Desicritics Category: Culture: Hobbies

Singing Telemarketers Away

Mike Ghouse — Thu, 19 Feb 2009 10:50:52 EST

On a Sunday afternoon, the phone rings as I was wrapping up with my usual routine; folding the clothes. It was a tele-marketer from India and she wanted to sell the long distance phone service to me. I thanked her for the call and said that I already have a service and will stick with it.

The Tele-marketer was not easy to get away from, and I wasn’t going to be rude to her, she is earning her living. She was determined to sell the service to me no matter what and later on her boss joins her. Now a team of them have decided to “get” me.

I insisted that the service is not for me and that they should take my number off their records.

She would not give up, so I decided to have fun, instead of getting frustrated.

The phone rang again and I picked up and without missing the beat, I started singing. Those who know me from my Radio days know what it means; some one has to pay me to stop it. If you are in the fifties and are a Desi (they-see), meaning people from the Subcontinent – i.e., India, Pakistan, Bangladesh, Nepal and Sri Lanka, you would enjoy the following scenarios. Heck you may smile any ways.

The kids on the other end were debating about the song, the singer and the like. I started out with “I yeiy ya, karoon my kya, sooku sooku”. I can hear the debate on the other end, “it’s got to be Jeetendra” and one actually said Shah Rukh Khan. I jumped in to their conversation, “it is Shammi Kapoor in Junglee singing Rafi and not Sonu”. Jeetendra was Oo, Ooo from Farz.

A “Thank you sir” in unison came from the other end. They could not be happier, they were courteous and hoping that at least at the end I would listen to their pitch. I wasn’t going to do that! They hung up, and called back to see if they were calling the right number.

I started “ O door ke musafir, hum ko bhi saath ley lay” .. there goes the debate again… They hung up and called back.

“ Ai mere dil kahin aur chal, gham ki duniyan say dil bhar gaya” This time the response was “What the hell was that?”. They did not know the song, nor could they figure out the singer, if it was Sunder Naidu singing, they could have guessed it, but meri tooti phooti awaz say o gana kaisay pehchanien ge? Even if it was "Yeh mera deewana pan hai" they would have recognized Prem Shah's awaaz. And of course, their parents would have just born in 1957 to recognize the movie Daag and the singer Talat. (yes, Lata also sang). They were saying in unison “thank you sir” hoping again to possibly get business.

You may be surprised at my attempt to do “Sunshine on my shoulder” I did not even complete the sentence they were gloating on the other end “John Denver” they knew the song even if it is an oldie, at that time most of the songs remained fresh in India for another decade or two. Neil Diamond’s Sweet Caroline is an evergreen, ever fresh number.

It went on for about 20 minutes… Finally they gave up.

By God, this is the first time in my life, that I sang the whole song to a captive audience, may be second time. I sang once celebrating Najma’s life a month after she passed away. Growing up, my sister did not want to hear me sing, she pointed out the mangled up words and then my late wife did not want to hear either. She told me to take voice lessons and then she would listen, and I had seriously considered learning from Renu Chandra or Nasreen Reza. Heck, my friends in India did listen to my songs, on Sundays, five of us used to go out on a farm or a lake and sit down and take turns and I lucked out being in the circle and took my turn gleefully.

Thanks to the tele-marketers, I sang to my heart's content, five songs in full! I have memorized 1000 Songs. I was ready to play their game and was going to go all night.

Then the phone rings and I start singing again… they called back, and I sang again… then when they called for the third time, I realized they were calling about a remodeling job I was doing for them. They enjoyed it though and they knew it was me.

A Landmark Love Story

IdeaSmith — Wed, 21 Jan 2009 09:14:26 EST

The Landmark bookstore opens its doors on 23rd January 2009. Landmark has been shut these past three months after a fire broke out in Infinity Mall where it is housed, causing much damage to merchandise and fittings. Mercifully no human casualties except of course for avid Landmarkers who've missed the store sorely all this while that it has been undergoing renovation.

I'm irrationally excited over this. Come Friday and I'm making no plans, except to trek back to my favorite bookspot and just savour the feeling of being able to walk around in its interiors again. Is this an indication of the shallow, consumerist lifestyle I lead, that I miss a shop so much? Let me tell you just what Landmark means to me.

