tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-83344629636303372532024-03-05T22:41:03.898-08:00reporter's diarymanuscripthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12113986199133726533noreply@blogger.comBlogger25125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8334462963630337253.post-55839150995215420522019-10-28T03:39:00.000-07:002019-10-28T03:39:01.854-07:00My marathon journey<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 700; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap; white-space: pre;"> 42.2 kilometres: How I did it</span></div>
<b id="docs-internal-guid-60105af0-7fff-10b9-3e21-844a5a2be519" style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></b>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 700; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap; white-space: pre;">How did I do it? </span></div>
<b style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></b>
<ol style="margin-bottom: 0; margin-top: 0;">
<li dir="ltr" style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; list-style-type: decimal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;"><div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap; white-space: pre;">This one you know - start small. </span></div>
</li>
</ol>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-left: 36pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap; white-space: pre;">I started with 1 km every day some five years ago. I invested in a running shoe (2.5K) and was determined to recover that cost. So I kept at it. </span></div>
<ol start="2" style="margin-bottom: 0; margin-top: 0;">
<li dir="ltr" style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; list-style-type: decimal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;"><div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap; white-space: pre;">Graduate carefully. You will be very excited to scale up fast. But you should be mindful of how your body, particularly your knees and leg muscles, take it. </span></div>
</li>
<li dir="ltr" style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; list-style-type: decimal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;"><div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap; white-space: pre;">I did two mistakes initially, I wasn’t doing enough strength exercise initially and did not space out my run as my miles got longer. In my haste, I developed injuries. </span></div>
</li>
<li dir="ltr" style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; list-style-type: decimal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;"><div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap; white-space: pre;">So you must do your stretches. You should spend as much time in warm-up workout as in clocking your miles. When you start doing more than 3 km a day, you should run only on alternate days.</span></div>
</li>
<li dir="ltr" style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; list-style-type: decimal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;"><div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap; white-space: pre;">When you touch 5 km you may think of doing it once a week and short runs during other days you go for a workout. </span></div>
</li>
<li dir="ltr" style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; list-style-type: decimal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;"><div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap; white-space: pre;">One important thing - you should always hydrate well, drink about a litre of water, before your run.</span></div>
</li>
<li dir="ltr" style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; list-style-type: decimal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;"><div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap; white-space: pre;">At any sign of muscle pain, you should stop. I naively thought legs would recover on themselves as I ran more and nearly aggravated runner’s knee and tendon pain which I was afflicted with. </span></div>
</li>
<li dir="ltr" style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; list-style-type: decimal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;"><div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap; white-space: pre;">You may continue with your strength training while taking a pause from your running. Eventually your muscles become strong enough to absorb the shocks during the run. Give them time. I didn’t run for almost a year when tendon pain gripped me. This was after I touched 5K. </span></div>
</li>
<li dir="ltr" style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; list-style-type: decimal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;"><div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap; white-space: pre;">Needless to say, you should hold on to your passion to come back into running even after such considerably long absence from the running track. </span></div>
</li>
<li dir="ltr" style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; list-style-type: decimal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;"><div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap; white-space: pre;">It is good to have some personal milestones. I aimed for a 10K initially and harboured ambitions to do a 21K later. </span></div>
</li>
<li dir="ltr" style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; list-style-type: decimal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;"><div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap; white-space: pre;">When you reach a big milestone like 5K, you shouldn’t think of accelerating further. You should stay at 5K for some time so that you would always be in a position to do a 5K. Many of those who accelerated fast and won a 10K or half-marathon medal, never returned to the track. It is good to go slow and steady.</span></div>
</li>
<li dir="ltr" style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; list-style-type: decimal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;"><div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap; white-space: pre;">Once you sense 5K is “hardly anything” for your body you think of running farther. You will see 10K is within reach.</span></div>
</li>
<li dir="ltr" style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; list-style-type: decimal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;"><div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap; white-space: pre;">10K is an important milestone for every amateur runner. By this time, you are a lot slimmer, stronger and more athletic than when you started out. Hold on to it. I see to it that I do a 10K every weekend and will try to squeeze in a 5K mid-week when I have a holiday.</span></div>
</li>
<li dir="ltr" style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; list-style-type: decimal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;"><div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap; white-space: pre;">This regime will help you prepare well for a 21K. If you clock 10Ks at a stretch comfortably and consistently, then you are in good shape to aim for a 21K. Of course, you should step up your strength training and do trials before you sign up for a race. </span></div>
</li>
<li dir="ltr" style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; list-style-type: decimal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;"><div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap; white-space: pre;">Full marathon. Mind you, this is not just about your leg muscles but about your whole body, particularly your heart, too. One should be very discreet while deciding on a 42K. Because 21K level - that is going that distance once a quarter, doing 10Ks on weekends and shorter workouts in between - is good enough to maintain your physical and mental well-being (I am talking exclusively from a running point-of-view)</span></div>
</li>
<li dir="ltr" style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; list-style-type: decimal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;"><div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap; white-space: pre;">It is advisable to undergo an echo 2D and TMT checks before you go for a full marathon. Ideally you should prepare for about three months. </span></div>
</li>
</ol>
<b style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></b>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap; white-space: pre;">While this is my short guide to friends who want to start running, I have done a retrospection of my journey as a full marathoner. </span></div>
<b style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></b>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 700; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap; white-space: pre;">My Marathon Journey</span></div>
<b style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></b>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap; white-space: pre;">So where will I begin? I am hitting keyboard to write something personal after years (save occasional brief Facebook posts). I have forgotten the art, if at all I had possessed one. Yet, let me give it a shot. After all, it was a long overdue which I had thought about doing many a time. And many of my friends had asked me for this a number of times. </span></div>
<b style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></b>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap; white-space: pre;">I would rather do it in a Q&A format. Short questions and long answers:</span></div>
<b style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></b>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 700; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap; white-space: pre;">How did you get into this?</span></div>
<b style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></b>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap; white-space: pre;"> I think all of us seriously start thinking about doing some form of exercise in the early 30s. Indian men start getting worse for the wear by that age. My case was no different but I wasn’t doing any. Then there was a time when I stayed alone in Mumbai when wife was in Kerala for the delivery of our first child. During those prayerful period I used to walk to the hilltop church to attend mass every morning. It was a 2 km stretch. At some point I felt it was a good idea to run a portion of that distance. I found some sudden change in my body. I felt I looked prim at the baptism ceremony. </span></div>
<b style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></b>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap; white-space: pre;">Soon babysitting took up most of my non-work hours and I could not carry on my newfound physical activity. But household chores including floor mopping kept me physically active :D Later, when I shifted to a new suburb, the two kilometre walk from the station on my return from work in the late evening was the major physical activity. </span></div>
<b style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></b>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 700; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap; white-space: pre;">You still didn’t answer how you got into this</span></div>
<b style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></b>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap; white-space: pre;">Those sporadic activities weren’t enough to keep a bulging midriff under check. You have to do something serious. The long Mumbai commute, your desperate efforts to stay relevant in your work and other personal struggles didn’t really allow time to think about this. Providentially, I could rejoin my wife and toddler daughter in Bangalore after staying apart for a year. I would still thank my benign then boss in </span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: italic; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap; white-space: pre;">Hindustan Times</span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap; white-space: pre;"> for the transfer. </span></div>
<b style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></b>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 700; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap; white-space: pre;">Hey you are digressing big time!</span></div>
<b style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></b>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap; white-space: pre;">No, it was just to tell you that, although I got a taste of regular running in Mumbai, it really took off when I moved to Bangalore. The commute distance became less than a tenth of that in Mumbai. And our super efficient house help freed up a lot of time for us (Alas, our dear chechi bid us farewell four years later). I started getting fed very well. I soon started looking awkward in my slimfit white wedding shirt, the one I got stitched from Raymond and preserved for special occasions and meetings. At 34, my midriff now seriously threatened to bulge out. It upset me. I gotta run!</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap; white-space: pre;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjpyEJj40yZOJFZTqQeGlAaMzbfZlCTmjgWY3ts6XwJfhpsSNkAWKwoFSl5cbPfRXXtA7zKocOOkAcPREoHokEjVPZ4q50yKFSSGFbkn8KoDI0kpqW6Bmb5wuCnUxN0hUNkurhs3M_7WOC/s1600/blg-1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="637" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjpyEJj40yZOJFZTqQeGlAaMzbfZlCTmjgWY3ts6XwJfhpsSNkAWKwoFSl5cbPfRXXtA7zKocOOkAcPREoHokEjVPZ4q50yKFSSGFbkn8KoDI0kpqW6Bmb5wuCnUxN0hUNkurhs3M_7WOC/s320/blg-1.jpg" width="212" /></a></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap; white-space: pre;"> The shirt I told you about. This is when I started running in 2014.</span></div>
<b style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></b>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 700; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap; white-space: pre;">Then?</span></div>
<b style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></b>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap; white-space: pre;">Then, into the third month of my relocation to Bangalore, one fine morning I put on my old Woodland shoes and home clothes with some semblance of running wears and headed out to the nearest park. After a short warm-up I started running down the hardly 100 metre perimeter of the neighbourhood park and disturbing the morning walkers. Oh, what joy it was to finish ten full rounds then! I did it daily and again started feeling the change in the body. </span></div>
<b style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></b>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 700; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap; white-space: pre;">That’s it?</span></div>
<b style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></b>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap; white-space: pre;">Not really. One day when I got a PR call asking if I would be interested in meeting Mohammed Naseem, the technologist-marathoner-entrepreneur whose fitbands were gaining popularity among Bangalore’s IT crowd, I grabbed the opportunity. The running picture of Mohammed on ET had caught my eyes. I told him about the small start I made. “Oh you stay just 1.5 km away from Lalbagh. You got a beautiful running track.” New to the city, I didn’t know this. I then started walking to Lalbagh every morning. </span></div>
<b style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></b>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap; white-space: pre;">Two things did happen during this time. My walking/running became much longer. My old Woodland shoes soon gave up. I clocked about five kilometre daily - 3 km walk to and fro Lalbagh and a 2 km run around the beautiful lake. One day I forgot my purse at home and seriously felt the itching to buy a pair of sports shoes when I was in office. My then colleague Sudipto lent me money. I bought a pair of Reebok shoes on discount. Much like my slimfit wedding shirt served a warning about fattening, this 2.5K investment during financially constrained times put pressure on me to make serious attempts to recover that cost. </span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap; white-space: pre;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQ5mqHgTTToKb5G5kfiuDvI-89t2-F4e1KvVX51bXA88tQws4gIDC3ojb_JWZuk5GcTfkJeS1pNHdQoqok50e171Y0LJM2lc9_ix3qMY2AwMbhIyrA-y61c2IJIlabTCTvs_Xj5QydB620/s1600/IMG_20191028_150337403_HDR.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQ5mqHgTTToKb5G5kfiuDvI-89t2-F4e1KvVX51bXA88tQws4gIDC3ojb_JWZuk5GcTfkJeS1pNHdQoqok50e171Y0LJM2lc9_ix3qMY2AwMbhIyrA-y61c2IJIlabTCTvs_Xj5QydB620/s320/IMG_20191028_150337403_HDR.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap; white-space: pre;"> My well worn first running shoes. 5 year-old Rs 2.5K Reebok. I still use it sometime</span></div>
<b style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></b>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 700; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap; white-space: pre;">So you kept on running?</span></div>
<b style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></b>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap; white-space: pre;">Yes. Predictably, I overdid it. While I was becoming fitter, this daily 2 km run and 3 km walk put pressure on my legs. I got scared by a strange pain around my knees. I even got them X-rayed; only to find practically nothing. Even normal walking became painful. That is when I googled and came across ‘Runners Knee’. That inaugurated my research on running. There is an abundance of authentic and scientific material available online. It was a big relief to know I am not alone in this journey. Most of the amateur runners, especially those who aren’t naturally endowed with broad physique, come across such troubles pretty soon. So running is as much about our consistency as we deal with such physical and circumstantial hurdles each time we come across them. In short, focus and perseverance. </span></div>
<b style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></b>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 700; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap; white-space: pre;">What did you find out?</span></div>
<b style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></b>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap; white-space: pre;">I found out I was doing it all wrong. In my excitement I straightway ran every morning. And I did it every day. I didn’t space out for the fear of missing out something. So two things. You don’t start running straight away. You need to do your stretches. You got to strengthen your muscles. There is something called strength exercises. Also, you don’t run every day. If it is a short 2 km jog or walk you may do it every day. There will be little effect otherwise. But as your miles get longer you need to space out. When you get the signs of trouble you need to pause. </span></div>
<b style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></b>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap; white-space: pre;">I came across various forms of strength exercise through youtube videos. I followed them consistently. The runners knee went away within weeks and I started running again, but only after doing my stretches. I went for a run only on alternate days. By this time I began doing two rounds through the track around Lalbagh lake - 3.6 km - comfortably. </span></div>
<b style="font-weight: normal;"><br /><br /></b><br />
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 700; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap; white-space: pre;">Okay, but that isn’t a big milestone</span></div>
<b style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></b>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap; white-space: pre;">It is not. But, in about three-four months I got my basics right. My miles got longer. Then one day I met Mohammed and updated him about my progress. “The perimeter of Lalbagh is 5 km. We will do a full round together.” It was difficult to keep up with the pace of tall and athletic Mohammed. I was in great distress by the final stretch but he pushed. He handheld me for a few yards to the finish. I blacked out for a couple of seconds at the finish of my first 5 km. There was a serious mistake in my run-up - I didn’t hydrate. You got to drink a litre of water before you start a run. If it is a long run you need to drink during intervals. I now do 10 km on weekends. I start after drinking 1 litre or more. After the first 5 km I will again start drinking. </span></div>
