I moved from the bed, feeling relaxed and happy. Not delighted, just satisfied - and that made me feel happy. A morning of peace, no phone calls or doorbells and music of my choice with a book. Even my maid Vijaya who came late today was happy, smiling and laughing and talking about irrelevant stuff when I paused and lifted my head from the book. The book was finished now. A marathon completed, and my brain was rewiring itself to start on a new jog, feeling happy at having finished the race, and rejuvinating itself before the next one. Because, happily I have two more books lined up for me, by authors I like. There is nothing more rewarding than reading someone who agrees with you, knows what you like and tells you that they are nice things. Haruki Murakami in his real-fantasy world did that.
Just like telling me that Bob Dylan sounds like a kid standing at the window watching the rain. And then he marvels at it himself. And I marvel at him. It cant be truer. And I had put on Tambourine Man to play. I wanted to verify the truth.

I suddenly realise Im famished, I havent eaten a thing since morning, only my mediocre cup of coffee. I go to the fridge and stare, there is so much food, yet nothing I want to eat. Finally I take out the salami and keep it out to thaw. It gives me time to decide what I want to eat. I pick up a slice of cucumber from the plate I had asked Vijaya to prepare - a plate full of cucumber, beetroot and tomato slices, no dressings, no salt. I wonder what they would call this - its not exactly a Salad, but add salt and its what passes as salad in a dhaba. The cucumber is nice, ice cold and crunchy. I pick up a beetroot and remember its been ages since I ate beet. It lovely. Mildly sweet, crisp but not crunchy. And juicy. The tomato is too tangy so I pick up another beet circle and close the fridge door. The big bite into the circle of deep red beet leaves it in the shape of a less than half moon - kind of like the moon from the production house - Dreamworks. Only with jagged edges on one side and uneven polygonal ones on another, and thicker. I take another bite and feel the cool of the other edge of the arc brush my left cheek. I finish the slice, and walk back out of the kitchen. I think about what I mean to do today. And I pick up a brush and brush my hair. Its been so long since I brushed my hair without a reason - the brushing before going out or getting dressed. I enjoy it. I enjoy the sensation of the brush edges touching my scalp lightly, passing through my hair, leaving it rejuvinated. I pull back my hair into a ponytail. I dont use my regular scrunchie, but a simple plain band of purple. I like the purple band. I re-found it last night in an unused purse. While Im at it, I thought I might as well wash my face and see if it can remove the cottony feel of satisfaction from my brain as well. Make it sharper. The mirror shows the drop of blood left by the succulent beet on my cheek. I wash it away.

I feel refreshed, calm, serene, but not yet ready to take on the small jobs I mean to do today. I look at the computer and I think after I write this down I will get a coffee to go with crisp, deep fried salami and soft buttered bread. Perhaps some of the chicken soup as well. But Im not to sure about that. And then I will be energised. And so ready to move out of home and do my self designated work. I pause and listen - there is no sound apart from my fan whirring. And distant cars. I feel nice, relaxed.

Having written it all, I already feel better. The brain a little sharper, the edge a little more refined. I will make strong hot black coffee now, perhaps with a drop of milk. And put on Aerosmith. Crying.

Yes, this is a post on Bombay. Almost everyone I know seems to know the parts of the city because of the media centric role it plays, and has an opinion. (In case you, reader, have doubts about any part of the city, here is a map tp help you.). Oh and this is a long post, and not a rant, really. People are free to choose how they  live. Choice of travel modes and property prices are individual decisions, I believe and not a factor of circumstances (usually). So this is just casual observation about people in Bombay, as free from judgemnt as I could muster, because most people anyway know what I feel about the city. I dont need to blog it.
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Bombay is two cities. It is not about rich and poor (which is indeed very contrasting in Bbay unlike most cities) and neither it is about religion (unlike what movies and books may make you think). It is two cities because it is one city forced to become larger than what it is. It is, perhaps, at some level about Bombay and it becoming Mumbai.

Traditionally Bombay was a city at the edge of a cliff, barely any aerable land, area scooped away from the harsh sea. Then, somehow, it became the land of opportunities. And people came to Bombay from all over India. And Bombay grew. The suburbs became part of the city, and what was not Bombay 10 years ago is now almost central. And what was an uninhabited island when I was young, well, its mainland now, almost the place where I live - part of 'old Mumbai'. And the city is still growing. One day it might reach Pune. And at this pace, the day is not far.

All that is beautiful. All that is nice. But that has divided the city into two parts - 'The Town'  and 'Suburbs' - nomenclatures used only by people living North of the Mahim Creek. The southern tip facing the sea became the 'town' region and a the city grew northwards - the only available landspace - suburbs grew and became part of Bombay. For those who life in the 'actual Mumbai' or in the suburbs, they are the 'mumbaikars' while anyone from South Mumbai just say they are from South Bombay. Suburbans of course, call them 'Townies'. According to them townies are snobbish. Amongst many other things. Bandra lies at the cusp, unable to choose. Unable to be accepted into what was Bombay and not deigning to be a part of the suburbs. And so anyone who comes here from other cities goes to neutral land, Bandra.

But it is not about that. It is a lot about the way of life in these two parts of the city which differentiates them so totally, that the moment you clap eyes on someone, you can guess which part of Bombay they are from - South or North. For one, it is north Bombay that is so immersed in the famous Bollywood culture. It is remarkable. Pass Santacruz and enter Juhu and from there to the ends of the city the movie feel does not leave one. There are posters of every single film that has been filmed - and you realise just how many there are.

However, the biggest divide of them all are the train travellers and the road travellers. The population count in South Bombay is relatively lower than that in North Bombay. Also, most workplaces happen to be concentrated in South, though there are hubs in Bandra and Andheri as well. So people travel, from all ends of the city, people traverse distances to reach their workplaces and then leave for home, tired, beginning their home work on the way itself (cutting and buying vegetables, deciding on kids' homeowrk etc). Because of the way the city grew, infrastructure did not keep up and the nodal transport means are Trains. Indian Railway trains that connect smaller towns to major cities - the locals - are the main transport means for Mumbai. And people willingly pack themselves into these trains, spilling over, trampling each other and zealously guarding their right to be there.

