Frequently Incoherent Ramblings

World Cup Moment

2011-04-04T12:38:00.000-07:00

“I had a point to prove. Not to anybody else but to myself”. These were simple words but in many ways reflect the significance of India’s World Cup victory. Dhoni was talking about his batting finally living up to the standards he set for himself. But in many ways, it was about the Indian team finally achieving the success that many thought they had the ingredients of for many years now.

If the 1983 win came as a pleasant surprise where a team of underdogs overcame much stronger teams by playing a brand of uncomplicated cricket, this latest campaign also came without the weight of expectations, media scrutiny and almost a demand by those who had invested millions to see results that matched their moolah. The intervening years saw the retirement of many of the 1983 heroes and it took a long time before India came close to mounting a serious challenge.

Had India won the World Cup in 1996 or 1999, it would have likely been because of the brilliance of Sachin Tendulkar, returning to England famously after losing his Father. But, even he could not pull it off on his own.

In 2003, a good Indian unit reached the shores of South Africa but they were overshadowed by an Australian side at the peak of their dominance. An Indian side that was trying too hard to announce that they could match anyone with aggressive intent slipped up – Zaheer Khan’s 18 run first over after trying to sledge Gilchrist from the get go being symptomatic.

2007 marked India’s quest to be champions confused with being more like Australia, Famously, the team was prescribed a diet that mandated Pasta on game day as opposed to the Indian fare the team was used to, a move that symbolized how winning cultures cannot be transplanted but need to come organically. A rapidly rotating roster in the lead up which left people confused about their role meant it all went horribly wrong and a simple thinking Bangladeshi side trumped the muddled Indian side.

In these campaigns – whether it was “ambush marketing” where India was exerting its financial muscle or players boarding the flight to the world cup straight from an advertisement shoot, the gap between what people wanted this team to achieve for various reasons and what they ended up with was evident and yawning.

It has been a gradual process of rebuilding and improvement since then – coinciding with the tenure of Gary Kirsten who believed in bringing out the best each player had to offer, a captain Dhoni, who remained equanimous and was secure about his strengths as a leader, player and team and also accompanied by the slow decline of the Australian side. And players like Yuvraj, Raina, Zaheer, Sehwag and Harbhajan who had seen the peaks and troughs of international cricket and who had time, during those troughs to reflect on their own strengths and realize what success at the highest level meant to them and how they had to condition themselves mentally and physically and also understand that success was not guaranteed by ability. Of course, a liberated Tendulkar, enjoying the most glorious late summers of his cricketing life but knowing that it no longer was him or bust, was the glue that held it all together along with Dhoni.

So when success came, it was not one that was achieved by mimicking Australia. It wasn’t one that came at the expense of anybody else – like Pakistan or South Africa. It came to a group of individuals who dug deep to produce their best, for each other and for themselves, without worrying too much about what it meant to others or what incentives lay in store for them. And more significantly, it came with each member of the team contributing and it wasn’t about one or two people individually having the tournament of their lives.

India Inc - one that includes not just the corporate bosses but those who go hand in hand from Bollywood to South Block in Delhi, was in full view at Mohali and Wankhede, ready to embrace the success of Team India and explore associations that would help further their own interests. There will be many who will define this success on terms that stand to benefit them in some way.

Much has been said about what this win might mean for India Inc. But what this means to the rest of us in India Exc (excluded) is equally if not more significant. Like the many who could not get tickets because they were not part of some club or the other. The many more who would have watched Dhoni clout that winning six on TV sets far away from the bright lights of South Mumbai, who finally had an image of our cricketers more enduring than them selling Cola or Engine Oil. The millions who would have gone to sleep wondering if the next morning would be as bright at the firecrackers that lit the night sky in Mumbai.

In the coming days and weeks, many things will be asked of these men. There are numerous interests that want them to be many things to many people – from peace ambassadors to brand ambassadors. Among the many roles these cricketers will be asked to play is to be one of the few bridges between India Exc and India Inc. And if that bridge endures, it will be more because of the fundamental human qualities of this victory that India Exc. will connect with at a basic level.

So, just like success achieved by Dhoni and his team looks and feels different from that achieved by Ponting’s team, perhaps our own successes will come in their unique flavor – be it in cricket or any other pursuit we choose. That we just need to look inwards and dig deep enough and persevere long enough. And that like Dhoni’s team, we will be judged not just by one tournament but how we do over a sustained period of time. When we seek success for the right reasons, surround ourselves with people that share that vision in its purest form and give it our all, our own private World Cup moment is within our grasp.

Impacted by Wisdom teeth

2006-07-15T21:29:00.000-07:00

"I told you a year back and am telling you again. You have four impacted wisdom teeth and you need to get them out at the earliest", said my dentist. "In fact, one of those teeth is so badly impacted that you need to not only get it removed but have a crown lengthening performed by a periodontal surgeon so that the molar next to it can be saved".

Sounded pretty serious. Maybe I should do something after all, I said to myself. After all, if the idea of losing a molar doesn't spur you to act, what will?

So, I set up an appointment with the periodontal surgeon. From the time I entered the clinic, I felt like I was at a Toyota dealership to buy a used Camry. The sales guy was replaced by a doctor in a coat. And instead of trying to sell options in the car, he was trying to sell all the various services available to those who desired a better looking smile, i.e. putting a smile on every customer's face, literally.

