The Homecoming

It’s been a while since I even tried writing something to add to my blog. I’ve actually missed our communication through my posts - your comments and my responses that happen over the first few days of posting, by which time all the readers have either read the piece or have forgotten about it. 

It’s not as if I’ve been really busy or really lazy or anything else of the sort. I just haven’t had anything I’ve been inspired to write about. No interesting memories that came to mind, no new adventures I could put into words that would make a for a good read. With the pandemic, hopefully behind us, I’ve been getting into the rhythm of travel again, which as always has been exhilarating but not something that resulted in stories that I particularly wanted to share. I will however, share a picture of Riddhi, the tigress who I was fortunate enough to spend about 20 minutes with in the jungles of Rajasthan. Definitely one of this year’s travel highlights.

Having lived in various places over the period of my life, I’ve written multiple posts about ‘home’, even though home is more than the building one lives in. Everyplace I’ve lived in has obviously been unique in many ways. And each time I’ve thought that this will be where I’ll live for the rest of my life, for some reason I move out and move in elsewhere. The joys of being single and weird!

A couple of days ago I started watching an Indian series that caught my attention and kept my interest (not a particularly easy thing - my ‘Continue Watching’ list is enormous). A short while back, as I was watching Episode 5, it struck me as to how many parallels the show had with me and my life. One of the characters is ‘Ratan’, another characters last name is ‘Sethi’, one of the characters used to live in Chicago, moved back to India and was running a cafe with a personality that is uncannily like mine (just from the scenes in the cafe). It kind of started making me feel like the writer of the show must be someone I've actually met. There are actually two writers, neither one has a name that sounds familiar. Of course I do meet a lot of people in the cafe and have had extended conversations with many, so who knows?

The protagonist of the series is a guy who lives in Bangalore (yup, Bangalore), loses his job and moves back to his parents home in Indore, where he plans to live until he finds another job. Coincidentally enough I’m headed to Indore on Friday. 

Without giving away too much, the story is about him returning home, adjusting to the family who he had been seeing barely for a week during the holidays over the years, not having the freedom that he had gotten used to and subsequently not just adjusting to the new way of life but preferring it to the alternative of another career in a bustling city like Bangalore. While I still have one last episode left to watch, I pretty much know where the show is headed.

Many of us feel like our lives are unique - at least I rarely come across anyone from my generation with a similar story as mine. However, I do come across a lot of younger folks who seem desperate to retire early and live a life that isn’t driven by their employment. Easier said than done when you have a family but I hope that at least some of them are able to do it. 

Although It’s been forever since I gave up my life in Chicago, I still get asked the question as to why I moved back. Earlier I would fumble through my response because you think that there isn’t one single reason but a host of them. Over time though, I’ve learned to tell them what the single most important reason for my being back was. It’s not as if I was unhappy in the US - I really had a great life but even after living there for 11 years, I realised that something very important was missing. 

More than anything else in the whole wide world, I missed that warm fuzzy feeling of being home. 

For those of you who watch Hindi shows, the one I’ve written about is called ‘Ghar Waapsi’ and can be viewed on Disney Hotstar. I just got done watching the final episode and am hoping that there will be another season. 

His Name is Khan

I was standing outside the taxi with my luggage but there was no sign of the driver. Calling his number a couple of times had proven to be futile, so I just stood there, waiting for him to appear eventually. It was probably a minute later, though it seemed longer, when I saw a man in a red shirt, running towards me. He had a big grin on his face.

“Sorry sir, I thought you would be a few minutes and decided to get some tea.”

On closer inspection, he seemed more like a boy than a man. His smile had a mix of both innocence and mischief and whatever irritation had accumulated inside me, vanished. 

Once we were on our way he apologized again.

“I haven’t had a chance to eat lunch today - it’s been really busy.”

It was a few minutes past 4 pm. I asked him to stop at Fanoos on the way, where he could pick himself up a kaati roll. He nodded his head and said that he would take a break after dropping me off. No amount of insisting on my part could get him to change his mind. 

“Arrey saab, this is a daily routine. I’ve forgotten what it’s like to have a nice meal in peace,” he said. 

It broke my heart when he said that. As we kept talking, I got to know that he was 24 years old, had a son who was born 8 months ago and was the only earning member in the family that included his parents and two younger sisters, who he had to marry off. He told me that his name was Mabrouk. 

“But you can call me Khan,” he said laughingly.

