The Last of the Mohicans

It’s the 30th of May 2006. Captain’s log and all that.
Tomorrow, on the 31st of May, I leave Pune to go to Bangalore. I’ll be working as a Data Analyst for Genpact, and among the multitude of problems that seem to have beset my life right now, a rather prominent one is that I still have no clue about exactly what it is that I’m going to be doing.
You know the feeling, right? When someone asks you with that rather confused, rather earnest look on their face, “So… Exactly what are you going to be doing?”
At which point of course, you cough, look over the undiplomatic so-and-so’s shoulder and say “Haan, haan… coming.”
Graceful exit.
But that isn’t the focal point of this posting. The focal point of this posting is that I’m off to Bangalore, and among my buddies, I’m the last one to leave mama’s nest. Well, almost. But still and all, I’ll call myself the Last of the Mohicans.
It rained here in Pune today. Like the Dickens. Oh by the way, one more digression. Why Dickens? What’s with him and the rains?
Back when I was a really small kid, the arrival of the rains would simply mean jumping about with gay abandon on the streets, getting thoroughly wet, and coming back home to a hot bath and a plateful of mummy’s best. Thankfully, that routine hasn’t really changed over the years. What has changed is that life has added new subroutines to the program at each year.
Over time, rains came to mean ugly plastic shoes and lunch breaks with the rain pouring down. It would signify the arrival of a new scholastic year, heralding a new set of teachers, a new set of abstruse challenges in new subjects and one less year of school life to go, although we never thought of it that last way.
After that, rains meant standing in long serpentine queues to get forms that would see us being admitted to the colleges of our choice. New friends, new relationships, new crushes and a new way of life. Each of us made choices, relating to academia, friends, special someone’s that have stayed with us ever since.
But for the really lucky ones among us, it didn’t change anything else in particular. We’d still be at home, most of us, or what we’d come to call home, in the case of those who stayed in hostels. We’d live the carefree student life, learn the art of drinking, smoking, abusing, loving, hating, bunking, laughing, crying, sharing and forgiving. Life was preparing us for the shocks that it had kept in shore.
Somebody’s parents would expire, or somebody might not make it through an entrance exam that he or she had set his heart upon. Someone might leave India to go study abroad, while yet another would discover a little too late that he’d made the wrong academic choice. Somebody would fall head over heel in love only to find that Cupid had played him a horrible hand. And other such problems that beset all sorts of people in this kind of age. Life teaches only through it’s laboratories.
And then comes the time when college life would get over, as it has today. And we’ve to strike out on our own in the big bad world. Live our own life and earn our own bread. Make it on our own. Which isn’t a bad thing, but it is a little overwhelming.
College is over. The time for the kind of innocent stupidity that had become our hallmark is now gone. Or at least, that’s the new rule in town.
Heaven help society. It thinks we’ve become adults, all of us.

All About Benches

This post is all about benches.
Seriously.
There's this bench in the German Classroom, there's one on Matunga Road Railway Station, there's one on Santacruz Railway Station, there's one in a little garden on the far side of Nariman Point. In Pune, there's one near the ground in Sanewadi, there's one in the hostel... well, two actually, and there's one in the Old Library Building in the Insti.
There's nothing very special about these benches on the face of it. Fairly nondescript, a little shabby, usually with an ugly blob of paint in the middle, specifying that it has been donated to the BMC by Hasmukhlal Shah in memory of his mummy.
But what is special, very special, about these benches is that they have been the source of laughter, joy, sorrow and tears or what amounts to the same thing, wisdom. Over the years, they've given me life's little lessons, conveniently masquerading as Life's Big Issues.
They've been witnesses to discussions about love, life, philosophy, career, heartbreak, sports, beer, economics, DDLJ and other crucially important things in life. They've helped close friends become closer, and they've unwittingly aided in people drifting apart.
Some of these benches have met each other, and I've grown the richer for it. Some of them have been standalones and I'm not quite sure about whether I'm grateful for it. The memory of some evokes a nostalgic chuckle, and some others bring a tear to the eye and a lump to the throat.
And that is in the fitness of things, because after all, in each life, some rain must fall.
All in all though, over the last so many years, I've managed to get a petty decent sized chunk of benches coming my way, and I'm thankful for it.
For a non-bench life is a pretty sad thing.
Here's hoping that all my readers and especially my friends have had their share of benches, for life is poorer without them.

And miles to go before I sleep...

