Alternate Vision

Yes, you may laugh now.

-The speech Bush should have given
- Pee-valanche

Baghdad Burning

"E. was the first to hear it. We were sitting in the living room and he suddenly jumped up, alert, "Do you hear that?" He asked. I strained my ears for either the sound of a plane or helicopter or gun shots. Nothing... except, wait... something... like a small stream of... water? Could it be? Was it back? We both ran into the bathroom where we had the faucets turned on for the last eight days in anticipation of water. Sure enough, there it was- a little stream of water that kept coming and going as if undecided. E. and I did a little victory dance in front of the sink with some celebratory hoots and clapping."

"The curfew begins at six from now on and there's also a "driving curfew" in addition to the ordinary one. I don't have the exact hours but I know that during several hours of the day, it's ok to be on foot but not ok to be in a car. I don't have the slightest idea how they're going to enforce that one."

Love her writing style. Somehow I am reminded of Ann Frank's diary everytime I read her blog. The charm and sensitivity of a mature writer in the face of atrocities does indeed captivate an audience.

I watched Hotel Rwanda yesterday. To think that as almost 1 million people were being slaughtered (in three months) , the rest of the world looked on. History repeating itself? Ok, thats a given. But Darfur? It seems to me that when faced with such questions such as genocide, beaurocrats, pundits and world leaders alike tend to take the "for" or "against" approach - futile and ridiculous. Ian Williams from the Asia Times has described it well
"It is like being for or against surgery. You can oppose punitive amputation of limbs, be dubious about procedures that do more for profits than patients, but still be all in favor of operations that have clearly beneficial results, while still invoking the Hippocratic principle, "Above all do no harm."
Humanitarian and military intervention, as a concept, has always been smitten with such problems. Nazi invasion of Czechoslovakia, Japan's imperialist interventions to "liberate" Asia, Russians and Chechnya and ofcourse Iraq. It begs the question, who decides? Quite obviously, the Sudanese government control the janjaweed militia and are certainly as culpable as Milosevic was. The Sudanese were probably, and not so surprisingly, smarter in tackling the UN. Must have learned from Milosevic's mistakes. Pretended to bring in AID and impose stringent conditions, while thousands were murdered and raped. You would think though, that the international community has learnt from its past beaurocratic mishaps and their falsely derived syllogisms.

More than 70,000 people were killed and two million forced to flee their homes in Darfur. The UN ruled out a genocide. To thrash out pros an cons and delve deep into this is certainly beyond ths scope of this desultory diatribe. I just needed to vent.

Wednesday- The Digitial showcase, in and of itself, did little for me. It lacked a central theme, musically and artistically. Their music spanned from the digitally explosive Venetian snares and Squarepusher to old school trip-hop. Mixed in with a live electric guitar (which sounded completely off tune) and projected plug-ins that bore no semblance to what I would call high quality digital art, it made for an obtuse theme. Red wine and cloves, travel tales of Bodhgaya, Costa Rica and Santa Catarina followed by two hours of salsa dancing did make up for it though.

Thursday- Evening started of with the much anticipated audition. Ten minutes into our first rehearsal and the alcohol comes out (this is on campus mind you). Doors locked, volume turned up and the jam session had begun. Daniel (the Paulista) and I are the hand percussionists for the band e ele gostaria de falar so' em Portugues. Otimo. Congas, two djembes, tamborine, shakeray and the talking drum. Song list to come later. Just as we got into the rhythm of things, I had to take off cos Jesse and I had a presentation to make on Nigeria, which apparently was loved by all. We included a 5 minute pidgin session at the end, which I believe did the trick. No be so? Post-presentation- Kirk, Ksiusha and I sneaked away from Jesse's spring roll party and made our way to the Church of the friendly ghost. Bless one hitters. We arrived late, in time for just the climax. But boy was it worth it. Founded primarily to 'foster marginalized art', this multi-purpose art space (max capacity of 50 people) served as a perfect venue for the West African ballet. Precision drumming coupled with the female dance troupe from Guinea (with the Big Mama ofcourse) captured the cultural spirit of West Africa. What I didn't comprehend, but nonetheless appreciated, was the post performance hip-hop dance session on stage. And so we danced the night away.

Friday- Kispe night with the Peruvians. Need I say more?

