The Whys and Whats of Love

Why does love make one babble

Why do words disappear

Why do we forget what language we speak

Why does the tongue stick inside

Why does the heart beat unpredictably

Why does one not be able to track time

What is the intangible that stops this world for the lover

Why do eyes keep searching for the beloved and only the beloved

Why does the body drink the sun, the rain and the wind with equal (dis)passion

Why do voices around one not matter

Why does the head refuse to think

Why does one not get sleep, not feel hunger

Why does one feel such desire

Why is this the best version of peace one can get

Why do the eyes, the ears, the mouth, the body yearn for the person one loves

Why do we smile secretly and publicly

Why is there so much connect among the disconnect

Why do we want and not want to meet

Why do we feel light, float

Why do we beg this feeling to last...forever

Why this seamlessness, this weightlessness

Why do we want to feel that care, that touch

Why do we want to hold that hand

Why do we die for that glance

Why does that smile root us

Why do we dissolve in the thoughts of each other, like ....foam?

What do we rush for, what do we wait patiently for,

What do we want the universe to tell us,

What is love, this ceaseless amazement

What is love, this that makes us feel strength, endurance

What is love, but the eyes that long for us

What is love, but the hands that assure and reassure

What is love, but the hugs that make us forget

What is love, but the ear that willingly listens

What is love, but the kiss that makes us lose ourselves

What is love, but that what fills us with peace

What is love, but that what makes us feel respected

What is love, but pure faith

What is love, but guidance and kindness

What is love, but the magic and the stubbornness to believe in the magic?

The magic of serendipity

“Nothing in life is a foregone conclusion unless and until it is foregone and concluded” 

― Rasheed Ogunlaru

“It's all a series of serendipities 
with no beginnings and no ends. 
Such infinitesimal possibilities 
Through which love transcends.” 

― Ana Claudia Antunes, The Tao of Physical and Spiritual

“Throughout this journey of life we meet many people along the way.
Each one has a purpose in our life.
No one we meet is ever a coincidence.” 

― Mimi Novic

“Serendipity will take you beyond the currents of what is familiar. Invite it. Watch for it. Allow it.” 

                                                                                                      ― Jeanne McElvaney

"Coincidence is God's way of remaining anonymous." 

-Albert Einstein

She had an appointment with the dentist that evening; she was rushing back home. There was, as is ordained with every office, a deadline to complete a task on a day when you have a personal engagement. She had postponed the dentist visit thrice already and was in no mood to put it off further. She met her director to inform him of the fact that she was being forced to leave early that day. Her director, being a considerate man, agreed. She was making mental calculations as to how she would reach, driving down. Her mind was juggling between choices - of driving down and the less stressful choice of taking the company bus, due after 20 minutes. Ever ‘should I, or not?’ question in life reveals as to why the human mind, well, is indeed a monkey. She finally plumped for the car.

Her office was stationed on the 19^th floor. Office space is hard to come by; a premium. Hence many companies have their offices in a building – Hers was on 19^th, his on 13^th.

The lift stopping at the 13th floor of the building had significant impact on her. The heart would thump, the blood would get cold and at times, the beats would race.... Only to slow. She would pray as much to have a sign of him as much as wish not to. It is a weird feeling when you want and don’t want to meet a person.

The lift stopped at the 13th floor. It wasn't the office rush yet and she was alone in the lift, standing at one end near the buttons. It was him. It was because of him, the one personality who had thrown her life upside down over the past year and a half or so. It's amazing as to how perfect strangers, come together, become acquaintances, then friends, best friends, and unfortunately to being strangers again. You don't want to, it's unpleasant, but life, that's the way it is. She was reminded of a Nicholas Sparks quote – ‘People change. Circumstances change.’

The doors of the lift opened. she couldn't see anyone. The fingers of her left hand were searching for the 'close' button when it happened. Events happen in a flash.

There he was.... she couldn't believe it. She was leaving earlier that day and did not expect him, of all people to be in that lift; but strange is destiny.

Serendipity.

