Big Red Firetruck!

I just published my first book on Amazon KDP. It is a children's illustrated e-book titled "Big Red Firetruck" available on Amazon.com. I have worked with Rashmi Menon my friend and very talented illustrator on this. It’s been a fun-filled adventure for us. I hope you all enjoy the story as much as we did.
It is free for those who have Kindle Unlimited. This is an important beginning and your reviews on Amazon will be greatly appreciated. Have fun, share and review, please!
HERE is the link

The story of Valentines Day

It is that time of the year again. It is Valentine's Day. Husbands and wives, boyfriends, and girlfriends will go into a frenzy trying to check all the boxes - chocolates, flowers, dinner, dazzle.

But what is the story of Valentine's day? History is a bit unclear on it. According to some reports, there was a certain Saint Valentine who clandestinely got together couples and was persecuted for Christian beliefs. Other theories purport that it was originally a pagan festivity of fertility superseded by Christian tradition. Nobody knows for sure.

But that's not the story. It is actually the story of how this day accounts for the single most sales of a company called Hallmark. It should actually be called Hallmark Day. Hallmark made Valentine's Day what it is today - a day of unabashed consumerism and spending. There are interesting statistics making the rounds. We are expected to spend upwards of $140 on our special someone today. 25% of Americans will dine out on this day - this year is especially great for restaurants since it falls on a weekend followed by Presidents Day. 20% of flowers apparently are bought on this day with sales totaling close to $2B. Overall spending on Valentine’s Day will account for $20B - even higher than what was achieved on Superbowl.

But that's also not the story either. Valentine's day is the day couples put extraordinary pressure on each other to out best each other on making each other feel this is the most special day in their lives. Single people are unfairly made to feel like singlehood is the most unsavory of states to be in. Parents are compelled to outshine each other in the thoughtful gifts they conjure up for their kids friends.

But I think the real story is actually none of this. The story is that there is no story. This is just another day. A day like the other 364 in the year where we get a chance to show our love and caring for each other.
It is just another day where we go around closing all the cabinet doors that your better half left open in the throes of cooking, where you run to the grocery store to buy ginger so you can make tea for your loved one when he comes home. Just another day when you stop at the local market to buy jasmine flowers for your wife of 25 years, where you check your husbands pill box to make the weekly dosage is filled out. Just another day where you look up a youtube video to make a monster bookmark for your son even though you have no talent in the crafts, or collect all the art pieces made by your daughter to proudly display in your office cube.

So if you are planning something special on this day - by all means do it and have fun. But if you are not, do not fret. You have another 364 days to make your point.

Valentine’s day is the everyday and that is the story.

Super Bowl and me

It’s Super Bowl weekend. 114 million people will be watching. $300 million will be spent on Ads. 4 million Pizza will be sold. 8 million pounds of guacamole will be consumed.

I remember the first time I was introduced to this game. It seemed like a magical shared experience that I felt obligated to be a part of. I gathered my contribution to the chips and dips and made my way to a friends house. It started out ok with a spread of the choicest snacks. I sat with the rest of my friends ready to cheer my team to victory. I barely knew the rules or the supposed superheroes playing onscreen, but I made a valiant attempt to immerse myself in it. It didn’t last very long. My natural indisposition to sport soon took over. I had to walk away.

Before halftime, I found myself in a nearby book shop. The rest of game time was spent ambling through corridors of books. It was there surrounded by my own superheroes of the literary world that I broke off with Super Bowl. I dropped all attempts to educate myself on it. I deflected and diverted when people wanted to discuss it. I gave up all pretence of knowing the teams or caring who won. When it was super bowl time, I went hiking, took a dance class, went for a run - I led a peaceful life.

Years passed. It's Super bowl time again. This time, I find myself surrounded by a sports revering husband and two young boys being initiated into this great American experience. The fight is too close to home, so I have made my peace. There will be a party at my place. My TV will blare the 60 minutes of game time and 60 minutes of commercials. People will come and cheer. I will be serving guacamole.

A fairytale

Once upon a time - a time far away, we wrote letters to communicate. We learnt where to add the name and address of the sender and sendee, we wrote a subject line, we added a greeting. We wrote about the grievance, the report, the plea and we sealed it with another heartfelt greeting and good-bye message. We pasted a stamp and waited for replies. In between we did other things - like Life.

Then the internet came by. It unfurled its wide arms inviting us into a sea of possibilities. Space and time ceased to exist the way we know it. Anything, anywhere, anytime became the mantra. We rang and pinged and friended and tweeted. We had followers and fans. We had groups without ever stepping out. We plused and minused people like pawns on a chessboard.

