Wisdom...

There are times
I’ve suffered shipwreck in my journeys:
In perils of robbers;
In perils of false brethren:
In perils of my own design.
Yet, from these perils comes knowledge:
Only from within may we truly shine.

Tupac Shakur

Countdown to 2008

Cant wait for this year to end. Those who know, know why :) 2008 will be a great year, me thinks!!

Really, I mean, SERIOUSLY??

Two accidents in less than 10 days? C'mon now!

Its coming together...

Finally, after weeks of writer block, I am able to get my essays together. It's amazing how hard it can be to put 400-600 words together about what you want to do with your life, or what your achievements are.

2 down, 3 to go.

The Anti Guru

Someone at the coffee shop told me about this guy called UG. A pretty popular philosopher of Indian descent who eventually settled in CH. He came to call himself the Anti-Guru, because he believed that most gurus and ammas were money making shams. My kind of guy. He called his teachings the "open source" of philisophy.

Here's something in this philosophy that I found super interesting. A well defined description of human conciousness.

The human self-consciousness is not a thing, but a movement, one characterized by perpetual malcontent and a "fascist" insistence on its own importance and survival.

True that!

My Target Audience (Someday...)

(Thank you Lynn, for letting me steal this off you fb album.)

My friend Lynn and a couple of other folks are doing some awe-inspiring work in Zambia. More details at the SmarCare wiki. Check it out.

Men(r)sa Vain

Ok. Ok. I'm bored. After my accident last Friday, all I seem to be doing is popping pills of different colours (which I must confess is kinda fun, I can pretent to be a substance abuser at last,) physiotherapy and checking email. Since the year's drawing to an end, work's literally slowed down to a trickle and everyone's begun to send holiday greetings via email that take up the precious little 450MB of mailbox space that I get.

Thea popped in today to drive me to my physio appointment. On the way, we talked about a whole bunch of stuff, but most importantly about IQ scores. She asked me what my IQ score was, and I told her I didnt remember exactly, but I did take a test in highschool and the score was around 150. I also told her that I joined Mensa, but quit soon after, since every one was hell bent on proving how damn smart they were and I just dont like to flaunt.

Well, you have nothing to worry about. People, esp. guys begin to lose about 3-5 points a year after they hit 24-25, she said. You mean I could actually become more stupid, without knowing anything about it, I quipped. She smiled. It was a devious kind of smile, with part malice and part satire mixed in. I wondered if she was jealous of the fact that I could always hold my own in Scrabble, when we played. Maybe she was secretly banking on this aging phenomenon that was partial to men, to beat me some day.

After she brought me back home, I knew what I wanted to do. I would take an IQ test online. So I scoured the web for the most difficult IQ test I could find. Even willing to pay the $20 that I was being scammed to part with. But the things we do for vanity.

30 minutes later, I had completed my test. I got an email with my detailed results. The score was pretty good, apparently in the top 1% of all humans. The report says that I am very good at Math, Spatial Skills, Logic, Memory, Utilization, Intuition and Computational Speed. I was super happy, atleast someone believes in my native talents, even if I have to pay them to get that vote of confidence.

So, the next thing to do was to call Thea. I did.

Hey Thea, guess what?, was my opening line. You took the test, didnt you?, was her reply. Awkward silence followed by guffaws of laughter. I cannot believe this, I've been played by a wannabe shrink, I told her. Hey, it got you to laugh, she said.

Yep. It got me to laugh. Thank you Thea!

What's in a name?

Apparently, your name decides how likely you are to be a wealthy and successful individual. ABC7 carried a story about it, so I decided to check out this recently published research paper. They did 5 studies and realised that people whose names begin with A or B have a chance of getting a higher GPA than people with C or D. And getting into a better law school, choosing a partner whose name begins with A or B, and so on.

Baloney! But then I immediately googled for any studies done for people who's name start with "S" and their likelihood of finding fame, success and a buxom blonde (metaphor, though not particularly averse to the literal either.)

Guess what? People with first names that start with S are sensitive, solitary, sagacious, sensual and often successful. It's sound research, the website claims. Now there's a reason to be happy, me says.

Just Spiel..

I was looking through notes from my first year of employment at my current place of work. A notable speaker, an executive, who was recently fired for developing a "special" bond with his assistant spoke the following words:

When choosing a team or hiring someone in business, the most important criteria is not necessarily just what they can contribute today. A great manager or leader must also consider an individual’s growth potential and may often have to take risks to help that individual grow. You are a good leader if you hire people who are smarter than you, help them discover and develop their key strengths and in doing so put them on a path to success.

At the time I was so excited that I was part of an organization where people took risks and bets on individuals with potential. But through my own experience and those of my peers, I somehow feel that it was nothing more than rah-rah talk to a bunch of precocious youngins.