"No, just the impacted teeth and crown lengthening please", I said. It turned out the total cost of following my dentist's orders to the "t", would be $2800. I thanked the surgeon and his staff and left, saying I would get back to them.

"$2800 is close enough to $3100", I told myself. So what, I hear you ask. Well, $3100 is the amount that AID Dallas the group I am part of, sent towards the Srikakulam Integrated Development Project in a cluster of villages on the border of Andhra Pradesh and Orissa.

The $3100 that we raised and sent enabled 500 households get electricity connections. It in part, supported a part of a library program where hundreds of children could spend their spare time reading stories, comics and educational material. It allowed our partners on the ground to educate people about their right to earn 100 days of employment according to a new goverment legislation. We also heard about some delightful personal stories from our partners on the ground - like how one of the village co-ordinators learnt how to ride a bicycle to enable her to get around quicker as she went about her work.

And then there was the Nirupedalu program, where a list of the poorest of the poor in the village was made. These were those who could not even afford two meals a day. Not to be deterred in the face of this grim reality, the villagers arrived at a simple solution by consensus - those with a surplus would put a small amount of rice/dal in an "excess bag" and every so often share the bag with their neighbours and friends in the village who needed it more than them.

In comparison, my endangered molar and the hoopla around saving it seemed cosmetic and a world away, literally and figuratively. So, I've decided to have my sister's dentist friend take care of it when I go to India in October for a nominal fee. And if it doesn't make it till then, I am sure I can make do with what I have.

Now remains one more small matter. To minimize the impact of my wisdom tooth removal, all I need to remember is to put away $2800 in my "excess bag".

Candle-light

2006-03-14T21:44:00.000-08:00

The outrage caused by the acquittal of Manu Sharma and his friends in the Jessica Lall murder case of 1999 sparked widespread protests. In fact, in an unprecedented move, NDTV urged its viewers to send SMS messages in support of a demand for a retrial. They promptly received well over a quarter of a million messages. So outraged were people that they flocked to marches and rallies, including a well-attended candle-light vigil at the India Gate.

Apparently, some sections of the press reported that the protesters were inspired by a very powerful scene from the recent Bollowood hit, Rang De Basanti. In the movie, an IAF pilot is killed while flying the dreaded MIG-29 Aircraft due to a faulty spare part. The Defence Minister squarely blames it on pilot error and neglect. The ensuing public outcry culminates in the mother of the pilot, played by Waheeda Rahman, leading a candle-light vigil at the India Gate demanding justice and her son's honor.

How a new generation of seemingly unlikely revolutionaries awaken is what the movie is about. These new brand of revolutionaries resort to a rather simplistic solution of violence in the end and the poignancy of the non-violent Candle-light vigil is somewhat undone, one might argue. What we can't argue with is that the movie itself struck a chord and has been a runaway success.

Now back to Jessica Lall. Late on an April night in 1999, 34 year old Jessica was working at a trendy bar frequented by Delhi's elite. Well past closing time, Manu Sharma, who is the son of a rich sugar mill owner and politician, demands a drink. Upon being refused, he allegedly shoots and kills Lall, with several people watching.

He is arrested, confesses, then retracts saying that his admission of guilt was under stress. Several years go by and several witnesses dramatically change their versions of what happened that night. And now, Sharma and his alleged accomplices are acquitted.

Traditionally, middle class, urban India has been a reluctant participant in protest marches, rallies, elections and the like. However, Jessica Lall seemed to have touched a chord with many. And the frustration with the ability of the rich and powerful to get away with murder, literally, seems to have triggered these unprecedented protests.

For now, they seem to be having some effect. For starters, the Delhi police have ordered a probe into evidence tampering in the case. While there have been no announcements about it, some acknowledge privately that the pressure from the public is going to be hard to ignore, as far as a retrial is concerned.

The Rang De Basanti style vigil seems to work. The SMS demands for retrial do seem to matter. Justice might not be elusive forever and with time, it might actually arrive.

And perhaps with time, we will learn not to look to Bollywood or NDTV to be the source of our collective social conscience. We might even come to realize that we don't need to look as far as Delhi to find instances of injustice.

And when we do come across injustice, here's to each of us finding it in us to light our own candle light.

Bush Yatra: We want full disclosure!

2006-03-04T15:33:00.000-08:00

Long after Bush departed for Pakistan and back for Washington since, we are left with one unanswered question:

What did President Bush eat for lunch when he was in Hyderabad?

How and why did the media miss out on this one? Did the CM of Andhra, YSR, feed him anything? I mean, were the Hyderabadi chefs unable to tickle the President's taste buds or what? Surely, if that was the case, this is an insult to the land of the Biryani. The most powerful man in the world comes calling and the journalists did not even report what he had for lunch?

Contrast that with the news from the previous day in Delhi, where we read about how Chef Oberoi put out an opulent platter featuring delicacies like Khumbi-ka-ras, Zaffrani Ghosht, Tandoori Salmon and Masala Chai Creme Brulee, among other things at Taj Palace. In fact, apparently, Bush approved of the food so much that he forgot to eat dessert because he was so busy thanking the chef for the outstanding food!

