Sounds of Silence

A silence screams out
Wrestling with the inner walls
In an attempt to tear those open
An attempt….but in vain

Those walls which look so tender
Trap the sound inside
For those have been sealed by the
Deafening noises from the world outside

They let the sounds from the outside….in
But none can getaway from within

Sounds that have reverberated through the ages
They all lay there buried…confined to those cages
Struggling to find a way…to escape
Perhaps in the soul…they’ll find an aide

poetry, silence,

What's so special about IKEA?

My first memory of IKEA is - picking up the catalogue on a pavement in Bombay for 10 bucks and drooling over the pictures. That catalogue was like the Bible for students of interior design.

I never had seen or visited an IKEA store until recently and that first visit was an absolute delight. I am a very hard-to-please shopper. For me to like something – it should be of good quality and certainly follow the VFM (value for money) rule. What started out as an exploratory visit to the store has culminated in a fascination with the brand.

From the time I set foot in that store…it almost felt like Disneyland. One can spend an entire day in that large blue and yellow warehouse which doubles up as their retail outlet. Mock ups of rooms displaying actual merchandise lend a context to the purchase. They make it easy for you to imagine where and how you’d utilize what you buy. Where most furniture stores keep their display merchandise off limits …they actually encourage you to sleep on their beds…sit on their couches...the last time I was there I saw a couple sitting in one of their made-up living rooms, watching the tele. These are small details that create a feel good factor and nudge the customer a little more towards making that final purchase.

I have seen similar outlets in India…and what comes to mind is Style Spa which has to go a long way before their products can become competitive on price…and let’s not even talk about their designs.

What is their strategy then to deliver what has been referred to as ‘Scandinavian Designs at Asian Prices’?

“We start by deciding on a price. Then we hand over to our team of designers, product developers and purchasers for them to come up with the goods’ …mentions their 2006 catalogue – which according to an estimate has seen a print run of 160 million copies!

Business week has a very detailed write up on the subject.

To achieve that goal, the company's 12 full-time designers at Almhult, Sweden, along with 80 freelancers, work hand in hand with in-house production teams to identify the appropriate materials and least costly suppliers, a trial-and-error process that can take as long as three years

Innovation does not stop at product development…on their new store opening in the US; they encouraged customers to send e-post cards to acquaintances in return for a price off. Their cult status with consumers only helped their marketing effort. Some other off beat things they have done is – announce a prize of close to 4000$ for their first customer at a given outlet. Die hard IKEA fans have spent sometimes about 3 days in their warehouse, while others camp in caravans outside waiting for the grand store opening – creating the buzz and drawing more into their tribe.

And if you haven’t heard enough from me about their home furnishing, there is one more reason to visit IKEA…their restaurant. While I was reading about this brand – I came across the blog of this couple in Malaysia who asked their 2 year old daughter where she’d like to go for dinner and pat came the reply…IKEA! Maybe they would some day announce a contest to find their youngest fan…

For the more IKEA hungry readers…there is a theme blog started by fans or should i say fanatics !

IKEA, positive customer experience,

On Blogs, Indexing solutions and Metaphors

Some days back, I obsessed about finding a way of indexing / categorizing posts on the blog, without having to switch my blogging platform. Not that I did not contemplate the adulterous act of flirting with another service provider. I did…but something made me stay back…partly it was my fondness for this platform, partly the laziness of having to migrate content and in many ways it was that invincible annoying thought that ‘I would not take the easy way out and jump platforms…I shall stay here and look for alternatives’. Would you say…too much energy and thought invested into something so trivial…I would say maybe…but then it is my means to express myself. Don’t people invest time and money in pursuing photography or art…are those higher or better forms of self expression warranting that time and attention? Let’s leave that debate for another occasion.

So coming back to the point about indexing, I thought content on a blog is ‘dead’ if one does not have a way of indexing it. Whenever I would think about content on my blog that was un-indexed, I would feel like I have walked into a library that has books all jumbled up arranged in no particular order. Not a pretty picture in my mind. I tried a fitting in a couple of codes into the blogger template (not reducing the effort those guys have put in – in writing those hacks) – none of the ones I tried were fool proof. The fact that they can only index recent posts is known and acknowledged. But some did not even pick up the recent ones correctly.

I found an alternative in ‘tag clouds’ – though they don’t do the same job as what ‘categories’ do – tag clouds work like a surrogate for categories. It leaves you the hassle of pre-defining categories and I call it a hassle since I found it so difficult to ‘force-fit’ my posts into categories that the category called ‘miscellaneous / trivia / un-filed’ was burgeoning out of proportions. Tag clouds pick up key words from your posts and here again the method is not fool proof – but at least one can delete unwanted key words and add wanted ones and approximate how categories would work albeit with some effort.