I've spent three supercharged years, and am quite frankly very burnt out and find myself not challenged in any significant way.

So what is one to do? Quit whining and do something about it, is what I've always told myself.

I really see no other option than quitting and finding a new job. Or going back to get an MBA.

Ideally, I'd like to take a couple of months off from everything, go back to my favorite place on the planet (a small cottage nestled in the Himalayas where my folks took me often when I was a child) and just do the things that I like - read, cook, hike and be around people who havent been corrupted by materialism. Maybe that will help my spirit recover and my mind refocus.

Hope this is more than just spiel...

11/30: A Series of Unfortunate Events

11/30 takes the cake for the worst day in my recent history. Here's a brief snapshot of what went down.

5 am: Wake up on 3 hours of sleep for an interview.

9 am: My mother calls to let me know that my dad is going in for a 3rd round of emergency surgery, in a span of 20 days.

9:30-1:00: First few interviews and lunch with a friend. Things were going well, or so I thought.

1:00: Walk into the room of the hiring manager for another interview. While she's getting settled in, I get a migrane attack. Havent had one in years, and in the meanwhile I am being blasted to come up with a marketing plan for a scuba diving company that is trying to target a niche segment made up of "hydrophobiacs" (not even a real word.) I've got to give it to her though; She senses that something's wrong and walks with me to the water cooler, where I pick up a token drink. It didnt occur to me then, but I should have pulled out some headache pills from the first aid cabinet. Overall, I did not acquit myself well to be able to accurately represent my abilities. (Whatever!)

2:00-2:30: Luckily I get a break to run to my car to see if I am carrying any pain meds. I have Tylenol, so I pop 5-6 of them and go back for my next interview.

2:30: The interviewer (Victor) is an awesome guy. For the next 60 minutes there isnt a silent second between the two of us.

3:30: The interviewer is a no-show. After waiting and leaving several voicemails, the guy sitting in the next room tells me that my interviewer is out to a going away party. Yay!! Only if he would have been courteous enough to provide prior notice.

5:00: On the 5S heading towards the airport, I get into an accident. A tire burst causes me to veer off my lane and get hit by an incoming car. Very shaken, and with shooting back pain, I exchange insurance information with the other driver, call a cab and get on my flight to LA. After being checked out by a doctor offcourse, who tells me to take it easy for the week and get more tests done to ensure that I didnt damage any vertebral discs.

I come back to LA. My back's killing me. Everything seems to be in the dumps (literally.) I call up my mom to see how my Dad's surgery went. Very tired, it doesn't take much for me to fall asleep and bid such a foul day goodbye.

Kyun Tum Aise Nahi Ho Bhaiya?

One of the benefits of living in a large metropolis like LA, that one never feels too far away from their culture. One ritual that my roommate and I routinely have begun to follow is to watch a Hindi flick once a month.

Yesterday, I saw Laga Chunari Mein Daag (metaphorically - I'm tainted.) Two lines from the the title song stuck with me.

Majdhar Mein Hamri Nayiya
Phir Bhi Dekho Mast Hai Hum Bhaiya

(A tempest rocks my boat;
Behold, we are still merry my friend.)

Some recent experiences have taught me one fundamental lesson; Tis' not the number of setbacks one endures in life that define an individual's strength, but the pace at which an individual recovers from such interruptions.

Gladly the three most foul weeks of my life thus far are behind me.

vitaminA

I heart you sooooo much... (there, I said it =D)

connecting the (.)s

Last night, sitting on the sandy shore of MB, digging into an Angus burger, I remembered Mr. Jobs famous words from his 2005 commencement speech. That one can connect the dots only when one looks backwards. So far everything has made sense. The ocean and I have a strange bond, that I've shared on many moonlight nights. It silences the noise that plagues my mind sometimes and gives me direction. T'was a good time.

happYness

The summer's finally here. Things are going well. And there is this feeling of unreserved bliss that has descended upon me. It's hard to describe. Several reasons. Amsterdam finally came through, but it's lost my attention. Funding was approved for "the project." Much love to those Pasadena Angels. I think we'll be able to produce v1 by December. Things with Adrienne are going well. Works not too bad either. What more can a bloke ask for yeah?

The Reluctant Fundamentalist

Ever read something that makes you feel that an author squeezed your life's experiences and used it as ink to write a story? Your story?? That's how I'm feeling. At 12:48 am.

Earlier today, before heading out to the gym, I stopped by at the library to pick up a book. Some people like to listen to music while they workout, I like to read. It's probably the only time I get to do so.