She nodded her head, as if in half an ask as to if he wanted to get in. Her face, radiant as it was, turned pale... The one that happens with chameleonic frequency when you don't want to be in a situation where you are forced to be in.

He, after half a nod, entered. Ah, she could not contain herself. The heart started running like a headless chicken, so much so that she could feel it pound in crystal clear Dolby sound. She went to the other end of the lift, the other corner with the buttons.

She froze. They looked into each others’ eyes only to unwillingly draw them back, like reflex action.

His green shirt barely helped him camouflage the sudden little paunch he seemed to be unwillingly patronizing. Of late, every day, that was the sole, sore physical grudge he had. He had played out of his skin to get to where he was from a roly poly mound of flesh that he once was.

The past ten months or so, she was living only on memories. Only memories. Nothing else. A chance encounter would elicit a nod, an awkward smile.... That's it. It was hard, hard to live this life, but she wasn't able to make much headway. They had more than feelings for each other, but something stopped them from sharing them.  

Do people move on? If not are they caught in a time warp, a myth, a web of lies, perhaps.... Which they only create? They were both sure that each had tried their best to eradicate memories, feelings, but of no avail and with no success.

This was like a permanent thought in her head, with everything else having the luxury of saying goodbye. This never went, rather, refused to go.

“Ground floor?” she asked. She was going to the basement as her car was parked at the basement.

“Yes,” he said, proceeding to press the button, which they eventually ended up pressing together.

He tried to start a conversation, knowing fully well that it would be as awkward as it can get.

“Leaving early?”

“Yes, I have an appointment with the dentist, which is why I am leaving sooner. What is it about you; you always stay late.” she asked, to his surprise.

The surprise was because she hadn't shared anything with him even after his probing questions over the past year. If they had been a couple, they would be called estranged.

 “Was a bit too tired today and hence I thought I will scoot an hour early. Not feeling too well.”

They both did not know what prompted them to have the conversation they were having. But it was all happening. She was only playing a role. He was, too. The role meant for her. And him.

His musk perfume pervaded the tiny area of the lift. The conversation was happening oblivious of the people flitting in and out of the lift at every other floor. Rather, every floor.

 “Of.... Of course. You aren’t known to take great care of your health. Office has been worship always, hasn’t it?” she said, with the sarcasm she was always known for and a strange kind of firmness he wasn't used to.

Unbeknownst to her, she was feeling good and happy at accidentally being in the right place at the right time, like bumping into someone at a place unplanned. This was a sudden feeling.

After a very short pause during which he was searching for a reply, or rather a reply which he would find appropriate, she posed, “I.... I am driving down... So if you want to, you may join.”

“Oh, no!” he thought. Aloud. Or was it “Oh, yes?”

For once, it seemed strange. All these days, nay, months, they avoided eye contact, at all time sharing only an awkward nod or raised eyebrows. There was something that day which stopped her. And him. Sometimes things happen, whether they are coincidences or whatever you call - fate or destiny, maybe, take your pick – but when they result in making you smile, you don’t want to investigate. Perhaps, you will be left with more questions than answers if you do.

The lift was empty at Floor five. Just when the doors were closing, an office boy rushed in carrying files. He got in, only to get out. He forgot something, perhaps? Or he wanted them to have a few more private seconds?

Destiny works in strange ways

She raised her head to look at him. Her observation prowess being top notch, she surveyed him in nano seconds. The musk was lingering out there and playing its part.

That day, suddenly, out of the blue, she felt an urge to connect with him. She felt the olden days. Why? She could not fathom why. There he was, before her, in flesh and blood, but she felt like how she did when she met him the first time. What is magnetic that connects one day and repels another? Strangely, it was happening to him too. Maybe if the bad things did not happen, he and she would not appreciate the magical happening.

The ground floor. She expected him to exit the lift, now that he hadn’t replied to her offer.

“Aren’t you getting out?”

“I thought you were driving me down! Aren’t you?”

“So, you wish to join me?” She asked.

He made a half nod at that and then it escaped. His smile, that is.

