Fall trip 2011 - part 2

The Super 8 motel in Peterborough was quite a bit of improvement over the usual look and feel of the chain. It was a four storied building, recently renovated, shiny and clean (or the other way around). The rooms were specious for something less than $100 per night and were clean - something very important for the missus. The kids were very excited and immediately switched on the TV and got into their usual brawling about who would watch which channel. Eventually they settled for a young adult channel – something none of them should be watching. But considering every kids program now were about boyfriends and girlfriends we stopped being picky any more. The networks were more interested in cashing in by tickling the hormones of the growing kids early than to presenting them with decent shows, something that didn’t go overboard on many unwanted fronts. [I guess we could ground them from watching any TV shows until they grew up. But we are not nuts! If they aren’t watching TV who is watching them? TV works as pacifier, let’s not disregard that fact.]

Within hours all our friends had arrived except one who planned to join us the next morning. Things turned a little noisy at this point. We had arranged with the motel to place us in one continuous area so that we could keep the noise level contained in one part. In reality, we got rooms spread out in one floor. This gave the kids an opportunity to race up and down the corridor visiting each others rooms. Fortunately there were only a few other guests beside us in that floor but we still had to reign in – before the motel authority did. But it’s quite difficult to manage a dozen kids in a vacation mode – regardless of their age. Ours are young and restless.



We had dinner outside and later went to watch movies. During our summer outing in the Thousand Islands this year we went for the same routine and watched the Transformer Movie – Dark of The Moon. We paid a lot of money, sat occupying couple of adjacent rows and then slept most part through the metallic battle bonanzas. Unfortunate but true – these robotic monsters with their flashy movement and changing shape and forms quickly becomes boring especially if you are caught slightly tired, which most of us were driving a few hours on our way from GTA.

In Peterborough we went for different movies based on interest. I grouped up with the young boys for the showing of Real Steel and God O’ God did I like it! I enjoyed every moment of this movie, and was much more enthusiastic about it than the kids. It had the right dose of emotions, actions and heroisms. If you are reading this and haven’t watched this movie, take my word and watch it (All risk is yours, I am just providing my opinion – there goes the fine print).

I am not going to describe every moment of the trip here. Let’s cut the blabbering and get to the couple of attractions that we visited there. Customarily, before visiting any place I took the time to browse through the net to find out the local area attractions and activities keeping in my mind the combined interest of the group that had an effective age range of 5 years to 50 years. Unless you are in my shoes you would never know how daunting a task it is. Some stuff kids just embraces while the adults outright not interested in, while there are others the adults can’t contain their excitement about when the kids turn lethargic.

1. Warsaw Caves: A nice place to visit, about forty kilometers North West of Peterborough. The caves were not really anything grandiose but were interesting enough to get the gang of boys going. These are really crevices along the surface of rocky areas inside considerably dense woods. Some of the caves were too narrow for even our skinny bunch to explore; some others were just big enough. Most were short, confined caves but some went across several chambers underground and presented the boys an opportunity to get a taste of underworld adventure. I had carried a flashlight knowing it may come handy in the caves. The boys snatched it away from me and used it into the sub terrain passages. I am usually a willing partner in crime when it came to similar activities but looking at the narrowness of the cave mouths and exits I dared not to wondering how odd it would look when the fire brigade came to rescue me with my butt stuck inside a narrow crevice. I could even see my butt first images in the newspaper – local and national.

There was also a kettle near by, a small water body inside a kettle like natural rocky enclave and being nourished by a stream that emerged from underground and flew through the kettle deeper into the woods. The kettle provided us some good entertainment as everybody tried to cross it hopping on small chunk of rocks scattered across the water body. The depth of water at any point couldn’t have been more than two three feet, hence the risk of drowning wasn’t there but a fall would mean getting soaked and couldn’t be a comfortable feeling as the temperature hovered below 15 degree Fahrenheit. However, things do happen. One of my friends 9 year old son was trying a stint to cross it balancing on a fallen tree that connected the two sides of the kettle and like all movies that are trying to tickle people into laughter at the cost of others misery – he fell, chest first, with a big splash; it was something heartless to do, especially knowing the water was cold, but most of us broke into laughter while the poor kid sobbed in sheer embarrassment and possibly of cold. After this we had to cut short our adventure into the caves and quickly returned to the parking lot where we helped him change his cloths. Nobody needed a sick kid in an outing.