As I began to read the first few pages of Mohsin Hamid's book, I immediately felt a connection. It touches on so many themes of my life. Perhaps the life of every immigrant. How one feels like a child outside the candy store, always looking in. How one's always observant, because deep down there's a feeling of not belonging. This book has moments that will make one scream - thats so me. It seemed to touch on every emotion or sentiment I've ever pondered on.

As I read, I saw how Changez (the protaganist) asked the very same questions, I did, probably still do. And finds no answer, just confusion. Changez's enlightenment comes at the hands of Juan-Bautista. Juan's description of the jannissaries makes Changez realise what he became and gives him the strength to give it up.

184 pages. 5 hours. Ends a bit weirdly, but great read!

In other news, I met up with Adrienne for coffee after working out. Told her about this book and shared some childhood memories with her. She made a pretty strange comment; "Your memories of a few moments have so much intensity. And my entire life, there isn't one thing that can rate as highly on an emotional thermometer, as do your memories and accounts of your life."

I dont remember what I told her, but really, why am I surviving on memories instead of cultivating more of them?

Dil Mera

Some songs tug at your heartstrings. This one eloquently sums up the sentiments of most twenty something yuppies trying to make it through this world of steel and stones.

In Dinon Dil Mera

Mujhse Hai Keh Raha

Tu Khwab Saja

Tu Ji Le Zara

Hai Tujhe Bhi Ijjazat

Karle Tu Bhi Mohabbat!

Check out the entire playlist for Life in a Metro here. Must watch flick!

Had a Great Day!

Since I worked over the weekend to prepare for Tuesday's meeting, I had a lot of time on my hands today.

I met with two folks that I havent seen in a long time. Met Svet at her Hamilton Lane office and then we walked to get some coffee. She told me of some positions that were open in the San Francisco office and promised to put in a good word for me. I told her I'll get back to her at some point.

I also caught up with Nitin over dinner. Poor guy couldnt even have dinner in peace on account of the several phone calls and emails that keeping flying in while we ate at this Italian place. Anyways, we did manage to catch up and he told me about how things were going at UBS.

And now to bed cause I have an early morning tomorrow....

I Love Pink!

And this is one of her best songs; Dear Mr. President.

Powerful...

Lamar, the $150Billionaire

I'm mentoring this kid through the Big Bro/Sis program. Once a forthnight I do something social with this new friend of mine. Last time we went to Trump National for Sunday Brunch. For $35 its steal and lets everyone have a piece of the glam life. Especially an aspiring kid, who needs all the dreaming he can get.

Lamar was super happy last fortnight when I brought him back. But this morning he was a visibly peturbed about something. After some small talk, I ventured to ask him what happened. I'm supposed to report any domestic issues to the people who run the program.

It's nothing, Lamar said. Really? Come on, you can tell me dude, remember its all no foul, no fault. No foul, no fault basically a policy to foster discussion that includes controversial topics and under complete confidentiality.

Well, SharG, you know the place we went to last time? Yeah, what about it Lamar? People like me dont belong there, he said. You've seen where I live, and for you to take me there. I dont know what it is but it depresses me. That brunch is half a day's work for my mother. He had read the menu and remembered.

I didnt know what to say. Is there a place you'd like to go today Lamar? You can pick things to do too, y'know!

Let me think, he said. For the next 10 minutes he just looked out of the window. And I thought to myself. Oh great! Now what do I do to cheer this dude!

Then, he turns his head. You remember when you told me about yourself in college. When you didnt have a lot of money to do things. Take me somewhere you went when you were broke.

I was close to the Adams exit. Sure Lamar, I'll take you to this place called Chanos. I think it should be open, lets give it a shot.

We ran through the drive through. I told him a couple of stories about the place. How this was the place to eat after a late night of homework or an all nighter at SAL. Or after a night of clubbing, though I rarely did that after my freshmen year.

We got our food, I drove him by the house that I lived on Orchard, the place on Severance where mah gal used to live. I parked by the Christian Science church on Adam and we began digging into our food.

What did you dream to be as a child? Lamar asked. You know Lamar, I had very strange ambitions. So take this with a pinch of salt. When I was 4, I wanted to be a locomotive driver. Then when i was 7 I went to an airshow and saw these big jets flying around. So, at 7 I wanted to be a fighter pilot. When I was 11, I saw this movie with my friends where this guy managed a club of cabaret dancers. So at 11 I wanted to run a club. Dont tell Judy (program administrator) about this, ok.

At 13, I began to enjoy computers, games and programming and ever since I wanted to be a Computer Engineer. When I got to USC though, I wanted to do something big, something that makes an impact, something that can change the world. I wanted to work for the United Nations or Doctors without Borders to help people who didnt have as much as us. But I also need to make money and get a job. So I started working, and now, I want to have a net worth of $2M by 30. If I get there, then I can go follow my dream of working for a non profit.

But your dreams keep changing? Is that because you gave up?

