Travelog: A for America

"Are you okay there, honey?", asked the waitress. She was talking to me. I was kinda staring at a bunch of guys in business suits having drinks and watching the baseball game on the big TV - so I probably looked a little lost. Yeah, I was more than okay. I was just thinking about the world's most famous country - the food, the culture and the people and what a fantastic mix it all was.

I am reminded of a conversation (more of an argument, actually) I had with one of my aunts a few months ago. It was about the Americans in general. She had been living in the US for more than 20 years and she was in love with the country. She had embraced the whole American lifestyle long back and constantly vouched for the Americans. I had taken an opposing stand and we kept debating on which was a better country. She kept talking about how warm and helpful the Americans were while I was being pretty naive by pointing out the recession, the high divorce rate, the crime rate, the fast food, the obesity, the junk food and every other cliched negative thing I read about the country. I was being supported by the others in the room and she couldn't take the bombarding anymore. She just said, "You know what, you can say all you want but they are still some of the nicest people in the world. You need to be there to believe". How true!

The two words that came out of my mouth (and that I heard from other people's mouths) more than any of the other word in the past 3 days were "Thank you!". The politeness is infectious. A lot of people who are not used to it might get irritated by it over a period of time, but I am not one of them. Not yet, at least. A more narrow minded person might wonder if the person greeting you actually knew you from somewhere or if it is mockery or if she (or he) has a crush on you. You might think its all pretentious, but trust me its not. It might be simple customary courteousness which is no big deal for them, but it is genuine. We (people from the east) feel so pampered and respected. At least I did.

I really love the way they treat each other. For us, waiters are waiters and janitors are janitors. For them, the waiters, the janitors or anyone for that matter, are people. Ever wondered why its an American way to address everyone at work (including your boss and of course his boss) with their first name (and not "Sir") or why you are expected to tip around 15-20% on the bill amount? To me, its dignity of labor and professionalism in action.

We keep debating about the excessive consumerism of the Americans, but I think it is more of a choice. If they want to spend all their money and by doing so, live life king size, I don't think there is anything wrong with that. Its one life you got, after all and it is okay to have such an attitude. Saving and being conservative is something which we taught ourselves and I think it is wrong to judge the others on that basis. We have no reason to expect them to follow our philosophy. We are happy this way and they have the right to be happy that way.

Coming to the much talked prevalence of junk/fast food, I think we fail to realize ta=hat they have an equally large selection of the healthiest foods. A joint that serves burgers and fries also serves salads and soup. Percentages can be quite misleading. If one in every three Americans is obese (which gives us about 30% obesity rate), one of the other two is really really fit. In India, if one in every ten Indians is obese (which gives us only a 10% obesity rate), at least five of the others are fat/not fit/"on their way to being obese" and only one qualifies as being "really really fit". Oh, we have a lot of junk (if not "fast") food too. Its just in a less popular form - its not burgers and fries - its puris and samosas.

I agree that three days in one city and that too among a very niche crowd in downtown is not a great sample space to make all these impressions. The cynic in me mocks at the impressed me. Of course there is bad too. There are jerks among these people too, where are they not? All this rosiness is likely to wear off with time but this wonderful "first take" is worth cherishing. For a visitor like me, its always a far more defining experience as a lot of things which the Americans take for granted are not quite so back home. We kinda tend to have an ideological advantage, which, when combined with all these nice things here, can leave you feeling content and wise.

I wonder if I can enjoy an evening at a pub back home where most of the the bartenders and the waiters think it is cool to be rude and aloof. Like I said to one of my friends, "One is tempted to wish that you belonged here, but much remains to be seen yet."

Wake me up when September ends..

People keep congratulating you. You are provided with a big list of "things to buy" by your friends (which keeps getting longer and longer). Relatives call you up to check if you have packed everything. Your parents try and dig up long forgotten contacts and make sure you carry their phone numbers and addresses with you. Some shopping and a lot of packing.

