It only takes one match to save a life...

Meeting Tim Dutta was truly inspiring. Because he is one of those people who threw aside his career to find a miracle cure for his leukaemia-ridden wife, Pia. After a tough battle, they did find a cure, and guess what, they also found a cause!

A li'l bit of history first. Pia was just 27 when she was diagnosed with Leukaemia. Although she was declared cancer-free after several rounds of chemotherapy, she suffered a relapse in 2003. Doctors said her best chance of surviving the relapse was an aggressive round of chemotherapy, followed by a stem-cell transplant. Healthy stem-cells from donor blood would be transfused into her body to generate new healthy blood cells. This, after her own blood cells were destroyed by chemotherapy, to accept the new stem cells.

Finding a match for the stem-cell donation was a tough one, as very few South Asians were registered in the worldwide bone marrow registry. But Tim's perseverance paid off, when in 2004, Pia finally found a match. Pia and Tim spent six months in Seattle Cancer Care Alliance, and the match worked! Pia recovered!

Ever since, Tim has been trying hard to build a stem-cell registry for South Asians. And assisting him in this venture are various corporates in the country. If you want to more about matchpia and how you can help, click here!

The Mumbai Dabbawalas

In their classic white kurta-pyjama and Gandhi topis, they looked every bit from another era.
The Mumbai Dabbawalas...a name synonymous with perfection, efficiency and hardwork.

As a corporate, we wanted them to share their experiences of being experts in Six Sigma. As a journalist, I was just curious to know more about their lives. (Just when I'd thought I'd left my journalistic skills behind me, the pen came knocking...) Both Raghunath and Gangaram are third generations dabbawalas. In other words, for more than 6 decades now, their fathers and grandfathers have been carrying lunch-boxes around Mumbai, serving home-cooked to those in offices. Around 5000 men carry 2 lakh dabbas around 60-70 sqkm across Mumbai every day. All this with 0% disputes, 0% investment, 0% technology, but 100 % customer satisfaction.

No wonder then that that in 1998, the Forbes Global magazine, conducted a study on the Dabbawalas' operations and found that they made one error in six million transactions! They were awarded a Six Sigma efficiency rating of 99.999999. A three-hour interaction with them motivated me to activate this blog again (excuses~excuses).

How I wish I could write about their visit here, but Integrity policies of my organization bind me. However, would just like to say this. If you every get a chance to meet them, do not miss it! Even the Prince of England didn't make that mistake!

These are some of my favourite things...

"Post five things that you loved to do in a city you have lived in (or all the cities you know considerably well)- not touristy stuff, but what you love to do!" My friend, a reluctant blogger, passed this on. Not a bad idea...

Bangalore - home away from home
1. Walk around the streets of Koramangala on a wet morning, afternoon, evening...stop over at Gangotri's for a pani puri. 2. Go down Kanakpura Road and further down a lost lane to reach Emil's ashram atop a hill. I enjoy it most when I'm on a rickety two wheeler with M. 3. Sit on a bench in Christ College with a book in hand. 4. A bus ride (yes...on hindsight, I enjoyed them!!!) 5. Dig into hot idlies by the roadside stalls in the lane parallel to commercial street (Ibrahim street, methinks).

Mangalore - where I discovered the power of seafood on my taste buds.
1. Spend entire weekends in Panambur, Suratkal and Malpe beaches. Dig into bhel puri while I watch the sun set. ~ Amen~ 2. Take a bus ride from Mangalore to Manipal (and hold on to dear life!!!) 3. Dig into hot, spicy seafood from the little shacks along the highway - trust me it doesn't get better anywhere else 4. Spend time watching the potter family near the Marigudi temple at work (and listen to Lingaiah's drunk brother abuse the #$%*& out of politicians)!! 5. Join the fisherfolk in their early morning ritual (maughty naughty!! ..i meant go fishing with them!)

Chennai - taught me all things arty
1. Take a bus to Pondy - but get off at Dakshinchitra and Mahabs. 2. Plonk myself in the children's section of the British Library 3. Listen to crazy local bands go crazier at Unwind centre 4. Take a bus from Ashok Nagar to Besant Nagar - and dig into hot mirch bhajjis at the beach 5. Shop at T-Nagar

Cochin - I have my roots there
1. As a tribute to all the summer evenings I spent at Subhash Park - I still go there, sit by the Arabian sea, and watch the ships in the distance 2. Tuck into anything at BTH (Bharat Tourist Home) - the masala dosas especially 3. Go to Broadway and hunt for little trinkets 4. Travel to Bolgatty Island on one of those rickety boats 5. Go to the Siva temple down the road from home at 4 am with grandmom

Hyderabad ? Will have to wait for this one!

