Toast a Dance

I feel like dancing....dancing with you,
With your toes on my feet and our knees brushing,
With your frock frills wavering on my suit,
And your hands, one on my shoulder
And the other stroking my back...

With my nostrils feeding on your breaths,
And yours eyes locked with mine,
Your hair playing pranks on my cheeks,
And your necklace hooked on my coat buttons,
And we are crooning some old songs...

We dance as the winds to the surfs,
And we dance like the birds in twilight,
Whisper I do my confession of love,
Melt we do in each other as love soars,
And we love and love the dance of love…

Then you jump over into my lap,
And I carry you around the world,
With my hand under your thigh,
And one through your arms to your cheek,
And I show off my world to the world…

I give you piggy ride and then,
Dance we do back to back,
With my lazy bums lighting your cute ones,
And we whirl hand in hand,
And I treasure you my love in my arms…

Good Times will be back!

That was the end of my trip to India. On the day of travel back to Kuwait, I felt emptiness in my stomach. The same emptiness that I used to get whenever I used to go to my boarding school in childhood after my summer or winter vacations. At that time, my mum used to tell me how strong I needed to be. She used to convince me that it was just a matter of a few days, when I would get a good start in my career and then I would get to live with her and my daddy and my younger brother and sister. The normal days when the three of us would fight tooth and nail for everything, would morph into days of reminiscences and pleasantries. My sister Ru and brother Rinku would give me their prized possessions and would do anything that I wanted. I used hate having to pack things and go. And I hated to see my mum cry. My daddy who used to be very calm and composed would tell me how to take care of myself and my belongings and how to focus on studies. I never got to see him breakdown, until one of the following years when my sister had to leave for her hostel before I did. After seeing her off, he returned home and we had a quite dinner. And in the morning I saw my mum and daddy both sitting in the garden, with tears all over and the pain of having to live without their kid writ large on their faces, both consoling each other. It was then that I realized that my father was emotionally drained seeing us off every now and then.

This time around it was my wife’s turn to pump me up. She did that to perfection. She knows what goes on in my mind and she supplements me. She knows that I count days for my trips to see her, and the days when she completes her studies and flies to be with me for ever. And I do know too how she longs for me. And the day is not far. We need to be strong as we have always been. But such overwhelming are the ideas of going away from her that I can not control myself. I can not take my eyes off her. Her going off sight makes me uncomfortable and restless. It takes a tight hug and a warm and wet kiss from her to settle me. Words become redundant. Breeze of her breathings that touch my skin on my throat, and her fingers combing though my hair, do the trick. We feel one. Our merged entities get a boost, ready to take on the course that we set for ourselves.

Back to Kuwait, I am and I know that good times will be back. I am eagerly looking forward with my eyes wide open, as you can see in the picture.

Shanbhag's Dosas

.....These words are Supriya's.... Perfect example of the extent of outsourcing! I love the way she writes, very straight and very factual, and yet so very artistic. Go on.....

I would say people missed the delicacy, if they did not taste the dosa at Shanbhag if they visited Hyderabad. When Dipu had visited Hyderabad in September2005, I had taken him to Shanbhag. I am an ardent lover of Dosas and more so if it is of Shanbhag’s. Right from my childhood, I used to frequent this place along with my Sister and Mum. My Mum calls me “Dosa Ramudu” because I can hog on as many as 7 dosas at a stretch. I just love it. And I remember the times when I used to fall sick, my Mum used to go all the way to Shanbhag to get Dosa for me, and that used to cure me, or at least used make me feel so.

I just relish the very taste of it or rather the very thought of having a dosa. After I met Dipu, I told him about this passion of mine. And he too loves Dosas and there we are again a perfect fit. One day when I had come to Hyderabad on a flight, I had called up Dipesh from the airport. He told me that he would come to the hotel to meet me and then go to office. And he also told me not to have breakfast till he came. I wondered why he had to say that specifically, because I would in any case wait for him. And when he came to my room, I got the answer… he had got dosa packed from Shanbhag and got it for me. Those little things give me an immense pleasure even now, when I recollect them. It shows how much he loves me.

..........Hey, its me now. In the pictures above, you will find an ecstatic me with the conical plain dosa, and my wife in front of the resturant. She is so fascniated by these dosas that sometime ago, she was contemplating marrying the owner's son! You got to taste the dosas. The crispy cover with the fried potatos and onions, with groundnut and coconut chutneys to accompany, you'll love it.

Yummmmmmy.....

Cup of Coffee

On my trip to India, my wife and I went to Cafe Coffee Day. This was the place where we had met first time to consider our lives together. We had met just once before that, on the roads, where she was passing by along with two of her friends and bumped into Hariharan and I. After a series of mails and a lot of time on yahoo messenger, I proposed to her. And then, we met for the second time after a gap of about two months, in the Cafe to give ourselves serious consideration. I don't remember what I talked. But I do remember touching her index finger nail, and saying that I strongly felt that we had our future together.

We went to the Cafe, after about four years, to re-live those moments. We sat at the same spot. The sense of having been through a full grind sent chill through my spine.

