Pune

There was a time when Pune used to conjure up these images of a quiet town, something which although only a 3 hour drive from Bombay had a totally differnt soul. But along came technology and everything went in fast forward, the rickshaw wallahs who would speak in "Puneri Marathi", I am told only speak in JAVA and such other arcane languages. The waadas and peths have made way for the manicured lawns of infosys and intel. So basically, the place has turned into a big boring software factory.

It would then come as a pleasant surprise that the place is home to one of the best Biryanis served anywhere in the world. I had heard tales of the famed Biryani at Dorabjee's in camp half the way round the world. My hostess, however, convinced me that Dorabjee's had since turned itself into an upscale departmental store on MG road. Now this place, MG road that is, is the sort of place that may be best likened to a zoo, where people come to watch other people. And me wearing the khadi kurta and a khadi bag with my cameras and lenses managed to turn quite a few heads, probably for all the wrong reasons. My hostess, embarrassed by my atire decided to whisk me away from there to a quiet cave temple on JM road. 

The temple was a good escape from the hustle and bustle of the city. Pataleshwar as it is known is an eighth century rock cut temple built in the rashtrakula period. The construction seems to be incomplete, most likely due to lack of patronage and funding in the later years, a pattern one sees in such cave temples or stupas across India. I took the opportunity to appease the gods, and ask for good business, a good pnl number, and more so a good bonus number (the materialistic me). As we stepped out, I was brought back to reality by a moped which almost run me over.

Pune is Moped country, here the moped is the works van, its the police car, it's the butcher's truck, its even the family saloon, with seating for five. And you have to dress up to ride one, as a terrorist. Pictures of moped riders in pune can easily be used in lieu of those of Taliban regrouping to take over Kabul from the Americans (havent they already taken it for all the practical purposes?). And then, if you display such signs of cowardice as using a helmet or following the traffic rules, the word on street is that you'll be publicly shamed. Little wonder then that crossing the roads here is an art that few outside have mastered.

We capped off the day with a appetizer of a few roadside paani puris and an agreeable dinner at a famous paraatha place. In short a day well spent with a good friend.

Bombay!

Across the glittering blue waters of the arabian,

The sky is blue,

the people are elegant,

the seas full of mackerel,

the women oh so desirable,

and the food so delectable

And I'll be there for two weeks beginning of Feb

Hindi

Having grown up in Bombay, I am, as they say, almost a native speaker of Hindi (I can see those who know me personally going yeah right!, and that incident at Haji Ali... - lets not get into that shall we). The only glitch is the version I speak, much to the horror of the true native speakers, is "Bambaiya Hindi". Frankly, I don't think there is anything wrong with it. It is hindi for the most part, with a little (generous?) sprinkling of English, Marathi, Konkani, and sometimes even Gujarati words, with sentence construction that would put even Bush to shame. My Hindi teacher, however, had no appreciation for this sort, and gave me lot of grief and very small scores. So much so that I almost gave up speaking the language, until absolutely necessary.

Recently, however, I have found myself speaking in the language quite a bit. It pretty much offers me the freedom of saying whatever I like (things that I've to say are almost inevitably offensive to half the world), with only my intended listener comprehending. It is only after one has come to a foreign land that one understands how great a code the native language makes. There is however a problem with this. Our love affair with English manifests itself in the predilection for using English verbs and nouns. Thats the reason I have dedicated the past few years to perfecting the fine art of speaking Hindi as a code and in the process contributed a great deal of words to the Hindi vocabulary.

So for the newbies of the art, so you don't have to reinvent the wheel, here is a glossary of some tricky words. My hindi teacher will weep if he sees this.

Goldman Sachs: Sona Aadmi
Soc Gen (Societe Generale):  Samaaj Saamanya
Merrill Lynch: Saand (remember the logo)
barclays: cheel (the logo again)
lehman brothers: Bhai log

Bear stearns: Bhaalu

Royal Bank of Canada: Canada ki shaahi bank

chinese: saste byapaari
French - Pyaaz bechne waale/ mendhak
Spanish - Bail ke hatyaare
Japanese: whale ke shikaari
Italian - Sonia ke deshwaasi
Britain: Raani ka desh
Russian: Bandook bechne waale
Goa: Feni ka pradesh

Jasmine (she was one of my best sales): Chameli
buy side: khareedne wali baju
sell side: bechne waali baju
Head hunter: Dimag ke shikaari (my personal favorite)

There are few more which I dont recollect right. Shall put them up when I recollect.

Financial Journalism

In an age where you need to fill your quota of column inches, uneventful Fridays can be a nightmare. 

Kappa Due

Last week saw one of the worst accidents in mountaineering history, with almost 11 climbers giving in to nature's fury, on their way back from summit attempt of K2. Mountaineering is a dangerous game, and I am sure every one of them was full aware that there was a good chance they wouldn't return. I guess it is precisely this love affair with danger that took them there is in the first place (it is the sort of thing that makes me want to race speedboats). In mountaineering circles, K2 is the holy grail, it may not be the tallest, but is by far the toughest of the 14 that are above that 8000m mark. 