This, precisely, is what happens when you are about to travel to the US for the first time - especially on a short trip. So I am about to travel abroad for the first time - 3 weeks in Minneapolis, Minnesota on a B1 visa. In about 84 hours from now, my flight shall take off from the Bangalore International Airport and in about 22 hours from then, I shall be setting my foot on the American soil (or concrete, may be). I might look very naive in making this sound like a big deal but I think it is a big deal if you want it to be and I want it to be.

It has always been my dream to go to the US. To go to the No. 1 country in the world. To go to the country that made movies like 'The Titanic', 'Pearl Harbor', 'The Lord of the Rings', 'Avatar' and 'Inception' (yes, I do realize that I am not actually going to Hollywood - just dramatizing). To the country that, allegedly, started the "recession". To the country that gives us most of our IT jobs. To the country that created GRE and GMAT and all that. To the country everyone around you seem to be traveling to or planning to travel to. And finally, I got a chance.

So let me live this dream I have been "incepted" (I still can't get over "Inception") with. Wake me up on the 1st of October when I would be flying back. Wake me up when September ends :)

Zzzzzz....

Feeling Green

Image rights: http://greenbydesign.com

A not so happy feeling. It is not painful. But it is not pleasant too. Very uncomfortable. A feeling which we rather everyone else around us feels. It makes us wish we were not in that place, at that moment, experiencing that inexplicable sense of longing towards something which we know we cannot possibly have. It tends to bring out the devil lurking in our minds. It tempts us to abandon reasoning, to get back at it by urging us to take certain decisions not out of necessity but to implant this very feeling into the people around us. We do not want to experience that feeling ever again but we want everyone else to feel it. We want to know that they are feeling it and we want to, and probably will, feel happy about it. This, I think is a very sad paradox. Envy. It is sad that it had to be associated with a lovely color like green.

It is, in a way, like a bubble in the financial markets. There is no real happiness. There are only depictions of happiness, by some people. These depictions in turn, cause envy in other people. They in return, fueled by a deep desire to retaliate, portray stronger depictions of happiness. They try to satisfy themselves in doing this. They do it to get back at the others, even if they have to undergo some pain – even if they have to sacrifice some other real satisfaction or happiness. And the vicious cycle goes on, destroying whatever real happiness is actually present.

I see this quite predominant today. The culprit – social networking. Yes, social networking portals are like incubators of envy. We think someone is cool in doing something, be it witty status messages or colorful photographs which try to say that the people in the photographs are having a lot of “fun” or relationship updates with “hot” members of the opposite sex or achievements or something else. We burn (with envy). We want to be the objects of envy too. So we take a lot of pain to sound/look/feel cool. And then we wait, for a more challenging object of envy.

I probably sound like a senile cynic in blaming the social networking platforms for spreading envy but just think about it. At some point of time, everyone of us would probably have done something similar to what I have talked about here. May be not in such a dramatic way, but in more of a subtle and sub conscience driven manner. The point I am trying to make is – do not, at any cost, intentionally or unintentionally, be driven by the desire to feel happy by causing envy around you, and in the process, lose any little happiness you already have. Envy is a negative energy and nothing good shall come out of it.

So, think twice before you go on that trip you have been planning for a very long time, just to flood Facebook with pictures from the trip :P

A walk to remember

A hot Sunday afternoon back in Vijayawada.  Everyone at home was taking a siesta. Power cut. Not having anything to do, I decide to take a walk. It had been some time since I had gone around the house. In fact, I did not remember the last time I was in our backyard. Its high time, I decide and step out.

Fond memories started pouring back (minus the spiraling and music, though). The portico. The place where we used to hold a "skating" competition. Pour a lot of water on the smooth slab, take a run up to it and slide on your knees. The one to slide the maximum distance wins. Bruised knees, wet clothes and angry elders are just collateral. Cheering cousins and a chest swollen with pride upon winning are all that mattered. That was "skating", during which I broke a part of one of my teeth (yes, still visible).

A pic of my home I had taken sometime back.

