Decisions on the bridge

I have always maintained that its the people who you work with that matter the most. A job is a job and any value you attach to it (apart from the obvious monetary benefit) is mainly because of the people.

Background:

After almost 30 years in the Indian Navy and several years in the quasi-government sector, my Dad had pretty much accomplished everything there is to accomplish. A couple of months ago he received a phone call from a retired Naval sailor who had been trying to track him down for almost a decade. He wanted to talk about the "INS Andaman sinking episode" a very sad day in the Indian Navy's fine history. The said sailor (who will remain unnamed) had been trying to come to terms with the incident for several years now and had written down his experiences in the hopes of gaining some semblance of closure. He wanted to  seek my Dad's blessings before he shared his narrative with the rest of the world.

The Incident:

In late August 1990, INS Andaman sunk in the Bay of Bengal. 15 crew members lost their lives. You can read more about the incident here. My Dad was the Commanding Officer of INS Himgiri, one of the two ships that were ordered to assist in the rescue efforts. The article I mentioned is more or less accurate. INS Andaman did sink due to acute engine failure. But what the article does not mention are the herculean efforts of INS Himgiri and INS Trishul. 

In my Dad's words, his response to the sailor's narrative:

"First of all, I would like to thank you for taking  the trouble to  locate me and reaching out  to share your thoughts on this incident. I would like to congratulate you for your excellent narration of the incident as viewed by an young sailor from the decks of INS Himgiri. However, I do feel that the gravity of the situation with regards to the weather conditions and other aspects have not been emphasized enough. Not enough can be said about the conditions at sea. The waves were over the mast of the ship. The gales were strong, with  poor visibility. The conditions were truly against us. We were in the middle of a cyclone.  Despite all our efforts we could not transfer some equipment to the ill-fated ship as the sea conditions were very bad. The ship was rolling up to 27 degrees and pitching heavily. The waves were over the Sea Cat launcher. One moment we were clear of water and the next moment we were under the wave with nothing visible except water. We had to stop the ship to pick up the survivors. The ship was being tossed around like a match box if you did not have enough steerage way. Maneuvering the ship was very difficult, with constant fear of running over the survivors while picking them up. The safety of my crew who were on the upper deck for rescue ops was another aspect that bothered me that day. I did instruct that all the personnel should have a life line while working on the upper deck. One must note that helicopter ops were impossible under those conditions. INS Trishul's propellers got fouled with the tow rope while the rescue ops were in progress there by restricting the maneuverability. 

I did make the decision of sending the divers to assist the rescue ops by picking up the survivors. The sea was so rough that both the divers were lost for a considerable amount of time. We  did manage to  locate and pick them up. This incident led me to decide not to send any of my crew members out of the ship. Several crew members and I had spotted a dead body floating around and tried to retrieve it. But after seeing several survivors hanging on to dear life, I made the decision to only assist living crew members and then focus on the departed. 

The ship's crew exhibited exceptional courage, selflessness and true camaraderie during the entire  search and rescue operation. It is pertinent to mention my special appreciation for Master Chief Prasad of the engine room and Lt. Deepak Bali for their immense contribution to this operation."

I told my Dad that his greatest glory was not in being top of his class, representing India at the Naval Command College in the U.S or even being awarded the Vishisht Seva Medal (VSM). It is the fact that the people who had worked under him and beside him, chose to seek him out and congratulate him on his leadership, hard work and dedication.

It is always about the people.

The Moment of Everything - A book review

I had the good fortune of meeting Shelly King, the author, at the book launch of "The Moment of Everything". Shelly came across as a warm, friendly and funny person. I was curious to see if her book was anything like her.

The Moment of Everything is Shelly's debut novel. I must say it does not disappoint. A book about book stores and "Lady Chatterley's Lover". What could go wrong with that? Maggie Dupre has been "involuntarily separated from payroll" at a Silicon Valley start-up. Sounds familiar? Living in Mountain View and spending numerous hours on Castro Street I had begun to understand this mysterious bubble, that is Silicon Valley. Reading a book set in the place you live in, was comforting and at times eye-opening.

