Right at the time when we needed to show support the most, my dear GOI stopped me from doing it..
So here go my two minutes ..
One Salaam Mumbai
Two Salaam Mumbai
Three Salaam Mumbai
Four Salaam Mumbai
Five Salaam Mumbai
Six Salaam Mumbai
Seven Salaam Mumbai
Eight Salaam Mumbai
Nine Salaam Mumbai
Ten Salaam Mumbai
Eleven Salaam Mumbai
Twelve Salaam Mumbai
Thirteen Salaam Mumbai
Fourteen Salaam Mumbai
Fifteen Salaam Mumbai
Sixteen Salaam Mumbai
Seventeen Salaam Mumbai
Eighteen Salaam Mumbai
Nineteen Salaam Mumbai
Twenty Salaam Mumbai
Twenty One Salaam Mumbai
Twenty Two Salaam Mumbai
Twenty Three Salaam Mumbai
Twenty Four Salaam Mumbai
Twenty Five Salaam Mumbai
Twenty Six Salaam Mumbai
Twenty Seven Salaam Mumbai
Twenty Eight Salaam Mumbai
Twenty Nine Salaam Mumbai
Thirty Salaam Mumbai
Thirty One Salaam Mumbai
Thirty Two Salaam Mumbai
Thirty Three Salaam Mumbai
Thirty Four Salaam Mumbai
Thirty Five Salaam Mumbai
Thirty Six Salaam Mumbai
Thirty Seven Salaam Mumbai
Thirty Eight Salaam Mumbai
Thirty Nine Salaam Mumbai
Forty Salaam Mumbai
Forty One Salaam Mumbai
Forty Two Salaam Mumbai
Forty Three Salaam Mumbai
Forty Four Salaam Mumbai
Forty Five Salaam Mumbai
Forty Six Salaam Mumbai
Forty Seven Salaam Mumbai
Forty Eight Salaam Mumbai
Forty Nine Salaam Mumbai
Fifty Salaam Mumbai
Fifty One Salaam Mumbai
Fifty Two Salaam Mumbai
Fifty Three Salaam Mumbai
Fifty Four Salaam Mumbai
Fifty Five Salaam Mumbai
Fifty Six Salaam Mumbai
Fifty Seven Salaam Mumbai
Fifty Eight Salaam Mumbai
Fifty Nine Salaam Mumbai
Sixty Salaam Mumbai
Sixty One Salaam Mumbai
Sixty Two Salaam Mumbai
Sixty Three Salaam Mumbai
Sixty Four Salaam Mumbai
Sixty Five Salaam Mumbai
Sixty Six Salaam Mumbai
Sixty Seven Salaam Mumbai
Sixty Eight Salaam Mumbai
Sixty Nine Salaam Mumbai
Seventy Salaam Mumbai
Seventy One Salaam Mumbai
Seventy Two Salaam Mumbai
Seventy Three Salaam Mumbai
Seventy Four Salaam Mumbai
Seventy Five Salaam Mumbai
Seventy Six Salaam Mumbai
Seventy Seven Salaam Mumbai
Seventy Eight Salaam Mumbai
Seventy Nine Salaam Mumbai
Eighty Salaam Mumbai
Eighty One Salaam Mumbai
Eighty Two Salaam Mumbai
Eighty Three Salaam Mumbai
Eighty Four Salaam Mumbai
Eighty Five Salaam Mumbai
Eighty Six Salaam Mumbai
Eighty Seven Salaam Mumbai
Eighty Eight Salaam Mumbai
Eighty Nine Salaam Mumbai
Ninety Salaam Mumbai
Ninety One Salaam Mumbai
Ninety Two Salaam Mumbai
Ninety Three Salaam Mumbai
Ninety Four Salaam Mumbai
Ninety Five Salaam Mumbai
Ninety Six Salaam Mumbai
Ninety Seven Salaam Mumbai
Ninety Eight Salaam Mumbai
Ninety Nine Salam Mumbai
One Hundred Salaam Mumbai
One Hundred One Salaam Mumbai
One Hundred Two Salaam Mumbai
One Hundred Three Salaam Mumbai
One Hundred Four Salaam Mumbai
Oen Hundred Five Salaam Mumbai
One Hundred Six Salaam Mumbai
One Hundred Seven Salaam Mumbai
One Hundred Eight Salaam Mumbai
One Hundred Nine Salaam Mumbai
One Hundred Ten Salaam Mumbai
One Hundred Eleven Salaam Mumbai
One Hundred Twelve Salaam Mumbai
One Hundred Thirteen Salaam Mumbai
One Hundred Fourteen Salaam Mumbai
One Hundred Fifteen Salaam Mumbai
One Hundred Sixteen Salaam Mumbai
One Hundred Seventeen Salaam Mumbai
One Hundred Eighteen Salaam Mumbai
One Hundred Nineteen Salaam Mumbai
One Hundred Twenty Salaam Mumbai
Amen. May you always be in peace dear lady of the Seas.
