Today...

Today ---

I wore only one earring.

I learnt about the oilyness of oil paints.

I understood the importance of 'self' in the word self-realization.

I made 200 photos in RAW.

I met three Jokers, and learnt a little more about boys.

I kept shut instead of talking.

I decided that I don't horde anything. 

Someone thanked me with tears in their eyes and left me with tears in mine.

Today, I'm blessed.

Mumbai Marathon 2009

Happy to find that next year's Mumbai Marathon (18 January, 2009) will be support Isha Vidhya -- the foundation's efforts towards empowering rural youth. A simple idea of sparking the natural thirst that children have to know more, instead of stuffing a stuffy syllabus down their throats.

Enough time for me to put on my sneakers and get in shape to run!

PS: Registrations are closed. Looks like I'll just be taking photos, whistling and waving flags. 

Bombaye

I just spoke to Mommy on the phone. She was in Andheri. On the railway station. 

I could hear Bombay noises around her. I felt so grateful to hear those noises... Especially after everything they say on the news.

She said she still feels like crying... and that it's very painful. But the hustle is coming back. Hopefully a little more thoughtful in its going about.

Of superheros

A group of Batman fanatics - call themselves The Batman Brotherhood, which took off from a communcity on Orkut, was started two years before the release of the Dark Knight.

They did everything fanatics do. Stayed awake night after night for news updates about the movie and trivia. Bought 'limited edition' tshirts. And 'limited edition' dolls (or action figures, as the testerstrone synonym). They painted their faces and learnt the trailers by heart. For two years, the drama continued.

After the first trailer released, the group met - once a week, and then almost everyday as the 'D-Day' came closer. Some of them pinned calendars on the wall, and peeled off a day, first thing each morning. Posters on walls to pray to everyday.

The premier - the group screamed a countdown after the national anthem and loudly scream out the Joker's favourite lines before the movie began.

“He does not have superpowers. He could be any one of us. The idea of a superhero being grounded in reality is his most fascinating aspect.’’ A quote am borrowing from an online article about the group.

It's hilarious.

Right now, three of these boys are on a train from Bombay to Hyderabad. To see The Dark Knight at Prasads IMAX - the biggest 3D IMAX screen in the world. One of these three retards is an old friend from college. So, I'm going to play host to them tomorrow, and of course, join them for the movie. (My 4th time, I think.)

“We are not passionate about our heroes. We are obsessive freaks," they declare.

Amusing day tomorrow, I sense.

PS: I forgot to mention. When my friend pinged me yesterday, he said, Bombay needs A Dark Knight. 

Vaastu Games

Fear has power over us like nothing else. Here's an absurd, funny story.

Sadhguru was staying as a guest at someone's house. It was night time, and Sadhguru had retired to the bedroom. But his phone's battery died, and he had to make a few urgent calls overseas. So, he went out and knocked on the door of the host's bedroom. 

No answer. 

'He must be a deep sleeper.' More knocking. And some calling out.

No answer. 

Obviously the host wasn't in the bedroom. Sadhguru looked around in the house, but no sign of the man. Finally, Sadhguru went to a neighbour and requested them to phone-call his host. They did, and he appeared in the house in a few minutes.

Sadguru asked him where he'd been. The man just shrugged sheepishly and tried to brush it aside. But Sadhguru was really curious to know...

Finally the man said that he'd been sleeping in the bathroom of the second guest room in his house.

Because, because a vaastu chap had pronounced that if he slept in his bedroom, his business would collapse. So every night, this chap slept in a bathroom.

Incredible, no?

There are many examples of how people can manipulate us by introducing us to fear. It's fear that the terrorists are bringing to us. And it can destroy every fragment of intelligence if it gets to us.

We want a responsible government. A government that acts out of intelligence and is prepared to react to situations that need instant response. 

We want a government that communicates to us directly during emergencies. Not as guests on a new channel.

We want a government that gives our children a sensible education.

A government that stands against terrorism and stands against environmental destruction. Not a government playing games across borders.

We want a government that supports life and peace. Life that is not shadowed with doubt, fear, and misery.

But more and more it seems to me that no government can bring this to us. 

Blood is spilling. 

Our lives are not going to be the same. Never before have we stood at a brink where every action and every decision we make now is going to shape our survival, and the future of millions of lives.

The terrorists are laughing at us right now. We're cornered by our own anger, hatred, helplessness and our reaction is probably everything they want. They want us to declare war on Pakistan. They want us to go beserk on our Government and destroy our democracy, destroy our freedom.  They want us to go paranoid with elaborate and expensive security measures in every building and every corner. 

They want us to be ANGRY.

It's our nightmare, but it's their dream come true. 

It's not about India and Pakistan. If war breaks out, the terrorists are going to celebrate.

Bomb blasts in Bombay as we speak.

Phones jammed. Can't reach my family.

I've gone through this before.

Not panicking.

Isha at Google

Today was an important day. She and I had been planning/talking/wishing for this day for ages. We'd invited a teacher from Isha to come to Google and talk about the programs offered by Isha.

Our friends knew how much this meant. Sometimes we expressed it... and sometimes we didn't. Couldn't.

Days in advance we planned. We invited everyone. Spoke to dozens. Playfully demanded. Humbly requested. Intelligently drafted. About 60 people signed up.

Today was a blur of energy, hopes and high strung emotions. A few disappointments, but internal.

Everything went off well. About 23 people showed up. It's weird how much inertia gets into people with time.

I spoke for a couple of minutes. Managed to convey about 20% of what I could have. I was nervous. I shouldn't have been.

So, lessons learnt =

It's difficult, but important to not get attached to a desired consequence/result of the activity.
It's better to be involved 100% and be prepared for any consequence, even better, not concerned about the consequences.

Theek hai?

+

To add more to what's coming up -am going to dive deep into my spiritual journey. It won't be easy to understand, and for sure it's going to be harder for me to express. But well, I am on the road, am not turning back, and I might as well tell you what it's like.

I like sharing the scenery.

The moment of reckoning is here

Ok, this is it. The time has finally come. I have held this back too long. Today was an important day. And there were a lot of things I held back and didn't say. There was a strong email I didn't send. And this has gone on too long.