I could see Khan’s face in the rear view mirror and not for a moment while we were talking did he stop smiling. He began asking questions about me but I was embarrassed to tell him about my indulgent lifestyle, where I did not feel the need to work and worse still was on my way to New York for a 6 week holiday. It made me feel horribly guilty. While not being unaware that most people have to work really hard to make ends up, hearing about it first hand from an individual who didn’t seem outwardly unhappy, was especially hard. 

Overly burdened from a very young age, Khan began driving a tempo truck illegally at the age of fourteen. An age when all I had to worry about was homework. When he was seventeen his father lost a limb in an accident and couldn’t go to work any longer. His sisters were taken out of school because they couldn’t afford the fees. I would have got really depressed if he wasn’t so nonchalant about it and if the smile had left his face. 

“It’s all kismat,” he said looking towards the Heavens. “I didn’t want to get married as it would mean even more responsibilities, but my parents would not hear of it.”

“They are also right,” he continued. “After all the family name has to continue.”

“What if you were not able to have a son?” I asked.

He laughed and said “Uski ab fikar nahin, beta to paida kar liya (I don’t need to worry about it, now that I have a son)”.

I wish I had taken a picture of Mabrouk. He had the warmest and most honest smile I had seen in a while. As he helped me unload the luggage, I felt almost sorry that we had reached the airport so quickly. He had told me so much about himself including the fun he used to have with his friends and how he looks forward to Eid, which is one of the rare times that he takes the day off and has a celebratory meal. By the end of the cab ride, I didn’t feel like Mabrouk was a stranger or just an individual who had driven me to the airport in his taxi. I opened up my arms and gave him a hug. I also gave him a large tip.

“Go have an indulgent meal now,” I said, pretending to scold him.  

I could see that he was fighting back tears. We exchanged numbers and I made him promise that he wouldn’t forget me.

As I began walking towards the check-in counter, looking at the crowd, filling out forms, going through security and waiting to board my flight, my mind moved on to so many other things. By the time I was in the plane, I had pretty much forgotten about Khan. 

                                                                         ****

Two days ago on Saturday I got a call from a name that I didn’t recognize. But as soon as I heard his voice, I knew. 

“Sir, I’m outside your building,” he said in his usual lively manner. “Chai pilaoge (can I drop by for chai)?”

Once again he hadn't had lunch so I made him a plate with whatever I could find in the refrigerator. And once again it slipped my mind to take his picture. 

Dial-an-Escort

While I’m perfectly content with the life that I have, sometimes I get these brilliant ideas for a career that I could possibly enjoy. The most recent one being that of offering myself as an escort. Now before you start visualizing sexual favors for money, let me tell you that this escort service is of another kind. So let me start from the beginning. 

Most of you that have met me are aware that not only am I a pretty face, I am also intelligent, interesting, charming and crazy witty. A complete package and exactly the kind of person you’d like to have sitting across from you at a nice restaurant. The thing that could improve your average dining experience by leaps and bounds, would be some arm candy/a trophy friend, enticing conversation and loads of laughs. In other words - me. 

Are you so bored with your life that watching the grass grow seems like a fun activity? When was the last time you laughed so hard, you not only snorted but almost peed in your pants? Do you worry too much about what ‘other people might think’ resulting in never acting incredibly silly? I’m here to save the day and make you laugh so much that your jaws will hurt. And if you are the ‘peeing in your pants’ kind, I’ll even provide you with an adult diaper. 

Are you going through a difficult phase in your life? Does work suck more than usual? Is your married life so dull that you can’t even remember why you guys got together in the first place? Don’t despair - instead of an evening of fun and laughter, I also offer counseling services. Trust me, I can dish out that ‘feel good’ crap as well as the next loony psychiatrist. God knows I do enough of it already. A list of references can be furnished from across the world. 

On the other hand, if you’re simply looking for a mature and sophisticated man to have a nice meal with, I can be that guy too. Although this would be at a slightly higher cost. ‘Immature’ and ‘unsophisticated’ is what I do best. 

And finally, in the mood for some role playing? Get creative and let’s discuss.

Some rules:

The first rule of the escort service is that you do not talk about the escort service. What happens between the client and me stays between the client and me. You get the gist. 

Alcohol is important at these sessions. With each drink I have, I get funnier/smarter.     With each drink that you have, you will find me funnier and turn stupider. 

Chauffeur service, wining-dining expenses will be completely borne by the client. 

The amount I charge will be at my discretion. If you’re rich, you pay me loads of money. 

If you’re not rich, call me once you’ve saved a significant sum.

Examples of topics that will under no circumstances be discussed: Software/IT/anything related  to technology, Finance/Investments/Money Matters (except for the amount you owe me). For a full list, email me. 