The next attraction that we visited there was….. that’s in part 3.

An Interracial Marriage

One of my wife's cousins called a few days back to invite us in the marriage ceremony of her oldest son. She has been trying to set up a marriage for him for a while now and had no luck for years as the potential groom liked none. Eventually he revealed the truth - having brought up in this country he felt awkward thinking that he had to resort to arrange marriage. I understood his reluctance to follow on a century old South East Asian tradition – a tradition with its own set of pros and cons. I personally felt many people in this country had very little understanding of the tradition. I barely see any difference between an arranged marriage and couples meeting through dating services (and many other services providing similar meeting opportunities) with the intention to find a life partner. Modern arrange marriages rarely take place without both parties giving full consent after several meetings. Sleeping with potential groom before exchanging vows to try out sexual intercourse obviously is never an option in our culture. We are sucker for institutionalization. While our institutions work well or not that a completely different question.

As usual, I drifted away from where I started.

Let’s start over. We were invited in my wife's cousin's oldest son's marriage. Interestingly, the bride was from a Caucasian family. Apparently he had met the girl a few years back. They had dated, liked each other – both being intelligent, smart and particularly sportive – he liked mountain climbing, she liked hiking, biking and possibly some climbing as well – this sounded like a match made in heaven. Good stuff! Especially considering he was crossing forty and his parents were totally at loss wondering if they would ever see the face of any grandchildren. They were religious Muslims, how a Christian daughter-in-law would fit in with their social structure was a slight concern but it wasn’t anything new in the family. Multiple family members had already gone away from tradition and married men and women quite different in religion, language and nationality. Things proved to be smooth, no particular complains – none that plagued my ears.

The marriage ceremony took place on a Saturday evening in a large hall room of a reputed hotel. This was supposed to be a small gathering of close relatives only. It’s been a while since we last met the groom and his family. It was a great pleasure just to see them again. I rarely show up anywhere in a suit (I am a jeans kinda guy). This time I did. So did eleven year old Zakeem, my only son. He actually looked quite elegant in his 40 buck suit and tie and in a pair of loose dress shoes (belonged to somebody else – we are cheap! Correction – prudent is the word). I am quite hateful of the thing called tie and do not wear one unless absolutely helpless (like a company meeting where some worthless executives pay more importance on the color of your tie then the merit of your proposal). I carried my tie in a side pocket, just in case. Farheen, my only daughter, looked very pretty in a white dress that she got as a gift in her 6^th birthday, celebrated just a few days back. Neither of them had any interest in coming to this party. They always look for kids of their age and correctly guessed there would be very few in this party.          

The ceremony started in a timely fashion. An ex imam of a Toronto mosque and a senior member of local Islamic foundation (can’t remember his name) was given the honor to get the two married in accordance to Islamic and provincial law. This was an elderly gentleman with adequate amount of sense of humor (and no beard or trade mark middle-eastern long dresses). He started well with a few good words about family values and importance of marriage as an institution, however things started to go awry when his short speech kept on extended to unending blabbering, good things he said but there’s a limit of good stuff that one can take in one sitting, not just the kids even I almost dozed off. Not sure if he had seen me closing my eyes under my glasses or just ran out of more things to say, he finally decided to give us a break. The whole hall room sighed in relief (or that’s what I wanted to believe I guess – I did hear a few sighs though). Now he proceeded to carry on with the actual procedure, the ‘I do’ parts, the signing of the registration papers, the ring exchanges. Another brief speech before leaving the stage for the final time (I hoped).

