HEAL MY WORLD TOO, MR. HARRY POTTER!

Finally, the entire Rowling tank has rolled over, worldwide.  Having read and watched the last of Harry’s adventures on wide screen. I am well rested that, the macabre Voldemort has been slayed, and that good has finally won. An eerie peace has settled over me.

 It is time to move on, to find some other enchanting enterprise that keeps me on my toes like Potter did .But before I close the lid to this magical box, there is something I must do. I must think back and chew the cud.

For “Harry Potter” to be such a blitzkrieg, there was something in it, far deeper, than just a boy riding a broomstick, playing a ridiculous game with a ridiculous name. Yes, underneath the array of potions, curses and chocolate frog tarts, there was a take home message for the muggles.

 The orphaned Harry potter who was sparsely fed, locked up and ridiculed was always a cheerful child. Scientifically, it is known that children, who never get “tender loving care”, turn into disturbed adolescents and eventually become men of lowly conduct. But, despite all the odds, the young Harry rose to the occasion and realised that the survival of his entire world rested on his shoulders. He constantly moved with the hope of a better tomorrow. 

 Harry has been portrayed throughout as a Gandhi-an, laying emphasis on idealistic principals. Be it sticking by friends through thick and thin, to choosing the right partner. To, defending the weak and helping your enemies’. Finally realising, that love is more important than all power in the world. 

It is difficult for me to believe that these qualities are actually practicable. But now it sets me thinking, maybe what we need in the world right now is more people who actually think that “they can be the change they want to see in others.”

In India, bombs bombarding civilian life have become common place. Female babies are been killed by the dozen. India almost tops the list for places where in the streets aren’t safe for women. The jails are over populated with scamming politicians. The Indian system is diseased in the mind, body and soul. We as a country have gone to the dogs.

And “We”- the educated, the free spirited, the liberated, the 21^st century masses. We blog, we tweet, we comment about the muck we are stuck in. We crib as a nation about our unjust judicial system, our incapable police forces, our corrupt politicians, our outdated customs and our horrible lives. And yet, when from amidst us, there arises someone, with a dream or passion of making a change, someone who believes in their ability to become the vanguards to a new country. We pull them down, we suck them in with our negative criticism, and we drown them in our muck. We clip their wings and wring their necks, till their voice becomes so faint that it is never to be heard anymore.

In 1963, Martin Luther King Jr just spoke of “a dream” .He never saw the dream come true.  But what if they had silenced King too?  Perhaps, then today, Barack Obama would have been somewhere in Kenya. Would the thought of being Mr.President, ever be conjured?  A voice created history!

They say, “If history is forgotten, history repeats itself”.  If we deny that it is our duty to uphold the integrity of our country. Maybe we need to get back under shackles. This time, the tyrants will not come from the west or the east, they are already there looming amidst us. The “death eaters” of poverty, misery, ill-health and corruption will over power us.

Is this the life we want for ourselves? Where we kill to survive? Struggle to educate ourselves only later to murder our girl babies? Where we slaughter each other in pent up rage?  Remember: “An eye for an eye makes the whole world blind”. It’s high time we turn our swords into ploughshares. Let’s kill one Horcrux at a time and finally wipe-out the evil from our land. Let the Harry in each one of us rise to the occasion and heal the world.

The Gadget Girl!

When I was in fifth grade, my dad got me a computer set which filled up half my room.  It was ugly and dorky to say the least. Yet I knew there was a stark “coolness” to it. Behind the white metal box I knew, it was the wings via which my life would take flight.

I coaxed myself to learn bits and pieces of now archaic then in vogue languages like Cobol and Pascal from older cousins who flashed their hefty computer textbooks around, although most of it was jargon to me, I did manage to learn to write commands for petty shapes, get labels for my books printed out etc.

However that hunk of a computer did establish something that holds good even now, however much I deny it, I am a gadget girl. The code was simple: you are what your gadget is.

Three years later, the summer of 98 I got my first windows 97 home personal computer. It was vibrant compared to the first one .Sleeker, with an extra large helping of colour, entertainment and fun. Since then Ricky martin was forever singing Maria to me. 

