Tall Claims

I am no longer going to be able to say that I have seen the world's tallest building. Or ridden in the fastest lift. Few years back I was swept up the 300 odd meters of Taipei 101 to sweeping views of the cityscape. (Not that I do) But I could have bragged about it until yesterday.

Yesterday, when the magnificent 828 m Burj Dubai was inaugurated. And with this new tower (renamed Burj Khalifa today) comes a whole new set of records.

Tallest, most floors, highest swimming pool and so on... I am not going to spend more time glorifying it. Enough is being said and written and googled. The official website is seeing so many hits; the page is not even accessible any more.

Well, so what if they built a taller building. I'll still have these under my belt.
World largest fountain (Suntec Singapore. Yes that huge ring with holes is the fountain)
Southernmost tip of Asia (Sentosa. Errm.. Atlas anyone? )
Worlds largest man-made waterfall ( ha-ha you guessed it, Sgp again!)

Aww..that's so cute.

Have you seen today's Google banner? It is a graceful branch drooping over the "Google" laden heavy with cherries. And after the page loads, a cherry drops off and falls to the bottom of the screen.

When I saw it I could not resist a smile. Don't you love the itty-bitty scraps of sunshine that’s hit you out of nowhere and brighten your day.

Like the amul butter ads on huge billboards that you spot driving by. They always have something naughty and relevant to say, don't they? So when Sreesanth gets slapped, you can be sure the butter people will have a joke up their sleeve - and wickedly you watch out for it.

Just like you watch out for the couch gag on Simpsons' opening sequence. Now I personally don’t quite like the MTV brand clips, but I am sure even they have a following.

So thanks to a creative imaginative mind huddled somewhere over a computer screen pixel counting, my day becomes just a bit better.

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Outting the Das

Last week I went to see a stand-up act by Vir Das , imaginatively titled - Who let the Das out.

Upsides - I really like his diction. And his accent. It’s a good polished Indian-accented English. No fake r's rolling there.

Downsides- Well some of the jokes just seemed endless. There was this bit where he says the sari is just piece of garment to make things difficult for the groom. It was a good laugh. But he just droned on and droned on about it.

And some of the naughty jokes were falling short of humour. There was this really promising piece about cat and dogs. It starts with how a cat acts haughty and squints at you when you walk in late into the house. And how a dog jumps all over , tail wagging, going "Dude, where the hell have you been? I was waiting all day for you!"

Now , Vir Das doing the dog impersonation was adorable. I was almost going to fondle his ears! But right then, he goes for the dog-at-the-crotch jig. Ugh! So un-original. I just wish he had stuck with the dog and the cat theme. That was clean good fun! And I am no prude.

But, overall it was a thumbs-up. I hope more desi stand-up artists make it to Singapore and I can take a break from Russell peters on you tube.

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Ringing in 2010!

Half an hour to midnight. I am at home.Alone.
I would have liked to say with some candles and roasted lamb and wine to keep me company. But no. I could not be bothered.

It’s the harsh white light and Letterman yattering on the TV.
But I do have something planned for the stroke of midnight.

Thescarletrealm is going public. After months of writing in the shadows I am finally removing the access restriction. And no, it’s not a grand reveal.
I do not have a book of short stories on there. The few bits I have written and deleted few times are finally on show.

What has changed, is that I no longer care about who reads or does not read my blogs. There was only one opinion I cared for. And as that is now distant...I am abandoning control. I hope to write more next year. Less seriously. Less self-consciously. Who cares!

Happy New Year.


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After you, Ma'am

When was the last time you used the word chivalry ? Were you lamenting about its death or indignant that it is still expected in these days of gender equality. The chances are high that your usage was based on a popular and modern interpretation of a word with such beautiful etymology.

