The Vertical City: Living in the Iconic High Rises of Mumbai

Explore the vertical transformation of high rises in Mumbai. A firsthand journey from living in Belvedere Court in 2008 to today’s supertalls - where true luxury means buying distance, tranquil views, and silence far above the city’s chaos.

From Mill Lands to the Clouds: Living Among the High Rises of Mumbai

A recent front-page advertisement in The Economic Times jogged my memories straight back to 2008. The visual in the spread could have been the vantage point of the Mahalaxmi Racecourse looking out toward the eastern flank of Mumbai, dominated by an imposing vertical spire in 2008. Bang next to the racecourse stood Belvedere Court - a sleek, modern address that commanded one of the most strategic footholds in South Mumbai, boasting sweeping panoramic vistas stretching across the Colaba cape.

The advertisement, however, was for Lokhandwala Minerva in Mahalaxmi - standing at 301 metres (986 ft) with around 78 floors and touted as India's tallest completed residential skyscraper in 2026.

Seeing it unlocked a flood of recollections.

Back in 2008, as you drove from Lower Parel down toward Mahalaxmi, the street-level reality of Mumbai was raw and unrelenting. The cluttered roadside shanties, open squalor, and frayed civic amenities felt omnipresent - until the road abruptly terminated at the private gates of Belvedere Court. Stepping through into its slim, glass-sheathed foyer gave you an immediate, tangible sense of what "rising" in this megapolis actually meant.

The super-efficient express elevators whisked you skyward in utter silence, without even a hint of mechanical strain. As the glass-walled shaft ascended, the street-level chaos receded into a distant memory. By the time the doors opened onto the upper deck - whether it was the 39th or the 44th floor escapes my memory now - the shanties, gridlocked traffic, and urban wear-and-tear had completely dissolved. From those rarefied heights, the ground below was no longer grit; it had blended seamlessly into the sweeping, majestic canvas of Mumbai.

At the time, I was working with Centurion Bank of Punjab, posted at the head office to roll out the Bank’s Sales Force Automation (SFA) platform across retail channels. Our headquarters was housed within the Central Bombay Infotech Park on K.K. Marg (Keshavrao Khadye Marg). The complex occupied the historic footprint of Modern Mills Compound, one of the dilapidated textile mills that once defined the industrial backbone of Girangaon before being repurposed into an upscale commercial hub.

The Rare Mumbai Luxuries: Rarefied Heights and a Zero-Minute Commute

The tech park sat right next to the Mahalaxmi Racecourse, and just beside it stood Belvedere Court. Living there meant enjoying two rare privileges in Mumbai. The first was everyday existence at a quiet, elevated altitude wrapped in commanding vistas. The second - and perhaps far rarer in this city - was an absolute zero-minute commute. Stepping out of the residential lobby and taking a casual two-minute stroll across the compound into the corporate office was a luxury that defied Mumbai’s notorious transit grind.

The apartment offered peerless views. To the west lay the emerald expanse of the Mahalaxmi Racecourse. On most ordinary weekdays, the grounds sat dormant and empty, stripped of the vibrant derby-day crowds that luxury brochures always depict. Just across the perimeter ran the Western Line EMU rail yard. From our perch, the long commuter trains and intricate web of tracks seemed diminished, gliding silently like pieces of an electric toy train set. Beyond the tracks, the white dome and minarets of the Haji Ali Dargah jutted out into the shimmering waters of the Arabian Sea.

Looking southward, the eye drifted toward Tardeo, barely a kilometer or two away. Even by 2008, Tardeo’s skyline was undergoing an aggressive vertical transition as decommissioned textile mills yielded ground to soaring residential towers. While daytime belonged to the natural contours of the racecourse and the sea, nightfall shifted the spectacle entirely toward these emerging high-rises.

Constellations in Concrete: Watching High Rises from a High Rise

Standing at a window late at night, gazing out from one skyscraper toward another across the dark urban expanse, was an unforgettable sight. Against the ink-black velvet of the coastal night sky, the distant towers transformed into sheer, monolithic constellations. Thousands of luminous rectangular windows floated mid-air like crystalline grids, humming with silent, warm-amber life. Below, ribbons of vehicle headlights formed pulsing arteries of crimson and gold, but up in the sky, the towers stood in quiet communion—looming silhouettes etched against the coastal haze, their rooftop aviation beacons pulsing rhythmically in the dark, giving this endless metropolis the feel of an electric, futuristic citadel suspended between the earth and stars.

In 2008, Belvedere Court stood virtually alone in that pocket of the landscape. Whether you stepped out of Mahalaxmi railway station or approached from Maratha Mandir on the Byculla side, it was the solitary tower piercing the mid-town sky. Looking at today’s real estate advertisements, that lone sentinel has been joined by an entire forest of supertalls. The old mills have surrendered their vast footprints to steel and glass monoliths, rewriting the skyline with dizzying speed.

It makes you reflect on the evolving nature of luxury in Mumbai’s high-rises. True luxury here is rarely just about square footage, imported Italian marble, or high-end fittings. In a city defined by intense density, relentless noise, and ground-level friction, luxury is fundamentally atmospheric. It is the ability to buy distance - to elevate your life hundreds of feet above the frenetic churn of the streets into quietude and clean sea breeze. A great view from a Mumbai high-rise offers perspective: it turns a chaotic, hard-edged survival race on the asphalt into a quiet, breathtaking work of art unfolding peacefully beneath your feet.

CJP Protests 2026: The Epic Fight Between Cockroaches and Termites

I explore the current CJP protests and relate to a personal journey through systemic corruption, exam scams, and how today's youth are still battling institutional termites.