There is no easy way to indexing posts. But I am beginning to wonder whether it’s all worth it after all – not that my love for my blog has become any less over time…not yet at least but am beginning to wonder whether the metaphor of a library for blogs is in itself passé.

Is the ‘watering hole’ metaphor then part of the dominant code around blogs? Don’t blogs today resemble ‘coffee houses’ of yesteryears? The coffee houses that dominated Europe in the mid 1600s functioned as information exchanges, centers for political or social debate and over time even acquired the reputation of specializing in a particular fields drawing clientele interested in particular subjects…says ‘The Economist’ when it talks about ‘Internet in a Cup’ (paid subscription required)

If blogs are emerging to acquire the character of coffee houses as they were or even modern day pubs, then the activity surrounding blogs would change. There would be a greater orientation to partake in recent conversations / posts rather than visiting a blog and reading on a topic of interest.

Depending on the metaphor you identify with, will influence whether you use it to ‘express’ or ‘exchange’ opinions and views; the frequency with which you post; the content that you post (topical v/s analytical); your response time to comments etc and depending on which of these metaphors become the dominant code around blogs will have a bearing on the features that publishing platforms in the future will be forced to offer.

I know I won’t be obsessing about indexing any more :)

blogs, blog metaphor, dominant code,

Straddling two worlds

On one step I hear a prayer…a chant
On the other…a blaring declaration…halleluiah…it’s raining men
A car zooms past – and a bunch of girls scream

One step reminds me of the smell of the earth in my country
On the other, an overpowering whiff from the local take-away

On the next step my feet do an involuntary jiggle
My heart leaps
And on the next – I control them and regularize my pace

With one step I see a burst of color…music…vibrancy
With the other I look ahead to see a grey…placid land

With one step I see an empty box of mangoes thrown away on the street
With the other I realize its summer time in India

On my first step I am on Cow Bridge Road East
On my next…I’m in someplace I have never been
Yet it looks very familiar…I am in my country

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Some days back I went for a long walk by myself. The I-Pod kept me company. The walk was an absolute medley of experiences. Its was like being present in two worlds at the same time. My attention would oscillate between the physical world that I was part of and the mental world I created for myself as a listened to the soundtrack of Rang De Basanti. Strange feeling!

poem, rang de basanti

Did her dreams stop? - The (not so) short story

Taking of from where we left

It was a little beyond 6 of the morning hour. A warm start to the day in March though things were about to heat up. For Vidya…was rummaging through her things - It was time for her to leave for school but she could not find her pen. Anger was building up inside her - she knew it had to be someone. It was too important a thing for her to have misplaced carelessly. The pen was a gift from her father when she entered class 5 – the threshold to higher secondary and today was the day of her exam. How could she have lost it when she had even preserved the slim cardboard box that came along with it? It lay ensconced wrapped in the cellophane. She had touched it only once careful not to leave any finger prints on its shinny gold exterior.

Amma stood behind her holding the warm brass tumbler of milk with the edge of her duppatta. Common drink your milk and go to school…you will be late for your exam…I will find it and keep it for you when you are away

But amma…I want to write my paper with it. When dada gave it to me he blessed me and told me I would come first in class. Now how will I write my exam and come first. You don’t understand anything amma

She went from corner to corner in that little room which was no more than 10 steps whichever direction you walked. Moving frantically between the almirah… the side of the cot…and her school bag…her trail replicated the movements of an angry buzzing bee who has been disturbed on her hive…waiting to strike back. Sonia her twin watched her silently. Sonia was unusually quiet this morning. If this had been any other day, they would have by now left home bickering and pulling at each other’s plaits. Then as though in a flash of brilliance it struck Vidya.

Soni…bring down your bag from your shoulders…I know it’s in there
No didi… (Sonia called her didi since Vidya had come to the world 3 mins before she could arrive)…I promise I don’t have it

Then bring down your bag…by now Vidya hands were tugging at the shoulder strap testing its resolve to stay in place. Amma helplessly watched the two jostle…careful beta…you will spill the milk…it’s a bad omen…Vidya aren’t you my sensible one...aren't you

Vidya and Sonia would see amma speak in the background…her words filled the air surrounding them though none could permeate their consciousness. If not for the ink blot on Sonia’s bag, this fight would have continued unendingly.

Vidya gulped down her glass of milk…Sonia almost pulling her out of the door. Amma stood there watching the girls run…she stood until all she could see were a pair of plaits swinging in the distance.