<b style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></b>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 700; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap; white-space: pre;">So, you reached your first milestone!</span></div>
<b style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></b>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap; white-space: pre;">Yes. But not without troubles. In my journey to 5K I became familiar with two new kinds of pain - plantar pain and tendon pain. Luckily, the plantar pain - the pain in the sole of the foot - which I experienced soon after my first 5K went away in a couple of days. However troublesome my first 5K experience was, I had decided to stick to 5K each time I hit the running track then onwards. I did my next 5K a day after or so to reinforce my own belief I could do it. While I comfortably finished it, my tendon pain resurfaced perhaps more forcefully. These kinds of muscle pain can be so distressing that you would start doubting whether you would be able to run again. A week later I did another full round Lalbagh. My pride of finishing the run lasted only a few hundred metres of walking back home. I started feeling strong tendon pain. This repeated each time I clocked a 5K. </span></div>
<b style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></b>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap; white-space: pre;">My strength training was not sufficient to deal with this pain. It refused to go away. I returned home each time with a heavy heart. So my running lasted hardly a year. I was convinced I should stop. For the whole of 2015 I made only a few attempts to get back into running. Each time it pained my shin bones. I read up on the internet about ways to deal with tendon pain. Almost regularly I did exercise to strengthen muscles. Eventually, I reached a stage where I no longer felt tendon pain even after a 5K round on weekends. I thus became a weekly 5K runner. </span></div>
<b style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></b>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 700; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap; white-space: pre;">5K is small, isn’t it?</span></div>
<b style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></b>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap; white-space: pre;">Yes and no. No, because it is a calorie-burning strenuous workout to finish a 5K. You will start feeling changes in your body. Good enough. But, yes, you cannot claim to be a runner. You are still at an aspirant runner stage. I was at that stage for many months - a weekend 5K runner. I never put a single picture of my running on Facebook. I felt that one should at least clock 10K to call oneself a runner. I was aware of the perils of accelerating too fast too early, thanks to my previous experiences. I took it rather slowly. </span></div>
<b style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></b>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap; white-space: pre;">Every weekend I would complete a full round along the perimeter trail of Lalbagh and walk back home. It became very predictable and easy. One day I felt like adding a smaller stretch to it - running around the lake or adding some 2K. Nearly 8K run didn’t really stress my body. I then decided to run two rounds thereafter. </span></div>
<b style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></b>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap; white-space: pre;">I don’t really remember but I would imagine how ecstatic I might have been when I first did it. You are now in a position to call yourself a runner. Within weeks I signed up for Adidas10K, my first ever race. Registration fee was cheap so I did not have to think twice before registering. My friend Brian alerted me about it.</span></div>
<b style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></b>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap; white-space: pre;">I was nervous that morning amidst a large crowd of serious runners. I found myself asking a few strangers whether I would complete this. One of them asked me whether I had done that in the past. “Yes, a few times I clocked 10K.” “It should be fine then.” It indeed was. About 2.5 years after I jumped out of my bed and started running, I now completed a 10K race. I had a bib and timing chip. My timing was 1 hour 13 minutes. Got some photos and certificate to tomtom about my run, my reaching the first milestone of a lifetime dream of a half-marathon.</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap; white-space: pre;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUiZjmdt-efYYIhowN-ar-VQJUgIRs4UdRAlHx9gRXdYmAZRTbKOlLexUVST20f21UMf04zlzQTmCZ70dBLL492qNUOn8ESg_gx5SUjxXRS54zjqG3FfguvuJlFi5zK-dDZACOHVefX1H7/s1600/blg-3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="960" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUiZjmdt-efYYIhowN-ar-VQJUgIRs4UdRAlHx9gRXdYmAZRTbKOlLexUVST20f21UMf04zlzQTmCZ70dBLL492qNUOn8ESg_gx5SUjxXRS54zjqG3FfguvuJlFi5zK-dDZACOHVefX1H7/s320/blg-3.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap; white-space: pre;"> My first 10K</span></div>
<b style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></b>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 700; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap; white-space: pre;">That was the first milestone? You earlier said it was 5K!</span></div>
<b style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></b>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap; white-space: pre;"> Yes, 5K is the first milestone as far as your transformation into a serious runner is concerned. But if you have the dream of doing a 21K, you should first cross 10K to start aiming for it. I did that in October 2016. I knew once you reached 10K, there was no stopping. You achieved a certain level of endurance. It is just a matter of time you do your first half marathon. It actually was. The following months went rather uneventfully with weekly run and workout. I registered for TRORT Run. In another eight months I did my first half-marathon. I ran through the picturesque Kanakpura countryside with many uphills that tested my endurance. I finished with a smile in 2 hours 29 minutes. Of course, a couple of times I had clocked this distance during my trials but this was the first official run that testified my run levels as a half-marathoner. Since I ran regularly I approached the race with some degree of confidence. So, three years since I started running, I did 21K. </span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap; white-space: pre;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiI4WDe_ZZC9zq28T9CSsPZl3a94vU5HZrt2AqCPT2daFuHhhITQUTGPhbuehpRCUXm6kqUm-OYEcu5KWd_vcMmQqQJ_PTN63AgR8iFrNNfTTJBXMOWp7BtY-yfW_ocyNQrjQ52b4iaPJwH/s1600/Blg-4.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="743" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiI4WDe_ZZC9zq28T9CSsPZl3a94vU5HZrt2AqCPT2daFuHhhITQUTGPhbuehpRCUXm6kqUm-OYEcu5KWd_vcMmQqQJ_PTN63AgR8iFrNNfTTJBXMOWp7BtY-yfW_ocyNQrjQ52b4iaPJwH/s320/Blg-4.jpg" width="247" /></a></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap; white-space: pre;"> I quite enjoyed the the picturesque wayside of TRORT run route. My first half marathon in mid-2017</span></div>
<b style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></b>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 700; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap; white-space: pre;">You reached your lifetime dream!</span></div>
<b style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></b>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap; white-space: pre;">Yes. That was a dream come true. Then I participated and completed three races more in 21K category and bested my timing in each. Eventually, I felt a half-marathon a quarter isn’t challenging me enough. And felt like removing this prefix in my ‘half-marathoner’ tag. My friend Brian, who had already done a marathon and is more organised, technically sound and experienced runner than me, was planning a second full marathon. We synced up for this year’s Bengaluru Marathon. Another reason I am turning 40 next year. I wanted to do a 42K before turning 40. </span></div>
<b style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></b>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 700; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap; white-space: pre;">How did you prepare for your full marathon?</span></div>
<b style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></b>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap; white-space: pre;">I ran my last half-marathon at Bengaluru Marathon 2018 very casually. I sprinted to the finishing point and didn’t really felt exhausted. I then got a sense perhaps I could aim for something harder. That is when I decided to attempt for a full marathon. I did not participate in any race for quite sometime while I continued my weekly 10Ks and mid-week 5Ks (this, whenever I got some extra time, very irregular). I had decided my next race should be a full marathon and skipped many running events. I was looking to join for a marathon coaching at Cult or some place like that. It didn’t happen. In the run up to this year’s Bengaluru marathon I decided “Enough of this wavering. I am doing it this time.”</span></div>
<b style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></b>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap; white-space: pre;">Brian and I had less than two months to prepare for the full marathon since the day we firmed up our decision over lunch. So, we had to follow a strict schedule that involved at least two 35K runs in the space of three weeks. </span></div>
<b style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></b>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap; white-space: pre;">His preparation tips including using small bits of tape to cover nipples to avoid chafing and applying liberal doses of vaseline on the inner thighs for the same reason were immensely useful. I wish I could follow his strength training regime too. Way too impressive, involving daily push-ups and pull-ups. Mine is still not up to the mark. </span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap; white-space: pre;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCuosGrnxlWeg7MWciKiN0jXPBefSo8ZW_u-j5JbHGPmJSlC2S_V3FRhYRqH-g2m_oTng0G6eIFwYUHFfzjxK7AF5HrZ56w1lfgxb-hk50bS1TJC-wkJwbMPaH7zM2AS6qAuWl9S3ZcnXr/s1600/blg-5.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="720" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCuosGrnxlWeg7MWciKiN0jXPBefSo8ZW_u-j5JbHGPmJSlC2S_V3FRhYRqH-g2m_oTng0G6eIFwYUHFfzjxK7AF5HrZ56w1lfgxb-hk50bS1TJC-wkJwbMPaH7zM2AS6qAuWl9S3ZcnXr/s320/blg-5.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap; white-space: pre;"> Brian and I after our first marathon trial run session</span></div>
<b style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></b>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 700; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap; white-space: pre;">How was the training?</span></div>
<b style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></b>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap; white-space: pre;">The training was pretty intense. Sample this: I run 40-60 km a month on an average. In August I ran 110 km and in September I ran 113 km. Brian and I met at around 5 am on September 2 for our first long run together in preparation for the marathon. We brought along energy bars, peanut chikki, water and biscuits. Predictably, even for a regular half-marathoner with decent levels of training it is a lot tougher after 30 km. We clocked 38K then. Three weeks later the 36K was even tougher. In between there were several 10Ks and 5Ks on almost every alternate day. I considerably slowed down about two weeks prior to the race day. </span></div>
<b style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></b>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 700; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap; white-space: pre;">What was the effect of such a rigorous training?</span></div>
<b style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></b>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap; white-space: pre;">I adopted this rigorous training regime in my anxiety about whether I would successfully finish a full marathon. I was emotionally invested in it. Your legs will give up by 30K. It is your training, careful calibration and perseverance that pulls you through the last 10K. But 42 is not just about your leg muscles as in the case of 21K. It is more about your heart. You should intently listen to how your heart responds to such strenuous exercise. My reading as well as my experience of three 35K+ in the space of six weeks suggest it is a bit punishing for the heart. In hindsight, I wouldn’t want to squeeze in so much workout within such a short time. As those who know me will understand, I don’t take things lightly. Though I did not have any palpable signs of trouble, I did not leave anything to chance. I got an echo 2D and treadmill test done in the week up to the run. </span></div>
<b style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></b>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 700; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap; white-space: pre;">How was the run?</span></div>
<b style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></b>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap; white-space: pre;">As in the two previous occasions during my trials, I got up very early at around 3 am, quickly made a scrambled egg sandwich and ate it (again, Brian’s tip). At 3.45 am, I barely made it in time for the full marathon. The Uber auto guy told me I was the third person he dropped at the venue that night/morning! I carried my daughter’s pink water bottle which I use these days when I go for a run. While they provide water at every alternate station I did not want to leave anything to chance. There was a nasty experience of not having enough water during the race at another event. </span></div>
<b style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></b>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap; white-space: pre;">After 15K or so, I tried a leg up hamstring stretch during a loo break and that didn’t go well. I developed a muscle pull in my right inner thigh. “Something I never experienced before! Why should this happen today??” That slowed down my run and eventually I got over it after another 10 km. That might have been the reason - (or my over-workout?) - I crossed half marathon at my slowest pace of 2 hour 30 minutes. Anyways, that is a lesson, a clumsy movement during the run, when your body is completely shaken, can cause some awkward twists and pulls. Do your mid-run stretches very carefully. Also, use the nearest toilet whenever you want to. Never hold up to complete a mile. It’s a bad idea.</span></div>
<b style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></b>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap; white-space: pre;">One good thing was I wasn’t feeling particularly exhausted. So the slow pace was in a way a good thing. But, as expected, by around 32K legs almost gave up. But that didn’t stop you do your hardest 10K to reach the finishing point. From 28K, I started walking some small stretches. In total I may have walked 5-6 kms in the middle. I stored enough energy and always took care to hydrate very well so that the last stretch was fun and exciting. I ran to the finish with a sense of strength and poise. In 100 metres to the finish I howled! I looked at the race clock. It was 4:36:11.</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap; white-space: pre;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqm9o-A0Xz6O1n4mlJvGKOKFvakPdXmyXdwNuvYNk6Lo9kmIF9xPAFnOFtCc1qOp_xVbhu0EJW8iLuADx4RGfHuS-ssNmjig6tyUkSspdFGaXfKsuycptjsyAONz1Z8gtmaWkrAm-RyKaW/s1600/Blg-6.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="553" data-original-width="344" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqm9o-A0Xz6O1n4mlJvGKOKFvakPdXmyXdwNuvYNk6Lo9kmIF9xPAFnOFtCc1qOp_xVbhu0EJW8iLuADx4RGfHuS-ssNmjig6tyUkSspdFGaXfKsuycptjsyAONz1Z8gtmaWkrAm-RyKaW/s320/Blg-6.jpg" width="199" /></a></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap; white-space: pre;"> Full marathon. Just 300 mtrs before the finish. </span></div>
<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /></div>
manuscripthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12113986199133726533noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8334462963630337253.post-47997614740574347732014-10-05T12:11:00.000-07:002014-10-07T04:49:13.435-07:00It is hard to think...<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
He ruled the show. He did it in style. I was his rival. Fallen from grace I grumbled in my relative insignificance while he turned adversities opportunities, won over my camp and left me high and dry. My own botched up romance and pathetic class records further complicated things while he sailed through smoothly.<br />
<br />
In the end, my foolhardy school politics gave some rich lessons. The most important was "play to your strengths".
Life mocks at you by offering close proximity of a person you would much rather stay away from. We again ended up classmates in college! All our school mates who witnessed our legendary rivalry had a sardonic grin.<br />
<br />
A bit more wised up perhaps, I focussed on studies, writing and some voluntary work. I was laying foundation for a career in development journalism. (It is another matter I haven't got there yet!)
Or more precisely, l was playing to my strength. And he was to his. As people with different pursuits, not competing for same space, we were no longer rivals, neither were we friends.<br />
<br />
Nobody gave him a chance when elections came up in the second year of college. Rather, many looked at his ambition with disdain. Again he changed odds in his favour.
It was someone else's turn to fall from popularity and screw up his advantage. There was this nice guy, amiable, accommodative, experienced and versatile. Almost a natural choice. Needless to say, where my loyalties lied.<br />
<br />
But again we were flummoxed. He spotted weaknesses in our campaign: elitist and complacent. He figured that his opponent spoke only to a set of people. He built his campaign around the silent underdogs who were angered by such discriminations. From each corner he unearthed those unnoticed ones and talked them into his sworn warriors. They took up his cause. Prior to counting he said he would win by 20 votes.<br />
He exactly did!<br />
<br />
Again, from an unlikely position he went on to take all laurels. It was 'audacity of hope' at a micro level much before the historic Obama campaign was unleashed. He had a great run.
This time I wasn't grumbling as my choice of pursuits worked well for me. I was rather appreciative of the organizational talent he displayed. I told friends, "mark my words. He will be something in the years to come". I think it was a shared belief of many.<br />
<br />
We grew close as our appreciation was mutual. I discovered in him a sincere friend, who stood above petty feelings of revenge and jealous, who is quick to forget frictions and reach out.
Already lost his father, lack of resources forced him to take a break from studies. After graduation, he went to teach in a school in the interiors of a distant state. After a year or two, he resumed studies. When he rang my home to say he joined for social work post grad, my mom told him “you took up a course that best suits you”.<br />
<br />
We, those close to him, have all been waiting to see him making giant strides. When he continued to struggle, we thought, somewhere along the way there would be a turning point, a big break.
Between the intervals of years, we met in one or other distant cities. Long calls and social network kept up conversations. He confided troubles, turbulences, triumphs and tribulations.<br />
<br />
Regardless of economic rewards, he worked hard on his assignments, enjoyed a career in vocational training, social uplift, job and entrepreneurship creation.
He went through some difficulties in relations. He waded through unthought-of challenges. He was again picking up pieces and building life. He moved closer home from up north.
Recently he informed me about clearing an important hurdle for overseas jobs. I encouraged him saying “tide is turning in your favour”.<br />
<br />
Four days ago, in the middle of a group chat, he suddenly told me that he was just about to land in our city. He was on his way home for a long weekend. Inconvenienced by night, distance and paucity of time, we decided to meet when he would come later this month.