Termites in the Temple of Merit: A Lifetime of Watching Youth Fight a Rigged System

It is the season of protests once again.

On the streets, a familiar electric current hangs in the air - a mix of raw youth angst, burning ambitions, and deep-seated despair. Watching the protests unfold under the CJP banner, I am instantly hurtled back decades to my own hey-days, when students flooded the streets against the Mandal Commission recommendations. Who can ever forget the haunting image of the youth who self-immolated, instantly becoming the tragic poster boy of a generation's desperation?

Back then, the youth felt their future was insecure. Decades later, walking the exact same path, they still feel it. Nothing much has changed.

The system continues to fail to provide a level playing field for government jobs and professional courses. Worse yet, the mechanisms meant to safeguard merit - competitive exams, professional degrees, and public service selections - have lost all credibility. The institutional architecture has been hollowed out by corrupt figures who have termited its integrity from within. Today, the youth - often treated as expendable (cockroaches in popular parlance) - are fighting an epic, uphill battle against these institutional termites.

It reminds me of a classic cinematic struggle, one I will come to in just a moment. But first, let me take you back to my own encounter with this very system.

The Gangotri Days and the Lure of KAS

It was 1994–95. I was deep into my postgraduate program at the Gangotri PG campus, a place buzzing with youthful energy and academic ambition.

The Karnataka Public Service Commission (KPSC) had finally called for applications to fill Gazetted Probationary posts in Group A and B after several years. For aspirants, it was a beacon of hope and excitement. Even though well-wishers advised me to focus on the Central Civil Services instead, the timing felt right. I figured I could easily bunk my second-semester MBA exams and catch up by the fourth.

The exams were conducted by the KPSC, an organization that - even back then - did not enjoy a particularly sterling reputation. But hope triumphs over history. I took the leap.

Months blurred into years, and the results were finally announced around 1996–97. By then, I had already transitioned into the private sector. One bright morning as the results were announced, alongside my father, I walked up to the KPSC office directly opposite the majestic Vidhan Soudha.

There it was: the official notice board, housed in a caged wooden box reminiscent of college notice boards. Straining our eyes through the grilled glass windows, I managed to see my score: 876. The topper, Kaveri (whom I would meet many years later), had scored 940 (the numbers are imprinted in my mind). Later, after a conversation with Sanaullah, the then-KPSC secretary, I left with the firm impression that I had aced the exams. Given the minimum qualifying thresholds at the interview stage, I was virtually assured one of the top three postings in government service. (atleast the Treasuries if not the Police or the DM)

The Great Unravelling

But a rotten system cannot hide its stench for long.

It soon turned out that the entire examination process was structurally compromised. Postgraduate students in universities had not just taken the exams; astonishingly, some of the very same students had been roped in to evaluate the answer papers and award marks. These PG guys could fake a certificate to get a job as it turned out recently

 

The public fury was volcanic. With the glaring conflict of interest exposed, the entire exam was annulled.

The government took the unprecedented decision to ship roughly 1.5 lakh answer scripts in each subject to other states for re-evaluation, delaying the process by another couple of years. When the revised results finally trickled out, my dismay was complete: my score had plummeted from 876 to around 792.

Though I performed reasonably well in the interview and was eventually offered a government posting, it fell far short of my expectations (Yes the merit was strong enough to secure a posting without the mandatory bribing, albiet a highly compromised offering). Already well-established and thriving in the private sector, I simply opted out (people thought i was crazy because Govt jobs are so coveted!).

Yet, the lingering takeaway wasn't my personal scorecard; it was the chilling realization of how hollow, rotten, and corrupt the entire apparatus was. The KPSC chief then, Krishna was brought to book around 2013. Watching students take to the streets in Delhi today against broken competitive exam systems feels like watching a cruel, generational rerun of a movie I’ve already seen. The Karnataka High Court cannot also hide its displeasure in the matter below

Nepotism, Notitisms, and the Permanent Elite

The KPSC had a terrible reputation then, and frankly, it carries that exact same baggage today.

The chairmen who head these commissions - almost always political appointees - often function as colossal figures of patronage. They secure positions for their chosen favorites while extracting a heavy toll from those desperate for plum postings.

Even during my time, it was an open secret in political circles. It was a common refrain that the Deve Gowda (former PM) had ensured that one of his sons (Balakrishne Gowda) was accommodated in a separate room to write the KPSC exam back in 1978, paving his way into the KAS which ended abruptly with a chequered corruption history in 2005. This is the entrenched, multi-generational nepotism and corruption that turns public service into a private fiefdom.

The Final Scene: Sajjan-Durjana Sangrama

This brings me full circle, back to the cinematic masterpiece I promised you.

Think of the iconic Kannada classic Paduvarahalli Pandavaru, directed by the legendary Puttanna Kanagal (later remade in Hindi as Hum Paanch in 1980/81).

In the film, the marginalized youth of a village finally reach their breaking point, rising in fierce revolt against systemic injustices. The ending scene is nothing short of epic. It shows the young protagonists relentlessly chasing down the corrupt perpetrators who thought they were untouchable.

As the credits roll, the haunting song "Sajjan-Durjana Sangrama" (The Battle Between the Virtuous and the Wicked) echoes through the air - capturing the timeless, eternal struggle of ordinary people fighting to reclaim their dignity from the termites of power.

Today, as the youth battle the modern equivalents of those very same systemic termites, that song still plays in the background of our collective conscience.

Thar-mageddon: Why Every Traffic Light is Now a Bollywood Stunt Set

From Ladakh's lakes to tiger reserves, discover why some Thar owners drive like main characters. A look at the 'bold' Thar car phenomenon from a very calm, very sober XUV 500 driver's perspective.

