Sandeep's Log

2012-01-08T23:55:00.002+05:30

In a book the plot dictates the actions of the characters.

In life, the actions of the characters dictates the plot.

Sunset

2011-12-14T12:42:00.002+05:30

Overheard on the #8 bus:

I was a secretary in Pearl Harbor during the war. I don't have much company nowadays, my sister is 96, when she goes it will be time for me to go too. Some of my old boyfriends are still alive, they call me sometimes during holidays, maybe they want seconds *giggle*.

At the Stroke of the Midnight Hour

2011-08-19T16:09:00.000+05:30

This week I picked up India After Gandhi by Ramachandra Guha. Guha attempts (quite successfully) to remedy the fact that post independence Indian history is overlooked in our history books, "the past is defined as a single, immovable date: 15th August 1947. Thus, when the clock struck midnight and India became independent, history ended, and political science and sociology began."

But India After Gandhi does not stand alone, it has a companion piece! Another book, one I had read recently but written decades earlier! A brother, if books ever have one. The protagonists of the two brother-books are twins, born on the same day, "And the time? The time matters too. Well then: at night. No it's important to be more ...On the stroke of midnight, as a matter of fact...Oh, spell it out, spell it out: at the precise instant of India's arrival at independence, I tumbled forth into the world." The story of Saleem Sinai, Midnight's Children.

The two books take off from that midnight hour and tell us a breathless story. It is as if their souls are intertwined. One is a history book that reads like a best in class fiction, the other is a fictional account that carries in it the essence of history. You could read a few chapters from one and pick up the thread on the other. The two together form a jugalbandi, Guha provides the facts, Rushdie adds the emotions. Though, at times, with equal skill, they exchange their roles. Guha's account is backed up with a whole lot of footnotes and references, Rushdie, is telling you the tale with a wink and a smile. The historical references in Rushdie's allegorical tale are sometimes inescapable, sometimes subtle. Reading India After Gandhi brings them all into focus. This is one from the earlier chapters.

During the 1950s Nehru tours the United States and Russia. The then US Secretary of State, Dean Acheson, does not warm up to Nehru, and finds him "one of the most difficult men with whom I have ever had to deal." Nehru too was not predisposed to appreciate the US, and "had ticked off the US as unrivaled in technology but predatory in its capitalism." Nehru received a lot more affection from the Russians. "In 1951, while the American congress debated a request for food aid from India, the Soviet Union - unencumbered by democratic procedure - offered to send 50,000 tons of wheat at once." Thus, despite Nehru's protestations of non-alignment, India leaned the tiniest bit towards Russia.

At roughly the same time, Saleem, is falling for the recently arrived American, Evelyn Lilith Burns, and, "gave her a necklace of flowers (queen-of-the-night for my lily-of-the-eve), bought with my own pocket money from a hawker-woman at Scandal Point. 'I don't wear flowers,' Evelyn Lilith said, and tossed the unwanted chain into the air, spearing it before it fell with a pellet from her unerring Daisy air-pistol. Destroying flowers with a Daisy, she served notice that she was not to be manacled, not even by a necklace: she was our capricious, whirligig Lill-of-the-Hill"

Things however go better with the "champion breast-stroker" Masha Miovic, with the "low, throaty voice, full of promises - but also of menace". Soon, "Saleem takes the floor with Masha Miovic, swearing not to smooch. Saleem and Masha, doing the Mexican Hat; Masha and Saleem, box-stepping with the best of them! ; you see you don't have to be perfect to get a girl!...The dance ended; and still on top of my wave of elation, I said, 'Would you care for a stroll, you know, in the quad?' Masha Miovic smiling privately. 'Well, yah, just for a sec; but hands off, okay?' Hands off, Saleem swears. Saleem and Masha taking the air...man this is fine. This is the life. Goodbye Evie, hello breast-stroke."

The above excerpts were but a glimpse, reading the two books together is an all together wonderful experiences and is highly recommended. I have a sneaking suspicion that Guha had a copy of Midnight's Children next to him while he wrote his account. If one thinks about it, that is so much more fantastic and wonderful than a fiction writer consulting a history book.

A Shot in the Dark

2011-06-26T12:21:00.000+05:30

A week or so ago, I joined N and R for dinner at News Cafe. Quite excitedly, they told me about this new place called "Dialogue in the Dark." It has a restaurant, which is engulfed in pitch darkness and you are served by blind waiters.
Interesting idea. My story however doesn't end just yet. That very night I come back home and open Midnight's Children to the page I had bookmarked it. I turn a few pages and I come across this:

Twin problem of the city's sophisticated, cosmopolitan youth: how to consume alcohol in a dry state; and how to romance girls in the best Western tradition, by taking them out to paint the town red, while at the same time preserving total secrecy, to avoid the very Oriental shame of a scandal? The Midnite-Confidential was Mr. Shroff's solution to the agonizing difficulties of the city's gilded youth. In that underground licentiousness, he had created a world of Stygian darkness, black as hell; in the secrecy of midnight darkness, the city's lovers met, drank imported liquor, and romanced; cocooned in the isolating, artificial night, they canoodled with impunity.
We were led down a lush black carpet -- midnight-black, black as lies, crow-black, anger-black, the black of 'hai-yo, black man!'; in short, a dark rug -- by a female attendant of ravishing sexual charms, who wore her sari erotically low on her hips, with a jasmine in her naval; but as we descended into the darkness, she turned towards us with a reassuring smile, and I saw that her eyes were closed; unearthly luminous eyes had been painted on her lids. I could not help but ask, 'Why...' To which she, simply: 'I am blind; and besides, nobody who comes here wants to be seen. Here you are in a world without faces or names; here people have no memories, families or past; here is for now, for nothing except right now.'

I know, the chances of reading something you came across during the day is not unreasonably low (in fact, Jabberwock has talked about something similar today!). So we shall not be creeped out too much by that. What I wonder however is, did life imitate art ? Dialogue in the Dark opened in 1988, Salman Rushdie wrote Midnight's Children in 1981. While such dark restaurants are aplenty now, I could not find any reference to any other such concept that pre-dates Midnight's Children. Or did such a concept really exist in India, which Rushdie discovered during his travels in the country before he wrote the book?

I just wonder who owes whom a hat-tip here.

Message in a Bottle

2011-04-22T16:35:00.000+05:30

Had a Vanilla Thunder moment from How I Met Your Mother.

So, today at lunch, S calls me and says, "You wrote on my orkut testimonial (yes, remember those?) that I wanted to do something different every five years, it's been less than 5 at my job and I quit today."

I went back to see what I had written. The relevant lines, written on 15th Nov 2004 , were,

"Unique is one word for you, i specially loved your "i'll be doing something different every 5 years" i hope to do something like that too, just hope that i have the courage to carry through with it. "

I shall now spend the weekend to see what other clues I had left for the future me!

World Cups

2011-03-30T10:46:00.000+05:30

Yes, it is related to today's match, in fact it is about the first match I ever saw.
Yes, it was a India Pakistan match in a World Cup.
Yes, you guessed it right.

February 1996, New Delhi: I am in the 7th grade.The gods have recovered from their milk drinking spree of last year and the girls on my school bus insist on singing, in very nasal voices, "Mere khwabon mein jo aaye...", the whole way to school, and back, everyday. We live in a small two room sub-let apartment in Naroji Nagar, which we share with my uncle P, aunt M, and the balcony is the realm of a Pomeranian very imaginatively named Chapantikli.
I am not yet a cricket watcher, but P is. He has already introduced me to several other interesting aspects of life like cheating in 29 ("Remember, when I scratch my nose it means diamonds are trumps".) P is a big cricket fan. He is known to shut himself up in a dark room for hours if India loses a match. M, his wife, is all jitters before a match, since India losing does not auger well for ghar ki shanti. India matches usually proceed with P in front of the TV, and M with an agarbatti in front of the gods.
I am given a crash course in the rules of cricket and given a seat next to P. Mom takes a seat next to her sister in the puja ghar. The first match I ever see is India Vs. Pakistan, quarter-finals, Chinnaswamy Stadium. P and I shout and scream throughout the match, the post match speeches are drowned by our victory dance and Chapantikli runs between our legs barking with unadulterated joy. But as all of you know, this happy household was rocked by tragedy in a mere matter of 4 days. Kambli cried, P was inconsolable, my head reeled, having experienced euphoria and despair in such quick succession. Needless to say I was hooked.

Ravi's Work Ethic

2010-10-19T19:45:00.000+05:30

Summer of '07 I was working in Chennai in a customer service role. Three days of the week, I would travel close to 60km to a client factory to watch over our products being used in their assembly lines. My only companion during these travels was the driver of the company car, Ravi.

Chennai summers; if you haven't lived it, you have no idea what it's like. We never talked much. Exchange of pleasantries was a long abandoned exercise, there was a mutual understanding that these weren't good days for either of us. My role was dealing with unhappy customers (neat graphic on customer service here) and Ravi had to wait in the heat, in the uncovered parking lot of the factory, till the end of the day.

Still there he would be, every morning, in his sparkling white uniform, flashing two rows of sparkling white teeth in his sparkling white Ambassador.

One day, towards the end of summer and the close to the end of my stint in that role, both of us were uncharacteristically loquacious. I asked him, "Ravi, how come you are so cheerful every morning?"

I will always remember Ravi's reply, "Sir, every morning while I put on my uniform, I tell myself, today nobody will be unhappy because of me, nobody will reach their destination late, I will drive safe and I will come back to my wife and kids for dinner. With every minute I spend at this job I am buying my family food and security. My father taught me this and I have been doing this for ten years now."

Flash Fiction-From Archives

2010-08-03T13:46:00.000+05:30

I have always felt shorthanded when it comes to writing fiction and the tiniest of achievements makes me feel good. Around October '08 I had participated in the "Caferati-LiveJournal Flash Fiction Writing Contest" and my story had made it to the top 100 out of 1052 entries. Inspite of frantic voting by friends and family (thank you guys!), I couldn't make it to the final 10. Lately, I have not been updating this blog as often as I would like to. Untill I find something better to put up, here is my entry. Inspirations being Arthur C. Clarke's History Lesson and the Terra Nova Expedition.

The Journal

The objects lay on the table, exactly as the Scout had left them two days ago. The Researcher had delayed analyzing them. The lethargy in him had been well fed by the warmth of his chamber and the excruciatingly slow progress he had been making in the past four months. Every discovery just tangled it ever more.

He had been tracking the movements of his subjects, following a trail of excavated objects that was distinctive to the species. It was known that this particular patch of land had been their last refuge against an increasingly belligerent climate, what he hoped to contribute was the beginnings of this island, how and why had they chanced upon this land mass.

He picked up the fossilized bone first, and tossed it aside with a grunt. It was useless, there were many more he had found, they belonged to a later time. The second was a moss covered object, slightly large, about the size of his palm, the moss on it was patchy. He was doing his routine check of scratching the moss out, something was different this time, a darker more uniform green shone underneath.

He was sure the object had a purpose, unlike most of his finds. It stood on his table, cleaned, it was dark green, and reflected the sunlight. When he put it up against the sun, and it sparkled even more. The Researcher had just managed to get his first smile of the day looking at the green sparkle when he froze. In the next few moments all he could feel were the flies buzzing in his chamber, his heart beating and the dripping of moist air condensing on the glass walls. There was something cylindrical inside it. It moved around as he shook the green object, which he now understood to be just an outer covering.

Excitement mingled with frustration, he banged it on the table, it made a tinkling sound and shattered to pieces, and the kernel dropped to the floor. It seemed organic. The Researcher picked the kernel with his forceps and put it inside the Date Machine. A number popped up. The researcher could hardly believe the figure that showed up. It was possibly the oldest man-made object he had found in these parts. He picked the kernel out from the machine, and inspected it. Its surface had dark smudgy inscriptions, it rolled open to become completely flat and the edges were rough and looked like it fitted into a larger whole. The inscriptions belonged to one of the broad categories that had still not been translated.

The Researcher sighed, those little squiggly marks possibly told a story of the genesis of civilization on this part of Earth, but it also meant another dead end to bang his head against.

He ran his fingers through the marks, it was written,

“Damn you Amundsen”

He looked out of the walls in exasperation at his inability to understand the script.

The sun continued on its incessant circular path an inch above the horizon, its rays cutting across dense fauna.

The Next Wave

2010-07-02T16:35:00.001+05:30

Yesterday I realized that a large portion of my friends -and these are people I interact with on almost a daily basis, not distant acquaintances-are to be found doing something in the field of education.