Then they smiled. Lovely beautiful smiles. Smiles with the power of lessening burdens, the power of healing, the magic of love, of life. For moments they were looking into each others’ eyes. And smiling.

They didn't exchange a word till they reached her car. She then pressed the ignition to whirr the car to life. Just like they felt a whirr to their lives, suddenly.

It started raining when they left the building.

How, what, why... No questions could be answered. There was something waiting to be felt that day - safety, care, security, lust, love... Whatever you call it. It obfuscated the past, rather the uncomfortable things from the past.

Serendipity. Maybe the universe fights for souls to be together. And wins. It makes hearts speak in the same language and heartbeats to share the same voice. We don’t choose one another, the universe does.

Perhaps it is how abstract that is.

Probity and the role model

Take from a man his reputation for probity, and the more shrewd and clever he is, the more hated and mistrusted he becomes.

-          Marcus Tullius Cicero

Recognized probity is the surest of all oaths.

-          Suzanne Curchod

The wave of mass hysteria that has accompanied the ball tampering incident in South Africa in which Australian cricketers Steve Smith, David Warner and Cameron Bancroft were involved should, ideally demand puzzling facial expressions from people, who regularly follow cricket.

“What’s new? Everyone has been doing it for ages.”

Of course! Everyone has indeed been doing it for ages. Ever since we started following cricket, ball tampering is part of the game...a ‘mistake’ and not such an unpardonable ‘crime’. The International Cricket Council, in its ‘Laws of cricket’ also does not elevate ball tampering to such an unpardonable offence, going by the penalties that follow. It’s there, perhaps, will be there, but why is this meriting such maddening coverage with two batting icons getting period bans and even the Prime Minister of Australia wading into this?

Yes, of course, top guys are involved. But, the difference lies in ‘committing a mistake’ and ‘planning to commit a mistake’. When you commit a mistake, it is considered forgivable, though it is an offence.

Take school, college.

“I am sorry, I copied in the exam”

But when you ‘plan’ to copy in an exam, the magnitude of the offence is altogether different. More so, when you are a role model for other fellow students.

The ‘planning to commit a crime’ changes the outlook of the viewer of the crime. 

The person who committed the crime – Cameron Bancroft - is not so much the person in the line of public scorn as he is a greenhorn - they are expected to be naive and there are pardons reserved for them. In fact there are voices that he was made to commit the crime by the others. The person who supposedly was the mastermind – David Warner – does not have much public sympathy either way – he, despite being a brilliant batsman, is known to be boorish, has ticked the list of crimes you expect wild cricketers to do; it is like he is expected to ‘commit’ a crime! We have seen numerous run-ins of ‘bad boy’ David Warner with the law – drunken behaviour, bar brawls, physical contact, sledging et al - that this does not matter.

Which leaves us with the third and most important guy in the picture – Steve Smith. He is does have the typical ‘Ugly Aussie’ image, but is not in the same ‘exalted’ (pun intended, of course!) place as his mate, Warner. He has the highest batting average among living cricketers and the highest ever since Donald Bradman. Whatever he touches turns to gold. More often than not, he performs even when the team is not doing well. Captain of the Australian cricket team and aged just 28 years, everything was going for him. Young cricketers, children – he is one of the icons they all look up to. One could not help but feel sorry as he was escorted by the South African police at the Johannesburg Airport for a plane to Australia, to cries of ‘cheat’ – like a criminal.

So, a role model is expected to be just that – you cannot afford to keep a foot wrong; if you do, you are shamed more than what a regular offender would be. The need for probity in public life weighs all the more when you are famous, a role model, a person others look up to.

It shatters a person who looks up to someone, when the latter is not what he made out to be. Role models are supposed to be inspiring. They are looked up to by many, as the others seek to achieve what their role models did. In many homes, they occupy such price of place as the family reserves for one of their own. Many a time, you cannot replace a role model.