A glance can tell a person whether s/he are a train traveller. They have a haggard look to them. No matter if that day they have travelled by the most luxurious car. train travellers are usually thin. Extremely, anaeimically, thin. Not the worked-out, dieted thinness that is more common in South Bombay. Also, their shoes - they are extremely flat. Like bedroom slippers, almost. It can be skirts, dresses, jeans or salwar kameezes. Footwear is slippers. Most train travellers have hair severely pulled back and tied up, in defiance to the wind in trains else if left open (rare) are meticulously brushed, often, all the time. Men wear shirts tucked out when they can, but anyway they are dripping with sweat. And, to my nose, no matter how much they use perfumes and deodorants, I can smell the train. The slums areas that the train has to travel through.

Train travellers always seem to be eating. And the fd seems to go nowhere. Its like they live to chew. To eat, to catch up on the time they lose between the autos and the trains and their destinations which could have contributed to a sit down meal. They carry big bags - men and women. And the bags contain food, the newspaper (folded into a tiny square), an FM or music player (nowadays phones are more common), and a small bottle of water. Then there is the attitude. The way they stand. The way they abhor personal space. Can you feel someones breath on your shoulder? Oh not to worry, Mumbai hai, yahan jagah kahan hai! And thats the attitude. People stand so close to each other for such a large percentage of their lives that even in an open area, a train traveller will stand centimeters away from a person, probably brushing them, breathing down their necks (literally).

And then the dressing sense. Perhaps there are more middle-class people in the suburbs than in South Bbay, but the clothes can be classified into 'suburbs'. Where the clothes from a small shop in south Bbay will scream South Bbay, the same holds true for vice versa. The 'bling' factor seems magnified. It may be the Bollywood effect or it may be the hurry, the buying from station markets and not proper markets, or  just lack of discerning customers culminating to a lack of choice. But even a casual observer can differentiate men and women just by what they wear. Even the higher end shirts on men somehow seem woebegone, just by how they are worn (loose) or by their colour and designs. train travellers stay away from pearly whites you see. And I have not yet broached women clothes with regards to deeper necklines and skirts and dresses.

Contrary to poplar belief, and quite like any other Indian city, dressing for women in Bbay has to be just as well thought out. But its lesser of a worry if you happen to be travelling South. For while the city has fair share of travellers and women, just like the rest of India, men in the suburbs are stll unused to women with plunging necklines and hems.Hems, period. Somehow a woman in a body hugging teeshirt and tight, tight jeans is OK as compared to someone in a knee length skirt. Anyway, the point being, travelling to North Bbay makes one realise that the wardrobe that is normal in South may just not work. And if you are travelling by train, in a general compartment as compared to a Ladies one, there is no scope of sitting down unless its totally empty. You dont want men stading right on your toes while you sit. And the beggars. At crossings, in trains, everywhere.
The car travellers from the suburbs therefore, span the opposite end of the spectrum. Because of being surrounded by train travellers, they are usually snobbish enough to not even want to grace a taxi, forget autos. And this attitude extends to every other thing.

South Bombay on the other hand exudes a different feel. For one, public transport is restricted to Bus and Taxi. No autos, and trains are badly connected. On women, there is a prevalence of heels (and not the sensible block heels of the adventurous North Bombaiites) and clothes that are chic - if not from coutoure houses, then they look like they are from expensive shops. Its all very different from the feel of a Bollywood movie, and more like a neutral city. And that is because the emphasis seemsto lie more on style than whats de rigeur for the latest Hindi movies. And sequins seem rare(r). Even in the poorer sections an eve teaser is rare and so are the starers. Wear what you may. Women smoking is not wierd, and somehow the crowds are more structured. The personal space factor may be low, but as compared to the train travellers, it is a football field. In short, this part of the city seems more comfortable with itself. Perhaps because of its history it consists of older residents, more at ease with being a part of a rich, growing, multicultural city. Perhaps this very comfort reflects in their clothes and their attitude. Perhaps thats why the more affluent (and not noveu riche)  are attracted to South Bombay (apart from property prices) as are the more affluent foreign residents.
And the major problem that any suburban has with a South Bombaiite is - they dont travel by train. No matter how many cars they own, a suburban has to travel by train for some part of their lives. And as per them, you have not lived in Bombay unless you have travelled by train. And the townies seem unable to grasp that.

Bombay has its own caste system. A geographical one. And one gets pulled into it no matter how hard one tries to stay away. Because the caste system ensures a life style difference. A difference so stark, yet so subtle.

And I did not even speak of the subdivide of East and West as seen in suburbs, and that of the 'western line' livers and harbour and 'central line' livers. I have not seen such strong, apparent, distinct differences within people of the same city in any other city. I guess its part of Bombay?

At work, there is a department which is responsible for photocopying and scanning and making binding files (the spiral bound reports etc.). The department is manned by two people, one of whom is also an odd-job man and does the scanning. And the other, handles photocopying and coloured printouts and file binding activities. Needless to say, these are things which not everyone can handle efficiently, and neither are these activities which are of frequent need given that most documents are electronically shared. However, it is necessary, especially for departments like Compliance, Audit and the Company Secretaries, if not for marketing material and introductions to companies.
However, this means the person handling the department is, to a large part of the day, free to do as he pleases. Being efficient in what he does and having little or no knowledge of other activities (apart from being outside his Job Description), he is in a niche which is important but low on demand. The rights and wrongs of that can be debated, but I will not. What I will mention here is what he does in that free time.
Unlike the other people I have seen, he does not dedicate his free time to gossip and using the company phone for personal calls and so on and so forth. He makes small craft objects for himself.