J is part of a start-up creating ITES solutions for schools, colleges and the government.[Link]

R is repairing OLPC laptops in a small school in Nasik. [Link]

H is a Research Associate in Abdul Latif Jameel Poverty Action Lab which does impact evaluations on education and other sectors. [Link]

and,

N is a fellow at Teach for India, managing an exceptionally 'energetic' 3rd grade. [Link]

If you had met these people not too long ago they were respectively a computer science student, an electrical engineer, an oil & gas field engineer and a fashion designer.

Is it happening to you and people around you too?

History and Us

2010-05-15T19:06:00.001+05:30

You know what kind of history I like?

As much as the stories of kings and their architectures and Marshall and his plan are important what really interests me is the slice of life kind of history.

History like this:

"Finally the Tuscany reached the Gangetic delta in September 1833 to great reception. There was a reason for this enthusiasm: they were finally getting rid of the Hooghly slush which was the ice equivalent. To make Hooghly slush, boiled water was poured in earthenware and placed in shallow pits filled with straw. The cool air froze the surface creating a thin film of ice. These pots were then collected and stored in pits for sale during summer. This Hooghly slush was expensive and it was slush. The slush was available for six weeks at a rate of 4 pence per pound and now pure Boston ice was available all year around for three pence a pound." (Full article at varnam, possibly one of the best blogs on Indian History I have come across.)

History which is ordinary with respect to the people involved and at the same time is a beautifully detailed piece of the bigger picture.

During one such discussion with a colleague about his grandfather, a law student in Pune who was jailed for distributing pamphlets during the Quit India Movement, I realised that Pune was quite the hub of student activism during that time, and that some schools would only give you admission after you had signed an agreement stating that you "...would not participate in anti Crown activities..."

Gets me thinking, 50 years later, when people talk about the single greatest thing that happened in India during our time, what would it be and would we have played a role in it?

The Choice

2010-02-23T18:27:00.000+05:30

Was lying in draft box for quite sometime, watching it echoed in Up in The Air inspired me to put it up.

Once in your life come close to killing yourself,
When death is but a moment away,
When you are way beyond the thought of fear and pain.
Beyond the thought of all the strings you have tied yourself to,
Beyond the liabilities and compromises you have piled on top of yourself,
Beyond everything.
And at that moment, choose.
Realise that living is not about being true to the weights you trouble yourself with
Life is the choice you make every moment, to live.

Do not be concerned, not depressed and never really tried killing myself, just a thought experiment.

2010-02-23T00:59:00.000+05:30

One thing about my mom's sisters that never stops, come misfortune or high weather is the telling of a good tale. Having them as siblings more than aunts to me during my growing years, I owe a lot of this blog, my skills as a raconteur and the habit of using humour as a stress relieving mechanism to them. This trip home was one in difficult circumstances but I was cheered up at every moment by their stories, all true, all slightly irreverent and all fun in a charming Malgudi Days kind of way. Three of this times best were:

1. The Vote

2. The Dancing Instructor

3. The Peeping Tom

I shall recount the first one here the other two are for my own memory. I beg pardon if the humor doesn't translate into English, for the true flavour of these stories is to be found listening to them being enacted while you have a cup of tea with bara-piyaji waiting on the paan your grandmother is trying to make in between fits of laughter that punctuate every tale.

The Vote

Around 25 years ago, in a tiny village separated from Cuttack by 23 kilometers of paddy fields and the river Mahanadi, the great Indian election process is underway and my grandfather, the bastion of literacy and lover of world history in this little post colonial serfdom, has registered all his eligible children to vote. And one by one they come back from the voting booth and prance around, proudly displaying the mark of the indelible ink like it was something from the Nizam's treasury. One of their cousins didn't have a constitutionally inclined parent and watched around sulking as her compatriots discussed the importance of a ideology in choosing your representative or some such topic. My youngest aunt, lets call her Aunt M. saw her and decided to do something about it.

Now, in those days you didn't have the election voter ID, what you had was a tiny chit with your name, the polling booth's name and the date printed on it. This was like a voting ticket that you carried to the polling booth. Of all my aunts one had recently got married and her ticket lay unused. Aunt M. stepped up to her cousin and asked her, "You want to vote?" Watching the vigorous nodding of two blue ribboned pigtails melted her heart. Now, the one telling me this story is Aunt M. herself and drops her voice into a most conspiratorial whisper and tells me, "But no one in the whole village could know about this." So the cousin and my aunt walk over to the polling booth. The cousin goes in casts her vote and has all but come out when one 20 something old election volunteer stops her just outside, "Hey! I am in your class, this is not your name on the chit!"

Now imagine two 21 year old village girls ganging up to this guy holding his collar and going, "Listen kid! If anyone gets to hear this, be very afraid passing by the pond with all the eels in them, you can swim can't you?"

The guy has better sense and lets them go.

That single vote might not have changed the course of history but I love this story, because I have spent many vacations in the setting, I have walked frightened beside the pool with all the eels, I have played hide and seek in the now ramshackle building that served as the polling booth and have seen my aunt and her cousin as older responsible women. This tale reminds me that everyone was a kid once and Voting ID cards were little chits. Sort of gives a sense of history to a part of my childhood. This is possibly one of my longer posts. And I know reading such a long post is too much to ask of a reader and if you have lasted this far with me, thank you very much!

Explorers on the Moon

2009-07-21T04:14:00.010+05:30

Cartoon drawn by Hergé himself, in celebration of the moon landing

In honor of the 40th anniversary of the Apollo 11 moon landing and the incredible prescience of Hergé in writing Explorers on the Moon a full decade and a half before Armstrong walked there.

The text in the speech balloon translates to, "Welcome to the moon, Mr. Armstrong!"

Beg pardon for breaching copyright laws.

Flowers

2009-07-18T06:26:00.001+05:30

I have seen them strutting nestled in arms
displaying proudly their wiles and charms

I have seen them settled in a lady's hair
chatting in the company of people fair

I've seen them gleaming in grand bazaars
Out doing a chandelier's crystal stars

But I cannot remember when last I saw
One in a meadow, earth wet from rain
spangled with dew
hidden from view

It has been long
but if I were there today
I'd go on my knees and say
"You look best where you belong"

2009-04-19T01:07:00.002+05:30

There are days, and then there are days

There are songs, and then there are songs

There are books, and then there are books

There are people, and then there are people.

There are friends, and then there are friends.

There is life , and...well, there's just the one.

We Are Like This Only

2009-03-11T08:02:00.004+05:30

Beg pardon to those few who read my blog. The recession's been keeping me wrought up with upheavals of every kind. Like they say, if you want to make God laugh, tell him your plans. All I have been doing for the past couple of months is realise how painfully bitter-sweet this statement really is.
My current post is an incident that happened while I was working in Chennai some years back, and had been at the back of my mind for a long time. I told myself that day, that this is definitely blog worthy, but never really got down to writing it. So here goes.

I was coming back from a customer visit and passing through Chennai city. The oppressive humidity and heat was getting to me and I kept dozing off in between. But halfway through the trip something happened and I was giggling the rest of the way.
Somewhere around Anna Nagar my car came to a halt at a traffic signal and I was jolted out of my doze. I lowered the window to let in some fresh air. There was an auto rickshaw standing elbow to elbow with my Ambassador, and in it was an auto driver who looked like he had just stepped out of a Rajnikant look alike competition. The lone passenger was a teenage bag packer, advertising her American nationality with a can of Coke in one hand and a packet of Lays in another. In the short span our vehicles were standing next to each other at the traffic signal, I managed to overhear the following conversation.
Girl: [Heavy American accent] "You know any place I can get traveller's cheques."
Auto Driver: [Quizzical expression]
Girl: "You know, international cheques"
Auto Driver: [Trying several pronunciations of the last word] "Sheckes, Seckes, SEX!!!!
[enlightenment!] International Sex! Ah I am knowing madam!! Lots of places!! American
Sex, Indian Sex, Chinese Sex!"
The traffic lights turned to green and the auto rickshaw zipped passed, before my driver had even put his foot to the gas, carrying its visibly thrilled driver and a slightly alarmed looking passenger.

2008-11-08T20:04:00.006+05:30

I'm going to leave work late today

that's what my boss had to say

and I smile

My son is in bed with fever high

I try hard to hide a sigh

and I smile

My man ran away

and left me with bills to pay

and I smile

It seems I don't get tears anymore

the ends of my cheeks are sore

and I smile

I cut my hand doing the dishes today

and I come up to you and say

"Can I take your order now?"

and I smile

Dedicated to all the ever smiling waitresses of the world, and to the one who wants to be one.

Jaane Bi Do Yaaron?

2008-11-03T07:41:00.006+05:30

Saw Jaane Bhi Do Yaaron again last night. Curiously, even though I was in splits watching Satish Shah as a dead body, Om Puri's drunk antics, and last but not the least that genius of a Draupadi scene, what hit me the most was the angst. I was surprised that this aspect had completely escaped me on previous viewings. The feeling of desperation that the youth feel when up against the powers that be was epitomized by one of the scenes in which Naseeruddin Shah and Ravi Baswani are at the railway station, their cash being snatched off by a hawaldar, are left without any money to go home. The look that Naseeruddin Shah gives as he asks, " Without ticket?", captures it all.

That got me thinking. We are currently one of the youngest countries in the world. Similar demographic points in the history of nations have coincided with major civil unrests. France had May '68, USA had its whole 1960s counterculture thing going, China had Tianamen. These civil unrests have more often than not led to laws being formed in favour of civil liberty, women and youth empowerment, and not to mention have been times of unparalleled artistic achievements.

For a nation which has more than 600 million citizens under the age of 30 and an equal number under the poverty line, we sure are a quiet lot.

On Endings

2008-10-29T07:34:00.005+05:30

Lets say you are reading a book, or watching a movie or maybe a racy TV series, and the story has come to its climax. It has been okay this far, a few cheap thrills, maybe a couple of classier ones, but now everything hinges on that last move of the story writer. How good can he make that final brush stroke, on that would depend whether you recommend it to your friends or not. That's because anyone can get you to the edge of your seat, doesn't take all that much, a likable protagonist playing the high stakes for an honest cause maybe, or a point of decision that needs to be taken quick or else all hell would break lose. Its not the edge-of-the- seat sensationalism that matters, its the feeling you walk out with. Its whether the movie can make you sit and smile while the end credits roll, or a book, you flip back through the pages of, after you've done reading. It's all about the ending.

There is always an end that you have thought of, that's because you have seen too much TV already or read similar stuff. You know a million dramatic scenarios the story could end with. You could be one of two types depending on whether you want to be surprised, or you want it to end with a self assured smirk from you on your successfully second-guessing the story. I belong to the former.

I always feel cheated if my fare ends like I expected it to.

Which type are you?

Tall: /tol/ adj, long from bottom to top

2008-10-20T03:29:00.006+05:30

The little byline of my blog title is borrowed from Frank Herbert's Dune. Absolutely love it. So succinctly describes life and our constant struggle with finding some logic to all that happens around us.

Had a similar moment of realization, last night. Had gone with a friend to the nearby Starbucks. We usually order our coffees grande, and I ever bothered to find out what the other sizes were. Until, we saw one guy order mocha, tall. I couldn't quite see what was the glass he walked off with. My friend, said that 'tall' was in fact the shortest glass available at Starbucks. I refused to believe this, I mean, there must be someone pretty educated and sensible guy up there in the Starbucks chain of command who would have come with these names, how could tall possibly be the shortest. It would be an insult to the word. Well, I was so cocksure that the world is logical, that I placed a bet, it's not possible, the tallest glass has to be 'tall' while the shortest glass could be called something else.

Alas, i walked out of the coffee shop with a lost bet, a bruised ego and in a very confused state of mind about the affairs of the world.

Trust Dreams, Trust Your Heart and Trust Your Story

2008-10-19T09:24:00.007+05:30

In midst of all this confusion called Life, often also given the very onerous sounding sobriquet, "The Real World", we forget the things that used to make us smile. Then one day you run across something that brings it all back.

The following I found on YouTube, on looking up Neil Gaiman, while reading the Sandman series.

Listening to this was like sitting in a room, drinking coffee with Alice, Baba Yaga, Ivan the youngest, Jack with his handful of beans, Little Red Riding Hood, The Ugly Duckling and their whole gang, discussing on what to do and what not to do. The complex yet so simple rules they live their life by, and the cliched yet so profound lessons you learn from them.

Then you realize that all the answers you've been looking for, have already been told to you, hidden in these long forgotten stories and all your trials and tribulations are but simple manifestations of what these characters went through while you were tucked away in your bed sucking your thumb.

