Alvida

I entered this phase of my life as a sceptic - a disbeliever. I came prejudiced, constantly and repeatedly attempting to poison my mind with the words - "I shan't yield to temptation". Today, I stand a changed man. A believer. A sinner.

For these six weeks have given me some very memorable moments, ones I will cherish for a long, long time to come. I entered SLB wondering why they recruit people from the 'creamy layer' to perform tasks which any blundering idiot can also, with suitable training... Today I know that it isn't about the job as much as about the culture it brings about. Just like Roorkee, godforsaken that it is, has been able to develop its own quaint, unique culture, so has Schlumberger. And this, most disturbingly, has endeared it to me.

I recall those initial days when we underwent examinations which tested our safety training and safe operating practice knowledge. One particular exam required a minimum of 90% to pass and I can proudly say today, that it is the only test until today which I have failed. Four times in a row. Each of these times, there was this question which repeatedly occurred - "What is the last step after tool maintenance & check-up". I repeatedly dismissed a certain option the first few times, laughing my head off when I saw it pop up on the screen. I finally passed the test when I realized that it was, in fact, the correct answer - "Paint it blue".

These few weeks have seen me become a nomad, an epicurean, a spoilt brat, a romantic... I have come to enjoy a certain facet of life which I never knew I could - one involving the world of malls, movies, million-dollar houses, and more city. Somehow, I've also had the time to fall in love with any language which can make beautiful poetry - Urdu being the latest in this list...

I came to Mumbai happy that I was closer to Roorkee. Now, I wish I had more time here - Roorkee can wait. My blood seems to have turned a little blue and I know I have changed. I wonder if it is correct. Nevertheless, I find it exceedingly hard to separate myself from this experience. And I try to find solace in words:

"Don't cry because it's over. Smile because it happened."

What's Your Dream?

There is this little kid next door, only three years old and clever as hell. He's an overly exuberant kid whose restlessness knows no bounds. It is as though he finds it imperative to do more than whatever he is doing at that moment. Albeit exceedingly fast, and sometimes reckless, I realized that he can hardly keep up with the speed at which his processing centre functions!

And hence, he performs like most machines we have studied about - lagging the stimulus by quite a bit. Strangely though, today I discovered that he wasn't much unlike me! It was an alarming discovery.

Some days back, I had asked the kid what he wanted to do when he grew up; a question I take immense pleasure in asking because of the fact that I used to respond 'An Engine Driver'. He promptly answered, "A Neurosurgeon!"

I was impressed. I was amazed at the nonchalance of it all. He had his life planned out at such a tender age, and I swore to myself that day that if ever I'd meet him as a neurosurgeon some decades from now, I'd eat my hat.

Yesterday, I found myself smiling once more as I stood there observing the way he lay underneath his tricycle studying the moving parts therein. What happened next was unexpected as my flatmate found it prudent to walk up to the kid and ask him the same question - "Child, what do you want to be when you grow up?"

The answer came out just as fast as it had the last time - "An Astrophysicist!" I smiled to myself, as my flatmate appreciated the vocabulary of the three-year old.

Today, I approached that kid once more, this time quite deliberately. I only wanted to know if he'd fall back on any of his previous choices. He was playing with a fancy spinning-top. I asked him the question - "Kid, what will you be when you grow up?"

The answer was unleashed - "The president." He continued fiddling with his toy. He never once looked up at me. I was so happy that I'd have bought the kid a lollypop! But then, he asked me a question next; one I was quite unprepared for. It came out of the blue:

"Bhaiyya, what do you want to be?"

I stood there silently. I looked around as the walls seemed to close in. I whispered to him, "I don't know." And I took the elevator for the ground floor. I'm afraid of seeing the child again.

A Train Story

Waking up to new company has been a phenomena I have increasingly got used to owing to the immense variety of people I've been rendezvousing over the past fortnight. But even this sort of experience would have counted zilch if I hadn't remembered the happenings of the night prior. And Cafe Leopold.

Having got up in a room whose co-occupant was a certain Tiger, for the second time in my life, and being a few rooms away from the Blob, wasn't as disturbing an experience as the one prior but the headache was a lot worse. For people unfamiliar with the happenings of 'Wake Up : Episode #1', a brief summary would say that I had to un-'lock' my belt and scrape toothpaste off my face. But I also remembered that morning, that it was the first time I had got drunk on Beer. Haddu, Chatu, Chirag and Monkey were the other champions of the Colaba night.

But as dark secrets often do, this story too will let the night fade into the same darkness which enveloped the majestic Gateway that night. But the barley hangover won't be forgotten that easily, for waking up will a heavy head and a topsy turvy world isn't all that hard when you are in familiar environs. But when you realize that you have to traverse half a Mumbai to reach the far-off haven...

And thus I took the trusted local and went to the extent of affording myself the agony of having to change trains in the process - to reach my Navi-Mumbai home. Desperately yearning for that liberating coffee which so often is the antidote to many a headache, the protagonist of this tale crawled through the empty midmorning train and found himself a seat.

A few stations later, I arrived at a hamlet called 'Mankhurd' - one not many would notice if it hadn't been for a drizzle like none other I have ever witnessed. The rain seemed to be falling upwards. As the train gradually pulled out of the station, the rain started getting heavier and the drops larger. The small tenements gave way to a plush green; there was a green of every shade starting out deep and getting lighter with distance before finally fading into the grey-purple hills on the horizon. The cumulous formations seemed to have descended from the heavens, teasing my outstretched palm as I reached for the grey firmament. As the train burst through the greenery at immense pace, I found myself reaching out for the open doorway.

