I have been writing my prelim report all week, and it is due on the 16th. If I pass this prelim, I will be well on my way to get a PhD (and if not, I still have another shot at it).

But I have never been one of those "research" types. One of those PhD types, who eat-sleep and drink research, get excited with good as well as bad results, have ideas brewing inside them all the time. Neither am I one of those types- no job, recession, lets do a PhD. I have been stuck in the middle, alternating between an irresistible urge to work on my research, and an unstoppable urge of not wanting to do anything with research.

I still recall, a long after dinner walk sometime in 2003, just finishing 4th semester of engineering, defending my non-interest in CAT/GATE/GRE, and a great desire to get a job. And, I still remember people, trying to talk me into one of the three exams, promising that with my "talent", I will breeze through them. I recall, sitting in front of Electrical engineering, discussing about "our calling", and how there are "tech-guys" and "management-guys". But, this did not much change my decision, and I still wanted a to take up a job. Infact, I remember, talking about not being much interested in an MBA either, because, I never knew understood what the "management type" was except that they were the "I did not like engineering type". Things got much simpler, when Appa refused to give me the 16,000 for IMS (which in afterthought, was great, I would have prepared with half-an-heart, and that is no good). I also never got the "research bug", with uninspiring teaching in the department and a syllabus that hardly whets your analytic skills, but got my hands dirty with some technical reading with a couple other people who were pretty sure that research was the way to go and were trying to work on some projects to get a good admit.

Some "events" transpired in February-March 2004, and slowly I drifted out of one friend circle and into another, from the "CAT" gang, to the "GRE" gang. This is where, the first burst of impulse stuck me, and I decide that I will go to America. But unlike, the friends who were applying with me, I had hardly thought about the prospect. Everyone in the hostel, were on one side or the other, MS or MBA, preparing with word-lists and quants and stuff like that. Such stuff was needed for placements too, and I decided that I will go the "GRE" way . Although it was the much expensive proposition, MBA was an unkonwn entity, and I did not know if I would like it or not. Atleast, I was sure, I will not dislike a MS.

We had done thermodynamics in our 5th semester, and some of the models really impressed me. I put a special effort to learn parts of it which were unnecessary for passing the VTU exam, but evoked interest in me, because there were some algorithms listed in the book to solve those equations. So, Thermodynamics became my research interest. Over the 6th semester, my newer GRE enthu friend circle, motivated and pushed me to study for the GRE, to read up on interesting technical stuff. We wrote the GRE over the 6th semester break, and came back with apping on our minds. In the meantime, I landed up a job with CTS. I still was not sure about the whole America thing, but researched universities along with friends, always telling myself, finding out does not mean I will apply. But, I got carried away, and when we found out that universities do not offer funding for MS, decided that PhD is the way to go.

GATE, came in the middle, pretty much out of nowhere. My enthu gang of friends were the only ones in the whole MS enthu gang in the hostel to actually write the exam. Preparation for GATE was an even bigger joke. The three of us, prepared for exactly 2 hours, and almost directly from the exam center, we boarded the Karnataka express for a Delhi/Rajasthan/Agra holiday.

Surprisingly, I was the first to land up with an admit to the USA. Even more surprisingly, the three of us and Haddi, managed to get great GATE ranks as well. My other friends had not gotten admissions yet, and so we decided to apply to IIT-Bombay. I had totally forgotten about interview calls, when PJ, checking for his interview calls, spotted my name on the IIT-B website. And, I was on my way to Mumbai for the interview.

The may interview was actually the first time, I really felt that, I could grasp technical stuff (VTU exams just test how well you can memorize), when, I almost derived a not-so-intutive result with casual egging on by the interviewers. To boost my confidence further, I was put in the top-10 of the selected list (and that was huge jump, because the weight was to GATE rank and interview performance, and my rank was the last rank to be admitted). IIT was a huge huge dream, and I had decided to take that up, almost immediately. Still, long discussions about India/US higher education scene etc etc, ate up my evenings.

I flew into Bombay in July-2005, to live my IIT dream, and there I was, getting a MTech degree. Thinking back, there was hardly a coherent reason, that I could think of, which made me take a MS/PhD decision during the RVCE days, or made me not to accept the CTS job.

The first semester in IIT, stretched me to my limits, and I learned that I have a passion for mathematics, thanks to Prof SCP's class. I seemed to have impressed the professors (those who interacted with me) too, and the seminar that we had to give by reading a few papers, whetted my appetite for more mathematics related course. SCP's advance controls class in Spring fit the bill.