I've been an avid reader from my early childhood, dating right back to when I missed having siblings to play with, fight with and keep me occupied and hence turned to books for company, for entertainment, for solace, for answers and finally for identification. I've also been a loner all my life, never mind the huge groups of people I always seem to have around me.

For the longest time ever, in Mumbai, a booklover's only source of soul nourishment was to scour the neighborhood raddiwallas and make an occasional trip to Churchgate to browse the street stalls at Flora Fountain. Then came Crossword with its ubiquitous yellow-and-black stores, retailing books. So books were available in a shop close to home. Though, if your tastes extended beyond potboiler bestsellers and management/self-help books, you were still obliged to fall back on your bohemian book-haunts or still brave the journey to town to visit Oxford.

Landmark opened its first store in Mumbai in 2006.

I remember stopping and staring at the poster announcing its soon-arrival at the mall and smiling with sheer joy. My Chennai soujourns had made me quite familiar with this bookstore chain famous in the south. On my first visit to the store, I wandered in curiously, wondering whether the insofar bookstore had only decided to set up its music and movie business in Mumbai. All I could see were aisles and aisles of DVDs and CDs! And then at the very end, almost like a tunnel suddenly opening up, I stumbled into a huge...paradise. Books, books, books as far as I could see.

I'd only ever seen so many books in one place at the annual Strand book sale, which would still be unorganized piles of books, stacked onto cloth-covered tables. But here I was standing among rows and rows of gleaming shelves neatly categorized as Humour, Literary Fiction, Classics, Romance, Spirituality, Teen Fiction, Children's books, Feminism, Travel, Science, Architecture, Movies, Art and so on. I walked passed authors I'd never known existed, genres I'd never conceived and books I'd never heard of.

Landmark became an integral part of my weekend schedule. I'd plan to catch a movie or lunch or dinner with a friend and find an excuse to be at Landmark. I'd either ask to meet them at the mall that also has a theatre and a food-court. Sometimes I'd drop by after an outing or arrange to meet someone between Magazines and Featured Books. Some days I'd go there by myself and spend hours browsing, walking out for a snack, poring over a book I'd bought or just feeling - something - just walking around.

My relationship with Landmark has grown in parallel with my relationship with my own writing. For a very long time, writing and creative endeavours were distant dreams, fantasies that I never really thought about seriously. I started my blog on a whim, to 'get it out of my system' so to speak. Surprisingly I found, my inspiration and my inclination...and my obsession to write only grew with time. After much teenage angst, anxiety-ridden desicions of education and work, job-switches and on/off relationships, I've discovered my passion. Words are my one and only real passion.

Writing is an indescribable feeling, one that rejuvenates me and one that takes me over in a fury and leaves me feeling quite spent - and fulfiled. I've never felt the same sense of completion with anyone or anything or anywhere else. The best thing about my job is how much it allows me to write. And where is a poet more at home than in a garden? Landmark is a garden of ideas, of people and stories and poems and articles and books all the many different ways we find to share our impressions with each other. The world outside disappoints me, hurts me, wears me down. But I walk back into a world of books and I find authors I deeply admire, words that bring me comfort, ideas that rekindle my zest for life, so much inspiration to just be me.

You might argue that I could have this in any other bookshop in the world. Yes, perhaps, if only there were others that offered the mind-boggling variety of books, a friendly but not intrusive staff and the convenience of location. If you've seen the movie 'You've got mail', you might say that Landmark has the staggering variety of Fox books set in the cosy ambience of the corner bookshop.

Now, three years later, I have a sentimental attachment to the Landmark store as well. The staff not only knows me by face and name, one of their employees has become a close, personal friend. I remember meeting Lord Jeffrey Archer, idol of my teenage years and buying a book for a special lady in my life. I walked through the aisles playing a 'now-you-see-me-now-you-don't' with a date who enjoyed books as much and picked out Knots by R.D.Laing for him. Weeks later, when he broke my heart, I healed myself in the comfort of Milan Kundera and Alexander McCall-Smith. I found a new friend, a new circle of people, a new interest and a new path to the future in Graphic Novels. I nurtured the early stages of a long-distance relationship through my SMS-chats and whispered conversations about the books I was browsing (while he'd be doing the same in the store in another city).