The Thar Car Effect: Why Every Traffic Signal is Now a Movie Set

Welcome back to the blog! Today, I’m putting down the coffee and picking up the keys to a mystery that’s been hiding among the news in my morning schedule.

We’ve all seen them. The vehicle that doesn’t just arrive on the road - it invades it. I’m talking about the Mahindra Thar. And I’m starting to wonder: what exactly is the secret ingredient in the Thar owner’s morning tea that makes them act like Jaykant Shikre from Singham the moment they hit the driver’s seat?

Crafted for the Bold" (Or Just Crafted for Chaos?)

You’ve seen the ads. Mahindra tells us the Thar is "crafted for the bold." It’s a nice sentiment, really. But somewhere along the line, "bold" seems to have been translated into "I am the main character of this universe and you are merely an NPC blocking my lane."

Take the other slogan: “Weekend ends, adventure doesn’t.”

Most people interpret "adventure" as a nice drive through the hills. For the modern Thar enthusiast, however, the adventure begins when the tarmac ends - or, more accurately, when the law ends. As seen in the attached news snippet,  four tourists recently found out that the Ladakh administration doesn't share their enthusiasm for "off-roading" in the pristine, ecologically fragile Pangong Lake. A hefty ₹2 lakh fine was the punchline to that particular adventure.

And let’s not forget the Ranthambhore escapade, where an entire troupe of Thar and Scorpio owners decided that a tiger reserve’s core zone was the perfect place for a private rally, leading to 19 seized vehicles and some very bewildered forest rangers. Apparently, when you own a Thar, a "Prohibited Area" sign is just a suggestion, like "please don't feed the pigeons."

The "Thartard" Mentality: A New Epidemic

Why does the Thar owner mentality seem to run riot like an English football fan on a rainy night, but on our local highways instead?

We’ve seen the viral videos - people driving on the wrong side of the road, literally bragging that their vehicle acts as a "get out of jail free" card. It’s as if the moment they sit behind that wheel, a psychological switch flips. Common sense hits the eject button, and in its place is a burning desire to bully rickshaw drivers and treat the rules of the road as optional DLC. It’s a chaotic energy that makes me miss the days when road rage was just someone honking twice at a red light.

The XUV 500: The Poor Country Cousin

Now, I drive an XUV 500. I look at my own car, and honestly, it feels like the poor country cousin in comparison. Sure, it shares the same engine DNA - the mHawk 2.2 lt Diesel engine - but the similarity ends there.

My XUV is a "sober" vehicle. It takes me from point A to point B without needing to perform a stunt or invade a national park. If the Thar is the loud, impulsive, leather-jacket-wearing bad boy of the family, the XUV 500 is the accountant brother who just wants to make sure everyone wears their seatbelts and gets home on time.

Maybe it’s time we reminded ourselves that being "bold" doesn't have to mean being a public nuisance. Until then, I’ll keep driving my XUV, staying safely in my lane, and watching the "adventures" from a safe, law-abiding distance.

What’s the most "main character" behavior you’ve witnessed on the road lately? Let me know in the comments!

Octopussy & The Indian Road: Where Potholes are Doctors and 007 is Just an Amateur

Discover why Indian roads are the ultimate action movie set. From the iconic 'Octopussy' rickshaw chase to the pothole that brought a woman back to life, we explore the chaotic magic of the Indian commute.

Forget the suave casinos of Monte Carlo or the high-tech gadgets from Q-Branch. If James Bond really wanted to prove his "License to Kill" (or survive), he had to come to India. 

In the 1983 classic Octopussy, Bond found himself in an auto-rickshaw chase through the winding, chaotic streets of Udaipur. 

There’s a legendary moment - actually unscripted -where a local on a bicycle nonchalantly glides right between the two speeding, clashing vehicles as if he’s just heading out to buy some dhaniya. 

To the British film crew, it was a near-disaster. To us? That’s just a Tuesday.

The "Octopussy" Effect: Normalizing the Absurd

In the film, Roger Moore’s Bond looks slightly ruffled, but the cyclist doesn’t even flinch. Why? Because Indian roads operate on a different plane of physics.

We don’t have "lanes"; we have "suggestions." We don’t have "traffic flow"; we have a "highly competitive game of Tetris."

The Octopussy incident proves that if you’re an Indian commuter, a high-stakes international spy chase is basically the same level of difficulty as navigating a local market.

From Chases to Resurrections: The Miracle of the Pothole

While Bond was busy jumping over camels, last week a real-life headline has taken "Indian Road Magic" to a supernatural level.

In Uttar Pradesh, a 50-year-old woman named Vineeta Shukla was declared brain-dead by doctors. As her grieving family transported her home in an ambulance to prepare for her final rites, the vehicle hit a massive, violent pothole on the Bareilly-Haridwar National Highway.

The result? The jolt was so powerful it literally shocked her back to life. She started breathing, the funeral was cancelled, and she’s now home talking to her family.

James Bond might have a "License to Kill," but Indian roads have a "License to Resurrect."

If you think Bond’s rickshaw was noisy, you haven’t truly lived until you’ve experienced the bone-rattling reality of a local rickety ride I had in Uttar Pradesh (2009). At that point i realized

• In India, the suspension isn't a mechanical feature - it’s an act of faith.
• Speed bumps aren't "annoying." They are spine-alignment tools
• Cows in the middle of the road? That’s just a "Natural Speed Governor" 
• In India, we don’t have "traffic accidents," we have "unplanned choreography."
• Bond needs Q-Branch gadgets to survive. We just need a bell, a prayer, and the ability to fit a family of five on a Scooty

The New Indian Road Safety (and Health) Manual:

If we look at these two events - Bond’s unbothered cyclist and the Pothole Resurrection - we can conclude that Indian roads are actually a sophisticated, if somewhat bumpy, public service:

1. Free Defibrillators: Why pay for expensive hospital equipment when a trip down NH-74 provides a full-body reset?
2. Stunt Training: Every Indian cyclist or auto driver is essentially a stunt double who just hasn't been discovered by Hollywood yet.
3. The Zen of Chaos: If you can survive a rickshaw chase in Udaipur without spilling your chai, you have achieved a level of inner peace that 007 can only dream of.