Saturday- Pancho Sanchez was in town. I am told, and I now see why, that no one can bring together Latin music, jazz, soul, R&B, hip-hop and even funk like this man can. I adore bands that are centered around a percussionist. There was wine, some dancing, a lot of gazing (in complete awe) and some flirting. We finished up at Trudy's and a midnight walk in the cold, which turned out to be a not so fabulous idea. I am still adapting to this cold front. Hands down am a warm weather person.

Amidst all this, I have to balance a design project with Applied Materials and my horrid job.
Slow down says u, live it up says I!!!

The granduncle has started chemotherapy. The daily emails that are meant to update us on recent developments only leave me disconsolate. Maybe its just me, but reading stories of people going through suffering as a result of chemotherapy, radiation therapy and the like, especially somebody close can be heart-rending. I could easily sit here and not be affected by this or choose not to be aware of the details and simply wish him the best. But at the cellular level, my body reacts differently. Am sure it would make his day if I called him up over the phone. Yes, that would make mine too.
Much to report about from this past week, but not right now. The week in pictures to follow this evening.

Somebody on nomadlife once commented "limbo is my only refuge." Indeed, an apt delineation of every nomad's heartbeat, orientation and mindframe. Our modus operandi. This evening, after the presentation on Nigeria, I am told a meeting with Taneli is on the agenda, the Finish lad who has just commenced his bike trip from Dallas to Buenos Aires.
The urge to take off is slowly getting the better of me. I have started thinking about plans for May. Alex recommends Turkey for the summer, but I want the fareast. All this rests upon the condition that graduate school has to work out for me, which, after a phone call I recieved the other day looks like it hopefully will. If I do landup visiting the motherland in May (fingers crossed), then there is no stopping me. . Now, the task I am faced with is to a) sort out my financial priorities and b) get the ball rolling.

F#*! I am late for my meeting and its raining. I just realised I cut myself while salsa dancing last night. Not sure how that came about. hmm Dang it! Shower power.

Gavin Coates
Originally uploaded by surya.

Happy Birthday Ma!!!!!

I now sport two cock up carpel tunnel braces on my hands. No more excessive gazing at the monitor. Anti inflammatory medicine when necessary. All this is purely a preventive measure. Doesn't help that I have an audition this week; my Djembe is certainly going to be seeing a lot of action. A lot more swimming and free hand exercises. Barring this, am in the best of moods. Unusally happy today for a variety of reasons. Oh and its actually warm outside. Broke into this pleasant, refreshing sweat on my way over to work.
What to lookforward to this week?
Digital showcase
West African ballet at the Church of the friendly ghost

At this juncture I can't help but feel that the jagged terrain, thorny bushes, and that cryptic feeling of uncertainty are all behind me. I stand at the top of this hill, faced with numerous decisions to make. Yet, knowing that whatever path I pursue, I am assured of one simple thing - contentment. Or maybe its all an illusion, a mere figment of my imagination. Time will tell.

Lounge selection for the day, from Soma Fm

Autechre Confield - 2 07 Bronchu

Tommy Guerro & Gadget - Deep Sleep

Visit Venus - Brooklyn Sky Port

Luke Vilbert- Knaim N' NO

Clifford Gilberto - Resltess

Amorphous Androgynous - In Mind

This is my escapism; to float beyond the chambers of the mind. If it were a tadbit warmer, I would motion myself to go for a run. Or maybe I should brave the cold. No, a swim instead. Hmmm

From a family friend. If you suffer from the "save the world" syndrome then this is worth a read.

RUNNING FOR RAKUM

I am committed to running the half marathon in Mumbai on the 16th. January 2005 (see http://www.mumbaimarathon.indiatimes.com) for Rakum's cause --specifically, for The Blind School that he manages. My running number is 9896. I write this to request that you consider donations to the school . Income Tax ( 80G ) exemption to tax payers in India are available for such donations. I got to know about the school from Aruna; the school in which she teaches has an ongoing programme with the students of the Rakum School for the Blind. All of us are keen to help in whatever way we can. I am running a 21.097 Km appeal and am determined to do it in 3 hours or less. My personal satisfaction in running the distance in good time will be complete if this appeal generates some funds for Sri Rakum School for the Blind. If you feel that Rakum needs wider support, and know of anyone who is prepared to help, I would thank you to forward this communication to them as well.