The story of 2006 and '07 and my landing in Madison : Next installment!!

A Suitable Boy:
By way of a review, all I can say is that this book is like a great recipe, with loads of flavors and layers of taste. It will evoke almost every emotion that you are capable of, just like a great recipe pokes at all your taste buds.

It is more than a 1000 pages, but un-put-downable. There were days, when I was sitting in my office and staring at my monitor, with all thoughts on what is going to happen next in the book. And, I finished it in a spurts of reading, 6-7 hours together to breeze past 300 pages, and feel sad that there are 300 pages less to read of this most engrossing book.

Almost immediately as I finished the book, I have elevated it to the top-5 books that I have ever read.

And, I have a nagging feeling, that the next time I am going to read this book (and I am sure I will read it again), it is going to affect me in a totally different way, and that is because the book grapples with lots of issues, and lots of different characters in different phases of maturity. Depending on your emotional status when you read the book, different characters are going to tug your heart and evoke different reactions to the same events.

The first time, my heart went out to Maan, just because he was totally lost for direction in life.


The Zoya Factor
You cannot ask for more from Desi Chic-Lit. It was a breezy read, and am sure, will come out as a movie in a cinema nearby very soon. I have never read a chic-lit book before, but now, I kind of see why people like to read them...

The Peacock Throne
This book blew hot and cold. It is about politics in Chandni chowk, and the story pushes itself through disaster days of Indian history- The '84 riots, Mandal commission, 6th December and a demolition drive in Chandni chowk in '96. If for 500 of the 700 page book, you don't see the story develop, and what keeps you reading on is the blurb on the backpage. The anticipation of how he would make the blurb happen was what kept me reading through writing that was becoming progressively banal. And to make a laborious 500 page read even worse, was the lame ending in the last 50 or pages. The intricately entwined threads in the story add to nothing.

Laborious book, ambitious story, which could have been better executed. The outstanding part was the '84 riots chapter. It was almost as-if someone else took over the book after that.

R.K. Narayan Omnibus
He is definitely the master. No doubt. I had been sporadically introduced to him before, the story about the mailman in the 10th standard English books, the T.V serials (that were brilliant, almost bringing Malgudi to life), and then a collection of Malgudi days stories.

It was his brilliant but under-rated novel, "Waiting for the Mahatma", that made me wanting more of him. But, that was not to be, and the next R.K.Narayan book that I picked up was "The English Teacher".

I did not know about the autobiographical references in The English Teacher, much after I read it, and the second half (of his spiritual quest to understand the loss of his wife) was quite lost on me, but the first half, stands out, and the picture of the idyllic life in Malgudi, the care-free bachelor days, his efforts to make something out of his education (other than teaching), the adjustment to married life, the happiness of the couple, will always stay with me.

His writing says so much, paints such a detailed picture, and is yet so simple. Personally, RKN's writing is the exact opposite pole of Sulman Rushdie, but they seem to achieve similar results: transport you into the world of the book so efficiently.

The omnibus that I got had the novel "A man-eater for malgudi", the novella "Talkative man" and a collection of malgudi stories (including the famous astrologer story). All the three parts of the book, had the same thread: simplicity, and a story out of everyday people, the ones that you are likely to meet on the road. The manner in which the printing press owner, Natraj, jumps to the worst possible outcome, in the most logical way, reminded me of Amma, and also that, thinking like that is so human. It made the charachter Natraj human for me. And, I loved the almost anti-climaxical ending, because anything more dramatic would have stood out of the book, it ended as ordinarily as the descriptions of everyday life that it painted for most of the book. Absolutely brilliant.

The settings got simpler and the story even simpler (if that could happen), as the talkative man accosts the strange suit cladded Dr Rann, and contemplates his moves when he has proof to beileve that Dr Rann is duping a local girl. This novella, highlighted the best thing that I love about short stories. You do not have to lay out the charachter, the threads of the story, tiny happenings, 40 years before, to finally uncover the main theme of the novel. You jump into a life, and observe the story in the short story. And, the ambiguity of the remaining life of the charachter, of how she got into that situation, of how his life is going to be changed beyond it, is the magic of the story.

RKN precisely, gets that charm working perfectly in the short stories. From the highly acclaimed Astrologer story to the farmer who sells a statue to an American thinking he sold his goats, to the vocalist controlled by Mohan, to the story-teller who loses his voice. Each story is a gem, and as with The suitable boy, you wanted the book to be never-ending.

