London in 2014

With Vishal closer to King's cross

I am literally living this quote: ‘Travel while you are young and able. Don’t worry about the money. Just make it work. Experience is far more valuable than money ever will be’.

Fortunately, I have a rich mom who is willing to loan me some in my times of luxurious needs and for that I shall always be grateful. I am grateful to her about a lot of other things such as cooking me meals even to this day, ensuring my laundry is done et all. You can never repay this debt, unless in some cosmic circle of life and death they return as your kids. So, may be God ensures what you enjoy today, will be paid back in kind by you to the people who gave it to you, in a future life.

Last year, I decided I am going travel on every birthday of mine. This year, I am in London and disputing whether I should restrict the plan to five years because if I decide to have kid(s) then travel each year won’t always be possible. I am beginning to believe that in order to experience a selfless being, one should have kids.

Vishal, a good friend of mine, moved to London in 2010 and I decided to see him in a place he now calls home. He sent me some of his pay stubs and account statements as part of the visa ritual and I was like, “Holy Fuck!”. I am really proud of what he has achieved for himself. God bless him with all his ambitions and particularly the one where he becomes a Londoner soon so that I can visit him as often I would like to ;-).

At Green park on Sep 22, 2014

As for London, yesterday I had a revelation while walking through Green Park: London has to be one of the most romantic cities in the world. I fell in love with the city the moment I landed. I traveled for 9.5 hours with Virgin, which is definitely a wow experience, but it felt like I had taken a two hour flight to Bangalore. London didn’t feel foreign, probably because a couple of immigration officers were Indian, but I like to think there is more to it.

Given my fascination with numbers, I noticed that my flight sequence number was 29 (adds to 2 which is my life path number) and I chose 60H as my seat (adds to 5 which is my life expression number). There have been too many numbers adding to 2, 5 and another 13 that all have been linked with my life in someway as far as the entire boarding the plane journey is concerned.

Adios for now. Today, I am planning to do the Piccadilly circus, Covent garden and some impromptu decisions. London is treating me NICE. Touch wood!

The charade of nudity

So, apparently, the Facebook world has come alive over leaked photos of Jennifer Lawrence and articles have condemned the hacker's view of "women who have nude photos are sluts and whores". Rightly so. But, I wonder, if they realize they have glorified his point of view to the world even through denunciation. Who on earth would care two hoots about a hacker's POV on who sluts and whores are? Male chauvinists?

I haven't seen the pictures as yet. May be someday I will google and have an opinion such as 'okay' or 'nice' or 'absolutely delish'. Of the little bit Jennifer Lawrence that I have seen, she is absolutely ravishing and appears brilliant.

I say, as far as the human race goes, men women alike, sexual fantasy is going to excite us. Not just with celebrities but with regular people who cross our paths and invoke chemicals in our body. We also have a word, apodyopsis, the act of mentally undressing someone, to articulate that innate beginning of lust. Why otherwise would Pamela Anderson's leaked sex tapes make headlines? Some of us may have well passed that phase and some of us never will.

I support that Jennifer's private matters shouldn't be leaked online and she or any other woman is entitled to click as many nude photos of themselves as they like, even strut around naked on the streets, as long as it doesn't offend larger public sensibilities on those streets or is illegal. Also, I am with her in solidarity because it can be a traumatic experience (as revealed through Anna Scott's character in Notting Hill).

However, the first thing that bothers me of this episode is the hypocrisy. During the FIFA 2014 worldcup, nude photos of the Croatian team appeared online. Some media photographers put them there. Are we saying that the hacker and these media photographers have similar sensibilities and while we are striving for an equal world, why is the treatment of leaking out female nudity to male treated differently?

I realize that women, even today, are perceived as objects of desire but we have seen movies like disclosure where a woman can play the 'victim' to her advantage. In real life, I have met a few Indian husbands, whose wives fucked them as part of divorce settlements and also alleged that the father abused his own child to win full child custody. That is the world we will come to live in if we don't look at facts and simply favor somebody on basis of gender.

In response to all this marketing fluff that has appeared on the Facebook world, which I am not sure if is aimed to liberate the women species, I simply point out that we have actresses who have played the nudity card as a symbol of liberty and freedom: the lethal Catherine Tramell of Basic Instinct who sensationalized the screen in her skin and Gia who trotted like a naked child outside an elevator compelling her lover to stay back. Both did so in such candor, caring two hoots of worldly perception, giving some men, some women and a certain gender identities the definitive meaning of "You are somebody's reason to masturbate".

Now, after I have given two hoots to this entire charade of nudity, I am going to delve over more important things such as my Saturday and what to do with it.

p.s. I hear Jolie got married with a veil that had illustrations of her kids' drawings. That woman is PERFECT.

Perfect moment #1

Today, I felt that perfect moment of heaven on earth within the human paradigm. Until yesterday my life was stagnant, seriously! I have been in a role for four years with no promotion and there have been no signs of movement in other roles backed by that promotion opportunity. I have zero bank balance, literally. All the money I make, goes. Somewhere. Very often, I say to myself, "I need a break," from the plateau position.