Even on this blog, I've been fairly hesitant and cautious. I didn't want to alarm my readers. But I'm changing my mind. Changed.

I was on my flying carpet, and I decided that I can't hold it back anymore. And anyway what's this blog for anyway? Not to entertain you. You'd rather go for a movie, no? This blog is for me to share. And if you care to read, I'm happy.

The next few blog posts are going to be brutally intense. They may spill off this page. I'm spilling.

Ok ok, I was kidding. I love Project 50. It gives me kicks.

But right now, am bursting with something. Don't know what it is, but its making me jump up and down. 

I also want to say:

Everybody is a crazy lady.

I also want to say that I have to be careful to not let this spill out to much. It alarms people. Intense but relaxed is the way.

More later/soon.

Yooohoooooo.

Grumble bumble

I hate this Project 50 business.

What was I thinking? Do I look like I can pull 50 blog posts out of my hat like BananaFish?

And when I post my elusive, profound world-truths, the world laughs at me. Just because I can manage them in one sentence.

I've had enough.

I guess I'm better off using my time watching my fingernails grow and shivering with excitement about today's Big Event.

SUPER CALI FRAGI LISTIC EXPI ALI DOCIOUS

Pussy. 

Balls.

Among the first words you learn in English. Ever.

Too many words have too many meanings, and I don't know if that's the charm of the language or a perversity.

A week ago, I was sure that words are extremely handicapped and tip-of-the-iceberg in their capacity to really express. I was almost beginning to feel helpless and dejected about blogging.

And since then, I guess am changing my mind. I've come across atleast half a dozen lovely blogs and fallen in love with the authors. They've made me laugh, cry, and want to hit them with ice-cubes.

So, I guess am just going to let them be.

Sometimes incredibly potent. Sometimes misleading and misunderstood. Sometimes vulgar and sometimes absolutely pure. Sometimes pointlessly complicated.

Just no point in labeling words. 

PS: While thinking of a title, I googled 'Longest word in English'. Oh boy:

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Longest_word_in_English

Newspaper newspaper

I was emailed a list of story-ideas for this blog yesterday, and one of the ideas (the most... non-outrageous) was to write something from a newspaper.

I don't read newspapers. Never managed to. But today, during a break, I sat me down and looked one up.

I was pleased to see that the first page had articles that caused - surprise, disgust, alarm, indifferent, amusement, thought-provocation.

1. Cyclone coming to Andra land. In the next 48 hours. Let's see how accurate our meteorological department's prophecies are.

2. A 21-year old and two of his friends lost amount x in the stock market. This 21-year old then hired 3 goons and kidnapped his distant cousin brother and demanded amount x as ransom. Kidnapped boy escaped at some point. 

Ransom amount - Rs 80 lakh.

3. Pollution in Hyderabad causes paintings, marble sculptures, metal artifacts to get blackened, severely damaged and defaced. Pollution in the air. Which we breathe. 

I wonder what the inside of my lungs look like.

The next few pages had too much death. So I bid adios to the newspaper and went back to Google Reader.

I guess I'll attempt this newspaper business again.

Facebook = Spam

Daya Gaddala took the "If I could go back in time, I would ..."  quiz, and turned out to be an idiot.

I was just told something about my past. From 4 years ago.

I had thought it was the worst night of my life. And I'd known only 10% of what had happened. 

I'd been drunk and blanked out for the rest of it.

Tonight I was told what happened.

I don't know why am blogging about this. Because I have no one to talk to, maybe. 

I sob. I stop.

4 years ago.

He asks me to forgive him. 

Strange circles this life is full of.

I put myself in his place. I know he's sorry. I know he hates himself for what he did.

What I don't know is... whether he's going to learn or not. 

Cry

Today is a cranky day. I'm cranked up in cranky hormones. Which means I cry tonight. And also means that I take pills tomorrow and stay groggy all day.

Today I realized that I'm still burdened with guilt. I looked at a complete stranger and thought -  only after the thought occured to me did I realize what it meant. I thought - how nice it must be to be a nice person. Turns out a part of me is full of self-doubt and self-hate. That too unconciously. I've gone around for weeks telling people that I'm happy. Didn't know I was carrying all of this bad blood in me.

Guess it's up and down. 

It's tough. I'm being hard and harsh. 

I can't preach unless I practice. No other way to be.

Today BananaFish declared my one-liner posts were cheating. I can't write 50 nonsense lines and call it Project 50. Pretty fair I think. I'm definitely not a story teller like BananaFish. I can ramble and bumble. Especially on these cranked up days. 

I was in Pune this weekend. Got lucky on my way - had booked a seat on a semi-sleeper bus, and they gave me a berth in a sleeper bus. Super comfy.

I like Indian musical instuments.

I chant. A U M. I don't think about what other people are thinking. I chant loudly. My voice feels like a stream of something pouring out. From the pit of my stomach to the tip of my nose. Pit to tip. 

 

Today I suffered. I fell down, back to where I've been crawling out of. But it's ok. I know the way out now. 

I saw half of Salaam Namaste in the bus back from Pune. I half enjoyed it. The Bollywoodness of it.

I read an Enid Blyton book in the bus. In red, dim light I read The Famous Five. After probably a dozen years. I couln't put it down, until they turned the dim, red light off. Then I had unpleasant dreams, in which I died over and over again. Waiting for something.

Am listening to Kula Shaker. Namami Nand he's saying. It's making my spine tingle.

When the unmanifest (energy) moves towards the manifest, the first form it takes is that of a perfect ellipsoid. Like a linga. Or a seed. Or an egg. 

I was going round and round in circles, and then it turned out to be an ellipsoid.

 Ok, am going to post a sensible post now.

I wish there wasn't a past tense involved with friendship.

Don't

You fall in love because someone is different and unique. And then you stop loving them because they're not like you.

Believe me

I have a red flying carpet.

I'll post a picture soon.

42

Death is one of the most difficult experiences to come to terms with. Loss is devastating, especially when someone who is a part of your life, just vanishes without a trace one day.

But death serves are a reminder. A reminder to how fragile life is and death makes you question life - 

Why am I alive? What is the point of going through this rigmarole only to lose it all one day?

