Crackberry!

I’ve often wondered how long I can resist the touch friendly sexiness of the iPhone or the myriad Android based devices?  Well, here are my reasons for sticking to my good old Blackberry!

1. Email—when it comes to email, my berry is still the King. If you want mission critical encrypted email delivered to you, instantly, no other phone comes close to the reliability and ease of use that a berry offers.
2. Keyboard—I’ve never been a fan of touch screen keyboards and when it comes to keyboards, RIM (makers of Blackberry) are still streets ahead of its competitors. Combining the perfect tactile feedback with a very user-friendly layout the keyboard is something to drool about.
3. LED Notification—Not many phones have this feature. My berry has a small LED light that can blink unobtrusively in different colors depending on whether you have a new email, missed call, text message, voice mail, facebook message etc. As a result, very conveniently, from a distance you can decide whether you need to reach out for your phone or not.
4. Bedside mode—Another great feature on my berry is the bedside mode that instantly turns the phone into a beside alarm clock when charging (with a desktop charging pod) and also disables the LED notification so it doesn’t bother me at night.
5. Profiles—My phone allows me to customize audio and vibrate notifications to a very detailed level. So for example, you can make it vibrate twice when you get a mail in gmail but vibrate only once when you get an email in yahoo. You don’t have to take out the phone from your pocket to figure out in which inbox you got the mail.
6. Applications (Apps)—some say the greatest innovation of Apple is not its iPhone but it’s App Store. Blackberry has been late to join the bandwagon but is fast catching up. There are some great apps for Facebook, Twitter, checking weather, storing passwords, turning your phone into a flashlight, sharing your files etc that greatly extend the functionality of the phone.
7. Shortcuts—simple but thoughtful shortcuts that enhance your productivity—for example you can add a quick shortcut to add an email signature, add a pause and wait when dialing extensions and conference call numbers all make the phone irresistible in my opinion.
8. Browser—The new webkit based OS6 browser is much improved over its earlier OS5 version. Its fast, has tabbed browsing, flash and HTML5 support all of which makes it a handy tool for checking the web on the go.
9. Universal Search—another great new OS6 feature allowing me to instantly search my phone to find what I am looking for—no need to fumble around through confusing menus any more.
10. Solid phone—At the end of the day your phone should work as a phone. Period. You don’t care for fancy displays and do-it-all apps when you are in a dead zone and desperately want to call someone. The berry’s radio is as good as it can get with cell phones, no question. My earlier Nokia dropped calls like crazy and I for sure appreciate the difference a good solid phone can make.

So when the next iPhone or the Android device is able to match my berry in at least five of these features, I’ll jump ship, I promise. Till then my berry remains on my bedside.

PS: For those interested in finer details, I’m running a leaked OS 6.0.0.358 on an AT&T branded BB9700.

In Blossom Today...

Rohit glanced at his watch hands glowing in the dim light of the platform and clutched his bag nervously. Even at one in the morning the sound of the approaching train miraculously transformed the station from its soporific state to a bee-hive of activity. Porters yelled, lights came on, makeshift food stalls cranked up their ovens and carts and trolleys full of luggage were wheeled past at breakneck speed. Rohit was glad to see the train approach for ever since his father’s untimely death a few days back he yearned to go back to the anonymity and solitude of hostel life; the incessant phone calls and visits from relatives, the endless rituals and the disingenuous words of sympathy from distant relatives were getting all too much for him. The train was his passport to freedom.

Once Rohit had clambered aboard and found his berth he quickly dozed off lulled by the gentle rocking motion of the train and the exhaustion of the past few days. Only when a American accented female voice whispered into his ear, “Sorry I need to sit. Can you move your leg a bit?” did Rohit awaken with a start. Irritably rubbing his eyes he stared at the culprit in the early morning sunlight streaming in through the window. Her salwar-kammez contrasted oddly with her fair skin; blonde hair loosely tied in a bun, slightly loose black rimmed spectacles which she kept pushing up to keep in place. To Rohit she seemed incongruously out of place--A lone foreign woman in a train wearing a salwar-kammez--certainly not the usual stereotype of a western backpacker out on a discovery of exotic India Rohit thought, his interest kindled.

