A couple of days ago, Lagos burned. Well, not really. I have this flair for dramatisation. But an oil pipeline did decide to go up in flames, and not very far from where I live. Okay. It was about 60km off. Ironically, I heard it first from my sister who lives an ocean away. I was peacefully in bed (and yes, all by myself too) when I was enlightened. My first reaction was, "Wow, what place I live in!" But it does kind of make you appreciate the importance of taking interest in local affairs lest you should meet the same fate as the earth when the Vogon Construction Fleet1 destroyed it.
Hamatan 2 has been there or thereabouts. Not so intense that sand starts to get into my nose, ears, eyes, and other body crevices that only highly skilled lovers are aware of, but intense enough to leave a layer of dust on my shirts - basically on life, the universe and everything3. I am out each day for about four hours surverying the markets and talking to the customers. Supposedly, that is what a Sales Analyst does. As the Keymaker4 said, "We all do what we are supposed to do."
It is quite an experience. Nah, not dropping references and feeling self-important. That comes naturally to me. Not even putting the best interests of my shirts on the backburner, though it is possibly the most cruel I have ever been. I am talking about my work. I have never been in sales. Never sold anything, except my soul to the devil. It is a learning curve, and I am enjoying every minute of it.
Why wouldn't I? I visited a customer the other day. It is interesting that most businesses in Nigeria are run by women. Sharp, smart women. They give credence to one of my longest held beliefs - A woman who aims to be equal to a man lacks ambition. Anyway. This customer runs a shop in front of her home, and she invited me in. Gorgeous house. A dark staircase opened up to a darker passageway that led to her naturally well-lit living room. It was the middle of the afternoon and the power was out. The house, surprisingly, was cool. Ancestral photographs hung on the walls, and leather couches had sunk in those spots that were used most.
For a while, I was transported to my granny's house in a small town in Uttar Pradesh, India called Shahjahanpur - dusty streets, children playing, open drains carrying their filth, mud puddles dotting the road, the hot afternoon sun angrily beating down, and the sensation of the heat rising from the tarmac. Her mother was almost exactly like my granny too - toothless, thin, and adorable. I like!
No plans for New Year's. And no resolutions either. I don't quite believe in resolutions. If you want to do something, then do it. You don't have to wait for any particular day to start. That is all, and thank you very much.
1. Douglas Adams; Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy
2. Script Writer; James Bond and Wild Women; Of Travels and Travails
3. Douglas Adams; Life, the Universe and Everything
4. The Wachowski Brothers; The Matrix Reloaded
Friday, December 29, 2006
Tuesday, December 26, 2006
Go Sahir, go!
Not a post. Just an urdu verse by Sahir Ludhianvi from the movie Kabhie Kabhie, which in my opinion is the best movie to have come out of the Yash Chopra stables.
Kabhi kabhi mere dil mein khayal aata hai
(Sometimes I have this thought in my heart)
Ki zindagi teri zulfon ki narm chaaon mein guzarne paati to shaadaab ho bhi sakti thi
(That if life could be spent in the cool shade of your locks it could have been delightful)
Yeh ranjo-gam ki syaahi jo dil pe chaayi hai teri nazar ki shuaaon mein kho bhi sakti thi
(This ink of sorrow that is smeared over my heart could have vanished in the depths of your eyes)
Magar yeh ho na saka
(But this did not happen)
Magar yeh ho na saka aur ab yeh aalam hai ki tu nahi tera gam teri justajoo bhi nahi
(But this did not happen and now the stage is this that you are not around, your sorrow and even your desire is not there)
Guzar rahi hai zindagi kuch is tarah jaise ise kisi ke sahaare ki aarzoo bhi nahi
(Life is going on as if it does not hope for anyone's support)
Na koi raah na manzil na roshni ka suraag bhatak rahi hai andheron mein zindagi meri
(There is no path, no destination, no evidence of light, my life is wandering in the darkness)
Inhi andheron mein reh jaaoonga main ek din kho kar
(In this darkness one day I shall forever be lost)
Main jaanta hoon meri humnafaas magar yoon hi
(I know that, my love, but just so)
Kabhi kabhi mere dil mein khayal aata hai
(Sometimes I have this thought in my heart)
Kabhi kabhi mere dil mein khayal aata hai
(Sometimes I have this thought in my heart)
How can some people write this well? They have you eating out of the palm of their hands!
Kabhi kabhi mere dil mein khayal aata hai
(Sometimes I have this thought in my heart)
Ki zindagi teri zulfon ki narm chaaon mein guzarne paati to shaadaab ho bhi sakti thi
(That if life could be spent in the cool shade of your locks it could have been delightful)
Yeh ranjo-gam ki syaahi jo dil pe chaayi hai teri nazar ki shuaaon mein kho bhi sakti thi
(This ink of sorrow that is smeared over my heart could have vanished in the depths of your eyes)
Magar yeh ho na saka
(But this did not happen)
Magar yeh ho na saka aur ab yeh aalam hai ki tu nahi tera gam teri justajoo bhi nahi
(But this did not happen and now the stage is this that you are not around, your sorrow and even your desire is not there)
Guzar rahi hai zindagi kuch is tarah jaise ise kisi ke sahaare ki aarzoo bhi nahi
(Life is going on as if it does not hope for anyone's support)
Na koi raah na manzil na roshni ka suraag bhatak rahi hai andheron mein zindagi meri
(There is no path, no destination, no evidence of light, my life is wandering in the darkness)
Inhi andheron mein reh jaaoonga main ek din kho kar
(In this darkness one day I shall forever be lost)
Main jaanta hoon meri humnafaas magar yoon hi
(I know that, my love, but just so)
Kabhi kabhi mere dil mein khayal aata hai
(Sometimes I have this thought in my heart)
Kabhi kabhi mere dil mein khayal aata hai
(Sometimes I have this thought in my heart)
How can some people write this well? They have you eating out of the palm of their hands!
Thursday, December 21, 2006
Relativity
Most of us go through our entire lives searching for perfection. No, not in ourselves. In everything around us - the perfect job, the perfect cellphone, the perfect car, the perfect home, and even the perfect soulmate. To me, perfection is a delusion that seems the most real. I believe the only perfection that anyone can ever hope to achieve is through coming across the perfect dead end for perfection itself is a state that cannot be improved upon. Anything that stays static too long stagnates, not much unlike still water.
Soulmate. I am not convinced there is such a thing. When even life does not come with a guarantee, how can a life partner? I believe like all things in life, relationships must be contractual - renew them once they expire if both parties are agreeable to it. Of course this excludes ties of blood. Not all ties though. I am not too concerned about extended family - the cousins, the aunts, the uncles, and all that jazz. Relatives have traditionally been a universal pain. I, for one, cannot stand mine one bit, and I have been grateful to the powers that be that the nearest of my relatives has been at least a thousand five hundred kilometres away. Unless someone decided to die there was no reason for me to go visit. Sometimes, not even then.