Hope you enjoy the following video, nice little funny introduction in the beginning.

Neil Gaiman's "Instructions", text is here.

If It's Raining, It Must Be Mumbai

2008-08-17T17:34:00.007+05:30

On several occasions I have missed by a hair's breadth a life and career in Mumbai. This did not prevent me from having these short tempestuous visits to the city. A day, at best two, a whirlwind of visiting friends and family while managing somehow to squeeze in my actual purpose of visit. In these short associations I have developed a love-hate relationship with the city. I wouldn't ever be able to give you a consistent reply on whether I would prefer living in the city or not. The Love-Mumbai alter ego of mine, is completely enchanted among other things, by the romantic names of the areas. You call a friend and each one mouths one such name after another, "Come to Worli, party tonight!", "I live in Bandra", "Mulund dude, its f***ing far, but you have to come!". These names, of mysterious origins, hang in your mind, free of any literary, historical or political significance, just associating themselves with your memories of people, parties and conversations.

And then on the other hand there is the rain, every time I step out of CST, it is either raining, is about to rain, or has just finished, making the streets reflect the sodium-lamp street lights and filling the air with that typical Mumbai smell, which I guess, is that of a sewer overflowing. As I make casual conversation with the taxi-wala, I look out of the half open Premier Padmini window to see the late night traffic comprising of the ultra rich tipping out of discs and pubs and the ultra poor trying to find a place to shelter themselves from mother nature's next lashing.

I remember sometime ago, I, though unsuccessfully, was trying my hand at writing lyrics for a tune that my ,then ,flatmate had (He meanwhile has gone ahead and started his own band, Shor Bazaar!). After some soul searching on our part for a protagonist of the song, we came upon the idea of a middle aged lady-of-the-night, wearing lots of makeup and treating her clientele in a world weary way. Halfway through writing the piece both of us came to an unanimous conclusion that the lady is none other than Mumbai. Beautiful, seductive, wise, old and ragged but still can look a knocker when she wants to.

On Singers, Poets and Painters

2008-08-12T02:49:00.005+05:30

How can they do it?

They haven't lived my life,

Yet they they speak of things that only I can know or feel.

My darkest thoughts, my most cherished memories,

my moments of depression, my dreams,

they pass it off in the tersest of phrases.

Is my life so ordinary, that

the broadest brush strokes describe it

Or is it so extraordinary that

they make a living out of it.

2008-08-02T04:34:00.004+05:30

पलकों की दीवारों में न जाने क्या छिपाए बैठी हो
दर्द ऐसा कौनसा है जो लबों तक नही लाती हो
हम भी आशिक पुराने हैं कहे देते हैं
सीधे दिल का रास्ता निकाल लेते हैं

Towards Gumudipundi...

2008-06-24T14:27:00.004+05:30

Don't blame me guys, I am seeing everything through sepia tinted glasses.

Things I miss about my stay in Chennai:

The local train rides.
The walk back from work, feeling all angsty.
The weekends in Thiruvanmyur, with home cooked food, TV, movies and general masti.
"Sandeep, where are you?"
Post dinner discussions at Bachu da, munching on "Bournvita".
The Cookouts.
The Philosophical discussions.
The Cribroom.
Truth or Dare.
Tomato Soup in Marketing Office.
Samosas at South Gate.
The Ping Pong Consultants.
The Third Man who was never interested in the match.
The Parties.
The People.
Landmark.
The Grand AUT Lunches.
The Masala Peanuts.
TVT Times
Snooker & Pool Matches
Sitting in my porch, sipping on Apple Juice, solving The Hindu crossword, listening to my flatmate strumming on his guitar.
Zara's.
Sathyam.

The Amul hoarding near Spencer's that changed every week.
Never Trust a Skinny Chef

There's possibly loads more. Please feel free to refresh my memory.
It wasn't all pleasant, but when you look back, it was kind of fun too.
I'll borrow lines from Greenday and say,
For what it's worth, it was worth all the while.

Sunset

2008-05-19T22:51:00.001+05:30

Town Square

2008-05-19T22:49:00.001+05:30

Nuit De La Musee

2008-05-19T22:47:00.001+05:30

Call to Arms

2008-05-19T22:46:00.001+05:30

Spotlight

2008-05-19T22:42:00.001+05:30

Life and Art

2008-05-19T22:38:00.002+05:30

Streetlight

2008-05-19T22:36:00.001+05:30

Victory

2008-05-19T22:34:00.001+05:30

Joyride

2008-05-19T22:32:00.000+05:30

Bliss

2008-05-19T22:26:00.000+05:30

Divine Shadow

2008-05-19T22:19:00.001+05:30

Frozen in Time

2008-05-19T22:17:00.000+05:30

Face in the Crowd

2008-05-19T22:16:00.000+05:30

Desert

2008-05-19T22:15:00.000+05:30

Bird's Eye View

2008-05-19T22:04:00.003+05:30

Before Sunset

2008-05-19T18:03:00.004+05:30

Train of Thoughts

2008-05-12T19:21:00.012+05:30

A lot of my most cherished memories are associated with train journeys. Probably because every train ride, for the entire duration of my student life, marked the beginning or the end of vacation season. Every journey was undertaken in states of extreme bouts of joy, if vacations were starting, or glum sadness, if it was the journey back. This, compounded with the fact that train rides in India are a complete assault on the human nervous system make for a heady mix of emotions and sensory activity that give one a high which is not easy to forget.

#1: New Delhi to Bhubaneswar, Utkal Express sometime in 1990
2nd class compartment, peak of holiday season. The bogey looks like a vertical sardine tin. The train stops at Gaya. Another loud horde of people get in to occupy space that never existed before. I and Mom are perched up on the upper side berth. As usually happens with me in such situations, I suddenly realize that I'm feeling thirsty. I look up to mom and tell her I want water. Our 2 liter 'water camper' is under the lower seat. She throws me an expression somewhere between anger and desperation. She looks down at the crowd, looks at me, and whispers, "Play along". She turns around, puts on a worried face and shouts out to the crowd. "Bacha ulti karne walaa hai!". I roll up my eyes, throw my head over the berth, stick my tongue out and make gross, pukey, guttural sounds. The mass of people below dissolves in seconds, amongst shouts of "jooti sunghao", "neembu chatao". Mom steps down cooly, pulls out the water camper, fills a glass and hands it to me with a wink. During subsequent theatrical performances of my life I owed my confidence to that one moment.

#2: Jammu to New Delhi 1989. Jammu Taavi Express
We had a dog. A white, Lhasa Apso pup, and we called him Snowy. Our family was going to Delhi for summer vacations and we had to drop off Snowy at my uncle's place there. None of us wanted to put poor little Snowy into the pet carriage. So, we cooked up a little contraption to carry snowy in with us in the passenger cabin. It was one of those old time plastic vegetable shopping baskets. We lined the inside with a few towels and rags. Drilled holes so that Snowy could breathe and left a couple of bones for him to munch on. The train ride started and Snowy was well and fine for sometime. Then he sarted whining. We would open the windows to let the sound in, to drown out his whimpering. Or if it got too much, Dad or Mom would undertake the extremely silly looking activity of walking a vegetable basket up and down the corridor of the train. I also remember that when the TTE came for checking the tickets, all three of us gave the basket one mighty kick to tell Snowy, shut up!

I end here, doesn't mean I have run out of such incidents, there are numerous more. Like I said, a significant proportion of my life's memories are associated with train journeys. Not just incidents like these which are complete in themselves, but also momentary snatches of associations and recollections like the kulladh ki chai, jhaal mudhi, the train ride skirting Chilika Lake, waking up in the middle of the night and asking someone, bhai sahab kaunsa station hai? And that ultimate plea of desperation which somehow doesn't ever have the impact you expect it to have, Mere paas reservation hai!

Mobile Epiphany

2008-04-25T21:16:00.009+05:30

After having lived in Europe without a mobile phone for a couple of weeks now and trying to get a low cost connection, I realized how easy we have it in India when it comes to mobile networks. Believe me, we are living in a dream world. Cheap call rates, the best of models, free choice of networks.

It wasn't long back in my 3rd year year of engineering that I remember I was standing in a kilometer long queue trying to get my BSNL sim. By the time I was passing out it wasn't rare to see the high end models in the hands of the freshers, and by the time I started working, mobiles were like fashion, if you didn't have the latest model in your hand you were so passe. A year at most would be the time before a mobile phone model went from being the latest in thing to i-would-rather-be-caught-dead-than-be-seen-with-one.

My opinion here was precipitated by Lekhni's realization, she says,

"...We cannot switch providers if we don’t like the service, or unlock our phones without the provider’s “approval”. We cannot buy just any phone - because phone models are “customized” by the providers, so all phones will not work with all providers. So if you want an iPhone, for instance, you are stuck with AT&T. You also won’t see all the features of the phone, just those that your provider shows you. For more ringtones, or wallpapers, you have to pay up."

Read more on her blog here.

My guess would be that this is the kind of advantage that comes with late initiation but instant adoption of technology that India experienced with mobile phones.

A big thank you to the regulators and more power to those who champion the cause of the consumer.

Of Goodbyes...

2008-03-05T17:13:00.001+05:30

Met a fellow geek on a work related visit recently. We struck off immediately, with such eclectic topics of conversation as our crush on Dana Scully, Orion, music, relationships, camera specifications, Dilbert, careers, curvature of light, rainfall on Neptune and hydrocarbons on Titan.

Friendship is easy to forge when you are bunked in with a guy in a 4m x 3m steel container for 4 days bang in the middle of nowhere.

When I was leaving the place yesterday, our cars crossed and we met up on the road, had a shake of hands, and as we got back into our cars we promised that we’ll find each other on orkut.

As my car drove on serpentine roads amongst rice fields, in a semi-somnolent state, I thought. I thought that, had this day been in the pre-internet era, we would have made a slightly grander ceremony of the farewell and surely the word ‘goodbye’ would have figured somewhere in our conversation.

In these times, where every person you ever met, can become a little green blinking light on your computer screen, what happens to goodbyes? As we go on life like this, are we turning worse at saying goodbyes simply because we don’t need to any more? Or maybe we are bringing Elton John’s words to life, friends no longer say goodbye, they just say “add me”.

Salaa!!

2008-01-19T18:52:00.001+05:30

Remembered this story from my childhood.

I have a cousin, lets call her N. I wouldn't give here any more information about her for fear of revenge if she finds out that I have been making fun of her. In all probability she doesn't remember the story as it happened when she was in class 1.

One evening N was sitting on her father's lap. Here's how the conversation went:

N: "Daddy, how is sonu bhayiya (thats me :) ) related to you?"
D: "He's my bhatija."

N: "hmm....how is aie(maternal grandmother) related to you?"
D: "She's my saas."

N: "hmmm....how is Biranchi Mama related to you??"
D: "He's my salaa." ....

N: "salaa!!!!??????"
D: "yes"

N: "salaaaaaaaa!!!!!?????"
D: "yes sweetie."

N: "aur kutta bhi????"

Malgudi Express

2007-09-26T17:30:00.001+05:30

“The hardest of all things for a novelist to communicate is the extraordinary ordinariness of most human happiness…Jane Austen, Soseki, Chekov: a few bring it off. Narayan is one of them”. – Francis King

In spite of his abilities of insightful observations, what Mr. King possibly will not be able fathom is the rush of happy memories R K Narayan brings to someone who has grown up reading his stories.

Setting off for work today, I picked up Malgudi Days and as Chennai suburbia zipped past so did the stories roll from one to the other, bringing to life, simultaneously, the characters from a nondescript town somewhere in South India, and days from my past when I came across them.

As I read the first story, An Astrologer’s Day, I could almost see smudgy pencil marks underlining, then strange, words in my reader in class 8th. That was my first acquaintance with these words. As life went on and things started getting complicated, the words and phrases picked up undertones and connotations beyond the simple definitions I had scribbled next to them. But seeing them once again being mouthed by an astrologer who, "...sat under the boughs of a spreading tamarind tree..." the words shrugged off all the grime they had collected over the years and became virgin again, expressing only what the author intended them to.

Narayan’s earthy style enchants you twice, first with the characters and the stories themselves and second, with memories of shared ‘tiffins’ with school time crushes, pot bellied English teachers, butterflies of the night-before-exam variety, Doordarshan, wannabe rock stars giving a rendition of the Malgudi tune on their electric guitars and preparations of elocution pieces . It is said that the sense of smell has the greatest ability to bring back old memories; if it’s true then I’m sure that the stories from Malgudi carry the aroma of childhood.