No credit cards, no cheques - cash only. In advance. 

No refunds. 

I have the complete right of refusal with no obligation to offer a reason (body odor, lack of a sense of humor, payment in loose change are only some of the possible reasons).

Rules may be added/changed at my discretion.

So what are you waiting for? Is this not the answer to all your prayers? Call me now at 1-800-RATMAN for an evening so enticing, you will wish you could afford to have me all the time. 

Please feel free to share this post. Referrals earn a healthy 10 percent. 

A Killer Script

He was of below average stature, small-framed with long hair, an unkempt beard and introduced himself to the class as a Yoga teacher. The thing I remember about him most vividly is that he usually wore a black T-Shirt (not in this picture though) and was the only one with a Macbook Pro for taking notes, while the rest of us used old fashioned notepads. Other than that he made absolutely no impression on me - I’m not sure if we exchanged any words at all during the course of the week. Even if we did, they must have been inconsequential. 

It was an interesting mix of students. There was the young doodler with remarkable talent who I always shared a desk with and had long discussions about films. There was the writer for documentaries who I never got to know very well during class but became close friends with later. The playback singer for Tamil films who moved to New York and with whom I attended a Martin Scorsese workshop. The model-looking engineer/MBA graduate, unhappy with corporate life, happiest as a drummer. The engineering student, the home-maker, the IT professional etc.

Oh and let me not forget, the murderer. 

During the course of the next few years some of these students joined film school, began working in television, quit their corporate jobs to make independent films, joined a band, while others continued with their lives as usual. And then there was one who decided to murder his girlfriend and stuff her body into a freezer. Who would have thought that we had a future killer in our midst, learning the technicalities of script writing?

From the introduction you may have figured out that it was the Yoga teacher. An individual you would expect to associate with serenity, calmness, spiritualism turned out to be the one to strike his girlfriend with an iron rod, attempt to hack her into pieces, stuff her into a freezer and continue to live with the body in his home for 18 days along with his wife (yes there was also a wife in the same apartment!) after the deed was done. Either the guy was remarkably smart or his wife, despicably stupid. 

How does a fight between two individuals end up with one of them dead? I get the screaming, shouting, throwing stuff at each other, hitting, slapping, crying. But killing? On the anger-meter how angry does one have to get to be able to justify to himself during that split second that its okay to take a life? And then the seeming lack of remorse. The fact that he didn’t turn himself in to the authorities and hoped to go about his life as usual seems fairly mind blowing. 

‘The Following’ a television show about a cult of killers is not only squeamish and creepy, it is disturbing on so many levels. The cult seems to be made up of people you and I would meet in our daily lives. It’s a show I avoid watching last thing at night because it gives me nightmares. Such people must exist. You know what they say about truth being stranger than fiction.

And while crime shows are my favorite genre on television (not because I love to watch people die, but because I like to use my detective skills to solve the case!), I had never really thought that a nondescript man sitting at the desk in front of me would make headlines for all the wrong reasons. 

Makes you wonder, doesn’t it? The next time you’re at a conference or a party, interacting with people you’ve never met before, be aware that there may be a murderer in your midst. Hopefully it isn’t you that’s the target.

And hopefully you're also not the perpetrator.

My Place or Yours?

It annoys me a little when restaurants in Bangalore claim to have a Sunday brunch but neglect to have any breakfast items on their menu. Why not just call it a Sunday lunch if that’s what you’re serving? Where are my eggs, pancakes and french toast? Where is the ‘br’ in my ‘brunch’?

When I make plans with friends and say “let’s have a meal at My Place”, I have to then clarify that I’m not inviting them over. Instead I’m suggesting that we meet at the 24 hour restaurant at the Movenpick hotel. Which, as you may have guessed, happens to be called My Place. Eating out can be so difficult sometimes!

A couple of Sunday’s ago, it was my third visit to the above mentioned hotel. I don’t know what it is about the place but everyone working there looks uncannily happy. F&B Manager and part time vocalist, Rahul Korgaokar, claims that the staff genuinely love what they’re doing. “As part of their training they’ve been on the other side, having meals in our restaurants, staying in the rooms etc. They know they have a stake in the success of this place and every one of them wants to play their part in making sure that it happens. Starting with making your experience special.”

And special it was. My brunch joy knew no bounds when I saw the live breakfast station that would make for me eggs every way and pancakes just off the griddle. Brunches have to stretch over hours so you can do justice to all the painstakingly delicious dishes that are laid out. Whether it’s the oyster bar, the seafood salad station, sausages just off the grill or the cheese fondue, everything has to be savored.