Turns out...

...the answer is simple. And obvious. But is too big to fit into a clogged mind. A mind clogged with opinions, prejudices, likes and dislikes, obsessions, addictions and compulsions, and all the small mundane details that we pursue so desperately on a daily basis.

But maybe there comes a day when we're ready to throw all this away - these opinions and mindsets, and then suddenly there's more  -- more than just a mind, more than a body, more than a heart. And that is when we find an answer. 

I've seen death this year. For the first time. I didn't realize, but it did something inside that will never be the same. It doesn't allow me to stop asking the question. 

Eat. Drink. And do yoga.

I want to eat dhansak.

If you don't know what dhansak is, then you probably don't know who a Parsi is. Which is usually true for one out of every five people I meet.

Go look Parsis up. I can't explain all over again. (Although I will say that Freddie Mercury was the one Parsi rock-star, ever.)

But yea, dhansak is a traditional parsi dish. Tasty as hell. Herbs and spices and chicken. And brown rice.

And tasty as hell. But I repeat myself.

And I also want to eat Bombay pav bhaji and bhel puri. And drink sugarcane juice.

hush

Let me let you in on a big secret.

You are so incredible. So unique. But you have no idea who you really are. Not the foggiest.

Do you?

I'm talking about you, you, you and you.

FTS

Dear Neville Shah is an ancient friend from Bombay. Right now, he's threatening to flag my blog for writing this post. Which is precisely what is egging me on to write it. Why don't my friends know me?

Anyway, so here's the story.

Neville has recently moved to Atlanta from Bombay to study how to effectively use words to sell you hair-oil. (For more about the pointlessness of words, stay tuned.) But, anyway, so a week before I was to go to the US, I asked him if he wanted anything from India. And he thought for a minute and said, yes, a mug.

Hmm, a mug, I thought. How weird. I didn't think I would bother.

Then he says, not a coffee mug. A bathroom mug.

Ohhh of course. I remembered instantly my predicament when I first found myself in a bathroom in the US. I wont go into details.

I bought Neville three mugs and mailed them to him from SF.

The story ends today when I ask Neville if he's enjoying the mugs. And I was thinking to myself how much he must value something as insignificant as a bathroom mug now. Nice lesson, no?

And of course, to quote Neville:

me: enjoying the mugs ?

Neville: u have no idea

me: haha

Neville: shitting is now a truly fulfilling experience

What else can I say.

Ok Neville, you can flag this blog now. But don't forget you owe me one for the mugs.

One minute to midnight

I've never really blogged about India Daily Photo. Have I? Barely. There's a link to it, here and there and everywhere, but I've never blogged about its history, geography and chemistry.

But what the hell. I know of three people who really read this blog. And all one, two, three of them, know exactly how and why and what it means.

So, I guess I'll write about something else. Like how I don't really feel like blogging tonight.

Except for this bit -

Sometimes, I think of something fabulous I want to blog about and tell the WHOLE WIDE WORLD. But of course I don't get a chance to write it then, and the moment passes and it gets lost.

Vanishes. Like right now.

Ok, can't do it. Not a single word works tonight. They're all misbehaving.

Aren't words terrifically... vacant, insufficient, vague, incorrect, wrong? Ah, this was one of the big, awesome post-ideas I had in mind. About words. But can't find the words anymore.

At least it proves the point.

PS: Last feeble attempt. If you're new to this blog, don't bother reading much else - visit www.indiadailyphoto.com instead and leave a comment. Say hi. It makes a photographer's day.

Today

Yoga is when you take a bad day, turn it around and make it marvelous.

Thanks Miss.

Its not a rosy world out there.

But it's not full of thorns either.

Roses and thorns, I must love them both.

Weekend Ended

The weather is so delicious. Chilly, overcast and tasty air. It's raining as we speak (as I type, rather).

Bumped into loads of Isha people this weekend, here and there.

Today, we went to KBR park, and walked for hours - until we got lost in the dark woods, on purpose. We ran and raced. We ate cheese bhel puri.

Then went to the new bookstore Odyssey and I bought me some pretty oil paints. A nice magenta and purple. As soon as I hit the publish button, I'm going to take my already paint-smudged fingers off the keyboard and get back to my canvas.

(Will post results of painting soon.)

Posts coming up: Slang I learned in Mountain View.
21 Century
More on Isha (per request)

PS: It's pouring here. I think the cyclone is on us. If I die before I wake, forgive me. And if I live, still forgive me?

Isha

Hope shines brighter than sunshine - says my dear friend Michelle.

It's true, isn't it?

When I first landed up at the doorsteps of Isha Yoga Center, it was out of a need to become healthy and calm again - my life was going nowhere but downwards. Within three days of being there and experiencing the Inner Engineering Program, I stepped out with a different agenda. My problems seemed utterly petty, in comparison to what possibilities had opened up for me.

Pain, loneliness, confusion vanished, and were replaced by an overwhelming sense of love, hope and infinite new possibilities. And my needs/desires/desperations faded in the background while life around me and everything else became more worthwhile.

And this I see in the eyes of every single Isha I meet. There's more of us that I thought, and I'm thrilled. Each day, a new surpize.

Coming soon, near you. Magic.

Hatred and repulsion from even one person is so devastating.

I can understand how people rejected and abandoned by society turn towards crime and insanity.

L'ego

Every single fight in the world can be torn down to -

" I am right and you are wrong."

Incredible. The wreck of the ego.

Incredible

The strangest things are happening.

Absolutely strangest.

So strange, that I don't think I can blog about it.

Yet.

Oh, save me.

Movie Watchin'

Another 20 something hours in the plane. I saw some movies I should have seen a dozen years ago.

1. Blood Diamond - Liked it a lot. Leonardo continues to impress.

2. Charlie and the chocolate factory - Tim Burton is the man. And so is Roald Dahl. As is Johnnie Depp.

3. Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix - Randomly saw it again. In preparation for the new movie coming in the next week. Potter-time, yea.

4. Phantom of the Opera. Now I know why this movie is usually in most lists of best movies ever. Plus, love the soundtrack.

