my experiments with this world

An Evening Stroll

2009-05-30T13:09:00.007+05:30

Yesterday evening I was feeling quite drained after some very busy days (rather weeks) at work. So, I went out of the office for a walk. The sun was setting and the dust was dancing in the light that pierced through the trees. I walked past the ground which was hosting 3-4 cricket games and a small group of auto rickshaws. A lone man was braving three auto rickshaw-wallahs for a fare bargain. A few children with the their backpacks on, rode past me on their cycles and braked at the temple across the street to quickly offer their prayers.

I quietly walked to the tea stall at the corner of the street and asked for a kapi. "Straangaa Saar" asked the man behind stove, clad in a colorful lungi and a soiled towel on his shoulder. I nodded in agreement. He poured the coffee with extreme precision into a translucent glass and placed on the counter. I picked up the piping hot beverage, swatting away flies that wanted a taste of it. I walked to the other side of the deserted street, placed the cup on a short wall in the shade of a tree and hopped on to it. I sat there sipping the straang kapi, staring into oblivion. This was when a few birds came from no where and sat on the electricity transmission cable. I was suddenly pulled into another world. It was a strong feeling of deja vu. Same scenario, but in a different place and a different time, when a good friend of mine often made a philosophical statement "I think one of the birds did not return today" and us three buddies stared into space. I wondered the same, but this time alone.

image source: http://k43.pbase.com/o4/60/647860/1/57489985.Chai.jpg

Make your wish

2005-11-27T10:10:00.000+05:30

The sun was setting. He sat beneath the tree, trying to catch a breath of fresh air, looking at the birds flying back to their nests. It had been a long and tiresome day. The vendor had finally passed on the data but the deadline was too close to meet now. It had to be late night work schedules for everyone in the team now onwards for the next month, else they would be in the firing line. Also, their programmers were not sure how long they would take to fix the bug. He had a lot going on in his head but this project was crucial for his promotion. He had always dreamed of a beautiful house by the lake with a garden in the backyard. And he had put in a lot of effort to realize this.

As he was thinking of this, he suddenly felt dizzy. And something seemed to emerge out of nowhere. It was like bright light, something more than light. Was this an illusion? Either everything had gone silent or he had become deaf. Then, a voice came from the light, “You have three wishes”. “Who are you?”, he shouted, “What do you want?”. There was no response. He continued with his questioning for some more time, but all he could hear was his own voice and nothing else. He was beginning to believe that this was a dream, but then it does not hurt to give it a shot. “Turn this into gold”, he said, picking up a pebble. He knew, nothing would happen, and his face had already broken into a smile at this little victory. Just as he was about to let go the pebble, he found that it was glittering, it had turned into gold. He could not believe it and started off with questions again, only to find none of them answered. “I need a big house, with a garden in the backyard.” His dreams were about to come true. He could not believe his luck. He was standing on the lawn in front of a beautiful bungalow. He desperately hoped this was not a cruel dream. His mind raced. He knew he could make one more wish.

He had always wanted to own the luxury car that his boss drove. He too could make his colleagues jealous now. But wait, why a car when he could own an airplane itself. His heart was pounding. He knew god had chosen him to be the lucky one and he had to make a killing out of this opportunity. But he realized how foolish he was being asking for a car or even an airplane when he could wish to be rich, and then he could buy anything he wanted. He was about to wish that he turn into a millionaire, and it occurred to him why a millionaire when I could a billionaire, better still a zillionaire. He could not believe his fortune. He would lead a life of his dreams now on. He almost made the wish, but he stopped himself at the last moment, just to make sure that was the best he could do.

He wondered if he could trade being a rich for something. Was there something that he wanted, something that money could not buy? The images of his parents flashed before his eyes. Memories came back. He was at boarding school and his parents were coming to visit him. Instead came the news that they were killed in an accident. He wanted to see them one last time. And now he had the power to bring them back to life. As he was about to make this wish, he realized something. He had come to terms with his parents’ death, but what about his friend’s family? His friend was recently killed in the war, survived by his two little children and a wife. He knew the hardships that the family faced. Probably he should ask for the life of this friend.

But something was still nagging him. What about the families of all his countrymen who lost their lives in the war, just like his friend? What about all those who were on the other side in the war. He was getting over whelmed now. He thought further. What about the millions worldwide who were dying because of incurable diseases? What about those who were dying of common diseases because they could not afford medicine? What about those who had no food and were dying of hunger? What about those in wretched poverty living in deplorable conditions, devoid of basic human needs of clean air and water? What about the children for whom a meal a day was more than a feast? And amidst all this, what about those being killed by ghastly acts of terrorists and communal riots? The list went on and on. He stood there dumbstruck by all that is wrong in the world and the list never seemed to end. He felt ashamed. He felt helpless.

He stared at the light. “Give me hope and courage to do whatever little I can”. He turned and walked away, and dropped the golden pebble on the way.

Welcome to the show

2005-11-07T06:52:00.000+05:30

Welcome to your favorite program on your favorite channel. Thanks all the millions of you who watch this program every day without fail and making this the most watched show of our generation. Today we interview the showman of modern television, Mr. RC, the King. Mr. RC is the amazing brain behind numerous channels and is the creative director of many operas and reality shows. So without delay let us welcome Mr. Conner.

Interviewer: Lets all cheer for the KING
Audience: KING … KING … WHOA … WELCOME KING
Interviewer: Welcome Mr.RC and before starting off let us take a commercial break. we'll be right back.

Interviewer: Mr. RC, we should thank you for having given humanity the wonderful gift of modern television shows and channels, without which life would not have been even a fraction as exciting as it is today. Let us all thank the KING
Audience: KING … KING … WHOA … THANK YOU KING

Interviewer: You have achieved so much … what is the secret of your success?
RC: Creativity, hard work, a desire to succeed, and above all the love and affection of the millions of viewers all around the planet
Interviewer: What was your inspiration? How did you get all the creative ideas? How did it all start?
RC: Once upon a time when people had no entertainment sources, they relaxed amidst nature, they visited family and friends, they played and ran, they passionately pursued their so called hobbies, they read books, they traveled, and they even found time for introspection. Those were the activities that filled thier life, and that was the most of part of it. They thought that was life.
Interviewer: Eeeww! What sick life.
Audience: SICK LIFE … SICK LIFE ... WHOA … WHAT A SICK LIFE
RC: But then modern television brought hope into people’s lives. Over generations, people gradually began to realize what a pathetic life they have been leading. Life began to adapt and human beings began to grow smarter. They decided that they wanted to develop. They began to understand what they had to do. Why spend time reading a book while you could effortlessly watch TV. The very thought of sitting on a couch simply staring at a light and sound emitting box was obviously appealing. People realized this was the smart thing to do. Why strain one’s brain on reality when one could float in virtual issues and even better blankly and aimlessly stare at the digital wall. People made the right choice and shifted to TV. You people know what you want. You people are smart.
Audience: SMART … SMART … WHOA … WE ARE SMART

Interviewer: How did you come up with the idea of the reality shows?
RC: This is a logical answer to people’s choices. People know that TV is life and what life is worth living without being on TV. So, we picked up the most passionate and determined people and put them on TV. Viewers watched these people who were living their dream of being on TV. Audiece saw themselves in these people and derived vicarious pleasure. To do a greater service to humanity we gave more people a chance of their lifetime to be on TV in shows such as this one. You all have succeeded in your life. You are on TV. You are the winners.
Audience: WINNERS … WINNERS … WHOA … WE ARE THE WINNERS

Interviewer: Could you please tell us about your new marketing/advertising channels?
RC: Before the advent of these channels not even a single person was content with his or her life. They needed something that will change their lives into a fairy tale with a happily ever after ending. They needed stuff that would solve all their problems and would help them lead a fulfilling life. We advertise and sell products that would change people’s lives for ever. (Their little brains cannot understand that this is what their lives were destined to be .. this is how they were destined to live. So, we mess with their brains. The viewers' minds are so messed up they do not give a damn as to whether or not what we say is reasonable. The ever unsatisfied are always thinking of ways to change the way they live and live a "better" life. We mess with their minds.)
Interviewer: Wow ...
Audience:

Interviewer: Tell us more about the other reality shows you produce.
RC: We have reality shows with the rich successful people, superstars. Our viewers who so very desperately want to change their life and lifestyle and want to be rich and famous watch all our shows for hours and hours. I'm sure you too watch them and will accept that our shows are like drugs, forget reality and convince oneself momentarily of your dream.
Interviewer: Wow ...
Audience:

Interviewer: How successful has your career been?
RC: We are doing well I should say. People no longer get out of their houses except for work. We have given them reason to relax at home. They are perpetually in front of the television. The kids do not know that outdoor activities are possible. They no longer aim to be on their school soccer team, but to be on the television shows. There are a few lose ends which we have to tie up, but we are doing it. We are conducting research studies regarding how to further manipulate human minds, and get in more and more people to watch our shows..
Interviewer: Wow ...
Audience: KING … KING … WHOA … THANK YOU KING

The End.

PS: Inspired by the character Sara Goldfarb in "Requiem for a Dream". After much effort, this piece falls far below what I expected it to be.

A love story

2005-10-21T07:02:00.000+05:30

My friends often told me that people just use us till we are of any use to them, and then you are nothing to them. There is nothing called love. “After you it will be someone else”, is what I heard most of the times, but I never believed them. Huh … but I left them for her, I had no choice. I remember those days of youth and a smile breaks on my face. I’ve come a long way since then. With age I waned. My name, the main reason why she chose me, which I proudly carried over my face has disappeared with time. And I never noticed it coming. We are still together, though she doesn’t seem as interested in me as before. I guess, everyone gets tired of each other after some point. But, not me. I still wait with the same eager eyes for her as I did when I was young. That innocent smile makes me forget that very soon there will be someone instead of me else in her life.

She never had the habit of knocking the door. She just walked into the bathroom. I could not move. The very sight of her turns seals my mouth and turns me into a statue. I sat quietly and watched. She locked the door from inside and admired herself in front of the mirror. She seemed to get younger with every passing day. She slipped into the shower and turned on the water. Water reflected off her skin on to me. The touch of her beautiful eyes and lips was heavenly. Iwas lost in though, far away from reality. The loving way in which she handled me confirmed that she still loved me. I convince myself of this every day, but it is never enough.

