I can still hear Dhwani calling out from the end of our street in Covered Bridge. “Biyer Mama! Biyer Mama!” He would be driving home from work, and he would stop by our house, get out of the car, scoop her up, and toss her into the air. Sometimes he would take her for a little drive around the neighborhood. She was so happy to be with him. That is the picture that keeps coming back to me today. Bharath, our Biyer, passed away yesterday from a heart attack. He was just 50. I am still struggling to take that in. He was athletic, ran marathons, and took such good care of himself. I never imagined we would lose him this way. There are people you somehow expect will always be around, even when you haven’t spoken to them in a while. Biyer was one of those people for me. 

The big brother I never had 

When we lived in Austin, Biyer was much more than a close friend to Shwetha and me. He was the big brother I never had. He had a presence about him. Poised, well educated, always well dressed, and very much his own person. He was sharp in his arguments and particular about his choices and habits. There was an aura around him, but he was also gentle and kind. You could look up to him and still feel completely at home with him. Shwetha was especially fond of him. They could get into long discussions about politics, religion, or just about anything else. Neither was short of an opinion. Biyer could argue his point intelligently without losing his gentleness. Even when they disagreed, there was affection in the conversation. He had his own enthusiasms too. Costco was certainly one of them. If something new appeared there, there was a good chance Biyer had already bought it. Thinking about that still makes me smile. 

A home we kept going back to 

In those days, we were at Biyer and Anitha’s house almost every evening. It was simply part of our life. Dhwani would play with the huge stuffed cheetah in their house. Biyer would take her around the garden, showing her the trees, the squirrels, and whatever else caught her attention. He gave her his time so naturally. Dhwani and Neel, Salil’s son, had the good fortune of spending their early years with their beloved Biyer uncle. I am so grateful they had that time with him. Biyer and Anitha were wonderful hosts. Their Diwali parties were full of warmth, and everyone felt welcome. Anitha’s happy, positive nature complemented him so well. Together, they made their home a place we all loved coming back to. I distinctly remember all of us watching India win the World Cup at their house. The excitement, the celebration, being surrounded by friends. What a wonderful memory to have. And then there was his cooking. The dum biryani Biyer made was one of the best I have ever eaten. He would spend hours preparing it, building it carefully, layer by layer. The gravy with potatoes, the different varieties of basmati rice, the spices he chose so thoughtfully. Watching him put it all together was watching someone who really knew what he was doing. He was a master in the kitchen. I wish I had spent more time there with him, watching him cook, asking questions, and enjoying those unhurried hours together.

 

All the laughter 

So many memories are coming back now. Birthday dinners and other celebrations at Thai Passion in downtown Austin. Gatherings at Barton Springs and Trudy’s. Evenings when we sat around talking, laughing, and telling stories we had all heard before. Biyer never seemed to tire of some of those stories. There was the one about Dr. Lubana, when Shwetha invited him into our house and the sprinklers ended up soaking his car because the windows were down. Biyer would laugh so hard every time we retold it. Then there was the story involving Shwetha, her computer, the unplugged earphones, and the Urdu sermons and heated debates playing aloud with her boss and colleagues peeping in to see what was wrong with her. Just bringing up that incident would get him laughing again. I can picture his face as he listened, already knowing what was coming and enjoying it all over again. We had so much fun together. When we were leaving Austin, Biyer, Anitha, and several of our friends put together a memory slam book for us. They took us to Mozart’s Coffee, where we spent time reminiscing about all the good times we had shared. I think about the care that went into that farewell now. They gave us something to carry away from Austin, something that held a little of the life we had built together. 

The person we called for anything and everything

For many of us in Covered Bridge, Biyer was the person we turned to when we needed help. Who should we call to plant trees? Did he know someone reliable to mow the lawn? A good handyman? A contractor we could trust? A realtor who could help rent out a house? Biyer usually had advice, a contact, or a way to help. When I was trying to sell our Austin house, he helped me navigate contractors, realtors, and the many things that needed attention. When our tenants had an air-conditioning problem or a water-heater issue, he was often my first call for immediate assistance. Looking back, I realize how much reassurance there was in knowing he was nearby. Even when I was far away, I had someone I trusted who would help. He did these things without expecting anything in return. That was how he treated people. 