The Vikas Connection

A couple of weeks ago, I met an old, old friend from college days, Mr Sai Vikas Munipalle. He's a legend. There are books written about him. I wont forget the first time I met him in class. He shrunk up on me and said, hey, can we exchange topics for the Economics project?

I was amused. I said no.

Vikas was the guy who jumped out of his skin if a girl so much as touched his arm. He looked at women as if they were aliens. He also didn't drink, or swear, or smoke. That was in the first year, of course.

Three years later - Vikas had long hair, played drums for three bands, cursed like a professional rock-star, had an impressive beer belly, was the joker of the classroom, and one of the most popular people in college.

I was always fond of him, like an older sister, I was especially proud of the long hair. In the harsh summer of Bombay in our second year, when he was whining about wanting to go bald, I displayed my eternal zen wisdom and told him to keep his hair on.

Anyway, after college, with a strange twist of fate, I landed up with a job in Vikas' home city - Hyderabad, while he went on to take on a photographer's job with Time Out, Mumbai.

Two weeks ago, we met, after probably two years. His long hair is gone. He has a funny moustache-beard thingy, which makes him look like some Spanish don. Or something.

But he's still the same boy I used to bully and still has the same retarded laugh. We caught up on old times, and I didn't care to tell him much about the new me. He'd known me in my beer guzzling, pot-smoking, rock-n-roll days, and couldn't really believe I wasn't drinking anymore.
I briefly mentioned yoga, and the ashram.

Later, he dropped me home, and when he stepped into my room, he noticed a photograph of Sadhguru, and said, hey, I know that dude. I was amazed. Vikas and Sadhguru? No way.

Turns out, his mother is a seeker and follows Sadhguru's path. I was thrilled. Promised him that I would go visit his mother.

Today, aunty called me. She's excited to meet me as much as I am to see her. And then she mentions that I should not come between 4:00pm and 6:00pm which is when she has her drawing and painting class for children.

And I'm like... What? Really? Please let me attend! Drawing class with a bunch of kids! Especially since I've recently started painting myself! Definitely more fun than sitting at home and staring at my Google Reader feeds.

So yea. I have a date tomorrow. And I'm going armed with my watercolours and paintbrushes. Woohooo.

Ps: This is Vikas et moi about 5 years ago.

Project 50

Happy to announce, inspired by brave efforts of Mr.BananaFish, who's taken a blood oath to churn out a 100 blog posts in ze month of November 2008, I will follow suit and pant and aim to hit 50 blog posts before end of November.

It's possible. I'm done with 15, and have 35 to go in 16 days. So be warned.

Horror-scopied

Venus in line with Saturn! You will come across unexpected good luck at work. You will travel to an exotic destination! You will encounter a long forgotten friend! The moon is at a 43 degree angle with Pluto! Your skin will take on a moonlight glow!

Such a pile of seaweed.

"Too much attention is being paid to other planets. It's time we paid attention to this planet, after all, how this planet is will decide the quality of our lives."

A fable

I just read a news-story. I'm not going to give you a link, I'm going to tell you the story:

Kassie Neou was a Cambodian, who was in a Khmer Rouge torture chamber. Likely to be killed soon. Tortured everyday. Guarded by teenagers.

He used to tell stories night after night, sometimes exhausted and bloody from a day of beatings and interrogation, to the teenagers guards - one shift after another. They used to be delighted with the stories - Kassie was lucky he knew Aesop's Fables by heart.

Then came the night when the prisoners were roped together and marched from the building to be killed. Over the loud squeaking of their leg irons, Kassie heard the voice of one of the 13-year old guards pointing to him and saying "I need him. Quick pull him out!"

One of the guards hid him, holding a finger to his mouth for silence. Another prisoner was roped in his place and Kassie was spared.

Kassie is one of the few suriviors of this period of the Khmer Rouge years, where driven by a radical Maoist philosophy that quickly slid into madness, the Khmer Rouge Government turned on its own people, and killed perhaps more than one million Cambodians.

Kassie, was spared. But he was beated day after day and he said he memorized the faces of his torturers, sustaining himself with thoughts of revenge. He swore that when his time came, he would take revenge five times worse than what they were going to him. He was filled with anger and hatred.

Three years later, when finally the Khmer Rouge Government collapsed, Kassie was among hundreds of thousands of people flooding into Thailand. He was at a refugee camp, and over there, he recognized one of his torturers, a young man called Comrade Han.

When they saw each other, Comrade Han turned completely pale and began to shake. Kassie casually asked him, "Oh, when did you arrive?"

Comrade Han could hardly talk because of his fear, but he said "My wife is sick and my baby is dying."

Kassie was one of the few educated people at the camp, and was now working as the administrator of an aid program at the camp. When he saw Comrade Han so scared, and because his baby was dying, Kassie simply took him to a feeding center, arranged for care for his wife and child, and gave him money for cigarettes.

Comrade Han was trembling and had tears in his eyes. He thanked Kassie Neou, who at that moment realized that he'd experienced something stronger than revenge.

breadhead

I'm jet lagged.

My brain feels like bread.

Games I play

Mind disease.

Dis-ease.

You know what that is.

I think you're the cause. And I think you are the remedy.

But the truth is that you're neither. It's just hard to accept. Or remember.

Disease, I said, remember?

SF Diaries - Day 9 - Sin Fest

My last day in the city. And I had a big fat shopping list - thanks to my growing generosity - I spent my last weeks in Hyd asking everyone what they wanted. And landed myself with the said fat list.

I started at 12:00. Finished at 7:00pm.

By 1:30 my bags were full and my arms were hurting. I called a friend who lived nearby, dropped stuff off in his car and went back to continue.

Shop after shop, sometimes seduced, sometimes not. Surprisingly I bought a lot more things for other people than myself.

Had decided to get myself a backpack from Northface. Finally found myself there and instantly fell in love with the brand. Great stuff.

I found myself, after I picked my bag, buying caps, a sweater and then started considering a sleeping bag, a tent, and thermal jackets that I would need if I was climbing the Everest. Had to stop myself. I am likely to go to the Himalayas sometime next year, but the fancy jackets can wait.