If that was lunch, dinner in Delhi was not to be left behind. Unlike previous state dinners, we are reliably informed, Rashtrapati Bhavan's chefs seem to have got their act together that night, serving up one appealing dish after another. The President and the first lady looked mighty pleased with the chow. And all this from a man who is not known to usually venture into ethnic fare.

Don't moments such as these make us all proud? Whether congress approves the nuclear deal remains to be seen, but for now, Bush's approval of desi food will do. After the much talked about nuclear deal, Bush's menu seemed to be the most featured news item.

Beyond the nuclear deal and Bush lunch/dinner menu, there were some other stories that were featured as tier-2 news items. For example:

** There was this story about how several Members of the Lok Sabha who staged a dharna in the well of the Lok Sabha on Thursday morning were also spotted at the Purana Qila on Friday evening to hear the President speak.

** Then, there was this story about how US embassy officials acted high handed with prominent members of the Indian press at Hyderabad house. Evidently, the journalists in question refused to comply until someone from the Ministry of External Affairs in the Government came to request them.

** The "beggar story" was also buried underneath the main headlines and pictures of Bush with farmers and artisans at the N G Ranga Agricultural University (axe, basket, straw hat and all). The story goes that several thousand beggars were "shifted" out of Hyderabad by the Government due to a perceived security threat that they posed to the most powerful man in the world and his world class security cordon around him.

** And finally, the protests. While news about the ceremonial parade, the 21 gun salute, the parleys at Hyderabad House and the press conference thereafter was being belted out on the networks, hundreds of thousands of people were protesting against Bush, some protests even leading to injury and two deaths.

These tier-2 news stories might have led to some debate. They might have even evoked passions and a diverse range of opinions.

In the meantime, I am sure someone will tell us what Bush ate for lunch in Hyderabad.

Tendulkar: the beginning of the end?

2006-01-29T00:16:00.000-08:00

Day 3 of the Faislabad test between India and Pakistan: Shoaib Akhtar pitches one short, Tendulkar thinks he has gloved the ball as it went through to wicketkeeper Akmal and decides to walk without waiting on the ump.

Turns out, he actually had his hand off the handle at the moment of impact and hence might have been ruled not out had he stuck around for the decision.

If Moin Khan is to believed, Tendulkar was so terrified of Shoaib Akhtar steaming into bowl on the dreaded Faislabad pitch that he decided to bail out. Fair enough? Well, after all Shoaib is one of the most feared bowlers of our time and he was pretty charged up (ask Dhoni for he bowled one aiming for his throat not too much later). Could Moin be on to something here?

Well, let us see.

The Faislabad pitch was indeed dreaded. Up until the point Sachin did his hasty retreat, no fewer than 824 runs had been scored in the test match for the loss of 12 wickets. When Sachin walked into bat, the score was 236 for 2.

The Faislabad wicket was indeed turning out to be a dreaded one. But not for anyone carrying anything remotely resembling a bat.

So, what is Mr. Khan talking about? Isn't it absurd? I mean, how dare he accuse a great like Sachin of running away from fast bowling on a dead pitch?

But then again this is just the next in the series of phases that Tendulkar and the circus that goes along with his insitution goes.

1989 to 1990: Debut at the age of 16. Breath of fresh air phase.
1990 to 1996: Young genius flaying attacks across the world phase.
1996 to 2004: The best batsman in the world phase.
2004 to now: No longer the best but senior statesman/run accumulator phase.

And now, in 2006, Moin has begun the debate on whether this is the "beginning of the end" phase.

All through these different phases, corporate houses, journalists, authors, editors, politicians, cricket administrators, coaches, agents and commentators alike have ridden the wave.

His emergence coincided with a time when sweeping changes were underway. Markets were being liberalized. Doordarshan was giving way to Cable Television. With Gavaskar having retired and Kapil Dev on the decline, a fresh, young, dynamic figure-head was needed.

Back in in those days, there were no Paes/Bhupathi, Sania Mirza, Miss World titles, Infosys, Lagaan at the Oscars or American Presidents coming the Delhi way.

Sachin was the good news everyone was waiting for. And often times, the only good news around.

All through the saga from 1989 to date, a multi million dollar industry has thrived with him at the center. It showed stellar growth in the pre -Dravid/Sehwag/Yuvraj days when he was the only wicket standing between opponent teams and victory. It continued to flourish through the dark days of match fixing where he emerged squeaky clean. It got a shot in the arm when he returned from his Father's funeral to be with the World Cup squad. Even an indifferent captaincy reign and a series of painful injuries did not prevent the industry from chugging along nicely.

Books were written. Newspaper columns by former and current players paid their "Tendulkar tax" faithfully. Visiting team captains were made to mouth a tribute to him in every interview conducted on Indian soil. Commentators were besting each other to win the "Praise Sachin" contest. Awards were bestowed from a range of people from Tyre companies to the President of India. And of course, he was out there selling us everything from energy bars to automobiles and everything in between.

In the post 2004 era, the industry slowed down. Sehwag, Yuvi and Dravid now sell more on TV. Rival captains now talk of others as being the prized scalp. And Mandira Bedi can talk about others without feeling guilty. Most pundits would probably agree that Tendulkar has at least another couple of years at the highest level. I mean didn't Steve Waugh score most of his runs at the twilight of his career?

So, there is still some life left in the Tendulkar industry. And it is that life that Moin Khan is trying to latch on to.

