Beginning of another year and it’s time for resolutions and a time to introspect on your blessings. Most of these New Year resolutions don’t see day light, unfortunately the resolutions these days revolve around mankind’s new found love to hit their graves all glamourous and healthy defying natural deterioration and depreciation of both body and soul.
Trying to stay young while getting old is defying nature and helping you at this, is the new fad and big business. Quacks are cashing on this exactly the world over. The cash counters are ringing for people in the diet / organic food, fitness clubs and the electronic gadgets business. This is an effort to take a sneak peek into all three.
Apple cider vinegar in the morning along with an egg white of a Omega 3 boiled egg, steamed veggies for lunch and a glass of milk laced with turmeric for dinner goes the diet menu. I knew Apple, Cider and Vinegar as three different stuffs growing up. Fruits like Avocado have found its way into our lives. Avocado, I thought sounded more like an Italian mafia family name hailing from the Corleon town, until someone pointed out it was a fruit. The humble banana that I used to patronise as a kid is now hailed for its calcium, little did I know then. The lady’s finger has put the lady in the limelight as a cure for diabetes, the so yellow coloured, so South Indian turmeric, is now being lauded for its antiseptic values and is today an acclaimed complexion crusader which we South Indians with duskier shades found solace in to look lighter. The so called ‘research’ proves that par boiled rice with the husk intact is good for you. The good old keerai / Cheera, yes the same keerai / Cheera, the old vendor would scream you out of your bed on a Sunday morning is what you appreciate today as greens that your dietician recommends and for which you pay a fortune to buy. People who used to scorn garlic are now swearing by it.
This is a world where people get up in the wee hours of the morning to pump iron or run a mile but end up cranking the engines of their cars to reach a corner shop that is literally round the corner. This is because, ‘Burnt 100 Calories running an errand for wife to pick up green chillies’ sounds so third world a status message compared to ‘Checked in @ ABC Fitness Club: Whew!!!Pumping Iron@ Gym!!!’. A message that the silly gadget around your arm or under your shoe shoots off to the world. Now that message truly sends out THE MESSAGE on your STATUS. Man’s obsession to biceps and triceps has come a long way, since he was first pulled out of his mother’s womb with the forceps!!!
The Apple watch can monitor how many times you moved, stood or exercised , a Nike fuel band counts the number of steps, a Wi-Fi smart scale not only tells you your weight but lets the world know you are doing good by dropping a couple of milligrams in a month!!!. My watch strap could tell me if I had walked enough when I was younger. The wetter it was with sweat the more I had walked.
The recent invention of a self-tying shoelace is what inspired this blog. This was the last serious effort mankind took in bending down to take a look at his toes or the ground below both literally and figuratively, now even that is passé. Apparently an energy saving device stores energy from your walk which will power the shoe lace mechanism. Stamp your heel twice, and voila you have your shoes laces out. Remember the days I first learnt to tie shoe laces, it was a herculean effort then, wish I was born 4 decades late!
I recently received a thought provoking joke in Tamil which goes like this.
Cycle otta kashtamma irrikunnu bikea vaangi,
bikea vida sowkariyamaa irrukummnnu carra vaangi adhinaala thoppaiyaa vaangi
Ippo adhai kurraikka gymukku ponnaa….
Oddadha cyclea otta sollaraanga …Vazhkai orru Vattam!
For those who don’t understand thamizh (or Tamil)... here you go.
Thinking that Cycling was difficult I went in for a bike and then bought a car thinking it would be even more comfortable and got myself a paunch in the process. On enrolling myself at a gym with an intention of reducing my paunch they ask me to pedal on a cycle that doesn’t move!!!! Life is one hell of a circle!
I’m no health guru, gadget geek or a fitness freak; my only advice is eat well, be aware of what you eat, eat moderately and binge once in a while. Don’t be bothered about the caffeine in your coffee or the colour of your tea or the Omega in your egg. Eat and drink in moderation and all’s well.