I slipped and fell into the bathtub. I tried to get up, but could not. I looked at her hoping she would give me a hand. But she totally ignored me, as if I was not even there. Water dripped over me and I kept staring into the shower. Yet another day had passed and I had gotten closer to the end by another day. I gradually began to dawn upon me that she no longer cared for me. She was waiting for the day I would disappear into thin air, so that she could bring in someone young, I did not realize how much time had passed and I still lay there in the bathtub. She had dried herself by now and was about to leave. I wanted to look at her face for one last time, but could not. She reached for the door knob and suddenly stopped. It seemed as if she had realized something. I waited with bated breath. She turned back and looked at me. She walked towards me, and with each step, my heart skipped a beat. She gently lifted me, placed me in the soap box and left.

Blood

2005-10-16T03:03:00.000+05:30

I stood before the mirror and smeared some foam over my face. I took the razor and ran it through in long and quick strokes. Nothing can stop the razor, it can slice through every thing. I like the razor. Blood oozed and dripped into the wash basin, mixing with the white foam. The foam still remained white and even I could not make out if it had any blood, ever. Yesterday’s cuts were still fresh. The razor sliced through them and created fresher ones.

I stepped out, into the rain, cold wind slamming into my face. I stumbled over dead bodies, so many of them. Their flesh rotted in the mud of their own blood. No one realized it was blood. Then came the rain, washing the blood away, as if there was no blood, ever. But the mud remained and the bodies continued to rot.

I reached my destination. There was a lock. I punched it. I punched till the skin on my fist tore. I did not stop and I kept punching till I heard my bones crack. There was this lock, but there was no door. It was just a wall. I threw myself at the wall. I could not punch it and began to climb it. My nails could not take it anymore and they ripped off my fingers. The carpet which was already stained with blood was now wet with my blood. This would dry by tomorrow and would be just another stain till rain washes it all one day. Then no one would know, if this carpet was soaked in blood, ever.

I looked around and there was glass everywhere. I pounded through the glass and shards punctured me. I ran through the glass. I ran into the rain. I ploughed through the mud. I fell. I looked up, and all I could see was rain piercing through me. I dragged myself to the narrow street, flooded with mangled bodies. I was tired and my wounds hurt. I could not push myself any more. I lay with them, in the mud, rotting.

Kaapi

2005-09-30T23:57:00.000+05:30

Answer yes or no to the following questions:

1. You think there are two kinds of people in this world .. the coffeedrinkers .. and the losers
2. Cocaine is for the faint at heart
3. God made the perfect drink and then he created a few otherde-caffeinated ones
4. You have an ergonomic coffee mug
5. You believe that coffee is the answer to life, universe, and everything
6. You almost had a heart-attack when someone said Java would soon be extinct

8. You always thought mugs on both sides of the handle is an efficient idea
9. You think coffee will solve the energy problems in future
10. They have stopped offering bottomless coffee in your neighborhood
11. You still doubt if they use liquid hydrogen as rocket fuel or ifit is something else
12. When you are not drinking coffee, you are standing in line infront of the coffee machine
13. All this while, you knew that all Marvin, the manically depressed robot, needed was a few drops of coffee
14. Brazil is your favorite country
15. You have answered yes to question 7

If you have answered "Yes" to 15 or more of the above questions then ... welcome ... you are a coffee-addict.

PS: Still high on the last shot of French roast.

Thus spake the cigarette

2005-09-12T09:41:00.000+05:30

You have the stuff, everyone loves you

Its not about the stuff, you say, they love me

You work for their life, your life burns

Its not about their life, you say, they love me

Your realize their dreams, yours turn to smoke

Its not about their dreams, you say, they love me

All you see is them, you are turning to ashes

Its not about them, you say, they love me

There is nothing left of you, they no longer need you

Its not about my need, you wished you could say,

But alas! you are no more

Thank you nature

2005-08-24T08:14:00.000+05:30

The shining sun
and the soothing breeze
The droplets of rain
and the magical rainbow
The clouds cover the mountains
and first rain after summer
The verdant fields, palm trees
and the rabbits running through them
The infinite seas and oceans
and the waves whipping the beaches

The woman is fiddling with the remote
in the dark and muggy livingroom
sifting through the TV channels
The man is stuffing pizza and beer
on the cold dirty leather couch
thinking about his assets and mortgages
The kids are busy
with books and homework
preparing for school nextday

The young executive is at work
immersed in the heavy files
earning money to live happily everafter
The charming lady is at the beauticians'
getting manicures pedicures
and chemicals for makeup
The old man is on his death bed
reflecting on his past life
convincing himself it all made sense
Everyone seems happy
happier than they could ever be
at least that is what they like to think

Aah ... Thank you nature, for all the happiness.

"Despair", 2002 Meri C Fox-Szauter (Pen and ink)

Overcoming bloggers' block ... finally

2005-08-21T22:45:00.000+05:30

My shoulders droop and my eyes turn green,
As I stare forever into the screen,
Yet another keystroke and yet another click,
If this is life then it is sick.

Time

2005-05-19T02:57:00.000+05:30

Time has been one of the most elusive concepts for ordinary mortals, at least me. Time does not give you second chances. There are times, which I treasure, to relive which I would do anything. And, there are times, I repent, to correct which I would do anything. There are situations when the value of time seems to increase as the clock ticks by. The closer you get to the end, the more valuable each second becomes. And, at the end, you feel that you have fallen short. I recollect such moments in my life, and my heart pleads .. God, give me some more time.

It was a typical June morning, with the sun shining into my eyes. I was leaving home for higher studies and it was the first time away. I looked at my mother, standing by the gate, trying to conceal her tears, tying to put up a brave face, trying a forced smile, waving good bye. My heart pleaded .. God, give me one more minute.

It was the independence day parade at our town municipal grounds. The best parade performaces are awarded and we deserved one this time. The school platoon had practiced hard and I was the platoon commander. I guess we were doing well till I ended up on the wrong foot during the salute to the chief guest. I was sure I had ruined my teams chances of winning the prize. I wished to be given one more chance. My heart pleaded .. God, give me one more minute.

One of those days, I was standing next to this pretty girl. And, I had wanted to talk to her for quite some time. But, I could not get myself to talk, and I felt more than content just standing there. Time ticked away and she walked away, while I was still thinking of a way to start a conversation. My heart pleaded .. God, give me one more minute.

I went to my village for the holidays. And, I had sprinted to my grand father's place from the railway station. There were a lot of relatives in our home, which was very uncommon. My father told me that my grand mother had passed away. Childhood memories came fleeting, and I wished to talk to my grand mother for one last time. My heart pleaded .. God, give me one more minute.

It was one of those sultry summer evenings. After four years, I was heading home, leaving behind my hostel, leaving behind my friends, leaving behind the best days of my life, for ever. My friends helped me carry my luggage to the taxi standing outside the hostel. None of them would speak, since none knew what to say. None of us were sure if we would ever meet again. This could be the last time. But still none of us spoke, since none knew what to say. My heart pleaded .. God, give me one more minute.

I was having an early lunch since I had to catch a train. I was flying out of the country following the train journey. My aunt had made my favorite daal and my favorite curry. I sat there, beneath the fan, nibbling at my lunch, and my aunt was looking at me. None of us spoke. My heart pleaded .. God, give me one more minute.

There are these happy moments, the sad ones, the anxious times, and the nervous ones. I realized one thing, all these situations had something in common. Speechlessness. Time won everytime while I stared in silence.

Wanna be a superhero ?

2005-05-10T09:09:00.000+05:30

We are pround to announce to the people of the earth the launch of School of Superhuman Intellect and Techniques (So-SHIT). The So-SHIT takes pride in being the first institute of its kind on this planet and would train ordinary mortals in building superhuman abilities. The founder of So-SHIT, Dr. B A Shaw, holds a PhD in Rajnikath Worship Technology from the Thalaivarey University.

The course has been designed for six semesters.
The first semester would cover the "SH Acoustics and Linguistics". For example, Sound effects for saluting, putting on your glasses, tying up your lungi etc. All these activities requre SH sound effects .. zzzaaak .. zzaaak .. woosh .. woosh .. types. The speed at which hand/finger should be moved, ambient air composition/density/temperature and other details would be discussed. The linguistics course would be about punchlines in different languages. For example, "Eee baasha oka sari chepputhey vanda saarlu cheppinattu", "En vazhi thani vazhi", "Naan yaar ennu theriyuma", "Jai bajrang bali" types. Extra-terrestrial languages would be an elective course.

The second semester is about "SH apparel". Topics include color of the towel on your shoulder, length of the towel, brand of glasses, shoes (and how to emit sparks from them while walking), and the brand of cigars. This semester has electives on "Underwear Outside", "Underwear Inside", and "Other" dressing techniques. The labs include lighting cigars without matches and lighting matches on the bad guys' bald heads. Perpetual motion methodologies would also be taught. Rotating knives like Sudarshana Chakra, slapping bad dudes such that they keep rotating about the Y axis etc would be discussed in detail.

The third semester would be mainly on "SH Motor-abilities". This deals with several ways of operating motor vehicles. For example, one could shoot a coconut which would fall on the motor cycle's starter to start the vehicle. Other techniques include shooting at the bad guys with pistols in both your hands while steering with your legs. Climbing on to and jumping from moving trains, stopping a helicopter by pulling it down, rescuing people in a sinking ship by holding it from under water and swimming to the coast are other topics of interest in this semster.

The fourth semester teaches "Introduction to SH Gun Techniques". For example, running faster than the bullet, cathing a bullet shot by the enemy and killing the enemy by throwing the bullet back. If you have no bullets in your gun and the villain shoots at you, then how to open the gun's bullet case so that the villains bullet gets lodged in your gun's case, and you can now use the same bullet to shoot the villain. This semster would have courses on killing two bad guys using one bullet by shooting the bullet at a blade/knife which will cause the bullet to split into two and hit both the bad guys.

The fifth semester teaches "Advanced SH Gun Techniques". These include killing more than two bad guys using one bullet. The methodlogy is highly creative and cannot be revealed here. Techniques taught also include shooting bad dudes who are not in the line of fire. For example, if the villain is hiding behind a wall, one of the techniques is throwing a gun into the air (above the wall) and shooting the trigger of the gun in the air using another gun. Other techniques include, conning the bad dude to shoot himself by inserting the bullet in the reverse direction in the revolver.