Conclusion

We often complain about the craters in our tarmac, but let’s be honest: where else can a road perform a miracle? James Bond might have the gadgets, but we have the Bareilly-Haridwar Highway. One is a movie; the other is a medical marvel.

The next time you hit a bump that nearly sends your teeth through your roof, don’t curse. Just tell yourself you’re getting a free "pothole-powered" health check-up. ```

A Final Meander on the Markandeya River

A journey (Antyesti) to the banks of the Markandeya River in Belgaum to bid a final farewell. A personal reflection on loss, and a surreal 'cosmic dance' of swallows during a mother’s final rites.

I carried the ashes of my mother from the crematorium, the weight of a lifetime now held in a simple vessel. We headed toward the Markandeya River on the outskirts of Belgaum, where the lush fields still whispered of life, even as the river began its seasonal retreat. By the onset of summer, the water had lost much of its body, yet it remained - a steady, silver thread through the landscape.

The air was heavy with the scent of sun-warmed grass and the ancient stillness of the nearby Shiva temple and small Shiv lings that dot the riverbank. Just as I released the ashes into the water, the silence broke. A group of swallows, resting in the shadows beneath the bridge, took flight. They swirled over the spot in a sudden, rhythmic grace - a cosmic dance that felt less like a coincidence and more like a salutation. As the grey ash drifted slowly on the mirror-like surface, the world felt momentarily suspended between the earth and the infinite.

The Markandeya River is not just a body of water; it is a symbol of conquering the fear of death and finding peace in the eternal presence of the Divine as in legend. Seeing those swallows take flight was perhaps a modern echo of that ancient victory - a reminder that life does not end, it simply changes form.

The battered eyes had weathered out the gale,

Through decades stacked like ledgers on a shelf,

To reach this bed, where skin grows thin and pale -

The final, shrunken version of herself.

With legs crossed and hands in a rigid pose,

The season where the gulp begins to fail.



Age had bought a different gaze within her eyes,

Distant yet familiar, misty at times

From unknown grief, as if under shifting skies;

She watched the night as the darkness climbs,

The voice fallen silent, yet the eyes spoke on -

A light that lits the heart before the dawn.



And in this passing, nothing stays the same;

A solving emptiness begins to spread,

A hollow ache that whistles like the wind,

Through every memory room where once a word was said.

It leaves a permanent and blankened space,

Tooth or Dare: My Tribal Encounter in the Dentist’s Chair

They say dentists are the only people who can make your mouth feel like a construction zone while smiling politely. And oh, how true that is! You walk in hoping for a simple cleaning and before you know it, there’s a vibrating drill jackhammering away like you’re prepping for roadwork on Main Street - inside your face. Yet, through all this, your dentist flashes that reassuring grin, as if to say, “Relax, we’re just reinforcing the foundation.”

People seriously underestimate these folks. Sure, we nod and thank them at checkouts like they’ve just handed us a grocery bill, but deep down, dentists are the unsung warriors of modern life.

And trust me, they’re not just polishing teeth—they’re fortifying your very existence...

The Unsung Hero of the Fort: The Dentist

People grossly underestimate the role of dentists. Sure, we’re quick to notice a sharp haircut or someone’s new shoes, but trust me, nothing grabs attention like a missing tooth. Forget your missing eyebrow, people will skip straight past it and lock eyes with that dental gap like it’s the black hole of social conversations.

Now, people who shiver at the thought of third-degree police interrogation clearly haven’t been introduced to a root canal. I mean, if you’ve survived one - thank the anesthesia gods - you’ve dodged a trauma that could have you narrating your darkest secrets to a potted plant. A root canal without anesthesia? Oh, that makes "aeroplane climb" drills during police torture look like a breezy Sunday picnic.

"The only thing scarier than the drill’s noise is your dentist whispering, ‘You might feel a little pressure.’"

When dentistry feels less like healthcare and more like surviving an ancient ritual.

Imagine this: you’re lying on that dentist’s chair, staring at the blinding light above like a prisoner waiting for judgment. The dentist enters, wielding that electric drill - the one that sounds like a mosquito on steroids - whirring away with sinister glee. As it descends towards your poor, compromised tooth, your brain conjures images straight from a horror novel. It’s like watching a tribal dance around a boiling cauldron -except, instead of a trapped adventurer, it’s your molar being stewed alive.

I swear, in those moments, when that vibrating instrument starts its deep dive into the enamel towards your already jangled nerve, you half-expect a chorus of “Jinga-lala-ho Jinga-lala-ho.... Hurr Hurr” to erupt in the background. Primitive? Yes. Accurate? Even more so.

From Castles to Canines: The Dentist as Your Modern-Day Killedar

But let’s cut our dentists some slack. Beyond their love for terrifying drills and scary x-rays, they are the silent protectors of our oral fortresses. I like to think of them as modern-day ‘Killedars.’ Back in the Maratha Empire days, the Killedar was the governor of a fort, a stoic figure responsible for its defense and maintenance. Fast forward to today, and your dentist is basically your personal Killedar - except, instead of cannons and soldiers, they’ve got dental picks and floss.