Ever since school and into my teens, my role model in sport was the Indian cricketer Mohammed Azharuddin. The unique magic he brought on to the batting arena coupled with his soft spoken nature and ethics – one of the few batsmen who would walk even without appeals if he knew he was out – endeared him to me. So, I was gutted when he was involved in the match fixing scandal. I felt really bad for having been a huge fan, a support of this person for long. He is not in on that pedestal any more.

In many ways, role models form part of your lives. We grieve more profoundly for people who have been part of our lives. Yes, none of us is black or white; we all have shades of grey. But the role models are not supposed to be cheats in the eyes of their unforgiving followers.

When a role model does something that is not expected of him to do, he loses public sympathy, is left without friends, is target of anger and more importantly, falls from grace. Life is not the same anymore. So the temptation to commit a mistake should not be yielded to. You will be labelled a cheat for life. There is simply no room for error on that account. 

Low levels of ethics are a given in public life, so much so, that the phrase ‘probity in public life’ almost sounds like an oxymoron. But, it still holds good for role models, people who are looked up to. They don’t have the luxury of committing mistakes and getting on with life expecting the same levels of adulation. It is very difficult to rebuild trust.

“Sorry, it was an error in judgement....” No apologies cut the ice, you are tainted. You are a fallen hero; you stay fallen.

Becoming famous is easier; staying famous is not.

The 'Samberization' of Sambhar

Food is essential to life - therefore, make it good  - Anonymous

Life is too short for fake butter ...or fake people - Julia Child

No man was made great by imitation - Samuel Johnson





Having spent 23 years of my life in Madras, I made a move to Bombay in early 2002, due to a job posting. I love eating out and this led me to sampling the food at the local restaurants. When you are away from home, the more you want to get close to home and it leads you to creating an atmosphere as close to home; this includes cuisine. In fact cuisine tops the list. The prime examples are our own brethren - Indians who die to eat Indian food when they go abroad.

So, the south Indian staples of Idli, Dosai, Vadai and Pongal top the list. The accompaniments to these staples are Sambhar (please note the ‘h’) and chutney, assortments of which are served. The Sambhar is a prime accompaniment, much like the tabla or mridangam which provide the percussion base for Indian classical music.

Before I delve into the agony of having Sambhar in Bombay, a slight history (who does not love a story, eh?) on how this dish came into being. There are many versions and this is a popular one.

There was a clan called the Thanjavur Marathas of the Bhonsle dynasty, who ruled Thanjavur in Tamil Nadu between the 17th to the 19th century AD. The Marathas came as far as Thanjavur In Tamil Nadu during the course of their conquests and while fleeing from the Mughal persecution. The Serfojis are the more famous of the rulers in that lineage.

It is but natural that when you assimilate with the local population, the cuisine undergoes myriad forms of changes and multiple melanges result. Sambhar was one such dish. Marathas use kokum extensively while tamarind is used by the Tamilians. The gravy of the local Tamilians was apparently different and so, they added tur dal /thuvaram paruppu (split pigeon peas) instead of moong dal / payatham paruppu (yellow lentils) and more vegetables to the local dish, thereby creating their own concoction. It was named after the Shivaji’s son, Sambhaji. Thus became the dish ‘Sambhar”, after the Maratha King Sambhaji – a Tam dish named after a Maratha. So Sambhar is an amalgam of Tam-Maratha co-operation. Ah, the wonders we can create when we come together!

In Sanskrit, the word ‘Sambhara’ refers to an amalgam of multiple things. But then, historians note that there is no mention of ‘Sambhar’ before the Maratha rule of Thanjavur – the Sarabhendra Pakasasthram, a set of two Marathi manuscripts available at the Saraswati Mahal library in Thanjavur, also says the same.

That’s the history of Sambhar. Now, to the main issue – why is the Sambhar so ‘unsambhar like’ in places other than Tamil Nadu and to some extent, parts of Kerala and Andhra Pradesh? The main explanation is - it lies in the ‘Shettyisation’ of the dish. The Shettys are the people who have taken over the South Indian cuisine in Bombay. So they way they dish out South Indian cuisine is reminiscent of their homes in Karnataka. In Karnataka, sugar is added to the Sambhar, making it very un-Tam. Moreover, as far as I understand, they run a cartel in Bombay which keeps out others who want to dish out the real thing. Which partly explains the non-appearance in Bombay of the famous Bhavans and Kadais from Madras, which are so loved. For us Tams, Sambhar is a staple. It is hard to see our beloved dish mauled by the rest of the country.