He takes up small pieces of thermocol boards and plastic boxes, left-over useless papers from photocopies, cut off its of spirals from the spiral binding and almost used up highlighters. He then modifies them into pieces of art, as pleases his fancy. Most of the time they are houses with gardens, flowers, people figures. The beauty is, each of them is made from pieces no one misses. They are meticulous in details and were it not for making him self-conscious I would take photographs. The house would have curtains drawn on them and if the windows have cut-outs, you would see chairs and a rug inside. All with paper. Normal A4 sized paper. And the houses would be not more than a hand in amount of area covered. They are as sturdy as can be possible, but look as if made from one of the better shops with high class art objects. He displays them on his corner shelf for a few days, and then lets them go. If one of the office boys request it, he gives it to them, else just trashes it and makes a new one. He refuses to give them to me, though he ensures I see every one of his creations and add a comment to them. Including the spelling of "Home Sweet Home" he added to the house with a green, green lawn and few mango trees surrounding it (Yes, he ensured they were mango trees).
Once he took an empty Money Plant pot, and used that as a base to make a bouquet of artificial roses and sunflowers made of thermocol and plastic. I mistook them for real.
I wonder at what he will create if I hand him a shoe box!
It takes him time, and he is willing to spend it. He uses up his lunch time and sometimes a little after office hours, as he waits for someone to send him the final file which he would then print and bind for the next day's meeting.

Today, he was not there in the photocopy room. I sneaked a photograph of his latest creation. It is made of the neck of a plastic water bottle (that makes the petals) and a pink and green highlighter pen and a blue ball pen and some sponge which came with packed materials. He showed the rough cut to me yesterday and I suggested some yellow in the flower center. Today I saw this, and used my camera phone to the best advantage - which is pitifully not much. You cannot see the details on the leaves, and the details on the stem and flower.



Any suggestions of going commercial are met with a smile and a shake of head. 'It is for myself to enjoy' is what he says and rushes off, delighted that someone liked it. I dont know his name, but I know his face, his work, and the meticulous way he washes his lunch box at 4pm at the pantry everyday, not leaving it dirty for his wife to clean,  like most other office boys do.

There are some things in life which seem so obvious that we often overlook them. Then, in a sudden moment of clarity one realises what it actually means.

For example, today morning while looking at some news report which mentioned M F Hussain, I suddenly realised the reason for the clamour behind his depiction of Hindu Godesses - he is Muslim. Perhaps that is not the only or the main reason, but even with such a name screaming out his religion, I never considered him to be anything except an artist.A wonderful painter - and then religion and country dont really come into the discussion.

When I talk to my friends, I do not think whether they are male or female. And then one fine day when someone asks me if 'X' is someone Im interested in, I realise the person is a man. OK, so it may seem obvious to many people, but sometimes to me, its a fact that has no real value - on a personal level.

Similarly, last night I met V and Vip and S for dinner. And on the way back I casually mentioned the irritating secret permanent account gifter - and while I was speaking I had the Moment of Clarity - V and Vip dont even know about this account of mine! Now I know them for eons, and we talk about almost everything under the sun. In fact, V and I have discussed writing and journal writing on many occasions. Yet, somehow, it never occurred to me that the URL of this blog had never made it to them. Not even when Vip shared his blog with me did it occur to me that the exchange was not mutual. It just seemed like it url had been shared ages ago - because the thought that I did not inform V of my blog was weird. It was so obvious that I missed it.
(So now that clarity has come, I hope V will become a permanent fixture in my comments field.)

Sometimes I have a conversation in my head. Then I argue with say, my Mom about what I told her and of course, she's never heard it before. To me, it is so obvious that I will tell her something that its inconceivable that I have not. Actually, I sometimes think its hereditary ;)

There are similar moments in every sphere in every place. Every person some time or the other faces the obvious and remains oblivious to it. Sometimes opportunities slip by and we dont even realise them. Doesn't every person have the moment when they truly admire something and yet do not say how much they love it because its so obvious to them that they like it that they dont concieve of a moment when its not obvious to the other person.

Small incidents and occasions which make all the difference in your own life and of those around you - and you dont even realise it! Sobering thought isnt it?

A decade ago mobile telephony was nascent. A very small cross section of people had cellular phones. But everyone had a 'black book'.
No, not the infamous Black Book which was not published in Britain, but the small diary which held the contact details of everyone you ever got contact details from. Called the 'black book' only be default, it used to come (and still does, I bet) in all shapes, sizes, colours and contact details columns. The one that resided near the home telephone was a grand creature, usually spiral bound with fancy covers. I remember ours, at one point of time looked like a normal book, with a thick cover sporting an in-built round telephone-like dial embossed into it, with alphabets instead of numbers. Dialling the alphabet opened the book automatically to the desired alphabet page. A red and a blue pen always resided beside the book.

A telephone diary with alphabetic sequencing, the black book necessitated you to carry a pen and doubled up as a place to jot down immediate notes in case of emergency. The 'birthday' option was not always helpful since it meant you looking at it at least once a month, but was definitely a first to keep track of some important dates.

My version was a slim, rectangular, chocolate-brown contraption with brass edges which I started using sometime in school - class 9 or so. Initially it was a token book - containing barely a few numbers and names - I had liked the diary and kept it. Then it was time for Class X. I had to leave school. Suddenly, the diary had a whole lot of entries under many more alphabets. The most details, however, remained with the scrapbooks and the likes - with quotes and details of 'friends'.
Though majority of the numbers remained unused, they remained on the book - I dint have the heart to cancel them out or copy out the used ones onto a new one. Slowly, over time new names kept getting added to it. By the time I finished my Class XII and moved to college, the diary had become an essential part of my bag. It had contact details of all people designated as important. Including the mailing address of some. Especially of my Class XII friends.