What better way to do that than to question how much life he has left.

Faster, Higher, Stronger!

2005-02-23T13:27:00.000-08:00

We've all heard these words many times in the context of the Olympic games and of how these words signified the spirit behind their origin. The same spirit, we are told, which motivates athletes to compete against the best in the world and in turn be propelled toward superhuman feats in their respective disciplines.

To me, these words bring forth images of Carl Lewis and his four gold medals in 1984. Of Greg Louganis and his famous comeback from the brink of serious injury in 1988. Of Michael Jordan and the dream team in 1992.

And now, these words bring to me images of the Freescale Marathon in Austin, TX on Feb 13, 2005.

No, there were no famous names running it. And no, I am not even referring to the people on the eventual leader board, who finished the marathon in a very competitive 2 hours and something.

I am referring to some people whom I saw finish the race in 5 hours and longer. That was then I was near the finish line, waiting for my brother-in-law, Tom to finish the grueling 26 mile run after he had prepared for it for several months.

As we waited for him to come down the home stretch, the wait turned out to be a little longer than expected as we got in about 30 minutes sooner than his expected completion time.

In the absence of too many alternatives in terms of things to do, I ended up watching the people who were nearing the finish line. I looked around and saw people - young and old, of all shapes, sizes and colors standing by to usher their loved one or friend and cheer them on to the finish line.

And as I began paying more attention to the runners themselves, I experienced an emotion that I least expected. There was something very moving about watching these people as they trooped in, huffing and puffing, mustering that last bit of energy to see them through.

As the runners came in, some were in good shape, actually working the spectators to cheer for them. The spectators readily obliged. After all, running 26 miles was no mean achievement. Other runners waved and asked their little sons or daughters to join them for the last 20 meters to share in the pride of their accomplishment.

Some had t-shirts that read "Because I can" or "Believe". One runner, cramping in both his calves, hobbled across the finish line in excruciating pain. We would later learn that an 84 year old man had finished the race.

And I remember the moment when Tom ran past us. The look on his face, as he saw his family urging him on, said it all. He was visibly moved to see the familiar faces of family see him complete his personal adventure. He, like so many others who ran that marathon, wasn't looking to compete with anyone when he started out. He did it because he thought that the marathon would teach him a thing or two about physical fitness, discipline, mental strength and maybe even a few things about himself.

It was an exhilarating experience to watch these people emerge triumphant in their own unique struggles. They were driven by a desire to win, but it was not about beating someone. For those of us watching, it offered an inspiration to reach out for something that was probably within our grasp but also somewhere we could not reach without going through the obvious pain.

It then came to me. Faster, higher and stronger wasn't just about professional athletes being pitted against one another to win Gold medals. It wasn't about the soap opera style coverage on NBC that we have gotten so used to.

I did not have to fear that the Olympic spirit had been tainted by athletes using performance enhancers. For it was that very Olympic spirit that so many people who ran this marathon embodied.

It was about being faster than they had been a month back. It was about reaching for something higher than they normally reach for. And it was about their quest to become stronger. Stronger in the body and stronger in the mind.

For a little while that afternoon, it seemed like we could all become faster, higher and stronger. And not even at the expense of anyone.

At the doorstep

2005-02-17T15:35:00.000-08:00

The Govindaraja Swami Temple in Tirupati is not as well known as the widely known Balaji temple, commonly referred to as "Tirupati", which is a few miles up the hill in Tirumala. However, my Mom ensures that we visit this lower profile temple.

Last December was no exception.

My Mom (Amma), sister (Akka) and I got off the Rickshaw on the main street and walked through the long lane, lined by shops on both sides, that led to the Gopuram. Like all shops near temples, especially in Southern India, they carried things like coconuts, turmeric, kum-kum, camphor, betel leaves, devotional music CD and tape collections, bangles and of course flowers.

The shop that was closest to the Gopuram is the one we chose to pick up the flowers and coconuts from. We duly paid the shopkeeper and rushed off towards the temple as they would temporarily shut down the gate in 20 minutes. That would mean we would have to wait another hour or so before we have the next opportunity.

As we were about to join the queue, we were reminded by signs that Cell Phones were not allowed inside the premises and that we would have to drop them off at the counter opposite. The long queue at the cell phone drop off/pick up counter deterred us. With the closing time approaching quickly, I suggested that we drop off the cell phones with the shopkeeper from where we had bought out coconuts and flowers.

We deliberated for a minute. "Would the phones be safe?", "Why take a risk?", "What were we thinking - we should never have brought the phones with us".

Finally, we decided that the choice was to leave the phones at the shop and make it in time or to queue up at the cell phone counter understanding that we might only make it in time for the next darshan the next hour. We opted for the former.

I ran to the shopkeeper and told him our predicament and asked if he could help me out by keeping the two cell phones with him. He seemed a little taken aback and asked me if I was sure. I said I was. He then said - "If you trust them with me, you can leave them here. My name is Srinivas. Ask for me when you return".

I found myself feeling better about our decision and quickly ran back to join Amma and Akka. We got in fine, offered our coconuts and flowers, sat for a while in the square outside this 500 year old temple and then slowly made our way back.