Tales of the unexpected
Johnny Depp's Willi wonka and the chocolate factory, made me make a mental mark that I will read up Roald Dahl. My friendly neighborhood pirated book store owner, gave me a short story collection, and a delightful little book called "The BFG". Children's stories have a separate charm, and makes me feel almost the innocent kid lost in world of fairies and giants. On coming to Madison, I was pleasently surprised when Vandana said that Dahl writes serious dark adult stuff.
This India trip, while browsing at Blossoms during my Bangalore leg of the trip, Pydah and I chanced upon Dahl's adult writing by this title. Currently, this book is my nightly read before lights off, and it has kept me hooked. The stories are like Jeffry Archer's " A twist in the tale", but much darker. Dahl sets up the story brilliantly, slowly building up the tension and anticipation, and finishing it up with a bang. The story about the homicidal wife with the lamb meat creeps you off in the end, leaving you with disbelief. I cannot wait to finish this book.

Also reading/ in transit
My name is Red

The Guide (RKN)

Of Mice and Men

Flowers for Algeron

In retrospect, 2006-2007 in Mumbai was almost magical. Memories really age very sweetly, and random snippets of the Mumbai days form a collage, that floats tantalizingly before me, and makes me want to take a plunge into memory, with the hope that I find myself back in Mumbai.

The grass seems to be greener on the continent that I am not in. The glorious Mumbai days, were spent, making my own 'picture' of the American life, coloured by friendly inputs during weekend calls and skype and gmail chats, online forums of students going abroad, blogs of desi's in America, and yearning for the day I will land there.

And, now that I am living that dream, the Mumbai days seem so much more glorious, so much more beautiful, so much more desirable and so much like a dream...

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I also wanted to write a extremely long post titled India Trip - Review, but realized later that the India trip memories need some more time pickling inside me, because, much in the spirit of this blog, memories from the past are much much much more romantic, and writing about them, so much more pleasing, as I can freeze frame at every tiny incident that remains in my memory and savour them. Writing about trips while they are still fresh, is not so much fun.

The Singh's welcomed the latest craze, a 32 inch flat screen HDTV , into their apartment, and being the cricket crazy family that they are, the channel flip stopped at a re-run of India's performance in the 2003 World Cup.

The re-run was at the India-England match in Durban, and memories of the extravagant Sachin pull shot off Caddick whet their appetites.

As Sachin rocked back, and majestically pulled the ball into the stands, and Ravi Shastri, started his usual recorded commentary, Nardendra Singh, let out a sigh. His 20 year old son and 17 year old daughter, immediately started mocking him, "Papa, you could have been playing in South Africa na", they said, and started smiling, disbelieving that the middle aged Narendra Singh with a big moustache, spectacles, and a huge belly, would ever have been young and fit to play cricket.

Narendra Singh, however, had travelled back to Patna in 1976.

It was those days, much before Twenty20, ODI's was just trying to become popular, and BCCI was not the cash rich bully that they are now. Cricket Academies and Coaching classes were established in the big cities and exclusive to the rich. The Indian middle class was still sleeping. For a poor small town boy, international cricket was bought home by the radio and youthful dreams of MCG and Lords.

Cricket was still not a profession then. The national team players hardly made money out of the game, and the Ranji trophy types, played because, that got them a goverment job in the sports quota.

Patna then had a few semi organized league, cricket being played on weekends, which sort of feeded cricketers into a little less shady league, and so on and so forth to the Bihar ranji squad (which was not much of a team either). Narendra Singh played in one such league.

Evening college was much the rage then, seth-lings (young boys who would inherit their father's store) and aspiring bank job seekers, could then spend the day apperenticing and get their degree in the evening, earning some money while studying. Narendra Singh was doing his BCom in an evening college, and balancing the accounts of a big Sari dealer during the day. As was common with most of the middle class service families then, Narendra Singh's income would be transferred to the college as fees. He would surreptiously save a few rupees here and there, and pool it in with 11 other friends to afford the cricket kit and the leather balls and the fees to play in the weekend league.

He used to bat down the order, but was menancingly fast with the new ball. His team, of 5 accountants in the making, the wicket keeper who was a Chemistry major, 2 bachelors from the colony who had their dreams set on IAS and 4 12th drop-outs who juggled odd jobs, had somehow managed it to one of the knock-out games.