In college I carried the same book, by now not as shiny as it was, a thin but longish, palm sized alphabetical diary containing scribbles ranging from ink pens to ball point ones, handwriting varying from an immature scrawl to a slightly better version, and even caps at times. Some of the alphabets were close to their last pages. Most notably, the letters "s" and "r" and "a" had only half their capacity remaining. It was my first lesson as to how many of the people I know have names with these letters! (Stands true till date). I was still waiting for "q" and "z" to have an entry. And though I made half hearted efforts to weed out the unused/ expired numbers and make a copy on a new book, it never really happened. I, true to my nature, was too lazy to undertake a clean-up job.
Three years of college later, the book was an integral part of me. Never was it used as much as I did in those three years. Phone numbers and I were interwoven ferociously, which ensured that the notebook's edges were frayed, the brass a little twisted at points. Frequently I lamented the days when I had zealously written full addresses of my friends in an attempt to fill up space. Some lines had two entries in them, and some alphabets (yes, the S's and the R's) spilled on to the space of the next ones. "Q" had got its entry and so had "z". Unfortunately, I dont remember the names today.
I was busy in that period, so I justified no shifting from that book to a new one, but the fact was - it was now a part of me, and an evening out without it, carrying only my wallet was a little disconcerting at times. However, those were the days when I still memorised phone numbers. Rather, the frequent punching of them onto a telephone ensured they entered your subconscious and stayed lodged there - in the Long Term Memory slot.
During my MBA days too, the diary remained. And once or so every fortnight I would take it out at the phone booth. But it was now not so necessary except to note the details of friends not staying on-campus. But calling them was a rare occurrence - they were usually found lurking somewhere nearby in the end. The books use reduced to my week long vacations when I went back home to Calcutta, and found the time to meet old frnds.
Then I got my mobile phone. With its 'phone book'. It was inevitable, I had to sit down and copy all my numbers to the phone, and weed out the unnecessary ones. After I lost my numbers once from the phone, I took a backup on a new paperback diary, but never completed that list.
Over time I lost my brown much-used diary, but Im sure it lies somewhere. Now, all the requisite details are in electronic form. My phone houses numbers of people I dont remember. Some names are stored in codes as I moved from one basic phone to smarter phones. Some names have multi-zillion numbers as they took new details everytime they moved cities, or travelled. So when I dial a number after a long time I cannot remember which number to use and sometimes call four different numbers before pinpointing the correct one. Remembering phone numbers is out of the question.
I have backups in excel, on the internet and on my outlook address-book. They are constantly evolving and fluid, changing over a week or a month, and I never know which is the latest one, except the one on my phone.
The phone book is either a disaster or a life saver. It has all conceivable numbers - right from home delivery places to contacts barely ever called. And, the unavoidable, un-cleanable mess of expired data. Yes, Im still not an organised person when it comes to my phone book.
When I lost my phones a couple of months ago, I decided to clean up my data, and got it all together on an excel sheet. All that resulted in was transferring of those 400 odd numbers straight off to my new phone, with editing of numbers where only email addresses remained. Infact, I lost some of the numbers because of my zest in wanting to clean up. The urge to do so remains, but the enthusiasm is lacking.

As I grapple today with a missing phone (its got a problem and lying with the workshop), I miss a handy reference to phone numbers. All my numbers are on a memory card which I cannot use with the replacement phone, and my SIM card has a few bare details. I long for my black-book with its turned up alphabet pages, which I can look up while out on the road, walking, talking, travelling, and not necessarily in front of a computer screen. The phone book may have become second nature and very much "e", but without a requisite device, its unreachable. It is definitely self-organising in its own way, with unending pages, but sometimes I wonder if a limited number of pages is a blessing in disguise.

I think the black book will be back, in a smaller, shorter version, adding to the junk in my purse, but a requisite for the days when I lack my phone.

Experiences. As we grow older, we gather them. We want to do everything in our lifetimes. Some things we love, others we dont enjoy as much. But most are things we gain a history from, a 'have done' from. And some things we want to do 'at least once in life!'.

How much experience gathering becomes too much? Or is that impossible? (Most) People travel and see places. They love it. Some go in for adventure sports, and some others for different arts.

But things change. Perspectives change.

I have visited many places as a kid, and many more as an adult. Some places have overlapped where I remembered certain aspects from my childhood, but many times the objects look different as an adult.

I remember reading a short story in school called 'The Pomegranate Tree'. The father used to tell his son how big the pomegranate tree at his childhood home was, as compared to the 'runts' you saw where they lived. Finally, one day Dad and son travel cross-country to the old house, and the tree, suddenly is not big at all - its just an ordinary pomegranate tree, aged and old.
An trip probably both of them could have done without.
However, note that is memory is but a photograph of the past, often photoshopped. Over time not only did the Dads tree become bigger in his imagination, the real tree also grew older.

Consider Bungee Jumping. Someone might go ahead and finally do it. 'An experience of a life time'. After that they do river rafting, paragliding, whatever. But don't bungee jump - because they have done that, and got the experience.
But it remains an experience from the past. They will remember only the highlights after a month or two. Not the actual thrill of the jump.They can talk about it, but what of feeling the exultancy when jumping off? The heart-in-mouth feeling? The feeling's photographs remain, but the feeling does not.
Remembering bungee jumping does not make you feel the free fall and the tug of the rope.

If the point of the experience was the feel, does it make sense now that the experience is so old? Or does it count as never having done that activity since you cant feel it anymore.
It is, then, quite acceptable that a person who bungee jumped five minutes ago disregard the Experience of the early jumper. But that does not happen. What does happen is the young jumper wishes s/he could have done it earlier, and moved on like the Experienced one, to newer activities. And this may be because they too will be one-timers (or two timers) as opposed to weekly jumpers.

A city visited once still exists after the visit. And changes happen. To the visitor and the city. After 10 years can the person truly say he had visited the place and knows it? Or is that considered nostalgia and reminiscence? And looked upon with indulgent exasperation with recent visitors?

So how often does one need to refresh memory? How often is it that you need to go to a place you loved, so that its not a memory, but a real, live, experience. And, is it really required? After all, with so many things to do in the world, who has the time or inclination to shortlist a few activities and repeat them?

But then, when it comes to real love and like, we do. You like a city enough, you go there again and again, and might even settle there. And, afterall this is how the river rafters who raft every season become who they are - a seasonal rafter, not a one-timer.

For the common man however, it all remains an experience to remember and photographs to point at. And to say 'did you do this?' and 'is it still as cold'?
Because, I remember, when I had gone as a child, the cannons looked big, but perhaps now I can span them with my hands.
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And then I think, at least I saw them. At least I saw them once.