Rakum is a karate Black Belt ( 5e Dan) holder who was trained by the late Sosai Mas Oyama (1923-1994), the founder of the Kyokushin Kai School of Karate. He has distinguished himself in the art and has held positions such as the Chairman of the Indian Karate Association and the Chairman of the International Karate Association for South -East Asia. He has taught Karate in India and in Japan and came to live in Bangalore in 1984. From one who started by teaching karate to physically challenged children, he has now moved on to reach out, in his own way, to the underprivileged in and around Bangalore. I consider his efforts to be both very uncommon and extremely laudable -- as much for his total dedication to the cause as for the self reliance that he inculcates in the students of his school. They cook, clean, wash, repair, fetch and carry and engage in every conceivable activity that is required to maintain and run the school.

Sri Rakum School for the Blind, situated in Indiranagar, Bangalore was established in 1998 and is a residential school for the economically underprivileged and the visually challenged. It is a school registered with the Government of Karnataka. The school now has about 130 students, about half of whom are visually impaired boys and girls. The school employs 4 teachers; they need to employ more. All other instructors at the school are volunteers, many of them part-time; they could do with some full-time ones. Besides education, board, lodge and clothing are provided free of cost to the children of this school. Classes range from nursery to end of school and classes are taken up to the BA and MA levels as well. For more information on the school, you may log on to http://www.rakumschools.com ( The website has not been updated for two years)

Rakum manages another school in Devenahalli ( of international airport fame, 36 Km from Indiranagar) for the economically weak sections of the community there. This school has 210 students , many of whom are children of quarry workers. This school, which provides free nursery and 1st standard education, mid-day meals and school uniforms to 3- 5 year olds was started in 2003 to meet pressing local needs. The Indiranagar school will ultimately move to the Devenahalli campus and will be expanded to provide better computer facilities, a college for the underprivileged visually impaired and perhaps an R & D Centre for the schools alumni.

Rakum helps elderly destitute women by regularly providing rations, clothing and Rs 100 to 127 of them every month

Funds for the above activities are channeled through a charitable trust of which Rakum is the sole trustee. M/s Singhvi Dev & Unni, Bangalore are the auditors of the Trust. Rakum is fond of saying that "the Management Committee of the Trust consists of God, you and me". Costs are met entirely through private donations in cash and kind. The Trust does not have any funding from Government and there is no permanent funding arrangement with Institutions or NGOs.

Subject to my completing the half marathon ( evidence of which will be made available to you ) I suggest that you seriously consider making a donation to Rakum's Trust through a demand draft or cheque payable in Bangalore and drawn in favour of Sri Rakum School for the blind" the payment may be sent directly to :

Sri Rakum school for the blind
421 / 1 Sri Krishna Temple Road
Indiranagar, Stage I, Bangalore 560038
Tel : (91)80-25215253 / 25215705

You will get a receipt from the school with the details that you need for your 80 G claim

The amount that you wish to donate is entirely up to you. However, Rakum has given me the following which may be useful to you in making your decision:

1.. Rs 600 will meet annual education expenses for one child
2.. Rs 900 will provide one child with clothing for a year
3.. Rs 1000 can sponsor a days' breakfast for all the schools' children
4.. Rs 2000 can sponsor either lunch or dinner / day for the schools' children
5.. Rs 3000 will provide a child with food and education for a year
6.. Rs 5750 will provide all the schools' children with Breakfast, Lunch, Tea & snacks and Dinner ( ie all meals) for a day

The attachment contains press interviews with Rakum that have appeared in the past few years. You may want to read them to know more about the man and his philosophy, about the schools and the way they are run.

Warm regards and seasons greetings

Krishna Chidambi

Dental problems spell agony. The fillings I recieved in Lagos were bad, so my nerves remain exposed. I could barely chew on the pipusas last night, so we made a meal of the plantanos. And I left my phone at home today. Maybe today I will be able go for that swim.