On an uneven ground, an overcast August sky welcomed the players, and unkown to them, sitting in the crowd was a Bihar Cricket Association biggie (the opposition team had a player whose father was well connected). Narendra Singh's captain lost the toss, and was asked to bat. The swinging ball accounted for a few early wickets, and suddenly Narendra Singh was out in the middle, his team 52/7 in the 18th over, and 22 overs left in the innings. Narendra Singh's previous batting exploits were nothing great, but somehow, that August morning, the ball contrived to hit the middle of his bat. In what was to be an explosive innings in those days, Narendra Singh managed 40 runs of 55 balls before he got out. And his team were left to defend 130 in 40 overs.

After lunch, Narendra Singh steamed in, and his first ball pitched on good length and moved away from the right handed opener, who tried to block it and missed it. The second one jagged back in and trapped him in front, but the umpire was unmoved. For four overs, Narendra Singh ran in hard, and mesmerized the batsmen, but was unlucky not to have had more success than the 2 wickets that he prized out. However the other bowlers were extravagent, and the match was quickly lost.

As he got his stuff together, and waited at the bus-stop to get back home, the BCA biggie accosted him on his scooter and offered to drop him back home. On the way, Narendra Singh was made an dream offer, a chance to play for Bihar in the Ranji. The biggie, turned out to be a selector in the BCA, and was much impressed by the fast bowling and brave batting. Bihar needs an all-rounder, India needs one, he commented.

Narendra Singh was esctatic, and immediately started day-dreaming about millions of people tuning in ther radios after the afternoon lunch to listen to Narendra Singh rock the English batting in Lords. The dreams were short lived, as his dad Devendra Singh took no time in rejecting Narendra's dream. As with other 17 year olds in the 1970's, Narendra Singh understood the importance of a steady income, and the vagaries of Indian Cricket Team, it's selectors and BCCI. He gave up the dream of bowling at Lords, to more practical dreams of having his own scooter, his small apartment, wife and kids and fan and television etc.

Much to the dissapointment of the BCA biggie, Narendra Singh, remained content with college and weekend matches for his motely team, for the next 3 years. Since then, he passed the Bank selection exam, and has moved up the ladders efficiently, and lived his modest and practical dreams.

But for a few hours on that August afternoon, after that almost magical conversation with the BCA biggie, Narendra Singh was almost an India player in the making.

A smile came on the middle aged Narendra Singh's face, and he continued watching the rest of the re-run. As the TV channel cut to a break, and Pragya Sen, started jigging in the latest Bollywood movie trailer, Mrs Narendra Singh let out a sigh, and the children started, "Ya, We know ma, you could have been the biggest Bollywood heroine".

Arun Raman was like every other young man, tried hard to get into IIT, and settled for a mediocre engineering college, in a god-forsaken corner of the city, tried to differentiate himself in college, but settled to being one of the thousand Infosys recruits, and posted in another god-forsaken corner of another city. He had the IIM dreams too, and diligently traveled a hour to the coaching class every weekend, and discussed strategies and fundaes with other indistinguishable members of his club. CAT too, was a distant dream, but the hard work was rewarded as he ended up with a painfully expensive MBA from a decent place (as compared to the engineering college), and a job as Business analyst for 7lacs per annum.

He was also like every other young man, for he had resigned to the fact that his dreams of an exotic love story, woud be exactly just that: A dream of an exotic love story. He hardly met any girls in his line of work, and the few that he met, were always 'friends'.

Since starting the job two years ago, he has been getting to the 'oh-he is successful' quip from random uncles and aunties in the family. The short trip to America on business, and the car that he purchased was enough to convince Arun's amma, that he will pass the test (of having a stable job and an assured income to take care of a family) in front of prospective in-laws. He was pushing the upper age limit for successful marriages, and will be 28 in a couple of months. She convinced Mr Raman, that it was time to look for the 'bahu' of the house.

And, so they went, in Arun's new car, to the highly reccommended horoscope reader. Shanti, their next-door neighbor never forgot to mention this horoscope reader, who had found her daughter the perfect husband.

The jyotishi, was a retired bank officer, and based on a couple of perfect matches, that he had made, was becoming popular, and earning a lot of money, consulting people, who think all their lives woes are because the stars are in the wrong places in the whole vast universe, and who fool themselves to believe that this is true, because these stars have great gravitational powers.

Mr Raman, dutufully produced the date, place and time of birth of his only son to the jyotishi. The jyotishi then retired into his bedroom, to start the process of calculating where the stars and planets were, on the day of Arun's birth. The Raman's, were sipping the sherbet that Mrs. Jyotishi had offered them.