“Hi, I’m Cathy, and I’m really sorry for waking you up but I really needed to sit down since I had the upper berth”, she said flashing a smile. Rohit introduced himself wondering where he had seen the smile before. It was a reassuring, calming smile of a person at ease with herself; a smile that belied her age and made her appear older that she actually was. Rohit was instantly smitten. Before long they started chatting and Cathy told her that she was just of college from New York, working with a volunteer organization involved in setting up literacy programs across villages India. She was just returning to Delhi from a field trip to the south of India before heading off to the villages of north India again. Rohit found himself enjoying her company after the stifling atmosphere at home the past few days. Cathy expressed her condolences on hearing about his loss but thankfully left it at that. They talked about shared interests, movies, books and of course about her experiences in India. Rohit’s question about what made her leave a comfortable life in the States to serving the poorest of the poor in a third world country was met with an enigmatic smile that only made him more curious. At the morning stretched on his emotional catharsis continued and Rohit felt strangely drawn to her; a kindred spirit whom he could bare his soul to. On hearing that Rohit loved to read she brought out a hardcover book from her bag, scribbled something on the flyleaf and gifted it to him. It was a book from her favorite author she said--‘The Grapes of Wrath’ by John Steinbeck. Her ready ‘Do-as-I-say’ smile deterred Rohit from protesting and he found himself dutifully tucking the book into his bag.

By early afternoon as the train slowed down as it neared the outskirts of Delhi, they exchanged email addresses promising to keep in touch. Rohit helped Cathy get her luggage down at Delhi railway station and before he could realize it, she had said her goodbye, that self-assured smile never for once leaving her face. Rohit longed to follow her but she had melted away in the crowd as quickly as she had appeared and Rohit was left gripping his bag wondering what might have been.

Rohit all but forgot about Cathy once he was back to the daily grind of hostel life. A few weeks later when clearing his bag he came across the book that Cathy had gifted him and so reminded of her decided to send her an email. After he had finished typing and hit the ‘Send’ button a news headline caught his eye and he clicked on the link and started reading:

American national killed in communal flare-up

Lucknow, Oct 10 (PTI): Reports are coming in that an American national, Cathy Martin working with a volunteer non-profit organization has been killed in a communal flare-up in the village of Naushahar about 70 kilometers from here. Eye-witness accounts mention that the attack took place around 11 in the night yesterday when the hut she was sleeping in was burnt down by a mob. Communal tensions have been on the rise in the village over a disputed property and prima facie evidence suggests this might be a case of mistaken identity. A police team has reached the spot and a team of officials from the American Embassy in Delhi are en route to the spot as well…

Rohit stopped reading, ran to his bed where he had kept the book and opened it. Inside scrawled in curly feminine handwriting were the words:

 

In blossom today, then scattered;

Life is so like a delicate flower.

How can one expect the fragrance to last forever?

Take Care,

Cathy Martin.

Movies!

Movies! Ah! What would I do without them? As a self confessed movie buff let me attempt to list the movies that have made a lasting impression on me in more ways than one and the defining images or scenes with which I recall these. Some of these are dripping in nostalgia, associated with fond memories of childhood or college and each of them have a unique and sometimes indescribable feelings associated with them.

It’s a purely personal collection in no particular order and I would love to hear from my readers about their own choices so please comment!

Forest Gump—It’s a story on the baby-boomer generation and the events that defined and shaped it. The symbolism in the feather floating around in the opening and closing scenes denoting our destiny is a powerful image and coupled with a stirring background score still gives me goose-bumps when I see it.

Where Eagles Dare—Having been brought up on books of Alistair Maclean (slightly archaic choice as one person suggested),  watching Clint Eastwood and Richard Burton clamber onto the top of the ropeway heading up to the impregnable Nazi castle on their secret mission, still sends a tingle up my spine.

Fly Away Home—Beautifully crafted with exquisite aerial shots, I was lucky to have watched this on the big screen. When the geese finally land back safely it made me feel so wondrous—a true feel good movie if ever there was one.

Born Free—I remember watching this on VHS tape in my childhood but still vividly recall the scene where Elsa the lioness was let loose back into the wild where she belonged and the bitter-sweet emotions of her owners who had raised her since she was a cub. This movie was based on a true story which made it all the more appealing.

Sound of Music—a childhood favorite of many I’m sure, including my Mom! I recall her recounting countless stories about this movie and watching Julie Andrews dance amidst the pristine beauty of the Austrian Alps to the strains of ‘Do-Re-Mi’ still brings back fond memories.

StepMom—An emotionally uplifting movie with brilliant all-round performances; I still can’t decide whose side should I take—Susan Sarandon or Julia Roberts? The lasting memory is of the scene in the restaurant when Susan Sarandon says ‘It doesn’t matter”, to a question from Julia who wonders whether her daughter will ever be able accept her.

Schindler's List—Steven Spielberg’s ode to the Holocaust. Admittedly it was a very difficult movie to watch but a necessary education in history nevertheless. The sight of thousands of ordinary men, women and children being led to gas chambers for execution is a stark image that conveys poignantly the utter desperation and barbarism of those times. In the midst of all those horrors Oskar Schindler is able to save thousands of lives, a tiny beacon of hope in tragic times.