It was but our last bit of conversation. Some 19 hours later, I heard of his untimely death. A massive cardiac arrest took away his life while he was sleeping at his brother’s place after an exhaustive overnight journey. It seemed to me as an abruptly ended saga. I never think his story was supposed to end in such a way. In utter bizarreness, someone known for his muscularity and energy in his early youth depart this life in mid 30s, leaving much to be done and leaving his dear ones in utter dismay. Stephen, it is hard to think you are no longer there, just a call away…<br />
<br /></div>
manuscripthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12113986199133726533noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8334462963630337253.post-61642963671480363612011-12-02T02:37:00.000-08:002011-12-02T02:38:47.544-08:00U R Daya of Almighty<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3tUztyMXM3lKqJvtEMNxKApTi9lvPoLm5NXgiMPLg2irJp2HR0lNJllmRH7A7vvipnh5w0PoEk-ks4mvyd6qd5sm53lQ1G4RUHl3erscW1yBi4tWytwwDjI5dy4yGgRgCxcfUy6MUF2ZT/s1600/mariya+toms.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear:left; float:left;margin-right:1em; margin-bottom:1em"><img border="0" height="240" width="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3tUztyMXM3lKqJvtEMNxKApTi9lvPoLm5NXgiMPLg2irJp2HR0lNJllmRH7A7vvipnh5w0PoEk-ks4mvyd6qd5sm53lQ1G4RUHl3erscW1yBi4tWytwwDjI5dy4yGgRgCxcfUy6MUF2ZT/s320/mariya+toms.JPG" /></a></div><br />
U r Daya of Almighty<br />
I knew prayer power from<br />
1000 rosary beads <br />
On the day u were born<br />
At the end of wait<br />
On the day of hope<br />
In the month of Mary<br />
When world seeking its<br />
Seven billionth<br />
You were born!!<br />
You came with a <br />
Short soft cry<br />
With wide eyes<br />
You looked around<br />
With deep dimples<br />
You charmed evry1<br />
You wake up with<br />
Smiles every morning<br />
And brighten our days<br />
Your tantrums ignite<br />
Laughter at our home<br />
Daughter!<br />
You r our Little Mary<br />
Little Molly<br />
The sweet little thing<br />
Whose giggles and chatters<br />
Will fill our lives hereafter!manuscripthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12113986199133726533noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8334462963630337253.post-66521159957609442342010-08-14T03:08:00.001-07:002023-07-20T21:37:57.376-07:00Mathukkuttichayan, my first employerAn early morning sms from a close friend, another Manorama alumnus, informed me about the passing away of Mr K.M.Mathew. Later,when CNN-IBN flashed the news and it was followed by streams of reports on next day’s newspapers, Malayalam as well as English, I knew it affected me in some ways. <br />
<br />
Mathukkuttichayan is my first employer. Going through the obituaries, the heart-felt accounts by so many whose lives he has touched, I had a trip down memory lane to a day in the beginning phase of Monsoon six years ago. The rain did not assume its full fury yet. It was July 8, 2004 I walked into Malayala Manorama to join as a sub-editor trainee.<br />
<br />
The octogenarian patriarch of the giant newspaper organisation personally handed over my appointment letter, shook hands with me saying “welcome to Manorama”.<br />
<br />
There were three in my batch. We were taken to his cabin and as a matter of practice; the HR had made it a small ceremony. He was very active and enthusiastic to meet the new entrants to the big newspaper family he had carefully nurtured for many a decade.<br />
<br />
The white dothi-jooba clad grand old man was an endearing presence in the quiet atmosphere of that afternoon. I still remember his light and gentle words, a brief address in simple and straight sentences in Malayalam interspersed with English. <br />
<br />
I had often shared with my friends the first and foremost thing he said; “We shouldn’t write in our paper something that a fifth pass cannot understand”. It of course speaks of his wisdom in identifying fortunes at the ‘bottom of pyramid,’ that the benefit of simplifying newspaper language. <br />
<br />
I think it is this approach of his that made Manorama a popular choice across Kerala. But one thing I am sure is that this was his life’s philosophy – to be simple. His next advice was to maintain humility always. I remember that he chose the English word ‘humility’ to drive home his point.<br />
<br />
“The fact that we are journalists from Manorama should not make us arrogant. We should be humble while dealing with others,” he said. The next point in his five-minute speech to three of us was a practical advice – to keep a scrap book always.<br />
<br />
I understood the profound influence of this brief interaction on me only when I realised the memories of those words, of not just the tea and cashew nuts we had in his cabin, was this clear in my mind. <br />
<br />
I had another personal encounter when I went to his cabin to meet a young foreign couple who were travelling around the world on a jeep in their effort to raise public sympathy towards Alzheimer patients. <br />
<br />
A few weeks into training, I was on bureau duty that day when a call from his office came asking for somebody to report about this foreign couple who visited Achayan and I was sent. <br />
<br />
He had a friendly humerous chat with them along with tea and biscuits and made me a party to the conversation. The story about this couple came in the local edition, I think it was my first in Manorama as a staffer. The headline, if my memory serves me right was, ‘Ormakalillathayavare Ormikkaan’, (to remember those who lost memories).<br />
<br />
Eight months later I was transferred to Calicut and I did not see him in person ever after. A year after I joined, I quit Manorama in pursuance of a career in English media. <br />
<br />
I went to the head office for finishing the formalities and meeting my seniors and friends in Kottayam office of Manorama. Mr Mammen Mathew, achayan’s eldest son, editor & MD of Manorama, allowed me an appointment despite being so busy that day. <br />
<br />
I told Mammen sir I have quit Manorama and joining Indian Express. He said “All the best and God bless you. In case of any need we are all here”. It was such a touching moment.<br />
<br />
I still keep with me the letter of appreciation he had sent me for one of my stories. Another letter which is an invaluable preserve is the one I received from Editorial Director Mr Thomas Jacob when I left Manorama.<br />
<br />
In retrospect, Manorama has been a fond memory, thanks to a culture of love and compassion which is Achayan’s legacy.manuscripthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12113986199133726533noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8334462963630337253.post-70704133882400836372009-12-14T21:51:00.001-08:002010-01-09T01:56:35.164-08:00In the worst case scenario I could still fail“I know you did some malpractice, both for theory and practical,” that was the reaction of my physics teacher when he came to know that I managed to scrape through my higher secondary exams. He cannot be blamed for making a defamatory statement. For somebody, who scored 18/100 for the half yearly exams, who rarely got his practicals right, who was 54th in a class of 60 (many shared same place, so 54 would mean really at the bottom!), scoring 47/100 for theory and getting a difficult practical experiment like P.O.Box right were something improbable if not impossible.<br /><br />As he had once caught me for counterfeiting his signature for a practical experiment, he was convinced that it was not just that i was completely out of place but had also resorted to malpractices. But the fact was I sort of realised with my goofed-up counterfeiting attempt that malpractice was something not my cup of tea and it would just add to my troubles. Thankfully, fairly early in life. <br /><br />My physics teacher considered me wood-headed and useless. For him, I am the one who lagged behind in terminal exams, fumbled in practicals and had no clue about what was going on in classroom and lab.<br /><br />I think for that he has to at least partly blame himself. I was a student who came with 84 per cent marks for physics for the 10th exams. In fact, it was one of my most favourite subjects. His intimidating style of teaching, his constant threatening, his partiality for high-ranking ones had long put me off. And in fact, I developed this habit of siesta during the post-lunch physics classes in my higher secondary days.<br />And for somebody who was used to lot of pampering, acclamation and affection till tenth, this relegation to a non-entity was something too much to take. But it was a period when I realised for myself that if things could possibly go wrong by any minute chance it would surely go that way....<br /><br />Probably, such bad times revisited me only after 12 years, that is this year, when things were again going wrong in every possible ways..<br /><br />1997. The ignominy of revenue recovery procedures including auction ads for our property in the local columns, humiliatingly high levels of debt after father’s wild goose chases, the crumbling house, familial issues....it was a drowning feeling. As if these were not enough, i defaulted on assignment submissions on a permanent basis, physics and maths classes went over my head, completely lost out to the rival in school politics, best friends crossed over to enemy camp or turned indifferent, scored historically low marks and most painfully, was completely let down by my beloved..... <br /><br />Perhaps, more than all that was crumbling around me what consumed my unslept nights was her let down. I wrote poems one after other every night, mostly about the pain of rejection. I ran away from text books and read about art, literature, culture and politics. I read the most contemporary poems. I spent the cash awards I got for essay competitions on buying books and set up a small home library – to which I used to keep looking at with excessive amount of pride. <br /><br />My mom was extremely hurt when she once visited the school when progress report was out. “He will always have some company around him and is least bothered about studies,” maths teacher’s words, her expression of strong disapproval and dislike left mom in tears. For she, in two years it was things turned upside down. <br /><br />She had seen her son being everyone’s favourite in school when she came for anniversary when he was in tenth, proudly heard a special mention about his achievements in annual school report, seen him addressing the gathering as school leader..<br /><br />But here, in another school, in another two years, he has become a pariah, a failure, a nuisance, a left-out. “I was the one who taught him to read and write. That too in 15 days...”before she completed her sentences she was in tears and a lump was formed in her throat. As she broke down in the awkwardly emotional moment the entire staffroom wore an embarrassed look.<br /><br />So things were moving from bad to worse. It didn’t seem to find a halt till I finally told myself something needs to be done. Given 26/150 for maths and 18/100 for physics, my chances to pass higher secondary are pretty slim, I told myself. I thought of bunking those exams which were really difficult. But finally made up my mind to appear for all papers. <br /><br />I told myself this is the most difficult test, once i pass through this, things will be easier. I can join for arts subjects for degree and fair well. I must face the challenge of attending exams rather than running away from them. I was prepared to face the ignominy of a failure if that was what it was supposed to be.<br /><br />I found that except for maths and physics, I could handle other subjects such as chemistry, zoology, botony and languages. So all I need to do is to give special attention to maths and physics. I started reading physics text books for the first time! To his credit, the physics teacher gave excellent class notes. Not only that the text book made sense to me but also I found it quite interesting! Then for practicals, although a little late, I understood the diagrums could help one connect things in order and byhearted them. Although I never understood what they meant to be I was able to make PO Box or whatever little instruments work. Thus I ensured I wouldn’t fail!<br /><br />Then comes maths where matrix, vector and a little understanding of differentiation is not just enough to cross the pass mark. Here came Joyichan, my dad’s younger brother a maths guru. An unslept night over differention and integration just a day before the exams – he said I picked up fast and actually would have done better - I survived the maths problem.<br /><br />But, in worst case scenario you can still fail. So I was preparing for it when the results were approaching. That day when I got the newspaper, I was looking from the bottom to see my hall ticket number. Although my mind said I am through I had a slight fear when my number was not found in the third class list. Ooops I am there in the second class!<br /><br />Unlike my physics teacher who chose not to believe I passed through merit, my maths teacher was particularly happy to see that I passed. The happiness was there in her eyes when she said “Manu, I honestly thought you would fail. But here you won. And when the ‘just-passed ones’ usually barely make it to 53 at the mercy of examiners here you have 64 marks! Quite an achievement and a hard-earned one. I am happy for you”.<br /><br />Although it still remains to be an outstandingly low score in my academic record, the 57 per cent for higher secondary reminds me of a tumultuous time, a survival struggle and finally a big relief!manuscripthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12113986199133726533noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8334462963630337253.post-83865440777855372662009-09-30T06:59:00.000-07:002012-06-24T04:57:22.898-07:00Ga..ga..over GoaWhen Venu proposed this idea of ‘unwinding’ I didn’t know that it would goad me into a Goa-bound train just 45 minutes later. That’s exactly what happened. After a quick last minute read I filed the interview copy, lied to my marketing colleagues with whom I were supposed to go for a Sunday outing and hurriedly backpacked.<br /><br />*
* * ** * * * * * <br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">The</span> people along the Western cost, be it Keralites, Mangaloreans, Goans or Konkanees should thank Western Ghat and Arabean Sea. The sea sends water vapour winds which are stopped by the mountain, leading to an abundant splash all over the region. Thus we have rain-fed richly green mountains with dark deep forests, midlands with bountiful farm fields and awesome beaches. The midlands of Goa and Kerala are identical. The type of vegetation, laterite stones, tiled roofs and of course crosses remind one of Kerala. It was a breather for somebody who was missing it for many a month. <br /><br />In all fairness, Goa’s greenery is richer and it maintained many of its traditional tiled roof buildings. In an ugly display of opulence, monstrous concrete houses stacked with petro dollars displaced most of the simple houses along the waysides of Kerala. Goa outrivals Kerala in density of Churches as well, which forced priests posted there to complain Portuguese King <span style="font-style:italic;">“Our bell and their bell. Our choir and their choir. There is cacophony here”. </span><br /><br />* * * * ** * * * * * <br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">When</span> in Goa be Goans. When a small bottle of Carlsburg ejected that rough edged calcium stone from my bladder last year mom told me “that’s fine, but don’t make it a habit”. But, it might be the fear of its recurring tendency and beer’s digestive property that made me an occasional beer drinker. One bottle of KF is a given. About fenny, it is after all a country liquor brewed from the juice of cashew apple. You know, I am all for local inventions and organic products. But the danger was I had three unmixed fenny shots (the last one was an accident, I mistook fenny for water). It’s only then I realised how much I love my brother, how well I can engage my father in a conversation and how funny the chat with mom can be.<br /><br />I talked about house construction and finance with brother, then discussed stories and career with father and chatted about all that happened in the day with mom (including the virtues of fenny). Anyway, mom didn’t call me the next day. May be she didn’t want to hear my fenny-inspired ‘gunavathikaaram’ (blah-blah) for the second day. All said, I still consider myself a teetotaller, just like fish-eating Bongs consider themselves vegetarians. <br /><br />* * * * ** * * * * * <br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">A </span>little intoxication can sometimes bring out your hidden faculties. Venu found it hard to open the door and applied further pressure. The key broke into two pieces. The rest was a drama. ‘Hurt’ by a bizarre incident, an enraged tourist – that is me - rushes to the reception and complains about the ‘subquality’ key. Only later that everyone realised we tried entering the wrong room! But by the time we successfully put the blame on the management who procured fragile keys for the hotel doors. But in the absence of a spare key, I had to climb over the balcony and do a spiderman to unbolt the backdoor.<br /><br />The next morning when we checked out, wisdom dawned on the hotel people. They demanded penalty for breaking their key by trying it on the wrong door. We stuck on the ‘subquality’ argument. Now we had additional points; the security of the hotel. Someone could easily sneak in through the backdoor. What if a thief adopts the same way, just as the tourist with the misplaced key did the previous day? No fines, nothing, only thank you! <br /><br />* * * * ** * * * * * <br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">Each</span> time I enjoy the soft and not-so-soft beatings of sea waves, which come one after the other, I remember one of my earlier visits to seashore. That was when I was in seventh, I guess. Just before V.P.Singh’s rally, we – father and me - along with the fellow party workers from our hilly village had a sea bath. When he took me to the shores father reminded me of those popular lyrics: <span style="font-style:italic;">kadalile olavum karalile mohavum adangukillomane adangukilla…</span>(the waves in the sea and desires in the heart will never stop).<br /><br />And that day I saw how drunk and crazy he can be which made me threaten a sudden return. This time in Goa, I was perhaps five times less drunk and crazy. But I was at least slightly drunk and slightly crazy. I think once in a while it is good to have a sea bath and to be a little crazy. Preferably, at Kolva beach.<br /><br />* * * * ** * * * * * <br /><br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">Having</span> left Goa, one thing I miss the most is fish curry rice. The Goan fish fry with coarse rice flour will make you all the more joyous. We had a repeat of the same for the second day lunch. From an unimpressive wayside eating place in Old Goa, each of us had two bowls of rice and half a dozen fish pieces, along with other side dishes. All for 80 bucks! Oh forgot to add, the boy took two clicks of us enjoying lunch. By the time I returned, the stomach has become a small aquarium.<br /><br />* * * * ** * * * * * <br /> <br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">The</span> third and last day was not meant to be fully fun. We were in the village town Koodal where Maharashtra politician and onetime chief minister Narayan Rane is contesting elections from. Two and a half hours away from the Goan town of Mapusa, this Konkan village town has narrow roads, old buildings and Malvadi-speaking unambitious farmers. If he gets elected yet again, Rane should ensure one thing that many more banks will open their ATMs there. It was scary to walk pennyless for about one k.m. only to find the omni-present SBI ATM is shut. The 12th person we asked did help; there was an Indian Bank ATM on the other part of the town. Thank God.<br /><br />Talking about money, I don’t know how we can plan out an austere trip. Perhaps, a totally unplanned one would be better. The three-day Goa trip cost each of us in the region of Rs 2500!manuscripthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12113986199133726533noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8334462963630337253.post-53018946320739187412009-09-03T02:08:00.000-07:002009-09-03T02:09:00.697-07:00What happens in BJPCaught in a busy week I thought the topicality of the issue would fade by the time I sit down to write. But thankfully, the BJP leaders have kept the issue alive till I am finally ready to attempt typing down my thoughts on the current crisis.