Borrowing from Wikipedia (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Chivalry), chivalry in the medieval ages was classified into three.
Duties to countrymen and fellow Christians , duties to God and duties to women

The third connotation is the strongest survivor but it is struggling to find patrons to the doctrine. A rare few have it ingrained, but most guys I know don't know and don't care about holding doors open for women.
There are some guys who hold chivalry in reserve for the hot chicks and some who know it oh-so-well but rebel against it.


And who can blame them? It’s all so confusing. Let me explain.

All of us grew up in families where the father was head of the family. We have seen men in the roles of providers and protectors. So somewhere in the sub-conscience we have accepted the man as the boss. But our educated sensibilities try to promote equality towards women , accept them in those very same roles. Realize that they can be independent and capable of taking care of themselves.

Now throw in some expectations of chivalry in the equation and then you will understand the conflict. Why should a man be expected to drop-off a lady colleague first on a late cab ride back home? The same lady whom, his HR tells him, is to be respected and not differentiated against.

It’s unfair you guys say. Probably. Speaking for myself and other women who feel the same way - If you are going to take a shot at women's lib each time before you stretch your hand out to help a lady over a high step, then don't do it.
It is not chivalry if you have any hesitation in doing it.


Having said that, if you are the kind of guy to whom these social graces come easily, my deepest respects to you. I know you don’t have to do it and precisely for that reason, I feel grateful each time a guy waits for me to step out of the lift. It's a tiny gesture and I salute the sublimity that empowers you to make that gesture.

No more sab chalta hai

Today, I was proud to be an Indian. In a teeny tiny way - the typical manner of inconsequential nothings, a glow crept into my heart for the land I call home and the achievements of the people I call my fellowmen. It was not the stomping, chest-thumping pride of Pokhran or Chandrayaan or the glee of the first Olympic gold. In fact, a good many people will roll their eyes to see me make such a big deal of an ostensibly routine event. Well.. I'll let you judege for yourself.


I have always hated going to the bank. I can trace the origins of the associated butterflies-in-the-stomach feeling, way back to when I was nine years old and had a kiddies account in Andhra Bank. I remember dragging my feet on monthly visits to the bank to pull apart my piggy bank and rain down a small heap of 10 and 20 ps coins in front of the amused staff. And then , while they fixed their mock serious stares on me , I sat squirming in a large wooden chair, sorting and counting my precious stash . It all sounds very cute now, I know. But when you are nine , the feeling is the same as meeting your in-laws for the first time.

Anyway, things didn't get much better over the years. I continued to remain in awe and partial fear of the stern faces behind counters . I cowered at the snappy irritation and dreaded the high stacks of forms.

So imagine my pure delight, when I started working and came across my very first debit/atm Citibank Suvidha card. True to its name, this little piece of blue plastic was my ticket out of long queues and token counters and paperwork. I embraced the new age banking and its hassle-free style with glee.

An older ,wiser me today, I have come to learn and accept the benefits of banking with a nationalized bank . It’s still not my favourite thing, but I have made my peace. And so I walked in SBI's swanky new branch on Cecil Street during the lunch hour.

Expecting a convoluted circuit of shuttling between multiple counters - I was prepared. Armed with two copies of the form (one filled out), two copies of passport and EP, three photographs, two copies of the phone bill, I approached the reception desk bravely and asked to open an account.

And there began the magic. In a twinkling of an eye appeared a brisk and pleasant lady who rifled through my massive trove of documents. Nimbly, she extracted the form and passport/EP and with a smile waved me to a comfortable alcove. I was flabbergasted! What? No demand for rental agreement? No corrections in red to my form ? And that’s just not it. There was a bigger surprise in store for me.

Let me spend a quick minute on some comparative analysis here. The last time I opened an account , it was with dbs. Singapore's largest and most prestigious retail bank. I waited for 15 minutes to get a token number. And then another forty until I had an audience with the cust service rep. I was able to open my account, but had to wait for 3 days for the atm card (with name embossed) and another week for the internet banking account. In the end, for all the red carpet ambience, the experience left me a bit weary.