More than the relationships that are thrust upon me, I value those that I choose to make - aquaintances, friends, lovers, and some that cannot be classified. Oh, I have a few weird relationships and there is no explaining them. There is that mental connect that makes us click. No, they are not illicit, immoral or amoral. They are simply not conventional.
Phew! I am actually getting into relationship gyan! Perhaps it is the manifestation of all that makes Lagos what it is. I have been here for over a month now. Lagos has been good to me thus far. Yeah, there are times when I feel like running away from it all. But I felt that in India too. Every once in a while I had this super urge to go off to the Himalayas, spend time up in the mountains, walking the dirt tracks with the snow capped peaks in the distance. What can I say? I am just a mountain person. One of these days I am going to take a road trip through Ladakh, though I have not made my mind up about the transport - Royal Enfield 500cc (the best bike to come out of the Enfield stables!) or a 4x4 Tata Safari. Suggestions?
I digress. One of my friends finds that the most endearing trait in me. She believes firmly that I am at my most charming when I do that. It is when I harp on a point that I get annoying, and enough to warrant a plonk on the head. Sometimes I wonder if all the women I know would be more than happy to give me a whack. Then I marvel at the extreme futility of the question. Of course they would, which is why I am as much against violence as I am.
Aside: I have renewed my tryst with meditation. Why did I ever go off it?
Soulmate. I am not convinced there is such a thing. When even life does not come with a guarantee, how can a life partner? I believe like all things in life, relationships must be contractual - renew them once they expire if both parties are agreeable to it. Of course this excludes ties of blood. Not all ties though. I am not too concerned about extended family - the cousins, the aunts, the uncles, and all that jazz. Relatives have traditionally been a universal pain. I, for one, cannot stand mine one bit, and I have been grateful to the powers that be that the nearest of my relatives has been at least a thousand five hundred kilometres away. Unless someone decided to die there was no reason for me to go visit. Sometimes, not even then.
More than the relationships that are thrust upon me, I value those that I choose to make - aquaintances, friends, lovers, and some that cannot be classified. Oh, I have a few weird relationships and there is no explaining them. There is that mental connect that makes us click. No, they are not illicit, immoral or amoral. They are simply not conventional.
Phew! I am actually getting into relationship gyan! Perhaps it is the manifestation of all that makes Lagos what it is. I have been here for over a month now. Lagos has been good to me thus far. Yeah, there are times when I feel like running away from it all. But I felt that in India too. Every once in a while I had this super urge to go off to the Himalayas, spend time up in the mountains, walking the dirt tracks with the snow capped peaks in the distance. What can I say? I am just a mountain person. One of these days I am going to take a road trip through Ladakh, though I have not made my mind up about the transport - Royal Enfield 500cc (the best bike to come out of the Enfield stables!) or a 4x4 Tata Safari. Suggestions?
I digress. One of my friends finds that the most endearing trait in me. She believes firmly that I am at my most charming when I do that. It is when I harp on a point that I get annoying, and enough to warrant a plonk on the head. Sometimes I wonder if all the women I know would be more than happy to give me a whack. Then I marvel at the extreme futility of the question. Of course they would, which is why I am as much against violence as I am.
Aside: I have renewed my tryst with meditation. Why did I ever go off it?
Tuesday, December 19, 2006
Yeh ishq nahin aasaan, itna hi samajh lije. Ek aag ka dariya hai aur doob ke jaana hai.
I have been like one of those moonstruck cartoon characters with hearts in their eyes and bells ringing above their heads. With exactly the same response too - the girl is not interested. Sigh! Whoever (Ghalib, I think, he was) said, yeh ishq nahin aasaan (love is not easy) was absolutely spot on.
Has been the story of my life, really. Through school and college, I have had quite a few women. I wish I could end that statement there, but sometimes I let the remnants of my honesty get the better of me. What I am meaning to say is that through school and college I have had quite a few women swoon over me. Not one of them, however, was someone who I swooned over. May be Karma is finally catching up with me.
Oh I am a big believer in Karma. It is all about cause and effect. Action and reaction. You be good, and people are generally good to you. You be a mean baddy, and people are more than good to you. Such are the vagaries and travails of life. Voila! I can't remember when I last used that phrase. It is one of my favourites. Moving on.
I drove last night. Sadly, not a woman. And the car was not a fiat. It was a Honda. Whatever the Japanese have achieved in terms of technology, they have been unable to match the Italians in making engines. Anyway. Though valid, it is not the point I am trying to make here. The point is that I had to switch sides since in India we drive on the left of the road, though in select cities in the country we drive on what is left of the road. Was it difficult to mirror driving habits? Nah, not really. When in doubt follow what this globe-trotting trucker once told me, "Adjusting to different driving sides is easy. In every country, I drive bang in the middle of the road." Wise words. Do they work with women too?
The last two days have been quite workless. It is almost as if I am getting paid for being online and making blog entries. I never thought having no work can be tiring. All I am looking forward to right now is getting home, and taking a long hot soak in the tub sipping on some delicious wine. Damn, I am almost a woman!
Aside: If you love someone, should you let them go? Should you wait for them to come back or should you go after them?
Has been the story of my life, really. Through school and college, I have had quite a few women. I wish I could end that statement there, but sometimes I let the remnants of my honesty get the better of me. What I am meaning to say is that through school and college I have had quite a few women swoon over me. Not one of them, however, was someone who I swooned over. May be Karma is finally catching up with me.
Oh I am a big believer in Karma. It is all about cause and effect. Action and reaction. You be good, and people are generally good to you. You be a mean baddy, and people are more than good to you. Such are the vagaries and travails of life. Voila! I can't remember when I last used that phrase. It is one of my favourites. Moving on.
I drove last night. Sadly, not a woman. And the car was not a fiat. It was a Honda. Whatever the Japanese have achieved in terms of technology, they have been unable to match the Italians in making engines. Anyway. Though valid, it is not the point I am trying to make here. The point is that I had to switch sides since in India we drive on the left of the road, though in select cities in the country we drive on what is left of the road. Was it difficult to mirror driving habits? Nah, not really. When in doubt follow what this globe-trotting trucker once told me, "Adjusting to different driving sides is easy. In every country, I drive bang in the middle of the road." Wise words. Do they work with women too?
The last two days have been quite workless. It is almost as if I am getting paid for being online and making blog entries. I never thought having no work can be tiring. All I am looking forward to right now is getting home, and taking a long hot soak in the tub sipping on some delicious wine. Damn, I am almost a woman!
Aside: If you love someone, should you let them go? Should you wait for them to come back or should you go after them?
Monday, December 18, 2006
Sobriety
This has been the best Monday in a long long time. I have been fresh as a daisy all day. That may, wholly, be due to my not having work and being naughty on the net. But, as Gwendolen Fairfax in Oscar Wilde's The Importance of Being Earnest said, in matters of importance style not sincerity is of significance. Yeah, I like dropping quotations now and then, even out of context. Gives a general impression of being well-read.