In these past three months, I've visited two countries, been in love and out of it, borne two deaths, has my sense of stability shaken by the terror attacks, discarded a friendship, renewed a few, acquired some more. I haven't had that haven that Zen calls 'the place of stillness' through all this. My friends have made babies, celebrated wedding anniversaries, had birthdays, returned to India after years. And I haven't been able to greet them with my choice of gift - a book specially chosen for the person and the occasion. Yes, I've missed Landmark so much. Friday, reunion!

And of course if any of you reading this post, have decided you love me enough to send me a gift, Landmark has a gift voucher program! ;-)

The World And President Obama: A Reason For The Romance

Aditi Nadkarni — Wed, 21 Jan 2009 04:56:28 EST

The world's romance with President Barack Hussein Obama continues. Is it his broad, uninhibited smile, people wonder, or the fact that he is making such glorious history with just his skin color and a middle name ? Or is it because he is coming in at a time when we all are so desperately thirsty for change. What is it about him that makes us cheer for him, root for him, hope to see him pull a nation out of crisis? The world is truly in love with Obama. Such true love, it is said, is found only when you've found yourself.

The world has come to an age, when a generation has been defined. We are a young world now that finds multiple modes of communication and jumps at the mere mention of a novel one being launched around the corner. We will not rest until the next great invention and we will not walk the trodden path, unless maybe we are multi-tasking and creating our own new funky stride. We are interesting people; we are the entrepreneur with political ambitions, the software geek who knows how to party, the news reporter who does stand-up comedy, the hacker who works with law enforcement, the actor who is also an ambassador, the teacher who pens poetry, the waitress who sang on American Idol, the struggling single mom who penned a best-seller, the teenager who does community service and the stripper who became a screenplay writer. We see in President Obama, the young man who chose after college to be a community organizer in South-side Chicago. We see a man who once did drugs and then conquered his demons like we want to conquer our own. We watched him turn a political campaign into a social networking experiment using the very tools that we type away on all day. His literary contributions, his use of the internet in a historic campaign, his sense of humor, his stress-relieving basket-ball game and his dancing skills not only charm us but are things we can finally relate to. His risks excite us and tell us that we too can make a leap of faith. We are a generation that has defined ourselves, set ourselves apart and see in this new dynamic President, a lot of ourselves and more importantly, a little of who we would all like to be. We have his crazy ambition, the "madness" and the "megalomania" that he once said one needs in order to want to be a leader of the free world. But we also strive to have his temperament, that cool equanimity with which he handled disagreements during the campaign. Let's face it, who wouldn't a nick-name as cool as "No Drama Obama".

Years ago, at a Presidential inaugural ball in America, I imagine, people must have been so official, so proper. They must have adhered to all forms of etiquette expected at such a formal event and coyly performed the waltz with their wives like a duty. They must have shook hands with the men and women gathered, saluted army officers. That ball might have been reserved for people of office, the important and the influential and not for a local community organizer or a student who won an essay contest. A black man might not have been allowed attendance at some of these balls. The new President and the celebration of his arrival changed all of this.

He began one ball by pointing out to the the cheering crowds how beautiful his wife looked. To the army men and women in Kabul, he asked if they were Cubs or White Socks fans, putting them at ease in the midst of their new commander-in-chief. He told the band to "hit it" and then added a little twist to his dance with the First Lady, rubbing noses with her as people pulled out their cell-phones to take pictures of them. "At last" Beyonce crooned, "my love has come along". The world agrees.

Photo Essay: Smell of an Indian Bazaar

Tanay Behera — Fri, 16 Jan 2009 10:34:46 EST

It was long since I had been out to shoot with my shutterbug friends. When I got an invite, if I could join them for a weekend shot at Russel Market, one of the prominent landmarks for the native Bangaloreans, I thought why not. The reply was prompt because I have always preferred colder climes and at present winter is in full flourish. Also, wintertime mornings are usually marked with less activity and lots of freshness rules the air.

