Tijuana, Baja California (Mexico)

Come to think of it, the process is Kafka-esque. You are working at the same job, in the same work designation doing the same kind of work. But at the magic three year mark, the US government decides you must be subjected to a scrutiny not just by someone in the immigration department, but also by someone necessarily outside the country, who then wants to go through all your information (again, since you already submitted it once and it was scrutinized and approved).

But all that was moot as I flew the length of the country to cross the border into Mexico. All so I could get a stamp on my passport to enter and leave the country as I please (till the next time this formality will be required, of course).

I’d heard a few horror stories about Tijuana, but it was as nondescript as any random small town in a developing nation. At least the parts I saw. Apart from two flashing police cavalcades at night, nothing in my time there indicated anything remotely dangerous about the place. But the restaurant I had lunch at had postcards for a number of “Gentlemen’s Club”s at the door. Let’s just say I am more used to seeing brochures for Leukemia “Team in Training” at such places.

There’s dust. Lots of it. Concrete and new construction commingles uncomfortably with rundown old buildings. There’s a statue of Lincoln in a roundabout, the largest one I’ve seen outside of the Lincoln Memorial in Washington DC. The Banamex in that square is the only bank where you can pay your visa fee. Imbibing monopoly economics lessons brilliantly, they charge $150 for a $131 visa fee.

The area outside the US Consulate is a hubbub of activity. The concept of appointments and time is long forgotten as people just jostle to get in line. Someone with a noon appointment can show up by 9 AM and be done before people who have earlier appointments.

As expected, there’s a host of small businesses that have sprung up to cater to the hundreds who walk through the halls of this in-demand institution. A dozen small shops sell “visa photos”, and provide form-filling services et al. A shanty next to the US Consulate offers to hold bags for the princely sum of $3. This is a boon since the Consulate won’t allow phones or electronics inside. But sharks lurk. Someone in line with me (whose cellphone refused to understand ‘roaming’) paid $5 per minute for an emergency call to his lawyer in the US.

No passport on me - it’s in processing at the Consulate for next-day pickup. No car as I walked across the border (it’s less time-consuming and there are less checks). What’s a bored, forced tourist to do in the birthplace of the Caesar salad?

The local mall provided for some entertainment and insight into Mexican consumption. (So many jewelry shops!). The local theater ran latest Hollywood films in English and Espanol. For me and another kindred soul in a similar soup, it came down to watching films I’d already seen or Fuerza G! in Spanish. Luckily we found Mummies: Secrets of the Pharaoh running (again in Spanish) in an IMAX theater nearby.  Feeling particularly adventurous, 35 minutes of sarcophaguses, Ramses and British archaeologists it was. In Spanish.

The next day wasn’t very different. But it was time to pick up my passport and the hour of departure was near. Resignedly, more lines and a gruff border post were negotiated. Unlike that fateful journey across the seven seas seven years ago, this time there was not as much a sense of excitement as a sense of weary relief.

Travel Aside

When you cross the US-Mexico border some 40-odd miles south of San Diego, the world changes. As you make a leap from the first world to the third something vital is different and you know it immediately. This manifests itself differently in different places. In Tijuana, it struck me forcefully at the Starbucks (two blocks from the US Consulate). My idea of Starbucks has evolved to that of a place with chatty tourists, solo wi-fi warriors, stray copies of The Stranger and monotonous iPod white earbuds. However, this place was buzzing with well-dressed PYTs hobnobbing with like-looking others, male and female. The vibe was more Paris cafe than border huckster and proved that there’s more to this place than met the eye.

Vikram Chandra’s Sacred Games

Sprawling. I think this one word fits Vikram Chandra’s Sacred Games to a T. It’s a meticulously researched  and richly textured work, taking on multiple story arcs. The main arcs weave through the city of Mumbai with tendrils in Singapore, Southeast Asia, touching upon Pune and pre-Partition Punjab in the process.

However, all that research is incidental, since good research isn’t just about facts and places. Chandra’s research leads him into the heads and hearts of the characters he describes. Ostensibly, the book is about a policeman Sartaj Singh and the gangster Ganesh Gaitonde. However, the book is much more than that. It delves into the psyches of characters, major and minor, drawing them out with breathtaking insight. The book feels “lived in”, in the sense that the author knows and understands these people well. He knows their lives, loves and everything in between. He could probably tell you their favorite colors if asked. 

For me, the sudden flashes of insight in this book came at different points. One of them was his sketch of Katekar, Sartaj’s loyal constable. A vivid description of his life in a slum in Mumbai brings him to breathing, swearing life. The use of the four letter Marathi swear word “jh*$” (the f-word) is a good example. I’ve never heard it used after leaving Pune, and seeing it used in the book was a surprise. Yes, a pleasant one. It indicates the author cared enough to find out the vernacular Katekar inhabited, and wanted to use it for effect.