The weekend was, for want of a better descriptive, unusual. Most of it was spent at home. And it was largely sober. Surely one beer during a Sunday lunch does not count. More so when it was an official lunch. A man has to do what he can to survive those ordeals. Beer has traditionally been known to be a good survival tonic. The Russians prefer Vodka, but I deem that drink to be dangerous. More about that some other time.
What would a guy like me do when he is home? Have a woman over? Beep! Wrong answer. It makes absolutely no sense to have a woman over at your place. Rather, you go over to her's. Why? Again. Some other time. There are more pressing things right now. Well, not really. But I just like putting things off. Besides, I have not decided if this blog should become a sexual guidance column.
Saturday was movie night preceded by Table Tennis. I am playing a lot of TT and badminton these days. On the bright side, it does keep that ass of mine in fine shape. On the not so bright side, I get creamed in TT. Ice creamed actually. I rock at badminton, though. Can take the best of them on. The movie started around 11. Firewall, it was called. Harrison Ford and Virginia Madsen. No great shakes, but a fairly decent movie.
It took five Sundays to get a good Sunday sleep in Lagos. I was up at seven, but I kept drifting in and out of consciousness. Around noon I finally broke away from the throngs of a peaceful sleep. Post lunch, it was back home like good children. And my own home too. Then the marathon session of badminton began. I have no idea how long it went on for. At the end of it, I could feel my skin colour bleeding into my clothes.
The day is almost done now. About an hour or so to go. May be I will hit the sack early tonight. Last night someone kept me up till the wee hours of the morning!
The weekend was, for want of a better descriptive, unusual. Most of it was spent at home. And it was largely sober. Surely one beer during a Sunday lunch does not count. More so when it was an official lunch. A man has to do what he can to survive those ordeals. Beer has traditionally been known to be a good survival tonic. The Russians prefer Vodka, but I deem that drink to be dangerous. More about that some other time.
What would a guy like me do when he is home? Have a woman over? Beep! Wrong answer. It makes absolutely no sense to have a woman over at your place. Rather, you go over to her's. Why? Again. Some other time. There are more pressing things right now. Well, not really. But I just like putting things off. Besides, I have not decided if this blog should become a sexual guidance column.
Saturday was movie night preceded by Table Tennis. I am playing a lot of TT and badminton these days. On the bright side, it does keep that ass of mine in fine shape. On the not so bright side, I get creamed in TT. Ice creamed actually. I rock at badminton, though. Can take the best of them on. The movie started around 11. Firewall, it was called. Harrison Ford and Virginia Madsen. No great shakes, but a fairly decent movie.
It took five Sundays to get a good Sunday sleep in Lagos. I was up at seven, but I kept drifting in and out of consciousness. Around noon I finally broke away from the throngs of a peaceful sleep. Post lunch, it was back home like good children. And my own home too. Then the marathon session of badminton began. I have no idea how long it went on for. At the end of it, I could feel my skin colour bleeding into my clothes.
The day is almost done now. About an hour or so to go. May be I will hit the sack early tonight. Last night someone kept me up till the wee hours of the morning!
Friday, December 15, 2006
Come September
It was sometime in September when I last reposed tremendous faith in someone. And she did not let me down one bit. In fact, she was fantastic. Super. Of course I am talking about my car. No guy in his right mind would ever repose faith in anyone else. I am not going to get into a comparison of a woman and a car. Frankly, there isn't any grounds on which to do that. They do have one common trait, though. If maintained well, they get better with age.
My car is a fiat. She is 15, and she runs like a charm. She can do 30kmph in fourth gear, and she can do a flat out 120kmph on the highway. You have to be behind the wheel to understand what Angelina Jolie meant in 'Gone in 60 Seconds' when she said that cars give you that orgasmic feeling in the seat of your pants. Don't eye my car, though. I don't let anyone drive her.
So anyway. I was driving through Chirala and Punnugu to reach a very beautiful beach at Suryalanka. It was a fantastic drive, with the road criss-crossing across green fields, canals running along the side, and a railway crossing on the way too. I was reminded of this road trip a couple of days ago when I was driving to Ota, Ogun State, Nigeria. We have one of our instant noodles factories there.
Keep aside the elements of green fields, canals, and railway crossing. Everything else was just like that drive - small houses along the road, people milling about their business, a hill on the horizon, and a hot sun shining in the sky. It just felt like being in small-town India. Shops dotted the road, and people were all around milling about their business. How much I missed my fiat! She is such a beauty. But I don't think I would drive her in Nigeria. The traffic is too chaotic, and each dent would pierce a dagger straight through my heart.
That said, the factory is quite cool. Fantastic how dough becomes noodles. And all on an assembly line. Whoever thought of noodles has to be a genius. The same thing goes for papad too. To make a dough, dry it out in the sun, and then fry it... Now that needs some serious thought process. Good we did not have billion dollar corporations setting out to patent things like turmeric back then. What will they patent next? Sex? Whatever!
Lagos has suddenly become a very cool place to be in. We have armed security in our compound, and the number of security personnel has been doubled. This after one of the company employees was robbed at gunpoint. Commuting after 8 in the evening has been restricted to essential commuting only. It is Bihar all over again.
Aside: Why are we happy being stupid in love?
My car is a fiat. She is 15, and she runs like a charm. She can do 30kmph in fourth gear, and she can do a flat out 120kmph on the highway. You have to be behind the wheel to understand what Angelina Jolie meant in 'Gone in 60 Seconds' when she said that cars give you that orgasmic feeling in the seat of your pants. Don't eye my car, though. I don't let anyone drive her.
So anyway. I was driving through Chirala and Punnugu to reach a very beautiful beach at Suryalanka. It was a fantastic drive, with the road criss-crossing across green fields, canals running along the side, and a railway crossing on the way too. I was reminded of this road trip a couple of days ago when I was driving to Ota, Ogun State, Nigeria. We have one of our instant noodles factories there.
Keep aside the elements of green fields, canals, and railway crossing. Everything else was just like that drive - small houses along the road, people milling about their business, a hill on the horizon, and a hot sun shining in the sky. It just felt like being in small-town India. Shops dotted the road, and people were all around milling about their business. How much I missed my fiat! She is such a beauty. But I don't think I would drive her in Nigeria. The traffic is too chaotic, and each dent would pierce a dagger straight through my heart.
That said, the factory is quite cool. Fantastic how dough becomes noodles. And all on an assembly line. Whoever thought of noodles has to be a genius. The same thing goes for papad too. To make a dough, dry it out in the sun, and then fry it... Now that needs some serious thought process. Good we did not have billion dollar corporations setting out to patent things like turmeric back then. What will they patent next? Sex? Whatever!
