I don't really know what to title this one as..

It is yet another Thursday, this time the 25th of January. The time is 2:35pm I don't know why I am mentioning this as it is of no great consequence anyway. At grad school, they say that you are neck deep in work.. if you aren't, something is wrong.. big time! And as a matter of fact, I am presently jobless, so jobless that I have slipped into an introspective mode- the one thing I have always dreaded, for I am an introvert, whether I like it or not, and it isn't a very pleasant feeling to get back into what happened, when it happened, how it happened, why it happened and etc etc. Trust me, on this one atleast. So now, that I have ascertained that I am slipping, beyond my control, but all within conscience, into my weakness, I am compelled to write. To write about my fantastic experience of flying some 10000 miles, how I was looking forward to it and how it turned out to be cold and anti-climactic... Well, nobody needs words to complain.. the thought process works things out naturally for you, but somehow, I am lost for some 4-5 words.. I really don't know what to title this one..

But anyway, as the saying goes it is the stuff within that matters and others are merely supercillious. So here is how Jan 1. 2007 happened for me.

3:30 am IST - Chennai Intl Airport sounds the last boarding call for BA 36.. I am on it, settled comfortably into my seat. I am saying "comfortably" because I had to be comfortable at any cost.. an 11hour long non-stop haul is no joke and it is not a very fun-filled experience by any means, on any given Sunday; although in my case it happened to be a Monday! :-) The flight is very normal, BA serves good stuff, and the flight attendants occasionally mumble out instructions even in Tamil! We land at Heathrow some 10 minutes or so late, but thats not a big deal really by flying standards.. But we only land 10mins late. We get off some one-and-half hours later. Talk about one terminal of the world's busiest airport, with all of its 25gates not able to free one for an international carrier, and that too their own! So it was pretty much obvious that I had to miss BA295 which had a mere 100mins connecting time. But they accommodated me on the 297 so I didn't really mind. With some 2hours of connecting time, I had a good glimpse of Heathrow... in all its spledour during Christmas and New Years' time. I'm not surprised at all why people hail it as a marvel.

On the 297, I had been given an auto-upgrade to exec. class - what more could anybody ask for on an economy fare, during his first time? So it was 9hours of getting pampered all the way to Chicago. There was some 'good food for thought' and a whole lot of wine served on board. The gentleman seated next to me was an Indian as well and he had been flying since 87.. so he had loads to speak about... and some specific to Baltimore. But I didn't mind for BA took good care of me.

At Chicago, we landed on time approximately. I don't even know when we did. Sunset had occurred by 4:30pm itself and it was dark anyway, so it didn't matter. I got through all the formalities quickly and went on to receive my next big surprise by the luggage carousel. BA had lost my bags! What was I to do, whom to go and ask - the massive machines or the tall towers?! People around me were not surprised, as if it was a routine thing for them to lose bags and so they told me not to worry. I checked into AA and took the short, turboprop to CMI.. the thought of losing my bags had totally overshadowed this 26min experience and I was just waiting to get off and see if my bags made it this time atleast. But yeah, the only thing I vaguely remember of this journey is the airhostess very animatedly demonstrating the lousy safety instructions, besides the deafening noise emanating from the massive turbines from the back; it was perhaps predetermined that I had to be put on the last seat of an empty plane! :(

At CMI, let alone my bags not making it, I landed into an empty airport. I haven't ever been to any place so empty that I have all of some 2000 sq.ft to myself. I am not claustrophobic by nature, but I felt very ill at ease. There wasn't even an attendant readily available, for me to lodge a baggage claim. I didn't even have a nickel to call anybody. Somehow, after exploring just about everything there is in the terminal, I located a toll-free booth and called a taxi to come down and pick me up.

Cont'd. on another Saturday, the 27th of January at 9:00pm...

At some 7:30pm (of January 1, remember.... and that is my best surmise, for every piece of me, including my watch, ran on IST as always), I had a ride around a deserted, but not as bad as a ghost town, looking C-U.. and it wasn't anything out of the ordinary to be spoken of. I had gone through arguably the most elaborate preparations, spread out well over six months. But landing into an empty town, without my baggage was not the kind of honeymoon-like experience I had envisaged, even in the wildest of my dreams. And too add salt to my injury and rub it deeper still into the wounds, I didn't get to see my bags for another four days. Who would have ever thought that he'd come in to the brave new world and live his first few days in filth?! (From an alternate logic, it seems to be very synonymous with the funky, hip-hop and anti-foppish ways of the land) and added to all this, the bitter cold out here... aight, I think I've over-exaggerated :)

But since I came down there wasn't much activity for the first two weeks, and so I had the opportunity to plan my first act of escapade to Chicago. But the postmortem for that shall feature in my next post since this one is particularly outlined to be yet another embodiment of my wailing.. :)

So long.

The moment of Truth!

It was Saturday, the 11th of November. A typical autumn morning for Bangalore- cloudy and pleasant. The newspapers reported of “dark and stormy nights” nearby, but Bangalore was just as placid as anybody could expect of it. I must remark that, in the past few months, I had personally weathered raging torrents of a tempestuous phase of my life- to the point of enough is enough! I knew the end was near. But that wasn’t the point; it was more about the outcome- was it going to be the opening of the gates for the road to hell? -so they say; or was everything set to vapourise into a dreaded anticlimax?