The final semester would focus on "Miscellaneous SH Abilities". This would include jumping from one building to another, throwing trees and auto rickshaws at the villains, coming back from certain death by using prayers from the general public, jumping from the roof tops of tall buildings and falling on the ground or a moving truck as situation demands etc. Punching through walls, fighting crocodiles/tigers, sleeping on the couch when the bad dude stabs the pillows on the bed are ohter tricks of the trade.

At the end of the course, the students would be graded using a Superhuman Abilities Measure (SHAM). The SHAM test would determines the candidate's fate. Those failing the SHAM test would be used as the bad dudes in various lab and practical training classes. Interested can contact thalaivarey_devatha@So-SHIT.com

Comments from a couple of friends:

Job Posting:
We are looking for superheroes who have passed the SHAM test. They will join our Superhero Can do Anything Management (SCAM) program. Immediate placement available in Japan for Dancing Maharaja III. Hurry up and apply!!!

Dear Advertiser: Your So-SHIT sounds very intersting to me and I am very much interested in applying. However, your course schedule lacks a very important aspect- SH-Seduction techniques. I believe this is a very important attribute and we should be taught how to make girl fall in love in less than a fraction of a second. In case you are willing to take this suggestion into account, I would like to enroll immediately !

Inspired by the first question in the third exam of my Advanced Statistics class.

Stunts ....

2005-05-04T06:23:00.000+05:30

I land in the Boston airport at around 10:00 pm on this eventful Thursday. I'm feeling hungry, having not eaten anything in the last eight hours except for peanuts and pretzels. I stroll out of airport to find that it is freezing outside. I quickly take a cab and request to be taken to the hotel, with my stomach still pleading to be fed. The hotel is in the city outskirts and thats where the company I would be interviewing with tomorrow is located. Somehow the cab driver manages to lose his way that night. Only later do I come to know that he was circling around the destination for quite some time. Finally we reach the hotel, I grudgingly tipped the driver and dragged myself to the hotel lobby. Luckily the receptionist does not say that I do not have a reservation. I ask him if there are any restaurants nearby and my stomach is screaming in the mean time. A horizontal nod, followed by, "No, no hotels".

With that shock, I walk to my room, number 333, half the number of the beast. I do not have a good feeling about this number. I figure that nothing else can go wrong since I have the suit pressed, tie knotted, shoe polished, and I have even brought along the shoe polish ... just in case. OOooops ! I quickly open my briefcase and my hunger is killing me. The worst has happened, the liquid shoe polish has spilled and my white shirt has a big balck blotch on it. I try to panic, but "Don't Panic" said the great Douglas Adams, so I obeyed. I try to wash off the black mark, but it is more stubborn than I am. It prevailed. Ok ... the best thing to do under these circumstances is to sleep. I sleep ... at least try to sleep. The bed is so stuffed with springs that they keep creaking all night long and I cannot sleep. This is turning out to be a disaster, I think.

I wake up at 7:00 in the morning, having slept for less than two hours last night. The lucky part is that the interview is at 1:00 pm and I have some breathing space. I gobble a bagel and gulp down a litre of orange juice. My stomach has grown numb. I have to do something about my shirt. I call a cab and rush to the nearest shopping mall. I realize that shopping malls are not open at all times. Finally the mall opens and I buy a formal shirt. I return to the hotel at around 10:30 am and am all tired and weak. I try to force open my eyes but cannot help sleeping for about an hour. I wake at about 11:45, get dressed for the interview, and call a cab. I remember that the interview would go on for about 3 hours and I did not have lunch. AAAaaah .. hunger came back and also came the cab. Off I went to the interview.

Two weeks later, I was offered the position. Peace.

Disappointing cricket series

2005-04-20T06:05:00.000+05:30

What concluded recently was a disappointing India-Pakistan cricket series. I will not say it was dissapointing cricket since both the teams had their highs and lows and one of them came out victorious in the end. But what made the viewing a painful experience was the pathetic commentary. The commentary evoked laughter in the initial stages but then it got so horrible that people (at least in the group we were watching) could not tolerate it any more. We prefered to mute the television and watch cricket with some music in the background (which did not work out because someone liked Altaf Raja's songs).

Most of the commentrators were self-proclaimed 'Gods'. They always discussed "the stategy to win" and would never comment on how the bowler bowled the ball or how the batsman played it. They kept talking about what the captain was thinking, what the coach was thinking, and what the umpire thought, and what the person in charge of the sight screen thougth. One of the oft stressed point would be 'this is an important game' ... what the heck ... every game is important, the 1st because it is the 1st, the 2nd because the team which won the 1st can take a lead, 3rd because a team can extend its lead or another can make a comeback, and the last because one team could win/draw or play for prestige. To add to the woes of the TV audience one of the commentrators was extremely biased while another was so scared of being biased that he was biased towards the other team. Of course there were the favorite phrases of some of them which I'm not sure exist in English. For example, "The ball will culr and swirl because the pitch is scruffed". This sounded good the first time, but it is difficult to hear this once every five overs. Another commentrator kept repeating "The ball is bending". He, unfortunately, confused with swing.

And there is this commentrator who @#$%* over Tendulkar. When India needs runs .. we need Thaindooolkar, when Inida needs wickets .. we need Thaindooolkar, when there is bad light .. we need Thaindooolkar, when there is dog on the ground .. we need Thaindooolkar. The only good comments are made when the cameramen shoot some pretty girls. They would talk about the shades, lipstick, earrings, hats and everything but cricket. I guess the only time we'll get to hear some sensible commentary would be during some celebrity women's cricket.

Role models ... huh

2005-04-08T12:03:00.000+05:30

There are some people in our lives who we look upon with respect from our childhood. They are our idols, people who we admire a lot. They might not be celebrities or heroes but we still adore them. Somethime we go to the extent of worshipping them. He/she could be your elder brother, your aunt, your friend's dad, or your school teacher. Just a 'well-done' from them could mean a lot to us. There are occasions when we hope to grow up to be something like them. They inspire us. Many times we try to mimic them, may be even pick up a habit or two from them. They impact our values, our character, our behavior, and our thinking.

And then you grow up and now have your own set of values. And suddenly the person who you had adored all the way till now does something wrong. Something that is blatantly wrong to you. You are shell shocked that someone who you have looked up to all your life did something that was totally unacceptable to you. You do not believe it at first but the truth sinks in gradually. Then you think, to err is human and try to overlook the behavior. But what annoys you is that what you think is clearly terribly wrong is not wrong to them. It is not just a matter to different perceptions, but it is a question of values.

You are in a very odd situation where you feel that you should not have adored him/her so much, but then no one is perfect. But still you don't accept such lame excuses. You slowly begin to lose respect for the person. You are not proud of the person anymore. You remeber talking to your friends in high esteem of that person and the ocassions when you had fiercely agued in favor of that person. You realize how foolish you have been. You pity the old you who had done that. You suddenly realize how you are lucky not to have grown up to be the person who you once hoped you would. Sometimes you begin to despise the person. The main fault of the person being that you had adored him/her a lot in the past, and now you cannot handle the fact that the person could compromise his/her values. This might not be anyone's fault, but the relationship you share with the person is never the same again. All the good of the person is erased by the single mistake. It dawns on you that may be the person was better than the lot of others who you came accross but was not really worthy of being adored.

Waving to strangers

2005-03-07T08:30:00.000+05:30

The train stopped at the station, followed by a conflict of two opposing streams of people tyring to get in and out of the carriage. I looked through the window trying to catch a glimpse of life in that part of the world. But it is just the same as in every other railway station except for the black engravings on the yellow board. Humming chai-wallahs, fruit vendors with their highpitched voices, biscuit sellers peeping through the windows, the pepsi wallah who has all the cool drinks but pepsi, and the hostile looking bookseller with his book cart. Coolies braving their way through the crowd with unbelievable loads on their heads, travelers chasing the TTE for their reservation confirmation, and the lone cleaner sweeping the platform. The old man taking a nap on the bench, the nervous lady with a hand each on the two suitcases protecting her luggage from the thieves, and the sleepy faced middle aged man with a checked towel on his shoulder brushing his teeth. People at the drinking water tap using more than double the capacity of their water bottles for washing the bottles, televisions playing local advertisements without any audio , and the loudspeakers continuously emitting pseudo-human voices in different languages. Some things never change - spatially and temporally.

Amidst all the commotion was a shy kid, aged about five, cuddled beside an old man who mostly looked like his grandfather on the bench accross the newspaper stand. The loudspeaker emitted another sound and our train began to squeal and grunt. I have this habit of waving at strangers on ocassions when I'm sure they can easily mistake me for waving to someone else. This was fun. I thought this was a way of making instant friends with strangers, friends who part instantly, never meet again. But, it felt good when people waved to me, however, I walways know the wave is not intended for me. This time I signalled to the kid and waved to him. He must have been surprised at this and looked scared enough to wave back. I always wondered why no one ever waved back to me, unless the people I was waving at were my friends or family.

I had tried this many times. At parks, fairs, cinema houses, and when in general crowd. Most of the time I encountered confused and doubting looks but never got back a hearty wave. I even got hostile looks many times. The train pulled out of the station and we were soon out of the town. The train was rolling at a modest 40 kmph, crossing villages, canals, hills, and some more villages. Soon we reached an unmanned crossing and there was a tractor waiting for the train to pass. There were a bunch of village kids eagerly waiting for the train. Their looks suggested that it was a dream for them to get on to the huge iron machine. I kept looking at them and they waved. This took me off guard. I was sure they did not wave at me, but I waved back ... waved till they went out of sight. Happy, I went back to my seat and stared out of the window, waiting for the next station.

The tuesday fair

2005-02-05T07:01:00.000+05:30

It was around two in the afternoon and I was pestering my cousin to accompany me to the village fair which is held every Tuesday. Being the Tuesday before Pongal this fair was going to be biggest in the year. People from all the small villages would come for their pongal shopping. We walked for about a kilometer (or more) to reach the fair grounds and I should say that the sun was quite kind to us given the usual state of the afternoons. The fair, without doubt, would surprise any first timer since it would be difficult not to find anything that people needed there and everything would be on 'footpath'. Luckily, I had a chance to film the spice of an Indian village.

Colors ... they were everwhere ... green, yellow, red, blue, orange, purple, and many more. The first stall I came accross was that of color powders for Pongal Rangoli. People were flooding the store and were kind enough to give me some room to film the stall. Most of the women in small villages go to work in the fields and hence, unlike their counterparts in the city, do not get a chance to put on make-up everyday. Come festivals and comes their chance to dress up gorgeous. They had a wide range of colorful bindis, talcum powders, hair clips, elastic bands, mirrors, bangles, necklaces, earrings, rings and a host of other stuff to choose from.