As most people (I presume) would know, FireFox 3 is being launched and they are planning a mega-event publicity thingy. (Guinness Re4cord for "most software downloads in 24 hours" by downloading FF3, the new FF version)

What's interesting on the site is the "Pledging' bit, where you pledge that you will download it on 17th June 2008, PST. It has a nice world map with colour codes showing which country has how many pledges.

That is the most interesting portion.

The countries with the highest pledges are USA and Poland. More than 100,000. Though Poland is just about 101k, and USA has more than twice as much, its interesting to note that Poland actually manages to enter that (top) group. Whereas Brazil (for eg), which is known for Internet usage, and definitely has a higher population, lags behind by 3K or so.

Is it that Poland has more FF users than Brazil and other countries? Or is it that Poland has higher population of educated people who have access to computers and Internet? This can be disputed by looking at France, which has 1.6 times Poland population, and has a higher GDP, yet a lower commitment to download FF.

The possibilities that come to mind thus, are - (hypotheses)
a) Poland has a much more tech-savvy population to total population ratio, who like to experiment with their browsers compared to other countries (developed or not)
a1) Poland has the highest number of teenage (+/-10 yrs) people compared to the developed/ high GDP nations, which ensures there are more people who can afford Internet and computer, as well are literate enough to use them and download new softwares (older people in the most developed of nations will also have an apathy towards setting a record by downloading on a certain day. They will do so in their own time.)
b) Firefox has a dedicated user base in Poland, who would do just anything for Mozilla/ FF
c) Polish people do not care about downloading. They just want to go there and ensure that their country looks nice and maroon on the map.
d) Polish people are suckers for Guinness World Records, and every homeless shelter installed a PC to ensure ppl can download FF3

I would go with not only (a) above, but also (a1) as being most logical.
Comparing with France, a better developed nation, with higher population, the median age of Poland is 37.6yrs, and that of France is 39.2. Hm. A difference in the median age of 1.6 yrs can translate a lot in real age terms. That does explain a bit, but not all, and definitely does not prove the hypothesis. To investigate further, I look at Italy.
Italy has 1.5 times the population of Poland, and has a median age of 42.9yrs. Yet, its commitment levels are 8K less than Poland. Again, the median age comes to play. UK (39.9), Germany (43.4), Spain (40.7) and Japan (43.8) also have a mich higher median age of their populations (larger or smaller).

Thus, age does have a role to play. Then what about countries like China and India? China's median population is 33.65 and that of India is 25.1 - lower even that of Brazil (29)! And these countries have much higher population, thereby a %age population who has computer and access to Internet - definitely comparable, if not an exact correct comparison.

But here we are talking of a higher conversion of population to voracious users in Poland than even in Canada (same population size but higher median age) and Australia (lower population, same median age) - countries with, I would assume, equal amenities and almost-similar standard of living, if not better.

The only the choice that leaves me with is a new option (e)- Poland's culture. All I know of Poland's culture is its tourism department is aggressive now, esp for India. And Poles are charming, industrious people - at least those Ive met. (They do have difficult names and English, but Ill pass that). Ill also glaze over their employment and taxation laws (horrid even as recently as 2005). But as far as downloading FF3 goes, they are one interesting country!

I, for one, would love to know of a culture which would make its people more adventurous, willing to try new medium, take part in international events with gusto, and in general, try new things. Because, that to me, summarises the event of mass downloading of a new Internet browser. Computers and Internet - a comparatively new medium, and a new browser - a willingness to try out something new, perhaps risky, but definitely not the in-built IE and taking part in a World Record breaking international challenge by just not downloading, but also pledging to do so.

The proof of downloading lies in actual downloads. Perhaps like I mentioned above, Poles simply like to commit and may not have as many downloads as pledges. But, the answer will soon be available, barely 24 hours away, and I would still like to know more about the Polish Internet System!

If most of my acquaintances are to be believed, they work all day, go home, eat, relax (with their partner) and go to bed. In office, work apparently is hectic, they barely scrape out time to eat, or talk to their colleagues (when they can).
Surf the Internet? Sure! Once in a while though, and rarely at home. Just weekends and the 'time between work'. Those who are stay-at-home have too many personal activities to succumb to the lure of the net. Are they lying? Well, about their presence on the web, I don think so. On the rest, I can't comment.

Of the zillions of people out there who download stuff, a hundred million does exactly the above - connect to the net, check mail, find a certain song/ movie/ TV show they want and download it. At max they go to a news-site.

So who gets the time to surf, and to check-out blogs?

'Mainstream' as they are considered now, blogs are still alien concepts to many modern day individuals. Twice in the past two weeks I have been asked by colleagues what a blog is (and I am not even talking of my parents generation) and how that makes them different from an Editorial. There are still TV shows which discuss 'blogging - a new tool' with introductions by the hosts and description by a blogger. Even those who see the presence of a "Blog" on a common information site like yahoo, rediff etc, barely ever venture to them, and even if they do, the quality is not good enough to keep them hooked. In that respect, I don't consider blogs mainstream for the real population. (Real population are those who are alive in the real world) It is a reality in the realms of the Internet.

Out of the millions of people who have Internet, the number of people actually using it for more than email and an occasional download will be few. For the rest, the funda of a blog remains unfathomable (whats the point?) or, they keep a private 'journal' - not a 'blog' - that too rarely online.

The few remaining are the Internet-ers. They scour the Web, search its nooks and crannies, and sometimes have a feed which they check on a regular basis - daily or weekly or even monthly.
They are the audience for a blog, an unconventional post, the unrelated surfing of the Net-waves.

And often, they can be classified.

There are others who spend all their time at home doing nothing but reading their feeds and finding new ones. Perfect. They are audience for drivel, and anything, as long as it is virtually available.

Then there are the repeats. The audience who goes to 50 different pages and searches 10 more. They are the traffic for most of the regular bloggers. If you read a comic online, you are bound to be reading at least 3 more. If you read a blog on political unrest, I can bet you are subscribed to the feed of its competitive blogs as well. The seemingly billion plus population population can become a few hundred millions of you just consider the repeaters. Every site does not have unique visitors, neither do they have a unique visitor for every single comment and click. The phenomenon of tagging reveals this. A Digger, a Redditer, a StumbleUponer, s Delicious-er... they can be the same person!