"Some warriors wield swords. My dentist wields a vibrating spear that hums like an angry wasp."

Cavities? Gum issues? Plaque buildup that could rival the Great Wall? Fear not, for your Killedar will guard your fort (aka your pearly whites) with the same diligence as any medieval Castellan. Sure, you might be paying them in cash instead of gold coins, but the principle remains.

So, next time you recline nervously in that dental chair, remember: you’re not in a torture chamber; you’re in a well-guarded fort, and your dentist - armed with gadgets, grit, and a slightly warped sense of humor - is just doing their duty.

Besides, would you rather face them now... or risk flashing your next date a smile with more gaps than a pirate’s treasure map?

So the next time you find yourself under that blinding light, staring into the eyes of your tribal warrior-dentist, just remember: you’re not losing your mind, you’re preserving your fort!

Singapore Airlines Flight Turbulence and the MH0192 Incident: Harrowing Escapes

In a startling display of the forces of nature, passengers aboard a Singapore Airlines flight experienced sudden, severe turbulence, causing the aircraft to plunge 54 meters in a mere four seconds. This terrifying moment, captured during the recent incident, starkly illustrates the dramatic effects of unexpected turbulence. In this narrative, we also recount our recent encounter on Malaysia Airlines flight MH0192, which felt like a narrow escape from a similar fate - more a result of sheer luck than airline competence

A Night of Uncertain Skies: The Unanticipated Return of MH0192

On the evening of May 14, 2024, the smooth textures of a typical departure lounge at Kuala Lumpur International Airport belied the drama that would soon unfold over the skies of Southeast Asia. As my wife, son, and I settled into our seats aboard flight MH0192, bound for Bangalore, the air was filled with the usual clatter and murmur of passengers embarking on night journeys. We were seated in 24D, comfortably strapped in, oblivious to the twist our flight was about to take.

The Airbus A330 aircraft, a familiar vessel of modern engineering, hummed to life as it detached from the tarmac punctually at 21:00. The city lights of Kuala Lumpur faded into the backdrop as we climbed into the night sky. Three hours into our journey, somewhere over the vast, enigmatic waters near the Andaman & Nicobar Islands, a sudden announcement from the captain cleaved through the cabin’s calm. A technical snag - a suspected windshield crack in the cockpit - meant we had to turn back to Kuala Lumpur.

The decision was startling. There, surrounded by nothing but the dark, open sea, the potential perils seemed enormous. The crack posed a risk of rapid decompression, a nightmare at 35,000 feet, especially given our proximity to the nearest land. Port Blair was a mere 40 kilometers away, yet the captain’s voice over the intercom informed us we were heading back the way we came - a decision that weighed heavily in the atmosphere.

As we retraced our path back to Kuala Lumpur, the weight of our collective breaths seemed to fog the clarity of the situation. Were we safer continuing our journey back across the ocean, or should we have attempted an emergency landing at the nearest possible airport? The possibilities spun in my head as I looked at my family, trying to mask my concern with a reassuring smile.

Once back at Kuala Lumpur, the delay unfolded with an eerie calm. We disembarked and were herded to a temporary transit area, where we waited for about an hour. During this time, I observed the ground staff performing torchlight inspections on the cockpit glass of our original aircraft. Aviation maintenance - or a 1920s chimney sweep operation? I thought, groggy-eyed at 4 a.m. I’ve seen 1994 Corollas get more sophisticated maintenance than this. The crack-inspection process will make you want to take the bus instead. Don’t look at this if you have a flight tomorrow.

Conversations with the transit lounge staff later revealed that the issue had been detected after we had already entered Indian airspace. The questions that raced through my mind were many: Was turning back really the safest option? What risks did we endure by not landing at the nearest possible airport?

Finally, a different aircraft was ready to take us to our destination. As we continued our journey, the night seemed quieter, the stars above a little dimmer, reflecting perhaps the somber reflections of passengers replaying the evening’s uncertainties.

As we reflect on these harrowing experiences aboard MH0192 and Singapore Airlines, it's clear that the skies hold unpredictable challenges, reminding us of the fragile balance between technology and nature's whims. These incidents not only highlight the importance of stringent safety protocols and the need for constant vigilance but also serve as a stark reminder of the thin line passengers tread between routine flights and unforeseen peril. While we often take the safety of air travel for granted, these moments of sudden turbulence and critical decisions underscore the relentless effort required to maintain it

Animal Awareness and Behaviour at a Busy Intersection: A Moment of Insight

Unveiling Animal Consciousness Amid Urban Chaos

In the study of animal behavior, human observations often come with a clinical detachment, where actions are cataloged into categories like feeding, territorial behaviors, courtship, and predator evasion. These are then neatly filed under the broader labels of innate or learned behaviors. But sometimes, a fleeting moment in the hustle and bustle of everyday life presents a scenario that defies these rigid classifications, hinting at a depth of animal consciousness rarely accounted for in scientific texts.
The Incident

The Unexpected Encounter: A Dusky Evening at the Crossroads

The event that profoundly shifted my perspective took place a few years ago, during a dusky evening at a busy traffic intersection. As the sky dimmed, I found myself waiting two rows back from the front at a red light, amidst a sparse crowd of motorcyclists. To my left, the road branched, bordered by a triangular divider.

Suddenly, a group of 2-3 Indian variety Cows, led by one with notably curved horns, ambled their way from the rear towards what I presumed was their home ( a usual in India!). They navigated through a narrow gap between the road divider and the motorcyclist at the front of the line. The gap was tight, and I couldn't help but notice the horns of the lead cow perilously close to the unsuspecting biker.