Next came the time for photo shoots followed by the most awaited event of the evening (I know, I am ashamed) – munch time. An Indian buffet was arranged with traditional Indian dishes in one end of the hall room and traditional Indian/Bangladeshi sweets at the other end. I was hungry, starving since the big meal that I had the night before from a social gathering. I rushed to the buffet while most rushed to the podium to take group photos with the bride and groom who were now seated at the center of the stage on two big, kingly chairs side by side. They looked good together – I thought as I poured spoon full of beef curry on my overloaded plate.    

The food was disappointing but I was hungry and ate until my stomach hurt. (This whole practice is scientifically wrong (in English - unhealthy), but it works for me to keep my weight under control. When hungry I eat until I drop and then skip the next two meals). The sweets were not total failure. Most were good – sweet, a few were even delicious, couple devastating, but overall not bad.

Eventually came the time for speeches – not the ex-Imam – thankfully, but the friends and families of the bride and groom. From groom’s side the dad, a short and sweet man who is currently working in the Middle East on a consulting contract after retiring from a Canadian government position, graciously congratulated his son and the bride, expressed his happiness in getting a daughter-in-law, and looked genuinely excited. His wife didn’t dare to issu3 a speech, not having enough proficiency in English. Next was one of bride’s female friends who taught in a college. The first thing she did was to retire the microphone. Visibly overweight, this friend of the bride, issued a great speech. She was loud, honest and hit all the right chords with her speech, from describing her friendship with the bride, her first meeting with the groom, how things progressed between the two – things none of us in the audience obviously knew. They had hit it right at the first date, we are told. Next series of dates sealed it off. It was just matter of time when they were going to tie the knots. She even explained how tough and outgoing the bride was, having cycling in Cuba and Nova Scotia, covering hundreds of kilometers everyday on rationed food and ignoring natural disasters. The bride was 36, tall, skinny with a tough outlook but a smiling and fun loving attitude. Yep, a girl like that could press on riding a bike against an oncoming storm (that’s what had happened in Nova Scotia – her friend mentioned). The groom as I know was a sucker for outgoing activities. No wonder the two hit it right away. Congratulations! They have proven it once more that neither race nor religion, even social differences can hinder the real match that is required for a life together – the attitude. They will be happy; especially considering this was a marriage in maturity and not on a teenage hormone.

The program ended with a western style dancing stint where bride, groom, the parents, friends, some family members all hopped in onto the dancing floor and shook and bend and some even kicked and jumped and had a great time while the Karaoke singer sung to her heart’s content.

The kids were getting really impatient and started to chase each other around the hall room – an activity which is a sure sign that their reserve of patience had totally wore off and now nothing else would matter. This was the right time to take off. Mili, my better half, hunted down her cousin sister and her husband, thanked them for inviting us, bid good bye and there we went. It was a great evening overall, something that I’ll remember for many years to come.           

Subway systems bonanza

During a conversation with Nam, my colleague at my new job, the subway (underground railway network) of Moscow came up. He thought that was the largest in the world. I didn’t even know they had one. In Toronto the subway operation is pretty small, may be in total about 50 stations, coverage is okay East to West but minimal on the North-South direction. I lived in Ajax. There’s very tiny possibility of this town ever seeing the face of a subway station, considering each kilometer of subway roughly costs over 700 million dollars to build. We are stuck with driving. The other option is over the ground railway network – Go. Not a bad ride but limited service.


Anyway, when Nam told me there are more than 500 subway stations in Moscow I was already questioning his sanity (in my mind). It didn’t take me too long to find out the truth. Here’s the comparison:

I then went on to find out how the other large subways in the world looks like.


Moscow:

 














New York:















London:













Seol:












Paris:















Tokyo:














Mexico City:
















Finally Toronto:

Smoking dissected

I always find it very interesting when educated people are misinformed about apparently simple things, either because somebody gave them the incorrect information or they simply misunderstood the facts. Here’s one example that I learned while talking to one of my colleague. He is a smoker and smokes between half a pack to 1 pack everyday. I was a chain smoker at one point of my life and successfully quit and stayed away for more than 16 years now (I still consider that as one of my biggest achievements) and do not let go any opportunity to preach others to quit. During my conversation with this colleague he mentioned about a medicine called Champix (do a search if you are interested to know further) that some of his friends used to quit smoking and got result. The medicine works in the brain to reduce cravings and also decreases the pleasure that people gets from smoking.