And then, there are the blog writers themselves. For most of the writers to be updated, they have to spend sufficient amount of time surfing and investigating the web. It is a commonly understood fact that to gain popularity for your blog one should comment on well-founded ones - its a cycle.

There is another pseudo-category. The people who stay at home, and their job entails reading on the Net.These are those who are editors, writers for speakers, public relations people, book writers - you get the idea. They need to be on the Net to know what's on it, and they do that all day long, every day.

Some of the people who read this very blog don't read any other, save the one odd article recommended to them, or further blogs of their other flesh-and-blood friends. They rely on word of mouth.

This brings us back to the question, who is a blog catering to, really? The person who is jaded by content on the net, is a voracious reader, or one who writes another? The population which falls in between is extremely small in comparison, and unadventurous. Repeat visits from that population is unconfirmed.

The one category that really makes a diligent blog reader is not the wanderer of the www, nor is it the other contemporary blogs and news sites. What really will differentiate a blog and ensure it is found is a category. A marketing blog, a finance blog, an angst blog, one on steel, on politics - blogs catering to a niche. This ensures the average marketing guy chances upon your blog, the economist reads you, and so on. Thus, you get found more easily on searches, and you get read. By all three categories.

That makes it the jaded Internet crawlers, the topic-dependant interested parties, the competition, the ones forced by work, and those who chance upon it by a random search (the last explains popularity of movie and sports blogs and the prior that of informative ones)

And Those, according to me, are the people who read a blog.

And, perhaps that is how big the Internet really is*.

Notes:
* By my logic, checking mail and reading the daily Times (or books tickets on-line) does not constitute an Internet user. A person who is willing to spend some extra time online, in pursuit of added entertainment/ benefit is someone who is really 'using' the Net. And thus makes it exist.

Population - The population I am considering here is the Average Joe/ Janice.
In my office of 1000+ people barely a handful (5-6) would be regular blog/ feed readers. I would say since this is the population that is floating within most companies, its a representative count? Plus, people who use computers and internet the most can be found in universities and work places. University people eventually end up in work places. And most of them still don't know what a RSS Feed is.
Talking of those who work in IT companies? Well, barring a few innovative firms, really, IT people and/ or software engineers are rarely the ones who indulge in the wacky world of the internet. At least that's what I have seen. They are drone workers. I guess that's what makes 'innovative IT companies' that. They have a group of individuals who are adventurous on the internet and thus know what is happening. Not too difficult to be innovative there now, is it?

Definition of a Blog - as understood by regular blog readers ;) Of course, in most parts I have talked of better known blogs.

As for the post itself? Well, I am sure there are statistics out there to support my claim (which brings me to the fact that like all statistics there will be those that prove it worthless - but those are untrue. Take it from me.). However, I am a lazy being who likes to inform people and not always scour the internet for supporting data. I believe that if you are reading it, Take it, you dare not leave it. ;)

As an aside, how would you categorise your blog? What is it about? And, what do you think my blog is about. It would be interesting to know.

Its that time of the year again when the weather makes me wax eloquent of the memories it evokes in my mind. There are weathers which remind you of other cities at different times, and places. There are weathers which remind me of a state of mind and body.

March. No matter where you are in India (almost) March has this distinctive feel and flavour. By March I mean not only the month, but the weather which usually signifies March. Its the onset of summers, and we are made aware of the heat and oncoming humidity all at once. After the mild and comfortable February, March brings dread of the oncoming months - the severe summer that is about to set in. It is the month that makes you realise the sultry heat (and its heat with a capital H) in India, the beginning of a season. It is also the month which makes you happy in a subversive way.

It is the month that as a child have always been associated by me of exams. Final examinations for the year and the summer holidays just after that. That sweet promise of vacations after a bitter week of being stuck indoors preparing for year end in School (and College).
Evenings pertain a typical langorous air, stillness all around, faraway sounds, slightly humid evenings, a slight cool breeze blowing in after a hot dry day... and the realisation of all this happening makes March a signature month.

Mingled with this realisation is the distinct feel of the city I am in. After a year spent in any city, the weather repeats. And brings back memories. Right now, I remember the feeling of being here last year. A ghost of the emotions I felt. Of the new discoveries I had made, of how my mind and body felt with each touch and fluctuation of an external stimulus. Of the sea from the guest house, of coming to this office for the first time, the tangy feel of conversation with my new colleagues, delight of the discovery of Fruit Cream at Haji Ali Juice Centre, friends who are no longer in Mumbai but were here to give me company then. The feeling also, of talking on a mobile phone still on roaming. And that of looking for a house, and finding one. A host of memories almost like a physical feeling. Tangible, yet far away.

Mornings and evenings, dawn, dusk, the warmth of the sun, the smell (albeit pungent) of the polluted sea, the hopes and uncertainties - all not felt a year ago in the flurry of activities. The memories remain, stronger than the actual incidences. They pile upon years and years of memories, intermingle together.The feelings experienced this year will remain with me to remember next year along with those of last year. Just like all the past ones.

The fear and uncertainties of examinations mingle with that of coming to the 'big bad Mumbai' and the anticipation and certainties of upcoming holidays with that of the liberation of moving here,to a new city and job.

I can remember almost every feeling I ever felt on a particular day of March through my twenty six years by the touch of that damp cool air in the evening when I stand by my window looking out at a city whose lights start twinkling with the onset of night. All in a single second, all individual, distinct, yet all so similar.