So all set and done and I reach the market place at 6:30AM. The market place was a melange of action, buying, selling, trading, chaffering, transporting, cleaning and lots more.

Russel Market is one of the oldest markets in Bangalore and it was built in 1927. The freshly painted minaret that stands across the road is a testimony that this place which was once the frequented by the memsahibs driven in their carriages is now replaced by the Marutis, the Fords and the Toyotas.

Even though the city today offers plenty of departmental stores from Sunday-to-Monday to Food World, from Reliance Fresh to Nilgiris, from Spencers to Spar but still there is a sizeable population that visits this bazaar for its weekly stock of fruits and vegetables and other requirements. The building that accommodates close to 100 vegetable shops and mandis today looks a bit jaded.

This place has narrow streets, filled with people unloading mini-trucks ladened with fresh vegetables and fruits. At one corner an old woman is selling a handful of vegetables, while at the other corner there is a middle-aged lady making a garland with different kinds of flowers, sipping hot tea from a glass. Even found a man who was so bitten by Bipasha Basu's 'Beedi Jalai le', that early in the morning he was puffing his jigar maan bari aag in a foolhardy way.

At this early hour of the day, there is action all around as vegetable vendors were busy sorting the vegetables into gunny bags which would be sent to various restaurants and hotels across the city. This place is a trading center for flowers, and florists can be seen exchanging their supply for cash. The topsy-turvyness here is more complex than what one would find in any stock exchange when in action.

As I was walked a little ahead, I saw the central courtyard, where there were neatly arranged rows of meat shops. Strung up were fresh cuts of mutton with hooks. Adjacent to the dark alleys of meat shops, dimly lit with bulbs is the street, which is a must visit place for any sea-food lover.

Variety of fish, prawn, crab, squid, etc of all sizes were available and the best part is it was all fresh stock unlike the refrigerated and preserved ones sold in department stores. This place is a beehive of activity and chances are high that a visitor would soil his/her clothes while purchasing sea-food here.

It was 8:30AM by now and people returning from the early hours mass at the nearby church were indicative of city life about to get started in a while. I along with my friend, proceeded to a nearby shop, which offers chai 24/7 and while having the chai, a person rushed hurriedly towards me. Seeing, a camera in my hand he told, 'Saab ek photo aap jaldi se lea lo, abhi thodi deear maain guard ke naukri ke liye, ek interview hai' [Can you take a pic immediately because I have an interview for the post of a guard to attend]. I had to politely decline to his request as my camera, doesn't have the instant printing capabilities.

Don't be surprised when I saw, you can click and publish pictures instantly, infact you can do this something similar to the Polaroid cameras of the 70's. This year PoGo, an Instant Digital Camera unveiled at the annual Consumer Electronics Show in Las Vegas, allows one with a push of a button to take pictures, edit those and then print those on full-colour, 2x3-inch prints. Can someone gift me one of those :)

You can see the rest of the pics here.

Life Is All About Me For A Change

Deepti Lamba — Fri, 9 Jan 2009 10:29:02 EST

Dee!? Dee? Are you sleeping again? Its only nine.

Huunh? What?

Go to bed! Go!

No! I am comfy here.

Dee, you can't sleep on the carpet! Go.

I grumble, get up, go to the bedroom and fall asleep only to wake up before the crack of dawn at 5:40.

I get up early, I sleep early, I stay away from sugar, in-between snacking except for fruits, some dry fruits and green tea. I stay away from late night partying, drinking soft drinks, alcohol and eating yummy food.

I am a classic case of a woman following a clean life. And it sucks! Everything is a big - No! I whine and I plead with my dietitian - Wine?! Can I have red wine everyday with my dinner?

Her eyebrows go up.

I ask again- Every other day?

Her eyebrows remain up there trying to hug her hairline

Er... Once in a week?

She finally replies - Yes and that too only 60 ml.

60 ml? Why don't you kill me already? I groan

You have to lose 1 kilo per week with balanced diet and rigorous exercise. And no late night partying it screws up your metabolism rate.