VibhuDaBrahman.
Sunday, July 23, 2006
Thursday, July 06, 2006
My Phone!
The first phone that I bought from my own money was this beautiful li’l piece of silver. Called the Moonlight phone by some snazzy marketing guy, it was a part of Dhirubhai’s dream. Mera sapna, tera paisa bhi ho apna!
The phone and I have been through a lot. Through friends, girlfriends, beaches, seas and floods. The story of its long illness starts with me in Goa.
June in Goa, had this phone for about a half year. Was there on business, so the final Sunday I got, headed for the beaches. The only issue was that there was no one to mind my stuff when I went in the water. So did what every smart electronic engineer does, water proofed my phone. Put it in a re-sealable bag and zipped it shut and also wrapped it in my hand kerchief to catch any stray moisture that could creep in. Thinking that I had all my bases covered I plunged in to the blue seas of Goa.
Was that ever fun. Splashed around in the surf, playing disc with a firang who was all alone, coz her boy friend had gone for a beer or something. Then I suddenly remembered that somebody was going to call me and I needed to attend that call. By this time, I could actually feel my phone vibrating in my hip pocket where I had stowed it for safety.
I swam out and then opened the packet to find, horror of horrors! The kerchief was all wet! My phone, my lifeline to civilization and (future) matrimonial bliss was all drenched. It went all crazy on me, trying in turn to dial all the numbers in my phone book all the while vibrating like a drill on steroids and receiving a call simultaneously. I tried shutting it off, which did not work too well, so removed the battery pack. That shut it down for a while and I got to work, drying it. Wiped it out, baked it in the sun, but to no avail, whenever I switched it on, it went back to its crazy self. Prozac being the only option for the terminally insane, I put it to sleep by divorcing it from its power source.
Used the phone booth to tell everybody that my phone was dead and that I would call them as soon as I get back to Bombay, I boarded my bus. The moment I got back to my own sweet city, I reunited the lost parts and voila, it was working. My phone was a mumbaikar! One whiff of the home network, congested though it may be, it started receiving and dialing calls with ease. Even texting was possible again.
Thinking that my troubles were over, I kissed my phone in gratitude and got back to work. A couple of days later, what do I see? A pimple on my beauty. The silver finish was flaking away to reveal plastic below. My poor moonlight phone was now becoming a moon like phone. But hey, beauty is in the eyes of the beholder, so we soldiered on. Soon, I came to fall in love with the distinctive features of my dear friend. But worse was in store. I had to deliver some notes to a dear friend of mine at a distant suburb, to help her in her misguided attempt at belling the CAT; I boarded a suburban local, my trusty medium of communication residing snugly in my hip pocket. While I was disembarking, another gent was embarking with a hard attaché case. This he very obligingly banged in to my hip. Thanking stars that he missed my family jewels, I went on merrily to my meeting.
When my friend called to ask my status at arriving (usually am always late), what do I see? There’s a crack on my darling’s face. It looked positively injured. Met my friend, berated her suburbs and the train system and Gods in general for putting my beautiful connector to souls through so much, I came back home heavy hearted. Went to the shop and asked him if he could fix it up, he said, “Prolly, but will take at least a fortnight” Unable to even contemplate such a long separation, I grit my teeth and talked to my phone. I said to it, “It is not that bad looking, gives you certain character.” It just winked at me and showed that I had a text message.
Pretty soon, my phone was completely speckled due to the ravages of sundry pocket items, like keys, change and not to mention its holy dip in the Arabian Sea. The crack looked ever widening and nothing could arrest its growth, when a ray of radio wave loomed over the horizon. My Aunt, who was using the same model, junked her phone and gave it to me to cannibalize.