You don’t have to karate, yoga or Zumba your way to fitness. Increasing your day to day activities is good enough, take the stairs to your Gym or the Zumba classes on the mezzanine floor, do your dishes and mop the floor and lift your weekend laundry. Your biceps may not be as good as lifting weights and you might be a couple of packs short, but trust me you will remain healthy.
Try and fit those gadgets on your mop and count the number of steps in your building or fit a sensor in your sink to count the dishes you washed and tell yourself you are doing well and not the world. The world has many more things to be worried about. Stop buying those sweat proof gadgets and let sweat be the only proof of you moving around.
Stop counting your calories and start counting your blessings! Stop counting your heart beats using gadgets and start to be conscious of your breath. The breath of life!
Too much of anything is bad, even good!
Saturday, January 17, 2015
Monday, December 29, 2014
Papa's girl turns a bakers dozen!
It suddenly dawned on me a thirteen year old was going to make her presence felt at home in a couple of days time and the significance of a thirteenth birthday hit me. I don't remember when I turned thirteen nor does it rank among the significant events in my life. The first in the list of birthdays with numerical significance I would say. This will be followed by the sweet sixteen, then by the I-can-do-anything-except-fund-my-birthday-party-eighteen, followed by the leave me alone 20's. In my opinion the only birthday that you can afford to celebrate well with your money or with the help of your bankers is the 40th. That's the age you turn credit worthy and debt ridden at the same time and end up becoming a complete (balance sheet) man.
But 13 is the new 21. My daughter who is turning thirteen in a couple of days time asked me to drive her down for shopping. Our first stop was Forever 21. I was a bit confused. I said you are just13 and you should be dreaming about staying 13 and not forever 21 because that's the threshold year in an Indian academics life, the post sophomore year and it's not fun. A shop named Forever 21 made me wonder why a Forever 42 doesn't exist. Guess forever forty does more poetic justice than the forever 21.
We then went to the Zaras, the Mangoes, New Yorkers, the H&M's she picked a few that her mom wouldn't approve of and then she picked a few that I wouldn't approve of. The reasons for the disapproval was totally different, my wife's approval was directly proportional to the quantity of raw material that went into the making of the garment, while I was amazed at the direct proportionality of the quantity of material and the thickness of my wallet, the shorter the dress the thinner my wallet would be....Finally we found the middle ground that just about covered the knee and saved my wallet from looking economically malnourished.
My little one is entering a stage in life that could draw parallels to Thomas Harris's "Im ok you are not ok" phase and this stage is in for the long haul. I am preparing myself to be on the 'Iam not ok' phase for the next couple of decades since just when my elder daughter reaches the stage of acknowledging the fact that I was as a 'matter of fact ok' my younger one would get there and tell me I'm still not ok. In short I will remain perennially NOT OK for some time!!!
On her way to 13 she befriended a youtuber guru called Lilly Singh who apparently preaches the same stuff we have been trying for the last 13 years day in and day out. Guess I got parenting all wrong. Instead of making her sit down and talking to her I should have made YouTube videos on stuff I wanted to tell her and uploaded it. Looks like the order of channel richness in the modes of parental communication is all skewed these days.
As the bundle of joy who came into our lives 13 years back on 31st December is all set to enter a stage where she could turn out to be bundle of rebellion that could last a full 7 years. All I can do is pray....for me and for all those prospective victims who could cross her path. Jokes apart... God bless my darling and wishing all her dreams come true!
But 13 is the new 21. My daughter who is turning thirteen in a couple of days time asked me to drive her down for shopping. Our first stop was Forever 21. I was a bit confused. I said you are just13 and you should be dreaming about staying 13 and not forever 21 because that's the threshold year in an Indian academics life, the post sophomore year and it's not fun. A shop named Forever 21 made me wonder why a Forever 42 doesn't exist. Guess forever forty does more poetic justice than the forever 21.
We then went to the Zaras, the Mangoes, New Yorkers, the H&M's she picked a few that her mom wouldn't approve of and then she picked a few that I wouldn't approve of. The reasons for the disapproval was totally different, my wife's approval was directly proportional to the quantity of raw material that went into the making of the garment, while I was amazed at the direct proportionality of the quantity of material and the thickness of my wallet, the shorter the dress the thinner my wallet would be....Finally we found the middle ground that just about covered the knee and saved my wallet from looking economically malnourished.
