ramble in the morning

Writing is a bloody habit and a skill. I feel that the days I have written my blog regularly, I have written better and the days that I have just lost touch – I have, err… lost touch. I have nothing much to write about. I miss the 2009 days, when I wrote a blog for every working day that I had. It was a particularly fecund time for the blog and also for my mind. I had nothing to do in office but I had loads to read. I think some of that quite dramatically impacted me in a way. I realized that even if there is no work, I can invent work and figure out a way to make life much more productive.

Right now where I have joined, I can still decide to just sit down and relax and let time and tide work its way. I can relax and not push the pedal on anything. But I hate that. I don’t think that defines me. I am defined by the work I like to do and the knowledge I gain. I want to push the people under me to reach their levels of work that they did not think possible. I want to push hard. I don’t know why I am doing this. This is a recipe for disaster, frustration and anger. But I like doing it.

I think over a period of time, I have understood what makes me happy and what drives me. I like this in me. So I guess it’s pretty stupid to stop this. But on the other hand I am 42 years old. So I understand these things about me. I think I have learnt to know that my push is my problem. I can push but people can only take so much. I have the ability today to sit behind as well and relax and chill knowing that things will happen at their own pace. This is what the prime example of opposites reconciling is.

I push but I wait. I demand but don’t expect. I lead but I also allow you to float away. The concept of opposites reconciling is something that only age can teach. Today I understand far more about it that I thought at the start. It is more profound than ever to me. We are a bundle of contradictions. So many times I see people lie, but I don’t think they do it. I think they are merely telling the different truth, again, and this time it’s different.

Sometimes people love me and then the next day they won’t. What’s the truth? Hah! There is none. I have argued much about this in my past blogs. Opposites reconciling is also a case of truth and lies reconciling. It’s also a case of emotions reconciling. An old friend reached out to me after a long time. We were practically out of touch. Her mother passed away. I connected with her and felt for her, but I don’t really feel for her. Move on. Another friend connected with me – she was frustrated with her job. I felt for her, but I don’t feel for her. Another friend…. You know the drift…

In both cases I was warm, genuinely so. This is how emotions are when you are older I guess. You retain the warmth in your heart but you don’t let it fool your brain in wondering if you really care. I think I really care for no one really. Yes I care about my daughter and wife, more so than anything else in the world. But sometimes I wonder if I have become more cynical and hardened over a period of time.

Yesterday for brief time in the night the electricity went out. In her sleep (she didn’t remember it in the morning) Jispa came to our room and asked if the electricity went out, and that it was hot. Jasmine asked to sleep with us, as we have a net window and it was relatively cooler. As Jispa slept, Jasmine fanned her with a newspaper. That is motherly love, untouched by father’s world weary cynicism. I told her not to, but she still did it. Then I took on the newspaper and fanned Jispa. Not because of my love for Jispa, but because I wanted to give Jasmine’s hand some rest. Dumb ass.

Was this love or was this sharing the burden of parenting or sharing the stupidity of an old friend. I freaking don’t know. All I know was that Jasmine’s action had more love than mine.  My thinking for this is that she is yet untouched by the world or she is refusing to be touched by the world. More the former. I think if Jasmine would have worked in corporate life, then she too would have been worldly cynical. But she is unscathed. That’s why I take extra care of her. That’s why sometimes, I let her even face some of the shit – there, realise that it’s stupid, to love unconditionally or give unconditionally. Slowly I have seen her also harden with the ways of the world. So far she has managed a bunch of friends who are loyal to her, by being who is. That’s a happy cocoon to have. I draw from her well of goodness. I wouldn’t have ever been able to have these friends on my own.

Coming to which – I am looking forward to my family Singapore holiday. We are going there for a few reasons – 1 – its free stay. My friend (ex colleague) has settled there and we get free stay. But more importantly – Jasmine and I wanted a nice stress free holiday. I have been to Singapore three times and with family – once. It’s a stress free city. We know the city and all he attractions. There is no rush to complete them all and see them all. We can do it at our own pace and time. The public transport runs like a breeze and is predictable to a fault. There is very low crime and everyone is honest. Jispa can do things on her own there. What more do we want? No stress, foreign, happy vacation. I want that.

Also we are almost broke doing up our new home. We have no money for a large expensive vacation. By the time it’s done, I am going to be so broke. But I see that as an insurance against the vagaries of life. Now that it will be done, there will be less stress on me. It’s a home built for a hopefully a longer period of time. And a home that should last me till retirement. I never knew that at 42 one talks about retiring. But age does that to you. I am pretty aggressive for an old man… hehehe… opposites reconciling.