Another personal favorite was when Sartaj asks Kamble “Are you Buddhist?”, bringing years of caste history into sharp relief in a single, careless sentence. (Dalits converted to Buddhism to escape discrimination, following the lead of respected leader Babasaheb Ambedkar). Kamble launches into a diatribe about why he’s not one. It’s a cauldron, bubbling away below the suave womanizing exterior of the whip-smart fast-rising officer.

A good way to look at this book is not as a cinematic arc( though it does have a great film in it). It’s a great mini-series on the city of Mumbai. A set of characters who inhabit that metropolis, their lives, their stories, their loves and betrayals. The tangents bring breathing life to incidental characters and provide insight to a teeming world lurking just out of sight.

The flip side is that all that detail makes it overlong. I guess it depends on what you expect from it.

To use another analogy, if you can get off the straight Mumbai-Pune Expressway and use the old highway to do that journey for the millionth time, there are unexpected riches for the taking.

 

The world is not respectable; it is mortal, tormented, confused, deluded forever; but it is shot through with beauty, with love, with glints of courage and laughter; and in these, the spirit blooms.

-George Santayana

I’ve had ( and have ) a number of friends who have a tendency to whine.

In my experience, these whiners fall into two categories: “Life sucks.” (the Seinfeld argument: “Everything sucks!”) or “Why does this happen to me?!” (the Narcissus argument).

I generally used to fall into the second lot while I was younger. There’s a reason the phrase “angst-ridden teenager” exists. I probably lived that phase well into my twenties.

But things have changed since then. Maybe as you grow older, you do get less stupid. Maybe you grow up enough to stop sweating the details and seeing the downside of everything.

As RK used to advise me ( I translate from Hindi and paraphrase) “We’re made for bigger quests in life. Stop worrying about these small things." I never really made it to the big leagues, but not worrying about small things seems to work.

In movies, they show someone who’s going to die in a week or two. Then s/he sees the light, picks up the pieces of a wasted life and starts living life again. But is that really necessary? Can’t one stop worrying about life and actually start living it without lymphosircoma of the intestine leaving your life in the balance?

I’d like to hope so. Check back here to see if the experiment’s working.

Trying to put your arms around the world

On US-2, on the way to Lake Chelan.

This photo reminded me of Eddie Vedder’s brilliant cover of “Hard Sun”

A world full of possibilities. A big hard sun, and an even bigger sky. I wonder what Montana, Big Sky Country must be like.

Seen around Seattle

An open mind and a keen eye yields interesting observations:

- Graffiti on the embankment of the canal below the Montlake Bridge - “God of War” “May your hammer be mighty!” Que?

- Outside the Montlake Bike shop, a guy was loading a bike onto the bike rack on the back of his car. A common enough sight, except the car in question was a Porsche Boxster.

- Ever notice how, in this most germophobic of nations, people think nothing of smoking from the same joint? I’m simply aghast. Do weed smokers carry a bottle of mouthwash around to wash their mouth after sharing  a joint? Maybe dealers should sell a combo pack. I remember a smoker friend in India mentioning that 1 cigarette + 1 Menthol was a standard combo you got at paan shops.

- Bike rack in my apartment building parking lot: What’s a stroller doing there? Saw this not once, but twice. Does a couple actually ‘park’ the stroller there and carry the baby upstairs?

- Next to recycle bin for my apartment building: A pair of crutches. I’m sure a hospital or a Goodwill would have found some use for these. What a waste.

- Queen Sheeba in Capitol Hill. Ethiopian Restaurant. On a saturday night, four tables are occupied. All by Indians. Wow.

Top That

The Doctor Who revival 4 years back began promisingly enough. A joie de vivre marked the proceedings, and Christopher Eccleston made a fine Doctor. Everything about him was fun. He was rough around the edges without being too annoying. He was dashing in his own way in his leather jacket. And he had a great way of saying "fantastic!" that endeared him in my heart forever.

The show was something else. The revival worked wonders for the franchise because it was really well-written - first by Russell T. Davies and then a bevy of writers coming in to do individual stories. The acting was good - Eccleston was great,and Billie Piper as the Doctor's companion was quite competent. And, this is the clincher: Doctor Who has the capacity to regenerate, which gives the show flexibility in terms of changing out the actors.

After the first season, for whatever reason, they decided to do that, replacing Eccleston with David Tennant.

I was aghast. It seemed like change just for the sake of change, or for a contract dispute or for no good reason whatsoever. Eccleston was good! Why bother changing him?