Every event was peppered with phones and selfie sticks. We shared and bared like never before. We started living our lives through the eyes of the camera. We posed and pouted and posted. Throwing snowballs in Tahoe. Swimming with sea turtles. Dancing in weddings. Headbanging concerts. Our 3 year old rode a bike, our 6 year ran the 5K, our 13 year old won robotics.

Every life was exalted. Every one a celebrity. Everyone was happy. No-one had cancer. No-one lost a child. No-one went through a divorce. There was no yearning or remorse or sorrow. Life became a fairytale. We lived happily ever after.

Guns and grass

There is an interesting story in the Mahabharata not as often retold. It is the story of how the illustrious, valiant clan of the Yadavas to which Krishna belonged, destroyed themselves. Fearing bad omens surfacing in his land, Krishna and the Yadavas go on a pilgrimage to Prabas - a holy town near the ocean. A fight breaks out between factions that cannot agree assumedly on what had transpired in the great war of Mahabharata. Words lead to blows. In a fit of anger, Krishna reaches out to a blade of Eraku grass that miraculously turns into an iron weapon and kills the miscreants. Taking a cue from him, everyone reaches out to the blades of grass that turn into lethal weapons. They are intoxicated and overcome by anger, rage, passion. It is only too easy to “pull the trigger”. They charge the weapons on each other. Quickly the situation escalates into a full fledged bloodbath and in the ensuing skirmish the Yadavas manage to wipe out their entire race. A part of this weapon finally causes the end of Krishna too. It is a tragic end to a glorious people.

There are different theories on what transpired, who cursed whom, what the weapon was, what caused the end. It is hard to comprehend how in one instant, harmless grass becomes a stockpile of dangerous weapons. In the hands of an inebriated lot, the weapons become nothing short of complete annihilation. What haunts me particularly, is how easy and quick the decimation is and how fickle our own nature is. A model people, why Krishna the exalted himself, instead of conducting with grace gives in to anger and violence in that moment of madness. The weapon brings out the ugly in the most beautiful of people.

When I hear about tragedies of Sandy Hook, Columbine, San Bernadino I am reminded of this story. Weapons in the arms of a chosen few is permissible in a society where we wish for collective law and order to prevail. Weapons freely available to anyone and everyone is a different story. I have trouble accepting the argument of defence as justification. This is not a video-game or movie where we are jedis fighting the dark force. There is real blood spilled and real loss of life. Innocent lives that are taken away with one wrong move. If we own a firearm, when do we decide is the right time to discharge it? Have we been trained in all ways of dealing with and deescalating a situation before resorting to firearms as the last resort? Cops, army-men go through that kind of rigorous training. Why then is it so easy for us, the general public, to circumvent this kind of vigilance and conscientiousness. Even so, I digress from the current debate. People can have their light sabres if they want to and if they are qualified to. I can accept that. We are expected to pass a driver’s license test before we drive a car. Why then are some basic logical background checks before we buy a firearm, be it in a shop or a show or online, so hard to accept?

There are by some measures, at least 300 million firearms in the United States. Roughly one for each person. Freely rampant all around us, as common as grass. When I first heard this statistic on the radio, I remember getting down of the car feeling wary and skittish of every person I saw on the road. Who knows who was walking around with a gun. It is only too easy to pull the trigger.

The gift of Rituals

When I was younger, religion seemed something lofty to attain, pious, precious. Rituals, on the other hand, seemed superfluous and trivial. Today, religion is at best an ambiguous presence I am happy to leave alone. It is the rituals today that endear me, enchant me. It is the rituals that I am convinced hold the key to creating a sense of family, culture and memories for my children.

We all know how precious rituals are. They are everywhere. It is the favorite coffee shop you go to after your morning run, the trip to grandmas every thanksgiving, the July 4th neighborhood BBQ. the pancakes you make every Sunday morning, the veggie patch you plant every summer. It is the diyas lit for Diwali, the candles for Sabbath, the fasting on Ramadan, the tree decorated for Christmas. A ritual is a feeling of belonging in the present and a gift of memories for the future.

Hence this Diwali, with kinetic sand rangoli, microwave besan laddoos, youtube assisted Laxmi Puja, flameless diya aarti we managed to create our own Diwali rituals. We sat together as a family for the traditional “Yenne Snana” (oil bath). We lit diyas around the whole house. We managed to put together a feast reminding us of our mothers’ cooking replete with kaddoo puri, saaru (rasam), kusumbri, chitra anna. We gluttoned on sweets and fell into a sugar induced afternoon stupor. We visited friends and neighbours and wore new traditional clothes. We prayed for good health and prosperity. My three-year-old even sent out a special prayer for Diwali “Bhagwanji, If I am good boy please give me lots of candy”.