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I am a writer. I began by writing the world's shortest short stories.Each no longer than two lines:one on the cover, one inside.(Birthday cards for pals in school;-). Then I wrote slightly longer stories in the ad agency JWT. These stories lasted 30 whole seconds. After 30 years of having the time of my life, I quit, to write even longer stories. Travel Stories, reviewing eco-friendly hotels for Traveltocare.com. (That's free travel, free stay, free food.) And then I wrote something really really long. An entire Book. It's called "Don't Go Away, We'll Be Right Back: The Oops and Downs of Advertising". And now, another one. "Runaway Writers". It's about a Ghost Tweet Writer, and therefore has about 140 characters in it. (I mean the people, not the length of the book...:-)

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Thursday, October 13, 2011

In Hindu Metro Plus Oct 13,2011

The Apple of my i

INDU BALACHANDRAN
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Steve Jobs has changed lives. How else would you explain an ardent fan's puja to the iMac?

I have two machines that I absolutely adore. Both are compact and stylish and white in colour. One is my i10. The other is my iMac — the first one is what I drive, the other is what drives me.

That's why, like a good Indian, I did puja to both, this navarathri — because that's our service maintenance contract with God, renewed annually, to bless our machinery and ensure its long life.

I began with the bigger of my small wonders, Hyundai i10. I hosed her down to a whiter shade of white. A marigold garland hung happily in a curve under the bonnet, making her ‘smile' a little more. Then she got bright red kumkum tikkasadorning her like a bride. She purred when I started the ignition. Her four gleaming wheels quickly squashed the lemons placed beneath each tyre. (Why do we follow this superstition? No one really knows. But, if it's an added ‘safety feature' for my car, then I'm all for lime-juice technology…)

Then it was the turn of my iMac. My office, my boss, my secretary, all in one. My fruit offering for this important puja was, what else? An apple! As I applied a bright red tikka on the sleek white surface, I thought ‘hey does your brilliant designer know we Indians add our own embellishments to you, once a year?' Ok, I didn't actually garland my iMac, but when I switched the iMac on, my screensaver showed a riot of flowers — a picture I'd myself shot on a recent holiday.

Prayers done. After a couple of feather touches, I was zooming away, much like on my i10, but on the information superhighway. I landed on everyone's favourite destination, Facebook. And in an ironic twist of fate, I read about the demise of the man who'd invented our brave new world's most wondrous machine… on that very machine itself.

Steve Jobs, said my iMac, had logged out of our lives.

Word tributes, pictorial tributes… if what I saw here was a burst of creativity, much could be attributed to the man who set millions on that path — simply by the ease and joy that made digital expression anybody's domain. I came to conclude that while we may pray to goddess Saraswati, Mac evangelists would always worship their own God of Creativity and Learning… now in his heaven. I read many many evocative words of praise, as people hit the ‘share' button on quotes and YouTube excerpts about the genius who'd helped the world move on.

Until a wag came along… On his status update, a pal of mine had written in his usual brand of honest wit: “I don't know much about computers. I don't even know how often to change the oil. Thanks Steve, for a hassle-free machine where I can say this to the world.”

Steve Jobs is going to live forever.

Saturday, October 8, 2011

[The Hindu] A matter of life and debt




We spend so much on luxuries, we can't afford the necessities any more.