Maggie navigates, what can sometimes be pretentious Silicon Valley culture with charm, humor and a bit of girl power. I could identify myself with Maggie on so many levels. To begin with, her love for books and that she was a non-techie in the Bay Area.  Confused about her purpose in life (a theme that I struggle with even today) Maggie pines for her "perfect" life with the flashy job and fat paycheck. She starts working in the used book store on Castro street to escape the reality of her situation. What was once an escape from job hunting, turns out to be just the thing she needed to find herself.

In the book store, Maggie is entangled in a love story with a surprising twist. Her independent streak, snarky remarks and gumption help progress an otherwise cheesy romantic storyline. Shelly does an excellent job of filling the pages with an eclectic mix of characters from the hardcore gamer, the retired Berkeley hippie, to the uptight southern mother. A book lovers book, The Moment of Everything, conveys the quintessential old world charm of the past with a modern, complicated and power hungry present.

Yatrik - A review

So I read Yatrik by Arnab Ray. Highly awaited, his third novel does not disappoint. Reading it brought about a tumult of emotion. Poignant and insightful with an underlying thread of dry humor. You know the kind that says "Life is what happens when you are busy planning other things".

The story is about Anushtup Chatterjee who wakes up to realize he is dead. I quiet like stories where the "end" is the "beginning". Not all authors can do this convincingly. Starting the book with the end result and working your way back to the details of the story. The opening pages of the book are my favorite with Anushtup being told he has died and the vivid description of the darkness and stillness of the surroundings. Eerie and strangely calming. Arnab does a fantastic job of portraying middle class India. Anushtup is easy to relate to and shows this perfect balance of idealism and human flaws that makes him three dimensional.The book explores themes of family, ambition, Kolkata and death. By starting the story with death, Arnab deals with a core fear that resides in all of us. The fear of dying. The fear of anonymity. The fear of mediocrity.

The story flows with ease exploring Anushtup's life, his choices and the reasons his life didn't turn out the way he had hoped for. His troubled relationship with his parents ( the foundation), his sense of identity through educational accomplishments ( the middle) and his dissatisfaction with the cards that life has dealt him (the end). Why is it so common for people to feel this sense of entitlement from life? This particular emotion was a bit too close for comfort. The lassitude from the seemingly unfair treatment of life. This false sense of entitlement led Anushtup to tempt fate maybe? 

Themes of Karma run strong throughout but also depict the interconnected maze of actions. It is not your actions alone that affect life but also the actions and choices of others. And sometimes one has no control over this power others seem to hold over your life's outcomes. Anushtup's struggles though sad, do convey a sense of justice and peace. It is what it is. Arnab's writing style ensures the book is thought provoking like a little nudge yet not depressing, for the protagonist has died after all, having  lived an unsuccessful life by middle class Indian standards. There is a lot of Bengali cultural references (for obvious reasons) but I did not find that annoying because there is a universal Desi element that ties it all together. 

Notable mentions from the book are the author's opening lines, the description of the middle class psyche on job security ( a desk job however demeaning is better than a service job), the concept of forgiveness and empathy expressed by Sumit Datta ( read the book to find out who he is). The ending seemed slightly rushed but was a satisfactory finish.Reading the book is indeed a "Yatra". A short and deeply engrossing one.

P.S. Why the name Anushtup? I confess, non-Bengali me had difficulty keeping the name straight.

On the edge of Earth - Cape Town

So I've finally come around to writing about my trip to Cape Town. Would you believe me if I said it was the most beautiful place on earth? Would you believe me if I said that even an entire week was not enough to see and do all the things that this wonderful city had to offer?

After spending a week in Zulu land I was dying to see civilization again. Time constraints meant we had to choose between Johannesburg and Cape Town and I am glad we chose Cape Town. It is the most perfect combination of the ocean, mountains and valleys. What an amazing location for a city. The backdrop of Table Mountain and the amazing coastline made for a picturesque setting. We stayed in one of the smaller towns called Gordon's Bay in a charming B&B. Every morning we woke up to a spectacular view of the Bay and a traditional English breakfast. All the people who meditate or get away for the weekend should just come here, I thought.