Lagos has suddenly become a very cool place to be in. We have armed security in our compound, and the number of security personnel has been doubled. This after one of the company employees was robbed at gunpoint. Commuting after 8 in the evening has been restricted to essential commuting only. It is Bihar all over again.
Aside: Why are we happy being stupid in love?
Tuesday, December 12, 2006
James Bond and Wild Women
I like to think I am Bond, James Bond. And loved Casino Royale as much as I did, and Daniel Craig in it too, not that variety of Bond. More of the Connery-Moore-Brosnan variety. To an extent, Lazenby too. Oh no, I abhorr violence of all kind (mostly because I am usually at the receiving end of it). The most I can do if asked to kick ass is find a shapely female derriere and pat it. Honestly, I don't know why anyone would ever want to do anything else with a woman's butt. But I digress.
I am Bond because I dress almost as well as he does. Having been in hot countries all my life, I never quite got the hang of wearing a suit. Even so, my suit is tailored well enough to give Armani serious apprehensions over his tailoring. Other than that, my shirts fit me like second skin, the double cuffs are of the perfect width, the fall of my trousers is just right, the knot of my tie is dimpled, my shoes are custom made, and my socks are pulled up to the same height always. In effect, the value of what I wear far exceeds the cash in my wallet.
The self-obsessed rant done, Lagos is not a place for Bond to be in. Especially in the dry season (December to March). My boss and I were driving for a cup of coffee in his SUV on Saturday afternoon. The air was suspended with particles. That coupled with the air-conditioning of the car gave me the feeling of being in Delhi in winters - with the fog and the mist - till I was told of the phenomenon of Hamatan.
Hamatan are dry winds laden with sand that blow from the Sahara towards the South. The effect is more prominent in the dry season. Visibility drops, at times enough to shut runways down. The Lagos skyline is blurred, often for days together. With deforestation having almost cleared the country of forests, the intensity of Hamatan is only going to grow.
I looked out at the sun. Imagine that. Afternoon sun at the equator. It appeared to be an orange that had been lit up from the inside. Beautiful. But I enjoyed all this from the safe confines of a controlled environment. I am sure I am not going to enjoy it when I have to be out in the open, trying to make money for the company. What will my white shirts do?
The evening started out boring. There was an office party that I had to attend, and true to their reputation this one was dull, drab and dreary. At least till I hit the bar. Then the fun began with tequila shots, whiskey shots, and flaming lambourghinis happenning with aplomb. I am not too much of a drinker (yeah, my tryst with Mr. Jack Daniels says otherwise) but I do enjoy the occasional night at the bar.
Sunday afternoon was interesting. We went to a forest. Three weeks in Africa and I finally see a jungle! Saw snakes and lizards and birds and monkeys and peacocks. There were crocs too supposedly but I never saw any. Climbed a tree house. The difficult part was climbing down. It was great fun. For some reason, the wild always brings out the best in me. Be it a wild junlge or a wild woman.
Aside: Me and my woman!
I am Bond because I dress almost as well as he does. Having been in hot countries all my life, I never quite got the hang of wearing a suit. Even so, my suit is tailored well enough to give Armani serious apprehensions over his tailoring. Other than that, my shirts fit me like second skin, the double cuffs are of the perfect width, the fall of my trousers is just right, the knot of my tie is dimpled, my shoes are custom made, and my socks are pulled up to the same height always. In effect, the value of what I wear far exceeds the cash in my wallet.
The self-obsessed rant done, Lagos is not a place for Bond to be in. Especially in the dry season (December to March). My boss and I were driving for a cup of coffee in his SUV on Saturday afternoon. The air was suspended with particles. That coupled with the air-conditioning of the car gave me the feeling of being in Delhi in winters - with the fog and the mist - till I was told of the phenomenon of Hamatan.
Hamatan are dry winds laden with sand that blow from the Sahara towards the South. The effect is more prominent in the dry season. Visibility drops, at times enough to shut runways down. The Lagos skyline is blurred, often for days together. With deforestation having almost cleared the country of forests, the intensity of Hamatan is only going to grow.
I looked out at the sun. Imagine that. Afternoon sun at the equator. It appeared to be an orange that had been lit up from the inside. Beautiful. But I enjoyed all this from the safe confines of a controlled environment. I am sure I am not going to enjoy it when I have to be out in the open, trying to make money for the company. What will my white shirts do?
The evening started out boring. There was an office party that I had to attend, and true to their reputation this one was dull, drab and dreary. At least till I hit the bar. Then the fun began with tequila shots, whiskey shots, and flaming lambourghinis happenning with aplomb. I am not too much of a drinker (yeah, my tryst with Mr. Jack Daniels says otherwise) but I do enjoy the occasional night at the bar.
Sunday afternoon was interesting. We went to a forest. Three weeks in Africa and I finally see a jungle! Saw snakes and lizards and birds and monkeys and peacocks. There were crocs too supposedly but I never saw any. Climbed a tree house. The difficult part was climbing down. It was great fun. For some reason, the wild always brings out the best in me. Be it a wild junlge or a wild woman.
Aside: Me and my woman!
Saturday, December 09, 2006
Love's labour lost
Someone accused me a few days ago. And quite vehemently at that. It seems that my heart is a beggar's bowl. I let women in quick. I don't know about that. Yes, I have a good eye and I appreciate beauty much better than others do. During the years of my graduation, I had as many crushes as the number of lecture days. Most fizzled out in an hour. A couple lasted almost the length of a semester. But hey, that was college.
Once in a while, I did come across women who I thought I could spend the rest of my life with. Atleast I felt I could. But I did not quite feel it enough. As the Oracle in The Matrix trilogy said I did not feel it through and through, balls to bones. In hindsight, it was good that I never expressed my feelings to the women in question. Alas, hindsight is the comb that life gives you when you have lost all your hair.
Anyway. Now is when I tell you about women. Rather, how I define a woman. It has nothing to do with a person's age. It is all about character and attitude. If a two-year old has it in her, she is a woman as far as I am concerned. Interestingly, there are a few two-year olds I know who are more women than their mothers can ever hope to be. That does not mean that their mothers are not women. Some of them are, and too much of a woman for most men to handle.
Exactly the kinds I would term 'my kind of woman'. That I should come across them only after they slip a ring on their left ring fingers is perhaps as ironical as it can get. But I have never ever discriminated on the basis of race, colour, or marital status. Besides, there is something about a married woman. It is the taboo about the whole thing that is such a tremendous, sky-scraping high.
Let's not get into whether I have ever been with a married woman. Partly because I like a bit of mystery about me. Mostly because my sister reads my blog. Anything I say further makes me risk implicating myself. I might even be disowned. Either that, or I am just a sad pathetic loser who has had no action. Take your pick.
Aside: Why does love have to be a one-way street?