My little one is entering a stage in life that could draw parallels to Thomas Harris's "Im ok you are not ok" phase and this stage is in for the long haul. I am preparing myself to be on the 'Iam not ok' phase for the next couple of decades since just when my elder daughter reaches the stage of acknowledging the fact that I was as a 'matter of fact ok' my younger one would get there and tell me I'm still not ok. In short I will remain perennially NOT OK for some time!!!
On her way to 13 she befriended a youtuber guru called Lilly Singh who apparently preaches the same stuff we have been trying for the last 13 years day in and day out. Guess I got parenting all wrong. Instead of making her sit down and talking to her I should have made YouTube videos on stuff I wanted to tell her and uploaded it. Looks like the order of channel richness in the modes of parental communication is all skewed these days.
As the bundle of joy who came into our lives 13 years back on 31st December is all set to enter a stage where she could turn out to be bundle of rebellion that could last a full 7 years. All I can do is pray....for me and for all those prospective victims who could cross her path. Jokes apart... God bless my darling and wishing all her dreams come true!
Friday, October 31, 2014
The colour of money.
In a country that is obsessed with anything that is fair, fair as in appearance and not so obsessed with anything that is fair, fair as in reasonable, the newfound love for something black perplexed me, but at the same time encouraged me to delve deep into my understanding of the colour of money. Yes, the pursuit of black money hoarded across the shores was brought to light accompanied by huge media frenzy and political brouhaha over the last couple of weeks. Political parties had promised to bring this back as part of their election manifestos. One of the media houses went to the extent of claiming that they had beaten the rest by a clean 2 hours in being the first to track, expose and reveal the ‘black’ money hoarders. It was one of those rare moments when something that was black was in the limelight in India.
My understanding of economics was slightly skewed as a child, I always thought the rich had white money, the poor had black money and the middle class had brown money. Now, that was some 'classification of my understanding of the monetary policies around me. The rich always flaunted nice, crisp and fresh notes / wads of currency that were thick enough and could be held together with a rubber band and were stored in suitcases and safes. The poor had crumpled, soiled, hand me down currency where even the promissory clause ‘I promise to pay the bearer the sum of rupees…’ had vanished and was often secured in their sweaty palms. The middle class as the name suggests found itself in the middle of things receiving white money from the rich in lesser thickness and stored it in wallets or shirt pockets which turned grey as they were holding on to it far too long before changing it and then handing over the left overs in a darker shade of grey to the poor which ultimately turned black in their possession. I thought this was in line with social order of things I was taught to believe as a child.
Well, growing up, I was even more confused as I started to read that black money was stored in the pristine white snow clad regions of Switzerland. What an irony I thought, a country draped in white hosted black money. This, I call the yin and yang of Indian economy. I realized that darker the shade of black the money had, the more colorful use it was put to, for example the colorful song and dance sequences of Bollywood shot in scenic locales of Swiss Alps or the busy Times Square was claimed to be funded by black money. The colorfully lit skylines that sprang up in most metropolitan cities were supposedly funded by black money. Certain self-gratifying activities engaged in red shaded regions of a city were also occasionally funded by Black money. Basically these were all easy prey to be funded by unaccounted, untaxed money.
While I appreciate the efforts taken by the Indian authorities to bring unaccounted money back to India, I am against giving a colour to this currency. Colour classification has always spelt doom to our society and the Indian public has been quick at lapping it up, be it a fairness cream or a darker shade for the color of money.
My understanding of economics was slightly skewed as a child, I always thought the rich had white money, the poor had black money and the middle class had brown money. Now, that was some 'classification of my understanding of the monetary policies around me. The rich always flaunted nice, crisp and fresh notes / wads of currency that were thick enough and could be held together with a rubber band and were stored in suitcases and safes. The poor had crumpled, soiled, hand me down currency where even the promissory clause ‘I promise to pay the bearer the sum of rupees…’ had vanished and was often secured in their sweaty palms. The middle class as the name suggests found itself in the middle of things receiving white money from the rich in lesser thickness and stored it in wallets or shirt pockets which turned grey as they were holding on to it far too long before changing it and then handing over the left overs in a darker shade of grey to the poor which ultimately turned black in their possession. I thought this was in line with social order of things I was taught to believe as a child.
