The Arrival hall

Today I had the delightful privilege of spending close to an hour at the arrival hall at Changi airport. Not exactly my idea of fun but surprisingly, it actually was. Yes I need to re-think my social life but lets hold that thought. It's one of those few places where you get to see raw, unalderated human emotion in action. When your surrounded by total strangers and you think no ones looking, your not on guard and your face and body easily reflect what you're thinking. No one's watching anyways, cept me of course. I started with the baggage carousel. The next time you're out there look out for the ones who've just gotten their bags.

Its an intense moment when you check your stuff to make sure you got everything, baggage count? 1-2-3-4 check. Passport? wallet? Cell Phone? some moments of fidgeting with your pant pockets if you're a guy (which looks like a stiffer, jerkier version of the macarena if its a more thorough search with all pockets coming into play) and digging into your handbag if your a female which takes slightly longer cause it involves pushing aside the lipsticks,curse that mascara, shove the little mirror, "damn it where's that passport? ooh theres the clip I was looking for last week, Jignesh picked such a nice one for me, that guy's something special, he's the only one who really really understands me. I wish he'd ask me out, if only that ***** Kavita wasn't so damn pretty, he'd probably have been all over me by now, hmm this blue book looks familiar... Passport!" and it only took 7 minutes. Oh brother.

So there's this woman who's just lived through this episode and she's onto her next mission, finding the uncle whose come to pick her up. What follows is a public scrutiny, she scans every face and an advanced algorithm kicks in to perform a face match with prior data loaded from memory. Would have been much easier if the last time she saw him wasn't way back when she was 7 years old. Uncle probably has a shiny scalp and a pot belly by now. The mental face match algorithm also tries to include this information but it slows things down a bit. Faces that are easily rejected by the algorithm are brushed aside without a second glance and no eye contact at all. Its a fleeting glance that in one smooth motion renders a sea of faces totally worthless. You could turn to dust right there and this woman wouldn't give a rats rear quarters.

Some faces get a little more attention, the smooth panning stops goes back two faces to the face of interest, a small pause, and then a vertical scan is done and the guy gets measured up in less then a second, the algorithm isnt satisfied, thats not uncle. The guy gets an almost apolegetic fleeting expression which seems to say "Man, I wish you were my uncle, you were almost there, but you just didn't make the cut. Sorry". Thank god I didn't look like no uncle, I would feel so exposed if I had to go through that.

And then comes the aha moment, eye meets eye and the algorithms already sent its affirmations to every muscle in your face. If there was one moment that would put Edison's invention to shame it would be the bulb-like flash of that smile of acknowledgement. Any fatigue of the six straight hours of torture sitting in those awful limp seats with your knees in your chest, lousy food and murderous pangs of boredom all vanish as you stomp your way towards the exit door. The burst of energy in that walk is phenomenal you could put a goat in that womans path and she'd walk through it leaving behind platefuls of kababs on skewers and a glass of goat milk.

And that brings us to the Exit door, the customs official couldn't be bothered to pick on the woman because she doesn't look suspicious or the smuggler type. I'd love to hang out with one of them some time. I'm sure these sizing up skills would come in handy.

Moving on, you get introduced to one of the most painful tasks that anyone could probably get, that of a taxi driver holding up a sign with the name of the man who's probably dilly dallying in DFS waffling between the 2004 Cabernet or the 2005 Merlot (the cheap *******). The sheer boredom in those faces tell you that these were once men who looked at every face coming out that door with hope and anticipation in their early days but experience had taught them a bitter lesson and now they lay at the mercy of their fate, uninterested until the right man came out and signalled to them, twice maybe thrice before he woke them from their zombie screensaver like stare. Every now and then you see one guy holding up a name sign with a smile plastered across his face but dont be fooled, his face has been stuck that way for the last 5 years and he would have that expression on even if it was a root canal that he faced. Years of torture does that to people.

I could go on and on ( and I probably have ) but its just so awesome to see the nervous, anxious excitement in the face of that man from India who can't believe his luck that he got to come to Singapore from a small town in Tamil Nadu to make a better living. The sense of achievement of completing his maiden flight still filling the dimples in his cheeks. Ever noticed the relieved look on the airhostess's faces when they walk out, erasing thoughts of the persistent demands for a spoon, coffee, water, napkin etc. not to mention the annoying passenger who insisted on using the loo just when the plane was about to land, blocking his path and as politely as possible denying him his natural instincts and forcing him to return to his seat and buckling up. Imagine living with the grief and agony of doing that. Not to be missed also is the proud beam of the captains as they share a joke while walking out, backs straight and chests puffed up, content to know that they were indispensable in this operation and they did a good job getting everyone home in one piece.