Dead Man Walking—Another difficult movie to watch which asks uncomfortable questions about capital punishment and life in general. With Susan Sarandon at her brilliant best (yes even better than Stepmom) coupled Nusrat Fateh Ali Khan’s haunting score, it’s difficult not to list this movie here. The scene where Sean Penn says goodbye to his family for the final time is touching to see the least.

Bridge over the River Kwai—A classic David Lean WW2 masterpiece which tells the tale of British POW’s building a bridge in South East Asia only to see it destroyed by their own bombs. The climactic scene of the bridge falling down with the train still on top readily comes to mind.

Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade—I probably won’t enjoy this as much as I enjoyed this watching as a young child. Adventure, action, humor all rolled into one with catchy theme music to boot--- it was a joy ride all the way. I remember watching this on VHS tape but was spellbound nevertheless.

We made it!

“Welcome abroad!” boomed the pilot’s voice his bald pate glinting in the sun, “We shall shortly be on our way, but before we start let me go over a few important safety instructions.” For a second the words seemed familiar but a fly buzzing in my ear reminded of where I was-- next to a ridiculously small plane on a hot tarmac under a blazing late morning sun and not safely ensconced in the air-conditioned comfort of a wide bodied jet.” So we are all set”, the pilot continued his face curving into an impish smile, “but one last thing before we start, I need someone to help me out as my copilot.” Most eyes looked down, some brave ones even smiled in amusement. “What? No volunteers? Then let me choose one” he smiled sadistically like an executioner ready for his kill. “You! Why don’t you join me?” An elbow poked me sharply in my side—it felt more like a knife twisting into me—and my wife whispered into my ear, a bit too loudly for my liking “It’s you he is pointing towards, come-on be a sport, step forward”. Before I could mumble something Mr. Pilot was moving towards me ready for the final blow. “Young man. What’s your name? Let’s get you briefed”. And before I could stammer a reply, his huge hands were patting my shoulders and everyone was nodding their heads in approval. I was officially their co-pilot!

Before long everyone was abroad, Mr. Pilot had shut the passenger door, completed a manual inspection of the fuselage and climbed into his seat. No need for any ground crew, no stewards around to help seat the passengers---just one brash pilot and a copilot who has never seen an airplane cockpit before I thought caustically. He fished out a worn book from under his seat and opened a bookmarked page. Was it ‘Flying for Dummies’ I thought cynically? But it was merely a checklist of some sort. In front of me was a bewildering array of dials and instruments—the only familiar though not very reassuring object was a small bag labeled ‘Air-sickness bag’. I sat with bated breadth waiting for his instructions but he just smiled at me and said “Relax! I’ll let you know if I need help.” I could only smile weakly back not sure what he meant.

We were soon airborne; the ground fell away quickly beneath us and the monotonous drone of the nose propeller drowned out all our conversations and we were forced to put on our headphones. Beneath us the flat desert plains continued, broken only by red and brown colored hills rising from the surface like a rumpled tablecloth. As we went over the hills the plane dropped suddenly and I had that familiar stomach churning feeling that you feel in an amusement park roller coaster. “Sorry! It’s the hot air rising from the hills”, Mr. Pilot explained nonchalantly as if swatting a fly. “No big deal” I mumbled hoping he did not notice my face turning a shade of green. Apparently he did not for soon thereafter Mr. Pilot turned into a tour guide, pointing out the sights below. The serene blue waters of Lake Powell slipped beneath our wings, Hoover Dam appeared somewhere below us and before I knew it we were over the piece de resistance—from the air The Grand Canyon was a awe-inspiring sight. For a few minutes I was transfixed by the raw primal beauty of nature; the immense canyon walls rising vertically from the waters of the Colorado River snaking its way on the canyon floor below.

But just as I was getting carried away by the majestic vistas in front of me, I was brought crashing down to earth (perhaps not a wise choice of words given the circumstances); by a female voice screaming into my ear “Can you close your window? The wind is really messing up my hair”. I reached out and shut the window. Trust my wife to be practical and keep my feet firmly planted to the ground no matter how high I’m flying (this time quite literally, I thought with a smile); while I was getting goose bumps she was worried about her hair!

Our aerial sightseeing over we headed back and after what seemed an eternity our wheels finally kissed the ground. Mr. Pilot taxied to the end of the runway, switched the engine off, beamed at me with child like glee and readied his punch line. Wiping his brow he deadpanned, “Whew! We made it!”  If it hadn’t been for his 6 foot 2 inch frame, I swear, I would have hit him.