I have noticed a sudden lack of an inspiration to blog of recent. Possibly because I have been immersed in the fictional world of invincible code breaking machines. TRANSLTR. Two days ago, I was well poised to pick up Kafka's Penal Colony, until, Ketan forcibly dropped a copy of Dan Brown's Digital Fortress in my bag. There is a certain fluency to how Brown pilots his readers on these breathless chases. Quick thrilling read.
This morning I was informed that my grand uncle, who is a revered mathematician and physicist in Bangalore, was diagnosed with intestinal cancer. My interactions with him have always been limited to those few days every year, when we visit my hometown in Bangalore. We would choose a day to go and spend with him, more because he would have to take time off from his insanely hectic teaching schedule. His ability to enthrall you with his infinite wisdom on a multitude of topics and leave you in awe is certainly distinguishing. Anyway, so I said a prayer for his speedy recovery.
Nothing else to add except I just spent the last four hours lost in a different planet, on the dance floor might I add, at this Tsunami relief concert. The Ruta Maya has this sophisticated yet earthy feel to it. More importantly, I discovered an awesome world band this evening. They call themselves Atash (Farsi for Fire). Somewhere between jazz, western classical, middle eastern and ethnic Indian and West African music. Ofcourse they have the sickest Djembe player and drummer. This lady with short hair and blue eyes wanted to know why and how I danced the way I did. My only defence was that I liked to pretend like I am an "intepretive dancer." I imagine that left her more puzzled. Inspiration derived from the Happy Mondays. She did make a good dance partner though. Craving some pao de queijo.

DSC01660
Originally uploaded by surya.

Towards the end of the my time in Brazil, Cristiano (my host brother) and his girlfriend Michelle ended their 8 year relationship. Throughout my time there, I always told myself that the wedding bells were around the corner; until one fine day, they stopped talking to each other completely.
Well, good ol Cristiano just emailed me with news that they are back together. Now, it certainly is just a matter of time. Oh and they just got back from Ilha Grande no Rio de Janeiro. Pics to follow.

DSC01596
Originally uploaded by surya.

Oh what a tease!

Carnaval in Austin
Originally uploaded by surya.

Durante meu tempo no Brasil, todomundo falou que eu preciso voltar para o Carnaval. Ate hoje, eu recebia emails de meus amigos qui estavam fazendo seus mais melhor para convencer-me. Alguns afortunados vao la, mas sem dinheiro e tempo eu terei que ir para o carnaval a qui em Austin. Vai ser meu primeiro. Ja commecei pensar num vestido. Alguns ideias?

My jollof rice last night turned out well, but it could have been a lot better. On receiving Aunty Mary's recipe today I realised that using Basmati rice instead of Nigerian rice and not using proper tomato paste significantly affects the flavor and texture of the rice. That and some chilli powder will make a world of a difference. Pisco sour is my new favorite drink.
2 ounces pisco
1 ounce lime juice
1/2 egg white
ice
dash of any bitters
Blend the above ingredients. Sprinkle cinnamon onto each drink.
I obviously seem more preoccupied with such trivialities than with the need to contribute to the heated discussion on the true impact of the "Aiesec experience."
I can't wait for my Afro-pop ensemble class to begin. Yawn. I need a bed. Oh Anderson just walked in with the largest trophy I have ever seen sticking out of his backpack. Nevermind then.

Picture 107
Originally uploaded by surya.

He appeared out of nowhere. Certainly made my birthday. From this day onwards I shall submit to the art of black and white photography.

The only lord I shall attempt to appease at this hour of the night is Jah. For he will understand.
Salsa dancing can cause much damage to the legs, especially if you haven't danced in over a month. But its always good to derive energy and inspiration from one of the Walker labels. Yes, I too have become a feign for this gomela drink. Formerly Green label was only available in a limited number of markets but is now available in the US and in most duty frees. This article claims that it is one of the best kept secrets of the Johnie Walker portfolio. Black label somehow did more for me though.
Oh and there is all the other stuff that was consumed tonight that unfortunately or fortunately I don't remember at all. I am told tomorrow night will be worse. Dios Mio. I desperately want to return to Brazil. Desperately. I would give anything for some yam chips now. ANYTHING. Goodbye to Siddharth Bali.

Chicken tenders dipped in Teriyaki sauce with Ranch. Iced Tea. Clear blue Texas skies. Fresh salsa. Carlos Vives and Jorge Bem playing in the other room. Alex has put on some weight.
Just about to begin unpacking - spices, two African wooden side tables, scarves, Wazobia African Ebony wooden carvings, necklaces, books, chutki - plenty of it, Acryclic paintings, Rice paper paintings,Ceramic candle holder.
Spoke to a close friend after over 6 months. She has become kiwified, claims to be a salsa expert and speaks with a quaint twang. But I like it. The same giggle. Its been 2.5 years. A reunion is in order, this summer maybe. Either China or Australia?
Aga just informed me of something splendid that is to happen this weekend. But I can't tell, not until the weekend comes about.
Everyone is going salsa dancing tonight. My body is aching for rest though. Eu adoro Jorge Bem. Que Maravilha nao ?