I did not know about this medicine. Seemed like a good alternative for people who are unable to quit using solely will power.

[Here’s how I quit: I smoked for many years and constantly suffered from bad coughs and throat issues. I was born and brought up in a third world country where smoking is one of the cheapest ways of entertainment (if we can call it that) and many are hooked into it from very early age. I have unsuccessfully tried once before to quit. The reason for failure was simple – too many people smoked around me. It became impossible to stay from the addictive smell of the cigarette smoke. Anyway, I was working in Boston at that time. I had just started my carrier there and was making just enough to make a living. I had a big burden of educational loan that I took from credit companies. One of my main goals was to save as much as I can, pay the loan off and then to start thinking of getting married – traditional arrange marriage. I was spending more than hundred bucks in smoking every month. I needed to quit – for my health and also to save money.

Not sure where I saw this but somehow I came to know that there was a Russian psychologist who was helping smokers to quit. I went to see him one evening in Boston downtown. The fee was $65. Not little money to me by any means. I was there to get some results. In the waiting room I met with several people, aspiring quitters, a few gloomily mentioned this was there second or third visit to the psychologist. This I found a little disheartening. If the doctor’s methods worked then why would so many return every few months.

Anyway, I had already paid and there was no way I was going back without seeing what the doctor had to offer. After an hour or so waiting I was called inside his chamber. He was a short man with little hair and a round smiling face. As I stood before him he walked in front of me and stroked me mildly with his pointer right at the center of my forehead. “You can go now.” He smilingly said.

“That’s it?” I was horrified. All this for my 65 dollars! No discussions, no checking this and that, no counseling!

“Yep. It’ll work.” He said.

I stood their foolishly for a few long moments before stepping out of his office to make room for a girl who was visiting him for the fourth time. I was at the brink of tears thinking how well my 65 dollars could be spent otherwise.

Naturally, the stroke of pointer wasn’t working any miracles. Next day I was dying for a smoke. The only thing that stopped me from picking up a cigarette and lighting it was my 65 dollars. I told myself I had already spent most of my monthly smoking budget so I had to stay out of it at least for that month. If the urge didn’t go away by then, I’ll be free to go ahead and lit a cigarette next month.

Days past by. I was tormented between lit or no lit, stayed away from my smoking friends, chewed truck load of chewing gums, drank gallons of gallons of coffee. Eventually the month passed. The urge was still there but I hanged on. I hated the sickening cough, something that was already getting slightly better as I hadn’t smoked for almost a month. I didn’t want it to return. Another month passed by.

And another.

I stuck to it. I have not smoked since. However, one admission – even after decades of quitting I still had dreamt of smoking; it is almost insane wondering how addictive nicotine can be. Fortunately, after about fifteen years my urge for smoking has completely gone.]

Anyway, during my discussion with my colleague a piece of very interesting information emerged. He believed that our body needs a small quantity of nicotine and the body itself actually generates it; when a person smokes s/he is actually overriding the body’s mechanism to create the necessary nicotine and causing all kind of issues resulting into diseases. I was truly horrified. I had never even remotely heard anything like this. Never read anything about it. I objected several times but eventually had to restrain myself wondering if there was any truth to his strong belief . In the past there have been situations where my strong belief turned out to be incorrect (let’s not talk about them).

Later I went to the internet and did some searches. Interestingly the questions have been asked by many. The answers were quite simple. No, it is not true. Here is what I found. An FYI to all:



Q. Does the human body naturally produce small amounts of nicotine?



No. However the body has nicotinic receptors in nerve cells- places where nicotine binds to cause its psychoactive effects. These receptors are probably also activated by substances created by the body which have a structure very similar to nicotine- it's not as though we'd evolve to all have a very special receptor created for the sole purpose of responding to a drug!