However, I was proven wrong. David Tennant's acting is so sublime that it elevated the series to a completely different level altogether. His face and his whole body covey glee when things are at their most chaotic. And when things get serious, his mood and that of the whole episode changes on a dime. He is fierce and fearsome, and you don't want to be on the receiving end of that wrath. Sartorially, he defines new creative heights - canvas shoes (Chucks, no less) with a full suit and waistcoat. 

Again now, changes are afoot. There’s a new Doctor in the wings who’ll be unveiled at the end of this year. He’s younger, definitely not ginger and looks a bit too boyish to me.

Is he going to look credible staring down the Daleks and stopping whole armies of marauding aliens in their tracks? Will he continue the trend of rising stakes – better acting, better sartorial style and yes, more fun? I sure hope so.

Eye exam

The letters were big. They grew smaller, until his eyes were begging for mercy.

Then the lenses come on. "Does 1 look better than 2?" Change lens. "Now?". Change lens again. "Now?" "2 or 3?" .

Enough already. How bad was it? Couldn't they just give him the verdict so he'd be on his way?

That's it. His eyes were shot.  All those days of feeling too tired after work must have been because of this. Anyway, he was almost hitting the big 3-0. Time to add some geekiness to the visage?

As he sat there, he idly wondered what kind of frames he'd go for. Did he want thin wire frames, or even rimless glasses? A couple of his friends wore these and they didn't look half-bad. Or maybe he could try the really big, thick-framed glasses - the ones with horn rims like Ira Glass or that guy from Death Cab from Cutie. He wondered about the pain and overhead of wearing glasses - he was pretty lousy even with his sunglasses, forgetting them at various places only to scramble back to pick them up. Maybe contacts was a better way to go? But the idea of inserting plastic into his eyes made him shudder.

This time the doctor came in. The tests (which were first conducted by the assistant) continued. The letters went from readable to barely legible. 2 bled into Z and D into O into 0. It was a game of "fit the right lens", and he was losing. Badly.

"1". "No, 2 is clearer." "Can we try that again? I'm not quite sure." "I can't make out a single letter."

"Try. Give it your best shot."

*sigh* "..." <insert wild guess here>

"Very good."

?! Hm.

The exam comes to an end.

Doc: "It's like your eyes are refusing the glasses. Your eyesight is fine. You even managed to read some of the letters from the 20/15 test!"

All that speculation for nothing. He was slightly relieved - a drastic change to look and lifestyle averted.  

Dead books, tall tales

Buying used books has its own appeal. This generally lies in prowling through musty aisles and rifling through stacks of used books, usually in a nondescript shop in one of the quirkier neighborhoods of Seattle - Fremont, the University area or Capitol Hill. In Seattle, this usually also involves stepping over a cat or two.

The books themselves have their own stories to tell. I prefer "clean" books with no obvious signs of previous ownership, but the occasional random book with blemishes slips through. These can get interesting though.

My copy of The Money Game by Adam Smith has this on the inside title page:

XMas 1994

_____ & _______:

This year's investment classic from your parents (in-law). Read and prosper.

____ & _______

Wise words indeed - "Read and prosper".

When I bought The Buddha of Suburbia by Hanif Qureishi, I paid little attention to the fact that it was published by Penguin Italia. "Maybe it's an import". However, when I started reading it, out popped a receipt. 

Gelateria Brivido

Via Dei Pellegrini 1-3

Siena

It's a bill for 2500 Liras (that's 1.29 Euros as the receipt helpfully says). It's dated the 14th of September 2000 - that's 14-09-00 for you dd/ mm/ yy'ers. The web tells me that the Lira ceased being legal tender in 2002, replaced completely by the Euro.

It makes me think. What was I doing on the 14th of September 2000? It was a Thursday, meaning I was probably in college in India attending some kind of class or another.

This book's provenance just went from humdrum Barnes & Noble / Amazon to something altogether exotic. How did it end up in a used book store in Seattle? Was it an Italian student who bought it there, eventually ending up  in Seattle and selling the book while leaving? Or more likely, someone from Seattle on a summer trip to Europe? I can see him or her in Europe, taking in the sights of an altogether beautiful and alien continent, reading about an alien adjusting to a new and exciting world.

Dead books tell tall tales.

Encounter

It was the regular morning commute. He took a seat he generally didn't prefer - the first seat in the rear of the articulated bus next to the "bellows". It was invariably noisy there, distracting him from his music and reading.

She got on at the next stop. Cute. Black curly hair. She was wearing those glasses Tina Fey made famously cool on 30 Rock. Come to think of it, she looked a bit like Tina Fey. She sat on a cross seat on the opposite side from his. As the bus lurched its way onto the highway, she got up and sat next to him. She smelled of fresh citrus.