<br /><br />A book analysing the moderate facet of Jinnah showed the way out for an already alienated Jaswant Singh. Yaswant Sinha, another leader who does not find much scope for himself in the generational shift that is taking place in the party, put in an angry resignation. The third one, Arun Shourie who has been a key figure in the saffron intelligentsia, provokes party leadership with his characteristic verbal attack. And Sudheendra Kulkarni, a political professional timed his VRS with these high profile departures. <br /><br />The exit of these leaders who have no mass base may not have immediate electoral impacts in states where the Party is facing elections. However, given the profile of these leaders what the BJP lost was its remaining moderate trappings. <br /><br />In my view, two forces have led to the present situation. One, the retreat of the BJP into its original hardline position. That is, a conscious decision to harden its hindutwa postures by shunning all secular cosmetics. These leaders with non-RSS background would naturally find it hard to earn a place in the current scheme of things guided, designed and perfected by the Sangh.<br /><br />In fact, they are part of the Vajpayee era, a master tactician who successfully balanced the core Hindutwa agenda of RSS and mainstream democratic politics. As Jyotirmaya Sharma once pointed out the arrangement between Vajpayee and RSS was mutually beneficial. RSS got a moderate mascot and in return Vajpayee enjoyed power and position.<br /><br />Demolition man Advani could never grow to this space no matter how hard he tried. Having found that moderate pretensions to reach out beyond the core hindutwa constituency is not working, RSS has decided to consolidate and expand its core. In the process, it inadvertently or otherwise, underscored the fact that BJP is mere a political outfit of RSS and weeded out ‘alien elements’ in the party. (Muktar Naqvi and Shanavas Husain better watch out).<br /><br />Another force that paved way for the exit of these leaders was the desperation and internal contradictions within them. By learning, experience and personal convictions, all of them are not fully in sync with the annihilation-driven ideology of RSS. In spite of Babri, Bombay and Gujarat, what glued them to the BJP were crumbs of power. <br /><br />Jaswant, Sinha and Shourie were key ministers in the Vajpayee cabinet while Kulkarni enjoyed considerable media glare. Now the positions of power are increasingly few and far between. The association with a party with aggressive rightist character is not paying commensurate political benefit while its solidifying hindutwa postures discomfort them. So, at least Jaswant might have thought that this is time to escape the wrath of history and save some honour for himself professing syncretic culture and Hindu-Muslim unity.manuscripthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12113986199133726533noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8334462963630337253.post-5423177505998592132009-07-20T03:39:00.001-07:002009-09-03T09:47:04.713-07:00In loving memory of KuttoosI don’t know where he inherited that greatness, graciousness and intelligence from, but I am quite sure that he possessed all that and left an indelible mark on all our hearts, even long years after his passing away. I was in church, after Sunday mass and meetings, when someone told me Kuttu had a very tragic death. My heart sank and I couldn’t believe what I heard. After a few moments, I regained my composure and told myself: “he was after all a dog, however close he was with us, shouldn’t be so upset over the loss of a dog”. But given the fact that his gentle presence is so alive in memories, it becomes clear that he was so important for us. He was and is, inerasable, irreplaceable…<br /><br />We first met him, a little puppy who is hardly two-weeks old, during our way back from school. We kids, out from the school, were running all the way to our homes. The noisy ‘independence march’ irked those two puppies who came out barking from a house on the way. We, brothers, were instantly attracted to the shorter one whose bark was shriller. He looked very cute, active and amusing.<br /><br />Familiarity with that family made it quite easy for us to ask for a puppy. They told us to come a few days later. Another day, on our way back from school, we went to the same house, this time to collect one. We were not sure if we can pick and choose one. Luckily, this time also he, the shorter one we liked, came out barking with much shriller voice. They gave us him!<br /><br />We hurried to home carrying him all along in our hands. We were so eager to present him before mom. When we reached home mom was not there. She had gone to farm field with evening tea for the workers. We called her aloud. Once she rushed back, we gleefully showed her the calm brown puppy lying on the front yard. <br /><br />She had an instant rage seeing white spots on his legs and tail. The popular belief is that dogs with white spots on legs and tail will never stick to their masters but wander around. We were not aware of that.<br /><br />“Who told you to bring this creature here? See what foolishness you have done, bringing a puppy with white spots on its legs and tail!” she ranted. Our proud possession has suddenly become an unwanted object. Mom had unequivocally said that she wouldn’t accept this dirty creature and it would be our responsibility to dispose it of.<br /><br />But within no time, the small puppy became so friendly with us. We, children, were so puzzled if we should accept this lavish friendship as he was already rendered a pariah. <br /><br />We left him at one corner of our farm field and ran back home, but little puppy took it just as a hide-and-seek game. He followed us gleefully and within no time reached back. As pressure mounted on one side, the disposal of pup became a headache for us. Much to the amusement of elders – the whole neighbourhood who joined the chorus of ridiculing us for this foolish act – my brother suggested “Manottai, what if we bury it alive?”<br /><br /> We finally opted for the traditional ‘pup-disposal’ method; we abandoned him in the junction; a clutch of shops where people gather. This time we succeeded to leave him there and run away.<br /><br />As fate would have it, some children spotted him wandering in the junction and recognised that the puppy belonged to us. They so responsibly took him back to us. With this incident, mom has almost resigned to accepting him. <br /><br />By the way, she had a rich livestock. A hen called Parukkutty and her chickens, a herd of cows and calves including Ponni, Nandini, Sundari, Karuthamma and Muthulakshmi, besides her goat Pappi and her three sons Charli, Chapli and Kambli. The young dog, with his unsolicited friendliness somehow found space among those farm animals. For his sheer uselessness, he was rather hated. But young puppy didn’t seem to care for all this.<br /><br />He examined everything, he ran around the entire house compound, farm field, cattle shed. He never complained, never growled for food, didn’t defecate on the house compound (we understood these are uncommon virtues for a dog only much later when we tried to domesticate a few other ones after his death).<br /><br />An incident during the following summer vacation when we were away at mom’s home shot the puppy into instant popularity. The delivery of Muthulakshmy, a Brownswiss variety on which mom had loads of hope, was due. (Muthu’s long-awaited pregnancy, after treatment for infertility, was a huge relief for the entire family). <br /><br />Muthu, who is known for her lack of commonsense, was tied to a coconut tree somewhere near the house as the expectant cow needed special attention. After the summer showers soil turned muddy and Muthu who felt some unease struck her horns on the ground. It stuck in the sticky soil and she fell on the ground. She was gasping for breath. Mom and dad were a little away with the workers who were planting ginger and didn’t see this. Ginger is planted after the first spell of summer showers.<br /><br />Little puppy felt that something was wrong and barked at the top of his voice. This attracted some of those workers who passed by. They ran to the spot only to see Muthulakshmi, the pregnant cow, gasping for breath in a near-death situation. They immediately cut the rope and freed the cow from its self-created entanglement.<br /><br />Little puppy saved the life of Muthulakshmi, mom’s proud possession the Brownswisss breed! It became news in the immediate neighbourhood. And mother shared her joy in her letter to us who were holidaying with cousins at the ancestral home.<br /><br />When we returned home after that summer what we could see was puppy enjoying a new-found love, attention and care for his heroic act. Hitherto, he was just ‘Patti’ (the Malayalam word for dog), without a name, identity and status. Apparently, everyone realised that he deserves much higher consideration.<br /><br />Now the search for a good name: at a post-dinner discussion, as we failed to find an interesting name for our interesting puppy, the caretaker of our dairy, Chandranchettai proposed ‘Kuttoosan’ – no sooner did he utter this in his high-pitched voice than all four of us erupted in joy accepting this. Thus Kuttoosan, the evil sorcerer in a Malayalam children’s comic, turned out to be a pet puppy name, perhaps for the first time in history.<br /><br />We called him Kuttu or Kuttoos as we felt like. When we call out Kuttoos, he will come running from wherever he is…no matter how distant he was. He knew the boundaries of our farm. He rarely crossed those boundaries, without any instruction. If our neighbour’s farm animals crossed the boundary and come to our field, you would see the rare flash of rage on his face. He would ran after them and chase them away till the boundary and return. His sense of boundary and belongingness amazed everyone. On many occasions he had bitten the alien calves, hens, goats and pigs. Among our flock of chicken, if there happened to be one from the neighbouring households, he would single out it and chase it away. Boy, it would be an uproarious scene.<br /><br />When we wanted to catch one of our chickens to cook, we needn’t run after them. We would just call Kuttu and throw a stone at the chicken; he will chase it and finally keep it under his hold until some of us catch the hen/cock. Much of the credit for Kuttu’s playfulness and responsiveness would go to my brother and his friend Unni, who spent lot of their time playing with him. We used to throw objects and compete with Kuttu to catch it. We used to give him jumping practice.<br /><br />When, many of the neighbourhood dogs, be it his darling Rosy or his arch rivals Jimmy and Appoos, had to contend with leftovers which are often cold, rotten or sub-quality, Kuttoos gently refused to eat anything that is a day old. Mom used to say, “Kuttu seems to be asking me, ‘why are you giving me the stuff only dogs would eat’?”<br /><br />When Rosy calls him out for a date, it is a bit difficult for him to resist that. However, he always wanted to keep it a secret as we never approved him wandering around. He had found his way out through a simple trick. He would bark at certain direction as if he found something/somebody curious and chase it. Later we would see him going around with Rosy who was waiting for him hiding in some corner.<br /><br />With Jimmy, he had a running feud. No matter how larger and older he was, most of the time Kuttu used to beat him in their direct duels. Jimmy’s brother Appoos was his friend but when Jimmy took on Kuttu, Appoos used to side with his big brother. The combined force of both was often something difficult to handle for Kuttu. Although he had occasional victories, he was at times badly bitten. But he never ran away from the battle scene.<br /><br />We, dad, brother and me, were so close to him that we found it difficult to scold him when it was required. But one big shout would be good enough to keep him under control. The one whom he was really afraid of was mom. It was a mix of fear, respect and love. When he committed something wrong, just as staying away for longer hours, staying overnight at certain other place, Kuttu’s sense of guilt would be writ large on his face. When mother calls him, his hanging ears will be further droopy, eyes will be downward looking, tail will be tucked between his rear legs and back will bend like ‘n’.<br /><br />But very rarely did he commit such mistakes. Nothing would make him so joyous than mom’s rare show of affection. If dad, I and brother were away, he would skip his short nocturnal round through the immediate neighbourhood and would stay calmly in the front yard, taking over mom’s guardianship. This post-supper trip was a routine for him. As he grew up, his avarice for food was considerably reducing. Apart from non-veg, what he loved the most were sweet items and tapioca. He liked plantain and banana also, something not so common among dogs.<br /><br />When the chickens make unusual voice, when something happen at cattle shed Kuttoos would instantly reach the spot. He would suddenly assume an air of responsibility at any problem situation.<br /><br /> Although, at one point of time he created some headache with biting children who came to our house, forcing us to chain him for a while, he rarely attacked our visitors. <br /><br />But the agile, always active and handsome Kuttoos with long hairs on the top of his neck was respected within the neighbourhood so much as he was feared. The tiger nails on his forelegs were said to be the sign of dogs with extra ordinary intelligence. I don’t know if there is any academic backing for this theory. Anyway, he defied a local myth that dogs with white spots on legs and tail would wander away.<br /><br />Even when he was 10 years old he looked young and smart, much like Mammooty. In a way, both of us, my kid brother and me, who were away at church was fortunate not to see his half-eaten body. Kuttu seemed to have engaged in a fight with a tiger dog (a variety of wild dog which looks like both dog and tiger) which came from nearby forest. <br /><br />Mom says Kuttu’s habit – his refusal to withdraw – might have perhaps led to his death. He might have picked up a fight with tiger dog which ultimately cost his life. <br /><br />His tragic death still remains a poignant memory. He was our companion for 10 long years, for me from sixth standard to PG first year. Kuttu was a local legend. During his lifetime and posthumously also, many pet dogs in the neighbourhood were named after Kuttu, which bore testimony to his goodwill.manuscripthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12113986199133726533noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8334462963630337253.post-39930057945894733582009-05-18T10:31:00.000-07:002009-05-26T06:00:16.033-07:00A rathyatra to the wrong side of historyA rathyatra on the road of hatred may lead you up to the gate of 7 Race Course, but not beyond that. Having lost his prime ministerial dreams once and forever, Advani is learning this hard way. Given the long-drawn out bloody strategy he so skilfully charted way back in 70s, nurtured through 80s, pursued in 90s and bolstered in the new millennium, his disappointment is understandable. Evidently, Advani finds it hard to come to terms with the crumbling of his grand project.<br /><br />His reluctance to address the public for the first two days post the counting of votes is but pitiable. Perhaps, at least for me who developed a negative image of this man when his 1992-rathyatra climaxed in the demolition of centuries-old mosque and massacres, his absolute disappearance from the public seen following the election results confirms the deep upset it has inflicted upon him.<br /><br />A retrospect of Advani’s political life for the last 20 years after he rose to national prominence would never reveal any instance of this man seriously engaging with the basic development question – poverty, lack of infrastructure, educational backwardness – nothing influenced the agenda of national debates initiated by this man. <br /><br />He was so aggressively harping on the theme of wrongs committed by medieval Muslim invaders which finally led him to demolish the 500-year old mosque. The agenda was all too clear – create a false sense that Hindus in India are victimized by Muslims and mobilise a vote-base on the basis of majoritarianism. It was actually ridiculous to suggest that a community intimidates another one which is numerically six times bigger than that.<br /><br />After the evolution of this nation as a multi-ethnic, multi-lingual and multi-cultural society which was historically influenced by various streams of people, the idea of holding the Indian society hostage to the ‘magnified medieval wrong-doings’ was not only absurd but also reactionary.<br /><br />The orchestrated communal killings across the country, be it Bombay riot or Gujrat carnage, offered some political mileage to Advani’s brand of politics. <br /><br />But, the underlying wisdom of Indian public could sustain the communalisation efforts, thanks to the powerful stream of liberal thoughts, which put spoke on communal juggernaut. BJP ridiculed the liberal elite of the country as ‘pseudo secular’ and their activities as‘minority appeasement’.<br /><br />Advani’s ideological dishonesty was unravelled when he staged a sentimental drama in Pakistan calling Jinnah secular. In his desperate bid to occupy the moderate space within the BJP in the post-Vajpayee era which suited his prime ministerial project backfired because his ideological patrons in the RSS did not pardon him, neither the liberal elites of the country got carried away by his new-found love for secularism. It just turned out a political opportunism that did not pay off.<br /><br />BJP has been professing the philosophy of hate (under the garb of self pride) with absolute conviction that the people of India can be taken for granted, they would be swayed by their communal agenda. But the one billion plus nation stunted them several times. <br /><br />The same conviction that the people of India is gullible to the concocted reality presented by them was evident in the utterly counter-productive brash India Shining electoral campaign in the past. This time it was all the more ridiculous as the 81-year old ‘prime minister in waiting’ was shamelessly aping 47-year old US president Barack Obama.<br /><br />Obama for America campaign was imitated by similarly sounding Advani for PM campaign. There were attempts to bring in subtle messages of ‘change’ as well as ‘youthness’ which were ironically lacking in the campaign of octogenarian who is a prisoner of medieval hatred. While Obama transcended race and professed harmony the imitator believed in garnering political capital out of divisiveness. <br /><br />Advani’s desperation was reaching new levels in the 2009 campaign as we could see in several occasions. His refusal to disown Varun Gandhi’s vitriol just suggested he fell back on appealing to the extremist sentiments. Having perceived that the party could not catch up with the Congress, the BJP changed tack midway; they prematurely announced Modi as 2014 prime ministerial candidate. The idea was to cash in on the perceived popularity of rabblerousing Gujarat Chief Minister who remains unrepentant over the genocide of 1000 plus Muslims.<br /><br />Even his autobiography which was published well in advance to the election 2009 did its share of damage to Advani’s campaign. The then Home Minister pleading ignorance over the decision to release dreaded terrorists in exchange of Kandahar hostages revealed nothing but dishonesty and cowardice.<br />If Advani had owned up that move, since it anyway has a justification since lives of hundreds of Indians were under risk, it would have been much more straitforward.<br /><br />Besides all his vicious projects, Advani finally earned notoriety for denigrating the election campaign to such a low by calling Manmohan Singh, a weak prime minister. People of India who have seen both of them on prime-time TV had the right assessment.<br /><br />A man and a movement blinded by its quest for power always ended up in the wrong side of the history.manuscripthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12113986199133726533noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8334462963630337253.post-45534158195819467462009-05-17T04:32:00.000-07:002009-05-17T04:34:32.632-07:00Bharat MahanThe resounding electoral victory for the UPA underscores that the policy shift of the Congress towards left-of-the centre position has struck a chord with the Indian masses. The surprise victory of the Congress in 2004 which was out of power for eight long years was in the context of a ravaged rural India languishing under agriculture crisis and collective impoverishment. The Congress returned to power as the masses voted out BJP.<br /><br />In 2004, the ruling BJP, the so called ‘Hindu nationalist party’ (courtesy to Reuters for the usage), so firmly believed that the post-liberalisation, prosperous urban middleclass would endorse their ‘India Shining’ campaign. They seem to have taken for granted the rural masses, the 70 per cent of Indians, that a vast majority of them would support the party for its extreme Hindutwa postures.