In India festivals and sweets are synonymous, so sweets were not left behind. Laddus, Jalebis, Peanut-jaggery bars, Sesame rolls, Araselu (a traditional south indian sweet made from rice flour and jaggery), Boorelu (another such sweet usually made of toor dal, and cocomut), and other sweets (whose composition I dare not explain)were selling off the stove. For the people who prefered spice to sweets there were pakodas, bajjis, hot mixture, vadas, chana, and roasted peanuts.

The lane to my left was the clothing section. All kinds of readymades were available ... shirts, trousers, lungis, dhotis, sarees, jeans !!! There was a tailor for those who preferred to get their clothes stiched instead. There was this mobile shop on a cycle (for dhotis) and on an autorickshaw (for sarees). If one got thirsty while shopping there were the chilled drinks, that we call Rasna (I'm not sure if Rasna is available these days). This again came in a gamut of colors but red was the clear favorite.

Regardless of how much I say the only way you can appreciate a rural Inidan market is by seeing it for yourself. And here is what I filmed.

Returning home

2005-01-26T23:01:00.000+05:30

“Sir, here is your Asian Vegetarian Meal,” said the British Airways’ air hostess as she placed before me a tray of what usually is an assorted collection of edible and inedible species of leaves, which one of my friends fondly calls ghaas-phoos. This abruptly pulled me out of my dream of already being in India to the harsh reality of chlorophyll, reminding me that I was still twenty hours and four branches away. But I was in for a surprise as I removed the aluminum foil over the tray. Biryani, naan, aloo matar, and gulab jamun, and I gobbled down every molecule. Nostalgia increased in inverse proportionality to the distance to home. The anxiety kept building up till I boarded the Indian Airlines (IA) flight in Dubai. All the weariness of travel vanished with the smiles of the IA air hostesses in blue sarees, not to mention the food served.

The very thought of retuning home shielded me from the babies who never stopped crying, the kid who had vowed to recite everything he learned at school, and the grandmas who chattered non-stop. The plane finally landed in Anna International terminal, Chennai after a very long four hour flight. My friends who had come to receive me kept waving and I jubilantly ignored the thoughts of my misplaced luggage and excitedly strode out of the airport.

I rotated a full 360 degree to catch a glimpse of my homeland after about one and a half years. My friends, in the mean time, haggled with an auto wallah who wanted more than double the actual rate. The auto took off and not for a moment did I have the slightest doubt that Chennai auto drivers could put Schumacher and Rossi to shame any day any time on their home turf. Zipping through the narrowest of the gaps between buses and bikes and cars and pedestrians, the auto driver scared me enough that I should admit closing my eyes on more than a couple of occasions.

However, we did safely reach my friend’s house and I thanked god to be alive. We talked our hearts out for about four hours and then took off for lunch. Stuffed kulchas, mutton rogan josh, prawn masala, and paneer butter masala at Kwality Riviera, our official restaurant during BTech days … yeah that was quite a feast. Then we left for Satyam, the cinema complex which we frequented during student days. The arguments with the auto wallah, the adventurous motorists, pictures of amma on all the walls en-route, long queues for the movie tickets, anxious black-ticket sellers, pretty faces returning from the previous show, gumbals of college guys with the excitement of bunking afternoon classes, couples flowing into the parking lot on bikes, huge posters of heroes (not to mention the garlands), and gossip all around reminded me of good old days. The hustle and bustle was something that I had dearly missed for quite sometime now. The movie began and so did the screaming whistles … yes … finally I was home.

Shaw Lay : The fellowchip of The-Coor

2004-12-02T04:45:00.000+05:30

(First in the trilogy)

Veera Venkata Laxman aka Veeru and Jailendra Kashyap aka Jay idled away to glory on the wing cot while the rest of their class mates were hunting for a summer job. But the latest news was that both of them had landed a summer job at Shaw Lay Ltd., a once-prosperous potato chip manufacturer, somewhere in the country. The CEO of Shaw Lay Ltd., Mr. Shaw, was a ver determined person. It is told that Mr. Shaw, an alcoholic, used to consume incessant amonts of Coors beer. Legend has it that Mr. Shaw lost both his arms when, under heavy influence of Coors, he placed his hands in the potato chopper which could not differentiate Mr. Shaw's hands from potatoes. Then onwards he came to be know as "The-Coor" sahab. The news that the two 'vagabonds' were hired as interns for Shaw Lay Ltd. was creating waves in the campus.

Halfway accross the world The-Coor's secretary JL Iyer was puzzled by The-Coor's decision to hire Veera Venkata and Jailendra. JL Iyer expressed his concern, "The-Coor sahab, Shayad hi koi aisa buffet ho jis me ye dono naa gaye ho. Ye Veeru aur Jay dono ke dono pakke badmaash. Jahan bhi jaatein hai wahan poora khana khatam kar detein hai. Aur aap unko hamarey chipd facory mein ..." The-Coor took a deep breath and replied, "Jaanata hoon ... during my last visit to their hostel nite, not only did they poond but also they scared all the people who came for a second helping, keeping all the food to themselves." JL Iyer tried to convice The-Coor by warning him that Jay and Veeru could actually vaat-lagafy to their chip factory. But The-Coor was not moved, "agar ek taraf in mein yeh sab kharaabiyaa hai to doosari taraf kuchh khubiyaa bhi hai." JL Iyer made a last try, "Khota chip to dono hi taraf se khota hota hai." The-Coor stared into JL Iyer's eyes this time, "Chips aur insaan mein shayad yehi fark hai ..."

Finally Veeru and Jay arrived in Ramgarh - the land of chips. They managed to find the guest house that The-Coor arranged for them. Just outside the guesthouse there was a marriage reception going on. Veeru and Jay winked at each other. And in no time the caterers were scared to death for some reason and someone had eaten all the food. The two summer interns returned to the guest house belching. The-Coor was standing there, "Woh mere hee caterers they ... main dekhna chahta tha ki tum logon mein ab tak wahi bhook hai ya nahin." He had his answer.

Then The-Coor told why he had hired them ... Flash back ... During those days when Shaw Lay was a prosperous company and The-Coor had both his hands, he hired an employee - AZ Khan. That was a very costly mistake to make since AZ Khan used to thulp large amounts of chips from The-Coor's godown. Very soon Shaw lay ran into heavy losses because of reasons known only to AZ Khan. One night when The-Coor was investigating he caught AZ Khan chip-handed.

The-Coor snatched away the chip packets and before he could say anything AZ Khan shouted, "Yeh chips mujhe dey dey the-coor" .... "Nahin" .... "Yeh chips mujhe dey dey the-coor" ... "Nahiiin".... "Haaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaannnnn". Saying this AZ Khan snatched the chips packets and ran away into the hills. AZ Khan, because of his thulping abilities, came to be known as 'Grubber' in Ramgarh. This was when The-Coor drank inappropriate amounts of alcohol and got his hands chopped. Grubber had started a competing chips factory in the hills - Mehbooba Chips, which brought further losses to Shaw Lay Ltd.

The-Coor told Veeru and Jay that he had hired them for a revenge on Grubber. They still wondered what they could do, but The-Coor had his plans. He announced, "You are THE FELLOW-CHIP OF THE-COOR".

(To be continued...)

PS: What does a writer do when he is not able to convey the very point of his writing?
Ans: He does this .... In the story so far
The cast(maaaajor accent required):
The-Coor: Thakur
JL Iyer : Jailor

Runners set ... GO !

2004-11-26T03:14:00.000+05:30

Q- What is common to Madras Mapilae, Velachery Veerasamys, and Taramani Talaivarey? A- These are the various names we thought up for our 5K run team.

Eight of us had decided to participate in a 5 Km run/walk, organized by Vibha, a non-profit organization raising money for development projects in India.

After quite some brainstorming for the team name we decided to call ourselves 'Tarams Thambis'. Nov 20th, Saturday, 8:30am, we all gathered at the race point, trying to pin up the jersey numbers (is that what they are called) to our shirts. Inspired by Gebrselassie and El Guerrouj we decided to plan the race. After discussing a lot of strategy for the race, we finally assembled at the start line. More than 225 participants included kids, moms pushing their babies in prams, and old ladies with their dogs (sometimes the last category can be very competitive). At the tick of 9:00, a pretty girl flagged off the run. And we too took off ...

We struck to our strategy of running at a comfortable pace from the start to the last leg of the race, where we would sprint (maaajor strategy eh?). Thanks to this plan lots of people kept overtaking us, but we still struck to our mega strategy. Two of our team mates also sped away, three of us followed the plan, and three others struck together behind. As we came towards the end of the first 400 mts, we gradually overtook the early sprinters. The race leaders had already opened up a huge gap to us and we knew it would be very difficult to catch up. A few hundred steps later came the first pit stop - a gatorade booth. I had seen in the olympics how marathoners (or marathonists?) would grab water bottles from people at the water booths, drink a part of it, pour most of the rest over their heads and then just drop the bottle. For a moment I wanted to imitate them, but then I was afraid of the stains that the gatorade might leave on my number 10 jersey. I managed to suck in two mouthfulls of the orange energy while on the run. Now disposing that tumbler was not very easy. I had run with it for some 200m till I found a trash can (and this is no indicator of my cleanliness quotient).

Soon, one of us three was left behind as his shoe laces wanted to tied more than once. And after a few hundred metres the other one was also slowed down. I gently ran behind the old lady and her dog, both of whom showed no signs of being tired. A few steps later I was beside a cute girl. I ran beside her for some time hoping for some conversation but this definitely was not the right time and I continued to run. At the next turn I encountered another volunteer group, who winked and told me that the finish line was nowhere near. I had been trying to overtake the old lady and her dog for quite some time now, but they had other plans. Now I hoped for some of the runners to slow down, and sure they did. Some of the participants had started walking. This cheered me up and I breezed past(this does not mean speed in any way) them, and so did the old lady and her dog. I knew that two of my team mates who had left us early in the race might be very close to the finish line by now. But then I could see one of them ambling/limping about 200m ahead of me. But El Guerrouj said .. machaan, don't hurry, stick to your "game plan". Soon I passed him and so did the old lady and her dog, who were quite ahead of me by now.