She goes on talking and I realize my lifestyle has done a complete spring cleaning.

She called me at about 4 this evening.

Deepti, Hi! Were you sleeping?

Er! yes, I was.

Oh I am so sorry I woke you up but try not sleeping in the afternoons.

But! I crashed out. I was reading one minute and the next talking to you.

How is your diet going? You didn't show me your diet diary.

I am not eating sprouts.

Deepti, you have to lose one kilo per week. You have to follow the diet.

That means eating more than I am used to.

Well, eat then!

We talk a bit more. She stresses on the need to be mobile during the day and sleep early at night and the call ends.

I get craving for chocolates instead bite into Digestive biscuits and have Chamomile Tea.

My trainer calls.

Ma'am day after can you make it at 7:30? We will do Cardio, circuit training and weights as well. I saw your work out chart we have four more days left to lose 1 kilo. Tomorrow strict two hours cardio. Try burning atleast 600 calories. We will talk more at length tomorrow morning.

Yes, my trainer talks the 'We'. Its a combined goal. I shouldn't make him look bad, I shouldn't make my dietitian look bad, I shouldn't let the rigorous program look bad, I shouldn't look bad!

My poor body is not used to clean living or eating. When I grumble they talk about heart attacks, High BPs and Sugar problems, the falling gut, the weak back and the list goes on.

Ma'am you have to work out and eat right. It has to be a lifetime habit. Have you started having soups before dinner?

Why are you people trying to stuff me?

You eat more, you lose more. Trick is to exercise and eat right. 1 kilo, Ma'am.

I dream 1 kilo. I dread 1 kilo.

Life has all of a sudden become all about me. I drink my tea and wonder how can I exercise a bit more with my kids. The one kilo looms over my horizon.

The phone rings for the third time.

Dee? Hi! How are you?

Its my sister.

We talk a bit. And she takes me to task

Are you doing your prayers?

I hem and haw, beat around the bush.

You know, you have to take care of yourself. At least one hour per day. Its important to keep your focus right. 1 hour Dee. It shouldn't be so difficult. Truth be told you should do 1 hour in the morning, 1 in the evening. You have to take care of yourself.

1 hour, I kilo! Yes, its all about me- physically and spiritually.

My mom calls and wonders whether along with my exercising I am taking care of my skin, my hair and my feet?

I now dread a call from my best friend.

She would next ask me what I am doing to take care of myself mentally? What am I reading? I am writing? Am I dreaming? Am I enjoying myself daily?

Yes, the world is telling me that I have to take care of myself. I just didn't know it took so much effort to do it!

Missing InSomnia

Chaitanya S — Fri, 12 Dec 2008 11:14:20 EST

“We are having a blast at the Taj tonight…remember to bring your camera along…it is going to be an all nighter”.

As I sat glued to CNN, I realized what words like “Taj”, “tonight”, “blast”, “camera” and “all night” meant to me. As I sat through the night watching the footage, the brain screamed of fatigue but the eyes remained wide. My roommate passed by at 5:00 am and sniggered, “Still up? Are you suffering from insomnia tonight?”. “No. InSomnia is suffering tonight”.

I knew InSomnia had shut down a year or so ago. But all my best memories (only memories?) of the Taj revolved round that night club. We’d make it a point to party there whenever possible. For us living in the suburbs, the 30 minute drive to reach our destination was more than worth the effort. The slow moving traffic gave us an opportunity to actually “talk” and catch up with each others' lives. The moment we’d cross Worli, the traffic would give way and the road was there for the taking. Marine Drive, was where I’d roll down the windows. The cool sea breeze hitting our faces added to the thrill of going to party. The screams of “put the windows up, you idiot, it’s ruining our hair” couldn’t dampen our ecstasy.

On 26/11, the absence of cars round the Taj was an antithesis to my experience. I recollect the plush automobiles snaking round the grand building. I remember being caught up in that long queue for valet parking on every occasion. On such occasions, comments from my beloved backseat drivers ranged from, “this is taking us longer than our drive” to “I told you to leave early, numbskull”.

