle

Why you should listen to people and just buy a Japanese car - because those mechanics are easy to come by. In my case, the only one that would give me an affordable quote is twenty miles away.

So I caught the metra back home. And now I am all jittery about this girl sitting beside me on the metro with dark glasses pushed up on to her long, elaborately done up, straight hair. She is wearing a blue cardigan with a glowing white shirt under it. I cannot see her legs, they are hidden from me behind the seat, but I can catch a glimpse of her shiny silver bag.

She knows I’m writing about her, and she is sneakily watching while trying to look interested in her social networking site.

I’m listening to Arcade Fire. And I really like them even if they are giving me a headache. They have this strange lyrical genius.

I think I know the girl sitting beside me from a long time ago or chance meeting. Only the people I knew before 2 months are about 8000 miles away.

Who can tell these days anymore?

Come as you are. Leave as you want to be.

People are defined by the cars they drive. It is part of the American identity. It is have your own car and the car will set you free. It is the extension of the horse in the myth of the exploration of the west and what-not.

But when you try and take public transport to ferry yourself around, there is this whole lifestyle of philosophical components to it. If you are hoping to cultivate things like detachment and understand a Buddhist notion like impermanence I would highly recommend it. You develop a strong sense of self. You get to know who you are fundamentally in the absence of any other external trappings or anything that socially people recognize, or frame our identities like - I was there; I will be there; It is 4 o clock now, I should be there in an hour. When you are publicly transported, you do nothing. You sit at a station. You listen to radio stations. You sit at a stop. You watch the young boy being yanked along by the bored mommy. You sit in a train. You read a book. You hop off. You pat yourself down searching for the ear muffs. You sit in a bench. And I guess I did grow in that regard too. I really became comfortable with myself beyond whatever society might have thought I was or what I was supposed to be doing or where I was from. I was the guy that sat there.

So in an effort to not just sit there and uh.. get around - I decided I am going to buy a car. So you do the usual haunts - reply to messages on social boards, walk in to coffee shops to look at notice boards, walk in to foreclosure sections in banks maybe (?). But yeah, the word was out on the street. This man was on a mission. He wasn't going to be content with life. He refused to just uh.. sit there. He was going to get himself some wheels. A sweet set even.

Then the time comes when you start visiting up on people that you have called in advance to make appointments to see their cars. Its this place where civic order and rules cease to apply. People tend to leave a sense of perspective and style that they believe has rubbed off on the vehicle that they have guarded for many years; sometimes many, many years. My first reaction to seeing trustafarians get out of a 80,000$ vehicle that gets 8 miles to the gallon to sell me a car that is older than me is - I hate you. But I am not going to do anything because I am going to deal with my hatred . . . . positively. By umm... grinding my teeth into nubs. The midlife crisis guys - they were the second worst in line after the sorority-sister-frat-boy types. The ones that are adamant that they need to find a good home for Old Betty and ask you embarrassing questions about your personal goals and financial plans. I hated them. For gods sake, I was going to pay in cash. In full. And I will never see you again. And you do not get visiting rights for the car. The most extreme example of people's sense of entitlement and fundamental laziness is the lack of engagement with the living. All of a sudden it is unfair to expect that the photo that you had on the ad is the picture of the car you are trying to pawn off and not something you found on the internet. For god's sake if this is how your car actually looked I wouldn't have made it 40 miles across town. And then I'd really feel sorry for the lonely looking grad guy who lives in a booth kind of structure that Jesus might have collected parking fees from, who needs to sell his car to pay for tuition or drugs or something. But student cars are really terrible. As a rule, it is like they have been told never to service it as long as they own it.

People would bring a certain assumptions to play in their interactions with dealers that to them seem perfectly rational and may seem rational and reinforced elsewhere in consumer culture. You know, the notion that the customer is always right. The notion that if you have the money, you have the right to get whatever the money can I buy you. These are the kinds of things that are if not taken for granted are pretty often the case. But if you are buying your first car, they are simply not true. There's registration and then titles and deeds. Then there are plates, temporary, special, vanity. And then the license. And don't get me started on insurance. And all of these have these are viciously cyclic too.... You need a combination of a couple or more to get each of these. And for someone like me, who doesn't have any, this can be a trying experience.

It makes you seriously consider the existential implications of your quest. What does this actually mean. Where does this fit in. Which is of course the problem of being unnecessarily over-educated at a fairly uncomplicated service sector job. You plenty of time to think about it.

If it all goes well, tomorrow evening I won't just be sitting. I'd be victorious after my battle with humanity. I'd be driving. Something that would say "I'm just sexy enough for you to notice me (wink wink), but I'm elegantly understated and well-groomed. Without being high maintenance. I'm quality. I'm sporty on the weekends. You can introduce me to your parents."