Mrs Raman was sitting passively, Arun, was on his phone, sms'ing and following the cricket (NZ vs Bangladesh), and Mr Raman, had read today's paper, and was re-reading parts of it. The calculation was taking just too long.

Finally, the jyotish comes out of the room, shaking his head, and sending shivers through Mrs Raman. She had been silently praying that the planets do not play a cruel joke on her son, but the look on the jyotish defied her powers of prayer. The jyotish, imagined himself to be the stern faced doctor in hindi movies with the task of breaking the bad news to the overly sentimental mother in the white sari. With the saddest look that he could make, he broke the news. What to do, he said, the planets have decided. He asked them to do certain pujas to please the Gods, but said that what is written cannot be un-written. Arun's life has been destined to be not-so-pleasent. Mrs Raman, did not want to assimilate the long sad life of her son, but chose to discuss the immediate ramifications of the foretelling, Arun's chances in the marriage market. And that news was not any good either.

The jyotish explained that the probabilities that the planets being placed in a way that will mitigate the cosmic joke on Arun are very less, but asked them to pray, and hope in the large population of the country.

As they were getting to leave, with resigned hearts, the jyotish, suddenly sprang up with a suggestion. Much later, he tried to analyse as to why he made that suggestion. And, he could come up with no reason. Instinctively, he asked the Ramans, to change the time of birth. The planets will be much favourable then, he said. Surprised with such a suggestion coming from the jyotish, they walked away, muttering something about considering it.

Later in the evening, the family got into consulation, calls were made to relatives and friends, soliciting advice. Ethical and religious questions needed to be answered, and the self needed to be convinced of the cosmic stunt that was being planned. Finally, Jaipur mama, was able to convince them to forge the horoscope. A marriage can be made by telling thousand lies, he said.

Mr and Mrs Raman, now found a new passtime, sifting through the profiles of prospective matches, jaunting upto the jyotish to match the horoscopes. Initially, they secretly wanted the original horoscope matched, but gave up after they realized the improbabiltiy of it. Mr Raman, decided to organize the search, and used his newly learnt computer skills to good effect. And, in good time, dinner time discussions were about the merits and demerits of different girls, their profiles, and wild imaginations and theory of why she is the one, or why not!

Soon, Arun, was asked to send emails to a few girls, and asked to talk to them and decide. He juggled dates for a while, and sped around town in his car from a coffee day meeting to a dinner date, to movies and stuff, with different girls. It seemed it was all a blur and dream for him. But, then the pressure increased too, with his parents on his tail everyday, forcing him to decide. All he wanted, was more time with each of them.

But, slowly, he rejected some, and others rejected him, and Arun got back to dreaming exotic love stories. Then, on New years eve, as he headed for a party with his friends, Mrs Raman, showed him Pooja's photo. She said, that this was a good match. Arun, took a look, and instantly, instinctively, took a liking to Pooja. Amma asked him to drop her a mail, and he did it the next day.

The next few days, Arun checked his inbox continuously, checked the 'to' address of the mail he sent a million times a day, and saw his hopes drained, with no mail coming from her. This must be the sad fate that the jyotish talked about, he thought.

Fate had other plans, and Pooja mailed back, after a week, apologizing in every sentence. She had been on a holiday with friends. She said, she liked his photo that her mother had given her, and was 'interested' in trying to see if this can work out. Arun, added her on gtalk, and waited patiently for a green bulb next to her name. They chatted along, on gtalk for a while, about this and that, and decided to meet.

The meeting was magical, and instinctively, Arun and Pooja were dreaming about their marriage. And over the next few meetings, the love blossomed, and they were behaving like a couple out of college.

But, this gave Arun a headache. The small matter of forged horoscopes was eating him. He liked her, and did not care about it, but, he felt that such matters could be fatal later. He did not want the original horoscope to dictate his life, and decided that, it is better setting things straight in person.

On a balmy friday evening, he went to Pooja's place, and confessed about the forged horoscope and about the depressing life, his true horoscope predicted. Pooja's face lost her smile, and her mother, let out a gasp, and a shocked 'WHAT', but instantly, she calmed down, and a wry smile sprung on her face. The smile then became laughter, and Pooja and her dad joined in. Arun looked bewildered.

In a sigh of relief, Pooja's mother admitted to forging Pooja's horoscope too.

Indeed, it was a match ordained by fate, and the marriage preparations began.