Life goes on and the same scene's probably starting at another gate down the aisle, nevertheless my business here was done and it was on to another fascinating setting, possibly my favorite, the Singapore taxi ride. But thats a story for another day. Over and Out.

I miss my car.

Probably the single most thing I miss about my life back in the US. She was fast, she was fun, she was great. She belonged to a friend but the moment I saw her I knew I wanted her. 4 months later I got my chance and I bought her within 10 minutes of checking her out.

She had bald tyres, no air-conditioning, no power windows. Who needs that junk anyways? She had a radio :).

I'll never forget the unbelievable drives I've had with this car. Hundreds of them being back from Sunnyvale in the middle of the night on the 101 with my favourite radio channel belting out tracks on the radio. Will never forget the time I took a 25 mph entry ramp at 45mph in the pouring rain and the inevitable slide that followed with me taking the car sideways down the entry ramp less than 4 feet away from the concrete walls. She didnt let me down and I made it out in one piece.

Will never forget the traffic light drag I had with Wei Jin in his 2.4L eclipse ( mine was 2.0 ). The insane race at midnight on Stanford grounds with Jayanth where we got busted. Getting chased by cops with sirens blaring ? Check. The time I baited a turbo eclipse into a race and beat the crap out of him on the 101. The zillion times I got off on Willow Road and took the 25 mph twisties at well over 50 in 3rd with the tyres screaming. The time I sped down from South S.F to Palo Alto in under 20 minutes on the 280 in dense fog. The time I wheelspun in first for 20 yards at the NOC office. The time I just got in and drove as far south as I could until I reached alum rock where I could go nowhere but up a mountain. The time I hit 110mph on the 101 in the middle of the day. The list just goes on.

This is my tribute to a great car, my first, a dream come true, whose memories I'll cherish forever.

Last heard : the punk I sold the car to upgraded the wheels and tyres and put a cold air intake on her. Sweet.

This post's about commitment. The difference between involvement and commitment is best explained with the illustration of a ham and cheese sandwich. So whats a ham and cheese sandwich got to do with commitment? Look Closer. See the eggs and ham?

The Chicken was involved but the pig was committed. :)

So we take off one fine morning ( not so fine actually, 4 hours of sleep and terribly cold weather )with Wee Li at the wheel in his Sebring. Following Ben in his flashy eclipse convertible.
Ben takes a wrong turn and we're on a one way trip to Alameda instead of Berkely since we missed the last exit of the Bay Bridge. Damn. So we're following these guys and we fall back thanks to Mr.Wee Li Oooh-I-dont-want-to-step-on-the-gas Phua. I'm like dude! be a man and give it some stick, its a v6 for crying out loud. That did it. Mr. Phua steps on the gas with sole intention of breaking the sound barrier. "Wee Li, slow down." No response. "Dude we're gonna miss the exit!". No response. " Dude we missed the exit!". Then he wakes up - "Oh really?".
Oh brother.

So we're somewhere in Oakland in some deserted looking street with warehouses on either side and im thinkin, man, this is one of those places you get killed and no one finds the body kinda thing. Shudder. Give Mr. David a phone call and its david to the rescue with directions. Not good enough. We get lost again and land up in an army base with atleast 55 hummers ( the H1 kind baby ) standing shoulder to shoulder. Ooh man, this is so worth getting lost. Reality strikes when Wee Li lets go of the steering, his head outta the window, holding a camera with both hands and the car going across the road towards a ditch. Grab the steering and get the car back on the right lane. Wee Li's head pops back in and he's like " that was a once in a lifetime chance". I'm thinking- no shit, it HAS to be once in a life time if u get killed the minute after.

2 Soldiers give us directions. I was a little suspicious with the giggling going on between them. We follow their directions and land up in a dead end. Haha. Very funny. Loser f#$%s.

One more call to David and were back on track. finally reached Berkely which is surrounded by this ghetto-ness. Aaah thoughts of Stanford and Palo Alto cloud the mind. Park the car, and run in to meet the prof we went to meet. One hour late. Man, i just broke my own record.

A good 2 hours later, back on the road, this time in the backseat of the profs car with his son ( dont get any ideas) getting a lift back home.

Prof says, its amazing how every year students get lost on their way to berkely. The funny thing is that every year, they keep getting quicker and with you guys its down to one hour. The first batch took 3 hours. I'm thinking yes sir, its called evolution. We're all just a bunch of Monkeys anyway.