Once in a while, I did come across women who I thought I could spend the rest of my life with. Atleast I felt I could. But I did not quite feel it enough. As the Oracle in The Matrix trilogy said I did not feel it through and through, balls to bones. In hindsight, it was good that I never expressed my feelings to the women in question. Alas, hindsight is the comb that life gives you when you have lost all your hair.
Anyway. Now is when I tell you about women. Rather, how I define a woman. It has nothing to do with a person's age. It is all about character and attitude. If a two-year old has it in her, she is a woman as far as I am concerned. Interestingly, there are a few two-year olds I know who are more women than their mothers can ever hope to be. That does not mean that their mothers are not women. Some of them are, and too much of a woman for most men to handle.
Exactly the kinds I would term 'my kind of woman'. That I should come across them only after they slip a ring on their left ring fingers is perhaps as ironical as it can get. But I have never ever discriminated on the basis of race, colour, or marital status. Besides, there is something about a married woman. It is the taboo about the whole thing that is such a tremendous, sky-scraping high.
Let's not get into whether I have ever been with a married woman. Partly because I like a bit of mystery about me. Mostly because my sister reads my blog. Anything I say further makes me risk implicating myself. I might even be disowned. Either that, or I am just a sad pathetic loser who has had no action. Take your pick.
Aside: Why does love have to be a one-way street?
Thursday, December 07, 2006
Hitting the nail on the head
Last night was good. How good? If you have never had three mind-blowing orgasms in an hour you will never appreciate how good it was. But then if you were in the habit of having orgasms, you would not be spending time reading this blog. Quite a vicious circle this. Phew!
About last night. It was fantastic. It was fabulous. It was completely out of this world. It was almost as if I discovered the next level of bliss. What did I do? I finally managed to do my nails! Some might say that doing nails does not come close to doing a woman. Agreed. But have you ever tried doing a woman without doing your nails? I doubt she will let you do anything with her after that. Ever. Unless she likes stuff like that. In that case, give me her number.
This reminds me of a porno video I saw a while ago. A woman was giving some 'gyan' (knowledge) to a few guys on improving their chances of picking up a woman at the bar. The first thing to ensure about the woman you want to hit on is that she is not a lesbian. And it is not all that hard to determine that. All you need to do is notice her nails. If the index and forefinger have trimmed nails while the rest are long, then it is a fairly good indicator of her being gay.
I always held porn in very high regard, recognised its potential at a very early stage. But I never knew nails could give so much insight. If eyes are the windows to a person's soul, then nails are definitely a window to her sexuality (and no, I am not using non-sexist language - I am talking of the feminine gender exclusively).
Workwise, the last two days have been alright. We happen to sell the most popular brand of instant noodles in this part of the world. It is quite interesting to observe the behaviour of the customers. For reasons I have never been able to fathom, Mahatma Gandhi once said that a customer was the important visitor on our premises. I am not questioning the veracity of the statement but why the Father of the Indian Nation should bother about paltry affairs of running a business is beyond me.
Off now. Time to play some cricket and vent my angst on my bosses through bouncers!
About last night. It was fantastic. It was fabulous. It was completely out of this world. It was almost as if I discovered the next level of bliss. What did I do? I finally managed to do my nails! Some might say that doing nails does not come close to doing a woman. Agreed. But have you ever tried doing a woman without doing your nails? I doubt she will let you do anything with her after that. Ever. Unless she likes stuff like that. In that case, give me her number.
This reminds me of a porno video I saw a while ago. A woman was giving some 'gyan' (knowledge) to a few guys on improving their chances of picking up a woman at the bar. The first thing to ensure about the woman you want to hit on is that she is not a lesbian. And it is not all that hard to determine that. All you need to do is notice her nails. If the index and forefinger have trimmed nails while the rest are long, then it is a fairly good indicator of her being gay.
I always held porn in very high regard, recognised its potential at a very early stage. But I never knew nails could give so much insight. If eyes are the windows to a person's soul, then nails are definitely a window to her sexuality (and no, I am not using non-sexist language - I am talking of the feminine gender exclusively).
Workwise, the last two days have been alright. We happen to sell the most popular brand of instant noodles in this part of the world. It is quite interesting to observe the behaviour of the customers. For reasons I have never been able to fathom, Mahatma Gandhi once said that a customer was the important visitor on our premises. I am not questioning the veracity of the statement but why the Father of the Indian Nation should bother about paltry affairs of running a business is beyond me.
Off now. Time to play some cricket and vent my angst on my bosses through bouncers!
Wednesday, December 06, 2006
Maid in Lagos
A single guy's woes are inversely proportional to the househelp he has. It works inverse-squarely in my case since, for a guy and single at that, I am excessively obsessed with clean socks. To give an idea of my fondness, I can go without food but my socks need to be squeaky clean.
This morning we finally had a maid! She has some issues with her date of joining that we are sorting out at the moment. Despite that, it was as if the heavens had opened up. She made breakfast and lunch alone for today. The pile of clothes was left untouched, but at least now there is hope. I can now have a dream (with no offence to Martin Luther King) - of clean socks. Whoopee!
The joys of a maid completely managed to negate the supreme agony I inflicted upon myself when I woke up at 6. There are usually only two reasons that can have me up at that ungodly hour - I have not slept all night, or I have to catch the 7 o' clock train. This time it was work! Never in my life did I imagine I would sink to such levels of decadence. But I guess sometimes we surprise ourselves - the bar is already set low and we still manage to slither from right underneath it.
The only difference between me today and a hibernating bear was that I slept with my eyes open. Crucially, I was awake when the big boss was screwing me left, right and centre. I would not have wanted to miss enjoying such a humping, would I? Post that, it was one sleep fest after another. I almost fell asleep on the shop-floor with cranes swishing past about half a foot over my head.
Almost leaving work now. Dinner awaits at a neighbour's. Sometimes, single guys do have all the good food! There are plans of a movie or two. We have an awesome home movie system - good speakers, and a projector. Basically, nirvana. Does not match a movie hall by any stretch of the imagination but scores highly on the comfort front.
Why is my housemate not done with his work yet? I need him to give me a ride. How can people be so insensitive to others' needs? Now we know why world peace will forever remain a joke.
This morning we finally had a maid! She has some issues with her date of joining that we are sorting out at the moment. Despite that, it was as if the heavens had opened up. She made breakfast and lunch alone for today. The pile of clothes was left untouched, but at least now there is hope. I can now have a dream (with no offence to Martin Luther King) - of clean socks. Whoopee!
The joys of a maid completely managed to negate the supreme agony I inflicted upon myself when I woke up at 6. There are usually only two reasons that can have me up at that ungodly hour - I have not slept all night, or I have to catch the 7 o' clock train. This time it was work! Never in my life did I imagine I would sink to such levels of decadence. But I guess sometimes we surprise ourselves - the bar is already set low and we still manage to slither from right underneath it.