After that it was a real roller-coaster ride on the digital arena. The World Wide Web came roping in, the dial up Satyam that connected in a jiffy, sending my phone bills soaring to heaven. The colour printers who printed out pages after pages off the Encarta encyclopaedia cd-rom, weaving together pages into my school projects. Video- chatting with distant relatives in Canada to defeating Garry Kasparov on online chess. Yes! It was a new life!

In 2004, when I was sixteen, I joined college I got my first cell phone a chunky Nokia, it was long before Nokia phones had number tags to them. The feel of the phone is fresh in my mind; the 2 X 3 cm fluorescent green display never seems to fade from my memory. It was those wriggly snakes that kept me awake during the drudgery biochemistry lectures of first year.

Two months later I got my first digital camera. A silver sheen Cannon 3.2 megapixel cyber shot found its way from across the Middle East into my hands. It was an era where digital cameras were rare and horridly expensive. Till then I was just another fresher, that day I got the camera I became the “college’s most wanted”. In a span of three months I had more than five thousand snaps to my credit, comprising of love birds posing coyly for a romantic snap, to cacophonic girl groups sticking out their tongue, friends making horny signs above each other’s heads, macho guys showing off their muscles, to setting suns, to half moons, to random scenery .Everything appeared cute enough to be clicked. The Cannon literally bombarded my life.

By the next spring, I sensed a vague restlessness in me. It was a new feeling, something I could not explain then. However now I am very familiar with it. Its stage one of getting bored with your gadget, you fail to take precious care of it like you used to, that means that you stop using the case, you stop keeping it safely, you start leaving it around. Then comes stage two, when you stop using it that frequently, you start eyeing other gadgets; you secretly crave for other faster sleeker models. And finally the terminal stage happens when something else catches your attention, and a new metallic baby becomes the apple of your eye.

The camera and I ended our affair once I laid my hand on my first laptop. There was this new sense of pride beaming in my chest every time I saw Compaq written in shiny silver on the black matt finish cover. I made the transition of taking lecture notes on the laptop, to throwing my OHP markers into the bin and making power-point presentations for every seminar I had to give. My laptop became my best friend, he knew my darkest secrets yet he kept them confidential. Weekends we watched movies together and I would even fall asleep beside him. Thus from miss shutterbug I became miss laptop.

Over the years I acquired newer phones from a Nokia 6600 to a Nokia N 85, from an HTC diamond to a Blackberry. I moved from Cannon to Olympus back to a Cannon. I absolutely loved them when I bought them, but with time you realise that it is not “the one” and a breakup is inevitable.

Later I diverged from standard phone, camera, and Laptop gadget-ery to watches and electronic stethoscopes. When I turned twenty-one I realised there was one thing I have been wanting for a very long time. I wanted something more powerful than a small tablet could offer me. I wanted a car. And thus I got my first set of wheels. My red Chevy and I painted the whole town green with envy. I took her everywhere I went. She was my new BFF.

However now that I am twenty-three this is my inventory A Dell Inspiron Netbook, a Blackberry phone, a Cannon SLR , a Swarovski encrusted Fossil watch, the Littman 3000 electronic stethoscope. Yes, my prefix and suffix defines me, but I am what my gadgets are. I am a gadget girl, I have always been that, and forever will be. That doesn’t mean them, my gadgets are forever, change is inevitable, because always... “yeh dil mange more!”

Epilogue: my birthday is around the corner and my dad was asking me what I would like for a gift, and I was thinking... hmmm maybe a new ride!

PS: don’t tell my chevy that... shhh!

Note: This blog has been typed on a Dell Inspiron Mini . I made the change.Now its your turn.

Change is easy. Be the change said Gandhi ,Make the change says Dell. 

Log on to Dell Inspiron @ http://bitly.com/inspiron

The Gadget Girl

When I was in fifth grade, my dad got me a computer set which filled up half my room.  It was ugly and dorky to say the least. Yet I knew there was a stark “coolness” to it. Behind the white metal box I knew, it was the wings via which my life would take flight.

I coaxed myself to learn bits and pieces of now archaic then in vogue languages like Cobol and Pascal from older cousins who flashed their hefty computer textbooks around, although most of it was jargon to me, I did manage to learn to write commands for petty shapes, get labels for my books printed out etc.