I’ve frequented all the best nightclubs in Mumbai city. Anyone would tend to do that if they’d party at least twice at week. But InSomnia always had an X factor to it which I could never actually put my finger on. Maybe it was the architectural splendor of the Taj on entry. Or maybe it was the element of mystery I felt as I approached the club for the first time. It was through a narrow corridor which was flanked by designer stores on either side. All the shops were closed by the time we’d go to the club, but it was my secret ambition to shop there someday. I no longer nurse that ambition, but you tend to have crazy aspirations when you are younger. I remember entering the darkness of the club down a flight of stairs and immersing myself into the loud music and flashing lights.

Back then, the only shots inside were either at the bar or through my camera. The blasts were our youthful emotions exploding on the dance floor. Every ounce of fatigue which had accumulated due to the 60 hour work week went up in smoke. We made sure to uphold Mumbai’s reputation as “the city which never sleeps”.

On the way home, I remember the “nakabanis” or roadblocks at which I’d stop at. Police would speak in their stern but polite Marathi and screen the car. Far from being a nuisance, it would be reiterate the fact that I was safe in my beloved city. The police were just making sure that we citizens drove home safely.

I will always feel safe in Mumbai. It is my home. I know I am being protected. Fear will not give me sleepless nights. Now even InSomnia can’t give me sleepless nights in Mumbai. I really do miss InSomnia.

The Dividing Roots Of Religions

Deepti Lamba — Mon, 8 Dec 2008 10:19:07 EST

She came over to ask for Neem leaves. We started talking about the death of my Neem tree due to the Jamun tree pushing at it. We talked about gardening, snakes crawling into our homes, children and somewhere in between we got talking about religion.

It wasn't a topic I wanted to talk about. It makes me impatient. She told me she was a Muslim and asked about my religion. I replied- Buddhist. She smiled, nodded and said that I was a Hindu.

I didn't get into the semantics and merely shrugged. She became more chatty and continued talking about her Hindu friends and I stared at the bamboo rhizomes that were growing under my cracked cemented walk path.

I wasn't interested in hearing about her secular inclinations, I wasn't interested in her exchange of gifts on Hindu Muslim festivals nor was I interested in hearing about her getting bored to tears in Gulf, her hating the burkha nor was I was interested in her horrified reactions against the Mumbai tragedy.

She was barking up the wrong tree. I was already on her side. I had already faced half her shit post 9/11 in America when people who recognized that I wasn't a Hispanic or 'Native American' decided I was a Muslim.

I had to wear my religion on my chest as if to ward off others 'righteous' anger. I told them at the airport security checks - "No, that lady in burkha isn't my mother in law. I am a Hindu. Are you done checking my six month old? Yes, I know its for safety that you have special checks. But why is it that whenever we travel we always get the special security checks?"

Things did get relatively easier a couple of years down. But there was always that fear in the back of our minds when we traveled. We didn't discuss politics when we stepped out, our phone calls were also censored and we maintained a polite front even when a jackass passed a racist comment or snubbed us in a queue.

We had friends who treated us no different whether they were Republicans or Democrats but fear had nestled deep within my heart. And the sense of insecurity plagued me constantly. We tried to keep a low profile. The attitude that if we kept our heads down and didn't stand out like sore thumbs things would be fine was ingrained in us.

By the end of our five year stint I was eager to return home. Between the yellow, orange, red alerts my poor heart had done enough palpitations wondering what shit would be dished out to us if terrorists did some shit on US soil.

I was ready to return home and feel like a majority upper class Hindu all over again.

After nearly three years of returning home I found myself trying to make a defensive Muslim lady comfortable in my garden. I didn't talk about the apprehensions I suffered while in US being similar to her feelings. There was one big difference between her and me.

To me, my country was a haven I willingly returned to but for her there was no sense of security in her own homeland; not that she said it to me but her loud proclamations of being a moderate secular Muslim made it clear to me.

She took some curry leaves and lemons, grumbled about the death of the Neem tree and politely declined my offer of tea.

I closed the gate behind her and wished we didn't talk about religion and politics. It made both of us pussyfoot around each other and maybe it kept us from becoming good friends.