The familiarity of family 

On one trip to Austin to get some work done at our house, I stayed several nights with Biyer and Anitha while his parents were visiting from India. He treated me like a member of the family. His parents reminded me so much of my periappa and periamma in Besant Nagar. Hearing their Malayalam-laden Palghat Tamil, with that familiar accent, took me straight back to visits with my own family and cousins. There was something deeply comforting about being there. I also remember his cousin Sneha visiting us in Austin. The affection between them was so evident. It was lovely to see that closeness and the warmth they shared. My parents and Shwetha’s parents were very fond of Biyer too. He would make time to speak with them, gently asking about their lives and how they were finding their time in the US. They respected him, and they are all so shocked by this news. Today, I keep thinking of his parents. I do not have words for what they must be going through. 

What I wish I had done differently 

The hardest part for me is that I had lost touch with Biyer over the past three years. I had been upset with him over some personal decisions, and I let that become distance between us. Now I wish I had picked up the phone. I wish I had spoken to him instead of letting the silence continue. It is painful to admit that. But it would not feel honest to write about how much he meant to me without acknowledging it. Biyer had his idiosyncrasies too. He could become aloof and did not always feel the need to keep in regular contact. He had little interest in social media or staying connected through Facebook and WhatsApp. Keeping in touch with him took some effort. I wish I had made more of that effort. I don’t remember him carrying animosity toward anyone. He was a good person, and there was so much more to our friendship than anything that had come between us. I wish I had kept that in mind while there was still time to call him. 

The Biyer we will remember 

When he visited California a few years ago, he made it a point to meet all of us. His warmth was still the same. So was his smile, and the lovely way he connected with the children. He had brought gift cards for all six kids he was meeting that day. Such a thoughtful, generous thing to do. Such a Biyer thing to do. That is how I want to remember him. Stopping his car because Dhwani was calling. Walking her around the garden. Spending hours making biryani for friends. Laughing at a familiar story. Helping with a problem at our house. Talking gently with our parents. I wish we had shared more meals, more conversations, and more evenings doing nothing in particular. I wish I had heard that laugh a few more times. His smile and sunny disposition will stay with us. And somewhere in those memories, Dhwani is still at the end of our street, calling, “Biyer Mama! Biyer Mama!” and he is stopping to pick her up. 

Rest in peace, Biyer. We love you. Thank you for the friendship, the kindness, and all those happy years in Austin. There will never be another quite like you. Anitha and Reyansh, you are in our prayers. We love you, and we will be here for you.

Posted by rajesh |

Some weekends in the Bay Area feel like we never really left Chennai.

There is a golu to visit, a child getting ready to sing, and a message asking, “What time are you visiting our Golu?” Someone is bringing sundal. Someone else is trying to fit six golu visits into one evening.

For a few hours, the world of office meetings and school schedules gives way to music, conversation, and familiar traditions. A living room can bring back the feeling of a Chennai music season or a quiet Trichy agraharam during Navarathri.

And then Monday arrives, and we are back to talking about AI.

That, to me, is the charm of the California Bay Area.

A season of music and small moments

Around Navarathri, almost every weekend seems to have a soundtrack. Children singing, playing instruments, and working up the courage to perform in front of a room full of people. Parents listening closely, sometimes quietly keeping the talam. Friends making room for one more family.

The songs celebrate our gods and goddesses, while keeping the words and music of our composers alive in another generation.

There is something lovely about watching children grow through these gatherings. A child who sang a short song last year now attempts something longer. Another who once needed a parent nearby is happy to perform alone. The progress is not always dramatic, but you notice it.

Vijayadasami brings its own special feeling. Children seek their gurus’ blessings and begin another year of learning. In the middle of busy lives, there is still time to pause, thank the teacher, and start again with respect and hope.