Back!

I haven't done the travelling bit in long. My nerves are getting numb, and my feet, annoyed. So off to Sikkim for a week, with stop-overs at Kolkata, and New Jalpaiguri.

Hopefully, I'll have plenty to write about when I come back!

:)

Attack life, it's going to kill you anyway.

- Steven Coallier

auroville

pic credit: green century institute

i was sitting on a wooden bench, past dusk, outside an old brick and tile dwelling known as ganesh bakery in auroville. note the irony...a french goodie store, hosted by christians, named after a hindu deity.

i fell in love with auroville and pondicherry for a million reasons. the more i went there, the more difficult it became to wean from this ol' french colony. the beach, the roads, white town, the small-scale hand-made paper factories, the ceramic industries, the french bakeries, the streams, the gorges inside the university, the air, the water and the people. i love them all. the seven-hour journey from bangalore to pondi was the first overnight journey i was taking on my own. reaching at 5 in the morning, i was rather surprised to find my cousin at the bus-stop. she'd come down all the way from the university 14kms away at the break of dawn on her two-wheeler. this was just the beginning of all the adventure we were about to have in the following days!

now M and me are two certified amphibians in the family. there have been unanimous warnings sent out by our parents in our childhood - never to let the two of us run wild near any waterbody. even younger cousins have termed us "crazy, juvenile and unpredictable" when it comes to being near water. so pondi, without parents and other watchguards, and with the bright blue bay of bengal spread all over....was undiluted fun. and crazy adventure.
the first thing we did the morning i reached? certainly not check in anywhere and drop my bags. we headed straight to the sea by the Gandhi statue, sat on the rocks and watched the sunrise, precisely at 6.10 a.m. and that's when it hit me....all along, i'd been in the west coast, i'd only seen the sunset. this was my first sunrise view!

pondicherry university, where i stayed, is one of the most beautiful places i have ever seen. no frills and fancies of planned-out lawns and neatly cut shrubs. everything's natural...just like the town. my cousin once told me how they all played holi till they were dripping in colours and then crossed road and walked to the beach to wash off the colours. bliss. i hadn't had enough of the sunrise session, so the second day, i wanted to soak up the rays from up close. one of our friends, who'd acquainted himself pretty well with the mostly-reticent fisherfolks, convinced them to take us on catamaran (kattu maram = logs tied together) rides. 3-4 logs of coconut trees tied together passing off as a boat???? these fishermen go deep into the sea on these pieces! we went 4 kms into the sea, saw the sunrise up close, kissed the rays and came back to the shores.

i still get goosebumps when i think about that ride! we headed straight to pandu's, a thatched roof house on the beach, with wooden planks for benches and backwaters for a wash basin. panduranga ran this place, and the food he served was to die for. pandu, the rotund, pot-bellied, balding, 24/7-hour smiling, tamil-speaking, french-knowing, amazing cook, who refused to let you leave his place unless you're stuffed to the neck. he doesn't bother with the bills too..."you count and pay me...my dosas will turn black if i have to do that..."

matrimandir was just getting its finishing touches when we were there. but the meditation hall (pic above) was complete. so the restless-by-nature me and company set off to meditate. i understood the meaning of silence for the first time. the crystal in between and the sun rays hitting it sends one into a spiritual odyssey. i forgot to meditate and sat gaping the centre of the crystal. in the background, i saw one particular gentleman gently nodding off. was that an advanced stage of meditation? i don't know. but i knew what could happen to humans if they're exposed to true silence and a spiritual ambience. some could attain nirvana, while some others could finally get rid of insomnia!

(there's so much to pondi, but i find myself incapable of doing justice to it. until words strike again...)

the evenings of life

It's an eerie silence that greets me despite the loud noise from the television. With the sound of the doorbell, uncle scampers to find the remote, while aunty hurriedly switches off another television set in the bedroom. For my 78-year old neighbour and his 67-year old wife, any visitor is a welcome change from their usual companions on the tube.

