Wednesday, August 22, 2007

Packing and Unpacking

Wondering why I'm not writing anymore? I stopped writing because I had to pack and unpack many of the following items over the last couple of weeks.
  1. Some 20 or so cartons of books
  2. Half a dozen trunks full of clothes
  3. Two crates full of utensils, crockery and cutlery
  4. A couple of steel cupboards
  5. A pair of hold-alls
  6. Two beds, mattresses and all
  7. One divan
  8. A sofa set, with centre table and side tables
  9. A dressing table with a full length mirror
  10. A fridge
  11. One washing machine
  12. TV, DVD player, music system, record player etc.
  13. A few boxes of audio cassettes, CDs, DVDs and gramophone records
  14. A treadmill, a carom board, a cricket bat and two folding cots
  15. A locked bicycle (since the key had been packed away in some box earlier)
  16. A pair of carpets
  17. Several framed pictures, including a full size replica of the Mona Lisa
  18. A few potted plants
  19. A red coloured Tobu tricycle (don't ask me why we carried that)
  20. Many, many other things which I can't remember
The larger items were packed by the transport people under our supervision, but we packed the smaller ones ourselves. All the time I spent in Allahabad was used for packing. Finally the goods were loaded onto a large truck and it was covered with two large tarpaulins and tied up nicely. We were very happy that our stuff would be safe and dry in this rainy season.

We had forgotten all about Murphy's Law. We remembered it only when the truck arrived at our Hooghly residence on the morning of the 15th of August and the covers were opened.

The potted plants were just plants sans the pots, and lay amidst scattered soil and shards on the floor. As expected, they had shriveled up due to lack of water. But the plants were the only things that needed water. Most of the other things were very wet.

Turns out that the truck ran into severe rain en route Hooghly and water started seeping in. The guy whom we had kept on the truck to supervise proudly announced later that he had made the driver open up the tarps and retie them properly. I feel that's when all the water accumulated on the tarp roof fell down into the truck. Several cartons of books had soaked up water. One of them collapsed completely and scattered its contents on the floor. Cloth bound encyclopedias were lying in the water for days... just the thought makes me sick. Apart from the books all mattresses, cushions and furniture were also dripping. The plywood top of the divan will have to be thrown away. The framed pictures got badly wet, and one Van Gogh replica and the Mona Lisa cracked their glasses. Luckily the Mona Lisa didn't get wet. The cupboard doors were rubbed raw. The biggest damage was that the water got into one of the cupboards and ruined the few clothes that were there... dark green colour ran off one of my mother's sarees and painted everything else with green patches.

The weather being particularly unhelpful over the next few days, drying up the stuff proved to be a big headache. Most of the time the sky would be cloudy, and brief sunny periods would be followed by sudden showers out of the blue. We had to drag the mattresses out onto the terrace repeatedly and drag them back in when it rained. The books had to be spread out in a room with the fan running, and soon they sprouted a thick layer of multi colored fungus. But even the books are mostly dried up and cleaned out now, thanks to my mother's hair-drier.

Still the rooms are piled high with the dry cartons. We couldn't empty them as we were busy with the wet stuff. Everything has to be unpacked and put in its proper place. Things that took twenty years to accumulate take some time to arrange. And arranging things in a three-storied house means innumerable trips up and down the stairs, which makes it a slow and tiring process.

So, posts may be few and far-between, as I'll be tired on the weekdays with the office work and on the weekends with the unpacking. I hate it this way, but I guess this is the only way out until somebody invents teleportation.

Wednesday, August 08, 2007

Leaving Allahabad Forever

Twenty years is a long time in a person's life, especially if that person is twenty-five years old. And when he spends this significant period in a city other than his hometown, that city surely earns a status equal to his hometown, if not greater. Yes, I'm talking about myself and the city of Allahabad.