[Note: This is not for the world weary, or the non-Indian, or the been-there-thought and said-that population. This is for me, for myself, as means of putting down my thoughts, clarifying - more like clearing my mind from objects lodged over the past few weeks, all interestingly surrounding the one single topic - Marriage. Not mine, but an analysis of the various that have happened around me over the past two to three years. A spectator to the ins and outs of most of them, I feel as experienced in talking the walk as can be possible without ever walking the talk.
Its a tad long.
Now that I have the disclaimer(s) through, lets proceed in emptying out my brains contents and giving them a swirl]

Marriage - like the proverbial Hindi saying - शादी का लड्डू; जो खाए पछताए, जो ना खाए पछताए‌ - is an elusive concept. Most say is it indeed the sweet that can cause loose motions when eaten, and envied when not. Yet there is a growing majority (?) which seem to say sweets are passée, and they are happier off not having the craving, or the resultant medicine requirements.

The point however remains, that like most other animals, human beings also want to short-list one person with whom they would like to mate. Now, being the only animal species on Earth with "Judgement", humans also want a host of other qualities - companionship and what not.
Hence evolved a number of related customs (for with Man, everything becomes a custom, doesn't it?), including nuptials. Everywhere in the world, there is the custom by virtue of which a human being decides that they have had enough of being the "child" around, and they would want someone dedicated to listen to their woes and delights, of their age group. Parents just don't cut that figure (I'm talking of vast majorities). Hence, go acquire a mate. Someone of an age groups close to theirs, with whom sharing life would be tolerable, and in fact, favourable in many respects. It is the beginning of an adult life, hence living with a 'new' person may be just as good as someone with whom you have already spent 20 odd years of your life (including the time when you were dribbling spit and sporting rashes in nether regions).

In most customs, in interest of the gene pool, it is prohibited that the person marry someone related at all - even by quirk of fate - not as far as possible to trace anyway. While some others purport marrying cousins, if only to keep social ties and characters close, while allowing a growth in the genetic makeup - inasmuch as would be possible.

However, we will leave all that aside. The point is, people developed customs and in various ways and means, got married. All over. (And progenated, but then that story is for another day.)

With passing of eons, the main difference that arose in the making of a marriage, especially in India - was binary. In India, over years, the system of dating evolved to the stage where parents would find the best possible suitors through personal acquaintances and run you through them, and then after a suitable time you could choose the person you liked from among them all. (In a way much better than your friends choosing a list of people, or you short-listing on the basis of personal claims.) This is the so-called 'arranged marriage'. Of course, the system got corrupted and evolved into the monster(?) it is at the present date. Parents choose opposite sex person, you meet, say hello and tick against pre-selected basic criterion, marry. If you are from an "open-minded" family, you get to meet a couple more times before the rituals commence.
On the other side of the spectrum, you have the 'love marriage'. The marriage where boy meets girl, boy and girl fall in love, decide they should tie the knot. Simple - but not exactly a phenomenon common for every (un)common man.
[I would not like to get side tracked into the presence/absence/meaning/senselessness of 'Larranged' marriages and its cousins. For your understanding, marriages arranged where boy n girl also fall in love by first sight, or lucky you! the two processes happen simultaneously, independently]

However, an interest is noted in the tracking of 'success' of marriages. With 'developed' nations leading the way towards divorces and more divorces, many are led to wonder whether earlier generations were happier, or more compromising and accomodating, or simply, terrible in math. In a country like India, a divorce, to date, is uncommon. Generally accepted it is today, but till a few years ago - unheard of. The 'bad' people got divorced. (just like the flippant people had love marriages)
Did that outlook help? Perhaps it did force people to stay together longer, have more patience, and also, look through a new set of glasses at each other. It was torture for the socially-inclined, unhappy couples of course. But that concept was suited to the closed economy. Stabler lives, virtually unchanging life generation to generation could afford a little marital discord, we say.

Today however, it is a different scenario. A love marriage is what most parents would want - taking the headache of looking for a groom/bride off their hands. Yet, more and more couples seem dissatisfied. Sure, they married whom they wanted to - but like they say - the more things change the more they remain the same. Marriage essentially remains one of two families. Marry the person, sure. However, the family becomes part of yours. No one denounces their parents because they have a mate. Not usually, anyway. And hence springs Autumn in the land of newly-wed happily married totally in-love people. So much so that in some cases, that divorce becomes the new agreement and love may well take a hike through the universe.Sometimes love does come to the rescue - and sometimes Willpower does. Marriages limp through, and also flourish.

To solve that, many would fall back upon the age old arranged methodology. Marry two people from suitable families. Once the families match, habits and habitats do too, and chances of discord reduced. What about Love you may say. Oh - its companionship you want, not love. That comes later. When you get to know someone, Love, will come.
Only, it just never might. A clinical match-up of backgrounds sure does make living with an unknown person easier, but marriage is more than fixing up a room-mate in a hostel. The latter lasts for a couple of years - and the former - hopefully a lifetime. All said though, a tenderness does develop in most cases and though not as violent as the ups and downs of love, lasts much longer, through thick and thin. And that is saying a lot.

Considering that, it is simple enough to say settling down remains the key. When life poses challenges - no one can rise above Love or Matchmaking. When you live past the challenges, that's when you know where you stand - together or apart. And that's what makes a marriage. The ability of a couple of people to know each other, having adapted to Family or Personalities, lived through each day and emerge at the end of a decade and say - yes, we do, and will live together.

What about knowing the person before saying "Yes"? That, though a good benchmark, can be misleading. Everyone changes after entering into a 'permanent' relationship. It is but human nature. Ask the 5 yr old live-in couple why they divorced a year after marriage. A marriage is like no other relationship - no matter what it is equated to. And it is only when you are in it, apparently, that you know what it is. Whether you run to the loo or not, is another matter - and totally up to the participants!

Its finally a little cool in Mumbai - seems like a cold wave has made its way to India - and I am unable to enjoy it. Serves me right I guess.

It has been a long time I wrote anything substantial here (a see a lot of heads nodding - B@$!@rd$ you all - cant even be happy with a few mini posts?!) but unfortunately, it seems like I have forgotten all that I planned to write in the morning - today, yesterday, day before...That is the reason one should not reach office standing or with both hands busy, but with a piece of paper and pen to jot down ideas.
However, even that does not help. There are many small posts that I had started off on sometime in the past and never finished thanks to some undue interruption or something.
Here are three such posts, which I think were worthy of being finished yet were not due to unforeseen, unforgiving circumstances.
Yes, that's all that's going to be here in this post - a few unfinished posts. I wonder if any of them should be spent time upon to finish.