2007-08-17T02:05:00.000+05:30

I walked into the bookstore, and there she was. In the Cinema Section. A face so pretty, your heart ached. Those eyes, a question and a smirk hidden in them, the eyebrows, betraying a hint of surprise. Strands of hair on the forehead escaping the neat little bun on the top of the head. A tiara that didn't quite belong there. Pearl necklaces making the black dress look even darker. A cigarette in one of her hands and her chin on the other. Lips that seem not to smile at what you are saying but at something that is right behind you.
I was transfixed. Just stood there looking at her.

See her here

Overheard

2007-08-14T22:59:00.001+05:30

Overheard on the eve of independence day,

"Independence day? Why should I fool myself , I probably won't ever do anything for my country, I'll get married, have kids, make truckloads of money and die. Tomorrow? I have a team-out dinner at work. I'm just enjoying a holiday tomorrow."

Neat!

2007-08-07T12:06:00.001+05:30

Saw this on the Orkut Blog, pretty cute!

The Song in the Street

2007-07-19T23:26:00.000+05:30

Its 8:30 am and I am standing in a queue in front of an ATM, I turn back to look at the view behind me. It’s a small avenue with apartments 3-4 stories high, interspersed with little shops bearing the standard banners of Airtel, Pepsi, Reliance and the like. The dust swirling around climbs the shafts of sunlight coming through the trees. Fat housewives drag their kids and shopping bags into and out of the shops. Bald men with bags and busy expressions trot along the footpath, frowning into their mobile phones. A Hero Puch jostles with a Honda City, a Maruti elbows its way between cycles and Indicas to get ahead. The smug looking autorickshaw wallahs lounge about in their resplendent sunflower yellow vehicles chatting and scratching themselves.
I had barely stifled a yawn at the sheer monotony of it when, suddenly, the scene shifted slightly in front of my eyes.
The autowallahs peeked out, the vehicles on the road slowed down a notch, the guy behind me in the line looked at me and smiled and for a second everyone on the street stopped doing what they were doing and cocked their heads, listening. Coming from somewhere far away through scratchy loudspeakers, barely audible over the clamour in the street, one could hear a chorus of children singing, “…punjab, sindh, gujarat, maratha, dravida, utkala, banga, vindhya, himachal, yamuna, ganga, uchhala jaladhi taranga…”

Bollywood Bonanza

2007-06-17T21:48:00.002+05:30

This is a first on my blog. A guest blogger! This guy's soon coming on the blog circle soon (as soon as he thinks of a quirky enough pseudonym).. Will reveal his link as soon as its up. For now hope you have fun. By the way 'Sandy' is me!

Conversation Ho To Aisi

ME: Oye yaar, I have been thinking about this since last night but can't get it yaar. Help nahi to mar jaaonga.

SANDY: Bolo Bolo Tell Tell

ME: What was that movie name where there is a guy who plays an inspector and keeps dreaming of catching a big time goon but always ends up doing weird things in real life under his dream effect?

SANDY: No clue man….but who plays that inspector role?

ME: Shucks………can't believe the name just slipped……….well he played the dad in that comedy serial that used to come every Friday on DD metro……….no I think every Saturday…….maybe at 9 PM

SANDY: Saturday ……umm let me think…..DD metro……(scratching his nose as he always did when he thought hard)…….9 PM was the time for Superhit Muqabla………and there was a time when a comedy side track was added to the countdown…….was he there?

ME: No man……..what has that fatso got to do with Superhit Muqabla?

SANDY: O…..he was a fatso…..ummmmmm………..Adnan Sami??(chuckles at his own stupid guess and brandishes an imaginary shield in defense)

ME: It's killing me man…….. if I don't get his name by tonight, I sure will become a zombie……..and if you can't help then the least you can do is shove that Adnan Sami of yours up in some place you prefer………. Don't you remember that fatso was called an "aate ki bori" in one another comedy movie?

SANDY: Yah Yah…….I remember the film……….isn't it the one with 2 heroes……..one is Aamir and the other one …………..ummmm (scratching again)…….maybe Salman??

ME: No No No………..that movie was Andaz Apna Apna……….

SANDY: Hey but that one was a hell of a movie, hai na……? Remember "Yeh raat aur yeh doorie "

ME: "Tera milna hai zaroori"

Both break into an instant jugalbandi

ME: And remember that champion line……….."Isme ek hi goli thi"

SANDY: (Almost rolling) Crime master Gogo!!!!!!!! My fav Bolly Goon!!!! And remember " Main Teja hoon, mark idhar hai"

ME: "Yeh Teja Teja Kya Hai. Yeh Teja Teja"

SANDY: BTW, is that Teja your fatso?

ME: Who fatso?

SANDY: Man…..the one we were digging……….

ME: O……… let me think…………no yaar……..he is Paresh Rawal….Tu bhi na………hudd kar deta hai kabhi kabhi………But how did we get to Teja……..??

SANDY: From your aate ki bori………..u dumbo……….any other movie you can think of?

ME: Ummm….let me think (without scratching of course)……Okkkkkk….. yaad hai?……….the Govinda movie…..Hero Number One?

SANDY: "Main tujhko bhaga laaya hoon tere ghar se"????

ME: "Tere baap ke darr se, tere baap ke darr se" (Trying to add some symphony to it with my claps)

SANDY: So what's with the movie then?

ME: This fatso was in there as well……….played some relative to the heroine……..

SANDY: Okkkkkkkkk boss……….I got it………her ever haggling grandpa……..right? Remember his line " Aaj inki maa zinda hoti to phir se mar jaati"?

ME: Ek baat bata yaar….honestly……..is Paresh Rawal your latest turn on? I mean why can't you think of somebody else man?

SANDY: Yaar the way you said "Ek baat bata yaar….honestly", tell me which movie has Big B say the exact line (and flashes that inimitable smile whenever he had a great question up his sleeve)

ME: Kaante……Big B to Mahesh Manjrekar………the complete line is "Ek baat bata yaar….honestly….tujhe yahaan aane ka passport kisne diya ?"

SANDY: "Is ki maa ne…..bachpan se hi passport office me kaam karti thi "

Both of us share a high five and a low five.

ME: Now can we get back to my fatso?

SANDY: Who fatso?

ME: Grrrrr

SANDY: Joke tha Ji……… (flashes a nautanki smile)

ME: Arey……..tell me who says the same line the same stupid way?

SANDY: You think I don't know? Johny Lever to his wife in K3G……….But I really like the next line after this……..remember he tells this to his wife and she replies……" Chodhiye Ji"

ME: And Johny bhai says………"Pakda kab tha Ji"

ME and SANDY together: Long live Aslam Bhai (and another round of high and low fives)

SANDY: But our fatso is still on the loose.

ME: Haan yaar……..you know how terrible is this…right? I mean it's like having a devilish itch in your body with god forsaken coordinates. You know you can't do it alone and all that I have got is you. Do have any idea, hum kitna bhatak chuke hain??

SANDY: Ok Ok…. Now we will talk only business…but how did it all start?………all I remember now is we were digging some fatso out of the aate ki bori…….and chuckles again.

ME: Yaar aate se yaad aaya……..bhookh lag rahi hai…….ghar me kuch hai khaane ko?

SANDY: Saale ab kaun bhatka raha hai……….? Chal bread ommlette khaate hain, chai peete hain phir sochte hain………Kya bolta hai?

ME: Ek Garam chai ki pyaali ho

SANDY: Dhen Dhen Dhen……Dhen Dhen Dhen

ME: Koi usko pilaane waali ho

SANDY: Saale main hoon……!!

ME: O yaara………thanks a ton……… J

SANDY: Get well soon mere Lucky Singh!!!!

ME: And Pepsi hai?

SANDY: Hai bey.

ME: And black salt to season it?

SANDY: Hai mere baap. Tu nahi sudhrega.

ME: Wrong line sir. You should have said "Tum nahi sudhroge" to which I would have answered " Ji bilkul nahi, jo sudhar gaya woh Raj Malhotra nahi"

SANDY: Who is this Raj Malhotra now?

ME: Seen Bhagbaan?

SANDY: Nah

ME: Then forget it, tu abhi bachcha hai!

SANDY: Grrrrrr

And both of us set off to the kitchen after one hell of a conversation with the ever alluding fatso still hiding in some part of these Bollywood dominated brains of ours. But did we care.

Hic! DFE Ishtyle!

2007-05-25T15:20:00.002+05:30

A tribute to the hundreds of parties at my erstwhile residence D First East, Patel or more aptly: ‘DFE Bar’.

“What we said”
*and what we meant*

“I’m in control”
*I’m having fun*

“Nahi be aaj nahi, mujhe sona hai”
*Unlike you losers, I’ve got something better to do tonight*

“18 till I die”
*Wish I was a star like Bryan Adams*

“Idhar aa, mujhe tujhe thapad maarna hai”
*I’m drunk and I can get away with it*

“Tu pee sale, paise main deta hoon”
*I hope you’ll do the same when I’m broke*

“Yeh beer mug phekte hain sale, kitne ki hogi 20 rupaye, 30 rupaye?”
*Let it be known, I’m really drunk*

“Ek quarter aur mangaate hain”
*Damn! Everybody else is more drunk than me, need to catch up quick*

“Aakhri hai chal bottoms up maarte hain”
*Lets hope this last one knocks us out*

“Isko room tak kaun leke jayega?”
*Not me, I don’t want his pukey mouth slobbering on my shoulder*

“Isko yahin pade rehne do”
*Me neither*

“Aaj ***** ki m** c*** doonga”
*I really won’t do anything like that, just break some furniture in frustration instead*

“Oye 2nd year, upper aa, bhondu pata hai?”
*Tag! You’re it!*

“Mujhe puke maarna hai”
*Party’s over for me, you may need to carry me home *

“Abe, I love you be”
*Abe I love you be*

Cheers to all DFE partying everywhere, may it never end!

This just in: J. in a hep bar in Mumbai, on being served a tequila shot,

“Abe itna kam kya be ...charnaamrit de rahe ho kya "

Dream on...

2007-05-04T19:13:00.002+05:30

If you can dream - and not make dreams your master...

...Yours is the Earth and everything that's in it...

Among the many things that separate us, human beings, from animals is the ability to dream.

In each of our personal lives, we have a profession, work hard, give up the little joys to make our own dreams come true. Some do, many don't. The results though rarely seem to be commensurate with our efforts and sacrifices. A sore point for all of us.

The young man who dreams of becoming an airline pilot, and does so, sees his personal life shattered as he spends days and nights in strange countries with strange people around him.

The scientist burning the midnight oil to find that that delta improvement in that parameter might not have been worth those hours of solitude.

The lonely guy in the factory making hundreds of thousands of an article he has no personal use of, wondering whether he will ever get to buy a BMW this way.[:P]

But take heart!

We are not working without a purpose, our sacrifices are not in vain. We are in the profession of making dreams come real, not only ours but more importantly the dreams of humanity. We are the ones who make people fly, we are the ones who help people live longer, we are the ones who help lonely souls miles across share their lives. True, at times when dreams of humanity and our personal dreams run counter to each other there is dilemma and pain, but don't forget to smile at the fact that man today has made true, things he used to fantasize about centuries ago. So keep at it, your dreams are coming to life, slowly but surely and the whole world is working for it.

Enlightenment at the Food Court

2007-04-15T21:49:00.002+05:30

Net result of a conversation each with A and Y, and shopping for Wai-Wai noodles:

One click and you can see what people at the other end of the world are doing right now, broadcast your emotions through out the world, relive any memory, order food, order entertainment, request company, catch up with friends, catch up on knowledge.

One little tap dance on the mobile phone and you can talk with whomsoever you wish, pass private messages, catch up on news, sports and what not.

One stop at a mall, and you can watch movies, have food, buy clothes, groceries and lots of stuff you never knew you needed.

We are the generation of instant gratification, but the problem is, the real stuff that life is all about come after a lot of patience, perseverance and pain. What greater proof than the fact that the beginning of life is heralded by pain.

Unfortunately, no one offers Life 101.

The Backbencher Syndrome

2007-04-11T22:56:00.001+05:30

Time: Summer 2005
Venue: Some classroom in Department of Electrical Engineering, IIT Kharagpur

“The line to ground capacitance thus has a net leading effect on the transmission line…”

S : A for apple (draws an apple on the notebook), B for Ball (draws a ball), C for cat (tries drawing a cat, gives up) C for…C for…
P and Me giggle
S (glaring): Cup, you perverts. (Proceeds to draw a nice little tea cup)
P: Is ke baad hindi alphabet ka banayenge.
S and Me give smiles of complete agreement

“…people not interested in this class may leave, and if I remember, you three barely passed in the mid-semesters.”

