So many times so many of us have compared our lives to the images SciFi writers had in the 80's. And we fell miserably short.

Where are the flying cars? The teleportation? The space travel? The Future is not here, we wail.

But then, I realised this is the Age of Data.

Information is everywhere. We are bridging the world, creating an enviable mass of information, available to anyone who cares to look. The internet has grown beyond any imaginable proportion. It is almost comparable to the Universe. No one knows its limits, it is forever expanding, and there are unlimited avenues on it.
Whatever the human mind knows today is available there. So much so, that now it is stated
"If it doesn't exist on the internet, it doesn't exist."
And the best part? It can be searched. Searched in anyway that we want.

Imagine someone who comes out into the world after 10 years of seclusion. The houses are the same, food is the same, cars are the same, flights are the same. People, mannerisms, clothes - everything same! (OK so fashion changed. But not drastically) 
But, the computer is OMG different. There are cell phones which can do everything except probably wash your clothes. Music players that can blow your mind and television that perceives more colours than your eyes.
Are they in the future? Yes. Definitely.

We are in the future. In the small part of it leading to the big revolution. The Sci Fi writers leapt ahead too fast. But we are going to catch up with them.

First, let us finsh the first draft of catalogue of the human mind.

Cooking was never a great deal in my family. Eating was, is and will remain big though. However, the Kitchen is primary in everyone's mind. Its a cardinal sin to have guests to whom only two courses are served, and with vegetarians my extended family knows not where to go. However, they survive with soya and paneer saving the day.

My paternal grandfather was a vegetarian in all senses of the word that a Bengali can derive. He ate fish, and the occasional chicken, but did not touch meat, eggs and garlic and ginger. Hence cakes for him had to be egg-less. My paternal grandmother was an eternal foodie. She loved food with an enthusiasm I am yet to encounter in another. She loved food for its worth and she loved to share. She loved it in masses and she loved people hordes moving towards it. Needless to say, the food was 90% of the time, non-veg. This meant she would not touch an egg-less cake with a barge pole. Even on days after fasting all day, she would ensure everyone ate what she was about to eat, because she wanted people to revel in the joy of food - even if it was a mix of boiled rice and potato.

On my maternal side, my grandmom loved to cook and made many delicious and now rare foods at home. My grandfather loves shopping. To him there is nothing better than feeding his guests prime produce from wherever he can. Even if it is an apple. Over the years he has made connections all over the marketplace and people keep aside their best for his verification before they sell it to another. Even now, when he goes to market rarely, he gets missives through the cook (who goes shopping now) about certain fish, vegetables and upcoming fruit bonanzas. To him and my grandmom, there was nothing more pleasant and important than feeding people right. And 'right' obviously meant loads of courses and fish in almost every one of them. Even on the rare occasions vegetarian food was required, there would be the exotic preparation to make up for the blandness.

Thanks to all this, one would assume cooking would be important and that the cooks would be over taxed. Interestingly enough, in both families, the cooks have had a decent enough life. The important dishes were always handled by who made them best. My paternal grandmom would make the mutton or the rare fish, while my paternal grandad would grill the kebabs or bake the eggless cake in his favorite GE oven (which he had shipped with him from London). Both would make periodic trips to the kitchen to advice and even take the cooking over from the cook, ensuring the meal would be good - even on normal days.

While my maternal grandmom was healthy, no cook dared enter the kitchen, but my grandad was the one who made all milk products - the ghee, the butter, even the fruit creams served as dessert on certain occasions. The menu was decided together and there was constant interference from grandfather while grandmom presided over the kitchen.

As a result, from childhood I have seen the kitchen as a pretty central, yet neutral area for the family. My father has always shown no qualms about entering the kitchen, even before his lifestyle demanded that. In fact, with his father being kitchen independent and my grandmother being blasé about cooking, it was but expected that he would have no hang ups about cooking. So it was that since childhood, rustling up lunch/ dinner depended primarily upon whoever came home first. When in the mood, my dad would make something exotic, and experience the wrath of my Mom (at the mess he would leave behind). If it were me, I had to make the rice, and I resorted to the simplest fried rice as an ends to all needs. All this of course, was when the cook were absent.
The same held true for morning tea/ coffee. My Mom being an early riser would typically make it for the family, but many times my Dad, up and about, would wake me up with coffee which he made while he made himself and my Mom tea. So, no one was spared. The kitchen is and was, everyones equal domain (scratch that - my Mom does have more rights over it). Actually, the eventual (p)resident of the kitchen in all these houses has been the cook. No one cooks unless they want to, and then there are no hangups as to who that person is.