(My assumption is my colleague had misunderstood the concept of receptor that gets activated by substances created by the body which have a structure very similar to nicotine)



Q: Does the human body need nicotine?



Answer: Nicotine is found in tobacco plants as a poisonous alkaloid, most toxic in its pure state. In cigarettes, there is about 15 to 30 mgms of the allkaloid but the smoke contains less than 10 mgms and less than that is inhaled. While it is reported to be a relaxant, the human body has no use for nicotine.

Fall trip 2011 - part 1

We have a close knit group in GTA that hangs around together - family parties every weekend in cyclic order, birthdays, outings etc. For the last few years we have made it a tradition to go away from GTA for summer, fall and winter trips. We just returned from our fall trip 2011. Let’s revisit my experience. You’ll like it.



Initially total nine families had planned to come. At the last moment one of the families dropped off.

There was a time when we opted for one over night staying in a hotel/motel to keep cost low, however through the years we noticed it put too much strain on everybody. We got out to relax but returned with fatigue. So, for last few years we made it a routine to book for two overnight stays. In Peterborough we planned to stay Friday and Saturday nights. This would essentially give us most of Sunday as well for sightseeing or other activities as we wouldn’t have to leave the motel until 11Am on Sunday morning.

Knowing Friday traffic in GTA could be a serious hindrance I went early to work and left around 4 PM (as oppose to my 10 to 6 PM regular routine). I was able to avoid some traffic but not all of it. I made it home around 5:30 PM. This wasn’t that bad considering most of the crowd that I faced was near my home town of Ajax. In GTA there are two freeways next to each other – the 401 Expressway and the collector. Each with four or more lanes it is an extravaganza of roads and vehicles. FYI – the collectors are connected to the expressway in certain points and works as the entry and exit point to the amalgamated expressways. Anyway, the reason I even brought it up is not to say how big of an expressway we have but to explain why my town Ajax get to see such suffocating traffic. The collector ends here and all the traffic on the collector lanes heading further east gets into a slow and cumbersome process of merging with the expressway traffic, resulting into creating a funnel – the narrow portion channeling to Ajax and beyond. I guess the city planners never thought that the city would grow at such a pace and would become one of the fastest growing metropolitan cities in the world (that is GTA – and not Toronto).

Okay, I drifted a little, more than a little, let’s get back to the trip.

My better half was ready to go, always a willing partner for trips, the kids were excited to get out of their own houses – a place they seemed to prefer much less over other people’s houses and hotels and motels. We started around 7 PM for Peterborough. There was still ample light on the sky, the weather was gloomy but not to the point that it would ruin our enthusiasm. Leaving in a country where six months were lost in winter (Oh well, lost may be too harsh. We have good times in winter as well. Snow falls are wonderful things until it starts to pile up. That sometime later.) we were suckers for sun and warm days. The summer here usually are very good, exactly what we all cherish for, with only one problem – it is short. Peterborough was only about 100 kilometers away, if we didn’t hit heavy traffic it shouldn’t take us more than an hour. As we hopped on the expressway it was time for awakening. The lanes were jam packed in home bound traffic at the end of the week. Many of them lived in the next two towns – Whitby and Oshawa, the later being a renown name as it hosts a General Motors manufacturing factory. I cursed under the breath – careful not being heard by the mom who were very particular about using bad words before the kids. I hated traffic, heavy bumper to bumper traffic. Working in jobs where I ended up driving quite a lot through such inhuman situation I have found one good way to steam out my dissatisfaction – cursing of course. If any of you have seen that Micheal Douglas movie (can’t remember the name but it was about a disgruntled man who snapped while waiting in a huge traffic jam) – a secret admission – I have thought of getting out of the car and swear against the government many times – for not extending the collector beyond Ajax, for taking too much income tax, for increasing property tax, for the skyrocketing fuel cost etc. I have many things to complain. Who doesn’t?