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Rajasthan is undoubtedly the tourist destination of India. But I can never imagine it to be the Paris of the world. It just cannot be. (Kerela counts? but then its the same story as Rajasthan)

Paris and .. lets say, Vegas - are all about structured beauty. Catering to the senses made to look at beautiful clean photographs, uncluttered and aseptic. Even the palaces of Germany are secluded, on clear horizons, large, and new.

Compare that to Rajasthan. Contrasts - camels, children, women, stalls. All in front of a 500 yr old wall of a fort. Dust billowing everywhere, coating everything, mingling with the dust formed from the stone of the fort. Not the calm serenity or structured beauty of Man made against nature. Not the option to make a man made architecture mingle with nature. Here everything is one with nature whether you want it to be or not.

India and Indians will never be clear cut, black or white; they will never be able to maintain rules and 'decorum'. They are inherently followers of entropy.

The concept of 'old world' merging with 'new world' is not understood by the common Indian person. To them, it is one and the same thing. Afterall, isn't the new borne out of the old? If there is no old, how can the new form?

To a person like this, scaffolding and cementing do not make sense. Why would you try to curb
<and I stopped here>

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How many times is a person allowed to make mistake?
And how many times can someone rectify it and hope not to commit it again?

Throughout your adolescent and child life you are sent to school and asked to think. Not just laterally, figuratively and literally. but simply, use your brains.

Then we do what most of us are expected to do - join a job to use our information loaded through all those school and college days.

And the first thing we are asked to do is - unlearn thinking.

We are taught not to question systems, do as we are told, apply our minds within designated narrow boundaries, and spend 80-90% of our times not thinking. At all.
<I was leading towards being old and new in an organization and it all linking up - but got interrupted>

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Sharper, colder air, dry weather, makes everything somehow more defined. More demarcated. More...sharp.
This can be seen in photographs of objects and events in the northern hemisphere. Lights are clearer, skies bluer. The dust, smoke etc. tends to settle faster. It seems.
I remember the mountains of Ladakh seemed so much clearer and closer than the Himalaya range in the eastern part of India - in Sikkim, Darjeeling, Kalimpong...
Leh was truly 'clear'. You could stand on a hill top and look far and wide. The skies were always clear (it being a cold desert). The mountain sides were clear cut and the river looked bright amongst it all. You could see the flags of a Monastry far away, just as clearly. Photographs taken there are just crystal.

The same can be said of hot arid regions. Deserts always emerge beautiful on film. Well marked colours make deserts a photographers paradise. No shot seems to go wrong. Even the heat emerging in layers from the earth, into the atmosphere, the mist of heat, seems marked out for all to notice. Standing on a dune top you can see the unchanging landscape for miles and miles.

In equatorial regions, however, everything takes up a halo. A hazy glow around, as you look at object around you.
<I meant to write a lot more, but I forgot>

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So, well, those were some of the 'snippet' posts.

‘To err is Human…’

(I shall not comment on the forgiving part, or divinity, as of now.)

So, to come back, to make mistakes is what apparently teaches us and makes us better human beings.

If you do not fail, you do not know the sweetness of success.

It is better to have enough ideas for some of them to be wrong, than to be always right by having no ideas at all.

It is on our failures that we base a new and different and better success.

Failure is instructive.

And of course, from the Man (Gandhi) himself, ‘Freedom is not worth having if it does not connote freedom to err.’

Yet, we are all afraid of making mistakes. We all dread errors, and try our best to avoid them. It somehow makes all the above sentences patronizing and hollow to think that it is only because we were not correct, that we seek shelter and sympathy in them.

So what is it about being right and wrong, making mistakes and not making them, that makes this whole thought so important. Why is it so important to be correct?

The whole idea rests upon the importance of the event. Some instances are ‘make-or-break’.

Making a mistake in the name of your most important client is not comparable to mistaking the name of an author during a friendly conversation. (Though at the moment it may seem so)

We all make different kinds of mistakes. To friends and family, mistakes are alright. But even they can get irritable if the same mistake is oft repeated.

What makes an ‘error’?

Some errors are endearing. But the reason they are errors are because they are not socially acceptable or, are incorrect deductions.

Humans are social beings. They have made certain laws and abide by them on a day to day basis, as a general untaught principle. To pass-by one of these laws is therefore considered an occurrence of a ‘mistake’. However, people usually rectify themselves on future occasions. Once you know the person is married, you will try not to connote them as single.

Other mistakes are those of a larger scale. Mistakes that cannot be rectified. Like an error of judgment by the judge and jury while convicting someone. Like walking out on your best friend.

Some mistakes seem larger than they actually are. They are the ones that hurt our pride. Small mistakes that we can laugh on later, at that precise moment they seem monumental. For example, the mistake in identifying a certain book section during a friendly debate with a couple of friends; an error in judging the correct route while going to an important seminar/ concert; making the proverbial ‘foot-in-mouth’ during a conversation. Unwittingly they may be escalated, but most times they are diffused and taken as what they are – small mistakes.

Personal life mistakes are again rectifiable, but not easy to do so. An error in an answer paper can change the course of ones’ life, dictating ones stand in class or, acceptability in certain institutions. A change in one’s career may be easy to talk of, but a mistake in choosing one is sadly, as common as it is unchanged. An engineer may have flourished as an HR manager in a company and a lawyer would have made a better statistician. Though an MBA gives people an easy way out of a career mistake, the other choices and avenues of change are not those that many people opt for.

We all err, we are surrounded by mistakes and leave a maze of un-corrected blunders behind us. The longer we live, the more we become adept at avoiding past mistakes, and uncovering new ones. Learning is a constant process, and unfortunately pocketed by mistakes. One does not learn to ride the bicycle unless one falls from it.

The only thing that we wish for, at the end, is skewing the mistake balance to fewer life altering mistakes and higher negligible ones.