Time: Summer 2007
Venue: Some conference room, in some factory in Chennai

“…the purchase order requisition is given through this command, which is again linked to the finished good identification because…”

H (looking at the new Orkut homepage) : Yeh bandi maal hai, she’s mine.
B: Ok, I take that foreigner one.
Me: I still don’t understand why none of you like this one, I find her cute.
H (shrugs): To each his own, I say we give this hairy dude to K.
K: Sale, tune meri biwi ka photo nahi dekha hai, isiliye yeh bol rahaa hai.
B: Hee hee…

“Please pay attention, I wouldn’t be repeating all this stuff”

I still haven’t been able to put a finger on what has changed and what hasn’t.

Rukavat ke liye khed

2007-03-30T23:29:00.001+05:30

For all those who were waiting for my pre-announced post...a thousand apologies for my delay. The following is my bundle of excuses:

1. A painfully slow dial up connection

2. I was busy at work! Don't make that face, I really was! Honest!

3. I have decided upon a life of routine and regularity and had forgotten to give a time slot to blogging. (There you go, making that face again!)

4. I was plain lazy

Anyways, as things go, there seems to be a strange-mood wave doing the rounds in these here parts of the world. While one of us finds the meaning of corporate life in the serene sayings of Scott Adams' preachings, others find creative release in enacting the events of the day over gooey sapad*. Stories of the outside world are few and far in between.

As pointed out by A. once, we retell the same stories in our group, every weekend, and the audience too listens in with as much enthusiasm as as the first time (even pitching in with the exact doubts and comments they had the last time around). Though now I seem to have overdone it, I get a particular glare when I take my stories/anecdotes/jokes/trivia for a rerun.

End result, the cynic in me, brought up with heavy doses of Calvin and Hobbes and Dilbert has taken full control over my mind. More often than not you will find me going, "yeh to hona hi tha". Eg.

"Bad day today!"

"yeh to hona hi tha"

"Sapad's yuck today!"

"yeh to hona hi tha"

"Tu fir yeh repeat kar rahaa hai"

"yeh to hona hi tha"

"Aaj fir jaldi nahi nikal paye"

"yeh to hona hi tha"

"Yeh vending machine se soup nahi nikal rahaa hai"

"yeh to hona hi tha"

"kal chutti nahi hai"

"yeh to hona hi tha"

"Tax mein bahut kat gayaa"

"yeh to hona hi tha"

Your post wasn't worth waiting for.

Yeh to hona hi tha.

*sapad: tamil for food; for us, canteen food, all other kind of food is just khana

Cure Me!

2007-03-24T01:57:00.001+05:30

Does anybody recognize the symptoms? I am growing cynic-er and cynic-er with every passing day! Events which got me to this state will be detailed very soon in the next post.

Practice Makes Past Perfect

2007-03-12T01:48:00.001+05:30

Stamping of naked feet on marbled floors,

The echo of lines from empty classroom doors,

Imagined sets and a ghost stage,

Markings on a battered page.,

Blinding lights and hidden eyes,

Revealed by laughs or by sighs,

Stench of anticipation and the taste of joy,

Slaps on the back and a few compliments coy,

To have lived all that, now life seems pale,

I would rather live in some one else's tale.

Hasn't he run out of sento yet, you say? [:D]

Move Over Ghalib! [:D]

2007-03-04T09:16:00.001+05:30

Naacheez ka nazrana haazir hai,
zaroor batayiga kaisa laga:

Zindagi ko jab gaye gale lagaane,

Bachpan na jaane kyon rooth gayaa,

Ghum ne jab dono haath badhaye,

Hansi na jaane kahaan fisal gayi,

Yaaron ke saath khub jaam chalkaaye,

kabhi jhoome, kabhi gaaye,

lekin har baar,

khaali jeb,

khaali dil,

wapas aaye,

ab, dhuein ke andhere mein,

khud se lapata ho, baithe hain,

talaash hai us naseeb ki,

jo is waqt humein talaash rahi hai.

Nike Cricket Crazy

2007-02-27T09:44:00.001+05:30

Check it out, if any goan knows the background song please let me know.

Four L's of Job Satisfaction

2007-02-12T19:53:00.001+05:30

Courtsey kathakaar, these are the four L's of job satisfaction

1. Love, for the work

2. Lucre, of money

3. Liquidity, of brand name

4. Location, of preference

How many you got at your place?

Connecting People

2007-02-08T10:29:00.001+05:30

Ok, here goes...

We are an Indian company, with a major stake by a British company, among others we supply to a Finnish company, we make their products on Swiss and Chinese machines. One of the raw materials we source from a small scale industry in the suburbs of Chennai, that particular plant is literally in the backyard of the multi story building of an American consulting firm. Our supplier unit gets one of its components from Germany. He is also the supplier to Japanese shrimp companies that package and sell to malls in America and Italy.

The world Mr. Friedman is not only flat but right next door!

On God

2007-02-06T00:09:00.001+05:30

Picked up Paulo Coelho's Like the Flowing River , browsed a few pieces then tossed it aside. There was something that I couldn't quite stand about the book. Took me sometime to gather my thoughts and realize what was wrong. It was all the stuff written about what God is like and what He expects out of us and how we've got Him wrong. For some reason I instantly distance myself from any such discourses. I don't like people telling me what God is and how I am supposed to look at Him. I am probably not an atheist, I say atheist because I know I am never going to meet God ever, I say 'probably', because atheisim, I feel, seems to be the easy way out, if I ain't seen it I'm not gonna believe it, too simple!

For me God exists in me, my God is the sum total of my experiences that make me stronger and better to face the world. My God is the guy in me who grits his teeth and whispers, "C'mon a little more buddy, almost there now," when the going is tough, My God is the guy who says "Koi nahi yaar! Hota hai!!" when I am feeling blue, He is the one who says, "Shit man! Shouldn't have done that," when I make a mistake or hurt someone. My relationship with my God is extremely personal and I don't want any one telling me how it should be.

My God is all mine. So don't tell me how he should be.

The Unkindest Cut

2007-01-10T15:15:00.000+05:30

Must read this story first

The Unkindest Cut

The time has come when decisions have to be made, real tough ones, decision which tell you that you are growing up! I must admit though that I'm not liking it.

I'm not Jewish, so I will probably not face what the guys faces in the story, but still I can imagine how things would be, when you don't know which decision to take, everything you do ends up (as Calvin would say) "lowering your popularity charts" in some quarter or the other. In the end you don't know what you want.

No longer is there a good decision and or a bad one. You just choose one, cross your fingers and pray it turns out right in the end, and preferably remember it with a pinch of humour later on.

Ssssssomebody sssstop me!

2007-01-08T02:18:00.000+05:30

Can't help but boogie whenever "Money for Nothing" starts playing

i want my , i want my, i want my, MTVeeeeeeee!!!! [:D]

Btw, Check this out

13 Photographs that changed the world

Pretty cool list, though I would say a few are missing (and no I'm not referring to the one above), most of those missing that are top of mind are mentioned by other people in the comments section.
Few of my favorites not covered in the site are:

Revolutionary, militant, youth icon, t-shirts, hero; all these words bring this image to my mind. The pic of Che in the list maybe more of an impact to world history, but Che to me is this.

The eyes, they do it every time, if you want the history of the pic look up Sharbat Gula, National Geographic.

Any of your favorites not covered?

2007-01-07T02:22:00.001+05:30

"I like nonsense, it wakes up the brain cells. Fantasy is a necessary ingredient in living, It's a way of looking at life through the wrong end of a telescope. Which is what I do, And that enables you to laugh at life's realities."

Dr. Seuss

Barber Shop Musings

2007-01-01T21:51:00.001+05:30

It’s amazing how some things change at a pace that leaves you breathless and unable to cope up with and at the same time, there are certain things in live that just refuse to budge. It’s like they have reached the state which physicists call equilibrium. One such things in my life is the little barber shop around the corner from my house. Walking into the shop is like walking into an oil painting that you keep hanging on your wall, it’s as if it’s frozen like that, unaffected by the forces of time and nature. It actually feels quite awkward if you come back to a place after a year or so and see the place exactly like the memory you went away with. The barber is the same, although there might have been a hint of baldness. He sits me down, I don’t have to say anything, he knows my style and starts off. It feels good to be recognized after you have been treated like an alien for the past few months.

The sounds that come drifting in just reinforce the feeling, kids playing on the grounds of a primary school behind the shop. If you see through the window behind the shop (you can always do that in a barber’s without having to turn around [:)] ) it feels like the same kids have been playing for the 10 years I have frequented to the shop (even though in the initial years I might have been one of the kids!).

As if to pay homage to my thoughts, after he’s done, the barber asks me for 6 rupees! 6 rupees!! He’s been charging me 6 rupees for a hair cut ever since that was half my pocket money! Hasn’t he heard of inflation?

I walk back to my house bewildered, confused and with a hair cut exactly the way I like it.

Good Morning Mumbai

2006-12-29T19:52:00.000+05:30

शहर की इस दौड़ मै दौड़ के करना क्या है

अगर यही जीना है तो फिर मरना क्या है

पहली बारिश में ट्रेन लेट होने कि फिक्र है,
भूल गए भीगते हुए टहलना क्या है.

सीरीयल के किरदारों का सारा हाल है मालूम,
पर माँ का हाल पूछने कि फुर्सत कहाँ है,

अब रेत पे नंगे पाँव टहलते क्यों नहीं,
एक सौ आठ हैं चैनल पर दिल बहलते क्यों नहीं,

इन्टरनेट से तो दुनीया से तो टच में हैं,
लेकिन पड़ोस में कौन रहता है जानते तक नहीं,

मोबाइल, लेन्डलाईन सबकी भरमार है,
लेकिन जिगरी दोस्त तक पहूँचे, एसे तार कहाँ हैं.

कब डूबते हुए सूरज को देखा था याद है
कब जाना था शाम का गुज़रना क्या है.

तो दोस्तों शहर की इस दौड़ मै दौड़ के करना क्या है
अगर यही जीना है तो फिर मरना क्या है

Aur Piyo

2006-12-24T05:00:00.000+05:30

Aur piyo beta daba ke Moroccan Coffee, dekha neend nahi aa rahi hai na?? [:D]

*5:00 AM*

Winds of Change?

2006-12-24T02:30:00.000+05:30

Man!!! Feels great to write again. It is like I found my glasses after looking for them a long time, those who’ve never worn one, don’t worry, you’ll never know what it means to get back your clarity of vision after temporarily being denied of it.
I couldn’t be in a better ambience, loud music, loud noises all around me, a hookah to my lips, Moroccan caps floating around distributing exotic blends. Ah! Bliss!
A lot of water has flown under the bridge since my last post. If I try to explain the feeling, it’s been like Lady Life has grabbed me by my collars, shook me hard and screamed in my face, “I’M A BITCH KIDDO, GROW UP!”
That was hard! It shook out the last bits of the college kid hanging onto me (you can refer the previous post for oodles of it).
I shall not attempt to dispense the lessons I have been learning the last few days, for then I will sound like one of those world weary cynics, I hate Woody Allen, and have no intension of sounding like his clone.
Well whats been happening with my life recently? Trying to get settled in to a routine life, trying hard to get worried about the same things day in and day out and making sure everyone else gets worried similarly too.

I’ve got a nice little cocktail brewing in my head right now, as business strategy gets mixed with cell phone lights in a Strings concert at TOAT, as cocktail dinners mingle with the bread-butter-chini-chai-sutta at Bhaskar’s, as supply chain gets confused with the cribbings of Mishraji (he of the cycle repair shop at Patel), as marketing tactics become goofy acts on stage, long time since ‘finance’ meant free coupons and arranging treats. Things have changed, being in the limelight will probably never have its literal meaning ever again, how sad is that! Never again will words of wisdom be traded for a packet of cigarettes or a bar of candy. Never again will there be a road that has no beginning and no end.

Now, why did I suddenly talk about the past? Well the aroma and the music did it I guess, the two biggest aphrodisiacs for nostalgia, but soon that will change, soon the new music will no longer take me back to those days, soon the new smells that blow with the wind will land flat on emptiness.

The present has become the past and what was once a distant future has hit me like a runaway truck.

Promise regular posts from now on. Less funda and more fun.