The history of Cape Town was as complex and multicultural as the rest of the country. We spent the first day walking around all the historic buildings in the city and going to the museums. Cape Town had a long history of being a pit stop for the slave trade and the resulting diversity is apparent. Cape culture was a mix of Afrikaans, Malay, Indian and British. The beautiful Victorian architecture reminded me of visiting the Victoria Memorial in Calcutta. I immediately felt at home. A rainy next day meant a beautiful drive across wine country. Stellenbosch did not disappoint. Four years of visiting Napa and Sonoma had jaded me for this trip. The wineries were beautiful, almost quaint with a certain English charm and manner. Every tasting was exquisitely laid out. I was quiet impressed with the South African chardonnays and thrilled that they were not the buttery whites that seemed to have invaded California.

                                                         Wineries in Stellenbosch

Each day exceeded the previous in beauty and diversity. Our days were spent taking in such outstanding natural beauty and our nights were occupied with elegant dinners, cocktails and city strolls. The food was on par with anything I had eaten in SF and NYC, especially one particular tapas place that did a curry with papad. I love it when there is an Indian twist! We also did a grand High Tea service at one of the oldest hotels in the city, Mount Nelson. Suffice it to say that we skipped dinner that night. Rooibos, the local bush tea was interesting and a welcome change from my regular Assam tea.

                                                                      High Tea

Our last day was filled with panoramic views of the city, mountains and ocean from Table Mountain. One of the oldest ranges in the world, it had its own unique ecosystem with flora, fauna and organisms found nowhere else. One can spend an entire day at the top just digesting all the views. We had to leave, in order to watch the penguins waddle on the beach. Penguins! Really! It was mating season and the beach was littered with mama penguins and their young. I couldn't believe I was looking at so many of them in their natural habitat. The picture of penguins and snow has been permanently erased from my mind. At least, till I make it to Antarctica (the husband has every intention of taking me there).

                                                            On Top of the World

I wish I knew more superlatives to describe the natural beauty of Cape Town. You will just have to  make it there some day to see it with your own eyes.

                                                                     Penguins

Amar Prem

Its hard for me to think of a time when books were not part of my life. Books have been the "best friend" that I never had. My constant companion in endless moves across India and the US.

The first time I had ever read a novel was John Grisham's The Pelican Brief. I had sneaked it out from my Dad's desk and was fascinated with the fact that reading was keeping my dad and brother too engaged to pay any attention to me. My 9-year old brain couldn't grasp the complexity of the American legal system but I remember trying to read the whole book.

The bookstore in NOFRA (Naval Officer's Residential Area) in Bombay simply called "Amar" was my mecca for so many years. Evenings would be spent trying to find the latest Archie comics, the new Hardy Boys mystery and the next book in the Sweet Valley High series. My world revolved around making sure Amar saved the latest book for me before anyone else took it. I would dream about meeting Joe Hardy or dressing up like the Wakefield twins. Amar is an icon for anyone who spent their childhood in NOFRA. He always remembered your name, knew who your parents were and whether you had a sibling. My mom would visit Amar in the 70's and 80's for books and when we went back in the 90's after almost a decade, he still remembered her. He hauled his big bulky binder to start an account for her as if no time had passed. May be for Amar, no time had passed. He was surrounded by walls filled with thousands of books that stood testimony to ever changing hands but never changed themselves. May be the leaves of the book had worn out, maybe it wasn't 1996 anymore but Amar kept the "new" book waiting for me.

Years later, in 2011, my parents went to Bombay and visited Amar. He smiled shyly and asked "Seema baby kaisi hai?" (How is little Seema?). And then he asked about my brother while he posed for a picture in front of his shop.

                                                                      Amar in front of the store

Reading list for the uninitiated and in no particular order :

• Outsiders - S.E. Hinton
• 20,000 Leagues Under the Sea - Jules Verne
• Nineteen Eighty Four - George Orwell
• Pride and Prejudice - Jane Austen
• Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy - Douglas Adams
• Autobiography of a Yogi- Paramahansa Yogananda
• A Town Like Alice - Nevil Shute
• Outlander Series - Diana Gabaldon
• Selected Stories - Alice Munro 
• Wooster and Jeeves - P.G. Wodehouse 

Education and Practicality | Part 1

*Guest post by Husband dearest*

Even after spending 12 years as a professional software programmer, I am reminded everyday of the importance of education particularly, as we all look to start our careers.