It was then that I saw the clear blue bay hurtling towards me through heaven's cataract. The Mumbai - Vashi bay is a beautiful sight on most days and nights. But this sight was one few are permitted. Plush green, faraway hills, a magical sea, an overbearing grey sky... And the land on the other end of the bridge bathed in golden sunlight unaffected by dampness. I leaned out of the compartment and the first few drops struck my forehead. No longer was there pain. It was pure bliss.

Warning Storys

A traveller will travel. And if you place this wanderer in a city like Mumbai, he will wander. There is no dearth of places to visit - be it relics of medieval history, shopping malls, restaurants for every budget, bars, cineplexes, beaches... And the wanderer is all the more astounded by the variety the city offers if he hails partly or wholly from a semi-urban background - like 'R-men' do.

However the city poses one major obstacle in his path. His unquenchable wanderlust is brought to a screeching halt by the daunting task of having to traverse enormous distances to reach his final destination, or worse - having to travel short distances for long intervals of time. The latter experience is one every Mumbaikar will be familiar with - Travelling a couple of kilometres in an hour! Why we don't walk, I don't know... But that's probably because there is no space left to walk.

Nevertheless, these difficulties are minified by the awesome train system - which leaves the traveller astounded as to how an arrival time like 21:39 can be maintained! But travelling in trains is as difficult as it is brilliant. While you experience the real Mumbai life, you also end up with your bag strapped in front of your chest, with one hand in your pocket performing the duty of wallet-sentry and your head at an acute angle to the horizontal so that you can catch sufficient breath. But in the end, it is usually worth it.

After travelling to Jughead's in Powai to catch the Oranje win and returning by the midnight train, I decided that two consecutive days of such travel will be highly hazardous to health. And life. So, I could only sigh in relief when they said we'd be watching "I Hate Luv StorYs" at a screen nearby. After all the advertisements and being part of the naive junta, the prospect of watching the Sonam Kapoor and Imran Khan show excited me almost as much as the fact that I'd be back in time to watch Germany versus Argentina.

There were signs. First of all, the people I was supposed to go with left without us. Then, one autorickshaw guy after another refused to take us to the mall. We finally got one at the same time the movie started. It was raining and we were getting soaked too. Stubbornly ignoring all these forebodings and omens, we went. Once inside the mall, we behaved much like rats would once you drop them into a large box. We ran. We ran in all directions. Getting split up in the crowds was no longer a bother as each of us wanted our money's worth. So, when four of us found ourselves inside Hall#3, we didn't bother about the others, for a while. But when two minutes passed and then five, and when we still didn't understand any dialogue in the movie and since there was still no sign of both Sonam and Imran, we started worrying. Just about then, I asked Pulkit, "Dude, is this the movie? Are you sure?"

And then we left the Marathi film which we were trying to follow; we entered the real thing - an oxy-moronic flick which starts off with copycat HIMYM scenes and proceeds to copy the entire series. Only later, after the interval, do the HIMYM references and shameless lifts end; but there ends the movie too - turning insipid from plain empty. I took respite in the fact that I didn't spend more money on a larger popcorn-combo! I'm sure that Marathi flick was better.

This post is a warning.

P.S. I feel bad for Ms. Larissa.

Mumbai meri What?

Almost six years ago, on a summer night, Mom, Aashrai and I alighted the Konkan Railway service and headed to Appa’s outstretched arms, who proudly said, “Welcome to the city that never sleeps!” It was my first visit to the commercial capital of the country, or as the indigenous folk calls it – Aamchi Mumbai. Half-dozen years ago, I thus spent my vacation in Andheri, opposite Leela Palace – where Dad used to work, in a rare apartment building (in those days, at least) complete with Swimming Pools and a Sporting Complex – hardly something one expects in a city like Mumbai!

But a few days and an Amoebic dysentery (courtesy: Juhu Vada Pav) later, to say that I absolutely reviled the place and was dying of claustrophobia would be an understatement. I wanted to get out and was glad when I finally did.

I returned to the port city today after risking my life in one of the fastest landings I have ever experienced. The pilot, being absolutely reckless, hit the ground hard enough to sink Mumbai a few feet into the sea. The air hostess smiled at our alarm and said, “Welcome to Chattrapati Shivaji Airport – Domestic Terminal”. I would be lying if I said that my initial feelings of apprehension were subsiding.

I was welcomed, however, by one of the most beautiful overcast skies I have ever seen. The airport having undergone a major face-lift had me standing in awe in the middle of the pick-up bay. The cabbie from Schlumberger told me that I would be going to a Thane guest house. And so we left…

I have seen a lot in the past hours: the winding road around the Powai Lake, the scenic Hiranandani gardens springing out of nowhere, shanties and malls juxtaposed, rather friendly people and a young lad by the slums with no shoes leaping through the puddles in dazzling blue Samsung – Ballack number 13… Even if all these didn’t influence me, the fluent Hing-lish conversation I had with my Tamilian driver did!

I sit here on the 24th floor now, wondering if I’ll have to revise my ‘Favourite Cities’ list real soon…