I was in the newest super-mall in town. It was a day when the sensex had done a dive that would have qualified it for the Olympics, but strangely, all around me, I saw only prosperity; with many happy people shopping away at the utterly plush designer stores... Hey, didn't the sensex figures depress you guys today? I wondered. Looks like it had driven them out in even greater numbers to buy more fancy lifestyle stuff.
And so I have come to this conclusion: Even in the midst of life, we are in debt.
But later, in the lift going up to my flat, I bumped into Shanks. “Why so glum, Shanks?” I asked my usually cheery and witty neighbour.
“Oh, my wife and I finally figured out how to cope with our monthly food bills,” said Shanks. “One of us has to stop eating.”
Starving for luxury
Now that did seem a bit extreme. But I soon found that this is exactly what is happening to a lot of people like us. We spend so much of money on luxuries, we just can't afford the necessities any more.
And when we casually say at parties, “A lot of my money is currently tied up in the market…”, what we mean of course, is the supermarket. We dash in for a quick five minutes just to pick up, say, a humble box of cornflakes — and return an hour later with five varieties of super-powered, enzyme-fortified, fibre-boosted, crackle-enhanced breakfast cereals, a different one for each day of the week. All because the super-mom-like lady wheeling her cart just before us, picked up five such boxes.
That's why it's not a joke anymore, when we hear that these days the most expensive vehicle to operate, per mile, isn't a gas-guzzling Cadillac, but a chrome plated four-wheeler we all use regularly: the supermarket trolley.
And those annoying Joneses are not just living next door, smugly whispering “Keep up! Keep up!” They are everywhere: At those supermarket aisles in front of us, at parties, at offices, at restaurants.
And before we know it, we too want to add way more style to life, and brighten our middle-class lives. We'd much rather fix an appointment at “Niki's Hair Haven”, than drop in at the barber for a quick trim around the back; drive all the way to pick up bread from “ Le Boulangerie”, rather than send our watchman out with a bunch of change to the corner store; we'd rather spend two hours at “ Mimi's Nail Boutique” rather than quickly clip them while reading the morning's papers; and drive our beloved vehicle to “ Toni's Car Spa” for some soapy pampering, rather than hose it down ourselves on a Sunday morning.
And when we're eating out? “Yes, do get me a bottle of ‘Qua' please…” we say poshly to the waiter, perhaps believing an ad we saw on TV that this precious bottle of pure mineral water was personally filled in sleek bottles by several tiny dancing elves, living in the pristine Himalayas…and so we pay the equivalent of an entire meal for three at an idli joint just for this one bottle of water alone.
So much in a name
And, of course, the same reckless behaviour occurs when we start ordering the food. We are captivated by this description in the menu that says, “Sun-kissed, farm-fresh legumes in a nouvelle Meditteranean blend, grilled to a perfect crisp in a gentle dip of bakery-fresh crumbs, embellished with spring-dew cilantro and tomatino”; whose common name is, of course, the vegetable cutlet. (My maid Hamsa makes these with leftovers, in a jiffy.) However, we wait 45 minutes in this elegant restaurant, and finally two tiny brown circles arrive in a huge white square designer plate, there's a zig-zag line of sauce along the side, a tiny sprig of coriander, and a tomato decoration skilfully cut and shaped to look like the Sydney Opera House. “Wow!” we exclaim. It's all so much like being the judges in Master Chef Australia! But there are strong chances we are going to be eating curd-rice as soon as we get home, so that we don't wake up hungry in the middle of the night. Or to combat the heart-burn we may feel, when we think of that bill we paid in the end.
Despite these experiences, I am already filled with curiosity about a new upscale hotel that's serving ‘authentic street foods of India'. What an idea, sir-ji. Basic, non-fancy food, but with five-star cleanliness and comfort! The whole gang is planning to go there for a good gobble for our next celebration, but their bill that will gobble our money may well make us wonder if the ‘street' referred to here is Dalal Street.
Meanwhile, those fabulous stores in the mall are continuing to stock up the goodies, luring us in all the time.
No wonder my pal Shanks has begun to feel that he has too much month left over at the end of his money.
Indu Balachandran is a travel columnist. Email: indubee8@yahoo.co.in








This article was featured on http://www.thehindu.com/features/magazine/a-matter-of-life-and-debt/article2517600.ece

A Matter of Life and Debt

A matter of life and debt

INDU BALACHANDRAN
SHARE · COMMENT · PRINT · T+

We spend so much on luxuries, we can't afford the necessities any more.

I was in the newest super-mall in town. It was a day when the sensex had done a dive that would have qualified it for the Olympics, but strangely, all around me, I saw only prosperity; with many happy people shopping away at the utterly plush designer stores... Hey, didn't the sensex figures depress you guys today? I wondered. Looks like it had driven them out in even greater numbers to buy more fancy lifestyle stuff.