This morning, I received an email from a friend where Canadian migration will open up on May 1 and my profession will be listed among the "skilled workers" they are seeking. My IELTS results are valid until May 26 which is brilliant. When I left US in 2001 after a short stint of one year, I remember telling myself, "I will come back with something I love to do." Could this actually be coming true?

I finish 5 years in IBM on May 14, which is fantastic. One of my friend's friend, SS, is going to check up on what happened at Penguin where he has submitted my synopsis and excerpts for their green light to publish. I really hope I don't have to seek other publishers; Penguin would simply take my manuscript and publish my work of heart in December 2014. By the time the book is out and marketed next year, can I see my application for immigration being approved and moving to Canada in May of next year?

Could the universe build in all these brilliant pieces one after the other seamlessly, I wondered! 

In that contemplation I found my perfect moment of heaven on earth: the feasibility of these aspirations fall in line that I want to say Tathastu to.

'Reverse engineering' of nurture

A piece of coincidence can become one's momentary realization of empathy. The adjacent picture from Humans of New York blog was one such for me. My aai (grand mum) takes a lot of pills, probably a dozen a day. She has everything under the sun: asthma, diabetes... okay probably not all. The thing is, the adjacent picture made me feel good about the fact that aai isn't alone and there are others like her who need pills to survive.

As a 20-something grandson I had no idea but as a 30-something grandson I have become more aware. It  started two years ago when she experienced some shivers and I started getting used to some medical terminologies such as s. creatinine. Turns out, it is not good for the kidneys when s. creatinine spikes and her values had reached 2.9 which are very high.

When I say, she probably has it all, I don't mean to be a cynic. But over the past two years, we have met a nephrologist to manage the s. creatinine component, done CT scans of thorax, abdomen, pelvis to investigate potential blood loss and drop of haemoglobin, CT scans of chest for her asthma condition, MRI scans of the brain because she had headaches, chest X rays, two blood transfusions amounting to a total of 7 bottles. I have also escorted her in an ambulance with the siren buzzing for one of her chest reports.

I stand in admiration of her grit, for all the nerves that have now gone weak, she hardly complains. I remember a moment looking at her face on a hospital bed where she looked exhausted but deep in sleep. She seemed content, accomplished and I found myself wishing that's how she should go - in peace - when her time eventually comes.

It was while attending to her at the hospital that I discovered a few means to pass my time. I bought my camera along and clicked bird photos around the hospital that I titled 'Aaitribute'. These photos shall always remind me of my time with her.

Sometimes when the going gets rough, I want to thank God that mom and dad have maintained decent health except for a couple of instances when we were completely panic-stricken.

I realize, these episodes of hospital visits, has made me stronger. Two years ago, I would probably say, "Holy fuck!" but today I am calm and evaluating what the next steps should be and the way forward. Today, I don't think 'fighting for survival' is as heroic as we humans make it out to be. 'Surrender to death' is an absolute legitimate, natural choice. It doesn't mean you ain't a fighter any more, it is simply one's way of saying, 'enough now'.

I have been reading Devdutt Pattnaik's tales of Shiva and Vishnu and they bring me some spiritual relief. It has made acceptance of death very natural to me. I remember his words where he says human beings have imagination, unlike animals. It is apparent because we humans are the only lot in nature who take care of their old. Isn't it? We are probably the only ones who have learned the 'reverse engineering' in nurture.

Regina Brett said, "If we all threw our problems in a pile and saw everyone else's, we'd grab ours back." It is true. I may go through certain stress at times because nurture can consume you completely but I cannot imagine the lives of refugees or war stricken Afganistan. I am simply glad, that aai can use the best medical attention we can provide.

We met a well known gastroenterologist yesterday, Dr. Parimal Lavate. Her blood loss still remains undiagnosed even after endoscopy, colonoscopy, CT scans of abdomen and pelvis etc. So, after yesterday's meeting we are required to do a capsule endoscopy which may most likely show a cause for loss in her small intestine. The capsule comes with a camera which has to be eaten and then goes through the entire digestive cycle until call of nature of the next day. Hasn't medicine become fancy? I am like, WOW!

That said, aai is feeling better. She cannot walk around too much because the low haemoglobin gives her breathlessness.  But otherwise she is swell and I pray to God she continues to be so - FOREVER!!

Circle of death and life

He perched on a branch of the skeletal tree, every morning, pruning himself in the sun, making his famous hammer-metal calls.

She interpreted those as his good morning wishes to her. Being able to see him from the fourth floor window of the hospital meant she was in the general ward and therefore in better health. In his primary colors, which were the foundation of all kaleidoscopic spectrum, she saw the reflection a colorful life she lived, and thereby her soul mate, who she had lost last year to a persistent and growing tumor.

With him, she raised five kids, sung lullabies to eight grand children and pampered five great grand children. She had monumental pride in their success story.

Now, in the hospital, while her kids and grand kids were invested in the responsibilities of keeping her healthy and comfortable, she was simply bored of being alive alone. She believed the Coppersmith Barbet outside the window was her lover of 55 years who came to say hello during morning tea.

Then one day, this rampant morning affair, oblivious to everybody else, stopped. It was time for the only absolute truth of the circle of death and life to play in repeat mode.