Today, dear reader, is the 21st of May. As you can verify by looking up the date at the top left of this posting. The point of stating the obvious is that in 10 days, I shall leave what has come to be home to go to a new city, where I shall toil unceasingly and make my living. Yes, unceasingly.
They tell me HR guys read blogs, you see.
And leaving home is never an easy thing. This city has been my home for the last twenty four years, and it is a fantastic place. And over that time span, I've come to know this city like the back of my hand.
I know where to get Chinese food at midnight, and where to get breakfast at three in the morning. I know where the bootleggers stay, and I know where to get rare imported wines. I know the finest restaurants - the ones that set you back by a couple of grand for a meal of two, and I know the places where you can have a meal for less than fifty bucks.
I know spots where you can take a bottle of beer at two in the morning, sit and look over the whole city. I know spots where you can go at five in the morning, and watch the city come to life.
I know people who are doyens of industry, and I know academicians who I'm in complete awe of.
I know old timers who regale me with stories of how they bombed theatres during the British Raj, and I know new comers from other parts of the world who can't begin to figure out the city.
I know the old part of town, the one that has existed since the 12th century, and I know the outskirts of the city, those parts that make Pune the vibrant upstart metropolis that it has become today.
I know how rude the shopkeepers can be, and I know how exasperating it is to see them downing their shutters in the afternoon. I also know how they have, for as long as anybody can remember, come up with a quality that has not faltered even once. I know the leafy quiet lanes in Deccan Gymkhana that go to sleep in the afternoon, and I know the chaos that Tilak Road turns into in the evening.
I know the utter chaotic joy that Fergusson Road turns into on weekends, as do I know the chaos that is Chor Bazaar on Wednesdays. I know the tekdis, Vetaal and Hanuman, as do I know Khadakvasla and Mulshi. Throw in Peacock Bay for good measure.
I've experienced the exhilaration of the wind at Konkan Kada on Sinhagad, as have I known the simple joy of the slightly sour curds in an earthern pot. And yes, the Zunka Bhakar. And the water from Dev Taaki.
The Steak burger at Burger King, and the Beef Roll at Nayab. The Steak Cordon Bleu at Touche, and the Drunken Chicken at Zamu's. The pastries at German Bakery and the biryani at Cafe Good Luck. I've been there to bid a fond farewell to Lucky's, may god bless its soul. Misal at Bedekar's and KheeKa at Shri's. And I've been around long enough to know that Shri's is an insult to the old timers. Fine, have it your way... Appa's it is.
Indore Farsan Samosas and Joshi Wadewaale. Rupaali and Vaishali on Fergusson Road and the cold coffee at Durga. Canal Road Pani Puri and Mann Dairy Lassi. How many of you remember the chowpaty at University Circle. How many of you aren't confused at University Cirlce being called University Circle? Sandwiches at Marzorin and Chole Bhature at Mona Foods. Diamond Bar on M G Road and Apache on F C Road. Muttonacha Rassa at Nagpur near Tilak Road and the thali at Shreyas. Baakarwadi at Chitale's and the Shrewsbury from Kayaani's.
Foodie? Who, me?
Taking a walk in Fergusson in the evening, or going for a drive upto NDA. The climb up Parvati. The drive upto Mulshi, and the lake at Manas. The drive up to Lonavla. Those new and welcome additions, E-Square and Inox. Although Alka and Vijay retain their 25 bucks a ticket charm.
Chai outside Shivajinagar at three in the morning and Pav Bhaji at Sadhu Vaswani Chowk at one in the morning. Comesum at all hours of the day, and far more importantly, night. Booze Patel, may the Good Lord bless him. And who can forget (wink, wink) Pyaasa? The cigarette tapri on JM Road and Mal Tap at Khadki.
There are so many things to write about for the nonce, no?
Non-Punekars, please excuse, or even better, come explore.
Me Puneri.

The Time Has Come, The Walrus Said...

It's going to be twice as introspective as the last one, and by that measure, depending on your viewpoint, half as much fun.
It is also going to be fairly esoteric, because I'm going to write about whatever catches my fancy. Which means that one day I'll come up with psalms dedicated to Cafe Good Luck, while the next will see an abstruse piece on Sartre. Although I hope not... I'm not too big on Sartre.
I hope to write about Pune, because out of the fairly limited repertoire of things I consider myself knowledgeable about, I don't think I like anything quite as much as I like Pune.
I also hope to write about Bangalore, because of the number of pubs it has. About people I've known, about thoughts I have (most of them way too convoluted for public consumption, but that's your problem, not mine), about humour (for there is no art requiring more skill), about philosophy (Yup. You read that right), and essentially, about anything that I think writeable.
It's a brand new ride, and I hope it turns out to be fun.
I was talking about me.
You do your own hoping.