We then returned to the shop that Srinivas ran. I half expected that he would see me and hand back the phones to us. He didn't. So, I gently reminded him that I was the guy who left the phones with him. He thought for a second, which seemed an eternity to me, as I was fighting my paranoid side. He then reached out for the phones, safely tucked away on a shelf to his left, wrapped in a rubber band and handed them to me.

I was relieved. And thankful. I then whispered to Amma that she should buy a few more things from his shop. So. we did. A couple of candle stands I think. The total came to some 30 odd rupees. I slipped him a fifty rupee note and said a sincere thank you and was beginning to walk out of the shop, expecting him to keep the change as a gesture of my gratitude.

I felt a gentle tap on my shoulder. It was Srinivas. Handing me back the change, he politely but firmly said: "No need for this, Sir. After all you already bought coconuts, flowers and the stands from us ".

He had a smile and a look that almost seemed to say: "Who did you think I was?". I quickly realized that it was futile to persuade him to change his mind. I took the change, made a somewhat sheepish gesture with my hand to say thanks and left his shop.

At the doorstep of his Govindaraja Swami, Srinivas did not need anything from me.

But... it is included!

2005-01-28T01:28:00.000-08:00

"Do you want Cucumber Salad or Spicy Potato Salad with your Veggie Wrap, sir?".

I get asked this question every time I go to my favorite Desi fast food place in Dallas. My reflex response to this question used to be "Well, who the heck really cares, just give me the darn wrap". Oh well, after hearing the usual "But sir it is included with the wrap" reply a few times, I have softened up and invariably end up munching the actually not-spicy-at-all Potato salad or the very mundane Cucumber salad with the oh, so delicious veggie wrap.

"It is included, sir" also rears its head when I am traveling. For instance on more than one occasion I have been on flights in India which are so short in duration. For example, the 40 minute Mumbai-Baroda flight. Take the 10 minute for take off and 10 minute for landing out of that and the flight attendants have 20 minutes to get the meal service out of the way.

Never mind the fact that my sister in Mumbai has just fed me my evening snack and my Mom will have a hearty meal waiting for me in a short while, when the flight attendant comes around and asks "Veg or Non-Veg, sir?", I invariably co-operate in pulling off yet another "feed everyone in 20 minutes" routine. Hey, but what the heck - it is included.

There is definitely something about food that comes as part of something else you have paid for. It is like you feel, you've earned it. I mean honestly, how many people have you seen refuse an Airline meal? I have seen very few. If you're asleep when the meal service came out, you almost feel left out when you wake up and see everyone else with plates on their tray tables.

I had to get my Multiple entry visa to the US stamped again in January when I was in Mumbai. I had availed of the "lounge facility" by paying an extra Rs. 150. The facility included a place to sit before the interview, a locker to put your stuff, a bus ride to the American consulate with a jump in the queue there and of course a choice of Tea/Coffee and Sandwich/Samosa.

I was about an hour early for my 11 am appointment. As I took a seat and awaited my batch to be called out, I heard the officer calling out the 10 am folks to proceed. "But, what about 9 am sir", a voice shouted out to him. It was the guy in a brown shirt who had just entered the lounge. The officer looked at the guy strangely and asked him to cut the queue and come with him since he was already an hour late and there was a chance that the consulate would not admit him. It could take weeks before he could apply again, if he didn't get there pronto.

"Wait 5 mins, sir", the guy with the 9 am appointment said to the astonished officer. Before the officer could react, he quickly grabbed himself a Samosa and a Chai.

But, of course. It was included.

National Security and the Tsunami

2005-01-19T23:49:00.000-08:00

So is America more or less secure since the Tsunami struck?

Yes, I too thought it was an absurd question. But a number of network TV, Cable TV and Radio talk shows brought up this question and got guests/panelists to analyze whether America had missed an opportunity to "mend fences" with a part of the world that it had to, well, mend fences with. Indonesia had recently become a hotbed or terrorism and some of the panelists put forth the view that the Indonesian portion of the promised $350 Million that would get to Aceh would help defuse some of the hatred towards the US. Others disagreed and declared that America had missed an opportunity to "win the hearts and minds in the Muslim world" by its initially small aid announcements that progressively got bigger.

If the neighbouring house or the one down the street burnt down and I ask myself how I would be affected in the long term if I helped the people in it and modulate my offer of help accordingly, what is so wrong with that? Surely, what matters is that I am helping out, right? And I might even turn out to be the highest or second highest donor when all is said and done. Surely, the people who live in the house will see that and appreciate my gesture. And besides how else could I make them my friends?

Plausible perhaps. Except, wasn't this about the people in the house? Since when did it become about me? And should I be keeping a balance sheet when starting out to make friends?

The likes of Larry King, Chris Mathews and even Diane Rehm were getting their guests to spar over this grotesque question issue on Prime Time TV and Radio. A few other people were busy in the mean time.

Like a 7th Grade Social Studies teacher who wrote to a friend of mine in Minnesota and asked him how her class could send hand made gifts they had made to show solidarity with children in Southern India.

Or take the case of a 12 year old in Colorado who went through his businessman Dad's Contact list and went on to raise $50K towards relief efforts by picking up the phone and calling all his Dad's friends and business contacts.

Last Sunday, Sunita and I ran into a gentleman who was easily in his 70's who stood vigil at the Randall's in Houston to sell cake pieces in exchange for a donation. And we've all read and heard about all those many employees of Corporate America who pressurized their companies enough to start matching programs to match their contributions, thus making them bigger.