Another gatorade booth and I decided against making a pit stop this time. The dog gave up and the old lady was trying to pull it. Thanks to the dog, I passed the old lady, and was saved from the self humiliation of being beaten by an old lady. I was almost at the last leg of the race. As I thought of sprinting, I could not see anyone ahead or behind me. I bulbed bigtime, there was no point sprinting and undoubtedly our strategy had cupped. But then Gebrselassie flashed from no where and shouted "machi ... sprint". And so did I. As I took the last right turn I could see four people trying to maintian their pace till the finish. My legs had gone numb by now, but I kept sprinting. One down, two down, and three down. The fourth one was very near the finish line, but so was I. I put in all the enegry, but she beat me by not more than a metre. My team mate who had finished before me was cheering for me, but then all I could do was to collapse on the grass. And then bananas and gatorade happened. I'm sure I did not finish in the top 20, but the satisfaction of finishing the race was great. In another five minutes or so three more of my team mates finished. And the rest after some time. For the team event the four best times from each team were added, and guess what, we were first !!!

The prize distribution began and soon the pretty girl (who started the race) announced the first place in the team event - Tarams Thambis. All of us began shouting hysterically. Manda Makara Maada Makara - yaei yaei yaei yaei. Everone was shocked for a second except for the IIT Madras guys, who understood the sentiment attached to this chant;) We were all totally high, not because we won a three month free membership at 24 hour fitness gym, but because all of us had finished the race. Aaaaaaaahhaaa !!!!!!!!

PS1: I felt sorry for the old lady and her dog.
PS2: We received a mail just today informing us that we were actually second and were awarded first prize by mistake. Obviously, we ignored the mail.

I'm feeling lucky

2004-11-19T07:54:00.000+05:30

I think I'm getting obsessed with Google these days. I have google as my wallpaper, google as my homepage, and I think I'll soon be following slomo's principle of website aceess. Slomo's algorithm to open rediff.com
1) Open google
2) Search for rediff
3) Click on the link for rediff.com

If this obsession continues, I might soon be launching a local chapter of Google fan club (if there is none yet). Google has been my staple website to find anything and everything under the sun - research papers and articles, recipes for special occassions (gaajar ka halwa, nariyal ke laddu), address of some vague location, songs (like B to the A to the B to the A, hakkinen song), games like pacman and daves, software to watch pirated movies, deals for my first big purchase - a digital camera, and images for this blog. It will find answers for any question, no matter how stupid - how to rob a bank and escape from the universe.

My friend Reddy pulled off the ultimate stunt. We were in our eight semester at IIT and working on our BTech projects. Reddy just felt like cheching out the google store. Lucky dog, he found all the structural drawings for the Infosys food court in Hyderabad. He even wanted to thank google in his acknowledgements. Following his success, I too tried the same, but google gave me a spanking and asked me to go back to the lab.

If something says "aaj meri kismat acchi hai", it is not Reddy, but Google. Yes! Google has had its search interface in telugu, tamil, hindi and bengali for quite some time now(let alone chinese, japanese, german, spanish etc). Coming up with new features with an incredible frequency, this year has been quite a party time for all the google fans.

Fear of the dark

2004-11-11T02:28:00.000+05:30

My apologies for so blatantly using the copyrighted names. No ... this is not one more story about Iron maiden chart toppers. Fear of the dark is something that is very common. To further complicate matters, this fear is higly correlated to fear of monsters under the bed, ghosts on the tree in your backyard, and zombies just outside your window. Different people fear different things, even super-brave people like me have some fears. Some fears are common to a lot of people while others are the vaguest of things that I've ever heard.

Dr. Murthy was the doctor nearest to our house and every time I fell ill my father would take me to this guy. This doctor had injections for every illness and would never miss an opportunity to use the much dreaded syringe on me. As a kid, I used to sweat heavily at the very sight of this doctor. This is when I developed vaccinophobia. The fear of injections caused in me a fear of fever since fever would take me to Dr. Murthy who would then devilishly stab me with his deadly syringe. Vaccinophobia combined with Febriphobia caused terror me 'once upon a time'.

I still fear some vague insects like cockroaches and grasshoppers. The worst times were when some grasshopper would enter my hostel room (during IIT days) and would scare the everything out of me. Then I would run out of my room to call some brave person who would shoo out the evil grasshopper. I have been the victim of many rodding sessions because of this vague fear aka Entomophobia. Apart from these there were a few other animals that I utterly disliked - especially cats and snakes, which used to be in abundace in our hostel. You never know, you enter some bathroom, and a cat runs out. You are cycling and there is good chance that you run over a snake. Had a bad time with these.

Adding to the list of vague fears ... I have this fear of sudden sounds, like those thug diwali bombs, bursting of balloons while blowing them, the sudden shrills in a horror movie, the bhows from behind etc. Because of this I'm not a big fan of horror movies. I still remember the day (in class 10) when I let out a shout while watching a horror movie (to scare people) and one of my sister's friends fainted. I got really scared expecting the worst, but luckily she survived. I guess, from then onwards this vague version of Acoutophobia has caught up with me.

Other vague fears include ... driving between two huge trucks, fear of swings, compiling code, and most recently fear of jaw dislocation.

The road to my village: the orange bus

2004-10-21T05:53:00.000+05:30

Finally we get into the orange bus, something that I have hated all my life. There is a familiar stink to the bus. Most of the visible metal in the bus is rusted and the seats are dirty though only a few of them are torn. The patterned steel floor is quite muddy. We slowly move towards out seats avoiding tripping over suitcases, gunny bags, steel boxes, umbrellas and sometimes hen (hen !!!! yes ... usually they were placed in the overhead space for luggage). As soon as we reached our seats my sister would lie down in my mother's lap. The best and worst parts of the journey were yet to come.

The bus would roll out of the bus stand and take a right towards hills. A window seat offered a splendid view of nature. Lush green fields fresh with the morning dew and narrow brown paths along these fields are very calming. Farmers, with their big bamboo hats would be getting set for the day's work. Then came "thank you, visit again" boards as the bus roared out of the town. Soon we would face the "drive carefully" sign and in no time we would be climbing the hill. We would go higher and higher almost reaching for the clouds. The deep valleys, the wild forests, occasional huts on the hill side, and the streams braving their way through the rocks seem to have some unknown magnetism to them. Soon the bus would reach the temple on the hill. The pujari would come on to the bus with some prasadam (usually coconut) and sinduram. I guessed this was for the safety of the bus since the route was very dangerous. The priest would then go back to the temple and hit the temple bell. The bus would then continue its quest of the hills. Then came this huge stone with "Do Good, Be Good" painted in white on it. Soon we reach the first town on the way, Koraput.

As the bus entered the bus stand, palli wallahs tried to persuade us to buy a packet of moongphali. Following them were vendors selling samosas, pakodas, flowers, groundnut rolls etc. Some of the passengers would stroll down the bus to a nearby teashop for a cup of hot chai. I used to fell asleep here. So I donot remember much about the next section of the journey (apprx 2hrs) except for a bridge, a rail track, forests & hills, and more forests & hills. Then at around 9:30 am we reach the second major stop enroute, Laxmipur.

We usually got out of the bus to catch a breath of fresh air. By this time my sister would have thrown up at least once and I would be feeling a bit dizzy. This was the breakfast stop for the passengers. The driver would take the bus to a particular hotel, rather a dhaba (cannot recollect the name). I guess his food was on the house since he brought business to the hotel. I always wondered, how could people eat while traveling on the cicuitouts ghat roads and not throw up. But still to my amazement people ate, ate big time. Idlis, Pooris, Upma, and Dosa were people's favorites. I used to ask my father for a rupee and would buy two mint candies. I would eat one and give the other to my sister who would eat it later (after we reached our village). After everyone finished their breakfasts the driver would bring back the bus to life. Then started the worst part. My head reeled and I felt terribly nauseated. But I rarely threw up. I would say a secret prayer requesting god to help me sustain this penultimate part of the journey. Finally we would reach the destination of the bus, Rayagada.

This would be one of my biggest reliefs since the ghat part was done. We then took the familiar semi-luxury bus (I never knew the origin and destination of the bus but remember the words semi-luxury painted on it) or the triple-bus (I did not know why this was called triple-bus till recently. Seems that this bus made three trips a day through our village, and so the name triple.) to our village which was just 25 kms from here. We would often meet some familiar face on the bus and father would start a conversation with him. As we neared our village, my father would request the conductor to stop the bus at our village (it does not stope at our village unless someone requests). Finally we would reach our village. A bunch of familiar faces would greet us as we stepped down the bus. Someone usually insisted carrying the luggage to my grand father's house. As we walked through the village street, smiling faces greeted us asking us "Have you come?". I often wondered why they asked "have you come", when they know that we have come. I realized much later that it does not matter what they ask, what matters is they consider you to be one of their own. This greeting of my villagers touches me when I visit my grand father these days.

The road to my village: getting ready

2004-10-15T23:50:00.000+05:30

Come May and the much awaited holidays would finally arrive. As always, my sister and I would be eager to go to our village. However, we, as kids (especially my sister), did not like the journey very much. I vividly remember many tiny details of those long hours in the bus and the preparation before the journey.

;
My father would set the alarm at 4:45 am. I would be the third to wake up, after my father and mother. The mosquito net would already have been folded unlike other days. I feel very lazy for a while in the morning cold, wishing to go back into the warm blanket, but somehow would drag myself to the verandah. For a moment I wonder if I should use the same amount of tooth paste or a bit less than usual(since I woke up earlier), but I decide on the same amount as ususal. The freshness of the colgate toothpaste feels very weird. The water for bath is also not hot enough for the early morning chill, since the same immersion heater was used to heat water for the all of us. A brisk bath and I change into some decent clothes which my father would have pressed the night before. My mother would get me some warm milk which I would reluctantly drink since I hate the taste of milk and rather prefer milk with Complan. My parents, in the mean time, sip their tea in a hurry while my sister gets ready. My sister right away refuses to drink any milk since she is afraid she might get sick in the bus. My mom reminds me to keep a handkerchief in my pocket. As we are all ready and set to leave my mom asks for one last time if we have our tooth brushes with us. We would start off with the luggage. My dad would lock the house and double check the lock. We would proceed towards the bus stand.