There wasn’t anything particularly remarkable about my start for the day. I forced myself out, against the will of my resilient body parts, from the cosy comfort of my king-sized mattress, went through the excruciating spells of my parents’ banter over my chores as usual and rushed to the lab. I had been well over a month into my corporate life – Vikhram V.S. (Project Assistant, Compliant and Bio-systems, IISc), and was anxious to draw my first pay check. A no-frills life in Bangalore and my uncompromisably prodigal ways with the phone had been strangling me by the scruff of my neck. I was desperate for some room and cushioning, to get into a comfort zone. And so, it was a good time for realising a month’s compensation- for toiling against convention, beating the odds and making the impossible into reality through seemingly logical surmises.

Okay, now that was not the dreaded anticlimactic ending I was talking about… only just a prelude to the great big happening that followed…

Excited about my temporary ascent by a few bucks, I left for home early. On the way, during the bus ride, I was pondering over how rationalistic a figure I was to hand over to my mom, besides how much to reserve for the phone bill, a hands-free headset, data cords and other inexcusable indulgences. It never quite hit me that it had been nearly two weeks since I had done what was expected of me for the ad-hoc processing, and it was now just a matter of time…

Grandma opened the door at 2.00 pm. I could notice an unusual sparkle and excitement about her normally grim expression. I didn’t really take that seriously though. If at all there was something, my dad would have already blown the whistle on it. He isn’t the kind to sport cheap thrills and surprises.

But I realised there was something when she ushered me into the Puja room and handed over a grey envelope from “#$%”. My eyes lit up instantly and I could see my gleam of hope, flash in all its resplendence, from the dull grey cover! My heart went for a dash; my palms suddenly felt numb and chill, as if I were sneezing through my worst bout of cold for hours; butterflies in their flight did hula-hoops all over my tummy; and memories flooded my cranium beyond capacity. I knew this was the moment of truth! I had waited for six months, pored over gigabytes of fundae and information, spent a few hundreds on useless long distance calls, and relived the trying experience of having my app reviewed all over again. And now the verdict was approaching me, FTASB! (for the uninitiated, it is a lazy jargon for Faster Than A Speeding Bullet)

I wasn’t prepared for this high speed chase. And so I took my time, with heavy gasps of breath. The metabiophysical reactions in my body rewound the clock backwards, and I found myself confronted by a roster of hostile questions-

Why did it have to be June 8?
Why not the 8-point someone at ITC?
Why not IIMB?
Why not Stan?
Why rediff?
Why that one particular grouchy chap?
Why me?!!

Alright that’s enough dude! Just open it.

When I opened the package, my most dreaded fears very nearly came true. There they were - my small blue booklet, intact; and the all important cert., battered and bruised as if out of a washing machine! It spoke volumes about their contemptuous attitude towards me, and us all.

My first instinct was to just look at the first available page in the booklet- nothing; next page- nothing here either; third page- not even a dot of ink! At that moment my heart came to a grinding halt; I almost sank in my posture! Go to the last page- no sign here too. Was there more to the already over-convoluted twist? The back-cover page- there was just this green sticker bearing the 4 ominous alphanumeric characters. Did they imply that the “pink slip” I got was for GOOD?

Of the few moments that followed, my memory is blotted and I don’t know or remember how but they just happened… I regained my composure, got back on my feet and virtually visualised the matrix of all my body parts before taking any action. I still don’t know what gave me the ridiculous brainwave that there are 36 pages in all eligible to get “stamped”, and that I had just covered no more than barely one-twelfth of the probability. And so I garnered all my will power and strength and patiently started flipping each and every leaflet. I even looked for invisible ink and UV marking! After all I am a mechanically aptituded technocrat. One by one I scanned- pg 2, pg 3, 4, 5.. ..10, 11, 12, 13- stop!

Voila, there it lay! Carefully nestled and concealed from everything, including a normal man’s sight or oversight rather. Six months of my sweat and agony in waiting, all for a 3-by-5 stamping! But I will take that, for it was well and truly my tryst with “The moment of Truth!”

I have one important question, which has been eating my head since, to put forward though – why page 13? Aren’t they the ones who contributed the infamous triskaidekaphobia to the rest of the world?

My experience closely relates to that of my project partner and good friend GREram who himself had to go through three full-fledged attempts. I suppose his summation of the whole thing- "Wham! Slam, Thank you Ma'am!" says it all. He will surely agree with me and wonder as to how, especially after 4 attempts, 2 failures and a "pink slip" between the two of us, we remarkably made it!

In the end, after perhaps a perfect ending with an anticlimactic flavour to it, I can only look back at an excessively quoted, ridiculed, clichéd saying of a few wise ol’ timers – All’s well that ends (well)!

Period

Wanna know why?

I am here for a reason; and I am here for good.
I crave for freedom from the shackles I have on;
by Jove! I shall make noise... lots of noise!
You have naught for a choice
than to listen to my god-damned foghorn.