This was a familiar story all across America and unprecedented levels of giving ensued. More than $500 Million has been raised by private donations. The many million people who helped raise that amount did not ask themselves whether they would be safer because of it or whether they would be better because of it or get something back for it in any form. This was compassion at its best - free of selfishness, greed or vested interests.

They gave because they wanted to reach out to a fellow human being in the time of need. It didn't matter that the human in question was on the other side of the earth. Today, there was a bond.

And America is already safer.

Road Rage - Part I

2005-01-16T13:15:00.000-08:00

What is the big deal? I asked myself. After all, all the other guy did was to cut him off. This produced a reaction in my friend, which I felt was over the top – he decided to make a rude gesture and honk. Why get so animated over this? I could not understand what my friend was getting riled up about. We were on the road in the UK, a few months after I arrived there as a student and this was my first brush with Road Rage.

A few years later, after arriving in the US, I heard of the word “loser” being used to describe the losing team in the finals of a long and arduous competition like the Baseball World Series. I was used to the word "Runners Up" until then. However, 163 regular season games and several months of playing brilliant baseball right through later and after providing delight to their fans all season long and coming up just short in a grueling seven match world series competition, the team receives this as a reward - "Ladies and Gentlemen, may I now call upon the losers of the World Series to receive their 2 minutes of commiseration on not being the winners!". Hello! Didn’t this team like beat everybody but one team till now?

Over the years I have also heard of the word “Poor white trash” to describe those who dwell in trailer parks or are homeless. Coming from a country where the number of poor far outnumbers the number of rich, I found this reference a little baffling. I have since come to realize that it is not so much borne out of a lack of compassion on the part of the society in general here but a frustration at the inability of the trailer park types to get up, shake off their lethargy and “win”.

So what has all this got to do with Road Rage?

Perhaps the people swearing, honking, making rude gestures and even sometimes chasing one another to "get even" were mere symptoms. Could the illness itself be more chronic? The illness of bottled up frustrations perhaps?

After all, we live in an extremely unforgiving, cut throat world. And one cannot isolate competition to certain spheres of life and not let it permeate your being in other ways. Competition leads to a lot of good as it spurs people to achieve more than one would when left unchallenged. But, alas competition also produces winners and losers. And a society that scorns upon losers in its quest to produce winners.

Being a winner could mean different things to different people – to some it could mean tasting success in the stock market, to others it could mean being the star at the quarterly board meeting, or being recognized at work amongst peers and emerging at the top of the ranking that decides compensation reviews, it could mean securing the highest GPA at college or something as seemingly mundane as winning the round of golf against one’s overly competitive buddies.

However, on average, how many winners does a normal day produce, I ask myself. One has a sneaking suspicion that there are more people who don’t win than those who do in an average day. While we would like to think of ourselves as people who take the “disappointments” in our stride, frustrations do have a way of coming out and we subconsciously seek ways of venting them from time to time.

And in the absence of too many opportunities to do so, the guy who is going too slow in front of you on the road or the guy who cuts in front of you without warning is good a guy as any to use as a punching bag. Or if it gets really bad, how about mouthing off at a Customer Service Rep who cannot get your overcharged phone bill sorted out? After all she is paid to listen to you and hearing your complaints is her job.

Road Rage India Style

2005-01-16T13:08:00.000-08:00

I had persuaded myself, naively as it would turn out, that Road Rage was a problem confined to the West. After all my recollections of Roads in India was that of controlled chaos. Traffic rules had a way of evolving out of necessity. If you see a truck coming at you, unless you’re in a bigger and sturdier truck, get out of the way. If you’re a cyclist, accept your limited leverage and stick to the extreme left of the road (India drives on the left hand side of the road, for most part at least). Numbers prevailed – for instance if you’re on a two wheeler, yield to four wheelers.

You knew your place in the pecking order and similar rules of thumb existed in other spheres of life. There was no point trying to question how things worked for nobody would listen to you, so occasionally you would get frustrated, say things like “what will become of this country” and when things inevitably remained as they were, you would move on with life. This led to an equilibrium of sorts, however delicately so at times.

On my recent visit to my hometown of Baroda, I was returning home after meeting my favourite teacher at high school in an auto-rickshaw. A fairly mundane ride beginning at Makarpura Teen Rasta right in front of the Bharatiya Vidya Bhavan School where I had spent the best part of 13 years of my life followed. The Rickshaw driver was a gentleman in his late fifties probably.

We crossed the Lal Bagh Railway Crossing on to the Rajmahal Road. Many years ago, Raj Mahal Road passed in front of a very vibrant Laxmi Vilas Palace where the royal family for decades, prided itself on being in charge of a culturally progressive, artsy and intellectually evolved city. Today a large section of the palace estate has been earmarked for commercial and residential construction.

We made a left and were now on our way towards the Vishwamitri flyover. With no radio to distract you and with my mobile charge running low, I had not much to do but be lost in my thoughts as we meandered through the streets of the city I had grown up in. Suddenly the rickshaw came to a screeching halt and as I looked through the dashboard, we had missed hitting a white Maruti 800 by about 1.4 inches.