Surreal visit to NYC. The heater can't be turned off, so I am sitting here half naked with the window open. Breaking into an unfamiliar sweat. Must be jetlag. Through the window I notice each skyscrapper towering above the other, soaring endlessly, as if touching the sky. Modern ruins, street fossils, gargantuan high rises. Architectural splendor. On any other day, the city would be mine to explore. Not today.
All through the night, my intermittent sleep pattern was perturbed by a random stream of consciousness. Yes, mentally I am still in Molade Okoya Thomas St, waking to the smell of fresh chutney and ginger chai. What I would give to have Aunty Mary come in to the roon, with cowbell in hand, yelling at us for sleeping past ten. And then spoiling us with the best south indian breakfast ever.My mind then races to thoughts of the present; I suddenly become aware of the beads of sweet across my forehead, of loud sirens at 3am that one would only hear in the city, of cute small eyes, of my inability to sleep soundly. I must be terribly home sick.
I must shower and eat some Rajma now. Flight to Austin leaves at 1:46pm. Time to move on to a different world, a different life, a different me?

Foi bastante tempo desde eu escrevei em Portugues. Estou escquecendo algumas coisas. Preciso practicar. Preciso ler. Preciso escrever muito mais. Preciso voltar para no Brasil.
Entre em Israel. Uma pessoa que ta feliz com o que a vida que se oferecer. Ele conhece as ruas no centro da cidade ( a qui em Lagos) como ninguem. Ele trabalho no escritorio de meu pae e serve ao cha e ao cafe. Era meu desejo dos pais que nos visitamos seus negociantes. Cada dela e' um dos negociantes os mais grandes dos peixes em Nigeria. Mama Bolareva me deu N20,000, um pouco mais de $100. As Nigerianos sao generosos e gostam de dar, mesmo se significa dar todo que tem. Sobre nossa experiencia dentro na cidade, eu nao quer escrever. Ler a qui.
Amanha, agente vai sair da qui. Nao sei quando vou voltar. Mim achado eu mesmo oprimido por um sentimento misturado da nostalgia e da satisfacao. Eu sonho de voltar para comer mais suya, para aprender mais yoruba, para destacar-se da realidade, para encontrar com mais Lebanese. A vida continua. Eu montarei a mare elevada.

My inbox is full of work emails. Reminder of what is to come starting the 13th. I have a suitcase full of African stuff. Handicrafts, gifts, books, CDS, spices, paintings, artwork, shakeray..and what not.
In this last month I rediscovered Nigeria like I have never done before. Jesse is part of the familly now. Mary treats him like the son she never had. My dad and Jesse are the best of friends, atleast I like to believe so. I must go now. Tomorrow, we shall depart. Lagos- Duba-NYC-Austin.
If I were the kind that cried, then I would be weeping now. But life goes on no ?

Bengali fried fish, kati rolls, jollof rice, chicken peppe soup, samosas, papdi chat, fresh rotis, gulab jamuns, guiness stout, fried yam..que mais?HOME. This is what I am going to miss most, a week from now.
Earlier this afternoon while on my way to the Indian Consulate to get some documents notarised, the State Council chaps who stand around on street corners, with hawk eyes, preying on their next victims, hounded my car and insisted that I had attempted to change lanes wrongly. This, when I hadn't even moved an inch out of my lane for a mile, given we were in a traffic jam. I was driving alone. I should've known..complete fraud, they were out to screw me over. Just like the three other cars that were wrongly seized before me. Before I knew it, the burly officer jumped into the Peugeot and insisted I drive us to the Uru VI Local Government Office. Not to mention he was YELLING at me for having committed a MINOR offence, which in reality I NEVER did. Yes, welcome to the second most corrupt nation on earth. I had to threaten him in Pidgin to calm him down and convey to him that I knew exactly what was going to happen and that he didn't have to put on this show and that I knew I was being swindled. He said nothing afterwards and just navigated us to their office. Once there, about four reps from the LG Office threatened to puncture my tire and seize my car if I didn't cough up N15,000 = $100. I forced a smile and laughed out loud. I had to break ice somehow. It worked. They knew I wouldn't succumb under the pressure. I refused to negotiate a bribe with them until I made a phonecall. After an hours wait in the sun, Chris showed up. He pulled a few strings and after much arguing we paid those RASCALS N1000, a far cry from the previously demanded N15,000. Harrowing day.
Yet, I am not ready to leave home. NO!