Crunch time. Could I do it? Could I transplant my old phone in to a new body? Break the barriers of medical technology and give my trusty companion a new lease of life? Only way to do it, open it up.
I went down to my house gods and prayed for guidance. Went to the phone and said to it,” Moon dear, we have to do it. Can you trust me on this?” It rang its sweet melody, announcing the call of a very near and dear one. Taking it as a sign, I got my old rusty set of screw drivers out of the drawer.
Opened it up and what do I see? Water stains on the key pad and sand under the circuit board. No wonder it was acting so funny. Very gingerly I unscrewed the whole innards of it and placed it in the receptacle already ready for it in the new one. Done! Operation successful. Shut the red light off and called a couple of my friends. The phone was working; it looked better and sounded better too!
All my friends were amazed by this new looking beast in my pocket. She could not help but trill happily whenever some one admired her looks.
July in Mumbai; just came back from a trip to Uttaranchal and places up north. The gods were trying to tell me something, every where I went; I missed a flood, either by distance or by timing. Finally, it caught up with me. July 26 was one of the rainiest days in the history of Mumbai, upwards of 900 mm of rainfall was recorded on this day.
Once again, my lifeline worked full time, keeping my family and friends updated about my status in my quest for continued sustenance of life in this water logged city. I packed up and prepared for a trip down stream to my home. Halfway done the seven odd kilometers I had to wade, what do I feel? A familiar tingling sensation on my hip. Uh-oh! Water on the phone again.
With grim foreboding in my heart I trudged back home and opened the packet. My poor friend was shuddering again, like an angry bee in a small jar.
With old experience, I separated it from its battery and left it to dry. Now its health just went downhill. It could not sustain its charge throughout the day and would go to sleep in about five or six hours itself. If I talked at all in to it, it would stay awake for lesser periods of time. I was down to using two batteries on a single day, keeping them both charged for emergencies.
Still I did not let it go. Finally one day, I was asleep, when I felt a haunting beauty intrude my dreams. She said to me,” Till when, oh dear one, are you going to keep me alive? I’ve lost my original body, you have given me a new heart and you keep me on juice for hours on end. Let me be. I want to rest now. Three years I gave you my last bit. I strained each sinew in my antenna to get you the network coverage you needed. I let you make cheap calls to her when you needed it the most. I never let anyone else hear what you had to say. Let me go.”
Saddened by this plea, I agreed. Got myself a new phone and updated my phone book. Late at night yesterday, I completed entering the last number of my phone book and then shut it off. Climbed in to bed, mind awhirl with memories of all those friends, whom I had not called in ages, I finally drifted off to sleep.
I dreamt a final goodbye, my dear mistress of communication in her silvery gown floating up to meet Dhirubhai.
The phone and I have been through a lot. Through friends, girlfriends, beaches, seas and floods. The story of its long illness starts with me in Goa.
June in Goa, had this phone for about a half year. Was there on business, so the final Sunday I got, headed for the beaches. The only issue was that there was no one to mind my stuff when I went in the water. So did what every smart electronic engineer does, water proofed my phone. Put it in a re-sealable bag and zipped it shut and also wrapped it in my hand kerchief to catch any stray moisture that could creep in. Thinking that I had all my bases covered I plunged in to the blue seas of Goa.
Was that ever fun. Splashed around in the surf, playing disc with a firang who was all alone, coz her boy friend had gone for a beer or something. Then I suddenly remembered that somebody was going to call me and I needed to attend that call. By this time, I could actually feel my phone vibrating in my hip pocket where I had stowed it for safety.
I swam out and then opened the packet to find, horror of horrors! The kerchief was all wet! My phone, my lifeline to civilization and (future) matrimonial bliss was all drenched. It went all crazy on me, trying in turn to dial all the numbers in my phone book all the while vibrating like a drill on steroids and receiving a call simultaneously. I tried shutting it off, which did not work too well, so removed the battery pack. That shut it down for a while and I got to work, drying it. Wiped it out, baked it in the sun, but to no avail, whenever I switched it on, it went back to its crazy self. Prozac being the only option for the terminally insane, I put it to sleep by divorcing it from its power source.
Used the phone booth to tell everybody that my phone was dead and that I would call them as soon as I get back to Bombay, I boarded my bus. The moment I got back to my own sweet city, I reunited the lost parts and voila, it was working. My phone was a mumbaikar! One whiff of the home network, congested though it may be, it started receiving and dialing calls with ease. Even texting was possible again.
