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A walk downtown in Portsmouth, New hampshire

I took a walk around downtown today. Portsmouth is a dainty township of hardly thirty thousand people. A historic place that traces its history way back to the sixteenth century. Its inhabitants even today proudly call it the " jewel of New England". Within a couple of square miles, there were about hundred odd eating establishments (not the Franchisee's that we see all around the United states),  but original family owned restaurants and pubs that have been around for a long time. It has an astonishingly high density of pubs and a large number of microbreweries for a small city. The people of Portsmouth obviously love their alcohol. As i walked along the frosted pavements of Downtown, literally every pub was brimming with activity and sounds of garrulous merry making echoed and ricocheted off the ancient brick walls : a lasting testament to the antiquity of the place . I believe, there is an University close by, and one could see young ,confident boys and girls, walking

Musings on Graduation day In America

This is Graduation day in New Hampshire, and I guess in most parts of the country. The city of Portsmouth is flooded with parents visiting to witness a momentous day in the lives of their children. There is almost a deep sense of fulfillment and pride in their eyes. That is the beauty of this country. They tend to commemorate every significant milestone in their families. Contrary to popular opi nion, it is not very easy for most young boys or girls in America to go through School or college with an intensity and dedication required to complete it. There are a lot of distractions and oppurtunities that could sway them from a formal academic rigor. For middle class parents , working their way through mortgages, loans and the compulsive need to maintain a decent lifestyle; it becomes very difficult to support children's education in a sustained manner, more so, if the kid develops other interests in life. Single parents or dysfunctional families find it even more difficult. In a coc

A note penned late in the night after Sahima's Graduation party

A note penned late in the night after Sahima's Graduation party : Sergei Bubka, arguably the finest Pole vaulter the sport has ever seen, Once said " The art of Pole vaulting lies not in the lift, but knowing precisely when to let go of the pole in mid air". I guess, the same could said about parenting as well. As a parent, it is absolutely imperative to know when to gracefully grant the psychol ogical and intellectual independence to one's child; to let go of the hand that was so carefully held and nurtured for many long years. That is the ultimate gift that could be presented by a parent to a teenager. I have just come back to my hotel from the Graduation party of Sahima (daughter of my good friend and colleague - Sandeep Godhkindi). Time has this unique capacity to flow past us without leaving a ripple. I find it hard to believe that this small chubby girl, with sparking eyes, a warm smile has now graduated from high school and now ready to embark on a study of jo

Musings in the airport at Dallas

As is sat waiting for my flight in Dallas airport last week, a very curious thought emerged within me. I was in the airport by three in the morning to board a flight four hours later, and it gave ample time to get into one those mellow moods of observation, which grips our senses every now and then, when we are not particularly stressed or worried about anything in particular. There is a strange s ense of dispossession. Slowly, the airport was coming to life with travelers pushing their trollies, parents herding their children, youngsters with headphones jammed tight on their ears : as they walk around hunting for a cozy seat to put up their legs and relax. An airport is a strange place. It is a no man’s land. Thousands of people congregate, chat, socialize in bars and restaurants, making inane conversations with strangers; sometimes audacious enough to reveal their long buried secrets. All that one needs is a sympathetic ear. Beside me was seated a good looking lady, probably in her

“Flight” – A Movie review of a Remarkable film by Robert Zemeckis

 “Flight” – A Movie review of a Remarkable film by Robert Zemeckis The movie begins with a Pilot lying in bed naked with a flight attendant, intoxicated with alcohol, and fatigued after a riotous night of unfettered physical intimacy. That defines Captain Whip, a chronic drug abuser, an ace pilot, a charismatic and debonair seducer called in to command a domestic flight that develops a mechanical failure , and is doomed to perish along with hundred and odd passengers on board. By a miraculous professional instinct that comes from deep seated talent, the pilot steers the flight out of trouble and lands on an empty field. The trouble though is that the Captain was drunk during the flight. The fact the aircraft was grounded with minimal number of causalities does not abdicate the irresponsible behavior of the pilot, and he is made answerable to a commission, battling his alcohol problem all along. The Movie captures the helpless condition of a talented man under the grip of drug abuse

Introspection into the plight of Prisoners on both sides of the border - The assault on Sarabjeet

Introspection into the plight of Prisoners on both sides of the border - The assault on Sarabjeet The already tenuous political relationship between India and Pakistan has further been muddled by this needless controversy over the death of Sarabjeet- a convict imprisoned for an alleged terrorist attack that killed nearly fifteen people many years ago. While I have been reading and listening to endless debates, points, coun terpoints, denials, affirmations, duplicities and countless other peregrinations of arguments and facts; what puzzles me entirely is the utter lack of commonsense in dealing with such an issue. Yes, the man was brutally assaulted within the walls of a high security prison and later suspiciously allowed to languish in pain and bleeding, before he was administered any medical help; which did not stall his inevitable descent into irrecoverable comatose condition and his death subsequently. It is not my intention in this essay to argue on the innocence or otherwise of s

If one a winter’s night a traveler - by Italo Calvino, translated from Italian by William Weaver

If one a winter’s night a traveler - by Italo Calvino, translated from Italian by William Weaver Latin American writers have always had this tremendous flair and gift of surreal storytelling. Gabriel Garcia Marquez, Isabel Allende, Jorge Luis Borges, to name a few – all of them possessed this uncanny ability to paint a vivid canvas of emotions, psychological subtleties and a deep sense of existentialism into a story; without the demanding rigor and structure of methodical and linear narration. This book by Calvino is a pure experiment in the art of magical fiction. The impetus for this work lies in the author’s need to understand the synergetic link between “I” the reader and the mysterious process of understanding the written word, and weaving an imaginary world of causes and probabilities that could arise from  an impromptu trigger of common place incidents. Every beginning in a story could have a million different endings. Like the prince in “Arabian nights” who needs to be fe