Last note – a blog that I was writing and didn’t bother to publish – I have a recurring nightmare that I can’t run to catch a train, my legs freeze. With my knee problem, I see that as a reality. While taking part in the parent’s race, this time, I felt that my legs froze and couldn’t go faster. They went slower than they could. I was worried about the knee popping out again. Man… it’s scary to see yourself live your nightmare in some way. I hate it. But I live with it. It’s a big bad dream come true. Arrggghhh.

Free irrelevant song

For the love of coffee

Ever since we got a French neighbor who showed how coffee is made from a French press, I have discovered a new joy from coffee. I like to brew my coffee. I like the smell of my coffee. I like to savor my coffee. Coffee is not a just another drink, it is a joy. It fills me up with a sense of contentment and a buzz that caffeine induced coffee can give. A light happy feeling. I would much rather puke than have bad coffee. Nescafe is bad coffee. I hate it. I think it has no aroma, no taste and definitely no kick. Why would anybody waste their coffee drinking time (yes, it’s a time, an era, a period, a pause, a breath, an experience) on Nescafe. Yuck. I keep telling Jasmine to stop having her Nescafe and move to nice coffee. It’s not worth it.

Every time I have my coffee I try to savor it because of a few other issues. The weird but true thing that coffee gives me is addiction. Instant. If I have coffee two days in a row, on the third day, I will get withdrawal symptoms. Very rarely – I get it the next day itself. These are bad withdrawal symptoms. Mind numbing headache that refuses to go away. Then it triggers a kind of acidity symptom. Then I end up puking empty. Then I don’t know what to do except lie down. I got these symptoms two three times and I did not understand why. Jasmine suggested that I have a little coffee to see it works. It did. The symptoms go away after having a little black coffee. Instantly. It so bloody weird how caffeine addiction works for my body. It’s a good thing I don’t drink or smoke or else, this would have gotten out of hand. If coffee can do this, what would harder stuff be capable of in my body. So, I savor my coffee. Whenever I drink coffee, I know I can’t have coffee the next day then. So, I think through, what’s my schedule for tomorrow? Am I at home, am I meeting someone at Starbucks? I have to be sure when I have my coffee. At home I like my own brew. Sometimes, I have a hot brew and sometimes I have a cold brew. I put the coffee beans in the filter and put the water to let it drip overnight. The result is a lovely brew without the hard acid. I love this brew. Then I also love the Sumatra Mandeling coffee. A lovely pour over that is chocolatey and again non-acidic. I like to smell my coffee, taste the notes and understand the different kick it gives. Jispa shares my love for coffee. I make her some coffee and she also enjoys it. Jasmine keeps telling me that I am spoiling her and teaching her bad habits. So, said the lady who has her kick every day!

I love my coffee. My everyday (ok every alternate day) brew is a simple no1 roast, coarsely ground. Then I make my almond milk (ok, jasmine made a lot and froze it for me). Then I have this amazing foamer that our French neighbor gifted me. I put sugar in the black coffee over which I pour some almond milk, foamed and of course, importantly – a few drops of real vanilla extract. That’s my poison. That’s my quiet brew. That’s the coffee I enjoy and savor. I rather not have anyone beside me but it doesn’t really matter, as with my coffee. I am in a cocoon of my own. It’s an experience that I pass on to Jispa. Ofcourse hers is sweeter, with Nutella and whipped cream. But hell, it coffee nevertheless.

Last week, I had gone to visit a friend of mine. He is an angel investor and also loves his coffee. He keeps buying different blends from different parts of the world. His servant knows I am lactose intolerant and keeps soy milk for me and my coffee. This time when I visited him, she served me a lovely nutty falvourful sweetish coffee. It seemed to have vanilla overtones and it was nice and creamy and light. Nice. Not a strong aroma but an interesting flavor. “a nice nutty flavor” I remarked. “Which one?”. He called the lady and she said, this was the bean he bought from Japan. “Oh nice. I loved the coffee” I said, thanking her. “oh that was sirs coffee. For you I gave you Nescafe”. ……   ………  ……..   …….. I looked at blankly. “oh” I was being polite to the person who burst my bubble. My entire coffee drinking experience flashed in front of me. My era, my tastes, my notes, my kick. I felt like a balloon that a kid blows big and then releases to see how far up it goes. The balloon feels a massive acceleration and joy accompanied with a sense of elation and achievement only to realise soon enough that this shortlived acceleration is not only random with no real distance covered but also short lived. The joy of the child is not in the acceleration of the balloon but in the rapid deceleration that follows it. The random fall of the balloon gives far greater joy as the speed dies a stupid death, all alone, limp and lifeless fall to earth drawn by the unyielding gravity. It’s the fall that’s exciting as the kid picks up the balloon and sees that the exhaust is now again bigger than the balloon inflated sense of self. It’s the fall that’s funnier than the rise.