The only difference between me today and a hibernating bear was that I slept with my eyes open. Crucially, I was awake when the big boss was screwing me left, right and centre. I would not have wanted to miss enjoying such a humping, would I? Post that, it was one sleep fest after another. I almost fell asleep on the shop-floor with cranes swishing past about half a foot over my head.
Almost leaving work now. Dinner awaits at a neighbour's. Sometimes, single guys do have all the good food! There are plans of a movie or two. We have an awesome home movie system - good speakers, and a projector. Basically, nirvana. Does not match a movie hall by any stretch of the imagination but scores highly on the comfort front.
Why is my housemate not done with his work yet? I need him to give me a ride. How can people be so insensitive to others' needs? Now we know why world peace will forever remain a joke.
Tuesday, December 05, 2006
'Love'ly Mondays
Mondays are usually bad days for a man. They are probably bad days for a woman too but since I have never been a woman at any point of time in my life I cannot make a statement as sweeping as that, though I have never had any scruples about making sweeping statements. Even so, I tread with caution with regards to the fairer sex. I would have used 'female of the species' instead of 'fairer sex' had it not been for the Domestic Violence act that Ms. Renuka Chaudhary has vehemently brought in.
Anyway. This Monday was like any other. I had to wake up earlier than usual. That does not mean that I did wake up earlier than usual. There was a pressing need to do it but with the calmness of still water I let that need pass me by. True to its character, the Monday blossomed. The cascading effect was fantastic.
I could not cut and file my nails. Not many are aware, but nail-cutting is a very important event in my life. It takes me all of 40 minutes to get just my fingers done. I have been told Marilyn Monroe took lesser time but if you look like her you don't much care what your nails look like. Long nails remind me of a friend of mine who has this constant urge to box my ears when my nails are untrimmed. Or may be she has a constant urge to box my ears. Period.
I don't like long nails, and for one reason alone. They tend to accumulate grime. It is a constant struggle to keep them clean, and that takes up all of my waking moments which means I get no work done. That is not a bad thing if there is work to be done. There isn't. So it is a waste really expending so much energy.
The day went by as joblessly as it does on a Monday. Post work, my housemate and I went to Apapa market where a woman refused to let go of his hand. I don't know what she kept saying but he had a tough time preserving his dignity. Eventually we managed to run our assess off there.
Aside: I have been enamoured by the charms of a woman, fallen for her completely. Have no idea what I should do about it.
Anyway. This Monday was like any other. I had to wake up earlier than usual. That does not mean that I did wake up earlier than usual. There was a pressing need to do it but with the calmness of still water I let that need pass me by. True to its character, the Monday blossomed. The cascading effect was fantastic.
I could not cut and file my nails. Not many are aware, but nail-cutting is a very important event in my life. It takes me all of 40 minutes to get just my fingers done. I have been told Marilyn Monroe took lesser time but if you look like her you don't much care what your nails look like. Long nails remind me of a friend of mine who has this constant urge to box my ears when my nails are untrimmed. Or may be she has a constant urge to box my ears. Period.
I don't like long nails, and for one reason alone. They tend to accumulate grime. It is a constant struggle to keep them clean, and that takes up all of my waking moments which means I get no work done. That is not a bad thing if there is work to be done. There isn't. So it is a waste really expending so much energy.
The day went by as joblessly as it does on a Monday. Post work, my housemate and I went to Apapa market where a woman refused to let go of his hand. I don't know what she kept saying but he had a tough time preserving his dignity. Eventually we managed to run our assess off there.
Aside: I have been enamoured by the charms of a woman, fallen for her completely. Have no idea what I should do about it.
Monday, December 04, 2006
An Evening in Lagos
There are weekends, and there are wild weekends. Then there are wild weekends in Lagos. The Lagos nightlife may not be nearly as well known as that in Miami, Paris, or Las Vegas. It may not even be nearly as wild as Nairobi. But it scores, and how!
Friday started off bad. I mean really bad. You would have no idea how bad it was unless you have had a splinter stuck in your rectum for ten days. We had a new housemaid. The older one, though, did not let go easily. She scared the new one away, and she left too. So now, there is no maid. For someone who knows the joys of having a maid, a maid-less existence is sad, almost depressing. It casts a pall of gloom over the entire household.
As bad as Friday was, Saturday could not have started off on a better note. Actually it could have if we had a maid, but under the circumstances it was like the smell of fresh earth after the first rains. Work was fun. Ah yes, sometimes I do enjoy work. Post that, the weekend began.
It kicked off with a movie - Casino Royale. Man, what a Bond film! I so absolutely fucking loved it. And that despite it deviating from the Ian Fleming book. The movie done, we hit Victoria Island. Now VI is the place to be in Lagos. We hit a few nightspots - three. And what spots too!
There is something about a Nigerian woman's butt. It is booty in the true sense of it - round, curvaceous, tight - and they know exactly how to shake it. Currently, there is a trend - a very healthy one too - of wearing low-rise (really low-rise) jeans/shorts/skirts without underwear. Everywhere you see, there are butt-cracks on display.
If you are one of those whose vision flows top-down, then I don't think you would ever see it for the bustline would put Beyonce out of business. I don't know if I am a tit-man or an ass-man, but hey I am not complaining.
We had a woman at our table. Of course, she was hot. From what I have seen of Lagos, they only have hot women here. It is almost as if there is a caveat - be hot to be in Lagos. Anyway, I think it was the Jack Daniels. But I could not help flirting with her. Nah, it was me. Jack Daniels or no Jack Daniels. The Jack Daniels helped though, especially once she went off with one of my housemates.
It is a little blurred after that. I do remember getting home at half past three, switching the air-conditoning on, and hitting the sack with all intentions of sleeping the morning off. Alas, man proposes and housemate disposes! His alarm went off at 8:30. Who does that? On a Sunday!
It is quite mundane and boring after that. All the homely things were done, which basically translates to getting supplies for the week. That is as homely as we get. Dinner, badminton, table tennis, and a movie later it was bedtime.
Friday started off bad. I mean really bad. You would have no idea how bad it was unless you have had a splinter stuck in your rectum for ten days. We had a new housemaid. The older one, though, did not let go easily. She scared the new one away, and she left too. So now, there is no maid. For someone who knows the joys of having a maid, a maid-less existence is sad, almost depressing. It casts a pall of gloom over the entire household.
As bad as Friday was, Saturday could not have started off on a better note. Actually it could have if we had a maid, but under the circumstances it was like the smell of fresh earth after the first rains. Work was fun. Ah yes, sometimes I do enjoy work. Post that, the weekend began.
It kicked off with a movie - Casino Royale. Man, what a Bond film! I so absolutely fucking loved it. And that despite it deviating from the Ian Fleming book. The movie done, we hit Victoria Island. Now VI is the place to be in Lagos. We hit a few nightspots - three. And what spots too!
There is something about a Nigerian woman's butt. It is booty in the true sense of it - round, curvaceous, tight - and they know exactly how to shake it. Currently, there is a trend - a very healthy one too - of wearing low-rise (really low-rise) jeans/shorts/skirts without underwear. Everywhere you see, there are butt-cracks on display.