The backyard. The legendary mango tree was no longer there. Being the fat kid I was, I could never climb up the mango tree to hide during hide-and-seek. I was terrified of that tree as it was always dark there and all my friends used to go hide on top of it. When it was my turn to seek, I would wait for them to get frustrated and come down the tree and then catch them ;)

The park opposite to my house. I had probably spent half of my childhood in Vijayawada (before I was sent to Vizag) in that park. The park to us, was a place to make money. Marbles, cricket, 7 stones, everything was played for a small bet. On my day, I would take 5 rupees in the morning and come back with 50 rupees. In the evening, I would throw a grand party of bhajjis and pakoras to the friends. It was from here, we broke 2 windows in my own home, often entering into a quarrel with my own granma (who used to drive my friends away when I had a fight with them, even when I was the culprit. Miss you granma. RIP.). Incidentally, the park is now named after her.

The park! No longer a cricket ground. It has been turned into a big garden with slides and swings now :(

Finally, the circuit! You see, I was always fat as a kid. My parents did everything to make me lose weight (quite unsuccessfully, though). During one such phase, I was supposed to do a 20-round brisk-walk on the road that went around our neighborhood. My grandpa would stand in the portico and count the rounds (to make sure that I did not cheat). When I complained that it was boring to do it alone, I was told to take one of my friends with me (the poor chap. He never forgave me for that). Bah! They though they had cornered me. They were not aware of a shortcut which effectively cut the total distance to less than half. Me and my poor friend would pretend to walk seriously while passing my house and when we were out of sight, take the shortcut, wait at the end of it for sometime (to avoid suspicion due to the ridiculously small "lap time"), chat and gloat over our brilliance and finally finish the lap when we thought enough time had passed to make my grandpa think that we had finished the lap. Muhahahahah (sly psychotic laugh)!!

Sigh! Call it cliched but I miss my childhood. I am glad I took the walk. To remember. Literally!

\m/usic

Without it, the world would be a very sad place. Without it, there would be one less medium to express. Without it, there would be one less art. Without it, 60 years would probably be a really long time to live.

Music to me, is priceless. I am sure it is so, to all of us, in one way or another. It is probably one thing where everyone's taste is quite unique and yet, totally justified. I am yet to find a person who would say, "Nah! I don't listen to music". Someone with a really weird taste (again, weird according to ME), with whom I do not have a single song in common: yes, but someone who does not listen to any music: NO! There is always something to fill in the "Music" section of your Facebook profile. And what's more, everyone of us is passionately possessive about the music we like. We vouch for it, we evangelize it, we sing it aloud and we sing it to ourselves. And somewhere, at some corner in our hearts, we want, wish and hope we could make music like that. At least, I know I do.

My life was never the same after "Rock On!". The music just struck a chord in me and I was possessed by this irresistible urge to learn music. Any instrument. The guitar, I decided. After coming home, I realized that I was not alone when Karteek and Giri confessed that they were going for it too. Well, if we are going to do it, why not put some sense into it and form a band? After much discussion, I settled for drums while Karteek was up for guitar. Giri did not want the keyboards and he was going to learn to play the drums too. Well, it was some start at least. So we googled for the best music school in Bangalore and found some good reviews for this place called "The Unwind Center". We called them up and registered. We would start the classes in two weeks.

After 6 months, I graduated. Karteek picked up the guitar wonderfully while Giri left it midway in pursuit of other priorities. I myself was not bad and every evening, our flat would resonate with the sound from my drum kit. I would carry my drumsticks everywhere. I was a part of a band formed at work and I got a couple of opportunities to perform on stage. Karteek bought an electric guitar and an amp to go with it. We were all set to jam regularly. All this, while I was constantly trying to lose weight. Slowly, it became too much of an effort to practice regularly. And now, after almost a year since I had given my first performance, my drum kit now, is a mere structure to hang wet clothes while Karteek's electric guitar caught dust in its stand (he is doing better than me, though. He still plays his acoustic).

One of the pics of my drum kit which I took long back

Five peice. DB. 18k! N its and entry level one!

My hands tap to the beat involuntarily whenever I listen to a song I could relate to. Guilt would swell within me. I still remember every piece, every crash and every roll for "Nothing Else Matters". First the gymming, then the work, and now my GMAT prep: all of them managed to play a villain in my romance with the drums. Maybe I just let them. Let them make me and my drum kit feel like awkward friends who meet after a very long time. And now, I am even contemplating unassembling it to make room for a study table.