Seduced though. And sinful.

Finally finished.at 7:00 pm. My intention had been to finish shopping in two hours and then spend the rest of the day sight-seeing. Fat chance. But yea, I'd managed walking around a lot and took photos of cloudy SF.

When I walked out of the North Face store... I said aloud to myself, Miss Sopariwala, that's it. Enough. Had spent easily 4x more than I should have. And then, I walked past a colourful store. Beautifully decorated. My feet walked in. Didn't even know what it was called.

Slabs of soap, displayed like cakes and pastries. Of all colours and fragrances.
Balls of bath salts.
Spreads of face creams, lotions, displayed like ice-cream. Delicious.

Was fairly innocent until a saleslady came up and asked me if I wanted anything. That's when I began to consider. Oh yea, I actually do want... something... How about shampoos, conditioners, a tub of cream, a face pack, and throw in some slabs of soap.

The guy behind the counter was delighted with my delight and threw in a couple of 'gifts' for me. Some perfume and a ball of bath-salts.

Turns out its a famous brand called LUSH. And they have a store in India, at Bangalore. Woohoo.

My two favourite brands now, North Face and Lush. And that was my sinful last day in SF.

Do you think I feel guilty? Hell, no.

SF Diaries - Day 8

Thursday. Last three days.

Today, after some awesome meetings at work, I persuaded Maloney to take me out to the city. Left office early, with the blessings of my manager.

By request of L'Afrin, as Maloney calls me, we navigated our way to the Twin Peaks. I'd not heard about the place from others, but had spent enough time staring at the map of SF to decide that I wanted to see it. So, up the winding roads we went, until we reach the top and saw this.

I was lucky, it wasn't foggy or cloudy, as the weather had been the past few days.

And so, we got a stunning view of the city - the Bay Bridge and the core of the city in this photo. The bright road running the middle of the photo is Market Street.

We got locked out of the car. But managed to open it somehow. Was fun. And then, I visited the public toilet.

It was like a space capsule. You press a button for it to open, and huge door slides across. And its completely space age. You walk in, there's a huge BIG RED button in the wall. The kind you see in the movies and the kind that set's off the big bad bomb.

It said : Instructions. I pressed it of course. The door shut, with a clank. And a metallic voice gave me step by step instructions about how to use the toilet. Hilarious.

After that, we went down into the city, and found the Filimore. A performance venue where Maloney treated me to a live concert. A punk concert! A band, he said, that was one of his favourites, and hadn't performed in 5 years.

I was excited. The opening band was called Guttermouth.
I quite liked their music. But the winner of that half hour was by far the ongoing nonsense that the vocalist spoke. He was outrageous. At first I thought it was regular behaviour of a puck star - but Maloney said it wasn't so.

He was insulting the crowd. Calling San Fransisco a pile of scumbags. And if anyone spoke back to him, he would point back to him and say something utterly rude. And personal. Like, yea, as of you know what you're talking about, scumbag. You with your funny military hair-cut.

He pulled at them about the fact that law to ban gay marriages was passed. I wish I remembered the words - it was nasty, sensitive, and hilarious.

He was doing a biting-stand-up comedy act, but it was rude. He instigated the crowd, and they started pelting him with coins. It was hilarious. Of course, everyone was in good spirits and most of the audience was roaring with laughter at his ridiculousness.

In between the two bands, I sat down against a wall, and fell asleep. Woke up when the music started again. The big band was Face To Face. The vocalist tried hard to entertain the crowd with a few attempts at being funny, but then gave up and just played music.

A nice night.

SF Diaries - Day 7

Wednesday. Another busy day at work. And well productive.

After work, I found myself on the train to SF again. This time, well armed - with my maps, and a lighter bag. I desperately wanted to make it to Union Square and do some shopping. And especially wanted to go to The North Face store and buy myself a bag.

It was utterly disappointing everyday that the sun went down by 5:00 and it was dark before 6. I reached the Caltrain station on Mountain View at 7:15 and hopped on the train. Halfway down realized I'd bought a wrong ticket. Scary. I didn't want to get off the train to get a new ticket - the next train was an hour later.

Contemplation. I walked around and read that I could buy a zone upgrade ticket on the train. Phew. The next train-official who came by, I told him that I had a wrong ticket and I needed to upgrade my zone. He frowned and asked me for my ticket. I was like darn, he's going to tear my ticket and arrest me. And I don't have my passport.

He scribbled something on my ticket and said, don't worry. If they check, here's my signature. He'd written 'OK to travel upto SF'. He asked a few friendly questions about where I was from, etc. went on.

I got off the train, hopped onto a bus to Union Square and then got off and found the North Face store. It was all lit up. But locked.

Like 99% of all the stores. Disappointment.

But, SF is magical, and I walked around, taking photos, looking at the people, slipping in and out of their big cars, and walking into expensive restaurants and clubs. I was taking a photo at Union Square, and a cab driver, with a thick European accent told me I should use flash lights.

Oh no, I dont like flash I said, smiled and walked on.

Found a big book store - it was open, and packed, but didn't have the book I was looking for, for a friend. Then realized I had 10 minutes to get to my train. Hopped into a cab, and realized it was the same cab driver who had 20-minutes ago told me to use flash lights. We started talking. He had a Nikon D60. He was from Ukraine, and had a lovely accent. We spoke about Google, and
driving in SF. He said I was likely to miss my train. I didn't really care that much. There's always... a solution.

When we reached the station, I paid him, and asked him if he would wait a minute to let me check if the train was gone. I ran in - the train was just getting out of sight. Gone. Next one in an hour. I happily hopped back into the cab and said, take me back into the city! He said, maybe you should wait here for an hour - and I was like, no way am I going to waste an hour of California time at a railway station.

So, back into the city. Back to seeing musicians playing something outside bars. Back to the sparkling street walk, and the night lights. Walked past a few art galleries, and took photos of paintings on display. From outside. Walked and walked and breathed. And then cab-train-walk home.

SF Diaries - Day 5 and 6

Day 5:

Monday. Busy day at work. A friend had offered to meet me for dinner in Mountain View, so, I went out early and walked around the streets of MV. Looking for a bookstore.