Over twenty years ago, on 17th April 1987, I left for Allahabad with my parents and sister. My father had been transferred there for two years. Two years! That seemed close to infinity for a five-year old at the time. I hated to go. I had to leave my school, my friends, my grandparents and other relatives behind. And the first few months were really bad, although my maternal grandfather had gone there to stay for a while. It was hot and dry, and the people spoke a language I neither spoke nor understood. Why, there wasn't even a colour TV in our Allahabad house where I could watch the Ramayana in colour like I did in Hooghly. I was just biding my time, waiting for those two years to finish.

Then my father's transfer got extended indefinitely. I was admitted in a large school, and time flew by at supersonic speed. It seems only yesterday that I used to go to school on that trolley rickshaw pulled by Bhola. I still remember some incidents from my first days at school, though somewhat fuzzily. And as time passed, I learnt to understand the strange language --- it was Hindi --- and could speak it as well as any of the local children. I remember my first friends: Antaryami, Abhijit, Fahad, Aman, Priyank... there are so many other names that come to the mind; so many others that don't. The teachers: Mrs. Dutta who still looks the same, Ms Wright, Mrs. Lasrado who loved me too much (and as I now realise, rather unfairly), old Mrs. Anand who was a lovely story-teller, Mrs. Lahiri, the English and drawing teacher who taught me much of the painting that I know today, Mr. Bose whose two slaps were enough to change my handwriting (for the better) for life. I progressed from class to class. We shifted from our first rented house to a new bigger one. And somewhere down the line, my resentment for this city changed to love. As I came to know the city intimately, its roads, its moods, its people, I became an 'Allahabadi'. This was the only city that I could truly call my home, for I had left Hooghly before I really knew that place.

And when I came to Kolkata for graduation, I actually missed Allahabad. I yearned to be back there on vacations, not only because my parents and sister were there, but also because I loved lying on the sunny terrace in the winters, cycling on the roads, meeting old friends, visiting my school and these were activities intrinsically associated with my Allahabad visits. But in the back of my mind, we always knew that the end of our stay was coming near. And we were all looking forward to it, making grand plans about what to do after we return to Hooghly.

Yet, when I board the train tonight for going to Allahabad for the last time (I may visit again but not as my hometown), I will feel a pang of sorrow. I can see twenty years of my life lying unraveled in front of me, twenty most important years of my life, years that made me what I am today. And although we had planned it long ago, the homecoming isn't going to be all sweet either: my grandparents' absence, especially my grandmother's death (who passed away just two years ago) is going to remind us that we were a bit too late.

Still, we have been looking forward to bidding farewell to Allahabad since that April day twenty years ago, and it will be a very happy and much awaited event for me and my family when we board the train back to Kolkata on Sunday. We'll finally be back in our new house in Hooghly, leaving Allahabad forever.
At least my body will be. A part of my soul will always stay back in Allahabad.

Saturday, July 14, 2007

Pottermania

Click to enlargeThat picture shows what I wore today. My sister painted that T-shirt for me, and I wore it to watch Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix today. For the ignoramuses out there, let me tell you that figure on the T-shirt is the emblem of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, the school where Harry Potter studies.

I had barely heard the name of Harry Potter when the first movie (Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone) was released. Since my sister had seen the movie and I was jealous of her, I went to see the movie. And when I saw the movie I was hooked.

I borrowed all four books from my cousin Ananda (who can also be seen here) and finished them in a jiffy. I later read books 5 and 6 as they came out and became a hardcore Harry Potter fan. It's the same with my sister. Now we often use Harry Potter jargon at home. We also watched all the movies as they came out, although I can't say I liked all of them. Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix is the latest movie in the series which released yesterday in India, and I rushed to watch it today with my sister.

And I have a mixed opinion.
Click to enlarge
On one hand, this was the largest book (and probably the best, in my opinion) in the series, and it was impossible to squeeze it all into the movie. Also, thanks to J. K. Rowling's writing prowess, a true Potter fan can never find a movie satisfactory. So the director definitely did a commendable job of including what he did. On the other hand, several key points were omitted which created gaping holes in the plot. I feel only films 1 and 2 can be called "movie versions of the books". The rest are like supplements of the books... like the practical lessons taught with the theory classes. The latest movie is no exception. It's more like "Important events from Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix" rather than "
Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix".