So, ten minutes later, when Ms Deepti Sethi walked in with my atm card , internet rsa token and a receipt for the deposit of 500$ that was yet to hand over -
I fell in love with her. With her, and every cog behind that steel facade of sbi Cecil Street branch that made the operation so smooth.

Yes, I agree it’s an unfair comparison. Any other local bank is servicing an infinitely larger customer base. But if this is the face of Indian nationalized banks today, then I welcome the change and am proud of it.

The Soloist

I have been thinking, how much our existence is defined as a complement of others. Parents, partner,peers, pals they are so essentially woven in the threads thats make each day. Can you imagine going through your day having no one else to think about, no second opinion on what to have for dinner, no one to answer to at work, no contention for which movie to watch in the weekend. These are not the most pressing decisions of ones life but isn't it these tiny little nothings that amount to so much in the end. When you make life changing decisions, you certainly dont think about how much you are going to miss that phone call during lunchtime everyday. But you move on, and try not to focus on the vacuum.


One of the most irksome things you encounter are the curious eyebrows shooting up. Its tireless how nosy people can be about the businesses of a complete stranger. So your vast list of outdoor activities falls into two distinct categories. The things you can do on your own without inciting speculation and the things you venture to do on your own, only when pushed to the extreme.


Reading a book in a cafe, hiking, going to a museum or art exhibition , lounging on a bench smoking - all respectable single person deeds. But eating alone in a resturant , especially a lady - nope. Imagine the whispering and pointing if the solitary lass seated in the corner enjoys a slow, three course meal with a meaty tandori kebab for starters, a grilled fish entree and tops it off with a kulfi.



Ironically, watching a play or a concert is accetable but slink into a movie theatre without company and people take notice. Which I don't understand, because other than the occasional jibe or joke shared, its more or less on way communication between screen and self.



Contrary to popular feminine beliefs, shopping is an ideal one man job. You can zip in and zip out as many stores you like, you can linger if you like or zero in on your purchases with robo-like precision, you don't try things on for others, you don't offer suggestions. And no one can fault you for your mono-meanderings through grocery aisles or clothing racks.


Let me go back to smoking. Thats a classic loner lane. Reclining lazily against a faded wall drawing mesmerizing twirls of smoke that waft up into nothingness , gazing into the distance with a faraway , lost look. Tell me , wouldn't you want to be that elusive enigmatic stranger? Yeah , yeah I know .. Its not a politically right or socially right thing to say. But there are so many times I wish I smoked.

And then there is this league of extraordinary diversions , these wild , artisitic things that I would love to do and be the eccentric recluse - but I am too run-of-the-mill and ordinary to venture into. Things like meditate on a cliff or set an easel up in a park and paint or start writing a short story watching the sunset from a beach cafe.

Sigh... yeah.. no... none of that for me. And I can't find anything more to say, except that I am reminded strongly of Wordsworth's Solitary Reaper.
Behold her, single in the field,
Yon solitary Highland Lass!
Reaping and singing by herself;
Stop here, or gently pass!
Alone she cuts and binds the grain,
And sings a melancholy strain;
O listen! for the Vale profound
Is overflowing with the sound.
No Nightingale did ever chaunt
More welcome notes to weary bands
Of travellers in some shady haunt,
Among Arabian sands:
A voice so thrilling ne'er was heard
In spring-time from the Cuckoo-bird,
Breaking the silence of the seas
Among the farthest Hebrides.
Will no one tell me what she sings?--
Perhaps the plaintive numbers flow
For old, unhappy, far-off things,
And battles long ago:
Or is it some more humble lay,
Familiar matter of to-day?
Some natural sorrow, loss, or pain,
That has been, and may be again?
Whate'er the theme, the Maiden sang
As if her song could have no ending;
I saw her singing at her work,
And o'er the sickle bending;--
I listened, motionless and still;
And, as I mounted up the hill
The music in my heart I bore,
Long after it was heard no more.
-- William Wordsworth