Saddle. Up. Baby.
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The unnatural silence

I had always thought I was a proponent of silence, that in some way or another the unrelenting connectedness provided by email, smart phones, music players, the internet and even 24-hour television programming would not create a desire within me to fill every moment of silence we find with some sort of tech distraction. I however noticed that on this really long car ride today, as rather than stare out the window like I might have in the past, I kept reaching for the blackberry to see if I had missed any news from the online world.

Social networking, web connectivity and cell phones did not necessarily create this desire or problem.

Am the person who keeps his music on every waking minute, just to ensure there is never complete silence in the house. And to me, all that the new connectivity, on-line virtual game options and instant messaging is doing is to make it easier avoiding the awful specter of silent, alone time. Those who hold Blackberries or Facebook responsible for their chronic distraction misplace the blame. These technologies are enablers of our own innate desires that have existed far longer than transistors.

And our ingrained habit of constant connection makes disconnecting more difficult. And potentially more painful.

Where there's a will there's a way, of course. Which is what makes me suspect that at least part of the constant connectivity movement and technology stems from an inherent desire, within many of us, to have that distraction.

We are not, as a species, hard-wired for solitude. We're social animals, made to exist in tribes and packs.

Climbing up a Bloody Great Hill

So although Bhutan is tucked away into the isolated Himalayas between India and Tibet, it seems out of place to discover an affluent way of life that has only newly begun to be exposed to contemporary mindsets and Western culture.

There are plentiful dzongs (temple fortresses) that should be seen on a Bhutan travel tour, but Taksang (Tiger's Nest) Monastery is undeniably the most famous. The name is enthused after the story of Padmasambhava (from India), the monk who brought Buddhism to Bhutan, who in fact flew to Taksang on the back of a tigress to defeat five demons.

They are this intensely spiritual country, who seem to love their royalty and is domicile to some of the most striking temples. As a country that it dumbfounds you with its splendor and fascinates your imagination with its prehistoric culture and beliefs.

Until the 1960s Bhutan had no roads, no electricity, and no telephones. Goods traded with Tibet went by yak, over high windswept passes. But the Chinese invasion of Tibet put an end to that, as Bhutan closed its northern border. Now trade is solely with India, a few hours' drive to the south.

In little over 40 years, a father- and-son team of kings have, with help from India, lifted the country out of isolationist poverty. Bhutan has adopted many of the benefits of the modern world, such as hydro-electricity, schools and clinics, while hanging onto the culture it treasures most, and without destroying the environment. It was the younger of the two kings, Jigme Singye Wangchuck, who coined the phrase "Gross National Happiness". In 2008, in a move that puzzled many of his subjects, he voluntarily abdicated his throne and formed the country's first democratic government. The elections were, according to UN observers, "serene".

Changes that have happened to the country are all so very sublime... The country seems to have come to terms with land cruisers parked within bamboo fences, high tension cables across rolling fields, traditional attires in nightclubs, chopsuey in cream sauce, vintage rock on the radio peppered with the Bhutanese jockeying.

The Bhutanese down 12.5 million litres of alcohol a year and a staggering 54 percent of the country’s total 56 percent youth population below 24 years are the main consumers. It is little wonder that Bhutanese youth make up the main consumers. Visit any bar along the streets of the main Thimphu town, where there’s almost one for every ten metres of sidewalk, and the customers are fresh graduates, school students or dropouts. Save for hardware shops, almost every shop in Thimphu town, be it a grocery or a general store, sells liquor.

And who was I kidding. I wasn't in any shape to trek. Sangyang - Taktshang - Wangchang - Rinpung Dzong. I had to wheeze my way through to the top. My head throbbed because we were at an altitude of more than 13,000ft, higher than I have ever trekked in before. Below us eagles soars, etched against the clouds way below, clouds that seem so solid. It was all unnaturally quiet, the air thick with the muffled silence of the fog rolling in.

We were in yak territory now – around 4,000m. Shiny black beasts with lustrous tails and delicate feet, they roamed the high hills with their young. The cry of a young boy carried across the valley from one settlement to another. Here babies are born and bodies cremated under an open sky, a world away from the fast-developing superpowers to the north and south.

At the highest point were tangled strings of coloured prayer flags, sending prayers to the heavens. As the sun hung low in the sky that afternoon, we rested a while on a ridge with a view as beautiful as I've ever seen: hill interlaced behind hill in soft cinnamon fading to golds; and atop a smaller hill, a dzong. From a distance the dzong appeared as two cube-shaped buildings, one a little lower and to the right, mirroring the lie of the land. A camera could never do it; I felt a need to paint, to capture this exquisite marriage of nature and the subtle touch of man.