Yes, Olympus had fallen from its lofty height.

Expect that it wasn’t Olympus, it was Phoenix that got burned. Only to rise again. “possibly it was the soy that gave its nutty flavour’ “ya”. “possibly she took the malt flavoured one.”

I came back and recounted this tale to Jasmine and Jispa. Jasmine especially took a cruel liking to this and laughed her ass out. Jispa also fun. I had too much fun on this as well. This one is going to be an interesting party tale which jasmine will never tore of listening to. My guess is that she will tell others of it as well, on her own.

But then Phoenix understood that its job is to rise again. Yes. I missed it but Nescafe is still bad coffee. I hate it. I like making my coffee. Getting the flavor, the notes, the time, the era, the vanilla and the whole ritual associated with it. That is still stubbornly set in my head. I love my coffee and I will have it my way.

This is the same way in which I like my coca cola. I hate Pepsi and I hate Thumbs Up. I love my coca cola. Direct from a can or a glass bottle that’s fresh opened. I hate the plastic bottle. It a can or glass. I am firm. I rather not have anything than have a rubbish cola. This is also a sin that I allow myself. Its full of sugar and caffeine but it’s my other little vice. Many people talk about their marked preferences about colas and always I have argued that a cold bottle of any beverage is almost impossible to tell apart in a blind taste test. I don’t think it’s possible to statistically get it right a good number of times. I always say – I like Coca Cola and I am sure that I can make out its great taste but I am even more sure that I will fail the blind taste test. I don’t think I can make out the taste without the lettering on the beverage holder.

Coffee is similar. It’s not the taste or the kick. The addiction symptom and the forbidden brew that makes it what it is. It’s the ritual of knowing your coffee, of seeing the foma rise. It’s the foamer that makes the luxurious foam. It’s the feeling of the ritual that adds to the whole thing. Coke has sugar in it, shitloads and that makes it a thing to avoid and to therefore a thing to savor. Like the fact that Dettol hurts proves that it is effective, the sting is vital to the experience. The ritual is vital to the taste of coffee. It’s the ritual, it’s the lettering, it’s the associated feeling. Who else but a brand guy like me will know. It’s so nice to know how wrong we are and how we are affected by emotions like anyone else.

Yesterday I was in this big meeting helping this big firm trying to sort their big B2B marketing problem. I urged the marketing head to think differently. I urged her to think that B2B is as much affected by emotion than anything else. Like most other purchases, like my coffee, like my coke, a marketing head also buys on emotion. He uses rational numbers to prove his emotions and justify them. But the decision is irrational in many ways. The faster we accept it the better it is for us. I urged her to think emotions and therefore realise that this is like any B2C brand and that people don’t remember too many brands and too many propositions. It’s like any B2C brand. Entertain the prospect, have fun, do interesting things. Have interesting creatives. Think like any fun marketer should and map it to a consumer’s brand journey. People are same everywhere. Treat them with respect of their time, entertain them, engage them and then doors open. That’s a simple truth in life and marketing. It works all the time.

That’s why I like my coffee. Hating Nescafe gives me great joy and allows me to enjoy my coffee. Same with Coke. Same with so many other things. I am a normal person, so are you and the forces that act on us act on every one of us. Understand that, enjoy life!

Hence paradoxically data and lots of it becomes important.  Individually people are quirky but as a lot of them, they are interesting and not so difficult to predict. But then that is a topic for another blog :)

whats love got to do!

Ah, just past the valentine day. When I was in college Valentine day became a significant day in my life. My wife first kissed me on Valentine day :) in Eros theatre.

Eros itself had an important place in my life in college. Eros along with Sterling, Regal and to a lesser extent – New Excelsior. When I was in college we did not have the coffee shops and the places where people just went to hang out and do nothing. I so wish they were there when Jasmine and I were having our courtship days. So, young couples like us had no option really but to go for a movie. Movies theaters were nice dark places, where you could enjoy with friends as well and they were pretty cheap. In ’91 the price of a ticket at Sterling, I remember was around 8 bucks for stalls and around 10 for balcony and 15/16 for dress circle. To put it in perspective a croissant at ‘Croissants etc’ – the cake shop we used to go to – was at around 10 buks. Movies were cheap and cute places for couples to go and spend time with each other. 3 full hours of togetherness.