<br /><br />But they miserably failed as evidenced by the two subsequent national elections – 2004 and 2009. The ruthless violence, demagoguery and vicious use of emotional issues were completely rejected by the masses. This is where the Congress entered the scene.<br /><br />The Congress, which is often criticised for neo liberal approach, which is broadly defined as the withdrawal of state from its welfare responsibilities, downsizing of government and hijacking of resources by capitalist forces, knowingly or unknowingly underwent a policy correction.<br /><br />The government initiated a creative job guarantee scheme for the rural poor which ensured 100 days of employment. This has two-way benefit that it addresses the basic development question in those interior areas. In other words, these labourers are employed in projects such as road construction, water harvesting initiatives and collective farming. This should be viewed in the context of the historic problem of rural unemployment in India.<br /><br />When the corrupt bureaucratic mechanism manipulated the wage distribution to those labourers, the government came out with the Right to Information Act to ensure transparency in government affairs. This coupled with distribution of smart cards, at least in some parts, helped reduce corruption and manipulation to a certain extent.<br /><br />This was followed by farm-loan waiver which saved millions of farmers from perennial indebtedness. Remember, the agrarian regions were ridden by the series of farmer suicides as a result of successive years of drought, crop loss, price crash and mounting debt. <br /><br />The Prevention of Domestic Violence Act, Bharat Nirman Rural Infrastructure Project and Rural Health Mission are among other achievements of the UPA Government which critics would dub as populist measures. In the absence of a vociferous propaganda mechanism as its political opponent RSS-backed BJP has, one was doubtful about the Congress’s ability to convert those populist measures into public support.<br /><br />However, the Indian electorate surprised everyone with its discretion which once again withstood the propaganda onslaught of a haughty, majoritarian, divisive movement. The outcome of 2009 national election conclusively proves that the people of India have rejected the politics of partisanship. This reinforces the faith in India as a country which upholds the values of peace, harmony and tolerance.<br /><br />The simple, learned, modest Manmohan Singh appealed to the masses and they dismissed insinuations that he is weak and submissive for the dishonesty and arrogance behind such propaganda. <br /><br />However, will the shrinking space of the Left in our national debate, its much reduced influence on the policy making be an opportunity for the Congress for aggressive pursuance of neo-liberal agenda?<br /><br />Will we see more corporate hijacking of resources? Will we see profit-making navaratna public sector undertakings being put up for sale? Will we see the basic functions such as power distribution being left to private players? Will we see further de-regulation of stock markets which will make it vulnerable to the manipulations of international players?<br /><br />If the increased numerical strength marks a departure from pro-people policies of the government, the masses would not take much time to go back to the days of anti-Congressism.manuscripthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12113986199133726533noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8334462963630337253.post-28996100576268959112008-12-07T10:07:00.000-08:002008-12-08T08:43:50.883-08:00My great grandpa is turning in his graveSometimes I am lost to a near-impossible task of piecing together all my fragmented childhood memories to make him alive in a sepia tone frame – my great grandfather – whom I missed when I had just begun to understand him.<br /><br />He died when I was 12. By the time we reached the funeral was over. But none in our family was deeply mournful when he passed away just a few days before him turning 102. When we just arrived at our ancestral home, one of my younger cousins, just four then, gleefully told us “we buried him”. His greatest worry was if the old man would sprout up from the grave.<br /><br />Even the youngest of the family members shared the common feeling; he was more feared than loved. His presence enforced a degree of silence; even we kids were restrained in our activities. I think the older members of the family were actually using it as a ploy to control us. His walking stick was the most hated object during my pre-school years when I was, away from my parents, raised in my ancestral home. When I throw tantrums grand mother would show his walking stick and tell me, he would come and beat me with that.<br /><br />Being the youngest and the oldest in the family, there might have existed some sort of power struggle between us. Because, care, attention and consideration were shared between us and we were equally narcissistic, selfish and inconsiderate to others. But both of us eventually lost our powers.<br /> <br />He was tall, fair, healthy and handsome. I suspect his father was envy of him. My great grandpa’s father was tyrannical just as he was. Those old days, in the beginning of 20th century, fathers must be invariably so, tyrannical, unquestioned and whimsical. His father chose a wife for him whom he saw only on the wedding day. She was just opposite to him; dark, short and unattractive. Thus we, the generations, a mix of both was born. <br /><br />I have a feeling that his father had a devious agenda to limit his marital joys by getting him married to a lady, who was in no way a match for his charm. My father often jokes, “they mated just thrice, that is why they ended up with only three children”. I found some merit in this observation as the great grand father’s contemporaries would have a minimum of ten children each.<br /><br />The three things that constituted his character were stubbornness, temper and piousness. He was hardworking and single-minded which eventually made him arguably the largest land owner in the village in Malabar where he settled. When I was in second or third standard, I once asked my mother “What was great grandpa doing during the time of independence struggle?” Because, for me, he was the most important one I personally knew who was alive at that time. Mom’s answer was spontaneous “Oh, he might have been planting tapioca”. I think, this applies to the Syrian Christians as a whole, who I observed that, is more driven by individualistic goals rather than the collective social goals.<br /><br />I never remember a single occasion when he spoke softly to me. During family prayers he used to sit on a chair while every one else would be sitting on a mat. I would be sitting close to him. I was hardly four and he was in his nineties then. He would shout at me for not being loud enough. Then I would lean close to his ears and recite at the top of my voice the Malayalam version of ‘hail mary’. He would yell back at me “Are you out to break my ears?” I would get a sense of satisfaction for having disrupted his carefully conducted evening prayer and earn the silent support of others who were just not able to take on the tyrannical family patriarch.<br /><br />He went to church every morning. If he was not seen in church for the morning mass, other regular churchgoers, concerned about the nonagenarian’s health, would visit him. On the other hand, the whole parish would be surprised if his grandson – my father – was spotted in church even on Sundays.<br /><br />One of the very few persons my great grandfather liked was my mother. Once when he visited my home, he was afflicted by dysentery following an overdose of liquor on the previous night (he rarely drank, this was my father’s treat to him). Mom took him to doctor. When they reached town, he handed over his walking stick to my mom and walked freely. She had no choice but to hold the stick. A 95-year old man walking steadily and his 30-year old granddaughter-in-law meekly following him with a walking stick offered a hilarious scene for the onlookers.<br /><br />Although he entrusted his property to his son and grandsons, he set apart a small piece of land for him where he used to cultivate himself. None would now believe he was once hospitalised in his nineties after falling from a tree. He would save the money for himself. The old man had savings in the local bank for his funeral!<br /><br />In one way he was lucky to die without any hunch about the precarious position of the landholding he developed with his hard work, thanks to his wayward grandsons. He might be, proverbially, turning in his grave.<br /><br />There must be so many ordinary great men like him who were not privileged to be written about;they do not have self-obsessed journalist-great grandsons.manuscripthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12113986199133726533noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8334462963630337253.post-41554312939823888832008-11-09T01:27:00.000-08:002008-11-09T07:02:00.355-08:00Obambulating in Indian politicsWhen analysing the Obama victory, every one is understandably not comfortable with the race talk. Its historic significance for someone of African origin became president of white-majority America. What they say is perfectly correct – ideal – that we mustn’t get fixated on caste, race and religion. <br /><br />However, I take a rather politically incorrect position here. It is a little naïve to believe that our polity has moved beyond the questions of ethnicity; the identity and origin still remain determining factors. A black man’s ascendance to presidency is a historic highpoint at which Hillary’s ‘white America’ shunned racial considerations. It signifies not only the political wisdom and ability of Obama to transcend race but also high secular values of American people for whom colour was hardly a factor in their political choice.<br /><br />Here, I adventure a racially disturbing question in the Indian political scene – are we ready for a Dalit prime minister? Let me clarify that one shouldn’t be made prime minister just because he was born Dalit. My question is if Indian society is ready for accepting a so called untouchable as its prime minister – if he or she has all the political, moral and intellectual credential to be the country head?<br /><br />I don’t say we are not. But I can’t say we are ready. One of the most scholarly, erudite and efficient presidents of the Indian republic who was an ardent practitioner of Nehruvian secularism was a Dalit. History will ever say he was a right choice. The elected head of the most populous state of the country is a Dalit woman. <br /><br />When K.R.Narayanan died, among the snippets in front page of Times of India, it appeared: country’s first Dalit president dead. It was a brief news, negating and obliviating his great contribution to the country and reducing his historic significance to mere ‘Dalit’ president, implying that ‘Dalitness’ is the foremost thing to talk about him. It appeared to me patronising, prejudicial and condescending.<br /><br />That we are at a sad state where we are not confident enough to write K.R.Narayanan is dead, presupposing that the reading public needs an introduction – country’s first Dalit president. <br /><br />When discussing caste or reservation; the articulate sections’ response is often patronising, prejudicial and condescending. Reservation of admissions and appointments are perceived by many as an ill-conceived mechanism which allows some sections to eat away something which is rightfully theirs. Sadly, they choose to rebuff the issue of historical absence of a level playing ground which led to the disenfranchisement of a vast section of population. And a society's collective obligation to close those gaps. <br /><br />The so called mainstream is not ready to accept Mayavati. I think Modi has greater acceptance than Mayavati in the mainstream. Mayavati is accused of playing up identity politics, for raising the issue of untouchability, perhaps far more fervently than any greater practitioners of divisive politics such as Advani, Modi and co. <br /><br />I think it is because what Mayavati’s politics raises is an inconvenient truth to many. When she cobbled up an unimaginable Brahmin-Dalit coalition we accused her of political opportunism. Yes, she is cantankerous, whimsical, antagonistic, acrimonious, devious, callous and greedy. But there is a fundamental problem in us, expecting her to be a saint in a murky political system where everyone else is muddied. <br /><br />However, I do not see Mayavati as an Indian version of Obama. Her ability to consolidate space for subaltern politics is commendable. Her political muscle to withstand heinous annihilation tactics is noteworthy. Her struggle to formulate a formidable mass movement deserves credit.<br /><br />However, she requires far more grace, wisdom, intellect and studiousness to be equal to Obama. I think, if not Mayavati, in subsequent generations there should be someone, who can rise beyond caste, who is far greater competent to deal with the increasingly complex intricacies of governance. At the historic point at which he/she emerges we, as a polity, also may be better prepared to put behind our intolerances. I think we are preparing.<br /><br /><br />* obambulate <br />PRONUNCIATION:<br />(o-BAM-byuh-layt) <br />MEANING:<br />verb tr.: To walk about. <br />Source: Wordsmith.orgmanuscripthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12113986199133726533noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8334462963630337253.post-17677486892906410822008-11-02T02:08:00.000-08:002008-11-23T07:32:33.918-08:00Ee bachelorsinte oro problems (Certain problems of these bachelors..)Here I am going to discuss something which is little awkward. I will start with quoting an interesting wire copy which I chanced upon a few months ago. Based on a survey among various groups, a new Australian research says working singles are the unhappiest lot.<br /><br /><em>The singles group, which had an average age of 33, includes singles who worked full time, earned more than an average income and had fair job satisfaction.<br />Yet despite all of the above, despite good connections with family and friends, they were unhappy about their single status and had "low life satisfaction".<br />The only unhappier Australians were those on the margins, who include single parents, the unemployed and those with disabilities.<br />Psychologist Evelyn Field says singles working long hours were dissatisfied about having no partner.<br />"They would be anxious, stressed and depressed at times," The Daily Telegraph quoted her, as saying.</em><br /><br />Me, at 28, a media professional in a metro, with few friends in town and staying alone, passing through the loneliest phase in life, have fully endorsed this research finding.<br /><br />This feeling started haunting me for sometime, ever since a weird sense of increasingly being distanced and left alone had crept in. It may have something to do with the far greater physical distance from home than it ever used to be, the relatively less number of friends in the close proximity in this distant city and certain other things in life that happened in between.<br /><br />Last August, it turned 10 years since I am living away from home. The distance gets farther as the years go by. A mix of misfortune, lack of opportunity, academic-familial-professional preoccupations and constraints impacted my search for the soulmate. (And I don’t know if there are any other attributable reasons)<br /><br />It doesn’t mean that I have completely been denied the feminine presence in the youthful days. I have enjoyed fair amount of love, liking, care and considerations from the opposite sex. Perhaps, on that front, I might be luckier than some others. And there were brief illusions of having almost achieved that priced thing – love.<br />Most of the people we interact are hypocritical when it comes to love – putting up a rather detached attitude towards such ‘silly things’ and acting brave. Pretty understandable, nobody wants to look vulnerable. It was not the case with me. <br /><br />Just now, I made a futile search in the internet to find that exact quote from Diary of Anne Frank. It was something like this - Despite all love and care by your family and friends, you won't find perfect happiness until you find somebody who exclusively belongs to you. I have always acknowledged and realised this emotional need of possessing and belonging to someone.<br /><br />However, as somebody jokingly said, “your success rate is quite low”. After each illusory phase, let-downs and ‘voluntary retirements’ what always helped me move on is the intuitive optimism that some day I will meet up with the one who was chosen for me before the earth was born. The other day I was thinking, this search had actually started when I was in fifth or sixth standard. 17-18 years, the search is still on!<br /><br />At this point of time I honestly don’t know what happened to my optimism. All I know is that it has just not happened yet.<br /><br />The other day I happened to read in orkut a beautiful description about an ideal partner. It could be a borrowed thought for me. But it is something I too feel, may be many others too.<br /><br /><em>My perfect partner is the person who is able to provide <br />the three most important elements I value in a relationship- trust, love and respect. She is someone who can appreciate my company all the time, bring a smile to my heart, someone I can walk with or be with and not say a word and know that was the best conversation I ever had!.</em>manuscripthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12113986199133726533noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8334462963630337253.post-27227365982891052662008-10-28T09:43:00.001-07:002008-10-28T09:43:40.086-07:00Sivaraj Patil is a great let-downIf anything can potentially overshadow all what Manmohan Singh Government had done – the legislation and implementation of National Rural Employment Guarantee Act, Right to Information Act, Prevention of Domestic Violence Act, Civilian Nuclear Deal and its serious efforts to be all inclusive; constitution of Sachar Committee, farm loan waiver, reservation in the higher institutions of learning, legislative initiatives for 33 per cent women representation – that could be its clumsy handling of the law and order situation in the country which allowed a free-run for all sorts of trouble mongers.<br /><br />When the Sonia Gandhi-led UPA came to power after handing a shock defeat to the BJP, hopes were high about the new dispensation cleaning up the political environment in the country. The six years of NDA regime saw absolute communalisation of our institutions, polity and thoughts. The national agenda was always centred around communal issues as if we had nothing else to discuss as a country, as a society. In the context of unexplained but frequent terror strikes and pogroms including what happened in Gujarat the very existence of India as a secular democratic country was always under threat.<br /><br />Sonia Gandhi, who has shown uncharacteristic resolve, charisma and composure in cobbling up a national alliance, who outwitted the communal combine and stole the thunder by renouncing the prime minister post and who became the darling of the country’s liberal left-leaning intelligentsia, had even promised a regime which would put an end to the divisive politics the country had lived with for sometime. <br /><br />The UPA regime had shown initial signs of promise by taking some unprecedented steps like the formation of National Advisory Commission and National Knowledge Commission which involved activists-leaders in the civil society in the national reconstruction process and efforts for a broad legal and legislative framework for combating communal violence. Some would even say that such efforts have achieved their partial success although way too behind their targets. <br /><br />However, the handling of internal security in the last four years which was completely devoid of political cleverness, wisdom and sensitiveness to the ground realities has literally belied all expectations. The appointment and retention of Sivaraj Patil as the Home Minister can even be construed as an undoing of whatever good deeds Sonia has supposedly done.<br /><br />This gentleman who lost election appeared out of touch during most of the time when a national calamity or insurgency cropped up. His response to the media during critical situations is lifeless, mechanical and bureaucratic. He is elusive and insulate from what is happening around. He is recluse and taciturn which makes him thoroughly unfit to be a top executive in a democratic establishment which is answerable to the masses.