Anyway, the drive to Peterborough wasn’t half as bad as it looked when we started. Once we crossed Oshawa the traffic waned off quite a bit. We exited from 401 and hopped into highway 115 little past Bowmanville, a town further east and flew through very light traffic. My kind of traffic.

(More coming soon)

American border post

I have previously mentioned about Nam, my colleague in my temporary contract position. Things have been a little slow since I started here and we made small conversations on whatever came in our minds to pass time. We spoke about turmoil in Libya where the long time ruler Gaddafi had just been killed by the rebels. Nam didn't seem much interested. Possibly he figured out I had little sympathy for tyrants. Many Muslims had sympathy for Muslim born tyrants like Gaddafi and Saddam, I didn't. If they were wronged by USA or any other powerful countries they deserved it – that’s my opinion. Anyway, our discussions eventually and almost inevitably turned to USA. I have lived in USA for many years and had mixed feelings. However, Nam seemed to be quite agitated when the topic came up. He has been working as a contractor for several years as well and in his previous job travelled to USA to provide service to the clients of his employer. As we spoke about his experience with the clients in USA he looked annoyed and slightly disturbed.

"I tell you, this Americans has no respect for others." He stated.

This wasn't something I heard for the first time but I was curious to know what his reason to get to that conclusion was. Everybody who felt that way had their reasons. "What they do?" I innocently asked.

"They give me hard time every time I go across the border." He caresses his short beard. "They look at my religion, my beard and decide that I must be planning something sinister. Every time I go. This Americans...!"

"What really happened?" I persist. "Did they send you for interrogation? Something like that happened to me once. We had just moved to Canada from USA. We were going back to get some of the stuff that we left behind. The guy at the post sent us to the main building where we queued with hundreds of people and finally they interviewed my wife, not me." I wasn't particularly sour about it. Waiting in the queue to see the agent was painful (I hate waiting like every other North American) but rest went well. After that I never had any particular issue with border agents. I offered the details to Nam to warm him up a little bit so that he would share his story with me.

Nam opened up a little more. "See, one of my friends came from Kazakhstan, my country, you remember, and he was staying in Niagara falls. He called me up and asked me to come see him there. In the American side. I drove to the Niagara Falls border post and they won't let me in. Can you believe?"

"Why not? Just because of the beard?"

"Well not really. See, I forgot where my friend was staying. I mean, he told me but I sort of forgot. I kept calling him so that I could get the information from him but he wasn't picking up his phone."

"Why not?"

"It was dead. He forgot to charge it. We were talking on my way to Niagara Falls and suddenly it went dead. I couldn't reach him anymore. Now, this agent keeps asking me which hotel he was staying. I told him I forgot but I had his cell phone number and once I went in I was going to call him up and find out. He won't listen. He kept on saying he can't let me in unless I can tell them where I was going."

"Who else were with you?"

"I was going alone. I know, I am a young man travelling alone, don't know where my friend staying - it all look very SUSPICIOUS. But I offered him my cell phone, the call record, all my papers and ids - nothing worked. He won't let me in. Can you believe? I drove two hours from Toronto for nothing."

"What was he saying?"

"He called his manager. The manager scrambles through all my documents for half an hour and said exactly what the agent said."

"What did he say?"

"Find out where your friend stays and come back. We'll let you get in."

"Now what? What did you do?"

"What can I do? I had to turn around. Two hours later my friend calls me and tells me about his cell phone dying. I get his hotel name but I can't go back again. I haven't seen him for five years. I really wanted to meet him. This Americans! I tell you."

"Why didn't you just wait for a little longer in Niagara Falls?" I inquired. I probably would have done so, hoping my friend to charge his cell phone or find another phone and call me on my cell phone. After all I was coming to see him.

"I couldn't." Nam shrugged. "I had to return the car."

"What car?"

"Well, my car was having some engine issues. I had to take it to a mechanic. The mechanic said it would take him two more days. So I was driving my friend’s car. He needed the car back before evening. I didn't want to take any risk."

I was shocked. "You were driving your friend's car?"