However that hunk of a computer did establish something that holds good even now, however much I deny it, I am a gadget girl. The code was simple: you are what your gadget is.

Three years later, the summer of 98 I got my first windows 97 home personal computer. It was vibrant compared to the first one .Sleeker, with an extra large helping of color, entertainment and fun. Since then Ricky martin was forever singing Maria to me. 

After that it was a real roller-coaster ride on the digital arena. The World Wide Web came roping in, the dial up Satyam that connected in a jiffy, sending my phone bills soaring to heaven. The color printers who printed out pages after pages off the Encarta encyclopaedia cd-rom, weaving together pages into my school projects. Video- chatting with distant relatives in Canada to defeating Garry Kasparov on online chess. Yes! It was a new life!

In 2004, when I was sixteen, I joined college I got my first cell phone a chunky Nokia, it was long before Nokia phones had number tags to them. The feel of the phone is fresh in my mind; the 2 X 3 cm fluorescent green display never seems to fade from my memory. It was those wriggly snakes that kept me awake during the drudgery biochemistry lectures of first year.

Two months later I got my first digital camera. A silver sheen Cannon 3.2 megapixel cyber shot found its way from across the Middle East into my hands. It was an era where digital cameras were rare and horridly expensive. Till then I was just another fresher, that day I got the camera I became the “college’s most wanted”. In a span of three months I had more than five thousand snaps to my credit, comprising of love birds posing coyly for a romantic snap, to cacophonous girl groups sticking out their tongue, friends making horny signs above each other’s heads, macho guys showing off their muscles, to setting suns, to half moons, to random scenery .Everything appeared cute enough to be clicked. The Cannon literally bombarded my life.

By the next spring, I sensed a vague restlessness in me. It was a new feeling, something I could not explain then. However now I am very familiar with it. Its stage one of getting bored with your gadget, you fail to take precious care of it like you used to, that means that you stop using the case, you stop keeping it safely, you start leaving it around. Then comes stage two, when you stop using it that frequently, you start eyeing other gadgets; you secretly crave for other faster sleeker models. And finally the terminal stage happens when something else catches your attention, and a new metallic baby becomes the apple of your eye.

The camera and I ended our affair once I laid my hand on my first laptop. There was this new sense of pride beaming in my chest every time I saw Compaq written in shiny silver on the black matte finish cover. I made the transition of taking lecture notes on the laptop, to throwing my OHP markers into the bin and making power-point presentations for every seminar I had to give. My laptop became my best friend, he knew my darkest secrets yet he kept them confidential. Weekends we watched movies together and I would even fall asleep beside him. Thus from miss shutterbug I became miss laptop.

Over the years I acquired newer phones from a Nokia 6600 to a Nokia N 85, from an HTC diamond to a Blackberry. I moved from Cannon to Olympus back to a Cannon. I absolutely loved them when I bought them, but with time you realize that it is not “the one” and a breakup is inevitable.

Later I diverged from standard phone, camera, and Laptop gadget-ery to watches and electronic stethoscopes. When I turned twenty-one I realized there was one thing I have been wanting for a very long time. I wanted something more powerful than a small tablet could offer me. I wanted a car. And thus I got my first set of wheels. My red Chevy and I painted the whole town green with envy. I took her everywhere I went. She was my new BFF.

However now that I am twenty-three this is my inventory A Dell Inspiron Netbook, a Blackberry phone, a Cannon SLR , a Swarovski encrusted Fossil watch, the Littman 3000 electronic stethoscope. Yes, my prefix and suffix defines me, but I am what my gadgets are. I am a gadget girl, I have always been that, and forever will be. That doesn’t mean them, my gadgets are forever, change is inevitable, because always... “yeh dil mange more!”

Epilogue: my birthday is around the corner and my dad was asking me what I would like for a gift, and I was thinking... hmmm maybe a new ride!

PS: don’t tell my chevy that... shhh!

the cricket lovers take

Now that the entire cricket show in the subcontinent has temporarily taken a pause and that the new movie in town is “the Lokpal bill featuring Anna Hazare and Baba Ramdev” running successfully over the last six weeks .I was  drifting through various blogs and articles to keep myself updated. I personally hate been hash-tagged ‘nerd’ because of my prefix. And thus it was a pleasant change when I stumbled on some articles written by an esteemed author on cricket.