You guessed right, they live alone, but what's alarming is, this despite their children being in the same town. "Would you mind getting me a matka when you go out...? The heat's unbearable these days. I wanted to go to the market but you know how it is..." Aunty's been down with osteoporosis for the last 10 years, she can barely walk within our building, leave alone going out. Taking an auto is out of question too as "the metre just keeps rolling on...! We can't survive on our pension and the autos simultaneously, the two just don't gel!" she laughs.

As with most grandmothers, she loves to stich. A battered old sewing machine still holds a place of pride in her home, "just for nostalgia sake. So many clothes I've made for my children with this..."

I once asked uncle why he never joins the group of retired people who come together every evening in the park and seemed to have some kind of laughter therapy going on. "Bah! Who wants to lead a life like that! Just because I'm old should I confine myself to other old men and join in their pity jokes! I haven't yet retired from life for that!" I gave him a sheepish grin and ran for cover (I also took a mental note to keep all my suggestions to myself!).
The booming economy seems to have had its effect too. "Can you guess how much uncle used to earn when he first started working? Rs. 110. My grandson recently got a job through his college, and they have offerred him Rs. 60,000!! He's planning to buy a flat soon. We had to wait for forty-five years before we could say we have a place of our own. Kya zamaana aa gaya hain...But I'm happy for him..." she trails.

Another day, I hear no sound from the televisions in their home. Slightly concerned, I knock and find the old man and his wife in the kitchen. "Sachin's coming today! We're meeting him after one and half years! He's come down from the US just for two weeks, so his parents have let him spend a day with us."

She's bustling about, knee pain and all forgotten, making his favourite payasa and tomato pickles. Uncle's excited too, for this grandson shares his passion for books. "I need to ask him if he read Dan Brown's latest. I have not been able to buy a copy..."
I leave them in their busy worlds for a change. It's nice to see the television switched off too. I go home and dial my grandma. "When are you planning to come down...? It's been a while..."

sunshine and sunflowers

Uttarkashi, November 2003.

M and me seated amidst a cluster of sunflowers. Would you believe it if I say this picture was taken by a farmer? We joined him and his family at work in their farm, and dug out potatoes from moist earth for a couple of hours.

All this while we were waiting in some lost village for a bus to take us back to the nearest town. Apparently, buses only plied once in three or four hours in these regions. So by some stroke of luck, we ended up potato farming. Don't let all that sunshine deceive you. It was quite cold up there, and according to our farmer friend, by January, his farm is full of snow.

For a long time after that, I wanted to become a potato farmer. Have a piece of land in the mountains, live in a small house with a stream running nearby, have five dogs for company, and a bicycle to take me to nearby towns and villages (so I can buy other vegetables too, instead of ballooning up on home-grown potatoes!).

Breaking News

I cringe when I watch television news these days. It's almost like I, as a viewer, am embarassed. The moment the camera is switched on, our news anchors and presenters switch off their humility metre. "Modesty, what's that? We are here to promote our channel!"

Good ol' Barkha Dutt. From the days of being everyone's favourite anchor/reporter, she's now turning out to be everyone's favourite whipping girl. "Why does she have to hyperventilate like that in front of the camera?," is a commonly heard refrain these days. Whoever watched her attempt a P2C in front of 10 Janpath yesteray amidst all that chaos would know what I'm talking about. "Let's not forget, Ms. Gandhi refused to comment on her stand on the controversial ordinance. Infact, I was the one who asked the question..." We all know who asked the question. Do we dare mistake that voice?

One particular Breaking News tag sent me into peals of laughter last year. "Karisma Kapoor and Sanjay Kapur to separate..." Hell, for all the pains you guys took, they are back in holy matrimony, and happily so. Another cringe- moment came when I was watching Sagarika Ghose anchoring a late-night show the other day, where she was interviewing the slain Priyadarshini Mattoo's father. Now, we all know nothing can be worse than justice denied. Those who survived a tragedy need nothing more to dampen their spirits than an unfair judicial system. But does that justify sensationlism? I couldn't believe my ears when Ms. Ghose said, "Mr. Mattoo, there was not a single dry eye in our office when we read your story in the Express..." Whatever happened to good old objective, non-sensational, to-the-point journalism?!

The "impact" stories are not targeted for the goodwill of the common man or the audience. They are on screen just so that all those beautifully edited bytes have an impact on the TRP ratings. Period.