Zildjian drumsticks. 600 bucks!

One day, we shall do a cover of "Nothing Else Matters". Me, Karteek and hopefully, 2 others for the vocals and the bass guitar. Even if it has to be before our friends and family alone, we will do it. Even if it has to be in the dramatic way of "Rock On!", we will do it. I know we will. Its probably going to be the loser in me vs the wannabe in me.

I am sure it will be an interesting battle.

The Cup of Woes: Part 2

After much thought and dilemma, here is the second part of the story. Earlier, I had planned to end it in 2 parts. But as it turned out, I could not help dragging it into the third. The first part can be read here.

His mobile rang loudly, bringing him back to this world. He had been thinking about his future while idly turning the cup in his hands. About his daughter and his wife and all the wonderful things that they would do together. He picked up the mobile. It was from Sudheer. It has been half an hour already and he had finished two rounds of examining the cup drowning 2 large mugs of coffee in the process.

"Where the hell are you, Sudh..."

"Hello?"

"Hello? Is that you Sudheer?"

"Am I speaking to Mr. Srikar?"

"Yes. Who are you? Where is Sudheer?"

"Sir, I am inspector Ramesh. Your friend had an accident. We took him to a hospital but he was declared dead upon reaching there. I am very sorry. I found your number in his mobile. It was near..."

The world around Sri seemed to be spinning. This had to be a bad dream. How could this happen to him? An hour ago, he thought he was the happiest man on the earth. Surely this has to be a bad joke. Like the cup. He sank back into the couch and stared absently at the window. He never felt so helpless, miserable and desperate in his life. Tears streamed down his cheeks. He did not know how long he sat there. After what seemed to be a really long time, he got up, put his things in his bag and walked out of the cafe, all blurring in the background. Unknown to him, a few tears had slipped silently and fell in the cup.

It has been 4 days since the accident. Probably the longest ones in his entire life. Swetha and the baby had come home that day giving him something to feel cheerful about. He went to his daughter's room where she lay in her craddle, oblivious to his misery. She looked at him, with her big brown eyes filled with wonder. Being with her calmed him a little and he couldn't help smiling. Suddenly, he remembered the frock he had bought for her and went to get it. He had not opened the bag ever since he came home that night and had totally forgotten about it. He opened the bag and fished out the frock when he noticed a faint sound. Like coins in a piggy bank. It seemed to be coming from his bag and he emptied all its contents on the table. Out came the cup and 3 white pearls.

He could not believe what he saw. He must be missing something. He definitely did not put the pearls in his bag. Swetha came home just that day. His house has been pretty much locked for the past 4 days as he was at Sudheer's place all the time. This left him with only one possible conclusion. He did not want to believe it but the pearls seemed to have come from the cup. The cup of woes.

"Sri?", called Swetha entering the room where Sri was standing rooted, still unable to comprehend what he had just concluded. Should he tell Swetha about the cup? No. Not yet. At least, not until he was sure.

"Are you okay, Sri? You look pale."

"Yeah. I am fine. I came in to get this frock. I had bought it for the baby."

"Its beautiful. Come, I want to see her in it."

They dressed their little daughter in the frock and stood back and took a long look at her. She looked like an angel. Swetha slipped her hand into Sri's. They stood there for a while holding each other and letting the weariness they had experienced over the past few days drain a little. Sri's mind, however, would not stop thinking about the cup. He had to make sure. He would test it. Tonight, he thought.

That night, after Swetha had slept, he slipped out of his bed quietly. He fetched the cup and put it on the table in the drawing room and sat on the couch facing it. How was he going to test it? Apparently, he needs to cry.  He thought of Sudheer and all the good times they had shared. He thought of their childhood, of the days they had spent flying kites on his terrace, of the days when they skipped school and watched movies, of the days nights they had spent together studying, of the day when they went on their first double date, of the enthusiasm and delight in his voice the day he told him about the baby. Before he knew, tears trickled down his face. He missed Sudheer. His absence pained him a lot. Slowly, he became aware of his surroundings and his eyes fell on the cup. He leaned forward, closed his eyes and let the tears fall in the cup. He heard the dull thud of his tears meeting the ceramic. He was scared to open his eyes. He felt foolish for even trying this out. After a long time he wiped the remaining tears off his face, composed himself and slowly opened his eyes.