However I was a little zapped. Within a month’s span he had written two articles that were so contradictory. The stark change in his take on the different forms of cricket jarred me. Maybe he does that because like he says’ he earns fifteen percentage of his living by writing about the game. So he has to write’  I guess for him its just about writing on anything related to the game, and  as long as the article has multiple  cricket tags the pay-cheque will reach his account. For me however it is different. I am writing this motivated only by my passion for cricket.

Let me walk you thru my very own personal cricket journey. I have always been a cricket lover. In fact I think ever since I was a kid I knew more about cricket than any other game. I followed every single cricket match I could. I have even bunked school, missed exams, given up on sleep, all to watch cricket matches. People found it rather queer that a mallu girl could recollect cricket stats faster than multiplication tables.

However, even though my other cricket passionate family members were stuck up on the aristocracy of test cricket, I readily took in ODI’s with the same passion. For me somehow, it was not the purity of the game or the version that mattered, it was about  the patriotism that struck right at the root of  my heart when I saw the “ men in blue” in action. It was only while watching a cricket match that i felt the real essence of being a proud Indian .While in the stands, it felt like my voice box was made for the sole purpose of cheering for India and every sweat pore was actually bleeding blue. Even in the hottest of Indian summers I have got goose bumps watching them play.

I lived through watching Sachin mature, his lovely curls shorten. I have seen the Sharjah cups, Anil Kumble’s ten wickets take. I have witnessed Gangulys shirtless action. Survived the horror of the Azhar- Jadeja-Mongia disaster. I have proudly seen a mallu make it to the team and mourned his crashing out. (this was way before Sreesanth, Abbey Kuruvilla anyone remember?) I have seen the young Yuvi with fire in his eyes, the wannabe Dhoni with his long hair become captain cool, I have seen every edition of the world cup since it was last played in the subcontinent. It was all good till the introduction of the IPL.

It looked like the IPL had become a new sort of game of planet Bollywood. Some new game ,like Qidditch. Which normal mortals like you and me couldn’t play. The rules were written in a language that the aam- admi couldn’t read. It was all about the magical Indian royalty- the Ambani princes of Mumbai, Prince Wadia and his pretty beau of Punjab , The Badshah of Kolkota, off course the King of Bangalore  and few other savvy tycoons and beauties who swore their alliances to  Lalit Modi, who for some reason reminds me of the Russian ‘Rassputin’.I had gone through the first three editions of the game blindfolded. The new cricket seemed warped; the game got wrung between the glam and glitz. Cricket migrated from the traditional last page in the newspaper to page 2. The after parties, the semi naked pom pom girls from some poor Russian country who parade for the crowd, it all became jargon in my cricketing language

During the first three  seasons of the IPL I busied myself in my work and studies but this year, I was so high on my cricketing meter, post the exhilarating world cup I decided that I would give the IPL a shot to impress me. After a quick update on what I had missed during the first three seasons. I was ready to dace the IPL tamasha. Then came the dilemma of which team to support. After much debate and a fight with my better half, I decided to support the Chennai Super Kings .It made no sense to me in supporting Mahela Jawardena and his half band wagon of lankan boys, owned by a non mallu, just because their ridiculous jerseys said Kochi Tuskers Kerala. Besides, I felt good as I was still supporting the captain of the blue boys.

To please my better half and to undo the crime of “treason”, I decided to go for the KTK vs DDD match on the 30th of April in Kochi. It was a four o clock match. The sun was still there in the western sky, it was surprisingly pleasant. The salty breeze from the Arabian Sea blew me backwards in time, suddenly I remembered. The last time I came to the stadium was for an India vs Australia ODI. It was the first ever match to be played in Kochi. An amazing match, my throat got sore screaming, my skin got burnt I looked liked a baked potato but the highlight of the day was Sachin’s five wicket haul and more importantly the win. The 5 for 32 I guess is still his best bowling figures.