My father is visiting, and yesterday, my maid/ cook took leave. Armed with this prior knowledge my Dad took it upon himself to make me lunch and as I discovered later, dinner. The lunch was quite tasty, and quite unlike what my cook makes (it was luchi and cauliflower-pea sabzi). On letting my colleagues and friends know that my dad cooked for me (thrilled as I was with his excitement), I met the astonishment and a general level of awe. Which is when I realised, how in most families, men consider cooking the 'womens' job and rarely, if ever go there. They would rather order first (correct me if Im wrong). Considering how important food is to a family, I never cease to get amazed by this. How can something so innate to the family's well being remain the stronghold of one person. I have never understood men who cannot (and will not) cook. Innately, I have found it unnatural.

My maternal cousin brothers also being from the Army are fairly well equipped in the kitchen and take pride in making their speciality dishes when they are home - it is not unusual to see my aunt throw up her hands in despair as my brothers coach her on making the cheese omelette or the even gravy chicken - this when they dont even have their own kitchen to experiment in - till they take over and proudly feed the end result to whoever is present.

As kids I remember my paternal brothers and I would close the kitchen door from inside in our attempt to make food (of which we had no idea) where I being the youngest would be given the menial tasks while my brothers tried their hands at cooking.

Cooking in my family has always been a family affair, genderless, ageless. It has been one place to showcase ones strengths and prowess. And the place to have discussions. As children we were expected to hang around the kitchen to ensure any of my elders listened to what I had to say. Else, it was over the dinner table that the most important and eclectic discussions were held.

Creating something sumptuous has always been a plus and being unable to enter and cook in the kitchen, well, as of now its unheard of, so I dont know what the reaction to it will be, if ever. I hear of people talk about how in x,y,z family the guy helps in cooking and how great that is. It usually does not effect me. Till I realise that its an exclusive affair and the men cant hold a handle to save their lives - or rather, wont. I have usually seen the chef make everyday food, under guidance from my mom, but my Dads never restricted his opinions either.

So, to me when my dad makes food for me, its not an unusual honour. Its his way of relaxing, of checking out what my life is like (by seeing what I eat) and also, in some way, contributing to the house. When he made lunch for me, I was delighted - it was nice to be woken up with coffee after so long, and not many Dads would pack a lunch - I had expected just a dinner. Of course, when in the evening I went back and found the kitchen a mess, I could totally empathise with my Mom losing her temper after my Dads cooking sprees.

And, after being told that I have too many things in the living room (like decoration pieces, TV, DVD player, computer, etc etc), I was ticked off for not having a proper 12pc cutlery set >.<

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I have suddenly realised Ive been on 'radio silence' for a while now. No outgoing emails, except the occasional reader items, no phone calls, and no blogs. I suppose I have been busy with innumerable things, but I know for sure, that the state will not ensue for too long. Goodness! The last few week shave meant I have written many posts in my head, but not translated one of them onto paper or a computer.
Meanwhile a colleague left the company for good, and I discovered I have a silent reader (SK), who hopefully will also comment whenever she gets the time.

There are some words which can entice a reaction out of whoever hears it. The reaction can be good/ bad, jealous/ happy.
Goa is one such three letter word. It's not just the word Goa, sometimes its also whats added ahead of it - something like "I'm going to Goa" or, "I'm coming from Goa".

Goa has seeped into the subconscious of every Indian (and many non-Indians) as a place to party. The place synonymous with 'holiday'. An endless beach front open to days of lazing, lying around, reading, drinking, partying...whatever you want. It does help that the place is Portuguese effected with quaint houses, old churches (including a saint) and gorgeous food (being India, the veg food is also great). The people seem laid back and mostly fun. And its unimaginable to consider someone hard at work in Goa. Goa means less inhibitions, casual clothes, drinks, dance, carnivals.

The place offers every kind of beach to anyone who wants to find one. And infact, even if you dont want to find one. From Hippie retreats to secret alcoves known to select foreigners, to highly commercial and populated beaches. From rocky sands to smooth melt under your feet sandy beaches. From places where you get families, children and lots of playthings, to beaches close to rave party locations or plain, quiet, quaint bars serving authentic drinks from anywhere in the world. Goa has always meant something to everyone (even Europe) - right from the Portuguese era dominion, or the Goa Inquisition to modern day hippie/ dopers brought in dead.

Yes, Goa brings many things into people's minds - but nothing more than the term 'Superb Holiday'. It is incomprehensible for people to imagine one going on a disastrous trp to Goa, though that may very well be likely.
However, whoever admits that?
Being in Bombay, its almost a done thing to go to Goa, as it is one place from where the Union Territory is highly accesible; but its surprising to note how few people actually have been there.

My last trip to Goa was quite a few years ago, and since then I have wanted to go there again. Well, tomorrow evening I depart for Goa, meeting my long unmet freinds sashdude and rexzilla who also make their way from equidistant locales.