It was as if his brain had just shifted from cruise control to interstellar overdrive. "Is my hair OK?" "Does my breath smell?" "I think I forgot to put on deodorant in the morning." "What book is she reading?" "I think I should talk to her."

In a minute she noticed someone in the front of the bus she knew. Waves were exchanged. Space was found next to this friend. Next thing he knew, she was gone.

This piece was inspired by This American Life's episode 20 acts in 60 minutes. I was trying to write a piece that could be narrated on air, Ira Glass-style within two minutes. This piece is shorter, but, hey, the girl did leave kinda soon.

A R Rahman's Slumdog Millionaire OST

This isn't a review. Just a few quick observations on A R Rahman's musical technique.

When I started watching Slumdog Millionaire, I was trying to guess whether the soundtrack and background music was by A R Rahman. I didn't know because I saw the film without reading or following too much about it. I wanted to watch it with no preconceived notions. The opening chase song O...Saya had a characteristic Rahman feel - expansive sound, ARR-sounding vocals and a train beat to go with the train visual. But M.I.A's arrival on vocals threw me off the scent.

Then I got so caught up in the film that I stopped thinking about it. A compliment for good film technique (and background music ) is that it doesn't draw attention to itself outside the context of the film while you're watching. The music fits the film perfectly.

During the song-and-dance end credits though, there was a point when Sukhvinder starts singing the chorus Jai Ho. He starts by himself with a backing layer of keyboards. Sometime into the second refrain, an additional layer of music kicks in, making for a goosebump moment.

At that point (maybe a minute before Rahman's name pops up in the credits), I had my answer. No one quite layers sound for effect like he does. He draws you out slowly, adding layer on layer, preparing you for a final assault and a pitch-perfect crescendo.

Another interesting  technique that I noticed is the use of voice as sound. While his liking for fresh playback voices is well-known, what is probably not appreciated is how those voices add to the 'sound' and feel of a song. An example that immediately comes to mind is the female playback singing in Pappu Can't Dance! and the use of Vasundhara Das for barely two lines in Kahin To*. The use of Mahalaxmi Iyer( or is it Tanvi Shah?) on vocals in Jai Ho does that perfectly. Complimenting Sukhvinder's earthy voice and the Spanish-sounding chorus, that voice breaks through and registers on a different level. I'd have expected Alka Yagnik or someone similar to sing that exuberant love song but he surprises us, defying our musical expectations to come through with something bordering on the sublime.

*Vishal-Shekhar's use of Preeti and Pinky in Bluffmaster for Say Na Say Na qualifies too

Observations on a desi indie splurge

This is a great time to be a Hindi film-watcher, especially if you like the offbeat. Not since the 'New Wave' filmmakers of the '80s have we had such a surge of filmmakers daring to make films off the beaten path.

This trend is of course different from then. The presence of NFDC to fund these films and no real commercial considerations resulted in a lot of 'important' films of uneven cinematic quality and limited mass appeal. However, it also saw the emergence of a lot of great filmmakers and actors.

However, the rise of "multiplex cinema" has resulted in a rise of a lot of brave filmmakers who are trying different things - spanning small dramas (Ahista Ahista, Dasvidaniya) and eccentric comedies (Bheja Fry) all the way to noir (Johnny Gaddaar, Manorama - Six feet Under) to the  weird (Mithya) and plain bizarre (No Smoking and the upcoming Dev. D).

Importantly, these filmmakers are doing it in a self-sustaining way. They seem to be making enough money or generating enough interest from producers to get second and third films off the ground. The output of such films is only increasing. These films don't necessarily tackle weighty subjects but are accessible and surprisingly willing to subvert Bollywood tradition with no stars and limited to no songs.

At the center of this vortex appear a set of usual suspects. The first is a group of people I call the Rajat Kapoor clique. Somehow Mahesh Uncle from Dil Chahta Hai seems to be at the epicenter of a lot of unusual indie film activity - either as a producer, or as a director or in some supporting acting role. In leading and supporting roles around him are Ranvir Shorey, Vinay Pathak, Saurabh Shukla and (surprise!) Neha Dhupia. For instance, Rajat Kapoor directed Mithya, while he makes an appearance in the Vinay Pathak-produced Dasvidaniya. Vinay and Ranvir show up and deliver solid performances in anything and everything involving the other two. Neha Dhupia turns up as the mandatory female interest in both Mithya and Dasvidaniya. Saurabh Shukla acts in supporting roles and is often involved with the script.