Firangi dreams

Last month my sister had a dream that I was moving to the US and the entire, extended family met at a cousin's wedding.

Earlier this week I found myself at the airport with my friend of 20+ years and I believe (don't remember correctly now) that we were headed to the UK. When I looked at Sanjeev's ticket, I called for him and said, "Sanjeev, your ticket is for Thailand. Mine is for UK." I simply shrugged my shoulders, gave a whatever response and woke up. May be we were just taking a vacation someplace where our destinations didn't match. That would be a disaster :P

This morning was a recurring dream. I am not sure where I was headed, but I found myself going to Ajit's place in the US.  Quite contrary, Sathi ends up picking me up and we head to his place. I know Sathi is seeing somebody, so I ask him, "How's xyz?", and he has this beautiful house of sturdy, grey rocks bordered with bright white lines, very modern yet very old British theme. What's more bizarre is, I have never met Ajit and Sathi in person till date. They are my Facebook friends.

My cell alarm rings.

A blog post to record dreams. My subconscious mind is up to something!

Rao miss

Rao miss is now Headmistress at
Our Own Indian School Dubai

The idea of writing this blog struck me on a train journey this morning. This idea was a retrospective result of a linked in message conversation between me and my most fond memory in school, who in turn had no memory of me.

But that was alright. I wasn't heartbroken. She knew me for only a quarter after which she decided to quit school and go elsewhere.

Last year NCL school, the school I studied in for twelve years, Jr. and Sr. KG included, hosted a big reunion where students from multiple batches gathered and shared school experiences. The reunion must have been grand; I have no doubts but a huge part of me was absolutely detached from all the excitement. I simply didn't care enough.

The only teacher I would have been excited to meet at the reunion was my biology teacher in Std. VIII, Mrs. Amol Rao, and though I didn't verify, I knew she wouldn't be there. Last week, a class mate started a whatsapp group that a majority of us joined and a discussion of Rao miss, as we called her, sprung up. I brought it up with a who-said-to-whom quote, "Sorry doesn't make a dead man alive."

I and another classmate, googled her simultaneously, and encountered her linked in profile. That's when I wrote to her and she responded back as follows, "Hi Jeevan! You are right ... Don't remember you but love to hear from my students! Stay in touch!.................................... Tell me more about you!"

The dots above is missing text where she gave me her number and asked me to get in touch if I was ever in Dubai.

It did not matter that she didn't remember me. Of the teacher and person I got to know in three months, I can only imagine the influence she would have on students who have known her for years.

So, this morning, I wanted to respond back to her through this blog.

My love for biology, a love that spanned across five years until Std. XII,  started in the Std. VIII because of Rao miss. She taught with such devotion that it was only imperative that a student sit back and pay attention.  She drew a huge lesser than symbol at one end of the blackboard with a greater than sign on the other side and united those two into a stunning frog. She eased out diagrams for us in that style. She was adamant that all the labels of a diagram had to be on the right hand side. She was an excellent orator with a commanding voice that deserved undeterred attention.

As is the nature of students, we were making noise in one of the classes that was marked by absence of a teacher, when she barged into the classroom and shut every one up. She blasted us for the poor performance we had showcased in our unit exams and as the blasting had reached its peak, she accidentally gazed upon me. I was seated on the first bench. "Except for Jeevan and a few others," she continued. Then she told the entire class that my paper was beautifully presented.

I have a beautiful handwriting and I say it without both, pride and modesty. It's a genetic gift from my father. I performed really well, topped the class in bio by scoring 17/20. She didn't teach us even for half a semester but she spoilt me with choices. She set the benchmark for all bio teachers in the future and unfortunately, nobody ever measured up to her. Nobody was just as commanding, vivacious and brilliant.

That was her story in my life. "Sorry doesn't make a dead man alive," was probably her favorite quote to all students. Therefore, I never apologize without heart or under circumstances of a situation that I cannot help.

In my school, only the favorites got an opportunity to act in a play or dance to a song during annual gatherings. Favorites such as top rankers, kids related to other teachers, or really smart kids. I was neither. (Today, I am quite the catch, so no regrets ;-)). However, with inspiration gathered from that appreciation, I told Rao Miss that I wanted to act in the English play at the end of the year. Very often, she directed the English plays. But as she was leaving school, she caught hold of my hand and took me to Rupa miss and told her of my interest. One thing led to another and I enacted a part in the annual play. Rao miss apparently transformed me into 'a-child-with-mission'.

As far as the twelve years of school go, I made a couple of decent friends. I have very often heard that childhood friends last forever but this certainly isn't true for me. Some of my closest friends are from junior college and later when I marched into the outside world.

I ditched the reunion by not really making an effort to go. Of course there were other teachers such as Mala miss, Ramchandran miss, Natrajan miss, Rupa miss and Rangarajan miss who I liked, but Rao miss was my most fond memory of NCL school. There is something absolutely Godly (read impartial and unbiased) about her.

You know, those romances of a great love affair that stay eternally alive as part of your soul; in the love affair of my life, Rao miss was my high school romance.