Of course there is a flip-side to this rural idyll: On one of the isolated dzongs, we got chatting with a couple of monks. They stayed three hours away from water, fresh food and electricity and yet seemed moderately content with their lives.... On a little more prodding they started on their individual stories.... It is kind of shocking to know that they were pushed in to the clergy when they were 7 years old, made to drop out of school, start on a life of religious rigour all against their wishes... So I am not likening it to prostitution but it still doesn't feel right. Being deprived of basic education has ensured that there is no possible exit from the lives they lead.

Whatever happened to "I am going the right way, following the path of the Buddh. I think about enlightenment. I don't want to be attached to the wheel of life."

The Long Stark Tea-Time of the Soul

Unlike my previous record for not ever returning to places that have served as short term havens, I actually went back to a Delhi for a few days. There is probably a reason why I don't go back ever so often. Mixed feelings of anguish, doubt, memories and relief dont really make for my cup of tea.

In any case, it was worth the effort this time around.

Long live corporate travel policies.

Everything that has a beginning...

Newly folded clothes and three new sets of clothes hanging neatly in the wardrobe with tags still attached just in case the climate changes back too soon or I decide to go on a binging spree. A clean carpet, antique chairs, immensely comfortable beds , a bathroom stand neatly boasting toiletries of many varieties. Is it okay to embrace a new perspective on life at the end of the year? Seemed more like a usher-in-your-new-year-resolution kind of occupation.

Books will line shelves like untidy troopers who have only just learning to march. Eventually some will lie on top of one another, with the odd one that has long been forgotten to be returned to. Some in language that was too tedious to demand turning the page. Nearly-free books about the world at war that Delhi just loves to sell to the most unassuming of customers on the street walks, because the publishers went out of business and the author wanted the privilege of burning them for himself, books with superfluous tales to be forgotten and some verdant with divine comedy that will never disappear.

In a few months this would all be packed again into the same suitcases and moved hours away. Pack up the memories and the books worth keeping, the articles and the old gifts that aid remembering the memories. All packed into the same suitcases and moved somewhere else, or maybe someday just left behind – who needs memories when you can make more? Running away or procuring freedom, the answer to that will only be found when I come out of it struggling for breath.

A fast paced lonely lifestyle I can’t help but imagine. As I travel there, suitcases under each arm, I’ll wave to all the cities that have a memories and people attached to them. Chennai, Calcutta, Bombay, Bangalore, Hyderabad, Noida – I miss you all. Maybe I’ll stay for a while, mull over the memories with the people in them remembering the times we spent together, and then I’ll continue on my own journey where no one else is invited. This I have to do for myself and you can’t be involved.

When I decide to unpack my bags, nobody will know my name. It’s a big new city that does not care for names, everyone can remain unnamed there. In the suburbs everything looks the same but in the midst of the metropolis everything stands out. An anomaly I can’t wait to be a part of.

Homeward bound

In 6 hours, I head back home for a few days. I love going to visit, it’s so relaxing. After living in Hyd and now Delhi, it’s like an escape to another, calmer world.

Some things I look forward to:

warmer nights

coffee served everywhere, and its not the instant type

mega breakfasts (scrambled eggs, dosas, onions, chutneys and crushed up chillies, served with yesterdays chicken and super-thick, warm sweet sambhar)

the wide, quieter streets & overall lack of traffic (okay comparitively)

Briyani - non sweet, mixed uniformly, lots of meat

the warm air, the high humidity and the gusty winds - always occurring together

the smell of the fresh cut grass on the little garden that my mom rears

plush living in my parents’ house

driving cars again

chamiers

crossword puzzles - i only seem to spare time for them on airplanes

Things I love even more now that I have lived in delhi:

safe tap water and ice

even the most unassuming of people speak un-accented English

sane drivers on the roads. the most road rage that gets displayed is a muttered swear

everybody understands tam

murugan idli kadai

the beach

Catching zzzzzs whenever I want

Autumn Skies

Now is the time to be a spectator of autumn. We have been experiencing some crisp days. This is our opportunity to take a long relaxing drive, park and enjoy the blue skies above. There is so much beauty to behold. Look up. And make a wish. Look up. And be thankful.

The pictures in this post were taken during a late afternoon long drive in one of those directions you take for no apparent reason other than that you have never taken it before. For some reason, the trees are all coniferous-y.

Hungry in Noida

Probably sounds like a title for a personal ad, but yes I am in fact hungry in this sham for a small town. I've been here in the Delhi whereabouts for almost 2 months now and haven't a clue where to go for good food. I must admit that I have been trying to eat cheap lately, and cheap doesn't always equate to good. Wow, eating out in Noida can really eat into your budget. I had been warned before I left, although I never really paid any heed to such sagacious counsel until it was my own money that had to be spent. You see, in my previous company, I got all my food paid for, and now it hurts when there is no one to fall back on.