Another leading character is Abhay Deol. If I've rooted for some Indian film actor over the past couple of years, it has to be this guy. I remember picking up Socha Na Tha for a weekend watch on a whim and being completely impressed with the film. He's subsequently proven so fearless and sharp in his film choices that I wonder if he's really from the same family as Bobby Deol. Ahista Ahista, Ek Chalis ki Last Local, and Manorama were all films that had their high points. His acting is competent without being spectacular - but he can definitely carry a film. However (I'd like to believe that) his name attached to a film gives it cachet at least among a certain section of the audience.

As for writers and directors, we're in a bit of a glut aren't we? Dibaker Banerjee (Khosla ka Ghosla, Oye Lucky Lucky Oye), Anurag Kashyap (he of the many banned films fame),  Sriram Raghavan (Ek Hasina Thi, Johnny Gaddaar) and slightly more mainstream directors like Shimit Amin (Ab Tak Chhappan, Chak De...India) and Vishal Bharadwaj. And I missed out half a dozen more notable names.Whew.

I remember a time in the '90s when there were maybe two-three Hindi films worth watching in a whole year. A sore point with interesting non-mainstream films was access. I remember being so excited when they showed Santosh Sivan's Halo on DD on a saturday afternoon. 

With multiplexes and easier access to DVDs, yes, being a desi film fan is so much better these days.

* This is from a very unscientific set of observations - I saw Mithya, Ek Chalis ki Last Local and Dasvidaniya all on DVD over the course of a week.

Rabbi Shergill's Avengi Ja Nahin

After three albums, I've concluded that Rabbi Shergill is the best pop singer in India at the moment. He is the complete package: singer, songwriter and musician extraordinaire who weaves catchy melodies with solid songwriting to make top-notch music. On top, he's articulate, urbane and quite funny.*

Frankly, Rabbi's debut album was slightly underwhelming for me personally. Bulla Ki Jana was very good as was Tere Bin, but the rest of the album seemed good without being great. The fact that I don't understand Punjabi may be part of the problem. The videos for Bulla and Tere Bin with English subtitling helped a lot with understanding the songs and I enjoyed Ajj Nachna and Gill 'te Guitar.

The soundtrack to Delhii Heights was better. I haven't seen the film, but all the songs on the album were quite good. Dilli, the raw folksy energy of Aaja Nachie, the irony built into Kabhi Aana Na and even the initially grating Ey Gori all grew on me.

Avengi Ja Nahin tops both these though. The album is a cracker with Rabbi making a marked departure in themes - focusing even more on personal travails, unrequited love and more earthly problems, moving focus away from the Sufi invocations of Bulla and the meta/physical yearnings of Tere Bin. Also discernible was a change in tone. While Rabbi is quite varied in and of itself, somehow AJN seems more upbeat. Songs like Karachi Valiye, Maen Boliyan and Avengi Ja Nahin all point to a style that's sad but not morose.

There's something about certain albums or artists. You feel that they're 'speaking' to you - not just through their songwriting, but through their style of music and musical choices. I felt that very strongly with AJN, in a way that I've not felt with an Indian pop album in a while - which explains the gushing praise.

The songs are varied - be it yearning for a love lost in arena-rock ballad Karachi Valiye, talking about playing hard-to-get in the ditties Maen Boliyan and Avengi Ja Nahin or about female infanticide in the pensive Ballo. There's an English track Return to Unity which was the weakest lyrically but is remarkable for its sheer energy. The quieter songs, including a paean to Bandra, Tu Avin Bandra and Ballo are quite well done too. Especially Bandra, where he sings:

                                                                     Translation

Je tun labhda eyn koi ik apna                       If you’re looking for some
Tuttia-futtia hoia supna                                Ragged ol’ dream
Sutt ‘ta jihnu tu kadey                                  That you’d long discarded
Lagda hai ik chor-bazaar ithey                     There’s a flea market here
Har sham samundar de kandey ‘te               Every evening by the seashore
Farhin koi auto ‘te kahin                               Get into an auto and say
“Bhay! Carter Road” jan “Bandstand”           “Brother! Carter Road” or “Bandstand”
Sab labh ju ethey                                         You’ll find it all here
Pehlan das dan vira                                      Let me warn you though
Ethon de bha ne tikhe                                  The prices here are a bit steep

He also sings in Hindi on Bilqis - Jinhe Naaz Hai, an incendiary track about contemporary India's conscience. It's a track in the best tradition of Dylan and Springsteen, audaciously channeling the Indian national anthem in its guitar chords. All in all, rocking in the true sense of the word.