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Mama…what are you thinking about…I have been asking you for the past 10 minute…have you seen my pen anywhere....i’m going to miss my bus again today…

Vidya had been standing there still…once again words filled the air….only this time they were her daughters words. Beta…where is the pen I had given you…

Mama…what are you saying…I am asking you about my pen…and you are talking about something else…

Beta… I hope you have not lost it…that pen is special… dada had …

Suhani interrupting…Oh God mama...you and your ancient thoughts and your ancient things…I am getting late…I have taken 20 rupees from your purse; I will buy a new one from jeevat chacha…

Vidya stood by the little window in the kitchen, stroking the money plant that grew out of the kissan jam bottle. 3 stories below, the sweeper created clouds of dust with his vigorous movements. Summer was at its peak, dry dust filled the air and even as early as 7 a.m. the sunlight was stinging! Vidya wondered…the summer was not so harsh two decades back. White sun lit rays raced through empty spaces in the wooden door that formed a shadow of criss cross patterns on the courtyard. Vidya and her sisters hopped on the shadows as Amma dressed the floor with a new coat of cow dung. Those shadows…and the shadows of the past were a cool…safe haven from the stinging sunlight of the day.

The clock played a familiar tune and Shyam yelled in the background….neither were music to her ears. It was 8 and Vidya was not her usual efficient self this morning. Shyam cursed her and left home without his packed lunch. Vidya already knew what to expect of the day ahead. The 8.09 local was definitely out of question. That meant she had to take the 8.19 fast instead….that is only if she was allowed to enter at Dadar…she had some chance of making it to work on time. Else, a late mark on the roster. She had already reached late last Monday since Suhani had to be dropped to school when she had woken up late and missed her school bus. Shyam had refused to drop though the school was a 5 minute walk from the bus stop where Shyam took the 332. Suhani, her brother, Shyam’s parents, the maid - chanda, the kitchen and the running of the house – were all Vidya’s responsibility. If Vidya wanted to work, she was to make sure that she would not fall short of any of his primary duties first.

Memories have a way of forcing themselves into the present. Memories did not realize that Vidya was already late. Like a stubborn child, they trudged along with her through the morning. Suhani losing her pen had resulted in Vidya losing herself and her morning to her past. I think somehow Vidya was allowing herself to get lost. These were the only comforts she could allow herself. Her home where she had spent most of her growing years was in the vicinity. She would pass by that plot of land which was now home to plaza theatre. It was prime property in the heart of dadar, one of the busiest suburbs in Bombay. Had the 17 families who once lived there owned that property, they would have been sitting on a pot of gold. But the houses had been leased to them for 20 years as part of the rehabilitation exercise for a paltry sum of 25 rupaiyahs. Though Vidya’s life had started 10 years before she arrived with her family at railway colony, Dadar, her years spent there were the most precious memories from her past. Life before that was a hazy vision of Larkana – her place of birth. Her 10 years there had been reduced to just two images in her mind – one of the thick iron chain bolting the door to their ancestral house and the second and the most vivid memory of the time when there was a black out on the train to Karachi.

But more about that another time…Vidya needs to try and make it to the 8.19 and she has just 3 mins to go…

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This story continues here

What is your payoff?

You have been blogging for some months or for the few it could be years...or even if you have joined the bandwagon only recently...you would know that blogging is hard work. You could much rather be sitting on your couch watching tele or experiencing life...outdoor...but instead you sit for hours, glued to your PC, writing...reading....commenting....revisiting. There is surely something that really keeps you going...something that makes you want to wake up and perhaps check your blog first thing in the morning even before you have brushed your teeth!

Do you blog to engage with words...or...ideas?
Or perhaps you like to blog to engage with People
Or Maybe Technology
Or for some of us - even ourselves....

So what is your payoff?

Alright...I know and by now I am sure you have realised too that all this talk was just to get you (in) terested...to hook you in...and ask you one simple question (ok I know i'm making my blog sound like a seedy smoked filled room where people enter and get duped but what the heck) and that is....

WHY DO YOU BLOG?

Tell me why you blog....common tell yourself that too...If I hadnt asked this would you have taken time out to think about this...perhaps not...so out of the sheer goodness of your heart and some consideration for my time...leave a comment or send in a mail. Anonymous comments are welcome too provided there are not asking me to visit a website that will earn me money....

And for the 2 and a half loyal visitors who I have...I know who you are...so dont you escape by just reading my posts and running away...

And whenever i make money using ad sense I promise to give the best commenter some of that booty. So common be a sport....