I always wondered why it was called bus stand. I prefered to call it a bus station on the lines of a railway station. My father usually carried the big Aristocrat suitcase and the brown air bag. My mom carried the smaller VIP suitcase and I would carry the blue airbag. My sister would not carry anything, and I have protested for this many times but to no avail. Usually my father led the way and the rest of us followed about 5 metres behind him. Most of the times we would be the only ones (apart from the stray dogs) on the roads at that time. A few women would be seen spraying water mixed with cow dung in front of their houses to ward off evil spirits. We would walk to the main road, where my father would call two rickshaws and we would all get into them.

The rickshaw wallahs would gently pedal the rickshaws as the sun just begins to make its presence felt. As the rickshaws roll we see steaming idli containers in the road side tiffin stalls, daily labor gathering in front of the Panchabati Gramya Bank for the day's work, milkmen and newpaper wallahs breezing past on their cycles, and municipality workers hesitantly sweeping the streets. Soon we reach the bus stand. My father pays Rs 10 to each of the rickshaw wallahs and then we stride into the bus stand with our respective baggage. We wait in the lounge for the orange bus (the worst of the lot). Don't confuse the lounge to be some confortable place. It is just a shelter with a few concrete benches, on which most probably some one would be sleeping. The floor is littered with paper and ground nut shells. My sister already begins to feel sick and starts to lean on my mother. The pan shops do brisk business at this time- newspapers, goli sodas, pans, cigarettes, and maybe biscuits. The bus finally arrives. My father rushes towards the bus to reserve some seats for us while my sister and I tag along to my mother. He comes back after some time and picks up some luggage. We all proceed towards the orange bus, avoiding the muddy puddles all along. Finally we get on to the bus where my father leads us to the seat where he had put his handkerchief.

We are all set to start our journey on the orange bus. And the story of the orange bus ... some other time.

Pre-compilation jitters

2004-10-09T06:35:00.000+05:30

After churning out a zillion lines of code you are all set to run it. Just two keys Ctrl+R hold your destiny in them. You realize that in a few moments the result of your hand-aching effort of the last week will be out. The infinite number of loops, the multidimensional arrays, the scary pointers, the sub-sub-sub-functions, and all the random characters that you keyed into the program will be put to test. You know that what has to be done is already done. There are bound to be some errors and that Ctrl + R is just a formality. But still you feel something very strange. Your stomach begins to feel funny. I have been one such victim for the past few days. In such circumstances we (at least I) undergo many physiological changes. My fingers begin a tremble a bit. I'm sure my hearbeat goes down to 42 from the current 72 (don't ask why 42, I just happen to like it). There is definitely a change in my blood pressure (msot likely it decreases). I almost break into a cold sweat. Now in some cases I also get goosebumps. It vaguely reminds me of a similar feeling. When I used to travel from our town to our village in the orange bus and it felt very nauseating feeling. I had no option but to go on with it.

But finally Ctrl + R happens. The compiler finds some errors. You make appropriate correstions. And its Ctrl + R again. After a few iterations of this procedure ... the code tastes really sweet .. ummmm.

Life is just a strange illusion

2004-10-04T06:11:00.003+05:30

I try to catch a last view of the world through the cold iron bars. I hold the iron bars, in desperation, as if trying to tear them apart. The contact of sweat on my palms with the thin coating of rust on the bars feels vey nauseating. The church bell is as sincere as ever. It chimes, five times, as if to convey to me that my time is up. Tears blur my sight and my shoulders grow heavy. I get the message that my life is a burden that I cannot take any longer. A priest is reading my last rites. But his voice fails to reach my ears as I begin to fade into oblivion. There is an unknown pain in my heart. I try to say something but I connot make any confessions. I wish to take one final look at the world, a world that has gone very wrong for me. Could it be possible that there was some kind of error ? Could it be possible that this is some crazy dream? Could it be possible that this is not the end for me.

This very thought of the end is very terrifying. With every passing second my heart sinks to a new low. Somebody please tell me that I'm dreaming. I am just blabbering to myself, trying to make sense, but the words are involuntarily escaping my mouth. A couple of tear drops roll down my cheeks, but why am I crying? What am I afraid of? Death? No ... I never believed that there is an end. I never believed that my journey had a destination. But finally the moment has come. The guards march me out to the couryard. I could feel the fear filled eyes staring at me from the other cells. A familiar voice from a cell calls out "God be with you". Does that make any sense to me? If there is a God then where was he all this time. Why has he to let me die? I walked closer to the inevitable, one step at a time. My whole life begins to drift before me, one frame at a time. My mind is flooded with memories, trivial memoirs of my life. I feel dizzy and my mind reels. For the first time I realise that the end is not very far. But I'm not sorry for anything. At least one thing is for sure now, no one can stop my soul. It is about go free, free to fly away, free to go seek the truth.

Mark my words that there is no end for the soul, for the soul lives on. When you realise that your time is near, then may be life begins to make sense to you. Little pieces of the jigsaw fall in place. You begin to understand that life is just a strange illusion.

I was so impressed with this song that I could not help trying to put it into prose. I realise that this is not even close to something readable. If it still does not ring a bell, it is Iron Maiden's Hallowed be thy name.

If not for the swear words

2004-09-26T14:34:00.000+05:30

Think of one of those days when things do not go right for you. The code you are working seems to have a bug, a minor one, which you have not been able to figure out inspite of ploughing the code several times all day long. You accidentally deleted a file that took hours to prepare and retrieving it is not possible. You realize that you have a meeting at 2:00pm and your watch shows 2:45pm. All the analysis you have carried out does not make sense since you made a wrong assumption in the beginning two days ago. You are waiting at the bus stop in the rain and all the buses arrive except for yours. At the end of such a frustrating day what do you need so that the entropy that has accumulated in you over the day evaporates. Is it a cup of refreshingly hot coffee or a bottle of ice cold nimbu soda? Nah ... say aloud a four letter swear word of your choice and all the angst comes out of your mouth along with the four letters. You begin to feel lighter, as your mind does not feel claustrophobic any more.

We have know this for quite some time especially with Bollywood showcasing different styles of swearing. "Kuttey" seems to be the favorite of bollywood. For example when Dharmendra shouts "Kuttey kaminey mein tera khoon peee jaoonga", we can feel the tension evaporating out of us. Our hatred for the villain seems to decrease considerably. Swearing/shouting loudly seems to do good for the health of a person who is in a state of anxiety/stress. The usage of swear words for this purpose differes from person to person. I would have loved to mention some of the interesting swear words which people use when disappointed, but for the sake of decency in the blog. People talk of laughing clubs and yoga as a means for stress control. But I would say swearing is also an effective tool. Now I am not sure if this happens only with me.

Way back in 1992, when I was in class 5, preparing for history exams was a daunting task. I would forget what I had learned an hour earlier. Also, uploading so much information into my little brain was very taxing. So I used to take a tumbler and shout into it. Now the shouting was to get rid of my frustration and the tumbler was to contain the noise. This is how I discovered shouting as an effective stress-control medium. Of late, I have a feeling that listening to loud music also may be a stress-control mechanism.

Band Vocabulary

2004-09-17T06:05:00.000+05:30

My recent visit to a metallica concert has really spiced up my music buds. I started listening to some heavy metal that I initially discarded as trash. Some of the names of their songs were so really weird to me. On checking Webster I found that those weird names actually mean something. For example "The Four Horsemen" are war, famine, pestilence, and death personified as the four major plagues of mankind. Sandman (as in Enter Sandman) is a genie in folklore who makes children sleepy by sprinkling sand in their eyes.

Coming to think of it, it is not just this particular band which has weirdo names. Many of these rock banks have strange names. For example "Iron maiden" is a supposed torture device, which is a hollow iron statue lined with spikes .I used to think that most of these names are merely meant to attract attention and don't mean anything. But this recent liking for metal prompted me to check out all those names in the dictionary, which I though meant nothing. And lo .. the names actually mean something. For example, Sepulchura, derives from sepulcher, meaning a place fo burial. Sabbath (as in Black Sabbath)is the seventh day of the week observed from Friday evening to Saturday evening as a day of rest and worship by Jews and some Christians. AC/DC: can mean alternating current/direct current or a bisexual person.
Zeppelin (as in Led Zeppelin): a rigid airship consisting of a cylindrical trussed and covered frame supported by internal gas cells. Judas (as in Judas Priest)was the apostle who in the Gospel accounts betrayed Jesus. It can also mean traitor.

I googled for crazy band names and guess what ... there is no dearth of such bands. The weirdness of names ranges from "Afganistan Banana Stand" to "The Wrench twisting street lickers". Check out this link for some more funny names http://sam.hochberg.com/bandname.html. Never mind the reason behind these names, but browse through them casually and it is definitely fun.

When it quaked

2004-09-14T08:49:00.000+05:30

I was recently browsing through my friend's (guru) blog. He wrote about the recent earthquake in Japan (that is where he is working right now). I was actually a bit surprised when he mentioned how apathetic his Japanese colleagues were to the earthquake, which indicates how common quakes were in Japan. Reading through his experience refreshed my memories about my experience with an earthquake.

If I remember right, I was in my 5th semester at IIT-Madras. It was around 9:00pm and I was in my room by the "study" table, listening to Kishore on my philips radio. Magoo (my neighbor) was sitting on the bed and we were discussing about the burning issues related to humankind (you know what I mean). Then for a moment the table in front of me began to shake. The radio toppled. And the chair I was sitting on began to rock. Having absolutely no clue of what was happening, I stood up. The floor beneath my feet was vibrating. I thought that it might be the ceiling fan in the room below mine. Before I could think of any more creative reasons for the way the floor was behaving, mico (a room neighbor)ran by the corridor shouting "Junta, Save your lives ... its an earthquake". For a fraction of a second Magoo and I stared at each other and fled out of the building, knocking on Guru's door enroute. This guy, as usual, was playing Quake and must have imagined the tremors to be a part of the game. But not for long, he too ran out soon.

Almost everyone in the hostel was outside and was discussing the situation intensely. The discussions ranged from "thank you god for keeping me alive" to guessing the number of people killed by the "massive" earthquake (ahem .. I too was involved and was debating on the number). Some people cursed the earthquake since they felt it was disturbing their mugging, and went back to their rooms as soon as the tremors stopped. Of course, that was the opportunity we needed and our gumbal chatted away to glory outside the hostel that night discussing strategies how to survive an earthquake :D

Undoubtedly some kind of monster

2004-09-06T12:15:00.000+05:30

Friday, Sep 3rd, 2004: Frank Erwin Center, Austin, TX.