The realisation dawned on me after sampling Sambhar at various parts of Bombay. The unfortunate part of this is that the Sambhar tastes as bad everywhere else too other than the places I mentioned above. So, one has to live with this. The only exceptions are the Idlis, Dosais and Vadais you get on the roadside, which are normally peddled by Tams, which have Sambhar as an accompaniment - better than the ones sold at the restaurants in Bombay. The only places I go to for Sambhar in Bombay are Mani’s and Udhaya in Chembur and Deluxe near Fort (the latter two serve Kerala cuisine, which is closer to Tam cuisine). This is, when I am not cooking it myself. Even in Tamil Nadu, I am partial to Madras’ Sambhar over other places.

The other grouse is the name – ‘Sambhar’ it is; not the ‘samber’ as it is pronounced. It’s amusing to see even the local Marathi population pronounce a dish named after a king of their race wrongly.

I was thinking as to why the Shettys have done this to my beloved Sambhar. One of the possible explanations is the way Kannada is referred to in the North of India – ‘Kannad’, minus the ‘a’. It is their way of taking revenge for the mauling of the name of their language, I guess! A very odd explanation, though!

I fondly look forward to the Tam Bhavans opening ships al over the country so as to take the glory of the real Sambhar to the country. When will that time come?

Desire and Happiness

'Happiness is not a journey; it is a destination.'

-       Ben Sweetland

'Folks are usually about as happy as they make their minds up to be.'

-       Abraham Lincoln

'Happiness is not something you postpone for the future; it is something you design for the present.'

-       Jim Rohn

Where is happiness? What is the happiness quotient?

All of us have desires. I don’t believe there is anyone without desires. Even if there is anyone who says that he wants to be without desires, the very desire not to desire is itself a desire! We derive happiness when our desires get fulfilled. There is such joy and contentment when it happens. But, wait. When do we actually attain happiness vis-à-vis our desires?  Is it when it is created? Or when it is fulfilled? Well, when the desire is created, there is a deep expectation for such desire to get fulfilled.  

Mathematically, the following expresses the happiness quotient:

Happiness Quotient = Desire Fulfilled

                                 Desire Created

Ah, wait. What happens when we attain the desire? When we actually see our desire fulfilled? Are we happy? Don’t we move on to the next desire? We do. Our needs, desires, wants…..they are unending and we believe that our happiness rests on each one of these getting fulfilled. But is it really so? If we derive happiness in getting our desire fulfilled, why do we go forth to our next desire? Don’t we once again, give the keys to happiness in the fulfillment of the next desire? 

The object of desire is the same, it does not change at times. One car to another car. One house to another house. One shirt to another shirt. Hence happiness is not in the object, I feel. The happiness is in the phase when there is no desire at all. There is a phase when our desire is fulfilled till the next desire manifests itself. This is the phase when we are truly happy; simply because our happiness is not dependent on the fulfillment of anything. The mind is calm and can go to bed peacefully. There is lack of universality in happiness as a concept, but this is one truth.

“I have learned to seek my happiness by limiting my desires, rather than in attempting to satisfy them.” ~ John Stuart Mill

There is no happiness in the desire getting fulfilled, but curiously, there is happiness when there is no desire - when we do not base our happiness on the happening or non-happening of any event. We are so overwhelmed by our never-ending desires in life that we do not choose happiness when we can. 

Thus, happiness in in us, it is not somewhere out there. We choose to be happy and not the other way around. As they say, the happiest people do not necessarily have the best of everything; they just make the best of everything they have!               

Read on the net - A man said to the Buddha, “I want Happiness.” Buddha said, first remove “I”, that’s ego, then remove “want”, that’s desire - now you are left with only “Happiness”.