"Yeah. And those idiots made a big deal out of that. The agent keeps saying why you are driving your friend's car? Where is your friend? I said, what do you mean? I can't drive my friend's car? If he let me drive his car why you care?"

It took me a few moments to take in this new information. Finally I summarized," So, you are a young Muslim bearded man, driving a car that was owned by one of your friends, trying to go through the border post to see a Muslim friend and you didn't know where he was staying." 

"Big deal. I told them - why would I lie? I gave them all my papers. I drove four hours for nothing. I hate to go there. Racists!"

I exhale quietly. I like Nam. I don't want to risk alienating him. I move my head in a way that neither qualifies as a nod nor as a shake.  

   

In a full circle

I joined back one of my favorite clients recently, in a contracting mandate. I left them sometime in 2008. Things were going quite well. I was working as a contractor, making reasonable money. I liked the environment, very international with people who spoke much thicker English than I did, making me feel quite a bit superior – something that rarely comes while you make money. Anyway, like all good things my days here had come to an end abruptly. My contract extension was all set for another six months however the Director who managed the group got promoted and sent to take care of bigger and better things while we got stuck with a new MBA graduate (was already an employee) who unilaterally decided not to extend any contracts for the time being. Three days from contract ending I learned this and was quite disturbed. Usually it takes couple of weeks to find a new contract. Manager was a Srilankan gentleman, much younger than me, and tried his best to push the contract through. That didn’t go too far.

Anyway, since I left I went through several other jobs – contracts and full time, from downtown Toronto to uptown, had a very stressful stint in management, made many friends, most much younger than me, quit twice as I felt the jobs weren’t going to lead me to anywhere – not to money, not to position, and finally after some stroke of luck came back here for another short contract to start with. They love me, I love them. I just don’t want to settle in a full time position for less money and more work. There’s high hope in my mind that this time getting extensions won’t be an issue – there’s plenty of work. I have expertise in two different areas; one of them should hit the target.

This new episode with my old company started this Fall. Noticed several changes. Some of my colleagues have opted for working from home and were only allowed to come to the building twice a week. There are many cubes with two nametags, time shared. I don’t see them most of the time. I did not get a cube either. The company is running short of cubes as two different floors were merged into one. I got a desk on a side corridor, one of many in the spread out floor, near the main passage. This is unusual but not totally out of the world. Has happened to me before once in my 17 years carrier in North America. Like most things this seemingly oblique situation came with something good as well. I got to meet Nam (not his real name) who was sharing the same desk with me. He is here since June and settled in the corridor. Originally from Kazakhstan, he is a mild mannered man. Possibly of my age or little younger he wears a short beard, dresses nicely in office cloths, speaks softly and receives constant phone calls on his cell phone. I am one of those unfortunates who start any acquaintance with doubt, dislike and suspicion. Trust is a very late addition in my dictionary. But Nam seems to be a likable guy. I have particularly become soft when he explained how Russians generally segregated Turkish born compatriots when Kazakhstan was part of Soviet Union. His last name was Hajiev – something that I found curious and inquired about his religion which I found to be Islam - as I guessed. He mentioned something interesting. In Soviet Union the government was forcing Muslims to add -ev at the end of their last name to make them sound more Russian. After separation many were changing their last name to –me from –ev  (like Hajiyev to Hajime).

A New Start

I am not good at taking and keeping notes. What that means is that when I am in a mode to write a blog about my travels and experiences I am not particularly trying to make it very informative. Instead my goal is to share my feelings with my readers.

Last time I wrote in this blog was a few years back. I got distracted on other things and had to give it a rest. Primarily I am a writer and a professional IT consultant. It is difficult for me to balance just those two. Adding blogging to the list often becomes overwhelming. Oh, I forgot to mention I am also the dad of two young kids and they need my time and attention as well. And of course let’s not forget their mom. Pretty woman but quite sensitive.

A lot has happened in the last few years. A lot had happened before that as well. I only wrote about some of it in my past blog. Now that I am back I’ll write about them slowly, not caring much about the chronology. If you like them do throw me a line or two. That would work as encouragement.