Man, can you believe this? A 14 year old kid was into these profound subjects of life. At 14, all I thought of was games, comics and girls.

Its no so much as that I gave up. I think everyone can dream and achieve what they want. But sometimes, one has to figure reality into the situation too, and just wait a while longer to get to their dream. Yeah, it was a bull shit answer. I couldnt think of anything else.

Do you think if I dream about something I can? Seriously?  I think you can be whatever, whoever you want to be Lamar. But you have to work for the dream. Life's tough, people can be mean, you may not get what you want, but if you focus you still have your dream. No one can take that away from you and you have every chance at it, jsut as good as the next person.

Yeah, yeah. I saw the pursuit of happyness too...

We laughed. I got on the road again. I had promised Lamar a game of miniature golf. Which he called put-put. I must say I learn a lot about American culture through this kid. A lot about inner city culture. A lot about poverty. I'm so grateful for the comfortable life I've had.

My dream is to be a billioniare Sharjeel. Like 150B. Is that a lot of money? It's a lot of money for sure Lamar. What would you do with it?

I'll give you a billion cause you're so nice to me. I looked at him, visibly touched. And what about the rest Lamar?

I'll give it to all the poor kids like me, so that they can spend more time with their folks,  have a house where everyone has a room. And so that everyone can go to college. So that everyone can feed their family. That's what I'll do with it.

Amen to that Lamar. Amen to that!

San Francisco, Miami and Sin City

I love my job. Why you ask?

Take this as an example; Next week I am in San Francisco, attending a tech summit on Monday and Tuesday. Then I go to Miami and address a bunch of business leaders on the business of technology and how my company is at the forefront of innovation. On Friday, I pack my bags and head out to Las Vegas again to address a gathering of business leaders on the opportunities in education that are being created through technology.

And all the while I am doing this, I must admit, I will find time to have some fun. Meet with a couple of friends in San Francisco, hit a couple of clubs in Miami and Las Vegas. Love it when I get to play.

So... anyone interested in kicking it in Vegas next weekend? Gimme a shout yo!

Why Dont You Do Something About It?

Somebody ever asked you that question? A and some of her friends moved to the South Bay area a couple of weeks ago. And we've hung out fairly often. It's just easier too I dont have to drive to LA or Torrance, where most of my pals have sought residence.

It's fun too. Always have a good time doing different things. Pour exemple, I always wanted to decorate my place. Somewhere in the middle, with the constant possibility of a move and the sheer economics of buying expensive things to make my townhouse look trendy, I lost steam. But helping A and her two friends move in has been fun. Trips to Ikea and Pier 1, painting the place, installing cherry floors etc with these gals made me feel really involved with interior design at their new beachside apartment. Actually, I feel more at home here sometimes than I do at my place. I've got a nice place, but its always lonely and its just nice to come back from work and kick it with a couple of people.

Today was a sort of informal housewarming party. Just the three gals, our mutual friends Mira and Anu. Everybody brought some food and there was shrimp and steak that was marinated two night before by us and ready for the grill. I took a bottle of wine instead. A has a thing for dessert wines, so I took a special Asti that I picked up from a wine store that is run by a good friend and drove to El Porto straight from work.

A was happy hosting and getting the evening started. We've known each other for about 4-5 years now. She was an intern at Disney, were introduced at an intern event where we saw a movie that totally tanked on the box office. A and I were sitting next to one another and substituted the otherwise boring flick with our own commentary to regale other members of the audience and ourselves. We snuck out early when someone shushed us, went to the sub place in Westwood and had a Diddy Reese's ice cream sandwich. We've been really really good friends ever since. She left for NY for a couple of years, worked for L'Oreal and then moved back to LA. And she moved literally down the street. I've always wanted to have a Friends like set-up where there are people next door that you can go and hang out with if one needs company.

I met Mira through A. I'd always see her when A and I were doing big group activities. Mira and A are very close from what I gather. And she was the first of A's friends that I met before being introduced to other friends. (Read "that" friend.)

An Asti eh? Mira asked. It looks good, do you mind uncorking it? Sure Mira. And off I went to uncork and pour out the libations to get the evening started. Mira came by when I was working on the cork.

Do you like her? Mira asked. Who? A? Yeah, I like her was my response. I mean, do you like her, like her repeated Mira with a wry smile. For a moment I saw Wendy in her plaid skirt from the Wonderyears. That was such a good show. Sharjeel, answer the question, she persisted.

I guess, I mean, I do. And I really do like her, because she's always been real and totally DTE with me. Why dont you do something about it then? Mira said. It came out of no where. I just diverted the conversation on the pretext of finding a wine glass to pour her Asti.