<br /><br /> His performance hitherto has been a tragedy of errors. He started with a false tsunami alarm – of an approaching sweeping national disaster – which turned out premature and exaggerated. For that false alarm fiasco, he was unkindly snubbed by his own cabinet colleague science and technology minister Kapil Sibal. The latest could be his changing clothes thrice on the Delhi bomb blast day. <br /><br />From North-east insurgency to naxal menace, from Kashmir crisis to serial blasts, from Orissa killings to Karnataka attacks, all incidents point to a half-asleep home minister who is absent minded, unaware and unimaginative. It doesn’t mean to say that a much stronger home minister could have wiped off all the menaces. (His predecessor, mosque-demolisher Advani was more part of the problem than solution)<br /><br />But it goes without saying the internal security administration under Sivaraj Patil terribly failed in foreseeing troubles and pre-empting them. For staying close to the core theme I am not straying into the thoroughly misguided anti-naxal devise, Salva Judum and the detention of Dr. Binayak Sen.<br /><br />My focus is on three instances of mishandlings which can potentially surrender our polity to the designs of those extremists who are out to convert India into a communal cauldron. One is Amarnath Yathra controversy. Needless to say, Gulam Nabi Asad-led Congress government in Jammu Kashmir and their coalition partners PDP also played their part. Granting of land to Amarnath Shrine Board and its withdrawal had actually given impetus to extremist forces on both sides of the communal divide. The BJP as well as separatists smelt opportunity to push through their agendas. <br /><br />The granting of land to Shrine Board inflamed the separatists’ theme of usurping of Kashmiri land from its original inhabitants and it appealed to the Kashmiri Muslims. Following the withdrawal of the ordinance, the BJP went to town with its pet theme – that the Hindu sentiments were undermined and the Congress-led anti-Hindu government had given in to the demands of Muslim extremists. The result was a boiling Kashmir, communal resentment all across the nation and a complete U-turn from the fragile peace process in Kashmir. <br /><br />An intelligent administration is expected to foresee this crisis and forestall such impending dangers. Instead of going ahead with the implementation of a court order favouring the lease of land to the Amarnath Shrine Board, which can be called the genesis of the trouble, the administration could have sought some more time and could have tried to deal with this potential problem within the precincts of judicial system itself. It happened otherwise and the result was there for all to see; fuelling of mistrust and mutual hatred which serves the agenda of extremists on both sides.<br /><br />The next is a government, particularly a home minister remaining clueless when series of bomb blasts happening in different places. We know for sure that every bomb blast is a god-send for one political party which is engaged in stereotyping and hatemongering. By not effectively tackling the terror menace the government is actually playing into the hands of the rightist forces.<br /><br />The third is the well-plotted and engineered violence in Orissa and Karnataka against Christians which reminds us of the pattern of violence in Gujarat (thankfully, the recent ones did not assume that proportions). The false pretext for the one-sided attacks and its timing suggest that this is yet another attempt to divide the polity on communal lines in the run up to the elections which could eventually benefit the Sangh Parivar which feeds on majoritarian communalism. <br /><br />As the election year approaches, given the communally sensitive Indian situation, the internal security administration should be able to monitor the furtive moves of trouble mongers.<br /><br />Needless to say, air-headed Sivaraj Patil is a great let-down for all those who want a complete clamp down on shameless communalists.manuscripthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12113986199133726533noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8334462963630337253.post-2167984694687888322008-10-28T07:04:00.000-07:002008-10-28T07:10:33.996-07:00Factors affecting a reporting career...In my earlier job, as a correspondent handling municipal corporation beat, my nonstop reporting on the civic body’s complete failure in waste disposal earned me a nick name – garbage correspondent. I loved being called so for it further endeared me to my colleagues and carried subtle recognition for my work. I reported administrative apathy, public anger and corruption related to garbage menace. I ran campaigns, analysis pieces and wrote about the effective waste management proposals turned down by the municipal authorities. Appreciation from colleagues and readers must have given me further motivation.<br /> <br />Yet, the continuous reporting on civic issues posed serious questions about my graduating to be a journalist effectively handling issues with wider socio-economic implications and addressing larger audience. Notwithstanding the call of duty, I constantly confronted the fear of ending up as a life-long ‘garbage correspondent’. I found myself increasingly out of place when, for example, the subprime crisis and the subsequent global economic recession were discussed. I found myself without the necessary tools to develop an understanding and to effectively analyze issues in relation to the larger economic matrix.<br /><br />Fighting the fear of being pushed into the rut of routine reporting I found that keeping myself motivated was my biggest challenge. An equally worrying factor was the shrinking knowledge base as my personal reading and academic quests took a back seat. <br /><br />Therefore, I was happy when I got an offer to join a financial daily and am now striving to be equal to the challenges offered by the new job. Obviously, from covering a municipal corporation to tracking the Indian automobile industry, the transition is not easy. After four months in a new place, a new organization and the hitherto unfamiliar domain of business journalism, I find that many challenges -- of getting familiarized with the environment and learning new things -- remain. The question is how far I am open to the demands of constant learning and of acquiring new skills.<br /><br />Having been in journalism for four years, I sometimes saw my stories losing sheen in the absence of fresh insights. Other than on-the-job<br />exposure to new challenges, an opportunity for a focused training never happened to me yet and I often felt I had to rely more on<br />self-learning.<br />A refreshing approach to writing, story ideas and the subjects one is<br />pursuing are essential in this profession where consistency of<br />performance is a big challenge. I often go back to novels, popular<br />magazines and even to playing chess to keep up the creative and intellectual<br />spirit. <br /><br />(Different people may have different opinion on the same topic. And we can approach it from different view points - politically and apolitically. This is actually the second part of my entry for a journalism traning course which I mentioned earlier. It was written eight months ago. If I were to write on the same topic now, after a year in business journalism, things may change..)manuscripthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12113986199133726533noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8334462963630337253.post-68706242066986951632008-07-27T13:25:00.000-07:002008-11-08T05:44:52.646-08:00Obama experienceThis is long overdue. I wanted to write about it sometime back. And I couldn’t write it when I wanted to write. Now I start without the required homework. It is all about my personal experience as a Barack Obama fan. <br /><br />I rarely had heroes or role models in life, although I liked a few persons and at times thought if I could be one like them. But as I move on I forget that. Sometime later I would say “Oh, I had once shosen this man as my hero”.<br /><br />So many people had inspired me for their character, style, commitment, integrity and achievement. I am a fan of Brazilian soccer, I am a fan of Kajol. I like everyone in Brazilian football team, especially Ronaldinjo with his cheerfulness, brilliance and swiftness. I think Robinjo has taken over his place in my favourite list. Whenever I watch Kajol with her curly hair and bright eyes on screen I become so happy. <br /><br />I admire Rahul Dravid and Viswanathan Anand for their calm and genteel nature. I like Manmohan Singh for his scholarship, humility and integrity. I like Sonia Gandhi for her selfpossessedness, cordiality and concern for poor.<br /><br />I consider Rajendra Singh as the most successful man as he greened up a perennially drought-striken Rajasthan village through water harvesting techniques. I adore Arundhati Roy for her eloquence.<br /><br /><br />But when I started following democratic presidential primaries, I never had the faintest idea that I would eventually become an addict to US election news. And someone would so powerfully attract me to the halo of his personality.<br /><br /> It did happen. When I first read Obama won the Iowa caucus, I was happy seeing that a political underdog had an upset win over larger-than-life opponent. It was my natural emotional association with underdogs in general.<br /><br />Still I refused to believe that this would herald the historic emergence of a possible black president. I just thought “The guy would put up the best fight, so much the better”. <br /><br />Needless to say, it was Barack’s upset victory in the first caucus that made me track the American presidential election with greater interest than ever before. Earlier, when Barack Obama announced his candidacy, I took it as a tokenistic bid by an ambitious Black politician. I just took it as a clever guy’s shortcut to fame as an opponent to Hillary Clinton who is all the way to winning democratic nomination and presidency.<br /><br />Yes, things excite you when it exceeds your expectations. That happened with Barack Obama. With the few initial primary victories I realised that Obama winning the democratic nomination is no longer a wishful thinking but a realistic possibility. <br /><br />What followed was my complete absorption in the democratic fight for nomination in the subsequent weeks upto June 7, when Hillary Clinton finally accepted defeat. The reports of Obama victories on the pages of Indian Express and political theatre of ET made my days brighter, Clinton victories caused heart aches. <br /><br />Why I liked him was not merely because of his eventual emergence as a winnable candidate. Yes, his black underdog image was perhaps something very easy to identify with. Other than that, I subscribed to the belief that he is an epitome of the change that we can believe in as his campaign has effectively sent across. <br /><br />He comes across as the perfect antithesis of war-mongering George W Bush. He belongs to the level-headed, cerebral democrats like Al Gore and John Kerry. Much before the presidential election he opposed American invasion in Iraq and demanded withdrawal of troops from there, much like the most of American youth. Remember, cutting across party lines prominent politicians in the US supported the war. <br /><br />He belongs to the rare breed of politicians who brought environment and global warming into the campaign agenda. He withstood with elegance the attempts to make presidential battle an ugly racist war. He inspired us with profound expressions, thoughts and words. He exhumes confidence, cheerfulness and receptiveness. He is young, lean, tall, sporty and handsome. Most of all, his was a compelling story. I joined millions of Obama fans across the world.<br /><br />I was never tired of reading anything related to US election. When I come to office I would gleefully turn to net to know the latest turns and twists of the long drawn out presidential battle. I was enjoying the sportive spirit of that fight and glad that I got something serious to engage with. <br /><br />In certain ways this addiction had a narcotising effect and it was a diversionary tactic, a wonderful getaway from mundaneness of job, much like my father’s escape to drinks and gambling. Yet it had its advantages too. The most notable advantage would be perhaps my initiation into reading the web editions of New York Times, Wall Street Journal and Washington Post. <br /><br />I shared with others my passion for Barack Obama. I even got my self registered as supporter of Obama for Change campaign through net. I kept getting mails from his campaign.<br /><br />I deliberately brought US election into discussion with my colleagues just to gauge if others are feeling equal measure of passion, just as I am. Going through his campaign website, I was excited to find out that his political position has something to do with automobile industry, which happens to be my beat. <br /><br />He went to Detroit and asked automobile manufacturers to stop making gas guzzlers and promised support for making green cars. This further attached me to Barack. When I was in company with six US journalists at the Reuters training programme in April our topic of discussion was this Obama phenomenon. <br /><br />It was quite heartening to see that they are all invariably white, still supporting Barack. Mike Riley, who I met first at the training course, was a political reporter with Denver Post who was looking forward to cover Democratic National Convention in August. <br /><br />I shared my admiration for Obama’s position on gas guzzlers with Sharon Carty, the Detroit-based automobile correspondent of USA Today. She later sent me the link of a detailed report on US automobile industry and presidential battle, saying “saw this story today and thought of you”.<br /><br />A few weeks later, during our chat CEO of a company gave me a different reason why Obama would be a success – “future belongs to mix”. Himself half-German and half-US, he said smilingly “I am a mix”. By the time, it became a habit for me to bring Obama into conversation wherever I go.<br /><br />The other day I went to attend a lecture on US presidential election by journalist-turned professor Robert W Jenson titled "The 2008 U.S. Presidential Election: Change is in the Air, but Not on the Ground". Although he argues that Barack is mostly rhetoric, he too says that he would vote for Obama in November.<br /><br />One group which excited me with great cheer for Obama was none else but children of my own place, a far distant interior village from the fast moving cities were global politics is hotly debated. When I went home last month I was called to talk to students of my former school with which I still keep an active emotional bondage. <br /><br />When I asked who you support in the US presidential election the boys in one voice loudly said “Barack Obama”. I was surprised to see the enthusiasm in their eyes. <br /><br />Fifteen years ago when I was an eightth standard student I was not aware who all were contesting in the US presidential election. Bill Clinton was twice elected as US president when I was a school boy, I still don’t know who his opponents were. My little brothers are fast catching up with what happens around the world. I asked them why they like him. The answer was simple and plain, “He is the first black to contest for American Presidency”. It summed up the fact that the resilient and successful underdog appealed to the young generation of my fellow natives. <br /><br />Barack Obama, who gave up plum jobs in corporate law firms to become a civil rights lawyer and community organiser in the impoverished south side of Chicago was an interesting story to share with them.<br /><br />My laziness and procrastination cause a long delay in pinning up an Obama poster in my cubicle. That too is a long overdue.manuscripthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12113986199133726533noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8334462963630337253.post-84896240852852930002008-04-26T03:12:00.000-07:002008-04-26T03:21:45.801-07:00A biography outlining your careerIn the fourth year of my career, I see myself as someone who has just begun his journey along the exciting and meaningful profession of journalism. The impressionable adolescence obsessed with reading, debates, poetry and activism with a mix of personal struggle against the constraints of rural backwardness, I believe, shaped the journalist in me.<br /><br />Yes, born in a village in Kerala, educated in local schools in the vernacular medium (Malayalam) and in government-run universities, I am one among millions of rural youth who broke into the urban expanses of the professional world. At the risk of sounding immodest, I add that among the hundreds of professionals produced by a village cluster with a population of 70,000, I am the only journalist writing in English.<br /><br />Writing in a language whose basic grammar I picked up after 18 is indeed a matter of pride for me. Yet, the foremost feeling is expectation mixed with apprehension about the long way ahead. A degree course in English has put my basics right and a postgraduation in journalism with practical training has made me reasonably confident in journalistic English.<br /><br />Apprehension about the loss of a linguistic proficiency I painstakingly acquired made me leave a comfortable sub-editor’s job in The Malayala Manorama to take up a reporter’s post in a comparatively smaller English paper with less salary but with more challenges. After two fruitful years in The New Indian Express I have now graduated to The Hindu group and this I hope will definitely aid in my further learning and growth.<br /><br />(Part of my entry for a short-term course on Writing International News, held in Mumbai from April 21-25. Six US and seven Indian journalists, including me, were the participants)manuscripthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12113986199133726533noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8334462963630337253.post-71165871894485818752008-03-16T07:27:00.000-07:002009-08-06T00:37:02.408-07:00Father, Son and SpiritA hard nut to crack seems apt for describing him. An enigmatic, unemotional person with no real friends would be an uncharitable elaboration. Yet, he often appears so. It is about my father, who has always been elusive to all my attempts to understand him.<br /><br />I had grown up in constant confrontation with him and I owe much to him for what I am and what not I am. I think, most shades of my character are of my mother and are diametrically opposite to father’s character. “I married you, just to maintain the equilibrium of the universe,” father used to tell my mother in the beginning years of their marriage. And he is correct in saying so.<br /><br />I am conversational, foolishly open and unseemly sensitive. But, he is taciturn, mysterious and mostly unaffected. He has a playful funny side, which makes him sometimes very endearing. But, a closer look would reveal that it is his own escapade from the trouble-ridden reality which is his own creation.<br /><br />One would be surprised to see his artfulness in creating a mess out of nothing. Ever since I began to see him, he has been the most bankrupt man I personally know. There is an easily identifiable pattern in his slump into perennial bankruptcy; a drunk drive into an unwise investment project end up in an inescapable financial hell. <br /><br />During my internship days, I did a feature on the travails of families under the stranglehold of local moneylenders in the city. I used to joke, “This is my tribute to my bankrupt father”. <br /><br />After having done all ‘firework’ he will fall into silence, snore at night and idle away his daytime with playing cards, chess, reading papers and a long siesta. On the other had, mom might be suffering from `frying pan-on-the head’ sort of situation.<br /><br />We were on the brink of a total collapse following the million rupee-loss in his biggest ever misadventure; two years of ginger cultivation in some leased land in Karnataka. My higher secondary days were a bitter battle against attachment procedures, neighbourhood humiliation, heightened family tension and virtual isolation. I remember, mother waking him up in the middle of night and picking up another round of quarrel. “After having spoilt all our sleeps, are you snoring at night?”<br />Most of the time, I was an anxious lone witness to those wee hour fights all my childhood. (A little cool-headed, my brother often skipped them). <br /><br />Though, we scraped through the collapse, an unexpected agrarian crisis that gripped our region, affected us deeply. By the time I joined for Masters we were in a very bad shape. But, somehow, I eventually became magnanimous and sympathetic to my father who was constantly defeated by his own games. A two-line note attached to the DD once he sent me when I was in hostel told about the drying up of pepper wines and a difficult time and ended with ‘yours loving father’ which left me in tears. <br /><br />I became emotional, because this followed a cold phase in our relation. No matter how hard mother pushed me, I found it very difficult to say `bye’ to him every time I leave home after a brief stay. But things changed, we began to talk, walk together and share jokes. <br /><br />One thing perhaps positive about Father is his humour when he is in good mood. Once during prayers, it somehow slipped into a subtle indictment of his transgressions. Mother prayed, “Lord, we dedicate to you all those who drink alcohols”. Brother prayed, “Lord, we dedicate all those who smoke”. I stepped up and prayed, “Lord, we dedicate to you all those who cause misery to their families”. And then father completed, “Lord, we dedicate to you all those who ridicule us”. We all suddenly burst into laughter.