Here I reproduce the first mail that I had written to her. Everything very ordinary it has. Except may be the warmth of the beginning of a strong relationship.

There are some references to some of the happening of that time. Consider the intent and disregard such references.

"
Hi,

Happy new year!!! Got your greeting and hope you received my reply at the other mail-id of yours. We missed you that day by a whisker as our class was over soon after you two left. Doesn't matter much, though, as I believe you are through your IBSAT, and are to come here for your interview.

Wanna know about how should you go about it? You can send me your specific querries, I'll reply as promptly as I can. Else you can call me up at 6631496 after 7pm any day.

I know you couldn't take your XAT for their tech-fall-out. Keep preparing, hope you get much better things in your life!!!!! Best of luck for the same.

Keep mailing,

Dipu
"
Friday, 11th January, 2002

Now do you know what impresses girls? I still don't.

Batman Begins.......

We went to a movie in the evening on my trip to India. My mom-in-law, my sweetie-pie and I. It was a Bollywood movie, named Salaam Namaste. In all these approximately five years of our courtship and then marriage, my wife and I had not watched a movie together. Strange that is, since movie theatres are considered the safest bet for love-birds, where they can sit cuddled together and see themselves in the actors and actresses, and for some time, forget their personal worries. Pause here for a moment. Why are worries all the time parts of our love-lives? But would love be so exciting without pains? Or for that matter life without pains? As somebody said, the evidence of living is in pains, the harder the better.

Let me get back to the main theme here. The movie was good and portrayed cosmo-Indians having problems of their own kind. Getting pregnant before marriage was the central point. I suppose this would have been unthinkable in the past when all that the women were supposed to be doing, was to look pretty in the evening while waiting for the husbands to come back from work and to entertain them and feed them good food and listen to them dictating what a moral life means for women. India has moved quite a distance, though with a very long trail with some parts of the population still very far from being modern. Nonetheless we are modern; there is no doubt about that.

Why do I keep going astray? Back to the movie. I could identify with Javed Zaffery who played a not-so-well-educated India who married an Aussie blonde. He kept on asking her all types of questions in his broken English, for which all that his wife had to offer as answer was “sorry?” to which he would delightfully reply, “ecgxzaaectlieeee” (exactly!)

After the movie we thought of a small grub and we spotted the Subway joint. I spotted a big billboard advertising the movie Batman Begins. I told my wife that I wanted to get myself snapped like Batman. It was a very old fascination for me as I had read the comics in my childhood and had adored Batman and his robe since then. Only impediment was to wear red or blue briefs on top of black trousers! A respectable way of getting into Batman’s mould without having to do this underwear-over-trousers scandal was this, as you can see in the picture. But that day saw me watch a movie with Reetz and get myself snapped as Batman, albeit half-baked. Great fun it was.

50 Posts - And Miles to Go!

This is my 50th post. The journey so far has been exciting. I have written some good pieces. Lots of things in life went on to inspire me. My wife who has always been the biggest of all sources of inspiration, has contributed to so many of my poems. She has been the first to read my posts. And she has many comments to make, apart from those she has written on the blogs themselves. She is incredible. She has made me love her so much, so much that I never thought I ever could. I never knew how two people from complete different backgrounds with a quarter of their lives spent in contrasting environments can get their souls fused together seamlessly. Marriages are made in heaven!

However, at this juncture of my blog-writing career, which I am sure is going to continue further, my thoughts go to Daniel Huggard (black and white picture). He is an amazing personality. We met when I joined Deloitte in India and Daniel had traveled from US to train us. It wasn't difficult for our batch of new joinees to assess his intellectual brilliance. But I was very inspired by his aesthetics. He calls himself amateur photo-journalist. Modest that he is. He is fabulous. I used to read his blog everyday. His views of inanimate and living objects, that seldom attract attention, were astonishing and very thought provoking. And they made me feel that venting out my inner voice in whatever channel it may take, is absolutely essential for creative satisfaction. And there I began.

My gratitude to Daniel, who has inspired me and many more, including my wife, to look at the world with eyes that can sense patterns, that can appreciate colors, that can weave our imagination with objects around, and thus, can make our existence truly meaningful.

(Daniel's blog is at http://f8photo.blogspot.com/ and http://pixonomy.com)
The other picture is of my Deloitte workmates whom I visited during my trip to India last fortnight).

Trip to my "Dream Home"

I was worried about the status of my house that I had booked long time ago. I had paid about 10% of the total price about a year ago. The builders had promised to hand over the apartment in the first quarter of 2006. By that yardstick, in September end of 2005, the building should have been constructed to quite an extent. But Indian Standard Time (IST)! And also Indian Builders! If only the IST could keep pace with time and if only the builders could be transparent and truthful! But since the location of the apartment is really good, we decided to wait till the time it gets completed. Now that I am away and my wife plans to join me here in Kuwait, we are not so much in a hurry.

In the picture you can see the plot, being indicated by my wife, where my dream home would be built. As of now, it’s just the gravel and sand that mark their existence. The apartment window will open to the sight of Golconda Fort, which is the remnant of the old Qutub Shahi Dynasty fort and palace. My study and the bedroom as well as one of the balconies will face the fort, and I plan to do my poetry there. The plans are well drawn out as you can sense. But, as someone said, the evidence of God’s sense of humor lies in the fact that He lets us ‘Plan’.