Sometimes people say things and it echoes in your head. At the table, my eyes fixed on A, vivacious as always and super attractive in a black and red floral printed dress she was wearing. Chatting with everyone, giggling, shaking her head, her wavy brunette hair following. And all that while Mira's words kept reverberating. Why dont you do something about it? Why dont you do something about it? Why dont you do something about it?

At the conclusion of dinner I brought my dishes to the sink. You were a little out of it today huh? Yeah, I was A. Just a long day at work y'know. She put her hands on my shoulder and gently rubbed them. That was so good. I think I'm going to leave a little early, have an early start tomorrow. You sure? You can sleep here if you want to stay longer. Thanks, but I have some work to do too, I told her. I'll be out of town for the next two weeks, we'll go to Goodstuffs when I get back for breakfast.

Fo Sho, she smiled. Well, you be a good man and get some rest tonight. She said. Then walked me to the door, down the stairwell, gave me a hug, rubbed and patted my back and waved goodbye.

As I drove back I mulled over what Mira said. And am still thinking as I write this blog. And over my bergamot and cigar, that I just finised I decided that I'm not going to try. If something has to happen, it should without deliberate effort.

Right as I'm wrapping up, the Tivoed episode of Boston Legal plays on my flat screen. A Dean Martin song in the background ...

You're nobody 'til somebody loves you
You're nobody 'til somebody cares
You may be king, you may possess the world and it's gold
But gold won't bring you happiness when you're growing old
The world still is the same, you never change it
As sure as the stars shine above
You're nobody 'til somebody loves you
So find yourself somebody to love

The world still is the same, you never change it
As sure as the stars shine above
Well, you're nobody 'til somebody loves you
So find yourself somebody to love

(And last night I was with this friend, who has somebody that loves him and he just dont seem to care. Funny, this world is...)

Sperm Warfare

Last night I watched Sperm Warfare with a friend at the Matrix on Melrose. I thought the play was funny but very over the top. Then again, having acted two plays a year through high school I realise that overdramatization is also a theater technique. And especially in the case of this one, where there's marital discord, the director may have just opted for that.

My favorite part of the play, besides the humor, was the scene wherein this buxom nurse takes her shirt off to encourage the main actor of the play to contain his sperm in a plastic cup, because his wife is in need of an IVF child, having hit her 40s. There were many folks who gushed at her beautiful buttery skin and silken blonde tresses that fell on her near perfect shoulders. Not to mention her beautiful green eyes that always seemed set upon you.

Dont believe me? Take a look.

Her's was the most accomplished performance last night.

After 1.5 hours of watching a play, my theater companion and I decided that we had seen enough theater and needed sometime to hangout and catch up. I hadnt seen her for nearly a year.

We went to Urth Cafe. If you havent tried it out, you must go. Got our hot drinks, some thing to nibble at and started yakking. The place was really crowded. There were these two hot russian gals sitting next to us, with a guy who was trying hard to put the moves on both of them.

Both of us were talking pretty loud, but who really cares right? Its just a conversation between two strangers to the other folks at the cafe. I was suprised, this russian girl from the other table walked over and seated her on our table. You guys are having such an interesting conversation, can I join you guys. I looked a at Jane, Jane looked at me and out of common courtesy were like sure, please do. We were going to leave in a few minutes anyway, we had chugged down most of our drinks.

Her name was Elena. She was actually very pretty. Long slender legs, amazing hair, and blue eyes. That was probably why we didnt mind her joining us. Strange how one's looks provide an unspoken advantage. Anyways, she was a dentist, told us that she came here in 1996 from Russia. And we generally started talking. She would ask Jane a question, but look towards me. And Jane would respond and she would ask another question and then Jane would respond again. I knew what was happening. I just smiled at her, occasionally wrapping her perfect physique with my fixated gaze.

Her friend joined us too. You could easily make out that she was the wingwoman. She tried to initiate conversation with Jane, which was perfect. Elena and I were looking at each other, smiling, and generally enjoying each other's presence without speaking a word. For a moment, two strangers were being intimate with each other, by only baring their eyes, smile and imagination to one another.

Sharjeel. SharJEEL. SHARJEEL!! Jane exclaimed. I looked at her slightly dazed, as if she had woken me up from a beautiful dream. She gesticulated with a turn of her head that we should leave. I obliged and off we went.

I need to see her once more. I turned in the general direction of where we were sitting. She was on her chair and had turned her body around to watch us go. I smiled, she smiled and waved back. And thus we parted.

As I walked Jane to her car, we talked. Why didnt you get her number? No, it was nothing like that, I responded. You were looking at her as if you'd make her clothes melt, Jane said laughingly. Have a good night Jane. It was good to see you. The customary hug and Jane sped off.