Fitness, A Way Of Life

Deepti Lamba — Tue, 18 Nov 2008 00:21:48 EST

"Two minutes, please? I cannot take it anymore!"

Six days a week I sound like a petulant child when I visit the gym. The trainer gives a patient smile and replies "Ma'am, two more minutes."

My two minutes are about taking a breather from the rigorous machine and his two minutes are to egg me on. I sweat, cuss, swelter and look my worst. The mirrors show me people of all sizes - some like me, some bigger than me and some so fit that I want to make cardboard cuts of them and peg them to my bedroom door to remind myself that this is what I want to be like.

But would I have the same body structure like them? Probably not. Most of the bodies I admire belong to men. The admiration isn't lecherous (rolling my eyes) but its about the seemingly unending stamina, the perfect abs and most of all the discipline that gives a perfect body.

There is a gentleman about 74 year old who comes to the gym regularly. He runs on the treadmill, works on the elliptical machine and does heavy weights. He calls me 'Ma'am' and I call him 'Sir'. We smile at each other but conversation between us tends to be abrupt since my instructor keeps me more or less breathless and shaking the muscles that ache and demand less workouts.

Initially I used to work out in the evening but past two days I moved to the morning shift. The music at the gym during the mornings is better and the place more crowded.

The addiction is setting in. I am quite possessive about my workout and my diet. No chocolates, no pizzas, no sugar and definitely no potatoes.

Most people at the gym watch their diet. Talking to them makes my resolution firmer and easier to carry forward. Exercising may soon become a way of life for me. Clothes fit better, inches and weight are falling off, my skin has become better and most of all I am in a much better mood.

It took me a while to realize that taking care of myself didn't merely mean having time to feed my brain but also ensure I took care of my body the right way.

Photo Essay: Kabini

Tanay Behera — Tue, 28 Oct 2008 12:52:04 EDT

There are times in life when there are lots of tasks to be attended and in the heart of hearts one feels, that one needs a break to get perked up again. This is exactly what happened to me, when in the midst of lot of activities, I had the opportunity to visit Kabini and spend a day there in the Jungle Lodges and Resort.

Kabini is a river in Karnataka that passes through a picturesque terrain before joining the Kaveri near Mysore. The Kabini Jungle Lodges and Resort (KJLR) has been rated among the top five wildlife resorts in the world by Tatler's way back in 1995 but I am not sure if it still retains that ranking today.

Situated at a distance of 220 kilometers from Bangalore, a drive to reach this place in five to six hours by road is the most preferred option for most of the visitors. More so this place is close to the Nagarhole Wildlife Sanctuary, Wayanadu Wildlife Sanctuary, Bandipur National Park and the Mudumalai Wildlife Sanctuary, parts of which are visible during the river ride inside the jungle.

We reached KJLR by 2:00 in the afternoon. At the reception we were apprised about the rules and regulations of the resort and some simple guidelines to follow during our stay for a day there. The KJLR has colonial style architecture and can accommodate around 50 people, so advance booking for this place during the peak season is must. There are around 14 colonial style double rooms with modern amenities, 10 twin-bedded cottages and 6 tented cottages.

The accommodation is very comforting and satisfying but for those people who are used to TV and air conditioners, sorry, one won't get either of the two at KJLR. Personally I too feel that its incongruous and such luxuries shouldn’t find place in a jungle resort. It's a complete eco-friendly resort and noise of any form be it load music or partying late night is strictly prohibited here.

Food during lunch, breakfast and dinner is served in buffet style in the common dining area called the Ghol Ghar that overlooks River Kabini. I really enjoyed the food, that I had here, which mainly comprised of Indian dishes, both vegetarian and non-vegetarian. Even breakfast was filling and there was a rich variety such as bread, omelette, fruit juice, dosa, idli, vaada, upma, etc along with the regular entremetses.