The special effects were good: there were beautiful scenes of night flight over a glittering London. I liked the thestrals. I liked Dolores Umbridge, Tonks, Kreacher, Bellatrix Lestrange, Mrs. Figg and the rest of the new cast. Loony... er, Luna Lovegood is a little too pretty, but I'm not complaining about that. However, Grawp was a bit disappointing... he never really looked real but like a CGI character similar to Shrek. Albus Dumbledore and Minerva McGonagall both had very strong roles to play in the book, but in the movie, Prof. McGonagall's character is almost cut out, and Prof. Dumbledore's role has been greatly reduced. On second thoughts, that may not have been such a bad thing after all, as I hate to see Michael Gambon as Dumbledore: he lacks the quiet dignity of Richard Harris. He is too loud, too fast, too angry and tensed. I loved the fact that Hogwarts was shown as never before (except in the first movie). This time a lot of detail of the terrain was shown.

Some things look good in a book, other things are needed in a movie. The book was mostly a large collection of small events that led up to the short climax. The movie obviously has tried to stretch that small climax a bit and I don't blame the director for that. However I do blame the director for what happened to Sirius at the end. If you see the movie you'll understand what I'm talking about.

To conclude I'll say if you have read the book and remember the details, you should see the movie. It feels nice to match your imagination with the images on screen. If you haven't read the book, go read it. Even if you don't see the movie afterwards, the fifth book in the seven-book series is definitely worth a read.

Monday, July 09, 2007

A Queer Conversation

Have you ever been so astounded by another person's comment that you have been unable to talk for some time? It happened once with me when I met that rickshaw puller, and it happened again last week.

As software engineers we are sometimes required to talk/chat with our clients and explain things to them, or get clarifications. This was the first time I was chatting to a French person on the client side, so my enthusiasm got the better of me. I thought I would open the conversation in French, a language in which I know only a few words. The chat proceeded somewhat like this:

I: Bonjour!

He: Hi.

He: Bonjour? You speak French? Where are you? France?

I: No no! I'm in India. I know only that much French. :-)


He: Ok...

*** Confidential chat that will cost me my job if published***

He: I'm sure it's clear to you now.

I: Merci! :-)

He: Only two words in French? :-)

I: Oui.

He: 3

I: Au revoir.

He: 4

He: Bhalo.

He: Pore kotha bolbo.

These last two lines, delivered in pure Bengali (meaning "Good. We'll talk later.") stunned me so much that I was unable to type anything more. My first thought was that the guy was a Bengali working under an alias and had been enjoying himself all this while. However, I was soon told that he knows only that much Bengali which was taught to him by one of my colleagues here. Nevertheless, it was a nice surprise and provided a welcome relief from my boring routine work.


Wednesday, July 04, 2007

Independence Day

Today is Independence Day. Not here in India, but on the other side of the world in the United States. But I'm enjoying it.

I'm celebrating Independence Day by working in office till 10:30 in the night. Eating sandwiches from the cafeteria and listening to the same old songs repeatedly at my workstation is a nice way of spending this special day. I am writing this blog post too. And oh yes, I almost forgot... I am also working!

As Nehru said, "At the stroke of the midnight hour, when the world sleeps, India will awake to life and freedom." Although I'll be going home an hour and a half before midnight, we can still apply that quotation to my plight... even now when much of the world is getting ready to sleep (especially in the semi-submerged Kolkata), I'm (hopefully) still awake and alive here in my office helping the Americans celebrate their Independence Day.

Correction. I'm helping our Indian onsite team in the US to celebrate the American Independence Day. They won't come to office, so I have to work from here at night. I'll probably help them again by coming to office on our Independence Day, for who ever heard about working at night at onsite unless it's an emergency?

Really, the life at onsite is the only life worth living if you are in the IT industry. And that is the only life where you get to celebrate your Independence Days. We, at offshore, are not eligible for that.

We are not eligible for that because we are still slaves.