The first one I walked into, hit me on the head with a fat stick. There was a big huge photo, and a bigger statue of Paramhansa Yogananda. The whole book store was about spirituality, and mystical stuff.

I walked around, and didn't really find anything that I wanted.

There were sections on witchcraft. On native American stuff. I bought a few incense sticks, with exotic fragrances and then left.

My friend ditched. I ate a chocolate cookie for dinner and walked back home.

Day 6:

Election day. The big big day. As I walked to my bus stop in the morning, I walked past a voting centre. There were people standing there holding placards that said = Say No on Proposition 8.



I had seen a ballot sheet at Steven's house. It was interesting. And Proposition 8, of course, the scandalous one that was attempting to ban the legalized marriages of homosexual people in California. I had been a bit astonished to see that the Californian government was trying to ban homosexual marriages. After all, San Francisco had a large homosexual population, and was a place where they lived happily and gayly. I didn't think that the ban would get passed.

The atmosphere on office was electric too. Everyone was talking about it, and everyone was intensely waiting to see how it would turn out.

After work, I didn't have any plans, and so I decided I would go into the city alone. Was slightly impulsive, and instead of going home, dropping my laptop off and then taking a train, I just got onto a bus from Google to SF. It dropped me off at Haight.

It was dark. And chilly. I walked and walked. Felt annoyed that I didn't have my map with me. Ate dinner at a Pakistani restaurant.

The waitress was so pretty (everyone on Haight was so gorgeous). After a while, she came over and said 'I don't know if you're interested, but Obama just won the election.' She looked pleased and went away.

I was thrilled. It had finally happened. I went back onto the street and walked over to Market Street.

There was a new charge on the roads. Kids and teenagers were screaming and chanting from their houses. Cab drivers were honking. I've never heard honking in the US. But this sounded like being back on a busy signal in Hyderabad.

I kept walking. Passed plenty of people, celebrating, handing out Obama stickers, bursting fire-crackers.

Groups of cyclists were riding around, screaming and waving their fists in victory. It was infectious. Everywhere they passed the cab drivers would start the honking all over again. The bars were full - people watching Obama's speech. I had to keep walking. My bag was heavy and I had an hour long walk to the railway station.

SF Diaries - Day 4 - Big Sur

Sunday. And the sun was out. I definitely had plenty of left-over-from-lasttime sightseeing that I wanted to complete in the city.

But a colleague offered to drive us to Big Sur - and so, that's where we were the whole day.

What a stunning place. As we left the city and the suburbs, and drove into the country side, I saw ranches, and cows, and rolling hills, and then deeper towards the mountains, the fog was appearing. I was slowly getting breathless (with the sights) and our first stop was Pebble Beach.

It was stinking. Of sea weed. But there were millions of birds, kinds I'd never seen before. I took about 400 photos that day.

After pebble beach, we got onto the famous 17-mile drive - which is dotted with fancy resorts, golf courses and has about 21 points which are spectacular view points. Included mysterious names like 'The Lone Cypress' and 'The Ghost Tree' and China Rocks.

The sea was unruly. Crashing waves. But a gorgeous blue. I can't describe how stunning it was.

After the 17-mile drive, we went on further south, deeper into Big Sur. The trees were tall. There were mountains on one side, and the sea on the other.

The sun began dipping by about 4:30 and we saw the sunset from a high-up point, overlooking a bridge taking the road deeper into the mountains, they were getting higher and higher and we were overlooking a curvy coast going on for miles.

I felt peaceful and magicked.

Finally, it was dark, and we had reached the heart of Big Sur. There was a national forest there.

Big Sur has a special significance. From my old days.

Let's see how I can explain - Jim Morrison admired a Beat poet called Jack Kerouac. Whose book 'On The Road' I'd read and was blown away by. I own another book my Jack Kerouac. Called Big Sur. Hadn't read it, but I knew that Big Sur had been a place of magic and hippies for generations.

It was freezing by now, and pitch black. We came back out from the mountains to the road along the sea - and I died. The moon was out. Shining and reflecting in the sea. And the stars were in millions.

Nobody else seemed remotely interested, but my heart was aching to stop. I requested one last stop. I'll just be two minutes, I said and I ran out of the car.

The view was breathtaking. The moon, its reflection in the sea, the biting cold wind, and the stars. I couldn't make any pictures, it was too dark.

I just stood there, and looked up at the sky. There was something inside me that was exploding, and I just let it spill out of me.

I tasted what life must have been like in these mountains 40 years ago. The long-haired beautiful hippies, smoking weed, making love and writing poetry. I lived it for a minute.

More photos here.

SF Dairies - Day 1, 2 and 3

Day 1:

Arrived at 3:00pm. Just off the plane from an adventurous but freezing night at London. Was wondering if anyone was to be there to pick me up in the first place. But Steven, a colleague, was there. Smiling and happy. We got into his little black Mini Cooper and zipped away from SFO airport, towards Mountain View.

It's autumn. The trees are colored. The air was edible. So delicious.

I was to stay at some Google corporate apartments, and wow, when we arrived, I spent a good half hour looking at how conveniently designed everything was.

I was exhausted and dirty. I had a lazy bath, and snuggled in for a mini-nap.

Which lasted 5 hours. When I woke up, I realized how stupid I'd been to sleep at 5:00 and wake up at 10:00pm. Now I was wide awake, and stayed up late, blogging about my adventures at London.

Missed a chance to go get some Halloween costume. Darn.

Day 2:

Friday. Halloween.

Woke up, did my yoga, and then took the shuttle to Googleplex. Had breakfast at the famous Charlie's Cafe, and was a little disappointed to see that most people weren't dressed up for Halloween... But then, slowly, the craziness started creeping in - starting with a lady on a table nearby who pulled out a wig from her bag and put in on.

Had a good day at work - and then left early for glimpse of Googleween. It was hilarious. Got some funny pictures. This one was one of my favourite costumes. Sarah Palin and The Joker were the most common costumes, of course.

Then, Steven took us into city, and after a burrito for dinner we hopped into a cab with some friends to go to a pub.