Valentine days were significant in our lives then. The college would come alive with love and hearts and red everywhere. Couple would revel in the romance that was in the air and guys would muster up courage to propose on this day. The card and gift shop called “Archies”, names after the archetype the young kids aspired for, would do crazy business as young ones would spend hours searching for greeting cards or gifts for their beaus. Falling in love was a slightly expensive affair.

We were possibly the first generation that started celebrating it with all gusto and pomp. Every beggar and street vendor would sell truckloads of long stem roses wrapped in white cellophane. So many of the roses and cards would land in the gutter and in the dustbin. 80% of these were because the girls rejected them and 20% of these because the girls couldn’t take them home. Valentine’s day was frowned upon as not being a part of our culture and heritage. Protests and scores of articles would be written for and against it. In the end, I guess the politicos had to bow down to the general mood of the people and silence their voices. Love cannot be stopped. It cannot be directed and slowly it will break all taboos and restrictions we place on it. I love how it is happening everywhere.

Recently we went for an engagement of Jasmine’s nephew. As we were entering the hall, I realized that the lady he was getting married to didn’t sound like a gujju name. Slowly my senses acted up, the crowd at the venue too looked different. Some kids didn’t look like kutchis and I overheard some Marathi – possibly friends. A few more minutes into the function and I knew something was different. Then when the boy’s brother came to me and we chatted up, I realized. Love marriage. Ah. The girl is Maharastrian and they met doing some professional courses. There was opposition at home from the mother of the groom but everybody worked on her and convinced her. Hah!

It was nice to see these barriers falling. At my time, the first barrier to fall was the simple issue of choice of bride. I was lucky as Jasmine and me are both Jains and some similar sub caste. Just a small difference of being gujju and kutchi. But large similarities existed. But it was a love marriage nevertheless and it broke some new ground in the family for the first time. Now inter caste marriage is happening and that is breaking another ceiling. The auntie I guess will soon realise that while she keeps her family in control and ensures a happily knit environment, love knows no barriers. The bride and the groom were looking so cute together and happy together, quietly knowing that they smashed one large barrier. Almost like – one large breakthrough for them, one small breakthrough for the rest to follow.

All the talk about integration of communities and a secular society will only bear fruit if we integrate in a real way if we allow our children to marry of their choice across barriers of caste, creed, ethnicity, age and sex. To have a really integrated society and culture you have to set people free. Simply standing up for the national anthem when it’s played in theaters and mouth it loud will lead to nothing. I would hazard that it will only create more exclusion and a behavior of race superiority. It will be ingrained towards more right wing behavior and nation will only fragment not build. Allow the tribes to intermingle for the best possible genepool distribution and competition. Allow people to move freely across cities for work and employment and from that will new ideas emerge.

Ah! But the power of unbounded love will force more power to kneel before it. Not like in the movies, where one love forces power, it will be a collective effort of love across generations. I am happy I put my one stone in the pot for the level to rise. I am happy that kids after me, will put in their stones as well. Slowly the water will overflow.

Bonus video – in the name of love!

Another random video. This is more for the lyrics that contained these words that I read somewhere

How do you measure - measure a year?
In daylights - in sunsets
In midnights - in cups of coffee
In inches - in miles
In laughter - in strife

But still and the full lyrics are below

(read till end – There is a post script)

Lyrics

Five hundred twenty-five thousand
Six hundred minutes
Five hundred twenty-five thousand
Moments so dear
Five hundred twenty-five thousand
Six hundred minutes
How do you measure - measure a year?
In daylights - in sunsets
In midnights - in cups of coffee
In inches - in miles
In laughter - in strife

In - five hundred twenty-five thousand
Six hundred minutes
How do you measure
A year in the life

How about love?
How about love?
How about love?
Measure in love

Seasons of love
Seasons of love

Five hundred twenty-five thousand
Six hundred minutes
Five hundred twenty-five thousand
Journeys to plan

Five hundred twenty-five thousand
Six hundred minutes
How do you measure the life
Of a woman or a man?

In truths that she learned
Or in times that he cried
In bridges he burned
Or the way that she died

It's time now - to sing out
Tho' the story never ends
Let's celebrate
Remember a year in the life of friends

Remember the love
Remember the love
Remember the love
Measure in love

Soloist number one
Measure, measure your life in love

Seasons of love
Seasons of love

Also on another note - I was talking to a young kid on how Valentine’s day is not so significant in our life now that we are all married and older and we don’t really gift each other much. Also add to that, that we both are … cynical? What’s a better word for it? Yes – skeptical. We just are practical about this. Yes we did wish each other but that was more for fun than anything else. Just playing out loud the ridiculousness of the ritual. Hehehe.