As I passed by Urth Cafe in my car, I thought of going back in to see if Elena was still there. I didnt. I loved the moment we shared too much to go back and spoil it with number exchanging akwardness.

Keyshia and Diddy crooned on 102.7. I could see it in her eyes, all crying out with nothing to say. May be she was looking for a real connection, just as I was and we wanted it without trying.

Only You and Me...

So a couple of days ago, on April 5th, I turned 25. It was a sobering feeling. I talked to a peer who was 40 and who just came through a mid life crisis by her own confession. Just a random conversation on my birthday, turned into one about age, and she said something that struck me as rather profound. "You know, getting old makes you wonder how much time you have left. It makes you want to go out into the world and do/experience things you've always wanted. Because you never know when your clock stops."

Personally, I like to think of myself as the energizer bunny (pun intended.) The one that goes on and on and on. But even if I take her seriously, I have a good 50-60 years of battery life left in me. And I made a list of some of the few things that I've always wanted to do that I'll get done by April of 2008.

On another note.

You always know the people who really care for you. They know of things important to you, they ask about the things that matter to you, they help with anything they can and they always remember your birthday.

No, and that doesnt include people who depend on a facebook alert or a birthday reminder to make that pretend call to wish you a happy birthday. That's why I dont put it on facebook or other "social networks" that I'm on.

But some people do remember. My folks. My true friends. And for that I'm really grateful.

Surprisingly, at 11:30ish the night of my birthday, I got a call from T. Since 2003, we've talked only 2-3 times a year. To exchange greetings on occasions that mattered to us.

She wished me a very happy birthday, asked me the usual questions to see how I was doing. And then she said, in a sort of cracked voice. Do you remember 2001?

How could I forget. That night we went to Newport Beach. We had just finished dinner. She brought a backpack with her and I didnt know what it had, but would soon find out. We walked to the beach. She asked me to find some drift wood. She put it together, pulled out some lighter fluid and set it on fire. Then took out a muffin, put a candle in the middle, lit it up and smiled. Her hair flowing in the ocean breeze, her face lit up by the flickering candle flame - it was probably the most beautiful sight I had ever seen in my life. The muffin soon disappeared, we kissed, cuddled and spent the whole night talking until dawn broke. It was one of the best birthdays I've had.

2001? What happened in 2001? I replied. You dont remember?, she asked. It was only you and me.... Nevermind! I have to go, I'm being paged. And the call ended.

It's amazing how one can go through life with memories. It's a really powerful phenomenon. I couldnt muster the courage to tell her, I remember, only you and me. Didnt want to talk abou it. At the time we thought we'd spend the rest of our lives together.

Women's Intuition

On the plane today, to Hilton Head, I was sitting next to this cute 7th grade teacher. She was reading Homeless Bird, a story about Koly an Indian girl who is forced into an arranged marriage as a child. Conversation on the subject and my input as an Indian occupied us for the large part of the flight time.

I was just finishing Memories of My Melancholy Whores by Gabriel Garcia Marquez. How is it, Tessa asked. It's complex. It's about this guy who's slept with 514 women between the ages of 19 and 90, but never felt an intimate emotional connection with any of them. At 90, when his capacity to conduct intercourse has diminished, he finds himself in love, emotionally attached to a 14 year old.

And the funny thing is, that all he does is observe her while she sleeps naked. And sometimes he sleeps next to her. They've never talked, but somehow they've become friends. Their gestures towards one another do the speaking.

That's creepy. And WEIRD! Tessa said with an emphasis. Can I glance through it? I didn't mind. After 10-15 minutes, she quipped. It's different. I think it's a different kind of friendship. Like when you see someone everyday taking the same train, you exchange glances, smile, but never talk. They put you at ease. And then one day, when you didn't see them on the same train, you feel a bit of a loss. A part of your world, that train ride, has changed. And it bothers you. Tessa was from Montreal, and on her way to some exotic destination in Central America.

Quickly the conversation turned to friendship. Who is a friend? What it means to be a friend to someone? Is there a quality associated with friendship? What makes someone a good friend? Should one have many friends or a few very good friends?

Tessa navigated such emotional terrain with great ease. A friend is anyone who puts you at ease and makes you feel good about yourself; by giving you their time, attention or caring for you. To be someone's friend is doing the same thing in return. Friendship has a definite quality associated with it, she continued, the more one friend opens up to another, the better friends they become. A good friend is someone you trust, someone who looks out for you and isn't afraid to speak the truth that helps you become a better person. And on the question of the number of friends, Tessa said, it really depends. I used to have many, many people I would call friends, but as I started working and became busy with my life, I found myself very alone. I think you only have a few people in life you can count on, so yes few good friends is probably the way to go.