I am not undermining high school education but the most important aspect I missed out when I was in high school and college, is that the lecturers didn't emphasize the practical use of the theorems, formulae, concepts etc.

I do blame myself for not being curious or persevering to find where I'd apply these learnings. It first occurred when I was optimizing a database query for my work project and when I searched online the fundamentals of SQL (Structured Query Language). This link just touches the tip of the iceberg.

We can see tons of articles like this one that point to practical usage of mathematics and science. Large trading algorithms are based on mathematical functions - I need to be more descriptive here but I'll let the reader dig the details.

So, for all those in your high school or pursuing a college degree - be inquisitive, persevere and push your teachers to help understand why you are learning whatever you are learning.

South Africa - the mother of all trips.

Mother nature is truly amazing. I know we have heard it countless times on National Geographic. "In the Serengeti, it is survival of the fittest". This and several other lines came flooding to me when I was sitting in a safari jeep at 5 in the morning, waiting for the cheetah to show up. Iconic scenes from "Out of Africa" and "The Ghost and the Darkness" had already romanticized the African wilderness for me.

When my husband and I got the opportunity to go on a Safari to South Africa, we knew it would be the trip of  a lifetime. Crossing the equator and setting foot on African soil was definitely on my bucket list. It was the longest journey we had ever taken - from the west coast of the US to the southern most part of Africa. We landed dazed and excited. Jet lag was a point we had crossed several hours ago. The thought of being with the Elephants kept me going. The Husband was raging with testosterone imagining a man vs wild encounter.

Johannesburg was our starting point. It was like any other big city with huge posters of Nelson Mandela and a little bit of Gandhi thrown in. It was weird seeing the Mahatma outside of India, but it also opened up a whole new chapter of Indian history that I knew very little about. I was amazed at how well Indians had integrated into African culture and society. Indians were also very much a part of African politics. Visiting the Apartheid prisons made me wonder how the world could let this go on for so long. That too in the modern era. The images were graphic and the history filled with inhuman acts. Our guide talked about how crime was a problem a few years ago. The scars from the Apartheid regime and the resulting unrest were still visible in the center of the city. Illegal immigration was also a problem in the city. But walking down the street, we could feel the colorful and eclectic vibe of the city. There still seemed to be an air of positivity and an almost cavalier attitude to life.

                                                          Gandhiji and the Guideji     

Our Safari transported us to another world. The vastness of the land completely engulfs you like no other. One week of long drives in the jeep touring Zulu land makes you feel tiny and insignificant. The animals so majestic and graceful. I felt awkward and out of place. Perhaps, the earth was only meant for the animals. Africa was really the first home of mankind. And I can see why. Its bold, beautiful and also tough. The safari and national park infrastructure was very complex. At one point, the Ranger had taken us to an elephant interaction area. We met three elephants that had escaped culling. Culling! Apparently elephant numbers were so high in some parts of Africa like Zimbabwe, that every year a certain number had to be culled. I was amazed that poaching and culling were part of the same system. Balancing man and nature is a complex and sometimes painful process. For six days I was mesmerized by the "land". Morning sunrises, Giraffes peaking through and Hippos snorting. The elegant Impalas leaping and the Zebras staring back at you with a depth only Africa could provide.

                                                                     Zebras at Zulu Nyala

I had also experienced my second snake encounter. I held a Boa Constrictor at a reptile park and watched crocodiles battle it out. I think crocodiles are the most vicious creatures I have ever seen. Even the lions and cheetahs couldn't instill the fear that I felt watching a crocodile open its mouth.

                                                                     Boa and I

We moved on to Cape town, the most beautiful city in the world. But I'll save that for my next post.

A Tip Through Saurashtra - Part Diu

My travel experiences would not be complete without mentioning the Gujarati Thali. Yes, I admit it. Part of my motivation to go to Gujarat was because I wanted to eat the deliciously fattening Gujarati food. After all, what's travel without food?