If you are one of those whose vision flows top-down, then I don't think you would ever see it for the bustline would put Beyonce out of business. I don't know if I am a tit-man or an ass-man, but hey I am not complaining.
We had a woman at our table. Of course, she was hot. From what I have seen of Lagos, they only have hot women here. It is almost as if there is a caveat - be hot to be in Lagos. Anyway, I think it was the Jack Daniels. But I could not help flirting with her. Nah, it was me. Jack Daniels or no Jack Daniels. The Jack Daniels helped though, especially once she went off with one of my housemates.
It is a little blurred after that. I do remember getting home at half past three, switching the air-conditoning on, and hitting the sack with all intentions of sleeping the morning off. Alas, man proposes and housemate disposes! His alarm went off at 8:30. Who does that? On a Sunday!
It is quite mundane and boring after that. All the homely things were done, which basically translates to getting supplies for the week. That is as homely as we get. Dinner, badminton, table tennis, and a movie later it was bedtime.
Friday, December 01, 2006
Life, or something like it
Whoa! You will never ever complain of banality in Nigeria, at least not in Lagos. There is dynamism, too much of it. Not a day passes by when something extraordinary does not happen. Most of it, though, you would rather do without. It is interesting, nonetheless.
My second day at work. I was getting back to office from a meeting around mid-day when I had my first brush with the naked-man-bathing-publicly phenomenon. Men-bathing-publicly is quite common in India, more so in the northern parts of the country. However, they do wear loin cloths, or some other such garment to guard their modesty.
This was, frankly, quite shocking to me. Different strokes for different folks, I know. Cultural differences too, I realise. But I don't quite like the sight of schlongs dangling outrageously, more so when they are grouped. Oh yes, this is quite a community activity. May be I am not quite bi yet, though I sometimes like to think I could be. Bummer!
On the bright side, it is not life-threatening. Unless the group suddenly decides to make me a part of a big orgy. Ouch, even the thought hurts. Let's not think about it, and move on. There are more romantic events taking place, more fantastic. An armed robbery, for instance.
It happenned yesterday on the ride back home from work. Night had fallen. There was a very heavy go-slow on the expressway. Expressway. How oxymoronic can it get? Anyway. There was this gang of armed robbers on the prowl. I didn't see them at first. Thankfully, the driver did. How he managed to steer us away from them is the stuff James Bond chase sequences are made of. And exciting as Bond makes them appear, you would not really want to be a part of them.
Now this other thing I cannot refute or accept. My housemate, as he was getting home from work the day I spoke of previously, witnessed a man being stabbed by the roadside. Scary and thrilling at the same time. But only if you have not seen it unfold before your eyes. I hope I never see such a thing. I can live with dangling schlongs. Not this.
Otherwise, it is not a bad place. It even shows you what you might only have heard of and never seen. Experientially, it rocks! Doesn't it?
My second day at work. I was getting back to office from a meeting around mid-day when I had my first brush with the naked-man-bathing-publicly phenomenon. Men-bathing-publicly is quite common in India, more so in the northern parts of the country. However, they do wear loin cloths, or some other such garment to guard their modesty.
This was, frankly, quite shocking to me. Different strokes for different folks, I know. Cultural differences too, I realise. But I don't quite like the sight of schlongs dangling outrageously, more so when they are grouped. Oh yes, this is quite a community activity. May be I am not quite bi yet, though I sometimes like to think I could be. Bummer!
On the bright side, it is not life-threatening. Unless the group suddenly decides to make me a part of a big orgy. Ouch, even the thought hurts. Let's not think about it, and move on. There are more romantic events taking place, more fantastic. An armed robbery, for instance.
It happenned yesterday on the ride back home from work. Night had fallen. There was a very heavy go-slow on the expressway. Expressway. How oxymoronic can it get? Anyway. There was this gang of armed robbers on the prowl. I didn't see them at first. Thankfully, the driver did. How he managed to steer us away from them is the stuff James Bond chase sequences are made of. And exciting as Bond makes them appear, you would not really want to be a part of them.
Now this other thing I cannot refute or accept. My housemate, as he was getting home from work the day I spoke of previously, witnessed a man being stabbed by the roadside. Scary and thrilling at the same time. But only if you have not seen it unfold before your eyes. I hope I never see such a thing. I can live with dangling schlongs. Not this.
Otherwise, it is not a bad place. It even shows you what you might only have heard of and never seen. Experientially, it rocks! Doesn't it?
Thursday, November 30, 2006
Where do the people come from?
Being as I am, an Indian and that from Hyderabad, I am laid back, and I am not referring to any position of pleasure. That is not to imply that Hyderabadis do not indulge in the sins of the flesh, or otherwise. It does not even mean that Hyderabadis in Lagos do not have sex. I am neither a statistician nor a voyeur. Same difference anyway!
Hyderabad is a city that loves to take its time with things. Shops don't open before 11 in the morning and they do not remain open much after 8 in the evening. The Nizams may be history but their legacy certainly lives on. A typical Hyderabadi drives with a death wish, never gets to an appointment on time, and swears by the Charminar. I do none. But I am as imperturbable as any. And I am still a Hyderabadi.
I have seen Hyderabad explode to twice its size. I have seen commuting time go up from a maximum of 40 minutes from anywhere in the city to anywhere else to as much as three hours for a distance of four kilometres. And I drove a non-AC car! But I enjoyed the traffic jams. I loved the energy of it, the idiosyncrasies of individuals, the haplessness of the traffic policemen. I thought I was prepared for Lagos.
Yesterday I knew I was wrong. I am getting the hang of Lagos but it is going to take me a long, long time to understand it enough to venture out all by myself. Lagos has a different chaos, a chaos that even someone like me whose roots are in Bihar takes time to appreciate, a chaos that can seriously rattle you.
I was being driven through Yaba market a little after 7 in the evening. There must be a million people milling about the place! Crowds don't scare me, at least they didn't scare me. This one was petrifying. I have only been as frightened once - when I was waiting for a bus in the middle of the desert at 2 am - and that was in hindsight.
May be those fears were exaggerated. No, I know they were. I have seen nothing in Lagos so far that I have not seen before. Yes, I have read and heard so much more that 2 and 2 sometimes adds up to 22. I guess I am prejudiced. Or may be I am cribbing, something I absolutely abhor. Perhaps it is the whole process of settling in through distillation and amalgamation.
Weekend beckons now. Grandiose plans for it, though I am as broke as Enron. Like a very dear friend of mine says, "Sun, sand, and babes!"
Hyderabad is a city that loves to take its time with things. Shops don't open before 11 in the morning and they do not remain open much after 8 in the evening. The Nizams may be history but their legacy certainly lives on. A typical Hyderabadi drives with a death wish, never gets to an appointment on time, and swears by the Charminar. I do none. But I am as imperturbable as any. And I am still a Hyderabadi.