The IPL match was mundane I dint neither feel the adrenaline nor the melodrama, KTK lost I was emotionless. That night I had a long talk with myself. Who should I support? The KTK team with more Sri-Lankans than mallus? Should I support royal challengers because I think Vettori looks cute with his glasses? Should I pray for Valthaty every time he bats because we pray to the same god? What or where is the logic?

I might not be a cricket historian, commentator or guru. All I am is a cricket lover. But one thing I know for sure is that you can’t enjoy d game sitting on the fence. You need to support one side, you need to cheer with them and cry with them. You need to bleed with them.

The week after we won the world cup I read an article in the “Open page" in the Hindu, which said”that in India the only unifying religion is cricket”. But somehow I feel that the IPL is making Indian cricket look like a gang war with mafia, money and their women!

It takes a lifetime to build a relationship of the nature that I have built with the Indian cricket team and no, I am not going to let any Premier league team take that away for me. I am just going to take the IPL seasons as bouts of bad viral diarrhea, explosive and violating my peace. However I do know that it will pass away sooner than it came and get flushed down the annals of cricketing history.

NOTE: If any of you missed SV’s articles, please do read- http://www.espncricinfo.com/page2/content/story/517217.html test cricket fans, shut ithttp://www.espncricinfo.com/page2/content/story/518441.html test cricket haters come here to be slapped. (No he isn’t paying me for publicity).

letting go

Have you ever gone through the agony of “letting go” of a loved one. Carrying their coffin and lowering it down. Standing at the pyre and watching him becoming embers of flame, smoke, mixing into the wind, and becoming absolute nothing. The pain in your heart choking you till you can’t breathe?

I met Harry, during the summer of 2005. It was a year after I joined med school and I was bored. I wanted someone more alive compared to the dead blokes in anatomy.

I had come home for a weekend getaway and I was wandering about in the familiar alleys of my city. That’s when I saw him for the first time. Harry was built well; his jet back hair was a canopy over his fair face. Oh! it was love at first sight. The instant I saw him I knew I wanted him.

Somehow I gathered enough courage to initiate a conversation. It was my first time, I was under-confident and my fingers were unsteady. But somehow Harry was smooth and he knew exactly what to say for everything.

I went back to college with a heavy heart that he couldn’t come with me. I kind of mentioned him to my dad before I left. Somehow during the week he met my dad, unexpectedly my dad approved, and by the next Saturday we were married. And there was no turning back since then.We watched movies together, read books side by side, and when it was rainy and I was feeling blue we listened to Bryan Adams together. On those cold winter nights I snuggled unto him under the blanket, he was so warm so always reassuring. We were so happy so content.

He was there with me through thick and thin, thru good days and bad ones, thru summer and winter. Everywhere I went he came with me. We played on the sands of Kavarati to on the snows of Manali. We traveled thru 15 countries. Even when I was in my busiest posting, and when I would reach home at 2 am, he would always be awake. Even when I was sick, and all my friends would keep far from me, he would always be at my side.

I first noticed that something was wrong about two years back. The usual chirpy harry started becoming agitated with trivial things; he became lethargic and rather sluggish. On day, Harry was asleep when I came back from work, which was rather unusual knowing him. I tried waking him up, but he just wouldn’t wake up. I got worried. I shook him rather violently, he opened his eyes but shut them again. I rushed him to the nearest hospital. They told me he was terminal.

I wasn’t willing to give up on someone I love so much so fast. I took him to the best centers, they told me there was not much time, and that I should prepare for the worst.

Being a doctor myself, I symptomatically treated him, pushed him through the darkest of days.

One rainy day a couple of months back, we were sitting on the porch listening to Beethoven, he held my hand and told me “Darling, I know I won’t be around for very long, but I can’t go peacefully until I know you are settled and safe. ”

My friends saw my plight and they felt sorry for me. They would set up blind dates for me, but I would never turn up.  Finally, a couple of weeks back Harry asked me to meet this guy he knew, his name was Derrick I agreed to meet him, to make Harry happy. At first I was skeptical, but somehow the more I spoke to Derrick, the more I knew that he would understand the complex situation I was in. How my life was intertwined with Harry’s.