The gentleman driving the Maruti decided to get out of the car - bringing to a standstill all traffic. Before I had a chance to realize what was happening here, the man in his late 30's, slightly pot bellied and with his wife and a couple of others in his entourage in tow, confronted the rickshaw driver and standing a foot away from him said in Gujarati with the odd word of broken English thrown in: "Didn't you see I showed my right indicator? Are you blind?” The rickshaw driver, also slightly heated up at the time, pointed out that he had the right of way (is there such a thing near Vishwamitri Bridge I wondered) and the turning party needed to wait for a break in traffic.

At this point, with a captive audience watching him in anticipation, Mr. Maruti 800 decided enough was enough. After all who the heck is a 50 something rickshaw driver to tell him the rules? Wasn't he the one in a car? How could he take a retort from the rickshaw driver quietly? Maybe Mr. Maruti 800 lacked the sophistication of the new yuppie class that was emerging that spoke better English than him. He might not be driving a Scorpio like them. He might not even hang out at the Baristas and Inox like them. So what if he watched ZeeTV and not CNBC India. But as far as this confrontation went, he clearly should be the one calling the shots.

He grabbed the rickshaw driver by the collar and mouthed off a series of expletives, and finally challenged him to a fist fight to prove who the stronger party of the two was. I decided to then step in, I wasn't about to play the Hindi film hero and save the underdog in this duel. I simply persuaded the rickshaw driver to not indulge Mr. Maruti any further and added some weight to my good natured advice by saying I was getting late. Much to my relief, the rickshaw driver relented and eyeballed the Maruti guy on his way out, not before he heard a few more challenges to his manhood.

We then uneventfully made our way back to my apartment on Vasna Road. As I paid the rickshaw driver a little more than the rate he quoted, he was profusely thankful. I finally said the words "Drive carefully". He said he appreciated my concern but just as he reached to pull the ignition rod on his left to breathe life into his Bajaj rick, he said something that disturbed me "Sir, if I was only 10 years younger and a little stronger - I would have taught him a lesson he would never forget". He then pulled out of sight through the apartment gates.

Road rage had arrived in India. More significantly, it had arrived in my home city with several local flavours of bottled up frustrations mixed in. Class, age, wealth and appearance played their parts in shaping up how it unfolded.

The steeped in history and heritage, Laxmi Vilas Palace giving way to a commercial property was an indicator of how the delicate equilibrium of the past based on old socio-economic equations was giving way to a consumer culture that was taking down several barriers and creating a fresh set of them.

The rage that is taken out on the roads of the west had made its way to India. And India also presents unique and creative ways of those frustrations to come out. To name but a few:

Local train rage (when the 6.30 Virar Local is running 30 mins late).
Movie theater rage (if the electricity goes off during the screening of Veer Zaara).
Cricket match rage (when India again manages that famous “defeat from the jaws of victory” act).
Rajdhani Express Food rage (when the food is too cold in the AC Chair Car compartment).

The possibilities are limitless.

In Remembrance

2004-09-12T23:47:00.000-07:00

"Where were you when 9/11 happened?"

This is a question I am sure most of us have been asked during the course of the last three years. I clearly remember where I was. Where I am right now - browsing the net when I saw a headline on rediff that a plane, size undetermined, had hit the North Tower of the World Trade Center. I rushed to my TV and tuned into CNN and then saw the horrific incidents unfold from there on.

Three thousand innocent people died for the simple fact that they were Americans or because they decided to make America their home. The images were incessant and unsparing. Almost everyone who heard of the news and/or saw images of them, must have felt what I felt - profound sadness for the families of those innocent people who did not make it down the towers, anger towards those 19 hijackers and the masterminds and a feeling of numbness and utter disbelief.

Almost three years later, reminded by an interview of Bill Clinton I saw on Larry King Live recently, I asked myself another question:

"Where was I between April and June of 1994?"

And the answer was I was living my life as an Undergrad student in the UK finishing the second semester of my first year. We had a small-screen TV in our common kitchen in the dorm and I had a radio in my room. We would occasionally hear of the "news" in bits and pieces and before I mulled over too much on the events, more important matters like homeworks, mid-term exams and weekend trips to London would take precedence.

The news in question is the slaughter of one million people in Rwanda during this 90 day period. Yes, these were also a million innocent people murdered by members of the Hutu tribe just because they happened to belong to the Tutsi tribe or in some cases if they were Hutus who did not take the fashionable "let's get them Tutsis" line of thinking.

Even as three times as many people as those who died on 9/11 were being slaughtered each day for three months in Rwanda, I paid little attention to the happenings. But hey why blame me? There were no awe inspiring TV visuals for me to look at. There were few details and fewer people who were knowledgeable enough to comment. This was happening in a remote corner of Africa from where the world needed precious little. Somehow this story was just not cut out for prime time.

In the years hence, we have seen the fall of the Taliban and Saddam. In this battle between good and evil, the good side, i.e. us the civilized world, will wage wars pre-emptively if need be and strike before the evil has a chance to plan their next move. Weapons of Mass destruction will be curbed. We are creating a safer world where the darker side of the globe is being enlightened with freedom and democracy, as we know it.

There have been no terrorist attacks on the US since and very few of significant magnitude on the civilized world at large, barring a couple of minor hiccups like the Madrid bombings or the Bali attacks. The civilized world is safer today.