I have seen Hyderabad explode to twice its size. I have seen commuting time go up from a maximum of 40 minutes from anywhere in the city to anywhere else to as much as three hours for a distance of four kilometres. And I drove a non-AC car! But I enjoyed the traffic jams. I loved the energy of it, the idiosyncrasies of individuals, the haplessness of the traffic policemen. I thought I was prepared for Lagos.
Yesterday I knew I was wrong. I am getting the hang of Lagos but it is going to take me a long, long time to understand it enough to venture out all by myself. Lagos has a different chaos, a chaos that even someone like me whose roots are in Bihar takes time to appreciate, a chaos that can seriously rattle you.
I was being driven through Yaba market a little after 7 in the evening. There must be a million people milling about the place! Crowds don't scare me, at least they didn't scare me. This one was petrifying. I have only been as frightened once - when I was waiting for a bus in the middle of the desert at 2 am - and that was in hindsight.
May be those fears were exaggerated. No, I know they were. I have seen nothing in Lagos so far that I have not seen before. Yes, I have read and heard so much more that 2 and 2 sometimes adds up to 22. I guess I am prejudiced. Or may be I am cribbing, something I absolutely abhor. Perhaps it is the whole process of settling in through distillation and amalgamation.
Weekend beckons now. Grandiose plans for it, though I am as broke as Enron. Like a very dear friend of mine says, "Sun, sand, and babes!"
Wednesday, November 29, 2006
The journey begins...
It is fantastic, almost sensational, what people won't do for money. There are those who have literally been to the moon and back for it. Those who have lived their entire lives in glass houses. And there are those like me who have moved to Africa.
The amateur's first impression of Africa is as stereotypical as President Bush's speech - of jumbo elephants roaming the grasslands, lions chasing zebras, safaris in open top jeeps, naturalists preserving the forests, foreign doctors setting up camps, and dusty roads criss-crossing the country. It is as false too.
What Discovery and National Geographic channels don't show is the real Africa. Africa does not live in the jungles. Most of Africa lives in its cities. And some of the largest cities in the world they are too. Parts of the urban landscape are reminiscent of their days of greater glory, which years of military coups and absolute corruption have taken a heavy toll on.
More than these physical indicators, the people of Africa are a stark reminder of a generation lost - an entire generation that has no skills because it was either a victim of the military rule or a campaigner against it. You can see it in the eyes. The hope is almost gone. The heart does not know what to believe anymore.
I live in Lagos, Nigeria's largest city and West Africa's largest Port. It has a population anywhere between 10.5 and 15.5 million. Traffic snarls (called 'go-slow' in local parlance) are frequent, and it is not uncommon for vehicles to be driven on the pavement when the roads are too full. Accidents happen often, and when they do the drivers of the vehicles involved decide to settle the matter right there, slowing down the go-slow even more.
Surveys have ranked Nigeria as the happiest state. It is hard to understand how that can be. Most Nigerians live below the poverty line (that is on less than USD 1 per day). But they believe in living for today, for tomorrow is another day. There are incidents of mugging and theft, but I guess they are a part of any big city.
Nigeria is one of the very few democratic African countries. It has been so for the last seven years. Ironically, the present President is a former military dictator. Things have improved since then. Corruption is down from about 200% to about 70%. A lot still needs to be done, but the resilient Nigerian seems to want development. This is one thing about Nigeria that stands out. Years of despotism have not been able to kill the resilience in the Nigerian.
It is potentially the richest African state, and not just with regards to the oil. The soil is fertile, really fertile. There are lots of other mineral deposits that are yet to be explored. What it needs is some political will. It is a nation that has seen the worst, almost fallen apart because of it, yet managed to stay together.
I have been here about ten days now. I love the chaos. There is something in chaos that defines a city. Chaos gives a city its character. From what I have seen, the nightlife is beginning to happen. The clubs are open all night, and there are some gorgeously hot women grooving to the music. Some of them are 'available' too if you get the drift.
The power supply is erratic, and the phones don't always work the way they are meant to. There may not be much to do if you are not the kinds who likes to party. But you just have to appreciate the 'give-respect, get-respect' theory that people believe in. It is almost refreshing to come to a world where people understand family values, where they believe in the family system.
Africa, here I am!
The amateur's first impression of Africa is as stereotypical as President Bush's speech - of jumbo elephants roaming the grasslands, lions chasing zebras, safaris in open top jeeps, naturalists preserving the forests, foreign doctors setting up camps, and dusty roads criss-crossing the country. It is as false too.
What Discovery and National Geographic channels don't show is the real Africa. Africa does not live in the jungles. Most of Africa lives in its cities. And some of the largest cities in the world they are too. Parts of the urban landscape are reminiscent of their days of greater glory, which years of military coups and absolute corruption have taken a heavy toll on.
More than these physical indicators, the people of Africa are a stark reminder of a generation lost - an entire generation that has no skills because it was either a victim of the military rule or a campaigner against it. You can see it in the eyes. The hope is almost gone. The heart does not know what to believe anymore.
I live in Lagos, Nigeria's largest city and West Africa's largest Port. It has a population anywhere between 10.5 and 15.5 million. Traffic snarls (called 'go-slow' in local parlance) are frequent, and it is not uncommon for vehicles to be driven on the pavement when the roads are too full. Accidents happen often, and when they do the drivers of the vehicles involved decide to settle the matter right there, slowing down the go-slow even more.
Surveys have ranked Nigeria as the happiest state. It is hard to understand how that can be. Most Nigerians live below the poverty line (that is on less than USD 1 per day). But they believe in living for today, for tomorrow is another day. There are incidents of mugging and theft, but I guess they are a part of any big city.
Nigeria is one of the very few democratic African countries. It has been so for the last seven years. Ironically, the present President is a former military dictator. Things have improved since then. Corruption is down from about 200% to about 70%. A lot still needs to be done, but the resilient Nigerian seems to want development. This is one thing about Nigeria that stands out. Years of despotism have not been able to kill the resilience in the Nigerian.
It is potentially the richest African state, and not just with regards to the oil. The soil is fertile, really fertile. There are lots of other mineral deposits that are yet to be explored. What it needs is some political will. It is a nation that has seen the worst, almost fallen apart because of it, yet managed to stay together.
I have been here about ten days now. I love the chaos. There is something in chaos that defines a city. Chaos gives a city its character. From what I have seen, the nightlife is beginning to happen. The clubs are open all night, and there are some gorgeously hot women grooving to the music. Some of them are 'available' too if you get the drift.
The power supply is erratic, and the phones don't always work the way they are meant to. There may not be much to do if you are not the kinds who likes to party. But you just have to appreciate the 'give-respect, get-respect' theory that people believe in. It is almost refreshing to come to a world where people understand family values, where they believe in the family system.
Africa, here I am!
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