Give me my newspapers anyday. Or, bring in Rini Khanna and Sunit Tandon. While on the topic, do read this. It's hilarious!

Ganga mein anth

Harshil

We were on our way to Gangotri and Gaumukh, where the Ganges takes its roots. The six-hour ride in a rickety green bus packed to the roof with tourists and pilgrims, through the long, winding, hairpin curved and narrow routes of the himalayas, is to say the least - an experience. It was my first time, and to be honest, the winding routes turned my insides upside down.

Everytime i looked down the gorges and saw the white sands and the blue water, i wanted to jump right out of the window and pitch a tent nearby. From the distance, i saw a row of green tents along the banks of the Ganga, and further down, a green bridge. A few minutes later, the bus stopped and i heard someone bang on the bus door, "sab theek to hain na?" When i peeped out, i saw a couple of army men, inquiring with the bus driver if all the passengers were okay, and if the journey was trouble free.

I'm telling you people, there's something that comes over you when you're in the borders of our country, and run into the people who guard them. (no, i am not having a RDB hangover!) Harshil seemed like someplace straight out of an artist's canvas. Surrounded by mountains, the sun barely able to reach the valley, harshil with its maple and apple trees, is a trekker's delight. A humble little buddhist temple makes the picture complete (you can see it there in the picture, behind the pole.) We spent time meeting folks from the village and biting into juiciest of green apples, and then moved on to Gangotri. Now, the routes around these regions are so narrow that there are fixed time slots for every single bus that maneuvers these roads. A couple of hours here and there could lead to busses or other vehicles facing each other head-on, with no place to reverse. Which is what happened to us.

On a steep and narrow curve, our bus found itself head-on with a truck carrying rocks. Since the truck didn't have any space to reverse, it was left to our bus driver to do the same. My eyes popped out and jaws refused to close when i looked out of the window and saw what we were onto. Reversing downhill on the narrowest of routes, with the Ganges deep down there??? This guy better be good at it!

I realised I was not the only one jutting my head out of the window. Behind me, I heard an old lady wail, "hai, bhagwan, hamari anth to Ganga ke teer mein hi hogi." Of course, that was not to be.We reached Gangotri at dusk, and I got out of the bus thinking my nose felt wierd. My friend told me I had snow-blackness, which happens when you're exposed to extreme cold.

At 1 degree C, what else did I expect!

Gypsies

Ever wondered where they came from? I was always curious to know. I especially like their tents. Comfortable may be not, but cozy, yes.

I also liked the way they cook. A mud pot mostly, on a small fire. Whatever it was, the scent sure is tempting (the foodie that I am!).

Here's a whole lot of gyan on them.

children of the himalayas.

location: a lost mountain, some 12,000 ft above sea level, right up there in uttarkashi.

that's me with the children of the himalayas, on top of a mountain made only for mountain goats, i'm sure! three years down, i still wonder how i managed it up there on my legs. and these kids live there.

well, our guide's home was right there too. now i wish i'd taken a pic of his home. just to show how precariously his tiny li'l house was built over that precipitious mountain hill.

PS: this blog post, written last year, is from an old blog of mine.

Researching a tiger from an elephant-top

J is an environmentalist who is busy researching tigers at the Kanha National Park in Madhya Pradesh. He is also one of the finest wildlife photographers I have met in recent times. How I went green every time I heard of his escapades in Gir forest in Gujarat and the Valley of Flowers in Uttar Pradesh (If I got the state wrong, pardon me).

M says he's one of the most dedicated souls in the field. Look who's talking! I still remember the evening when M and me rode the two-wheeler to IISc to welcome J when he'd just set foot in Bangalore. And how all three of us rode on one bike in the middle of a busy junction, straight into the traffic cop's waiting arms (Shelled out 300 bucks and half an hour of arguments). We sat eating yummy roadside idlies at Commercial Street another evening, and talked and laughed about nothing in particular.

And why am I talking about all this? Because I was suddenly reminded of the tiger-researcher thanks to his brother's blog. Here's the link. It feels so good to see that there are some people on this planet who are not taken in by the trappings of a material life.