I’m convinced that the walls at My Place have ears. I happened to mention to my friend that the fondue wasn’t as good as the one I’d had the previous time that I was there. Ten minutes later, lo and behold, Chef Pravin Bagali sent across a fresh pot of hot melted swiss cheeses at our table, just as delicious as the one I had remembered.

In the balcony were the grill stations. We ate the melt in your mouth lamb chops with a hint of fennel. Chicken, which is not my favorite meat by far, so tender and delicious that I wanted seconds. But I had to be restrained as amidst glasses of champagne and deliciously innovative cocktails, I still hadn’t checked out the ‘unch’ of the ‘brunch’.

Speaking of cocktails, we happened to be sitting close to the bar and as soon as our glasses would get near empty (a rather frequent occurrence) we’d have an orange-basil martini, or a tiramisu martini, or a pomegranate something-or-the-other martini at our table, delivered with a smile. The 3 creative bartenders were keeping tabs, making sure that we never had an empty glass, exchanging smiles, looking for a thumbs up or down (the down never happened though I lean big time towards the espresso drinks). Sukanya and I were feeling horribly pampered.

The lunch consisted of Swiss favorites like the veal zurichoise and rosti, Indian favorites such as mutton biryani and a mean meen curry amongst a variety of flavorful Asian dishes. We were spoiled for choices of delicious fare. There was also a juicy turkey that was carved and brought to our table. By now we had been there for about 3 hours, tried a large variety of foods but hadn’t been anywhere close to the vegetarian options. We thought we should save that for another day (Not!).

I’m not going to spend a lot of time on dessert. Regardless of where I’m eating, nine point nine times out of ten, I’m disappointed. The presentation was beautiful and nothing in the extensive spread tasted bad but was also not especially memorable. Although the carrot cake with a thin layer of royal icing was subtly spicy and quite nice. My suggestion to you, the customer - have an extra lamb chop. My suggestion to the pastry chef, give us some classic European/Swiss desserts. Mini chocolate eclairs with a home made custard filling would be a mouth-watering start!

I can’t end this piece without talking about the wonderful, wonderful staff. Warm, friendly, caring without being overbearing are only some of the adjectives I can think of. Several hugs were exchanged when we left.

For the price, mentioned below in detail, the Sunday brunch at My Place is a steal. But don’t go there because it’s great value for money. Go there because it’s the best. Get there for breakfast and stay on for lunch!

My Place brunch – Rs. 1950 inclusive of tax per guest, includes Sula Brut, Sula red and white wine, Fosters, Smirnoff, Jameson Irish Whiskey, Bacardi and fantastic cocktails.

Mövenpick brunch – Rs. 2450 inclusive of tax per guest, includes Piper Heidsiek champagne, Hardys wines of Australia and Three Peaks wines of Chile, Budweiser, Absolut, Chivas Regal, Havana Club rum and fantastic cocktails.

The Birthing Station

Over the recent past I’ve filled up one of my balconies with a variety of plants. Besides looking very pretty, the space began attracting some birds and an occasional butterfly. Before long a couple of pigeons scoped out an empty pot that was lying on the side and decided to start a family.

I was initially surprised to see just one egg but then a couple of days later I noticed that a second had been laid. My man-Friday, Rajesh’s presence as well as mine in the balcony aroused a lot of suspicion, but we knew we had to go through the period of building trust. A few days later, they became more comfortable with me (taking pictures) and Rajesh (cleaning). Cleaning became a twice-a-day chore thanks to their capacity of crapping all the time.

One morning, approximately two weeks after the second egg had been laid, I woke up and walked over to the balcony to check on the family, as had become my daily routine. I was delighted to see that between the previous evening and the next morning, I now had 2 appallingly ugly chicks as tenants! Little beige-brown furry creatures, being protected by their parents who became overly suspicious of my presence. Since they saw Rajesh outside on a regular basis, he didn’t seem to bother them any longer.

Over the next few days, we noticed that one of the babies was growing at a much more rapid pace than the other. We were concerned that they weren’t getting the smaller one enough food, so we started keeping some food outside, which would disappear in no time. Not being used to pigeon-tenants, I really wasn’t sure of the protocol, but I was beginning to learn. Cleaning their shit and now feeding them. Since the smaller child was clearly not getting enough due to the aggressive-ness of it’s sibling, Rajesh took the responsibility of opening it's mouth and force-feeding it!

Before long the parents began going out and doing whatever pigeons do during the day, leaving the children behind. After all they now had trustworthy baby sitters living in the same apartment. Rajesh, by now had gone to the next level and was bathing the little ones! I swear it was both hilarious and incredibly sweet at the same time.