It is not surprising then that accidents like this will happen, seracs will fall and ropes will be cut. It incident however provides us a rare glimpse into human psyche and behavior under stress. One of the survivors Wilco Van Rooijen describes the harrowing incident. How the people who found themselves stranded at the summit, started thinking of solely their own survival. To put it in his words "They were thinking of using My Gas and My rope. Everybody was fighting for himself and I still do not understand why everybody was leaving each other". Well, that is what happens when things go bad. There are no friends or team mates. Its every man for himself.

Its something I have seen closer home even in less extreme situations. I have to now stand guarding borders against other traders in the same firm poaching on my business. A business they would have gladly sent to me in better times. And on a larger scale, we've seen how wall street turned on some of its own (Bear Stearns, wouldn't have gone down otherwise) when the going got tough. I digress.

New York times lamented other day about how we have lost the camaraderie in mountaineering.  They recounted an incident almost 60 years ago from the golden age of Himalayan expeditions, which in involved a couple of fellow Columbia Alumni. It was the expedition to K2 led by Dr. Charles Houston. On their way back one of the members Art Gilkey contracted thrombophlebitis, and had to be carried by the other members, however the other members didn't for once think of leaving him behind. Gilkey eventually did succumb to the Savage Mountain, possibly saving his teammates, but the event has gone down the history as "Homeric retreat" of Dr. Houston's party. 

Interestingly enough, few years later, when the Italian team led by Achille Compagnoni, finally did conquer the peak, that summit is a legacy of backstabbing and betrayal. I guess then contrary to what the Times will have times haven't really changed.  Or maybe its just something in kappa Due that brings out the best and the worst in men.

Nemesis needed

The other day Matt was complaining how tough it has become these days. So much so that some of us are even disowning our mistresses in Monaco and Milan. He longed for the boring days when business was so easy to come by and when the trees in the park would blossom with money. we only needed to go and pluck. So, to cheer him up we dug out this from craigslist:

Nemesis required. 6-month project with possibilty to extend

Date: 2008-05-07, 2:49PM PDT


I've been trying to think of ways to spice up my life. I'm 35 years old, happily married with two kids and I have a good job in insurance. But somethings missing. I feel like I'm old before my time. I need to inject some excitement into my daily routine through my arm before its too late. I need a challenge, something to get the adrenaline pumping again. An addiction would be nice, but, in short, I need a nemesis. I'm willing to pay $350 up front for you services as an arch enemy over the next six months. Nothing crazy. Steal my parking space, knock my coffee over, trip me when Im running to catch the BART and occasionaly whisper in my ear, "Ahha, we meet again". That kind of thing. Just keep me on my toes. Complacency will be the death of me. You need to have an evil streak and be blessed with innate guile and cunning. You should also be adept at inconsicuous pursuit. Evil laugh preferred. Send me a photo and a brief explanation why you would be a good nemesis.

British accent preferred.

it's NOT ok to contact this poster with services or other commercial interests
Compensation: $350 up front
PostingID: 672031640

Le Gastronome

Took Fei out for lunch the other day. And, thanks to few dedicated souls like Clarkson and that chap at Jet blue, we had some amazing weather that day. So I thought, I'd treat her to the frog legs at Chanterelle. But because Chaterelle serves such great food at such great prices (yeah yeah I can hear you guys saying "kanjoos"), you need to have a time machine to go back a couple of centuries to book a table there. Mere mortals like me however, can only get a reservation for our grandchildren. Which meant, I'd to take her somewhere else, and she thought BLT Market was a good idea.

Now BLT market, I must tell you, is run by executive chef Laurent Torondel, who has honed his culinary skills in France, which, when it comes to food is next only to heaven. It is also housed in Ritz-Carlton, and sits facing the central park. On paper then it sounded amazing. 

In reality though it was amazingly awful. I really don't know where to begin. How about the name, its the latest in the BLT series - the BLT might make the uninitiated think of a NYC deli, but this is anything but. Then there is the market thing, which means they buy their ingredients from the farmer's market and have a seasonally changing menu. Which is all fine, but they also want it to be Ritz-Carlton eligible so they have to put a gourmet twist on it. Think its getting a bit too much for the resident chef Malbequi. And then there is the charade, like my fish which was served in a pan rather than china. Somehow, one gets a feeling that they are trying a bit too hard. 

I've always thought that best food, is made by coming up with a recipe and then perfecting it over the years. You don't change it every now and then. Its the same reason porsche makes the such great cars. The 911 may be 40 years old, but the changes over the years have been little more than cosmetic. Its like the black sea bass at Daniel, its tasted the exact same - subliminal to be precise - every time I've had it. 

Which brings me to another great gastronomical delight, which I am afraid, we shall never be able to taste again - the Biryani at A1 at Lamington road. That one was perfect, and has been that way since my grand dad frequented it till the days I used to a few years ago. Come to think of it, the perfect Biryani has become rather elusive these days. Some not so reliable sources tell me Dorabjee's in Pune camp has closed down (Can somebody tell me if she's lying?). But when it comes to biryani the place that beats even Paradise at Secunderabad is Olympia at Colaba. Guys, try it while it's still there.