The seven of us strode in a rythm with excitement. At least I did not know what was coming. The stage was all set, with more than twenty thousand people eager for action. The concert kickstarted with Godsmack. A relatively new band, they tried their best to entertain the crowd. I realized that though they were definitely better than the rock bands that played at Saarang in IITM, they did not have it in them to get the crowd on to their feet. Poor Godsmack was expecting the crowd to go beserk but nothing close to that happened for the one and half hours when they were on stage. And then it finally happened - Enter the monster - METALLICA.

Everyone in the audience stood up as the band came on to the stage. As if twenty thousand thirst parched souls were being offered champagne. I still remember James Hetfield's words "At the end of this show you are not going to feel good, you are going to feel better." He could not have been more correct. Metallica were obviously a class apart from Godsmack. I understood what a "rock concert" is. The music, the lights, the chant, the intensity, the emotion ... All I can say is one has to experience it for oneself. As the crowd followed the lead, singing in a chorus
"Exit: light
Enter: night
Take my hand
We're off to never-never land"
the auditorium reverberated. The music was enough to take everyone on a drug high. The band played their all time bests including Turn the Page, Battery, Sad but True, Master of Puppets, I Disappear. The concert ended with a fitting finale - Enter Sandman, The Four Horsemen, Seek and Destroy. This concert was one experience I'll never forget. A Metallica concert is something no rock and roll fan should miss. As I recollect those moments, in the words of the band itself

......... Fortune, fame
Mirror vain
Gone insane
But the memory remains ...........

DHOOL !!!

2004-08-22T11:52:00.000+05:30

At the end of our recent florida trip Yak rightly said "Don't be cool, be Dhool", Sukumar's punch line was "Dhool happens", while I went with the cliched "Just Dhool it". I know what you are thinking right now - what the heck is Dhool? . Dhool is a very complex phenomenon, but I'll try to explain it to you.
Dhool: (ver) have uninterrupted heartful fun independent of one's surroundings

However, this is not the only meaning of Dhool. It has developed sevaral meanings over time. Dhool can mean country and dhool can mean pseud since country is sometimes pseud and the viceversa. If you did not understand the previous sentence ignore it.

What we realized during the trip was that every one has a dhool alter, just that it is very active in some while ohter dhool alters require conducive dhool environment to get activated. I usually fall in the latter category and have a high dhool threshold. But this time a couple of us had predecided that we would dhool the whole trip rain or shine. This is one of the many dhool incidents.

Location: Earthquake simulator, Universal Studios, Orlando.
We were waiting in the queue, watching the people ahead of us taken in a rail carriage to experience a richter 8 earthquake. We guessed that the ride was nothing great since it was just round the corner and people were dead silent (of course there was no soundproofing to subdue any shrieks). Finally our turn came. We sat in the rail carriage. The carriage shook to simulate tremors. The special effects included bursting water lines and things flying around. Now we realized why we could not hear any of those "roller-coaster screams" - the ride was not very thrilling. But since we were determined to dhool, a couple of us generally started screaming. A kid sitting beside us started screaming since she got scared of our screams. A few dhool people around realized that we were generally creating some rumpus and they too joined us. At this point almost a third of the carriage was making different kinds of noise - screeches, hisses, squeals, squeaks, howls, yells and what not. The entropy increased and the dhool level in the carriage increased till everyone was engulfed. The cacophony slowly turned into a cresencdo. Everyone started screaming their lungs out ... just for the heck of it. The best part was that people did not stop screaming even after the ride was over. The chilled only after they got out of the carriage. We could see the excitement on the faces on the next set of riders, who seemed to expect real thrills from the ride which we had just dhooled. However be the ride, I'm sure everyone in our group had a great time.
After this experience and many similar others now I can confidently say - We don't rock, we dhool !!!
Do you have the DHOOL in you?

The ultimate safari

2004-08-06T05:31:00.000+05:30

My pants were not doing a good job insulating the skin from the floor. It was like sitting on a heated frying pan placed in an oven. I was sweating generously but that was the least of the concerns. My eyes screamed as streams of sweat gushed into them. My lungs were pleading for a whiff of oxygen and eyes begging for a faint ray of light. No, I was not in any POW torture chamber ... I was in the back of a U-Haul truck, moving to our new apartment. Killer yak is renowned for living on the edge while driving (avinash would testify), and it so happened that yak was the driver. I managed to sit steady inspite the sudden bursts of acceleration and the sharp turns but the stuff in the U-Haul would not. First fell the shoe stand followed by the cricket bat. As I jumped in agony and tried to reach for my shin, my forehead managed to find the lamp shades. At this stage I realized that it would not be wise to fight against the combined forces of Murphy and Yak. So I resigned to nature's forces :-? I mentioned Murphy since he made sure we face all the red lights on the way. I guess my state was somewhat like the nazi-victims being shipped to concentration camps in those crowded rail carriages. My cell phone was the only source of light. It reminded me of Tom Hanks' volleyball in Cast Away.

Glimpses of my life started drifting before my eyes. For once I envied eveyone in the world since they could see the blue sky and breathe some air. But whatever the situation I was determined to stay alive (???) Seconds felt like hours. But finally we did reach our new home and as Dhunna opened the U-Haul shutter to let me out, I saw heaven.
On the trip back it was Dhunna and Pondy who got to experience the ultimate safari. It seems Pondy was so scared that he confessed many things, and it might not be appropriate to mention most of his confessions here. Such was his condition that we had to console his as soon as he shot out of the U-Haul. And the few who escaped the safari ... phew ... lucky fish.
Moral of the story: U-Haul is meant for inanimate objects only.

OCDs and MPDs

2004-08-03T05:07:00.000+05:30

This piece is dedicated to Dhunna Bhai, a victim of a deadly obsessive compulsive disorder (OCD). Dhunna Bhai is a simple lazy biological entity who hates the H in his name, so henceforth I'll refer to him as just Dunna Bhai. The problem with this life form is that he can sense wireless internet and can smell his way to the nearest computer (better still laptops). His mind is not in his control anymore. His hands involuntarily reach for the keybord hitting the key for startmenu ... I ... Tab ... and ritualistically typing mail.yahoo.com. This problem is so severe that he is bound to check mail every 5 minutes if there is a computer nearby, or every 10 minutes if there is none. There is a rumor floating that Dunna Bhai was given 10 GB space by yahoo for his loyalty.

Sometimes this phenomenon gets very complex. If one has a multiple personality disorder (MPD) and if each alter has a different OCD it can really get on to your nerves. Pondy, one of my room mates, has this "ultimate" combination. His stinkster alter has an OCD for wearing stinking socks while his body building alter has an OCD for protein consumption. His pain alter wants to go to London always while his casanova alter preaches everyone to buy a sony ericsson T 616 mobile phone. However, all these alter-specific OCDs have something common - Messing up the house. Coming to me, till recent times I could not help being late to the class by at least 5 minutes. All assignments had to be started the day before the deadline and finished just in time. I tried to correct this many times but old habits die hard, especially for incorrigible OCD victims.

One of my friends actually thinks everybody should have an OCD (OCD-passion-OCD are in a space-time continuum). All the cricket fanatics made him feel bad that he did not have an OCD. He still does not realize that he is a compulsive fan of actor vikram (he has joined the vikram fans yahoo groups).

And they lived happily ever after ...

2004-07-31T07:23:00.000+05:30

The prince married the princess and as the sun set he strode away with her on his white steed and they lived happily ever after. This has been the ending of most of the fairy tales I know.
This is wonderful for a fairy tale ending but when it comes to movies I have grown sick of this ending. May be the movie makers want the audience to leave with a "happy" feeling, but ..uummhumm .. I definitely would have liked the otherwise ending for many movies. On numerous occasions I have thought, "If the movie ends here it would be great", but it was not to be. I have lost count of movies where by chance, luck, coincidence or fate, whatever you call it, the prince meets the princess. I have complained many times to my room mate about this who could only symathize with me.
However, there are also movies which end on a realistic note. They seem to have some honesty in them. These is something in these movies that touches your heart whether or not they have a happy ending. If you always liked fairy tale endings watch these movies for a change.

La Vita è bella (Life is Beautiful)
City of God
Dirty Pretty Things
Mr and Mrs Iyer
Aap Ki Kasam
Roman Holiday

There are many more which I cannot recollect. Here are some movies which come close:
Casablanca
Braveheart
Schindler's list
Moulin Rouge
Anand
Mera Naam Joker

If I were to rate them ... its thumbs up, five star, and ten on ten.

Aliens: How to deal with them?

2004-07-23T09:07:00.000+05:30

Have you ever wondered what you would do if you were returning home one night and encounter an extraterrestrial creature (EC) aka alien enroute? Well, I thought about it and came up with this survival algorithm.

1) The cardinal rule: Don't Panic (suggested by Douglas Adams) Since you are not panicking and someone has to panic in such a situation the EC will panic and run away. If the EC runs away you also run away, else apply #2.
2) Don't think of anything violent. Most probably the EC will be able to read your mind and might get upset because of your violent thoughts. Think peace. If the EC says peace go to #5, else go to #3.
3) Put senti to the EC. Tell that you are the sole bread earner of the family. And that you have a drunkard father, ill mother, unemployed brother, and an unmarried sister. The EC will mostly be unaware of this famous bollywood trick and hence will cry and walk away. If so then you also walk away, else go to #4.
4) Try to convey the message that you are a close friend of Laetitia Casta, Aishwarya Rai, and Nicole Kidman.
5) If the EC turns out to be a friend, EC=FEC (Friendly Extraterrestrial Creature). Go the nearest bar and get the FEC drunk and chil l l l l l l l l l ....,
6) Now that you are in #6 means that EC has turned hostile, EC=HEC (Hostile Extraterrestrial Creature). Run Lola Run. (Replace Lola with your name for greater effect.)If you manage to run away go and hide under your bed (ECs are not aware of bollywood tactics), else go to #7.
7) You are in #7 means that the HEC has caught you. So fight with it. Hit it in, what you think are, its sensitive parts. First attack its eyes, if it has any.
8) You are in #8 means that the HEC has beaten you black, blue, and all other colors. Emit sounds of different wavelengths . The head of the HEC might implode when subject to a particular wavelength of sonic waves.
9) Sneeze and cough near any openings in the HEC's body. Some of the germs might enter the HEC's body and kill it. If the HEC is killed go to #11, else go to #10.
10) Since all the above have failed, use the infallible weapon. However, this might cause you irrepairable damage. Recite Vogon poetry. For starters try
"Oh freddled gruntbuggly thy micturations are to me
As plurdled gabbleblotchits on a lurgid bee..."
This will definitely kill the HEC. If you are still alive go to #11, else let your soul rest in peace.
11) Take away the HEC's body and hide it in your refrigerator. Sell it to some biological research centre for hazaar money (preferably $42 million) . And Chil l l l l l l l l l l l l l l ........