Well, growing up, I was even more confused as I started to read that black money was stored in the pristine white snow clad regions of Switzerland. What an irony I thought, a country draped in white hosted black money. This, I call the yin and yang of Indian economy. I realized that darker the shade of black the money had, the more colorful use it was put to, for example the colorful song and dance sequences of Bollywood shot in scenic locales of Swiss Alps or the busy Times Square was claimed to be funded by black money. The colorfully lit skylines that sprang up in most metropolitan cities were supposedly funded by black money. Certain self-gratifying activities engaged in red shaded regions of a city were also occasionally funded by Black money. Basically these were all easy prey to be funded by unaccounted, untaxed money.
While I appreciate the efforts taken by the Indian authorities to bring unaccounted money back to India, I am against giving a colour to this currency. Colour classification has always spelt doom to our society and the Indian public has been quick at lapping it up, be it a fairness cream or a darker shade for the color of money.
Saturday, October 18, 2014
Was Made in India!
You could often spot her around the city wearing a bright yellow top and a short black skirt. She wasn't size zero, which incidentally was unheard of those days, instead was curvy and cute. They told me she had a British lineage and it showed. The attire I described above was her uniform at work; she was also spotted at times wearing stunning white gowns with roses at the right places bringing the bride or the groom to the venue on their big day. She was the flag bearer for people in authority and on these occasions she was dressed in black, above all she had a big heart and could well accommodate the entire family and take them safely through the travails of rough rides in life. She was the pride of many households, who were very reluctant to let her go. When they did, they ensured she found an equally loving home. She would engage herself in self-improvement and took efforts to make a new ‘mark’ for herself each year. Even when her place was threatened by the trendier looking other woman, true to her name she stayed her diplomatic self.
She was punctual, she was elegant and she was the one every 18 year old aspired and depended on as they were put to test on their big day. She had many a beautiful face with slender hands that worked constantly and ensured that you were reminded that little time was left to achieve whatever you endeavored to. She was a legacy and sometimes stayed immortal over generations. She was workaholic, and her timings were perfect. Even when the Titans were out in force and threatened her very existence she did not stutter or stop, she held on to your wrists steadfastly like a loyal friend would. She was truly the maid from India who worked tirelessly to ensure you planned every second, minute and hour of your life meticulously. She was the first to bring about a culture of punctuality in every Indian when this virtue was a rarity; she kept time for the nation.
The irony is that, in the year the leaders launched Make in India campaigns with all pomp and splendor both of them have been euthanized. One, who true to her name stayed her diplomatic self, the AMBASSADOR car and the other who kept time for the nation for generations, HMT watches, shut shop for ever. I would have been happy if the Make in India campaign had been kick started by rejuvenating both these iconic brands.
She was punctual, she was elegant and she was the one every 18 year old aspired and depended on as they were put to test on their big day. She had many a beautiful face with slender hands that worked constantly and ensured that you were reminded that little time was left to achieve whatever you endeavored to. She was a legacy and sometimes stayed immortal over generations. She was workaholic, and her timings were perfect. Even when the Titans were out in force and threatened her very existence she did not stutter or stop, she held on to your wrists steadfastly like a loyal friend would. She was truly the maid from India who worked tirelessly to ensure you planned every second, minute and hour of your life meticulously. She was the first to bring about a culture of punctuality in every Indian when this virtue was a rarity; she kept time for the nation.
The irony is that, in the year the leaders launched Make in India campaigns with all pomp and splendor both of them have been euthanized. One, who true to her name stayed her diplomatic self, the AMBASSADOR car and the other who kept time for the nation for generations, HMT watches, shut shop for ever. I would have been happy if the Make in India campaign had been kick started by rejuvenating both these iconic brands.
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