I breathe a sigh of relief. But, I am once again interrupted by bits and pieces of another piece of "news". 50, 000 have been killed in a genocide in Sudan's western region. Not sure about who is on the side of "good" and who on the side of "evil" in this conflict.

Did I say Sudan? I am so sorry, I forgot that is in Africa.

Didn't I tell you? I will only grieve if it is covered on primetime TV. I will only feel anger if the people who are killed look like familiar faces. I will only cheer from the sidelines if the war being covered on TV makes me feel I am on the side of the "good". I don't really care about the mass destruction of 50,000 people, all I know is there are no WMD's in Africa.

I am part of the civilized world, damn it.

The Indian-Republican

2004-09-05T15:10:00.000-07:00

President Bush is gracious enough to grant an interview to India
Abroad. Rep. Joe Wilson of South Carolina, Rep. Katherine Harris of Florida,
other congressmen and even a senator among others are joined by about
100 Indian-Republican leading lights at Shaan Restaurant in New York
City coinciding with the Republication Convention at Madison Square
Garden and even the new Indian Ambassador decides to join in
the festivities. The talk at the event focuses on India's emerging
role and its unyielding support on the war on terror and a celebration
of the success of India's diaspora.

All these events are widely reported in that hyphenated section of the
press, yes the Indian-American one! If the tone of these reports are
anything to go by, we are all supposed to have a warm, fuzzy feeling of
how Indians in America have come of age and how "we" are a force to
reckon with.

As I read these reports and the inevitable hoopla that follows, I am
reminded of Sikander Bakht. I am also reminded of Judge Clarence
Thomas. I think of the Florida Recount of 2000. I remember the Confederate
Flag. And I remember Bollywood. These in no particular order.

Katherine Harris found immortality in Republican folklore during the
Florida recount after her obstinate refusal to allow manual recounts in
Florida. Even before Al Gore called Bush for the second time to concede
the election, she was announcing her bid to run for the Congress and
she comfortably made it. Now, Ms. Harris has endorsed the Indian community
in the USA as having her confidence in helping elect George W Bush once
again at the Shaan restaurant. Thank God for her confidence in the
Indian community. Perhaps those that live in Florida at least can turn
out and vote on November 2nd, 2004 then. My thoughts go back to 2000
when apparently in Florida there were systematic attempts to disenfranchize
black voters with Ms. Harris at the helm.

Rep. Joe Wilson, when he was a state senator in the state of "Smiling
faces, Beautiful places" was a supporter of the Confederate Flag on the
State Capitol in South Carolina. It is not as if a man cannot have
different sides to his personality or that he cannot evolve with years.
But being part of a group such as the Indian-American Congressional caucus
that was supposedly formed to champion the causes of the Indian American
community calls for a certain sensitivity to issues which is hardly
demonstrated by his public support of a symbol as divisive as the
Confederate Flag in this day and age.

We are told that George W Bush granting an interview to India Abroad
should be treated as a sign that India and Indians are a force to
reckon with. One would much rather if India found a more prominent mention in
the Republican Convention and its resolution than through an interview
that a President looking for every swing vote in America agrees to in
an election year.

Events such as the one at the Shaan are supposed to make us believe
that the new "Compassionate, Conservative" Republican Party is an inclusive
place where immigrants such as Indian-Americans are welcome. In that
case, is it just a coincidence that when George P. Bush, son of Gov.
Jeb Bush and the President's nephew, talks about how the Statue of Liberty
was a symbol of freedom to new and old immigrants and America's proud
tradition of welcoming people in search of a better life (supposedly a
pitch for the Latino Vote in states like Florida), not a soul in the
Convention decides to applaud? Mind you this was the same crowd that
was applauding everything from words like "girlie" from the
"not-groping-anymore Arnold" or "spitball-Zell", the eccentric Senator
from Georgia.

The hundred or so Indian-Republicans (the latest hyphenated group I
have come across), tell us that the Republican Party represents the same
values and principles that Indian Americans hold close to their heart.
While this may have some truth and I am sure there are many moderate
Republicans who have a soft corner for a community that is generally
believed to be hard working and low maintenance, isn't one reminded of
Sikander Bakht in the BJP in the late 80's and 90's, the lone Muslim in
a party that was seeing a surge in support with its saffron agenda? One
is also reminded of Judge Clarence Thomas, the sole black member of the US
Supreme Court who is the most conservative of all the judges on the
bench, one who opposes affirmative action, a policy from which he himself has
arguably benefitted from.

In other words, those who live in American suburbia and who have a
borderline-high cholesterol, a Mercedes car and a hefty financial
portfolio to show for their time in the American meritocracy, love the
idea of the the GOP scouting for the Indian-American version of a
Clarence Thomas.

While it will be foolhardy to say that the democratic party is not in a
similar boat with regard to Indian-Americans and that is a separate
topic in itself for another musing, the hype surrounding such events as
the gala dinner held at the Shaan should be recognized for what it
really is. Until so much time that Indian-American issues, concerns, opinions and
values are welcome to the Republican Party, the mere welcome of
Indian-Americans to it as voters, donors and conforming politicians
will have to suffice for now.

A bit like in Bollywood, Indian-Americans will be confined to play the role
of the model "bhai-bhai" minority character . One that ensures conformity,
one that does not ask tough questions, one who tries hard to prove his
patriotism and one who goes out of his way to find common ground.