As the distance closed, I was gripped by fear. The sharp horn tips seemed destined to catch the back of the motorcyclist, potentially causing serious injury. This scene unfolded over what felt like an eternity but was actually about 90 seconds - the time remaining before the traffic light would turn green.

A Moment of Unexpected Insight

Just as panic was about to compel me to shout a warning, the cow did something astonishing. It tilted its head at a deliberate angle, about 45 degrees, ensuring the tip of its horn passed harmlessly over the motorcyclist’s shoulder. It was a maneuver of such precise awareness that it seemed almost human in its consideration.

The light turned green, and the moment passed as quickly as it had arrived. The motorcyclists sped off, including the one who had been moments away from a potentially painful encounter. None seemed to notice the critical adjustment made by the cow; the episode went unobserved by all but me.
Reflections on a Narrow Escape

A Surprising Display of Animal Intelligence

How did this cow, equipped with nothing more than instinct and a set of horns - ostensibly without sensory feedback - navigate such a hazardous narrow passage without incident? The horns, composed of dead tissue and certainly out of the animal’s line of sight, should not have been maneuvered so deftly. Yet, it was as if the cow possessed a consciousness, an understanding of its body in relation to the bustling world around it.

Reflecting on the Overlooked Miracles of Everyday Life

This incident serves as a poignant reminder of the "small miracles" that unfold around us, obscured by the fog of our daily routines and existential concerns. It challenges the way we compartmentalize animal behavior into simple, observable categories. Perhaps, in these unscripted moments, animals exhibit a level of situational awareness and deliberation that we, in our hubris, fail to recognize - a subtle reminder of the intricate tapestry of life playing out in even the most mundane of settings.

Funny pet video; dog smells a rat in false hopes

Illusion

When others asked the truth of me, I was convinced it was not the truth they wanted, but an illusion they could bear to live with

Anais Nin

Brexit - eyes wide shut (atlas view)

The Brexit poll shows how the split went right down the middle, the funny thing was that the head (Scotland) wanted to stay while the Body (England) wanted to leave. Now the Scots are referring (though in whisper) to a possible referendum about whether to stay as part of the union (will the Union get Jacked the second time around?).


If that happens the UK will be like the proverbial 'headless chicken' or rather 'Turkey' (the way i see the atlas now). One thing the Brexit shows, the forward march of the once imperious nation (whose Sun never set) with its head turned in the exactly opposite direction...

Back to dark ages

CONGRESS = REGRESS?

The party has successfully taken the state including the country's silicon valley back to dark ages.

Blast from the past

I usually misplace things and then end up turning the house upside down looking for it. During one search recently I stumbled upon a old photograph that immediately rewinded me to the past.

This post is about an incident that occurred in the 1980s. What looks like a perfectly serene shot with a man taking aim and a eager kid watching on had a bit of anticlimactic end .

And for once my curiosity got the better of me and landed my father in trouble in quite unforeseen ways

Back in the early eighties, my father had a licensed air rifle, which he often took during our family outings in our Fiat 1100d (MYJ2141) . Come to think of it now, it was more out of a necessity to keep the gun in smoking condition rather than any penchant for shooting or wild games.

I barely recollect the reason why he said he’d bought it. In the early seventies while constructing our house in what was then the outskirts of Belgaum city, wild animals frequented the area in the night and maybe found it handy for self defense .

My father was a good marksman and he loved hunting, a game that he had picked up from my grandfather in the pre-independence days, when hunting as a sport was not banned in India. But by the 1970s, the ban was in effect and my father had to be content with targeting birds & fowls after switching over to a spring loaded air rifle.

Our favorite spot was a sprawling mangrove farm of a family friend outside of Khanapur town, bordering a thickly wooded area near the border of Goa which we used to frequent.

On this occasion my Dad took a few shots and was successful in getting hold of a partridge. And while he was loading the rifle for another shot , I began pestering him for my turn.

The air rifle needed to be cocked and loaded by giving the barrel a rap near the muzzle which would bend it down. This would break open the action of the gun which could be reset back after inserting the pellet . Just as my father had coiled up the gun and was about to load another pellet in the barrel, I somehow managed to wriggle between his arms in and pulled the trigger. The powerful spring in the air rifle uncoiled and it snapped quite violently in his hands.

Before I could realize what happened, my father was staring at a broken rifle and bloodied hands due to its violent uncoiling which left him with cut wounds. Luckily he did not sustain any serious injuries and neither did I from the sound thrashings that rained upon me. 

Homo Stupidus

There are a few among us who stand erect yet by some quirky fate of evolution carry the same stuff in their cranial bones as that of the Neanderthal man. In my opinion they can be easily classified in a new sub genus called Homo Stupidus in the world of Anthrpology. 

I thought Sushil kumar Shinde was the front runner to take the coveted prize of Homo Stupidus man of the year for his late flurry of gaffe'ose utterances. 

That is until I read the ET of March 6 . Like Usain Bolt just waltzing past his fellow-sprinting erectus competitors, this guy, a Washington state lawmaker beat him with enough and more to spare to amble past the finishing line. And to do some after jig also before Shinde or others could actually touch the finishing line. 

His scorching run on the dumbing-down-circuit goes like this; 

“ If I am not mistaken, a cyclist has an increased Heart rate and respiration…since CO2 is deemed a greenhouse gas and a pollutant, bicyclists are actually polluting when they ride” - Ed Orcutt, a member of the house of representatives.

This wins the trophy, atleast in my mind, not for the sheer audacity of the intellectual chasm but for the string of words and the pearl of a thought which flies in the face of all logic and comprehension.

Its now apparent that Mr.Orcutt was arguing for a fee on bicycles to help pay for street infrastructure but went scurrying for cover after the ensuing public outrage his utterances created.