I smiled. I agreed with her on many things. Don't you feel hurt if you open up to someone and they don't feel the need to include you in their life? Definitely that's something to think about. Giving the other person sometime to open up is one way to look at it. And if you've waited for a while and that hasn't happened, sometimes its just better to let go.

It took me a few minutes to digest that. Are you having some friend trouble Sergio? (She couldn't pronounce my name right, and after a while, I just gave up.)

I am. I mean, I was. I just try not to think about it anymore. He got married, and things went downhill from there. I loved him like a brother, but we rarely talk now. It does feel like a part of my world has changed. I was visibly upset.

Tessa pulled tucked some tresses of her brilliant red hair behind her ear. She put her hand on my shoulder. It'll turn out fine. I wouldn't think about it too much. Such encouragement from a complete stranger was welcome, and very touching. What I was going to do next was shameful.

I turned my head, looked into her coral eyes. Took a deep breath. Don't worry, it happens, she said. I sprouted a grin on my face. Got you! Why do girls always fall for a sentimental masquerade?

You made that up? Most of it, I said. You're such an asshole, she uttered. Her face conveyed no connotations of malice. I'm sorry Tessa. I didnt mean to tease you, but somehow I felt you'd fall for it. I had to try it. I was just kidding.

The plane landed shortly afterwards. As we got off the plane, we exchanged usual parting pleasantries. And then, just like that, Tessa said Sergio, it was a good time. And btw, that friend wasn't imaginary. She winked, turned around and walked away to her flight.

She was right. He wasn't. But how did she know?

A Simple Epiphany

Some of life's lessons need to be experienced. I've always been told, by my parents, by my teachers, my friends and erstwhile "significant others" that I just need to slow down. Let things come as they are. Enjoy the moment. Relax.

I never really agreed with them before. It was a sign of weakness, of compromise with life, its inherent frustrations. To me it was giving up on yourself.

This month has changed my mind. For once, I did let myself slow down, didnt let anything get to me. Spent some time doing what I enjoy. And I must admit, I've had a blast.

A few minutes ago, In my jammies, I finished smoking a Cuban, over a glass of Italian Bergamot enjoying the companionship of Maliha and her vivid stories of a year long sojourn through the Middle East. I had a blast with her. It really felt good.

Life is like a rich, delicious dessert. For enhanced pleasure, it must be had, one bite at a time, with frequent intervals. Rush it, and one risks missing out on the subtle yet pleasurable flavors.

That's my simple epiphany. 2007 will be the best year of my life.

Breath of Fresh Air

Once in a while this arid landscape of Los Angeles presents a genuine, down to earth soul, not afraid to speak her mind. Such a welcome change from the conforming and average barbie one meets every now and then.

It's so refreshing. A welcome breeze. A breath of fresh air.

Say Hello To Your New Neighbour!

I thought this weekend was going to be an utter waste. But things turned out quite well actually. I bought a condo that I liked, we should close and have escrow done in two weeks. And the current occupants have decided to rent the place until I decide what's the best long term strategy on it.

Finding a place that I liked and wanted to live in (eventually) was a tough job. The decision to buy is like giving birth. You take a pretty huge burden upon yourself and hope that you dont screw things up. It took a little bit of horse-trading, some back and forth, but I managed to get it it several Gs below list price.

A female friend of mine, soon to be married, lives right next door. As soon as the seller accepted the offer, I sent her an SMS "Say Hello To Your New Neighbour!" She replied back, "Wow, I cant believe that you bought the condo next door. My major purchase this weekend was a Wii."

I hope I made smart use of my money, just as she did with hers.

An Orphan Up For Adoption

It's been over two years at my current job. And now, I'm trying (very hard actually) for a new gig within my current company and outside. Since the beginning of February, I have had 6 interviews, which includes 2 within the current company I work for.

Interviewing as an experienced hire is very different from the kind of interviewing that one goes through out of college. While people look for smarts and intellect in college hires, in experienced hires, they look for the kind of work one's done, for how long and most importantly the kind of impact and results that one's work has created. Somehow, all these criteria become linked with how old a particular individual is.

One of the obstacles that I constantly come across is age. At nearly 25, I am the youngest person on my current team. But the experience that I have come to acquire in the past two plus years makes me a good fit for jobs where there are 40 year olds in the fray too. Blatant age discrimination, but you know how people put a PC spin on things.

I went to interview for a job a couple of weeks ago in the bay area. Everything went fine, and then someone asked me how old I was. I looked at the person and smiled, while trying to frame my answer within a set of complex disclaimers and "if-but" statements. It really doesnt matter to us, but you look too young. And then I said it, I am going to be 25 this year. There, no ifs, no buts, the honest truth.

We're looking for more organizational maturity (read older person) and more direct experience with VC markets. Yesterday, that was the first response that I got. From a recruiter at the venture capital firm in the bay area. There are probably 5 more emails such as that one, with similar reasons with my name on them and are floating around somewhere.