These are small moments. They are also the moments that make a place feel like home.

From ragams to AI, without missing a beat

The conversations at these gatherings deserve a category of their own.

One minute, someone is discussing a ragam, grahabedham, or a singer’s manodharmam. The next, the conversation has moved to the AI bubble, data centers, or the latest open-weight model from a Chinese company.

Is all this spending on AI going to pay off? Who is building more infrastructure? What happens next?

Before anyone can settle that, someone brings up Jailer 2. Then it is Anirudh, a celebrity wedding in Greece, school activities, travel plans, or where to find good food.

Somehow, none of these turns feels strange.

The same people who spend their weekdays thinking about technology can spend their weekends listening closely to a Carnatic performance. There is no need to choose one world over the other. Both fit quite comfortably into the same living room.

As much culture as you want

Another thing I love is that there is room for different levels of interest.

If music and culture are a big part of your life, you can stay deeply involved. There always seems to be another concert, class, gathering, or performance to look forward to.

If you are a casual listener, that works too. You can pick a few events, enjoy a familiar song, discover something new, and go home happy. You do not have to understand every musical detail to feel included.

The variety helps. An electric guitar playing Carnatic music or a familiar composition finding a new voice on a keyboard can bring a different kind of joy. There is room for the traditional concert and for something that makes you hear an old favourite differently.

The one thing on my wish list

If there is one thing I still wish for, it is a walkable Little India-style shopping area.

A place with Indian ethnic wear, jewellery, golu dolls, religious gifts, and those small things you suddenly need before a festival. Somewhere you could wander from shop to shop, stop for coffee,grab a few vadais or a newspaper wrapped hot pakodas, and make an afternoon of it.

That would complete the picture for me.

Still, there is a lot to be grateful for. The Bay Area gives us a busy working life shaped by new ideas, alongside a cultural life that keeps us close to where we came from.

Sometimes, the best of both worlds is simply a weekend of golu, music, and familiar company, followed by a Monday morning meeting about the future of AI.

And perhaps the nicest part is that these two worlds do not stay neatly separated.

The person explaining an AI model over sundal might be the parent helping a child tune a violin a few minutes later. A conversation about data centers pauses because the next child is ready to sing. Everyone turns, listens, and applauds. The debate can wait.

More than a busy cultural calendar

For the children, much of this may simply feel like a normal weekend. Dress up, visit friends, sing a song, eat something nice, and ask when they can go play.

For the adults, it often means a little more.

We hear a song we grew up with. We remember a teacher, a neighbour, or the way Navarathri felt in our parents’ homes. We find ourselves repeating things our own parents used to say, including, “One more song before you go.”

What once felt like a tradition we followed has slowly become something we want to pass on.

And it does not always take a grand event to do that. Sometimes, it is enough to gather in someone’s home, listen to a few children sing, and make sure everyone has eaten.

Finding our own version of home

Of course, this is not exactly Chennai or Trichy. The distances are different. Visits need planning. There are calendars to coordinate, weekend classes to work around, and the occasional choice between two events you would love to attend.

But perhaps recreating everything exactly is not the point.

We are building our own version of home, with the parts we want to carry forward and room for the lives our children are growing into. A traditional song and a keyboard rendition can belong in the same evening. So can a serious discussion about music and a completely unserious debate about the next big movie.

That is what I enjoy most about life here. There is space to be deeply attached to our roots without feeling removed from everything happening around us.

On Friday, we wonder where AI is taking the world. On Saturday, we remind a child to take their music notebook before leaving for class. By Sunday evening, we are at another golu, listening to another song, catching up with another set of friends.

Somewhere between all of that, the Bay Area has become much more than the place where we work.

Posted by rajesh |

 Metaverse! This must be at the top of the Gartner Hype cycle. This WSJ video seems like a parody but it is reality. I find the current FB/Instagram/twitter itself as vehicles for folks to escape reality and hide behind made up names and avatars to spew largely nonsense and not take much responsibility for one’s actions. Now this metaverse is akin to adding another dimension of anonymity to the ever growing digital chaos. After watching this video,I feel like screaming… Why don’t you go attend a real concert or meet your teammates in a real conference room!? At the end of the day, one has to eat,drink,shower,relieve oneself and sleep on a bed in actual life in person and not in the metaverse. 