Following closely on the heels of Ed Orcutt for the coveted post was another US politician Richard Mourdoch’s with his famous “ rape babies are what God intended”

Aero India

Banking by design. Architectural Tales of India's Banking Bastions

Embark with me on a journey through the bustling streets of Bangalore and Mangalore, where the facades of financial fortresses tell tales of contrast and character. This isn't just a tale of my recent visits to various bank headquarters; it's a story of how architecture and design whisper the silent yet potent language of brand identity.

Let's start with the public sector banks, where time seems to have paused, holding on to the charm of yesteryears. Public sector banks have this - no frill, sedate & dull almost to the point of boring you to death types of receptions. One (Canara Bank) resembled a check-in counter at the airport, complete with uniformed staff manning a X-ray baggage checking machine next to the receptionist. Another (Vijaya Bank) had large showcases of what appeared to be several large trophies & awards around its reception area. I don’t know where & how they won so many but it certainly reminded me of my school & college receptions. Corporation Bank had this wooden box like reception area that resembled a ticketing counter of a 70 era cinema theater.

In stark contrast, the private sector banks were like stepping into the future. ING Vysya's entrance boasted revolving glass doors that ushered me into a world where art and commerce met—a giant steel sculpture hanging like a modern chandelier, a testament to the bank's sophistication and contemporary vision.

Essentially the style and substance in presentation speaks a lot of the banks, and it seems only the private sector banks used it as a calling card and a sophisticated way of differentiating from peers. Given the bad reputation and some stigma facing the industry it made a lot of sense for banks to trade goodwill and reputations through their corporate front offices.

Years back when I was working with ICICI Bank I used to marvel at its BKC headquarters, a place for our frequent visits and meetings. It appeared as jewel-de-paragon on the Bandra-kurla complex which during the initial years of its completion stood out against the monolithic blocks of concrete buildings as one entered the complex from Bandra side. I couldn’t differentiate these buildings from the fort (some called it residence named Matoshree) of the rabble rouser politician Bal Thackeray) who lived on the other side of the road. Several other organizations sprung around ICICI Bank later each trying to outdo the other in architectural splendor.

Magnificent as was it from outside contrast the reception where loud and bawdy Marathi speaking manoos’es who many a times doubled up as security and receptionists undid most of sophistication that Kamath had tried to portray as a dynamic universal Bank.

Years later, I found myself at Centurion Bank of Punjab in Mahalakshmi, where an old mill had been transformed into a corporate haven. Staying in Belvedre Court and walking to the office next door was the envy of my colleagues who knew a thing or two about Mumbai commuting. While on the exterior, the building exuded some charm of a heritage building the interiors were all glass and gloss. There was one small glitch though, a secretarial college rubbed shoulders with CBoP as its neighbor in the same complex.

Finally to understand how size can be one’s own undoing one can visit the head offices of NABARD in Mumbai. You will be reminded of how it would have been like while being swallowed by a 10000 pound dinosaur.

Lampner’s sleight of hand

That the various laws of life come into play frequently at the most inappropriate moments of our lives is something everyone might have experienced. Murphy’s law, Kauffman’s paradox, Salary axiom, Miller’s law of insurance and the list goes on but recently Lampner’s law caught up with me.

The  Project work with the state Govt  that keeps me preoccupied these days took me to 2 places away from Bangalore last week, one of which was  a welcome break from the hustle & bustle of city life to  a vast serene Govt. training campus spread over several hundred acres  on the outskirts of Dharwar town.   An official jeep ferried me from the Railway station  to this  campus as were countless others - all senior & mid level officials from north Karnataka covering several districts who came to attend the  one day workshop cum orientation training. I had requested the department boss (a senior functionary equivalent to a CEO)  to grace these sessions and he had  kindly obliged. But giving company was also another  Sr official (sectional head) who was supposed to oversee the arrangements and facilitate these workshops. 

This guy was anything but helpful: pesky, irritating us all the time with his typical Babu tantrums. He did little to facilitate the workshop but hung around us everywhere. Even tagging along when we met some officials in their chambers after the meeting. So the second day we (myself & colleague) decided to give this guy a slip after the meeting. So when the workshop got over we managed to pack our things quickly and made our way through the Govt building progressively getting away from his visual sight .  First we made our way to the toilets and then watching him through the distance among the Govt office corridors we slyly made our way to the exit. We had spotted him moments earlier walking into one of the adjacent buildings and so were  confident of our final move to the parking lot to make it to our vehicle. 

But as if by Lampner’s (law) sleight of hand, there he was at the parking lot! – a mischievous grin on his face and we were stranded like people with 2 left feet!

NatGeo Mission Indian Army: a firsthand account with the Parachute Regiment

NatGeo in association with Indian Army conducted the selection process to Mission Army: Desk Ke Rakshak  in Bangalore last Sunday. The previous such attempts by NatGeo namely Mission Udaan, Mission Mount Everest & Mission Navy had been quite popular . So decided to check it out this time around. The fact that I was competing with mostly 18-25 year olds didn’t deter me, I wanted to see whether I could really stand up to the rigorous selection standards (reportedly the SSB format) set by the Army set for this reality TV show 

So on a cold Sunday early  morning I set out to the Rajput Regiment Parachute Regiment Training Centre (PRTC) (said to be the fittest of the Army units) at JC Nagar Bangalore . There I expected to see large crowds, given that it had been well publicized, but could find only  about 25 faithfuls  at the gates around  6 in the morning. However by the time they herded us into Army trucks in groups of 25 at around 7:30 am the crowd had swelled to around 200+.