And if you have forgotten the purpose of this post by now - which I have - scroll up - I wrote it in caps for precisely these forgetfull moments :)

blogs, motivation to blog

Walls of Silence...A Short Story

Vidya was perhaps only 20 when she married Shyaam. They stood beside each other for a third of the day as people bee lined to greet them and hand them large parcels wrapped in blotchy pink and blue paper. Looking doe-eyed, sometimes she would steal a glance at him and see her life beyond. He…completely oblivious of her gesture….engaged his colleagues and friends in banter, asking them to feed themselves heartily before leaving. Their voices drowned in the backdrop of loud music played with the intention of evoking amorous feelings in the couple….sun saiba sun, pyaar ki dhun…maine tujhe chun liya…

They were the last to eat, she looked frail and weighed down with the garlands around her neck and her heavy pallu that pulled her head down with its weight. - When she had seen the saree her aunt had chosen for her nuptials, she could barely hold it and had complained about it to her mom. But the decision was overruled while she was politely explained how she would have to learn to bear the weight of much more in the days to come. Besides, a bride always needs to have her eyes to the ground and the heavy pallu over the head did a marvelous job of ensuring that. Brides who look straight up, are considered impudent remarked the aunt, teaching her the ways of the new adult world she was about to enter. - They were served food on a common dinner plate as shyaam’s sister giggled and rafiq the cameraman insisted on taking shots of them feeding each other. She could barely eat, partly out of excitement and partly fear. Lost in her thoughts she would gaze away at the morsels of food…waiting for her man to put down the spoon and before she knew it, he had put it down only that the morsels had vanished.

The morning after, she woke up in a strange, different house amongst people who were now her family. That space with two and a half rooms housed 5 adults and the two children who were yet to come. Shyaam lived with his parents and his unmarried sister, kamla. For the next 38 years, although much changed in her life, many things remained the same. Each of those 13000 odd mornings she was the first to wake up and get the house in order before rushing off to catch the 8.09 local to VT. The train ride lasted a precious 45 mins. It was in these three quarters of an hour that she could laugh out loud and share her feelings, frustrations and the warm sheera that she had sneakily made for her ‘train friends’. It is here where she could catch a breath of fresh fishy air devoid of judgments and barbs before encountering the humdrum of the day. This morning dose of laugher and later her office ‘fruit club’ would fortify her to face her supervisor, shyaam, kamla and the rest. Evening rides were less fun since it was seldom possible for the friends to co-ordinate their train timings and at the end of a long hard day patience was a rare commodity. An innocent nudge or a push could spiral into the ugliest of catfights.

In the short span of 5 waking hours that she spent at home, shyaam managed to express displeasure about something new each day. If it was not about…why she had stored mangoes in the fridge, it was about the disfigured tooth paste tube! Vidya had learnt to live with this reality and the fact that shyaam drank and smoked at home each day – traits she detested but could do nothing about. What saved her sanity was that on many days she was too tired to feel any emotion. She served her full term at the railway office where she had begun as an intern after her matriculation. Her children, married before her retirement day which she looked forward to having fulfilled her duties as an employee, mother and a wife. Though there was that faint regret of not meeting her train friends and the outside world. Retirement day was big in her life since her colleagues handed her good wishes and an Electric Oven bought with the kitty which people had contributed to generously. The supervisor spoke kind words for a change and they all feasted on hot gulab jamuns and samosas which the peon had ran across the road to fetch just in time for the party.

Post retirement…life was different to say the least. 5 hours of vidya’s existence within the confines of the four walls had stretched to 24. She could only go out to buy veggies once in a few days since the 3 floor climb to her house was not something her aching knees could take more often. Since he would see her home more, Shyaam had found more reasons each day to express his anger and frustration. When he would take an afternoon nap after reading the filmy gossipy magazines he had subscribed to, she would lie there quietly, eyes wide open, asking herself the one question that she had asked herself repeatedly since 1968…she wondered what she was doing wrong, she wondered whether she could do anything that would make him happy? Shyaam blamed her for anything and everything that would wrong….the phone line going dead to the high phone bills owing to their daughter in law’s frequent calls to her mama who lived in Delhi. Vidya could not even ignore his rants. Without anything to distract her, they would ring in her ears all day. Then one day when she went on her regular visit to the vegetable market, she could not find her way back home. She was bewildered since the vegetable vendor was addressing her by some name that seemed unfamiliar to her. Mrs Khana from next door helped her reach home that night. Shyaam lashed out at her for gallivanting in the dark and said it was unbecoming of her to do that at her age. Sometimes she would forget names and faces of people she knew. ‘Have I seen you before…I don’t remember meeting you’ …she had told shyaam’s uncle who was visiting them. Shyaam had put restrictions on her movement out of the house after the incident when she had lost her way home. She grew very quiet and sometimes would call her sister and tell her that she was feeling strange inside but by the end of the call would not remember having such a conversation. Her daughter visited her for 3 days en route their trip to lonavala. That perked her up a bit. After many days, her cheeks looked flushed again. Post he daughters visit, Vidya seemed normal. Quieter than before but not lost. One afternoon while shyaam lay in bed, she opened the door and walked out of her house. She was last spotted by one of their neighbors at VT station. He had tried to talk to her but found that she would not respond. Perhaps that she created a silence around her that no one could penetrate!
alzheimers, story

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Update : Vidya's story does not end here...Did her dreams stop...I was asked...Here is what I had to say