An Elf's Gift

2006-08-21T00:24:00.000+05:30

A friend of mine wanted a poem to along with a gift he was presenting someone, he asked me to write one for him. I hadn't tried one for a long time so I said why not. Somehow my poems never grew along with me, they stayed at the age of a 10-12 year old writing a rhyme. I tried something "grown-up" but then gave up.
As I wrote, the rhymes from Roald Dahl's Charlie and the Chocolate Factory came into my head, and I decided to give that tone a try...
Not everything rhymes, but I hope you have fun reading it.

Looking high and looking low
That’s me there,
Digging with a hoe,

Searching far and Searching wide,
That’s me there,
By the ogre’s side,

Traveling near and traveling far,
That’s me there,
In that rickety car,

And then…

An elf stops me and says,
“why this hurly why this burly,
Why running for so many days…

Sit with me and have some ale
Take a breath,
And tell me your tale.”

He hears my story,
He scratches his beard,
He clicks his toes,
He wiggles his ears,
He shouts at a gnat,
And tickles a rat,
Then he even eats his hat!

And then…

He pulls out a box,
From the pocket of his little green coat,
Puts it in my hand and says…
“Give this to the lady and hope she will smile,
Or else I’ll turn into a frog for quite some while!”

You may believe my story or you may not,
But this be the way this gift I got.

I leave for those who know me to guess what I asked for in return for my services...

What do you have to say?

2006-07-29T00:32:00.000+05:30

In view of the recent happenings in Kgp :

Should you get stuck in semantics and assume any sort of interaction between a senior and junior can be categorised as ragging?
What happens to a 2nd year guy entering into Patel Hall of Residence or any hostel in IIT Kharagpur cannot be called ragging.
Ragging, especially in case of engineering colleges has gruesome images of countless slaps till you are red in the face, and acts that are meant to degrade the individual.
When a second year enters a senior hostel for the first time of his life, he has been told enough number of horror stories to have more than just an apprehension of entering the hostel, he is petrified, I know because I have been through it myself.
Since the initiation to the hall is carried out almost surreptitiously it gives the impression that people carrying out the activities are fulfilling some sort of carnal desire in troubling the new entrant.
Here is what is expected of a second year to do and I would like one individual to stand up and tell me that this is not something that one doesn't need in life, or for someone who's been through the process, that he would have learnt all this all by himself:

1. He's expected to participate in as many sports and socio-cultural events as possible.

2. He's expected to know each of his batchmates names.

3. He's expected to know all his seniors names
It is an extremely proud moment when a senior comes upto you and says, you don't have to call me sir or bhaiya or anything of that sort, the only difference between you and me is that I was born a year or so before you. When a guy you look upto, comes to you and says this, believe me it feels really great. Almost each and every senior of mine in Kgp said this to me. I still can't forget the feeling.

4. He's expected to know the names of all the hostel staff including the mess staff and refer to them by their name and with proper respect.

5. He's expected not to stay glued to the computer at all times.

If learning all these is called ragging, well then I've been ragged all my life, first by my parents, now at work, but then again i'm having a ball of a time being ragged and consider myself a better individual for it.

Anyone reading this and not agreeing to what I say is free to get in touch with me.

Who Let the Dogs Out?

2006-06-02T15:22:00.000+05:30

Hello all!

Long time since I started writing something, and well a lot has happened at my end. I finally bid goodbye to my home for five years, good old Kgp. Had an amazing weekend at Pune. Gorgeous city. It’s called the Oxford of the east and very suitably so, it feels like one huge college campus. Young, inherently beautiful, people all around, shops that suit the palates of youth, in all …quite nice.
Well there is one incident I encountered Pune, which I would like to share with you (being me, I had more than my share of such incidents but this one is really something, it was life threatening and it was only my high intellect and ingenuity which helped me escape…read on o enchanted reader.).

Well I was staying at Mohit’s place and the day I was supposed to come back to Kgp was a Monday, so Mohit left me the keys to his place (the ground floor of a duplex in a residential area) with instructions to drop in the key through a window after I had locked the place, he had his own copy of the key so the plan seemed quite alright to me. This was around 10 am. Around 1 pm I decided to go for lunch to a place 15 minutes walk away. Had my fill and came back to see, two ferocious, and I mean it when I say ferocious, dogs, huge fangs, frothing mouth, the whole works, roaming in the backyard of the house. As they saw me approaching the house they came charging at me, fangs, froth and all. I backed off, rang the bell, called the landlord down and made him put his dogs back into the kennel. The landlord admonished Mohit for bringing unannounced guests to his place and scolded me for …well …being the unannounced guest.
The story ain’t over yet.
This was around 2. At 4 pm I pack my bags and decide to leave for station after dropping in on Chhaavi. So I have a reconnaissance mission around the house to see if the dogs are out yet. I see a bit of dog poo but no dog, hence coast clear. I lock the door. Drop the key into the window, it clinks to the floor, everything going a-ok. And then…I turn around…

THE DOGS HAVE BEEN LET OUT!

They have their backs to me and havn’t seen me yet. I back up to the end of the backyard.I look around in panic. My mind races through the options.

1. Take a chance with the dogs, might have seen their owner let me in and hence realize that I’m a character to be trusted.
Assumption: Ferocious dogs capable of complex logical conclusions.
If Things Go Wrong Scenario: End up horribly mangled, loose out on limbs and generally disturb the peace of the land with blood curdling screams (believe me, I’m capable of that).
Final Conclusion: Option not viable.

2. Call up M and ask him to call up his landlord and ask him to recall his dogs.
Naah! I end up making a fool of myself in front of too many people.

3. Go back into the house.
Rush back to the window stretch my hand in, nopes, not a chance. I had done too good a job of throwing the keys in.

4. Climb nearby parapet and sit around like a monkey till the landlord comes out.
Makes me look more like a suspicious character, the dogs might not like that. Moreover, not sure if the dogs can’t reach the parapet. Mental image of me sitting hunched up on the parapet while the dogs snap at my feet. Aaargh! No! Option kataa.

5. Salvation. A chest high steel net fence separates the next lot. Hallelujah!

Quick! Victory dance later, escape first.

I drop my bag over, it lands with a heavy clomp. Wince, waiting for the dogs to come charging in at the sound. Nothing. Put one foot onto the flower pot and one on the fence. Turn around and see the lesser ferocious dog staring at me with head cocked to one side. As if asking, “…and what do you think you are doing?” I look around, no sign of his partner. I stand still and look into his eyes. He keeps looking, no barking, no charging. Good dog. I climb over and land next to my bag. Hope no one’s looking, I look so like a burglar now. Dog now looks alarmed. Still doesn’t bark. Maybe he recognized me after all. Maybe I should have taken my chances. Anyways, I am safe now, that’s all that matters. Wave a goodbye to the poochie, brush my clothes, straighten my shirt collar and walk out the gate as cool as a cucumber.
And I’ll have my martini shaken not stirred, thank you.

Infiniti

2006-05-19T20:03:00.000+05:30

This post dedicated to my very own HCL Infiniti. Yesterday I bid it goodbye *sniff*. Not upto a full blooded post... Thats all for now...
*boo hoo*

E-Mail

2006-05-02T20:23:00.000+05:30

If you have two email accounts and you give each account instructions to auto-forward the messeges to the other, would things get stuck in an infinite loop? Anyone who's tried it out, please let me know.

[:D]...havn't slept for 2 days...something like this was bound to happen.

Answer this...

2006-03-22T09:47:00.000+05:30

Just one question:

If an NGO asks permission from the Director of our institute to set up a free condom vending stall inside the campus, knowing him as someone highly protective of tradition and at the same time always politically correct, would he say yes or would he say no?

Tagged!

2006-03-12T18:21:00.000+05:30

Tagged again! Double whammy this time fundoome and souvik.

This reminds me of school, when I was this plump kid with super short legs and would get tagged in every game of chase or hide and seek. It almost made me believe that these games were invented so that everyone else could have fun at the expense of short fat kids. Out here too I guess I'm vulnerable to being tagged, but well, even back then I would huff and puff and desperately attempt to catch my classmates, all of whom seemed to be direct descendents of Carl Lewis. Here too I shall huff and puff and try to fulfill the desires of people who have tagged me.

The rules of the game

The tagged victim has to come up with 8 different points of their perfect lover
You have to mention the sex of the target.
Tag 8 victims to join this game and leave a comment on their comments saying they've been tagged.
If tagged the 2nd time, there's no need to post again.

Well here goes:

First I'll list the only two points for a perfect partner I had decided long back in school:

1. Should be cool enough to share a joke and a high 5 with me.
2. Should have no problems in touching my parents feet.

I still stick by these two points. But after school, life turned into a bitch, I decided to follow suit and got more picky and choosy about what I liked and what I didn't. Women are high on my priority list so I was pickiest and choosiest about them. Hence, continuing...

3. Should be a WYSIWYG kind of stuff.

No hidden agenda, no hidden layers of personality jumping out at the least expected moment to surprise and shock you. No Ogres are like Onions type funda.

4. Should be an optimist.

I'm almost a paranoid optimist (if such a thing exists). My favorite movie dialogue happens to be in 'Shakespeare in Love' :

Tom Wilkinson: "So what do we do? "
Geoffrey Rush : "Nothing. Strangely enough, it all turns out well."
Tom Wilkinson: "How? "
Geoffrey Rush: "I don't know. It's a mystery."

So, I'm a firm believer in the fact that things mysteriously turn out well if you don't worry about them too much. Pessimism and pessimists spontaneously combust in my vicinity and I definitely can't have one as my partner.

5. Yes, if I haven't already made it very obvious, should love watching movies. Not someone who acts like an out-of-job film critic, going around telling everyone what was wrong with what movie. Someone who has fun watching a movie, period.

6. Someone who has a million watt smile. The kind that short-circuits away all your gloom.

7. Someone who is smart enough to appreciate the fact that I am hell smart.

8. Someone who is patient enough to live with a smart and narcissitic pig for a lifetime.

Hey, you stopped it just as I was having fun! Got lots and lots more to write.

And ya, my partner should most definitely be a female.

I tag arnav, guta, sunny, sudarshan, iyer, swati, dash and last but definitely not the least chhaavi.

I'm sorry you guys, but rules you see, and probably one of the rare opportunities I get to tag someone, be it in a school playground or blog sphere.

Sirf aur sirf ... ek chocolate ke liye!!!!

2006-03-10T12:55:00.000+05:30

THE BACKGROUND:

Guta Singh, my wingie, ate a chocolate that I had been preserving for many many days. On discovering that my prized possession was now all gone, I guess I was a little harsh on him.

When I came back I saw this on his blog. Check out my reply and especially check out my hindi :D.

sirf aur sirf ..ek chocolate ke liye!!!!!!!!

@uddu..
do read sandeep rath's comment after this..

kaise kaise dost hote hain jo hote hain sirf aur sirf ......
ek chocolate ke liye
dhikkar hai unki jindagi pe jo hote hain sirf .......
ek chocolate ke liye
dost ne dost ko kuch bhi bak diya sirf aur sirf...........
ek chocolate ke liye
4 saal ki dosti pal me bhula di sirf aur sirf.....
ek chocolate ke liye
saala chutiya types roya sirf aur sirf .............
ek chocolate ke liye
bolta hai tune khaye..ab paise do, sirf aur sirf..
ek chocolate ke liye
saale ne sharm haya sab bech khaayi sirf aur sirf
ek chocolate ke liye

Maine bhi soch liya,rone do saale ko sirf aur sirf
usi chocolate ke liye.....
Nahin dunga ek bhi paisa....
us chocolate ke liye!!!!!! :D

MY REPLY:

aisa hua ki 3 din se tha aankh sek rahaa,
khaane ki chah ko daba ke baitha rahaa

lekin ek din, jab wapas ayaa karke apna kaam,
toh poore 100gm mein bache sirf 2gm,

sutte peene waalon, aisa laga ki aakhri sutte ko koi pee gayaa,
mere cadbury orange chocolate ko koi behrami se kha gayaa,

lekin dost, agar gusse mein maine ho aisa kuch keh diya,
dubara aisa na karoonga yeh maine pran liya,

to yeh dost tumhara hai maangta maafi,
ab hans bhi do gussa ho gayaa kaafi :D

A Day Ends

2006-03-06T11:11:00.000+05:30

"Look at the stars, Look how they shine for you, And everything you do..."

I enter my hall of residence, back from facing the cruel world. Sometimes upbeat, sometimes low, sometimes hopeful, sometimes dejected. Squinting from the sun, I park my cycle.

"I came along, I wrote a song for you..."