In the next picture, you can see my mom-in-law. She looks fairly similar to one of the popular Hindi actress Mala Sinha. She belongs to one of the royal families, as we tend to believe. But of course, she is very gracious to allow her daughters and me to invade her personal and majestic space. She is a darling, very caring and absolute fun to be with. And she is very meticulous with all her work, including her administration work and cooking. She is stunning beauty and razor sharp in wit. And the one thing which I explored during this trip is that she sings well. She has such a melody in her voice that I too broke in to singing. Mesmerizing and inspiring she is. I love her.

Review ensures Quality

Reached home! Here you see my cute little Leo. She came over to the airport to receive me. And somehow she managed to barge in to the baggage clearance arena. That surprised me. But a grizzly hug came naturally. She looked fabulous and her voice sounded chirpy, crisp and sweet.

She called up taxi. I had told her that Non-Resident Indians (NRIs) don’t take to walking or moving around in auto-rickshaws. She wanted to give me a real NRI-like treatment and thrill. And my car, which she claims is her, and which indeed is her, was resting at home!?! I was baffled but could see the logic soon after. She didn’t want the road to get her attention when I was there. I was her sole attendee and she was candy to my eyes. I loved every second of our way to her home on the rain-broken roads of Hyderabad.

In the evening, I gave her some of my works to look at. Here in the picture, you see my naughty professor reviewing critically my work. My sweetheart mother-in-law bailed me out of defending my work by calling us for dinner.

Say No to Paparazzi....

On board, I find all my friends in the Cabin Crew. My wife herself was with Indian Airlines. I didn’t have the luck to fly with her where she could be operating. It could have been great fun though, for she would have been duty bound to serve me!

Sutapa was the Cabin In-Charge. She welcomed me with a mischievous smile. I told her that if she needed any help, I was there to assist. They had just four crew members against a norm of five. So she said that she actually might need some help. I began to think what I might end up doing. May be a little bit of financial advice to the discerning passengers??!!

I tried taking snaps. Sutapa was defensive. Here you see her hand. ‘Say no to paparazzi’ was perhaps her policy. But when we reached Ahmadabad, I finally took her snap when she was busy reading SMS. Beautiful she is, indeed.

The journey was good due to the care extended by Sutapa and her team including Suruna and Lijo. I was upgraded from economy class to the business class. Sutapa pampered me a lot, and ascribed all her efforts to the fear of my wife. My wife is a cute little Leo! Hope you know what I mean! On board, I did a little work too. And I watched the crew do their in-flight chores. Unlike the passengers, the crew suffers more of jetlag and exhaustion as they have to be up and running when we sleep our time passing through the time zones. Hard work also gets compounded by demanding and value-conscious travelers. But it was nice watching these girls and the guys, who otherwise are very bubbly and full of energy, doing things in a disciplined manner, ensuring our safety and comfort.

Thumbs up for Indian Airlines! And thumbs up for Sutapa too. Is her boss listening? ;-)

Trip starts with point to ponder

Last week, or more precisely in the tertiary era as it seems now that I am back, I visited India. It was a long thought out trip. I was very desperate to go back home for a week at the least. The work pressure in my firm was tremendous. That may be the case for everyone in Kuwait since the economy has buoyed since last year or so, witnessing soaring entrepreneurship and business opportunities. But is does take a toll on my mental health, particularly when I am away from my wife who has been the life support system ever since I met her. Unlike in India, where we could talk on phone anytime, we cannot have such luxury in Kuwait since the costs are exorbitant to say the least.

Back to my trip and these photographs. I eagerly waited for my flight to be announced. At the airport, I entertained myself by taking snaps from my newly acquired Fuji F440 camera. The first snap depicts start of my voyage with the foot forward and the other shows the typical Indian crowd. I took a walk round all the terminals of the Kuwait International Airport. No other gate had as big chunk of humanity as Gate 1 where Indian Airlines flight was to be boarded from. I began to ponder if the huge population that India has is anyway a threat to Indians? To some extent, it is evident. The quality of life and levels of salary that Indians have back home is an evidence of excessive supply. Contrary to all demand and supply projections made by institutions in India, I believe, there is oversupply of qualified people. How else can you explain Chartered Accountants drawing salaries of Rs. 10,000 a month and sometimes, even less? Engineers are a dime to dozen. The south Indian states have been producing engineers on their assembling lines in such huge numbers that anyone with a degree in Arts or Commerce or even Science feels deprived. Some of these engineers have been observed to be working for paltry sums of Rs. 2,000 a month. And talk of short-supply? Yes, quality is a question. If we talk of short supply of quality engineers and management graduates, it can be a valid argument. But then, why have such institutions award degrees without ensuring quality? Are we not playing with the lives of people who pay horrendous sums to get in to colleges that provide sub-standard education and leave people high and dry even after qualifying in professional degrees?

Hey, here comes my flight announcement! See you on board.