I was out last night and had dinner with a friend. She said, currently with the changes at work, I feel like a child without my parents. Heh, I muttered, you think that's bad. I feel like an orphan who's up for adoption, who's been on the line up several times, and no ones wants him. Everyone loves the bio, but when they see the child in person, the child just isnt pretty enough.

Awww. You poor thing you, she said. We'll call you Annie from now on. Both of us laughed. Because really, that's the best spin to put on such things.

The Taj Mahal Is Mine

Not a souvenir replica, he said. The real deal. I bought the Taj Mahal for $2M. This Japanese tourist we thought was probably off his nutter. But he had indeed paid for the Taj Mahal, only to his despair. Actually, a Japanese speaking, smart witted tout managed to scam the poor guy and made haste.

This story was being told to us at our hotel souvenir shop at the Mughal Sheraton in Agra, while Ashok, who decided to visit me in India, asked about several souvenirs.

How much is this Taj Mahal?, Ashok asked. This one? Yes, said Ashok. It’s $400. Ashok gazed at the Taj Mahal to discern if his accent and designer clothing were working to his disadvantage. Real marble, this! Unbreakable!, shouted the shopkeeper. And he began to pound the miniature Taj Mahal on the stone counter he had.

We honest people, your money goes in preserves of ancient art. We not take advantage like Japanese tourist.

Ashok and I looked at each other. We weren’t convinced. We wanted a bargain on that Taj Mahal and we wanted the price that a local would pay. Discontent with how gullible the hotel souvenir store man had thought us to be, we left.

We hopped in our cab, the one that we had hired for the week, and asked our driver Bhupinder, to find us a place where we wouldn’t have to spend as much. He said, he didn’t know of any particular place, but places away from the hotel could be cheaper.

So off we went, to another souvenir store. And another story awaited us. This guy told us that he was the worldwide #1 supplier of miniature Taj Mahals. His supply chain extended to Patel Brothers in Artesia, CA, where we could take in our Taj Mahal and have it exchanged, serviced or polished at no cost. He even had a service center for such artifacts in Santa Monica.

Intrigued by his mention of such a worldwide network, I asked him where in Santa Monica was this service center he spoke of. In the middle, 3rd Street Pro-mee-ned, he said. Neither Ashok, nor I were going to buy a Taj Mahal from this bugger. His tall claims fell short not only because we knew that no such place could exist in Santa Monica, but also because, his dingy showroom, didn’t represent the prosperity he spoke of.

We decided to leave. Ok, last price, I make loss for you. I give you Taj Mahal for $220. No Thank You, we said, and left. He shouted obscenities in Hindi, assuming that neither of us spoke the language, and chastised our driver for not trying to convince us and working harder for his 30% commission.

When you’ve dealt with such situations more often than you would like, there’s only one thing to do. Call someone in a position of influence. That happened to be my father. One call to him and someone came to our hotel, picked us up and took us to this utterly filthy part of town with very narrow roads and parked the car outside this huge house. We walked in and there were people working on marble everywhere in this big paved courtyard.

Some were carving, some were inlaying precious stones into marble, some were finishing the marble already chiseled and carved. This seemed to be the right place to buy something marble.

How much for that Taj Mahal, Ashok asked. It was much bigger than what he had set his eyes on. He was buoyed by the confidence of being in the presence of someone who would not let him be cheated out of his hard earned money. Its $15, the sirdar (headman,) who ran this operation said.

Our “protocol officer,” as he addressed himself, scowled at the headman. You’re chi-teng this young boys, he said. They’ll give you $8 and take two. The sirdar looked at us, scratched his head, looked at his artisans, and then said $9 for each and you take two. Pratap, our PO, wanted to haggle further, but Ashok and I were convinced that the price of $9 for each mega sized Taj Mahal was a steal, especially since the first price that was quoted to us for a much smaller one was $400.

At last, the Taj Mahal was ours. And we bought a whole bunch of stuff from that place.

And thereafter everytime we saw a gullible tourist being screwed out of his/her money, we smiled at each other. We mumbled “That guy’s being FIPed.” Where FIP = Fucking in Progress, and walked away happy. Afterall, the English looted and pillaged the wealth of India for ages, it’s time for payback, and it’s ultra-sweet when you tell someone on the flight to Jaipur that you paid $9 for a Taj Mahal, on which they spent $400. They just turn red with anger, and then green in envy. Encore, my Indian brothers.

No wonder the Japanese tourist believed that he got the real deal.

Jokes aside, when you’re in the market for a Taj Mahal, send yours truly an email. I have the sirdar’s card, and would love to save your hard earned greenbacks.