It was crazy. Packed to bursting with people dressed up with the basic intention of taking someone to bed. I wasn't drinking, and after a bit, I left. Took a train back to Mountain View and walked home.

Day 3:

Weekend! Met a Hyderabad friend for a lunch, and we drove to Haight-Ashbury, and I had a bowl full of salad. It was raining. I was thrilled to be at Haight, and then we went to the biggest music store I have seen 'Amoeba' and I bought a couple of DVDs for daddy, per request. And some hippie earrings, per request too.

It was raining and my friend was being sulky, so went back to Mountain View. Not the way I wanted my first Saturday in California to go.

Later, spoke to long-lost soul twin - Nash, who's doing some complicated PhD at St. Louis. Heard some great news and didn't stop beaming for an hour.

SF Diaries - Fall 2008

I'm at the SF airport. On the way back. It's a lovely day. And I'm going to write my San Fransisco Diaries. I've been here about 9 days. And I'm sad to go back, but also relieved to be going back home.

Mountain Viewing

Among the various things I'm enjoying in the Google Mountain View office, besides the bikes, and the air is the stuff in the break-out areas. I usually walk around slowly and take a good look at everything to eat/drink, and find it hard to make up my mind about what I really want to try.

But today I happily grabbed a bottle of Vitamin Water - dragonfruit. And it's delicious.

Here's the amusing copy on the bottle:

have you ever wondered why every
superhero insists on wearing tights? when
did they get together and decide that tights
from head to toe was the official superhero
uniform? well, whatever the case maybe,
if you're not a superhero but still want to
look good in tight t-shirts, we recommend
this bottle packed with vitamin c. who
knows, you may find yourself jogging past
speeding bullets, bench pressing
locomotives or skipping over tall buildings
(in a single hop), and if you insist on
wearing tights... who are we to judge?

Yea. Vague. But funny. And tasty, yo.

Virgin Movies

20 hours in air. 4 movies.

1. Harold and Kumar escape from Guantanamo Bay.
Hadn't watched a completely retarded movie for ages. It was sufficiently retarded. A ludicrous masala Hollywood flick, with love-story, drugs, action, comedy, all rolled into one.

2. Miss Pettigrew Lives for a Day
Lovely British drama. Happy movie. Great looking cast. Nice dialogues, and beautifully shot.

3. The Love Guru
Saw this out of curiosity (the Guru thing). It's hilarious. I guess I've missed watching movies - this was really good entertainment. Mike Myers was superb as the Americanized Guru Pitka living in LA (performs some ridiculous songs with a sitar), and Justin Timberlake as Jacques 'Le Coq' Grande was funny too.

4. Horton Hears a Who
Animated movies are usually a sure-shot good time. This one was cute. Not as super-awesome as The Jungle Book or Kung-Fu Panda, but neat-o. An eccentric elephant hears a 'speck' scream and then discovers that a whole world exists on something as small as a needle-tip, much to the disbelief of everyone around him.

(I guess am imagining it, but I seem to find spiritual messages in so many movies. And everything I come across. And, Sadhguru says that yoga can be in everything we do. Anyway, that's another story.)

Bombay - London - SFO

Bombay was Bombay. And it was time to travel.

Once again, Google's ample generosity bought me a week long vacation, sorry, work-trip, to Mountain View, California. Somehow, I wasn't so excited this time. Until I bought my ticket - Virgin Atlantic, via London. And my manager offered that I could stop in London for a day if I wanted.

Thrilled, and slightly rashly, I bought my ticket with a deliberate day-long halt at London. And only after that bothered checking with my friends, Karen and Brad, if they were to be in London on that day at all, and not filming in Pakistan or something. Fortunately, they were going to be in town.

Only after, after that did it strike me that I might need a visa and other such paper work. It's disheartening, this whole visa business. That we're subject to such an annoying procedure to go anywhere. Anyway.

So, nobody seemed to know the answer to whether I needed a visa or not, and the website was a confusing mess. But it looked to me that if I had a visa to the US, and my halt was less that 48 hours, I wouldn't need a visa. So, I was hopeful. But the website was very confusing, and had too many rules and laws for me to bother reading properly.

Lots of people I asked, including one person (ahem) who very strongly declared that I was nuts if I thought I could get out of the airport, said that it didn't seem likely. All this after I'd spoken to Brad and Karen and had already jumped up-and-down in excitement three times.

But, strangely, I wasn't disappointed. This whole yoga business is doing awesome things to me.

I was like, cool, if I get to go, it's great. If not, it's fine too. I can read at the airport and all that.

Oh, and this yoga business. My packing was so compact. The last time I went to Mountain View, I took a bag three times larger for a much shorter trip. This time, I had a nice small suitcase, laptop bag, and my yoga mat.

At the airport, I asked the Virgin staff if I would be allowed to go out in London. They were pretty sure I wouldn't. So, I prepared myself to spend the night at the London airport. Reading.

Landed in London, and started looking around for where I could sleep or rest. There was a board pointing at 1. Connecting Flights OR 2. Immigration. I started walking towards connecting flights, but then asked someone if that's where I should go for a 15-hour stop. They waved me towards Immigration.

And then, boom, in 5 minutes I had a stamp on my passport - '24 hour' visa. And I was out! Not really prepared. It was 18:30hrs and I had no currency, no address, no phone, and had messaged Karen from Bombay airport saying I wasn't likely to be able to see them.

1. Bought some Pounds.
2. Tried unsuccessfully to call Karen.
3. Went online (2 Pounds) and copied notes from an email with directions, from Brad.
4. Got slightly concerned about how things would turn, and went offline.

The first bit of directions from the email, were to get onto the Picadilly Train Line and travel east to Holborn and then switch to the Central Line until Bethnal Green. Which is where they live.

Went out of the airport. With laptop bag, camera and yoga mat. And realized London was freezing cold. Went round and round and asked people to help me find the trains, went round and round some more, and finally found the trains.

It was easy after that - very well organized, dozens of signs to everything, and super-cool trains. Fast, snazzy and all that. And full of Indians.