<br /><br />In childhood he was our playmate. During our occasional good times, we played chess till very late in the night. All three of us, Father, brother and me, were so conscious to be extremely silent for fear of mother’s fury. Though he cared little about our clothing or schooling, he bought us books and magazines. <br /><br />He gifted me ‘Freedom at Midnight’ when I was in seventh. Most of other rural folks would have thought such acts ‘irrational’ and ‘wasteful’ at that time. He definitely has a role in me becoming a newspaper junky who eventually turned a journo. We discussed politics from my fifth standard and shared a left-of-the center position.<br /><br />Though those bitter old days are behind us, he often gives us nightmares by an unpredictable shift to that wayward ways. A fortnight earlier, we had to employ all emotional blackmailing tactics to put to rest his latest potentially disastrous project in mind: running a Rs 4-lakh chitfund. And in retrospect, it is not at all nice to have an alcoholic father. Not only the countess slights from the relatives but also the constant fear of an imminent collapse which I passed through make me extremely weary of that idea. I often feel that my worrying habit and proneness to melancholy have their roots in the trouble-torn childhood.<br /><br />But it does have its positive sides too. I got a proletarian sentiment which drives my journalism (I think) because of those hardships. I am so miserly in spending money since I suffered much from its constrained supply. I am somehow insulated to the wises like drinking and smoking without any deliberate effort. When friends ask me why I don’t drink, I have a ready reply. “My father has finished my quota and the quota for five generations after me. So I am left with no liquor!” <br /><br />The one who found the greatest virtue in his alcoholic antics is none but father himself. “Since I had this wretched life, my children escaped from all these habits,” he often muses.manuscripthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12113986199133726533noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8334462963630337253.post-50595323783405438242008-01-27T02:29:00.000-08:002008-01-27T02:42:06.470-08:00Reading Lajja after 13 yrsIt was in the first quarter of 1995, just before my ninth exam, I first read Lajja. Needless to say, the far lighter Malayalam translation, which was not heavy-packed with the statistical data that Taslima had used, had moved me greatly. I was proud to have read the most controversial novel of that time and was hopeful about the meaningful debate on majoritarian communalism it would trigger. <br /><br />Thirteen years later, the local school boy who grew in physical and academic sense (though remains as confused and touchy as he was), who has by now turned an avid anglophile and an English journalist, revisited the sad story of Suranjan. The disorientation of a progressive, intelligent and politically sensitive youth Suranjan in the communal mayhem in Bangladesh post Babri Masjid demolition and the “naïve mix of idealism and optimism” of his deeply patriotic father Sudhanmoy Dutta who is ashamed to leave his homeland give us a poignant story. Which, I believe is very realistic and sincere portrayal of deep personal tragedies in the midst of communal barbarism. <br /><br />The novel brilliantly exposes our savage instinct to vanquish the weak. It reaffirms our commonsensical understanding of the origin of all communal cleansing: the ugly desire for power and resources; the ulterior intention to capture the legitimate political and physical space of the hapless minority using the numerical muzzle. In Indian condition, the victims are primarily Muslims as exemplified by Gujarat and countless riots which preceded it. Whereas, in Bangladesh it is Hindus who stayed on the motherland for the pride and love of Bengal. <br /><br />At the receiving end of all barbarism, alienation and slights including the brutal rape and killing of his sister Maya, Suranjan soliloquises “What the BJP was in India, the Jamaat-i-Islami was in Bangladesh. The purpose of both groups was the same – the establishment of what might be called fundamentalism” (page 133).<br /><br />All these years after the first reading I was disappointed since the novel has unfortunately hit the wrong target. I wondered all these years why it couldn’t be the trigger point of a useful debate on majoritarian communalism which in Indian situation would have helped analyse the anatomy of Sangh Parivar politics. But the intellectually void fundamental elements in the Muslim clerical leadership took offense and have been carrying out a vicious attack against the writer who had shown an outstanding commitment towards secular humanism. In fact, they could have turned the table on Saffronists. On the otherhand, the likes of Modi and Advani, the Hindu counterparts of Muslim and Christian fanatics in other parts of the world, comfortably sit at home and slyly smile at the vociferous expression of intolerance by the Muslim fundamentalists. <br /><br />In certain ways, it is the failure of Indian liberal elites, intellectual community and particularly the Left, that the highly critical points raised by Taslima could not prompt a constructive debate in the secular platform. It ended up in the wrong hands and turned extremely counter productive and in the process exposed a spineless political leadership (Left in Bengal and Congress in the Centre) who disowned the writer at the behest of an unruly crowd, the self-styled saviours of Indian Muslims, who in turn, paint them badly and put them in a very precarious position. Who is as morally bankrupt as Advani and co. <br /><br /><strong>Bush – Modi connection</strong><br /><br />Anyway, the extreme rightism and faith-based politics are not something patented by Sangh. The same traits are more than evident in George W Bush, who unleashed the `war of civilization’. Read the review of ‘The Assault on Reason: How the politics of fear, secrecy and blind faith subvert wise decision making, degrade America and imperil America and the world,” authored by Al Gore, Bush's opponent who was unjustly denied the presidency by the jury which was obviously biased towards the Republican. (A.G.Noorani, Frontline, Feb 1). <br /><br />“President Bush has stolen the symbolism and body language of religion and used it to disguise the most radical effort…” observes Al Gore. Does it find resonance in BJP’s accession of religion? <br /><br />“No President in recent history abused power with such impunity,” Al Gore observes about Bush. Keeping Modi in mind, we can complement “No ruler in the recent history butchered his country men with such impunity”.<br /><br /><strong>Cast blindness:</strong><br />In an essay on apartheid in the context of Barak Obama’s presidential bid, I came across a new word: colour blindness. “Colour blindness and sense of equality are not the same,” it says. The ‘no cast war’ carried out by the upper class Delhi students can be dubbed as a convenient ‘cast blindness’.manuscripthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12113986199133726533noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8334462963630337253.post-87054466113708578052008-01-16T00:08:00.000-08:002008-01-16T00:12:07.115-08:00Economic devastation and Crisis response of Wayanad FarmersA lop-sided international trade regime, an adverse climatic condition and sustained governmental apathy have caused a reverse trend in the agriculture sector across the country. Its implications in the agricultural economy have been reflected in the series of farmers' suicides in different states. One alarming case is Wayanad district of Kerala where 549 farmers committed suicide in five years. Notwithstanding the specificities of Kerala's agricultural scenario this is a microcosm of the Indian situation which calls for serious attention. <br /><br />The shortest possible way of describing the devastation in Wayanad would be this: debt, drought and sharp fall in global crop prices have spelt doom to the five lakh-strong smallholding farmers of this primarily agricultural economy. Five successive years of drought, from 1999, have left the region with enormous tracts of non-cultivable farms and fields. This coupled with low price for agriculture produce has made the situation even worse. Pepper, the main source of income for a majority of Wayanad farmers, which once touched Rs.270 per Kg crashed to Rs.60. The recent slight improvement in the price does not alter the situation significantly. Coffee which used to fetch Rs. 70 per Kg for the farmer plummeted to Rs.15 in the same period. The Spices Board statistics show that the export value of pepper which was Rs. 885.28 crores in 1999 fell to a paltry Rs.178.8 crores in 2003. Similarly the nation's coffee exports also declined considerably – from $265 million in 1999 to $143 million in 2002. <br /><br />The above mentioned economic collapse has led to multifaceted social chaos. It has upset the loan economy. The region's loan economy, which has always been a representative of Indian agriculture, is in the doldrums. The smallholding farmers, whose budgeting was dependent on loans from scheduled and co-operative banks, consistently failed to repay the annual installments and the interest had a multi-fold increase. Rs. 752 crores is the collective outstanding debt of Wayanad farmers who have mortgaged their land to national banks. The size of the liability towards private moneylenders might be almost the same. Some of the farmers in the stranglehold of banks and private moneylenders took the extreme step. <br />Meanwhile, there was no meaningful governmental intervention to check the 'social tragedy'. Notwithstanding the announcements of several packages there is no substantial debt relief for the farmers. Let alone writing off the loans, the Central and State governments have not yet been ready to waive the interest of farm loans. In fact, the sweat of Wayanad farmers has substantially contributed to the exchequer through the export of cash crops and has enhanced the profit of scheduled banks through the repayment of heavy loans. But they were let down in the hour of crisis. <br /><br />As far as the productivity is concerned, the government had hardly any programme for the irrigation of the farm fields. Setting up of independent irrigation facilities is not possible for the smallholding farmers in the district. Most of the land remains unirrigated in the absence of any large scale project. This is despite the fact that the abundant Kabani River flows through the heart of Wayanad. <br /><br />In sum, the government and the financial institutions are insensitive and relief measures are largely ineffective. It is interesting to see the way the agrarian community responded to the crisis. While a few chose to end their lives the general trend is to fight back. The political response spearheaded by agitating farmer outfits like the Farmers Relief Forum and `Porattam' (meaning `The Struggle') saw the end of revenue recovery and attachment procedures. Banks now limit their punitive action against the defaulters to sending notices. <br /><br />A substantive response with a long-term perspective has been initiated by farmers' clusters and is guided by NGOs. Organic farming has gathered momentum in the land which was abused with excessive chemical fertilizing. Internationally certified organic farmers have begun selling their produces in the international market at a price higher than the market price. Rural credit system is active in Wayanad and the SHGs, to an extent, act as a safety net. <br /><br />The alarming level of rural unemployment has resulted in largescale migration to other districts and outside Kerala. A large group of village boys from Wayanad is working as bearers, cleaners and male servants in Kochi, Kottayam, Kozhikode, Thrissur and Kannur. Those who are relatively rich have managed to find their way out to the Gulf countries and add to the labour force there. For example, about 50 of a small village, Seetha Mount, with a population of 1500, recently went abroad to take up jobs while around 300 of its youth are working outside the district. You can see very few youngsters in the village presently. In addition to this, people now place great stress on educating children and making them employable despite the difficulties involved in this. <br /><br />Another encouraging factor is the initiatives for agri-based industries. Some NGOs have launched food processing units. Farmers are slowly switching over to multi-cropping as crop diversification is a time tested way out. Nonconventional items like vanilla, bamboo, flowers and medicinal herbs find their way to the farm fields here. While it is clear that much more is to be done to enhance the production base, the evolving responses of farmers shows a rural community maturing into a social group which is able to withstand economic onslaught. The perseverance of this 'local' community to get over a 'global' challenge holds relevance in a 'neo-liberal economic phase', which is widely perceived in the developing world as a phase of `selective extermination'. <br /> <br />As a native of this hill district I have first hand experience of the life here. My involvement in the social actions and academic field studies – five annual N.S.S. camps, social surveys and a project paper on People's Plan in Mullenkolly Panchayat – have given me also an academic/intellectual perspective on the volatile economic situation here. The backward district of Wayanad continues to be my learning ground. <br /><br />(Originally written in September 2006, a failed fellowship entry)manuscripthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12113986199133726533noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8334462963630337253.post-28909875651177290462008-01-13T05:18:00.000-08:002008-01-13T05:37:13.145-08:00I, Me and My StoriesAlmost three months and a different ball game. But things seem to be on track ever since I ushered in economic journalism. In a general newspaper, what is the driving spirit of a reporter? Upon my experience, it is your being sensitive to the happenings around. Lot of passion, sentiments and emotion are involved in general reporting. Whereas, in business reporting it is more about arithmetic sense, adeptness in technical aspects and precision in handling the subject.<br /><br />One career advantage I have foreseen while shifting to a business paper was the scope of learning and understanding vis-à-vis the dynamics of the economy. In that count, it is productive. But all depend on how well you make use of it.<br /><br /> When covering the garbage-ridden politics of Kochi Corporation, I enjoyed my colleagues calling me ‘garbage reporter’. Interestingly, my first business story was about a municipal waste-based bio-diesel project. On the 21st day in the new paper, when the story saw light, the overwhelming feeling was not delight but was a sort of relief. Because by the time, I had become hostage to an ominous failure fear.<br /><br />In the initial days of auto reporting, I was apologetic to say that I am covering automobiles. Though, a lot of the industry terminology and nuances remain beyond my grip, this is really an interesting area. And I am particularly happy with a host of auto stories which have a green touch. I started with a story on retrofitting industry. A failed story attempt on CNG/LPG-fitted vehicles in the early Indian Express days had taught me about the environmental relevance of that breed of vehicles. It benefited me now, two years later. The government-move to grade vehicles on the basis of fuel efficiency is a story that I cherish.<br /><br /> When pursuing certain story ideas on electric scooters, I just discovered that my first automobile story was in the City Express, one and a half years back. I did not keep that story on e-bikes which was recently introduced in the city on my personal folder, since I was unhappy with the placement. This time, a big scale e-scooter initiative gave me a New Year story. And I had a feature story too; on Indian student engineers whose rural oriented inventions bagged UN awards.<br /><br />Two water-shed events in the Indian automobile industry happened in the last fortnight: Ford-Tata deal and the coming of Nano. Thankfully, I got my slice of stories. That too, when I have almost reconciled to a belief that I am not good enough to do them. 12 stories including two page ones, I am happy. One thing that I still do not know is if I am strong enough to face the risk of trumpeting these small joys.<br /><br />http://www.thehindubusinessline.com/2007/11/06/stories/2007110650531200.htm <br /><br /> <br /><br />(http://www.blonnet.com/2007/11/12/stories/2007111251450300.htm )<br /><br /> <br /><br />(http://www.blonnet.com/2007/11/27/stories/2007112751430300.htm )<br /><br /> <br /><br />(http://www.blonnet.com/2007/11/30/stories/2007113052800100.htm )<br /><br /> <br /><br />http://www.thehindubusinessline.com/2007/12/07/stories/2007120755600100.htm <br /><br /> <br /><br />http://www.thehindubusinessline.com/2007/12/12/stories/2007121251840300.htm <br /><br /> <br /><br />http://www.blonnet.com/2007/12/20/stories/2007122051680200.htm )<br /><br /> <br /><br />http://www.blonnet.com/2007/12/23/stories/2007122351240200.htm )<br /><br /> <br /><br />http://www.blonnet.com/2008/01/01/stories/2008010150920400.htm )<br /><br /> <br /><br />(http://www.blonnet.com/2008/01/04/stories/2008010452080400.htm )<br /><br /> <br /><br />(http://www.blonnet.com/life/2008/01/11/stories/2008011150080300.htm )<br /><br /> <br /><br />(http://www.blonnet.com/2008/01/12/stories/2008011251510300.htm )manuscripthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12113986199133726533noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8334462963630337253.post-78407345873225347542007-12-30T02:59:00.000-08:002007-12-31T06:18:04.430-08:00Pune X'masThis was my first Christmas away home. And this was one of the most memorable Christmases I had. More than 1000 km away from home I had celebrated my Christmas with three others who I used to meet every Christmas in our small village Seetha Mount. During most of such holiday seasons there, we visited each other’s home. We Shibin, Riya, her younger sister Unni and I have got such a wonderful and longstanding connection which dates back to our ‘Kalari’ days. May be, even beyond that.<br /><br />There will be an ominous factual error if I say Shibin, Riya, my brother Manjush and I sat on one bench in our kalari (the country side kindergarten) because we did not have bench there. I don’t even remember whether we bothered to sit anywhere those days. But in Sunday classes we had benches. There we led a formidable rebel gang till we ourselves got sick of those shadow fights with our own neighbours who disguised as do-gooder teachers for a few hours on Sundays. But in our school (a good 6 km daily walk, to and fro) we were all studious, purposeful and relatively well-mannered favourite pupils.<br /><br />Now, a decade later, whenever all of us get together I feel proud. Because the connecting thread of friendliness is still as alive as in the boyhood days and we all have thankfully travelled far beyond the muddy roads, `kammanist’ bushes and pepper wines of our distant village. A software engineer, a bio tech scientist, a business executive and a journalist.<br /><br />About eight months back, when software engineer (shibin) married scientist (riya), it was a big celebration time for all of us. Now they hosted me for Christmas in their Pune house, three hours away from the Mumbai suburb where I live. We had midnight mass, cake, wine and loads of beef, quite in our traditional style.<br /><br /><strong><span style="font-family:arial;">Father's pork fry </span></strong><br /><br />Another Christmas in my memory is when I was in fifth standard. Mother was bed-ridden with a typhoid attack and father prepared pork fry for us. It was one of the most delicious pork fry dishes I ever had. It was a lovely Christmas because we rarely found him so ‘homely’ those days.