Yes, we are going to Goa. That phrase has had many interesting reactions in many people who have cared to ask about the weekend ahead of me. For my colleagues who are married, the phrase has been modified suitably to 'Im going to Goa with the remaining bachelor frnds from my group' and look of longing and jealousy, and a plainly written story of imagination running wild in their minds is enough to make the trip worth it, in advance.

However, what really takes the cake for the trip is the scenario of gloom, doom, impending year-ends and uncertain appraisals, distraught companies, distressed freinds and unceasing work pressure with an island of three days of bliss. Perhaps the trip will not be calming. Perhaps it will  be too hectic. Perhaps spending so much time in-person with people whom I spend phone and internet hours will be ... different. and then, perhaps not. Perhaps the air in Goa will magically make every worry vanish, like we hope it will. Perhaps being together will make every problem diminish and perhaps the pains needed to reach the haven will make the paradise seem better.

Whatever it is, we all are positive, eager and definitely looking forward to it as a solace, a meeting point and definitely a time to finally lift our glasses together, actually, physically clink them and cheer at our fortunes. To begin a year well, so that all ends well when it does, to have fun as bachelors - foot loose and fancy free as long as we can. To make our physical selves meet more often than our virtual ones. To cut away from our daily grind of office rumors, stock markets, news on the internet and squeels of anger from bosses, not to mention the daily nuances of routine life (actually thats not quite so true. I dont think I or any of these two really lead routine lives)

The thought is enough to put a spring in our step, and the apprehension is enough to make us joyful, enough to have brought a smile to our faces in the middle of a non-stop busy day; enough to make us crack silly jokes and mentally go 'Whee!'.
Goa, here we come!

A large part of this post is basically about developing the 'mood' for the scene. Hope you appreciate the dialogue at tend.

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So when Im flying back I am unable to check in by web or phone, and therefore get the worst possible seats on the counter check-in - the Middle Seat.
I board the flight and soon the window seat person arrives - a young man. He doesn't get much chance to say or do anything since while getting up I misjudged the height and bumped my head. But I can see palpable excitement in his demeanor after he sits down and studiously glances outside the window while passing surreptitious glances in my direction when possible.

Soon after, the guy on my right arrived. Another young man, pale and slightly pimply. He gives a definite suppressed smile as he puts his bag in the overhead counters. But the moment he sits down opens the newspaper and stares at the Su-Doku/ Crossword there.

As for me, I am just relieved by the strangers. Last time the same thing happened to me, I was stranded between a middle aged man and an ex-colleague whose name I did not remember. And who went on to enquire endlessly on my work and talk about his. Not to mention talk about his 'frequent client paid air travels' while showing surprise and ignorance at the usual air routines. I had finally shut him up by answering him very rudely in a high volume and then firmly plugging in my earphones and closing eyes. Since then I saw him once on the road in Bombay - I was in a car, he was on the pavement. I hope thats that. Oh! He also talked about his family and was disappointed im still single and sans kid.

So I lean back and think when in the coming two+ hours any of these guys will talk to me. Sometimes they talk, most times they dont - the Indian male bashfulness helps. Plus, I had already read the in-flight magazine and forgotten to carry a book or music player. Lady Sleep would have to help me.

The flight however, was delayed by a quarter of an hour thanks to some protocol or so, and we kept taxiing for a long time. I was bored to the core, and sitting with my chin in my hands, staring ahead and sometimes out of the sliver of window that Pimple-scarred, Excited guy (P-s E guy) next to me left open for viewing.
Then I heard a "So!" I look at P-s E guy (who is also oily I note) and see a large brilliant flash of white - a la Happydent White. (Lest I forget, it was also accompanied by an enthusiastic raising and dropping of arms on knees. With some force.)
Oh. And its a direct flight to Bombay from Calcutta.

P-s E: So! *Smile* (Very excited and slightly fidgety)
Me: *Sitting with disgusted expression* turns head towards him slightly
P-s E: So, you are going to Bombay?
*split second pause as I just stare at him*
Me: Raise eyebrows
P-s E: hah! eh! well! this flight is going to Bombay! Everyone on this flight is going to Bombay. Heh. Stupid Question eh. he he. *Looks embarrassed and nervously seeks window and looks back*
Me: Imperceptibly nod, remove chin from hand, concentrate gaze at the seat in front.

Guy on my right: Promptly folds newspaper and goes off to sleep. Does not get up even after plane lands.
Me: Peaceful flight, though including further delay at Bombay >.<

Lesson: If you want to initiate conversation with single girl on seat next to you, say something more interesting than the common destination.Especially if you are so obviously enthusiastic about starting conversation. She will not take pity and help out an uninteresting stranger make idle chit chat with you.