An incident to end this fawning fan tribute. I was traveling with family in India on vacation. The AJN CD was playing in my brother's car, and Bilqis was playing. I was riding shotgun with him. Halfway through the first antara (the one about Satyendra Dubey) we went silent and the silence lasted till the end of the song as we are hit by the sheer force of his words. A couple of seconds after the song ends, my brother says "He's really good." And I'm thinking, "Hell yeah!".

* I saw him on MTV India while on vacation a few months back. He did a censored Punjabi version of Jimi Hendrix's Hey Joe that cracked me up completely.

**The official album site for Avengi Ja Nahin - http://ajn.co.in has lyrics and translations for each song and some streaming audio. The CD is a worthwhile buy for the inlay - again with lyrics and translations, plus information about each song, where it was recorded etc.

Shameless plug

For the past year or so, I've been DJing (in Indian parlance, RJing?) at a radio station (KBCS, on air at 91.3 FM here, streaming online at www.kbcs.fm ) run out of Bellevue. It's a program called "The Spice Route" which plays music from South Asia - ?ollywood (? == B, T, M), Indian classical songs, music from Pakistan, Sri Lanka and other countries in South Asia.

Now the station supports streaming archives which you can search here:

http://kbcsweb.bellevuecollege.edu/playlist/searchplaylists.aspx

You can search for me by name or search for "The Spice Route". Playslists are always available. Audio is archived for 15 days after the program is over. The station can't archive more because of USA DMCA regulations.

This means that after my next show on the 24th you'll be able to listen to it till the 8th or 9th of December. I generally DJ on the 3rd Wednesday of every month, and it's been a fun experience for sure. If you're in the Seattle area and are interested in DJing, drop me a line. It's a volunteer thing. You won't get paid, but I guarantee you'll enjoy it.

FAQ:

Yes, I take requests.

No, I don't let you go on air when you call in. With the FCC being what it is, we can't risk you using a swear word on air.

Yes, listening to yourself can be weird at times.

Stick to the basics

I'm not big on writing about stuff I'm not an expert on, but that's not stopped me in the past.

This time it's the bank and credit meltdown. I was observing the rise and rise of real estate for the better part of two years and one thing struck me last year: this isn't making sense. I'm not talking about the subprime loans, credit default swaps or collateralized debt obligations et al. The basic business itself wasn't making sense. How can a sensible businessman even assume that real estate prices will keep going up forever? Were incomes going up at the rate real estate was? How long before people could simply not afford to buy homes anymore? In the Seattle area, it'd reached the point where buying an affordable single-family unit close to Microsoft was well nigh impossible for a single-income family. You had to move farther away or move into a smaller place. How many banks realized this and yet did nothing to reduce risk or exposure to mortgages?

This American Life had an illuminating episode on this. Link here. They say that the system made it such that no one had any incentive to be realistic about the kind of risks they were taking. Risk kept getting transferring from the lending institutions to banks, then to investment banks and so on till you had no idea where your debts were really owed. Then of course, everything went haywire.

However, I still wonder about banks and the people who run them. Didn't they at some point wonder - "This person didn't put down a single cent of his own money to borrow half a million from the bank. Is s/he ever going to be in a position to return all of this? What if some of these people are unable to repay?"

There's a saying in Kannada my mother loves to quote about money (which may partly explain why I'm hard-nosed about it). The saying means that you should stretch your feet only as much as your bed allows you to. Sleeping with your feet hanging off the bed leads to much grief, including $700 billion bailouts.

Bhat...seriously?

I've heard from more than one source that I sound a lot more serious in print than in person. When I write on my blog, write email and so on, I tend to come across as being quite serious. There have been rumblings from some quarters that I sound like a preppy upstart. DQ remarked on my seriousness once, and I've had other friends say the same.

The musings on this blog tend to be introspective, well-thought-out and so on. I can punctuate my writings with :), LOLs and :p, but what the heck, my blog was meant to challenge my writing style and not my texting vocabulary (which is fine, thx! ). If trying to be articulate and very precise with my vocabulary in speech and in writing is a crime, guilty as charged.

However, all this seriousness isn't because I don't have a sense of humor. It's just that my sense of humor is not very bloggable. I find humor in stuff I talk about, observe (especially personality traits, attitudes etc) and not in things I write about. It's also that I'm never satisfied with the attempts at 'humor' I make and they never end up on my blog for the same reason. Being a medicore humor-attempter is fodder for a Seinfeld 2.0 episode.

Elaine: "He writes lame jokes on his blog."

Seinfeld: "He's a pseudo-humorist!"

Elaine:"OMG, I just met a pseudo-humorist! Is it infectious?!"