<br /><br /><strong><span style="font-family:arial;">Easter in Indian Coffee House</span></strong><br /><br />An Easter six years ago brings humorous memories of those days when we were deep in romance with penury. (Not a choice but an imposition of course). It must be my first Easter away home. Caught in the film festival fever, we, three student journalists bunked Easter at home and stayed back in Thiruvananthapuram. In between Gloomy Sunday, To The Left of The Father, Taxi and Posthumous Memoirs we had our Easter lunch in the Indian Coffee House near KSRTC Bus Stand Thampanoor. With the yummy nostalgia of a minimum of three non-veg dishes at home, we happily shared one plate beef which then cost Rs.10.manuscripthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12113986199133726533noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8334462963630337253.post-36045408617160260302007-12-25T23:54:00.000-08:002007-12-30T00:44:07.806-08:00MY READINGIt is a good time of reading. However it is far from catching up with all the relevant stuff being poured in. Yet, my theory is that one should be satisfied if he is lucky enough to have a fairly good reading of two newspapers daily, one or two periodicals a week and a novel to rely on during the free hours. At the moment I am happy.<br /><br /><strong>Green debate<br /></strong><br />What does dominate the newspaper space these days? In my opinion, it is ‘global warming’. Be it pink or white. For us, the lay readers, the transcript of the Walk the Talk with Montek Singh Ahluvaliah, appeared a few weeks before in Indian Express was very enlightening. He exposes the absurdity behind the West-US combine’s argument for emission reduction. That developed countries will reduce emission by 80 percent and developing countries 20 percent.<br /><br />The fact is that this proposal is still tilted in favour of the most industrialized nations which have been emitting green house gases for about 150 years. He argues for a per capita approach in estimating pollution which will show that developed countries’ emission level is four times higher than ours. 'Everyone in the world should have an equal carbon footprint. Pollution per person should be equalised', says Montek.<br /><br /><br /><strong>Welcome Rudd</strong><br /><br /><br />One positive development in the world politics is the election of 50-year old Kevin Rudd as Australia’s new prime minister. His ratification of Kyoto Protocol, isolating US in their arrogant defiance against mandatory emission cut, is a sign of promise. In US presidential run, all candidates are on back foot when they are asked about their commitment towards emission cut. In Al Gore, we missed a great American President.<br /><br />I had a sudden disappointment to read Chavez can’t contest in the next poll because I believe we need him for some more time. I have been noticing him since his G77 chairmanship. He caught the imagination of every one who retains little bit of socialist sentiments with them. Yet, his bid for constitutional reform was ambitious and far-fetched. In a way, it is good that he bowed to democratic pressures; because absolute power leads to absolute corruption.<br /><br />Putin personified confidence and a nation’s resurgence. However, the story of he sitting on a huge empire of parallel wealth aroused curiosity.<br /><br /><br /><strong>Modi and a few questions</strong><br /><br />Back home, things seem to be disillusioning, for all humanists. Modi’s landslide victory on the back of lies, murders, hatemongering and demagogue exposes Congress weakness than his skillfulness. A ‘Maut Ke Saudagar’ attribute to Modi in front of a crowd which is largely insensitive to communal killings apparently had no appeal. Though, the Indian liberal elite cheered Sonia.<br /><br />Congress should have first created an environment that is receptive to the ideas of secularism, peace, brotherhood and love before going on offensive against Modi for his excesses. Such build-up was not there. The Congress network was practically absent in entire Gujarat while Modi was ruling the roost. An organizationally weak party can hope nothing but to remain a meek opposition.<br /><br />Modi’s observation on Gujarat Pradesh Congress allows a glimpse at this man’s incisiveness. He was correct in saying that “the local team of Congress was a complete disappointment as opponents” (ToI, Dec 26). “Congress lost election much before election. It should have played an aggressive opponent from the beginning. It could have occupied the entire opposition space. But it didn’t do what any opposition is required to do”. The post-election performance analysis for Congress was also done by Modi.<br /><br />The vigour shown by English print media was not seen in Congress’ attack on Modi. Among all the write-ups condemning the hate politics practiced by Modi, I liked ‘Why Modi must go’ by Shiv Visvanathan (Indian Express, Dec 14). <a href="http://www.indianexpress.com/printerFriendly/249968.html">http://www.indianexpress.com/printerFriendly/249968.html</a><br /><br />In spite of all sincere efforts to evoke the conscience of the electorate, Modi emerged more powerful, a challenge yet to be effectively dealt with by the liberal India. Modi’s success also points to the little influence India’s liberal elite has in its mass politics.<br /><br />The best election reporting I spotted was Varghese K. George’s coverage of Modi’s speech. Reporting a speech can at times excel all the labourious political analysis we do.<br />‘In 30 minutes, Modi names himself 29 times, BJP 6, and in slip asks: me as PM?’ <a href="http://www.indianexpress.com/story/250181.html">http://www.indianexpress.com/story/250181.html</a><br /><br />The megalomaniac shade of Modi, repeating his name in every 60 seconds, his intention to outgrow his own party and an indomitable secret desire to conquer Delhi, everything is best explained in Modi’s own words.manuscripthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12113986199133726533noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8334462963630337253.post-31851948587287894482007-12-24T04:54:00.000-08:002007-12-25T20:49:30.702-08:00TALE OF TWO LOVESWhen giving it a title, an alternative idea was ‘tale of two break-ups’. To be autobiographical, I had two affairs in the last 27 years on earth. Both were short-lived. Given their brief existence, one would even wonder whether they qualify to be called ‘love’.<br /><br />My first love, which the later years taught me, was an adolescent infatuation, collapsed in a month’s time while the second one (so far the last), which happened many years later, was a one-week wonder. Both were followed by years-long emotional trauma and persistent sense of defeat. Both had left me all the more lovesick.<br /><br />These days I have reasons to be reminded of my former loves. There have been intermittent visits of sweetness and bitterness from the bygone years. Other than a lot of private time and lonelydom, what did induce the revisits of good and bad feelings which were lying dormant deep within the heart? It is the queer connection between them, other than their premature end: both my former girls, months older than me, are going to get married in the space of a fortnight.<br />If this logistical constraint was not there, I would have been a definite presence in one of their weddings while I am the least expected for the other one.<br /><br />Nine years after the departure, which always left me wondering why it happened, I met my first love some time back. By the time, for me it was a thing of past to which I have developed an effortless indifference. But the frank admission that there was a vain hope of a re-union and an enduring fondness gave me a soothing shower in my love-starved pursuit along the dreary desert.<br /><br />We wished good things to each other. A relation passed through the phases of painful breakup, absolute silence and indifference finally turned into an innocent friendship. (To describe a man-woman relationship, `friendship’ is the shallowest word, but I find no substitute here). She will ever be a good friend.<br /><br />But all is not sweet with the later one, a storm that came and gone, that left the clichéd ‘trail of destruction’ at the fag end of my student life; a one week rollercoaster. It inflicted a deep hurt within me. More than the shattered promise of a romantic deluge what kept my hardfeelings always awake was its ruthlessness. The usage 'rocking the boat by doubling its speed,' in a novel reminded me of that damning pace followed by a head-on hit. I was reading that novel while savouring the bitter after taste of the lovewreck. It quoted Oscar Wilde to say "Love begins with deceiving oneself and ends with deceiving the other".<br /><br />However, both the brief encounters with this magic thing you all call ‘love’ had given me a wealth of experience; an ability to be self-analytical and a gift for character study. And a relevant observation about my self – I love and I hate, with utmost sincerity.manuscripthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12113986199133726533noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8334462963630337253.post-17160876615229080512007-12-09T02:18:00.000-08:002007-12-09T02:28:36.236-08:00My new world<p class="MsoNormal">My dear friend,<o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"> <o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Hope you are doing well. One month away from your active circle, a sense of dejection has crept in that I am slowly sliding into obscurity. Of course, I am fighting obscurity on a different plane as well, you know it. <o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"> <o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Then Manu, baffled by the big city, writes to you. To begin with, Mumbai was not the city in my dreams. It was Delhi, the centre of power where every aspiring political journo want to be. If there was a second preference, it was Bangalore, the global gateway, which is six-seven hours away from pristine Wayanad woods. Then where did Mumbai figure in? I don't know. The pulls and pressures of life, ambition and anxiety; I landed in Mumbai Mahanagar of Money and Masala. <o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"> <o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">But, honestly I can tell you, I started loving this city. The reason is simple, personal and practical: I see an obvious improvement in the comforts of life I am enjoying. I only wish, it must not be a passing fad, a honeymoon excitement about which I made a loud comment, quite impulsively. Given the minimal means on which I have lived so far, the comforts which the new job offers me is something good. <o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"> <o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">In the first fortnight I was living on the upstairs of the office building. Day begins with a cup of hot filter coffee on your bedside and three newspapers. And the rare privilege of walking down to the office. Everything was good except the feeling that the days in this plush apartment are numbered. As in most other cases, the dwelling place also came my way when I was heading a different direction, a hostel accommodation. But a much cheaper and comfortable option of renting an apartment just came across. <o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"> <o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">A BHK flat to be shared with another malloo in an entirely different profession, an hour of train journey to office, an option to cook; there was no reason to reject it. In certain ways, I became lazier than I was, it has just become impossible to wake up before nine. By 11, I will catch the train. At 12, when I reach office, I will be the early bird. Trains are overcrowded. But in most cases, this non-peak hour commuter gets a seat in the privileged first class compartment, thanks to the company-provided season ticket. Once settled into the seat, I start reading Economic Times. One obvious difference in my reading these days is the complete shift to business dailies. Other than the ET's political theatre section, a quick glance at Hindu is my remaining association with general news, and of course rediff. <script> <!-- D(["mb","\u003c/div\>\n\u003cdiv\> \u003c/div\>\n\u003cdiv\>From covering Kochi Corporation to tracking Indian automobile industry; transition is not very easy. Yet, I am warming up to the challenges it offers. The other day, I made an investment; subscribed `Auto Car magazine' for a year. (It cost \nRs.720, after having signed in the order form at an auto show event here, I questioned the righteousness of my action a hundred times. You never know, only the results can justify an action. Let's wait.) Tehelka and Down to Earth are the two magazines I always wanted to subscribe. Some day, I may do that. \n\u003c/div\>\n\u003cdiv\> \u003c/div\>\n\u003cdiv\>After a fortnight of incubation, I got down to the business. There was occasional relief of seeing the name in print. My first auto story is yet to come. Hopefully, very soon, just a matter of time. The days are spent either working on a story, pursuing a BSE announcement, attending press conferences, events or meeting people. The work engages you meaningfully, but it has never felt exhaustive. I only pray it to remain so, because I have got my own pace for doing things. \n\u003c/div\>\n\u003cdiv\> \u003c/div\>\n\u003cdiv\>In the evening, mostly by 8 I leave the office. Will go strait to the VT station, my boarding point or wait for Sailesh on Marine Drive. We meet almost everyday. I don't know if two years is a reasonable time to call one a long-term pal. But he is just that. And for us, the Marine Drive meetings are the re-enactment of our Kochi evenings. The subjects are invariably, inevitably the same; quite youthful, peppered with loads of humour, philosophy and pragmatism. \n\u003c/div\>\n\u003cdiv\>By the time he catches up, I will have a one lonely round across the long line of love-laden Marine Drive walkway. It is surreal and cinematic. The mutually indulgent lovers smooching and cuddling. Turning away from the crowd, the sea-faced open demonstration of love goes on. Thanks to sodium vapour lamps and the anonymity assured by the urban environs. I shall confess that I love a glimpse of it, don't accuse me of extracting a vicarious pleasure. \n",1] ); //--> </script><o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"> <o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">From covering Kochi Corporation to tracking Indian automobile industry; transition is not very easy. Yet, I am warming up to the challenges it offers. The other day, I made an investment; subscribed `Auto Car magazine' for a year. (It cost Rs.720, after having signed in the order form at an auto show event here, I questioned the righteousness of my action a hundred times. You never know, only the results can justify an action. Let's wait.) Tehelka and Down to Earth are the two magazines I always wanted to subscribe. Some day, I may do that. <o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"> <o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">After a fortnight of incubation, I got down to the business. There was occasional relief of seeing the name in print. My first auto story is yet to come. Hopefully, very soon, just a matter of time. The days are spent working on a story, pursuing a BSE announcement, attending press conferences, events or meeting people. The work engages you meaningfully, but it has never felt exhaustive. I only pray it to remain so, because I have got my own pace for doing things. <o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"> <o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">In the evening, mostly by 8 I leave the office. Will go strait to the VT station, my boarding point or wait for Sailesh on Marine Drive. We meet almost everyday. I don't know if two years is a reasonable time to call one a long-term pal. But he is just that. And for us, the Marine Drive meetings are the re-enactment of our Kochi evenings. The subjects are invariably, inevitably the same; quite youthful, peppered with loads of humour, philosophy and pragmatism. <o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">By the time he catches up, I will have a one lonely round across the long line of love-laden Marine Drive walkway. It is surreal and cinematic. The mutually indulged lovers smooching and cuddling. Turning away from the crowd, the sea-faced open demonstration of love goes on in a blissful unawareness of the surrounding. Thanks to sodium vapour lamps and the anonymity assured by the urban environs. Frankly, I love a glimpse of it; don't accuse me of extracting a vicarious pleasure. <script> <!-- D(["mb","\u003c/div\>\n\u003cdiv\> \u003c/div\>\n\u003cdiv\>Coming back to the personal life, I have developed the habit of carrying handbag. The contents are newspapers, mags and books, may be a water bottle too. In Mumbai, I don't find the multitude of churches we have in Kochi. I can't just rush to one when I want to. Yes, in a still alien place you will feel more often than not to resort to a place of comfort. Anyway, in Dombivli, a malloo dome, I can at least have Sunday mass, that too nalla malayalam kurbana. \n\u003c/div\>\n\u003cdiv\> \u003c/div\>\n\u003cdiv\>The triumphant feeling of finishing yet another good novel is slowly fading away. It's about two weeks since I finished it. An injured right hand shoulder gave me three idle days. Reading a novel which adopted the running of a country news paper as its background was a pleasure. Though I was not in a position to note down the good expressions and coinage of words. \n\u003c/div\>\n\u003cdiv\> \u003c/div\>\n\u003cdiv\>Well, it all doesn't mean that it is a perfectly happy phase of life, though on the whole, it appears to be distinctly positive. The scary incident of being in a kissing distance with a grave danger is best left unsaid. I got away with a bruised shoulder. An immediate random dip into Bible gave this message; "Don't be afraid, it is I".\n\u003c/div\>\n\u003cdiv\> \u003c/div\>\n\u003cdiv\>And there were a mild cultural shock, occasional bouts of self doubt and a perceived struggle for personal space. Yet I say, things are positively progressing, I am happily getting along.\u003c/div\>\n\u003cdiv\> \u003c/div\>\n\u003cdiv\> I have no intention of making it an acknowledgement piece, so no mention about the love and care I received from every one including who dropped me at Kochi airport, received me in Mumbai, who was on my bed side during the sick days, and those who always lent an ear, who despatched my belongings. \n\u003c/div\>\n\u003cdiv\> \u003c/div\>\n\u003cdiv\>Hope all you will get back to me with your news. This is something special to you. Thank you and my prayers.\u003c/div\>\n\u003cdiv\> \u003c/div\>\n\u003cdiv\>Manu\u003c/div\>",1] ); //--> </script><o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"> <o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Coming back to the personal life, I have developed the habit of carrying handbag. The contents are newspapers, magz and books, may be a water bottle too. In Mumbai, I don't find the multitude of churches we have in Kochi. I can't just rush to one when I want to. Yes, in a still alien place you will feel more often than not to resort to a place of comfort. Anyway, in Dombivli, a malloo dome, I can at least have Sunday mass, that too nalla malayalam kurbana. <o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"> <o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">The triumphant feeling of finishing yet another good novel is slowly fading away. It's about two weeks since I finished it. An injured right hand shoulder gave me three idle days. Reading a novel which adopted the running of a country newspaper as its background was a pleasure. Last Juror by John Grisham.Though I was not in a position to note down the good expressions and coinage of words. <o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"> <o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Well, it all doesn't mean that it is a perfectly happy phase of life, though on the whole, it appears to be distinctly positive. The scary incident of being in a kissing distance with a grave danger is best left unsaid. I got away with a bruised shoulder. An immediate random dip into Bible gave this message; "Don't be afraid, it is I". <o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"> <o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">And there were a mild cultural shock, occasional bouts of self-doubt and a perceived struggle for space. Yet I say, things are positively progressing, I am happily getting along.<o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"> <o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"> I have no intention of making it an acknowledgement piece, so no mention about the love and care I received from every one including who dropped me at Kochi airport, received me in Mumbai, who was on my bed side during the sick days, and those who always lent an ear, who dispatched my belongings. <o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"> Hope all you will get back to me with your news. This is something special to you. Thank you and my prayers.</p><br /><br /><p class="MsoNormal">(Originally written on November 25)<br /><o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"> <o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><!--[if !supportEmptyParas]--> <!--[endif]--><o:p></o:p></p>manuscripthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12113986199133726533noreply@blogger.com3