In the cup, he saw a handful of shining white pearls.

[To be continued..]

Update: Part 3 can be found here

Roti Burji

Mom: I made egg burji for your journey. How many rotis do you want me to pack with it?

Me: 2. Not more than that.
Mom: 2? Do you plan to starve to death? 2 won't be enough.

Me: Mom, please! 2 is good. Okay, max 3.

Mom: Fine!

-----

At about 9 PM, I start feeling very hungry and decide to have my dinner. I fish out my packet, eat all the 4 rotis and silently thank mom. 

Moms. They know us. Bless them!

Tee-thing troubles

I have always hated t-shirts. Especially the crew-neck types. Not because I don't like them. Its because I could not wear them. I used to get a  little self-conscious and feel very uncomfortable whenever I wore a tee. And then one day, I resigned. I decided that I would not wear them any more. That was very long ago.

Yesterday, it was the first time I wore a crew-neck tee which I bought for myself. I did wear some old ones to the gym many times but this was different. I wore it to work. It was a feeling I would probably not forget for quite some time. Nervous, excited, conscious(very). And happy. :)

Kushmanda!

Well, if the villain dies screaming that word, there has to be some significance to it. So I come back home after watching Varudu and google for it and guess what, it IS something. More on it here for those of you who are interested/jobless enough.

Okay. So I heard some really bad reviews about the movie. Horrible, to be more precise. Still, we go ahead and watch the movie because thats what we do in Vijayawada. We inquire about the movie, discuss the reviews but yes, we still go and watch the movie. Anyway, so we enter the theater expecting 2+ hours of torture. But I must admit, we were pleasantly surprised by the movie. At least, the first half. It definitely did not deserve the lavish abuse that was showered on it. Of course, it did not miss out on the typical and hopelessly romantic cliches that infest Tollywood and it definitely has a very awkward cast (except for the parents of hero and the heroine, who I thought were perfect). But as I said, it was definitely not horrible. Judge me for this if you dare to but I did like the movie. May be not in a tell-your-friends-to-go-watch-it-right-away way. But yes, I was definitely not disappointed. I think that Varudu is one of those movies which crumble under their own hype (considering that it was one of the most anticipated movies of the season).


This experience made me realize a powerful phenomenon which we all know exists, but fail to apply most of the times. Perception or prejudice changes everything. Yes. When I go out and watch a movie, the experience would be unique to me. There are a million things which affect my experience directly or indirectly. I might relate to the movie based on my personal experiences, tastes, interests, etc. People were shocked when I declared that I did not like Ye Maya Chesavo. They probably even thought I was a heartless psycho. My friends still tease me for considering Kotha Bangaru Lokam an entertainer. Most of us still dont get why Banda would un-follow Chetan Bhagat on twitter or why bachi would have his twitter user name as bachi_Khan_SRK or why Vamsi cant stop irritating us with is BABIG crap. In our own little weird ways, all of us are freaks!


When a movie critic goes out and watches a movie, his liking or not-liking the movie is pent to be based on various factors. Like whether he/she is prejudiced against any of the cast/crew of the movie or the comfort level of the theater where the movie is being screened or very simply, his/her mood that day. I am sure most of the famous critics out there are professional enough to filter out all this noise when they work on their reviews but yeah, there are bound to be some exceptions. It can be the other way round too, like in my case when an absolutely shitty movie might actually appeal in its own special way.


Am I implying that one should not follow movie reviews? No.
Am I saying that one should go out and watch every damn movie that is made? No.
Well then, whats my point? Well, all I am saying is that if a movie really appeals to you, be it through trailers or its cast or some damn reason, do not let a "review" spoil the experience for you!


P.S: Subtle hints at Rajeev Masand were indeed, intended :)