This leads to a weird dichotomy: a somber persona online combined with a dry, sardonic tongue-in-cheek flesh-and-blood personality. The twain do meet, in the form of this person, who long ago learned that caring too deeply about what people think about you tends to over-analysis of your own behavior, which is never fun. As coeus would say "Doosron ke bare mein soch ke kiska bhala hua hai."

*The title of this post is pure genius, which is not me. Hat-tip to elder Bhratashree. It's also to avoid actually saying "Why so serious?!" - the dialog cliche of the year.

Tale of a day set right

Prelude

7:30 AM - To self: "Wake up. You've got lots of work to do today."

7:50 AM - "OK this is it. Enough is enough. At this rate I'll be really late to work."

8:00 AM - Finally wake up to a miserable day out.

8:20 AM - I'm getting ready. Maybe I can get out of here by 8:40.

8:40 AM - Ha! I'm still wolfing down breakfast.

8:50 AM - The 16 is here. Why the 16? The 5 would've saved me a few minutes getting to downtown. But I'll take what I get.

9:45 AM - I'm walking to office from the Transit Center. "Alright! Will be in office before 10 - only half an hour later than planned. Work to be done."

Act I

10 AM - As I'm prepping a couple of machines for testing, I'm furiously multitasking, catching up with the market and bailout news...wait, what's that? Neil Gaiman's reading from his new book in Seattle tonight.

OMG OMG OMG, Neil Gaiman's in town. Wait, he has a new book out and I didn't know?!

I *have* to go for this! Chance of a lifetime! It's Neil Gaiman!

It's at 7 in U. District in Seattle, so I need to get out of work by 5:45. If I really rush my way through work, have a quick lunch, maybe I can get done here sooner.

1:30 PM - Things looking OK and on track.

Act II

2:30 PM - Why TF is that happening? An AV, of all things? Why today? Why now?

4:30 PM - NJ and I are no closer to figuring out what the problem is. NJ goes and tries something to fix a separate unrelated bug, re-builds and voila! The problem is gone. I'll still have to chase it down later, but the crisis is averted for now.

5:45 PM - I'm still not done here. Neil Gaiman's not happening. *sigh*

6:20 PM - Overlake Transit Center. I'm waiting for the 545. Me to self: "If I make it to the Montlake stop by 6:50, I'll take it as an Omen. I'll go then. Otherwise I'll go all the way to downtown and take the 5 home."

6:30 PM - The bus is whizzing through insane Friday-evening traffic. Hurray for the carpool lane! At this rate, I'll make it to Montlake by 6:50!

Act III

6:50 PM - Montlake ramp sidewalk - Two buses whizz by as I'm walking up to the Montlake Ave stop. Bummer. I'm going to have to walk 8-10 blocks which will take a minimum of 20 minutes.

6:52 PM - Montlake Ave stop - the 48 pulls up just as I reach it. That'll save me 10 minutes.

6:58 PM - A girl is asking the driver where the University Bookstore and church are. I ask her "Are you going to the Neil Gaiman reading? Do you know exactly where it is?." "Yes. My friend told me it's in the church across the street from the bookstore."

7:00 PM - We( The Girl From The Bus & I ) are rushing down 15th Ave NE and then across on 42nd street. We're late!

7:05 PM - I've paid up for the book. It's either that or a $5 fee. The clerk tells me that the book is autographed. Yay! Also, because of a number of buses running late, the reading's not started yet. Double yay!

7:10 PM - We make our way in: a Safeway grocery clerk from Ballard and a software 'serf from India, talking about the awesomeness of Neil Gaiman's writing and how crazy it was to make it here in time with the insufficient notice. (She learnt of it 20 minutes back just as she got off duty)

7:15 PM - Gaiman's finally on stage! He looks much shorter in real person, but as impish (and as good-looking) as in his photographs. Shorter hair than his recent pictures I've seen elsewhere.

He reads a full 40-page chapter from his latest, The Graveyard Book. It's good. The chapter is also curiously self-sufficient. I later realize it's a short story by itself in M is for Magic.

8:30 PM - Post-reading, there's a short break and we're back to a sneak preview of Coraline, based on a comic book by him.

9:00 PM - Q & A. He's really funny in real life too. That droll British sense of humor shines through. To top it, he reads from a new poem book Blueberry Girl. It's absolutely beautiful. As he ends, he gets a standing ovation from the 850-odd people in the audience.

Epilogue

9:40 PM - I'm out on the street, waiting for the 44 to take me home. There's a smile on my face and a song on my lips as a dull, regular "wait-for-the-weekend" Friday was transformed. And I have an autographed Neil Gaiman book to show for it.

Rock On!!