Everywhere we went, we ended up eating Punjabi food. It was true then, Punjabi food and culture had become Indian food and culture. I thought this was happening only in America and London, but I was wrong. I have nothing against Punjabi food, but I wanted to eat dhokla, patra and ghatia. Not paneer!

All my prayers at Somnath (one of the most beautiful temples) were finally answered. In Ahmedabad we had a beautiful Gujarati Thali at Athithi. They start out by placing a huge Thali with a zillion katoris. My stomach was growling in anticipation of the good food. I was tired of the Indian buffets in the US. Here I was being served by someone ever ready to place hot rotis and refill my katoris. Then the food arrived. A deluge of food. The snacks, then the vegetables and the meethi daal, the kadi , the tender rotis and the desserts that would make the main course jealous. If only I was one of those marathon eaters. 

Before driving to Ahmedabad we drove up to Diu. What a charming little place. If I were to describe it to someone I would say it is like Goa without the hype or the commercialization. The coast was beautiful, the people friendly. Our stay was relaxing and the beach was lovely. Apparently, Diu is a respite for all Gujaratis from the "dry" state. People drive up over the weekend to party, drink and eat meat. 

                                          View from the room in Diu.

If I were to return to Gujarat, I would spend more time in Ahmedabad and Diu. Over all it was a good trip but it lacked the splendor that the Golden triangle or Kerala have. I did get a chance to see the real India and it was a good reminder of the untapped potential.

  

Hava Nagila

I stumbled upon a documentary titled "Hava Nagila (The Movie)". All that mindless browsing on the Husband's part finally led to something.

I saw the title and instantly broke into song. Hava Nagila, hava nagila ve-nismekha! The documentary was about the origins of this famous Jewish folk song sung in Hebrew. It instantly took me back to my childhood when I would sing this song without knowing its true meaning.

My Dad and Harry Belafonte had a huge role to play in my musical education. Many a night were spent with dad singing "Come back Liza" to me in his lovely baritone, putting me to sleep. I didn't need  a lullaby, I had Belafonte at Carnegie Hall. I cannot believe I was singing Hava Nagila at age 7 amidst my normal Indian existence. 

Unaware that Hava Nagila was a song about celebration and inspiration and "davka" (in spite of). In spite of the holocaust the Jews will live on, in spite of  all the pain and suffering, they will rejoice and in spite of the humiliation, they will be happy. I was deeply moved by this documentary. The song may be a cliche for some or even dated, but for me, it was indicative of a time when I was happy. Of a time when Dad brought lovely trinkets from all his travels. When the dinner table was filled with amazing stories of different countries, music and movies.

Hava Nagila was instrumental in the Jewish assimilation in America. It reflected the prosperity and suburbia of 50's and 60's America. It seems to have pervaded into Desi Suburbia too! Here is the version I grew up listening: Harry Belanfonte at Carnegie Hall.

Its a common joke in the Goprolu household that I am  IMDb. I never realized how wonderful it was to dispense all this trivia until my husband mentioned that I was his "go-to" person.

I feel warm and fuzzy right now and its not even Christmas or should I say Hanukkah!

A Trip through Saurashtra - Part I

Lord Krishna and the Yadu clan truly left their mark on Dwaraka. The cows were everywhere. Big and small. Young and old. Some cared for and others roaming the streets eating the temple garbage.

We have a unique psychology. We revere the cows so much that we will not kill them for meat and yet we are so heartless that we will not do anything to ensure they live a good life. Cows, like the people in India are highly neglected. I digress though...this post is meant to be a memoir of my recent travels in Gujarat.

What an eye opening experience. Gujarat has so much to offer with its rich food, handlooms and historical sites. Yet, all I could credit Modi with, is a little bit of infrastructure in Ahmedabad and a few industries on the highways. The roads were in good condition and scattered with industries both by Reliance and Modi. But there was poverty everywhere. Saurashtra has always been economically backward. The land barren and the people poor. While the rest of Gujarat seems to have progressed, Saurashtra has little to its credit.

