Monday, August 20, 2007

A Sunday Evening

There is something about a Sunday evening.

Sunday evenings used to be a lot of fun when we were in school. Now its about sitting and ruing the fact of how to beat the Monday blues. In fact, the "pain" starts from the Sunday afternoon itself. If you can put this aside, you will see how beautiful a Sunday evening is.

When I peek out of the window, one thing that distinctly strikes me is how relaxed people look. The usual rush is invisible. Note that I'm not considering the crowded malls or the "jammed" traffic. The kids are having their unadulterated fun, quite oblivious to the fact that its back to school tomorrow morning and totally ignorant of the pending homework. Old timers enjoying their blissful Sunday walk. Families in front of TV watching the Sunday special. Fathers putting away their work and having a good time with their five year olds. The trees swaying slightly, moving rhythmically to the light breeze, as I listen to John Mayer. The sun setting and the dusk descending. There is certain sense of beauty even in the ol' piece of paper, which is rolling on the road, with the wind, stopping by once in a while as if to "look" at you. It’s a treat if there is a sporting event especially a final of a Grand Slam. The youth going out for a cup of coffee at the local chai shop and catching on the week that was. As the light fades out, people are moving indoors to wind up their Sunday.

Watching all these, eases the transition from a Sunday evening to a Monday morning.

Monday, August 13, 2007

300 Miles to Graceland

I did something a few days ago, that shocked and brought a lot of “delight” to some of my friends and gave them a talking point (for once) to drag me around. I didn't do anything significant. I just went on a pilgrimage.

I don't remember the last time I took such a trip. It must have been a million years ago. But I do remember that I had thrown a lot of tantrums, the last time around.

Apparently, the plans were laid out over a month ago 'cause they knew that it would need some convincing to have me shanghaied into this. Then knew that I wasn't gonna take “improper planet alignment” or “planets residing in wrong houses” or some serpent not “liking” me, for a good enough reason.
As expected the above excuses didn't work. So they retorted to the good ol', tried and tested formula of emotional melodrama to get my head nodding the right way.

On the D-day there was nothin' much to look forward except the mode of travel, my cousin's new car. So armed with CDs of Pink Floyd, Doors and Van Halen, we hit the road at 150kmph. Slowed down to 60kmph in B'lore and the back to 150kmph till we were at God's “abode”. It was fun “horsing” the new car around at different speeds. We reached by sunset and shacked up in a lodge. It wasn't until tomorrow morning that the pain would begin.

I had drafted a simple plan for an early exit. Wake up early, beat the people 'traffic', “align” the planets, move the planets to their “homes”, charm the “vicious” serpent and get the hell out of there and salvage some weekend time.

As per the plan, woke up early and got ready. I chose to wear a 'T' and a faded torn jeans, much against my dad's desire to wrap me in dhoti. I wasn't gonna fall for that. I was already lookin' like a chump. There was some damage control needed.
Entered the temple after a longish walk. Somehow when I sat in the “battlefield”, the people were gawking at me. I thought it must be either the number of people accompanying me to the 'seat' or the torn jeans. I preferred not to look at the more pious. And then came out the 'commander', took out his mike, tuned the amplifiers and started rocking...err..chanting verses. This guy was a smart fella. He started commanding us on how to setup the things in the “warkit”. He made us do most of the work ourselves, like showering flowers, water et al. My parents kept looking at my face to spot any grimaces on my face, so that they can reprimand me later. My poker face came to the rescue here.

When I was sitting there and doing whatever I was doing, a lot of questions popped up. What am I doing? What is all this? Why are the people in so much piety? Do they really mean it? What happens when they do all this? Do they come back if their prayers weren't answered? Do they still keep their faith? Do they actually feel better by doing all this?

I've read somewhere that God resides inside everyone of us. Infact, I've read as a kid that is God is everywhere. Then why do people travel miles to see a piece of well carved stone. I have never been able to understand the ways of the people in this aspect. Or maybe I'm too incapable of understanding this abstractness or maybe my reasoning tendency gets in the way of understanding it. I'll never know.

People have scaled mountains and crossed oceans in the pursuit of god. I have kept my pursuit, if at all I believe there is one inside me, rather simple. I believe there is a way to god in every li'l thing we do. Then why waste time in going in search of something we'll never find. I would say think good, do good and feel good, you might just find him along the way.

By the end of the Q & A in my head, the puja was also pretty much over. Apparently, it didn't take much time and it wasn't painful either. It all wrapped up fine. My parents were happy with my 'performance' and I also felt a job well done.

Went back to the hotel, packed our bags and hit the throttle home thinking or rather hoping that this would be the last one or at least one of the last one of the pilgrimages, I would ever have to take.

Monday, August 06, 2007

The Lost Formula

I started watching Formula 1 racing way back in 1994, although not very religiously. Those were the times when the championships were dominated by Renault and Williams, Senna had crashed and Schumacher was still a rookie.

I was introduced to it by one of my brother's friends. I would sometimes go to his house to watch it, since we didn't have Cable TV. The sport really impressed me. The sound of the cars, the speed, the acceleration, the atire and just about everything.

But that was then. A decade later I had begun to think about F1 as the Americans do.

Have you ever tried sleeping while watching a game of Football on the TV? It’s almost impossible, because every time you close your eyes and think of dreaming away to the dreamland, there's a roar from the crowd indicating that something has happened. It’s been close to just 12 secs since I thought of taking a trip to Dreamland. You are snapped back to reality to see what's going on!

Now let me tell you what actually happens when you are watching F1. Once the cars have zoomed away from the line, you have an almost constant background din, as soothing, if you turn down the sound down a bit, as the waves on the beach. And you never hear the crowd oohing or aahing, simply because there seldom is anything to ooh or aah about. (You might heard a boo when Barrichelo made way to Schumacher!). As a result of this you probably know who is going to win and you will be sound asleep by lap two. The FIA boasts of viewer ship of millions all over the world, but I wonder how many viewers were actually awake.

The big question is why so many people have tuned out of F1in recent years, and the simple answer is this: its mind-numbingly numb, You have no idea which driver is which, you can't see them doing anything other than turning a steering wheel, and when they get out, they weigh 5 kilos less and they talk like they're flatlining.

What I am trying to say is, I would want to re-discover the love for this sport and enjoy it as much as my colleague, who keeps his Sunday evening’s to watch F1 every fortnight, and I admire the car makers making machines with such cutting edge technology and design, but make it look like a race sport, not a parade of cars ooning around.

Else, if things remain this way, switching to NASCAR or Monster Truck Racing is imminent.