And so, lets not give in too much to this hype, except may be invest in Meta/Nvidia/MSFT/Nike/Unity/Roblox stocks who are going to mint a lot of money from advertising and creating platforms in the so-called Metaverse!

https://youtube.com/watch?v=rtLTZUaMSDQ&feature=share

Posted by rajesh |

Posted by rajesh |

Posted by rajesh |

Posted by rajesh |

Posted by rajesh |

Posted by rajesh |

Posted by rajesh |

Posted by rajesh |

May your soul rest in peace! I have very fond memories of you. My oldest memory being in Chennai Besant Nagar when Chitra was born in Veidehi hospital. You were taking care of amma and I used to play in the front of the hospital. You took great care of me, as I was your first grandson. You were always kind to me. Always spoke good of me, encouraged me to achieve. Your god fearing nature is unmatchable. Your poojais every day that spanned several hours is one of the reasons why you were able to keep your calm and go about any kind of hardship with ease. You always prayed for the betterment of others. I vividly remember playing in the thulasi maadam in Jeeyapuram when you would walk in from your early morning bath at Cauvery; and go straight to the mitham and do poojai to the thulasi maadam. Then would start your hour long puujai which used to happen while you walked around the house doing all kinds of chores. I remember helping you with a long stick to pull the 'Madi saree/blouse' that you would wear after bath. You would not mind if we kids touched you before taking bath. You used to make me the choiciest of foods, the Maida cake is still my favorite. I have never tasted anything as good as the Maida cake you used to make. The several hours that you and thatha used to spend in the backyard making therati paal and halwa! I could still sense the feeling of contentment amongst you and thatha when you would see your kids and grandkids relishing the paal cova and the halwa. You used to make me maambazham pachadi and molaguutal which was my favorite. In the backyard thinnai at jeeyapuram, we have fond memories of heating palaa kottai on a coal based stove; you and thatha even trying to make detergent soap by mixing some chemicals thatha bought; thatha shaking bottle filled with buttermilk to convert it into butter... many many sweet memories. The bathroom veragi adupu is also a fond memory. Thatha and I used to put the coconut tree leaves/barks to make the fire and the I used to bath in that hot water. All the grandkids spent a lot of time in the backyard next to the Kinaru well drawing water from it and bathing bext to the well. You used to take me and the other grandkids to the sivan temple or the krishnan koil every day. Sometimes I used to come to the Cauvery with you when you would be so watchful of me at the steps near the water. I used to accompany you when you went to other mami's house in the agraharam - pichu iyer mami, ambulu mami , saraswathi mami and several others. You would gleam with pride explaining all my antics and everywhere you used to say that 'Rajesh , chitra - Rombha chamathu kozhandhael'. My distinct recollection of you is the way you used to pamper and konju me; still stays fresh in memory - Kanna da nee, chellam da nee, mutthu daa nee, raajaa da nee, vellam da nee.. many nany such platitudes which I loved hearing and then watched you do the same to my younger cousins when it was their turn. You were such a godsend to all your grandkids. Your dedication and affection was unmatched. I always wondered how you could provide the equal warmth and kindness to all of us. There was no partiality or neglect to any of us at anytime. You were a superhuman who was so under-appreciated. I have even watched thatha fight with you but you were so graceful and silent most of the times.

Posted by rajesh |

I saw the news about Gwen Ifill passing away. Very sad to note that.

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Gwen_Ifill

I remember going to one of her Speeches in Austin about 12 years ago. She was excellent.I saw her on TV as well recently before the elections. She was still eloquent.

May Gwen Rest in Peace.

Posted by rajesh |

Posted by rajesh |

Posted by rajesh |

Posted by rajesh |

Posted by rajesh |