And so I have come to this conclusion: Even in the midst of life, we are in debt.

But later, in the lift going up to my flat, I bumped into Shanks. “Why so glum, Shanks?” I asked my usually cheery and witty neighbour.

“Oh, my wife and I finally figured out how to cope with our monthly food bills,” said Shanks. “One of us has to stop eating.”

Starving for luxury

Now that did seem a bit extreme. But I soon found that this is exactly what is happening to a lot of people like us. We spend so much of money on luxuries, we just can't afford the necessities any more.

And when we casually say at parties, “A lot of my money is currently tied up in the market…”, what we mean of course, is the supermarket. We dash in for a quick five minutes just to pick up, say, a humble box of cornflakes — and return an hour later with five varieties of super-powered, enzyme-fortified, fibre-boosted, crackle-enhanced breakfast cereals, a different one for each day of the week. All because the super-mom-like lady wheeling her cart just before us, picked up five such boxes.

That's why it's not a joke anymore, when we hear that these days the most expensive vehicle to operate, per mile, isn't a gas-guzzling Cadillac, but a chrome plated four-wheeler we all use regularly: the supermarket trolley.

And those annoying Joneses are not just living next door, smugly whispering “Keep up! Keep up!” They are everywhere: At those supermarket aisles in front of us, at parties, at offices, at restaurants.

And before we know it, we too want to add way more style to life, and brighten our middle-class lives. We'd much rather fix an appointment at “Niki's Hair Haven”, than drop in at the barber for a quick trim around the back; drive all the way to pick up bread from “ Le Boulangerie”, rather than send our watchman out with a bunch of change to the corner store; we'd rather spend two hours at “ Mimi's Nail Boutique” rather than quickly clip them while reading the morning's papers; and drive our beloved vehicle to “ Toni's Car Spa” for some soapy pampering, rather than hose it down ourselves on a Sunday morning.

And when we're eating out? “Yes, do get me a bottle of ‘Qua' please…” we say poshly to the waiter, perhaps believing an ad we saw on TV that this precious bottle of pure mineral water was personally filled in sleek bottles by several tiny dancing elves, living in the pristine Himalayas…and so we pay the equivalent of an entire meal for three at an idli joint just for this one bottle of water alone.

So much in a name

And, of course, the same reckless behaviour occurs when we start ordering the food. We are captivated by this description in the menu that says, “Sun-kissed, farm-fresh legumes in a nouvelle Meditteranean blend, grilled to a perfect crisp in a gentle dip of bakery-fresh crumbs, embellished with spring-dew cilantro and tomatino”; whose common name is, of course, the vegetable cutlet. (My maid Hamsa makes these with leftovers, in a jiffy.) However, we wait 45 minutes in this elegant restaurant, and finally two tiny brown circles arrive in a huge white square designer plate, there's a zig-zag line of sauce along the side, a tiny sprig of coriander, and a tomato decoration skilfully cut and shaped to look like the Sydney Opera House. “Wow!” we exclaim. It's all so much like being the judges in Master Chef Australia! But there are strong chances we are going to be eating curd-rice as soon as we get home, so that we don't wake up hungry in the middle of the night. Or to combat the heart-burn we may feel, when we think of that bill we paid in the end.

Despite these experiences, I am already filled with curiosity about a new upscale hotel that's serving ‘authentic street foods of India'. What an idea, sir-ji. Basic, non-fancy food, but with five-star cleanliness and comfort! The whole gang is planning to go there for a good gobble for our next celebration, but their bill that will gobble our money may well make us wonder if the ‘street' referred to here is Dalal Street.

Meanwhile, those fabulous stores in the mall are continuing to stock up the goodies, luring us in all the time.

No wonder my pal Shanks has begun to feel that he has too much month left over at the end of his money.

Indu Balachandran is a travel columnist. Email: indubee8@yahoo.co.in