So, now I have been straying from anything too pricey, but once the pocket gets filled with the salary, I'm definitely not opposed to some fine-dining here and there.

So I'm putting out the call to any Delhiites out there or anyone else in the know, for places I could wine and dine and do it cheap. Fancy eats, cheap eats, pub grub, be it your favourite places to go and secret finds please direct them all my way. I can't stay hungry (and poor) for much longer.

Also, I might not have mentioned in previous posts but I have a bunch of dishes I made at home here that have never made its way onto the blog yet. So I am able to get by. Just barely. I don't have an internet connection to be proud of at the moment, and am making use of free wi-fi in the coffee cafes, so posts are probably going to be even more sporadic than before, until I am once again reunited with the world.

Travails of the misconstrued traveller

The company decided that i spend too much time on the road... And what with all this talk of profitability I shouldn't take the driver along every time... (Also they know what a sweet driver I am). So they actually let me pick a car for my trips this week. And what do i do, choose a beat up maruti gypsy thats seen some thousand miles too many. This offroader must have been a sweet set of wheels in its time. But its been around a few too many potholes a few too many times. And whoever owned it obviously didn't indulge in luxuries like the occasional tune-up or oil change. The engine jerks and farts like an old man on a bad diet. The steering mechanism's got terminal arthritis. The suspension makes every bump an adventure. But all the same, this was the first time I got to drive a jeep/mobile whatever. I wasnt gonna let up on that.

So here I am, made it all the way to Denkanikottai on a left rear tyre that is as soft as a rotten banana and if thats a slow leak I'm good and screwed. I had to chuck the spare tyre to make room for all the neatly stacked up POP stuff we packed into the back. Every time I start it up I find myself wishing that this dear old girl can make it all the way to third gear without shaking the teeth out of my gums and that it could carry me another twenty yards without the carbeurator kicking out a fat one. So with 800 kms on the road this week so far, and the same to go, this hallowed trip seems to be losing its sheen. Also I've to make it home for the weekend.

Still may I proffer a truncated version of my trip to lands dusty and dry?

It was dusty, dry (maybe you already got that), hot, fast, slow, fattening, slimming, humid, wet, salty, vegetarian, fishy, meaty, colourful, hairy, large, larger, small, frictional, factional, stark, modern, ancient, and everything in-between; and we experienced friendship, suspicion, brotherhood, sisterhood, fraternity, fraternizing sexuality, happy, boisterous Nadars, strutting, drunk Devars, and tanned, perfumed Mals, honesty, swindlers, embraces, gambling, a knife or two, goats, beggars, kal dosais, yera and pura, traffic jams on half deserted roads, high-speed buses and bad drivers in the dead of night, visions of God, spice, no sleep, insomnia, more insomnia, skin, clothes, corals selling in the markets, fish, fowl, war, the threat of war, retaliation, reconciliation, olive branches, freshly cleaned socks, and hot coffee.

Sums it up, I guess. For details, call. Nobody calls me.

Boyles Law of Public Transportation

From where i come from, its not a great experience using the inter city public shuttle service. Was a bit a squeeze on the bus yesterday. Everyone who didn't have their face violently pressed against the windows or the armrests were wrestling furiously not to fall out the doors. All thanks to Boyle's Law about pressure being inversely related to volume. And that was at constant temperature. Well, its almost May and this might easily be the most unfashionably hot part of the country. And I spent nearly the whole journey -a nightmare three hour ride through dusty, humid roads- standing up. True to physics, pressure and volume - they didn't seem to let up.

Before it left though I waited to see if I could get a seat; otherwise I was going to hire a taxi, and charge the company however much it took. I found a seat, and it was all going well, but the driver decided he could squeeze a few more stinky passengers on board, and kept making stops. Then a crone got on. And then another one and another one. For several minutes I ignored them all, hoping that they would go away or that someone else would see them and do the gentlemanly thing. Darned women. Kept staring at me with that pitiful expression. So in the end I gave one my seat, albeit with utmost resentment and bad grace.

Had we not been jammed in like cooped chicken I would have fallen flat on my face several times, for the driver was the usual idiot, hurtling around bends as if he only had five minutes to live. After ten minutes of this I was sweating like a pig in a sauna, and soon I was aching all over. At times I only had one foot touching the floor. A poor sick child dropped a toy and I bent down to pick it up. The driver just then decided to play Carmageddon, as everyone was flung to one side, and for several moments my head was trapped. My neck was twisted like an owl's and the side of my face was squashed into the stomach of the surly peasant next to me, a stinking oaf in a vest.

It was most unpleasant.

Point of the Post - Use company perks. Thats what they are for.

Goodbye Cruel World

Okay its not a cruel world..... its only for two weeks.... and i'll be back