Hesitation

2004-07-19T14:50:00.000+05:30

I sometimes wonder about all that I wanted as a kid. When I was about 6 years old I owned a yellow color toy helicopter. And its pilot was very smartly dressed in a white uniform and a blue cap. So I wished I could be a pilot. But later on I came to know one had to undergo vertigo tests to become a pilot. So I dropped the idea. One of those days a kid in the neighborhood had bought a machine gun, of course a toy. That instrument fascinated me and I decided to be a soldier. More than that I desperately wanted a machine gun just like the one that kid had. I still remeber being very hesitant to ask my dad. I did not ask and so I did not get one. Many of my wishes just remained wishes due to this hesitation, and hesitation for no reason. One of these days, during one of those attacks of nostalgia, I tried to recollet all that I had wished for at different stages of my life.

Age 16: This was the first time I was away from my hometown and was in a city. The bakery at the corner of the street had some savouries that I had never known before. There were also a couple of fast food joints. I, who had rarely eaten outside the house, wanted to try out all those things. I also wanted to buy a walkman. But I just could not ask my father for the money. Huuh ... and I had to forgo those.

Age 13: One of my classmates had a pair of "action rockers". I had seen in the TV ads that they had some kind of shock absorbers. I had always wanted a pair of sneakers and these shoes had made the desire even more intense. But ... Hesitation ...and I never had those shoes. Of course, one of the first things I did during my undergrad was save up some pocket money and buy a pair of sneakers.

Age 12: I was in my school NCC squadron. There was this huge guy who commanded the platoon. Somehow he always managed to find fault with me. I desperately wanted to hit this guy. And he was not the only person who I wanted to hit. There was this old lady beside our house. She would never return any of our cricket balls which we hit on to her terrace. So I wanted to hit her also but I never got a chance.

Age 11: We did not have cable in our house and I occassionally used to watch tv at my friend's place who had cable. There used to be this Essel world ad in Zee tv. I was really fascinated by that theme park and wished to go there someday. I vividly remember thinking about this wish on Dec 25th, 2003, posing with mickey mouse in Disneyland, California.

Age 10: I used to persuade my sister (who was 7 then) to ask my dad for chocolates. The reason ... I was again too hesistant. Also, a dark lanky guy used to sell cone ice cream just outside our school. I really wished to have one especially the green cone ice cream with a cherry on the top. I never had one. But now ... ask my roomies and they will tell you who consumes all the icecream in our house.

Recollecting all these wishes and putting down a few of them here makes me feel lighter. But I guess I should not have been as hesitant as I was. This will be one of my regrets in life.

How fair are today's sports?

2004-07-02T17:01:00.001+05:30

I have always cheered vociferously for Goran Ivanisevic. Both in 1992 and in 1994 finals I had supported him tooth and nail in the finals. But luck did not favor him on both the ocassions. But 2001 was going to be his and he defeated Rafter in, what the reporters called, a "fairy tale finish". I vividly remember cheering the big serving croat in all his matches. However, the semifinal with Tim Henman has always bugged me.

On July 8th, 2004, Ivanisevic beat Henman 7-5, 6-7, 0-6, 7-6, 6-3. It was a sterling display of will and determination by Ivanisevich in the rain interrupted match. Ivanisevic had clearly won 3 sets and hence the match, but wait a minute. If one counted the number of games won, the tally is Ivanisevic:26 vs Henman:27. So who should have been the winner? Inspite of being a diehard Ivanisevic fan I feel Henman should have won the match.

Why are matches judged the way they are while scores are available at a more disaggregate level. Clearly Henman had won 27 games while Ivanisevic had won only 26. The logic follows. The current game gives equal credit to a player whether he loses a set 6-7 or 0-6 and that is zero. What kinds of rules are these? Whether it be lawn tennis, volleyball, badminton, table tennis, or any other game that involves sets, a player need not score more than his/her opponent to win the match. Why count sets when there are games and better still points to count. In a 500m race, the runner who finishes first is the winner. One does not care who led in each of the five 100m segments. I think, in any game, the total score units should be compared to determine the winner. For example, runs in cricket, goals in hockey and soccer, points in basketball, and touchdowns in rugby. This is a fair comparison. Then why should tennis, volleyball etc be judged in a different manner?

Just because someone, long back in time, played a game in a certain manner does not mean that we should blindly follow it. Games evolve and rules change over time. But this basic loophole in some games like tennis seems to be overlooked again and again. It is time the authorities take appropriate action so that the audience get to watch a fair match.

Life, the Universe, and 42

2004-06-26T14:56:00.000+05:30

The writings of Douglas Adams have always fascinated me. For starters I quote this from my all time fav "The Hitchhikers Guide to the Galaxy".

"It is known that there are an infinite number of worlds, simply because there is an infinite amount of space for them. However, not every one of them is inhabited. Therefore, there must be a finite number of inhabited worlds. Any finite number divided by infinity is as near to nothing as makes no odds, so the average population of all the planets in the Universe can be said to be zero. From this it follows that the population of the whole Universe is also zero, and that any people you may meet from time to time are merely the products of a deranged imagination."

Mathematicians might not be very happy with this proof, but to me, Douglas is god, and what he writes is final *Period* Being an ardent fan of H2G2 I was always intrigued by 42. So I thought, why not put together some interesting 42 trivia ... so here we are

42 is the size of my shirt
There were 42 students in my undergrad class
My phone number is 6948573. These digits add up to 42!
haha ... sorry for these ... lets get to some interesting trivia

42 is the number of dots on a pair of dice
Amitabh Bacchan,my fav actor, was born in 1942, and so were Jimi Hendrix, Paul McCartney, and Muhammad Ali
Dogs have 42 teeth
It takes 42 muscles to frown
Saurav Ganguly, my fav cricketer, has an ODI average of 42
Ostrich eggs take 42 days to hatch
The extended right arm of the statue of liberty is 42 feet long
Roosevelt was the youngest American president at 42 years old
The greatest longevity of a sperm inside a female turkey is 42 days
Elvis Presley died at the age of 42. His father also died at 42
Firearms are used in 42% of family murders
On an average it takes 42 coffee beans to make an espresso
1 ton of recycled glass saves 42Kwh of energy
In "The Nutty Professor", Professor Sherman Klump (Eddie Murphy) registers as having 42% fat
A tredicillion is 10 raised to the power 42
Douglas was 42years old when his daughter polly was born
The word "honest" appears exactly 42 times in shakespeare's Othello
Gimli killed 42 orks in the battle of Helms Deep

42 was Bach's (of course the composer) favorite number
The angle at which light reflects off of water to create a rainbow is 42 degrees
42 is the natural vibration frequency of human DNA
In "Pulp Fiction", Samuel L. Jackson (Jules) cites Ezekiel 25:17 ("The path of the righteous man ...") and 17+25=42.
In the book "The Catcher in the Rye", Holden Caulfield lies and says that he is 42
Water is most dense at 4.2 degrees celsius
There were 42 events at the first modern Olympics
This sentence is forty two characters long (including spaces)

Three cheers to Douglas Adams and three 14s to all his fans !

Does your writing reflect you?

2004-06-06T20:34:00.000+05:30

Date: Sep 2003
Course: Transport Economics
Assignment: Paper Review

"Internalization of Airport congestion costs was studied by Brueckner (2002)" and a series of similar statements is how my review looked. My prof coolly said, "I guess you should take a course in technical writing". This came as quite a shock to me. Over time I realized that my prof expected "Brueckner (2002) studied the internalization of airport congestion costs" instead of what I had written.

A few days ago I was talking to my friend. We wondered why the writing styles differed so much from country to country. In India it is perfectly fine to write in passive voice. But in the US people mostly use active voice. What could be the possible reason?

In India people quite often write "This task was done by me" or sometimes just "This task was done". The emphasis is on the action and not the person who did it. Sometimes people just mention the action and thats all. However, an American would write the same sentence as "I did this task". Here the emphasis is on I. 'I' takes precedence over the action. Hmmmmm ... we started hypothesizing. Are people in India selfless enough not to mind even if they are not the priority? And, do the people in the US want to hog the limelight always? At this point the alternate hypothesis struck our minds.

When one says "I did this task", he/she might be considered as taking responsibility of the task. However, if one says "This task was done", he/she can be interpreted as shunning away from being held responsible for the task. This hypothesis also sounded perfectly fine to us.

Before we hypothesized anything else about any other writing styles we decided it was enough for the day ... and got back to research.

I guess there is nothing like "this is right and this is wrong". Had that been the case English language would have had only one of them.

Spitting your way to glory

2004-06-01T14:13:00.000+05:30

spit (verb) to force out the contents of the mouth, especially saliva.

As a kid, I once scared my little sister by telling her that the human body has very limited saliva and losing it can be fatal. She innocently believed me and was a lot worried for many days since she always felt like spitting whenever she remembered this. From then onwards, I should confess, I have had my encounters with spitting. The avid pan eater spitting in the theatre, the nauseated kid vomiting in the bus, the bubble gum chewer spitting from the top of a giant wheel, the amateur boozer puking in a party, and the neighbor spewing showers of spit while talking ... I have been the victim of all of them. The worst of the lot I was even asked to officiate a spit match - who would spit farther - between a two friends during my school days.

However, to be frank, spitting was what inspired me to start this blog page.
During the early days as a grad student, my confidence in my writing skills had sunk to a new low after my guide asked me to take a writing course (hey, remember Newton's sceince teacher also complained that he was very poor student). During those times of immense emotional trauma... cut cut ... One of those days I wrote this poem (forgive me Gurudeb) on spittng and to my utter surprise totti published it in his blog site instilling back my confidence in writing. This is what I had written then ...

SPIITTTAAHHHHH......

Spit till you are dry,
Even if there is no supply,
You still have to try,
Spit till you cry,
Spit till you die.

Dont be shy,
Look into the enemy's eye,
Spit with your heads high,
Let your spit fly,
High into the sky.

Dont ask me when and why,
And what these lines imply,
Spit in all months including july,
Spitting should never come to a standby.

Keep spitting.. good bye .. good bye