I wave noncommittally at someone and walk in, thinking about all that needs to be done and all that I couldn't. I wonder if there would ever be an end to all this.

"..all things I have done."

I'm now in the bowels of my hall. My favorite C block, memories of an innocence long lost come rushing in.

"...drew a line for you."

I climb the stairs, the same stairs, so many years, 8 steps to the first landing 8 to the next. I open my room. My tasks for tomorrow stare at me. One more day ends.

"...all Yellow."

Thank you Iyer for providing me a soundtrack to my life in your innumerable practice sessions. Not always appropriate but always beautiful.

Keep rocking!

Six Men of Indostan

2006-02-25T00:47:00.000+05:30

Couldn't think of anything original to come up with, so decided to share this with you.

One of my all time favorites, have quoted this everywhere from dinner tables to interviews, to kids and to self styled "grown ups".

It was six men of Indostan To learning much inclined, Who went to see the Elephant (Though all of them were blind), That each by observation Might satisfy his mind The First approached the Elephant, And happening to fall Against his broad and sturdy side, At once began to bawl: “God bless me! but the Elephant Is very like a wall!” The Second, feeling of the tusk, Cried, “Ho! what have we here So very round and smooth and sharp? To me ’tis mighty clear This wonder of an Elephant Is very like a spear!” The Third approached the animal, And happening to take The squirming trunk within his hands, Thus boldly up and spake: “I see,” quoth he, “the Elephant Is very like a snake!” The Fourth reached out an eager hand, And felt about the knee. “What most this wondrous beast is like Is mighty plain,” quoth he; “ ‘Tis clear enough the Elephant Is very like a tree!” The Fifth, who chanced to touch the ear, Said: “E’en the blindest man Can tell what this resembles most; Deny the fact who can This marvel of an Elephant Is very like a fan!” The Sixth no sooner had begun About the beast to grope, Than, seizing on the swinging tail That fell within his scope, “I see,” quoth he, “the Elephant Is very like a rope!” And so these men of Indostan Disputed loud and long, Each in his own opinion Exceeding stiff and strong, Though each was partly in the right, And all were in the wrong! And the moral? I could say paragraphs about this piece, but the poet himself puts it in the most concise way possible: So oft in theologic wars, The disputants, I ween, Rail on in utter ignorance Of what each other mean, And prate about an Elephant Not one of them has seen!: To learning much inclined,
Who went to see the Elephant: (Though all of them were blind),
That each by observation: Might satisfy his mind
The First approached the Elephant,: And happening to fall
Against his broad and sturdy side,: At once began to bawl:
“God bless me! but the Elephant: Is very like a wall!”
The Second, feeling of the tusk,: Cried, “Ho! what have we here
So very round and smooth and sharp?: To me ’tis mighty clear
This wonder of an Elephant: Is very like a spear!”
The Third approached the animal,: And happening to take
The squirming trunk within his hands,: Thus boldly up and spake:
“I see,” quoth he, “the Elephant: Is very like a snake!”
The Fourth reached out an eager hand,: And felt about the knee.
“What most this wondrous beast is like: Is mighty plain,” quoth he;
“ ‘Tis clear enough the Elephant: Is very like a tree!”
The Fifth, who chanced to touch the ear,: Said: “E’en the blindest man
Can tell what this resembles most;: Deny the fact who can
This marvel of an Elephant: Is very like a fan!”
The Sixth no sooner had begun: About the beast to grope,
Than, seizing on the swinging tail: That fell within his scope,
“I see,” quoth he, “the Elephant: Is very like a rope!”
And so these men of Indostan: Disputed loud and long,
Each in his own opinion: Exceeding stiff and strong,
Though each was partly in the right,: And all were in the wrong!; And the moral? I could say paragraphs about this piece, but the poet himself puts it in the most concise way possible:
So oft in theologic wars,: The disputants, I ween,
Rail on in utter ignorance: Of what each other mean,
And prate about an Elephant: Not one of them has seen!

Aakhon hi Aakhon Mein

2006-02-02T00:57:00.000+05:30

With the recent shaadi season looming large and people taking breaks half way through the semester to complete their responsibilities as guests to the Great Indian Marriage Ceremony(GIMC, pronounced Gymyk), a discussion sprouted in our wing: The nayan matkaing sessions during marriages/receptions.
It's the harmless flirting one indulges in such ceremonies lasting a ephemeral hour at max with a girl from the other side.

Here's how it progresses.

Step 1: Guy spots the cutest chick in the arena and stares relentlessly.
Result: Girl sees him ogling at her, gets a bit nervous.

Step 2: Guy continues Step 1
Result: Girl takes a few sideways glances with increasing frequency to check if he's still looking at her.

Step 3: Guy continues Step 1, but eases it a little bit.
Result: Now it is the other way round, girl is staring at him when he looks at her.

Surprise Step: Turns out guy and girl have some common relative/friend who brings them together, introduces one to the other and departs. But sadly, with all the previous non verbal communication, guy's lost the opportunity to start a decent hi-hello type of talk, and just stands there in awkward silence. Girl walks away even more awkwardly, pretending to find a long lost acquaintance in the other end of the arena.

Step 2 and 3 alternate for some more time.

The End: Girl departs with parents, inevitably it's the girl who departs, it's like some corollary of Murphy's law taking effect here. But here comes the sweetest moment in this short lived love story, the girl turns back to look at guy one last time from the gates. Eyes meet, Guy looks, sighs at the lost opportunity to start something beautiful and buries his face in his food.

Well who said Indian Marriages are boring affairs, it's for opportunities like this that I used to frequent marriage parties.

Yes, if you haven't guessed it yet, this account was completely based on personal experience. Laugh, if you found the above experience totally unlike you, but I'm sure there must be similar not-so-suave friends of mine who would be sympathizing with me.

Of course the point of view is totally male and I would really like some experiences from my women readers to complement the account.

PS: My story turned out a little differently once, the situation was not quite the GIMC, but the ambiance was similar, thus, similar steps were attempted but some drastic turn of events took place half way through. More on that in a later post.

My Table

2006-01-30T12:40:00.000+05:30

*yawwwwn*
*stretch*
*scratch*
*yawwn*
*stretch*

hmmm...

*scratch*
*blank stare at winamp equalizer*

(Be yourself)
Oh-k.....

*blank stare at the clutter on table*(!)
Yes!
My table!

Ok.. the title....

hmmm....

Sandeep's Table...naaahh

Inventory of My Table.....blah!

My Table [:)] yes...chweeeet...

Two toothbrushes(or teethbrush???), i never can find it in time if there's only one.
One packet of bourbon with one last biscuit remaining.
One Brylcream Hair Gel.
One Business Today on top of monitor, suitably being warmed.
Three ties, two my dad's, one I jhaapoed during placements.
One bottle of emptied "Jovan Musk", love the smell, and works wonders on women so can't get myself to through it away.
One half empty bottle of listerine to complement a packet of 'special' bought during trying times.
CAT score card peeping at me from beneath my keyboard.
One cycle key of some poor soul I borrowed it from.
One jute bag, I have to return to somebody.
One school bag, I have to return to somebody.
One "MODERN CONTROL ENGINEERING- Katsuhiko Ogata" resting on or rather threatening to break into two a Compact Disc, whose contents I'm not aware of.
One packet of "WilmanII Premium Wilkinson Sword blade" (Where's the razor, I've been buying gillette presto-s for so long)
One Oxford Advance learner's Dictionary.
One rolled up poster of "Computer Terminology Explained".
One half of my 1.2 speakers.
One calculator I have to return to somebody.
One pen cap.
One more cal-c beneath jute bag!
One pair of scissors I have to return to somebody.
One wrist watch sans band.
One casette my sis recorded for me and sent me by courier [:)]
One cinthol orange soap.

My table
[:)]

I've got to find something better to do...

In Praise of Our PM

2005-12-02T01:00:00.000+05:30

"No power on earth can stop an idea whose time has come"-Victor Hugo

Chanced upon a certain piece of news recently,

'observing that AIDS could have serious consequences for the country's economy and future, Prime Minister Manmohan Singh today said people should do away with traditional inhibitions on discussing matters related to safe sex rpt safe sex and all sections of the society should be made aware of the disease.' Full story here

It's not something truly land breaking, yet another politician speaking about the importance of sex education in India.

In this speech of his, delivered to the Youth Parliament, he continues to say:
'our youth leaders must lead by example and lead from the front. You must be the agent of change that you seek in others.'

Again not something that hasn't happened before, a PM talking about 'youth power'.
But, something about Manmohan Singh tells me that when he asks students to lead from the front, he means it, and it is not just a political gimmick. Political gimmicks don't go with the image of this guy, if he at all depended on gimmickry he woudn't have lost all his elections as of date and yet be respected and admired by all (democracy sucks or what!).

It's quite sad that the comments of actresses and petite sports stars get front page news with photos et al but when a guy (and not just any guy!) actually talks some sense and asks for action most just don't hear his call.

I'm grateful to Dr. Manmohan Singh for being one of the reasons I'm proud of India.

Do go through his full speech on HIV/AIDS at http://pmindia.nic.in/lspeech.asp?id=233 , it's quite a read.

As an afterword, the little quote at the beginning of this post, it was made by Manmohan Singh during his maiden speech as Finance Minister.

Parents

2005-11-27T10:20:00.000+05:30

Parents, those people who do everything for us, but somehow we are always able to find a way to be ungrateful to them. What's worse, they completely take it in their stride, as if you acted in a completely natural way.

This little piece is dedicated to my Dad. Never could find the perfect words to go upto him and tell him how much he means to me and how I regret the unkindness I've shown so many innumerable times. I know I lack the tact to bring him to this page too, I just hope by some chance browsing he does come here.

I recollect one incident in particular.

It was sometime when I was in Class 6th, in Delhi. I had one of those groups which just needed an excuse to crucify someone for not being 'cool'. This time watching Disney's Alladin was number one in the list of must-have-done-s. And as fate would have it I had not. I realised this just in time and rushed to my Dad, "I want to see this movie, and I want to see it now." (Boy I must have been one irritating kid!)
Well it obviously didn't matter to me that it was raining cats and dogs outside and that we didn't have a car.
I remember us going in the auto rickshaw to Priya(now PVR) in Vasant Vihar, I remember Dad leaving me near a shop while he stood in the queue in the rain getting a couple of tickets. Then both of us, totally drenched, walked into this theatre and sat in the absolutely front row (we were late and these were the only ones available). I wonder if he felt embarrased walking in drenched into a movie theatre. I was strangely not bothered.

Now whenever I see the movie, or any reference to Disney, I squirm, Guilt poking me with everything she has.

The lesson I learnt? If I have a really trying kid someday and he's really testing my patience, I'll just look back to the moment when dad got the tickets, turned back, totally drenched and flashed a smile and waved the tickets.

Thanks Papa.

Exam Realization #186

2005-11-23T04:22:00.000+05:30

It's good to procrastinate in a way that is totally unproductive, else you look at what you did while wasting your time and go,

"...in the past 4 hours instead of studying I did THIS???"

Thank Sunny!

2005-10-26T22:39:00.000+05:30

Well thanks to Sunny this blog of mine willl be terse and not pop-pseudo-philosophy (i hope!)

Seven Things I Want To Do Before I Die

1) bungee
2) drive an open top BMW Roadster (gotta learn driving first)
3) learn a sport, any sport
4) read a book that changes my life
5) be on TV
6) go on a really long trip all alone
7) meet all the wonderful people I met in kgp atleast once after I pass out

Seven Things I Can Do
1) crack the kind of jokes nobody laughs at
2) live without food for atleast 3 days
3) live without sleep for atleast 3 days
4) always find an excuse to procastinate
5) read non stop (not counting nature's calls) for atleast 30 hours
6) wiggle my ears

Seven Things I Say The Most
hmm....i draw a blank at this ...can anyone help me with this one

Seven Things I Can't Do
1) Keep my room clean
2) Have a set of clean clothes when I need them most
3) Fold a shirt properly
4) Keep a track on my finances
5) Stick to a schedule
6) Abstain from obsessions and addictions ...any form ... if its addictive...I'm hooked on to it
7) remember people's birthdays ( orkut helps my social life quite a lot in this regard)

Seven Things That Attract Me To The Opposite Sex

1) Sensibility
2) Sense of humour
3) The eyes
4) The smile
5) indian-ness
6) intelligence
7) ...and that certain something thats felt at first sight

Seven Celebrity Crushes

1) Meg Ryan
2) Steffi Graf
3) Deepti Naval
4) Liv Tyler
5) Priety Zinta
6) Manisha Koirala ( not now...but ek zamana tha ....)
7) Waheeda Rehman( especially in Guide)

Seven People I Want to Tag

1) Suvro
2) Arnav
3) Deepak
4) Chhaavi
5) Guta Singh ( that'll atleast get his blog going)

Generalizations don't exist !