My trip started with a visit to Lothal, the ruins of the Indus Valley Civilization. Being a history student, I instantly romanticized this site. I could imagine the Harappan people building citadels, making pots and intricate beads that would make any jeweler in Bombay jealous. The museum was filled with artifacts thousands of years old and yet, it was no different from any of the other museums in India. Old and neglected. We drove on to Jamnagar. A nice little town that seemed to be booming due to the Reliance industries close by. We visited a very famous Hanuman temple where the Ram bhajan is recited non-stop. Apparently, it made it to the Guinness Book of world records.

I think the highlight of the trip as far as the family was concerned was the visit to the historic Dwaraka and the two jyotirlingas in Somnath and Nageswar. I must say our visit to these sites was truly a blessing. There is an old saying that one has to struggle to see (darshan) God. Struggle we did. Scores of people in unruly lines, hot pavements and children shouting. I had my very own "Swades" experience in Dwaraka. We had to cross the back waters on a rickety little boat that was over capacity. The dock was a concrete slab with steps and the "Captain" of the ship, just a laborer making money over the holidays. I looked at Mom and questioned "is it worth it?" while I could see my Dad drag us all to the dock. We have to make our own way if you want to see "beyt dwaraka" he shouted! One hand holding my Mother and the other, my mother-in-law we struggled to make way to the boat. We managed to embark and survived the ride to the other side.

L to R: Mother-in-law, Mother and I in the boat

More cows awaited us. And the remains of Lord Krishna's kingdom. I had just finished reading Devdutt Patnaik's Jaya and excerpts from the book came flooding back. What a unique and complex character Lord Krishna was. 

The lines of history and mythology were a blur. All I knew was that I had survived this horrendous boat ride. 

Dinner with a purpose

Someday I hope to be doing this. Work in an organization that is about social change. There are enough charities and non-profits out there and yet poverty and suffering still exists. I always believed in giving back to the community but also knew that I could not work for a charity based organization. I believe in empowerment and education and organizations that help individuals be self-sufficient.

Recently, I went to one such place. Old Skool Café. A supper club that is led by at risk youth. Teresa, the woman who founded this restaurant wanted a place where young people could learn life skills that can help them escape the vicious circle of crime, unemployment and gangs. Old Skool café is a training program that teaches these young adults everything there is to know about the restaurant business from cooking, to serving and fine dining etiquette. When these youngsters “graduate” they are ready for jobs in the food and restaurant business.

The best part of the experience was that, the food was delicious! After all, no matter what the cause, if the product is not good, the user will never return. This is where I feel a lot of organizations go wrong in. If you have a business model where part of or all your profits go towards a socio-economic cause then you have to make sure that the product or service you are delivering is the best. I will probably return to Old Skool Café and will always tip generously but I will do that because my dining experience was fantastic. The work that they do to support the youth is the crux of the restaurant but, it is secondary for most diners. The diner will most likely view this as icing on the cake. Speaking of dessert, don’t forget to try the lavender cheesecake. The perfect way to end the meal.

Desh, Videsh: India and America

Exactly 20 years ago to this day, my family and I first set foot in the "Land of Opportunity", America. We were here on invitation of the U.S Government, my father representing the Indian Navy. For 11 months, families from 33 countries including my own were guests of the Naval Command College in Newport, R.I.

My most vivid memories are of my mother in her silk zari sari with her bindi, happy, content and unfazed in the midst of Admirals, foreign dignitaries and women from all over the world; asking her why she wore a bindi and why she didn't eat meat. My father would shovel the driveway after the first snow storm and leave a path of his footprints in 2 feet of snow for us to follow. As a child it was always a game for me to try to place my foot in exactly the same spot, trying to follow my father's footsteps. Now those moments mean much more.

Because that year in Newport, my parents taught me to look for the commonalities in people. That everyone is essentially the same. And what matters in life is the “human experience”. To say that this was a life changing experience would be an understatement. For the first time in my life I was part of something bigger than myself. I became aware of my "Indianess" and I don't mean that in a bad way. But to realize a sense of identity at age 8 blew open the doors of the world to me. My best friends were from Morocco and Ghana. Play time was spent eating couscous and jicama.  I had lived through “culture shock” without even realizing it.