I was slightly concerned about my next steps. I knew which station I had to get off at. But from there, I had no idea. I knew I had to somehow make a call to them, or get online and look at a map. Or email. Or walk around and ask for directions to No.w.here. Which is what their film studio is called. I pictured myself asking a proper British Uncle if he knew where I could find nowhere. And I pictured his eyes bugling out in disbelief, in the style of Inspector Goon from the Five Find-Outers legend. And then I dismissed that picture from my head. Wasn't helping.

There was a girl across from me, talking on the phone in Hindi. I was desperately wondering if I should request her to let me make a call. But I didn't. Instead I focused on my little map, criss-crossed with train lines. Boy, what an elaborate railway system - a dozen railway lines, connecting every corner of the city. And stations with fairy-tale names - Knight's Bridge, Baron's Court, Earl's Court, Cockfosters(?).

But alas, that map was pretty useless when it came to trying to locate No.w.here.

An Indian-looking man then asked me if I was new there. He indicated that my clutching of the map had got his attention. I said I had just landed, and that I sort of knew where I had to go... He said, I shouldn't ask random people for directions, but should ask the railway staff. And then he got off.

Thanks for the tip, I thought. I didn't want to get into trouble in a foreign city, with no escort and no way of reaching anyone I knew.

Bethnal Green arrived. I got off. There was a map on the railway station - but I was quickly dismayed to realize that I had absolutely no idea which way to go. I didn't know what street they were on, and I felt massively stupid for being such a retard.

Fortunately, all this lovely yoga magic was happening, and I wasn't worried or scared, and I knew things would work out. I went out of the station. It was dark, windy and cold. And deserted.

Asking for directions is a natural process when you live in Bombay. The hundred of people on the road, and the dozen super-knowledgeable paanwalas everywhere are assured means to finding your way to anywhere.

London is not = Bombay in that aspect. There were a couple of young boys on the phone outside the platform and I somehow didn't feel like asking them for help. No shops in sight. Hardly anyone on the streets.

I continued walking, some shop like lights were a few blocks down, and I saw a store near a gas station. (Just like the movies! And Indians selling the stuff!) I was happy, they were sure to help me, I thought. All I wanted was a phone booth! Or a computer. Or help.

I went to the chap and said I was lost, and that I needed to make a phone call. There was a phone right there. I was hoping that he would let me use his phone. (Take a pound, I don't care, I was thinking, sending brain-pleads to his brain.) He looked a bit skeptical, and said that I would find a phone on the railway station.

I went back into the wind and the cold darkness. I was in tears now. But I guess its natural for people to be skeptical of strangers. Maybe he thought my yoga mat was a terrorist's weapon. So, I turned and went back to the station.

It was a relief to escape the cold and see people again. I saw an Indian girl, with a bouquet of flowers in her hands, standing waiting for someone, and I went straight to her. And told her I was a bit (yea, sure) lost, and that I would be grateful for help. She immediately offered to make a phone call for me, and we started chatting. (Happy Diwali and all) and then, I got through to Karen - who was on a train to Glasgow. And she said I was lucky I managed to reach her phone!

Fortunately, Brad was in town and he came to the railway station and rescued me. So, all turned well. I was thrilled to see Brad, exactly one year after our memorable adventures film-making in Bombay.

And then things were glorious. My flight the next morning was at 9:30 am, so I only had the night to be in London, but I didn't care what we did - it was enough just that I was there!

Went to the much-discussed film studio, (was super-cool) and caught up on the one year (lots of work for Brad and lots of stories from me - the life-crisis and the yoga). And then, since I don't drink anymore, we decided we didn't want to see the inside of a London pub, but we'd see as much of the city.

Walked. For the next 4 hours! Until way past midnight.

London. Is. Gorgeous. More so than SF, I must admit. We walked through a neighbourhood full of pubs, strip-clubs. Soho. And then to posh streets - Trafalgar Square! The city was bursting with energy - so many theatres, cinemas, museums, art places! I had my camera dangling around my neck, but my fingers were numb with the cold, and the light wasn't enough for great photography anyway. Tiny alleys. Red buses.

Walked past a movie premier of the new Bond movie - fancy-fancy-gorgeous looking people.

Then walked to the Thames and crossed the river. Saw the London Eye and Big Ben, and well, as much as we could cram into the 4 hours, before I was ready to collapse with a frozen body. Stared in awe at St. Paul's Church.

Smiled because I was in Harry Potter and Enid Blyton land.

And went home, content to have seen London at night, and more than glad to be in a warm bed.

Magic became

They say life breaks you. And that you have to pick up the pieces, and walk on. And all that.

What happens when life not only breaks you - but grinds you down? No pieces to pick up really, when you're ground into powder.

But then, there comes along a magician. And he looks at the sand. And says, hmm.

Sand becomes glass, you know.

A new form. The same sand, transformed.

Cocoon-ed

I remember Swamy calling me a caterpillar. He wouldn't explain why. I was extremely miffed - he wouldn't tell me what it meant, and I couldn't for the life of me imagine what he was talking about.

Had forgotten all about that until today. It's funny. Read this on the new Isha website.

There is a beautiful story about a caterpillar that lived much of its life believing that it had come into being only to eat and sleep and do what the rest of the caterpillars did. However it was unhappy. Somehow it sensed that its life had another dimension not yet experienced.

One day, driven by a strange longing, it decided to become still and silent. It hung from the branch of a tree, weaving a cocoon around itself. Inside the cocoon, although constrained and uncomfortable, it waited, sensing and aware. Its patience bore fruit, for when the cocoon burst open, it was no longer the lowly worm that went in, but a beautiful, resplendent, winged butterfly which dazzled the sky. It soared and flew, no longer limited to its worm-like existence, but free and unbounded. The caterpillar had been transformed into a thing of air and lightness, magic and beauty.

Once the transformation had taken place, it was impossible for the butterfly to return to being a worm. In the cocoon, the caterpillar had become one with its inner being and in this union it reached its ultimate nature. What happened in the cocoon can be described as yoga. Yoga is the path towards being boundless.

Yoga transforms and liberates human beings so that they can reach this unbounded state. Humans, unlike animals, are not merely existing. They are becoming. To evolve as a human being is to become aware of one's limitations; to strive, with intense passion, towards the transcendence for which we all have the potential.