2005-09-25T23:35:00.000+05:30

Have you ever had the feeling that all the generalizations you made about situations, people, things etc are all wrong?

Every concept you had, on basis of which you made your decisions, suddenly add upto naught.
And from the very next moment, you might just have unlearn the world and then learn it all over again.

I guess I'm going through such a phase, I have always hated generalizations but nevertheless end up falling prey to them (as evident from the title of this post). And now, I'm thinking of swiping my generalization-dictionary clean and start over from scratch, lets see how this new one turns out.
(quite a coincidence that It's my birthday today)

So, if I know you, bear with me, I'm getting to know you all over again.

Crystal Ring

2005-09-22T01:59:00.000+05:30

The night sky is absolutely breathtaking tonight over Kharagpur. There are a few low clouds moving swiftly across the sky, creating an image not very unlike the one in The Highwayman, yet the stars steal out in between, sparkling away merrily.
There is a cool breeze, probably its raining somewhere close by.
But tonight's striking feature is the halo around the moon, visible when the cloud cover clears intermittently.

I don't have a pic of this night's moon. But here's one from the net that's close enough.

I'll pique your curosity by telling you that the ring would always be of the same size no matter when or where it forms

The reason is as beautiful as the phenomena. Read it here.

The above site mentions that this could be the sign of bad weather. I'm keeping a close watch on my weather sticker.

Beyond...

2005-09-16T22:51:00.000+05:30

As a result of a bit of encouragement, I looked around my comp to see if I had any of my poetry still around. I was pleasantly surprised to see a vaguely familiar doc file in a vaguely familiar folder...
I had written this one back in my second year, with the hope of getting it published in Alankar,
which to this day remains an unfulfilled desire.

(read aloud for best effect... and pardon if it sounds a bit cheesy...2nd year tha yaar!)

BEYOND

“Beyond the hill lies riches untold,
Diamonds, rubies, emerald and gold,
Beyond the hill lies beauty unbound,
Roses and tulips run every mound.”,

“Beyond the hill lies a great desert,
Look for gold and you’ll find dirt,
Beyond the hill lives Death alone,
Miles can be heard Decay’s drone”,

“What you feel is fear of unknown,
Wisdom isn’t found staying at home,
If you daren’t look beyond the hill,
You shall be Ignorance’s kill.”,

“What you feel is Temptation wild,
She is nothing but Devil’s child,
Mirages are far and never near,
Do not name my prudence, fear”,

“I cannot argue with those in a well,
Who stay fallen once fell,
Who look at the sky and dream sweet,
But daren’t ever to move their feet,
True I tempt me with riches yet unseen,
Truer yet, I may face troubles mean,
But I shall run and I shall climb,
And look and search till end of time
No words of yours can change my mind,
My reward lies in my struggle to find.”

Life Kicks In

2005-09-01T21:23:00.000+05:30

A little apology to people who expect a bit of originality from me but this thing i read somehow is connected to my previous post so I put it in.

A U.S. Open finalist in 1998, Philippoussis, because of a series of injuries and poor play, has dropped to No. 209 in the rankings.

At age 28, he claims he is working hard but has no confidence during matches.

The only time he showed a spark during his media conference was when he recalled his sensational 6-4, 7-6, 7-6 win over Pete Sampras at the 1996 Australian Open.

"I've been watching that match the last few months," he said. "I definitely remember thinking I didn't have too many worries at that stage. You're 19, you're so free, you're so pumped. Everything's great."

Smiling, he added, "Then life kicks in, I guess."
Full Article

Boy I'm Old!

2005-08-29T20:16:00.000+05:30

Again a trip home, again lots of time to contemplate about everything. Although this time my reverie was broken intermittently by Three Men in a Boat and Nature in her full glory after the monsoons.
I could go on rambling about the serenity of cranes wading through emerald green paddy fields, the sharpness of the features of an absolutely perfect blue-green kingfisher on a telegraph pole. But then again these things are better expressed by a poet or a photographer.
Ah! The book. I think hype killed the book for me. Hype and the British sense of humour which somehow escapes me completely. Otherwise it is quite a decent read(people might feel that I have grossly underrated the book, but the again, to each his own)
Ya the point of this blog is not to give an account of the trip from Bhubaneswar to Kgp on Dhauli express(I'll write about it when its time to say goodbye to Kgp and I make my final Dhauli Express trip). The point is detailed in the following paragraphs.

Just as I had settled down with my book, a teenage guy(first of all it surprises me that I'm not one of them anymore!) opened a Elements of Co-ordinate Geometry by S.L.Loney and started underlining certain sections of it. It wasn't difficult for me to understand his motivation for doing so, so I smiled to myself and buried my face in the book(something tells me the build up I've made up might well end up disappointing the reader so please drop any expectations of a particularly fitting ending). Soon light conversation followed, initiated by him, and soon inevitably. much to my resistance. it came out that I was indeed an IITian. To which he asked "which batch" and lowering my voice a wee bit I said "I appeared JEE in 2001". The guy rolled up his eyes and said "that's five years ago!". On which I did a slight mental calculation, when I came to Kgp, this guy would have been in class 7. Class 7!!! Can you imagine that. Class 7 for God's sake. I don't have words to express how I felt. Except that I never felt older in my whole life. Thats it, don't say I dissapointed you , you had been warned.

Lots of yada yada...

2005-08-27T00:26:00.000+05:30

Isn't it sad in a way that we all might end our life doing nothing more than a little bit for our own personal self, not affecting one more person truly.
Is then society just the sum total of selfish acts coming together? Isn't economics the study of selfish acts. Is that the final aim of all attempts at knowledge?
But then how do you go about defining virtue. Is there one standard one can adhere to. Or is it the all pervasive Christian values of love, compassion, courage, honesty, work and perseverance so deeply ingrained in our minds, that our subconscious gives us that nice feeling when you carry out any of these acts. Is our conscience nothing better than Pavlov's dog, salivating at the right stimulus just because its been trained to do so.
Or are we indeed connected, by our conscience, to something divine, connected to that fixed point about which everything rotates. Is there such a point. Or are we without a reference at all, moving about in a random manner, lacking any fixed concepts, values or knowledge.
We'll never know.

Have you ever...

2005-08-22T12:49:00.000+05:30

...got that feeling where you are utterly low but don't know why? Me including a few around me suddenly seem to be overcome by this certain emotional disorder.
The only thing that I feel will give me satisfaction is to hear the world tear apart into two. Or to take you hands and bang it very hard on something very delicate and expensive.
Prozac anyone?

Nostalgia

2005-08-21T21:00:00.000+05:30

One called us "13 itne sahi log", others said we spread 'ism', even more said we acted 'exclusive'.
But it was one long happy journey filled with highs and not too infrequently lows as well, but DFE somehow weathered it all and stood as one unit until the end.

This blog is inspired by Suvro's account of his last few days in Kgp. The strings of nostalgia had been plucked for quite a few days, but reading his blog really brought back memories rushing.

What really moved me was ETMS(Eastern Tech. Music Society)'s Foundation Day production. I was sitting in a corner and as I looked at the other end of the Netaji Auditorium, there was a group of about ten or twelve, dancing away no matter what the song. Be it "Ae hasina zulfo waali" or even " Abhi na jao chod kar", it didn't matter, what mattered was throwing your arms wildly about and making strange expressions. That was so what me and my wingies would have been doing. Let me mention that we are all horrible dancers, all we do is strange gyrations that would perhaps be more suitable somewhere a bit more private. This obviously much to the embarrassment of those around, but then again we never cared about what others thought.

If I think really hard, I seem to recollect that there were a few people I hadn't interacted with much, even in my second year, say Arnav or Jha or Dhingra, these people being from the D block. But my brain refuses to accept that we were anything less intimate than what we are now. How can we forget the times the whole wing stood by each other, then again how can we forget the times we had our spats and arguments.
And what about the fact that for some strange reason we would acquire a new addiction just before the mid sem and end sem exams, NFS, ZUMA, 29, the first two lasting a sem each while the latter,much to my disgust, continued its stronghold for one full year (and more, it continued into convo night as well!!).
Another thing that I'll always miss, whenever I would come back into the hall, as I would walk past C block and come within view of my wing, you could make out the whole wing outside sitting on the bed and railing, everyone talking at the same time, it was like an incessant cacophony that made sense only if you contributed to it. You could make out the people( you couldn't see them because the wing tubelights were always needing replacement), Jha the tallest silhouette, Suvro next to him, with a mop of hair, giggling away at something, Puneet fidgeting wildly, obviously not agreeing to anything that's being said, Buddha jumping wildly in a corner, yes, that meant a girl's name had just been mentioned. Harsh communicating with his now famous hand gestures, and Tripathi's pate reflecting back whatever little light there would be. And the moment they would see me(or anyone who's returning), there would be a grand outflow of expletives, the uninitiated might take offence, but that was the way we showed love and to hell with the uninitiated.
These people have now left DFE and in all probability they'll never be here together again. Never would a sequence of events take place that was possible only when these 13 people got together.
I don't regret the passage of time, I am just admiring all that happened and musing about all that could have happened. This is a lesson for those who believe that all good things don't end. They do. And all you can do is look back, smile and move on.

Kahani Poori philmi hai

2005-08-11T19:20:00.000+05:30

Positions vacant for mining engineers capable of doing that in under 3 months with a team strength of 10 members.

Skills required: Must be good at disguises and have the combined strength to carry 3 tonnes of banknotes.

Place of posting: Brazil

Remunerations: ₤38 million.

details

Kehdo ki yeh jhooth hai....

2005-08-11T17:22:00.000+05:30

One in 25 dads 'not the real father'
Reuters
August 11, 2005

ONE in 25 fathers could unknowingly be raising another man's child, British scientists have said.

Researchers at Liverpool's John Moores University examined the findings of dozens of studies, published over the past 54 years, on cases of paternal discrepancy - where a man is proved not to be the biological father of his child.

More

Somehow I get the feeling that the above figures for India, while not being that high , would still would surprise us all. What say you?
Or would you go ..."Oh no! such things in apna Bharat, never, never."

Need help

2005-07-24T23:48:00.000+05:30

Hi guys
If anyone's reading my blog (why the hell can't I assume that people read my blod eh?)
read this first
LONDON - There's a wag in the works at Microsoft: The company is christening the next version of its flagship operating system "Vista"--which is ostensibly punning on the Windows brand name.

More

Can anyone tell me what pun is being referred to, I couldn't catch any :(
Will be definately grateful

Where are we headed

2005-07-18T01:07:00.000+05:30

Had gone home for sometime, so no interaction with the net for a long long time.

I was just pondering, I usually get time to ponder a lot when I'm on my way home as more often than not i travel alone.
Don't you think we've over complicated our lives. Look at the cave-man, all he did was eat sleep and procreate, we are doing the same but like someone said we are just pretending we are doing more.
We are going round in circles. Alvin Toffler said that all our efforts in technology are aimed towards making more of our time free, therefore, he continued, that by the 21st century we'll have so much free time we wouldn't know what to do with it. So? Where does the present 21st century population ever more dying of hypertension and stress fit into that picture. So while half of the people are hell busy powering the great technology machinery of mankind, another major chunk doesn't have the means to enjoy the fruits of their results. Someone somewhere has got the scheming of the world horribly wrong.
Sorry for the morbid look at life ...

I Love this world

2005-07-01T21:24:00.000+05:30

Business of Poaching Outsourced (BPO)
Police and wildlife NGOs admit that Chand is not a poacher himself. He allegedly outsources the job.
More

Casino Advertising takes a "head start"
Karolyne Smith, 30, turned her head into a permanent billboard after a large online casino offered her $10,000 to indelibly emblazon its name on her face.
More

Politicians can't bear to see things get divided
The U.S. case against Microsoft led Judge Jackson to rule in 2000 that Microsoft should be broken into two companies as punishment for its monopolistic practices. But a year later, with the Clinton-era Justice Department having given way to the Bush administration, the government decided not to seek the breakup. The case was settled in 2002.
More

Googling Gautam Goswami Gets*

2005-07-01T02:44:00.000+05:30

Even poor google hasn't quite decided on the state of affairs...

Gautam Goswami can go back to his glorious past only if he's "feeling lucky".

*An alliterating title, clever artifice by author to amuse readers.