When I returned to India I was two distinct identities existing in one. For years my brother and I would joke that we were probably American in our past lives. We learnt that one cannot live life like a frog in a well. And that is what my parents taught us. I write this today as an ode to my parents. Not for their accomplishments and there are many, but to remember the life lessons they imparted. For life is about the people you meet and the memories you make.

Happy Anniversary, mom and dad! 37 years and what a grand life!

You know you are a Desi when:

• You wear open toe footwear in 50 degree weather.
• You bought tickets to hear Priyanka Chopra and Pitbull sing.
• You put pictures of your BMW on Facebook.
• Your cars(mostly BMW's and Audi's) are "named" after your wife or kids.
• 4 pm means chai and chaat at the local Chaat Bhavan.
• You are an M.S Comp. Sci (USA).
• You know VORACLE( Oracle).
• Your kid won the National Spelling Bee.
• When someone is getting married you ask "love marriage ya arranged marriage?"
• Combiflam (Ibuprofen and Paracetamol) is the cure for any illness you have.
• At a party, you are the only one who wore white pants and white shoes.
• You think this post doesn't apply to you because you are cool and different.

Letters

My first letter was when I was 9 years old. I was flying to Orlando, FL to visit Disney-world and an elderly lady named Charlene was sitting next to me. On the other seat was my Turkish friend Korhan.

Charlene was a chatting lady as most old ladies are. It was a long flight and we soon became friends. After we got off the plane she met Korhan and my family and gave me her visiting card. She wanted to keep in touch with us and thought us to be very "interesting". I went back to India and realized I still had her visiting card. I wrote to her from Cochin and she responded with a long letter. We wrote to each other for several years and she sent me pictures of her family, her new husband and asked me questions about life in India. I had moved twice in 2 years and somehow I lost touch after settling down in Vizag.

When I left Bombay ( I refuse to call it Mumbai) I had left behind a very dear friend of mine. Nimisha. Bombay was a very mixed experience for me. I was in my teen years and much too tall for my age. Very much a tomboy, my life revolved around tennis practice and arguments with my mother about what appropriate clothes meant. Nimisha was the one true friend who did not find me awkward or too tall. Being the Naval brats we were, Nimisha moved to Cochin and I to Vizag and we decided to write to each other. We wrote for over 6 years, she still in Cochin, while I had moved to Hyderabad again! We wrote long letters with little hearts, I miss you quotes, greeting cards, friendship bands and cartoons drawn in between spaces. We wrote about our first love, our first college admit, shared our first picture in a saree. Through the letters we entered adulthood and womanhood together. We bared our souls on paper.

And then one day the letters stopped. She had written in response to my confession of love. She had warned me to be careful, to be truthful. The letter arrived home while I was away at college. The envelope was so over stuffed with love and concern, that it had torn. My mother happened to read a few lines by mistake and then called me. She was angry as any conservative Amma would be. She warned me that this was not appropriate, that I was too young. I lied to her out of fear. I told her the letter was not about me but about my friend. In my letter to Nimisha, I was mean and inconsiderate. Blinded by love, I forgot the one true friend I had. I asked her to never write to me. To stop looking out for me. And then, the letters stopped. I went on with my life, in a bubble. Ignoring everyone and everything while love consumed me.

I went letter less for over 3 years. I kept wondering what could be the reason for the ache in my heart. I realized there were no letters in the mailbox. No funny greeting cards, no long letters full of every insignificant detail. No love.

A new friend saved me. He had an appreciation and insight to me and I began to write to him.From college, from my friend's wedding at Newport, from Virginia during spring break. He understood my muddled thoughts crammed into long sentences with poor spelling ( yes, you know I used spell check on this post). I know why you write to me, Seema, he used to say. I get it.

Here I am now waiting to write my next letter. Wondering who it will be.

Hello World

No, this is not an Android platform training session. Rather, an attempt to express myself and be lost in the multitude of blogs out there. Who am I kidding? It would be nice to have some followers. After years of contemplation on whether to blog, this is where I ended. I always wrote. Wrote to my diary, wrote articles, wrote letters. This is a first for me. I am still not convinced whether the keyboard will be give the same amount of joy and solace a pen and paper would, but here goes.....