 And thus yesterday, after many meetings I finally overcame the fear and let Derrick hold my hand. I came home yesterday with a heavy heart and told Harry that I had decided to let Derrick in. Harry told me that he was happy; we lay together on my couch listening to “nostalgia” by Yanni. In the morning, I woke up; Harry was unusually cold. I realized that Harry had died in his sleep. But somehow, I knew Harry was happy. I knew I did what he wanted me to do.  

 I will be moving in with Derrick shortly. My resolve is firm, my bags are packed. Slowly I know I will learn to trust Derrick, tell him my fears and secrets. But Harry will always be my first love; my best-est friend and he will never fade from my memory.

 I will always love you Harry.

(Note: Today after 6 years I am replacing my HP laptop (Harry) with a Dell (Derrick).)

letting go

Have you ever gone through the agony of “letting go” of a loved one. Carrying their coffin and lowering it down. Standing at the pyre and watching him becoming embers of flame, smoke, mixing into the wind, and becoming absolute nothing. The pain in your heart choking you till you can’t breathe?

I met Harry, during the summer of 2005. It was a year after I joined med school and I was bored. I wanted someone more alive compared to the dead blokes in anatomy.

I had come home for a weekend getaway and I was wandering about in the familiar alleys of my city. That’s when I saw him for the first time. Harry was built well; his jet back hair was a canopy over his fair face. Oh! it was love at first sight. The instant I saw him I knew I wanted him.

Somehow I gathered enough courage to initiate a conversation. It was my first time, I was under-confident and my fingers were unsteady. But somehow Harry was smooth and he knew exactly what to say for everything.

I went back to college with a heavy heart that he couldn’t come with me. I kind of mentioned him to my dad before I left. Somehow during the week he met my dad, unexpectedly my dad approved, and by the next Saturday we were married. And there was no turning back since then.We watched movies together, read books side by side, and when it was rainy and I was feeling blue we listened to Bryan Adams together. On those cold winter nights I snuggled unto him under the blanket, he was so warm so always reassuring. We were so happy so content.

He was there with me through thick and thin, thru good days and bad ones, thru summer and winter. Everywhere I went he came with me. We played on the sands of Kavarati to on the snows of Manali. We traveled thru 15 countries. Even when I was in my busiest posting, and when I would reach home at 2 am, he would always be awake. Even when I was sick, and all my friends would keep far from me, he would always be at my side.

I first noticed that something was wrong about two years back. The usual chirpy harry started becoming agitated with trivial things; he became lethargic and rather sluggish. On day, Harry was asleep when I came back from work, which was rather unusual knowing him. I tried waking him up, but he just wouldn’t wake up. I got worried. I shook him rather violently, he opened his eyes but shut them again. I rushed him to the nearest hospital. They told me he was terminal.

I wasn’t willing to give up on someone I love so much so fast. I took him to the best centers, they told me there was not much time, and that I should prepare for the worst.

Being a doctor myself, I symptomatically treated him, pushed him through the darkest of days.

One rainy day a couple of months back, we were sitting on the porch listening to Beethoven, he held my hand and told me “Darling, I know I won’t be around for very long, but I can’t go peacefully until I know you are settled and safe. ”

My friends saw my plight and they felt sorry for me. They would set up blind dates for me, but I would never turn up.  Finally, a couple of weeks back Harry asked me to meet this guy he knew, his name was Derrick I agreed to meet him, to make Harry happy. At first I was skeptical, but somehow the more I spoke to Derrick, the more I knew that he would understand the complex situation I was in. How my life was intertwined with Harry’s.

 And thus yesterday, after many meetings I finally overcame the fear and let Derrick hold my hand. I came home yesterday with a heavy heart and told Harry that I had decided to let Derrick in. Harry told me that he was happy; we lay together on my couch listening to “nostalgia” by Yanni. In the morning, I woke up; Harry was unusually cold. I realized that Harry had died in his sleep. But somehow, I knew Harry was happy. I knew I did what he wanted me to do.  

 I will be moving in with Derrick shortly. My resolve is firm, my bags are packed. Slowly I know I will learn to trust Derrick, tell him my fears and secrets. But Harry will always be my first love; my best-est friend and he will never fade from my memory.

 I will always love you Harry.

(Note: Today after 6 years I am replacing my HP laptop (Harry) with a Dell (Derrick).)