Thinking that my troubles were over, I kissed my phone in gratitude and got back to work. A couple of days later, what do I see? A pimple on my beauty. The silver finish was flaking away to reveal plastic below. My poor moonlight phone was now becoming a moon like phone. But hey, beauty is in the eyes of the beholder, so we soldiered on. Soon, I came to fall in love with the distinctive features of my dear friend. But worse was in store. I had to deliver some notes to a dear friend of mine at a distant suburb, to help her in her misguided attempt at belling the CAT; I boarded a suburban local, my trusty medium of communication residing snugly in my hip pocket. While I was disembarking, another gent was embarking with a hard attaché case. This he very obligingly banged in to my hip. Thanking stars that he missed my family jewels, I went on merrily to my meeting.
When my friend called to ask my status at arriving (usually am always late), what do I see? There’s a crack on my darling’s face. It looked positively injured. Met my friend, berated her suburbs and the train system and Gods in general for putting my beautiful connector to souls through so much, I came back home heavy hearted. Went to the shop and asked him if he could fix it up, he said, “Prolly, but will take at least a fortnight” Unable to even contemplate such a long separation, I grit my teeth and talked to my phone. I said to it, “It is not that bad looking, gives you certain character.” It just winked at me and showed that I had a text message.
Pretty soon, my phone was completely speckled due to the ravages of sundry pocket items, like keys, change and not to mention its holy dip in the Arabian Sea. The crack looked ever widening and nothing could arrest its growth, when a ray of radio wave loomed over the horizon. My Aunt, who was using the same model, junked her phone and gave it to me to cannibalize.
Crunch time. Could I do it? Could I transplant my old phone in to a new body? Break the barriers of medical technology and give my trusty companion a new lease of life? Only way to do it, open it up.
I went down to my house gods and prayed for guidance. Went to the phone and said to it,” Moon dear, we have to do it. Can you trust me on this?” It rang its sweet melody, announcing the call of a very near and dear one. Taking it as a sign, I got my old rusty set of screw drivers out of the drawer.
Opened it up and what do I see? Water stains on the key pad and sand under the circuit board. No wonder it was acting so funny. Very gingerly I unscrewed the whole innards of it and placed it in the receptacle already ready for it in the new one. Done! Operation successful. Shut the red light off and called a couple of my friends. The phone was working; it looked better and sounded better too!
All my friends were amazed by this new looking beast in my pocket. She could not help but trill happily whenever some one admired her looks.
July in Mumbai; just came back from a trip to Uttaranchal and places up north. The gods were trying to tell me something, every where I went; I missed a flood, either by distance or by timing. Finally, it caught up with me. July 26 was one of the rainiest days in the history of Mumbai, upwards of 900 mm of rainfall was recorded on this day.
Once again, my lifeline worked full time, keeping my family and friends updated about my status in my quest for continued sustenance of life in this water logged city. I packed up and prepared for a trip down stream to my home. Halfway done the seven odd kilometers I had to wade, what do I feel? A familiar tingling sensation on my hip. Uh-oh! Water on the phone again.
With grim foreboding in my heart I trudged back home and opened the packet. My poor friend was shuddering again, like an angry bee in a small jar.
With old experience, I separated it from its battery and left it to dry. Now its health just went downhill. It could not sustain its charge throughout the day and would go to sleep in about five or six hours itself. If I talked at all in to it, it would stay awake for lesser periods of time. I was down to using two batteries on a single day, keeping them both charged for emergencies.
Still I did not let it go. Finally one day, I was asleep, when I felt a haunting beauty intrude my dreams. She said to me,” Till when, oh dear one, are you going to keep me alive? I’ve lost my original body, you have given me a new heart and you keep me on juice for hours on end. Let me be. I want to rest now. Three years I gave you my last bit. I strained each sinew in my antenna to get you the network coverage you needed. I let you make cheap calls to her when you needed it the most. I never let anyone else hear what you had to say. Let me go.”
Saddened by this plea, I agreed. Got myself a new phone and updated my phone book. Late at night yesterday, I completed entering the last number of my phone book and then shut it off. Climbed in to bed, mind awhirl with memories of all those friends, whom I had not called in ages, I finally drifted off to sleep.
I dreamt a final goodbye, my dear mistress of communication in her silvery gown floating up to meet Dhirubhai.
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