Well, the kids grew up in a matter of time and left their childhood home to discover the world. The word about the birthing station though had spread in the pigeon community and before long we had new parents all set to start their family. Some friends inquired if they were the same parents, but this was a completely new couple. And yes I could tell them apart. After all they had lived in my apartment for several weeks. Sukanya, my friend and cooking partner, wanted to plan a baby shower for them, to which I had no comment. She was even starting to come up with the menu. Any excuse to cook. I couldn’t however, for the life of me figure out what gift she would get the parents.

The twins are now here since a couple of weeks. The parents have gotten a lot fatter and the children are growing at a much faster pace than the previous ones, thanks to catered meals by Rajesh.

Sometimes I worry that they’ll never leave because they have it so good here. Their lives will be confined to my balcony and they will miss out on so much. In which case I’ll just have to give them notice and politely ask them to leave. To find a new home, to meet other pigeons their own age, learn new skills and once they’ve met their life-partner, to then come back and have their babies at the birthing station.

In with the New

2009 was the first full year I spent not working towards making money. It’s been nineteen months since I quit my job. A job that provided me with a monthly salary, health insurance, airline miles, hotel points and the choice to live in New York. That choice of living in Manhattan, having a one-bedroom apartment with a nice address, fine dining, theater, sporting events etc. was lost the day I decided that working in the IT profession was too high a price to pay. I stayed back on for four more months until my savings depleted away to nothing.

Moving back to Bangalore was tough, to put in mildly. Way tougher than I had expected. Way, way tougher than it had been moving from Chicago in spite of having lived there much longer. I was in the biggest funk, completely unable to shake off the Big Apple from my system. In a few choice words, 2009 started for me with a whole lot of whining, complaining, bitching, moaning and groaning.

Thankfully 2009 ended for me in a very different way. The city was the same in January last year, when it had annoyed me to no end, as it was in December, when I was happy to call it 'home' again. Over the course of the year, my many journeys and the experiences I had, taught me to accept my surroundings and focus on what I had, instead of what I could’ve had. After all, no one had twisted my arm and made me quit my job! As much as I wanted to have the most decadent chocolate cake, I couldn’t possibly eat the entire thing too. Something had to give. In this case it was my ‘attitude’!

My time in the Himalayas gave me a better understanding of who I am as an individual. Not as a son, a brother or a friend. It also made me appreciate the little things, through the eyes of the children that lived close by and were pretty much the only company I had. It took three months of solitude for me to be bored with myself. Three months is a long time. I could very easily bore most people in less than a few hours. Or even during the course of reading this piece.

Summer of 2009 in New York made me realize that as much as I loved the city, I missed the proximity of family. My sister who used to live in New Jersey had moved from there and that had created a vacuum-of-sorts. In some inexplicable way, this time I felt a little disconnected. Was it the superficiality or had I really moved on? I know I will never stop loving New York (in fact I’m already planning my next visit there) but it seemed like the honeymoon was over. My next visit will tell for sure!

My ten weeks in Hong Kong reminded me of the importance of being healthy. And as long as we have our health, we must make the most of it. My cousin, who is bravely going through a rough period of illness, is an example of having the right attitude. If she can smile her way through her discomfort, what the heck do I have to bitch about?

And finally after bonding with family and friends in Delhi, Chandigarh, Chicago, Chennai and Coimbatore (city names that start with a 'C' were obviously very popular in 09!) over the course of the year, I came back to Bangalore, the city with near-perfect weather and where my year began. I’ve gone from war-zone streets by my previous apartment to torn-up sidewalks by the current one. The street widening, laying new drains and other such projects have a way of following me. Maybe I’m being put to the test except that I haven’t figured out why. I do however know that I’m not going to let it bring me down. Because this is the new me. The non-whiner, non-bitcher, non-complainer, non-moaner and non-groaner.

I have a really good feeling about 2010. There’s so much I’ve planned to do. I want to
Write a lot
Experiment with gourmet cooking
Travel to places I’ve never been to before
Stop Procrastinating
Get fitter
Laugh more
Spend quality time with family
Make new friends and keep the old ones
… more

Not to forget, somewhere along the way, figure out a way to pay for all of this. Minor details.

I doubt if I’ve had such high expectations from any year in the past. And I also know that things don’t happen on their own. So I guess it must be that I feel so ready to make a dent. I’m sure each one of you also has lots to look forward to. So let’s work towards it and make it a landmark 2010.

Happy New Year!