After the registration formalities, a display crib was tied to each participant and bundled in groups of 50 each. Each participant had to undergo 4 rounds of selection to finally make it to the lucky 5 from each city Mumbai (for west), Bangalore (for South) & Delhi ( for North) . The final 5 would spend 45 days as a part of the Indian army  & one among them would finally end up abroad and train with the Israeli intelligence (Mossad)

The first hurdle in this journey was the endurance test: a candidate was supposed to cover a vast 2.5 km stretch of Army ground under 10 minutes or the first 25 whichever earlier. A designated track was marked along this  vast stretch of grassy army land that was both picturesque  and daunting. After a basic instruction drill by a smartly dressed officer, the gun was fired and most of the young hopeful darted as if it were a 100 mts dash, not surprisingly many were out of steam after about 800 meters. I  ran the course steadily and after a bit of stretch in the end made it through the first round. About 90 made it through this round.

A cream bun and puff  breakfast later the second hurdle was a case study analysis followed by a group discussion. Groups of 15 participants were to  analyze a case situation that was given to us in a brief write up and pictorially depicted on a large display map ( marked out by railway & road tracks, forest boundary, Villages, Scales etc). Under 7 minutes the participant had to analyze the situation & provide a course of action to tackle the situation in a brief 1page  write up. This was followed by a  group discussion. An army officer read out the Instruction at the start  & followed up with a hawk like observation at a distance, constantly jotting down the  progress made by the participants . 50% of the participants were filtered out  in this round of selection. The group that made through this round let out a war cry when the results were announced in the noon. Little did we realise what lay in store ahead.

On a sultry noon, when the sun was beating upon us , they took us to another hard sand  ground where the still euphoric 45 participants faced this new Instructor. This guy appeared straight out of a Hollywood commando movie, gruff and with a bit of features that reminded me of Bruce Willis. He put us through a exercise regimen over the next 45 minutes that I would like to forget in a hurry. 40 normal  push-ups followed by 20 knuckle push-ups aswe simultaneously carried the entire body 5 steps  forward and backward respectively. Followed by another 20 while clapping hands in the middle of the pushups.  The groans that started mid way through this exercise  increased to desperate pleading by the time the count reached 80. This was followed by various types of leg squats, body stretches & exercises that I never knew existed in physical regimen. The Nat Geo guys quickly sensed a medical emergency situation and thankfully stopped this Rambo from doing any serious damage to  us (the guy though reacted as if it were just the warm up and the main course was yet to begin!)

The third round was what I would call a physio-psychometric test, the final batch of 45 were  broken into 3 teams and assembled around a small ‘situational area’ where the team had to follow certain set of instructions and overcome certain natural  barriers. We had to act as a team and not  individuals to cross the barriers. We were given a set of 2 ropes, a plank and a wooden pole, that we had to use to overcome the situation. Areas marked in blue were one could either stand & not use the support material while those in  white where we could do both. As we went through the exercise another officer watched closely at a distance and made notes.

By early evening, around 4 pm the exercises were over and a final list of 11 (instead of 15) were announced for the final round of interview. 2 Girls & 9 boys (lucky eleven I would say as there was nothing much to differentiate) were selected and the rest of us, well disappointed to say the least  returned back to  the base posing for a final photograph before we bid adieu to each other.

Counting your Chicken before they hatch

Why is  IIPM offering an MBA degree that nobody would recognize? muses Vir Sanghvi  in his blog recently. The answer it appears is simple though. IIPM  has this CEO who simply believes & acts  in ‘Counting  his  Chickens Before They Hatch’!

On a serious note the reality of  the matter is  that there are too many wannabe MBA institutes wanting to get a chunk of this large market and the fight between the ‘me-too’  segments is only getting fiercer. However dubious their claims or reputations may be – Vir’s well articulated article being a case in point. It’s another case,  for instance, why many colleges in Bangalore go without a single admissions in a year

My Project office lies bang opposite the Karnataka Examinations Authority office in malleswaram and I have been witness to what could be called a prolonged spectacle. That is until recently CET Counseling was in full swing here and flocking this center were hordes of engineering & other degree (including BBA - MBA) Institutes that marketed their wares in every possible way. Just passing by that road meant that you would have brochures of atleast 15 different colleges in hand before you crossed the centre.  And parking on the opposite side of the road were numerous College Vans & Buses with banners, buntings and all kind of promotional materials. 

The interesting thing is; as the days progressed and the counseling progressed to the lower rung ranks of students, newer and never-before heard colleges from far flung & beyond areas appeared near the counseling center. And many tried hard with their outdoor presentations; decent looking campuses & beaming students on their brochures & posters.

So what if one of the promoters of these colleges goes to bed worrying about the empty benches but wakes up one fine morning & says ‘lets do something different’? 

There you have another Arindam Choudhary story.

Twitternama

The universe does not revolve around us, what happened if it did ? To get an approximate idea watch the movie ‘The Truman show’ . Can it be real that an unwitting man’s entire life has been a TV reality show ? May be not in real life but with Twitter we are getting close. And unlike the plot in Truman show the exact opposite might be happening here (i.e, people constantly projecting their lives to outside world). The other notable difference being that it is a web reality show instead of a TV reality show.

I am seeing certain ‘Twitter’ obsessed people constantly updating their status – about being struck in traffic jam, about seeing some picture or meeting somebody, traveling, about some temple , some song in their mind, blah, blah, blah. I don’t know whether to call it twittering or incessant crowing but they are certainly projecting a minute by minute account of their lives to this web reality show.

Coming back to the movie, it finally explores the theme ‘whether a person can be a pawn in some grand experiment or a prisoner in an alien world than it is to anything in our current "reality TV" obsessed culture’. Going by the current Hollywood themes like ‘inception’ it certainly could be in the world of Twitter.