Leave the food part, let's get into the real action now. The first day after lunch, we took some rest in the hammocks before we started for our wildlife safari at 4:00 P.M. in the evening. The initial half an hour drive of our safari was through a small village, which is situated on the periphery of the forest. Once we entered the heart of the forest, our guide, a naturalist instructed us to be as silent as possible. So all that one could hear was the sound of engine and the tyres ruckling down the jungle road. The undefiled smell of the forest was all around us. As we drove in the open jeep, we could feel the crisp evening wind on our faces, something similar to the cool effect one gets on having a mouth freshener.

Since that day was cloudy and there were early signs of rain, spotting elephants was out of question. Suddenly our vehicle came to a jerky stop because our guide had spotted a leopard camouflaged in the branches of a tree about 200 meters from the road.

We saw lots of wild dogs, bisons, sambhars, crested hawk eagles and herds of spotted deers. Our guide told us that a pack of seven or eight wild dogs can shoot down a tiger in few seconds, even though these creatures appear to be so harmless.

The best part of the safari was when we were about to return, it started raining cats and dogs. The rain drops were striking us like tiny boulders with great force. We were in the middle of the jungle, and it was twilight by now, and because of the rain, there was practically no visibility. Since I was in an open jeep, I wanted to enjoy the rain, but before doing so made sure that my camera was safe in my kitbag.

That night, had a wholesome dinner and spent some time with my friends before hitting the bed. Early morning, I woke up by 5:00 A.M. and was able to capture the nature in its true colors. I didn’t use any filters or any post-processing for this photograph. It was taken just like any other snap, and the end result was this.

At 8:00 A.M. we started for our 3 hour boat ride and it offered to me the perfect setting for taking some landscape shots while on the boat.

I spotted some birds in the middle of the river, right in the bowels of the jungle.

Our guide gave us tons of information anytime we spotted a new bird. We had even spotted a crocodile very near to this congregation of tree trunks egressing from the surface of the water like forks. But probably, it was the sound of the motor engine, that disturbed the crocodile and it disappeared inside the colored water like a shot.

The journey was refreshing and all, I could see around was water, lush greenery and some birds chirping in the air. At that moment our boat rider, diverted our vessel and paved our way towards a bamboo jungle adjacent to the river bed, where tigers come to have water at night. We even saw the carcass of a spotted deer that was killed by a tiger, the previous night.

I didn't realize how time passed and we were back to the resort after an unforgettable river ride.

For those of you who want to pamper themselves with a traditional massage, the KJLR has facilities for an Ayurvedic massage center, run by a family from Kerala. I went there and checked the prices and those were very decent. By this time, it was 12:00 P.M. in the noon and the custodians of the resort informed us that it was time to check out because the cleaning has to be done before another gang of visitors come by 2:00 P.M. in the afternoon.

If someone asks me, Kabini is a good weekend getaway for nature lovers and KJLR is a perfect place to stay in cottages in sylvan surroundings. The rates are not very high too, considering that it includes food, stay, jungle safari and river ride.

Complete album is here.

Warning: The carcass pic may be disturbing for few readers.

Dress Code Hypocrisy At Indian Workplaces

Deepti Lamba — Mon, 6 Oct 2008 11:45:53 EDT

A couple of weeks ago the front page of Bangalore Mirror carried the news that a leading IT company had enforced the wearing of Ties on Monday and Tuesday. I snickered over sensationalizing the mundane. Whats the big deal about enforcing formal wear at work?

What would have made news if the company had enforced women to wear formal Western wear as well seven days a week.

If men are not allowed to wear Indian formals to work why should the women be allowed to wear salwaar kameezes and horrendous worn out sandals to work?

All said and done, snappily dressed people always speak well for the company instead of shoddy employees who look as if they dragged themselves to work straight from their beds.

Enforcing rules that women be well dressed and wear closed shoes should not be that difficult but the problem is most male bosses/Companies are apprehensive to enforce such a law. No one is telling the women to dress like Playboy bunnies to work but the only places where I have seen most women take pride in their clothes (even those in ethnic wear) are in Indian schools or in the hotel industry.

Why is this? Because they are told that the way they dress reflect the institutions they work for. Isn't that what men are told at private work places as well? Why should the rules be any different for women who work for these mega corporations?

Why are men forced to put up with these double standards? Why don't women managers who consider themselves to be fair feminists take this matter up with their HR Department?