Bengali fried fish, kati rolls, jollof rice, chicken peppe soup, samosas, papdi chat, fresh rotis, gulab jamuns, guiness stout, fried yam..que mais?HOME. This is what I am going to miss most, a week from now.
Earlier this afternoon while on my way to the Indian Consulate to get some documents notarised, the State Council chaps who stand around on street corners, with hawk eyes, preying on their next victims, hounded my car and insisted that I had attempted to change lanes wrongly. This, when I hadn't even moved an inch out of my lane for a mile, given we were in a traffic jam. I was driving alone. I should've known..complete fraud, they were out to screw me over. Just like the three other cars that were wrongly seized before me. Before I knew it, the burly officer jumped into the Peugeot and insisted I drive us to the Uru VI Local Government Office. Not to mention he was YELLING at me for having committed a MINOR offence, which in reality I NEVER did. Yes, welcome to the second most corrupt nation on earth. I had to threaten him in Pidgin to calm him down and convey to him that I knew exactly what was going to happen and that he didn't have to put on this show and that I knew I was being swindled. He said nothing afterwards and just navigated us to their office. Once there, about four reps from the LG Office threatened to puncture my tire and seize my car if I didn't cough up N15,000 = $100. I forced a smile and laughed out loud. I had to break ice somehow. It worked. They knew I wouldn't succumb under the pressure. I refused to negotiate a bribe with them until I made a phonecall. After an hours wait in the sun, Chris showed up. He pulled a few strings and after much arguing we paid those RASCALS N1000, a far cry from the previously demanded N15,000. Harrowing day.
Yet, I am not ready to leave home. NO!

For long I have wanted to know what it is about Sai Baba that cause millions around the world to worship him like they do. Several devotees have furnished varied answers to this simple question of mine, including my dad, yet I don't get it. This is even after having visited Puttaparthi (his home) and the grand hospital that he has funded, adjacent to the IT park outside Bangalore. At the bhajan this evening, I wore my new orange-red Fab India Kurta while J sported the blue and white kurta that my dad dashed him. I closed my eyes for most of the hour, without paying too much attention to the words being sung; instead soaked my senses in the divine vibes that emanated through the prayer hall. The crisp sound of the dholak appealed to me most (maybe cos my dad was playing it). He kept one hell of a steady beat ofcourse. Mid way through each song, most every Nigerian devotee in the room invariably got lost in the music, eyes closed and body swaying from left to right, in unison.
I endeavored to void my mind of any thought in an attempt to medidate. Such a feat is not easily achieved, especially amidst 150 people singing vociferously. But for those short-lived moments when I did cut myself off from reality, it was heavenly. So was the langar prasad (post prayer meal that is offered to one and all).
Certainly a unique way to start the year, atleast for myself. Om Shanti!

For long I have wanted to know what it is about Sri Sai Baba that cause millions around the world to worship him like they do. Several devotees have furnished varied answers to this simple question of mine, including my dad, yet I don't get it. This is even after having visited Puttaparthi (his home) and the grand hospital that he has funded, adjacent to the IT park outside Bangalore. At the bhajan this evening, I wore my new orange-red Fab India Kurta while J sported the blue and white kurta that my dad dashed him. I closed my eyes for most of the hour, without paying too much attention to the words being sung; instead soaked my senses in the divine vibes that emanated through the prayer hall. The crisp sound of the dholak appealed to me most (maybe cos my dad was playing it). He kept one hell of a steady beat ofcourse. Mid way through each song, most every Nigerian devotee in the room invariably got lost in the music, eyes closed and body swaying from left to right, in unison.
I endeavored to void my mind of any thought in an attempt to medidate. Such a feat is not easily achieved, especially amidst 150 people singing vociferously. But for those short-lived moments when I did cut myself off from reality, it was heavenly. So was the langar prasad (post prayer meal that is offered to one and all).
Certainly a unique way to start the year, atleast for myself. Om Shanti!