How often do I come across people who are really bothered about the disappearance of wild cat or a rare herb in the forest? Very rarely. And this post is dedicated to them. God bless!

circa 2014

will the new york times ever go offline? will the fourth estate cease to exist? a world without the press??? obviously exaggeration.

however, robin sloan's well-crafted flash documentary, epic 2014, depicts an interesting vision of the status of media and news in the next decade. it talks about the future of personalised news and other information sources. already blogs and other web sources have taken over online news pages.

many believe they got a much better coverage of the tsunami and relief effforts taken up afterwards on blogs by volunteers rather than on news websites or print mediums.

the docu was made in 2004 if i am correct. interesting it is.

pottery

every little touch counts. in the beginning, i sat at the wheel, thinking, "oh well, how difficult can it be?" the overconfidence backfired and my mould of clay splattered.

that's when jayaprakash, our instructor decided i needed some disciplining. "look at your hands and the wheel, not at what someone else is doing!" i gulped but did as he said. the clay did take some shape, but not what i imagined.

i realise we take our craftsmen for granted. there's a lot of toil and sweat behind a beautifully moulded pot. and it takes years of training and perseverence for them to reach where they have.

they are back!

it was appendicites. the mother had it. but they are back now, safe and sound, and have ironed out my worries.

quote

this quote i heard today on tv left me thinking...

"we are not human beings with spiritual experiences, but spiritual beings with human experiences." how true.

and no, i do not know the wise soul who came up with this one.

yet another small change

...And one day, they disappeared. Just like that.

He, his wife, their little son and two daughters were familiar sights just around the corner. One of his daughters would come and knock on our door every Sunday at precisely 7.30 a.m. The first time she did that, I scurried out of my bed, looking for my glasses and when I peered out of the peephole, I didn't find anyone there. I open the door, and there I see her, with her two long pig-tails.

"kapde. istri," that's about how much Hindi she spoke. But enough to pass the message across.

I asked her if she came from near the park. She nodded. I went back to my room and returned to the living room to find her happily humming. I asked her if she would be able to lug the entire pile of clothes all the way from our 4th floor home to her father's istri table. She gave me a look that said, "dont underestimate me!" From then on, she and her family became a regular feature for us.

But one Sunday, she never turned up. Neither did she come the following week. I went up to their stable, and found that the tables and the chair were still there, but none of the familiar faces.

It's been over a month now. Nobody knows where they are. Nobody knew where they lived either, so none's bothered to go in search.

I am hoping they are somewhere safe, surviving,...but safe.

learning braille

I was always fascinated with Braille, the technique used by the visually challenged to read and write. And so on a recent visit to a school for the blind, I was more than happy to learn how it works from the children themselves.

It works like a code. Each letter has a definite code that is marked by raised dots. There are a set of six dots, and each letter is marked by a specific set of raised dots. At the end of it, I realised it is more like shorthand. It takes five years for the students of this school to master the technique of Braille. From the sixth grade onwards, the children of this school begin actualy school work. English, Hindi, Telugu, Science, Mathematics, Art,...they learn it all through Braille.

I am now inspired to learn the technique. Knowing is not enough. Learning is the key.

in memory of nachiketa tal

M and me are both travel freaks. in the bargain, we have a lot of undiluted fun too. and sometimes, the extent we go to, to have fun i.e., is 16,000 ft above sea level.

after stepping off the bus at uttarkashi in uttaranchal, we had no clue where we were headed to next. aimless, as always. that's when our local help said he could take us to nachiketa tal. he warned us that we would have to trek for close to 3 hours through steep forests and hills. we could have hugged him!

trek we did, and on the way, plucked as many himalayan white flowers as we could carry. armloads of flowers, the trek up the picturesque mountain was heady. this is what fresh air feels like, i thought.

after nearly two and half hours, we reached a clearing from where we could spot a water body...the nachiketa tal (= lake). and by the lake was a tiny hut, just enough for one person.

just as were wondering if anyone inhabited the hut, we saw a sadhu emerging from another side of the forest. long grey beard, bushy hair, faded saffron robe, and wooden footwear. our local help said the sadhu hadn't uttered a word in decades. he lived in this hut, away from any signs of civilization, and went into the woods once in while in search of food.

M and me sat by the lake, which was filled with medium-sized black fish, that would come to the tip of our feet and nibble at them. as i sat on the stone steps of the lake, i looked at my reflection in the lake. that's when i knew that i felt no fear here. of being alone, away from human beings, amidst nature at its most pristine self.

nachiketa.does anyone know the meaning?