AG once remarked how Shankar-Ehsaan-Loy were very clever with the hooks in their songs. A prime example offered up then was the brass band trumpet refrain in Tainu le ke from Salaam-e-Ishq.

Rock On!! adds to that oeuvre with the blistering lead guitar solo for the title song. An ear-worm of a piece, it's made me listen to that song at least 30 times in the past week alone.

The soundtrack is an absolute winner. In a Bollywood where song sequences increasingly mean exotic locales, dozens of dancers and pointless breaks in narrative, Rock On!! succeeds because it performs (quite well) the duties of soundtrack music - drive narrative, evoke emotions and tell stories.

Javed Akhtar is pure genius as he manages to write quirky, sometimes idealistic but mostly pointless rock music lyrics (most of the film band Magik's songs), a really bad metal band song (Zehreelay), a sappy teenage ballad (Tum Ho Toh) and lovely, dreamy soundscapes (Phir Dekhiye and Yeh Tumhari Meri Baatein). S-E-L are in top form as composers, with the sound of a rock band emerging clearly. It's standard stuff: guitar intro, lyrics, simple chorus, long lead guitar solo, rinse, repeat. But that's what most new bands are about and it's quite nicely done.

Farhan Akhtar does a good job as a singer. I mean, he isn't expected to be Mohammed Rafi, and his singing is good enough for a college rock band. 

Of course, what makes it all work is the film. The soundtrack isn't much without the film, and vice-versa. Writer-Director Abhishek Kapoor manages to build a whole world around the characters, all of whom live their roles with attendant instrument-playing. I won't bet my life on it, but what appears on screen seems to be in sync with what the band is playing. Maybe the long guitar solos are made-up, but the vocals, harmonies and the drumming was definitely spot-on. The lack of a bass player is explained away in a sentence ( Luke Kenny's character programs bass on the keyboard) and I'll give them the benefit of the doubt since they got most of everything else right.

While the film isn't a classic by any standards, it's low-key and honest, a rarity in Bollywood. And it still has humor, warmth and a style all its own.

Watch Out For: A rock Dandia version of Saanson ki Zaroorat Hai Kaise from Aashiqui - for me, one of the funnier moments of the film.

And now I'm off to listen to Rock On!! the song again...

Dream On

Aankhon Mein Jis Ke Koi To Khwab Hai
Khush Hai Wohi Jo Thoda Betaab Hai
Zindagi Mein Koi Arzoo Kijiye
Phir Dekhiye ...

- Phir Dekhiye - Rock On!!

Dreamy, catchy, lovely.

*Lyrics from here: http://www.thelyrix.net/lyrics/Rock_On-Phir_Dekhiye.html with a minor edit

Ye Re Ye Re Pausa

Here comes the rain, falls on my face again - BT, Circles

Let the rain fall down and wash away my tears - Celine Dion, A New Day Has Come

Dhagala laagli kaLa, paNi themb themb gaLa... Dada Kondke, Dhagala lagli kaLa

I like rain. If you live in Seattle I guess you have to. It's a coping mechanism.

For me it isn't that. Growing up in Western Maharashtra means rains come with the pleasant association of engineering vacations, the idyllic first few weeks of a semester, lush greenery and so on.

My grouse is with the pitter-patter that is Seattle rain. Unlike what BT or Celine Dion or Dada Kondke go on about, rain here doesn't pour down. The Dhags have no kaLa moments and paNi themb thembach gaLta. The clouds are just making up attendance.

Rain here kind of slides its way down apologetically, saying "Gee, I won't interrupt your life like those thunderstorms in the south or those snowstorms in the Midwest. But mind if I just kind of scoot in and make myself comfortable? Under your skin, that is."

This kind of rain drives people from more tropical climes up the wall. I'm thinking, "Can't it rain already?"

Maybe a couple of times a year these complaints are addressed. As it poured today, I looked up and let it fall on my face. There were no tears to wash away or fears to drown, but it did fill my soul.

AID Seattle quiz

AID Seattle is organizing Chakraview, a quiz on India on the occasion of India's Independence Day. The quiz is being set by Mihir Dharamshi and Arvind Sethuraman, two regulars at the Microsoft Redmond Quiz Club. The quiz, in fact was 'outsourced' by AID to the quiz club and these two people signed up.

More details are at Parth's blog and on the AID site . I've been at quizzes set by Mihir and Arvind before, so I can assure great quizzing and much fun.

Teams of two, registration is FREE, yada yada.

What: Chakraview, India quiz

Where: Microsoft Building 99, 14820 NE 36th Street, Redmond, WA  98052.

When: August 23rd, 2008, 2PM

Random info on last year's India quiz here.

Event on Facebook: http://www.facebook.com/event.php?eid=33437585890